THE WISDOM OF THE OLD TESTAMENT




                            JOB AND SOLOMON

                                   OR

                    THE WISDOM OF THE OLD TESTAMENT

                                 BY THE

                     REV. T. K. CHEYNE, M.A., D.D.

              ORIEL PROFESSOR OF INTERPRETATION AT OXFORD
                           CANON OF ROCHESTER

                                NEW YORK
                            THOMAS WHITTAKER
                           2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE
                                  1887




    THE VERY REVEREND

    GEORGE GRANVILLE BRADLEY, D.D.

    DEAN OF WESTMINSTER

    IN HIGH APPRECIATION OF HIS LONG-PROVED INTEREST IN EXEGESIS

    AND OF HIS HAPPILY CONCEIVED LECTURES ON ECCLESIASTES




                                PREFACE.


The present work is a fragmentary realisation of a plan which has been
maturing in my mind for many years. Exegesis and criticism are equally
necessary for the full enjoyment of the treasures of the Old Testament,
and just as no commentary is complete which does not explain the actual
position of critical controversies, so no introduction to the criticism
of a book is trustworthy which does not repose, and show the reader that
it reposes, on the basis of a thorough exegesis. In this volume I do not
pretend to have approached the ideal of such students’ manuals as I have
described; I have not been sufficiently sure of my public to treat the
subject on the scale which I should have liked, and such personal
drawbacks as repeated changes of residence, frequent absence from large
libraries, and within the last two years a serious eye-trouble, have
hindered me in the prosecution of my work. Other tasks now claim my
restored strength, and I can no longer withhold my volume from those
lovers of the sacred literature who in some degree share the point of
view from which I have written.

The Books of Job and Ecclesiastes are treated somewhat more in detail
than those of Proverbs and Ecclesiasticus. The latter have a special
interest of their own, but to bring this into full view, more excursions
into pure philology would have been necessary than I judged it expedient
to allow myself. I had intended to make up for this omission so far as
Proverbs is concerned at the end of the volume, but have been
interrupted in doing so. Perhaps, however, even in the Appendix such
detailed treatment of special points might have repelled some readers,
and I hope that the Appendix is on the whole not unreadable. The
enlarged notes on Proverbs in the forthcoming new edition of Messrs.
Eyre and Spottiswoode’s Variorum Bible may enable the student to do for
himself what I have not done. As for Ecclesiasticus, the light which
Prof. Bickell’s and Dr. Edersheim’s researches are sure to throw on the
text may enable me some day to recast the section on this book; at
present, I only offer this as an illustrative sequel to the section on
Proverbs. It should be added that the canonicity of Ecclesiasticus is
handled in conjunction with that of Ecclesiastes at the close of the
part on the latter book.

The interest of Job and Ecclesiastes is of a far deeper and more varied
kind. Even from a critical point of view, the study of these books is
most refreshing after the incessant and exciting battles of
Pentateuch-criticism. But as monuments of the spiritual struggles of a
past which is not wholly dead, they have been to me, as doubtless to
many others, sources of pure delight. If I appreciate Job more highly
than Ecclesiastes, it is not from any want of living sympathy with the
philosophic doubter, but because the enjoyment even of Scriptures is
dependent on moods and impulses. De Sanctis has pointed out (_Storia
della letteratura italiana_, i. 80) how the story of Job became the
favourite theme of the early Italian moralists, and everyone knows how
the great Latin doctors (Gregory the Great, Bede, Aquinas, Albertus
Magnus) delighted to comment on this wonderful book. In our own day,
from perfectly intelligible causes, Ecclesiastes has too much drawn off
the attention of the educated world, but there are signs that the
character-drama of Job will soon reassert its old fascinating power.

In conclusion, will earnest students, whether academical or not, grant
me two requests? The first is, that they will meet me with confidence,
and gather any grains of truth they can, even where they cannot yield
full assent. The problems of Hebrew literature are complex; herein
partly lies their fascination; herein also is a call for mutual
tolerance on the part of all who approach them. There is nothing to
regret in this complexity; in searching for the solution of these
problems, we gain an ever fresh insight into facts and ideas which will
never lose their significance. My second request is, that the Appendix,
which, short as it is, contains something for different classes of
readers, may not be neglected as _only an Appendix_.

I would add that the ‘much-desired aid’ in the critical use of the
Septuagint referred to on p. 114 has already to a large extent been
given by Gustav Bickell’s essay (see p. 296), which I have now been able
to examine. His early treatise (1862) is at length happily supplemented
and corrected. We shall know still more when P. Ciasca has completed the
publication of the fragments of the Sahidic version. It is clear however
that each omission in the pre-Hexaplar Septuagint text (represented by
this version) must be judged upon its own merits, nor can I estimate the
value of the text of the Septuagint quite as highly as some critics.

It is hoped that the present work may be followed by a volume on the
Psalms, the Lamentations, and the Song of Songs.




                               CONTENTS.


INTRODUCTION 1


_THE BOOK OF JOB._

I. JOB’S CALAMITY; THE OPENING OF THE DIALOGUES (Chaps. i.-xiv.) 11

II. THE SECOND CYCLE OF SPEECHES (Chaps. xv.-xxi.) 30

III. THE THIRD CYCLE OF SPEECHES (Chaps. xxii.-xxxi.) 37

IV. THE SPEECHES OF ELIHU (Chaps. xxxii.-xxxvii.) 42

V. THE SPEECHES OF JEHOVAH (Chaps. xxxviii.-xlii. 6) 48

VI. THE EPILOGUE AND ITS MEANING 58

VII. THE TRADITIONAL BASIS AND THE PURPOSE OF JOB 60

VIII. DATE AND PLACE OF COMPOSITION 71

IX. ARGUMENT FROM THE USE OF MYTHOLOGY 76

X. ARGUMENT FROM THE DOCTRINE OF ANGELS 79

XI. ARGUMENT FROM PARALLEL PASSAGES 83

XII. ON THE DISPUTED PASSAGES IN THE DIALOGUE PORTION, ESPECIALLY THE
SPEECHES OF ELIHU 90

XIII. IS JOB A HEBRÆO-ARABIC POEM? 96

XIV. THE BOOK FROM A RELIGIOUS POINT OF VIEW 102

XV. THE BOOK FROM A GENERAL AND WESTERN POINT OF VIEW 106

_Note_ on Job and the Modern Poets 112

_Note_ on the Text of Job 112

_Aids to the Student_ 115


_THE BOOK OF PROVERBS._

I. HEBREW WISDOM, ITS NATURE, SCOPE, AND IMPORTANCE 117

II. THE FORM AND ORIGIN OF THE PROVERBS 125

III. THE FIRST COLLECTION AND ITS APPENDICES 130

IV. THE SECOND COLLECTION AND ITS APPENDICES 142

V. THE PRAISE OF WISDOM 156

VI. SUPPLEMENTARY ON QUESTIONS OF DATE AND ORIGIN 165

VII. THE TEXT OF PROVERBS 173

_Note_ on Prov. xxx. 31 175

VIII. THE RELIGIOUS VALUE OF THE BOOK OF PROVERBS 176

_Aids to the Student_ 178


_THE WISDOM OF JESUS THE SON OF SIRACH._

I. THE WISE MAN TURNED SCRIBE. SIRACH’S MORAL TEACHING 179

II. SIRACH’S TEACHING (_continued_). HIS PLACE IN THE MOVEMENT OF
THOUGHT 188

_Aids to the Student_ (see also _Appendix_) 198


_THE BOOK OF KOHELETH; OR, ECCLESIASTES._

I. THE WISE MAN TURNED AUTHOR AND PHILOSOPHER 199

II. ‘TRUTH AND FICTION’ IN AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 207

III. MORE MORALISING, INTERRUPTED BY PROVERBIAL MAXIMS 213

IV. FACTS OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE 218

V. THE WISE MAN’S PARTING COUNSELS 222

VI. KOHELETH’S ‘PORTRAIT OF OLD AGE;’ THE EPILOGUE, ITS NATURE AND
ORIGIN 229

VII. ECCLESIASTES AND ITS CRITICS (FROM A PHILOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW)
236

VIII. ECCLESIASTES AND ITS CRITICS (FROM A LITERARY AND PSYCHOLOGICAL
POINT OF VIEW) 242

IX. ECCLESIASTES FROM A MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POINT OF VIEW 248

X. DATE AND PLACE OF COMPOSITION 255

XI. DOES KOHELETH CONTAIN GREEK WORDS OR IDEAS? 260

XII. TEXTUAL PROBLEMS OF KOHELETH 273

XIII. THE CANONICITY OF ECCLESIASTES AND ECCLESIASTICUS 279

_Aids to the Student_ 285


APPENDIX (_see_ Special Table of Contents) 287

INDEX 303




                             INTRODUCTION.
        HOW IS OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM RELATED TO CHRISTIANITY?


The point of view represented in this volume is still so little
recognised and represented in England and America that the author
ventures to prefix a short paper delivered as an address at the Church
Congress held at Reading in October 1883. It is proverbially more
difficult to write a thin book than a thick one, and the labour involved
in preparing this twenty minutes’ paper, with its large outlook and
sedulously under-stated claims, was such as he would not willingly
undertake again for a like purpose. The subject was not an ephemeral one
and the attitude of the Churches towards it has not materially altered
within the last three years. The present volume is pervaded by the
spirit which breathes, as the author trusts, in every line of this
paper. It relates, indeed, only to a small section of the Old Testament,
but no part of that ‘library’ (as mediæval writers so well named it) can
be studied in complete severance from the rest. And if a high aim is
held forward in one of the opening sentences to the Church of which the
writer is a son, those who are connected with the other historic
communions will easily understand the bitter-sweet feeling of hope
against hope with which those lines were penned.

                  *       *       *       *       *

‘My own conviction,’ said the late Dr. Pusey, ‘has long been that the
hope of the Church of England is in mutual tolerance.’[1] That truly
great man was not thinking of the new school of Old Testament critics,
and yet if the Anglican Church is ever to renovate her theology and to
become in any real sense undeniably the Church of the future, she cannot
afford to be careless or intolerant of attempts to modernise our methods
of criticism and exegesis. It would no doubt be simpler to content
ourselves with that criticism and exegesis, and consequently with that
theology, which have been fairly adequate to the wants of the past; but
are we sure that Jesus Christ would not now lead us a few steps further
on towards ‘all the truth,’ and that one of His preparatory disciplines
may not be a method of Biblical criticism which is less tender to the
traditions of the scribes, and more in harmony with the renovating
process which is going on in all other regions of thought? Why, indeed,
should there not be a providence even in the phases of Old Testament
criticism, so that where some can see merely the shiftings of arbitrary
opinion more enlightened eyes may discern a veritable progress, leading
at once to fresh views of history, and to necessary reforms in our
theology, making this theology simpler and stronger, deeper and more
truly Catholic, by making it more Biblical?

Some one, however, may ask, Does not modern criticism actually claim to
have refuted the fundamental facts of Bible history? But which _are_
these fundamental facts? Bishop Thirlwall, twenty years ago, told his
clergy ‘that a great part of the events related in the Old Testament has
no more apparent connection with our religion than those of Greek and
Roman history.’ Put these events for a moment on one side, and how much
more conspicuous does that great elementary fact become which stands up
as a rock in Israel’s history—namely, that a holy God, for the good of
the world, chose out this people, isolating it more and more completely
for educational purposes from its heathen neighbours, and interposing at
various times to teach, to chastise, and to deliver it! It is not
necessary to prove that all such recorded interpositions are in the
strictest sense historical; it is enough if the tradition or the record
of some that are so did survive the great literary as well as political
catastrophe of the Babylonian captivity. And I have yet to learn that
the Exodus, the destruction of Sennacherib’s army, the restoration of
the Jews to their own land, and the unique phenomenon of spiritual
prophecy, are called in question even by the most advanced school of
Biblical criticism. One fact, indeed, there is, regarded by some of us
as fundamental, which these advanced critics do maintain to be
disproved, and that is the giving of the Levitical Law by Moses, or if
not by Moses, by persons in the pre-Exile period who had prophetic
sanction for giving it. Supposing the theory of Kuenen and Wellhausen to
be correct, it will no doubt appear to some minds (1) that the
inspiration of the Levitical Law is at any rate weakened in quality
thereby, (2) that a glaring inconsistency is introduced into the Divine
teaching of Israel, which becomes anti-sacrificial at one time, and
sacrificial at another, and (3) that room is given for the supposition
that the Levitical system itself was an injurious though politic
condescension to popular tastes, and consequently (as Lagarde ventures
to hold) that St. Paul, by his doctrine of the Atonement, ruined, so far
as he could, the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ.

But I only mention these possible inferences in order to point out how
unfair they are. (1) The inspiration (to retain an often misused but
indispensable term) of the Levitical Law is only weakened in any bad
sense if it be maintained that the law, whenever the main part of it was
promulgated, failed to receive the sanction of God’s prophetic
interpreters, and that it was not, in the time of Ezra, the only
effectual instrument for preserving the deposit of spiritual religion.
(2) With regard to the inconsistency (assuming the new hypothesis)
between the two periods of the Divine teaching of Israel, the feeling of
a devout, though advanced critic would be that he was not a fit judge of
the providential plan. Inconsistent conclusions on one great subject
(that of forgiveness of sins) might in fact be drawn from the language
of our Lord Himself at different periods of His ministry, though the
parallel may not be altogether complete, since our Lord never used
directly anti-sacrificial language. And it might be urged on the side of
Kuenen, that neither would the early prophets have used such language—at
any rate in the literary version of their discourses if they had
foreseen the canonical character which this would assume, and the
immense importance of a sacrificial system in the post-Exile period. (3)
The theory that the law involves an injurious condescension is by no
means compulsory upon advocates of the new hypothesis. Concessions to
popular taste have, indeed, as we know but too well, often almost
extinguished the native spirit of a religion; but the fact that some at
least of the most spiritual psalms are acknowledged to be post-Exile
ought to make us all, critics and non-critics alike, slow to draw too
sharp a distinction between the legal and the evangelical. That the law
was misused by some, and in course of time became spiritually almost
obsolete, would not justify us in depreciating it, even if we thought
that the lesser and not the greater Moses, the scribe and not the
prophet, was mainly responsible for its promulgation. Finally, the rash
statement of Lagarde has been virtually answered by the reference of
another radical critic (Keim) to the well-attested words of Christ at
the institution of the Eucharist (Matt. xxvi. 28).

I have spoken thus much on the assumption that the hypothesis of Kuenen
and Wellhausen may be true. That it will ever become universally
prevalent is improbable—the truth may turn out to lie between the two
extremes—but that it will go on for some time gaining ground among the
younger generation of scholars is, I think, almost certain. No one who
has once studied this or any other Old Testament controversy from the
inside and with a full view of the evidence can doubt that the
traditional accounts of many of the disputed books rest on a very weak
basis, and those who crave for definite solutions, and cannot bear to
live in twilight, will naturally hail such clear-cut hypotheses as those
of Kuenen and Wellhausen, and credit them with an undue finality. Let us
be patient with these too sanguine critics, and not think them bad
Churchmen, as long as they abstain from drawing those dangerous and
unnecessary inferences of which I have spoken. It is the want of an
equally intelligent interest which makes the Old Testament a dead letter
to so many highly orthodox theologians. If the advanced critics succeed
in awakening such an interest more generally, it will be no slight
compensation for that ‘unsettlement of views’ which is so often the
temporary consequence of reading their books.

One large part, however, of Kuenen and Wellhausen’s critical system is
not peculiar to them, but accepted by the great majority of professed
Old Testament critics. It is this part which has perhaps a still
stronger claim to be considered in its relation to Christian truth,
because there is every appearance that it will, in course of time,
become traditional among those who have given up the still current
traditions of the synagogue. I refer (1) to the analysis of the
Pentateuch and the Book of Joshua into several documents, (2) to the
view that many of the laws contained in the Pentateuch arose gradually,
according to the needs of the people, and that Ezra, or at least
contemporaries of Ezra, took a leading part in the revision and
completion of the law book, and (3) to the dating of the original
documents or compilations at various periods, mostly long subsequent to
the time of Moses. Time forbids me to enter into the grounds for the
confident assertion that if either exegesis or the Church’s
representation of religious truth is to make any decided progress, the
results of the literary analysis of the Pentateuch must be accepted as
facts, and that theologians must in future recognise at least three
different sections, and as many different conceptions of Israel’s
religious development, within the Pentateuch, just as they have long
recognised at least three different types of teaching in the Old
Testament as a whole. On the question as to the date of these sections,
and as to the Mosaic origin of any considerable part of them, the
opinions of special scholars within the Church will, for a long time
yet, be more or less divided. There is, I know, a belief growing up
among us, that Assyrian and Egyptian discoveries are altogether
favourable to the ordinary English view of the dates of the historical
books, including the Pentateuch. May I be pardoned for expressing the
slowly formed conviction that apologists in England (and be it observed
that I do not quarrel with the conception of apologetic theology)
frequently indulge in general statements as to the bearings of recent
discoveries, which are only half true? The opponents of whom they are
thinking are long since dead; it is wasting time to fight with the
delusions of a past age. No one now thinks the Bible an invention of
priestcraft; that which historical critics doubt is the admissibility of
any unqualified assertion of the strict historicalness of all the
details of all its component parts. This doubt is not removed by recent
archæological discoveries, the critical bearings of which are sometimes
what neither of the critical schools desired or expected. I refer
especially to the bearings of Assyrian discoveries on the date of what
are commonly called the Jehovistic narratives in the first nine chapters
of Genesis. I will not pursue this subject further, and merely add that
we must not too hastily assume that the supplement hypothesis is
altogether antiquated.

The results of the anticipated revolution in our way of looking at the
Pentateuch strike me as fourfold. (1) Historically. The low religious
position of most of the pre-Exile Israelites will be seen to be not the
result of a deliberate rebellion against the law of Jehovah, the
Levitical laws being at any rate virtually non-existent. By this I mean,
that even if any large part of those laws go back to the age of Moses
they were never thoroughly put in force, and soon passed out of sight.
Otherwise how can we account for this, among other facts, that
Deuteronomy, or the main part of it, is known in the reign of Josiah as
‘_the_ law of Moses’? We shall also, perhaps, get a deeper insight into
the Divine purpose in raising up that colossal personage who, though
‘slow of speech,’ was so mighty in deed: I mean Moses—and shall realise
those words of a writer specially sanctioned by my own university:
‘Should we have an accurate idea of the purpose of God in raising up
Moses, if we said, He did it that He might communicate a revelation?
Would not this be completely to misunderstand the principal end of the
mission of Moses, which was the establishment of the theocracy, and in
so far as God revealed through him the revelation was but as means to
this higher end?’[2]

(2) We shall, perhaps, discriminate more between the parts of the Old
Testament, some of which will be chiefly valuable to us as bringing into
view the gradualness of Israel’s education, and as giving that fulness
to our conceptions of Biblical truths which can only be got by knowing
the history of their outward forms; others will have only that interest
which attaches even to the minutest and obscurest details of the history
of much-honoured friends or relatives; others, lastly, will rise, in
virtue of their intrinsic majesty, to a position scarcely inferior to
that of the finest parts of the New Testament itself.

(3) As a result of what has thus been gained, our idea of inspiration
will become broader, deeper, and more true to facts.

(4) We shall have to consider our future attitude towards that
Kenotic[3] view of the person of Christ which has been accepted in some
form by such great exegetical theologians as Hofmann, Oehler, and
Delitzsch. Although the Logos, by the very nature of the conception,
must be omniscient, the incarnate Logos, we are told, pointed His
disciples to a future time, in which they should do greater works than
He Himself, and should open the doors to fresh departments of truth. The
critical problems of the Old Testament did not then require to be
settled by Him, because they had not yet come into existence. Had they
emerged into view in our Lord’s time, they would have given as great a
shock to devout Jews as they have done to devout Christians; and our
Master would, no doubt, have given them a solution fully adequate to the
wants of believers. In that case, a reference to some direction of the
law as of Mosaic origin would, in the mouth of Christ, have been
decisive; and the Church would, no doubt, have been guided to make some
distinct definition of her doctrine on the subject.

Thus in the very midst of the driest critical researches we can feel
that, if we have duly fostered the sense of Divine things, we are on the
road to further disclosures of religious as well as historical truth.
The day of negative criticism is past, and the day of a cheap ridicule
of all critical analysis of ancient texts is, we may hope, nearly past
also. In faith and love the critics whose lot I would fain share are at
one with many of those who suspect and perhaps ridicule them: in the
aspirations of hope their aim is higher. Gladly would I now pass on to a
survey of the religious bearings of the critical study of the poetical
and prophetical books, which, through differences of race, age, and
above all spiritual atmosphere, we find, upon the whole, so much more
attractive and congenial than the Levitical legislation. Let me, at
least, throw out a few hints. Great as is the division of opinion on
points of detail, so much appears to be generally accepted that the
number of prophets whose works have partly come down to us is larger
than used to be supposed. The analysis of the texts may not be as nearly
perfect as that of the Pentateuch, but there is no doubt among those of
the younger critics whose voices count (and with the pupils of Delitzsch
the case is the same as with those of Ewald) that several of the
prophetical books are made up of the works of different writers, and I
even notice a tendency among highly orthodox critics to go beyond Ewald
himself and analyse the Book of Daniel into portions of different dates.
The result is important, and not for literary history alone. It gives us
a much firmer hold on the great principle that a prophet’s horizon is
that of his own time; that he prophesied, as has been well said, into
the future, but not directly to the future. This will, I believe, in no
wise affect essential Christian truth, but will obviously modify our
exegesis of certain Scripture proofs of Christian doctrine, and is
perhaps not without a bearing on the two grave theological subjects
referred to already.

Bear with me if, once again in conclusion, I appeal to the Church at
large on behalf of those who would fain modernise our criticism and
exegesis with a view to a not less distinctively Christian but more
progressive Church theology. The age of œcumenical councils may have
passed; but if criticism, exegesis, and philosophy are only cultivated
in a fearless and reverent spirit, and if the Church at large troubles
itself a little more to understand the workers and their work, an
approximation to agreement on great religious questions may hereafter be
attained. What the informal decisions of the general Christian
consciousness will be, it would be impertinent to conjecture. It is St.
John’s ‘all truth’ after which we aspire—‘all the truth’ concerning God,
the individual soul, and human society, into which the labours of
generations, encouraged by the guiding star, shall by degrees introduce
us. But one thing is too clear to be mistaken—viz. that exegesis must
decide first of all what essential Christian truth is before a devout
philosophy can interpret, expand, and apply it, and Old Testament
exegesis, at any rate, cannot be long separated from its natural ally,
the higher criticism. A provisional separation may no doubt be
necessary, but the ultimate aim of successive generations of students
must be a faithful exegesis, enlightened by a seven-times tested
criticism.

Footnote 1:

  ‘Toleranz sollte eigentlich nur eine vorübergehende Gesinnung sein;
  sie muss zur Anerkennung führen.’—_Goethe._

Footnote 2:

  See essay on ‘Miracles’ in _Christian Remembrancer_ (list of works
  recommended to theological honour-students in Oxford).

Footnote 3:

  The self-humiliation of Christ is described (need I remark?) by St.
  Paul as a κένωσις (Phil. ii. 7). How far this κένωσις extended is a
  theological problem which in the sixteenth century, and again in our
  own, has exercised devout thinkers. For the modern form of the Kenotic
  view or doctrine the English reader will naturally go to Dorner’s
  _History of the Doctrine of the Person of Christ_, vol. iii., in
  Clark’s _Library_. Dorner’s opposition to this view is a weighty but
  not, of course, a decisive fact. We must be loyal to the facts of
  Christ’s humanity reported in the Gospels. The question as to the
  extent of the κένωσις is an open one.




                            THE BOOK OF JOB.


                               CHAPTER I.
             JOB’S CALAMITY; THE OPENING OF THE DIALOGUES.
                            (CHAPS. I.-XIV.)


The Book of Job is not the earliest monument of Hebrew ‘wisdom,’ but for
various reasons will be treated first in order. The perusal of some of
the pages introductory to Proverbs will enable the student to fill out
what is here given. The Hebrew ‘wisdom’ is a product as peculiar as the
dialectic of Plato, and not less worthy of admiration; and the author of
_Job_ is its greatest master. To him are due those great thoughts on a
perennial problem, which may be supplemented but can never be
superseded, and which, as M. Renan truly says, cause so profound an
emotion in their first naïve expression. His wisdom is that of intuition
rather than of strict reasoning, but it is as truly based upon the facts
of experience as any of our Western philosophies. He did not indeed
reach his high position unaided by predecessors. The author of the noble
‘Praise of Wisdom’ in Prov. i.-ix. taught him much and kindled his
ambition. Nor was he in all probability without the stimulus of
fellow-thinkers and fellow-poets. The student ought from the outset to
be aware of the existence of discussions as to the unity of the
book—discussions which have led to one assured and to several probable
results—though he ought not to adopt any critical results before he has
thoroughly studied the poem itself. The student should also know that
the supposed authors of the (as I must believe) inserted passages belong
to the same circle as the writer of the main part of the book, and are
therefore not to be accused of having made ‘interpolations.’ I need not
here distinguish between passages added by the author himself as
afterthoughts (or perhaps _paralipomena_ inserted by disciples from his
literary remains) and compositions of later poets added to give the poem
greater didactic completeness. A passage which does not fall into the
plan of the poem is to all intents and purposes the work of another
poet. The philosophic Goethe of the second part of _Faust_ is not the
passion-tossed Goethe of the first.

All the writers who may be concerned in the production of our book are,
however, well worthy of reverent study; they were not only inspired by
the Spirit of Israel’s holy religion, but in their various styles true
poets. In some degree we may apply to _Job_ the lines of Schiller on the
_Iliad_ with its different fathers but one only mother—Nature. In fact,
Nature, in aspects chiefly familiar, but not therefore less interesting,
was an open book to these poets, and ‘Look in thine heart and write’ was
their secret as well as Spenser’s for vigorous and effective expression.

I now proceed to give in plain prose the pith and substance of this
great poem, which more than any other Old Testament book needs to be
brought near to the mind of a Western student. I would entitle it THE
BOOK OF THE TRIAL OF THE RIGHTEOUS MAN, AND OF THE JUSTIFICATION OF GOD.

In its present form the Book of Job consists of five parts—

1. The Prologue, written in prose (ch. i.-ii.), the body of the work in
the Hebrew being written in at any rate an approach to metre;[4]

2. The Colloquies between Job and his three friends (ch. iii.-xxxi.);

3. The Discourses of Elihu (ch. xxxii.-xxxvii.);

4. Jehovah’s Reply to Job (ch. xxxviii.-xlii. 6);

5. The Epilogue, in prose (ch. xlii. 7-17).

There are some differences in the arrangement which will presently be
followed, but these will justify themselves in the course of our study.
Let us first of all examine the Prologue, which will bear to be viewed
by itself as a striking specimen of Hebrew narrative. The idyllic
manners of a patriarchal age are delineated with sympathy—no difficult
task to one who knew the early Hebrew traditions—and still more
admirable are the very testing scenes from the supernatural world.

It may perhaps seem strange that this should be only a prose poem, but
the truth is that narrative poetry was entirely alien to the Hebrew
genius, which refused to tolerate the bonds of protracted and continuous
versification. Like that other great hero of parallelistic verse Balaam,
Job is a non-Israelite; and in this the unknown author shows a fine
tact, for he is thus absolved from the embarrassing necessity of
referring to the Law, and so complicating the moral problem under
consideration. Job, however, though an Arabian sheich[5] (as one may
loosely call him), was a worshipper of Jehovah, who declares before the
assembled ‘sons of the Elohim’ that ‘there is none like Job in the
earth,’ &c. (i. 8). Job’s virtue is rewarded by an outward prosperity
like that of the patriarchs in Genesis: he was a great Eastern Emeer,
and had not only a large family but great possessions. His scrupulous
piety, which takes precautions even against heart-sins, is exemplified
to us by the atoning sacrifice which he offers as head of his family at
some annual feast (i. 4, 5). Then in ver. 6 the scene is abruptly
changed from earth to heaven. The spirit of the narrative is not devoid
of a delightful humour. In the midst of the ‘sons of the
Elohim’—supernatural, Titanic beings, who had once been at strife with
Jehovah (if we may illustrate by xxi. 22, xxv. 2), but who now at stated
times paid Him their enforced homage—stood one who had not quite lost
his original pleasure in working evil, and who was now employed by his
Master as a kind of moral and religious censor of the human race. This
malicious spirit—‘the Satan’ or adversary, as he is called—had just
returned from a tour of inspection in the world, and Jehovah, who is
represented under the disguise of an earthly monarch, boldly and
imprudently draws his attention to the meritorious Job. The Satan
refuses to give human nature credit for pure goodness, and sarcastically
remarks, ‘Does Job serve God for nothing?’ (i. 9.) Jehovah therefore
allows His minister to put Job’s piety to as severe a test as possible
short of taking his life. One after another Job’s flocks, his servants,
and his children are destroyed. His wife, however, by a touch of quiet
humour, is spared; she seems to be recognised by the Satan as an
unconscious ally (ii. 9). The piety of Job stands the trial; he is
deeply moved, but maintains his self-control, and the scene closes with
a devout ascription of blessing to Jehovah alike for giving and for
recalling His gifts.

Before passing on the reader should notice that, according to the poet,
the ultimate reason why these sufferings of Job were permitted by the
Most High was that Job might set an example of a piety independent of
favouring outward circumstances. The poet reveals this to us in the
Prologue, that we may not ourselves be staggered in our faith, nor cast
down by sympathy with such an unique sufferer; for after the eulogy
passed upon Job in the celestial court we cannot doubt that he will
stand the test, even if disturbed for a time.

A second time the same high court is held. The first experiment of the
Adversary has failed, and this magnified earthly monarch, the Jehovah of
the story, begins to suspect that he has allowed a good man to be
plagued with no sufficient motive. Admiringly he exclaims, pointing to
Job, ‘And still he holds fast his integrity, so that thou didst incite
me against him to annihilate him without cause’ (ii. 3). Another
sarcastic word from the Adversary (‘Touch his bone and his flesh, and
then see....’), and once more he receives permission to try Job. The
affliction this time is elephantiasis, the most loathsome and dangerous
form of leprosy. But Job’s piety stands fast. He sits down on the heap
of burnt dung and ashes at the entrance of the village, such as those
where lepers are still wont to congregate, and meets the despairing
counsel of his wife (comp. Tobit’s wife, Tob. ii. 14) to renounce a God
from whom nothing more is to be hoped but death with a calm and pious
rebuke. So baseless was the malicious suggestion of the Satan! Meantime
many months pass away (vii. 3), and no friend appears to condole with
him. Travelling is slow in the East, and Job’s three friends[6] were
Emeers like himself (the Sept. makes them kings), and their residences
would be at some distance from each other. At last they come, but they
cannot recognise Job’s features, distorted by disease (as Isa. lii. 14).
Overpowered with surprise and grief, they sit down with him for seven
days and seven nights (comp. Ezek. iii. 15). Up to this point no fault
can be found with his friends.

                              I never yet did hear
            That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.

            (_Othello_, act i, scene 3.)

It was their deep, unspoken sympathy which encouraged him to vent his
sorrow in a flood of unpurified emotion (chap. iii.) The very next thing
recorded of Job is that he ‘opened his mouth and cursed his day’ (i.e.
his birthday; see ver. 3). This may at least be the poet’s meaning,
though it is also possible that the prologue and the body of the poem
are not homogeneous. Not to mention other reasons at present, the tone
of Job’s speech in chap. iii. (the chapter read by Swift on his
birthday) is entirely different from the stedfast resignation of his
reply to his wife, which, as Prof. Davidson has said, ‘reveals still
greater deeps in Job’s reverent piety’ than the benediction at the end
of chap. i., the latter being called forth not by the infliction of
positive evil, but merely by the withdrawal of unguaranteed favours.

How strangely vivid were the sensations of the race to which the author
of Job belonged! How great to him must have been the pleasures of
existence, and how great the pains! Nothing to him was merely
subjectively true: his feelings were infallible, and that which seemed
to be was. Time, for instance, had an objective reality: the days of the
year had a kind of life of their own (comp. Ps. xix. 2) and paid
annually recurring visits to mankind. Hence Job, like Jeremiah (Jer. xx.
14-18), in the violence of his passion[7] can wish to retaliate on the
instrument of his misery by ‘cursing his day.’

            Perish the day wherein I was born,
            and the night which said, A man has been conceived.

            (iii. 3; comp. 6);

i.e. let my birthday become a blank in the calendar. Or, if this be too
much and the anniversary, so sad to me, must come round, then let
magicians cast their spell[8] upon it and make it an unlucky day (such
as the Babylonians had in abundance).

             Let them curse it that curse days,
             that are skilful to rouse the leviathan (iii. 8);

i.e. the cloud dragon (vii. 12, xxvi. 13, Isaiah li. 9, Jer. li. 34),
the enemy of the sun (an allusion to a widely spread solar myth). So
fare it with the day which might, by hindering Job’s birth, have ‘hid
sorrow from his eyes!’ Even if he must be born, why could he not have
died at once and escaped his ill fortune in the quiet phantom world
(iii. 13-19)? Alas! this melancholy dream does but aggravate Job’s
mental agony. He broods on the horror of his situation, and even makes a
shy allusion to God as the author of his woe—

                 Wherefore gives he light to the miserable,
                 and life to the bitter in soul? (iii. 20.)

And now Job’s friends are shaken out of their composure. They have been
meditating on Job’s calamity, which is so difficult to reconcile with
their previous high opinion of him; for they are the representatives of
orthodoxy, of the orthodoxy which received the high sanction of the
Deuteronomic _Tōra_, and which connected obedience and prosperity,
disobedience and adversity. Still it is not a stiff, extreme orthodoxy
which the three friends maintain: calamity, as Eliphaz represents their
opinion (v. 17; comp. 27), is not always a punishment, but sometimes a
discipline. The question therefore has forced itself upon them, Has the
calamity which has befallen our friend a judicial or a disciplinary,
educational purpose? At first they may have leaned to the latter
alternative; but Job’s violent outburst, so unbecoming in a devout man,
too clearly pointed in the other direction, and already they are
beginning to lose their first hopeful view of his case. One after
another they debate the question with Job (Eliphaz as the depositary of
a revelation, Bildad as the advocate of tradition, Zophar as the man of
common sense)—the question of the cause and meaning of his sufferings,
which means further, since Job is not merely an individual but a
type,[9] the question of the vast mass of evil in the world. This main
part of the work falls into three cycles of dialogue (ch. iv.-xiv., ch.
xv.-xxi., ch. xxii.-xxxi.) In each there are three pairs of speeches,
belonging respectively to Eliphaz and Job, Bildad and Job, Zophar and
Job. Eliphaz opens the debate as being the oldest (xv. 10) and the most
experienced of Job’s friends. There is much to admire in his speech; if
he could only have adopted the tone of a sympathising friend and not of
a lecturer—

               Behold, this have we searched out; so it is;
               hear thou it, and know it for thyself (v. 27)—

he might have been useful to the sufferer. At the very beginning he
strikes a wrong key-note, expressing surprise at his friend’s utter loss
of self-control (_vattibbāhēl_, ver. 4), and couching it in such a form
that one would really suppose Job to have broken down at the first taste
of trouble. The view of the speaker seems to be that, since Job is
really a pious man (for Eliphaz does not as yet presume to doubt this),
he ought to feel sure that his trouble would not proceed beyond a
certain point. ‘Bethink thee now,’ says Eliphaz, ‘who ever _perished_,
being innocent?’ (iv. 7.) Some amount of trouble even a good man may
fairly expect; though far from ‘ploughing iniquity,’ he is too weak not
to fall into sins of error, and all sin involves suffering; or, as
Eliphaz puts it concisely—

                      Man is born to trouble,
                      as the sparks fly upward (v. 7).

Assuming without any reason that Job would question this, Eliphaz
enforces the moral imperfection of human nature by an appeal to
revelation—not, of course, to Moses and the prophets, but to a vision
like those of the patriarchs in Genesis. Of the circumstances of the
revelation a most graphic account is given.

             And to myself came an oracle stealthily,
             and mine ear received the whisper thereof,
             in the play of thought from nightly visions,
             when deep sleep falls upon men,
             a shudder came upon me and a trembling,
             and made all my bones to shudder,
             when (see!) a wind sweeps before me,
             the hairs of my body bristle up:
             it stands, but I cannot discern it,
             I gaze, but there is no form,
             before mine eyes (is) ...
             and I hear a murmuring voice.[10]
             ‘Can human kind be righteous before God?
             can man be pure before his Maker?
             Behold, he trusts not his own servants,
             and imputes error to his angels[11]’. (iv. 12-18).

There is no such weird passage in the rest of the Old Testament. It did
not escape the attention of Milton, whose description of death alludes
to it.

              If shape it could be called that shape had none,
              Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;
              Or substance might be called that shadow seemed.

              (_Par. Lost_, ii. 266.)

A single phrase (‘a murmuring voice,’ ver. 16) is borrowed from the
theophany of Elijah (1 Kings xix. 12), but the strokes which paint the
scene, and which Milton and Blake between them have more than
reproduced, are all his own. The supernatural terror, the wind
betokening a spiritual visitor, the straining eyes which can discern no
form, the whispering voice always associated with oracles[12]—each of
these awful experiences we seem to share. Eliphaz himself recalls his
impressions so vividly that he involuntarily uses the present tense in
describing them.

But why should Eliphaz imagine that because Job had not had a revelation
of this kind he is therefore ignorant of the truth? He actually
confounds the complaints wrung from Job by his unparalleled mental and
bodily sufferings with the ‘impatience’ of the ‘foolish man’ and the
‘passion’ of the ‘silly’ one, and warns him against the fate which
within his own experience befell one such rebellious murmurer against
God—an irrelevant remark, unless he has already begun to suspect Job of
impiety. Then, as if he feels that he has gone too far, he addresses Job
in a more hopeful spirit, and tells him what he would do in his place,
viz. turn trustfully to God, whose operations are so unsearchable, but
so benevolent. Let Job regard his present affliction as a chastening and
he may look forward to even more abundant blessings than he has yet
enjoyed.

In these concluding verses Eliphaz certainly does his best to be
sympathetic, but the result shows how utterly he has failed. He has
neither convinced Job’s reason nor calmed the violence of his emotion.
It is now Job’s turn to reply. He is not, indeed, in a mood to answer
Eliphaz point by point. Passing over the ungenerous reference to the
fate of the rebellious, which he can hardly believe to be seriously
meant, Job first of all justifies the despair which has so astonished
Eliphaz.[13] Since the latter is so cool and so critical, let him weigh
Job’s calamity as well as his words, and see if the extravagance of the
latter is not excusable. Are these arrow wounds the fruit of
chastisement? Does the Divine love disguise itself as terror? The good
man is never allowed to perish, you say; but how much longer can a body
of flesh hold out? Why should I not even desire death? God may be my
enemy, but I have given Him no cause. And now, if He would be my friend,
the only favour I crave is that He would shorten my agony.

         Then should (this) still be my comfort
         (I would leap amidst unsparing pain),
         that I have not denied the words of the Holy One (vi. 10).

Job’s demeanour is thus fully accounted for; it is that of his friends
which is unnatural and disappointing.

           My brethren have been treacherous as a winter stream,
           as the bed of winter streams which pass away:
           (once) they were turbid with ice,
           and the snow, as it fell, hid itself in them;
           but now that they feel the glow they vanish,
           when it is hot they disappear from their place.
           Caravans bend their course;
           they go up into the desert and perish.
           The caravans of Tema looked;
           the companies of Sheba hoped for them;[14]
           they were abashed because they had been confident;
           when they came thither they were ashamed (vi. 15-20).

And was it a hard thing that Job asked of his friends? No; merely
sympathy. And not only have they withheld this; Eliphaz has even
insinuated that Job was an open sinner. Surely neither honesty nor
wisdom is shown in such captious criticism of Job’s expressions.

      How forcible is honest language,
      and how cogent is the censure of a wise man!
      Think ye to censure words,
      and the passionate speech of one who is desperate? (vi. 25, 26.)

With an assertion of his innocence, and a renewed challenge to disprove
it, this, the easiest part of Job’s first reply, concludes.

And now, having secured his right to complain, Job freely avails himself
of his melancholy privilege. A ‘desperate’ man cares not to choose his
words, though the reverence which never ceased to exist deep down in
Job’s nature prompts him to excuse his delirious words by a reference to
his bitter anguish (vii. 11). Another excuse which he might have given
lies on the very surface of the poem, which is coloured throughout by
the poet’s deep sympathy with human misery in general. Job in fact is
not merely an individual, but a representative of mankind; and when he
asks himself at the beginning of chap. vii.—

           Has not frail man a warfare [hard service] upon earth,
           and are not his days like the days of a hireling?—

it is not merely one of the countless thoughts which are like foam
bubbles, but the expression of a serious interest, which raises Job far,
very far above the patriarchal prince of the legend in the Prologue. It
is the very exaggeration of this interest which alone explains why the
thought of his fellow-sufferers not only brings no comfort[15] to Job,
but fails even to calm his excitement.

               Am I the sea (he says) or the sea monster,
               that thou settest a watch over me? (vii. 12.)

It is an allusion to a myth, based on the continual ‘war in heaven’
between light and darkness, which we have in these lines. Job asks if he
is the leviathan (iii. 8) of that upper ocean above which dwells the
invisible God (ix. 8, Ps. civ. 3). He describes Jehovah as being jealous
(comp. Gen. iii. 4, 5, 22) and thinking it of importance to subdue Job’s
wild nature, lest he should thwart the Divine purposes. But here, again,
Job rises above himself; the sorrows of all innocent sufferers are as
present to him as his own; nay, more, he bears them as a part of his
own; he represents mankind with God. In a bitter parody of Ps. viii. 5
he exclaims—

          What is frail man that Thou treatest him as a great one
          and settest Thy mind upon him;
          that Thou scrutinisest him every morning,
          and art every moment testing him? (vii. 17, 18.)

It is only now and then that Job expresses this feeling of sympathetic
union with the human race. Generally his secret thought (or that of his
poet) translates itself into a self-consciousness which seems morbidly
extravagant on any other view of the poem. The descriptions of his
physical pains, however, are true to the facts of the disease called
elephantiasis, from which he may be supposed to have suffered. His cry
for death is justified by his condition—‘death rather than (these) my
pains’[16] (vii. 15). He has no respite from his agony; ‘nights of
misery,’ he says, ‘have been allotted to me’ (vii. 3), probably because
his pains were more severe in the night (xxx. 17). How can it be worth
while, he asks, thus to persecute him? Even if Eliphaz be right, and Job
has been a sinner, yet how can this affect the Most High?

               (Even) if I have sinned, what do I unto thee,
               O thou watcher of men? (vii. 20.)

What bitter irony again! He admits a vigilance in God, but only the
vigilance of ‘espionage’ (xiii. 27, xiv. 16), not that of friendly
guardianship; God only aims at procuring a long catalogue of punishable
sins. Why not forgive those sins and relieve Himself from a troublesome
task? Soon it will be too late: a pathetic touch revealing a latent
belief in God’s mercy which no calamity could destroy.

Thus to the blurred vision of the agonised sufferer the moral God whom
he used to worship has been transformed into an unreasoning, unpitying
Force. Bildad is shocked at this. ‘Can God pervert judgment’? (viii. 3.)
In his short speech he reaffirms the doctrine of proportionate
retribution, and exhorts Job to ‘seek earnestly unto God’ (viii. 5),
thus clearly implying that Job is being punished for his sins.[17]
Instead of basing his doctrine on revelation, Bildad supports the side
of it relative to the wicked by an appeal to the common consent of
mankind previously to the present generation (viii. 8, 9). This common
consent, this traditional wisdom, is embodied in proverbial ‘dark
sayings,’ as, for instance—

          Can the papyrus grow up without marsh?
          can the Nile reed shoot up without water?
          While yet in its verdure, uncut,
          it withers before any grass.
          So fares it with all that forget God,
          and the hope of the impious shall perish (viii. 11-13).

It is interesting to see at how early a date the argument in favour of
Theism was rested to some extent on tradition. ‘We are of yesterday, and
know nothing,’ says Bildad, ‘because our days on earth are a shadow’
(viii. 9), whereas the wisdom of the past is centuries old, and has a
stability to which Job’s novelties (or, for this is the poet’s meaning,
those of the new sceptical school of the Exile) cannot pretend. But Job
at least is better than his theories, so Eliphaz and Bildad are still
charitable enough to believe, and the closing words of the speech of
Bildad clear up any possible doubt with regard to his opinion of erring
but still whole-hearted[18] (‘perfect’) Job.

          Those that hate thee shalt be clothed with shame,
          and the tent of the wicked shall be no more (viii. 22).

But Job has much to say in reply. He ironically admits the truth of the
saying, ‘How can man be righteous with God?’ but the sense in which he
applies the words is very different from that given to them by his
friends. Of course God is righteous (‘righteousness’ in Semitic
languages sometimes means ‘victory’), because He is so mighty that no
one, however innocent, could plead successfully before Him. This thought
suggests a noble description of the stupendous displays of God’s might
in nature (ix. 5-10). The verse with which it closes is adopted from
Eliphaz, in whose first speech to Job it forms the text of a quiet
picture of God’s everyday miracles of benevolence to man (v. 9). Where
Eliphaz sees power, wisdom, and love, Job can see only a force which is
terrible in proportion to its wisdom. The predominant quality in this
idol of Job’s imagination is not love, but anger—capricious, inexorable
anger, which long ago ‘the helpers of Rahab’ (another name for the storm
dragon, which fought against the sun) experienced to their cost (ix. 13;
comp. xxvi. 12). Job himself is in collision with this force; and how
should he venture to defend himself? The tortures he endured would force
from him an avowal of untruths (ix. 20). If only God were a man, or if
there were an umpire whose authority would be recognised on both sides,
how gladly would Job submit his case to adjudication! But, alas! God
stands over against him with His rod (ix. 32-34). Bildad had said, ‘God
will not cast away a perfect man’ (viii. 20). But Job’s experience is,
‘He destroys the perfect and the wicked’ (ix. 22). Thus Job has many
fellow-sufferers, and one good effect of his trial is that it has opened
his eyes to the religious bearings of facts which he had long known but
not before now seriously pondered.

At last a milder spirit comes upon the sufferer. He has been in the
habit of communion with God, and cannot bear to be condemned without
knowing the cause (x. 2). How, he enquires, can God have the heart to
torture that which has cost Him so much thought (comp. Isa. lxv. 8, 9)?
A man is not a common potter’s vessel, but framed with elaborate skill.

            Thy hands fashioned and prepared me;
            afterwards dost thou turn[19] and destroy me?
            Remember now that as clay thou didst prepare me,
            and dost thou turn me into dust again?
            Life and favour dost thou grant me,
            and thine oversight guarded my spirit (x. 8, 9, 12).

God appeared to be kind then; but, since God sees the end from the
beginning, it is too clear that He must have done all this simply in
order to mature a perfect human sacrifice to His own cruel self-will.
Job’s milder spirit has evidently fled. He repeats his wish that he had
never lived (x. 18, 19), and only craves a few brighter moments before
he departs to the land of darkness (x. 20-22).

It was not likely that Zophar would be more capable of rightly advising
Job than his elders. Having had no experience to soften him, he pours
out a flood of crude dogmatic commonplaces, and in the complaints wrung
from a troubled spirit can see nothing but ‘a multitude of words’ (xi.
2). Yet he only just misses making an important contribution to the
settlement of the problem. He has caught a glimpse of a supernatural
wisdom, to which the secrets of all hearts are open:—

            But oh that God [Eloah] would speak,
            and open his lips against thee.
            and show thee the secrets of wisdom,
            for wondrous are they in perfection![20]
            Canst thou find the depths of God [Eloah]?
            canst thou reach to the end of Shaddai?
            Heights of heaven! what canst thou do?
            deeper than Sheól! what canst thou know? (xi. 5-8.)

If Zophar had worked out this idea impartially, he might have given to
the discussion a fresh and more profitable turn. He is so taken up with
the traditional orthodoxy, however, that he has no room for a deeper
view of the problem. His inference is that, in virtue of His perfect
knowledge, God can detect sin where man sees none, though that cruellest
touch of all with which the Massoretic text[21] burdens the reputation
of Zophar is not supported by the more accurate text of the Septuagint,
and we should read xi. 6 thus:

          and thou shouldest know that God [Eloah] gives unto thee
          thy deserts[22] for thine iniquity.

But indeed a special revelation ought not to be necessary for Job. His
trouble, proceeding as it does from one no less wise than irresistible
(xi. 10, 11), ought to dispel his dream of innocence; as Zophar
generalises, when God’s judgments are abroad—

            (Even) an empty head wins understanding,
            and a wild ass’s colt is new-born as a man (xi. 12).

We may pass over the brilliant description of prosperity consequent on a
true repentance with which the chapter concludes. It fell quite unheeded
on the ears of Job, who was more stung by the irritating speech of
Zophar than by those of Eliphaz and Bildad.

The taunt conveyed indirectly by Zophar in xi. 12 is exposed in all its
futility in the reply of Job. Zophar himself, however, he disdains to
argue with; there is the same intolerable assumption of superiority in
the speeches of all the three, and this he assails with potent sarcasm.

              No doubt ye are mankind,
              and with you shall wisdom die.
              I too have understanding like you,
              and who knows not the like of this? (xii. 2, 3.)

In what respect, pray, is he inferior to his friends? Has Eliphaz
enjoyed a specially unique revelation? Job has had a still better
opportunity of learning spiritual truth in communion of the heart with
God (xii. 4). Is Bildad an unwearied collector of the wisdom of
antiquity? Job too admits the value of tradition, though he will not
receive it unproved (xii. 11, 12). In declamation, too, Job can vie with
the arrogant Zophar; Job’s description of the omnipotence of God forms
the counterpart of Zophar’s description of His omniscience. But of what
account are generalities in face of such a problem as Job’s? The
question of questions is not, Has God all power and all wisdom, but,
Does He use them for moral ends? The three friends refuse to look facts
in the face; the _righteous_ God (we must understand the words, _if
there be one_) will surely chastise them for insincerity and
partisanship (xiii. 10).

And now Job refuses to waste any more words on his opponents.

            But as for me, to Shaddai would I speak,
            I crave to reason with God;
            But ye—are plasterers of lies,
            patchers of that which is worthless.
            Your commonplaces are proverbs of ashes;
            your bulwarks are bulwarks of clay (xiii. 3, 4, 12).

He forms a new project, but shudders as he does so, for he feels sure of
provoking God thereby to deadly anger. Be it so; a man who has borne
till he can bear no longer can even welcome death.

      Behold, let him slay me; I can wait [be patient] no longer;[23]
      still I will defend my ways to his face (xiii. 15).

It is the sublimest of all affirmations of the rights of conscience. Job
is confident of the success of his plea: ‘This also (guarantees) victory
to me, that an impious man cannot come before him’ (xiii. 16) with such
a good conscience. Thus virtue has an intrinsic value for Job, superior
to that of prosperity or even life: moral victory would more than
compensate for physical failure. He indulges the thought that God may
personally take part in the argument (xiii. 20-22), and in anticipation
of this he sums up the chief points of his intended speech (xiii.
23-xiv. 22), such as, ‘How many[24] are my sins,’ and ‘Why chase dry
stubble?’ (xiii. 23, 25). Sad complaints of the melancholy lot of
mankind follow, reminding us again that Job, like Dante in his
pilgrimage, is not only an individual but a representative.

        Man that is born of woman,
        short-lived and full of unrest,
        comes up as a flower and fades,
        flies as a shadow and continues not.
        And upon such an one keepest thou thine eye open,
        and me dost thou bring into judgment with thee! (xiv. 1-3.)

Hard enough is the natural fate of man; why make it harder by
exceptional severity? An early reader misunderstood this, and thought to
strengthen Job’s appeal by a reference (in ver. 4) to one of the
commonplaces of Eliphaz (iv. 17-21). But ver. 5 shows that the idea
which fills the mind of Job is the shortness of human life.[25] A tree,
when cut down according to the rules still current in Syria,[26]
displays a marvellous vitality; but man is only like the falling leaves
of a tree (xiii. 25), or (the figure preferred here) like the canals of
Egypt when the dykes and reservoirs are not properly kept up (xiv. 11;
comp. Isaiah xix. 5, 6). If it were God’s will to ‘hide’ Job in dark
Sheól for a time, and then to recall him to the light, how gladly would
he ‘wait’ there, like a soldier on guard (comp. vii. 1), till his
‘relief’ came (xiv. 14)!—a fascinating thought, on which, baseless
though he considers it, Job cannot forbear to dwell. And the beauty of
the passage is that the happiness of restoration to conscious life
consists for Job in the renewal of loving communion between himself and
his God (xiv. 15). Alas! the dim light of Sheól darkens the glorious
vision and sends Job back into despair.

Footnote 4:

  Jerome already saw this. He represents the Book of Job as composed
  mainly in hexameters with a dactylic and spondaic movement (_Præf. in
  Job_). Does he mean double trimeters?

Footnote 5:

  Where is the ‘Uz’ spoken of in Job i. 1? The ‘land of _Uzza_’ seems to
  have been not far from the Orontes (Shalmaneser’s Obelisk; see Friedr.
  Delitzsch’s _Paradies_, p. 259). Tradition places the home of Job in
  the fertile volcanic region called the Haurân (see the very full
  excursus in Delitzsch’s _Job_). But the ‘land of Uz’ _might_ be
  farther south, nearer to Edom, in connection with which it is
  mentioned, Lam. iv. 21, Gen. xxxvi. 28 (comp. ver. 21). This is
  supported by the curious note appended to the Book of Job in the
  Septuagint. It is true that Uz is called a son of Aram (Gen. x. 23),
  but ‘Uz’ may have had several branches, or the use of Aramaic may have
  extended far beyond the limits of Aram proper.

Footnote 6:

  Of the three friends Eliphaz comes from the Edomitish district of
  Teman, so famous for its wisdom; Bildad from the land of Shuah (‘Suhu’
  lay, according to the inscriptions, between the mouths of the Belich
  and the Khabur, confluents of the Euphrates); Zophar from Naamah, some
  unknown district east of the Jordan. How well these notes of place
  agree with the Aramaic colouring of the book!

Footnote 7:

  Bishop Lowth (_Prælect._ xxxiii.) admires the dramatic tact with which
  the poet makes Job err at first merely by the exaggeration of his
  complaints, thus inviting censure, which in turn leads to bold
  misstatements on Job’s part.

Footnote 8:

   For a late Egyptian incantation of this class see Ancessi, _Job et le
  Rédempteur_, pp. 240-1; for the dragon myth itself see Cheyne’s note
  in the _Prophecies of Isaiah_ (on Isa. xxvii. 1) and in the _Pulpit
  Comm. on Jeremiah_ (on Jer. li. 34).

Footnote 9:

  See Chap. VII. (end of Section 2).

Footnote 10:

  The translation follows Bickell’s text. The correction in line 2 of
  ver. 16 is from the Septuagint; the transposition in line 4 is
  suggested by 1 Kings xix. 12.

Footnote 11:

  So xv. 15. M. Lenormant compares Gen. vi. 1-4 (an incomplete
  fragment). See above on the ‘sons of the Elohim’ of the prologue, and
  comp. Chap. X.

Footnote 12:

  Compare the Hebrew _ne’ūm_ in a common prophetic formula.

Footnote 13:

  The following lines develope what Job may be supposed to have had in
  his mind.

Footnote 14:

  Thomson has finely but inaccurately paraphrased this, changing the
  localities:—

                              ‘In Cairo’s crowded streets
        The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain,
        And Mecca saddens at the long delay.’

        (_Summer_, 980-2; of the caravan which perished in the storm.)

Footnote 15:

  Contrast the touchingly natural expressions of an Arabian poet,
  translated by Rückert (_Hamâsa_, ii. 315):—

                     ‘Gieng es nicht wie mir vil andern,
                     Würd’ ich’s nicht ertragen;
                     Doch wo ich nur will, gibt Antwort
                     Klage meinen Klagen.’

  The same sentiment is expressed more than once again; comp. Buddha’s
  apologue of the mustard seed.

Footnote 16:

  So Merx and Bickell. Text, ‘my bones.’

Footnote 17:

  Bildad more than implies that the fate which overtook Job’s children
  was the punishment of iniquity (viii. 4). Wonderful harshness!

Footnote 18:

  See viii. 20. Bildad agrees with the statement in the prologue (i. 1).

Footnote 19:

  Following Sept., with Merx and Bickell.

Footnote 20:

  Comp. Isa. xxviii. 29 (Heb.) By a slight error of the ear the copyist
  whom our Hebrew Bibles follow put a Yōd for an Alef. Hence the
  Massoretic critics pronounce _kiflayim_ ‘twofold,’ instead of
  _kif’lāim_ ‘like wonders:’ following this text, Davidson renders,
  ‘that it is double in (true) understanding.’

Footnote 21:

  Literally ‘... that God brings into forgetfulness for thee some of thy
  guilt.’

Footnote 22:

  Following Sept., with Bickell. Comp. the Hebrew of Job xxxiii. 27.

Footnote 23:

  This rendering is based on the reading of the Hebrew margin. The
  Hebrew text has, ‘Behold, should he slay me, for him would I wait,’
  implying an expectation of a Divine interposition in Job’s favour
  after his death. But this idea is against the connection; besides
  which the restrictive particle ‘only’ (nearly = still) agrees better
  with the other reading and rendering. ‘Wait’ means ‘wait for a change
  for the better,’ as in vi. 11, which occurs in a similar context.

Footnote 24:

  He admits that he is not without sins (comp. ver. 26).

Footnote 25:

  Comp. the well-known lamentation of Moschus (iii. 106-111).

Footnote 26:

  See the notices from Wetzstein in Delitzsch.




                              CHAPTER II.
                     THE SECOND CYCLE OF SPEECHES.
                           (CHAPS. XV.-XXI.)


The three narrow-minded but well-meaning friends have exhausted their
arsenal of arguments. Each with his own favourite receipt has tried to
cure Job of his miserable illusion, and failed. Now begins a new cycle
of speeches, in which our sympathy is still more with Job than before.
His replies to the three friends ought to have shown them the
incompleteness of their argument and the necessity of discovering some
way of reconciling the elements of truth on both sides. _They_ can teach
him nothing, but the facts of spiritual experience which _he_ has
expounded ought to have taught them much. But all that they have learned
is the impossibility of bringing Job to self-humiliation by dwelling
upon the Divine attributes. No doubt their excuse lies in the
irreverence of their friend’s manner and expressions. It is a part of
the tragedy of Job that the advice which was meant for practical
sympathy only resulted in separating Job for a time both from God and
from his friends. The narrow views of the latter drove Job to
irreverence, and his irreverence deprived him of the lingering respect
of his friends and seemed to himself at times to cut off the slender
chance of a reconciliation with God. From this point onwards the friends
cease to offer their supposed ‘Divine consolations’ (xv. 11)—such as the
gracious purpose of God’s ways and the corrective object of affliction
(v. 8-27)—and content themselves with frightening Job by lurid pictures
of the wicked man’s fate, leading up, in the third cycle of speeches, to
a direct accusation of Job as a wicked man himself. And yet, strange to
say, as the tone of the friends becomes harsher and more cutting, Job
meets their vituperation with growing calmness and dignity. Disappointed
in his friends, he clings with convulsive energy to that never quite
surrendered postulate of his consciousness a God who owns the moral
claims of a creature on the Creator. Remarkable indeed is the first
distinct expression of this faith of the heart, of which an antiquated
orthodoxy sought to deprive him. He has just listened to the
personalities, the cruel assumptions, and the shallow commonplaces of
Eliphaz (who treats Job as an arrogant pretender and a self-convicted
blaspheming sinner), and with a few words of utter contempt he turns his
back on his ‘tormenting[27] comforters’ (xvi. 2). (Soon, however, he
will appeal to them for sympathy; so strong is human nature! See xix.
21.) Left to his own melancholy thoughts, he repeats the sad details of
his misery and of God’s hostility (and again we feel that the poet
thinks of suffering humanity in general[28]), and reasserts his
innocence in language afterwards used of the suffering Servant of
Jehovah (xvi. 17; comp. Isaiah liii. 9). Then in the highest excitement
he demands vengeance for his blood. But who is the avenger of blood but
God (xix. 25; comp. Ps. ix. 12)—the very Foe who is bringing him to
death? And hence the strange but welcome thought that behind the God of
pitiless force and undiscriminating severity there must be a God who
recognises and returns the love of His servants, or, in the fine words
of the Korán, ‘that there is no refuge from God but unto Him.’[29] ‘Even
now,’ as he lies on the rubbish-heap—

             Even now, behold, my Witness is in heaven,
             and he that vouches for me is on high.
             My friends (have become) my scorners;
             mine eye sheds tears unto God—
             that he would right a man against God,
             and a son of man against his friend (xvi. 20, 21).

It is a turning-point in the mental struggles of Job. He cannot indeed
account for his sufferings, but he ceases to regard God as an unfeeling
tyrant. He has a germ of faith in God’s goodwill towards him—only a
germ, but we are sure, even without the close of the story, that it will
grow up and bear the fruit of peace. And now, perhaps, we may qualify
the reproach addressed above to Job’s friends. It is true that they have
driven Job to irreverent speeches respecting God, but they have also
made it possible for him to reach the intuition (which the prophetic
Eliphaz has missed) of an affinity between the Divine nature and the
human. In an earlier speech (ix. 32-35) he has already expressed a
longing for an arbiter between himself and God. That longing is now
beginning to be gratified by the certitude that, though the God in the
world may be against him, the God in heaven is on his side. Not that
even God can undo the past; Job requests no interference with the
processes of nature. (Did the writer think that Job lived outside the
sphere of the age of miracles?) All that he asks is a pledge from God,
his Witness, to see his innocence recognised by God, his Persecutor
(xvii. 3). So far we are listening to Job the individual. But
immediately after we find the speaker exhibiting himself as the type of
a class—the class or representative category of innocent sufferers. Job,
then, has a dual aspect, like his God.

       And he hath set me for a byword of peoples,
       and I am one in whose face men spit.
       At this the upright are appalled,
       and the innocent stirs himself up against the impious;
       but the righteous holds on his way,
       and he who has clean hands waxes stronger and stronger
                                                     (xvii. 6, 7, 9).

Here it is difficult not to see that the circumstances of the poet’s age
are reflected in his words. The whole Jewish nation became ‘a byword of
peoples’ during the exile,[30] and the mutual sympathy of its members
was continually taxed. It was a paradox which never lost its strangeness
that a ‘Servant of Jehovah’ should be trampled upon by unbelievers, and
the persecutor was rewarded by the silent indignation of all good Jews.
That this is the right view is shown by the depression into which Job
falls in vv. 11-16, in spite of the elevating passage quoted above.

Bildad’s speech, with its barbed allusions to Job’s sad history, had a
twofold effect. First of all it raised the anguish of Job to its highest
point, and, secondly, it threw the sufferer back on that great
intuition, already reached by him, of a Divine Witness to his integrity
in the heavens. It is a misfortune which can scarcely be appraised too
highly that the text of the famous declaration in xix. 25-27 is so
uncertain. ‘The embarrassment of the English translators,’ remarks Prof.
Green, of Princeton,[31] ‘is shown by the unusual number of italic
words, and these of no small importance to the meaning, which are heaped
together in these verses.’ It is scarcely greater, however, than that of
the ancient versions, and we can hardly doubt that the text used by the
Septuagint translator was already at least as corrupt as that which has
descended to us from the Massoretic critics.[32] This would the more
easily be the case since, as Prof. Green says again, ‘Job is speaking
under strong excitement and in the language of lofty poetry; he uses no
superfluous words; he simply indicates his meaning in the most concise
manner.’ Without now entering on a philological discussion, we have, I
think, to choose between these alternatives, one of which involves
emending the text, the other does not. Does Job simply repeat what he
has said in xvi. 18, 19 (viz. that God will avenge his blood and make
reparation, as it were, for his death by testifying to his innocence),
without referring to any consequent pleasure of his own, or does he
combine with this the delightful thought expressed in xiv. 13-15 of a
conscious renewal of communion with God after death?[33] The context, it
seems to me, is best satisfied by the former alternative. Job’s mind is
at present occupied with the cruelty, not of God (as when he said, ‘O
that thou wouldst appoint me a term and then remember me,’ xiv. 13), but
of his friends. His starting-point is, ‘How long will ye (my friends)
pain my soul?’ &c. (xix. 2.) We may admit that the best solution of
Job’s problem would be ‘the beatific vision’ in some early and not
clearly defined form of that deep idea; but if Job can say that he not
merely dreams but _knows_ this (‘I _know_ that ... I shall see God,’
xix. 25, 26), the remainder of the colloquies ought surely to pursue a
very different course; as a matter of fact, neither Job nor his friends,
nor yet Jehovah Himself, refers to this supposed newly-won truth, and
the only part of ‘Job’s deepest saying’ which the next speaker fastens
upon (xx. 3) is the threatening conclusion (xix. 29). Ewald himself has
drawn attention to this, without remarking its adverse bearing on his
own interpretation.[34]

Here, side by side, are Dr. A. B. Davidson’s and Dr. W. H. Green’s
translations of the received text of vv. 25-27, and Dr. Bickell’s
version of his own emended text.

             But I know that my redeemer liveth,
             and in after time he shall stand upon the dust[35]
             and after this my skin is destroyed
             and without my flesh I shall see God:
             whom I shall see for myself,
             and mine eyes shall behold, and not another—
             my reins consume within me!

And I know my redeemer liveth, and last on earth shall he arise; and
after my skin, which has been destroyed thus, and out of my flesh [i.e.
when my vital spirit shall be separated from my flesh] shall I see
God....

                      Ich weiss, es lebt mein Retter,
                    Wird noch auf meinem Staub stehn;
                      Zuletzt wird Gott mein Zeuge,
                    Lässt meine Unschuld schauen,
                      Die ich allein jetzt schaun kann,
                    Mein Auge und kein andres.

Most critics are now agreed that the immediately preceding words (vv.
23, 24) are not an introduction, as if vv. 25-27 composed the rock
inscription. Job first of all wishes what he knows to be impossible, and
then announces a far better thing of which he is sure. His wish runs
thus:

                  Would then that they were written down—
                  my words—in a book, and engraved
                  with a pen of iron, and with lead
                  cut out for a witness in the rock.[36]

But whatever view we take of the prospect which gladdened the mind of
Job, his remaining speeches contain no further reference to it.
Henceforth his thoughts appear to dwell less on his own condition, and
more on the general question of God’s moral government, and even when
the former is spoken of it is without the old bitterness. In his next
speech, stirred up by the gross violence of Zophar, Job for the first
time meets the assertions of the three friends in this cycle of
argument, viz. that the wicked, at any rate, always get their deserts,
and, according to Zophar, suddenly and overwhelmingly. He meets them by
a direct negative, though in doing so he is as much perturbed as when he
proclaimed his own innocence to God’s face. He is familiar now with the
thought that the righteous are not always recompensed, but it fills him
with horror to think that the Governor of the world even leaves the
wicked in undeserved prosperity, as if, in the language of Eliphaz, He
could not ‘judge through the thick clouds’ (xxii. 16).

             Why do the wicked live on,
             become old, yea, are mighty in power?
             Their houses are safe, without fear,
             neither is Eloah’s rod upon them.
             They wear away their days in happiness,
             and go down to Sheól in a moment (xxi. 7, 9, 13).

Footnote 27:

  Miss E. Smith’s rendering, ‘irksome,’ Renan’s ‘insupportable,’ are not
  definite enough. Job means that his would-be comforters do but
  aggravate his unease.

Footnote 28:

  Notice the expressions in xvi. 10, and comp. Ps. xxii. 7, 12, 13. (Ps.
  xxii., like the Book of Job, has some features which belong to an
  individual and some to a collection of sufferers.) Job would never
  have spoken of his friends in the terms used in xvi. 10, 11.

Footnote 29:

  Sur. ix. 119.

Footnote 30:

  Comp. Ps. xxii. 6, Isa. xlix. 7, Joel ii. 17 (where we should render
  ‘make a byword upon them’).

Footnote 31:

  _The Argument of the Book of Job_ (1881), p. 200.

Footnote 32:

  Dr. Hermann Schultz is an unexceptionable witness, because his tastes
  lead him more to Biblical and dogmatic theology than to minute textual
  studies. He is convinced, he says, after each fresh examination, of
  ‘the baffling intricacy and obscurity and the probable corruption of
  the text’ (_Alttestamentliche Theologie_, ed. 2 [1878], pp. 661-2).

Footnote 33:

  I agree with Dr. W. H. Green that the third view, which ‘conceives Job
  to be here looking forward, not to a future state, but to the
  restoration of God’s favour and his own deliverance out of all his
  troubles in the present life,’ is to be rejected. I do not follow him
  in all his reasons, but these two are decisive. 1. Everywhere else Job
  ‘regards himself as on the verge of the grave.... Every earthly hope
  is annulled; every temporal prospect has vanished. He invariably
  repels the idea, whenever his friends present it to him, of any
  improvement of his condition in this world as plainly impossible.’ 2.
  ‘If he here utters his expectation that God will interfere to reward
  his piety in the present life, he completely abandons his own position
  and adopts [that of the friends].’ (_The Argument of Job_, pp. 204-5).

Footnote 34:

  Job’s vindication, thinks Ewald, would be incomplete if at least the
  spirit of the dead man did not witness it.

Footnote 35:

  The dust beneath which Job lies: comp. ‘ye that dwell in dust’ (Isa.
  xxvi. 19).

Footnote 36:

  On the text see Bickell, Merx, Hitzig; on the use of metal for public
  notices see Chabas, quoted by Cook in _Speaker’s Comm._, _ad loc._




                              CHAPTER III.
                      THE THIRD CYCLE OF SPEECHES.
                          (CHAPS. XXII.-XXXI.)


It is not wonderful that the gulf between Job and his friends should
only be widened by such a direct contradiction of the orthodox tenet.
The friends, indeed, cannot but feel the force of Job’s appeal to
experience, as they show by the violence of their invective. But they
are neither candid nor, above all, courageous enough to confess the
truth; they speak, as the philosopher Kant observes, as if they knew
their powerful Client was listening in the background. And so a third
cycle of speeches begins (chaps. xxii.-xxxi.), in which the friends
grasp the only weapon left them and charge Job directly with being a
great sinner. True to his character, however, Eliphaz even here seeks to
soften the effect of his accusations by a string of most enticing
promises, partly worldly and partly other-worldly in their character,
and which in a different context Job would have heartily appreciated
(xxii. 21-30).

But Job cares not to reply to those charges of Eliphaz; his mind is
still too much absorbed in the painful mystery of his own lot and that
of all other righteous sufferers. He longs for God to set up his
tribunal, so that Job and his fellows might plead their cause (xxiii.
3-7, xxiv. 1). What most of all disturbs him is that he cannot see
God—that is cannot detect the operation of that moral God in whom his
heart cannot help believing. ‘I may go forward, but he is not there; and
backward, but I cannot perceive him’ (xxiii. 8). With the ardour of a
pessimist he depicts this failure of justice in the darkest colours
(chap. xxiv.), and is as powerless as ever to reconcile his deep sense
of what God ought to be and must be and the sad realities of life. Upon
this Bildad tries to frighten Job into submission by a picture of God’s
irresistible power, as exhibited not only in heaven and earth, but even
beneath the ocean depths in the realm of the shades (xxv., xxvi. 5-14).
Not a very comforting speech, but fine in its way (if Bildad may really
be credited with all of it), and the speaker frankly allows its
inadequacy.

        Lo! these are the outskirts of his ways,
        and how faintly spoken is that which we hear!
        but the thunder of his power who can understand? (xxvi. 14.)

In a speech, the first which is described as a _mashal_,[37] Job
demolishes his unoriginal and rhetorical opponent, and with dignity
reasserts his innocence (xxvi. 1-4, xxvii. 1-7). He may have said more;
if so, it has been lost. But, in fact, all that was argumentative in
Bildad’s speech was borrowed from Eliphaz, and though Job had the power
(see chaps. ix., xii.), he had not the will to compete with his friends
in rhetoric. The only speaker who is left is Zophar, and, as it is
unlikely that the poet left one of his triads of speeches imperfect, we
may conjecture that xxvii. 8-10, 10-23 belongs to the third speech of
Zophar.[38] Certainly they are most inappropriate in the mouth of Job,
being in direct contradiction to all that he has yet said. If so it
seems very probable that besides the introductory formula a few opening
verses have dropped out of the text. The verses which now stand at the
head of the speech transport us to the disputes of those rival schools
of which Job and his friends were only the representatives. Hence the
use of the plural in ver. 12, of which an earlier instance occurs in the
second speech of Bildad (xviii. 2). What Zophar says is in effect this:
Job’s condition is desperate, for he is an ‘impious’ or ‘godless’ man.
It is too late for any one to attempt to pray when overtaken by a fatal
calamity. For how can he feel that ‘deep delight’ in God which enables a
man to pray, with the confidence of being heard, ‘in every season’ of
life, whether prosperous or the reverse? The rest of the speech is
substantially a repetition of Zophar’s former description of the
retribution of the wicked. It was not to be expected that Job should
reply to this, and accordingly we find that in continuing his _mashal_
(xxix. 1) he utterly ignores his opponents. But unhappily he is almost
as far as ever from a solution of his difficulty. His friends, we may
suppose, have left him, and he is at liberty to revive those melancholy
memories which are all that remain to him of his prosperity.

In chap. xxix. (a fine specimen of flowing, descriptive Hebrew poetry)
Job recalls the honour in which he used to be held, and the beneficent
acts which he was enabled to perform. Modesty were out of place, for he
is already in the state of ‘one turned adrift among the dead’ (Ps.
lxxxviii. 5). The details remind us of many Arabic elegies in the
_Hamâsa_ (e.g. No. 351 in Rückert’s adaptation, vol. i., or 97 in
Freytag). In chaps. xxx., xxxi. he laments, with the same pathetic
self-contemplation, his ruined credit and the terrible progress of his
disease. Then, by a somewhat abrupt transition,[39] he enters upon an
elaborate profession of his innocence, which has been compared to the
solemn repudiation of the forty-two deadly sins by the departed souls of
the good in the Egyptian ‘Book of the Dead.’ The resemblance, however,
must not be pressed too far. Job’s morality, even if predominantly
‘legal,’ has a true ‘evangelical’ tinge. Not merely the act of adultery,
but the glance of lust; not merely unjust gain, but the confidence
reposed in it by the heart; not merely outward conformity to
idol-worship, but the inclination of the heart to false gods, are in his
catalogue of sins. His last words are a reiteration of his deeply
cherished desire for an investigation of his case by Shaddai. With what
proud self-possession he imagines himself approaching the Divine Judge!
In his hands are the accusations of his friends and his own reply.
Holding them forth, he exclaims—

          Here is my signature—let Shaddai answer me—
          and the indictment which mine adversary has written.
          Surely upon my shoulder will I carry it,
          and bind it as chaplets about me.
          The number of my steps will I declare unto him;
          as a prince will I come near unto him (xxxi. 35-37).[40]

We must here turn back to a passage which forms one of the most admired
portions of the Book of Job as it stands—the _mashal_ on Divine Wisdom
in chap. xxviii. The first eleven verses are at first sight most
inappropriate in this connection. The poet seems to take a delight in
working into them all that he knows of the adventurous operations of the
miners of his day—probably those carried on for gold in Upper Egypt, and
for copper and turquoises in the Sinaitic peninsula (both skilfully
introduced by Ebers into his stories of ancient Egypt). How vividly the
superiority of reason to instinct is brought out to vary the technical
description of the miners’ work in vv. 7, 8.

                 A path the eagle knows not,
                 nor has the eye of the vulture scanned it;
                 the sons of pride have not trodden it,
                 nor hath the lion passed over it.

No earthly treasures lie too deep for human industry; but—here we see
the use of the great literary feat (Prov. i.-ix.) which has gone
before—‘where can wisdom be found, and where is the place of
understanding?’ And then follows that fine passage in which language is
strained to the uttermost (with another of those pictorial inventories
in which poets delight, vv. 15-19) to convey at once the preciousness
and the unattainableness of the higher wisdom. The moral of the whole,
however, is not revealed till the last verse.

        And unto man he said,
        ‘Behold, the fear of the Lord is wisdom,
        and to turn aside from evil is understanding’ (xxviii. 28).

Thus there is no allusion whatever to Job’s problem, and it is only the
present position of the _mashal_ in the Book of Job which suggests a
possible relation for it to that problem.

And now, looking at the passage by itself, is it conceivable that it was
originally written to stand where it now does? Is it natural that the
solemn contents of chap. xxvii. (even if we allow the first seven verses
only to be Job’s) should leave Job in a mood for an elaborate poetical
study of mining operations, or that after agonising so long over the
painful riddles of Divine Providence he should suddenly acquiesce in the
narrow limits of human knowledge, soon, however, to relapse into his old
inquisitiveness? Is it not, on the other hand, very conceivable (notice
the opening word ‘For’) that it was transferred to its present position
from some other work? In a didactic poem on Wisdom (i.e. the plan of the
universe), similar to Prov. i.-ix., it would be as much in place as the
hymn on Wisdom in Prov. viii. To this great work indeed it presents more
than one analogy, both in its subject and its recommendation of
religious morality (or moral religion) as the branch of wisdom suitable
to man. The only difference is that the writer of Job xxviii. expressly
says that this is the only wisdom within human ken, whereas the writer
of Prov. viii. does not touch on this point. But, whether an extract
from a larger work or written as a supplement to the poem of Job, the
passage in its present position is evidently intended to have a
reference to Job’s problem. The author, or the extractor, regarded the
foregoing debates much as Milton regarded those of the fallen angels,
who ‘found no end, in wandering mazes lost;’ in short, he could only
solve the problem by pronouncing it insoluble.[41] Verses 11 and 12 of
chap. xxvii. have very much the appearance of an artificial bridge
inserted by the new author or the extractor.

Footnote 37:

  On this characteristic word for parallelistic poetry, see on Proverbs.

Footnote 38:

  Note that xxvii. 13 is repeated from an earlier speech of Zophar (xx.
  29). There it concludes a sketch of the ‘impious’ man’s fate; here it
  begins a similar description. Verses 11 and 12 of the same chapter
  would stand more properly (Bickell and virtually Hirzel) immediately
  before chap. xxviii. Mr. B. Wright is very near doing the same;
  following Eichhorn, he takes vv. 13-23 as a specimen quoted by Job of
  the friends’ ‘inconsequential’ style of argument (a less natural
  hypothesis than that adopted here).

Footnote 39:

  It seems clear that chap. xxii. was not written as the sequel of chap.
  xxx. Since, however, it bears such a strong impress of originality,
  one can only suppose that the author placed it here by an
  afterthought, and omitted to construct a connecting link with the
  preceding chapter.

Footnote 40:

  These verses have been misplaced in the Massoretic text (as Isa.
  xxxviii. 21, 22). They clearly ought to stand at the end of the
  chapter. So Kennicott, Eichhorn, Merx, Delitzsch.

Footnote 41:

  But for this tendency of the poem one might follow Delitzsch (art.
  ‘Hiob’ in _Herzog-Plitt_, vi. 133) and regard chap. xxviii. as
  inserted by the author of _Job_ from his ‘portfolio.’




                              CHAPTER IV.
                         THE SPEECHES OF ELIHU.
                        (CHAPS. XXXII.-XXXVII.)


At a (perhaps) considerably later period than the original work
(including chap. xxviii.)—symbolised by the youthfulness of Elihu as
compared with the four older friends—the problem of the sufferings of
the innocent still beset the minds of the wise men, the attempt of the
three friends to ‘justify the ways of God’ to the intellect having
proved, as the wise men thought, a too manifest failure (xxxii. 2, 3).
One of their number therefore invented a fourth friend, Elihu (or is
this the name of the author himself?[42]), who is described as having
been a listener during the preceding debates, and who reduces Job to
silence. It is noteworthy that the sudden introduction of Elihu required
the insertion of a fresh narrative passage (xxxii. 1-6) as a supplement
to the original prologue.

I assume, as the reader will observe, the one assured result of the
criticism of Job. To those who follow me in this, the speeches of Elihu
will, I think, gain greatly in interest. They mark out a time when,
partly through the teaching of history, partly through a deeper inward
experience, and partly through the reading of the poem of _Job_, the old
difficulties of faith were no longer so acutely felt. Two courses were
open to the Epigoni of that age—either to force Job to say what, as it
seemed, he ought to have said (this, however, was not so easy as in the
case of Ecclesiastes), or to insert fresh speeches in the style of the
original, separating the corn from the chaff in the pleadings of the
three friends, and adding whatever a more advanced religious thought
suggested to the writer. In forms of expression, however, it must be
admitted that Elihu does not shine. (True, he does not profess to
comfort Job.) For offensiveness the two following verses are not easily
matched:

      Where is there a man like Job,
      who drinks[43] scoffing like water? (xxxiv. 7.)
      Would that Job might be tried to the uttermost
      because of his answers in the manner of wicked men (xxxiv. 36).

A ‘vulgar braggart’ he may not be from an Oriental point of view, nor is
he ‘the prototype of the Bachelor in _Faust_;’ but that he is too
positive and dogmatic, and much overrates his own powers, is certain. He
represents the dogmatism of a purified orthodoxy, which thinks too much
of its minute advances (‘one perfect in knowledge is with thee,’ xxxvi.
4).

Elihu distributes his matter (of which he says that he is ‘full,’ xxxii.
18-20) over four speeches. His themes in the first three are: 1, the
ground and object of suffering (chaps. xxxii., xxxiii.); 2, the
righteousness of God (chap. xxxiv.); and 3, the use of religion (chap.
xxxv.), all of which are treated in relation to the questionable or
erroneous utterances of Job. Then, in his last and longest effort, Elihu
unrolls before Job a picture of the government of God, in its
beneficence and righteousness as well as its omnipotence, in the hope of
moving Job to self-humiliation (chaps. xxxvi., xxxvii.) Let us remember
again that Elihu represents the debates of the ‘wise men’ of the
post-regal period, who were conscious of being in some sense ‘inspired’
like their prophetic predecessors (xxxii. 8, xxxvi. 4; Ecclus. xxiv.
32-34, l. 28, 29), so that we cannot believe that the _bizarre_
impression made by Elihu on some Western critics was intended by the
original author. That his portrait suggests certain grave infirmities,
may be granted; but these are the failings of the circle to which the
author belongs: the self-commendation of Elihu in his exordium is hardly
excessive from an Oriental point of view, or would at any rate be
justifiable in a more original thinker. Indeed, he only commends himself
in order to excuse the unusual step of criticising the proceedings of
men so much older than himself. After what he thinks sufficient excuse
has been offered, Elihu takes up Job’s fundamental error,
self-righteousness, but prepares the way by examining Job’s assertion
(xix. 7, xxx. 20) that God took no heed of his complaints.

          Wherefore hast thou contended with Him
          because ‘He answers none of my words’?[44] (xxxiii. 13.)

To this Elihu replies that it is a man’s own fault if he cannot hear the
Divine voice. For God is constantly speaking to man, if man would only
regard it (‘revelation,’ then, is not confined to a class or a
succession). Two means of communication are specially mentioned—nightly
dreams and visions, and severe sickness. The object of both is to divert
men from courses of action which can only lead to destruction. At this
point a remarkable intimation is given. In order to produce conversion,
and so to ‘redeem a man from going down to the pit,’ a special angelic
agency is necessary—that of a ‘mediator’ or ‘interpreter’ (Targ.
_p’raqlītā_; comp. παράκλητος, John xiv. 16, 26), whose office it is to
‘show unto man his rightness’ (i.e. how to conform his life to the right
standard, xxxiii. 23).

We must pause here, however, to consider the bearings of this. It seems
to show us, first, that inspired minds (see above) were already
beginning to refine and elevate the popular notions of the spiritual
world. That there were two classes of spirits, the one favourable, the
other adverse to man, had long been the belief of the Israelites and
their neighbours.[45] The author of the speeches of Elihu now introduces
one of them among the symbols of a higher stage of religion. In
antithesis to the ‘destroyers’[46] (ver. 22) he implies that God has
thousands of angels (the ‘mediator’ is ‘one among a thousand’), whose
business it is to save sinners from destruction by leading them to
repentance. Such is the φιλανθρωπία, the friendliness to man, of the
angelic world, without which indeed, according to Elihu, the purpose of
sickness would be unobserved and a fatal issue inevitable. To students
of Christianity, however, it has a deeper interest, if the concluding
words, ‘I have found a ransom,’ be a part of the Old Testament
foundation of the doctrine of redemption through Christ. This, however,
is questionable, and even its possibility is not recognised by the
latest orthodox commentator.[47] In his second speech Elihu returns to
the main question of Job’s attitude towards God. He begins by imputing
to Job language which he had never used, and which from its extreme
irreverence Job would certainly have disowned (xxxiv. 5, 9), and
maintains that God never acts unjustly, but rewards every man according
to his deeds. There is nothing in his treatment of this theme which
requires comment except its vagueness and generality, to which, were the
speech an integral part of the poem, Job would certainly have taken
exception.

The subject of the third speech is handled with more originality. Job
had really complained that afflicted persons such as himself appealed to
God in vain (xxiv. 12, xxx. 20). Elihu replies to this (xxxv. 9-13) that
such persons merely cried from physical pain, and did not really pray.
The fourth and last speech, in which he dismisses controversy and
expresses his own sublime ideas of the Creator, has the most poetical
interest. At the very outset the solemnity of his language prepares the
reader to expect something great, and the expectation is not altogether
disappointed. ‘God,’ he says, ‘is mighty, but despiseth not any’ (xxxvi.
5); He has given proof of this by the trials with which He visits His
servants when they have fallen into sin. Might and mercy are the
principal attributes of God. The verses in which Elihu applies this
doctrine to Job’s case are ambiguous and perhaps corrupt, but it appears
as if Elihu regarded Job as in danger of missing the disciplinary object
of his sufferings. It is in the second part of his speech (xxxvi.
26-xxxvii. 24) that Elihu displays his greatest rhetorical power, and
though by no means equal to the speeches of Jehovah, which it appears to
imitate, the vividness of its descriptions has obtained the admiration
of no less competent a judge than Alexander von Humboldt. The moral is
intended to be that, instead of criticising God, Job should humble
himself in devout awe at the combined splendour and mystery of the
creation.

It is tempting to regard the sketch of the storm in xxxvi. 29-xxxvii. 5
and the appeals which Elihu makes to Job as preparatory to the
appearance of Jehovah in xxxviii. 1. ‘While Elihu is speaking,’ says Mr.
Turner, ‘the clouds gather, a storm darkens the heavens and sweeps
across the landscape, and the thunder utters its voice ... out of the
whirlwind that passes by Jehovah speaks.’[48] So too Dr. Cox thinks that
Job’s invisible Opponent ‘opens His mouth and answers him out of the
tempest which Elihu has so graphically described.’[49] In fact in
xxxviii. 1 we may equally well render ‘_the_ tempest’ (i.e. that lately
mentioned) and ‘_a_ tempest.’ The objection is (1) that the storm does
not come into the close of Elihu’s speech, as it ought to do, and (2)
that in His very first words Jehovah distinctly implies that the last
speaker was one who ‘darkened counsel by words without knowledge’
(xxxviii. 3).

Such are the contributions of Elihu, which gain considerably when
considered as a little treatise in themselves. It is, indeed, a strange
freak of fancy to regard Elihu as representing the poet himself.[50]
Neither æsthetically nor theologically do they reach the same high mark
as the remainder of the book. ‘The style of Elihu,’ as M. Renan remarks,
‘is cold, heavy, pretentious. The author loses himself in long
descriptions without vivacity.... His language is obscure and presents
peculiar difficulties. In the other parts of the poem the obscurity
comes from our ignorance and our scanty means of comprehending these
ancient documents; here the obscurity comes from the style itself, from
its _bizarrerie_ and affectation.’[51] Theologically it is difficult to
discover any important point (but see Chap. XII., below, on Elihu) in
which, in spite of his sharp censure of the friends, he distinctly
passes beyond them. His arguments have been so largely anticipated by
the three friends that, on the whole, we may perhaps best regard chaps.
xxxii.-xxxix. as a first theological criticism on the contents of the
original work. From this point of view it is interesting that the idea
of affliction as correction, which had already occurred to Eliphaz,
acquired in the course of years a much deeper hold on thinking minds
(see xxxiii. 19-30, xxxvi. 8-10). There is one feature of the earlier
speeches which is not imitated by Elihu, and that is the long and
terrifying descriptions in each of the three original colloquies of the
fate of the impious man, and one of the most considerate of Elihu’s
Western critics[52] thinks it possible that Elihu, who says in one
place—

          And the impious in heart cherish wrath,
          and supplicate not when he hath bound them (xxxvi. 13)—

considered no calamity whatever as penal in the first instance.

Footnote 42:

  So M. Derenbourg, who points out that none of the other speakers have
  a genealogy, and identifies Buz with Boaz, and Ram with an ancestor of
  David (Ruth iv. 19). The author of chaps. xxxii.-xxxvii. might thus be
  a descendant of Elihu the brother of David (1 Chr. xxvii. 18).

Footnote 43:

  On ‘drinks’ see Thomson, _The Land and the Book_, p. 319.

Footnote 44:

  The _text_ (which has ‘_His_ words’) is generally rendered ‘because He
  gives not account of any of His matters,’ i.e. of the details of His
  government. This is very strained; the Sept. has ‘my words,’ the
  Vulgate ‘thy words,’ either of which readings gives a natural sense.

Footnote 45:

  See 2 Sam. xxiv. 16, and comp. 1 Chr. xxi. 15, Ps. xxviii. 49, Prov.
  xvi. 14, Ezek. ix. 1, x. 7; also Jost, _Gesch. des Judenthums_, i.
  304. For Assyria see _Records of the Past_, i. 131-5: iv. 53-60 (the
  sinner was thought to be given up in displeasure by his God into the
  hands of the evil spirits). For Arabia see Korán, lxxix. 1, 2—

            ‘By those (angels) who tear out (souls) with violence,
            And by those who joyously release them:’

  for the early Christian, Justin M. _Dial. e. Tryph._ 105, τὰ αὐτὰ
  αἰτῶμεν τὸν θεὸν, τὸν δυνάμενον ἀποστρέψαι πάντα ἀναιδῆ πονηρὸν
  ἄγγελον μὴ λαβέσθαι ἡμῶν τῆς ψυχῆς: and for the medieval, Dante,
  _Inferno_, xxvii. 112-123: _Purgatorio_, v. 103-108. Comp. below,
  Chap. X.

Footnote 46:

  Blake seems to have felt Elihu’s strong faith in the angels. The
  border of his 12th illustration is filled with a stream of delicate
  angel forms.

Footnote 47:

  Davidson. Ewald explains the ‘ransom’ partly of the intercession of
  the angel, partly of the prayer of repentance.

Footnote 48:

  Turner, _Studies Biblical and Oriental_, p. 146.

Footnote 49:

  Cox, _Commentary on the Book of Job_, p. 489.

Footnote 50:

  So Lightfoot (see Lowth, _Prælect._ xxxii.).

Footnote 51:

  _Le livre de Job_, p. liv.

Footnote 52:

  Davidson, _The Book of Job_, p. xlv.




                               CHAPTER V.
                        THE SPEECHES OF JEHOVAH.
                       (CHAPS. XXXVIII.-XLII. 6.)


‘The words of Job are ended’ (xxxi. 40_b_), remarks the ancient editor,
and amongst the last of these words is an aspiration after a meeting
with God. That Job expected such a favour in this life is in the highest
degree improbable, whatever view be taken of xix. 25-27. It is true, he
sometimes did almost regard a theophany as possible, though he feared it
might be granted under conditions which would make it the reverse of a
boon (ix. 3, 15, 33-35; xiii. 21, 22). He wished for a fair
investigation of his character, and he craved that God would not appear
in too awful a form. It seems at first sight as if Jehovah, casting hard
questions at Job out of the tempest, and ignoring both the friends’
indictment and Job’s defence (xxxi. 35-37), were realising Job’s worst
fears and acting as his enemy. The friends had already sought to humble
Job by pointing him to the power and wisdom and goodness of God, and Job
had proved conclusively that he was no stranger to these high thoughts.
Is the poet consistent with himself, first, in introducing Jehovah at
all, and, secondly, in making Him overpower Job by a series of sharp,
ironical questions? Several answers may be given if we wish to defend
the unity of the poem. Job himself (it may be said) has not continued at
the same high level of faith as in xix. 25-27 (assuming Prof. Davidson’s
view of the passage); he needs the appearance of Jehovah more than he
did then. As to the course attributed in xxxviii. 1 to Jehovah, this too
(the poet may have felt in adding these speeches) was really the best
for Job. Jehovah might no doubt have declared Job to be in the right as
against his friends. He might next have soothed the sufferer’s mind by
revealing the reason why his trials were permitted (_we_ know this from
the Prologue). But this would not have been for Job’s spiritual welfare:
there was one lesson he needed to learn or to relearn, one grace of
character he needed to gain or to regain—namely, devout and trustful
humility towards God. In the heat of debate and under the pressure of
pain Job’s old religious habit of mind had certainly been weakened—not
destroyed, but weakened—and a strong remedy was necessary if he was not
to carry his distracted feelings to the grave. And so, as a first joyful
surprise, came the theophany: to ‘see’ God before death _must_ have been
a joyful surprise; and if the questioning cast him down, yet it was only
to raise him up in the strength of self-distrust. The object of these
orations of Jehovah is not to communicate intellectual light, but to
give a stronger tone to Job’s whole nature. He had long known God to be
strong and wise and good, but more as a lesson learned than as personal
experience (xlii. 5). And the means first adopted to convey this
life-giving ‘sight’ is not without a touch of that humour which we
noticed in the Prologue. Job, who was so full of questions, now has the
tables turned upon him. He is put through a catechism which admits of
but one very humbling answer, each question being attached to a
wonderfully vivid description of some animal or phenomenon. For
descriptive power the first speech of Jehovah, at any rate, is without a
parallel. The author, as Prof. Davidson remarks, ‘knew the great law
that sublimity is necessarily also simplicity.’ It is true he does but
give us isolated features of the natural world: no single scene is
represented in its totality. But this is in accordance with the Hebrew
genius, to which nature appears, not in her own simple beauty, but
bathed in an atmosphere of emotion. The emotion which here animates the
poet is mainly a religious one; it is the love of God, and of God’s
works for the sake of their Maker. He wishes to cure the murmuring
spirits of his own day by giving them wider views of external nature and
its mysteries, so wondrously varied and so full of Divine wisdom and
goodness. He has this great advantage in doing so, that they, like
himself (and Job), are theists; they are not of those who say in their
heart, ‘There is no God,’ but of the ‘Zion’ who complains, ‘Jehovah has
forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me’ (Isaiah xlix. 14). And the
remedy which he applies is the same as that of the Babylonian-Jewish
prophet, a wider study of the ways of God. Job had said, ‘I would tell
Him the number of my steps;’ Jehovah replies by showing him, in a series
of questions, not irritating but persuasive, the footprints of His own
larger self-manifestation.

The Divine Speaker is introduced by the poet thus:

            And Jehovah answered Job out of a tempest, and said.

A storm was the usual accompaniment of a Divine appearance: there was no
intention of crushing Job with terror. In Blake’s thirteenth drawing Job
(and his wife!) are represented kneeling and listening, with
countenances expressive of thankfulness; in his fourteenth, Job and his
four friends kneel rapt and ecstatic, while the ‘sons of God,’ sweet,
vital, heavenly forms, are shouting for joy. In fact, the speeches of
Jehovah contain, not accusations (except in xxxviii. 2), but
remonstrances, and, though the form of these is chilling to Job’s
self-love, yet the glorious visions which they evoke are healing to
every sorrow of the mind. The text of the speeches is unfortunately not
in perfect order. For instance, there are four verses which have, no one
can tell how, been deposited in the description of behemoth (xli. 9-12,
A. V.) but which most probably at one time or another opened the first
speech of Jehovah. Perhaps the author himself removed them, feeling them
to be too depressing for Job to hear; or perhaps it was purely by
accident that they were transferred, and Merx and Bickell have done well
to replace them in their corrected editions of _Job_ between xxxi. 37
and xxxviii. 1. As corrected by the former they run thus:—

               Behold, his hope is belied:
               will he fight against mine appearing?
               He is not so bold as to stir me up;
               who indeed could stand before me?
               Who ever attacks me in safety?
               all beneath the whole heaven is mine.
               I will not take his babbling in silence,
               his mighty speech and its comely arrangement.

We must regard this as a soliloquy, after which, directly addressing
Job, Jehovah upbraids the ‘mighty speaker’ with having shut himself out
by his ‘blind clamour’ from a view of the Divine plan of his life.

                 Who is this that darkens counsel
                 by words without knowledge? (xxxviii. 2.)

To gain that ‘knowledge’ which will ‘make darkness light before him,’
Job must enrich his conception of God. Those striking pictures already
referred to have no lower aim than to display the great All-wise God,
and the irony of the catechising is only designed to bring home the more
forcibly to Job human littleness and ignorance. Modern readers, however,
cannot help turning aside to admire the genius of the poet and his
sympathetic interest in nature. His scientific ideas may be crude; but
he observes as a poet, and not as a naturalist. Earth, sea, and sky
successively enchain him, and we can hardly doubt that the natural
philosophy of the Chaldæans was superficially at least known to him.[53]
In his childlike curiosity and willingness to tell us everything he
reminds us of the poet of the _Commedia_.

       Has the rain a father?[54]
       or who has begotten the dew-drops?
       from whose womb came forth the ice,
       and the hoar frost of heaven—who engendered it,
       (that) the waters close together like a stone,
       and the face of the deep hides itself?
       Dost thou bind the knots of the Pleiades,[55]
       or loose the fetters of Orion?[56]
       Dost thou bring forth the moon’s watches at their season,
       and the Bear and her offspring—dost thou guide them?
       Knowest thou the laws of heaven?
       dost thou determine its influence upon the earth?
                                                   (xxxviii. 28-33.)

‘The laws of heaven!’ Can we refuse to observe the first beginnings of a
conception of the cosmos, remembering other passages of the Wisdom
Literature in which the great world plan is distinctly referred to?
Without denying a pre-Exile, native Hebrew tendency (comp. Job xxxviii.
33 with Jer. xxxi. 35, 36) may we not suppose that the physical theology
of Babylonia had a large part in determining the form of this
conception? Notice the reference to the influence of the sky upon the
earth, and especially the Hebraised Babylonian phrase Mazzaroth (i.e.
_mazarati_,[57] plural of _mazarta_, a watch), the watches or stations
of the moon which marked the progress of the month. But it is not so
much the intellectual curiosity manifest in these verses which we would
dwell upon now as the poetic vigour of the gallery of zoology, and, we
must add, the faith which pervades it, reminding us of a Bedouin prayer
quoted by Major Palmer, ‘O Thou who providest for the blind hyæna,
provide for me!’ Ten (or nine) specimens of animal life are given—the
lion and (perhaps) the raven,[58] the wild goat and the hind, the wild
ass, the wild ox,[59] the ostrich, the war horse, the hawk and the
eagle. It is to this portion that the student must turn who would fain
know the highest attainments of the Hebrew genius in pure poetry, such
as Milton would have recognised as poetry. The delighted wonder with
which the writer enters into the habits of the animals, and the light
and graceful movement of the verse, make the ten descriptions referred
to an ever-attractive theme, I will not say for the translator, but for
the interpreter. They are ideal, as the Greek sculptures are ideal, and
need the pen of that poet-student, faint hints of whose coming have been
given us in Herder and Rückert. The finest of them, of course, is that
of one of the animals most nearly related in Arabia to man (in Arabia,
but not in Judæa), the horse.

        Dost thou give might to the horse?
        Dost thou clothe his neck with waving mane?
        Dost thou make him bound as a locust?
        The peal of his snort is terrible!
        He paws in the valley and rejoices in his strength;
        he goes forth to meet the weapons;
        he laughs at fear, and is not dismayed,
        and recoils not from the sword:
        the quiver clangs upon him,
        the flashing lance and the javelin:
        bounding furiously he swallows the ground,
        and cannot stand still at the blast of the trumpet;
        at every blast he says, ‘Aha!’
        and smells the battle from afar,
        the captain’s thunder and the cry of battle (xxxix. 19-25).

The terrible element in animal instincts seems indeed to fascinate the
mind of our poet; he closes his gallery with a sketch of the cruel
instincts of the glorious eagle. We are reminded, perhaps, of the lines
of a poet painter inspired by Job—

                   Tiger, tiger, burning bright
                   In the forests of the night,
                   What immortal hand or eye
                   Could frame thy fearful symmetry?[60]

And now we might almost think that the object of the theophany has been
attained. Never more will Job presume to litigate with Shaddai, or
measure the doings of God by his puny intellect. He has learned the
lesson expressed in Dante’s line—

                 State contenti, umana gente, al quia,[61]

but also that higher lesson, so boldly expressed by the same poet, that
in all God’s works, without exception, three attributes are seen united—

                  Fecemi la divina potestate,
                  La somma sapienza, e ’l primo amore.[62]

He is silenced, indeed, but only as with the poet of Paradise—

                  All’ alta fantasia qui mancò possa.[63]

The silence with which both these ‘vessels of election’ meet the Divine
revelation is the silence of satisfaction, even though this be mingled
with awe. Job has learned to forget himself in the wondrous creation of
which he forms a part, just as Dante when he saw

                   La forma universal di questo nodo.[64]

Job cannot, indeed, as yet express his feelings; awe preponderates over
satisfaction in the words assigned to him in xl. 4, 5. In fact, he has
fallen below his better knowledge, and must be humbled for this. He has
known that he is but a part of humanity—a representative of the larger
whole, and might, but for his frailty, have comforted himself in that
thought. God’s power and wisdom and goodness are so wondrously blended
in the great human organism that he might have rested amidst his
personal woes in the certainty of at least an indirect connection with
the gentler manifestations of the ‘Watcher of mankind’ (vii. 20). This
thought has proved ineffectual, and so the Divine Instructor tries
another order of considerations. And, true enough, nature effects what
‘the still, sad music of humanity’ has failed to teach. Job, however,
needs more than teaching; he needs humiliation for his misjudgment of
God’s dealings with him personally. Hence in His second short but
weighty speech ‘out of the tempest’ Jehovah begins with the question
(xl. 8)—

            Wilt thou make void my justice?
            wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous?

This gives the point of view from which Jehovah ironically invites Job,
if he thinks (see chap. xxiv.) that he can govern the world—the human as
well as the extra-human world—better than the Creator, to make the bold
attempt. He bids him array himself with the Divine majesty and carry out
that retribution in which Jehovah, according to him, has so completely
failed (xl. 11-13). If Job will prove his competence for the office
which he claims, then Jehovah Himself will recognise his independence
and extol his inherent strength. Did the poet mean to finish the second
speech of Jehovah here? It is probable; the subject of the interrogatory
hardly admitted of being developed further in poetry. A later writer
(or, as Merx thinks, the poet of _Job_ himself) seems to have found the
speech too short, and therefore appended the two fancy sketches of
animals which follow. But in the original draft of the poem xl. 14 must
have been followed immediately by Job’s retractation, closing with those
striking words (see above, p. 49) which so well supplement the less
articulate confession of xl. 4, 5—

               I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear,
               but now mine eye sees thee:[65]
               therefore I retract and repent
               in dust and ashes (xlii. 5, 6).

How complete a reversal of the ‘princely’ anticipations of Job in xxxi.
37! To us, indeed, it may seem somewhat ungracious to Job to give this
as the last scene of his pathetic drama. But the poet leaves it open to
us to animate Job’s repentance with love as well as awe and compunction.
With fine feeling Blake in his seventeenth illustration almost fills the
margin with passages from the Johannine writings.

The long description of the two Egyptian monsters (xl. 15, xli. 26) is,
as we have hinted above, out of place in the second speech of Jehovah.
It has indeed been suggested that the writer may have intended it as a
development of xl. 14—

                  Then will I in return confess unto thee
                  that thy right hand can help thee—

which implies that Job has no power to help himself in the government of
the world. According to this view, the opening words of the behemoth
section will mean, ‘Consider, pray, that thou hast fellow-creatures
which are far stronger than thou; and how canst thou undertake the
management of the universe?’ It must, however, be admitted that the
emphasis thus laid on the omnipotence of God, apart from His
righteousness, introduces an obscurity into the argument which almost
compels us to assume that the sketches of behemoth and leviathan are
later insertions. At any rate, even if we regard them as the work of the
principal writer of Job, we must at least ascribe them to one of those
after-thoughts by which poets not unfrequently spoil their best
productions. The style of the description, too, is less chastened than
that of chaps. xxxviii. xxxix. (so that Bickell can hardly be right in
placing xl. 15, &c., immediately after xxxix. 30), and if it relates to
the hippopotamus and the crocodile is less true to nature than the other
‘animal pieces.’

The truth is that neither behemoth nor leviathan corresponds strictly to
any known animal. The tail of a hippopotamus would surely not have been
compared to a cedar by a truthful though poetic observer like the author
of chaps. xxxviii. xxxix. Moreover that animal was habitually hunted by
the Egyptians with lance and harpoon, and was therefore no fit symbol of
indomitable pride. The crocodile too was attacked and killed by the
Egyptians, though in xli. 26-29 leviathan is said to laugh at his
assailants. Seneca in his description of Egypt describes the crocodile
as ‘fugax animal audaci, audacissimum timido’ (_Quæst. Nat._, iv. 2).
Comp. Ezek. xxix. 4, xxxii. 3; Herod. ii. 70.

To me, indeed, as well as to M. Chabas, the behemoth and the leviathan
seem to claim a kinship with the dragons and other imaginary monsters of
the Swiss topographies of the sixteenth century. A still more striking
because a nearer parallel is adduced by M. Chabas from the Egyptian
monuments, where, side by side with the most accurate pictures from
nature, we often find delineations of animals which cannot have existed
out of wonderland.[66]

It is remarkable that the elephant should not have been selected as a
type of strange and wondrous animal life; apparently it was not yet
known to the Hebrew writers, though of course it might be urged that the
poet was accidentally prevented from writing more. Merx has pointed out
that the description of behemoth is evidently incomplete. He also thinks
that the poet has not yet brought the form of these passages to final
perfection: a struggle with the difficulties of expression is
observable. He therefore relegates xl. 15-xli. 26 to an appendix with
the suggestive title (comp. Goethe’s _Faust_) Paralipomena to Job. He
thinks that a reader or admirer of the original poem sought to preserve
these unfinished sketches by placing them where they now stand. This is
probably the most conservative theory (i.e. the nearest to the
traditional view) critically admissible.

Footnote 53:

  See Sayce on ‘Babylonian Astronomy’ (_Translations of Soc. of Bibl.
  Archæology_, 1874); Lenormant, _La magic chez les Chaldéens_, and his
  _Syllabaires cunéiformes_ (1876), p. 48.

Footnote 54:

  This is not mere ‘patriarchal simplicity’ (Renan, p. lvi.), but a
  contradiction of the mythic view that a nature god like Baal is the
  ‘father’ or producer of the rain and the crops (see Cheyne, _Isaiah_,
  ed. 3, i. 28, 294, ii. 295). Elihu no doubt goes further in his
  explanations; see xxxvi. 27, 28.

Footnote 55:

  Heb. _kima_; comp. Ass. _kimtu_, ‘a family.’ The word occurs again in
  ix. 9, Am. v. 8 (but are not this verse and the closely related one in
  iv. 13 additions by a later editor of Amos in the Exile period?)

Footnote 56:

  Heb. _k’sīl_, the name of the foolhardy giant who strove with Jehovah.
  The Chaldeo-Assyrian astrology gave the name _kisiluv_ to the ninth
  month, connecting it with the zodiacal sign Sagittarius. But there are
  valid reasons for attaching the Hebrew popular myth to Orion.

Footnote 57:

  ‘He did not watch the stars of heaven, nor the _mazarati_.’ So Fox
  Talbot quotes from a cuneiform tablet (_Transactions of Soc. of Bibl.
  Archæology_, 1872, p. 341). The above explanation, however, which is
  that of Delitzsch on _Job_, differs from that of Fox Talbot.

Footnote 58:

  Mr. Bateson Wright’s pointing, _lá’ereb_ for _la’ōrēbh_, is plausible.
  The raven is an insignificant companion to the lion, and the birds of
  prey are mentioned at the end of Job’s picture gallery. Render ‘who
  provides in the evening his food,’ &c.; but in this case should not
  _lābhī_ in ver. 39 be rendered ‘lion’ rather than ‘lioness’ (note
  ‘_his_ young ones’)? The root idea is probably voracity. That _lābhī_
  in iv. 11 is the feminine is no objection. Comp. Ps. lvii. 5, and
  perhaps Hos. xiii. 8. Possibly, however, the ‘raven’ was inserted here
  to make up the number ten, by a reminiscence of Ps. cxlvii. 9.

Footnote 59:

  The ‘unicorn’ of A. V. comes from the Sept. and Vulg.; but in Deut.
  xxxiii. 17 the _re’ēm_ is said to have ‘horns.’ Schlottmann and
  Delitzsch identify it with the oryx or antelope, but the oryx was
  tamable (Wilkinson, _Egyptians_, i. 227), whereas our poet asks, ‘Will
  the _re’ēm_ be willing to serve thee?’ See Cheyne on Isa. xxxiv. 7.

Footnote 60:

  Blake, _Songs of Experience_.

Footnote 61:

  _Purg._, iii. 37.

Footnote 62:

  _Inf._, iii. 5, 6.

Footnote 63:

  _Parad._, xxxiii. 142.

Footnote 64:

  _Parad._, xxxiii. 91.

Footnote 65:

  [All his thinkings seemed like hearsay. This, then, was the real God.]
  So an anonymous writer well expresses it (_Mark Rutherford’s
  Deliverance_, p. 196).

Footnote 66:

  _Etudes sur l’antiquité historique_, prem. éd., pp. 391-393.




                              CHAPTER VI.
                     THE EPILOGUE AND ITS MEANING.


We now come to the _dénoûment_ of the story (xlii. 7-17), against which,
from the point of view of internal criticism, much were possible to be
said. We shall not, however, here dwell upon the inconsistencies between
the epilogue on the one hand and the prologue and the speeches on the
other. The main point for us to emphasise is the disappointingness of
the events of the epilogue regarded as the final outcome of Job’s
spiritual discipline. Surely the high thoughts which have now and then
visited Job’s mind, and which, combined with the personal
self-revelation of the Creator, must have brought back the sufferer to a
state of childlike resignation, stand in inappropriate companionship
with a tame and commonplace renewal of mere earthly prosperity. Would it
not have been fitter for the hero on whom so much moral training had
been lavished to pass with humble but courageous demeanour through the
dark valley, at the issue of which he would ‘see God’? It is hardly a
sufficient answer that a concession was necessary to the prejudices of
the unspiritual multitude; for what was the object of the poem, if not
to subvert the dominion of a one-sided retribution theory? The solution
probably is that Job in the epilogue is a type of suffering, believing,
and glorified Israel. Not only the individual believer, not only all the
elect spirits of suffering humanity, but the beloved nation of the
poet.—Israel, the ‘Servant of Jehovah’—must receive a special message of
comfort from the great poem. In Isa. lxi. 7 we read that glorified
Israel is to ‘have double (compensation) instead of its shame;’ comp.
Zech. ix. 12, Jer. xvi. 14-18. The people of Israel, according to the
limited view of the prophets, was bound indissolubly to the Holy Land.
The only promise, therefore, which would be consolatory for suffering
Israel, the only possible sign of God’s restored favour, was a material
one including fresh ‘children’ and many flocks and herds (Isa. liv. 1,
lx. 7). Observe in this connection the phrase, xlii. 10, ‘Jehovah turned
the fortunes of Job’ (others, as A. V., ‘turned the captivity of
Job’)—the phrase so well known in passages relating to Israel (e.g. Ps.
xiv. 7, Joel iii. 1).

The explanation is perhaps adequate. Some, however, will be haunted by a
doubt whether the author of the prologue would not have thrown more
energy and enthusiasm into the closing narrative. An early reader,
probably of Pharisaic leanings, felt the poverty of the epilogue,[67]
and sought to remedy it by the following addition in the Septuagint:
‘And Job died, old and full of days; and it is written that he will rise
again with those whom the Lord raiseth.’[68] The remainder of the
Septuagint appendix testifies only to the love of the later Jews for
amplifying Biblical notices (see Chap. VII.) Our own poet painter has
also amplified the details of the epilogue, but in how different a way!
(Gilchrist’s _Life of Blake_, i. 332-3).

Footnote 67:

  Other readers, however, found no difficulty in the close of the story;
  to such St. James addresses himself in the words, ‘Ye have heard of
  the endurance of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord’ (James v.
  11), i.e. the blessed end vouchsafed by the Lord to Job. It was also,
  no doubt, such a reader who composed the beautiful romance of Tobit,
  to show that, however tried, the righteous man is at last delivered by
  his God.

Footnote 68:

  Those rabbis who in later times held this view appear to have assumed
  that Job was of the Israelitish race (Frankl in Grätz’s
  _Monatsschrift_, 1872, p. 311).




                              CHAPTER VII.
             THE TRADITIONAL BASIS AND THE PURPOSE OF JOB.


                                   I.
                         _Did Job really live?_


This is widely different, remarks Umbreit,[69] from the question whether
Job actually said and did all that is related of him in our book. It is
scarcely necessary, he adds, in the present day to disprove the latter,
but we have no reason to doubt the former (the theory as to the
historical existence of a sort of Arabian king Priam, named Job). In
truth, we have no positive evidence either for affirming or denying it,
unless the ‘holy places,’ each reputed to be Job’s grave, may be
mentioned in this connection. The allusion in Ezek. xiv. 14 to ‘Noah,
Daniel, and Job,’ proves no more than that a tradition of some sort
existed respecting the _righteous_ Job during the Babylonian Exile: we
cannot tell how much Ezekiel knew besides Job’s righteousness. In later
times, Jewish students do appear to have believed that ‘Job existed;’
but the force of the argument is weakened by the uncritical character of
the times, and the extreme form in which this belief was held by them.
How early doubts arose, we know not. The authors of _Tobit_ and
_Susanna_ may very likely have been only half-believers, since they
evidently imitate the story of Job in their romantic compositions. At
any rate, the often-quoted saying of Rabbi Resh Lakish, איוב לא היה ולא
נברא אלא משל היה, ‘Job existed not, and was not created, but he is
(only) a parable,’[70] shows that even before the Talmud great freedom
of speech prevailed among the Rabbis on such points. In Hai Gaon’s time
(d. 1037), the saying quoted must have given offence to some, for this
Rabbi not only appeals for the historical character of Job to the
passage in Ezekiel, but wishes (on traditional authority) to alter the
reading of Resh Lakish’s words, so as to read איוב לא היה ולא נברא אלא
למשל, ‘Job existed not, and was not created, except to be a
parable.’[71] (See note 7, Appendix.)

The prevailing opinion among the Jews doubtless continued to be that the
Book of Job was strictly historical, and Christian scholars (with the
exception of Theodore—see Chap. XV.) found no reason to question this
till Luther arose, with his genial, though unscientific, insistence on
the right of questioning tradition. In his _Tischreden_ Luther says,
‘Ich halte das Buch Hiob für eine wahre Historia; dass aber alles so
sollte geschehen und gehandelt sein, glaube ich nicht, sondern ich
halte, dass ein feiner, frommer, gelehrter Mann habe es in solche
Ordnung bracht.’[72] Poetically treated history—that is Luther’s idea,
as it was that of Grotius after him, and in our own country of that
morning-star of Biblical criticism, Bishop Lowth.[73] It is acquiesced
in by Schlottmann, Delitzsch, and Davidson, and with justice, provided
it be clearly understood that no positive opinion can reasonably be held
as to the historical origin of the tradition (_Sage_, Ewald) used by the
author. I have said nothing of Spinoza and Albert Schultens. The
former[74] pronounces most unfavourably on the religious and poetical
value of the book which he regards as a heathenish fiction, reminding us
somewhat (see elsewhere) of the hasty and ill-advised Theodore of
Mopsuestia. The latter[75] actually defends the historical character
both of the narratives and of the colloquies of Job in the strictest
sense. Hengstenberg, alone perhaps among orthodox theologians, takes a
precisely opposite view. Like Reuss and Merx, he regards the poem as
entirely a work of imagination. We may be thankful for his protest
against applying a prosaic standard to the poetical books of the Hebrew
Canon. Those who do so, he remarks,[76] ‘fail to observe that the book
stands, not among historical, but among poetical books, and that it
would betray a very low grade of culture, were one to depreciate
imaginative as compared with historical writing, and declare it to be
unsuitable for sacred Scripture.’

I entirely agree with the eminent scholar, whose unprogressive theology
could not entirely extinguish his literary and philological sense. But I
see no sufficient reason for adopting what in itself, I admit, would add
a fresh laurel to the poet’s crown. Merx indeed assures us[77] that the
meaning of the name ‘Job’ is so redolent of allegory that it must be the
poet’s own invention, especially as the name occurs nowhere else in the
Old Testament. He adds that the story of Job is so closely connected
with the didactic part of the book that it would be lost labour to
separate the legendary from the new material. All was wanted; therefore
all is fictitious. This is not, however, the usual course of procedure
with poets whether of the East or of the West, whose parsimony in the
invention of plots is well known. As for the name Job (_Iyyób_) it may
no doubt be explained (from the Arabic) ‘he who turns to God,’[78] and
in other ways, but there is no evidence that the author thought of any
meaning for it. When he does coin names (see Epilogue), there is no room
for doubting their significance. Ewald may, certainly, have gone too far
in trying to recover the traditional element: how difficult it would be
to do so with _Paradise Lost_, if we had not Genesis to help us! But the
probability of the existence of a legend akin to the narrative in the
Prologue, is shown by the parallels to it which survive, e.g. the
touching Indian story of Harischandra,[79] given by Dr. Muir in vol. 1.
of his _Sanskrit Texts_. The resemblance may be slight and superficial,
but the sudden ruin of a good man’s fortunes is common to both stories.
Had we more knowledge of Arabic antiquity, we should doubtless find a
more valuable parallels.[80]

The story of Job had a special attraction for Mohammed, who enriched it
(following the precedent of the Jewish Haggada) with a fresh detail
(Korán, xxxviii. 40). To him, as well as to St. James, Job was an
example of ‘endurance.’ The dialogue between Allah and Eblis in Korán,
xv. 32-42, may perhaps have been suggested by the Prologue of our poem.

‘Did then, Job really live?’ That for which we most care comes not from
‘Tradition, Time’s suspected register,’[81] but from an unnamed poet,
who embellished tradition partly from imagination, partly (see next
section) from the rich and varied stores of his own experience.


                                   2.
   _The Autobiographical Element in its Bearing on the Purpose of the
                                 Poem._


A German critic (Dillmann), in speaking of _Job_, has well reminded us
that ‘the idea of a work of art must reveal itself in the development of
the piece: it is not to be condensed into a dry formula.’ Least of all,
surely, is such formulation possible when the work of art is an
idealised portraiture of the author himself, and such, I think, to a
considerable extent is the Book of Job. Those words of a psalmist,

         Come and hear, all ye that fear God,
         and I will declare what he hath done for my soul
                                             (Ps. lxvi. 16, R. V.)

might be taken as the motto of _Job_. In short, the author is thoroughly
‘subjective,’ like all the great Hebrew and especially the Arabian
poets. ‘In the rhythmic swell of Job’s passionate complaints, there is
an echo of the heart-beats of a great poet and a great sufferer. The cry
“Perish the day in which I was born” (iii. 3) is a true expression of
the first effects of some unrecorded sorrow. In the life-like
description beginning “Oh that I were as in months of old” (xxix. 2),
the writer is thinking probably of his own happier days, before
misfortune overtook him. Like Job (xxix. 7, 21-25) he had sat in the
“broad place” by the gate and solved the doubts of perplexed clients.
Like Job, he had maintained his position triumphantly against other wise
men. He had a fellow-feeling with Job in the distressful passage through
doubt to faith. Like Job (xxi. 16) he had resisted the suggestion of
practical atheism, and with the confession of his error (xlii. 2-6) had
recovered spiritual peace.’

The man who speaks to us under the mask of Job is not indeed a perfect
character; but he does not pretend to be so. How pathetic are his
appeals to his friends to remember the weight of his calamity—‘therefore
have my words been wild’ (vi. 3)—and not to ‘be captious about words
when the speeches of the desperate are but for the wind’ (vi. 26). He
was no Stoic, and had not practised himself in deadening his sensibility
to pain. Strong in his sense of justice, he lacked those higher
intuitions which could alone soothe his irritation. But he was
throughout loyal to the God whom his conscience revered, and, even in
the midst of his wild words, he let God mould him. First of all, he
renounced the hope of being understood by men; he ceased to complain of
his rather ignorant than unfeeling friends. He exemplified that Arabic
proverb which says, ‘Perfect patience allows no complaint to be heard
against (human creatures).’ Then he came by degrees to trust God. There
is a kernel of truth in that passage of the Jerusalem Talmud
(_Berakhoth_, cix. 5) where, among the seven types of Pharisees, the
sixth is described as ‘he who is pious from fear, like Job,’ and the
seventh, as ‘he who is pious from love, like Abraham.’ Job’s religion
was at first not entirely but still too much marked by fear; it ended by
becoming a religion of trust, justifying the title borne by Job among
the Syrians, as if in contradiction to the Talmud, of ‘the lover of the
Lord.’[82]

So far as the author of _Job_ has any direct purpose beyond that of
giving a helpful picture of his own troubles, it is no doubt principally
a polemical one. He has suffered so deeply from the inveterate error
(once indeed a relative truth) so tenaciously maintained by the wisest
men that he would fain crush the source of so much heart-breaking
misery. But that for which we love the book is its φιλανθρωπία, its
brotherly love to all mankind. No doubt the author thinks first of
Israel, then (as I suppose) suffering exile; but the care with which the
poem is divested of Israelitish peculiarities, seems to show that he
looks beyond his own people, just as in his view of God he has broken
the bonds of a narrow ‘particularism.’ ‘I can see no other explanation
of those apparently hyperbolical complaints, that strange invasion of
self-consciousness, and that no less strange ‘enthusiasm of
humanity’[83] ... than the view expressed or implied by Chateaubriand,
that Job is a ‘type of righteous men in affliction—not merely in the
land of Uz, nor among the Jews in Babylonia, nor yet, on Warburton’s
theory of the poem, in the Judæa of the time of Nehemiah, but wherever
on the wide earth tears are shed and hearts are broken.’ This is the
truth in the too often exaggerated allegorical view[84] of the poem of
_Job_. According to his wont, the author lets us read his meaning by
occasional bold inconsistencies. No individual can use such phraseology
as we find in xvii. 1, xviii. 2, 3, xix. 11, and perhaps I may add xvi.
10, xxvii. 11, 12. And yet the fact that Job often speaks as the ‘type
of suffering humanity’ no more destroys his claim to be an individual
‘than the typical character of Dante in his pilgrimage and of Faust in
Goethe’s great poem annuls the historical element in those two great
poetical figures.’[85]


                                   3.
           _The Purpose of Job as illustrated by Criticism._


More precise definitions of the purpose of Job depend on the acceptance
of a critical analysis of the book. Some suggestions on this subject
have been already given to facilitate the due comprehension of the poem.
I must now offer the reader a connected sketch of the possible or
probable stages of its growth. This, if it bears being tested, will
perhaps reveal the special purpose of the several parts, and above all
of that most precious portion—the Colloquies of Job and his friends.
(Compare below, Chap. XII.)

I. The narrative which forms the Prologue is based upon a traditional
story which represented Job as hurled from the height of happiness into
an abyss of misery, but preserving a devout serenity in the midst of
trouble. It is impossible to feel sure that this Prologue is by the same
author as the following Colloquies. It stands in no very close
connection with them; ‘the Satan’ in particular (an omission which
struck William Blake[86]), is not heard of again in the book; and there
is abundant evidence of the liking of the pre-Exile writers for a
tasteful narrative style. It is not a wild conjecture that the first two
chapters originally formed the principal part of a prose book of Job,
comparable to the ‘books’ once current of Elijah, and perhaps one may
add of Balaam and of Daniel—a book free from any speculations of the
‘wise men’ and in no sense a _māshāl_ or gnomic poem, but supplying in
its own way a high and adequate solution of the great problem of the
suffering of the righteous. The writer of this Prologue, whether he also
wrote the Colloquies or not, firmly believed that the calamities which
sometimes fell on the innocent were both for the glory of God and of
human nature. It was possible, he said, to continue in one’s integrity,
though no earthly advantage accrued from it. If the Prologue once formed
part of a distinct prose ‘book’ of Job, one can hardly suppose that the
same author wrote the Epilogue; for while the Colloquies _do_ contain
hints of Job’s typical character (as to some extent a representative of
humanity), the Prologue does not, and it is only the typical or
allegorical interpretation which makes the Epilogue tolerable. In fact,
the Epilogue must, as it seems to me, have been written, if not by the
author of the Colloquies, yet by some one who had this work before him.
The prose ‘book’ of Job, if it existed, and if it originated in Judah,
cannot have been written before the Chaldæan period. This period and no
other explains the moral purpose of the ‘book,’ precisely as the age of
the despotic Louis XIV. is the only one which suits the debate on the
disinterested love of God with which the name of Fénelon is inseparably
connected. The Chaldæan period, however, we must remember, did not begin
with the Captivity, but with the appearance of the Babylonian power on
the horizon of Palestine. We must not therefore _too hastily_ assume
that the Book of Job is a monument of the Babylonian Captivity, true as
I myself believe this hypothesis to be.

We are, however, of course not confined to this hypothesis of a prose
‘book’ of Job. The author of the Colloquies may have been equally fitted
to be a writer of narrative, and may have felt that the solution
mentioned above, although the highest, was not the only one admissible.
We may therefore conceive of him as following up the solution offered in
the Prologue by a ventilation of the great moral problem before himself
and his fellow ‘wise men.’ He throws the subject open as it were to
general discussion, and invests all the worthiest speculations of his
time in the same flowing poetical dress, that no fragment of truth
contained in them may be lost. He himself is far from absolutely
rejecting any of them; he only seems to deny that the ideas of the three
representative sages can be applied at once, as they apply them, to the
case of one like Job.

[Böttcher, however, regards Job as the work of one principal and several
subordinate writers. It was occasioned, he thinks, by a conversation on
the sufferings of innocent men, at that time so frequent (i.e. in the
reign of Manasseh). See his _Achrenlese_, p. 68.]

II. The completion or publication of the colloquies revealed (or seemed
to reveal) sundry imperfections in the original mode of treating the
subject. Some other ‘wise men,’ therefore (or possibly, except in the
case of III., the author himself), inserted passages in the poem with
the view of qualifying or supplementing its statements. These were
merely laid in, without being welded with the rest of the book. The
first in order of these additions is chap. xxviii., which cannot be
brought into a logical connection with the chapters among which it is
placed, in spite of the causal particle ‘for’ prefixed to it (‘_For_
there is a vein’). It is possible, indeed, that it has been extracted
from some other work. The hypothesis of insertion (or, if used without
implying illicit tampering with the text, ‘interpolation’) is confirmed
by the occurrence of ‘Adonai’ in ver. 28, which is contrary to the
custom of the author of Job, and by its highly rhetorical character. If
the passage was written with a view to the Book of Job, we must suppose
the author to have been dissatisfied with the original argument, and to
have sought a solution for the problem in the inscrutableness of the
divine wisdom. Zophar, it is true, had originally alluded to this
attribute, but with a more confined object. According to him, God, being
all-wise, can detect sins invisible to mortal eyes (xi. 6):—it is
needless to draw out the wide difference between this slender inference
and the large theory which appears to be suggested in chap. xxviii.

III. One of the less progressive ‘wise men’ was scandalised at the
irreverent statements of Job and dissatisfied with the three friends’
mode of dealing with them (xxxii. 2, 3). Hence the speeches of Elihu,
the most generally recognised of all the inserted portions (chaps.
xxxii.-xxxvii.) The author partly imitates the speeches of Jehovah.

IV. In another inserted passage (ch. xxxviii.-xl. 14, xlii. 1-6), the
Almighty is represented as chastising the presumption of Job, and
showing forth the supreme wisdom by contrast with Job’s unwisdom. It is
clear that the copy in which it was inserted was without the speeches of
Elihu, for the opening words of Jehovah (xxxviii. 2) clearly have
reference to the last discourse of Job, which they must have been
intended to follow. The effect of this fine passage is much impaired by
the interposition of the speeches of Elihu.

V. The description of the behémoth and the leviathan (xl. 15-24, xli.)
seems also to be a later insertion, and somewhat more recent than the
speeches of Jehovah. It is a ‘purple patch,’ and the appendix last
mentioned gains by its removal.

VI. An editor appended the epilogue. He must have had the prologue
before him, but took no pains to bring his own work into harmony with
it, except in the one point which he could not help adopting, namely the
vast riches of his hero. He agreed with Job’s friends on the grand
question of retribution, though he would not sanction their line of
argument. Job’s doubts, according to him, contained more faith than
their uncharitable dogmatism.

Can we feel grateful to this writer? He has at any rate relieved the
strain upon the imagination of the reader, and possibly, if we assume
him to be distinct from the author of the Prologue, carried out an
unfulfilled intention of that author (note the words in i. 12, ‘only
upon himself put not forth thy hand’). But he did so in a prosaic
spirit, and made a sad concession to a low view of providential
dealings. He has also, I think, caused much misunderstanding of the
object of the book. Thus we find Dr. Ginsburg saying,[87]

    The Book of Job ... only confirms the old opinion that the righteous
    are visibly rewarded here, inasmuch as it represents their
    calamities as transitory, and Job himself as restored to double his
    original wealth and happiness in this life.

Against which I enter a respectful protest.

The view here adopted of the gradual growth of the book seems important
for its right comprehension. In its present form, it seems like a very
confused theodicy, designed to justify God against the charge of
bringing misfortune upon innocent persons. But when the disturbing
elements are removed, we see that the book is simply an expression of
the conflicting thoughts of an earnest, warm-hearted man on the great
question of suffering. He protests, it is true, against the rigour and
uncharitableness of the traditional orthodox belief, but is far more
aspiring to solve the problem theoretically. This is one chief point in
which he differs from his interpolators (if the word may be used), who
mostly appear to have had some favourite theory (or partial view of
truth) to advocate.

Footnote 69:

  _Book of Job_ (1836), E. T. i. 7.

Footnote 70:

  _Baba Bathra_ § 15, 1. Comp. Frankl in Grätz’s _Monatsschrift_, 1872,
  pp. 309-310.

Footnote 71:

  Ewald and Dukes, _Beitrage zur Gesch. der ültesten Auslegung_, ii.
  166.

Footnote 72:

  _Werke_ (Walch), xxii. 2093.

Footnote 73:

  _De sacrâ poesi_ (1753), Prælect. xxxii.

Footnote 74:

  _Tractatus theologico-politicus_, c. x.

Footnote 75:

  _Liber Jobi_ (1737), vol. i., _in fine Praf._

Footnote 76:

  _Das Buch Hiob_ (1870-75), i. 35.

Footnote 77:

  _Das Buch Hiob_, Vorbemerkungen, p. xxxv.

Footnote 78:

  In Korán, xxxviii. 16, 29, 44, David, Solomon, and Job are all called,
  one after another, _awwāb_, i.e. not ‘penitent,’ but ‘ever turning to
  God.’ Hitzig remarks that Iyyób (Arabic Ayyàb) will thus be equivalent
  to the mythic prophet Saleh (= ‘pious’) in the Korán (_Das Buch Hiob_,
  Einl., S. x.), on whom see Palmer, _Desert of the Exodus_, p. 50,
  where he is identified with Moses. This is bold, and, in any case,
  must not such a name be comparatively modern?

Footnote 79:

  This was perhaps first pointed out by Schlottmann, in chap. 1. of the
  Introduction to his Commentary.

Footnote 80:

  Nothing can be built upon the occurrence of the name Ayyûb in
  pre-Islamic times, for Jews and Arabs were in frequent intercourse
  before Mohammed.

Footnote 81:

  Davenant.

Footnote 82:

  Hottinger, referred to by Delitzsch, Iob, p. 7. In the Peshitto, Heb.
  xii. 3-11 has for a sub-title, ‘In commemoration of Job the
  righteous.’ The choice of the section shows in what sense Job’s
  ‘righteousness’ is affirmed—not the Talmudic.

Footnote 83:

  See especially Job vi. 2, 3, vii. 1-3, xiv. 1-3.

Footnote 84:

  This view goes back to the last century (Warburton, Michaelis, &c.) It
  has been remodelled by Seinecke and Hoekstra, who regard Job, not as
  the people of Israel in general, but the idealised Israel or ‘Servant
  of Jehovah.’ See especially Hoekstra’s essay, _Theologisch
  Tijdschrift_, 1871, p. 1 &c., and Kuenen’s reply, _Th. Ti._, 1873, p.
  492 &c.

Footnote 85:

  Quoted from Essay ix. in vol. ii. of _The Prophecies of Isaiah_.

Footnote 86:

  Blake’s 16th design is devoted to the defeat of Satan. Beneath the
  enthroned Jehovah and his angels, ‘the Evil One falls with tremendous
  plummet-force. Hell naked before his face, and Destruction without a
  covering.’ Another point in which Blake corrects his author is the
  introduction of Job’s wife into the illustrations of the Colloquies.

Footnote 87:

  Art. ‘Ecclesiastes,’ _Ency. Brit._, 9th ed.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                     DATE AND PLACE OF COMPOSITION.


We have seen (Chap. VII.) that the unity of authorship of the Book of
Job is not beyond dispute, but we shall not at present assume the
results of analysis. Let us endeavour to treat of the date and place of
composition on the hypothesis that the book is a whole as it stands (on
the Elihu-portion however, comp. Chap. XII.) It is at any rate probable
that the greater part of it at least proceeds from the same period. Can
that period be the patriarchal? The author has sometimes received credit
for his faithful picture of this early age. This is at any rate
plausible. For instance, he avoids the use of the sacred name Jehovah,
revealed to Moses according to Ex. vi. 3. Then, too, the great age
ascribed to Job in the Epilogue (xlii. 16) agrees with the notices of
the patriarchs. The uncoined piece of silver (Heb. _kesita_) which each
kinsman of Job gave him after his recovery (xlii. II), is only mentioned
again in Gen. xxxiii. 19 (Josh. xxiv. 32). The musical instruments
referred to in xxi. 12, xxx. 31, are also mentioned in Gen. iv. 21,
xxxi. 27. There is no protest against idolatry either in the Book of
Job[88] or in Genesis. Job himself offers sacrifices to the one true
God, like the patriarchs, and the kind of sacrifice offered is the
burnt-offering (i. 5, xlii. 8), there is no mention of guilt-or
sin-offerings. The settled life of Job, too, as described in the
Prologue is not inconsistent with the story of Jacob’s life in the vale
of Shechem,[89] though in reality the author probably described it from
his observation of settled life in Arabia. But none of these allusions
required any special gift of historical imagination. The tone of the few
descriptive passages in the Colloquies, and of the reflections
throughout, is that of an age long subsequent to the patriarchal. The
very idea of wise men meeting together to discuss deep problems (as in
the later Arabic _maqāmāt_, compared by Bertholdt and others) is an
anachronism in a ‘patriarchal’ narrative, and (like the religious
position of the speeches in general) irresistibly suggests the
post-Solomonic period. The Job of the Colloquies is a travelled citizen
of the world at an advanced period of history; indeed, he now and then
seems expressly to admit this (xxiv. 12, xxix. 7). It is therefore
needless to discuss the theory which assigns the book to the Mosaic or
pre-Mosaic age,—a theory which is a relic of the cold, literal,
unsympathetic method of the critics of the last two centuries. A few
scholars of eminence, feeling this, placed the poem in the Solomonic
period, a view which is in itself plausible, if we consider the
pronounced secular turn of the great king, and his recorded taste for
eastern parabolistic ‘wisdom,’ but which falls with the cognate theory
of the authorship of Proverbs. A more advanced stage of society than
that of the period referred to, and a greater maturity of the national
intellect, are presupposed on every page of the poem. The tone of the
book—I refer especially to the Colloquies—suggests a time when the
nationalism of the older periods had, in general, ceased to satisfy
reflecting minds. The doubters, whom Job and his friends represent, have
been so staggered in their belief in Israel’s loving God, that they
decline to use His revealed name:—[90] once or twice only does it slip
in (xii. 9; cf. xxviii. 28), as if to show that the poet himself has
fought his way to a reconciling faith. As is clear from the cognate
psalms xxxvii., xlix., lxxiii., the patriarchal theory of prosperity and
adversity had been found wanting. Doubts had arisen, most painful in
their intensity, from observing the disproportion between character and
fortune—doubts which might indeed insinuate themselves at any time, but
acquire an abnormal force in a declining community (ix. 24, xii. 4-6,
23, and especially chap. xxi.) Some had even ventured on positive
doctrinal heresy. In opposition to these, Eliphaz professes his adhesion
to the tradition of the fathers, in whose time religion was untainted by
alien influence (xv. 17-19). It is merely an incidental remark of
Eliphaz, but it points to a date subsequent to the appearance of Assyria
on the horizon of Palestine. For it was the growing influence of that
power, which, for good and for evil, modified the character of
Israelitish religion both in its higher and in its lower forms.

Precise historical allusions are almost entirely wanting. We may,
however, infer with certainty that the book was written subsequently to
the ‘deportation’ of Israel, or of Judah, or at the very least of some
neighbouring people (xii. 17-19; comp. xv. 19[91]). For the uprooting of
whole peoples from their original homes was peculiar to the Assyrian
policy.[92] But which of these forced expatriations is intended?—We are
not _compelled_ to think of the Babylonian Exile by the reference to the
Chaldæans in the Prologue. The Chaldæans might have been known to a
well-informed Hebrew writer ever since the ninth century B.C., at which
time they became predominant in the southern provinces on the lower
Euphrates: we find Isaiah, speaking of the ‘land of Chaldæa’ (Isa.
xxiii. 13) in the eighth century. Still I own that the description of
the Chaldæans as _robbers_ does appear to me most easily explained by
supposing a covert allusion to the invasions of Nebuchadnezzar.[93] The
Assyrians are indeed once called ‘treacherous dealers’ by Isaiah
(xxxiii. 1), but the Babylonians impressed the Hebrew writers by their
rapacity far more than the Assyrians. The ‘unrighteous’ of the Psalms
are, when foreigners are spoken of, not the Assyrians, but either the
Babylonians or still later oppressors (e.g. Ps. cxxv. 3); and the
description of the Babylonians in the first chapter of Habakkuk strongly
reminds us of those complaints of Job, ‘The earth is given over into the
hand of the unrighteous’ (ix. 24), and ‘The robbers’ tents are in peace,
and they that provoke God are secure, they who carry (their) god in
their hand’ (xii. 6; comp. Hab. i. 11, 16).

The view here propounded might be supported by an argument from
linguistic data (see Chap. XIII.) which would lead us into details out
of place here. It is that of Umbreit, Knobel, Grätz, and (though he does
not exclude the possibility of a later date) the sober and thorough
Gesenius. Long after the present writer’s results were first committed
to paper, he had the rare satisfaction of finding them advocated, so far
as the date is concerned, in a commentary by a scholar of our own who
has the best right to speak (A. B. Davidson, Introduction to _The Book
of Job_, 1884). On the other hand, Stickel, Ewald, Magnus, Bleek, Renan
(1860), Kuenen (1865), Hitzig, Reuss, Dillmann, Merx, prefer to place
our poem in the period between Isaiah and Jeremiah, and this seems to me
the earliest date from which the composition and significance of the
book can be at all rightly understood. Reasons enough for this statement
of opinion will suggest themselves to those who have followed me
hitherto; let me now only add that the pure monotheism of the Book makes
an earlier date, on historical principles, hardly conceivable.[94] A
later date than the Exile-period is not, I admit, inconceivable (see
Vatke, _Die biblische Theologie_, i. 563 &c.), and is now supported by
Kuenen.[95] If there were an allusion to the doctrine of the
Resurrection, in xix. 26, or if the portraiture of Job were (as Kuenen
thinks it is) partly modelled on the Second Isaiah’s description of the
Servant of Jehovah, I should in fact be driven to accept this view. I
have stated above that I cannot find the Resurrection in _Job_, and in
_Isaiah_, ii. 267 that the priority of _Job_ seems to me to be made out.
I need not combat Clericus and Warburton, who ascribe the authorship of
_Job_ to Ezra. For Jeremiah (Bateson Wright) or the author of
Lamentations (i.e. Baruch, according to Bunsen) something might perhaps
be said, but—Ezra!

As to the place of composition. Hitzig and Hirzel think of Egypt on
account of the numerous allusions to Egypt in the book; and so Ewald
with regard to xl. 15-xli. 34. ‘Die ganze Umgebung ist egyptisch,’ says
Hitzig with some exaggeration.[96] More might be said in favour of the
theory which places the author in a region where Arabic and Aramaic
might both be heard. Stickel, holding the pre-Exile origin of the book,
supposed it to have come from the far south-east of Palestine. Nowhere
better than in the hill-country of the South could the poet study simple
domestic relations, and also make excursions into N. Arabia. He thus
accounts[97] for the points of contact between the Book of Job and the
prophecy of Amos of Tekoa (see below, Chap. XI.), which include even
some phonetic peculiarities (the softening of the gutturals and the
interchange of sibilants). To me, the whole question seems well-nigh an
idle one. The author (or, if you will, the authors) had travelled much
in various lands, and the book is the result. The place where is of far
less importance than the time when it was composed.

Footnote 88:

  The absence of such a protest is characteristic of the
  Wisdom-literature in general. The reference to star-worship in Job
  xxxi. 26 suggests a date subsequent to the origination of the title
  ‘Jehovah (God) of Hosts.’ See appendix to Isa. i. in my commentary.

Footnote 89:

  Mr. Tomkins compares Job’s mode of life with that of Abram before his
  departure from Kharran (_Studies on the Times of Abraham_, 1878, p.
  61).

Footnote 90:

  I cannot go quite so far as Lagarde, who argues from the use of
  ‘Eloah’ (instead of ‘Elohim’ and ‘Jehovah’) that the doubters have
  cast off belief in all the supposed various manifestations of divinity
  in the world, and merely retain a comfortless belief in τὸ θεῖον.
  ‘Numen quoddam esse non negant, sed’ &c. _Psalterium Hieronymi_, pp.
  155-6 (‘Corollarium’).

Footnote 91:

  Job xv. 19 certainly implies the siege and capture of Jerusalem by
  some foreign foe. Comp. Joel iii. (Heb. iv.) 17.

Footnote 92:

  Dr. Barth quotes Am. i. 6, ii. 1-3, ix. 11, 15 in proof that
  ‘deportation’ also took place in the ‘pre-Assyrian’ time. But, in
  fact, Amos is not ‘pre-Assyrian.’

Footnote 93:

  It is no sufficient objection that the ravages of the Chaldæans in Job
  are on a small scale, nor yet that side by side with them are
  mentioned the Sabeans, surely not those of S. Arabia (Noldeke), but
  those of N. Arabia (Delitzsch), detachments of whom might have
  encamped on the borders of Edom. Comp. Wetzstein in Delitzsch’s _Iob_,
  ed. 2, p. 596 &c.

Footnote 94:

  I write this with deference to the contrary opinion of Delitzsch, who
  is, however, too prejudiced against late dates, and biassed by his
  belief in the authenticity of the Song of Hezekiah. If the Book of Job
  be pre-Hezekian, it is of course natural to throw it back to the age
  of Solomon.

Footnote 95:

  _Theologisch Tijdschrift_, 1873, p. 538.

Footnote 96:

  _Das Buch Hiob_ (1874), p. xlix.

Footnote 97:

  _Das Buch Hiob_ (1842), p. 276.




                              CHAPTER IX.
                  ARGUMENT FROM THE USE OF MYTHOLOGY.


One of the peculiarities of our poet (which I have elsewhere compared
with a similar characteristic in Dante) is his willingness to
appropriate mythic forms of expression from heathendom. This willingness
was certainly not due to a feeble grasp of his own religion; it was
rather due partly to the poet’s craving for imaginative ornament, partly
to his sympathy with his less developed readers, and a sense that some
of these forms were admirably adapted to give reality to the conception
of the ‘living God.’ Several of these points of contact with heathendom
have been indicated in my analysis of the poem. I need not again refer
to these, but the semi-mythological allusions to supernatural beings who
had once been in conflict with Jehovah (xxi. 22, xxv. 2), and the
cognate references to the dangerous cloud-dragon (see below) ought not
to be overlooked. Both in Egypt and in Assyria and Babylonia, we find
these very myths in a fully developed form. The ‘leviathan’ of iii. 8,
the dragon probably of vii. 12 (_tannīn_) and certainly of xxvi. 13
(_nākhāsh_), and the ‘rahab’ of ix. 13, xxvi. 12, remind us of the evil
serpent Apap, whose struggle with the sun-god Ra is described in chap.
xxxix. of the Book of the Dead and elsewhere. ‘A battle took place,’
says M. Maspero, ‘between the gods of light and fertility and the “sons
of rebellion,” the enemies of light and life. The former were
victorious, but the monsters were not destroyed. They constantly menace
the order of nature, and, in order to resist their destructive action,
God must, so to speak, create the world anew every day.’[98] An equally
close parallel is furnished by the fourth tablet of the Babylonian
creation-story, which describes the struggle between the god Marduk
(Merodach) and the dragon Tiamat or Tiamtu (a fem. corresponding to the
Heb. masc. form _t’hom_ ‘the deep’), for which see Delitzsch’s
_Assyrische Lesestücke_, 3rd edition, Smith and Sayce’s _Chaldæan
Genesis_, p. 107 &c., and Budge in _Proceedings of the Society of
Biblical Archæology_, Nov. 6, 1883.

Nor must I forget the ‘fool-hardy’ giant (K’sīl = Orion) in ix. 9,
xxxviii. 31, nor the dim allusion to the sky-reaching mountain of the
north, rich in gold (comp. Isa. xiv. 13, and Sayce, _Academy_, Jan. 28,
1882, p. 64), and the myth-derived synonyms for Sheól—Death, Abaddon,
and ‘the shadow of death’ (or, deep gloom), xxvi. 6, xxviii. 22,
xxxviii. 17, also the ‘king of terrors’ (xviii. 14), who like Pluto or
Yama rules in the Hebrew Underworld. Observe too the instances in which
a primitive myth has died down into a metaphor, e.g. ‘the eyelids of the
Dawn’ (iii. 9, xli. 18), and especially that beautiful passage,

          Hast thou ever in thy life given charge to the Morning,
          and shown its place to the Dawn,
          that it may take hold of the skirts of the earth,
          so that the wicked are shaken out of it,
          and the earth changes as clay under a seal,
          and (all things) stand forth as in a garment,
          and light is withheld from the wicked,
          and the arm lifted up is broken? (xxxviii. 12-15).

How very vivid! The personified Dawn seizes the coverlet under which the
earth has slept at its four ends and shakes the evil-doers out of it
like flies; upon which form and colour return to the earth, as clay (a
Babylonian image) receives a definite form from the seal, and as the
sad-coloured night-wrapper is exchanged for the bright, embroidered
holiday-robe. Could we only transfer the poet to an earlier stage of
mythic consciousness, we should find him expressing the same ideas—that
morning-light creates all fair things anew, and discomfits the
evil-doer—very much in the style of the Vedic hymns to Ushas (the Dawn),
from which I quote the following in Grassmann’s translation (Rig Veda,
I. 123, 4, 5),—

                Die tageshelle kommt zu jedem Hause
                und jedem Tage gibt sie ihren Namen;
                zu spenden willig, strablend naht sie immer
                und theilet aus der Güter allerbestes.
                Als Bhaga’s Schwester, Varuna’s Verwandte,
                komm her zuerst, o schöne Morgenröthe;
                Wer frevel übt, der soll dahinter bleiben,
                von uns besiegt sein mit der Uschas Wagen.

(There is also an Egyptian parallel in a hymn to the Sun-god, _Records
of the Past_, viii. 131, ‘He fells the wicked in his season.’) How far
the poet of Job believed in the myths which he has preserved, e.g. in
the existence of potentates or potencies corresponding to the ‘dragon’
of which he speaks, we cannot certainly tell. Mr. Budge has suggested
that Tiamat, the sky-dragon of the Babylonians, conveyed a distinct
symbolic meaning. However this may have been, the ‘leviathan’ of Job was
probably to the poet a ‘survival’ from a superstition of his childhood,
and little if anything more than the emblem of all evil and disorder.

And now for the bearing of the above on criticism. It is a remarkable
fact that there are mythological allusions, very similar to some of
those in Job, in the later portions of the Book of Isaiah (Isa. xxiv.
21, xxvii. 1, ii. 9). This evidently suggests a date for the Book of Job
not earlier than the Exile. It is not necessary to assume that the
authors of these books borrowed either from Egypt or from Babylonia.
They drew from the unexhausted store of Jewish popular beliefs. They
wrote for a larger public than the older poets and prophets could
command, and adapted themselves more completely to the average culture
of their people.

Footnote 98:

  Maspero, _Histoire ancienne de l’Orient_, ed. 1, p. 30. Comp. Chabas’
  translation from the Harris papyrus, _Records of the Past_, x.
  142-146.




                               CHAPTER X.
                 ARGUMENT FROM THE DOCTRINE OF ANGELS.


The facts on which our argument is based are mainly the passages in
_Job_ which refer to ‘sons of Elohim’ (or better, as Davidson, ‘of the
Elohim’), to ‘the Satan,’ and to the _mal’akim_. The first of these
three phrases means probably _inferior_ members of the class of beings
called Elohim (i.e. ‘superhuman powers’); the second, ‘the adversary (or
opposer);’ the third, ‘envoys or messengers’ (ἄγγελοι). We may at once
draw an inference from the expression ‘the Satan,’ the full importance
of which will be seen later on. ‘The Satan’ being an appellative, the
book in which it occurs was probably written before Chronicles, where we
find ‘Satan’ without the article, almost[99] as if a proper name; and
being applied to a minister and not an opponent of Jehovah, the Book of
Job is probably earlier than the prophecies of Zechariah and the Books
of Chronicles; see Zech. iii. 1, 2 (where observe that Jehovah’s only
true representative gives a severe reproof to ‘the Satan’), 1 Chron.
xxi. 1 (where ‘Satan,’ uncommissioned, ‘entices’ David to an act
displeasing to Jehovah[100]). The difference between the notices of the
Satan (or Satan) may not seem great to an unpractised student, but no
one who has followed the development of any single doctrine will
undervalue such traces of a growing refinement in the conceptions of
good and evil. Whether or no the ideas of the Chronicler and his age had
been modified by hearing of the Persian Ahriman, may be questioned; but
a similar supposition cannot be allowed in the case of the author of
_Job_. The Satan of the Prologue is, in theory at least, simply
Jehovah’s agent, though he certainly betrays a malicious pleasure in his
invidious function of trying or sifting the righteous. It is not
impossible that the author of the Prologue was the first to use the term
Satan in this sense. At any rate, it is a pure Hebrew term, unlike the
Ashmedai or Asmodæus of the Book of Tobit. [Ashmedai, in later Judaism,
is the head of the Shedim—demons who were never angels of God, just as
Sammael is the ‘head of all Satans,’ i.e. the prince of the fallen
angels. Weber, _System der altsynagog. Palästin. Theologie_, pp. 243-5.]

Next, turning to the _mal’akim_, observe that the word occurs very
rarely in _Job_, viz. once in the original Colloquies (iv. 18), and once
(virtually) in the first speech of Elihu (xxxiii. 23). We find, however,
a kindred phrase ‘the _q’doshim_,’ or ‘holy ones,’ i.e. superhuman,
heavenly beings, separate from the world of the senses[101] (v. 1, xv.
15), and comparing v. 1 with iv. 18 we cannot doubt that the same class
of beings is intended. We nowhere meet with the _Mal’ak Yahvè_, so
familiar to us in certain Old Testament narratives; Elihu’s _mal’ak
mēlīç_ (xxxiii. 23) is not synonymous with the older expression (see
account of Elihu). In fact, the thousands of _mal’akim_ known at the
period of the writers of Job have made the one great _mal’ak_
unnecessary, just as, but for the influence of Persian ideas, the
multitudinous ‘hurtful angels’ (Ps. lxxviii. 49) might sooner or later
have entirely supplanted the single Satan. And yet even an ordinary
_mal’ak_, when he appears, is more awful than the great _mal’ak Yahvè_;
the angel who appears to Eliphaz (Job iv. 15, 16) is as unrecognisable
as the ‘face’ of Jehovah himself. This is an indication, though but a
slight one, of a somewhat advanced age, when the gulf between God and
man was more acutely felt, and religious thought was more specially
directed to filling it up.

The title ‘holy ones’ (v. 1) enables us to identify the ‘angels’ with
the ‘sons of the Elohim.’ Separateness from human weakness, though not
mediatorial ability[102] is equally, predicated of both. But neither the
poet of _Job_, nor any of the psalmists, identifies the phrases in
express terms;[103] a virtual identification (see above, and Ps. lxxxix.
7, 8) is all that they venture upon. There was a good reason for
this—viz. their recollection of the physical and mythological origin of
the phrase, ‘the sons of the Elohim.’ ‘Angels’ and ‘sons of the Elohim’
are indeed alike ‘holy’ and ‘servants’ of the supreme God, but not
always so, according to Hebrew tradition, were the ‘sons of the Elohim.’
In support of this, we may refer, not only to Gen. vi. 4 (which the
author of _Job_ need not have known), but to the allusions in his poem
(see above) to a war among the inhabitants of heaven. This war, I think,
stands in connection not merely with the physical phenomena of light and
darkness, but also with speculations of pious Jehovists, or worshippers
of Jehovah, as to the basis and value of ‘heathen’ religions. According
to Deut. xxxii. 8,[104] each of the nations of the world was allotted by
the Most High (_Elyōn_)[105] to some one of the ‘sons of El’ (the
simplest name for God); of course we are to suppose that these ‘sons of
El’ and their worshippers were meant to recognise the supremacy of the
‘God of Gods’—Jehovah. But (so we may suppose the train of thought of
the Jehovists to have run) the nations and their deities formed the vain
dream of independence. The result of the struggle between Jehovah and
the inferior Elohim is referred to in _Job_: the Elohim renounced their
dream of independent sovereignty and were admitted into Jehovah’s
service. Henceforth they were no longer _shīdīm_, i.e. ‘lords’ (?),
Deut. xxxii. 17, but _mal’akīm_ ‘messengers.’ But the ‘heathen’ nations
go on worshipping the Elohim, ignorant that their divinities have been
dispossessed of their misused lordship.[106] Instead of Him who alone
henceforth is ‘enthroned in the heavens’ (Ps. ii. 4), they honour ‘that
which is not God’ (Deut. xxxii. 21), phantom-divinities whom they
localise, like Jehovah, in the sky. Thus, except as to the region of the
divine habitation, they differ radically from Jehovists like the author
of _Job_. In that one point he agrees with them: the stars and the ‘sons
of Elohim’ he still pictures to himself as closely conjoined (xxxviii.
6). Thus, the old and the new are fermenting in his brain, and on the
ground of their angelology we can safely date the authors of _Job_
somewhere in the great literary period which opens with the ‘Captivity.’

Footnote 99:

  It is not likely that Satan was ever used entirely as a proper name;
  but being frequently in men’s mouths, it naturally lost the article.
  At last the name Sammael was invented for the arch-Satan (see above).

Footnote 100:

  In 2 Sam. xxiv. 1, the temptation is ascribed to Jehovah; the
  Chronicler is at any rate on the road to James i. 13. Contrast the
  stationariness of Mohammed (‘God misleadeth whom He will,’ Korán,
  xxxv. 9).

Footnote 101:

  So rightly Baudissin, _Studien_, ii. 125.

Footnote 102:

  Eliphaz apparently assumes that the ‘holy ones’ might plead for Job
  with Eloah (comp. xxxiii. 23). There is an analogy for this in Arabian
  religion. The Koreish (Qurais) tribe were willing to join Mohammed, if
  he would only admit their three idol-gods to be mediators with the
  supreme God, and for a time he consented. See Palmer’s Korán, Introd.,
  p. xxvii. This was equivalent to recognising these heathen deities as
  _b’ur Elohim_ and also (Eliphaz would say) as _Q’dōskīm_ or ‘holy
  ones.’

Footnote 103:

  The Elohistic narrator in Gen. xxviii. 12, 17, xxxii. 2, 3 even
  appears to identify the terms ‘angels of Elohim’ (= God) and ‘Elohim’
  (= divine powers). _Beth ’elōhīm_ and _makhani’ ’elōhīm_ are more
  naturally rendered ‘place, host, of divine powers’ than ‘place, host
  of God.’

Footnote 104:

  The ‘Song of Moses’ is placed by Ewald and Kamphausen in the Assyrian
  period of Israel’s history. Ver. 8 runs, in a corrected version.

Footnote 105:

  ‘When Elyōn gave the nations as inheritances, when he parted out the
  sons of men, he set the bounds of the peoples according to the number
  of the sons of El:’ comp. ver. 9. ‘For Jehovah is the portion of his
  people, Jacob is the lot of his inheritance.’ (With many recent
  critics, I follow the reading of the Septuagint. A scribe, offended by
  the no longer intelligible statement in ver. 8, inserted an Ι before
  ΗΛ, and so formed the usual abbreviation of Ἰσραήλ.) This passage
  explains Sirach xvii. 17.

Footnote 106:

  There is a singular reference to a still future deposition of the
  patron spirits of the nations in Isa. xxiv. 21 (post-Exile), with
  which comp. Ps. lviii., lxxxii. In lxxxii. 6 the title _’elōhim_ is
  interchanged with _b’nē ’elyōn_ ‘sons of the Most High.’




                              CHAPTER XI.
                    ARGUMENT FROM PARALLEL PASSAGES.


The new phase into which the controversy as to the early Christian work
on the _Teaching of the Apostles_ has passed excuses me from justifying
the importance (in spite of its difficulty) of the study of parallel
passages. A great point has been gained in one’s critical and exegetical
training when one has learned so to compare parallel passages as to
distinguish true from apparent resemblances, and to estimate the degree
of probability of imitation. In Essay viii. of vol. ii. of _The
Prophecies of Isaiah_, I endeavoured to help the student to do this for
himself within the field of the Book of Isaiah. I shall not attempt this
with the same thoroughness for the Book of Job. It is a sign of the
consummate skill of the writer that he is an artist even in his
imitations. As Luther says, ‘Die Rede dieses Buches ist so reisig und
prächtig als freilich keines Buches in der ganzen Schrift.’ The author
retains the parallelistic distich, but is no longer content with a bare
synonymous or antithetic bifurcation of his material, and dwells on the
decoration of an idea with a freedom which sometimes obscures his
meaning; hence too the germinal phrase or word suggested by an earlier
book may easily escape notice. I shall confine my attention to the most
defensible points of contact, referring for the rest, without pledging
myself to agreement, to Dr. J. Barth’s _Beiträge zur Erklärung des
Buches Job_ (Leipzig, _s.a._), pp. 1-17.

The influence of _Job_ on the works which all admit to be of post-Exile
origin need not detain us here. There is but one undoubted reference to
Job in Ecclesiastes (v. 14; comp. Job i. 21)—we should perhaps have
expected more. But Sirach with a true instinct detected an affinity
between his own ideas and Job xxviii. (comp. this chapter with Ecclus.
i. 3, 5, &c.), though he neglects the rest, and does not include our
poet among the ‘famous men’ and the ‘fathers that begot us.’ Passing
upwards, we shall, if historical criticism be our guide, make our first
pause at the undeniably later psalms and at the later portions of
Isaiah. In the former compare (as specimens).

                     Ps. ciii. 16 with Job vii. 12
                     —  cvii. 40  —  —  xii. 21, 24
                     —   —   41  —  —  xxi. 11
                     —   —   42  —  —  xxii. 19, v. 16
                     —  cxix. 28  —  —  xvi. 20
                     —   —   50  —  —  vi. 10
                     —   —   69  —  —  xiii. 4
                     —   —  103  —  —  vi. 25.

There is, I think, no question that these psalm-passages were inspired
by the parallels in Job. In Isa. xl.-lxvi. there are, as I have pointed
out (_Isaiah_, ed. 3, ii. 250), at least twenty-one parallels to
passages in our poem. I do not, however, think that we can venture to
describe either set of passages _en bloc_ as imitations. But there are
at least two clear cases of imitation, and here the original is not the
prophet but the poet (comp. Isa. li. 9_b_, 10_a_, with Job xxvi. 12, 13,
and Isa. liii. 9 with Job xvi. 17). With regard to the book (II. Isaiah)
as a whole, or at least the greater part of it, we may say that there is
a parallelism of idea running through it and the Book of job, which may
to a large extent account for parallelisms of expression. This does not,
however, apply everywhere, least of all to the great prophetic dirge on
the ‘despised and rejected’ one, which presents stylistic phenomena so
unlike that of its context that we seem bound to assign the substratum
of Isa. lii. 13-liii. to a time of persecution previous to the
Exile.[107] How the poet of Job became acquainted with this striking
passage, we know not. Did it form part of some prophetic anthology
similar to the poetic Golden Treasury called ‘The Book of the
Righteous’? or shall we follow those bolder critics who suppose the
author of Job to have lived in the post-Exile times, when he may easily
have had access to both parts of our Book of Isaiah? These are questions
not to be evaded on account of their difficulty, but not to be decided
here.

Our next halt may be made at the Book of Proverbs, the three concluding
sections of which composite work belong at the earliest to the last
century of the Jewish state. Among the clearest literary allusions in
_Job_ are those to this book, and some of these are especially important
with regard to the disputed question of the relation between our poem
and the introduction to the Book of Proverbs (Prov. i.-ix.) That the
latter work is the earlier seems to me clear from a comparison of the
general positions indicated by the following passages from Prov. i.-ix.
and the Book of Job. Compare—

                   Prov. i.  7      with Job  xxviii. 28
                   —  iii. 11       —  —        v. 17
                   —  iii. 14, 15}  —  —   xxviii. 15-19
                   — viii. 10, 11}
                   —  iii. 19, 20   —  —   xxviii. 26, 27
                   — viii. 22, 25   —  —       xv. 7, 8
                   — viii. 29       —  —  xxxviii. 10.

It will be seen by any one who will compare these passages that the case
here is different from that of the parallelisms in _Job_ and the second
part of Isaiah. The latter do not perhaps allow us to determine with
confidence which of the two books is the earlier. But, as Prof. Davidson
has amply shown,[108] the stage of intellectual development represented
by _Job_ is more advanced than that in the ‘Praise of Wisdom.’ The
general subjects may be the same, but in Job they have entered upon a
new phase.—We now pass to the earliest of the proverbial anthologies
(Prov. x.-xxii. 16). Here of course the relation is reversed: the
proverbs are the originals to which the author of Job alludes. Compare—

               Prov. xiii. 19 } with Job xviii. 5, 6, xxi. 17
               —    xxiv. 20 }
               —      xv. 11    —  —   xxvi. 6
               —     xvi. 15    —  —   xxix. 23, 24.

We may infer from this group of parallels that the author of _Job_ not
only studied venerated ‘Solomonic’ models, but even ventured directly to
controvert their leading doctrine; see especially Job xxi. 17. In our
next comparison the relation seems reversed. The author of Prov. xxx.
1-4 not improbably alludes sarcastically to the theophany in Job
xxxviii.-xlii. 6. Note in passing the occurrence of Eloah for ‘God’ in
Prov. xxx. 5 (comp. the speeches in _Job_).

There are several parallels in the Book of Lamentations; I restrict
myself to those in the third elegy, which differs in several points from
the others, especially in its poetic feebleness. It is easier to believe
that the author of the elegy was dependent on _Job_ than to take the
reverse view. A poem, the hero of which was obviously the typical
righteous man, naturally suggested features in the description of the
representative Israelite. Compare, then, Lam. iii. 7, 9 with Job xix. 8;
iii. 8 with Job xxx. 20; iii. 10 with Job. x. 16; iii. 12, 13 with Job
vii. 20, xvi. 12, 13; iii. 14, 63 with Job xxx. 9.

Parallels to _Job_ also occur in Jeremiah. It is often, indeed, not easy
to say on which side is the originality. But in one of the most
important instances we may pronounce decidedly in favour of _Job_ (comp.
Jer. xx. 14-18 with Job iii. 3-10). The despairing utterance referred to
is an exaggeration in the mouth of Job, but suitable enough in
Jeremiah’s. In Job, l.c., we seem to recognise the slightly artificial
turn which the author loves to give to the ideas and phrases of his
predecessors; while the cutting irony of the words ‘making him very
glad’ (Jer. xx. 15) as clearly betokens the hand of the original writer.
Compare also Job vi. 15 with Jer. xv. 18; ix. 19 with Jer. xlix. 19; x.
18-22 with Jer. xx. 14-18; xii. 4, xix. 7 with Jer. xx. 7, 8; xii. 6,
xxi. 7 with Jer. xii. 1; xix. 24 with Jer. xvii. 1; xxxviii. 33 with
Jer. xxxi. 35, 36.

There are two plausible points of contact in _Job_ with Deuteronomy
(comp. Job xxiv. 2, Deut. xix. 14 [removing landmarks]; Job xxxi. 9, 11,
Deut. xxii. 22), but only one worth mentioning with Genesis (xxii. 16;
comp Gen. vi. &c.), and here observe that the word for A.V.’s ‘flood’
(Job, l.c.) is not _mabbūl_ but _nāhār_.[109] Hitzig and Delitzsch find
another in xxxi. 33. But _ādām_ in Job always means ‘men:’ in xv. 7, 8,
where the first man is referred to, he is not named. The reference in
xxxi. 33 is not to hiding sins from God, but from man. I think, however,
that the Prologue implies a general acquaintance with some current
descriptions of the patriarchal period—the ‘golden age’ to men of a more
advanced civilisation.

It is remarkable, what interesting parallels are afforded by the
prophets of the Assyrian period. Isaiah, as might be expected, contains
the largest number (see _The Prophecies of Isaiah_, ed. 3, ii. 243); but
Hosea follows close after. Compare especially—

     Isa. xix. 5, certainly the     Job xiv. 11, ‘the waters fail
     original of Job, l.c., where   from the sea,’ i.e. any inland
     the special reference to the   body of water
     sea-like Nile is dropped


     Isa. xxviii. 29                Job xi. 6 (God’s wisdom
                                    marvellous; see Merx, and
                                    _Isaiah_, ii. 154)


     Hos. x. 13, combined with      Job iv. 8 (‘ploughing
     Prov. xxii. 8                  iniquity,’ &c.)


     Hos. vi. 1 (or Deut. xxxii.    Job v. 18 (‘he maketh sore and
     39)                            bindeth up,’ &c.)


     Hos. v. 14, xiii. 7, 8         Job x. 16 (God compared to a
                                    lion)


     Hos. xiii. 12 (or Deut. xxxii. Job xiv. 17 (‘transgression
     34)                            sealed up,’ &c.)


     Am. iv. 13, v. 8 (the          Job ix. 8, 9 (‘that treadeth
     comparison suggests that v. 8, upon the heights of the sea;
     9 stood immediately after iv.  that maketh the Bear, Orion,
     13 when Job was written, and   and the Pleiades’)
     that ‘the sea,’ i.e. the upper
     ocean, stood for ‘the earth’)

Comp. also Am. v. 8, ix. 6 with Job xii. 15; Am. ii. 9 with Job xviii.
16.

I say nothing here of the parallels in the Song of Hezekiah (Isa.
xxxviii. 10-20). I have shown reason in _Isaiah_, i. 228, for believing
that the Song is a highly imitative work, and largely based on Job, such
a work in fact as can only be accounted for in the Exile or post-Exile
period.

There still remains the great body of psalms of disputed date. The
parallelisms in Ps. xxxvii.[110] are too general to be mentioned here,
striking as they are; but we may venture to compare Ps. viii. 5 with Job
vii. 17; Ps. xxxix. 12_b_ with Job iv. 19_b_; ib. 14_a_ with Job vii.
19_a_, x. 20; ib. 14_b_ with Job x. 21, 22; Ps. lxxii. 12 with Job xxix.
12; ib. 16 with Job v. 25_b_; Ps. lxxxviii. 16_b_ with Job xx. 25 (the
rare word _’ēmīm_); ib. 17 with Job vi. 4 (_bi’ūthīm_); ib. 19 (lxix. 9)
with Job xix. 14; and note throughout this psalm the same correspondence
of extreme inward and outward suffering which we find in Job. Then,
turning to the psalms of different tenor, comp. lxxii. 12 with Job xxix.
12; ib. 16 with Job v. 25_b_. I have selected these instances precisely
because they allow us to draw an inference as to priority. Ps. lxxxviii.
is clearly imitative, and no doubt there is more imitation of the great
poem in other psalms. Psalms viii., xxxix., and (probably) lxxii. were
however known to and imitated by the authors of _Job_. The parallel in
Ps. viii. is specially important. That this psalm is not earlier than
the Exile is disputed, but extremely probable; the bitter ‘parody’ in
Job vii. 17 must in this case be of the same or a later period.

And now to sum up the results of our comparisons. The Colloquies in
_Job_ are of later origin than Deuteronomy, Jeremiah, Lamentations, and
most of Proverbs, but possibly nearly contemporaneous with much in the
second part of Isaiah, except that Isa. liii. not improbably lay before
the author of _Job_; also that Ps. viii., a work of the Exile period,
was well known to him. We are thus insensibly led on to date the Book of
Job (the speeches, at any rate) during the Exile. This will account for
the large amount of imitation to which the book gave rise. Men felt
respecting the author that he was the first and greatest exponent of the
ideas and feelings, not of a long-past age, but of their own; that he
‘sat chief, and dwelt as a king in the army, as one that comforteth the
mourners’ (Job xxix. 25).

Footnote 107:

  See Cheyne, _The Prophecies of Isaiah_, ed. 3, ii. 30; art. ‘Isaiah,’
  _Encyclopædia Britannica_, xi. 380.

Footnote 108:

  _The Book of Job_ (1884), pp. lx.-lxii.

Footnote 109:

  According to Ewald, the reference is to Sodom and Gomorrah, the story
  of which, we know, was familiar as early as Hosea’s time (Hos. xi. 8).

Footnote 110:

  See Bateson Wright’s _The Book of Job_, Appendix. The author concludes
  that the poet of _Job_ ‘selects the main threads from the complete
  treatise of Ps. xxxvii. and interweaves them into the highly poetical
  discourse of Eliphaz.’




                              CHAPTER XII.
    ON THE DISPUTED PASSAGES IN THE DIALOGUE-PORTION, ESPECIALLY THE
                           SPEECHES OF ELIHU.


A detailed exegetical study would alone enable the reader to do justice
to the controversies here referred to. But I may at least ask that, even
upon the ground of the slender analysis which I have given, he should
recognise the difficulties at the root of these controversies. In
comparison with his possession of a ‘seeing eye,’ it is of little moment
to me whether he adopts my explanations or not. Poets, like painters,
have different periods. It is therefore conceivable that the author of
_Job_ changed in course of time, and criticised his own work, these
afterthoughts of his being embodied in the ‘disputed passages.’ It is
indeed also conceivable that the phenomena which puzzle us are to be
explained by the plurality of authorship. In the remarks which follow I
wish to supplement the sketch of the possible or probable growth of the
Book offered in section 3 of Chap. VII., chiefly with regard to the
speeches of Elihu.

Keil has spoken of ‘the persistently repeated assaults upon the
genuineness’ of these discourses. I must however protest against the use
of the word ‘genuineness’ in this connection. Even if not by the author
of the poem of _Job_, the speeches of Elihu are as ‘genuine’ a monument
of Israel’s religious ‘wisdom’ as the work of the earlier writer. No
critic worthy of the name thinks of ‘assaulting’ them, though divines no
less orthodox than Gregory the Great and the Venerable Bede have
uncritically enough set the example. The speeches of Elihu only seem
poor by comparison with the original work; they are not without true and
beautiful passages, which, with all their faults of expression, would in
any other book have commanded universal admiration. The grounds on which
chaps. xxxii.-xxxvii. are denied to the original writer may be summed up
thus.

(1) Elihu puts forward a theory of the sufferings of the righteous which
does not essentially differ from that of the three friends (see
especially xxxiii. 25-28; xxxiv. 9, 11, 12, 36, 37; xxxv. 9-16; xxxvi.
5-7, 21-25; xxxvii. 23, 24). No doubt he improves the theory, by laying
more stress upon the chastening character of the righteous man’s
afflictions (xxxiii. 14-30; xxxvi. 8-12, 15, 16, and comp. Eliphaz in v.
18, 19), and to many disciples of the New Covenant his form of the
theory may recommend itself as true. But, even apart from the appendix
or epilogue (see xlii. 7-9), it is clear from the whole plan of the
poem, particularly if the discourses of Jehovah be taken in, that this
was not, in the writer’s mind, an adequate solution of the problem,
especially in the case of the God-fearing and innocent Job.

(2) These speeches interrupt the connection between the ‘words of Job’
and those of Jehovah, and seem to render the latter superfluous. Whether
the ‘words of Job’ (to borrow the phrase of some editor of the book)
should end at xxxvii. 37 or at ver. 40, it is difficult not to believe
that xxxviii. 1, 2, ‘And Jehovah answered Job out of the storm, and
said, Who then is darkening counsel by words without knowledge?’ was
meant to follow immediately upon them. The force of this seems to some
to be weakened by taking Elihu’s description of the storm (xxxvii. 2-5)
as preparatory to the appearance of Jehovah in chap. xxxviii. But,
evidently, to make this an argument, the storm ought to be at the end of
the speech.

(3) There is no mention of Elihu in the Prologue, nor is any divine
judgment passed upon him in the Epilogue. It is not enough to reply with
Stickel that Jehovah himself is not mentioned in the Prologue as the
umpire in the great controversy; why should he be?—and that the absence
of any condemnation of Elihu on the part of Jehovah, and the harmony (?)
between Elihu’s and Jehovah’s discourses, sufficiently indicate the good
opinion of the Divine Judge.

(4) Elihu’s style is prolix and laboured; his phrases often very
obscure, even where the words separately are familiar. As Davidson
remarks, there are not only unknown words (these we meet with elsewhere
in the book), but an unknown use of known words. There is also a deeper
colouring of Aramaic (see Appendix), which F. C. Cook, following
Stickel, explains by the supposed Aramæan origin of the speaker; in this
case, it would be a refinement of art which adds a fresh laurel to the
crown of the poet. But the statement in xxxii. 2 is that Elihu was ‘the
son of Barakel the Buzite, of the kindred of Ram.’ That Ram = Aram is
unproved; while Buz, as Jer. xxv. 23 shows, is the name of a genuine
Arabian people. It would be better to explain the increased Aramaism by
the lapse of a long interval in the writer’s life. This explanation is,
to me, equivalent to assigning these speeches to a different writer (as
I have remarked elsewhere, comparing Goethe’s _Faust_). Those who will
may adopt it; but my own respect for the poet of _Job_ will not allow me
to believe that his taste had so much declined as to insert this
inferior poem into his masterpiece.

(5) Elihu’s allusions to passages in the rest of the book (comp. xxxiii.
15 with iv. 13; xxxiv. 3 with xii. 11; xxxv. 5 with xxii. 12; xxxv. 8
with xxii. 2; xxxvii. 8 with xxxviii. 40) and his minute reproductions
of sayings of Job (see xxxiii. 8, 9; xxxiv. 5, 6; xxxv. 2, 3) point to
an author who had the book before him, so far as then known, as a whole.

(6) Elihu’s somewhat scrupulous piety, or shall I call it his advance in
reverential, contrite devoutness? compared with the three friends,
suggests that the poet of Elihu was the child of a later and more sombre
generation which found the original book in some respects disappointing.

Putting all this together, if the main part of the Book of Job belongs
to the Exile, the Elihu-portion may well belong to the post-Exile
period.

To this view, it is no objection that, on the one hand, Elihu not merely
(to express oneself shortly) criticises the position of the three
friends, but, by ignoring it, criticises the view of Job’s afflictions
taken in the Prologue, and, on the other, has much in common with the
rest of the book in orthographic, grammatical, and lexical respects. The
idea that God permits affliction simply to try the disinterestedness of
a good man, is one which might easily shock the feelings of one only too
conscious that he was not good; and the linguistic points which ‘Elihu’
and the rest of the book have in common are such as we should expect to
find in works proceeding from the same class of writers. If Jeremiah
wrote all the pieces which contain Jeremian phraseology, or Isaiah all
the prophecies which remind one at all of the great prophet, or the same
‘wise man’ wrote Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, then we may perhaps believe
that the author of _Job_ also wrote the speeches of Elihu and perhaps
one or two of the didactic psalms.

Professor Briggs, the author of that excellent work _Biblical Study_,
takes up a different position, which, though not new, acquires some
authority from his respected name. He does not see any literary or
theological merit in Elihu’s speeches, and yet regards them as ‘an
important part of the original work.’ The author designed to portray
Elihu as a young and inexperienced man, and uses these ambitious
failures ‘as a literary foil ... to prepare the way for the divine
interposition, to quiet and soothe by their tediousness the agitated
spirits of Job and his friends.’[111] To me, this view of the intention
of the speeches lowers the character of the original writer. So reverent
and devout a speaker as Elihu is ill rewarded by being treated as a
literary and theological foil. Artistically, the value of this part may
be _comparatively_ slight, but theologically it enriches the Old
Testament with a monument of a truly Christian consciousness of sin. Had
the original writer equalled him in this, we should perhaps have missed
a splendid anticipation of the life of Christ, who ‘did no sin, neither
was guile found in his mouth.’ But the Elihu-section expresses in Old
Testament language the great truth announced by St. Paul in 1 Cor. xi.
32.[112]

On the other ‘disputed passages’ I have little to add.

(_a_) To me, the picture of the behémoth and the leviathan (xl. 15-xli.)
seems but little less probably a later insertion than the speeches of
Elihu; this view of the case has the authority of Ewald. That cautious
critic, Dr. Davidson, remarks that this passage has a very different
kind of movement from that of the tight and graceful sketches in chaps.
xxxviii., xxxix., and that the poetic inventory which it contains
reminds us more of an Arab poet’s description of his camel or his horse
(_Job_, p. liv.)

(_b_) I cannot speak so positively as to the speeches of Jehovah. From a
purely æsthetic point of view, I am often as unwilling as any one to
believe that they were ‘inserted.’ At other times I ask myself, Can the
inconsistencies of this portion as compared with the Colloquies be
explained as mere oversights? The appearance of the Almighty upon the
scene is in itself strange. Job had no doubt expressed a wish for this,
but did not suppose that it could be realised,[113] at any rate in his
own lifetime. It is still stranger that the Almighty should appear, not
in the gentle manner which Job had desired (ix. 34, 35), not with the
object of a judicial investigation of the case, but in the whirlwind,
and with a foregone conclusion on Job’s deserts. For in fact that
splendid series of ironical questions which occupies chaps. xxxviii.,
xxxix., and which Job had by anticipation deprecated (ix. 3), is nothing
less than a long drawn-out condemnation of Job. The indictment and the
defendant’s reply, to which Job has referred with such proud
self-confidence (xxxi. 35, 36), are wholly ignored; and the result is
that which Job has unconsciously predicted in the words,—

            To whom, though innocent, I would not reply,
            but would make supplication unto my Judge (ix. 15).

(_c_) Great difficulties have been found in xxvii. 8 (or 11)-23, xxviii.
First of all, Is there an inner connection between these passages? Dr.
Green seeks to establish one. ‘While continuing,’ he says, ‘to insist
upon his own integrity, notwithstanding the afflictions sent upon him,
he freely admits, and this in language as emphatic as their own, the
reality of God’s providential government, and that punishment does
overtake the ungodly. Nevertheless there is a mystery enveloping the
divine administration, which is quite impenetrable to the human
understanding’ (_The Book of Job_, p. 233). This is very unnatural.[114]
How can Job suddenly adopt the language of the friends without conceding
that he has himself hitherto been completely in error? And what right
have we to force such a subtle connection between chaps. xxvii. and
xxviii? Looking at the latter by itself, one cannot help suspecting that
it once formed part of a didactic treatise similar to the Introduction
to the Book of Proverbs (see end of Chap. III). For a careful exegetical
study of chaps. xxvii., xxviii., see Giesebrecht (see ‘Aids to the
Student,’ after Chap. XV.), with whom Dr. Green seems to accord, but who
fails to convince me. See also Budde in his _Beiträge_, and Grätz, ‘Die
Integrität der Kap. 27 und 28 im Hiob,’ _Monatsschrift_, 1872, p. 241
&c.

Footnote 111:

  _Presbyterian Review_, 1885, p. 353.

Footnote 112:

  Delitzsch, art. ‘Hiob,’ Herzog-Plitt’s _Realencyklopädie_, vi. 132.

Footnote 113:

  Since this wish cannot be realised, Job pleads his cause against an
  invisible God with the same earnestness as if he stood before His
  face.

Footnote 114:

  It is a pleasure to quote the forcible summing-up of Mr. Froude. ‘A
  difficulty,’ he remarks, ‘now arises which, at first sight, appears
  insurmountable. As the chapters are at present printed, the entire of
  the 27th is assigned to Job, and the paragraph from the 11th to the
  23rd verses is in direct contradiction to all which he has maintained
  before—is, in fact, a concession of having been wrong from the
  beginning. Ewald, who, as we said above, himself refuses to allow the
  truth of Job’s last and highest position, supposes that he is here
  receding from it, and confessing what an over-precipitate passion had
  betrayed him into denying. For many reasons, principally because we
  are satisfied that Job said then no more than the real fact, we cannot
  think Ewald right; and the concessions are too large and too
  inconsistent to be reconciled even with his own general theory of the
  poem’ (_Short Studies_, vol. i.) He then proceeds to mention with
  cautious approbation the theory of Kennicott (see note on Text at end
  of Chap. XV.)




                             CHAPTER XIII.
                      IS JOB A HEBRÆO-ARABIC POEM?


That the Book of Job is not as deeply penetrated with the spirit of
revelation, nor even as distinctly Israelitish a production, as most of
the Old Testament writings, requires no argument. May we venture to go
further, and infer from various phenomena that, not merely the artistic
form of the _māshāl_, but the thoughts and even the language of _Job_
came in a greater or less degree from a foreign source? The question has
been answered in the affirmative (as in the case of the words of Agur in
Prov. xxx., and those of Lemuel in chap. xxxi.) by some early as well as
some more modern writers. This view has been supposed to be implied in
the Greek postscript to the Septuagint version[115] (strongly redolent
of Jewish Midrash), which contains the statement, οὗτος ἑρμηνεύεται ἐκ
τῆς Συριακῆς βίβλου, but though Origen appears so to have
understood,[116] it is more probable that οὗτος merely refers to the
postscript (Zunz; Frankl). Ibn Ezra, however, on independent grounds
does express the opinion (commenting on Job ii. 11) that the Book of Job
is a translation; he ascribes to the translator the words in xxxviii. 1
containing the sacred name Jehovah. The increased study of Arabic in the
17th century led several theologians of eminence to the same conclusion.
Spanheim, for instance, thought that Job and his friends wrote down the
history and the colloquies in Arabic, after the happy turn in the
fortunes of the sufferer, and that some inspired Israelitish writer, in
the age of Solomon, gave this work a Hebrew dress. Albert Schultens, in
the preface to his _Liber Jobi_ (1737), is at the pains to discuss this
theory, which he rejects on two main grounds, (1) the disparagement to
our magnificent Book of Job involved in calling it a translation, and
(2) that in those primitive and, according to him, pre-Mosaic times, the
Hebrew and Arabic languages cannot have been so different (!) as
Spanheim from his point of view imagines. Elsewhere he expresses his own
opinion shortly thus,[117] ‘Linguam quâ liber Jobi conscriptus est,
genuinum illius temporis Arabismum esse.’ He actually imagines that Job
and his friends extemporised the Colloquies we have before us, referring
to the amazing faculty of improvisation still possessed by the Arabs—a
view scarcely worthier than that of Spanheim, for, as Martineau remarks
in another connection, Who ever improvised a great poem or a great
sermon? Both these great scholars have fallen into the error of
confounding the poet with his hero and the use of poetic and didactic
fiction with deliberate fraud. One cannot be severe upon this error, for
it has survived among ourselves in Prof. S. Lee’s great work (1837),
where our Book of Job is actually traced back through Jethro to Job
himself. The only form however in which a critic of our day could
discuss the question mentioned above would be this, Is it in some degree
probable that the author of _Job_ was a Hebrew who had passed some time
with the Arabic- and Aramaic-speaking peoples bordering on the land of
Israel?

On grounds independent of Eichhorn and Dean Plumptre, the former of whom
combines his theory with that of a pre-Mosaic, and the latter with that
of a Solomonic date of _Job_, I think that we may venture to reply in
the affirmative. These grounds have reference (1) to the ideas of _Job_,
(2) to its vocabulary.

(1) I am well aware that the argument from the ideas of _Job_ cannot
claim a strong degree of cogency. It is possible to account for the
conceptions of the author from the natural progress of the
(divinely-guided) moral and religious history of Israel, and those who
believe (I do not myself) that Psalms xvii., xxxvii., xlix., lxxiii.,
are Palestinian works of earlier date than _Job_ will have a ready
argument in favour of a purely native origin of the latter book. Still
it seems to me that we can still better account for the author’s point
of view by supposing that he was in sympathy with an intellectual
movement going on outside Israel. The doctrine of retribution in the
present life, which he finds inadequate, is common to the friends and to
the religion which has in all ages been that of the genuine Arab—the
so-called _dīn Ibrāhīm_ (or ‘religion of Abraham’). The Eloah and the
Shaddai of Job are the irresponsible Allah who has all power in heaven
and on earth, and before whom, when mysteries occur in human life which
the retribution-doctrine cannot solve, the Arab and every true Moslem
bows his head with settled, sad resignation. The morality alike of the
_dīn Ibrāhīm_, and of the religion of Mohammed (who professed to restore
it in its purity), is faulty precisely as the religion of the three
friends (and originally of Job himself) is faulty. The same conflict
which arose in the heart of Job arose in the midst of the Moslem world.
I refer to the dispute between the claimants of orthodoxy and the sect
of the Mo’tazilites (8th and 9th centuries); the latter, who were
worsted in the strife, viewed God as the absolutely Good, the former as
a despotic and revengeful tyrant.[118] May not this conflict have been
foreshadowed at an earlier time? Is not the difficulty which led to it a
constantly recurring one, so soon as reflection acquires a certain
degree of maturity? It may well have been felt among the Jews,
especially in the decline of the state, but it must also have been felt
among their neighbours, and freedom of speech has always, in historical
times, been an Arab characteristic. Putting aside the anachronism of
placing Job in the patriarchal age, does not the poet himself appear to
hint that it was so felt by the names and tribal origins of the speakers
in the great religious discussion?

(2) As to the Arabisms and Aramaisms of the language of _Job_ (see
Appendix). Jerome already says that his own translation follows none of
the ancients, but reproduces, now the words, now the sense, and now
both, ‘ex ipso hebraico arabicoque sermone et interdum syro.’ In the
17th and 18th centuries, De Dieu, Bochart, and above all Schultens made
it a first principle in the study of _Job_ to illustrate it from Aramaic
and especially Arabic. Schultens even describes the language as not so
much Hebrew, as Hebræo-Arabic, and says that it breathes the true and
unmixed genius of Arabia. This is every way an exaggeration, and yet,
after all reasonable deductions, our poem will stand out from the Old
Testament volume by its foreign linguistic affinities. It is not enough
to say that the Arabisms and Aramaisms have from the first formed part
of the Hebrew vocabulary, and were previously employed only because the
subjects of the other books did not call for their use. Unless a more
thorough study of Assyrian should prove that the Arabism (for of these I
am chiefly thinking) belonged to northern as well as to southern
Semitic, it will surely be more natural to suppose that the author of
_Job_ replenished his vocabulary from Arabic sources. There is not a
little in the phraseology of _Job_ which is still as obscure as in the
days of Ibn Ezra, but which receives, or may yet receive, illustration
from the stores of written and spoken Arabic.[119]

May we not, in short, conjecture that the poem of Job is a grand attempt
to renovate and enrich the Hebrew language?[120] If so, the experiment
can hardly have been made before the great subversion of Hebrew
traditions at the Babylonian captivity. Residence in a foreign land
produces a marked effect on one’s language. Recollect too that our
author was a literary man. Internal evidence converges to show that Job
belonged to that great literary movement among the wise men,
philosophers, or humanists, to which we shall have to refer Prov. i-ix.,
the Wisdom of Sirach, and the Book of Ecclesiastes.

Before leaving this subject, let us notice the parallels to descriptions
in the speeches of Jehovah in the Arabian poets, who show the same
attention to the striking phenomena of earth and sky as the author of
these speeches. The Arabian tone and colouring of the descriptions of
animals in _Job_ has been already remarked upon by Alfred von Kremer in
vol. ii. of his _Culturgeschichte des Orients_. Is it possible to
conceive that those sketches of the wild goat, the wild ass, and the
horse, were not written by one who was familiar with the sight? Or that
the author had not observed the habits of the ostrich, when he penned
his lines on the ostrich’s neglect of her eggs? Or that his interest in
astronomy was not deepened by the spectacle of a night-sky in Arabia? Or
that personal experience of caravan life did not inspire the touching
figure in vi. 15-20? And observation of the mines in the Sinaitic
peninsula[121] the fine description of xxviii. 1-10? It is possible that
some of these passages may be due to other travelled ‘wise men;’ but
this only increases the probability that the Hebrew movement was
strengthened by contact with similar movements abroad. The ‘wise men’
had certainly travelled far and wide among Arabic-speaking populations,
though nowhere perhaps were they so much at home as in Idumæa and its
neighbourhood. As M. Derenbourg remarks, ‘Les riantes oasis, au milieu
des contrées désolées, environnant la mer Morte, étaient la demeure des
sages et des rêveurs. Bien des siècles après l’auteur de Job, les
Esséniens et les Thérapeutes se plongeaient là dans la vie
contemplative, ou bien ils se livraient à une vie simple, active et
dégagée de tout souci mondain. Encore un peu plus tard cette contrée
devint probablement le berceau de la kabbale ou du mysticisme juif.’

Footnote 115:

  There is a doubt whether the Septuagint postscript or the statement of
  the Egyptian Jew (?) Aristeas (as given by Eusebius from Alexander
  Polyhistor in _Præf. Evang._ l. ix.) be the earlier. The ordinary view
  is that Aristeas had the Septuagint _Job_ before him; Freudenthal,
  however, infers from the strange description of Eliphaz, Bildad, and
  Zophar in Sept. Job ii. 11 (taken verbally from Aristeas) that the
  reverse was the case, and that the fragment of Aristeas is only a
  condensed extract from the prologue and epilogue of the Book of Job
  (Freudenthal, _Hellenistische Studien_, 139, 140; Grätz,
  _Monatsschrift_, 1877, p. 91). This inference in turn suggests Grätz’
  hypothesis that the Septuagint Job is a work of the first century A.D.
  (see note at end of Chap. XV.)

Footnote 116:

  _Opera_, Delarue, ii. 851, _ap._ Delitzsch, _Iob_, p. 603.

Footnote 117:

  _Opera minora_ (Lugd. Bat. 1769), p. 497.

Footnote 118:

  Kremer, _Herrschende Ideen des Islams_, p. 27 &c.; Kuenen, _Hibbert
  Lectures_, p. 48 &c.

Footnote 119:

  Prof. Socin once observed to me how useful spoken Arabic would be
  found for this purpose.

Footnote 120:

  Arabic literary history presents an example of literary experimenting
  which will at once occur to the mind—the ‘Maqamas’ or Sessions of
  Hariri.

Footnote 121:

  On the mining passage see further p. 40. Stickel, however, though
  inclining to the above view, thinks that it is still not quite
  impossible that Palestinian mines are meant, comparing Edrisi’s
  statements on the iron-mines of Phœnicia and the words of the
  Deuteronomist in Deut. viii. 9. _Das Buch Hiob_, pp. 265-6.




                              CHAPTER XIV.
                THE BOOK FROM A RELIGIOUS POINT OF VIEW.


    Motto: ‘Jedem nämlich wollte ich dienen, der hinlänglich Sinn hat in
    die grosse Frage tiefer einzugehen, welche das ernste Leben einmal
    gewiss an Jeden heranbringt, nach der Gerechtigkeit der göttlichen
    Waltung in den menschlichen Geschicken.’—STICKEL (_Das Buch Hiob_,
    Einl. S. vi.)


There was a period, not so long since, when a Biblical writing was
valued according to its supposed services to orthodox theology. From
this point of view, the Book of Job was regarded partly as a typical
description of the sufferings of our Saviour,[122] partly as a
repository of text-proofs of Christian doctrines, which though few in
number acquired special importance from the immense antiquity assigned
to the poem. We must not, in our reaction from the exclusively
theological estimate of the Old Testament, shut our eyes to the
significance of each of its parts in the history of the higher religion.
The Book of Job _is_ theological, though the theology of its writer,
being that of a poet, is less logical than that of an apostle, less
definite even than that of a prophet, in so far as the prophet obtained
(or seemed to obtain) his convictions by a message or revelation from
without. Being a poet, moreover, the writer of _Job_ can even less than
a prophet have had clear conceptions of the historical Messiah and His
period. Moral and spiritual truths—these were his appointed province,
not the secret counsels of God, nor those exceptional facts or truths
which orthodoxy still perhaps regards as among the postulates of the
faith of the Hebrew prophets. Nor can the hero of the poem be considered
a strict and proper type of the Christ, for this reason among others,
that Job is to all intents and purposes a creation of the fancy, whether
of the unconsciously working fancy of the people, or of the rich and
potent imagination of a poet. In what sense, then, may the Book of Job
still claim a theological significance, and be allowed to fill a not
unimportant place in the _Vorgeschichte_ of Christianity?

I. The hero of the poem (I exclude from consideration the speeches of
Elihu[123]) is, not indeed a type, but in some sense prophetic of the
Christ, inasmuch as the very conception of a righteous man enduring vast
calamities, not so much for his own sake as for the world’s, is a bold
hypothesis which could only in the Christ be made good. The poet does
more than merely personify the invisible Church of righteous and
believing sufferers; he idealises this Church in doing so, and this
idealising is a venture of faith. Job is an altogether exceptional
figure: he is imperfect, no doubt, if viewed as a symbol of the Christ,
but this does not diminish the reality and the grandeur of the
presentiment which he embodies. To a religious mind, this remarkable
creation will always appear stamped by the hand of Providence. Job is
not indeed a Saviour, but the imagination of such a figure prepares the
way for a Saviour. In the words of Dr. Mozley, ‘If the Jew was to accept
a Messiah who was to lead a life of sorrow and abasement, and to be
crucified between thieves, it was necessary that it should be somewhere
or other distinctly taught that virtue was not always rewarded here, and
that therefore no argument could be drawn from affliction and ignominy
against the person who suffered it.’[124]

II. This then is the grandest of the elements in the Book of Job which
helped to prepare the noblest minds among the Jews for the reception of
primitive Christianity—viz. the idea of a righteous man suffering simply
because (as was said of One parallel in many respects to Job) ‘it
pleased Jehovah (for a wise purpose) to bruise him.’ The second element
is the idea of a supra-mundane justice, which will one day manifest
itself in favour of the righteous sufferer, not only in this world (xvi.
18, 19, xix. 25, xlii.), so that all men may recognise their innocence,
but also beyond the grave, the sufferers themselves being in some
undefined manner brought back to life in the conscious enjoyment of
God’s favour (xiv. 13-15, xix. 26, 27?) There may be only suggestions of
these ideas, but suggestions were enough when interpreted by sympathetic
readers. Let me add that by ‘sympathetic,’ I mean in sympathy with the
conception of God formed by the author of _Job_. Nothing is more out of
sympathy with this conception than the saying of the Jewish scholar, S.
D. Luzzatto, ‘The God of Job is not the God of Israel, the Gracious One;
He is the Almighty and the Righteous, but not the Kind and Faithful
One.’ No; the God of Job would be less than infinitely righteous if He
were not also kind (comp. Ps. lxii. 12). And of this enlarged conception
of God, faith in the continuance of the human spirit is a consequence.
Justice to those with whom God is in covenant requires that He should
not after a few years hurl them back into non-existence (comp. Job x.
8-13). But I can only skirt the fringe of the great religious problems
opened by this wonderful book.

In conclusion, and in the spirit of my motto, let me invite the reader’s
attention (even if he be no theologian) to the spectacle of a powerful
mind dashing itself against perennial problems too mighty for it to
solve. The author of our poem missed the only adequate and possible
solution, and hence he has been erroneously regarded by several moderns
as the representative of a mental attitude akin to their own. Heine, for
instance, can term this book ‘the Song of Songs of scepticism.’ No doubt
those who are at sea on religious matters can find sayings in _Job_
which may seem as if spoken by themselves; but in truth these only
enhance the significance of the counteracting elements in the poem. It
is the logical incompleteness of _Job_ which at once exposes the book to
misjudgment, and gives it an eternal fascination. As Quinet has said,
‘Ce qui fait la grandeur de ce livre, c’est qu’en dépassant la mesure de
l’Ancien Testament il appelle, il provoque nécessairement des cieux
nouveaux.... Le christianisme vit au fond de ce blasphème.’ We need a
second part of _Job_, or at least a third speech of Jehovah, which could
however only be given by some Hebrew poet who had drunk at the fountains
of the Fourth Gospel. Failing these, the reader must supply what is
necessary for himself,—a better compensation to Job for his agony than
the Epilogue provides, and a more touching and not less divine theophany
(comp. Job ix. 32, 33). This Christianity will enable him to do.
Intellectually, the problem of Job’s life may remain, but to the
Christian heart the cloud is luminous.

                The Infinite remains unknown,
                  Too vast for man to understand:
                In Him, the ‘Woman’s Seed,’ alone
                  We trace God’s footprint in the sand.[125]

Footnote 122:

  ‘The Church in all ages has regarded the one as a type of the other,’
  Turner, _Studies Biblical and Oriental_, p. 150. But Del. has already
  dissuaded from insisting too much on the historic character of the
  story of Job. ‘The endurance of Job’ (James v. 11) is equally
  instructive whether the story be real (_wirklich_) or only ideally
  true (_wahr_); and if by the phrase ‘the end of the Lord’ St. James
  refers to the Passion of Jesus (to me, however, this appears
  doubtful), he can be claimed with as much reason for the view of Job
  here adopted as for the older theory advocated by Turner.

Footnote 123:

  On the Elihu-section, see Chap. XII.

Footnote 124:

  Mozley, _Essays_, ii. 227; comp. Turner, _Studies_, p. 149.

Footnote 125:

  Aubrey De Vere. Need I guard myself on the subject of Gen. iii. 15,
  referred to in a recent memorable debate in the _Nineteenth Century_?
  A strict Messianic interpretation is, since Calvin’s time, impossible
  to the exegete, but the application of the words to Jesus Christ is
  dear to the Christian heart, and perfectly consistent with a sincere
  exegesis. M. Réville would, I think, concede this to Mr. Gladstone.




                              CHAPTER XV.
       THE BOOK OF JOB FROM A GENERAL AND WESTERN POINT OF VIEW.


The Book of Job is even less translatable than the Psalter. And why?
Because there is more nature in it. ‘He would be a poet,’ says Thoreau,
‘who could impress the winds and streams into his service to speak for
him.’ They do speak for the poet of _Job_; the ‘still sad music of
humanity’ is continually relieved by snatches from the grand symphonies
of external nature. And hence the words of _Job_ are ‘so true and
natural that they would appear to expand like the buds at the approach
of spring.’ It is only a feeble light which the Authorised Version sheds
upon this poem; and even the best prose translation must for several
reasons be inadequate. Perhaps, though English has no longer its early
strength, a true poet might yet achieve some worthy result. Rarely has
the attempt been made. George Sandys was said by Richard Baxter to have
‘restored Job to his original glory,’ but he lived before the great era
of Semitic studies. The poetical translator of _Job_ must not disdain to
consult critical interpreters, and yet by his own unassisted skill could
he bring this Eastern masterpiece home to the Western reader? I doubt
it. Even more than most imaginative poems the Book of Job needs the help
of the painter. It is not surprising therefore that a scholar of Giotto
should have detected the pictorial beauties of the story of Job. Though
only two of the six Job-frescoes remain entire, the Campo Santo of Pisa
will be impoverished when time and the sea-air effect the destruction of
these. I know not whether any modern painter besides William Blake has
illustrated Job. He, a ‘seer’ born out of due time, understood this
wonderful book as no modern before him had done. The student will get
more help of a certain kind from the illustrations thus reproduced in
the second volume of Gilchrist’s _Life of William Blake_, compared with
the sympathetic descriptions by Blake’s biographer (vol. i. pp.
330-333), than from any of the commentaries old or new.

In every respect the poem of _Job_ stands in a class by itself. More
than any other book in the Hebrew canon it needs bringing near to the
modern reader, untrained as he is in Oriental and especially in Semitic
modes of thought and imagination. Such a reader’s first question will
probably relate to the poetic form of the book. Is it, for instance, a
drama? Theodore of Mopsuestia (died 428) answered in the affirmative,
though he was censured for this by the Council of Constantinople. The
author of Job, he says, wronged the grand and illustrious story by
imitating the manner of the pagan tragedians. ‘Inde et illas
plasmationes fecit, in quibus certamen ad Deum fecit diabolus, et voces
sicut voluit circumposuit, alias quidem justo, alias vero amicis.’[126]

Bishop Lowth devotes two lectures of his _Sacred Poetry_ to the same
question. He replies in the negative, after comparing Job with the two
Œdipi of Sophocles (dramas with kindred subjects), on the ground that
action is of the essence of a drama and the Book of Job contains not
even the simplest action. Afterwards indeed he admits that Job has at
least one point in common with a regular drama, viz. the vivid
presentation of several distinct characters in a tragic situation. The
view that it is an epic, held in recent times by Dr. Mason Good and M.
Godet, found favour with one no less than John Milton, who speaks, as he
who knows, of ‘that epic form, whereof the two poems of Homer and those
other two of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse, and the Book of Job a brief
model.’[127] Something is to be said for this opinion if _Paradise
Regained_ be a true epic. Dialogue with the addition of a certain amount
of narrative is, roughly speaking, the literary form of the Book of Job
as well as of the unequally great English poem, and Coleridge is
probably right in representing Milton as indebted to the former for his
plan. It is however open to us to doubt not only whether _Paradise
Regained_ is a true epic poem, but whether any section of the Book of
Job except the Prologue partakes of the nature of an epic. The Prologue
certainly does; it is more than a mere introduction to the subsequent
speeches; it is an independent poetical narrative,[128] if not a
narrative poem; nor is there wanting a strong infusion of that
supernatural element which tradition regards as essential to the epic.
True, it is a torso, but this does not interfere with its genuinely
poetic character: it is, as Milton says, a ‘brief model’ or miniature of
an epic poem. The Colloquies on the other hand are as undoubtedly a
germinal character-drama, as the Song of Songs is a germinal
stage-drama. The work belongs to the same class as Goethe’s _Iphigenie_
and _Tasso_; only there is much more passion in it than in these great
but distinctively modern poems. Some one has said that ‘there is no
action and reaction between the speakers’ [in the Colloquies]. This is
an over-statement. Not only is each speaker consistent with his type of
character, but the passionate excitement of Job, and his able though
fragmentary confutation of his opponents, do produce an effect upon the
latter, do force them to take up a new position, though not indeed to
recall their original thesis.[129]

But in order to bring the Book of Job nearer to the modern Western mind,
we must not only study it from the point of view of form, but also
compare its scope and range with those of the loftiest modern Western
poems of similar import; only then shall we discover the points in which
it is distinctively ancient, Oriental, Semitic.—The greatest English
work of kindred moral and religious import is _Paradise Lost_. Like
_Job_, it is a theodicy, though of a more complex character, and aims

                    ... (to) assert eternal Providence,
                    And justify the ways of God to man.

And the author of _Paradise Lost_, though not to be equalled with the
founders of Biblical religion, is still distinguished from all modern
poets (except Dante and Bunyan) by his singularly intense faith in the
operations of the Divine Spirit. That prayer of his, beginning ‘And
chiefly Thou, O Spirit,’ and a well-known parallel passage in his
_Reason of Church Government_, prove conclusively that he held no
contracted views as to the limits of Inspiration. This, in addition to
his natural gifts, explains the overpowering impression of reality
produced by the visions of Milton, and perhaps in a still greater degree
by those of our Puritan prose-poet, John Bunyan. A similar faith in the
divine Spirit, but more original and less affected by logical theories,
was one great characteristic of the author of _Job_. He felt, like all
the religious ‘wise men’ (of whom more presently), that true wisdom was
beyond mortal ken, and could only be obtained by an influence from
above. In the strength of this confidence he ventured, like Milton, on
untrodden paths, and presumed to chronicle, in symbolic form,
transactions of the spiritual world. Whether or not he believed in the
Satan of the Prologue, as a Sunday School child might, we need not
decide; that he used popular beliefs in a wide, symbolic sense, has been
pointed out elsewhere. Probably both Milton and he, if questioned on the
subject, would have replied in the spirit of those words of our Lord,
‘If ye will receive it,’ and ‘All men cannot receive this saying.’ It is
not to be forgotten that the author of _Job_ distinctly places the Satan
in a somewhat humorous light, and though Milton is far from doing the
same, yet we know from _Comus_ that the conception of a symbol was as
familiar to him as to Lord Bacon. Notice, in conclusion, that Milton’s
Satan, though unlike the Satan of his predecessor in some points,[130]
resembles him in this striking particular, that he is not yet (in spite
of Milton’s attempt to represent him as such) the absolutely evil being.

_Faust_ has in some respects a better right to be compared with _Job_
than _Paradise Lost_. Not so much indeed in the Prologue, though Goethe
deserves credit for detecting the humorous element in the Hebrew poet’s
Satan, an element which he has transferred, though with much
exaggeration, to his own Mephistopheles. Neither the Satan nor
Mephistopheles (a remote descendant of the Hebrew[131] _mastema_, from
the root _satam=satan_) is the Origin of Evil in a personal form,[132]
but the Hebrew poet would never have accepted the description in _Faust_
of the peculiar work of the ‘denying spirit.’ But in the body of the
poem there is this marked similarity to the Book of Job—that the problem
treated of is a purely moral and spiritual one; the hero first loses and
then recovers his peace of mind; it is the counterpart in pantheistic
humanism of what St. Paul terms working out one’s own salvation. Still
there are great and most instructive divergences between the two
writers. Observe, first, the complete want of sympathy with positive
religion—with the religion from which Faust wanders—on the part of the
modern poet. Next, a striking difference in the characteristics of Job
and Faust respectively. Faust succumbs to his boundless love of
knowledge, alternating with an unbridled sensual lust; Job is on the
verge of spiritual ruin through his demand for such an absolute
correspondence of circumstances to character as can only be realised in
another world. The greatness of Faust lies in his intellect; that of Job
(who in chap. xxviii. directly discourages speculation) in his virtue.
Hence, finally, Faust requires (even from a pantheistic point of view)
to be pardoned, while Job stands so high in the divine favour that
others are pardoned on his account.

A third great poem which deserves to be compared with _Job_ is the
_Divina Commedia_. Dante has the same purpose of edification as the
author of _Job_ and even of _Faust_, though he has not been able to fuse
the didactic and narrative elements with such complete success as
Goethe. Nor is he so intensely autobiographical as either Goethe or the
author of _Job_; his own story is almost inextricably interlaced with
the fictions which he frames as the representative of the human race. He
allows us to see that he has had doubts (_Parad._ iv. 129), and that
they have yielded to the convincing power of Christianity (_Purgat._
iii. 34-39), but it was not a part of his plan to disclose, like the
author of _Job_, the vicissitudes of his mental history. In two points,
however—the width of his religious sympathies (which even permits him to
borrow from the rich legendary material of heathendom[133]) and the
morning freshness of his descriptions of nature—he comes nearer to the
author of _Job_ than either Goethe or Milton, while in the absoluteness
and fervour of his faith Milton is in modern times his only rival.

The preceding comparison will, it is hoped, leave the reader with a
sense of our great literary as well as religious debt to the author of
_Job_. His gifts were varied, but in one department his originality is
nothing less than Homeric; his Colloquies are the fountain-head from
which the great river of philosophic poetry took its origin. He is the
first of those poet-theologians from whom we English have learned so
much, and who are all the more impressive as teachers because the truths
which they teach are steeped in emotion, and have for their background a
comprehensive view of the complex and many-coloured universe.

Footnote 126:

  Migne, _Synes. et Theod._, col. 698. Comp. Kihn, _Theodor von
  Mopsuestia_, p. 68 &c.

Footnote 127:

  _The Reason of Church Government_, Book II.

Footnote 128:

  Comp. Bateson Wright, _The Book of Job_, pp. 29-31.

Footnote 129:

  Bunsen observes, not badly, ‘Hiob ist ein semitisches Drama aus der
  Zeit der Gefangenschaft. Das Dramatische windet sich aber erst aus dem
  Epos heraus, ohne eine selbstständige Gestalt zu gewinnen.’ _Gott in
  der Geschichte_, i. 291.

Footnote 130:

  Compare Satan after his overthrow with Tasso’s Soldan (_Gerus. Lib._,
  c. ix., st. 98.)

Footnote 131:

  Mr. Sutherland Edwards (_Fortnightly Review_, Nov. 1885, p. 687)
  states that Hebrew etymologies have proved failures. But the steps of
  the change from _mastema_ to Mephistopheles are all proved, beginning
  with the name Mastiphat, for the prince of the demons, in the
  chronographers Syncellus and Georg. Cedrenus (comp. Μαστιφαάτ =
  Mastema in the Book of Jubilees). Comp. Diez, _Roman. Wörterbuch_, i.
  pp. xxv., xxvi.

Footnote 132:

  Turner and Morshead, _Faust_ (1882), pp. 307-8.

Footnote 133:

  On the parallel phenomena in Job, see Chap. IX.




                   NOTE ON JOB AND THE MODERN POETS.


Job, like Spenser, should be the poet of poets; but though Goethe has
imitated him in royal fashion, and here and there other poets such as
Dante may offer allusions, yet Milton is the only poet who seems to have
absorbed Job. _Paradise Regained_ is in both form and contents a free
imitation of the Book of Job, the story of which is described in i.
368-370, 424-6, iii. 64-67. The following are the principal allusions in
_Paradise Lost_:—i. 63, comp. Job x. 22; ii. 266, comp. Job iv. 16; ii.
603, comp. Job xxiv. 19 Vulg.; iv. 999, comp. Job xxviii. 25; vii. 253-4
(Hymn on the Nativity, st. 12), comp. Job xxxviii. 4-7; vii. 373-5,
comp. Job xxxviii. 31; vii. 102, comp. Job xxxviii. 5. Shelley, too, is
said to have delighted in Job; I must leave others to trace this in his
works. I conclude with Thomas Carlyle. The words—‘Was Man with his
Experience present at the Creation, then, to see how it all went on?
System of Nature! To the wisest man, wide as is his vision, Nature
remains of quite _infinite_ depth, of quite infinite expansion’[134]—are
at once a paraphrase of the questions of Eliphaz, ‘Art thou the first
man that was born?... Didst thou hearken in the council of Eloah?’ (xv.
7, 8), and a suggestive statement of the problem of _Job_ as a challenge
to limited human ‘experience’ to prove its capacity for criticising
God’s ways.

Footnote 134:

  _Sartor Resartus_ (‘Natural Supernaturalism’).




                        NOTE ON THE TEXT OF JOB.


That the received text of our Hebrew Bible has a long history behind it,
is generally recognised; and few will deny that its worst corruptions
arose in the pre-Massoretic and pre-Talmudic periods (comp. _The
Prophecies of Isaiah_, vol. ii., Essay vii.) The popularity of the Book
of Job may not have been equal to that of many other books, but we have
seen reason to suppose that within the circles of the ‘wise men’ it was
eagerly studied and imitated. In those early times such popularity was a
source of danger to the text, and hasty copyists left their mark on many
a corrupt passage. Is there any remedy for this?

Dr. Merx’s book, _Das Gedicht von Hiob_ (1871), has the merits and
defects of pioneering works, but his introduction should by all means be
studied. Two points in it have to be examined, (1) the relative position
given by Merx to the chief ancient versions, and (2) the use which he
makes of his own strophic arrangement for detecting interpolations or
gaps in the text. More, I think, is to be gained from his discussion of
the use of the versions than from his strophic arrangement; and yet
before quite so much importance is attached to the text of the
Septuagint, ought we not to be surer than we are of the antiquity and of
the critical value of the Septuagint _Job_? That version may not be of
as recent origin[135] as Grätz would have it, but can hardly be much
earlier than the second century B.C. Before this date the text of _Job_
had time to suffer much from the usual causes of corruption. Besides
this, there are special reasons for distrusting the literal accuracy of
the translator. He seems to have been in his own way an artist, and to
have sought to reproduce poetry in poetical language. In this respect
his vocabulary differs from that of all the other Septuagint
translators; he thinks more of his Greek readers than of his Hebrew
original. Had he been more mechanical in his method, the critical value
of his work would have been greater. I agree therefore with H. Schultz
that even where the Septuagint and the Peshitto are united against the
Massoretic reading, the decisive arguments for the reading of the former
will be, not the external one of testimony, but the internal one (if so
be it exists) of suitableness.

Mr. Bateson Wright goes almost farther than Dr. Merx in his opinion of
the corruptness of the received text. His work on _Job_ (1883), however
unripe, shows remarkable independence, and contains, among many rash, a
few striking emendations. That he does not restrict himself to
corrections suggested by the versions, is not in the least a defect; the
single drawback to his work is that he has not pondered long enough
before writing. Purely conjectural emendation was doubtless often
resorted to by the old translators themselves; it was and still is
perfectly justified, though to succeed in its use requires a singular
combination of caution and boldness which even older critics have not
always attained. Special attention is devoted by Mr. Wright to the
poetical features of the speeches in _Job_. Dr. Merx had already
observed that most of the στίχοι contain eight syllables, to read which,
however, it is often needful to dispense with Metheg and with the
Chateph vowels, and contract the dual terminations. Mr. Wright, building
upon Dr. Merx’s foundation, offers a more elaborate scheme, which cannot
be discussed here. It was a misfortune for him that he had not before
him the ambitious metrical transliteration of _Job_ by G. Bickell, in
his _Carmina Vet. Test. metrice_, of which I would rather say nothing
here than too little.

Subsequent editors of the text of _Job_ will have one advantage, which
will affect their critical use of the Septuagint. It is well known that
the Alexandrine version was largely interpolated from that of
Theodotion. The early Septuagint text itself can however now be
reconstructed, through a manuscript of the Sahidic or Thebaic version
from Upper Egypt. (Comp. Lagarde, _Mittheilungen_, pp. 203-5; Agapios
Bsciai, art. in _Moniteur de Rome_, Oct. 26, 1883.) Dr. Merx was well
aware of the necessity of expurgating the Septuagint, and would have
hailed this much-desired aid in the work (see p. lxxi. of his
introduction).

So much must suffice in my present limits on the subject of metre and
textual emendation. I need not thus qualify the list which follows of
gaps and misplacements of text in our Book of Job. Observe (1) that
Bildad’s third speech (chap. xxv.) is too short. Probably, as Mr. Elzas
has suggested,[136] the continuation of it has been wrongly placed as
xxvi. 5-14; the affinity of this passage to chap. xxv. is obvious.
Probably the close of Bildad’s speech is wanting. If so (2), something
must have dropped out of Job’s reply, since xxvi. 4 has no connection
with xxvii. 2. (3) Zophar’s third speech appears to be wanting, but may
really be contained in chap. xxvii. (ver. 8 to end). The student should
not fail to observe that xxvii. 13 is a repetition of xx. 29. As the
text stands, Job is made to recant his statements in chaps. xxi., xxiv.,
and to assert that there is (not merely ought to be) a just and exact
retribution. The tone, moreover, of xxvii. 9, 10 is not in accordance
with Job’s previous speeches. If this view be correct, an introductory
formula (‘And Zophar answered and said’) must have fallen out at the
beginning of ver. 7, and probably one or more introductory verses.[137]
(4) The verses which originally introduced chap. xxviii. must (on
account of the causal particle ‘for’ in ver. 1) either have dropped out,
or else have been neglected by the person who inserted the chapter in
the Book of Job. (5) The passage xxxi. 38-40 has at any rate been
misplaced (Delitzsch), and probably, as Merx has pointed out, should be
inserted between ver. 32 and ver. 33. Thus verses 35-37 will furnish an
appropriate and impressive close to the chapter. (6) xxxvi. 31 should
probably go after ver. 28 (not ver. 29, as Dillmann misstates the
conjecture); verses 30, 32 have a natural connection (Olshausen). (7)
The passage xli. 9-12 destroys the connection, and should probably be
placed immediately before chap. xxxviii. 1, as an introductory speech of
Jehovah. In that case, we must, with Merx, supply the words, ‘And
Jehovah said,’ before ver. 9.

Footnote 135:

  ‘A child of the first Christian century,’ Grätz’s _Monatsschrift_, p.
  91. Nöldeke dates this version about 150 B.C. (_Gott. gel. Anzeigen_,
  1865, p. 575).

Footnote 136:

  Elzas, _The Book of Job_ (1872), p. 83; Grätz inclines to a similar
  view.

Footnote 137:

  A similar view has been propounded by Kennicott, and also more
  recently by Grätz (_Monatsschrift_, 1872, p. 247). But Kennicott
  regarded chap. xxviii. as Job’s reply to Zophar, while Grätz would
  include it in the speech of Zophar.




                          AIDS TO THE STUDENT.


There are many books and articles of importance besides the
commentaries. Among these are Hupfeld, _Commentatio in quosdam Jobeïdos
locos_ (1855); Bickell, _De indole ac ratione versionis Alexandrinæ in
interpretando libro Iobi_ (1862); G. Baur, ‘Das Buch Hiob und Dante’s
Göttliche Comödie,’ _Theol. Studien und Kritiken_ (1856), p. 583 &c.
(with which may be grouped Quinet’s splendid chapter, in his early work
on religions, entitled Comparaison du scepticisme oriental et du
scepticisme occidental’); Seinecke, _Der Grundgedanke des Buches Hiob_
(1863); Froude, ‘The Book of Job,’ _Short Studies_, Series 1 (1867), p.
266 &c.; Reuss, _Das Buch Hiob_ (1869); Plumptre, ‘The Authorship of the
Book of Job,’ _Biblical Studies_ (1870), p. 173 &c.; C. Taylor, ‘A
Theory of Job xix. 25-27,’ _Journal of Philology_ (1871), pp. 128-152;
Godet, ‘Le livre de Job,’ _Etudes bibliques_, prem. partie (1873), p.
185 &c.; Turner, ‘The History of Job, and its Place in the Scheme of
Redemption,’ _Studies Biblical and Oriental_ (1876), p. 133 &c.; Grätz,
chapter on Job in _Geschichte der Juden_, Bd. iii.; Studer, ‘Ueber die
Integrität des Buches Hiob,’ _Jahrbücher für protestant. Theologie_
(1875), p. 688 &c., comp. 1877, p. 540 &c.; Budde, _Beiträge zur Kritik
des Buches Hiob_ (1876), reviewed by Smend in _Studien u. Kritiken_
(1878), pp. 153-173; Giesebrecht, _Der Wendepunkt des Buches Hiob_
(1879); Derenbourg, ‘Réflexions détachées sur le livre de Job,’ _Revue
des études juives_ (1880), pp. 1-8; Claussen, ‘Das Verhältniss der Lehre
des Elihu zu derjenigen der drei Freunde,’ _Zeitschr. f. kirchl.
Wissenschaft und Leben_ (1884), pp. 393 &c., 449 &c., 505 &c.; W. H.
Green, _The Argument of the Book of Job Unfolded_ (1881); Cheyne, ‘Job
and the Second Part of Isaiah,’ _Isaiah_, ii. 259 &c., with which
compare the very full essay of Kuenen, Job en de lijdende knecht van
Jahveh,’ _Theologisch Tijdschrift_ (1873), p. 492 &c.; Delitzsch, art.
‘Hiob,’ Herzog-Plitt’s _Realencyclopadie_, bd. vi. (1880).




                         THE BOOK OF PROVERBS.


                               CHAPTER I.
           HEBREW WISDOM, ITS NATURE, SCOPE, AND IMPORTANCE.


We have studied the masterpiece of Hebrew wisdom before examining the
nature of the intellectual product which the Israelites themselves
graced with this title. The Book of Job is in fact much more than a
didactic treatise like Ecclesiastes or a collection of pointed moral
sayings like the Books of Proverbs and Ecclesiasticus. Its authors were
more than thinkers, they were poets, ‘makers,’ great imaginative
artists. But we must not be unjust to those who were primarily thinkers,
and only in the second degree poets. The phase of Hebrew thought called
‘wisdom’ (_khokma_) can be studied even better in Proverbs and
Ecclesiastes than in the poetry of Job. Let us then enquire at this
point, What is this Hebrew wisdom? First of all, it is the link between
the more exceptional revelations of Old Testament prophecy and the best
moral and intellectual attainments of other nations than the Jews.
‘Wisdom’ claims inspiration (as we have seen already), but never
identifies itself with the contents of oracular communications.[138] Nor
yet does it pretend to be confined to a chosen race. Job himself was a
non-Israelite (the Rabbis were even uncertain as to his part in the
world to come); and the wisdom of the ‘wise king’ is declared to have
been different in degree alone from that of the neighbouring
peoples[139] (1 Kings iv. 30, 31; comp. Jer. xlix. 7, Obad. 8). It is to
be observed next, that the range of enquiry of this ‘wisdom’ is equally
wide, according to the Biblical use of the term.[140] ‘Wisdom,’ as
Sirach tells us, ‘rains forth skill’ of every kind; ‘the first man knew
her not perfectly: no more shall the last trace her out’ (Ecclus. i. 19,
xxiv. 28). Nothing is too high, nothing too low for Wisdom ‘fitly’ to
‘order’ (Wisd. viii. I). Law and government (Prov. viii. 15, 16), and
even the precepts of husbandry (Isa. xxviii. 23-29) are equally her
productions with those moral observations which constitute in the main
the three books of the Hebrew _Khokma_. The fact that the subject of
practical ethics ultimately appropriated the technical name of ‘wisdom’
ought not to blind us to the larger connotation of the same word, which
throws so much light on the deeply religious view of life prevalent
among the Israelites. For religious this view of wisdom is, though it
may seem to be so thoroughly secular. The versatility of the mind of man
is but an image of the versatility of its archetype. ‘The spirit of man
is a lamp of Jehovah,’ says one of the ‘wise men’ (Prov. xx. 27), by an
anticipation of John i. 9. ‘Surely it is the spirit in man,’ says
another (Job xxxii. 8), ‘and the breath of Shaddai which gives them
understanding.’ Isaiah, too, says that the ‘spirit of wisdom’ is one of
the three chief manifestations of the ‘Spirit of Jehovah’ (Isa. xi. 2),
and the introductory treatise, which gives the editor’s view of the
original Book of Proverbs, expressly declares that the ‘wise men’ are
but the messengers of divine Wisdom (ix. 3).

The sages, whose collected wisdom we are about to study, are very
different from those antique sages who like Balaam could be hired to
curse a hostile people. A new kind of wisdom grew up both in Israel and
in the neighbouring countries, as unlike its spurious counterpart as the
spiritual lyric poetry both of Israel and of Babylonia is unlike the
incantations which in Babylonia coexisted with it. Israel, never slow to
adopt, received the higher wisdom, and assimilated it. The earthly
elements can still be traced in it; the ‘wise men’ are not prophets but
philosophers; indeed, the Seven Wise Men of Greece arose at precisely
the same stage of culture as the Hebrew sages. It is true, the latter
never (in pre-Talmudic times) attempted logic and metaphysics; they
contentedly remained within the sphere of practical ethics. If a modern
equivalent must be found, it would be best to call them the humanists,
to indicate their freedom from national prejudice (the word ‘Israel’
does not occur once, the word _ādām_ ‘man’ thirty-three times in the
Book of Proverbs), and their tendency to base a sound morality on its
adaptation to human nature. We might also venture to call them realists
in contradistinction to the idealists of the prophethood; they held out
no prospect of a Messianic age, and ‘meddled not with them that were
given to change.’[141] The sages whose ‘wisdom’ is handed down to us
were not however opposed to the spiritual prophets. It is only ‘the
fool’ (or, to employ a synonym from the proverbs, the ‘scorner’ or
‘mocker’) who ‘saith in his heart, There is no God.’ A mocking poet of a
late period may demand the Creator’s name (Prov. xxx. 4), but the writer
who (if I may anticipate) has perpetuated this strange poem indicates
his own very different mental attitude; and though religious proverbs
are less abundant than secular in the early anthologies, such as we do
find are pure and elevated in tone. For instance,

        (1) Who can say, I have made my heart clean,
            I am pure from my sin? (xx. 9.)
        (2) The eyes of Jehovah are in every place,
            observing the evil and the good (xv. 3).
        (3) Sheól and Abaddon[142] are before Jehovah,
            how much more then the hearts of the sons of men!
                                                          (xv. 11.)
        (4) The hearing ear and the seeing eye,
            Jehovah has made them both (xx. 12).
        (5) A man’s steps are from Jehovah,
            and man—how can he understand his way? (xx. 24.)

One point in which the wise men agreed with Amos and Isaiah was the
inferiority of a ceremonial system[143] to prayer and faithful obedience
(xv. 8, xxi. 3, 27, xvi. 6), and the importance which one of the
proverb-writers attached to prophecy is strikingly expressed (if only
the text be sound) in the saying,

     When there is no prophecy (lit., vision) people become disorderly,
     but he that observes precept, happy is he (xxix. 18).

The prophets seem to have returned the friendly feeling of the sages. In
tone and phraseology they are sometimes evidently influenced by their
fellow-teachers (see e.g. Isa. xxviii. 23-29, xxix. 24, xxxiii. 11), and
if they do not often refer to the wise men,[144] yet they do not
denounce them, as they denounce the priests and the lower prophets. It
may perhaps be inferred from this that there was in the early times no
opposition-party of sceptical wise men, such as Ewald supposes,[145] and
such as not improbably did exist in later times (see below on xxx. 1-4);
and I notice that Ewald himself does not attempt to strengthen his view
by appealing to the phrase ‘men of scorn’ in Isa. xxviii. 14, which
some, following Rashi and Aben Ezra, explain of wise men who misused
their talent by making mischievous proverbs.[146] The inference
mentioned just now commends itself to me as sound; but I admit that the
saying on prophecy in Prov. xxix. 18 (already quoted) is isolated, and
that the tone of the religious proverbs falls far short of enthusiasm.
This is probably all that M. Renan means in a too French sentence of his
work on Ecclesiastes. Religion, according to the wise men, was a
necessary element in a worthy character, was even (I should say) the
principal element, but the religion of these practical moralists has
nothing of that delighted _abandon_ which we find in the more distinctly
religious Scriptures. ‘Happy the man who dreadeth continually,’ says one
characteristic proverb (xxviii. 14; contrast the ‘not caring’ of the
‘fool’ in xiv. 16). Later on, a more devout moralist writes that ‘the
fear of Jehovah is the beginning of wisdom’ (i. 7), and though ‘fear’
need not exclude ‘love’ yet there is nothing here to suggest their
combination. The proverb of the Egyptian prince Ptahhotep,[147] ‘To obey
is to love God; not to obey is to hate God,’ has no parallel, at any
rate in the early anthologies; much less does the great saying in Ps.
lxxiii. 25 strike a note congenial to any of the Hebrew sages. And yet
it remains true that the wise men happily supplemented the more
spiritual teaching of psalmists and prophets.

There is still another important point on which both prophets and ‘wise
men’ were agreed. Whatever their inward religion may have been, they
(like the Egyptian moralists) were outwardly utilitarians; i.e., they
invite men to practise righteousness, not because righteousness is the
secret of blessedness, but because of its outward rewards both for the
man himself and for his posterity (Prov. xi. 21, xx. 7; comp. Jer.
xxxii. 18). The form in which the doctrine of proportionate retribution
is expressed in xi. 4 would have been completely acceptable to the
prophets, whose conception of the ‘day of Jehovah’ (i.e., not the last
great _dies ira_ but any providential crisis in the world’s history) is
adopted in it,—

                Wealth is of no profit in the day of wrath,
                but righteousness delivers from death.

Proverbs expressing this idea in various forms abound in the first
anthology. Not a hint is given that retribution loiters on the road; at
most a warning not to envy the (temporary) prosperity of the wicked
(xxiii. 17, xxiv. 1, 19; with regard to xxiii. 18 see above).

This was the ‘certitude of the golden age,’ to use Mr. Matthew Arnold’s
expression; it is just what we might expect in a simple and stationary
condition of society. The strange thing is that it should have lasted on
when oppression within or hostile attacks from without had brought
manifold causes of sorrow upon both good and bad.[148] That the teachers
of the people should have held up the doctrine of earthly retribution—

              Behold, the righteous hath a reward upon earth;
              much more the ungodly and the sinner (xi. 31)—

as long as it could reasonably be defended, was natural. But that
shortly before the Maccabean rising a ‘wise man’[149] should still be
found to write—

        The gift of the Lord remains with the godly,
        and his favour brings prosperity for ever (Ecclus. xi. 17),

seems to contradict the usual correspondence between the received moral
theory and the outward circumstances of society. All that we can say is
that such inconsistencies are found to exist; old forms of doctrine do
not, as a rule, ‘melt like frosty rime.’ There must have been circles of
Jewish moralists averse to speculation, who would continue to repeat the
older view of the providential government even at a time when the social
state had completely exposed its shallowness.

Dean Plumptre, indeed, following Ewald, credits the ‘wise men’ of
pre-Exile times with deeper views. According to him, certain proverbs,
e.g. x. 25, xi. 4, xiv. 32, xxiii. 18 (Ewald adds xii. 28) imply the
hope of immortality. None of these passages however can be held
conclusive. x. 25, xi. 4 simply say that the righteous shall be unhurt
in a day of judgment; in xiv. 32 the antithesis is between the ruin
which follows upon wickedness and the safe refuge of integrity (read
_b’thummō_ with the Sept.); in xxiii. 18, ‘there is a future,’ the
reference is perfectly vague—it is natural to explain by comparing Job
xlii. 12, xii. 28, no doubt, on Ewald’s view of the passage, seems
conclusive,

                  In the way of righteousness is life,
                  and the way of its path is immortality.

But this great word ‘immortality’ is unparalleled before the Book of
Wisdom, and cannot fairly be extracted from the Hebrew.[150] The
Septuagint has a different view of the pronunciation of the text, and
renders ὁδοὶ δὲ μνησικάκων εἰς θάνατον. The easiest plan is to correct
_n’thībhāh_ into _nith’ābh_, with Levy, and render,

           but an abominable way (comp. xv. 9) leads unto death.

I do not deny that the idea of eternal life may have been conceived at
the time of these proverbs. This may plausibly be inferred from the
occurrence of the phrase ‘a tree of life’ in iii. 18, xi. 30, xiii. 12,
xv. 4, and ‘a fountain of life’ in x. 11, xiii. 14, xiv. 27, xvi.
22,—phrases certainly borrowed from some traditional story of Paradise
analogous to that in Gen. ii.[151] It is a singular fact however that in
all these passages (even, I think, in iii. 18) these expressions are
simply figurative synonyms for ‘refreshment,’ which suggests that the
proverb-writers shrank from using them in their literal sense of the
individual righteous man.

The importance of the ‘wise men’ as a class is too seldom recognised. To
the hasty reader they are overshadowed by the prophets, between whom and
the rude masses they seem to have occupied a middle position. Their
popular style and genial manners attracted probably a large number of
disciples; at any rate, in the time of Jeremiah the ‘counsel’ of the
‘wise men’ was valued as highly as the ‘direction’ (_tōra_) of the
priests and the ‘word’ of the prophets (Jer. xviii. 18). By constantly
working on suitable individuals, they produced a moral sympathy with the
prophets, without which those heroic men would have laboured in vain.
Thus that friendly relation must have sprung up between the prophets and
the ‘wise men,’ of which I have spoken already, and which reminds us of
the sanction said to have been given to the Seven Sages of Greece by the
oracle of Delphi.[152]

It is a misfortune that our sources for the history of Israelitish
‘philosophy’ are so scanty. Were there ‘wise men’ in N. Israel? and if
so, have any of their proverbs come down to us, besides the _mashal_ or
fable of Jotham? Did they confine their activity to the capital city or
cities, or did they also, like the ‘scribes,’ settle or itinerate in the
provinces? (Matt. ix. 3, Targ. of Judg. v. 9.) Did their public
instructions assume anything like the form of the proverbs of our
anthologies? Did they teach without fee or reward?[153] At any rate, a
post-Exile proverb-writer tells us with retrospective glance where the
‘wise men’ awaited their disciples—not in the quietude of the chamber,
but either within the massive city-gates, or in the adjacent squares or
‘broad places’ on which the streets converged (i. 20, 21; comp. Job
xxix. 7). No doubt they had a large stock of sayings in their memory,
such as had been tested by the experience of past generations. Sometimes
they would modify old proverbs, sometimes they would frame new ones, so
that when their disciples gathered round them, they would ‘bring out of
their treasure things new and old.’ From time to time they would commit
their ‘wisdom’ to writing in a more perfect form, and such records must
have formed the basis of the proverbial collections in the Old
Testament.

Footnote 138:

  The heading ‘the oracle’ &c. in xxx. I is exceptional; so also is the
  oracle of Eliphaz (Job iv. 12-21).

Footnote 139:

  The author of _Baruch_ (iii. 22, 23), however, expressly denies that
  the ordinary Semitic ‘wisdom’ was akin to that of Israel. This
  represents the Judaism of the Maccabean period.

Footnote 140:

  Observe that ‘wisdom’ is called _khokmōth_ (plural form) in Prov. i.
  20, ix. 11, all the forms of wisdom being viewed as one in their
  origin. So too Wisdom adorns her house with seven pillars (Prov. ix.
  1).

Footnote 141:

  xxiv. 21 A.V.

Footnote 142:

  I.e. Perdition; a synonym for Sheól.

Footnote 143:

  The author of the Introduction however writes, ‘Honour Jehovah with
  thy substance,’ i.e. by dedicating a part of it to the sanctuary (iii.
  9), which the Septuagint translator carefully limits to substance
  lawfully gained (Deut. xxiii. 19).

Footnote 144:

  As perhaps they do in Am. v. 10, Isa. xxix. 21 (‘him that rebuketh in
  the gate’). Observe again in this connection that the endowments of
  the Messiah include the spirit of wisdom as well as that of might
  (Isa. xi. 2), and that the wisdom of Jehovah is emphasised in Isa.
  xxxi. 2, comp. xxviii. 29.

Footnote 145:

  _Die dichter des alten bundes_, ii. 12. Ewald refers to xiii. 1, xiv.
  6, and other passages in which ‘scorners’ are referred to. But it is
  not clear that ‘a powerful school’ of wise men is here intended; the
  title may be given to those who opposed or despised the counsels of
  the wise men, and broke through the restraints of law and religion;
  comp. Prov. xv. 12, xxi. 24.’ (_The Prophecies of Isaiah_, ed. 3, i.
  165). Among such persons were the politicians of Isaiah’s day, so far
  as they opposed the warnings of the prophet; they were popularly
  considered ‘wise men’ (xxix. 14; comp. Jer. viii. 9), but not in the
  technical sense with which our present enquiries are concerned.

Footnote 146:

  Luzzatto renders, ‘o voi uomini insipienti, _poeti_ di questo popolo,’
  taking _mōshēlīm_ in the same sense as in Num. xxi. 27 (similarly
  Barth, in his tract on Isaiah, p. 23, following Rashi and Aben Ezra),
  a view which receives some support from the parable offered by Isaiah
  in xxviii. 23-29 as if in opposition to the false parables of unsound
  teachers. But in Isa. xxix. 20 ‘scorner’ is clearly used, not as a
  class-name for certain wise men, but in a moral sense.

Footnote 147:

  Brugsch, _Religion und Mythologie der alten Aegypter_, p. 91.

Footnote 148:

  Yet in Prov. iii. 11, 12 there is distinct evidence of deepened
  experience and progress of moral thought.

Footnote 149:

  On the orthodoxy of Ecclesiasticus, see later on.

Footnote 150:

  The Vulg. has, _iter autem devium ducit ad mortem_ (but this pregnant
  sense of _iter devium_, is too bold).

Footnote 151:

  Analogous only, because apparently it had both a tree and a fountain
  of life, like a New Zealand myth mentioned by Schirren.

Footnote 152:

  Curtius, _History of Greece_, ii. 52.

Footnote 153:

  Ewald infers from xvii. 16 that even in early times it was customary
  to fee the ‘wise men’ for their advice (comp. Saul and Samuel). At a
  later time Sirach says, ‘Buy (instruction) for yourselves without
  money’ (Ecclus. li. 25, but comp. 28). The Rabbis were not allowed to
  receive fees from their pupils. R. Zadok said, ‘Make not (the Tora) a
  crown to glory in, nor an axe to live by’ (_Pirke Aboth_, iv. 9). So
  the Moslem teachers at the great Cairo ‘university’ (el Azhar).




                              CHAPTER II.
                  THE FORM AND ORIGIN OF THE PROVERBS.


In one of the opening verses of the Book of Proverbs (i. 6) three
technical names for varieties of proverbs are put together:—(1)
_māshāl_, a short, pointed saying with reference to some striking
feature in the life of an individual, or in human life generally, often
clothed in figurative language (whence, according to many, the name
_māshāl_, as if ‘similitude;’ comp. παραβολή), (2) _m’lîça_, perhaps a
‘bent’, ‘oblique’ or (as Sept.) ‘dark’ saying, (3) _khîda_, a ‘knotty’
or intricate saying, especially a riddle. Each of these words has a
variety of applications; for instance (1) is used in Num. xxiii., xxiv.,
for a parallelistic poem, (1) and (2) sometimes mean a ‘taunting speech’
(see below, and comp. Hab. ii. 6, Isa. xiv. 4, Mic. ii. 4), and (3) can
be used, not merely of true riddles with a moral meaning, such as we
find here and there in Prov. xxx., but also of didactic statements upon
subjects as difficult as riddles (see Ps. xlix. 5, A.V. 4, lxxviii. 2).
We have no collection of popular proverbs, such as exists in Arabic; the
proverbs in the canonical collection show great technical elaboration,
though some may be based on the naive ‘wisdom’ of the people. A very few
specimens of the popular proverb have indeed been preserved in the
canonical literature.[154] ‘Is Saul also among the prophets?’ (1 Sam. x.
12, xix. 24) preserves the memory of a humorous fact in the story of
that king. ‘Wickedness proceeds from the wicked’ (1 Sam. xxiv. 13) is,
unlike the former, a generalisation, and means that a man’s character is
shown by his actions (comp. Isa. xxxii. 6). ‘As is the mother, so is the
daughter’ (Ezek. xvi. 44) is also an induction from common experience.
‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on
edge’ (Jer. xxii. 29, Ezek. xviii. 2), words applied no doubt, as Lowth
says, profanely, but not originally meant so, is a figurative way of
saying that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children. We
have one specimen of the riddle (strictly so called)—that well-known one
of Samson’s,

       From the eater came forth food,
       and from the strong one came forth sweetness (Judges xiv. 14).

The parable, too, was doubtless called _mashal_, and of this we have
three Old Testament examples, which will at once occur to the reader (2
Sam, xii. 1-6, xiv. 4-9, 1 Kings xx. 39, 40); but it is more important
to draw the reader’s attention to the rare specimens of the fable. Some
may think it bold to refer in this connection to a portion of a
narrative which seems at first sight to be historical (Num. xxi. 22-35).
The strange episode of the speaking ass is, however, most difficult to
understand, except as a sportive quasi-historical version of a popular
_mashal_ or fable (compare the four Babylonian animal-fables discovered
among the fragments of King Assurbanipal’s library).[155] The passage
being evidently distinct from the rest of the story of Balaam, in
passing this judgment upon it, we are not committed as a matter of
course to a denial of all historical character to the rest of the
narrative. The fables of Jotham (Judg. ix. 8-15) and Joash (2 Kings xiv.
9), in which the trees are introduced speaking, have also their
parallels in Babylonian literature. One of them indeed has a claim to be
called a _mashal_ on a second account; the tree-fable of Joash is a
taunt of the keenest edge, and one of the secondary meanings of _mashal_
is ‘taunting speech’ (see Isa. xiv. 4, A.V.). It is true the ‘taunting
speeches’ expressly called _mashals_—not only those in the prophetic
writings (see above), but the verses ascribed to ‘those that speak in
_mashals_’ in Num. xxi. 27-30—are poetical in form, but this is because
the Hebrew writers never conceived the idea of a narrative poem; even
the prologue of the Book of Job is in prose.

These are the principal specimens of the _mashal_ apart from those in
the three Books of Old Testament Wisdom. They are but the ‘two or three
berries’ left after the beating of the tree (Isa. xvii. 6), and excite a
longing for more which cannot be gratified. We may be sure that in
Israel’s prime the telling of proverbs was almost as popular as the
recital of stories, and became a test of ability. For—

              The legs of a lame man hang loose,
              so is a proverb in the mouth of fools (xxvi. 7);

and though Sirach says of the labouring class, ‘They shall not be found
where parables are spoken’ (Ecclus. xxxviii. 33), it is reasonable to
account for this by the aristocratic pride of the students of Scripture
in the later Jewish community. At any rate, as I have said already, some
at least of the early literary proverbs are very possibly based on
popular sayings; these would naturally embody a plain, bourgeois
experience such as marks not a few of the proverbs in our book. Dr. Oort
conjectures[156] that _some of our proverbs were originally current
among the people as riddles_, such for instance as, ‘What is sweet as
honey?—Pleasant discourse, for it is sweet to the soul and a medicine to
the bones’ (xvi. 24); ‘What is worse than meeting a bear?—Meeting a fool
in a fit of folly’ (xvii. 12); ‘What is sweet at first, and then like
sand in the mouth?—Stolen food’ (xx. 17). Certainly the introduction to
the ‘proverbs of Solomon’ may seem to imply (i. 6) that the collection
which follows contains specimens of the riddle, but probably all the
writer means is that the ‘words of the wise’ are often ‘knotty’ because
epigrammatic. We may indeed reasonably hold that, like their prototype
Solomon,[157] the ‘wise men’ were accustomed to sharpen their intellects
upon enigmas (such as lie at the root of the so-called ‘numerical
proverbs’ in xxx. 15, 18, 21, 24, 29; comp. vi. 16); but a still more
important discipline than the battle of wits was the habit of keen
observation. We cannot reduce all the proverbs involving comparison to
the form of riddles, any more than we can do this with the following
Buddhist sayings, equal to the more refined specimens of the Hebrew
proverb:?—[158]

    As rain breaks through an ill-thatched house, so passion will break
    through an unreflecting mind.

    Like a beautiful flower, full of colour, but without scent, are the
    fine but fruitless words of him who does not act accordingly.

    A tamed elephant they lead to battle; the king mounts a tamed
    elephant; the tamed is the best among men, he who silently endures
    abuse.

    Well-makers lead the water; fletchers bend the arrow; carpenters
    bend a log of wood; wise people fashion themselves.

Another plausible hypothesis similar to that of Dr. Oort is that some of
our proverbs are based on popular fables, as is the case according to
Dr. Back with many of the proverbs in the Talmud and Midrash.[159] The
Jewish scholar referred to applies this key to Prov. vi. 6-11 (comp. the
Aramaic fable of the ant and the grasshopper—see Delitzsch’s note), to
the numerical proverbs in chap. xxx. (‘skeletons of fables’ he calls
them), and to Eccles. ix. 4 and x. 11. Both proverbs and fables indeed
are common in later Jewish literature. Fables, especially animal fables,
were not perhaps appropriate vehicles of moral instruction according to
the O.T. writers. But the later Jewish teachers do not seem to have felt
this objection. Rabbi Meir (2nd cent. A.D.) was the writer of animal
fables _par excellence_; Rabbi Hillel (B.C. 30), however, so noted for
his versatility, was also a copious fabulist.[160]

This popular origin of some at least of the proverbs sufficiently
accounts for their comparatively trite and commonplace character. They
were not trite and commonplace to those who first used them, and
successive generations loved them because of their antiquity (Job viii.
8-10). Even to us they are not so commonplace as the far less popular
and piquant Egyptian proverbs,[161] though I confess that they will
hardly compare with the relics of Indian gnomology,[162] still less with
the singularly rich and pointed proverbs of the Chinese.[163] The
practice of writing antithetic sentences on paper or silk to suspend in
houses (contrast Deut. vi. 9) gave an edge to the shrewd earthly wisdom
of the countrymen of Confucius. The Jewish intellect developed but
slowly into the acuteness of the later periods which produced fables,
proverbs, and riddles which can safely challenge comparison.[164]

Footnote 154:

  In the Midrash-literature, proverbs are often quoted with an express
  statement that they are from the lips of the people.

Footnote 155:

  See Smith and Sayce’s _Chaldæan Genesis_, pp. 140-154. For the
  Egyptian animal-fables, which may be the originals of those of Æsop,
  see Mahaffy, _Prolegomena to Anc. Hist._, p. 390; for the Indian, see
  the apologues of the Panchatantra by Benfey or Lancereau, and the
  Buddhist Birth-Stories—‘the oldest, most complete, and most important
  collection of folk-lore extant’—translated by Rhys Davids, vol. i.

Footnote 156:

  _The Bible for Young People_, E. T., iii. 105-6.

Footnote 157:

  1 Kings x. 1; comp. Menander’s account in Josephus, _Antiq._ viii. 5,
  3.

Footnote 158:

  From Max Müller’s translation of the Dhammapada, or ‘Path of Virtue’
  (1870).

Footnote 159:

  Dr. Back gives a list of these in Grätz’s _Monatsschrift_, 1854, pp.
  265-7.

Footnote 160:

  In the Talmudic treatise _Soferim_ xvi. 9, a list of Hillel’s
  acquirements is given, including the conversations of the mountains,
  the trees, the animals, the demons, &c. On the Jewish fable
  literature, the wealth of which seems unparalleled, see Back, _Die
  Fabel in Talmud und Midrash_, in Gratz’s _Monatsschrift_, 1875-1884.
  Curiously enough the two oldest Jewish fables are similar in character
  to those of the Old Test.

Footnote 161:

  Comp. Renouf, _Hibbert Lectures_, pp. 75, 76, 100-103; Mahaffy,
  _Prolegomena to Ancient History_, pp. 273-291; Brugsch, _Religion und
  Mythologie der alten Aegypter_, p. 91; _Records of the Past_, viii.
  157-160.

Footnote 162:

  Comp. Weber, _Indische Literaturgeschichte_, p. 227.

Footnote 163:

  See Scarborough, _Collection of Chinese Proverbs_ (1875). The Chinese
  proverbs have no known authors.

Footnote 164:

  On the riddles referred to, see Wünsche, _Die Räthselweisheit bei den
  Hebräern_ (1883). Comp. them with the later Arabic proverbs (see
  Hariri, and comp. Freytag, _Proverbia arabica_).




                              CHAPTER III.
                THE FIRST COLLECTION AND ITS APPENDICES.


Upon entering what Dante in the _De Monarchiâ_ so well calls ‘the
forest’ of the canonical proverbs, we are soon struck by differences of
age and growth. The central portion of the book, and in some respects
the most interesting, is comprised in x. 1-xxii. 16. To this, which is
indeed the original Book of Proverbs, the first nine chapters were
intended to serve as the introduction. It is the oldest Hebrew
proverbial anthology extant. Probably from its compiler it received the
name ‘Proverbs of Solomon,’ and from this title has sprung the tradition
accepted by so many subsequent ages and indeed by the editor of the
whole book (Prov. i. 1) of Solomon’s authorship of the Proverbs. The
title however cannot be historically correct. Those maxims in this
anthology which refer to the true God under the name Jehovah (_Yahvè_)
are too monotheistic and inculcate too pure a morality to be the work of
the Solomon of the Book of Kings. That great despot’s ‘wisdom,’ so far
as we can judge both from his character and from the traditional
notices, cannot have had a distinctively religious character. Listen to
these proverbs,—

         Better a little with the fear of Jehovah
         than great treasure and turmoil therewith (xv. 16).
         The horse is prepared against the day of battle,
         but victory is Jehovah’s (xxi. 31).
         The mouth of strange women is a deep pit;
         he with whom Jehovah is wroth falleth therein (xxii. 14).
         A wise son (loveth) his father’s correction,
         but a scorner heareth not rebuke (xiii. 1),—

and for a commentary read 1 Kings iv. 26, xi. 1, 4, 14-40, xii. 14, 15.
Nor is the moral tone of the ‘Solomonic’ proverbs in its plain bourgeois
simplicity any more suitable to the name they bear than the religious.
Unless Solomon was like Haroun al-Rashid, and made himself privately
acquainted with the ways and thoughts of the citizens, it is difficult
to see how he can have written so completely as one of them would have
done.

The truth is that both David and Solomon were idealised by later
generations. The heroes of a grander if not better age, they towered far
above the petty figures of their successors. Favoured by the
contemporary depression of Egypt and Assyria, they had been enabled to
rear and to retain a powerful empire, comparable to those which
afflicted and oppressed the divided people of the later Israelites.
Solomon in particular is represented in tradition as not only the most
fortunate but the wisest of kings, not in the sense in which it is said
that religion is the best part of wisdom (Prov. i. 7), but in that in
which the ‘children of the east’ were accustomed to use the word. This
is clear from the language of the Hebrew narrator:—

    ‘And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and
    largeness of heart even as the sand on the sea-shore. And Solomon’s
    wisdom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the east country,
    and all the wisdom of Egypt. For he was wiser than all men; than
    Ethan the Ezrahite [read, perhaps, ‘the native,’ i.e. the
    Israelite], and Heman, and Calcol, and Darda, the sons of Mahol
    [probably a foreigner]: and his fame was in all the nations round
    about. And he spoke three thousand proverbs [or, similitudes], and
    his songs were a thousand and five. And he spoke of trees, from the
    cedar in Lebanon unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he
    spoke also of beasts, and of birds, and of creeping things, and of
    fishes. And there came of all peoples to hear the wisdom of Solomon,
    from all kings of the earth, who had heard of his wisdom.’ (1 Kings
    iv. 29-34.)

I see no reason for not accepting the substance of this tradition. The
principal point in it is the ascription to Solomon of a power of
apophthegmatic composition which the author, as a devout theist, could
not but trace to a divine gift, just as the author of Ex. xxxvi.
ascribes the skill of the artisans of the tabernacle to the direct
operation of Jehovah. But we are also informed that the talents of
Solomon were neither peculiar to him, nor exercised on different
subjects from those of foreign sages. The precise meaning of the Hebrew
_m’shālīm_ in 1 Kings iv. 32 is suggested by ver. 33. The word seems to
mean moralising similitudes[165] derived partly from the animal, partly
from the vegetable kingdom (for Lord Bacon’s view,[166] hinted in the
_New Atlantis_, is more plausible than sound). Was I not right in saying
that the traditional notices of Solomon’s wisdom do not agree with the
title of our anthology? I wish that it were otherwise. How gladly one
would see a few of Solomon’s genuine utterances (whether proverbs, or
similitudes, or fables) incorporated into one or another of the Hebrew
Scriptures!

I think however that it is unfair both to the compiler and to the editor
who repeats his statement (i. 1) to take the ascription of these
proverbs to Solomon literally. Accuracy in the details of literary
history was not a qualification which would seem important to an
Israelite. The name of Solomon was attached (for dogmatism here seems
permissible) to these choice specimens of Hebrew proverbiology simply
from a very characteristic hero-worship. Solomon had in fact become the
symbol of plain ethical ‘wisdom’ just as David had become the
representative of religious lyric poetry. We may see this from the
alternative title of the Book of Proverbs in both Jewish and Christian
writings—‘Book of Wisdom;’[167] still more from the fiction of Solomon’s
authorship of Ecclesiastes, and from the Targumic paraphrase of Jer. ix.
23, ‘Let not _Solomon the son of David_, the wise man, glory in his
wisdom.’ Of course, the real names of the authors of the proverbs had
been as irrecoverably lost as those of our early ballad-writers.

But though we must deny the Solomonic authorship a far-off influence of
the Solomonic age may perhaps be admitted; at least, there are grounds
for the opinion that some of the proverbs are as old as the ninth
century. (1) The second collection of so-called Solomonic proverbs was
compiled according to a credible tradition (xxv. 1) in the reign of
Hezekiah; this of itself throws the earlier collection a considerable
way back into the eighth century. (2) Upon examining the first anthology
we find that some of the proverbs already have a history. For instance,
(_a_) the solemn generalisation in xiv. 12 occurs in exactly the same
form in xvi. 25, (_b_) eight other proverbs are repeated with slight
changes in expression (x. 1 = xv. 20, x. 2 = xi. 4, xiii. 14 = xiv. 27,
xiv. 20 = xix. 4, xvi. 2 = xxi. 2, xix, 5 = xix. 9, xx. 10 = xx. 23,
xxi. 9 = xxi. 19), but except in the case of xi. 4, xiv. 27 no change in
thought, (_c_) ten are repeated, at least so far as one line goes,
either exactly or with but slight differences (x. 15 = xviii. 11, x.
6[168] = x. 11, x. 8 = x. 10,[169] xv. 33 = xviii. 12, xi. 13 = xx. 19,
xi, 21 = xvi. 5, xii. 14 = xiii. 2, xiv. 31 = xvii. 5, xvi. 18 = xviii.
12, xix. 12 = xx. 2). It is probable that some time would elapse before
a proverb attained such notoriety as to be circulated in varying forms.
(3) The originality of the diction (_a_) and the careful observance of
technical rules of composition (_b_) favour an early date. (_a_) For
instance, ‘steersmanship’[170] (xi. 14, xii. 5, xx. 18), as a term for
practical wisdom or counsels, evidently springs from a fresh enthusiasm
for commerce; a long list of striking expressions might be added from
any chapter of the collection. (_b_) Nor is technical precision at all
less conspicuous in this early anthology. Each proverb is a distich,
i.e. consists of two lines, as a rule three-toned, and in most cases
antithetically parallel. It is true, xix. 7 in its present form is a
tristich, i.e. consists of three members, but this proverb undoubtedly
arose out of two, the second of which is mutilated in the Hebrew text,
but is found in a complete though not entirely correct form in the
Septuagint. The incomprehensible third line of xix. 7 given in versions
based upon the Hebrew now becomes the distich,

             He that does much evil perfects mischief;
             he that provokes[171] with words shall not escape.

According to Ewald, the collection is divided into five parts by the
recurrence at intervals of a proverb exhorting the young to receive
instruction; see x. 1, xiii. 1, xv. 20, xvii. 25, xix. 20. If this
division is intentional it may be compared with the equally mechanical
triple division found by some in Isa. xl. lxvi. Of arrangement by
subject there is but little trace; here and there two or more verses
come in succession dealing with the same theme. Observe too the
recurrence of ‘Jehovah,’ xv. 33, xvi. 1-9, 11, and of the word ‘king’ in
xvi. 10, 12-15, which shows that one principle of arrangement was simply
the recurrence of certain catchwords. Bickell thinks that another
principle was the occurrence of the same initial letter (see xi. 9-12,
xx. 7-9, xx. 24-26, xxii. 2-4).

Altogether, it is abundantly clear that we have before us works of art,
and not the simple maxims handed down in Israel from father to son.
There may sometimes be a traditional basis, but no more. The anthology
contrasts, therefore, as Ewald remarks, with the collections of Arabic
proverbs due to Abu-Obaida, Maidani[172] and others. But whether we may
go on to assert with the same great critic that we have here the wise
men’s applications of the truths of religion to the infinite cases and
contingencies of the secular life, seems doubtful. It is not clear to me
that these wise men were preoccupied by religion. There are indeed not a
few fine religious proverbs, but it cannot be shown that those who wrote
the secular proverbs also wrote the religious. It is possible and even
probable that some of the religious proverbs are the work of the author
of the introductory chapters; without dogmatising, I may refer to xiv.
34 (comp. viii. 15, 16), xv. 33, xvi. 1-7, and perhaps to xix. 27, which
is quite in the parental tone of chaps. i.-ix. The tone of the secular
proverbs is not, from a Christian point of view (of which more later
on), an elevated one. The ethical principle is prudential. Virtue or
‘wisdom’ is rewarded, and vice or ‘folly’ punished in this life. It is
indeed nowhere expressly said that every trouble is a punishment; but
there is nothing like xxiv. 16 in this anthology to prevent the reader
from inferring it. At any rate, the writers are clearly not in the van
of religious thought: no ‘obstinate questionings’ have yet disturbed
their tranquillity.

We need not pause here to demonstrate what no one probably will dispute,
that the origin of this first anthology is impersonal. The fact that it
is so may well give us the more confidence in the accuracy of the social
picture which it contains. This is certainly a pleasing one, and points
to a comparatively early period in the history of Judah. Commerce and
its attendant luxury have not made such progress as at the time when the
introduction was written; poverty is only too well known, but there
seems to be a middle class with a sound moral sense, to which the
writers of proverbs can appeal. It is true, says one of these, that in
daily life ‘rich and poor meet together,’ but for all that ‘Jehovah is
the maker of them all’ (xxii. 2), and ‘he that oppresses the poor
reproaches his maker’ (xiv. 31). And if it is true on the one hand that
‘the poor is hated even of his neighbour’ (xiv. 20), and that ‘the
destruction of the wretched is their poverty’ (x. 15), it is equally so
on the other that ‘he that trusts in his riches shall fall’ (xi. 28),
and that

       Better is the poor man who walks in his blamelessness,
       than he who is perverse in his ways and is rich[173] (xix. 1).

The strength of the land still consists in the number of small
proprietors tilling their own ground. Two proverbs express an interest
in these, e.g.

        The poor man’s newly ploughed field gives food in abundance,
        but there is that is cut off by injustice (xiii. 23).
        Better is a mean man that tills for himself[174]
        than he that glorifies himself and has no bread (xii. 9).

All the farmers however were not so diligent as those indicated in these
passages. One of the numerous proverbs against laziness (then as now a
prevalent vice in this part of the East[175]) brings before us a
land-owner who is too lazy to give the order for ploughing at the right
time, and so when he looks for the harvest, there is none.

          When autumn comes the sluggard ploughs not;
          so if he asks at harvest-time, there is nothing (xx. 4).

The right use of the gift of speech is another very favourite subject in
this anthology. The charm of suitable words is best described in a
Hezekian proverb (xxv. 11), but it is well said in xv. 4 that ‘a gentle
tongue is a tree of life,’ and elsewhere that

            There is that babbles like the thrusts of a sword,
            but the tongue of the wise is gentleness (xii. 18).

The wonderful power of language could hardly at that age have been
better expressed than by the saying,

           The words of a man’s mouth are deep waters,
           a gushing torrent, a wellspring of wisdom (xviii. 4).

The standard of family morals is high; a good wife is described as God’s
best gift (xii. 4, xviii. 22, xix. 14), and the restraints of home are
commended to the young (xix. 18, xxii. 6, 15), as in the Egyptian
proverbs. Monogamy is throughout presupposed, and a want of respect for
_either_ parent is condemned (xiii. 1, xv. 5, xix. 26). The king too is
repeatedly held up to reverence (xiv. 35, xvi. 10, 12-15, xix. 12, xx.
2, 8, 26, 28, xxii. 11); it is not so in the Hezekian collection. The
king however is not identified with the Deity, as in Egypt; we are told
that the will of the monarch is pliable in the hand of Jehovah (xxi. 1),
and the true glory of a nation is, not in the prowess of its king, but
in righteousness (xiv. 34). And even if we must confess that the spirit
of the more secular proverbs is utilitarian, the utilitarianism is
sometimes a very refined one, as for instance where the refreshing
character of a quiet, contented mind is contrasted with the dull
reaction which follows on an outburst of passion (xiv. 30). In
conclusion, I will quote a few proverbs interesting chiefly as
characteristic of their age, and then a few more of the gems of the
collection.

    (_a_) The poor is hated even by his neighbour,
          but the rich has many friends (xiv. 20).
          Whoso withholds corn, him the people curse,
          but blessing is on the head of him who sells it (xi. 26).
          The beginning of strife is as when one lets out water,
          so leave off quarrelling before the teeth be shown (xvii. 14).
          The gift of a man makes a free space for him,
          and brings him before the great (xviii. 16).
          ‘Bad, bad,’ says the purchaser,
          but when he goes away, he boasts (xx. 14).
    (_b_) The righteous regards the life of his cattle,[176]
          but the heart of the wicked is cruel (xii. 10).
          The heart knows its own bitterness,
          and a stranger cannot intermeddle with its joy (xiv. 10).
          He that covers transgression helps forward love,
          but he that repeats a matter separates best friends (xvii. 9).
          There are friends (good enough) acting their part,[177]
          and there is a loving friend who sticks closer than a brother
                                          (xviii. 24; comp, xvii. 17).
          Who can say, I have made my heart clean,
          I am pure from my sin? (xx. 9.)
          Say not, I will recompense evil;
          wait for Jehovah, and he will deliver thee (xx. 22).

The first appendix to the original Book (appended possibly _before_ the
composition of the Introduction) is a small collection of proverbial
sayings called ‘words of the wise’ (xxii. 17-xxiv. 22). Virtually the
same phrase occurs again in xxiv. 23 at the head of a still shorter
work, compiled or composed evidently about the same time by another
‘wise man’ (perhaps the whole work has not come down to us). In the
introductory verses the compiler’s object in writing down these proverbs
is said to have been that his disciple might learn virtue and religion,
and might become qualified to teach others. There is one very difficult
passage in it, but this has been corrected in a masterly way by
Bickell:—[178]

       That thy confidence may be in Jehovah,
       to make known unto thee thy ways.
       Now, yea before now, have I written unto thee,
       long before, with counsels and knowledge,
       That thou mayest know the rightness of true words,
       that thou mayest answer in true words to those that ask thee
                                                       (xxii. 19-21).

The construction of ver. 20_b_ and ver. 21 in the Hebrew thus becomes
more idiomatic (comp. χθές τε καὶ πρώην), though not free from
ambiguity. The words may mean either that the compiler took long over
his work, or that this was not the first occasion of his writing. On the
latter explanation the passage may imply that the compiler of this
anthology also wrote chaps. i.-ix. (comp. i. 6_b_). His hortatory style
and predilection for grouping verses may seem to plead for this view.
There are however no important points of contact in phraseology between
the work before us and Prov. i.-ix.,[179] and certainly the appendix
falls far below the standard of the Introduction. At any rate, it is
undoubted that these ‘words of the wise’ appeared long after the
‘Solomonic’ proverbs. The peculiarities of style referred to show this,
and also the imitation of some of the ‘Solomonic’ proverbs in the ‘words
of the wise;’ (comp. xi. 14 with xxiv. 5, 6; xiii. 9 with xxiv. 19, 20;
xxii. 14_a_ with xxiii. 27).

There is no occasion to suppose that all these proverbs come from one
period; but the hand of a compiler is more conspicuous here than in the
first anthology. He has not indeed removed repetitions (see xxii. 28_a_,
xxiii. 10_a_; xxiii. 17_a_, xxiv. 1_a_; xxiii. 18, xxiv. 14), but the
personal element preponderates so much that he might fairly have
prefixed his own name as the author. Artistically, he may perhaps be
found wanting. He has left one tristich (i.e. a proverb of three lines),
viz. xxii. 29; two pentastichs (i.e. proverbs of five lines), viz.
xxiii. 4, 5. xxiv. 13, 14; and one heptastich (i.e. a proverb of seven
lines), viz. xxiii. 6-8. Unsymmetrical as these may be, it seems
hazardous, unless there be any specially doubtful passage, to restore
symmetry (i.e. to convert tristichs into tetrastichs, and so on) by
inserting words conjecturally. There are a few distichs (xxii. 28,
xxiii. 9, xxiv. 7, 8, 9, 10), thus affording a slight point of contact
with the first anthology; more tetrastichs (xxii. 22, 23; 24, 25; 26,
27; xxiii. 10, 11; 15, 16; 17, 18; xxiv. 1, 2; 3, 4; 5, 6; 15, 16; 17,
18; 19, 20; 21, 22), and hexastichs (xxiii. 1-3; 12-14; 19-21; 26-28;
xxiv. 11, 12). One octastich occurs (xxiii. 22-25), and one long poem,
in the main a group of distichs, referred to again below (xxiii. 29-35).

Beautiful in form, the proverbs of this collection certainly are not;
one cannot apply to the author the saying in xxiv. 26, ‘He kisses the
lips who answers in suitable words.’ The contents however are not
without points of interest. In xxiii. 1-3 we have a picture of a man of
the middle class admitted to the table of a governor. Being unused to
‘dainties,’ he is tempted to excess; as a restraint, the ‘wise man’ bids
him consider the capriciousness of princely favour (comp. Ecclus. ix.
13). The abuse of luxuries such as wine and meat was in fact a sore evil
in the eyes of this writer (see the caution in xxiii. 20, 21 in the
Septuagint version, which reminds one of vii. 14). He has even left us a
poem on the evils of drunkenness (xxiii. 29-35) which contains several
striking details from its satirical opening, ‘Who hath _oi_, who hath
_aboi_?’ (interjections expressing pain), to the picturesque comparison
of the drunkard to a man ‘that lieth upon the top of a mast,’[180] which
shows incidentally that sea-life was by this time a familiar experience.
Another interesting passage, though marred by its obscurity, is that in
xxiv. 11, 12. The innocent victims of a miscarriage of justice are about
to be dragged away to execution; the pupil of the wise is exhorted to
‘deliver’ them, by intervening with resistless energy, like the St. Ives
of a favourite Breton legend, and testifying to the innocence of the
sufferers (see xxxi. 8). He may of course refuse, thinking to pretend
afterwards that he had not heard of the case; but God knows all, and
will requite falsehood, not perhaps at once, but at a future time, when
‘the lamp of the wicked shall be put out’ (xxiv. 20). The wise men, as
we have seen, clung firmly to the doctrine of retribution in some one of
its various forms. We are not therefore surprised that a book of
proverbs should conclude with a dissuasion from consorting with lawless
persons, and an earnest advice to ‘fear Jehovah and the king’ (xxiv.
21).

Much need not be said of the second appendix (xxiv. 23-34). ‘These also
are by wise men,’ writes the collector, implying that he is to be
distinguished from the editor of the preceding collection. The proverbs
are all[181] either in two, four, or six lines, except ver. 27, where
however it is possible that some words have dropped out.[182] At the end
comes a parable or apologue professedly drawn from the writer’s
experience (reminding us in this of vii. 6-23, but still more of Job v.
3-5). The scene is laid in a vineyard which has run to waste and become
a wilderness from the carelessness of its owner (comp. xx. 4). The
_mashal_ (xxiv. 30-32) has been lengthened by the addition of two verses
from vi. 9, 10, originally no doubt a marginal note. It was needless;
the story (if story it can be called) is more vivid in its brevity, and
forms a fitting close to this section of proverbial wisdom.

Footnote 165:

  Dr. Grätz is of opinion that Solomon was a fabulist like Jotham; in
  the text I have followed Josephus (_Ant._ vii. 2, 5). Legend related
  how the wise king, like the early men in African folk-lore (Max
  Müller, _Hibbert Lectures_, p. 116), talked _with_ (not merely _of_)
  beasts, birds, and fishes, but delighted most in the birds.

Footnote 166:

  This was also the opinion of Ewald (_History_, iii. 281). It might now
  be urged in its favour that Assurbanipal’s library contained bilingual
  lists of animals, vegetables, and minerals. But remember that the
  Assyrians were incomparably more civilised than the Israelites, and
  had both a lexicographical and a scientific interest in making these
  lists, and above all that Solomon is not stated to have written, but
  only to have _spoken_.

Footnote 167:

  See the _Tosefoth_ to the Talmudic treatise _Baba bathra_, 14_b_,
  where the name is given both to Proverbs and to Ecclesiastes. It is
  however more commonly found in Christian than in Jewish literature,
  often under the fuller form ἡ πανάρετος σοφία (see especially
  Eusebius, _H. E._, iv. 22).

Footnote 168:

  The second line however seems to have intruded from ver. 11, and thus
  to have supplanted the original.

Footnote 169:

  Here again the second line is evidently an intruder (from ver. 8). We
  should doubtless read with Sept., ‘but he that reproves produces
  welfare.’

Footnote 170:

  This word (_takhbūlōth_) also occurs in xxiv. 6, i. 5, Job xxxvii. 12.

Footnote 171:

  For _m’raddēf_ read _m’gaddēf_.

Footnote 172:

  Landberg denies that Maidani’s proverbs were ever really popular, but
  A. Müller judges that this view is extravagant (_Zeitschrift für
  Völkerpsychologie_, xii. 441).

Footnote 173:

  The text has ‘than he who is perverse in his lips and is a fool.’ With
  Grätz, I follow the Peshitto and (partly) the Vulgate.

Footnote 174:

  Pointing _ōbhēd_, with Hitzig, Ewald, and Bickell; comp. ver, 11.
  Dijserinck ingeniously emends _çōbhēr_ ‘heaps up’ (i.e. saves).

Footnote 175:

  Comp. Thomson, _The Land and the Book_, pp. 336-8.

Footnote 176:

  The word is _behēma_ (Seneca’s ‘muta animalia’). Schopenhauer,
  thinking perhaps of the Levitical sacrifices, accuses the Old
  Testament of cruelty to animals. But see, besides this passage, Gen.
  i. 27-29, Num. xxii. 28, Jon. iv. 11.

Footnote 177:

  With Hitzig and others, taking _’îsh_ as a softened form _yēsh_ (comp.
  2 Sam. xiv. 19, Mic. vi. 10); the _yōd_ is kept as in Aramaic. So
  Targ., Pesh.

Footnote 178:

  At the end of ver. 19 Bickell nearly follows Sept. Cod. Vat., τὴν ὁδόν
  σου (A.C.S. αὐτοῦ). But as this takes the place of _hayyōm_, it would
  seem that Bickell ought to begin ver. 20 with _af ethmōl_. This
  however would not suit his metrical theory.

Footnote 179:

  The phraseological resemblance of xxiii. 19_b_ to iv. 14_b_ is
  incomplete. As for _khokmōth_ in xxiv. 7, it means simply ‘wisdom’ (as
  in xiv. 1, where _khakmōth_ is wrong); the parallelism with i. 20, ix.
  1 is not of critical importance. Any real points of contact (such as
  xxiii. 23_a_; comp. iv. 5, 7) can be accounted for by imitation, and
  one could easily bring together points of difference.

Footnote 180:

  The word for ‘mast’ is a ἅπ. λεγ. The Septuagint and Peshitto have ‘as
  a steersman (or seaman) in great breakers.’

Footnote 181:

  xxiv. 23_b_ is no exception; it is merely the first line of a
  hexastich.

Footnote 182:

  For ‘and afterwards’ the Hebrew has ‘afterwards and thou shalt build.’
  ‘And’ may mean ‘then,’ marking out the perfect as consecutive, but it
  may also have been intended to join two parts of a sentence.




                              CHAPTER IV.
               THE SECOND COLLECTION AND ITS APPENDICES.


The next proverbial anthology (xxv.-xxix.) like its chief predecessor is
described in the heading as ‘Proverbs of Solomon.’[183] The social state
however presupposed in many of them is so different from that of the
Solomonic age that we may at once reject the theory of the wise king’s
authorship. Another name with which in xxv. 1 the work is connected is
that of Hezekiah, who has been suggestively called ‘the Pisistratus of
Judah.’ The comparison halts, no doubt; for Pisistratus and his
‘companions’ meant to collect the whole of the Homeric poems, whereas
completeness can hardly have been the object of those ‘friends (or
counsellors) of Hezekiah’ who ‘collected’[184] the ‘Proverbs of Solomon’
in xxv. 2-xxix. 27; at least, we know that there was much proverbial
wisdom in circulation which had as good or as bad a claim to be called
‘Solomonic’ as the sayings which they have admitted into their
anthology. It may indeed well be doubted whether the compilers had any
thought of collecting the relics (now already more than 200 years old)
of the wise king. The style of these proverbs makes such a hypothesis
even more improbable than in the case of x. 1-xxii. 16. The words with
which the heading begins are of course not decisive, especially as the
whole verse appears to be due, not to the royal officials who are spoken
of, but to the author of the heading in xxiv. 23a (both headings begin
with ‘these also’). That Hezekiah was the instigator of the compilation,
need not however be disputed. Even if not himself an author,[185] he may
well have shared his friend Isaiah’s interest in literature; and
besides, it was at that time one of the glories of a great king to be
the founder of a library.[186] The word used in describing the activity
of his commissioners means literally ‘transferred’ (from one place to
another), and will equally well apply to the noting down of oral
traditions and to the making extracts from existing collections. Among
the latter, the ‘Proverbs of Solomon’ in x. 1-xxii. 16 are of course to
be included, though it is not quite certain whether the compilers of the
later anthology had the book before them. It is true that nine proverbs
are the same in the two books either absolutely (xxv. 24 = xxi. 9, xxvi.
22 = xviii. 8, xxvii. 12 = xxii. 3, xxvii. 13 = xx. 16) or virtually
(xxvi. 13 = xxii. 13, xxvi. 15 = xix. 24, xxviii. 6 = xix. 1, xxviii. 19
= xii. 11, xxix. 13 = xxii. 2), besides two which agree in one line
(xxvii. 21 = xvii. 3, xxix. 22 = xv. 18; comp. also xxvii. 15, xix. 13).
But there still remains the question, Why the collectors took so little
and left so much of manifest antiquity, and to this question we cannot
expect to find an answer. All that we can say is that their compilation
has striking characteristics of its own. In technicalities they admit a
greater variety than those of the first anthology. They allow not only
distichs but tristichs (xxv. 8, 13, 20, xxvii. 10, 22, xxviii. 10),
tetrastichs (xxv. 4, 5, xxv. 9, 10, xxv. 21, 22, xxvi. 18, 19, xxvi. 24,
25, xxvii. 15, 16), and in one case a pentastich[187] (xxv. 6, 7),
agreeing in this respect with the two appendices of the first anthology.
There is also a long _mashal_, analogous to some we have had already,
which can only with some laxity be called a proverb, and which extends
over ten distichs (xxvii. 23-27). With regard to parallelism, the
antithetic kind, which predominates in the first ‘Solomonic’ anthology,
is rare in this collection, except in chaps. xxviii., xxix.; sometimes
indeed there is no parallelism at all (see xxv. 8, 9, 10, 21, 22, xxvi.
18, 19, xxvii. 1, xxix. 12). As a compensation, similitudes abound in
the three first chapters of the collection. Sometimes the comparison is
expressed, e.g.

              As the cold of snow in the heat[188] of harvest
              is a faithful messenger to those that send him:
              he refreshes the soul of his master (xxv. 13);

at other times it is implied by the juxtaposition of the two objects,
e.g.

                  Apples of gold in chased work of silver,
                  a word smoothly spoken[189] (xxv. 11).

Let us pause on this favourite proverb of Goethe’s. The Hebrew ‘wise
men’ would not have agreed to a later sage’s depreciation of
speech.[190] ‘A word in due season, how good is it’ (xv. 23); but when
not only seasonable but set off by charms of style, how much better is
it! The ‘apples of gold’ in xxv. 11 are probably oranges; the ‘chased
work of silver’ means either baskets of silver filagree, or, as I should
like to think with Mr. Neil, the brilliant white blossoms among which
the golden fruit is seen peeping out. If the ‘gold’ is figurative, why
not also the ‘silver’? We are reminded of Andrew Marvell’s lines in the
‘Emigrants’ Song,’

                   He hangs in shades the orange bright,
                   Like golden lamps in a green night,

though Marvell forgot what Addison (_Spectator_, No. 455) well knew,
that flowers as well as fruit and leaves continue on the orange-tree for
the best part of the year.

But to return to our anthology. It would almost seem as if two editors
with different tastes had been concerned in it, the one responsible for
chaps. xxv.-xxvii., and the other for chaps. xxviii, xxix. According to
Ewald, the proverbs in the latter section are mostly somewhat older than
those in the former. This is perhaps an impression rather than a
judgment; and few will deny that some at least of the parabolic proverbs
in the first section may be as old as those of the same class in x.
1-xxii. 16.

It is difficult to suppose that many of the proverbs in either part of
the book go back to a remote date. The cheerfulness of Israel’s ‘golden
prime’ is gone; society seems to have changed, not altogether for the
better, even since the first great anthology was made. The king is still
looked up to with awe; the book begins with a group of four sentences on
the true glory of a monarch, followed by two on the right behaviour for
a subject (xxv. 2-7). The king is described (surely with a touch of
idealism) as inquisitive in the best sense; his ‘heart,’ or
understanding, is unsearchable. But this happy view of monarchy passes
away. There are several proverbs complaining of the wickedness of kings,
which are almost without a parallel in the earlier collection. Ungodly
rulers have made the people ‘sigh’ (xxix. 2); they have been like
‘roaring lions and ravenous bears’ to the ‘poor folk’ (xxviii. 15, 16),
and have completely destroyed the freedom of social intercourse (xxviii.
12, 28). Sometimes, as in the northern kingdom after the death of
Jeroboam II.,[191] the crown has become the object of competition to a
crowd of pretenders (xxviii. 2). The misery of the people has been
heightened by the greed of petty tyrants, according to the forcible
saying,—

       A man who is rich[192] and oppresses the poor
       (is) a rain which sweeps away and gives no bread (xxviii. 3).

What kind of oppression is meant we may learn from Micah (ii. 3),—

              And they covet lands and take them by violence;
              houses, and take them away;
              and they oppress the owner and his house,
              a man and his inheritance.

It is in short the same unscrupulous accumulation of landed property to
which Isaiah devotes one of his solemn ‘woes’ in his earliest prophecy,
and which is one of the causes of the threatened captivity (Isa. v. 8-10
13). Exile has indeed become a familiar idea to those who admitted
xxvii. 8 into the anthology, if, as most think, in the pathetic words of
xxvii. 8 we may hear an echo of the march of Assyrian armies, ‘to
wander’ being an euphemism for going into banishment.

          As a bird that wanders from her nest,
          so is a man that wanders[193] from his home (xxvii. 8).

As a rule, however, the proverbs relate to ordinary bourgeois life.
Religious proverbs occur but rarely.[194] ‘Folly’ too is not so often
mentioned as in the first collection, and the censure which it has to
bear is mostly indirect and more or less satirical; see e.g. the
proverb—

              Though thou shouldest beat a fool in a mortar
              in the midst of bruised corn with a pestle,
              his folly would not depart from him (xxvii. 22),

and especially the paradoxical exhibition of the two sides of a truth—

             Answer not the stupid man according to his folly,
             lest thou thyself also become like unto him:
             Answer the stupid man according to his folly,
             lest he regard himself as wise (xxvi. 4, 5),

where the first distich dissuades from retaliating on a fool by a word
or an action on his own low moral plane, while the second recommends
giving his folly the exposure or the sharp answer which it so richly
deserves.[195] The wide meaning of ‘folly’ in this pair of proverbs may
be illustrated by xvii. 12, where it evidently means a paroxysm of
passion. Next to this noisy passionate ‘folly,’ if we may judge from the
arrangement of chap. xxvi., comes the vice of idleness (xxvi. 13-16).
How dangerous this was felt to be we have seen already, and the
exhortation to agricultural industry in xxvii. 23-27 forms a counterpart
to the meditation on the ‘field of the slothful’ in xxiv. 30-32. If the
motives urged for this and other duties are not lofty, the standard is
at least an easily attainable one.

Sometimes, indeed, the eye sharpened by a regard to prudence discerns
moral points of some refinement.[196] This proverb, for instance,
strikes one as delicate, in spite of the prudential motive attached to
it in the next verse,—

               Conduct thy quarrel with thy neighbour,
               but expose not the secret of another (xxv. 9);

and the well-known precept on showing kindness to one’s enemies, though
partly supported by the prospect of a reward (comp. xxiv. 17, 18), is so
nobly expressed that an apostle can adopt it without change (Rom. xii.
20),—

      If one that hates thee hunger, give him bread to eat,
      and if he thirst, give him water to drink,
      for thou heapest coals of fire thereby
      upon his head, and Jehovah shall recompense thee (xxv. 21, 22).

Let us pause a moment on this proverb, which contrasts so strongly with
the advice on the treatment of enemies given by Sirach. ‘Coals of fire
on the head’ is probably here a metaphorical expression for what St.
Augustine calls ‘urentes conscientiæ gemitus’ (_De doctr. Christ._, l.
iii., c. 16). The appositeness of the phrase will be heightened if we
suppose the enemy spoken of to be one who has never heard of the wise
man’s rule—a man of rude, uncultured nature, and perhaps of alien race.
To such a one, the being fed by the very man whom he ‘hated’ would give
first of all a shock of surprise, and then a pang of intolerable remorse
for his own unworthiness.[197] I wish one could be sure that this pang
was referred to as purifying as well as painful to the sufferer. A
parallel passage would be a great boon. Of course we can _apply_ the
passage in the same sense as St. Paul when he followed his quotation
with the words, ‘Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.’

But we should wrong our ‘wise men’ by treating them as pure
utilitarians; they are often sympathetic observers of character and
circumstance. For instance,—

    Vinegar falling upon a wound,[198]
    and he who sings songs to a heavy heart (xxv. 20).
    Silver dross spread over an earthen vessel—
    fervent lips[199] and a bad heart (xxvi. 23).
    Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth:
    a stranger, and not thine own lips (xxvii. 2).
    Faithful are the wounds of one who loves,
    but the kisses of a hater are profuse[200] (xxvii. 6).
    Thine own friend, and thy father’s friend, forsake not;
    and go not to thy brother’s house in the day of thy calamity:
    better is a near neighbour than a far off brother[201] (xxvii. 10).
    He who blesses his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the
       morning,
    it is reckoned to him for a curse[202] (xxvii. 14).
    Iron is sharpened by iron,
    and a man sharpens the face (or edge) of his friend (xxvii. 17).

The three appendices to the Hezekian collection (xxx., xxxi. 1-9, xxxi.
10-31) are, to take the most conservative position possible, obviously
not earlier than the closing century of the Jewish state. The art of
proverb-writing has declined ever since the compilation of the previous
anthology. The marks of simplicity and naturalness are wanting; the
enigmatical and artificial seem to be sought for. Each part of these two
chapters has moreover something of its own pointing in the direction of
a late origin. The two first appendices are very possibly even later
than the return of the Jews from Babylon.

The first appendix begins—‘The words of Agur the son of Jakeh, the
prophecy’ (or, divine utterance)[203] (comp. xxxi, 1). The heading is
enigmatical; in what sense are the ‘words’ ‘a prophecy,’ and who are the
persons spoken of? The latter question we have no means of answering.
The names are not found elsewhere, and have been thought to be
pseudonyms (Agur might mean ‘collector’ and Jakeh ‘obedient,’ i.e.
‘religious’).[204] As to the title ‘the prophecy,’ it must be admitted
that it is not by any means an appropriate one. It is too bold to accuse
the proverb-writer of claiming prophetic inspiration. (And why should
the article be prefixed?) The only alternative to this is to read, with
Prof. Grätz, (for _hammassā_ ‘the prophecy’) _hammōshēl_ ‘the
proverb-writer.’ After the heading comes a group of four verses complete
in itself.

     The oracle of the man ‘I have wearied[205] myself about God’ (?),
     I have wearied myself about God and have not prevailed.[206]
     For I am too stupid for a man,
     and am without human reason;
     I have not learned wisdom,
     nor have I knowledge of the All-holy.[207]
     Who has gone up to heaven and come down?
     who has gathered the wind in his fists?
     who has bound up the waters in a garment?
     who has established all the ends of the earth?
     what is his name, and what is his son’s name, if thou knowest?

It is not easy to interpret this little passage. Evidently the speaker
is a ‘wise man,’ who, according to some critics, inculcates a reverent
humility by reporting the fruitlessness of his own theological
speculations. After long brooding over the problems of the divine nature
(so they explain), the Hebrew sage was compelled to desist with the
feeling of his utter incapacity. Like Israel the patriarch he strove
with God, but unlike Israel he did not prevail. He knows indeed what God
has done and is continually doing; He is the Omnipresent One, the Lord
of wind and flood, the Author of the boundaries of the earth. But what
is this great Being’s name, and (to know Him intimately) what is His
son’s name? On this view of its meaning, the passage reminds one of the
words of Goethe’s Faust, ‘Who can name Him, or who confess, I believe
Him? Who can feel, and can be bold to say, I believe Him not?’ Or
perhaps we may still better compare Max Letteris’ masterly Hebrew
translation or adaptation, in which the medieval doctor has been
transformed into Ben Abuyah (or Acher אַחֵר), the famous apostate from
Judaism in the second century of our era. The passage with which we are
concerned as illustrative of the passage before us is on page 164, and
begins מִי יַזָכַּירֵהוּ וּמִי יְבַנֵּהוּ. Notice the delicate tact in
the choice of the second verb, ‘Who can give Him an honourable surname?’
(comp. Isa, xliv. 5, xiv. 4.) Later on, after other names suggested by
the German original, the modern Hebrew poet continues, אוֹׂ בְּיָהּ
שְׁמוׂ כִי נִשְׂגָּב הַזְכּירוּ, and in a note refers to a parallel
passage in a Hebrew poem by Ibn Gabirol.

I must make bold to doubt the correctness of this explanation. (1)
Because it does not sufficiently account for the language of ver. 2. (2)
Because upon this view of the questions of ver. 4, an Israelite’s answer
would simply be, Jehovah (comp. Job xxxviii. 5, Isa. xl. 12). (3)
Because it is so difficult to see why the poet should have asked
further, What is His son’s name? Is not the passage rather a philosophic
fragment from a school of ‘wise men,’ not so much unbelieving as
critical? The speaker declares, soberly enough, that he has tried in
vain by thinking to find out God. Then comes in a piece of irony. No
doubt it is his own stupidity; grand theologians, such as the writer of
Isa. xl. 12 &c., Job xxxviii., Prov. viii. 22 &c., may well look down
upon the dullard, who has not passed through their school! ‘But who is
it that is ever and anon coming down[208] to earth, and that performed
all these creative works of which you delight to speak? I have never
seen him; tell me his name and his son’s name since you are so learned.’
The latter phrase may be an allusion, either (anticipating Philo, who
calls Wisdom God’s Son) to the ‘I was brought forth’ in viii. 24, or
more probably[209] the primeval man (who might be called a ‘son of God’
in the sense of Luke iii. 38) spoken of in Job xv. 7, who was the
embodiment of all wisdom and sat in the council of Elohim.[210] The
satirical turn of this secularistic ‘wise man’ is even perhaps traceable
in the heading of his poem. He calls his work an ‘oracle,’ taking up a
favourite word of the disciples of the prophets, and flinging it back to
them with a laugh. Obviously too the name of the writer, if genuine, is
best explained as an assumed name. [But the emphatic _haggebher_ is very
difficult. I cannot believe, with Ewald, that _haggebher_ is said
ironically, as if ‘the mighty one in his own conceit;’ comp. Isa. xxii.
17 (?), Ps. lii. 3. The analogy of Num. xxiv. 3, 15, 2 Sam. xxiii. 1,
suggests that there is a corruption in the text, and that _haggebher_,
‘the man,’ was originally followed by words descriptive of the person
referred to. Grätz boldly corrects (_haggebher_) _lō-khayil_ ‘the man
without strength.]

Are we surprised at this? But a strikingly parallel confession of honest
scepticism is found in the Rig Veda (x. 129), though I would not of
course identify the opinions of the Sanskrit and the Hebrew poet,

    Who knows, who here can declare, whence has sprung—whence, this
    creation?... From what this creation arose; and whether [any one]
    made it, or not,—he who in the highest heaven is its ruler, he
    verily knows, or [even] he does not know.[211]

The poet who ‘takes up his parable’ after Laithi-el calmly and
uncontroversially indicates his own very different religious position.
He earnestly prays that he may not ‘become a liar and ask, Who is
Jehovah?’ (xxx. 9); for him the divine revelations (the outward form of
which is already sacred) are amply sufficient. ‘Every utterance of God
[_Eloah_, the sing. form, as in Job] is free from alloy’ (xxx. 5; see
the commentators on Ps. xviii. 31); the divine ‘name’ declared in Ex.
xxxiv. 6, should satisfy the wisest of men. Thus, like the editors of
Ecclesiastes, this later writer neutralises the doubtful expressions of
the poem which he has saved from perishing.

Can we avoid the impression that both these poets lived in an age of
advanced religious reflection and of Scripture-study? The one is more of
a philosopher, the other of a Biblical theologian; both would be at home
only in the Exile or in the post-Exile period, when doubt and even
scepticism lifted their heads side by side with Biblical study. Our
second more believing poet seems to be thinking of Ps. xviii. 30; but
the portion of that verse which he adopts assumes another colour through
the warning which follows, derived from Deut. iv. 1, xiii. 1. It is no
longer the ‘promise of God’ which is ‘tried’ or ‘pure,’ but the
revelation of which the Jewish Church is gradually finding itself the
possessor.

The poet’s prayer for himself (vv. 7-9) is followed by eight groups of
proverbs, each of which describes some quality or character which is
either commended or warned against, and (with the exception of the
first) contains a similitude. In most of these the number four is
conspicuous generally as the climax after ‘three’ (vv. 15, 18, 21, 29).
The fact that similar ‘numerical proverbs’ were popular in the early
Rabbinical period,[212] gives a certain support to the view that this
collection is of late origin. The groups referred to are—

              The four marks of an evil generation  vv. 11-14
              The four insatiable things            — 15, 16
              The fate of the disobedient son       — 17
              The four incomprehensible things      — 18-20
               —  —  intolerable things           — 21-23
               —  —  wise animals                 — 24-28
               —  —  comely in going (see p. 175) — 29-31
              A warning against strife              — 32, 33.

One of these (vv. 15, 16) has probably suffered a slight mutilation,
which has been thus remedied by Bickell,—

          The leech has two [three [213]] daughters,
          they say continually, ‘Give, give:’
          there are three things which are never satisfied,
          four which never say, ‘Abundance.’
          Sheól is never satisfied with dead,
          and the closing of the womb is never satisfied with men,
          the earth is never satisfied with water,
          and fire never says, ‘Abundance.’[214]

‘Daughters of the leech’ is a quasi-mythical expression, which no one
could misunderstand (comp. ‘upon a hill the son of oil,’ Isa. v. 1). We
find a similar group of four insatiables in the Sanskrit
Hitopadesa.[215]

    Fire is never satisfied with fuel; nor the ocean with rivers; nor
    death with all creatures; nor bright-eyed women with men.

The verses are of course older than the trumpery story of the cowherd’s
wife which they serve to illustrate. The coincidence with the Hebrew,
being obviously accidental, is worth remembering in other connections.
The two parallels, present in the Hebrew but not in this Sanskrit
quaternion, are given in a quatrain of a Vedic hymn to Varuna—

                 The path of ships across the sea,
                 The soaring eagle’s flight he knows.[216]

The second appendix (xxxi. 1-9) consists of a single group of sayings,
described as ‘the words of Lemuel, a king, the prophecy [better the
proverb, reading _māshāl_] with which his mother instructed him.’
Possibly, as Ewald suggests, Lemuel (or rather, Lemoel, as the word is
pointed in ver. 4) is an imaginary name, descriptive of the character of
an ideal monarch (‘God’s own;’ comp. Lael, Num. iii. 24). It is not
necessary to suppose that the poet himself lived under a native king; he
may, like the author of Koheleth, have thrown himself back in
imagination to Israel’s golden prime. His own period was late, judging
from the unclassical Hebrew (notice the Aramaisms in vv. 2, 3, and the
strange expressions in vv. 5, 8). The form of the heading suggests that
these ‘words of Lemuel’ formed part of the same collection as the ‘words
of Agur;’ and there is at least nothing in the contents to forbid this
view. The warnings of this queen-mother[217] (whose relation to Lemuel
reminds us of that of Bathsheba to Solomon) are very homely and
practical; one is against sensuality, another against drunkenness; upon
which follows an admonition to defend the cause of the poor. Even if
there were no native king at the time, the advice would be appropriate
for all members of the upper class of society.

The third appendix (xxxi. 10-31) contains the praise of the virtuous
woman. In style it is quite unlike the two preceding sections; it must
come therefore from another source. It is an alphabetic poem; each
distich begins with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. This, combined with
the position of the work at the close of the various collections of
proverbs, of itself suggests a date not far removed on the one side or
the other from the Exile period, when Hebrew literature became
undoubtedly more artificial and technical. From xxxi. 23 (‘the elders of
the land’) we may perhaps infer that it was written in Palestine. It is
very interesting to see the ideal of womanhood formed by a late Hebrew
poet. Activity appears to him the one great feminine virtue—not however
the activity which is entirely devoted to trifling details, for the
ideal woman ‘is like the ships of the merchant; from far she brings her
food’ (ver. 14). Nor is she a stranger to sympathetic impulses; ‘she
holds out her hand (with something in it) to the afflicted, and
stretches forth her hands to the needy [to bring them in],’ ver. 20. Nor
must we forget ‘one of the most beautiful features in the portrait’
(Delitzsch): ‘she opens her mouth with wisdom, and a law of kindness is
on her tongue’ (ver. 26). But for this verse, indeed, it would read
almost like satire that ‘far above pearls is her value’ (ver. 10), since
no higher estimate than this has been offered for God’s choicest
blessing, ‘Wisdom.’[218]

The poet does not say that he has found such a woman (comp. Eccles. vii.
28). The picture is perhaps too brightly coloured to be drawn from
reality, unless with Hitzig we bring down the composition of the poem as
late as the Greek period. Most probably, it is idealistic.

Footnote 183:

  ‘These _also_’ suggests that what follows is a last gleaning of
  Solomonic proverbs. And in fact xxv. 24, xxvi. 13, 15, 22, xxvii. 12,
  13, 21a, seem to be taken from _the_ ‘Solomonic’ collection. Hitzig
  however rejects this view. Why did not the collectors combine all the
  Solomonic proverbs they could find in one work? So he supposes this
  new collection to have been made ‘aus dem Volksmunde,’ and remarks
  that a commission would be specially appropriate for this task. To me
  this seems an anachronism. The proverbs of the Hezekian collection are
  moreover as artistic as those of the first ‘Solomonic.’

Footnote 184:

  So virtually the Septuagint (ἑξεγράψαντο), followed by the Peshitto
  and the Targum: Aquila, μετῆραν. The Greek, curiously enough, inserts
  an epithet for the proverbs, viz. αἱ ἀδιάκριτοι, i.e. either
  impossible to distinguish, miscellaneous (so Sophocles, _Lexicon_), or
  better, difficult to interpret. Symmachus has ἀδιάκριτος for _bōhū_,
  Gen. i. 2. The Peshitto and Targum render the Greek of our passage by
  ‘deep proverbs,’ i.e. enigmatical ones (so too Aquila and Theodotion
  in the Syro-hexapla).

Footnote 185:

  Cheyne, _The Prophecies of Isaiah_, i. 228-9 (on Isa. xxxviii. 9).

Footnote 186:

  Sayce’s ed. of Smith’s _Chaldean Genesis_, pp. 15, 26, 27.

Footnote 187:

  Sept., Symm., Pesh., Vulg., however, attach the lost line of ver. 7 to
  ver. 8 (‘Quæ viderunt oculi tui, ne proferas in jurgio cito’), which
  makes ver. 7 a distich and ver. 8 a tetrastich.

Footnote 188:

  Reading _b’khōm_ for _b’yōm_ with Sept.

Footnote 189:

  Literally, ‘a word spoken (or, perhaps, driven, or sent home) on its
  wheels,’ i.e. smoothly and elegantly (‘ore rotundo’). So Schultens,
  who sees a reference to the tropes and figures of elegant Oriental
  style. Comp. Neil, _Palestine Explored_, p. 197. The interpretation is
  an attractive one, though uncertain. Ewald has a slightly different
  view (see History, ii. p. 14, n. 6).

Footnote 190:

  Carlyle however borrows an Arabic proverb (Freytag, _Prov. Ar._, iii.
  92).

Footnote 191:

  It is of course possible that xxviii. 2 may be of northern origin, but
  why should not a wise man in Judah have watched with sympathy the
  course of events in Israel?

Footnote 192:

  Reading, with Grätz, _’āshīr_ for _rāsh_ ‘poor,’ which makes no sense.

Footnote 193:

  Sept. well ἀποξενωθεῇ.

Footnote 194:

  Notice however the remarkable saying, already quoted, in xxix.

Footnote 195:

  The proverbs xxvi. 1, 3-12, form a string of satirical attacks on the
  ‘fool’ or stupid man.

Footnote 196:

  One of these points however is noticed in the earliest part of the
  Law. The love of one’s enemy is taught in Ex. xxiii. 4, 5.

Footnote 197:

  See however Mr. Yonge in _The Expositor_, Aug. 1885, pp. 158-9.

Footnote 198:

  The received text has ‘vinegar upon nitre;’ but this would be rather
  an emblem for anger. The correction is Bickell’s, and is partly
  founded on Sept. (ὥσπερ ὄξος ἕλκει ἀσύμφορον). The opening words of
  the verse in rec. text arise from the repetition in a corrupt form of
  the four last words of the preceding verse (Lagarde and Bickell).

Footnote 199:

  The Septuagint has ‘smooth lips.’

Footnote 200:

  To have added ‘but perfidious,’ would have made the line too long.

Footnote 201:

  This seems a combination of two distinct proverbs. The one says that a
  friend can give more sympathy than a relative; the other, that a
  neighbour, being on the spot, can give more help than a relative at a
  distance.

Footnote 202:

  A humorous picture! Such ostentatious and inopportune salutations are
  execrable flattery.

Footnote 203:

  On the conjectural reading, ‘the man of Massa’ (‘Massa,’ instead of
  ‘the prophecy’), see Chap. VI.

Footnote 204:

  This was the view of St. Jerome, derived of course from his Jewish
  teacher.

Footnote 205:

  Pointing _lāīthī_.

Footnote 206:

  Reading with Bickell _v’lō ūkāl_. Another correction of the text is,
  _v’ēkel_ ‘and have pined away.’

Footnote 207:

  _Q’dōshīm_, a word formed on the analogy of _elōhīm_; comp. ix. 10,
  Hos. xii. 1.

Footnote 208:

  It may be objected that ‘hath gone up and come down’ does not suit
  this explanation, and that, to refer to God, it should run ‘hath come
  down and gone up.’ But we have ‘angels of Elohim ascending and
  descending’ in Gen. xxviii. 12; usage, in Hebrew as in English,
  forbids the phrase ‘to go down and up.’

Footnote 209:

  ‘More probably;’ because the name of the speaker in viii. 24 has been
  told.

Footnote 210:

  Comp. Ewald, _Die Lehre der Bibel von Gott_, iii. 2, pp. 81, 82.

Footnote 211:

  Muir, _Original Sanskrit Texts_, v. 356; comp. Max Müller, _Hibbert
  Lectures_, p. 316.

Footnote 212:

  See above, p. 128, and comp. Wünsche, _Midrasch Kohelet_, p. xiii.

Footnote 213:

  Sept., followed by Pesh., reads ‘three’ for ‘two.’ Accepting this
  reading, the second half of the verse becomes an explanation of the
  first.

Footnote 214:

  Bickell’s reconstruction of the text makes the proverbs symmetrical
  with the rest. In lines 5, 6 he makes an ingenious parallelism with
  _mēthīm_ ‘dead’ and _m’thīm_ ‘men’ (i.e. children).

Footnote 215:

  F. Johnson’s translation (1848), chap. ii., fable 7; comp. Fritze’s
  metrical version (Leipz. 1884).

Footnote 216:

  Muir, _Metrical Translations_ (1879), p. 160.

Footnote 217:

  On the early importance of the queen-mother, see Cheyne’s _Isaiah_, i.
  47, note 1 (on Isa. vii. 13).

Footnote 218:

  This hardly recommends the view of Costelli, that this poem is
  properly the conclusion of the introductory treatise (i.-ix.)




                               CHAPTER V.
                         THE PRAISE OF WISDOM.


‘Thou hast kept the good wine until now,’ for ‘good wine’ well describes
the glorious little treatise at the head of our Book of Proverbs (i.
7-ix. 18). I do not think it is right to infer from the heading in i. 1
that its unknown author assumed the mask of Solomon. In itself such a
hypothesis would not be incredible. We have the analogy of the Egyptian
scribe who represents Amenemhat I. ‘rising up like a god’ and addressing
to his son some instructions on the royal art of governing.[219] But it
is more natural to explain the heading as a repetition of the formula in
x. 1, for the ‘Praise of Wisdom’ (to coin another title) is in fact the
introduction to the following anthology,[220] together with which and
its appendices it forms the ‘older book of Proverbs.’ If we ask why an
introduction was prefixed, the answer must be that the writer wished to
recommend his own inspiring view of practical ethics as a branch of
divine wisdom; in other words, to counteract the sometimes commonplace
morality of the earlier proverbs by enveloping the reader in a purer and
more ethereal atmosphere. The key-note of the anthology is nothing but
Experience; that of the introductory treatise is Divine Teaching. It is
a sign of moral progress that the editor of an anthology of Experience
should have thought his work only half-done till he had prefixed the
‘Praise of Wisdom.’ As a wise teacher of our own time[221] has observed,
‘It would not be untrue to say that in all essential points Experience
is the teacher only of fools, of those who have gone astray through
turning a deaf ear to the voice of a prior and more legitimate teacher.’
The nature of the wisdom so earnestly commended by this self-forgetting
writer, we will consider presently; and our study will probably convince
us that such a writer can only have arisen at an advanced period of
Israel’s history. The class or circle to which he belonged, and its
characteristics, can easily be determined; but the precise period only
with some degree of hesitation. Without anticipating the discussion
which will be given at another point, I think it may safely be laid down
that each of those kindred poems—the ‘Praise of Wisdom’ and ‘Job’—must
have arisen at one of three periods, marked respectively by the
composition of Deuteronomy, by the Captivity, and by the Restoration.
The progress of the higher Israelitish wisdom was so gradual that it
does not perhaps, to the exegete as distinguished from the historian,
greatly matter which of these periods we select. For my own part,
however, I incline to connect at any rate the former of these works with
the age of Deuteronomy. Apart from the details to be mentioned
elsewhere, it is clear (I speak now of Prov. i.-ix.) that the tone of
the exhortations, and the view of religion as ‘having the promise of the
life that now is,’ correspond to similar characteristics of the Book of
Deuteronomy. And if we turn from the contents to the form of this choice
little book, the same hypothesis seems equally suitable. The prophets
had long since seen the necessity of increasing their influence by
committing the main points of their discourses to writing; some
rhetorical passages indeed were evidently composed to be read and not to
be heard. It was natural that the moralists should follow this example,
not only (as in the anthologies) by remodelling their wise sayings for
publication, but also by venturing on long and animated quasi-oratorical
recommendations of great moral truths.

Such a recommendation, addressed especially to the young and
impressionable (i. 4), lies before us in chaps. i.-ix. In grave but
harmonious accents the opening verses (which refer chiefly to i. 7-ix.
18, but not without a secondary reference to the anthology which
follows) describe its object and character. Then follows a motto, the
first line of which occurs again near the close of the book in ix. 10
(Job xxviii. 28, Ps. cxi. 10), and which stamps the author as belonging
to a new and more religious class of ‘wise men’ (see p. 121),—

              The fear of Jehovah is the beginning of wisdom,

i.e. the foundation of true wisdom (its ‘root,’ Ecclus. i. 20) is
reverence. The disciple is to begin by taking this upon trust, but when
further advanced he will see that it is the shortest way to his goal,
true wisdom having an objective existence in the unseen world. At
present he is simply to follow the ‘direction’ of those wiser than
himself:—our moralist is as zealous for a _tōra_ as the author of
Deuteronomy. But though serious and authoritative, he is never stern;
indeed, to enforce his appeal he breaks through a Hebrew writer’s usual
veil of reticence and describes his own home-life (iv. 3, 4). He can
enter into the feelings of the young, for he too has ‘borne the yoke in
his youth’ (Lam. iii. 27), and learned to prefer it to ‘unchartered
freedom.’ The whole of chap. iv. is devoted to a summary of the wise
doctrine which he received from his father; indeed, throughout the book
he shows a wonderful appreciation of the parental and the filial
relations, and, according to Ewald’s arrangement (see below), begins
each section with an exhortation to listen to parental instruction. He
himself feels like a father to his young disciples (iv. 1).

The errors to which his hearers are specially tempted are highway
robbery (i. 11-18, iv. 16, 17) and unchastity (ii. 16, v. 3-20, vi.
24-35, vii. 5-27, ix. 13-18). From the time that the simplicity of the
ancient life began to give way to the inroads of luxury, we meet in the
Biblical writings with complaints of acts of violence leading to murder
(see, for instance, in the prophecies, Isa. i. 15, v. 7, xxxiii. 15,
Mic. iii. 10, Jer. ii. 34, xxii. 17, Isa. lix. 3, 7, and in a collection
of proverbs contemporary with our book, Prov. xxiv. 15, 16). ‘At no
time,’ as Dean Plumptre well remarks, ‘has Palestine ever risen to the
security of a well-ordered police-system;’ even down to the fall of
Jerusalem, bands of robbers defied the authority of the central
government. The remarkable thing is that young men in the higher circles
of society (for such our moralist appears to address) should be thought
capable of joining the banditti, at a time when ‘bandit’ could not be
synonymous with ‘patriot.’ Our moralist contents himself with dissuading
his disciple from doing so, on the ground of the retribution which will
follow (i. 18, 19). The exhortation to industry, with its slow but sure
profits, comes later, and in a less appropriate place (vi. 6-8). But the
other besetting sin of youth is still more earnestly denounced as the
most glaring specimen of ‘folly.’ Once indeed the ‘strange, or alien,
woman,’ i.e. the adulteress, is introduced dramatically as ‘Madam Folly’
(ix. 13). The picture is remarkable, and forms a designed contrast to
that at the beginning of the chapter. She sits at the door of her house,
counterfeiting her great rival Wisdom (comp. ver. 14 with ver. 3, and
ver. 16 with ver. 4), like Dante’s Siren; but the disciple of the ‘wise
man’ knows

         ... that phantoms are there,
         and that her guests are in the depths of Sheól
                                  (ix. 18; comp. ii. 18, xxi. 16).

‘Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?’ is the problem for our
moralist to solve. He does so by insisting on an education conducted in
reliance on divine Wisdom. The reward of diligent attention to the
earlier lessons (for each chapter is a lesson, and its repetitions have
a pedagogic justification) is the famous portrait of Wisdom in viii.
22-31. She (for Wisdom, _khokma_, is a feminine word) has indeed been
mentioned before (i. 20, iii. 13-20, iv. 5-9), but from viii. 1 to ix. 6
the poet is absorbed in his grand personification. Wisdom is now
presented to us, in the familiar dialect of poetry, as the firstborn
Child of the Creator. There is but one Wisdom; though her forms are
many, in her origin she is one. The Wisdom who presided over the ‘birth’
of nature is the same who by her messengers (the ‘wise men’) calls
mankind to turn aside from evil (ix. 3). There can therefore be no real
disharmony between nature and morality; the picture leaves no room for
an Ahriman, in this and other respects resembling the Cosmogony in Gen.
i. and portions of the striking descriptions in Job xxvi., xxviii.,
xxxviii. There is also no time when we can say that ‘Wisdom was not.’
Faith declares that even in that primitive Chaos of which our reason has
a horror divine Wisdom reigned supreme. The heavenly ocean, the ancient
hills, the combination of countless delicate atoms to form the ground,
the fixing of the vault of heaven on the world-encircling ocean, the
separation of sea and dry land[222]—all these were later works of God
than the Architect through whom He made them. And how did the Architect
work? By a ‘divine improvisation’ which allowed no sense of effort or
fatigue, and which still continues with unabated freshness. But though
her sportive path[223] can still be traced in the processes of nature,
her highest delight is in the regeneration of the moral life of
humanity. The passage runs thus—

         Jehovah produced[224] me as the beginning of his way,
         as the first of his works, long since.
         From of old I received my place,
         from the beginning, from the first times of the earth.
         When there were no floods, I was brought forth,
         when there were no fountains rich in water.
         Before the mountains were settled,
         before the hills was I brought forth;
         While as yet he had not made the earth with (its) fields,
         and the atoms of dust which form the ground.
         When he established the heaven, I was there,
         when he marked a circle upon the face of the flood,[225]

         When he made firm the sky above,
         when he strengthened the fountains of the flood,
         When he appointed to the sea his bound,
         that the waters should not transgress his command,
         when he fixed the foundations of the earth,
         Then was I beside him as architect,
         and was daily full of delight,
         sporting[226] before him at all times,
         I who (still) have sport with his fruitful earth,
         and have my delight with the sons of men.

The bold originality of this passage requires no proof. It cuts away at
a blow the old mythical conception of the world as the work of God’s
hands, and of an arbitrary omnipotence. ‘God,’ as Hooker says, ‘is a law
both to himself and to all things beside;’ ‘his wisdom hath stinted the
effects of his power.’ ‘Nor is the freedom of the will of God any whit
abated, let, or hindered, by means of this; because the imposition of
this law upon himself is his own free and voluntary act’ (‘Jehovah
produced me’). The idea, then, of the world as a Cosmos was not adopted
by the Jews from the Greeks; it arose of itself as soon as religious men
pondered over the phenomena of nature. The author of _Job_ took up the
idea, and reexpressed it worthily in xxviii. 12-28, the chief difference
between him and his predecessor being that he denies the attainableness
for man of wisdom in the larger sense, while the author of the ‘Praise
of Wisdom’ does not raise the question whether the higher department of
wisdom is open to human enquiry.

At the subsequent history of the conception of Wisdom we can barely
glance.[227] The cosmogonist in Gen. i., a sublime thinker, but
addressing untutored minds, preferred to convey truth in forms borrowed
from mythology. The moralists however saw the poetical and religious
importance of the personification of Wisdom, and repeatedly introduced
it into their didactic works (see Ecclus. i., xxiv., Wisd. vi.-ix.,[228]
and comp. Bar. iii. 29-37). Sirach even takes a step in advance of his
original, and at least for a moment identifies Wisdom with the Law of
Moses.[229] It became indeed a tradition of Jewish exegesis (see _Pirke
Aboth_, vi. 10) to interpret the absolute Khokma of the Tora, either in
opposition to Hellenistic views of the higher wisdom, or from a
practical instinct such as Wordsworth followed when in praise of Duty he
employed figures which had occurred long before in the ‘Praise of
Wisdom,’ or (a closer parallel) Richard Hooker, when he described the
Scripture as one embodiment of that divine Law which he so splendidly
eulogises at the close of his first book. That Jewish legalism
degenerated into a mechanical formalism, should not blind us to the
practical instinct in which it originated.

The title ‘The Praise of Wisdom’ has now, I hope, been justified. The
passage quoted above forms the high-water mark of this elevated poetry,
and points the way to the grand things in the poem of Job. Regularity of
structure is not a merit of our treatise, but the repetitions are not
feeble, and are perhaps deliberately made. The author is a _didactic_
poet, and only after he can presume that his lessons have been
assimilated will he venture on his highest flights. Does Ewald bear this
in mind when he divides the book into three sections, I. a general
exhortation to wisdom, in which the whole of the truth is touched upon,
but no part is completely unfolded (i. 8-iii. 35); II. an exhaustive
treatment of a few details (iv. 1-vi. 19); III. a gradual rise to the
highest and most universal truth, closing in almost lyric enthusiasm
(vi. 20-ix. 18)? Or Hitzig, when, to suit an artificial arrangement, he
omits as later additions iii. 22-26, vi. 1-19, viii. 4-12, 14-16, ix.
7-10? These are the two extremes of critical theory; their failure may
be taken as a proof that the only possible division is one like that of
Delitzsch into fifteen poems, rather loosely connected together, but
presenting the same peculiarities of style and diction. _Mashals_ we can
only term them in a wide sense of the word; not condensation but
expansion is the characteristic of this book; the discourse flows on
till the subject has been exhausted, and then, after a brief pause, it
gushes forth anew. One of the chapters (ii.) actually forms a single
carefully elaborated sentence. Now and then the matter is more broken
up; we meet with some small groups of detached sentences (e.g. iii.
27-35, vi. 1-11, 12-19), which introduce some variety into the style,
and suggest that the author revised his work with the view of making it
an ethical manual, as well as an introduction to the anthology. In one
of these groups we find the interesting similitude of the ant, which the
Septuagint has supplemented by one of purely Greek origin (see Hitzig
and Lagarde) on the bee.

The author has the pen of a ready writer, and his work shows that he has
studied the literature of his time. He was familiar[230] with the
phraseology of the ‘Solomonic’ proverbs, though he struck out a style of
his own, in harmony with the altered conditions of the teaching office.
He addresses those who have time to listen, and taste to appreciate his
flowing rhetoric. He implies throughout that his audience belongs to the
wealthier class, and his favourite images are drawn from the life of the
merchant.[231] Clearly too he has a strong hold upon the doctrine that
prosperity and adversity are indicative of moral character. Thus,
speaking of ethical Wisdom, he says,

              Length of days is in her (Wisdom’s) right hand,
              in her left riches and honour (iii. 16).[232]

And yet there is evidence, even in Prov. i.-ix., of a nascent scepticism
on this point, originating probably in some recent event, such as the
captivity of the Ten Tribes. In words which remind us of Psalms xxxvii.
and lxxiii. the writer exclaims—

       Envy thou not the man of violence,
       and have thou pleasure in none of his ways....
       The curse of Jehovah is in the house of the ungodly,
       but the habitation of the righteous he blesses (iii. 31, 33);

and to furnish his disciples with an answer to the sceptic—

       Truly, whom Jehovah loves, he corrects,
       and as a father the son in whom he delights
                                         (iii. 12; comp. Job v. 17).

With this sweet saying I take leave for the present of this beautiful
work. How true it is that the doubts of a believer are the
stepping-stones to higher attainments of faith!

Footnote 219:

  (Maspero) _Records of the Past_, ii. 9-16.

Footnote 220:

  Its close relation to the first of the two great anthologies is shown
  by the linguistic points of contact between the two works (see Chap.
  VI.)

Footnote 221:

  Rev. J. H. Thorn.

Footnote 222:

  The poet, we can see, has not arranged the creative works as carefully
  as the cosmogonist in Genesis.

Footnote 223:

        Pleaseth him, the Eternal Child,
        To play his sweet will, glad and wild.—Emerson, _Wood Notes_.

Footnote 224:

  ‘Produced’ seems the best rendering (Sept., ἔκτισε), in the sense of
  ‘creating,’ not (as Del.) of ‘revealing,’ for which there is no
  authority. The secondary meaning ‘possessed’ (Aquila &c. ἐκτήσατο,
  Vulg. _possedit_; comp. Eccles. xxiv. 6) is less agreeable to the
  context (see Hitzig’s note). There is the same diversity of rendering
  in Gen. xiv. 19-22. On the patristic expositions of this passage, see
  Dean Goode, _The Divine Rule of Faith and Practice_, ed. 1, i. 299.
  The ante-Nicene Fathers mostly apply it to the divine generation of
  the Son, the post-Nicene to the generation of the human nature of
  Christ. Basil and Epiphanius are exceptions. The former applies the
  passage to ‘that wisdom which the apostle mentions’ (in 1 Cor. i. 21):
  the latter expresses a strong opinion that ‘it does not at all speak
  concerning the Son of God.’

Footnote 225:

  Comp. Milton’s noble conception of the Creator’s golden compasses
  (_Par. Lost_, vii. 225, 6).

Footnote 226:

  Comp. Delitzsch, _System der christlichen Apologetik_, § 16, where the
  history of this conception in Jewish literature is traced in
  connection with that of the Logos-idea; also Ewald, _Die Lehre der
  Bibel von Gott_, iii. 74-77.

Footnote 227:

  In Wisd. vii. 22 &c. the language appears to some to rise above
  poetical personification, and to imply a conscious hypostatising of
  Wisdom. Dante, a good judge on this point, certainly thought otherwise
  (_Convito_, iii. 15); he evidently holds that the Sophia of the Book
  of Wisdom is precisely analogous to his own very strong
  personification of divine Philosophy. Still such language may have
  partly prepared the way for the well-known Gnostic myth of Achamoth or
  Sophia (comp. Baur, _Three First Centuries_, E. T., i. 207). It was
  well, as Plumptre remarks, that Philo adopted Logos rather than Sophia
  as the name of the creative energy. A system in which Sophia had been
  the dominant word might have led to an earlier development of
  Mariolatry (Introduction to Proverbs in the _Speaker’s Commentary_).

Footnote 228:

  Ecclus. xxiv. 23. (Comp. a sublime passage of E. Irving, identifying
  the contents of the ‘sacred volume’ with ‘the primeval divinity of
  revealed Wisdom,’ _Miscellanies_, p. 380 &c.) According to late Jewish
  theology, the Law is one of the seven things produced before the
  creation of the world. The alphabet-fables in Talmud and Midrash, in
  which letters of the alphabet converse with God, presuppose the same
  view (comp. the Mohammedan view of the Koran).

Footnote 229:

  So Milton (a Hebraist), _Paradise Lost_, vii. 10 (‘didst play’), and
  again in _Tetrachordon_ (‘God himself conceals not his own
  recreations,’ &c.)

Footnote 230:

  The proof of this cannot be given here.

Footnote 231:

  See ii. 4, iii. 13-15, iv. 7, vii. 16, 17, 19, 20 (especially), viii.
  10, 18-21.

Footnote 232:

  Comp. i. 32, 33, ii. 21, 22, iii. 1-10, ix. 11, 12, 18.




                              CHAPTER VI.
             SUPPLEMENTARY ON QUESTIONS OF DATE AND ORIGIN.


There are two extreme views on the date of the Book of Proverbs, between
which are the theories of the mass of moderate critics. The one is that
represented by Keil in his Introduction and Bishop Ellicott’s
Commentary, that the whole book except chaps. xxx., xxxi., and perhaps
the heading i. 1-6, is in substance of Solomonic origin;[233] the other
is that of Vatke and Reuss (the precursors of Kuenen and Wellhausen)
that our proverbs as a collection come from the post-Exile period. Much
need not be said on the first of these extreme views. It has been
pointed out already that the ethical and religious character even of the
earliest proverbial collection stands far removed from that of the
historical Solomon. It is indeed a pure hypothesis that any Solomonic
element survives in the Book of Proverbs. I doubt not that many bright
and witty _sayings_ of Solomon came into circulation, and some of them
might conceivably have been gathered up and included in the anthologies.
But have we any adequate means of deciding which these are? It would
appear from 1 Kings iv. 33 that the wisdom of the historical Solomon
expressed itself in _spoken_ fables or moralisations about animals and
trees. A few, a very few, of the proverbs in our book may perhaps
satisfy the test thus obtained, and be plausibly represented as a
Solomonic element. But why Solomon should be singled out as the author,
it would tax one’s ingenuity to say, and the judgment of Hitzig (in such
matters a conservative critic) must be maintained that the survival of
Solomonic proverbs is no more than a possibility.[234]

The other extreme view requires some little explanation. Vatke does not
deny that Solomon composed proverbs, but only that his proverbs can have
resembled those in the canonical book. Putting aside some sayings of
earlier date Vatke holds that the stamp of the post-Exile period (and
more particularly of the fifth century) is as marked in the Book of
Proverbs as it is, according to him, in that of Job; in short, that both
works imply, equally with the still later Ecclesiastes, a long and
earnest struggle between the principles represented respectively by the
higher prophets and by the priests. The result of this struggle has
become to the authors of these books an objective truth which it is
henceforth their business to realise as true subjectively.[235] The
existence of a free-minded school of thought in the post-Exile period is
very plausibly defended both by Vatke and by Kuenen,[236] and if our
only choice lay between the extreme alternatives mentioned above, we
should be shut up to the acceptance of the latter.

I shall not however discuss here the post-Exile origin of the Book of
Proverbs as a whole, but only that part of the hypothesis which relates
to the very interesting section designated by Ewald the ‘Praise of
Wisdom.’ If this portion is not of Exile or post-Exile origin, I do not
see how it can be maintained that any other part of the book is so,
except indeed the sayings of Agur and Lemuel (xxx. 1-xxii. 9).

The following are some of the leading arguments for the late origin of
Prov. i.-ix. I. These chapters are said to contain a few parallels to
passages in works belonging probably to the Exile or post-Exile period
(II. Isaiah,[237] Job). I lay no stress on the occurrence of Prov. i. 16
(with the addition of ‘innocent’) in Isa. lix. 7_a_, because this verse
is not in the rhythm of the rest of Prov. i.-ix., and is not found in
the Septuagint. There may however be a parallelism between Prov. ii. 15
and Isa. lix. 8; the prophet is, at any rate, influenced by some
proverbial work similar to Prov. i.-ix. There may also be one between
Prov, i. 24, 26, 27 and Isa. lxv. 12, lxvi. 4. More striking are the
affinities already pointed out between Prov. i.-ix. and the Book of Job,
which may be taken to prove that these works proceeded from the same
circle of ‘wise men,’ but not necessarily that they are of the same
period (see above, p. 85).

II. As to the religious ideas of these chapters, (_a_) The Theism
expressed is both pure and broad. Polytheism is not even worthy to be
the subject of controversy; the tone is throughout positive. Jehovah’s
vast creative activity fills the writer’s mind, and begins to stimulate
speculative curiosity; from this point of view comp. Prov. viii. 22-31
with Job xv. 7, 8,[238] xxxviii. 4-11, and Gen. i. (The affinities with
the cosmogony are only general,[239] but perhaps gain in importance when
taken together with the possible allusion to Gen. ii. in Prov. iii. 18,
‘She is a tree of life’ &c.) (_b_) It is no objection to the Exile or
post-Exile date that the doctrine of invariable retribution is
presupposed in this treatise. We find this doctrine both in the speeches
of Elihu (Job. xxxii.-xxxvii., a separate work in its origin) and in the
Wisdom of Sirach. There is some weight in these arguments. But it can, I
think, be shown that the age of Jeremiah contained the germs of various
mental products which only matured in the later periods, and Reuss seems
to me singularly wilful in assuming that the personification of Wisdom
of itself proves the late date of Prov. i.-ix.

III. The luxurious living implied in Prov i.-ix. would suit the Exile
and post-Exile period. As soon as the Jews had the chance of
participating in the world’s good things, they eagerly availed
themselves of it. The prominence of the retribution doctrine in these
nine chapters might possibly be accounted for by the prosperity of many
of the dispersed Jews. To me however the expression ‘peace-offerings’
(vii. 14) points away from Babylon, just as the expression ‘yarn of
Egypt’ in vii. 16 points away from Egypt.

IV. The phraseology of these chapters (as well as of the rest of the
book) is said by Hartmann[240] to be late. His instances of late and
Aramaising words and forms require testing; an argument of this sort
(except in more extreme cases) is not conclusive as to date. Reuss
appears to base his linguistic argument rather on the clearness of the
style, which ‘betrays this section to be the latest part of the
book.’[241] Nöldeke however more soberly infers, from the ‘flowingness
and facility of the language,’ that the author lived subsequently to
Isaiah.[242]

On the whole, I am compelled to reject the hypothesis of either the
Exile or the post-Exile origin of Prov. i.-ix. The Exile-date seems to
be excluded by Prov. vii. 14, which implies the sacrificial system; the
post-Exile by the want of any sufficient reason for descending so late
in the course of history. The fifth century in particular, to which
Vatke refers the whole Book of Proverbs, seems to me out of the question
for this section of the book. Before the time of Sirach, I cannot find a
period in the post-Exile history in which the life of Jerusalem can have
much resembled the picture given of it in Prov. i.-ix. But Sirach’s
evident imitation of the ‘Praise of Wisdom’ (we shall come back to this
in studying Ecclesiasticus) seems of itself to suggest that Prov. i.-ix.
is the monument of an earlier age, and this is confirmed by Sirach’s
different attitude towards ceremonial religion.

There remains the hypothesis that the treatise, Prov. i.-ix., was
written towards the close of the kingdom of Judah. There seems to me no
sufficient argument against this view, which agrees with the result
above attained on the relation of Prov. i.-ix. to the Book of Job (p.
85). The collapse of the state was sudden, and for some time after the
composition or at least promulgation of the Deuteronomic _Tōra_ the Jews
appeared to be in the enjoyment of national prosperity. Now the author
of Prov. i.-ix. depicts a state of outward prosperity and is evidently
familiar with the exhortations of Deuteronomy. Who, as Delitzsch
remarks, can fail to hear in Prov. i. 7-ix. an echo of the _Shemà_
(‘hear’), Deut. vi. 4-9 (comp. xi. 18-21)? This is quite consistent with
the opinion that Prov. i.-ix. is later than the proverbs in the two
principal collections of our book, an opinion which commends itself to
most[243] especially on account of the higher moral standard of Prov.
i.-ix., and its advance in the treatment of literary form.

I have said ‘the composition or at least promulgation’ of Deuteronomy.
If Deuteronomy was written (which is at least possible) as early as the
reign of Hezekiah,[244] we may perhaps follow Ewald, who places the
‘Praise of Wisdom’ in the period of relative prosperity which, he
thinks, closed the reign of Manasseh.[245] It is noteworthy that Mic.
vi., which Ewald plausibly assigns to the period of Manasseh’s
persecution, also presents some points of contact with Deuteronomy.[246]
And yet it seems to me safer to date the book in the reign of Josiah,
when, as we know from history and prophecy, the discourses of
Deuteronomy first became generally known.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Next, as to the body of the work. That the collection in x. 1-xxii. 16
is the earliest part of the book is admitted by most critics. The fact
that chaps. i.-ix. present linguistic points of contact with it, does
not prove the two parts to be of the same date, for the opening chapters
also display peculiarities quite unlike those of the ‘Solomonic’
anthology.[247] I have already set forth my own view on this and on
other critical points, and will now only register the results of Ewald
and of Delitzsch. Both are agreed that the older Book of Proverbs
extends from i. 1 to xxiv. 22, i. 1-6 (or 7) being the descriptive
heading of the work, and i. 7 (or 8)-ix. 18 a hortatory treatise, by the
author, more or less introductory to the sayings which follow. The date
of the collection of the latter Ewald places at the beginning of the
eighth century; that of the heading and introduction in the middle of
the seventh. Towards the end of the seventh century the three appendices
(xxii. 17-xxiv. 22, xxiv. 23-35, xxv. 1-xxix. 27) were added; the
contents of the two former were derived from two popular proverbial
collections, while the latter was a great and officially sanctioned
anthology dating from the end of the eighth century. The remaining parts
of the book (xxx. 1-xxxi. 9, and xxxi. 10-31) Ewald assigns to the
seventh century. Delitzsch (whose view is perhaps the most conservative
one still tenable) dates the publication of the first Book of Proverbs
as early as the reign of Jehoshaphat (referring to 2 Chr. xvii. 7-9). To
its editor he ascribes not only the authorship of i. 1-ix. 18 but the
conclusion of the ‘older book’ by the words of the wise, xxii. 17-xxiv.
22, while a later editor is responsible both for the supplementary
sayings of the wise, xxiv. 22-34, and for the great Hezekian collection,
of which he thus ensured the preservation. The same person probably
appended the obscure sayings of Agur (xxx.) and of Lemuel (xxxi. 1-9),
possibly too the closing alphabetic poem (xxxi. 10-31), which is
assigned by Delitzsch to the pre-Hezekian period. Both Ewald and
Delitzsch are substantially agreed as to the existence of a genuine
Solomonic element in both the great anthologies (especially in the
first), but upon very conjectural grounds.

One point only remains to be considered, however briefly. The Book of
Job has already furnished an example of the poetical fiction of the
non-Israelitish authorship of a Hebrew poem. It is possible enough that
this and the similar instance of the Balaam-oracles were not alone in
Hebrew literature. Nor are they so, if a view of the first words of the
headings in Prov. xxx. 1, xxxi. 1, which has found many friends, be
correct, and we may render in the one case, ‘The words of Agur the son
of Jakeh, of (the country of) Massa,’ reading either _mimmassā_ (or, as
Delitzsch proposes, _mimmēshā_ or _hammassā’ī_[248]); and in the other,
‘The words of Lemuel the king of Massa.’ Mühlau in his monograph on
‘Agur’ and ‘Lemuel’ thinks that both the contents and the language of
the sayings of Agur ‘almost necessarily point to a region bordering on
the Syro-Arabian wastes,’ but his theory of an Israelitish colony in a
certain Massa in the Hauran (comp. 1 Chr. v. 10), like a somewhat
similar theory of Hitzig’s (he places ‘Massa’ in N. Arabia, comparing 1
Chr. iv. 42, 43, where the Simeonites are said to have settled in _Mount
Seir_, and Isa. xxi. 11, 12[249]), is too conjectural to be readily
accepted. There is however much force in a part of the arguments of
Mühlau, especially in his first and second (referring to xxxi. 1), ‘The
word _melek_ in apposition to Lemuel cannot go without the
article,’[250] and _’Massā_ “utterance” is never used elsewhere except
of (prophetic) oracles.’ If any one therefore likes to adopt the above
renderings, taking Massa as the name of a country (comp. Gen. xxv. 14, 1
Chr. i. 30), I have no strong objection. Ziegler’s view cited by
Mühlau,[251] that Lemuel was an Emeer of an Arabian tribe in the east of
Jordan, and that an Israelitish wise man translated the Emeer’s sayings
into Hebrew, is perhaps not as untenable as Mühlau thinks, provided that
‘translation’ be taken to include recasting in accordance with the
spirit of the Old Testament religion. For my own part, however, I prefer
the simpler explanation given already in considering chaps. xxx., xxii.
1-9. I account for the Aramaisms, Arabisms, and other peculiarities of
these sections by their post-Exile origin, with which the character of
the contents of the most striking portion, xxx. 1-6, appears to me to
harmonise (notice e.g. the strong faith in the words of revelation in
xxx. 5). But I am not writing a commentary, and can only draw the
reader’s attention to some of the most important exegetical phenomena.
Let me refer in conclusion to a critical note on p. 175, which has a
bearing on the question raised by some whether Job and this part of
Proverbs may fitly be called Hebræo-Arabic works. It is strange that
Hitzig should have renounced the support for his theory (see p. 171) to
be obtained from Prov. xxx. 31.

Footnote 233:

  Keil qualifies this however by admitting that Solomon may have
  incorporated many sayings of other wise men.

Footnote 234:

  _Die Sprüche Salomo’s_, v. xvii.

Footnote 235:

  _Die biblische Theologie_, i. 563.

Footnote 236:

  _The Religion of Israel_, ii. 242.

Footnote 237:

  The passages in II. Isaiah referred to in this paragraph belong to
  sections most probably of post-Exile origin. (See art. ‘Isaiah’ in
  _Encyclopædia Britannica_, new ed.)

Footnote 238:

  We should perhaps read here _v’thigga’_ for _v’thigra’_, following
  Sept.’s εἰς δε σε ἀφίκετο σοφία; so Merx and Bickell.

Footnote 239:

  Were the affinities with Gen. i. more definite, critics of
  Wellhausen’s school would naturally derive from them an argument for
  the post-Exile origin of Prov. i.-ix. I do not myself attach much
  weight to these slight parallelisms.

Footnote 240:

  _Die enge Verbindung des A. T. mit dem Neuen_, pp. 148-9.

Footnote 241:

  _Geschichte der heiligen Schriften Alten Testaments_, p. 494.

Footnote 242:

  _Die alttestamentliche Literatur_ (1868), p. 159.

Footnote 243:

  Hitzig, however, almost alone among recent critics, regards the
  opening chapters as the oldest part of the book.

Footnote 244:

  This seems to me the earliest probable date, but does not exclude the
  possibility that early traditional material has been worked into the
  book.

Footnote 245:

  _History of Israel_, iv. 219. It should be mentioned however that
  Ewald places Job (except the Elihu-portion), Prov. i.-ix., and, last
  in order, Deuteronomy _all in the reign of Manasseh_. He fails to
  recognise the influence of Deuteronomy on the ‘Praise of Wisdom.’

Footnote 246:

  See _Micah_ in the Cambridge School and College Bible.

Footnote 247:

  Delitzsch, _Proverbs_, i. 33; Kuenen, _Onderzock_, iii. 75.

Footnote 248:

  In the version known as the _Græcus Venetus_ (14th or 15th cent.) xxx.
  1_a_ runs thus, Λόγοι ἀγούρου υἱέως ἰακώως τοῦ μασάου (Jakeh the
  Massaite). Delitzsch’s view, given above, is taken from his art. on
  ‘Proverbs’ in Herzog-Plitt’s Encyclopædia; he refers to Friedrich
  Delitzsch’s _Paradies_, p. 303; comp. 243.

Footnote 249:

  On Isa. xxi. 11, 12, see _The Prophecies of Isaiah_, i. 129, ii. 152.
  Hitzig’s theory, originally stated in Zeller’s _Theol. Jahrbücher_,
  1844, pp. 269-305, will be found in the well-known short commentary
  (_Kurzgefasstes exeg. Handbuch_, 1847) by Bertheau, who substantially
  accepts it.

Footnote 250:

  This is a little too strong. We should certainly have expected _melek
  Lemuel_ (or _Lemoel_) rather than _Lemuel melek_, on the analogy of
  _melek Yārēb_, Hos. v. 13, x. 6. As it stands in the text, _melek_
  (after _Lemuel_, and without the article) can only be a definition of
  class. The Lemuel spoken of was quite unknown to the reader, and
  therefore the editor appends the descriptive title ‘king.’ Comp. Ex.
  xxxii. 11, where Joshua, son of Nun, being introduced for the first
  time, is described as _na’ar_ ‘a squire.’

Footnote 251:

  Referring to _Neue Uebersetzung der Denksprüche Salomo’s_, 1791, p.
  29.




                              CHAPTER VII.
                         THE TEXT OF PROVERBS.


The sense of proverbs is naturally most difficult to catch when there
has been no attempt to group them by subjects. Hence the textual
difficulties of so large a part of the earliest anthology. Grätz has
made some valuable among many too arbitrary corrections; but a
systematic use of the ancient versions is still a desideratum. Lagarde,
Oort, Bickell, and others have led the way; but much yet remains to be
done. My space only allows me to give some preliminary hints, which may
at least stimulate further inquiry, on the relation of the Hebrew text
to the versions, especially the Septuagint version (if I should not
rather speak of ‘versions’). How comes it, we may ask first of all, that
the Septuagint contains so many passages not found in the Hebrew? One
answer is that in a foreign land, with a new language and a new circle
of ideas, explanation was as necessary to the Hellenistic Jews as
translation. Hence the tendency of the Septuagint translators to
introduce glosses. But the form of the Book of Proverbs specially
favoured interpolations. Sometimes only a few words were inserted to
make the text more distinct (e.g. i. 22, xii. 25, xxiv. 23); at other
times explanatory or suggested remarks were added, at first perhaps in
the margin. Of course, it is perfectly conceivable that the received
Hebrew text itself may contain similar additions; the analogy of other
books, in which such interpolations occur, even favours this idea. One
such insertion is patent; there can be no doubt that i. 16 was added in
the Hebrew, to the detriment of the connection, from Isa. lix. 7. As
this passage is wanting in the best MSS. of the Septuagint, we might be
tempted to use this version as a means of detecting other interpolations
in the Hebrew. This however would lead us into researches of too much
complexity.

Some of the Septuagint additions are also found in the Vulgate, some
again also in the Peshitto; and where a Septuagint addition is not found
in the Vulgate we may, at least in some cases, assume that the
Septuagint text did not in St. Jerome’s time contain the additional
matter. Among the most interesting passages from a text-critical point
of view peculiar to the Septuagint are those found at iii. 15, iv. 27,
vi. 8, 11, vii. 2, ix. 12,[252], 18, xi. 16, xii. 13, xv. 18, xvi. 5,
xix. 7, xxvi. 11, xxvii. 20, 21, xxviii. 10. Most of these can be
rendered back into Hebrew, though this is difficult with vi. 11_b_ as it
stands, and impossible with vi. 8 (‘the bee’). In any case the Hebrew
origin of a proverb does not prove that it was inserted by the original
collector or collectors. With regard to the Targum and its deviations
from the Hebrew text, it is to be observed that this version has the
same relation to the Peshitto as the Vulgate to the old Latin version on
which it is based. The Peshitto translates from a Hebrew text
substantially the same as our own; though the translator has consulted
the Septuagint (according to Hitzig) in the portion of the book
beginning at vii. 23.

There are also some remarkable transpositions in the Septuagint
Proverbs, reminding us of those in the Septuagint Jeremiah. The three
appendices to the Hezekian collection are given in a very different
order from that of the Hebrew. The first fourteen verses of chap. xxx.
are inserted between ver. 22 and ver. 23 of chap. xxiv., and all the
remainder, together with xxxi. 1-9, is placed before chap. xxv. The
treatment of the headings in the Septuagint is also remarkable, and
seems arbitrary; e.g. it looks as if the translator had expunged all
those peculiarities in the superscriptions which suggested a variety of
authorship. The proper names in chaps. xxx., xxxi. have been explained
away, and the heading in x. 1, which limits the Solomonic authorship too
much for the translator, has been actually omitted.

On the Septuagint additions to Proverbs, comp. Deane in _Expositor_,
1884, pp. 297-301; on the larger subject of the Greek and the Hebrew
text, see introduction to Hitzig’s commentary, Lagarde’s _Anmerkungen
&c._, and a series of papers, thorough but less masterly than Hitzig’s
or Lagarde’s work, by Heidenheim (title in ‘Aids to the Student,’
below).




                       NOTE ON PROVERBS XXX. 31.


Some assume here a corruption of the text, but the margin of the Revised
Version gives an appropriate sense. It implies indeed the admission of a
downright Arabism, but there are parallels for this in vv. 15, 16, 17,
and _alqūm_ for the Arabic _al-qaum_ is (see Gesenius) like _elgābhīsh_
(Ezek. xiii. 11, 13, xxxviii. 22) and _almōdād_ (Gen. x. 26). ‘The king
when his army is with him’ may very fitly be adduced as a specimen of
the ‘comely in going.’ M. Halévy indeed has suggested that _qūm_ in
_alqūm_ may be the _Qāvam_ or _Qājam_ often mentioned in the Sinaitic
inscriptions (_Bulletin_ No. 28 of the Société de Linguistique; see
_Academy_, March 27, 1886). But the former view is still the more
plausible one. Why should a king with whom is ‘God Qavam’ be described
as specially ‘comely in going’? Wetzstein too has stated that _alqaum_
is still pronounced _al-qōm_ by the Bedawins. Comp. Blau, _Zeitschr. d.
deutschen morg. Ges._, xxv. 539.

Footnote 252:

  The addition here is very poetical, and may, as Ewald says, have been
  extracted from an ancient anthology. But it disturbs the connection.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
              THE RELIGIOUS VALUE OF THE BOOK OF PROVERBS.


It is only in modern times that the Book of Proverbs has been
disparaged; the early Christian Fathers considered it to be of much
ethico-religious value. Hence the sounding title, first used by Clement
of Rome (_Cor._, c. 57), ἡ πανάρετος σοφία. From our point of view,
indeed, the value of the book is different in its several parts, but no
part is without its use. Can any Christian help seeing the poetic
foregleams of Christ in the great monologue of Wisdom in chap. viii.?
Dorner may be right in maintaining that the idea of the Incarnation
cannot have been evolved from Hebraism or Judaism, and yet the
description of Wisdom, ‘sporting with Jehovah’s world’ and ‘having her
delights with the sons of men’ (viii. 31), cannot but remind us of the
sympathetic, divine-human Teacher, who ‘took the form of a servant.’ How
deeply this great section has affected the theology of the past, I need
not here relate. Will it ever lose its value as a symbolic picture of
the combined transcendence and immanence of the Divine Being?

Turning to the other parts of the book, do they not furnish abundant
justification of that type of Christianity which accepts but does not
dwell on forms, so bent is it upon moral applications of the religious
principle? Do they not show that the ‘fear of the Lord’ is quite
compatible with a deep interest in average human life and human nature?
The Book of Proverbs, taken as a whole, seems to supply the necessary
counterweight to the psalms and the prophecies. The psalmists love God
more than aught else; but must every one say, ‘Possessing this, I have
pleasure in nothing upon earth’ (Ps. lxxiii. 26)? Would it be good to be
always in this mood? Is there not something more satisfactory in the
Pauline saying, ‘All things are yours, and ye are Christ’s’? And as for
the prophets—do they not (we may conjecture and perhaps partly prove
this) depreciate too much the morality and religion of their neighbours?
The Book of Proverbs gives us only average morality and religion; yet,
if we judge it fairly, how pleasing on the whole is the picture! Taking
it as equally authoritative with the psalms and prophecies, shall we not
rise to a more comprehensive religion than a mere pupil of psalmists or
prophets knew—to one that charges us, not to love God less, but our
neighbour more? It would no doubt be easy to criticise the Book from a
New Testament point of view. But the New Testament itself has absorbed
much that is best in it, and quotations from it occur not unfrequently,
especially in the Epistles. Nor can any teacher of the people afford to
neglect its stores of happily expressed practical wisdom. We must not
even despise its ‘utilitarianism.’ The awful declarations of ‘Wisdom’ in
Prov. i. 24-32 are simply the voice of the personified laws of God[253]
warning men that the consequences of their acts, even if they may be
overruled for good, yet cannot by any cunning be escaped. Does the New
Testament quite supersede this form of teaching? And does not the Hebrew
sage once at least give a suggestion of that very overruling love of God
which is among the characteristic ideas of Christian lore (see Prov.
iii. 11)?

Footnote 253:

  So we may venture to paraphrase ‘Wisdom’ in this connection.




                          AIDS TO THE STUDENT.


The ‘aids’ here mentioned are such as might otherwise escape notice.

W. Nowack, _Die Sprüche Salomo’s u.s.w._ (a recast of Bertheau’s
commentary in the _Kurzgefasstes Exeg. Handbuch_), 1883; H. Deutsch,
_Die Sprüche Salomo’s nach der Auffassung im Talmud und Midrasch
dargestellt und kritisch untersucht_ (erster Theil, 1885); Bickell,
‘Exegetisch-kritische Nachlese: Proverbien und Job,’ in _Zeitschr. fur
kathol. Theologie_, 1886, pp. 205-208; Aben Ezra’s commentary on
Proverbs, edited by Chaim M. Horowitz, 1884; Loewenstein, _Die
Proverbien Salomo’s, mit Benutzung älterer und neuerer Manuskripte_,
1837 (text and commentary in Hebrew, with German metrical version;
contains valuable contributions to a more critical Massoretic text from
the papers of W. Heidenheim); M. Heidenheim, ‘Zur Textkritik der
Proverbien,’ in his _Vierteljahresschrift_ for 1865 and 1866; Lagarde,
_Anmerkungen sur griechischen Uebersetzung der Proverbien_, 1863; Grätz,
‘Exegetische Studien zu den Salomonischen Sprüchen,’ in his
_Monatsschrift_, 1884; Dijserinck, ‘Kritische Scholien,’ in _Theologisch
Tijdschrift_, 1883, p. 577 &c.; Oort, ‘Spreuken I.-IX.,’ in same
periodical, 1885, p. 379 &c.; Böttcher, _Aehrenlese_, part iii., 1865
(contains 39 pages on Proverbs); Mühlau, _De proverbiorum Agur et Lemuel
origine_, 1869; Bruch, _Weisheitslehre der Hebräer_, 1851; Hooykaas,
_Gesch. van de beoefening der Weisheid onder de Hebreen_, 1862; Dukes,
_Rabbinische Blumenlese_, 1844 (includes Talmudic proverbs; comp. the
older works of Drusius, 1590-1, and Brüll’s supplement in his
_Jahrbücher_, 1885); Delitzsch, art. ‘Sprüche Salomo’s,’ in
Herzog-Plitt’s _Real-Encyklopädie_, ed. 2, vol. xiv.; and the works of
Oehler and Schultz on Old Testament Theology (the former in Clark’s
Library).




                 THE WISDOM OF JESUS THE SON OF SIRACH.


                               CHAPTER I.
          THE WISE MAN TURNED SCRIBE. SIRACH’S MORAL TEACHING.


The inclusion of Sirach within our range of study, as an appendix and
counterpart to the canonical Book of Proverbs, requires no long
justification. The so-called ‘Wisdom of Solomon’ is in form and
colouring almost as much Greek as Hebrew, and has no place in a survey
of the wisdom of Palestine. But the ‘Wisdom’ more modestly ascribed to
the son of Sirach is a truly Israelitish production, though as yet none
but the masters of our subject have recognised its intrinsic importance.
Whence comes this prevalent neglect of a work still known as
‘Ecclesiasticus’ or a ‘church-book’? Doubtless it has fallen in
estimation from being combined with books more difficult to appraise
fairly and consequently regarded with suspicion. The objection which
some Jewish doctors entertained to recommending parts of the Hagiographa
has been felt by many moderns with regard to the Apocrypha. The
objection is too strong and general not to have some foundation, but it
implies an unhistorical habit of mind. Granted that the Apocryphal
writings of the Old Testament belong in the main to a period of outer
and inner decadence (though the noble Maccabean days may qualify this);
yet periods of decadence are often also periods of transition to some
new and better thing, which cannot be understood or appreciated without
them. Ewald has suggested the title of ‘intermediate writings’
(_Zwischenschriften_[254]) as a substitute for Apocrypha, to indicate
that transitional character which gives these books so high a value for
the student of both Testaments.

The book now before us—the largest and most comprehensive in the
Wisdom-literature—is one of these ‘intermediate writings,’ but in what
sense beyond the most superficial one remains to be seen. It is
mentioned here first of all because of the proof which it gives of the
great literary force of the canonical Book of Proverbs. But no product
of literature could maintain itself as Sirach has done if it were a mere
imitation; Sirach, not less than the Wisdom-books of the Old Testament
proper, is at least a partial reflection of the life of the times. Its
date indeed has been disputed. Suffice it to say here that the author
was, beyond reasonable doubt,[255] a contemporary of ‘Simon the high
priest, the son of Onias.’ Now there were five high priests who bore the
name of Simon or Simeon, two of whom, Simon I. (B.C. 310-290) and Simon
II. (B.C. 219-199), have by different critics been thought of. The
weight of argument is in favour of the second of the name, who was
certainly the more important of the two, and who is referred to in the
Talmud under the name of Simeon the Righteous.[256] This is in
accordance with the Greek translator’s statement in his preface that he
was the grandson of the author, and we may conjecturally fix the
composition of the book at about 180 B.C. The translator himself came
into Egypt, as he tells us, in the 38th year of king Euergetes[257]
(comp. Luke xxii. 25). Now Euergetes II. Physkon, who must be here
intended, began to reign jointly with his brother Philometor B.C. 170;
his brother died B.C. 145, and he reigned alone for twenty-five years
longer (till B.C. 116). Hence the translator’s arrival in Egypt and
possibly the translation itself fall within the year 132. The object of
his work, we gather from the preface, was to correct the inequalities of
moral and religious culture (παιδεία) among the Jews of Egypt, by
setting before them a standard and a lesson-book of true religious
wisdom.

Let us pause a little over these dates. It has been well observed by
Mommsen that the foundation of Alexandria was as great an event in the
history of the people of Israel as the conquest of Jerusalem. It must
indeed have seemed to many Israelites more fraught with danger than with
hope. Never before had Paganism presented itself to their nation in so
attractive a guise. Would their religion exhibit sufficient power of
resistance on a foreign soil? The fears, however, were groundless; at
any rate, for a considerable time. The forms of Egyptian-Jewish
literature might be foreign, but its themes were wholly national. Even
in that highly original synthesis of Jewish, Platonic, and Stoic
elements—the Book of Wisdom—the Jewish spirit is manifestly predominant.
In Palestine there was also a Hellenic movement, though less vigorous
and all-absorbing than in Egypt. Without a spontaneous manifestation of
Jewish sympathy, Antiochus Epiphanes would never have made his abortive
attempt to Hellenise Judæa. Girt round by a Greek population, the
Palestinian Jews, in spite of Ezra’s admirable organisation, could not
entirely resist the assaults of Hellenism. It is probable that not
merely Greek language, but Greek philosophy, exerted a charm on some of
the clearest Jewish intellects. But we are within the bounds of
acknowledged fact in asserting that the ardour of Judæan piety, at least
in the highest class, greatly cooled in the age subsequent to Ezra’s,
and in ascribing this to Greek influences. The high priest Simeon
II.,[258] surnamed the Righteous (i.e. the strict observer of the Law),
of whom so glowing an account is given by Sirach (chap. i.), is the
chief exception to this degeneracy; yet he was powerless to stem the
revolutionary current even within his own family. His cousin Joseph was
the notorious farmer of the taxes of Palestine, who by his public and
private immorality[259] sapped the very foundations of Jewish life,
while two of Simeon’s sons, Jason and Menelaus, became the traitorous
high priests who promoted the paganising movement under Antiochus. It is
well known that many critics refer the Book of Ecclesiastes to the
period immediately preceding this great movement. The deep and almost
philosophical character of the unknown author’s meditations seems to be
in harmony with this date. On the other hand, there is the
well-ascertained fact that the Book of Sirach shows no trace of really
philosophical thought; it is little more than a new version of the
ordinary proverbial morality. It is to this book, the ‘Doppelgänger des
kanonischen Spruchbuchs,’ as Schürer calls it, the work, as a Greek
writer puts it, of an attendant (ὀπαδός) of Solomon, that these pages
are devoted. Nothing is more remarkable (and it ought to make us very
deliberate in determining dates upon internal evidence) than the
appearance of such a book at such a time.

The name of the author in full is Joshua (Jesus) ben Sira (Sirach),[260]
but he may be called Sirach for shortness, this being the form of his
family-name in the Greek translation. He tells us himself that he was of
Jerusalem; that from his youth up his desire was for wisdom; that he
laboured earnestly in searching for her; and that the Lord gave him a
tongue for his reward (l. 27; li.) Sirach, in fact, is one of those
‘wise men’ to whom was entrusted so large a part of the religious
education of the Jewish people. The remarkable fact that ‘wise men’
exist so long after the time of their prototype Solomon, proves that
their activity was an integral part of the Jewish national life. The
better class of ‘wise men’ gave an independent support to the nobler
class of prophets. With their peremptory style, the prophets would never
have succeeded in implanting a really vigorous religion, had not the
‘wise men,’ with their more conciliatory and individualising manner of
teaching, supplemented their endeavours. The Babylonian Exile introduced
a change into the habits of the ‘wise men,’ who, though some of them
used the pen before the overthrow of the state, became thenceforward
predominantly, if not entirely, writers on practical moral philosophy.
Such was Sirach. He is not indeed a strictly original writer, nor does
he lay claim to this. This is how he describes the nature of his work
(xxxiii. 16)—

             I too, as the last, bestowed zeal,
             and as one who gleans after the vintage;
             By the blessing of the Lord I was the foremost,
             and as a grape-gatherer did I fill the winepress.

Sirach, then, was first of all a collector of proverbs, and he found
that most of the current wise sayings had been already gathered. It is
not likely that up to xxxvi. 22 he merely combined two older books of
proverbs (as Ewald supposed[261]), though it is more than probable that
older proverbs do really lie imbedded in his work. But whether old
proverbs or new, Sirach has this special characteristic, that he loves
to arrange his material by subjects. This was already noticed by the
early scribes,[262] and is well brought out by Holtzmann in Bunsen’s
_Bibelwerk_, and I will merely refer to chap. xxii. 1-6, ‘On good and
bad children;’ 7-18, ‘The character of the fool;’ 19-26, ‘On
friendship;’ 27-xxiii. 6, ‘Prayer and warning against sins of the tongue
and lusts of the flesh;’ 7-15, ‘The discipline of the mouth;’ 16-27, ‘On
adultery;’ xxix. 1-20, ‘On suretyship;’ 21-28, ‘An independent mode of
life.’[263] The plan of grouping his material is not indeed thoroughly
carried out, but even the attempt marks a progress in the literary art.
This is one of the points in which Sirach differs from his canonical
predecessors.

In other respects his indebtedness is manifest. Night and day he must
have studied his revered models to have attained such insight into the
secrets of style. But, so far from affecting originality, he delights in
allusions to the older proverbialists. Many parallelisms occur in the
sayings on Wisdom (comp. Sir. i. 4, Prov. viii. 22; Sir. i. 14, Prov, i.
4, ix. 10; Sir. iv. 12, 13, Prov. iv. 7, 8; Sir. xxiv. 1, 2, Prov. viii.
1, 2; Sir. xxiv. 3, Prov. ii. 6; Sir. xxiv. 5, Prov. viii. 27). This we
might expect; for Wisdom in a large sense is more persistently the
object of Sirach than it was at any rate of the earlier writers in
Proverbs. But, besides this, points of contact abound in very ordinary
sayings. Thus compare, among many others which might be given,

    (_a_) Better a mean man that tills for himself
          than he that glorifies himself and has no bread
                                              (Prov. xii. 9, Sept. &c.)
          Better he that labours and abounds in all things
          than he that glorifies himself and has no bread
                                                (Sir. x. 27, Fritzsche).
    (_b_) A merry heart makes a cheerful face,
          but with sorrow of heart is a crushed spirit (Prov. xv. 13).
          The heart of a man alters his face,
          as well for good cheer as for bad;
          A merry face betokens a heart in good case (Sir. xiii. 25,
             26a).
    (_c_) A passionate man stirs up strife,
          and one that is slow to anger allays contention (Prov. xv.
             18).
          Abstain from strife, and thou shalt diminish thy sins,
          for a passionate man will kindle strife (Sir. xxviii. 8).
    (_d_) An intelligent servant rules over the son that causes shame
                                                        (Prov. xviii.
                                                           2).
          Unto the wise servant shall free men do service (Sir. x. 25).
    (_e_) Death and life are in the power of the tongue (Prov. xviii.
       21).
          Good and evil, life and death;
          and the tongue rules over them continually (Sir. xxxvii. 18).
    (_f_) Golden apples in silver salvers;
          a word smoothly spoken (Prov. xxv. 11).
          Golden pillars upon a silver pediment;
          fair feet upon firm soles (Sir. xxvi. 18, Fritzsche).
    (_g_) He who digs a pit shall fall therein,
          and he who rolls a stone, upon himself it shall return
                                                  (Prov. xxvi. 27).
          He who casts a stone on high, casts it on his own head;
          He who digs a pit shall fall therein (Sir. xxvii. 25_a_,
             26_a_).
    (_h_) The crucible for silver, and the furnace for gold,
          and a man is tried by his praise (Prov. xxvii. 21).
          The furnace proves the potter’s vessels,
          the trial of a man is in his discourse (Sir. xxviii. 5).

It will be seen from these examples that, though Sirach adapted and
imitated, he did so with much originality. His style has colour,
variety, and vivacity, and though Hengstenberg accuses the author of too
uniform a mode of treatment, yet a fairer judgment will recognise the
skill with which the style is proportioned to the subject; now
dithyrambic in his soaring flight, now modestly skimming the ground, the
author of the πανάρετος σοφία (for so Sirach, no less than Proverbs, was
called[264]) is never feeble and rarely trivial. ‘Its general tone,’
says Stanley, ‘is worthy of that first contact between the two great
civilisations of the ancient world.’ ‘Nothing is too high, nor too
mean,’ says Schürer, ‘to be drawn within the circle of Sirach’s
reflections and admonitions.’ I have elsewhere spoken of his
comprehensiveness. This quality he partly owes to his being so steeped
in the Scriptures. One result of this is that he is more historical than
his predecessors, and connects his wisdom with those narratives of early
times, which were either but little known to or valued by the
proverb-writers of antiquity. The earlier psalmists and prophets indeed
show the same neglect of the traditions of the past: they lived before
the editing and gradual completion of any roll of ‘Scriptures.’ Sirach
on the other hand (see his preface) had ‘the Law and the Prophets, and
the rest of the books,’ the latter collection being a kind of appendix,
still open to additions. He was a true ‘scribe,’ and gloried in the name
(xxxviii. 24), not in the New Testament sense, but in one not unworthy
of a religious philosopher; he gave his mind to the wisdom both of the
Scriptures and of ‘all renowned men,’ and travelled through strange
countries, trying the good and evil among men. If parts at least of the
Book of Job probably contain an autobiographical element, it is still
more certain that the chapter (xxxix.) which closes the book before us
expresses the ideal of the author’s life. And if he _does_ sometimes
take delight in his own attainments, yet why is this to be censured as
mere ‘böse Selbstgefälligkeit?[265] A deep consciousness of moral
imperfection is not equally to be expected in the Old Testament and in
the New, nor should the philosophic writings in the former be appealed
to for striking anticipations of fundamental Gospel ideas. Sirach does
no doubt in some sense claim inspiration (xxiv. 32-34, l. 28, 29), and
place his own work in a line with the prophecies (xxiv. 33), but why
should this be set down to arrogant inflation? Lowth, with more charity,
quotes similar language of Elihu (Job xxxii. 8, xxxvi. 4) in proof of
the speaker’s _modesty_ (_Prælect._ xxxiv.) It was probably a
characteristic of the later ‘wise men’ so to account for their wisdom
(see above, p. 43), and surely in that wide sense recognised by the
Anglican Prayerbook he _was_ ‘inspired,’ he _was_ a ‘son of the
prophets.’ I am only sorry that he forgot the lesson of Ex. xxxi. 2 when
he wrote so disparagingly of trades (xxxviii. 25 &c.), and agree with
Dr. Edersheim[266] that the Jewish teachers of the time of Christ and
afterwards were more advanced on this point than the son of Sirach.

It is true enough that there are sayings in this book which offend the
Christian sentiment, and which serve to show how great was the spiritual
distress which the Gospel alone could relieve. For instance,

    (_a_) He who honours his father shall make atonement for sins (iii.
       3).
          Water will quench a flaming fire,
          and alms make atonement for sin (iii. 30).
          Brethren and help are against time of trouble;
          but alms deliver more than both (xl. 24).

Here is one of those ‘false beacon lights’ of which Prof. Bissell speaks
(_Apocrypha_, p. 282). But in arrest of judgment remember that long
discipline in the duties spoken of has produced some of the finest
qualities in the Jewish character.

    (_b_) Happy the man who has not offended in his speech,
          and is not pricked with grief for sins (xiv. 1).
    (_c_) Gain credit with thy neighbour in his poverty,
          that thou mayest rejoice in his prosperity;
          abide stedfast unto him in the time of his affliction,
          that thou mayest be heir with him in his heritage (xxii. 23).
    (_d_) Nine things I in my heart pronounce happy, ...
          and he that lives to see the fall of enemies
                                  (xxiv. 7; comp. also xii. 10-12, xxx.
                                     6).
    (_e_) Who will praise the Most High in Hades,
          instead of those who live and give praise? (xvii. 27.)
          For man cannot do everything,
          because the son of man is not immortal (xvii. 30).

With the latter saying, contrast Wisd. of Sol. ii. 23, ‘For God created
man for immortality.’

    (_f_) (Give me) any plague but the plague of the heart,
          and any wickedness but the wickedness of a woman &c.
                                                          (xxv. 13-26).

This opening verse might perhaps be otherwise rendered,

                    Any wound but a wound in the heart,
                    and any evil but evil in a wife.

The misfortune of having a bad wife is often touched upon in the Talmud.
Ewald’s sentence is however just, that Sirach’s ‘estimate of women, and
sharp summary counsel concerning divorce (see ver. 26), place [him] far
below the height of the Hebrew Bible.’[267]

I admit the imperfection of these moral statements; but can they not
several of them be paralleled from the Psalms, Proverbs, and
Ecclesiastes? And can we not find as many more anticipations of the
moral teaching of the Synoptic Gospels and St. James (e.g. iv. 10, vii.
11, 14, xi. 18, 19, xv. 14, xvii. 15, xxiii. 4, 11, 18)? Do not let us
undervalue any foregleams of the coming dawn.

Footnote 254:

  _Revelation_, p. 365; _Die Lehre der Bibel von Gott_, i. 378.

Footnote 255:

  Note the phrase in i. 1, ‘who _in his life_ repaired the house,’
  implying ‘now indeed he is dead.’ Grätz in fact is the only scholar
  who doubts the author’s contemporaneousness with Simon
  (_Monatsschrift_, 1872, p. 114).

Footnote 256:

  See, besides the well-known passage in _Pirke Aboth_ (i. 2), the
  legendary extracts from (_Bab._) _Yoma_, 39_b_, translated by Wünsche,
  _Der bab. Talmud_, i. 1, pp. 368-9; and comp. Derenbourg, _Hist. de la
  Palestine_, i. 44 &c.

Footnote 257:

  So we must paraphrase ἐν τῷ ὀγδόῳ καὶ τριακοστῷ ἔτει ἐπὶ τοῦ Εὐεργέτου
  Βασίλεως. See Stanley’s note in _Jewish Church_, iii. 235, and Abbot’s
  note in the American edition of Smith’s _Bible Dict._ (I am indebted
  to Bissell for the latter reference). Comp. Wright, _The Book of
  Koheleth_, p. 34 n.

Footnote 258:

  The Mishna (_Pirke Aboth_, i. 2) ascribes this saying to Simeon the
  Righteous: ‘On three things the world stands—revelation (_tōra_),
  worship, and the bestowal of kindnesses.’

Footnote 259:

  See Jos., _Ant._, xii. 4.

Footnote 260:

  On the identity of the Ben Sira of the Talmud and our Sirach, see
  Horowitz in Frankel’s _Monatsschrift_, 1865, p. 181 &c. The _ch_ in
  the form Sirach may be due to an old error in the Greek text.

Footnote 261:

  _Hist. of Israel_, v. 263-4. Ewald includes xxxix. 12-35 in the
  portion belonging to the second (supposed) collection.

Footnote 262:

  See the headings at certain points of the Greek version.

Footnote 263:

  With vv. 21, 23 comp. St. Paul, Phil. iv. 11, 12.

Footnote 264:

  See St. Jerome, _Præf. ad Libros Salomonis_, and comp. Lightfoot’s
  _Clement of Rome_, p. 164 &c.

Footnote 265:

  Keerl, _Die Apokryphenfrage_ (1855), p. 214.

Footnote 266:

  _Sketches of Jewish Social Life_, p. 189.

Footnote 267:

  Ewald, _Revelation_, p. 364 n.




                              CHAPTER II.
 SIRACH’S TEACHING (_continued_). HIS PLACE IN THE MOVEMENT OF THOUGHT.


Passing now from Sirach’s moral statements to those which are concerned
with doctrine, an honest critic must admit that the author is here even
less progressive. The Messianic hope, in the strict sense of the word,
has faded away.[268] In xlv. 25 (comp. xlviii. 15) the ‘covenant with
David’ is described as being ‘that the inheritance of the king should be
only from father to son;’ similarly in xlvii. 22 the ‘root of David’
denotes Rehoboam and his descendants. But this want of a definite
Messianic hope is characteristic of the age; it is no special defect of
Sirach. But what shall we say of another charge brought against our
author, viz. that he has unbiblical conceptions of the Divine nature?
One of these (xi. 16; see A.V.) may be dismissed at once, the passage
having insufficient critical authority. Another—

                  We may speak much and not attain;
                  indeed to sum up, He is all (xliii. 27)—

has been misapprehended. The _Bereshith Rabba_ says (c. 68), ‘Why is the
Holy One also called _Mākōm_ (place)? Because He is the place of the
world; His world is not His place.’ This is all that Sirach means, and
Philo, too, who uses similar words, accused by Keerl of heresy, and
adds, ἅτε εἶς καὶ τὸ πᾶν αὐτὸς ὤν.

The doctrines of the Satan and the Resurrection, which Sirach probably
regarded somewhat as we regard the ‘developments’ of the Papal Church,
he appears studiously to ignore[269]—more especially the latter—and he
thereby puts himself into direct opposition to the newer popular
orthodoxy. For though not the invention (as M. Renan regards it) of the
Maccabean period, there can be no doubt that the doctrine of the
Resurrection became then for the first time an article of the popular
creed. Instead of the ‘awakening to everlasting life’ (Dan. xii. 2), it
is the peaceful but hopeless life of the spirits in Sheól to which he
resignedly looks forward.

            Weep for the dead, for he hath lost the light,
            and weep for the fool, for he wanteth understanding:
            make little weeping for the dead, for he is at rest,
            but the life of the fool is worse than death.[270]

This, however orthodox (as former generations had counted orthodoxy),
was rank Sadduceanism, and hence (for how otherwise to interpret the
glosses of the Greek and Syriac versions of xlviii. 11_b_[271] it is
difficult to see) very early readers of Sirach, especially perhaps
well-meaning but unscrupulous Christian readers, effected an entrance
for their cherished beliefs by violence.

Another point on which Sirach is equally—shall we say orthodox, or
reactionary?—is the connection between piety and temporal prosperity. He
really seems to be no more troubled by doubts on this ancient doctrine
than the author of the beautiful, but in this respect naïvely simple,
introduction to the Book of Proverbs. This perhaps was strange under
Sirach’s circumstances. How striking and even painful is the contrast
between Josephus’ vivid and truthful comparison of Judæa at this period
to ‘a ship in a storm, tossed by the waves on both sides,’[272] and that
proverb of Sirach, worthy, considering the times, of the ‘miserable
comforters’ of Job—

              The gift of the Lord remains with the godly,
              and his favour brings prosperity for ever.[273]

In short, Sirach represents the reconciliation between the practical
ethics of the inspired ‘wise men’ of old and the all-embracing demands
of the Law. Himself only in a comparatively low sense inspired—for we
should not hastily reject his claim to a ‘tongue’ from above—he did
nothing, on the ethical side, but repeat the old truths in their old
forms, though one gladly admits that he shows a genuine and unassumed
interest in the varieties of human character. But on the religious side
he is really in a certain sense original, in so far as he combines the
traditional ‘wisdom’ with a heartfelt regard for the established forms
of religion, such as the older ‘wise men’ scarcely possessed. On the
latter point he would sympathise with the author of Ps. cxix. Unlike the
older proverb-writers, he recommends the punctual observance of rites
and ceremonies. These however are to be penetrated by a moral spirit;
hence he says,

    Do not [seek to] corrupt [the Lord] with gifts, for he receives them
       not;
    and trust not to unrighteous sacrifices.
    He who serves acceptably shall be received,
    and his prayer shall reach unto the clouds (xxxv. 12, 16).

By Greek philosophy Sirach, as far as we can see, was wholly
uninfluenced.

And yet Sirach cannot have been entirely unacquainted with Greek
culture, in the more general sense of the word. One striking proof of
this is his attitude towards medical science,[274] which is exactly the
opposite of the Chronicler’s (2 Chr. xvi. 12). It seems as if the older
generation were offended by human interference with the course of
nature, appealing perhaps to Ex. xv. 26; a curious Talmudic tradition
ascribes a similar view to Hezekiah and his wise men. Sirach, however,
appealing to the passage preceding that referred to above (see Ex. xv.
23-25), seeks to reconcile the opposing parties (xxxviii. 1-15). No
doubt he had learned this at Alexandria: he tells us himself that he had
travelled and learned many things (xxxiv. 9-11), and from xxxix. 4 we
may even infer that he had appeared at court, where probably his life
was endangered by calumnious accusations (li. 6). There, perhaps, he
acquired his taste for the Greek style of banquet, with its airy talk
and accompaniment of music, a taste which seems to have inspired a
piquant piece of advice to the kill-joys of his time, who insisted on
talking business out of season (xxxii. 3-5)—

      Speak, O elder, with accurate knowledge, for it beseemeth thee,
      but be not a hindrance to music.[275]
      When playing is going on, do not pour out talk;
      and show not thyself inopportunely wise.
      A seal-ring of carbuncle set in gold,
      [such is] a concert at a banquet of wine.

In a similar mood he writes (xiv. 14)—

           Defraud not thyself of a joyous day,
           and let not a share of a lawful pleasure escape thee.

But his tone is commonly more serious. Though no ascetic, he cautions
his readers against the unrestrained manners which had invaded Judæa,
especially against consorting with the singing and dancing girls (μετὰ
ψαλλούσης, ix. 4, includes both; Vulg. _cum saltatrice_), and draws a
picture of the daughters of Israel (xlii. 9, 10) which forms a
melancholy contrast with the Old Testament ideal. His prayer to be
guarded from the infection of lust (xxiii. 4, 5) finds its commentary in
the story already mentioned of Joseph the tax-farmer. He notes with
observant eye the strife of classes. What bitter sighs must have
prompted a saying like this (xiii. 2, 3)—

    A burden that is too heavy for thee take not up,
    and have no fellowship with one that is stronger and richer than
       thyself:
    For what fellowship hath the kettle with the earthen pot?
    this will smite, and that will be broken.
    The rich man doth wrong, and _he_ snorteth with anger,
    the poor man is wronged, and _he_ entreateth withal.

And again (xiii. 18)—

              What peace hath the hyæna with the dog?
              and what peace hath the rich man with the poor?

He is painfully conscious of the deserved humiliation of his country,
and the only reason which he can urge why God should interpose is the
assured prophetic word (xxxvi. 15, 16 = 20, 21). Elsewhere he ascribes
all the evil of his time to the neglect of the Law (xli. 8), which, by a
strong hyperbole, he almost identifies with personified Divine Wisdom
(xxiv. 23; see above on Prov. viii.) Not however without a noble
introduction leading up to and justifying this identification. In the
true _māshāl_-style he describes how Wisdom wandered through the world
seeking a resting-place,—

               Then the Creator of all gave me a commandment,
               and he that made me caused my tent to rest,
               and said, Let thy dwelling be in Jacob,
               and thine inheritance in Israel (xxiv. 8).

And after a series of wondrous images, all glorifying the Wisdom
enthroned in Jerusalem, he declares—

    All this [is made good in] the book of the covenant of the Most High
       God,
    the Law which Moses commanded us
    as a heritage unto the congregations of Jacob (xxiv. 23).

This remarkable chapter deserves to be studied by itself; it is most
carefully composed in 72 στίχοι. Lowth and Wessely[276] have with
unequal success retranslated it into Hebrew. I have already spoken (on
Proverbs) of its interest for the student of doctrine; it has indeed
been thought to show clear traces of Alexandrinism, but this is
improbable and unproved.

It remains to notice the author’s interest in nature and history.
The hymn of praise for the works of creation (xlii. 15-xliii. 32) is
only poor if compared with parts of the Book of Job. But perhaps
more interesting is the panegyric of ‘famous men’ (xliv.-l.), from
Enoch the patriarch to Simeon the Righteous, whose imposing
appearance and beneficent rule are described with the enthusiasm of
a contemporary.[277] It is worth the student’s while to examine the
contents of this roll of honour. A few corrections of the text may
be noticed as a preliminary. At xlviii. 11_b_, the Greek has ‘for we
shall surely live (again).’ But the Latin has, ‘nam nos vitâ vivimus
tantum, post mortem autem non erit tale nomen nostrum.’ There is
good reason in this instance, as we shall see presently, to prefer
the reading of the Latin to that of the Greek. At l. 1, after ‘son
of Onias,’ it is well to remove the abruptness of the transition by
inserting from the Syriac, ‘was the greatest of his brethren and the
crown of his people.’ At l. 26 (27), for ‘Samaria’ we should
probably read ‘Seir’ (else how will there be three nations?), and
for ‘foolish,’ ‘Amoritish’ (with the Ethiopic version and Ewald,
comp. Ezek. xvi. 3). Turning to the names of the heroes
commemorated, it is startling to find no mention made of Ezra, the
second founder of Jewish religion. Aaron, on the other hand, is
celebrated in no fewer than seventeen verses. This cannot be a mere
accident, for the veneration of the later Jews for Ezra was hardly
less than that which they entertained for Moses. Notice, however,
that Moses himself is only praised in five verses. It seems as if
Aaron better than Moses symbolised those ritual observances in which
Sirach perhaps took a special delight. The name of Ezra, too, may
have had its symbolic meaning to the author. He may have had
deficient sympathy with those elaborators of minute legal precepts,
who took Ezra as their pattern. Not that he disbelieved in the
continuity of inspiration—for in some sense he claims it for himself
(e.g. xxiv. 33), but that he did not fully recognise the workings of
the spirit in the ‘fence about the Law.’ Other names which he passes
over in silence are Daniel and Mordecai. Does this mean that he was
unacquainted with the Books of Daniel and Esther? Whatever be the
date of these books, so much as this is at least a probable
inference.

The panegyric seems to have originally closed with the ancient
liturgical formula in verses 22-24. But the writer could not resist the
temptation of giving a side-blow to the hated Samaritans (those
‘half-Jews,’ as Josephus the historian calls them), called forth perhaps
by the dispute respecting the rival temples held at Alexandria before
Ptolemy Philometor.[278] The last chapter of all (chap. li.) contains
the aged author’s final leave-taking. It is a prayer of touching
sincerity and much biographical interest. The immediateness of the
religious sentiment is certainly greater in this late ‘gatherer’ than in
many of the earlier proverb-writers.

Enough has been said of the contents of the book to give a general idea
of its moral and religious position. Let us now consider its outward
form. The work, as we have seen, was originally written in Hebrew. This
indeed was to have been expected. For although the influence of the
Seleucidæ had greatly strengthened the hold of Aramaic on the Jewish
population of Palestine, Hebrew was still, and for a long time
afterwards remained, the language of scholars and _littérateurs_. The
author of the ‘Wisdom of Sirach’ was both. He was thoroughly penetrated
with the spirit and style of the Scriptures, especially of those of the
_Khokma_, and he would have thought it as much a descent to lavish his
great powers on Aramaic as Dante did at first to write in Italian. Is
this Hebrew original still extant? Alas! no; Hebrew literature, so
scantily represented for this period, has to mourn this great loss. A
page of fragments, gathered from the Talmud and the Midrāshīm,[279] is
all that we can, with some occasional hesitation, plausibly regard as
genuine. There is indeed a small work, called the Alphabet of Ben Sira,
consisting of two series of proverbs, one in Aramaic, and one in Hebrew.
But no significance can be attached to this. The genuineness of many of
the Hebrew proverbs is guaranteed by their occurrence in the Talmud, but
the form in which the alphabetist quotes them is often evidently less
authentic than that in the Talmud. The original work must have been lost
since the time of Jerome, if we may trust his assurance[280] that he had
found it in Hebrew, and that it bore the name ‘Parables’ (_m’shālīm_).
Of the ancient versions, the Syriac and the Old Latin are (after the
Greek) the most important; the former is from the Hebrew, the latter
from a very early form of the Greek text. Neither of them is always in
accordance with the Greek as we have it, but such differences are often
of use in restoring the original text. All the versions appear to
contain alterations of the text, dictated by a too anxious orthodoxy,
and in these the one may be a check upon the other. Bickell indeed goes
further than this, and states that an accurate text of Sirach can only
be had by combining the data of the Greek and the Syriac. Lowth, in his
24th Lecture, strongly urges the retranslation of Sirach into Hebrew.
Such an undertaking would be premature, if Bickell’s judgment be correct
that the book consists of seven-syllabled verses or στίχοι, grouped in
distichs,[281] except in the alphabetic poem on wisdom (li. 13-20). The
latter, consisting of 22 στίχοι, he has translated into German from his
own corrected text, dividing it into four-lined strophes, as also the
preceding, ‘alphabetising’ poem, consisting of 22 distichs (li. 1-12),
in the _Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie_, 1882, pp. 326-332.

We must reserve our opinion on Bickell’s theory till the appearance of a
complete edition from his pen. Meantime three passages (xxiv. 27, xxv.
15, xlvi. 18) may be referred to as giving striking proof of the Hebrew
original of the work. In xxiv. 27 the translator seems to have found in
his Hebrew copy כאר, i.e. properly כַּיְאׂר ‘as the Nile’ (the weak
letter י being elided in pronunciation as in כאר, Am. viii. 8), but as
he supposed כָּאוׂר ‘as the light.’ In xxv. 15, he found ראשׁ, which in
the context can only mean ‘poison,’ but which he inappropriately
rendered ‘head.’ In xlvi. 18, the Hebrew had צרים, i.e. צָרִים
‘enemies,’ but, according to the translator, צֹרִים ‘Tyrians.’ Compare
also in this connection the allusions to the meanings of Hebrew words in
vi. 22 (‘wisdom’) and xliii. 8 (‘the month’). There are still questions
to be decided which can only be adverted to briefly here. Did the
translator make use of the Septuagint, and more particularly of the
portion containing the prophets? He certainly refers to a translation of
the Scriptures in his preface, but Frankel thinks that a Targum may be
meant, and even doubts the genuineness of the passage; he explains the
points of contact with the Septuagint which are sometimes so
interesting[282] in the Greek version of Sirach by _Ueberarbeitung_,
i.e. the ‘working over’ of the version by later hands.[283] This seems
to me a forced view. It is more probable that a Greek version is meant,
or perhaps we may say Greek _versions_; no special honour is given to
any one translation. Next, as to the position accorded to the Wisdom of
Sirach. It is often cited in the Talmud with formulæ which belong
elsewhere to the Scriptures, and was therefore certainly regarded by
many as worthy to be canonical (see Appendix). In strict theory, this
was wrong. According to the _Tosephta Yadayim_, c. 2, the book of Ben
Sira, though much esteemed, stood on the border between the canonical
and extraneous or non-canonical books. Such books might be read
cursorily, but were not to be studied too much.[284] Sirach neither
claimed the authorship of a hero of antiquity, nor was it, according to
the rising Pharisaic school, orthodox; thus perhaps we may best account
for the fact that a work, regarded in itself in no way inferior to the
Book of Proverbs, was left outside the sacred canon.

No certain allusions to our book are traceable in the New Testament; the
nearest approach to a quotation is James i. 19; comp. Ecclus. v. 13.
Clement of Alexandria is the first Christian writer who quotes directly
from Sirach. From its large use in the services of the Church the book
received the name Ecclesiasticus, to distinguish it perhaps from the
canonical book which was also often called ‘Wisdom.’ In later times, it
half attracted, but—owing to the corrupt state of the text—half
repelled, the great Hellenist Camerarius, the friend of Melancthon, who
published a separate edition of Sirach (the first) at Basle in 1551. It
appears from his preface that it was highly valued by the reformers from
an educational point of view. Bullinger proposes it as a less dangerous
text book of moral philosophy than the works of Plato and Aristotle, and
Luther admits it to be a good household book, admired however too much
by the world, which ‘sleepily passes by the great majestic word of
Christ concerning the victory over death, sin, and hell.’

No impartial critic will place the Wisdom of Jesus the son of Sirach on
the same literary eminence with the so-called Wisdom of Solomon. It is
only from its greater fidelity to the Old Testament standard, or at
least to a portion of this standard, that it can claim a qualified
superiority. A few noble passages of continuous rhetoric it no doubt
contains, especially the noble Hymn of Praise on the works of creation
(xxxix. 16-xliii. 33); and a few small but exquisite gems especially the
sayings on friendship (counterbalanced, I admit by those on the
treatment of one’s enemies, xii. 10-12, xxv. 7, xxx. 6), e.g.—

         Forsake not an old friend,
         for the new is not comparable to him.
         A new friend is as new wine,
         when it is old, thou wilt drink it with pleasure (ix. 10),

with which we may bracket the noble passage on the treatment of a
friend’s trespass (xix. 13-17). One of the fine religious passages has
been quoted already (xliii. 27; comp. Job xxvi. 14); we may couple
this[285] with it—

           As a drop from the sea, and a grain of sand,
           so are a few years in the day of eternity (xviii. 9).

Still the chief value of the book is, historically, to fill out the
picture of a little known period, and doctrinally, to show the
inadequacy of the old forms of religious belief, and the moral distress
from which the Christ was a deliverer.

Footnote 268:

  Ewald (_History_, v. 263, n. 3) refers to iv. 15, x. 13-17, xi. 5 sq.,
  xxxii. 17-19, xxxiii. 1-12, xxxvi. 11-17, xxxvii. 25, xxxix. 23,
  xlviii. 10 sq., but only for a vague Messianism (in the last passage
  the Greek seems to be interpolated). I would add xxxv. 17-19, xxxvi.
  1-10.

Footnote 269:

  True, the Greek version of Sirach has, at xxi. 27, the words, ‘When
  the ungodly curseth the Satan, he curseth his own soul;’ but ‘the
  Satan’ may here be synonymous with the depraved will, the _yéçer rā_
  (this seems to have Talmudic authority; see Weber, _System der
  altsynag. pal. Theol._, pp. 228-9). In _Baba bathra_, 15_a_, Satan is
  not distinguished from the _yéçer rā_.

Footnote 270:

  Chap. xxii. 11. Comp. xiv. 11-19 (correcting by the help of the
  Syriac), xvii. 27, 28, 30. Contrast the glowing language of the
  ‘Wisdom of Solomon,’ iii. 1-4.

Footnote 271:

  The Syriac has, ‘Nevertheless he dieth not, but liveth indeed.’ The
  Greek version I have quoted farther on. Also the Latin, which probably
  corresponds most to the original. See Geiger, _Zeitschr. d. d. morg.
  Ges._, xii. 536. The false reading κεκοιμημένοι, adopted by A.V., for
  κεκοσμημένοι, in xlviii. 11a, is due to the same theological motive.

Footnote 272:

  _Antiquities_, xii. 3, 3.

Footnote 273:

  Ch. xi. 17; comp. ii. 7 &c.; xvi. 6 &c.; xl. 13, 14. There are,
  however, passages in which Sirach betrays some little feeling of the
  practical difficulties of the older form of the doctrine of
  retribution: see xxxv. 18 [xxxii. 18].

Footnote 274:

  See Dukes, _Rabbinische Blumenlese_, pp. 29, 30; Grätz, _Schir
  ha-schirim_, p. 86. Grotius even supposed the author to be a
  physician.

Footnote 275:

  καὶ μὴ ἐμποδίσῃς μουσικά. So xlix. 1. ὡς μουσικὰ ἐν συμποσίῳ οἴνου;
  comp. Ex. xxxii. 18 Sept. That Greek music was known in Palestine
  _very shortly afterwards_ may be inferred from the Greek names of
  musical instruments in the Book of Daniel.

Footnote 276:

  Wessely was one of the most eminent fellow-workers of the great Moses
  Mendelssohn. See Wogue, _Histoire de la Bible et de l’exégèse
  biblique_ (1881), pp. 334-337.

Footnote 277:

  The Mussaph prayer in the liturgy of the Day of Atonement (German
  ritual) contains a striking imitation of Sirach’s eloquent description
  of the high priest (see Delitzsch, _Gesch. der jüd. Poesie_, p. 21),
  every verse of which closes with the refrain _mar’eh kōhēn_ ‘the
  appearance of the priest;’ Meshullam bar-Kleonymos is known to be the
  author.

Footnote 278:

  Jos., _Ant._, xiii. 3, 4.

Footnote 279:

  See Zunz, _Gottesdienstliche Vorträge_, p. 102; Delitzsch, _Zur Gesch.
  der jüdischen Poesie_, p. 204 (comp. p. 20, note 5); Dukes,
  _Rabbinische Blumenlese_, p. 67 &c. It should be noticed that among
  these Talmudic _m’shālīm_ there are some, and even long ones, which do
  not occur in the Greek Sirach.

Footnote 280:

  _Præf. in libr. Sal._ ‘Fertur et πανάρετος Jesu filii Sirach liber et
  alius ψευδεπίγραφος liber .... Quorum priorem Hebraicum reperi, non
  Ecclesiasticum, ut apud Latinos, sed _parabolas_ prænotatum, cui
  juncti erant Ecclesiastes et Canticum canticorum.’ Nowhere since has
  Sirach been found in this position, nor with this title.

Footnote 281:

  But is not a strophic division sometimes visible, e.g. ii. 7-17? See
  Seligmann, _Das Buch der Weisheit des J. S._, &c., p. 34.

Footnote 282:

  See especially xlvi. 19, with which comp. the Septuagint of 1 Sam.
  xii. 3.

Footnote 283:

  _Vorstudien zu der Septuaginta_ (1841), p. 21, note _w_.

Footnote 284:

  Wright, _Koheleth_, p. 48 n.; Strack, art. ‘Kanon des A. T.’ in
  Herzog-Plitt, _Realencyclopädie_, vii. 430, 431; Gratz, _Kohelet_, p.
  48.

Footnote 285:

  Bishop Butler, who is fond of Sirach, quotes this saying in his 4th
  sermon.




                          AIDS TO THE STUDENT.


Besides the commentaries of Bretschneider (1806), Fritzsche (1859), and
Bissell (in the American edition of Lange), see Gfrörer, _Philo_, ii.
(1831), pp. 18-52; Dähne, _Geschichtliche Darstellung der
jüdischalexandrin. Religionsphilosophie_, ii. (1834), pp. 126-150; Zunz,
_Die gottesdienstl. Vorträge der Juden_ (1832), pp. 100-105; Ewald,
_Jahrbücher der bibl. Wissenschaft_, iii. (1851), pp. 125-140; _History
of Israel_, v. 262 &c.; Jost, _Gesch. des Judenthums_, i. (1857), p. 310
&c.; Herzfeld, _Gesch. des Volkes Jisrael_, iii. (1863), see Index;
Horowitz, _Das Buch Jesus Sirach_ (1865); Dyserinck, _De Spreuken van
Jesus den zoon van Sirach vertaald_ (1870); Grätz, _Monatsschrift_ for
1872, pp. 49 &c., 97 &c.; Seligmann, _Das Buch der Weisheit des Jesus
Sirach_ (1883); Fritzsche, art. in Schenkel’s _Bibellexikon_, iii. 252
&c.; Stanley, _Jewish Church_, vol. iii. (see Index); Westcott, art.
‘Ecclesiasticus’ in Smith’s _Bible Dictionary_; Deane, ‘The Book of
Ecclesiasticus: its Contents and Character,’ _The Expositor_, Nov. 1883;
Wright, _The Book of Koheleth_, 1883, chap. ii. (decides, perhaps, too
hastily that Sirach in many passages imitates Koheleth).




                THE BOOK OF KOHELETH; OR, ECCLESIASTES.


                               CHAPTER I.
              THE WISE MAN TURNED AUTHOR AND PHILOSOPHER.


                ... Il mondo invecchia,
                E invecchiando intristisce.—TASSO, _Aminta_.


In passing from the book of Ecclesiasticus to that of Ecclesiastes, we
are conscious of breathing an entirely different intellectual
atmosphere. ‘Seek not out the things that are too hard for thee,’ said
Sirach, ‘for thou hast no need of the secret things’ (iii. 21, 22), but
the book now before us is the record of a thinker, disappointed it is
true, but too much in earnest to give up thinking. Of meditative minds
there was no lack in this period of Israel’s history. The writers of the
119th and several other Psalms, as well as Jesus the son of Sirach, had
pondered over the ideal life, but our author (the only remaining
representative of a school of writers[286]) was meditative in a
different sense from any of these. He could not have said with the
latter, ‘I prayed for wisdom before the temple’ (Ecclus. li. 14), nor
with the former, ‘Thy commandment is exceeding broad’ (Ps. cxix. 96).
The idea of the religious primacy of Israel awakened in his mind no
responsive enthusiasm. We cannot exactly say that he conceals the place
of his residence,[287] but he has certainly no overpowering interest in
the scene of his life’s troublesome drama. In this feature he resembles
to a considerable extent the humanists of an earlier date (see p. 119),
but in others, and those the most characteristic, he differs as widely
from them as the old man from the child. They believed that virtue was
crowned by prosperity; even the writer of _Job_, as some think, had not
wholly cast off the consecrated dogma; but the austere and lonely
thinker who has left us Ecclesiastes finds himself utterly unable to
harmonise such a theory with facts (viii. 14). To him, living during one
of the dreariest parts of the post-Exile period, it seemed as if the
past aspirations of Israel had turned out a gigantic mistake. That
home-sickness which impelled, if not the Second Isaiah himself, yet many
who were stirred by his eloquence, to exchange a life of ease and luxury
for one of struggle and privation—in what had it issued? In ‘vanity and
pursuit of wind’ (comp. Isa. xxvi. 18). To quote a great Persian poet,
who in some of his moods resembles Koheleth (see end of Chap. IX.),

              The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d,
              Who rose before us and as Prophets burn’d,
                 Are all but Stories, which, arose from Sleep,
              They told their fellows, and to Sleep return’d.

Such thoughts as these made the history of Israel an aid to scepticism
rather than to faith; added to which it is probable that society in
Koheleth’s[288] time seemed to him too corrupt to admit of an idealistic
theory of life. For an individual to seek to put in practice such a
theory would expose him to hopeless failure and misery. Therefore, ‘be
not righteous overmuch,[289] neither pretend to be exceedingly wise; why
wilt thou ruin (lit. desolate) thyself?’ (vii. 16). Some, no doubt, as
the Soferim or Scripturists, had tried it, but they had only succeeded
in making their lives ‘desolate,’ without any compensating advantage.
Nor can we say that Ecclesiastes had given up theistic religion. He does
not indeed believe in immortality and a future judgment, and is thus
partly an exception to the rule of Lucretius,

           ... nam si certam finem esse viderent
           Aerumnarum homines, aliqua ratione valerent
           Religionibus atque mineis obsistere vatum.
                                 (_De rerum naturâ_, i. 108-110.)

He mentions God twenty-seven times, but under the name Elohim, which
belonged to Him as the Creator, not under that of Yahveh, which an
Israelite was privileged to use; and his one-sided supernaturalism
obscured the sense of personal communion with God. He accepts only the
first part of the great proclamation concerning the dwelling place of
God in Isa. lxvii. 15 (see Eccles. v. 2). It is no doubt God who
‘worketh all’ (xi. 5), but there are nearer and almost more formidable
potentates, an oppressive hierarchy of officials ranging from the
taxgatherer to the king, ‘a high one watching above the high, and high
ones over both’ (v. 8). True, our author seems to admit—at least if the
text be sound (iii. 17; comp. viii. 12, 13)—that ‘God will judge the
righteous and the wicked’ (i.e. in this life, for he does not believe in
another), but the comfort of this thought is dashed with bitterness by
an unspoken but distinctly implied complaint, which may perhaps be well
expressed in the language of Job (xxiv. 1), ‘Why are judgments laid up
(so long) by the Almighty,[290] and (why) do they that know him not see
his days?’ or in other words, Why is divine retribution so tardy? It is,
in fact, this extreme tardiness of God’s judicial interpositions which
our author considers one of the chief causes of the prevalence of
wickedness;—

    ‘Because sentence against the work of wickedness is not speedily
    executed, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in
    them to do evil’ (viii. 11).

On the whole, we may say that the older humanists were sincere
optimists, while Koheleth, though theoretically perhaps an optimist
(iii. 11), constantly relapses into a more congenial ‘malism.’ I use
this word designedly. Koheleth can only be called a pessimist loosely.
Bad as things are, he does not believe that the world is getting worse
and worse and hasting to its ruin. He believes in revolutions, some for
evil, some for good, some for ‘rending’ or ‘breaking down,’ others for
‘sewing’ or ‘building up.’ He believes, in other words, that God brings
about recurrent changes in human circumstances. But (like another wise
man, Prov. xxv. 21) he does not trust revolutions of human origin (‘evil
matters’ he calls them, viii. 3); he is no _carbonaro_ (x. 20). And so
for the present he is a ‘malist,’ and having no imaginative faculty he
cannot sympathise with the ‘Utopian’ prospects for the future contained
in the prophetic visions.

Yet, in spite of appearances, Koheleth builds upon a true Israelitish
foundation. It is already something that he cannot bear to plunge into
open infidelity, that he is still (as we have seen) a theist, though his
theism gives him but little light and no comforting warmth. Now and then
he alludes to the religious system of his people (see v. 1-5, 17, viii.
10). A stronger proof of his Israelitish sympathies is his choice of
Solomon as the representative of humanity; I say, of humanity, because
the author evidently declines to place himself upon the pedestal of
Israelitish privilege. (Perhaps, too, as Herzfeld thinks,[291] he would
console his people by showing them that they have companions in
misfortune everywhere ‘under the sun;’ and we have already seen Job
snatch a brief alleviation of pain from the thought of suffering
humanity.) Koheleth is not only a Jew, but a man of culture. He cannot
perhaps entirely defend himself from the subtle influence of the Greek
view of life, and is even willing to associate from time to time with
the ministers of alien sovereigns. True, he has noted with bitter irony
the absurd and capricious changes in the government of Palestine (x.
5-7), but he has no spark of the spirit of the Maccabees, unless indeed
in viii. 2-5, x. 4, 20, beneath the garb of servile prudence we may
(with Dr. Plumptre) detect the irony of indignation. To the
simple-minded reader at any rate he appears to counsel passive
obedience, and a cautious crouching attitude towards those in power. I
suspect myself that either the advice is but provisional, or else
Koheleth still feels the power of the prophetic Utopia: _ce peuple rêve
toujours quelque chose d’international_.[292] Nay; shall we not carry
our generosity even farther? That ‘last word,’ which he would have
spoken had he lived longer, may possibly not have been that which the
Soferim have forced upon him. Not a future judgment, but a return of
prosperity to a wiser though sadder Israel, may have been his silent
hope, and in this prosperity we may be sure that a wider and more
philosophic culture would form a principal ingredient. This is by no
means an absurd fancy. Koheleth firmly believed in recurrent historical
cycles, and if there was ‘a time to break down,’ there was also ‘a time
to build up’ (iii. 3). Sirach knows no future life and no Messiah; but
he believes in the eternity of Israel; why, on the ground of his
fragmentary remains, deny the same consolation to Koheleth? Much as I
should prefer to imagine a far more satisfactory close for his troubled
life (see Chap. IX.), I think we ought to admit the possibility of this
hypothesis.

As an author, the characteristics of Koheleth are in the main Hebraic,
though not without vague affinities to the Greek philosophic spirit. His
work is without a model, but the dramatic element in it reminds us
somewhat of the Book of Job. Just as the writer of that great poem
delineates his own spiritual struggles—not of course without poetic
amplification—under the assumed name of Job, so our author, with a
similar poetical license, ascribes his difficulties to the imaginary
personage Koheleth (or Ecclesiastes). There are also passages in which,
like Job, he adopts the tone, style and rhythm[293] of gnomic poetry,
though far from reaching the literary perfection of Job or of the
proverbial collections. The attempt of Köster and Vaihinger to make him
out an artist in the management of strophes is a sport of fancy. Unity
and consistency in literary form were beyond the reach, if not of his
powers, yet certainly of his opportunities; even his phraseology, as a
rule, is in the highest degree rough and unpolished. This is the more
striking by contrast with the elegant workmanship of Sirach. But the
unknown author has very strong excuses. Thus, first, the negative tone
of his mind must have destroyed the cheerful composure necessary to the
artist. ‘The burden of the mystery’ pressed too heavily for him to think
much of form and beauty. His harp, if he ever had one, he had long since
hung up upon the willows. Next, it is highly probable that he was
interrupted in the midst of his literary preparations. Nöldeke has
remarked[294] that his object was not to produce ‘ein literarisches
Schaustück.’ That is perfectly true; his primary object was ‘to scatter
the doubts of his own mind.’ But he did not despise the literary craft;
he was well aware that even ‘the literature of power’ may increase its
influence by some attention to form. It seems to me that the ‘labour of
the file’ has brought the first two chapters to a considerable degree of
perfection; but the rest of the book, upon the whole, is so rough and so
disjointed, that I can only suppose it to be based on certain loose
notes or _adversaria_, written solely with the object of dispersing his
doubts and mitigating his pains by giving them expression. The thread of
thought seems to break every few verses, and attempts to restore it fail
to carry conviction to the unbiassed mind. The feelings and opinions
embodied in the book are often mutually inconsistent; in Ibn Ezra’s
time, and long before that, the Jewish students of the book were puzzled
by this phenomenon, so strange in a canonical Scripture. Not a few
scattered remarks have absolutely no connection with the subject. The
style, too, is rarely easy and natural, and sometimes (especially in
viii. 16, 17) we meet with a sentence which would certainly not have
passed an author’s final revision. The most obvious hypothesis surely is
that from chap. iii. onwards we have before us the imperfectly worked-up
meditations of an otherwise unknown writer, found after his death in
proximity to a highly finished fragment which apparently professed to be
the work of king Solomon. The meditations and the fragment were
circulated in combination (for which there was much excuse, especially
as some parts of the notes seemed to be in the narrative and even
autobiographic style), and were received with much favour by the
students of ‘wisdom,’ more, I should think, owing to the intrinsic
interest of the book than to the literary fiction of Solomonic
authorship. If this hypothesis be correct, we need not be surprised
either at the author’s inconsistencies in opinion, or at the general
roughness of his style. The book may not even be all one man’s work.
Luther has already brought Ecclesiastes into connection with the
Talmud.[295] Now the proverbial sayings which interrupt our thinker’s
self-questionings on ‘vanity of vanities’ are like the Haggadic passages
which gush forth like fountains in the weary waste of hair-splitting
Talmudic dialectics. No one has ever maintained the unity of the Talmud,
and no one should be thought unreasonable for doubting the absolute
freedom of Ecclesiastes from interpolations.[296]

The third and last excuse which I have to offer is that the meditations
of Koheleth partake of the nature of an experiment. He may indeed (as I
have remarked) be a member of a school of writers, but his strikingly
original manner compels us to regard him as a master rather than a
disciple. No such purely reflective work had, so far as we know, as yet
been produced in Hebrew literature. Similar moral difficulties to those
which preoccupied our author had no doubt occurred to some of the
prophets and poets, but they had not been sounded to their depths. Even
in the Book of Job the reflective spirit has very imperfect scope. The
speeches soon pass into a lyric strain, and Jehovah Himself closes the
discussion by imposing silence. But the author of Ecclesiastes was a
thinker, not a lyrist, and was compelled to form his own vehicle of
thought. He ‘sought,’ indeed, ‘to find out pleasant words’ (xii. 10),
but had to strain the powers of an unpliant language to the uttermost,
to coin (presumably) new words, and apply old ones in fresh senses, till
he might well have complained (to apply Lucretius) ‘propter egestatem
linguae et rerum novitatem.’[297] He deserves great praise for his
measure of success; Luzzatto in his early work failed to do him justice.
He is not ambitious; as a rule, he abstains from fine writing. Once
indeed he attempts it, but, as I venture to think, with but ill
success—I refer to the closing description of old age (xii. 4-9), which
has a touch of the extravagant euphuism of late Arabic literature.[298]
From a poetical point of view, the prelude (i. 4-8) is alone worthy to
be mentioned, though not included either by Renan or by Bickell among
the passages poetical in form (for a list of which see below[299]). Let
us mark this fine passage, that we may return to it again in another
connection.

Footnote 286:

  The ‘many books’ spoken of in xii. 12 were probably less orthodox than
  Ecclesiastes, but in so far as Ecclesiastes, especially in its
  uncorrected state, is sceptical, it may be grouped with them.

Footnote 287:

  In common with most interpreters, I regard Ecclesiastes as a Judæan
  work.

Footnote 288:

  Following the precedent of the Epilogue (xii. 9), I designate the
  author by the name which he has invented for his hero.

Footnote 289:

  There is a touch of humour in the expression, which can perhaps best
  be reproduced in our northern Doric, ‘Be not unco’ guid.’

Footnote 290:

  I follow Sept. and Dr. Merx. The received reading is very harsh.

Footnote 291:

  _Geschichte des Volkes Jisrael_, iii. 30.

Footnote 292:

  Renan, _L’Antéchrist_, p. 228.

Footnote 293:

  On the rhythm, comp. Bickell, _Der Prediger_ (1884), pp. 27, 46-53.

Footnote 294:

  _Die alttestamentliche Literatur_, p. 173.

Footnote 295:

  ‘Dazu so ist’s wie ein Talmud aus vielen Büchern zusammengezogen.’
  Luther’s _Tischreden_, quoted in Ginsburg, p. 113.

Footnote 296:

  See Supplementary Chapter.

Footnote 297:

  _De rerum naturâ_, i. 140 (appositely quoted by Mr. Tyler).

Footnote 298:

  See the passage quoted from Chenery’s translation of Hariri by Dr.
  Taylor (_Dirge of Coheleth_, p. 55); comp. Rückert’s rhyming
  translation (_Hariri_, i. 104-5).

Footnote 299:

  Renan’s list is i. 15, 18; ii. 2, 14; iii. 2-8, iv. 5, 14; v. 2; vii.
  1-6; 7, 8; 9_b_; 13_b_; 24; viii. 1, 4; ix. 16, 17; x. 2, 12, 18; xi.
  4, 7; xii. 3-5; 10; 11, 12. Bickell’s, i. 7, 8; 15; 18; ii. 2; v. 9;
  vi. 7; iv. 5; ii. 14; viii. 8; ix. 16-x. 1; vii. 1-6, vi. 9, vii. 7-9;
  vii. 11, 12; vii. 20; v. 2; x. 16-20; xi. 6; xi. 4; viii. 1-4, x. 2,
  3; x. 6, 7; x. 10-15; ix. 7; xi. 9, 10, xii. 1_a_; xii. 1_b_-5; 6.
  (The order of these passages arises out of Bickell’s critical theory;
  on which see Chap. XII.)




                              CHAPTER II.
                ‘TRUTH AND FICTION’ IN AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.


Let us now take a general survey of this strange book, regarding it as a
record of the conflicting moods and experiences of a thoughtful man of
the world. The author is too modest to appear in his own person (at
least in i. 1-ii. 12), but, like Cicero in his dialogues, selects a
mouthpiece from the heroic past. His choice could not be doubtful. Who
so fit as the wisest of his age, the founder and patron of gnomic
poetry, king Solomon (1 Kings iv. 30-32)? After the preluding verses,
from which a quotation has been given above, Ecclesiastes continues
thus:—

    I Koheleth have been[300] king over Israel in Jerusalem; and I gave
    my mind to making search and exploration, by wisdom, concerning all
    that is done under heaven; that is a sore trouble which God hath
    given to the sons of men to trouble themselves therewith! I saw all
    the works which are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity
    and pursuit of wind.

              That which is crooked cannot be straightened,
              and a deficiency cannot be reckoned (i. 12-15).

The name or title ‘Koheleth’ is obscure. According to the Epilogue
‘Koheleth was a wise man’ (xii. 9)—a statement which confirms the
explanation of the name as meaning ‘one who calls an assembly.’[301] The
‘wise men’ of Israel gathered their disciples together, and such an able
teacher as Koheleth would fain gather all who have ears to hear around
his seat. But Koheleth is also Solomon (though only for a short time—the
author did not, I suppose, live long enough thoroughly to fuse the
conceptions of king and philosopher[302]). The wise king is to be
imagined standing on the brink of the grave, and casting the
clear-sighted glance of a dying man on past life, somewhat as Moses in
parts of Deuteronomy or David in 2 Sam. xxii., xxiii. 1-7. A subtle and
poetic view of Solomon’s career is thus opened before us. He is not here
represented in his political relation, but as a specimen of the highest
type of human being, with a boundless appetite for pleasure and every
means of gratifying it. But even such a man’s deliberate verdict on all
forms of pleasure is that they are utterly unsubstantial, mere vanity
(lit. a vapour—Aquila, ἀτμίς; comp. James iv. 14). Neither pure
speculation (i. 13-18), nor riotous mirth (ii. 1, 2), nor even the
refined voluptuousness consistent with the free play of the
intellect[303] (ii. 3), could satisfy his longing, or enable him, with
Goethe’s Faust, to say to the flying moment, ‘Ah! linger yet, thou art
so fair.’ It is true that wisdom is after all better than folly; Solomon
from his ‘specular mount’ could ‘see’ this to be a truth (ii. 13); but
in the end he found it as resultless as ‘the walking in darkness’ of the
fool.

    ‘And I myself perceived that one fate befalleth them all. And I said
    in my heart, As the fate of the fool will be the fate which shall
    befall me, even me; and why have I then been exceeding wise? and I
    said in my heart that this also is vanity’ (ii. 14_b_, 15), i.e.
    that this undiscriminating fate is a fresh proof of the delusiveness
    of all things.

And in this strain Koheleth runs on to nearly the end of the chapter,
with an added touch of bitterness at the thought of the doubtful
character of his successor (ii. 18, 19). Then occurs one of those abrupt
transitions which so often puzzle the student of Ecclesiastes. In ii.
1-11 Koheleth has rejected the life of sensuous pleasure, even when
wisely regulated, as ‘vanity.’ He now returns to the subject, and
declares this to be, not of course the ideally highest good, but the
highest good open to man, if it were only in his power to secure it. But
he has seen that both sensuous enjoyment and the wisdom which regulates
it come from God, who grants these blessings to the man who is good in
his sight, while profitless trouble is the portion of the sinner. He
repeats therefore that even wisdom and knowledge and joy, the highest
attainable goods, are, by reason of their uncertainty, ‘vanity and
pursuit of wind’ (ii. 26).

At the end of this long speech of Koheleth, we naturally ask how far it
can be regarded as autobiographical. Only, I think, in a qualified
sense. Its psychological depth points to similar experiences on the part
of the author, but to experiences which have been deepened in their
imaginative reproduction. It is truth mingled with fiction—_Wahrheit und
Dichtung_—which we meet with in the first two chapters. A more strictly
biographical narrative appears to begin in chap. iii., from which point
the allusions to Solomon cease, and are replaced by scattered references
to contemporary history. The confidences of the author are introduced by
a passage (iii. 1-8) in the gnomic style, containing a catalogue of the
various actions, emotions, and states of feeling which make up human
life. Each of these, we are told, has its own allotted season in the
fixed order of nature, but as this is beyond the ken and influence of
man, the question arises, ‘What profit hath he that worketh in that
wherewith he wearieth himself?’ (iii. 9.) Thus, the ‘wearisome trouble’
of the ‘sons of men’ has no permanent result. All that you can do is to
accustom yourself to acquiesce in destiny: you will then see that every
act and every state in your ever-shifting life is truly beautiful or
seemly (iii. 11), even if not profitable to the individual (iii. 9).
More than this, man has been endowed with the faculty of understanding
this kaleidoscopic world, with the drawback that he cannot possibly
embrace it all in one view:—[304]

    Also he hath put the world into their heart (i.e. mind), except that
    man cannot find out from beginning to end the work which God hath
    made (iii. 11).

In fact, to quote Lord Bacon’s words in the _Advancement of Learning_,
‘God has framed the mind like a glass, capable of the image of the
universe, and desirous to receive it, as the eye to receive the light.’
But here a dark mood interrupts the course of our author’s meditations;
or perhaps it is the record of a later period which is but awkwardly
attached to the previous passages. ‘To rejoice and to fare well’—sensual
(or, let us say, sensuous) pleasure, in short—is now represented as the
only good for man, and even that is not to be too absolutely reckoned
upon, for ‘it is the gift of God’ (iii. 12, 13, 22; comp. ii. 24).
Certainly our author at any rate did not succeed in drowning care in the
wine-cup: he is no vulgar sensualist. His merriment is spoiled by the
thought of the misery of others, and he can find nothing ‘under the sun’
(a passionate generalisation from life in Palestine) but violence and
oppression. In utter despair he pronounces the dead happier than the
living (iv. 1, 2). In fact, he says, neither in life nor in death has
man any superiority over the other animals, which are under no
providential order, and have no principle of continuance. Such is the
cynical theory which tempts Koheleth; and yet he seems to have hesitated
before accepting it, unless we may venture with Bickell to strike out
iii. 17, as the work of a later editor who believed in retributions
hereafter (like xi. 9_b_ xii. 7, 13, 14). I confess that consistency
seems to me to require this step; the verse is in fact well fitted to be
an antidote to the following verse, which seems to have suggested the
opening phrase. This is how the text runs at present:—

    I said in my heart, The righteous and the wicked shall God judge;
    for there is a time for every purpose and for every work _there_
    (emphatically for ‘in the other world;’ or read, hath he appointed).
    I said in my heart, (It happens) on account of the sons of men, that
    God may test them, and that they may see that they are but beasts.
    For the sons of men are a chance (comp. Herod. i. 32), and beasts
    are a chance; yea, all have one chance: as the one dies, so dies the
    other; yea, they all have one spirit; and advantage of the one over
    the other there is none, for all is vanity. All go unto one place;
    all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knows whether
    the spirit of man goes upward, and whether the spirit of the beast
    goes downward to the earth?[305] (iii. 17-21.)

Our author’s abiding conviction is that ‘the spirit does but mean the
breath’ (_In Memoriam_, lvi.), so that man and the lower animals have
‘one spirit’ and alike end in dust. ‘_Pulvis et umbra sumus._’ It is
true, some of his contemporaries hold the new doctrine of Immortality,
but Koheleth, in his cool scepticism, hesitates to accept it. Which
indeed of its enthusiastic advocates can claim to ‘know’ that which he
asserts; or can prove to Koheleth’s satisfaction that God (as a psalmist
in Ps. xlix. 15 puts it) will ‘receive’ the spirit of man, in spite of
the fact that the vital principle of beasts loses itself in the dust of
death? It is no doubt an awkward construction which Koheleth adopts: he
_seems_ to express an uncertainty as to the fate of the lower animals.
To convey the meaning which I have given, the construction ought to have
been disjunctive, as in this line from a noble modern poem,

    Friend, who knows if death indeed have life, or life have death for
    goal?[306]

But there is, or rather there ought to be, no doubt as to Koheleth’s
meaning. Dean Plumptre frankly admits that ‘it is not till nearly the
close of the book, with all its many wanderings of thought, that the
seeker rests in that measure of the hope of immortality which we find’
[but this is open to considerable doubt] ‘in xii. 7.’

Footnote 300:

  See the fantastic legend to account for the past tense in _Midrash
  Koheleth_ (transl. Wünsche), or Ginsburg (p. 268; comp. p. 38).

Footnote 301:

  Dean Plumptre thinks Koheleth (like ἐκκλησιαστής), which is rendered
  by him ‘the Debater,’ means rather a member of an assembly, than a
  teacher or preacher, and compares Ecclus. xxxviii. 33, where the son
  of Sirach says of labourers and artisans that they ‘shall not sit high
  in the congregation,’ i.e. in the _ecclesia_ or academy of sages. But
  judging from the parallel line the ‘congregation’ is rather that of
  the people in general (comp. Ecclus. xv. 5). The Dean’s view that the
  book embodies the inward debates of a Jewish philosopher may be to a
  great extent true, but for all that Koheleth is throughout represented
  as speaking alone and with authority. On the philological explanation
  of the word, see Appendix.

Footnote 302:

  This seems a reasonable view. Bickell boldly maintains that i. 1, 12,
  16, ii. 7, 8, 9 [12] are interpolations (made presumably to facilitate
  the recognition of the book as canonical). Observe however that the
  (fictitious) author is nowhere declared to be Solomon, but only
  ben-David (i. 1). He claims attention merely as a private person, as
  an interpreter of the complaints of humanity. Though he does once
  expressly refer to his royal state (i. 12), it is only to suggest to
  his readers what ample opportunities he has enjoyed of learning the
  vanity of earthly grandeur. So, very plausibly, Bloch (_Ursprung des
  Kohelet_, p. 17).

Footnote 303:

  The passage indeed is obscure and possibly corrupt (so Bickell), but
  the above words probably do justice to the mood described.

Footnote 304:

  Among the many other interpretations of this difficult passage, two
  may be mentioned here. (1) ‘He has also set worldliness in their
  heart, without which man cannot understand the work that God does,
  from beginning to end.’ So Kalisch (_Path and Goal_, frequently). This
  is an improvement upon the translation of Gesenius and others, who
  render, not ‘without which’ &c., but ‘so that man may not’ &c. The
  objection to the latter rendering is that it gives ‘worldliness’ a New
  Testament sense (comp. 1 John ii. 15). Kalisch, however, in full
  accord with the spirit of Judaism, makes Koheleth frankly accept
  ‘worldliness’ as a good, understanding by ‘worldliness’ a sense of
  worldly duties and enjoyments. Had this however been Koheleth’s
  meaning, would he not have coined another of his favourite abstract
  terms (comp. the Peshitto’s _’olmoyuthō_ = αἰὼν in Eph. ii. 2)? (2)
  ‘Also he has put eternity into their heart, but so that man cannot’
  &c. So Ginsburg and Delitzsch (_desiderium æternitatis_, taking
  ‘eternity’ in a metaphysical sense = ‘that which is beyond time’); so
  also Nowack (taking it in the popular sense of years following upon
  years without apparent limit). Ginsburg’s view is against the context,
  in which the continuance of the human spirit is doubted; but Nowack’s
  explanation is not unacceptable. Man has been enabled to form the idea
  of Time (for the popular view of ‘eternity’ comes practically to
  this), and has divided this long space into longer and shorter
  periods; what happens in one period or season, he can compare with
  what happens in another, thus finding all well-adapted and
  ‘beautiful.’ But he cannot grasp the whole of Time in one view. But I
  still prefer the explanation given in the text, as being simpler, in
  spite of the fact that _’ōlām_ nowhere else occurs in the sense of
  ‘world’ (or the present order of things), so common in later Hebrew.

Footnote 305:

  This is the rendering of the four principal versions and of all the
  best critics, including Mercier, Ewald, Ginsburg, Grätz and Delitzsch;
  it agrees with the general tendency of Koheleth, and in particular
  with vii. 5, where the grave is called man’s ‘eternal home’ (see
  below). It is no doubt opposed by the vowel-points, which are followed
  in King James’s Bible. But it is more than probable (considering other
  parallel phenomena) that the authors of the points were directed by a
  theological and therefore uncritical motive, that, namely, of effacing
  as far as possible a trace of Koheleth’s opposition to the doctrine,
  by that time recognised as orthodox, of the immortality of the soul.

Footnote 306:

  Swinburne, _On the Verge_.




                              CHAPTER III.
           MORE MORALISING, INTERRUPTED BY PROVERBIAL MAXIMS.


Let us now resume the thread of Koheleth’s moralising. Violence and
oppression were two of the chief evils which struck an attentive
observer of Palestinian life. But there were two others equally worthy
of a place in the sad picture—the evils of rivalry and isolation. First,
with regard to rivalry (iv. 4-6). What is ‘skilful work,’ or art, but an
‘envious surpassing of the one by the other’? This also is ‘pursuit of
wind;’ it gives no permanent satisfaction. True, indolence is
self-destruction: but on the other hand a little true rest is better
than the labour of windy effort, urged on by rivalry yielding no rest
(Delitzsch). Such at least is the most probable connection, supposing
that vv. 5 and 6 are not rather interpolated or misplaced. If however it
be objected (here Koheleth passes to a second great evil—that of
isolation) that a man may labour for his child or his brother, yet who,
pray, is benefited by the money-getting toils of one who has no near
relative, and stands alone in the world? A pitiable sight is such
unprofitable toil! The fourth chapter closes with maxims on the
blessings of companionship (iv. 9-12), followed by a vivid description
of the sudden fall of an old and foolish king (iv. 13-16), who had not
cared to appropriate one of the chief of these blessings, viz. good
advice. There is much that is enigmatical in the last four verses. We
should expect the writer to be alluding to some fact in contemporary
history, but no plausible parallel has yet been indicated.[307] Ver. 16
is certainly either corrupt or mutilated. Bickell thinks that it must
originally have run somewhat as follows:—

    There was no end of all the people, even of all those who [applauded
    him and cast reproaches on the old king. For because he had despised
    the counsel of the prudent, to rule foolishly and to oppress the
    people, therefore they hated him, even as those had hated him] who
    were before them; they also that came afterwards did not rejoice in
    him.

At this point the ideal autobiography of Koheleth is interrupted. From
v. 1 (= iv. 17 in the Hebrew) to vii. 14 we are presented with a mixture
of proverbial sayings (such perhaps as Koheleth was continually framing
and depositing in his note-books) and records of the wise man’s personal
experience. Notice especially the reappearance of the old Israelitish
instinctive sympathy with husbandmen (or, shall I say, with yeomen) in
ver. 9. Both proverbs and personal records are the offspring of
different moods, and therefore not always consistent. Thus at one time
our author repeats his preference of sensuous enjoyment to any other
mode of passing one’s life.

    For (then) he will not think much on the (few) days of his life,
    because God responds to the joy of his heart (v. 20).

But the writer is too pessimistic to rest long in this thought. It is a
‘common evil among men’ to have riches without the full enjoyment of
them: ‘better an untimely birth,’ he cries, than to be in such a case
(vi. 3). Note here in passing the fondness of our author for using a
comparison in expressing an emphatic judgment (comp. iv. 9-16, vii.
1-8). Better, he continues, is a momentary experience of real happiness
than to let the desire wander after unattainable ends. ‘There are many
things that increase vanity;’ with the reserve of good taste, he
understates his meaning, for what human object, according to Koheleth,
is not futile? That gift which to the Christian is so wondrously
fair—the gift of life—to him becomes ‘the numbered days of his life of
vanity;’ and ‘who knows what is good for man in life, which he spends as
a shadow? For who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun?’
(vi. 12.) Koheleth, we see, has no faith in his nation, nor in humanity.

I do not feel sure that we may say with Dean Bradley that ‘out of this
very gloom and sadness come forth in the next chapter thoughts that have
gone, some of them, the round of the world.’ No doubt there is more than
a mere tinge of the same midnight gloom in some of these proverbial
sayings. But surely there is a complete break in the thread of thought
of vi. 12, and a fresh collection of looser notes has found a place at
the head of chap. vii. At any rate, these sayings supply a convincing
proof that Koheleth was not a mere hedonist or Epicurean. He recalls in
vii. 2 his former commendation of feasting, and declares,

    It is better to go into the house of mourning than to go into the
    house of feasting, inasmuch as that is the end of all men, and the
    living can lay it to his heart (vii. 2).

I said that Koheleth was too pessimistic to remain long under the
influence of hedonism. I might have said that he was too thoughtful; a
rational man could not, without the anticipations of faith, close his
mind to the suggestions of pessimism in the circumstances of Koheleth’s
age. Better thoughtful misery than thoughtless mirth, is the keynote of
the triad of maxims (vii. 2-6) on the compensations of misery which
follows the dreary sentence praising death, in vii. 1.[308] Resignation
is the secret of inward peace; ‘with a sad face the heart may be
cheerful.’ Not only in view of the great problem of existence, but in
your everyday concerns, restrain your natural impulses whether to
towering passion or to brooding vexation at the wrongness or the
slowness of the course of human affairs (vii. 8, 9). Above all, do not
give way to an ignorant idealism. It is unwise to ask ‘How is it that
the former days were better than these?’ (vii. 10.) The former time, so
bright and happy, and the present, with its predominant gloom, were
alike ordained by God (vii. 13 should follow vii. 10); and as a last
consolation for cool and rational thinkers, be sure that there is nought
to fear after death; there are no torments of Gehenna. This in fact is
the reason why God ordains evil; there being no second life, man must
learn whatever he can from calamity in this life.

    On a good day be of good cheer, and on an evil day consider (this):
    God hath also made this (viz. good) equally with that (evil), on the
    ground that man is to experience nothing at all hereafter[309] (vii.
    14; comp. ix. 10).

Thus, not only ‘be not righteous over much’ (vii. 16), but ‘do not
believe over much’ is the teaching of our rationalist-thinker. There is
neither good nor evil after death. But is there no _present_ judgment?
Yes; but this is not a thought of life and hope. It is a true ‘religion’
to him; it binds him in his words as well as his actions. But although
Hooker so admired the saying in v. 2 (‘God is in heaven, and thou upon
earth, therefore let thy words be few’) as to quote it in one of his
finest passages,[310] yet the context of v. 2 sufficiently shows how
different was the quality of the reverence of the two writers. Be
careful to pay thy vows, says Koheleth, lest when thou invokest God’s
name, His angel should appear, and call thee to account.

    Suffer not thy mouth to bring punishment upon thy body; and say not
    before the angel, It was an oversight;[311] wherefore should God be
    angry at thy voice, and destroy the work of thy hands?’ (v. 6.)

To Koheleth the mention of the divine name is a possible source of
danger; to Hooker God is One ‘whom to know is life, and joy to make
mention of his name.’ Koheleth has only fear for God’s holy name—a fear
which is not indeed ineffectual but very pale and cheerless; Hooker, a
‘perpetual fear and love,’ and the love gives a new quality and a new
efficacy to the fear.

Footnote 307:

  Hitzig in his commentary refers to the history of the high priest
  Onias and his nephew Joseph. Afterwards he recalled this opinion; but
  we may be thankful to him for directing attention to this curious and
  instructive historical episode.

Footnote 308:

  The mechanical juxtaposition of the two halves of ver. 1 is obvious.
  The proverb gains considerably, if read with Bickell’s very plausible
  supplements,

              ‘Better is a good name than precious ointment,
              [but wisdom is still better than fame;
              better is not-being than being]
              and the day of death than the day of one’s birth.’

  The ‘wisdom’ meant will be that of resignation and renunciation.

Footnote 309:

  ‘Hereafter’ is, literally, ‘after him’ (for the meaning of which see
  iii. 22, vi. 12); ‘experience,’ literally ‘find’ (comp. Prov. vi. 33).
  For other views, see Wright, who objects to the above explanation that
  it ‘is opposed to the teaching of Koheleth respecting a future
  judgment.’ But the question is, Did Koheleth believe in a future
  judgment?

Footnote 310:

  _Eccles. Polity_, i, 2, § 3.

Footnote 311:

  There is a touch of humour here; comp. the wretch in the fable who
  called Death to his aid, but refused him when he came. Klostermann has
  done well in reviving this interpretation, which, in Germany at least,
  had been generally abandoned. (Delitzsch thinks the ‘angel’ is the
  priest whom the man who has vowed approaches with a request to be
  released from his vow. This is supported by Mal. ii. 7, where the
  priest is called ‘the messenger of Jehovah Sabáoth;’ but see the notes
  of Ginsburg and Kingsbury. Renan renders, _à l’envoyé des prêtres_.)
  The angel is the destroying angel, whose action is discerned by faith
  in the judicial calamities which, sometimes at least, overtake the
  wrong-doer. (So the Targum, but postponing the appearance of the angel
  to the _future_ judgment.)




                              CHAPTER IV.
                      FACTS OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE.


At vii. 15 a new section begins, consisting almost entirely of the
author’s personal experiences, very loosely connected; it continues as
far as ix. 12. A curious passage at the outset appears to describe
virtue as residing in the mean between two extremes (vii. 15-18). The
appearance however is deceptive: it is as much out of place to quote
Aristotle’s famous definition of virtue (μεσότης δύο κακιῶν), as
Buddha’s counsel to him who would attain perfection to ‘exercise himself
in the medium course of discipline.’ Koheleth merely offers practical
advice how to steer one’s ship between the rocks. Do not, he says, make
your life a burden by excessive legalism. But on the other hand, do not
earn the reputation of caring nothing for the precepts of the law. That
were folly, and would bring you to an early death.[312] Koheleth
expresses this sharply and enigmatically; do not be too ‘righteous,’ and
do not be too ‘wicked.’ ‘Righteous’ and ‘wicked’ are both to be taken in
the common acceptation of those terms in the religious world: the words
are used ironically. Our author’s only theory of virtue is that no
theory is possible. The ‘wisdom’ which both gives ‘defence’ and
‘preserves life’ (vii. 12) is the practical wisdom of resignation and
moderation. Of essential wisdom (or philosophy as we should call
it[313]) he says, alluding to Job xxviii. 12-23, that it is ‘far off,
and exceeding deep; who can find it out?’ (vii. 24.) The old theory,
which claimed to give the secret of history, and which even afterwards
satisfied some wise men (e.g. Sirach)—the theory that the good are
rewarded and the bad punished in this world—is not borne out by
Koheleth’s experience,—

    There is (many) a righteous man who perishes in spite of his
    righteousness, and there is (many) an ungodly man who lives long in
    spite of his wickedness (vii. 15; contrast the interpolated passage
    viii. 12, 13).

But though Koheleth, like Job, despairs of essential wisdom, he ‘turns’
with hope to the wide field of wisdom—or, as he calls it, ‘wisdom and
reasoning,’ i.e. moral inquiries pursued on the inductive method. And
what is the result of his inquiry? He gives it with much deliberateness,
stating that he (viz. ‘_the_ Koheleth,’ see on xii. 8) has put one fact
to another in order to form a conclusion (ver. 27) and it is that
women-tempters are more pernicious than Death (man’s great enemy
personified, as so often). Or, putting it in other words, which I am
forced to paraphrase to bring out their meaning—words to which the
well-known poem of Simonides is chivalry itself—‘A few rare specimens of
uncorrupted human nature I have found, so rare that one may reckon them
as one among a thousand; but not one of these truly human creatures was
a woman.’[314] The latter statement is the stronger, and shows that our
author agrees with Ecclus. xxv. 19, that ‘all wickedness is but little
to the wickedness of a woman.’ And so much in earnest is he, that he
even tries a third mode of expressing his conclusion. Carefully limiting
himself he says, ‘Lo! this only have I found; that God made mankind
upright, but they have sought out many contrivances’ (ver. 29); that is,
men and women are both born good, but are too soon sophisticated by
civilisation (and the leaders in this downward process, we may infer
from the context, are the women). Koheleth scarcely means to imply that
civilisation is bad in itself; if he does, the few good men he has met
must apparently have been hermits! But though not essentially immoral,
the inventive or contriving faculty (so wonderful to Sophocles) seems to
Koheleth the chief source of moral danger.

But are these the only results of Koheleth’s wide induction from the
facts of contemporary life? Yes; a time such as this ‘when man rules
over man to his hurt’ (viii. 9) suggests, not only prudential maxims,
but this sad conclusion, already (vii. 15) mentioned by anticipation,
that the fate proper to the wicked falls upon the righteous, and that
proper to the righteous on the wicked (viii. 14), or to express this in
the concrete,

    And in accordance with this I have seen ungodly men honoured, and
    that too in the holy place (i.e. the temple; comp. Isa. xviii. 7);
    but those who had acted rightly had to depart and were forgotten in
    the city. This too is vanity[315] (viii. 10).

No wonder that wickedness is rampant! It requires singular courage to do
right when Nemesis delays her visit; or, as Koheleth puts it, in
language which sorely displeased a later editor,

    Because sentence against a wicked work is not executed speedily,
    therefore men have abundant courage to do evil. For I know that it
    even happens that a sinner does evil for a long time, and yet lives
    long, whilst he who fears before God is short-lived as a shadow
    (viii. 12, 13).

Koheleth does not, of course, include himself among the reckless
evil-doers. He acquiesces in the painful inconsistencies of the world,
and seems to comfort himself with the relatively best good—‘to eat and
drink and be merry’ (viii. 15). Charity may perhaps suggest that this is
not said without bitter irony.

Then follows a clumsy but affecting passage (viii. 16, 17) on the
uselessness of brooding (as the author had so long done) over the
mysteries of human life, which introduces the concluding part of the
section (ix. 1-12). These twelve verses are full of a restrained
passion. Such being the unfree condition of man that he cannot even
govern his sympathies and antipathies, and so regardless of moral
distinctions the course of destiny, and there being no hereafter,[316]
what remains but to take such pleasure as life—especially wedded
life—can offer, and to carry out one’s plans with energy? Yet, alas! it
is only too true that neither success nor freedom of action can be
reckoned upon, for ‘the race is not to the swift,’ and men are ‘snared’
like the fishes and the birds.

The section which begins at ix. 13 is of still more varied contents. It
begins with a striking little story about the ‘poor wise man,’ a
Themistocles in common life, ‘who by his wisdom delivered the city, and
no one remembered that poor man’ (ix. 14, 15). Surely here (as in iv.
13, 14, viii. 10) we catch the echo of contemporary history. It is not a
generalisation (comp. Prov. xxi. 22), but a fact which the author gives
us, and it may plausibly be conjectured that he was the ‘poor wise man’
himself. The rest of the section (down to x. 15) contains proverbs on
wisdom and folly, and some bitterly ironical remarks on the exaltation
of servants and burden-bearers[317] above the rich and the princely.

Footnote 312:

  As Plumptre well remarks, the vices thought of and the end to which
  they lead are those of sensual license (comp. Prov. vii. 25-27).

Footnote 313:

  In Koheleth’s phrase, ‘that which is;’ comp. Wisd. vii. 17-21, where
  ‘the infallible knowledge of the things that are’ is equivalent to a
  perfect natural science. Here a similar phrase means rather
  philosophy.

Footnote 314:

  So Klostermann. The ordinary interpretation is, ‘One man among a
  thousand (men) I have found, but a woman among all these I have not
  found;’ i.e. I have tested a thousand men and a thousand women; I have
  found one true man, but not one true woman. The objection is that
  _’ādām_ elsewhere (e.g. ver. 29) means human beings without
  distinction of sex.

Footnote 315:

  Following Bickell. In viii. 10 it is the linguistic form, and in viii.
  12, 13 the contents of the Massoretic text which excite suspicion. The
  former verse is thus rendered by Delitzsch, ‘And then I have seen the
  wicked buried, and they entered into (their ‘perpetual house,’ the
  grave): but they that had done right had to depart (into exile) from
  the holy place (Jerusalem; cf. II. Isa. xlviii. 2), and were forgotten
  out of the city: this too is vanity.’

Footnote 316:

  The view expressed in ix. 10 is, I hope, very far from being the
  private belief of the many preachers who are accustomed to quote it.
  See the chapter on Ecclesiastes from a religious point of view.

Footnote 317:

  Correcting the text in x. 6 with A. Krochmal.




                               CHAPTER V.
                    THE WISE MAN’S PARTING COUNSELS.


A new section begins at x. 16—no ingenuity avails to establish a
connection with the preceding verses. We are approaching our goal, and
breathe a freer air. From the very first the ideas and images presented
to us are in a healthier and more objective tone. The condemnation
expressed in ver. 16 does credit to the public spirit of the writer,
and, I need hardly say, is not really inconsistent (as Hitzig supposed)
with the advice in ver. 20. In the words—

    Even among thine acquaintance[318] curse not the king, and in thy
    bedchambers curse not the rich; for the birds of the heaven may
    carry the voice [comp. the cranes of Ibycus] and that which hath
    wings may report the word—

Dean Plumptre perhaps rightly sees ‘the irony of indignation’ which
‘veils itself in the garb of a servile prudence.’ There is no necessity
to reduce Koheleth to the moral level of Epicurus, who is said to have
deliberately preferred despotism and approved courting the monarch.

It is a still freer spirit which breathes in the remainder of the book.
Let courtiers waste their time in luxury (x. 18), but throw thou thyself
unhesitatingly into the swift stream of life. Be not ever forecasting,
for there are some contingencies which can no more be guarded against
than the falling of rain or of a tree (xi. 3, 4). Act boldly, then, like
the corn-merchants, who speculate on such a grand scale,—

    Send forth thy bread upon the wide waters [lit. upon the face of the
    waters], for thou mayst find it [i.e. obtain a good return for it]
    after many days (xi. 1).

But since fortune is capricious, do not risk thine all on a single
venture. ‘Ships are but boards, sailors but men’ &c., as Shylock says.
Divide thy merchandise, and so, if one vessel is wrecked or plundered,
much may still be saved; or—another possible interpretation—store thy
property in various hiding-places, so that, in case of some political
revolution, thine all may not be taken from thee,—

    Make seven portions, and also eight; for thou knowest not what evil
    shall be upon the earth (or, the land) (xi. 2).

This is not, of course, the usual explanation of these two verses, which
are enigmas fairly admitting of more than one solution. Most
commentators understand them as recommending beneficence, which ver. 2
requires to be of extensive range, and which ver. 1 compares to cakes of
bread thrown upon the water, and gathered up no one knows by whom. So
perhaps (besides Rashi, Aben Ezra, Ginsburg &c.) Goethe in the
_Westöstliche Divan_—

                     Was willst du untersuchen
                       Wohin die Milde fliesst!
                     Ins Wasser wirf dein Kuchen—
                       Wer weiss wer sie geniesst![319]

I do not think that this suits the context, which suggests activity and
caution as the two good qualities recommended by Koheleth. But it is
very possible that the proverb was a popular one which the author took
up, giving it a fresh application.

Such is the author’s parting advice to the elder part of his
readers,—not very elevated, but not without a breath of courageous faith
(xi. 5). Not that he has given up his advocacy of pleasure. Side by side
with work, a man should cherish, even to the very last, all those
sources of joy which God Himself has provided, remembering the long dark
days which await him in Sheól. Then, at ver. 9, he addresses the young,
and in measured distichs intreats them to enjoy life while they may.

         Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth,
         and let thy heart gladden thee in the flower of thine age;
         and walk in the ways of thy heart
         and according to the sight of thine eyes;
         And banish discontent from thy heart,
         and put away evil from thy flesh:—
           for youth and the prime of life are vanity.

Between lines 4 and 5 we find the received text burdened with a prosaic
insertion, which is probably not due to an after-thought on the part of
the writer, but to the anxiety of later students to rescue the orthodoxy
of the book. The insertion consists of the words, Rabbinic in expression
as well as in thought, ‘But know that for all this God will bring thee
into the judgment.’[320] It was the wisdom of true charity to insert
them; but it is our wisdom as literary students to ‘banish discontent’
with the discord which they introduce by restoring the passage to its
original form.

At this point Koheleth turns away from the young to those (presumably)
of his own age. Again there are traces at least of a series of distichs
which must once have stood here, but either the author or one of his
editors, or both, have so far worked over them that the series is no
longer perfect. The first suspected instance of this ‘overworking’
occurs at the very outset. ‘Remember thy Creator in the flower of thine
age,’ are the opening words of Koheleth’s second address. They are
usually explained as taking up the idea of the last judgment expressed
at the close of xi. 9. ‘Since God,’ to quote Dr. Ginsburg’s paraphrase,
‘will one day hold us accountable for all the works done in the body, we
are to set the Lord always before our eyes.’ The importance of this
passage, when thus interpreted, is manifest. It suggests that Koheleth
had struggled through his many difficulties to an assured doctrinal and
practical position, and that it is not mere rejoicing, but ‘rejoicing in
the Lord,’ that Koheleth recommends in xii. 1—an edifying view of the
old man’s final result which every one must desire to be true if only it
be consistent with the rest of the book. I fear that this is not the
case. Elsewhere in the book sensuous pleasure in moderation is praised
without any reference to God, and in the immediate neighbourhood of this
verse the motive given for rejoicing is not the thought of God, but that
of the many days of darkness (i.e. of Sheól) which are coming. Besides,
the exhortation ‘Remember thy Creator’ does not perfectly suit the close
of the verse, or indeed of the section. What is the natural inference
from the fact that at an advanced age life becomes physically a burden?
Surely this—that man should enjoy life while his powers are fresh.
Cannot an _old man_ ‘remember’ his Creator? (To ‘remember’ is to think
upon; it is not a synonym for conversion.) The text therefore is almost
certainly incorrect.

Has an editor, then, tampered with the text of the opening words of the
exhortation? May we, for instance, follow Grätz and read, for _bōr’éka_
‘thy Creator,’ _bōr’ka_ ‘thy fountain’ (lit. thy cistern), taking this
as a metaphorical expression for ‘thy wife’ or ‘thy wedlock’ (as in
Prov. v. 15-18)? The objection certain to be raised is that the text
when thus corrected brings the book to a lame and impotent conclusion.
It may be true, as Bishop Temple has said, that chastity and monotheism
are the chief legacies which the Jewish Church has bequeathed to
mankind.[321] There is nothing in an exhortation to prize a pure married
life unworthy of a high-minded Jewish teacher. But in this connection it
is certainly to a Western reader strange, and one is sorely tempted to
suppose a displacement of the words, and, following Bickell, to make the
distich—

                        And remember thy fountain
                        in the flower of thine age—

the conclusion of the stanzas beginning at xi. 9. This, it is true,
involves (1) the excision of the words ‘for youth and the prime of life
are vanity,’ and (2) an alteration of the construction of xii. 1, 2
(reading ‘and evil days shall come’ &c.). This violent change is no
doubt justified by Bickell on metrical grounds, but as I cannot
unreservedly adopt his metrical theory, I have not sufficient excuse for
accepting his rearrangement of the text.

I wish some better remedy than that of Grätz could be devised. I would
gladly close these Meditations with admiration as well as sympathy. But
at the risk of being called unimaginative, I must venture to criticise
the entire conclusion of the original Book of Koheleth (xii. 1-7). Most
English critics admire the poem on the evils of old age which follows on
the earnest ‘Remember,’ and naturally think that it requires some
specially sublime saying to introduce it. I do not join them in their
admiration, and consequently find it easier to adopt what seems to some
the ‘low view’ of Dr. Grätz. Observe that we have already met with an
eulogy of wedded bliss side by side with a gloomy picture of death in an
earlier section (ix. 9, 10).

This is the poem (if we may call it so) with which the second
exhortation of Koheleth is interwoven—

    Ere the evil days come, and the years approach
    of which thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them:

    Ere the sun be darkened, and the light, and the moon, and the stars,
    and the clouds keep returning after heavy rains [_the winter rains_,
       i.e. old age]:
    In the day when the keepers of the house [_the hands and arms_]
       tremble,
    and the strong men [_the feet and legs_] bow themselves,
    and the grinding-maids [_the teeth_] cease because they are few,
    and the (ladies) who look out at the lattice [_the eyes_] are
       darkened:
    And the doors [_the lips_] are shut towards the street,
    while the sound of the grinding is low,
    And the voice riseth into a sparrow’s [‘_childish treble_’]
    and all the daughters of song [_words_] are faint.
    They are afraid too of a steep place,
    and terror besets every way;
    and the almond-tree is in bloom [_white hair_[322]],
    and the locust drags itself along,
    and the caper-berry fails [_to excite the appetite_],
    For the man is on the way to his eternal home,
    and the mourners go about in the street.

    Ere the silver string [_the tongue_] be tied,
    and the golden bowl [_the head_] break,
    and the pitcher [_the heart_] be shivered at the fountain,
    and the windlass [_the breathing apparatus_] break into the pit.

With a little determination the traces of development in the Biblical
literature can be more or less effaced. The pious but unphilological
editors of Koheleth were not deficient in this quality. After altering
the introduction of the poem on old age they proceeded to furnish it
with a _finale_. Not only the opening words of ver. i., but the
comfortless expression ‘his eternal house’[323] in ver. 5 gave them
serious offence. One remedy would have been to transpose (with the
Syriac translator) two of the letters of the Hebrew, and thus change
‘home of his eternity’ into ‘home of his travail’ (i.e. the place where
‘the weary are at rest’). They preferred, however, to add two lines—

                and the dust return to the earth as it was,
                and the spirit return unto God who gave it.

This no doubt is a direct contradiction of iii. 21. But the ancients
probably got over this, as most moderns still do, by supposing that the
earlier passage did but express a sceptical suggestion which skimmed the
surface of Koheleth’s mind.

The excision of these words would of course not be justified in a
translation intended for popular use; but for the purposes of historical
study seems almost inevitable. It hangs together with the view adopted
as to the origin of xi. 9_b_, and implies the assumption that the Targum
rightly paraphrases, ‘and thy spirit (lit. thy breath, _nishm’thāk_)
will return to stand in judgment before the Lord who gave it thee.’ It
ought to be mentioned, however, that some critics (accepting the clause
as genuine) see in that return to God nothing more than the absorption
of the human spirit into the divine (whether in a naïve popular or in a
developed philosophical sense).[324] This will seem plausible at first
to many readers. As a Lutheran writer says, ‘Si spes, quam nos fovemus
lætissimam, Ecclesiastæ adfulsisset, non obiter ipse tetigisset et
verbis ambiguis notasset rem maximi momenti’ (Winzer, ap. Hengstenberg).
But if the Hebrew _rūakh_ means, as I think it does, the personal,
conscious, spiritual side of man in iii. 21,[325] I fail to see why it
should not bear that meaning here.

Footnote 318:

  Altering the points with Klostermann.

Footnote 319:

  But Goethe may have thought of the Turkish proverb, ‘Do good, throw
  the loaf into the water; if the fish knows it not, the Creator does,’
  or the story from the life of the Caliph Mutewekyil [Mutawakkil?]
  quoted, with this proverb, from H. F. v. Diez by Dukes, _Rabbinische
  Blumenlese_, pp. 73-74. Comp. also the stories in the Midrash Koheleth
  on our passage.

Footnote 320:

  What judgment? Present or future (i.e. after death)? The latter gives
  a more forcible meaning (comp. iii. 17, xii. 14).

Footnote 321:

  _Essays and Reviews_ (1869), pp. 15-17.

Footnote 322:

  Does the eastern sun blanch the ‘crimson broidery’ of the
  almond-blossom? From the language of travellers like Thomson and
  Bodenstedt it would seem so.

Footnote 323:

  The Hebrew _’ōlām_ here expresses perpetuity (comp. Jer. li. 39, Ps.
  cxliii. 51, Ezek. xxvi. 20), not (as some moderns, after Aben Ezra)
  long continuance. It is true, that in the Targum of Isa. xlii. 11 an
  exit from the ‘eternal house’ is spoken of; but no one doubts that the
  belief in the Resurrection was general in the fourth century A.D.

Footnote 324:

  Mr. Tyler interprets it in a Stoic sense of absorption in the
  World-Soul.

Footnote 325:

  Nowack denies this meaning of _rūakh_ altogether, but this seems a
  _Gewaltstreich_.




                              CHAPTER VI.
 KOHELETH’S ‘PORTRAIT OF OLD AGE;’ THE EPILOGUE, ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN.


We have now arrived at the conclusion of the meditations of our
much-tried thinker. It is strongly poetic in colouring; but when we
compare it with the grandly simple overture of the book (i. 4-8), can we
help confessing to a certain degree of disappointment? It is the
allegory which spoils it for modern readers, and so completely spoils
it, that attempts have been sometimes made to expel the allegorical
element altogether. That the first two verses are free from allegory, is
admitted, and it is barely possible that the sixth verse may be so
too—may be, that is, figurative rather than allegorical. Poets have
delighted in these figures; how fitly does one of them adorn the lament
in Woolner’s _My Beautiful Lady_,—

                       Broken the golden bowl
                       Which held her hallowed soul!

The most doubtful part, then, is the description in vv. 3-5. I am not
writing a commentary, and will venture to express an opinion in favour
of the allegorists (it is not fair to call them satirically the
anatomists).[326] It is true that there is much variety of opinion among
them; this only shows that the allegory is sometimes far-fetched, not
that it is a vain imagination. Can there be anything more obscure than
the _canzoni_ in Dante’s _Convito_, which we have the poet’s own
authority for regarding as allegorical? And if we compare the rival
theories with that which they attempt to displace, can it be said that
Taylor’s dirge-theory,[327] or Umbreit’s storm-theory,[328] or that
adopted by Wright from Wetzstein[329] is more suitable to the poem than
the allegorical theory? Certainly the latter is a very old, if not the
oldest theory, and on a point of this sort the ancients have some claim
to be deferred to. They seem to have felt instinctively that the
intellectual atmosphere of Koheleth (as well as of the Chronicler) was
that of the later Judaism. The following story is related in a Talmudic
treatise.[330] ‘The Emperor asked R. Joshua ben Hananyah, “How is it
that you do not go to the house of Abidan (a place of learned
discussions)?” He said to him, “The mountain is snow (my head is white);
the hoar frosts surround me (my whiskers and my beard are also hoary);
its dogs do not bark (I have lost my wonted power of voice); its millers
do not grind (I have no teeth); the scholars ask me whether I am looking
for something I have not lost (referring probably to the old man feeling
here and there).”’

Once more (see i. 2) the mournful motto, ‘Vanity of vanities! saith the
Koheleth; all is vanity’ (xii. 8), and the book in its original form
closes.[331] Did the author himself attach this motto? Surely not, if
the preceding words on the return of the spirit to its God (see above,
on iii. 21) are genuine, for then ‘Vanity of vanities’ would be a patent
misrepresentation. All is _not_ ‘vanity,’ if there is in human nature a
point connecting a man with that world, most distant and yet most near,
where in the highest sense God is. If Koheleth wrote xii. 7_b_, he
cannot have written xii. 8, any more than the author of the _Imitation_
could have written _Vanitas vanitatum_ both on his first page and on his
last. Yet who but Koheleth can be responsible for it? For the later
editors of whom I have spoken, would be far from approving such a
reversal of the great charter of man’s dignity in the eighth Psalm. To
me, the motto simply says that all Koheleth’s wanderings had but brought
him back to the point from which he started. ‘Grandissima vanità,’ as
Castelli, in his dignified Italian, puts it, ‘tutto è vanità.’ All that
I can assign to the editors in this verse are the parenthetic words
‘saith the Koheleth.’ Everywhere else we find ‘Koheleth;’ here alone,
and perhaps vii. 17 (corrected text), ‘the Koheleth.’[332]

Let us now consider the Epilogue itself.

    And moreover (it should be said) that Koheleth was a wise man;
    further, he taught the people wisdom, and weighed and made search,
    (yea) composed many proverbs. Koheleth sought to find out pleasant
    words, and he wrote down[333] plainly words of truth. The words of
    the wise are like goads, and like nails well driven in; the members
    of the assemblies[334] have [in the case of Ecclesiastes] given them
    forth from another shepherd.[335] And as for all beyond them, my
    son, be warned; of making many books there is no end, and much study
    is a weariness of the flesh.—That which the word ‘all is vanity’
    comes to:[336] it is understood (thus), Fear God, and keep His
    commandments. For this (concerns) every man. For every work shall
    God bring into the judgment (which shall be) upon all that is
    concealed and all that is manifest, whether it be good or whether it
    be evil.

This translation has not been reached without some emendations of the
text. It seems to me that everything in this Epilogue ought to be clear.
There is but one verse which contains figurative expressions; the rest
is simple prose. It is only fair, however, to give one of the current
renderings of those verses in which an emendation has been attempted
above.

    Koheleth sought to find out pleasant words and that which was
    written down frankly, words of truth. Words of wise men are like
    goads, and like nails driven in are those which form collections
    [or, the well-compacted sayings, Ewald; or, the well-stored ones,
    Kamphausen]—they have been given by one shepherd.... Final result,
    all having been heard:—Fear God and keep His commandments, for this
    (concerns) every man.[337]

The first scholar to declare against the genuineness of the Epilogue was
Döderlein (_Scholia in libros V. T. poeticos_, 1779), who was followed
by Bertholdt (_Einleitung_, p. 2250 &c.), Umbreit, Knobel, and De
Jong.[338] It was however a Jewish scholar, Nachman Krochmal,[339] who
first developed an elaborate theory to account for the Epilogue.
According to him, it was added at the final settlement of the Canon at
the Synod of Jamnia, A.D. 90, and was intended as a conclusion not
merely for Ecclesiastes, but for the entire body of Hagiographa. He
thinks (but without any historical ground) that Ecclesiastes was added
at that time to close the Canon. The correctness of this view depends
partly on its author’s interpretation of vv. 11, 12, partly on his
definition of the object of the Synod of Jamnia (see Appendix.) The two
former verses are condensed thus,

    The words of the wise are like ox-goads, and the members of the
    Sanhedrin are like firm nails, not to be moved. As for more than
    these, beware, my son; of making many books there is no end.

The ‘wise’ spoken of, thinks Krochmal, are the authors of the several
books of the Hagiographa, and the warning in ver. 12 is directed against
the reception of any other books into the Canon. Whether the Song of
Solomon and Ecclesiastes were to be admitted, was, according to him, a
subject of debate at the Synod referred to.

But there is no necessity whatever for this interpretation of vv. 11,
12. The phrase, ‘the words of the wise,’ is not a fit description of all
the books of the Hagiographa (of Psalms, Daniel, and Chronicles for
instance), and the warning in ver. 12 more probably has relation to the
proverbial literature in general, such as Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and
the Wisdom of Sirach, or at least to the Book of Proverbs, to which
Kleinert conjectures that Ecclesiastes once formed an appendix. There is
nothing in the Epilogue to suggest a reference to the Canon. The ‘many
books’ spoken of are probably such as did not proceed from thoroughly
orthodox sources. We have absolutely no information as to Jewish
literature outside the Canon. That there was a heterodox literature, has
been inferred by Ewald from Jer. viii. 8, Prov. xxx. 1-4; it is also
clear from several passages in the Book of Enoch. Tyler and Plumptre may
possibly be right in seeing here an allusion to the incipient influence
of Greek literature upon the Jews. This is at any rate more justifiable
than to assume an arrangement of the Hagiographa with Ecclesiastes for
the closing book for which there is no ancient testimony.

Krochmal’s ingenious theory has, however, been adopted by Jost, Grätz
and Renan,[340] though Renan is willing to admit that vv. 9, 10 may be
from the pen of the author himself. ‘Cet épilogue complète bien la
fiction qui fait la base du livre. Quel motif d’ailleurs eût amené à
faire postérieurement une telle addition?’[341] I do not myself hold
with Krochmal, but vv. 9-12 seem to me to hang together, and I do not
think that the author himself would be at the pains to destroy his own
fiction, whereas a later editor would naturally append the corrective
statement that the real Koheleth was not a king, but a wise man.
(Observe too that ‘Koheleth’ in ver. 8 has the article, but in vv. 9, 10
is without it, suggesting a change of writer.) I agree however with
Renan that vv. 13, 14, which differ in tone and in form from the
preceding verses, appear to be a later addition than the rest of the
Epilogue. Renan, it is true, distrusts this appearance; he fears a too
complicated hypothesis. But we must at least hold that vv. 13, 14 were
added (whether by the Epilogist or by another) by an after-thought. The
Epilogue should therefore be divided into two parts, vv. 9-12, and vv.
13, 14. In the first part, the real is distinguished from the fictitious
author; his qualifications are described; the editors of his posthumous
work are indicated; and a warning is given to the disciple of the
Epilogist (to apply the words of M. Aurelius) ‘to cast away the thirst
for books.’[342] In the second part, a contradiction is given to what
seemed an unworthy interpretation of a characteristic expression of
Koheleth’s, and the higher view of its meaning is justified—justified,
that is, to those who approach the work from the practical point of view
of those who have as yet no better moral ‘Enchiridion.’[343]

At what period was the Epilogue added? The consideration of its style
may help us at least to a negative result. The Hebrew approaches that of
the Mishna, but is yet sufficiently distinct from it to be the subject
of expository paraphrase in the Talmuds.[344] It is therefore improbable
that it was added long after the period of the author himself. Books
like Sirach and Koheleth soon became popular, and attracted the
attention of the religious authorities. Interpolation or insertion
seemed the only way to counteract the spiritual danger to unsuspicious
readers.

Footnote 326:

  The title only belongs to pre-critical writers like Dr. John Smith,
  who, in his _Portrait of Old Age_ (1666), sought to show that Solomon
  was thoroughly acquainted with recent anatomical discoveries. In
  revising my sheets, I observe that even such a fairminded student as
  Dean Bradley speaks of ‘the long-drawn anatomical explanations of men
  who would replace with a dissector’s report a painter’s touch, a
  poet’s melody.’ But the Dean only refers to ver. 6; I understand his
  language, though I think him biassed by poetic associations.

Footnote 327:

  Namely, that vv. 3-5 are cited from an authorised book of dirges
  (comp. 2 Chr. xxxv. 25). There seems, however, no assignable reason
  for separating these verses from the context. And how can the supposed
  mourners have sung the latter part of ver. 5?

Footnote 328:

  This supposes the approach of death to be described under the imagery
  of a gathering storm.

Footnote 329:

  Namely, that the evil days of the close of life are described by
  figures drawn from the ‘seven days of death,’ as the modern Syrians
  designate the closing days of their winter. In a native Arabic rhyme,
  February says to March, ‘O March, O my cousin, the old women mock at
  me: three (days) of thine and four of mine—and we will bring the old
  woman to singing (another tune).’ Wright, _Ecclesiastes_, p. 271;
  Delitzsch, _Hoheslied und Kohelet_, p. 447.

Footnote 330:

  _Shabbath_, 151_b_, 152_b_ (Wright, _Ecclesiastes_, p. 262). The
  anecdote is given in connection with an allegoric interpretation of
  our poem.

Footnote 331:

  Dean Plumptre and Dr. Wright, however, make this the opening verse of
  the Epilogue. But between ver. 8 and that which follows there is no
  inner connection.

Footnote 332:

  The object of the article is perhaps to suggest that Koheleth is not
  really a proper name. In vii. 27 we should correct _ām’rāh qōheleth_
  to _āmar haqqōheleth_. Probably these words are an interpolation from
  the margin. They are nowhere else used in support of Koheleth’s
  opinions. The author of the interpolation may have wished to indicate
  his disagreement with Koheleth’s low opinion of women.

Footnote 333:

  So Aquila, Pesh., Vulg., Grätz, Renan, Klostermann (_v’kāthab_).

Footnote 334:

  I.e. the assemblies of ‘wise men’ or perhaps of Soferim. Surely
  _ba’alē_ must refer to persons. The meaning ‘assemblies’ is justified
  by Talmudic passages quoted by Grätz, Delitzsch, and Wright.

Footnote 335:

  So Klostermann. ‘Shepherd’ must, I think, mean teacher (comp. Jer. ii.
  8, iii. 15 &c.); the expression is suggested by the ‘goads.’ ‘One
  shepherd’ (the text-reading) might mean Solomon; and we might go on to
  suppose the Solomonic origin of Proverbs as well as Ecclesiastes to be
  asserted in this verse. But the author of the Epilogue apparently
  considers Koheleth to be merely fictitiously Solomon, but really a
  wise man like any other. If so, he cannot have grouped it with
  Proverbs as a strictly Solomonic work.

Footnote 336:

  So Klostermann, regarding this verse down to ‘commandments’ as an
  additional note on this difficult saying of Koheleth’s, which was
  liable to give offence to orthodox readers. The word ‘(is) vanity’ is
  supposed to have dropped out of the text. The object of the note is to
  show under what limitations it can be admitted that ‘all is vanity.’
  Then the writer continues, ‘For this (concerns) every man; for every
  work’ &c., to show that the limiting precept is not less universally
  applicable than Koheleth’s melancholy formula.

Footnote 337:

  Thus Delitzsch, who takes the ‘words of the wise’ and the
  ‘collections’ in ver. 11 to refer at least in part, the former to the
  detached sayings, and the latter to the continuous passages, which
  together make up Ecclesiastes. The ‘one shepherd’ is held to be God,
  so that the clause involves a claim of divine inspiration.

Footnote 338:

  De Jong’s discussion of the Epilogue deserves special attention (_De
  Prediker_, p. 142 &c.); comp. however Kuenen’s reply, _Onderzoek_,
  iii. 196 &c.

Footnote 339:

  Krochmal died in 1840, but his view on the Epilogue first saw the
  light in 1851 in vol. xi. of the Hebrew journal _Morè nebūkē hazzemān_
  (see Grätz, _Kohelet_, p. 47). His life is to be found in Zunz,
  _Gesammelte Schriften_, ii. 150 &c.

Footnote 340:

  See Jost (_Gesch. des Judenthums_, i. 42, n. 2). Derenbourg too seems
  to tend in this direction (_Revue des études juives_, i. 179, note).
  Reuss, Bickell, and Kleinert too agree in denying that ‘Koheleth’
  composed the Epilogue. So also apparently Geiger (_Jüd. Zeitschr._,
  iv. 10, Anm.)

Footnote 341:

  _L’Ecclésiaste_, p. 73.

Footnote 342:

  _Meditations_, ii. 3.

Footnote 343:

  I designedly refer to the great work of Epictetus, as its adaptation
  by Christian hands to the use of Christian believers to some extent
  furnishes a parallel for the editorial adaptation of Ecclesiastes.

Footnote 344:

  Delitzsch, _Hoheslied u. Koheleth_, p. 215.




                              CHAPTER VII.
   ECCLESIASTES AND ITS CRITICS (FROM A PHILOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW).


By comparison with Ecclesiastes, the books which we have hitherto been
studying may be called easy; at any rate, they have not given rise to
equally strange diversities of critical opinion. A chapter with the
above heading seems therefore at this point specially necessary. Dr.
Ginsburg’s masterly sketch of the principal theories of the critics down
to 1860 dispenses me, it is true, from attempting an exhaustive
survey.[345] It is not the duty of every teacher of Old Testament
criticism to traverse the history of his subject afresh, any more than
it is that of the commentator as such to begin with a catena of the
opinions of previous writers. Suffice it to call attention to two of the
Jewish and two of the Christian expositors mentioned by Dr. Ginsburg,
viz. Mendelssohn and Luzzatto, and Ewald and Vaihinger. MENDELSSOHN
seems important not so much by his results as by his historical
position. His life marks an era in Biblical study, most of all of course
among the Jews, but to some extent among Christians also. His Hebrew
commentary on Koheleth deserves specially to be remembered, because with
it in 1770 he broke ground anew in grammatical exegesis. To him, as also
to VAIHINGER, the object of Koheleth is to propound the great
consolatory truth of the immortality of the soul, while EWALD, more in
accordance with facts, describes it as being rather to combine all that
is true, however sad, and profitable, and agreeable to the will of God
in a practical handbook adapted to those troublesome times. Ewald and
Vaihinger both divide the book into four sections,—(1) i. 2-ii. 26, (2)
iii. 1-vi. 9, (3) vi. 10-viii. 15, (4) viii. 16-xii. 8, with the
Epilogue xii. 9-14. The latter, whose view is more developed than
Ewald’s, and whom I refer to as closing and summing up a period,
maintains that each section consists of three parts which are again
subdivided—for Koheleth, though you would not think it, is a literary
artist—into strophes and half-strophes, and that the theme of each
section is thrown out, seemingly by chance, but really with consummate
art, in the preceding one. Thus the four sections interlace, and the
unity of the book is established. The Epilogue, too, according to
Vaihinger, can thus be proved to be the work of the author of Koheleth;
for it does but ratify and develope what has already been indicated in
xi. 9, and without it the connection of ideas would be incomplete.[346]
I think that our experience of some interpreters of the Book of Job may
predispose us to be sceptical of such ingenious subtleties, and I notice
that more recent critics show a tendency to insist less on the logical
distribution of the contents and to regard the book, not indeed as a
mere collection of rules of conduct, but at any rate as a record of a
practical and not a scholastic philosopher. This tendency is not indeed
of recent origin, though it has increased in favour of late years. Prior
the poet had already said that Ecclesiastes ‘is not a regular and
perfect treatise, but that in it great treasures are “heaped up together
in a confused magnificence;”’[347] Bishop Lowth, that ‘the connection of
the arguments is involved in much obscurity;’[348] while Herder, in his
letters to a theological student, had penned this wise though too
enthusiastic sentence, which cuts at the root of all attempts at logical
analysis,

    Kein Buch ist mir aus dem Alterthum bekannt, welches die Summe des
    menschlichen Lebens, seine Abwechselungen und Nichtigkeiten in
    Geschäften, Entwürfen, Speculationen und Vergnügen, zugleich mit dem
    was einzig in ihm wahr, daurend, fortgehend, wechselnd, lohnend ist,
    reicher, eindringlicher, kürzer beschriebe, als dieses.[349]

But I must retrace my steps. One of my four critics has yet to be
briefly characterised—S. D. LUZZATTO of Padua, best known as the author
of a Hebrew commentary on Isaiah, but also a master in later Hebrew and
Aramaic scholarship. As a youth of twenty-four he wrote a deeply felt
and somewhat eccentrically ingenious treatise on Koheleth, which he kept
by him till 1860, when it appeared in one of the annual volumes of
essays and reviews called Ozar Nechmad. In it he maintains, with
profound indignation at the unworthy post-Exile writer, that the Book of
Ecclesiastes denies the immortality of the soul, and recommends a life
of sensuous pleasure. The writer’s name, however, was, he thinks,
Koheleth, and his fraud in assuming the name of Solomon was detected by
the wise men of his time, who struck out the assumed name and
substituted Koheleth (leaving however the words ‘son of David, king in
Jerusalem,’ as a record of the imposture). Later students, however, were
unsuspicious enough to accept the work as Solomon’s, and being unable to
exclude a Solomonic writing from the Canon, they inserted three
qualifying half-verses of an orthodox character, viz. ‘and know that for
all this God will bring thee into judgment’ (xi. 6_b_); ‘and remember
thy Creator in the days of thy youth’ (xii. 1_a_); ‘and the spirit shall
return to God who gave it’ (xii. 8_b_). This latter view, which has the
doubtful support of a Talmudic passage,[350] appears to me, though from
the nature of the case uncertain, and susceptible, as I think, of
modification, yet in itself probable as restoring harmony to the book,
and in accordance with the treatment of other Biblical texts by the
Soferim (or students and editors of Scripture). Geiger may have fallen
into infinite extravagances, but he has at any rate shown that the early
Soferim modified many passages in the interests of orthodoxy and
edification.[351] If so, they did but carry on the process already begun
by the authors of the sacred books themselves; it may be enough to
remind my readers of the gradual supplementing of the original Book of
Job by later writers. To the three passages of Koheleth mentioned above,
must be added, as Geiger saw,[352] the two postscripts which form the
Epilogue. From the close of the last century a series of writers have
felt the difficulties of this section so strongly that they have
assigned it to one or more later writers, and in truth, although these
difficulties may be partly removed, enough remains to justify the
obelising of the passage.

There is no evidence that Luzzatto ever retracted the critical view
mentioned above. To the character of the author, it is true, he became
more charitable in his later years. I do not think the worse of him for
his original antipathy. An earnest believer himself and of fiery
temperament, he could not understand the cool and cautious reflective
spirit of the much-tried philosopher;[353] and as a lover of the rich,
and, as the result of development, comparatively flexible Hebrew tongue,
he took a dislike to a writer so wanting in facility and grace as
Koheleth.[354] It was an error, but a noble one, and it shows that
Luzzatto found in the study of criticism a school of moral culture as
well as of literary insight.

The adoption of Luzzatto’s view,[355] combined with Döderlein’s as to
the epilogue, removes the temptation to interpret Koheleth as the
apology of any particular philosophical or theological doctrine. The
author now appears, not indeed thoroughly consistent, but at least in
his true light as a thinker tossed about on the sea of speculation, and
without any fixed theoretic conclusions. Without agreeing to more than
the relative lateness of the epilogue, DE JONG,[356] a Dutch scholar,
recognises the true position of Koheleth, and in the psychological
interest of the book sees a full compensation for the want of logical
arrangement. De Jong indeed was not acquainted with the theory of
Nachman Krochmal, which if sound throws such great light on the reason
of the addition of the epilogue (see end of Chap. VI.) This has been
accepted by Grätz and Renan, but, as I have ventured to think, upon
insufficient grounds. The brevity of my reference to these two eminent
exegetes must be excused by my inability to follow either of them in his
main conclusions. The glossary of peculiar words and the excursus on the
Greek translation given by the former (1871) possess a permanent value,
and there is much of historical interest in his introduction. But I
agree with Kuenen that the student who selects Grätz as his guide will
have much to unlearn afterwards.[357] In order to show that Ecclesiastes
is a politico-religious satire levelled against king Herod, with the
special object of correcting certain evil tendencies among the Jews of
that age, Grätz is compelled to have recourse to much perverse exegesis
which I have no inclination to criticise.[358] Renan’s present view
differs widely from that given in his great unfinished history of the
Semitic languages. But I shall have occasion to refer to his
determination of the date of our book later.

Among recent English students, no one will refuse the palm of acuteness
and originality to TYLER (1874). His strength lies not in translation
and exegesis, but in the consistency with which he has applied his
single key, viz. the comparison of the book with Stoic and Epicurean
teaching. He is fully aware that the book has no logical divisions.
Antithesis and contradiction is the fundamental characteristic of the
book. Not that the author contradicts himself (comp. the quotation from
Ibn Ezra in Ginsburg’s _Coheleth_, p. 57), but that a faithful index of
the contradictions of the two great philosophical schools gives a
greater point to his concluding warning against philosophy. It is the
‘sacrificio dell’ intelletto’ which the author counsels. But Mr. Tyler’s
theory or at least his point of view demands a separate consideration.
It may however be fairly said here that by general consent Mr. Tyler has
done something to make the influence of Greek philosophical ideas upon
Ecclesiastes a more plausible opinion.

To a subsequent chapter I must also beg to refer the reader for a notice
of Gustav BICKELL’S hypothesis (1884) relative to the fortunes (or
misfortunes) of the text of Koheleth. This critic is not one of those
who grant that the book had from the first no logical division, and his
hypothesis is one of the boldest and most plausible in the history of
criticism. Its boldness is in itself no defect, but I confess I
desiderate that caution which is the second indispensable requisite in a
great critic. The due admixture of these two qualities nature has not
yet granted. Meantime the greatest successes are perhaps attained by
those who are least self-confident, least ambitious of personal
distinction. Upon the whole, from the point of view of the student
proper, are there more thankworthy contributions to criticism not less
than to exegesis than the books of PLUMPTRE (1881), NOWACK (1883), and
above all the accomplished _altmeister_ Franz DELITZSCH (1875)? Whatever
has been said before profitably and well, may be known by him who will
consult these three accomplished though not faultless expositors. I
would not be supposed to detract from other writers,[359] but I believe
that the young student will not repent limiting himself, not indeed to
one, but to three commentaries.

Footnote 345:

  For the Jewish traditions and theories, see further Schiffer, _Das
  Buch Kohelet nach der Auffassung der Weisen des Talmud und Midrasch
  und der jüdischen Erklärer des Mittelalters_, Theil 1, Leipzig, 1885;
  and to complete Dr. Ginsburg’s survey of the literature, see Zöckler’s
  list in Lange’s Commentary and the additions to this in the American
  edition; also the preface to Wright’s treatise on Ecclesiastes.

Footnote 346:

  See Vaihinger’s article in Herzog’s _Realencyclopädie_, xii. 92-106. I
  have not seen his book on Ecclesiastes (1858).

Footnote 347:

  Ginsburg, _Coheleth_, p. 168.

Footnote 348:

  Ibid., p. 178.

Footnote 349:

  _Werke_ (Suphan), x. 134.

Footnote 350:

  _Shabbath_, 97_a_ (see Ginsburg, p. 98).

Footnote 351:

  See his _Urschrift und Uebersetzungen der Bibel_ (1857).

Footnote 352:

  _Jüdische Zeitschrift_, iv. 9 &c.

Footnote 353:

  David Castelli, a cool and cautious scholar but not original, is
  naturally better fitted to appreciate Koheleth (see _Il libro del
  Kohelet_, Pisa, 1866).

Footnote 354:

  ‘Die harte, ungefügige, tiefgesunkene Sprache des Buches entzog ihm in
  Luzzatto’s Auge den verklärenden Lichtglanz; er blickte mit einer
  gewissen Missachtung auf den Schriftsteller, der sowenig Meister der
  edlen ihn erfüllenden Sprache war’ (Geiger).

Footnote 355:

  Not only Geiger, but the learned and fairminded Kalisch, has made this
  view his own (_Bible Studies_, i. 65); among Christian scholars it has
  been adopted by Nöldeke and Bickell (the latter includes iii. 17 among
  the inserted passages, and I incline to follow him).

Footnote 356:

  _De Prediker vertaald en verklaart_ door P. de Jong (Leiden, 1861).

Footnote 357:

  _Theologisch Tijdschrift_, 1883, p. 114.

Footnote 358:

  See however Kuenen’s condensed criticism in _Theol. Tijdschrift_, p.
  127 &c.

Footnote 359:

  Hitzig, for instance, has been passed over in spite of Nöldeke’s
  judgment that no modern scholar has done so much for the detailed
  explanation of the text. This may be true, or at least be but a small
  exaggeration. No critic has so good a right to the name as Hitzig,
  who, though weak in his treatment of ideas, has the keenest perception
  of what is possible and impossible in interpretation. But for the
  larger critical questions Hitzig has not done much; the editor of the
  second edition of his commentary (Nowack) has therefore been obliged
  to rewrite the greater part of the introduction. The historical
  background of the book cannot be that supposed by Hitzig, nor has he
  hit the mark in his description of Koheleth as ‘eine planmässig
  fortschreitende Untersuchung.’ Wright fails, I venture to think, from
  different causes. He is slightly too timid, and deficient in literary
  art; and yet his scholarly work does honour to the Protestant clergy
  of Ireland.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
ECCLESIASTES AND ITS CRITICS (FROM A LITERARY AND PSYCHOLOGICAL POINT OF
                                 VIEW).


It is not every critic of Ecclesiastes who helps the reader to enjoy the
book which is criticised. Too much criticism and too little taste have
before now spoiled many excellent books on the Old Testament.
Ecclesiastes needs a certain preparation of the mind and character, a
certain ‘elective affinity,’ in order to be appreciated as it deserves.
To enjoy it, we must find our own difficulties and our own moods
anticipated in it. We must be able to sympathise with its author either
in his world-weariness and scepticism or in his victorious struggle (if
so be it was victorious) through darkness into light. We must at any
rate have a taste for the development of character, and an ear for the
fragments of truth which a much-tried pilgrim gathered up in his
twilight wanderings. Never so much as in our own time have this taste
and this ear been so largely possessed, as a recent commentary has shown
in delightful detail, and I can only add to the names furnished by the
writer that of one who perhaps least of all should be omitted, Miss
Christina Rossetti.[360] But to prove the point in my own way, let me
again select four leading critics, as representatives not so much of
philology as of that subtle and variable thing—the modern spirit, viz.
RENAN, GRÄTZ, STANLEY, and PLUMPTRE. The first truly is a modern of the
moderns, though it is not every modern who will subscribe to his
description of Ecclesiastes as ‘livre charmant, le seul livre aimable
qui ait été composé par un Juif’[361] One might excuse it perhaps if in
some degree dictated by a bitter grief at the misfortunes of his
country; pessimism might be natural in 1872. But alas! ten years later
the same view is repeated and deliberately justified, nor can the author
of Koheleth be congratulated. He is now described[362] as ‘le charmant
écrivain qui nous a laissé cette délicieuse fantaisie philosophique,
aimant la vie, tout en en voyant la vanité,’ or, as a French reviewer
condenses the delicate phrases of his author, ‘homme du monde et de la
bonne société, qui n’est, à proprement parler, ni blasé ni fatigué, mais
qui sait en toutes choses garder la mesure, sans enthousiasme, sans
indignation, et sans exaltation d’aucune espèce.’ A speaking portrait of
a Parisian _philosophe_, but does it fit the author of Ecclesiastes? No;
Koheleth has had too hard a battle with his own tongue to be a ‘charming
writer,’ and even if not exactly _blasé_ (see however ii. 1-11), he is
‘fatigued’ enough with the oppressive burdens of Jewish life in the
second century B.C. That he has no enthusiasm, and none of those visions
which are the ‘creators and feeders of the soul,’[363] is cause for
pity, not for admiration; but that he has had no visitings of _sæva
indignatio_, is an unjust inference from his acquired calmness of
demeanour. He is an amiable egoïst, says M. Renan; but would Koheleth
have troubled himself to write as he does, if egoïsm were the ripened
fruit of his life’s experience? Why does this critic give such generous
sympathy to the Ecclesiastes of the Slav race,[364] and such doubtful
praise to his great original? It is true, Koheleth _seems_ to despair of
the future, but only perhaps of the immediate future (iii. 21), and
Turgenieff does this too. ‘Will the right men come?’ asks one of the
personages of Turgenieff’s _Helen_, and his friend, as the only reply,
directs a questioning look into the distance. That is the Russian
philosopher’s last word; Koheleth has not told us his. His literary
executors, no doubt, have forced a last word upon him; but we have an
equal right to imagine one for ourselves. M. Renan ‘likes to dream of a
Paul become sceptical and disenchanted;’[365] his Koheleth is an only
less unworthy dream. M. Renan praises Koheleth for the moderation of his
philosophising; he repeatedly admits that there was an element of truth
in the Utopianism of the prophets; why not ‘dream’ that Koheleth felt,
though he either ventured not or had no time left to express it, some
degree of belief in the destiny of his country?

M. Renan, in fact, seems to me at once to admire Koheleth too much, and
to justify his admiration on questionable grounds. It might have been
hoped that the unlikeness of this book to the other books of the Canon
would have been the occasion of a worthy and a satisfying estimate from
this accomplished master. A critic of narrower experience represents
Koheleth partly as a cynical Hebrew Pasquin, who satirises the hated
foreigner, Herod the Great, and the minions of his court, partly as an
earnest opponent of a dangerous and growing school of ascetics. I refer
to this theory here, not to criticise it, but to call attention to its
worthier conception of Koheleth’s character. The tendency of
Ecclesiastes Dr. Grätz considers to be opposed to the moral and
religious principles of Judaism and Christianity, but to the man as
distinguished from his book he does full justice. It is a mistake when
this writer’s theory is represented by Dean Plumptre as making Koheleth
teach ‘a license like that of a St. Simonian rehabilitation of the
flesh.’[366] Koheleth’s choice of language is not indeed in good taste,
but it was only a crude way of emphasising his opposition to a dangerous
spirit of asceticism. Such at least is Dr. Grätz’s view. ‘Koheleth is
not the slave of an egoïstic eudemonism, but merely seeks to counteract
pietistic self-mortification.’[367] Dr. Grätz thinks, too, and rightly,
that he can detect an old-fashioned Judaism in the supposed sceptical
philosopher: Koheleth controverts the new tenet of immortality, but not
that of the resurrection. I am anticipating again, but do so in order to
contrast the sympathetic treatment of the Breslau professor with the
unsympathetic or at least unsuitable portraiture of Koheleth given by
the Parisian critic.

Of all writers known to me, however, none is so sympathetic to Koheleth
as Dr. Plumptre, in whose pleasing article in Smith’s Dictionary we have
the germ of the most interesting commentary in the language. A still
wider popularity was given to the Herder-Plumptre theory by Dr. Stanley,
who eloquently describes Ecclesiastes as ‘an interchange of voices,
higher and lower, within a single human soul.’ ‘It is like,’ he
continues, ‘the perpetual strophe and antistrophe of Pascal’s _Pensées_.
But it is more complicated, more entangled, than any of these, in
proportion as the circumstances from which it grows are more perplexing,
as the character which it represents is vaster, and grander, and more
distracted.’[368] In his later work, Dr. Plumptre aptly compares the
‘Two Voices’ of our own poet (strictly, he remarks, there are three
voices in Ecclesiastes), in which, as in Koheleth, though more
decidedly, the voice of faith at last prevails over that of
pessimism.[369] I fear, however, that Dr. Plumptre’s generous impulse
carries him farther than sober criticism can justify. The aim of writing
an ‘ideal biography’ closing with the ‘victory of faith’ seems to me to
have robbed his pen of that point which, though sometimes dangerous, is
yet indispensable to the critic. The theory of the ‘alternate voices,’
of which Dr. Plumptre is, not the first,[370] but the most eloquent
advocate, seems to me to be an offspring of the modern spirit. It is so
very like their own case—the dual nature[371] which a series of refined
critics has attributed to Koheleth, that they involuntarily invest
Koheleth with the peculiar qualities of modern seekers after truth. To
them, in a different sense from M. Renan’s, Ecclesiastes is ‘un livre
aimable,’ just as Marcus Aurelius and Omar Khayyâm are the favourite
companions of those who prefer more consistent thinking.

Certainly the author of Ecclesiastes might well be satisfied with the
interest so widely felt in his very touching confidences. It is the
contents, of course, which attract so many of our contemporaries—not the
form: only a student of Hebrew can appreciate the toilsome pleasure of
solving philosophical enigmas. And yet M. Renan has made it possible
even for an _exigeant_ Parisian to enjoy, not indeed the process, but
the results, of philological inquiry, in so far as they reveal the
literary characteristics of this unique work; he has, indeed, in his
function of artistic translator, done Koheleth even more than justice.
In particular, his translations of the rhythmic passages of Koheleth
which relieve the surrounding prose are real _tours de force_. These
passages M. Renan, following M. Derenbourg,[372] regards as quotations
from lost poetical works, reminding us that such poetical quotations are
common in Arabic literature. To represent in his translation the
character of the Hebrew rhythm, which is ‘dancing, light, and
pretentiously elegant,’ M. Renan adopts the metres of Old French poetry.
‘Il s’agissait de calquer en français des sentences conçues dans le ton
dégagé, goguenard et pru-d’homme à la fois de Pibrac, de Marculfe ou de
Chatonnet, de produire un saveur analogue à celle de nos quatrains de
moralités ou de nos vieux proverbes en bouts-rimés.’ Of the poem on old
age he says that it is ‘une sorte de joujou funèbre qu’on dirait ciselé
par Banville ou par Théophile Gautier et que je trouve supérieur même
aux quatrains de Khayyâm.’[373] I should have thought the comparison
very unjust to the Persian poet. To me, I confess, the prelude or
overture (i. 4-8), though not in rhythmic Hebrew, is the gem of the
book. Questionable though its tendency may seem, if we look at the
context, its poetry is of elemental force, and appeals to the modern
reader in some of his moods more than almost anything else in the Old
Testament outside the Book of Job. I cannot help alluding to Carlyle’s
fine application of its imagery in _Sartor Resartus_, ‘Generations are
as the Days of toilsome Mankind: Death and Birth are the vesper and the
matin bells, that summon mankind to sleep, and to rise refreshed for new
advancement.’ How differently Koheleth,—

    One generation goeth, another cometh;
    but the earth abideth for ever:
    And the sun ariseth, and the sun goeth down,
    and panteth unto his place where he ariseth:
    It goeth to the south, and whirleth about unto the north,
    the wind whirleth about continually;
    and upon his circuits the wind returneth.
    All streams run into the sea, and the sea is not full;
    unto the place whither the streams go, thither they go again.
    All things are full of weariness; no man can utter it;
    the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with
       hearing.

Compare with this the words, so Greek in tone, of xi. 7, as well as the
constantly recurring formula ‘under the sun’ (e.g. i. 3, iv. 3). We can
see that even Koheleth was affected by nature, but without any
lightening of his load of trial. The wide-open eye of day seemed to mock
him by its unfeeling serenity. He lacked that susceptibility for the
whispered lessons of nature which the poet of _Job_ so pre-eminently
possessed; he lacked too the great modern conception of progress,
embodied in that fine passage from Carlyle. He was prosaic and
unimaginative, and it is partly because there is so little poetry in
Ecclesiastes that there is so little Christianity. But I am already
passing to another order of considerations, without which indeed we
cannot estimate this singular autobiography aright. We have next to
consider Koheleth from a directly religious and moral point of view.

Footnote 360:

  See especially her early sonnet ‘Vanity of Vanities,’ and her striking
  poem ‘A Testimony.’

Footnote 361:

  _L’Antéchrist_, p. 101.

Footnote 362:

  _L’Ecclésiaste_, pp. 24, 90.

Footnote 363:

  Mordecai in _Daniel Deronda_.

Footnote 364:

  See his funeral _éloge_, reprinted in _Academy_, Oct. 13, 1883, p.
  248.

Footnote 365:

  _L’Antéchrist_, p. 200.

Footnote 366:

  _Ecclesiastes_, p. 8.

Footnote 367:

  Grätz, _Kohelet_, p. 33.

Footnote 368:

  _Jewish Church_, ii. 256.

Footnote 369:

  _Ecclesiastes_, pp. 53, 259.

Footnote 370:

  See the passage from Herder quoted in Appendix (end).

Footnote 371:

  Comp. Jacobi’s confession (imitated by Coleridge?) that he was with
  the head a heathen, and with the heart a Christian.

Footnote 372:

  _Revue des études juives_, i. 165-185. I do not myself see why
  Koheleth, who sought ‘pleasant words,’ should not have written poetry
  as well as prose.

Footnote 373:

  _L’Ecclésiaste_, pp. 83, 84.




                              CHAPTER IX.
         ECCLESIASTES FROM A MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POINT OF VIEW.


We have seen how large a Christian element penetrates and glorifies the
bold questionings of the Book of Job. Whatever be our view on obscure
problems of criticism, the character-drama which the book in its present
form presents is one which it almost requires a Christian to appreciate
adequately. It is different with the Book of Ecclesiastes. ‘He who will
allow that book to speak for itself, and does not read other meanings
into almost every verse, must feel at every step that he is breathing a
different atmosphere from that of the teaching of the Gospels.’[374]
Still more is this the case if we claim the right of free criticism, and
deny that the hints of a growing tendency to believe are due to the
morbidly sceptical author of the book (if it may be called a book).
Certainly the religious use of Koheleth is more directly affected by
modern criticism and exegesis than that of any other Old Testament
writing. The early theologians could dispense with criticism, because
they so frequently allegorised or unconsciously gave a gentle twist to
the literal meaning. But we, if for a religious purpose we use the book
uncritically, must be well aware that we often misrepresent both the
author of Koheleth himself and Christian faith. Let me only mention
three texts in the use of which this misrepresentation very commonly
takes place. The fixity of the spiritual state in which a man is at
death may or may not be an essential Christian doctrine, but we have no
right to quote either Koheleth’s despairing description of the inert
life of the shades (ix. 10), or the proverbial saying on the
unalterableness of the laws of nature (xi. 3), in support of this; nor
is it well to adopt a phrase (descriptive of Sheól) from xii. 5, which
favours the false idea expressed in the too common ‘Here lieth’ of the
churchyard. Anticipations of really fundamental Christian doctrines are,
I admit, rarely sought for in Ecclesiastes. It is well that this should
be so. How completely the evangelical elements in Jewish religion had
been obscured later on in this period, we have seen from the Wisdom of
Sirach. It seemed in fact as if the only alternatives then for a
thoughtful Jew were a more or less strict legal orthodoxy and a resigned
acquiescence in things as they were, brightened only by gleams, eagerly
hailed, of intellectual or sensuous pleasure. Sirach chose the former of
these, Koheleth the latter. Koheleth’s was not in itself the better
choice. But the worse alternative needed perhaps to be stated as
forcibly as possible, that men might see the rock and avoid shipwreck.
Ecclesiastes, like the first part of Goethe’s _Faust_, may, with the
fullest justice, be called an apology for Christianity, not as
containing anticipations of Christian truth—the error of
Hengstenberg;[375] but inasmuch as it shows that neither wisdom, nor any
other human good or human pleasure, brings permanent satisfaction to
man’s natural longings. It is at any rate a contribution towards the
negative criticism with which such an apology must begin, just as the
Book of Job is a contribution, or a series of contributions, towards a
more perfect and evangelical theodicy.

There is at least one point, then, which the moral and religious critic
of Ecclesiastes can adopt out of all the strangely distorted views of
patristic writers, so ably summed up by Dr. Ginsburg in his
Introduction, viz. that the gloomy sentence, _Vanitas vanitatum_, is
perfectly accurate when applied to the life of Koheleth, but only to a
life like his. Thomas à Kempis could prelude with two verses from
Koheleth (i. 2, 8), but he could only prelude. A life of true
service—one whose centre is outside self or family or even nation—is not
vanity nor vexation of spirit: Koheleth might have added this as the
burden of a second part of his book. But did he not actually append it
as his epilogue? Did he not ‘faintly trust’ the hope of immortality
(xii. 7)? Did he not work his way back to a living faith, like ‘Asaph’
in Ps. lxxiii.? There is no question that the book was admitted into the
Canon on the assumption that he did. As a great Jewish preacher says,
the book [in its present form] opens with Nothingness, but closes with
the fear of God.[376] It is parallel in this respect to many Jewish
lives, like that of Heine, which may be described as the prodigal son’s
quest of his long-lost father. Accepting this view, we may join with
another Jewish writer in his admiration of the influences of Jewish
theism, which were then at least so strong that a consistent Jewish
sceptic was an impossibility. ‘It is this,’ he remarks, ‘that gives the
peculiar charm to this little book.’[377] It is impossible to give a
conclusive refutation of this view, which I should like to believe true,
but which seems to me to labour under exegetical difficulties. To me,
Koheleth is not a theist in any vital sense in his philosophic
meditations, and his so-called ‘last word’ seems forced upon him by
later scribes, just as Sirach’s orthodoxy was at any rate heightened in
colour by subsequent editors. To me, Derenbourg’s view is a dream,
though an edifying one. It may be that the author did return to the
simple faith of his childhood. He certainly never lost his theism,
though pale and cheerless it was indeed, and utterly unable to stand
against the assaults of doubt and despondency. It may be that history,
neglected history, taught him at last to believe in the divine guidance
of the fortunes of Israel. I would fain imagine this retracing of the
weary pilgrim’s steps; but other and less pleasing dreams to a Christian
are equally possible and I do not venture to accept the return of the
prodigal as a well-authenticated fact.

We must remember too that the troubled wanderer had not really so many
steps to retrace. Much that both Christians and Jews now regard as
essential to faith was not, in the time of Koheleth, commonly so
regarded. I am well aware of the great intuitions of some of the
psalmists at certain sublime moments, and admit that they seem to us to
lead naturally on to our own orthodoxy. But these intuitions could not
and did not possess the force of dogmas. The great doctrines of the
Resurrection and of Immortality had long to wait for a moderate degree
of acceptance (they were not held, for instance, by Sirach), and longer
still before they coalesced in a new and greater doctrine of the future
life. Koheleth’s dissatisfaction with the doctrine of present
retribution (the central point both of his heterodoxy and of Job’s)
might have helped him to accept the former of these. His acquaintance
with non-Jewish philosophical literature, if we may venture to assume
this as a fact, might have led him, as it led the author of the Wisdom
of Solomon, to embrace the hope of immortality. But though there
probably is an allusion to this hope as well-founded in xii. 7_b_, we
have seen reason to doubt whether the words came from Koheleth himself;
at any rate, they are isolated, and many do not admit the allusion.
Either of these doctrines would have saved Koheleth from despondency had
he accepted it. From our present point of view, we must blame him for
not accepting one refuge or the other, or even that simpler belief in
the imperishableness of the Jewish race which Sirach had, and which has
preserved so many Israelitish hearts in trials as severe as Koheleth’s.
There must have been a strange weakness in his moral fibre; how else can
we account either for his want of Jewish feeling or, I would now add,
using the word in its looser sense, for his pessimism? As Huber has well
observed,[378] none of the ancient peoples was naturally less inclined
to pessimism than the Jews, so that a work like Ecclesiastes is a
portent in the Old Testament, and alien to the spirit of true Judaism. I
cannot wonder that both Jews and Christians have now and again been
repelled by this strange book[379] and denied its title to canonicity,
partly for its pessimism, partly for its supposed Epicureanism, or that
the author of the Book of Wisdom before them should have given Koheleth
the most scathing of condemnations by putting almost its very language
into the mouth of the ungodly.[380] The true student may no doubt be
equally severe upon Koheleth for his despair of wisdom and depreciation
of its delights (i. 17, 18, ii. 15, 16), which are hardly redeemed by
the utilitarian sayings in vii. 11, 12.

I cannot justify Koheleth, but I can plead for a mitigation of these
censures, and altogether defend the admission of the Book (not, of
course, as Solomonic) into the sacred Canon. Whether Jewish or not, the
pessimistic theory of life has a sound kernel. ‘Our sadness,’ as Thoreau
says, ‘is not sad, but our cheap joys. Let us be sad about all we see
and are, for so we demand and pray for better. It is the constant prayer
[of the good] and whole Christian religion.’[381] This too is the burden
of E. von Hartmann’s criticism of a crudely optimistic Christianity; and
need we reject the truth for the extravagances of the teacher? Next, as
to the preference of sensuous enjoyment to philosophic pursuits in
Koheleth. I would not seek to weaken passages like ii. 24, viii. 15, by
putting them down to the irony of a _sæva indignatio_. But as for the
depreciation of intellectual pleasure, may it not be excused by the
author’s want of a sure prospect of the ‘age to come’ such as we find in
those lines of Davenant,[382]

               Before by death you nearer knowledge gain
               (For to increase your knowledge you must die),
               Tell me if all that knowledge be not vain,
               On which we proudly in this life rely.

And as to the commendations of sensuous pleasure, have they not a
relative justification?[383] The legalism of the ‘righteous overmuch’
threatened already perhaps to make life an intolerable burden. And
though Koheleth erred in the form of his teaching, yet he did well to
teach the ‘duty of delight’ (Ruskin) and to oppose an orthodoxy which
sought, not merely to transform, but to kill nature. It is to his credit
that he touches on the relations of the sexes with such studious
reserve.[384] As a rule, the enjoyments which he recommends are those of
the table, which in Sirach’s time (Ecclus. xxxii. 3-5) and perhaps also
in Koheleth’s included music and singing,—in short, festive but refined
society. His praise of festive mirth is at any rate more excusable
morally than Omar Khayyâm’s impassioned commendations of the
wine-cup.[385] As Jeremy Taylor says, ‘It was the best thing that was
then commonly known that they should seize upon the present with a
temperate use of permitted pleasures.’[386] Lastly, the admission of the
book into the Canon is (perhaps we may say) not less providential than
that of the Song of Songs. The latter shows us human nature in simple
and healthy relations of life; the former, a human nature in a morbid
state and in depressed and artificial circumstances. How to return at
least to inward simplicity and health, the latter part (not the
Epilogue) of the Book of Job beautifully shows us.

Our great idealist poet Shelley, who so admired Job, disliked
Ecclesiastes for the same reason as the ancient heretics already
mentioned. One greater than he, our ‘sage and serious’ Milton, justifies
the sacred Scripture for the variety of its contents on the same ground
that he advocates ‘unlicensed printing.’ Both are ‘for the trial of
virtue and the exercise of truth.’ We need not, then, he says, be
surprised if the Bible ‘brings in holiest men passionately murmuring
against Providence through all the arguments of Epicurus.’[387] The
Bible, according to Milton, is perfect not in spite but because of its
variety; it is like the rugged ‘mountains of God,’ not like the
symmetrical works of human art. But Milton has also reminded us that a
fool may misuse even sacred Scripture.

Footnote 374:

  Dean Bradley, _Lectures on Ecclesiastes_ (1885), p. 7.

Footnote 375:

  See _Der Prediger Salomo_ (1859). Hengstenberg misses, it is true, any
  direct reference to the Christian hope, but finds the idea of
  chastisement as a proof of divine love in iii. 18, vii. 2-4, an
  emphatic affirmation of eternal life in iii. 21, and the resignation
  of a faith like Job’s in iii. 11, vii. 24, viii. 17, xi. 5. Koheleth’s
  questionings are therefore according to him ‘eine heilige
  Philosophie.’

Footnote 376:

  Preface to vol. iii. of S. Holdheim’s _Predigten_.

Footnote 377:

  J. Derenbourg, _Revue des études juives_, No. 2, Oct. 1880.

Footnote 378:

  _Der Pessimismus_, 1876, p. 8. Schopenhauer too calls the Jews the
  most optimistic race in history.

Footnote 379:

  See Appendix.

Footnote 380:

  Wisd. ii. 6; comp. Plumptre, _Ecclesiastes_, p. 71 &c., Wright,
  _Koheleth_, pp. 69, 70.

Footnote 381:

  _Letters to Various Persons_, p. 25.

Footnote 382:

  See the extracts in Trench’s _Household Book of English Poetry_, p.
  405.

Footnote 383:

  I do not of course assent to the form in which Grätz puts this, to
  serve his hypothesis as to the age of Koheleth. See Appendix.

Footnote 384:

  Once Koheleth appears as a sharp critic of the female sex (vii.
  26-29).

Footnote 385:

  Lagarde describes Omar as ‘ein schlemmer, der die angst des irdischen
  daseins und die öde langeweile seiner noch in den anfängen stehenden
  wissenschaft hinwegzuschwelgen suchte’ (_Symmicta_, 1877, p. 9). Too
  hard a judgment perhaps on this changeful and impressionable nature.
  See Bodenstedt’s version as well as Fitzgerald’s.

Footnote 386:

  _The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying_, chap. i., sect. 3. Parts of
  this chapter remind us strongly of Koheleth, and are strange indeed in
  a book of Christian devotion.

Footnote 387:

  _Prose Works_, ed. Bohn, ii. 69.




                               CHAPTER X.
                     DATE AND PLACE OF COMPOSITION.


Jewish tradition, while admitting a Hezekian or post-Hezekian redaction
of the book, assigns the original authorship of Ecclesiastes to Solomon.
The Song of Songs it regards as the monument of this king’s early
manhood, the Book of Proverbs of his middle age, and the
semi-philosophical meditations before us as the work of his old age. The
tradition was connected by the Aggada with the favourite legend[388] of
the discrowned Solomon, but is based upon the book itself, the passages
due to the literary fiction of Solomon’s authorship (which Bickell
indeed attributes to an interpolator) having been misunderstood. Would
that the author of the _Lectures on the Jewish Church_ had given the
weight of his name to the true explanation of these passages! The
reticence of the lines devoted in the second volume of the _Lectures_ to
Ecclesiastes has led some critics to imagine that according to Dean
Stanley, this book, like much of Proverbs, might possibly be the work of
the ‘wisest’ of Israel’s kings. Little had the author profited by Ewald
if he really allowed such an absolute legend the smallest
standing-ground among reasonable hypotheses! Whichever way we look,
whether to the social picture, or to the language, or to the ideas of
the book, its recent origin forces itself upon us. The social picture
and the ideas need not detain us here. Either Solomon was transported in
prophetic ecstasy to far distant times (the Targum on Koheleth
frequently describes him as a prophet), or the writer is a child of the
dawning modern age of Judaism. The former alternative is plainly
impossible. Political servitude, and a generally depressed state of
society (exceptional cases of prosperity notwithstanding), mark the book
as the work of a dark post-Exile period. The absence of any national
feeling equally distinguishes it from the monuments of the earlier
humanistic movement (even from Job). The germs of philosophic thought,
which cannot be explained away, supply, if this be possible, a still
more convincing argument. We shall return to these later on: at present,
let us confine ourselves to the linguistic evidence, which has been set
forth with such accuracy and completeness by Delitzsch[389] and after
him by Dr. Wright of Dublin.

The Hebrew language has no history if Ecclesiastes belongs to the
classical period; indeed, the Hebrew name of the book may seem of itself
to stamp it as of post-Exile origin (see note on Koheleth in Appendix).
The student would do well, however, to examine all the peculiar words or
forms in Delitzsch’s glossary, and to classify them for himself, under
two principal heads, (1) those which occur elsewhere but in
distinctively late-Hebrew books, (2) those only found in Koheleth, with
four subdivisions, viz., (_a_) words which can be explained from
Biblical Hebrew usage, (_b_) those which belong to the vocabulary of the
Mishna, (_c_) those of Aramaic origin and affinities, (_d_) those
borrowed from non-Semitic languages. The student should also notice the
striking grammatical peculiarities of Koheleth, especially the fact that
the ordinary historic tense (the imperfect with Waw consecutive) is
hardly ever used. The scholar’s instinct but three times reveals itself
in the adoption of this old literary idiom (i. 17, iv. 1, 7), but
elsewhere the usage of the Mishna is already law. Almost equally
important is the fact that the Hebrew mood-distinctions are so little
used in Koheleth (on which point see Delitzsch’s introduction); indeed,
we may say upon the whole that that which gives a characteristic flavour
to the old Hebrew style is ‘ready to vanish away.’ The Mishnic
peculiarities of the book are especially interesting, as confirming our
view of its origin. The author is very different in his opinions from
the doctors of the Mishna, but he resembles them in his questioning and
reflective spirit, and helped to form the linguistic instrument which
they required. Less important, but not to be ignored, are the Aramaic
elements. Even Dr. Adam Clarke, untrained scholar as he was, pronounced
that the attempts which had as yet been made to overthrow the evidence,
were ‘often trifling and generally ineffectual.’[390] The Aramaisms of
Koheleth are irreconcileable with a pre-Exile date; they can only be
paralleled and explained from the Aramaic portions of the books of Ezra
and Daniel. That they are comparatively few, only proves that the force
of the Aramaising movement has abated, and that the Hebrew language, at
any rate in the hands of some of its chief cultivators, is passing into
a new phase (the Mishnic). The judgment of Ewald, as already expressed
in 1837, appears to me on the whole satisfactory: ‘One might easily
imagine Koheleth to be the very latest book in the Old Testament. A
premature conclusion, since Aramaic influence extended very gradually
and secretly, so that one writer might easily be more Aramaic in the
colouring of his style than another. But though not [even if not] the
latest, it cannot have been written till long after Aramaic had begun
powerfully to influence Hebrew, and therefore _not before_ the last
century of the Persian rule.’[391]

For the sake of my argument, it is hardly necessary to refer to the
words of non-Semitic origin, which are (as most critics rightly hold)
but two in number; 1 פַּרְדֵּם (ii. 5, plur.) undoubtedly a Hebraised
Persian word, on which I lay no stress here, because it occurs, not only
in Neh. ii. 8, but also in Cant. iv. 13, where many critics deny that it
militates against a pre-Exile date, and 2 פִתְגָם (viii. 11), which
occurs in the Aramaic parts of Ezra and Daniel, and also in Esth. i. 20,
and while used in the Targums and in Syriac, did not become naturalised
in Talmudic. This word, too, is commonly regarded as Hebraised Persian,
but, following Zirkel, the eminent Jewish scholar Heinrich Grätz
declares it to be the Hebraised form of a Greek word. Is this possible
or probable? Are there any genuine Græcisms of language, and
consequently also of thought, in the Book of Koheleth? An important
question, to which we will return.

The date suggested by Ewald, and accepted by Knobel, Herzfeld,
Vaihinger, Delitzsch, and Ginsburg, suits the political circumstances
implied in Koheleth. The Jews had long since lost the feelings of trust
and gratitude with which in ‘better days’ (vii. 10) they regarded the
court of Persia; the desecration of the temple by Bagoses or Bagoes
(Jos. _Ant._ xi. 7) is but one of the calamities which betel Judæa in
the last century of the Persian rule. It is a conjecture of Delitzsch
that iv. 3 contains a reminiscence of Artaxerxes II. Mnemon (died about
360), who was ninety-four years old, and according to Justin (x. 1), had
115 sons, and of his murdered successor Artaxerxes III. Ochus. Probably,
if we knew more of this period, we should be able to produce other
plausible illustrations. Certainly the state of society suits the date
proposed. As Delitzsch remarks, ‘The unrighteous judgment, iii. 16; the
despotic depression, iv. 1, viii. 9, v. 8; the riotous court-life, x.
16-19; the raising of mean men to the highest dignities, x. 5-7; the
inexorable severity of the law of military service, viii. 8; the
prudence required by the organised system of espionage,—all these things
were characteristic of this period.’ Probably an advocate of a different
theory would interpret these passages otherwise; but as yet no
conclusive argument has been offered for supposing allusions to
circumstances of the Greek period.

Let me frankly admit, in conclusion, that the evidence of the Hebrew
favours a later date than that proposed by Ewald—favours, but does not
actually require it. It seems, however, that if the book be of the Greek
period, we have a right to expect some definite traces of Greek
influence. This will supply the subject of the next chapter.

At any rate, the author addresses himself to Palestinian readers. He
lives, not (I should suppose) in the country, as Ewald thought, but near
the temple, or at least has opportunities of frequenting it (v. 1,[392]
viii. 10). Some recent scholars place him in Alexandria; but the
reference to the corn trade in xi. 1 does not prove this to be correct;
indeed, the very same section contains a reference to _rain_ (so xii.
2). Sharpe[393] is alone in preferring Antioch, the capital of the Greek
kingdom of Syria. Kleinert’s remark that ‘king in Jerusalem’ (i. 12)
implies a foreign abode is met by the remark that Jerusalem was in the
writer’s time no longer a royal city. The author may have travelled, and
like Sirach have had personal acquaintance with the dangers of
court-life (either at Susa or at Alexandria). The references to the king
do not perhaps compel this supposition; ‘are not my princes altogether
kings?’ (Isa. x. 8) could be said of Persian satraps.

Footnote 388:

  See the _Midrasch Kohelet_ (ed. Wünsche, 1880), or Ginsburg, p. 38.

Footnote 389:

  Comp. the glossary at the end of Grätz’s commentary.

Footnote 390:

  Quoted by Ginsburg, _Coheleth_, p. 197.

Footnote 391:

  _Die poetischen Bücher des Alten Bundes_, Theil iv.

Footnote 392:

  The ‘house of God’ must, I think, mean the temple of Jerusalem. That
  of Onias IV. was not built till 160 B.C. The synagogues would not be
  called ‘houses of God’ (on Ps. lxxiv. 8, see Hitzig).

Footnote 393:

  _History of Hebrew Nation and its Literature_ (ed. 2), p. 344.




                              CHAPTER XI.
              DOES KOHELETH CONTAIN GREEK WORDS OR IDEAS?


We now begin the consideration of the question, Are there any
well-ascertained Græcisms in the language and in the thought of this
obviously exceptional book? That there are many Greek loan-words in
Targumic and Talmudic, is undeniable, though Levy in his lexicon has no
doubt exaggerated their number. G. Zirkel, a Roman Catholic scholar, was
the first who answered in the affirmative, confining himself to the
linguistic side of the argument. His principal work,[394]
_Untersuchungen über den Prediger_ (Würzburg, 1792), is not in the
Bodleian Library, but Eichhorn’s review in his _Allgemeine Bibliothek_,
vol. iv. (1792), contains a summary of Zirkel’s evidence from which I
select the following.

    (_a_) יָפֶה, in sense of καλός ‘becoming’ (iii. 11, v. 17). This is
    one of the Græcisms which commend themselves the most to Grätz and
    Kleinert. The former points especially to v. 17, where he takes טוב
    אשר יפה together as representing καλὸν κἀγαθόν (comp. Plumptre on v.
    18). The construction, however, is mistaken (see Delitzsch). The
    second אשר indicates that יפה is a synonym of וטב ‘excellent.’ The
    notion of the beautiful can be developed in various ways. The sense
    ‘becoming,’ characteristic of later Hebrew, is more distinctly
    required in iii. 11.

    (_b_) ‘In the clause לָמָּה חָכַמְתִּי אֲנִי אָז יֹתֵר (ii. 15) the
    words אָז יֹתֵר must signify ἔτι μᾶλλον: quid mihi prodest majorem
    adhuc sapientiæ operam dare?’ But the demonstrative particle אז
    means, not ἔτι, but ‘in these circumstances’ (Jer. xxii. 15). Its
    position and connection with יתר are for emphasis. The fact of
    experience mentioned makes any special care for wisdom unreasonable.

    (_c_) ‘עֳשׂׂות טוֹב (iii. 12) is a literal translation of εὖ
    πράττειν.’ This is accepted by Kleinert and also by Tyler. The very
    next verse seems to explain this phrase by ראה טוב (comp. v. 17);
    certainly the ethical meaning is against the analogy of ii. 24, iii.
    22, and similar passages. But should we not, with Grätz and Nowack,
    correct רְאוֹת טוב in iii. 12?

    (_d_) ‘כִּי הָאֱלֹהִים וגו (v. 19) must mean, God gives him joy of
    heart. ענה “respondere” seems to have borrowed the meaning
    “remunerari” from ἀμείβεσθαι, which has both senses. The ancient
    writer of the book thought thus in Greek, ὅτι θεὸς ἀμείβεται (αὐτὸν)
    εὐφροσύνῃ τῆς καρδίας.’ Zirkel forgets Ps. lxv. 6. See however
    Delitzsch.

    (_e_) הֲלָךּ־נֶפֶשׁ (vi. 9) = ὁρμὴ τῆς ψυχῆς [M. Aurelius iii. 15].
    But the phrase is idiomatic Hebrew for ‘roving of the desire.’

    (_f_) יֵצֵא אֶת־כֻּלָּם (vii. 18). ‘The Hebrew writer found no other
    equivalent for μέσην βαδίζειν.’ But unless he borrowed the idea
    (that of cultivating the mean in moral practice), why should he have
    tried to express the technical term?

    (_g_) כִּי־זֶה כָּל־הָאָדָם (xii. 13). ‘A pure Græcism, τοῦτο παντὸς
    ἀνθρὼπου.’ But how otherwise could the idea of the universal
    obligation to fear God have been expressed? Comp. the opening words
    of iii. 19.

    To these may be added (h) ביום טובה (vii. 14) = εὐημερία (see
    however xii. 1); (i) the ‘technical term’ טור (i. 13, ii. 3, vii.
    25) = σκέπτεσθαι [but good Hebrew for ‘to explore’]; (k) פתגם (viii.
    11) = φθέγμα; (l) פרדם (ii. 15) = παράδεισος (see above).

No one in our day would dream of accepting these ‘Græcisms’ in a mass.

Zirkel tried to prove too much, as Grätz himself truly observes. Any
peculiar word or construction he set down as un-Hebraic and hurried to
explain it by some Greek parallel, ignoring the capacity of development
inherent in the Hebrew language. His attempt failed in his own
generation. Three recent scholars however (Grätz, Kleinert, and Tyler),
have been more or less captivated by his idea, and have proposed some
new and some old ‘Græcisms’ for the acceptance of scholars. To me it
seems that, their three or four very disputable words and phrases are
not enough. If the author of Koheleth really thought half in Greek, the
Greek colouring of the language would surely not have been confined to
such a few expressions. If מה־שהיה (vii. 24) were really derived from τὸ
τί ἐστιν, as Kleinert supposes, should we not meet with it oftener? But
the phrase most naturally means, not ‘the essence of things,’ but ‘that
which hath come into existence;’ phenomena are not easily understood in
their ultimate causes, is the simple meaning of the sentence. I have
said nothing as yet of the supposed Græcism in the epilogue—the last
place where we should have expected one (considering ver. 12). But Mr.
Tyler’s proposal to explain הַכֹּל (xii, 13) by τὸ καθόλου or τὸ ὅλον (a
formula introducing a general conclusion), falls to the ground, when the
true explanation of the passage has been stated (see p. 232).

There are therefore no Græcisms in the language of the book. Of course
_ideas_ may have been derived from a Greek source notwithstanding. The
book, as we have seen already, is conspicuous by its want of a native
Jewish background, nor does it show any affinity to Babylonian or
Persian theology. It obviously stands at the close of the great Jewish
humanistic movement, and gives an entirely new colour to the traditional
humanism by its sceptical tone and its commendations of sensuous
pleasure. It is not surprising that St. Jerome should remark on ix. 7-9,
that the author appears to be reproducing the low ideas of some Greek
philosophers, though, as this Father supposes, only to refute them.

    ‘Et hæc inquit, aliquis loquatur Epicurus, et Aristippus et
    Cyrenaici et cæteræ pecudes Philosophorum. Ego autem, mecum
    diligenter retractans, invenio’[395] &c.

Few besides Prof. Salmon would accept the view that Eccles. ix. 7-9 and
similar passages are the utterances of an infidel objector (see Bishop
Ellicott’s Commentary); but it is perfectly possible to hold that there
are distinctively Epicurean doctrines in the Koheleth. The later history
of Jewish thought may well seem to render this opinion probable. How
dangerously fascinating Epicureanism must have been when the word
‘Epicuros’ became a synonym in Rabbinic Hebrew for infidel or even
atheist.[396] It is indeed no mere fancy that just as Pharisaism had
affinities with Stoicism, so Sadducæism had with Epicureanism. As
Harnack well says, ‘No intellectual movement could withdraw itself from
the influences which proceeded from the victory of the Greeks over the
Eastern world.’[397] Mr. Tyler,[398] however, and his ally Dean
Plumptre, have scarcely made the best of their case, the Epicurean
affinities which they discover in Koheleth being by no means striking.
Much use is made of the _De Rerum Naturâ_ of Lucretius—a somewhat late
authority! But if points of contact with Lucretius are to be hunted for,
ought we not also to mention the discrepancies between the ‘wise man’
and the poet? If Lucr. i. 113-116 may be used to illustrate Eccles. iii.
21, must we not equally emphasise the difference between the festive
mirth recommended by Koheleth (ix. 7, 8 &c.) and the simple pleasures so
beautifully sung by Lucretius (ii. 20-33), and which remind us rather of
the charming naturalness of the Hebrew Song of Songs?[399] The number of
vague analogies between Koheleth and Epicureanism might perhaps have
been even increased, but I can find no passage in the former which
distinctly expresses any scholastic doctrine of Epicureanism. For
instance the doctrine of Atomism assumed for illustration by Dean
Plumptre,[400] cannot be found there by even the keenest exegesis; the
plurality of worlds is not even distantly alluded to, and the denial of
the spirit, if implied in iii, 21 (see p. 212), is only implied in the
primitive Hebrew sense, familiar to us from Job and the Psalter. The
recommendation of ἀταραξία (to use the Epicurean term), coupled with
sensuous pleasure (v. 18-20), requires no philosophic basis, and is
simply the expression of a _pococurante_ mood, only too natural in one
debarred from a career of fruitful activity. Lastly, there is nothing in
the phraseology either of the Hebrew or of the Septuagint to suggest an
acquaintance with Epicureanism.

A stronger case can be made for the influence of Stoicism. The undoubted
Oriental affinities of this system and its moral and theological spirit
would, as Mr. Tyler observes, naturally commend it to a Jewish writer.
We know that, at a somewhat later day, Stoicism exercised a strong
fascination on some of the noblest Jewish minds. Philo,[401] the Book of
Wisdom, and the so-called Fourth Book of Maccabees, have undeniable
allusions to it; and more or less probable vestiges of Stoicism have
been found in the oldest Jewish Sibyl[402] (about B.C. 140) and in the
Targum of Onkelos.[403] But how does the case stand with Koheleth? First
of all, are there any traces of Stoic terminology? That terminology
varied no doubt within certain limits, and could not be accurately
reproduced in Hebrew. Still even under the contorted forms of expression
to which a Hebrew-writing Stoic or semi-Stoic might be driven we could
hardly fail to recognise the familiar Stoic expressions, εἱμαρμένη,
πρόνοια, φαντασία, φύσις, φρόνησις, ἀρετή. The Septuagint version ought
to help us here. But among the twenty words almost or entirely peculiar
to the Greek of Ecclesiastes, the only two technical philosophic terms
are σοφία and γνῶσις.

Next, can we detect references to distinctive Stoic doctrines? Mr. Tyler
lays great stress in his reply on the Catalogue of Times and Seasons
(iii. 1-8), which he regards as an expansion of the Stoic ὁμολογουμένως
ζῆν But the idea that there is an appointed order of things, and that
every action has its place in it, is much more a corollary of the
doctrine of Destiny than of the doctrine of Duty. The essence of the
latter doctrine is that men were meant to conform and ought to conform
to the Universal Order, acquiescing in that which is inevitable, shaping
in the best way that which is possible to be moulded. Upon this the
practical ethics of Stoicism depend. But this is the very point which is
absent in Ecclesiastes. The Catalogue of Times and Seasons ends not with
the Stoic exhortation ἐκπληροῦ τὴν χώραν, ‘Fulfil thy appointed part,’
but with the despondent reflection of the Fatalist, ‘What profit hath he
that worketh in that wherein he toileth?’ (iii. 9.) A second argument is
that the idea ‘There is no new thing under the sun’ (i. 9) is a phase of
the Stoic doctrine of cyclical revolutions. But all that which gave form
and colour to the Stoic doctrine is entirely absent—especially, as Mr.
Tyler himself admits, the idea of ἐκπύρωσις. The idea, as it is found in
Ecclesiastes, has nothing Stoic or even philosophical about it. It is
simply an old man’s observation that human actions, like natural
phenomena, tend to repeat themselves in successive generations.[404]

That there are analogies between Stoicism and the ideas of Koheleth need
not be denied; Dr. Kalisch has collected some of them in his very
interesting philosophico-religious dialogue.[405] Prominent among these
is the peculiar use of the terms ‘madness’ and ‘folly.’ ‘From the
followers of Zeno,’ remarks Dean Plumptre,[406] ‘he learned also to look
upon virtue and vice in their intellectual aspects. The common
weaknesses and follies of mankind were to him, as to them, only so many
different forms and degrees of absolute insanity (i. 17, ii. 12, vii.
25, ix. 3).’ But this division of mankind into wise men and fools is
common to the Stoa with the ancient Hebrew sages who ‘sat in the gate.’
When the great populariser of Stoicism says, ‘Sapientia perfectum bonum
est mentis humanæ,’[407] he almost translates more than one of the
proverbs which we have studied already. Another point of contact with
Stoicism is undoubtedly the Determinism of the book, which, as Prof.
Kleinert observes, leaves no room for freedom of the will, and fuses the
conceptions of εἱμαρμένη and πρόνοια (see especially chap. iii.). But
such Determinism need not have been learned in the school of Zeno. It is
genuinely Semitic (did not Zeno come from the Semitic Citium?) What is
the religion of Islam but a grandiose system of Determinism? Indeed,
where is virtual Determinism more forcibly expressed than in the Old
Testament itself (e.g., Isa. lxiii. 17)?

Those who adopt the view which I am controverting are apt to appeal to
somewhat late philosophic authorities. I cannot here discuss the
parallelisms which have been found in the Meditations or Self-communings
(Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν) of the great Stoic emperor. Some, for instance, consider
the ῥύσεις καὶ ἀλλοιώσεις which ‘renew the world continually’ (_M. A._
vi. 15) and the περιοδικὴ παλιγγενεσία τῶν ὅλων (_M. A._ xi. 1) to be
alluded to in Eccles. i. 5-9. More genuine are some at least of the
other parallelisms, e.g. Eccles. i. 9, _M. A._ vi. 37, vii. 1, x. 27,
xii. 26; Eccles. ii. 25, _M. A._ ii. 3 (_ad init._); Eccles. iii. 11,
_M. A._ iv. 23 (ad init.); Eccles. vi. 9, _M. A._ iv. 26; Eccles, xi. 5,
_M. A._ x. 26. I admit that there is a certain vague affinity between
the two thinkers; both are earnest, both despair of reforming society,
both have left but a fragmentary record of their meditations. But the
‘humanest of the Roman race’[408] stands out, upon the whole, far above
the less cultured and more severely tried Israelite. Alike in
intellectual powers and in moral elevation the soul of the Roman is of a
truly imperial order. He is not, like Koheleth, a ‘malist’ (see pp.
201-202); he boldly denies evil, and his strong faith in Providence
cannot be disturbed by apparent irregularities in the order of things.
It is true that this does but make the sadness of his golden and almost
Christian book the more depressing. But the book _is_ ‘golden.’[409]
Koheleth and M. Aurelius alike call forth our pity and admiration, but
in what different proportions!

If, then, there are points of agreement between Koheleth and M.
Aurelius, there must also of necessity be points of disagreement. Every
page of their writings would, I think, supply them. Suffice it to put
side by side the saying of Koheleth, ‘God is in heaven, and thou upon
earth’ (v. 2), and M. Aurelius’ invocation of the world as the ‘city of
God’ (iv. 23). The comparison suggests one of the greatest discrepancies
between Koheleth and the Stoics—the doctrine of God. Such faith as the
former still retains is faith in a transcendent and not an immanent
Deity. The germs of a doctrine of Immanence which the older
Wisdom-literature contains (Kleinert quotes Ps. civ. 30, Job xxvi. 13),
have found no lodgment in the mind of our author, who is more affected
by the legal and extreme supernaturalistic[410] point of view than he is
perhaps aware.

Mr. Tyler’s introduction to his _Ecclesiastes_ is a work of great
acuteness and originality, and seeks to provide against all reasonable
objections; I cannot do justice to it here. One part of his theory,
however, is too remarkable to be passed over (see above, pp. 240, 241).
He supposes that Stoic and Epicurean doctrines were deliberately set
over against each other by the wise man who wrote our book, in order by
the clash of opposites to deter the reader from dangerous and
unsatisfying investigations. The goal of the author’s philosophising
thus becomes the negation of all philosophy, and this ‘sacrificio dell’
intelletto’ he insinuatingly commends by the subtlest use of artifice.
Such a theory may have occurred to one or another early writer (see
Ginsburg), but seems out of harmony with the character of the author as
revealed in his book. He is not such a weak-kneed wrestler for truth.
You may fancy him sometimes a Stoic, sometimes an Epicurean; but he
always speaks like a man in earnest, however his opinions may change
through the fluctuations of his moods. Mr. Tyler’s theory confounds
Koheleth’s point of view with that of a far inferior thinker, the author
of Ecclesiasticus (see above, p. 199).

I cannot, therefore, be persuaded to explain this enigmatical book by a
supposed contact with Greek philosophy such as we do really find in the
Book of Wisdom. I have no prejudice against the supposition in itself.
It would help me to understand the Hellenising movement at a later day
if Stoic and (still more) Epicurean ideas had already filtered into the
minds of the Jewish aristocracy. The denunciations in the Book of Enoch
(xciv. 5, xcviii. 15, civ. 10) not impossibly refer to a heretical
philosophical literature (see p. 233); the only question is, To a native
or to a half foreign literature? I see no sufficient reason at present
for adopting the latter alternative. Koheleth is really a native Hebrew
philosopher, the first Jew who, however awkwardly and ineffectually,
‘gave his mind to seek and explore by wisdom concerning all things that
are done under heaven’ (i. 13). Very touching in this light are the
memoranda which he has left us. They are incomplete enough; Koheleth is
but the forerunner of more systematic philosophisers. His ideas are
nothing less than scholastic; how could we expect anything different,
his first object being in all probability to soothe the pain of an
inward struggle by giving it literary expression? If, however, I was
compelled to suggest a secondary reference to any foreign system, I
could most easily suppose one to the pessimistic teaching of Hegesias
Peisithanatos, who, after Ptolemy Soter and Philadelphus had made
Alexandria the seat of the world’s commerce and the centre of Greek
literature and culture, was seized with the thought of the vanity of all
things, of the preponderance of evil, and of the impossibility of
happiness.[411] Koheleth’s teaching would be a safeguard to any Jew who
might be tempted by this too popular philosopher. He admits ματαιότης
ματαιοτήτων, but insists that, granting all drawbacks, ‘the light is
sweet’ (xi. 7), the living are better off than the dead (ix. 4-6), and
sensuous pleasure, used in moderation, is at least a relative good (ii.
24); also that it is futile to inquire ‘why the former days (of the
earlier Ptolemies?) were better than these’ (vii. 10), and, if a later
view of his meaning may be trusted, he sought to displace the many
dangerous books which were current by words which were at once
pleasantly written and objectively true (xii. 10, 12).

Koheleth is a native Hebrew philosopher. The philosophy of an eastern
sage is not to be tied up in the rigid formulæ of the West. Easterns may
indeed take kindly to Western doctrines; but where they think
independently, they eschew system. Koheleth’s seeming Stoicism is, as we
have seen, of primitive Hebrew affinities; his seeming Epicureanism, if
it be not sufficiently explained as a mental reaction against the gloom
of the times, may perhaps be connected more or less closely, not with
the schools of Greek philosophers, but with the banquet-halls of Egypt.
The Hebrew writer’s invitations to enjoy life remind us of the call to
‘drink and be happy,’ which accompanied the grim symbolic ‘coffin,’ or
mummy, at Egyptian feasts (probably they were funeral-feasts), according
to Herodotus (ii. 78), and of the festal dirges translated by Goodwin
and Stern.[412] A stanza in one of the latter may be given here. It is
from the song supposed to be sung by the harper at an anniversary
funeral feast in honour of Neferhotep, a royal scribe, and still to be
seen cut in the stone at Abd-el-Gurna, in the Theban necropolis. As
Ebers has remarked,[413] the song ‘shows how a certain fresh delight in
life mingled with the feelings about death that were prevalent among the
ancient Egyptians, who celebrated their festivals more boisterously than
most other peoples.’ By a poetic fiction, the dead man is supposed to be
present, and to listen to the song.

       Make a good day, O holy father!
       Let odours and oils stand before thy nostril.
       Wreaths of lotus are on the arms and the bosom of thy sister,
       Dwelling in thy heart, sitting beside thee.
       Let song and music be before thy face,
       And leave behind thee all evil cares!
       Mind thee of joy, till cometh the day of pilgrimage,
       When we draw near the land which loveth silence.

We have seen that the Wisdom of Sirach betrays a taste for Egyptian
festivity (p. 191). May we not suppose that Koheleth too had travelled
to Alexandria? This view commends itself to Kleinert, and I have no
objection to it with due limitations. Koheleth may have envied and
sought to copy the light-hearted gaiety of the valley of the Nile. But
we ought not to conceal the fact that the lines quoted above are
followed by others which have no parallel in Koheleth.

         Good for thee then will have been (an honest life),
         Therefore be just and hate transgressions,
         For he who loveth justice (will be blest).
         (They in the shades) are sitting on the bank of the river,
         Thy soul is among them, drinking its sacred water.
         ... (woe to the bad one!)
         He shall sit miserable in the heat of infernal fires.

There is a wide difference between a people who believed in a happy
Amenti where Osiris himself dwelt and the Jew who doubted much but
believed firmly in Sheól. I admit then the probability that the latter
had travelled, and was not unaffected by the brightness of Egyptian
society, but I see no reason to suppose that he knew and was influenced
by the expressions of Egyptian songs. The resemblances adduced are to me
as fortuitous as those between the love-poems of the Nile valley and the
Hebrew Song of Songs, or (we may add) as that striking one between
Eccles. i. 4 and some of the opening lines of the ‘Song of the Harper,’—

            Men pass away since the time of Ra [the sun of day]
            And the youths come in their stead.
            Like as Ra reappears every morning,
            And Tum [the sun of night] sets in the horizon,
            Men are begetting,
            And women are conceiving.[414]

I make no excuse for the length of this inquiry. If we could trace Greek
influences, linguistic or philosophical, in the strange book before us,
its date would be decided. Taking into account the circumstances of the
writer, we might assign it to the reign of Ptolemy IV. Philopator, when
the Egyptian rule began to be calamitous for Judæa. Kleinert would place
it rather in one of the early, fortunate reigns (_Herzog-Plitt_, xii.
173); but he forms perhaps too favourable a view of the social picture
in Koheleth. Hitzig, who gives a very restricted range to Greek
philosophical influence upon our book, and accepts none of Zirkel’s
Græcisms, fixes the date in the first year of Ptolemy V. Epiphanes.
Geiger, Nöldeke, Kuenen, Tyler, and Plumptre, on various grounds, think
this the most probable period,[415] and the view is endorsed by Zeller,
the historian of Greek philosophy.

A Maccabæan and still more a Herodian date seem to me absolutely
excluded, though Zirkel and Renan have advocated the one, and Heinrich
Grätz (see p. 240) the other. The book is certainly pre-Maccabæan, not
merely because of a Talmudic anecdote,[416] but because of its want of
religious fervour (comp. Esther) and its cosmopolitanism. The germs of
the Jewish parties may be there, but only the germs. To me Hitzig’s is
the latest possible date; but if we _must_ admit a vague and indirect
Greek influence, should we not place the book a little earlier as
suggested above? But I do not see that we _must_ admit even a vague
Greek influence. The inquiring spirit was present in the class of ‘wise
men’ even before the Exile, and the circumstances of the later Jews
were, from the Exile onwards, well fitted to exercise and develope it.
Hellenic teaching was in no way necessary to an ardent but unsystematic
thinker like Koheleth. _The date proposed by Ewald and Delitzsch is on
this and other grounds probable, and on linguistic grounds not
impossible._

There are two recent treatises on the philosophical affinities of
Koheleth which may be mentioned here, though only the first is known to
me. Paul Kleinert, who has long made a special study of Koheleth (see
his _Prediger Salomo_, 1864), contributed to the _Theolog. Studien und
Kritiken_, 1883, p. 761, &c., a striking paper called ‘Sind im Buche
Koheleth ausserhebräische Einflüsse anzuerkennen,’ and August Palm in
1885 published a _programme_ entitled ‘_Qohelet und die
nacharistotelische Philosophie_’ (Mannheim).

Footnote 394:

  He also published _Der Prediger Salomon; ein Lesebuch für den jungen
  Weltbürger; übersetzt und erklärt_ (1792). The very title bears the
  mark of the century.

Footnote 395:

  _Opera_, ii. (1699), 765 (_Comm. in Ecclesiasten_). Comp. the use made
  of Koheleth’s phraseology by the author of Wisdom (ii. 6-10).

Footnote 396:

  See _Sanhedrin_, x. 1:—אלו שאין להם חלק לעולם הבא האומר אין תחית המתים
  מן התורה ואין תורה מן שמים ואפיקורום.—Comp. _Aboth_, ii. 14 (10
  Taylor), and _Genesis Rabbah_, 19 (‘the serpent was Epicuros’).

Footnote 397:

  _Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte_, p. 46.

Footnote 398:

  See his _Ecclesiastes, a Contribution to its Interpretation_, &c.
  (1874). The main results of this work were accepted by Prof.
  Siegfried, who reviewed it in the _Zeitschrift f. wissenschaftl.
  Theologie_, 1875, pp. 284-291.

Footnote 399:

  This discrepancy I had noted down before observing that Dean Plumptre
  had quoted the very same passage of Lucretius as a parallel to Eccles.
  ii. 24. For my own view of Koheleth’s recommendations, see p. 253.
  Lucretius seems to me, in this strain, to soar higher than Koheleth;
  Omar Khayyâm to fall below him.

Footnote 400:

  _Ecclesiastes_, p. 47.

Footnote 401:

  Philo alludes, e.g., to the Stoic doctrine of revolutions (which some
  have found in Koheleth) and remarks that the Stoics think of God as of
  a boy who builds up sandhills, and then throws them down again.

Footnote 402:

  Hilgenfeld, _Jüdische Apokalyptik_, p. 51, &c.

Footnote 403:

  See Deut. viii. 18, and especially Gen. ii. 7 (Neubürger in Grätz’s
  _Monatsschrift_, 1873, p. 566).

Footnote 404:

  For this criticism upon Mr. Tyler’s view of iii. 1-8, I am indebted to
  Dr. Hatch.

Footnote 405:

  _Path and Goal_, p. 116. But see p. 92.

Footnote 406:

  _Ecclesiastes_, p. 45.

Footnote 407:

   Seneca, Ep. 89, quoted by Bruch, _Weisheitslehre der Hebräer_, p.
  253, with reference to the teaching of Proverbs.

Footnote 408:

  R. H. Stoddard, _The Morals of M. Aurelius_.

Footnote 409:

  Comp. Niebuhr, _Lectures on the History of Rome_, iii. 247.

Footnote 410:

  The phrase is objectionably modern, but in this connection could not
  be avoided.

Footnote 411:

  Zeller, _Philosophie der Griechen_, ii. 1, p. 278.

Footnote 412:

  _Records of the Past_, iv. 115-118; vi. 127-130.

Footnote 413:

  ‘Cairo, the Old in the New,’ _Contemp. Rev._, xliii. 852.

Footnote 414:

  _Records of the Past_, vi. 127.

Footnote 415:

  Geiger, _Urschrift_, pp. 60, 61; Nöldeke, _Die alttestamentliche
  Literatur._, p. 175; Kuenen, _Hist.-krit. Onderzoek._, iii. 188.
  _Theologisch. Tijdschrift_, 1883, p. 143.

Footnote 416:

  See reference, p. 280.




                              CHAPTER XII.
                     TEXTUAL PROBLEMS OF KOHELETH.


                                   I.


According to Delitzsch, the Song of Solomon is the most difficult book
in the Old Testament. If so, Ecclesiastes comes next in order. None of
the attempts to discover a logical plan having been successful, Gustav
Bickell’s new hypothesis (1884) deserves a respectful hearing, since it
endeavours to solve the enigma in a most original way, connecting it
with the problem of the text. This critic starts from the observation
that continuous passages of some extent are suddenly closed by an abrupt
transition, and that such passages are pretty equal in length. His
explanation of this is a purely mechanical one. The troubles of the
commentators have arisen principally from an accident which happened to
a standard MS., called by Bickell, ‘die Unfallshandschrift’ (the
Accident-manuscript). This MS. seems to have consisted of 21 or 22
leaves, with an average of 518 to 535 letters to a leaf. To speak more
precisely, it was composed of fasciculi of four double leaves each; the
book began on the sixth leaf of the first fasciculus, and ended on the
second, or more probably on the third leaf of the fourth. Through a
loosening of the two middle fasciculi, a dislocation took place, and an
almost entirely new order arose, though with one exception the leaves
which had been placed in pairs remained together. But the story of the
fortunes of Ecclesiastes has not yet been told. Three hands, besides the
original writer, have worked on this ill-fated book. One of these is
considered to have been a downright ‘enemy’ who tampered with the text
before the dislocation had taken place. From him proceed ‘the protests
against Koheleth’s principles on the obedience due to the king in viii.
1, 5_a_ as well as the offensive expressions in xi. 5, xii. 4, 5, by
which he sought to make the book ridiculous and contemptible.’
Subsequently to him, and after the leaves had been thrown into
confusion, another writer made ‘well-meaning additions,’ and so brought
the book into nearly its present form; among these additions was the
Epilogue. His aim was ‘to brighten Koheleth’s gloomy view of the world,
partly by emphasising the doctrine of a present retribution, but still
more by pointing to a future judgment in which inequalities should be
rectified.’ The third hand is that of the so-called pseudo-Solomonic
interpolator. He must have gone to work after the Epilogist, for the
latter simply knows Koheleth as a wise man skilled in proverbial
composition. Bickell also claims to make transpositions on a small
scale, and offers many emendations sometimes based on the Septuagint.
‘Habent sua fata libelli.’

I have said that Bickell’s explanation of the want of order in
Ecclesiastes is a purely mechanical one. It is not on that account to be
rejected. A German reviewer[417] has mentioned a case within his own
experience in which the double leaves of one of the fasciculi of an
Oriental MS. had been disarranged in the binding, a circumstance which
had led to various additions and alterations. It may indeed be urged as
an objection that the Septuagint text differs in no very material
respect from the Massoretic. But a work like Ecclesiastes had at first
in all probability but a very slight circulation, so that an accident to
a single MS. would naturally involve unusually serious consequences.
Still from the possibility to the actuality of the ‘accident’ is a long
step. Apart from other difficulties in the theory, the number and
arbitrariness of the transpositions, additions, and alterations are
reason enough to make one hesitate to accept it; and when we pass from
the very plausible arrangement of the contents (Bickell, pp. 53, 54) to
the translation of the text, it is often only possible to make them
tally by a violent and imaginative exegesis.

Among the transpositions (to which I have no theoretic objection[418])
are the following:

                         v. 9-16  placed after ii. 11,
                      viii. 9-14      “    ”  iii. 8,
                        vi. 8-12      “    ”    x. 1,
                        iv. 9-16      “    ”  vii. 20,
                         x. 16-xi. 6  “    ”    v. 8,
                        xi. 6         “    ”   xi. 3.

Bickell’s theory that the passages which assert or suggest Solomonic
authorship in i. 1, 12, 16, ii. 7, 8, 9, [12], are due to an
interpolator,[419] is plausible; it throws a new light on the statement
of the Epilogue (xii. 9) that ‘Koheleth was a wise man,’ and a motive
for the interpolation can be readily imagined—the desire to obtain
ecclesiastical sanction for the book. It is, however, incapable of
proof.


                                  II.


There are in fact few books on Ecclesiastes so stimulating as Bickell’s,
though it needs to be read with discrimination[420] (comp. p. 241).
Putting aside the author’s peculiar theory, it must be owned that he has
enabled us to realise the inherent difficulties of the text as it
stands, and contributed some very happy corrections. All critics will
admit the need of such emendations. The text of Koheleth is even more
faulty than that of Job, Psalms, or Proverbs. We cannot wonder at this.
Meditations often so fragmentary on such a difficult subject were
foredoomed to suffer greatly at the hands of copyists. A minute study of
the various readings and of the corrections which have been proposed
would lead us too far, interesting as it would be (compare Renan’s
remarks, _L’Ecclésiaste_, p. 53). Cappellus (Louis Cappel) has done most
for the text among the earlier critics (see his _Critica Sacra_, Par.
1650); Grätz has also made useful suggestions based upon the versions.
Renan, and (as we have seen) Bickell, have corrected the text on a
larger scale; occasional emendations of great value are due to Hitzig,
Delitzsch, Klostermann, and Krochmal. The notes in the expected new
edition of Eyre and Spottiswoode’s _Variorum Bible_ will indicate the
most important various readings and corrections; to these I would refer
the reader. The corrections of Bickell are those least known to most
students. In considering them, we must distinguish between those which
arise out of his peculiar critical theory and those which are simply the
outcome of his singular and brilliant insight. Of the latter, I will
here only mention two. One occurs in iii. 11, where for אֶת־הָעֹלָם (or
אֶת־הָעוֹלָם the Oriental or Babylonian reading), he gives (see below,
p. 299) לְבַקֵּשׁ אֶת־כָּל־הֶעָלֻם, remarking that כָּל־ survived in the
text translated in the Septuagint. The fact is, however, that though
Cod. Vat. does read σύμπαντα τὸν αἰῶνα, Cod. Alex., Cod. Sin., and the
Complutensian ed. all read σὺν τὸν αἰῶνα, and as the verse begins Τὰ
σύμπαντα (v. l. Σύμπαντα) it is probable enough that σύμπαντα was
written the second time in Cod. Vat. by mistake. At any rate, copyists
both of the Greek and of the Hebrew were sometimes inclined to insert or
omit ‘all’ at haphazard; thus, in iv. 2, Cod. Vat. inserts ‘all,’ which
is omitted in Cod. Alex. and Cod. Sin.

Another, adopted above at p. 220, is in viii. 10. Read וְּבָמקוֹם
קָדוֹשׁ ויהַלְּכוּ (or נִקְבָּדִים) כְּבֵדִים. ובאו is a fragment of the
correct reading ובמקום which stood side by side with the alternative
reading וממקום.

On the question of interpolations, enough has been said already.
Probably Cornill’s book on Ezekiel will dispose many critics to look
more favourably on attempts to purify Biblical texts from glosses and
other interpolations. Grätz’s conclusion certainly cannot be maintained,
‘Sämmtliche Sentenzen gehören streng zu ihrer nachbarlichen
Gedankengruppe, führen den Gedanken weiter oder spitzen ihn zu.’

I have still to speak of the Septuagint version. Its importance for
textual criticism is great; indeed, we may say with Klostermann that the
Massoretic text and this translation are virtually two copies of one and
the same archetype. It is distinguished from the Septuagint versions of
the Books of Job, Proverbs, and even Psalms by its fidelity. Those
versions approximate more or less closely to the elegant manner of
Symmachus, but the Greek style of the Septuagint Koheleth is most
peculiar, admitting such words as ἀντίῤῥησις, ἔγκοπος, ἐκκλησιαστής,
ἐντρύφημα, ἐπικοσμειν, παραφορά, περιουσιασμός, περιφέρεια, περισπασμός,
προαίρεσις (in special sense, ii. 17) ἐξουσιάζειν (not less than eleven
times), and such abnormal phrases as ὑπὸ τὸν ἥλιον (i. 3 and often), and
especially σὺν, as an equivalent of את when distinctive of the
accusative (ii. 17, iii. 10, iv. 3, vii. 15, and nine other passages;
elsewhere σύμπαντα or the like). The last-named peculiarity reminds us
strongly of Aquila[421] (comp. [God created] σὺν τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ σὺν τὴν
γην, Aquila’s rendering of Gen. i. 1); but it must be also mentioned
that in more than half the passages in which את of the accusative occurs
in the original, this characteristic rendering of Aquila is not found.
This fact militates against the theory of Grätz,[422] that the
Septuagint version of Ecclesiastes is really the second improved edition
of Aquila, and against that of Salzberger,[423] who argues that the
fragments given as from Aquila in Origen’s Hexapla are not really
Aquila’s at all, the one and only true edition of Aquila’s Ecclesiastes
being that now extant in the Septuagint (comp. the case of Theodotion’s
Daniel). It seems clear that the Septuagint version, as it stands, is a
composite one, but it is possible, as Montfaucon long ago pointed
out,[424] that an early version once existed, independent of Aquila. The
question of the origin of this version is of some critical importance,
for if the work of Aquila, the Septuagint Ecclesiastes cannot be earlier
than 130 A.D. Supposing this to be the first Greek version of the book,
we obtain an argument in favour of the Herodian date of Ecclesiastes
advocated by Grätz. Upon the whole, however, there seems no sufficient
reason for doubting that there was a Septuagint version of the book
distinct from Aquila’s, as indeed Origen’s Hexapla and St. Jerome in the
preface to his commentary attest, and that this version in its original
form goes back, like the versions of Job and Proverbs, to one of the
last centuries before Christ.

On the Peshitto version of Koheleth and Ruth there is a monograph by G.
Janichs, _Animadversiones criticæ_ &c. (Breslau, 1871), with which
compare Nöldeke’s review, _Lit. Centralblatt_, 1871, No. 49. For the
text of the _Græcus Venetus_, see Gebhardt’s edition (Leipz. 1874).
Ginsburg’s well-known work (1861) contains sections on the versions.

Footnote 417:

  In the _Theologisches Literaturblatt_, Sept. 19, 1884.

Footnote 418:

  Van der Palm first conjectured that passages had been misplaced, and
  Grätz has adopted the idea (_Kohélet_, pp. 40-43).

Footnote 419:

  Comp. Rashbam’s interpolation theory (Ginsburg, _Coheleth_, p. 42).

Footnote 420:

  See Budde’s review of Bickell’s work in the _Theologische
  Literaturzeitung_, Feb. 7, 1885.

Footnote 421:

  On Aquila and his theory of interpretation, comp. Renan,
  _L’Ecclésiaste_, p. 54; and on his artificial vocabulary, Field’s
  remarks, _Hexapla_, Prolegomena, p. xxii.

Footnote 422:

  _Kohélet_, Anhang. Before Grätz, Frankel was already inclined to think
  that the Septuagint version might be really Aquila’s (_Vorstudien_, p.
  238, note _w_). So more positively Freudenthal. Renan inclines to
  agree with Grätz.

Footnote 423:

  Grätz’s _Monatsschrift_, 1873, pp. 168-174.

Footnote 424:

  _Hexapla_ (1713), i., Præliminaria, p. 42. Montfaucon indicates vii.
  23_a_ as manifestly made up of a genuine version, and one interpolated
  from Aquila. Comp. Clericus’ note on Eccles iv. 1.




                             CHAPTER XIII.
           THE CANONICITY OF ECCLESIASTES AND ECCLESIASTICUS.


                                   I.


It is not surprising that these strange Meditations should have had
great difficulty in penetrating into the Canon. There is sufficient
evidence (see the works of Plumptre and Wright)[425] that the so-called
Wisdom of Solomon is in part a deliberate contradiction of sentiments
expressed in our book. The most striking instance of this antagonism is
in Wisd. ii. 6-10 (cf. Eccles. ix. 7-9), where the words of Koheleth are
actually put into the mouth of the ungodly libertines of Alexandria. The
date of Wisdom is disputed, but cannot be earlier than the reign of
Ptolemy VII. Physcon (B.C. 145-117). The attitude of the writer towards
Koheleth may perhaps be compared with that of the Palestinian teachers
who relegated the book among the apocrypha on this among other grounds,
that it contained heretical statements, e.g. ‘Rejoice, O young man, in
thy youth’ &c. (xi. 9). Nothing is more certain than that the Book of
Koheleth was an Antilegomenon in Palestine in the first century before
Christ. And yet it certainly had its friends and supporters both then
and later. Simeon ben Shetach and his brother-in-law, King Alexander
Jannæus (B.C. 105-79), were as familiar with Koheleth as the young men
of Alexandria, and Simeon, according to the Talmudic story[426]
(_Bereshith Rabba_, c. 91), quoted Eccles. vii. 12_a_ with a prefix
(דכתיב ‘as it is written’) proper to a Biblical quotation. From another
Talmudic narrative (_Baba bathra_, 4_a_) it would seem that Koheleth was
cited in the time of Herod the Great as of equal authority with the
Pentateuch, and from a third (_Shabbath_, 30_b_) that St. Paul’s
teacher, Gamaliel, permitted quotations from our book equally with those
from canonical Scriptures. Like the Song of Songs, however, it called
forth a lively opposition from severe judges. The schools of Hillel and
Shammai were divided on the merits of these books. At first the
Shammaites, who were adverse to them, carried a majority of the votes of
the Jewish doctors. But when, after the destruction of Jerusalem, Jewish
learning reorganised itself at Jamnia (4-½ leagues south of Jaffa), the
opposite view (viz. that the Song and Koheleth ‘defile the hands’—i.e.
are holy Scriptures) was again brought forward in a synod held about
A.D. 90, and finally sanctioned in a second synod held A.D. 118. The
arguments urged on both sides were such as belong to an uncritical age.
No attempt was made to penetrate into the spirit and object of Koheleth,
but test passages were singled out. The heretically sounding words in
xi. 9_a_ were at first held by some to be decisive against the claim of
canonicity, but—we are told—when the ‘wise men’ took the close of the
verse into consideration (‘but know that for all this God will bring
thee into the judgment’), they exclaimed יפה אמר שלמה, ‘Solomon has
spoken appropriately.’[427]

This first synod or sanhedrin of Jamnia has played an important part in
recent arguments. According to Krochmal, Grätz, and Renan, one object of
the Jewish doctors was to decide whether the Song and Koheleth ought to
be admitted into the Canon. It seems, however, to have been
satisfactorily shown[428] that their uncertainty was not as to whether
these books ought to be admitted, but whether they had been rightly
admitted. It is true that there was, even as late as A.D. 90, a chance
for any struggling book (e.g. Sirach) to find its way into the Canon.
But in the case of the Song and Koheleth a preliminary canonisation had
taken place; it only remained to set at rest all lingering doubts in the
minds of those who disputed the earlier decision. Another matter was
also considered, according to Krochmal, at the synod of A.D. 90, viz.
how to indicate that with the admission of Ecclesiastes the Canon of the
Hagiographa was closed. I have already referred to this scholar’s view
of the Epilogue (p. 232 &c.), and need only add that, if we may trust
the statement of the Talmud, the canonicity of Koheleth was finally
carried in deference to an argument which presupposes that xii. 13, 14
was already an integral part of Koheleth. The Talmudic passage is well
known; it runs thus—

‘The wise men’ [i.e. the school of Shammai] ‘sought to “hide” the Book
of Koheleth because of its contradictory sayings. And why did they not
“hide” it? Because the beginning and the close of it consist of words of
Tōra’ [i.e. are in harmony with revealed truth][429]. By the ‘beginning’
the Jewish doctors meant Koheleth’s assertion that ‘all a man’s toil
which he toileth _under the sun_’ (i.e. all earthly, unspiritual toil)
is unprofitable (i. 3), and by the ‘close’ the emphatic injunction and
dogmatic declaration of the epilogist in xii. 13, 14. The Talmudic
statement agrees, as is well known, with the note of St. Jerome on these
verses. ‘Aiunt Hebræi quum inter cætera scripta Salomonis quæ antiquata
sunt, nec in memoriâ duraverunt, et hic liber obliterandus videretur, eo
quòd vanas Dei assereret creaturas, et totum putaret esse pro nihilo, et
cibum, et potum, et delitias transeuntes præferret omnibus; ex hoc uno
capitulo meruisse auctoritatem, ut in divinorum voluminum numero
poneretur, quòd totam disputationem suam, et omnem catalogum hâc quasi
ἀνακεφαλαιώσει coarctaverit, et dixerit finem sermonum auditu esse
promtissimum, nec aliquid in se habere difficile: ut scilicet Deum
timeamus, et ejus præcepta faciamus’ (_Opera_, ii. 787).

The canonicity of Ecclesiastes was rarely disputed in the ancient
Church. The fifth œcumenical council at Constantinople pronounced
decisively in its favour. On the Christian heretics in the fourth
century who rejected it, see Ginsburg, _Coheleth_, p. 103.

Let me refer again, in conclusion, to the story in which that remarkable
man—‘the restorer of the Law’—Simeon ben Shetach plays a chief part. It
not only shows that Koheleth was a religious authority at the end of the
second or beginning of the first century B.C., but implies that at this
period the book was already comparatively old, and, one may fairly say,
pre-Maccabæan. I presume too that the addition of the Epilogue (see pp.
234-5) with the all-important 13th and 14th verses had been made before
Simeon’s time.


                                  II.


It was remarked above that as late as A.D. 90 there was a chance for any
struggling book to gain admission into the Canon. Now for at least 180
years the Wisdom of Ben Sira had been struggling for recognition as
canonical. In spite of the fact that it did not claim the authorship of
any ancient sage, and that, like Koheleth, it contained some
questionable passages, it was certainly in high favour both in
Alexandria and in Palestine. As Delitzsch points out, ‘the oldest
Palestinian authorities (Simeon ben Shetach, the brother of Queen
Salome, about B.C. 90, seems to be the earliest) quote it as canonical,
and the censures of Babylonian teachers only refer to the Aramaic
Targum, not to the original work. The latter was driven out of the field
by the Aramaic version, which, though very much interpolated, was more
accessible to the people.’[430] Simeon ben Shetach was counted among the
Jewish ‘fathers,’ and a saying of his is given in _Pirke Aboth_, i. 10.
It is remarkable that the very same passage of _Bereshith Rabba_ (c. 91)
which contains this wise man’s quotations from Koheleth (see above) also
contains one from Sirach introduced with the formula בספרא דבן סירא
כתיב, ‘in the book of Ben Sira it is written.’ The quotation is, ‘Exalt
her, and she shall set thee between princes’—apparently a genuine saying
of Ben Sira (Sirach), though not found in our Ecclesiasticus. The first
word (‘Exalt her’) comes, it is true, from Prov. iv. 8, but, as Dr.
Wright remarks,[431] Ben Sira ‘was fond of tacking on new endings to old
proverbs.’ At a much later period, a quotation from Ben Sira (Sir. vii.
10?) is made by Rab (about 165-247 A.D.) introduced with the formula
משום שנאמר, ‘because it is said,’ _Erubin_, c. 65_a_. Strack indeed
supposes that Rab meant to quote from canonical Scripture, but by a slip
quoted from Ben Sira instead; but this is too bold a conjecture. Lastly,
Rabba (about 270-330 A.D.) quotes a saying of our book (Sir. xiii. 15;
xxvii. 9) as ‘repeated a third time in the Kethubhim (the
Hagiographa)’—משולש בכתובים, _Baba Kamma_, c. 92_b_.

It is quite true that, according to the Talmudic passage referred to on
p. 196, the Book of Ben Sira stands on the border-line between the
canonical and the non-canonical literature: the words are, ‘The Books of
Ben Sira, and all books which were written thenceforward, do not defile
the hands.’ But taking this in connection with the vehement declaration
of Rabbi Akiba that the man who reads Ben Sira and other ‘extraneous’
books has no portion in the world to come,[432] we may safely assume
that the Book of Ben Sira had a position of exceptional authority with
not a few Jewish readers. It is equally certain, as the above quotations
show, that even down to the beginning of the fourth century A.D. sayings
of Sirach were invested with the authority of Scripture. Whatever, then,
may have been the theory (and no one pretends that the Synods of Jamnia
placed Sirach on a level with Koheleth), the practice of some Jewish
teachers was to treat Sirach as virtually canonical, which reminds us of
the similar practice of some Christian Fathers. St. Augustine says (but
he retracted it afterwards) of the two books of Wisdom, ‘qui quoniam in
auctoritatem recipi meruerunt, inter propheticos numerandi sunt’ (_De
doctr. Christianâ_, ii. 8), and both Origen and Cyprian quote Sirach as
sacred scripture. Probably, as Fritzsche remarks, Sirach first became
known to Christian teachers at Alexandria at the end of the second
century.

Footnote 425:

  Plumptre, _Ecclesiastes_, pp. 71-74; Wright, _Koheleth_, pp. 67-70. It
  is plainly impossible in the light of the history of dogma to place
  Wisdom before Ecclesiastes. Yet Hitzig has done this. Nachtigal took a
  sounder view in 1799 when he published a book on Wisdom regarded _als
  Gegenstück des Koheleth_. It forms vol. ii. of a singular work called
  _Die Versammlung der Weisen_, of which Koheleth forms vol. i.

Footnote 426:

  See Schiffer, _Das Buch Kohelet nach der Auffassung der Weisen_, part
  i., pp. 100-102.

Footnote 427:

  _Midrasch Koheleth_, § 1, 3; comp. _Pesikta of R. Kahana_, § 8
  (Schiffer, pp. 6, 7).

Footnote 428:

  By Delitzsch; see Wright’s _Koheleth_, p. 471, and comp. Strack, art.
  ‘Kanon des A. T.’ in _Herzog-Plitt_, vol. vii.

Footnote 429:

  I quote the characteristic closing words, תחילתו דברי תורה וסופו דברי
  תורה (_Shabbath_, c. 30b).

Footnote 430:

  _Gesch. der jüdischen Poesie_, p. 20.

Footnote 431:

  _Koheleth_, p. 46.

Footnote 432:

  See the passage from _Sanhedrin_ (Jer. Talm.), x. 28_a_, quoted at
  length in Wright’s _Koheleth_, pp. 467-468.




                          AIDS TO THE STUDENT


The literature upon Koheleth is unusually large. Some of the most
important books and articles have been referred to already, and the
student will naturally have at hand Dr. Wright’s list in _The Book of
Koheleth_ (1883), Introd., pp. xiv.-xvii. It may suffice to add among
the less known books, J. G. Herder, _Briefe das Studium der Theologie
betreffend_, erster Theil (xi.), Werke, ed. Suphan, Bd. x.; Theodore
Preston, _Ecclesiastes, Hebrew Text and a Latin Version, with original
notes, and a translation of the Comm. of Mendelssohn_ (1845); E. Böhl,
_Dissertationes de aramaismis libri Koheleth_ (Erlangen, 1860); Bernh.
Schäfer, _Neue Untersuchungen über das Buch Koheleth_ (Freiburg in
Breisgau, 1870); J. S. Bloch, _Ursprung and Entstehungszeit des Buches
Kohelet_ (Bamberg, 1872); _Studien zur Gesch. der Sammlung der althebr.
Literatur_ (Breslau, 1876); C. Taylor, _The Dirge of Coheleth in Eccl._
xii., _discussed and literally translated_ (1874); J. J. S. Perowne,
articles on Ecclesiastes in _Expositor_, begun 1879; M. M. Kalisch,
_Path and Goal_ (contains translation of our book and much illustrative
matter), 1880; A. Kuenen, _Religion of Israel_ (1875), iii. 153 &c.,
also _Onderzoek_ (1873), vol. iii., and article in _Theologisch
Tijdschrift_, 1883, p. 113, &c.; S. Schiffer, _Das Buch Kohelet nach der
Auffassung der Weisen des Talmud und Midrasch und der jüd. Erklärer des
Mittelalters_, Theil i. (Leipz. 1885); Engelhardt, ‘Ueber den Epilog des
Koheleth’ in _Studien und Kritiken_, 1875; Klostermann, article on
Wright’s _Koheleth_, in same periodical, 1885. See also Pusey’s Daniel
the Prophet, ed. 2, pp. 327-8, and the introduction to Prof. Salmon’s
commentary in Ellicott. [Prof A. Palm’s bibliographical monograph, _Die
Qohelet-Literatur, ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Exegese des Alten
Testaments_, 1886, appeared too late to be of use.]




                                APPENDIX
   IN WHICH VARIOUS POINTS IN THE BOOK ARE ILLUSTRATED OR MORE FULLY
                                TREATED.


         1. Pfleiderer on St. Paul (p. 3).
         2. The word Kenotic; Phil. ii. 7 (p. 7).
         3. Kleinert on Job vi. 25 (p. 21).
         4. On Job xix. 25-27 (pp. 33-35).
         5. Job’s repudiation of sins (p. 39).
         6. On Job xxxviii. 31, 32 (p. 52).
         7. Source of story of Job (pp. 60-63).
         8. Corrected text of Deut. xxxii. 8, 9 (p. 81).
         9. The style of Elihu (p. 92).
         10. The Aramaisms and Arabisms of Job (p. 99).
         11. Herder on Job (pp. 106-111).
         12. Septuagint of Job (pp. 113, 114).
         13. Harūn ar-Rashid and Solomon (p. 131).
         14. On Prov. xxvii. 6 (p. 148).
         15. Eternity of Korán (p. 192).
         16. Text of Proverbs (p. 173).
         17. Religious value of Proverbs (p. 176, 177).
         18. Aids to the Student (p. 178).
         19. Date of Jesus son of Sirach (p. 180).
         20. On Sirach xxi. 27 (p. 189).
         21. Sirach’s Hymn of Praise (p. 193).
         22. Ancient versions of Sirach (p. 195).
         23. Aids to the Student (p. 198).
         24. On the Title Koheleth (p. 207).
         25. On Eccles. iii. 11 (p. 210).
         26. On Eccles. vii. 28 (p. 219).
         27. On Eccles. xi. 9-xii. 7 (pp. 223-227).
         28. On Eccles. xii, 9 &c. (p. 232).
         29. Grätz on Koheleth’s opposition to asceticism (p. 244).
         30. Herder on the alternate voices in Koheleth (p. 245).


1. _Page 3._—Pfleiderer, in the spirit of Lagarde, accounts for the
Pauline view of the atonement by the ‘stereotyped legal Jewish’ doctrine
of the atoning merit of the death of holy men (_Hibbert Lectures_, pp.
60-62). But was not this idea familiar and in some sense presumably real
to Jesus? And why speak of a ‘stereotyped’ formula? Examples of a
self-devotion designed to ‘merit’ good for the community, or even for an
individual, abound in Judaism.


2. _Page 7, note 2._—The word Kenotic is conveniently descriptive of a
theory, and does not bind one who uses it to any particular expositon of
the difficult Greek of Phil. ii. 7. I need not decide, therefore,
whether we should render ἐν μορφῃ Θεοῦ בדמות חאלהים with Delitzsch, or
בדמות אלהים with Salkinson. To the names of eminent exegetes mentioned
on page 7, add that of Godet.


3. _Page 21_ (on Job vi. 25).—Kleinert (_Theol. Studien u. Kritiken_,
1886, pp. 285-86) improves the parallelism by translating ‘Wie so gar
nicht verletzend sind Worte der Rechtschaffenheit, aber wie so gar
nichts rügt die Rechtsrüge von euch.’ He thinks that מה here, as
occasionally elsewhere, and _mā_ often in Arabic, has the sense of ‘not’
(see Ewald, _Lehrbuch_, § 325_b_); comp. ix. 2, xvi. 6, xxxi. 1, and the
characteristic בַּמָּה ‘how seldom,’ xxi. 19. Without entering into his
doubtful justification of ‘verletzend,’ it is possible to render ‘How
far from grievous are straightforward speeches, but how little is proved
by the reproof from you!’


4. _Pages 33-35_ (Job xix. 25-27).—First, as to the sense of Goel (A.V.
and R.V. ‘redeemer’). The sense seems determined by xvi, 18 (see above,
p. 31). It is vengeance for his blood that Job demands, and hence in
xix. 29 he warns his false friends to beware of the _sword_ of divine
justice. The ‘friends’ have identified themselves with that unjust Deity
against whom Job appeals to the ‘witness in heaven’ (xvi. 20)—the moral
God of whom he has a dim but growing intuition. The whole plan of the
book, as Kleinert remarks, calls for a definite legal meaning. But as no
direct reference to Job’s blood occurs in xix. 25-27, ‘my vindicator’
will be a sufficiently exact rendering (as in Isa. xliv. 6). I cannot
however follow Kleinert in his recognition of the hope of immortality in
this passage.

Next as to the text. Bickell’s recension of it, when pointed in the
ordinary manner, is as follows:—

                           וַאֲנִי יָדַעְתִּי גֹּאֲלִי חָי 25
                            יְאַחֲרוֹן עָל־עָפָר יָקוּם ׃
                           וְאַחַר עֵרִִי נִקְּפָּה זֹאת  26
                              וּמִשּׁדַּי אֶחֱזֶה אֵלֶּה ׃
                            אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי אֶחֱזֶה־לִּי   27
                              וְעֵינַי רָאוּ וִלאׁ־זָר
                              כָּלוּ כִלְיֹתַי בְּחֵקִי ׃

Bickell does not attempt to make easy Hebrew; the passage _ought
not_ in such a connection to be too easy. He renders ver. 26_a_,
‘Et postea, his præsentibus absolutis, veniet testis meus’ (God,
his witness, as xvi. 19), comparing for the sense of נקפה Isa.
xxix. 1. Certainly we seem to require in ver. 26 some further
development of the idea suggested by the appearance of the Goel on
the dust of Job’s burial-place, and such a development is not
supplied by the received text. We must not look at any corrupt
passage by itself, but take it with the context. Those who defend
the text of ver. 26 as it stands have on their side the
parallelism of עוֹרִי and בְּשָׂרִי (comp. ver. 20); but this
parallelism is counterbalanced by the want of correspondence
between נִקְּפוּ־זאׁת and אחֱזֶה אֱלוֹהַּ. Dr. C. Taylor suggests
an aposiopesis, and gives the sense intended by the writer thus,
‘When they have penetrated my skin, and of my flesh have had their
fill’ (comp. ver. 22_b_). Is it not more likely that וּמִבְּשָׂרִי
came into the text _through a reminiscence_ of ver. 22_b_? ‘I
shall see these things from Shaddai’ will be, on Bickell’s view,
equivalent to ‘I shall see these things _attested_ by Shaddai.’ As
yet, the sufferer exclaims, I can recognise this, viz. my
innocence, for myself alone; mine eyes have seen it, but not
another’s (Prov. xxvii 2). The connexion is in every way improved.
Job first of all desired an inscribed testimony to his innocence,
but now he aspires to something better.

Bickell’s is the most natural reconstruction of the passage as yet
proposed; so far as ver. 26_b_ is concerned, it is supported in the main
by the Septuagint. More violent corrections are offered by Dr. A.
Neubauer, _Athenæum_, June 27, 1885—As a rendering of _the text as it
stands_, I think R.V. is justified in giving ‘from my flesh’ (with
marg., ‘_Or_, without’); ‘mine eyes shall see’ (= ‘will have seen’)
certainly suggests that Job will be clothed with some body when he sees
God (Dillmann’s reply is not adequate). ‘Without my flesh’ (so Amer.
Revisers) is in itself justifiable (see especially xi. 15); in the use
of the privative ז became more and more frequent in the later periods
(comp. the Talmudic מֵאוֹר עֵינַיִם = ‘blind’).


5. _Page 39._ Job’s catalogue of the sins which he repudiates. The
parallel suggested between Job and an Egyptian formulary may be
illustrated by a passage in the life of the great Stoic Emperor. A
learned Bishop, popular in his day, reminds us of ‘that golden Table of
Ptolomy (_sic_) Arsacides, which the Emperour Marcus Aurelius found at
Thebes, which for the worthiness thereof that worthy Emperour caused
every night to be laid at his bed’s head, and at his death gave it as a
singular treasure to his sonne Commodus. The Table was written in Greek
characters, and contained in it these protestations: “I never exalted
the proud rich man, neither hated the poor just man: I never denied
justice to the poor for his poverty neither pardoned the wealthy for his
riches.... I alwaies favoured the poor that was able to do little, and
God, who was able to do much, alwaies favoured me.”’ (_The Practice of
Quietnesse_, by George Webbe, D.D., 1699?)


6. _Page 52_ (On Job xxxviii. 31, 32, ix. 9).—(1) I admit that the
identification of כִּימָה and the Pleiades is uncertain. Still it is
plausible, especially when we compare Ar. _kumat_ ‘heap.’ And even if it
should be shown that _kimtu_ was not the Babylonian name for the
Pleiades, this would not be decisive against the identification
proposed. The Babylonians did not give the name _kisiluv_ to Orion, yet
Stern’s argument (_Jüdische Zeitschrift_, 1865, Heft 4: comp. Nöldeke,
Schenkel’s _Bibel-Lexikon_, iv. 369, 370) in favour of equating _k’sîl_
and Orion remains valid. (2) As to מֵעֲדַנּוֹת ‘sweet influences’ is
fortunate enough to exist by sufferance in the margin of R.V. It is
sometimes defended by comparing 1 Sam. xv. 32. But the only possible
renderings there are ‘in bonds’ or ‘trembling’ (see _Variorum Bible ad
loc._). Dr. Driver has shown that ‘sweet influences’ is a legacy from
Sebastian Münster (1535). (3) מִזָּרוֹת is probably not to be identified
with מַזָּלוֹת (2 Kings xxiii. 5), in spite of the authority of the
Sept. and the Targum (see Dillmann’s note). In this I agree with G.
Hoffmann, whose adventurous interpretations of the astronomical names in
Amos and Job do not however as yet seem to me acceptable. According to
him, kîma = Sirius, _k’sîl_ = Orion, Mazzaroth = the Hyades and
Aldebaran, ‘Ayish’ = the Pleiades (Stade’s _Zeitschrift_, 1883, Heft 1).
Mazzaroth = Ass. _mazarati_; Mazzaloth (i.e. the zodiacal signs) seems
to be the plural of _mazzāla_ = Ass. _manzaltu_ station.


7. _Pages 60-63._—That the story of Job is an embellished folk-tale is
probable, though still unproved. The delightful humour which in the
Prologue (see pp. 14, 110), as in the myths of Plato, stands side by
side with the most impressive solemnity of itself points to this view.
No one has expressed this better than Wellhausen, in a review of
Dillmann’s _Hiob, Jahrbücher für deutsche Theologie_, xvi. 552 &c.: ‘Den
launigen und doch mürrischen Ton, den der nonchalante Satan Gott
gegenüber anschlägt, so ganz auf Du und Du, würde schwerlich der Dichter
des Hiob gewagt haben; schwerlich auch würde es ihm gelungen sein, mit
so merkwürdig einfachen Mitteln so wunderbar plastische Figuren zu
entwerfen.’ He also points out the inconsistencies of the story,
precisely such as we might expect in a folk-tale, and concludes (a
little hastily) that the Prologue is _altogether_ a folk-story and had
no didactic object. Eichhorn, too, in a review of Michaelis on Job
(_Allgemeine Bibliothek_, i. 430 &c.), well points out that the illusion
of the poem is much impaired by not admitting an element in the plot
derived from tradition. Of course this view of _Job_ as based on a
folk-tale is quite reconcileable with the view that the hero is a
personification. The latter is much older than the last century; it
explains the Jewish saying (p. 60) that ‘Job was a parable,’ and the
fascination which the book possessed for the age preceding the final
dispersion of the Jews.[433]

Footnote 433:

  See Rosenthal, _Vier apokryphische Bücher ans der Zeit und Schule
  Akiba’s_ (1885), pp. 6-12.


8. _Page 81_ (further correction of text of Deut. xxxii. 8, 9).—The
passage becomes more rhythmical if with Bickell we reproduce the
Septuagint Hebrew text at the close of ver. 8 as בני אלהים and continue
(ver. 9),

                          וחלק יהוה יעקב [or עמו]
                             חבל נחלתו ישראל ׃

The correction of the last couplet is important as a supplement of the
explanation of ver. 8 given in the text. To other nations God gave
protective angels, but He reserved Israel for Himself. (See Bickell,
_Zeitschrift f. kathol. Theologie_, 1885, pp. 718-19, and comp. his
_Carmina V. T. metricè_, 1882, p. 192, where he adheres in both verses
to the received text.)


9. _Page 92._—No student of the Hebrew of _Job_ will overlook the
admirable ‘studies’ on the style of Elihu by J. G. Stickel (_Das Buch
Hiob_, 1842, pp. 248-262) and Carl Budde (_Beiträge sur Kritik des
Buches Hiob_, 1876, pp. 65-160). The former succeeded in obtaining the
admission of such an eminent critical analyst as Kuenen, that style by
itself would be scarcely sufficient to prove the later origin of the
Elihu speeches. It also, no doubt, assisted Delitzsch to recognise in
Elihu the same ‘Hebræoarabic’ impress as in the rest of the book. In
spite of this effective ‘study,’ Dillmann’s brief treatment of the same
subject in 1869 made it clear that the subject had not yet by any means
been threshed out, and perhaps no more powerful argument against chaps.
xxxii.-xxxvii. has been produced than that contained in a single
closely-printed page (289) of his commentary. There was therefore a good
chance for a _Privatdocent_ to win himself a name by a renewed attempt
to state the linguistic facts more thoroughly and impartially than
before. This indeed fairly expresses Budde’s object, which is not at all
to offer a direct proof that the disputed chapters belong to the
original poem, but merely to show that the opposite view cannot be
demonstrated on stylistic grounds. His method is to collect, first of
all, points of resemblance and then points of difference between ‘Elihu’
and the rest of the book. Last among the latter appear the Aramaisms and
Arabisms. Budde rejects the view, adopted from Stickel (see p. 92) by
Canon F. C. Cook, that the deeper colouring of Aramaic is only the
poet’s way of indicating the Aramæan origin of Elihu. He denies that
there is any such greater amount of Aramaism as can form a real
distinction between ‘Elihu’ and the undisputed chapters. I will not
inquire whether the subjectivity of a writer may impress itself on his
statistics, and willingly grant that the Aramaic colouring in ‘Elihu’
may perhaps affect the reader more owing to the faults of style to which
Budde himself alludes on p. 157, and which, to me, indicate an age or at
least a writer of less taste and talent than the original author. The
Aramaisms may be thrown into stronger relief by these infirmities, and
so the colouring may seem deeper than it is. I am not however sure that
there is an illusion in the matter. Among the counter-instances of
Aramaism given by Budde from the speeches of Eliphaz, there are at least
two which have no right to figure there, viz. מַנְלָם, xv. 29, and אֻיִ
for אַיִן, xxii. 30, both which forms are probably corrupt readings.
Until Dillmann has published his second edition I venture to retain the
statement on p. 92. There is a stronger Aramaising element in Elihu,
which, with other marks of a peculiar and _inferior_[434] style,
warrants us in assigning the section to a later writer. This is, of
course, not precluded by the numerous Hebraistic _points of contact_
with the main part of the book, which Carl Budde has so abundantly
collected (_Beiträge_, pp. 92-123). No one can doubt that the original
poem very early became an absorbing study in the circles of ‘wise men.’

As to the words and phrases (of pure Hebrew origin) in which Elihu
_differs_ from the body of the work, I may remark that it is sometimes
difficult to realise their full significance from Budde’s catalogue.
Kleinert has thrown much light on some of them in a recent essay. He
has, for instance,[435] shown the bearings of the fact that the disputed
chapters persistently avoid the juristic sense of צָדַק (Kal), except in
a quotation from speeches of Job (xxxiv. 5), Elihu himself only using
the word of correctness in statement (xxxiii. 12), or of moral
righteousness (xxxv. 7), and that הִרְשִׁיעַ has the sense of ‘acting
wickedly’ only in a passage of Elihu (xxxiv. 12). The use of צֶרֶק,
צַרִּיק, and צְרָקָה in xxxii, 1, xxxiii. 26, xxxv. 8, xxxvi. 3, is also
dwelt upon in this connexion. It is true that Budde does not conceal
these points; he tabulates them correctly, but does not indicate the
point of view from which they can be understood. Kleinert supplies this
omission. The body of the poem, he remarks, is juristic in spirit; the
speeches of Elihu ethical and hortatory. This brings with it a different
mode of regarding the problem of Job’s sufferings. ‘Die Reden Elihu’s
haben zu dem gerichtlichen Aufriss der Buchanlage nur das
alleräusserlichste Verhältniss. Sie verlassen die scharfgezogenen
Grundlinien der rechtlichen Auseinandersetzung, um in eine
ethisch-paränetische, rein chokmatisch-didaktische Erörterung der Frage
überzulenken.’ Kleinert also notes one peculiar word of Elihu’s which I
have not met with in Budde, but which, from Kleinert’s point of view, is
important—כֹּפֶר, ‘a ransom’ (xxxiii. 24, xxxvi. 18). Why did not the
juristic theologians of the Colloquies use it? Evidently the speeches of
Elihu are later compositions.

Footnote 434:

  ‘Ist’s denkbar, dass ein solcher Dichter demjenigen Redner, dem et die
  Hauptrolle zugedacht, die Charakteristik jenes _inferioren_ Redetypus
  zugewiesen haben könnte?’ Kleinert.

Footnote 435:

  Das spezifisch-hebräische im Buch Hiob, _Theol. Studien und Kritiken_,
  1886, pp. 299-300.


10. _Page 99._—The critic, no less than the prophet, is still with too
many a favourite subject of ironical remark; ‘they say of him, Doth he
not speak in riddles’?[436] The origin of Job, upon the linguistic as
well as the theological side, may be a riddle, but the interest of the
book is such that we cannot give up the riddle. We may not all agree
upon the solution; the riddle may be one that admits of different
answers. All that this proves is the injudiciousness of dogmatism, which
specially needs emphasising with respect to the bearings of the
linguistic data. To say, with Nöldeke,[437] ‘We have no ground for
regarding the language of _Job_ as anything but a very pure Hebrew’
seems to me as extreme as to assert with G. H. Bernstein (the well-known
Syriac scholar) that the amount of Aramaic colouring would of itself
bring the book into the post-Exile period. Bernstein carried to a
dangerous extreme a tendency already combated by Michaelis and
Eichhorn;[438] but his research is thorough-going and systematic. Those
who, like the present writer, have no access to it, may be referred to
L. Bertholdt’s _Historisch-kritische Einleitung_[439] (Erlangen,
1812-1819), where it is carefully examined, and its arguments, as it
would seem, reduced to something like their just proportions. Bertholdt
does not scruple to admit that distinctively Aramaising constructions
are wanting in _Job_, and that words with Aramaic affinities may have
existed in Hebrew before the Exile. Still he decides that though part of
the argument fails to pieces, yet for most there is a real foundation.
This too, is substantially the judgment of Carl Budde. ‘Despite all
deductions from Bernstein’s list it remains true that just the Book of
Job is specially rich in words which principally belong to the Aramaic
dialects.’[440] Dillmann, too, who takes pains to emphasise the
comparative scarcity of Aramaisms in the strictest sense of the word,
yet finds in the body of the work (excluding the Elihu portion)
Aramaising and Arabising words enough to suggest that the author lived
hard by Aramaic- and Arabic-speaking peoples.[441] By taking this view,
Dillmann (whose philological caution and accuracy give weight to his
opinion) separates himself from those who, like Eichhorn and more
recently the Jewish scholar Kaempf,[442] confidently maintain that the
peculiar words in _Job_ are genuine Hebrew ‘Sprachgut.’ To make this
probable, we ought to be able to show that they have more affinities
with northern than with southern Semitic (see p. 99), a task as yet
unaccomplished. Dillmann, too, would certainly dissent from Canon Cook’s
opinion that the Aramaisms of Job are only ‘such as characterise the
antique and highly poetic style.’ According to him, they are equally
unfavourable to a very early and to a very late date.

Various lists of Aramaising words have been given since Bernstein’s. I
give here that of Dr. Lee in his _Book of the Patriarch Job_ (p. 50),
which has the merit of having been constructed from his own reading of
_Job_. It refers to the whole book:—

נהרה (iii. 4); מנהו (iv. 12); לאויל (v. 2); אדרש (ib. 8), occur in the
Aramaic, not the Hebrew sense; תמלל (viii. 2); ישׂגה (ib. 7); מנהם (xi.
20); עמם (xii. 2); מלין (ib. 11); משׂגיא (ib. 23); מלתי ואחותי (xiii.
17); אחוך (xv. 17); וזה for ואשר (ib.); שׁלהבת (ib. 31); גלדי (xvi. 15);
חמרמרה (ib. 16); קנצי (xviii. 2); יגעל ... עבר (xxi. 10); בחיין (xxiv.
22); בחבי (xxxi. 33); אחוה (xxxii. 10, 18); פרע (xxxiii. 24); אאלפך (ib.
33); כתר (xxxvi. 2); בחרת (ib. 21); גבר (xxxviii. 3); נחיר (xli. 12). I
will not criticise this list, which no doubt contains some questionable
items. We might, however, insert other words in exchange, e.g. טושׂ (ix.
26); רׂהד (xvi. 19); כפים (xxx. 6); and כפן (v. 22, xxx. 3); and perhaps
רקב (xiii. 28), which Geiger plausibly compares with Syr. _rakbo_
‘wineskin’ (so the tradition represented by the Septuagint, the
Peshitto, and Barhebræus). Some supposed Arabisms may also in all
probability be transferred to the list of Aramaisms; but the Arabisms
which remain will abundantly justify what has been stated in the section
on _Job_. I have not attempted to decide precisely where the poet heard
both Arabic and Aramaic. Dillmann accepts the view mentioned on p. 75.
But Gilead, too, was at all times inhabited by Arab tribes, both nomad
and settled,[443] and the region itself was called Arabia.[444]

Footnote 436:

  Ezek. xx. 49.

Footnote 437:

  _Die alttestamentliche Literatur_, p. 192.

Footnote 438:

  See Eichhorn’s notice of Michaelis in vol. i. of his _Allgemeine
  Bibliothek der biblischen Literatur_.

Footnote 439:

  Pp. 2076, 2077. Bernstein’s title is, _Ueber das Alter, den Inhalt,
  den Zweck und die gegenwärtige Gestalt des Buches Hiob_ (in Keil and
  Tzschirner’s _Analekten_, 1813, pp. 1-137).

Footnote 440:

  _Beiträge sur Kritik des Buches Hiob_ (1876), p. 140.

Footnote 441:

  _Hiob_ (1869), Einleitung, pp. xxvii. xxix.

Footnote 442:

  _Die Grabschrift Escamunazar’s_ (1874), p. 8.

Footnote 443:

  Blau, _Zeitschr. der deutsch. morgenl. Ges._, xxv. 540.

Footnote 444:

  Wetzstein in Delitzsch’s _Iob_, p. 528.


11. _Pages 106-111._—Herder (to whom I gladly refer the student) is
perhaps the best representative of the modern literary point of view.
Whatever he says on the Hebrew Scriptures is worth reading, even when
his remarks need correction. No one felt the poetry of _Job_ more deeply
than Herder; to the religious ideas of the poem his eyes were not
equally open. Indeed, it must have been hard to discern and appreciate
these adequately in the eighteenth century; the newly-discovered sacred
books of the East, with their deep though obscure metaphysical
conceptions, for a time almost overshadowed the far more sobre Hebrew
Scriptures. Like Carlyle (who is to some extent his echo) Herder
underrates the specifically Hebrew element in the book, which is of
course not very visible on a hasty perusal. One point, however, that he
sees very dearly, though he does not use the expression, is that _Job_
is a character-drama. He denies that the speeches are monotonous.

‘So eintönig für uns alle Reden klingen, so sind sie mit Licht und
Schatten angelegt und der Faden, oder vielmehr die Verwirrung der
Materie, nimmt zu von Rede zu Rede, bis Hiob sich selbst fasset und
seine Behauptungen lindert. Wer diesen Faden nicht verfolgt und
insonderheit nicht bemerkt, wie Hiob seinem Gegner immer den eigenen
Pfeil aus der Hand windet; entweder das besser sagt, was jener sagte,
oder die Gründe jenes eben für sich braucht—der hat das Lebendige,
Wachsende, kurz die Seele des Buchs verfehlet’ (_Hiob als Composition
betrachtet, Werke_, Suphan, ii. 318).

He has also clearly perceived the poet’s keen sympathy with mythology,
and this, combined with the (supposed) few imitations of _Job_ in the
Old Testament, confirmed him in the erroneous view that the original
writer of _Job_ was an Edomitish Emeer. On the limited influence of
_Job_ he has some vigorous sentences, the edge of which, however, is
turned by more recent criticism. It is of the prophets he is chiefly
thinking, when he finds so few traces of acquaintance with Job in the
Scriptures, and of the pre-Exile prophets. ‘Wie drängen und drücken sich
die Propheten! wie borgen sie von einander Bilder in einem ziemlich
engen Kreise und führen sie nur, jeder nach seiner Art, aus! Diese alte
ehrwürdige Pyramide steht im Ganzen unnachgeahmt da und ist vielleicht
unnachahmbar.’ This passage occurs in the fifth conversation in his
_Geist der Ebräischenn Poesie_ (_Werke_, ed. Suphan, xi. 310). The
student of _Job_ will not neglect this and also the two preceding very
attractive chapters. The description of Elihu is not the least
interesting passage. Herder does his best to account for the presence of
this unexpected fifth speaker, but really shows how unaccountable it is
except on the theory of later addition. Prof. Briggs’s theory (p. 93)
that the poor speeches of Elihu are intended ‘as a literary foil’ was
suggested by Herder. ‘Bemerken Sie aber, dass er nur als Schatte
dasteht, dies Gottes-Orakel zu erheben’ (_Werke_, xi. 284).


12. _Pages 113, 114._—The latest study on the original Septuagint text
of the Book of Job is by Bickell in the _Zeitschrift für katholische
Theologie_, 1886, pp. 557-564. As to the date of the Alexandrine
version, Hody’s remark, _De Bibliorum Textibus_, p. 196, deserves
attention, viz. that Philo already quotes from it,—Τίς γὰρ, ὡς ὁ Ἰώβ
φησι, καθαρὸς ἀπὸ ῥύπου, καὶ ἂν μία ἡμέρα ἐοτίν ἡ ζωή (Sept. of Job xiv.
4 ὁ βίος); _De Mutatione Nominum_, § 6 (i. 585).


13. _Page 131._—The character of Harūn ar-Rashid, in fact, became almost
as distorted by legend as that of Solomon. Neither of them were models
of civil justice (Weil, _Geschichte der Chalifen_, ii. 127).


14. _Page 148_ (Prov. xxvii. 6).—Consult, however, the Septuagint, which
seems to have read מ at the beginning of the second line (‘More faithful
... than’ &c.). See Cornill on Ezek. xxxv. 13.


15. _Page 162, note 1._—The Mo’tazilites (‘the Protestants of Islam’)
denied the eternity of the Korán because it implied the existence of two
eternal beings (Weil, _Gesch. der Chalifen_, ii. 262).


16. _Page 173._—Text of Proverbs. Among the minor additions in Sept.,
note the μὴ in Prov. v. 16 (so Vatican and, originally, Sinaitic MS.),
if we may follow Lagarde and Field. The Alexandrine MS., however, and
the Complutensian edition, omit μὴ, which is also wanting in Aquila.
Comp. Field’s _Hexapla ad loc._


17. _Pages 176, 177_ (Religious Value of Proverbs).—To appreciate the
religious spirit of this fine book, we require some imaginative sympathy
with past ages. The ‘staid, quiet, “douce,” orderly burgher of the Book
of Proverbs, who is regular in his attendance at the Temple, diligent in
his business, prosperous in his affairs, of repute among the elders,
with daughters doing virtuously, and a wife that has his house decked
with coverings of tapestry, while her own clothing is silk and purple’
(Mr. Binney’s words in _Is it possible to make the best of both
worlds?_), is not the noblest type of man, and therefore not the model
Christian even of our own day.


18. _Page 178 (Aids to the Student)._—Add, _Les sentences et proverbes
du Talmud et du Midrasch_. Par Moïse Schuhl. Par. 1878.


19. _Page 180._—On the date of Jesus son of Sirach, comp. Hody, _De
Bibliorum Textibus Originalibus_ (Oxon., 1705), pp. 192-194.


20. _Page 189, note 1_ (Sirach xxi. 27).—Fritzsche weakens the proverb
by taking ‘Satan’ as equivalent to ‘accuser’ (Ps. cix. 6, Zech. iii. 1).
The wise man says that it is no use for the ungodly man to disclaim
responsibility for his sin. ‘The Satan’ either means the depraved will
(comp. Dukes, _Rabbin. Blumenlese_, p. 108) or the great evil spirit. In
the latter case the wise man says that for all practical purposes the
tempter called Satan may be identified with the inborn tempter of the
heart. Comp. Ps. xxxvi. 2, ‘The ungodly man hath an oracle of
transgression within his heart.’


21. _Page 193_ (The Hymn of Praise).—Frankel suspected xliv. 16 to be an
interpolation, on the ground that the view of Enoch as an example of
μετάνοια is Philonian (_Palästinische Exegese_, p. 44). Against this see
Fritzsche, who explains the passage as a characteristically uncritical
inference from Gen. v. 22. Enoch was a pattern of μετάνοια because he
walked with God after begetting Methuselah.


22. _Page 195_ (Ancient Versions of Sirach).—The Peshitto version
deviates, one may venture to assume, in many points from the original
Sirach. Geiger has pointed out some remarkable instances of this
(_Zeitschr. der deutschen morgenl. Ges._ xii. 536 &c.), and if the Greek
version is to be regarded as absolutely authoritative, the number of
deviations must be extremely great. Fritzsche goes so far as to say that
in the latter part of the Syriac Sirach (from about chap. xxx.) the
original is only hazily traceable (‘durchschimmert’). He describes this
version as really no version, but ‘eine ziemlich leichtfertig
hingeschriebene Paraphrase’ (‘a rather careless paraphrase’). This, as
fairer judges of the Syriac are agreed, is not an accurate statement of
the case. It can be readily disproved by referring to some of the
passages in which the Greek translator has manifestly misrendered the
original (e.g. xxiv. 27; see above, p. 196). Dr. Edersheim, who is
working upon both versions, agrees with Bickell that the Syriac often
enables us to restore the Hebrew, where the Greek text is wrong. This is
not placing the Syriac in a superior position to the Greek, but giving
it the subsidiary importance which it deserves. Doubtless, the Hebrew
text which the Syriac translator employed was in many places corrupt.
The best edition of the Peshitto, I may add, is in Lagarde’s _Libri Vet.
Test. Apocryphi Syriaci_ (1861). It is from Walton’s Polyglot, but
‘codicum nitriensium ope et coniecturis meis hic illic emendatiorem’
[one sixth-century MS. of Ecclesiasticus is used].

The Old Latin has many peculiarities; its inaccuracies are no proof of
arbitrariness; the translator means to be faithful to his _Greek_
original. Many verses are transposed; others misplaced. For instances of
the former, Fritzsche refers to iii. 27, iv. 31, 32, vi. 9, 10, ix. 14,
16, xii. 5, 7; for the latter, to xvi. 24, 25, xix. 5, 6, xlix. 17.
Sometimes a double text is translated, e.g. xix. 3, xx. 24. It is to be
used with great caution, but its age makes it valuable for determining
the Greek text. For the text of Ecclesiasticus in the Codex Amiatinus,
see Lagarde’s _Mittheilungen_.


23. _Page 198 (Aids to the Student)._—To the works mentioned add Bruch,
_Weisheitslehre_ (1851), p. 283 &c., and especially Jehuda ben Seeb’s
little known work _The Wisdom of Joshua ben Sira rendered into Hebrew
and German, and paraphrased in Syriac with the Biur_, Breslau, 1798
(translated title), and Geiger, ‘Warum gehört das Buch Sirach zu den
Apocryphen?’ in _Zeitschr. d deutschen morgenl. Gesellschaft_, xii. 536
&c.


24. _Page 207, note 2._—The name is undoubtedly an enigma, and M. Renan
thinks that ordinary philological methods are inadequate to its
solution. Even Aquila leaves it untranslated (κωλέθ). Without stopping
here to criticise M. Renan’s theory that QHLTH were the initials of
words (comp. Rambam, Rashi) in some way descriptive of Solomon,[445] let
me frankly admit that none of the older explanations is absolutely
certain, because neither _Qōhēl_ nor _Qohéleth_ occurs elsewhere in the
Old Testament literature. Two views however are specially prevalent, and
I will first mention that which seems to me (with Gesenius, Delitzsch,
Nowack &c.) to deserve the preference. In one respect indeed it
harmonises with the rival explanation, viz. in supposing Qal to have
adopted the signification of Hifil (the Hifil of Q H L _is_ found in the
Old Testament), so that _Qōhēl_ will mean ‘one who calls together an
assembly.’ The adoption thus supposed is found especially in proper
names (e.g. רחביה). But how to explain the feminine form _Qohéleth_? By
a tendency of later Hebrew to use fem. participles with a masc.
sense.[446] In Talmudic Hebrew, e.g., we find לְקוּחוֹת, ‘buyers,’
נְקוּרוֹת, ‘stone-masons,’ לְעוּזוֹת, ‘foreigners’ (passive participles
in this stage of the language tend to adopt an active sense). But even
earlier we find the same tendency among _proper names_. Take for
instance Sophereth (_hassofereth_ in Ezra ii. 55; _sofereth_ in Neh.
vii. 57), Pokereth (Ezra ii. 57). Why should not the name Qoheleth have
been given to the great Teacher of the book before us, just as the name
Sophereth was given apparently to a scribe? Delitzsch[447] reminds us
that in Arabic the fem. termination serves sometimes to intensify the
meaning, or, as Ewald puts it, ‘ut abstracto is innuatur in quo tota hæc
virtus vel alia proprietas consummatissima sit, ut ejus exemplum haberi
queat.’[448] Thus Qoheleth might mean ‘the ideal teacher,’ and this no
doubt would be a title which would well describe the later view of
Solomon. It is simpler, however, to take the fem. termination as
expressing action or office; thus in Arabic _khalifa_ means 1,
succession or the dignity of the successor, 2, the successor or
representative himself, the ‘caliph,’ and in Hebrew and Assyrian
_pekhāh_, _pakhatu_ ‘viceroy.’ Comp. ἡ ἐξουσία, ‘die Obrigkeit.’

The alternative is, with Ewald, Hitzig, Ginsburg, Kuenen, Kleinert, to
explain Qoheleth as in apposition to חָכְמָה, Wisdom being represented
in Prov. i. 20, 21, viii. 1-4, as addressing men in the places of
concourse (Klostermann eccentrically explains ἡ συλλογίζουσα or
συλλογιστική). Solomon, according to this view, is regarded by the
author as the impersonation of Wisdom (as Protagoras was called Σοφία).
It is most unlikely, however, that Solomon should have been thus
regarded, considering the strange discipline which the author describes
Qoheleth as having passed through, and how different is the language of
Wisdom when, as in Prov. i.-ix., she is represented as addressing an
assembly! A reference to vii. 27, where Qoheleth seems to be spoken of
in the fem., is invalid, as we should undoubtedly correct _haqqohéleth_
in accordance with xii. 8[449] (comp. _hassofereth_, Ezra ii. 55).

The Sept. rendering ἐκκλησιαστής, whence the ‘concionator’ of Vulg., is
therefore to be preferred to the singular Greek rend. ἡ ἐκκλησιάστρια of
Græcus Venetus.

Footnote 445:

  On this, see Wright, _Ecclesiastes_ &c. p. 127.

Footnote 446:

  Strack, _Lehrbuch der neuhebr. Sprache_, p. 54.

Footnote 447:

  _Hoheslied und Koheleth_, pp. 212-3.

Footnote 448:

  _Grammatica arabica_, § 284 (i. 167). Comp. Wright, _Arabic Grammar_,
  i. 157 (§ 233).

Footnote 449:

  The mistake was caused by the rarity of קהלת with the article.


25. _Page 210._—Eccles. iii. 11. Might we render, ‘Also he hath put (the
knowledge of) that which is secret into their mind, except that,’ &c.,
i.e. ‘though God has enabled man to find out many secrets, yet human
science is of very limited extent’? This implies Bickell’s pointing עָלֻם.


26. _Page 219._—Eccles. vii. 28. The misogyny of the writer was
doubtless produced by some sad personal experience. Its evil effect upon
himself was mitigated by his discovery of another Jonathan with a love
passing the love of women.’ This reminds us of the author of the
celebrated mediæval ‘Romance of the Rose.’[450] ‘What is Love?’ asks the
lover, and Reason answers, ‘It is a mere sickness of the thought, a
sport of the fancy. If thou scape at last from Love’s snares, I hold it
but a grace. Many a one has lost body and soul in his service’ (comp.
Eccles, vii. 26). And then he continues, ‘There is a kind of love which
lawful is and good, as noble as it is rare,—the friendship of men.’ To
quote Chaucer’s translation,

                     And certeyn he is wel bigone
                     Among a thousand that findeth oon.
                     For ther may be no richesse
                     Ageyns frendshippe of worthynesse.

The allusion to Eccles. vii. 29 is obvious. Thus the same varieties of
character recur in all ages. This point of view is very different from
that of the Agadic writers who borrow from Eccles. vii. 26 a weapon
against ‘heresy’ (_mīnūth_), a term which includes the Jewish Christian
faith. All are agreed that the ‘bitter woman’ is heresy, and one of them
declares that the closing words of the verse refer to ‘the men of
Capernaum’ (see Matt. ix. 8). Delitzsch, _Ein Tag in Kapernaum_, 1886,
p. 48; comp. Wünsche, _Midraseh Koheleth_, p. 110.

Footnote 450:

  Comp. _British Quarterly Review_, Oct. 1871.


27. _Pages 223-227._—Eccles. xi. 9-xii. 7. The key to the whole passage
is xi. 8. ‘For, if a man lives many years, let him rejoice in them all,
and let him remember the days of darkness, that they shall be many.’ I
cannot accept the ingenious conjecture of Dr. C. Taylor, which might
(see Chap. X.) have been supported by a reference to Egypt, that xii.
3-5 are cited from an authorised book of dirges. Not only these verses
but xii. 1_b_-6 form a poem on the evils of old age, the whole effect of
which is lost without some prefix, such as ‘Rejoice in thy youth.’
Döderlein supplies this prefix in xii. 6; but this is not enough. If we
hesitate, with Luzzatto, Geiger, and Nöldeke to cancel xii. 1_a_ as a
later addition for purposes of edification, we must, with Gritz and
Bickell, read either אֶת־בּוֹרְךָ or אֶת־בְּאִֹרְךָ. These two readings
seem to have existed side by side, and to an ingenious moralist this
fact apparently suggested a new and edifying reading אֶת־בּוֹרְאֶּךָ.
Hence Akabia ben Mahalallel,[451] one of the earliest of the Jewish
‘fathers,’ and probably a contemporary of Gamaliel I., advises
considering these three points as a safeguard against sin, ‘Whence thou
comest, whither thou goest, and before whom thou wilt have to give an
account.’ ‘Whence thou comest,’ implying בְּאֵרְךָ ‘thy fountain;’
‘whither thou goest,’ בּוֹרְךָ, ‘thy pit, or grave;’ ‘before whom thou
wilt stand,’ בּוֹאֶךָ, ‘thy creator.’

Footnote 451:

  _Aboth_, iii, 1 (ed. Strack); comp, Schiffer, _Das Buch Kohelet nach
  der Auffassung der Weisen_, part i., p. 49.


28. _Page 232._—Döderlein (in a popular work on Ecclesiastes, p. 119)
describes xii. 9 &c. as the epilogue, ‘perhaps, of a larger collection
of writings and of the earlier Hebrew canon.’ Herder, too, thinks that
the close of the book suggests a collection of sayings of several wise
men (_Werke_, ed. Suphan, x, 134).


29. _Page 244._—According to Grätz, Koheleth is not to be taken in
earnest when he writes as if in a sombre and pessimistic mood. Such
passages Grätz tries to explain away. Koheleth, he thinks, is the enemy
of those who cultivate such a mood, and who, like the school of Shammai,
combine with it an extravagant and unnatural asceticism (comp. vii. 16,
17). The present, Koheleth knows, is far from ideal, but he would fain
reconcile young men to inevitable evils by pointing them to the relative
goods still open to them. This attitude of the author enables Grätz to
account for Koheleth’s denial of the doctrine of Immortality. This
doctrine, he remarks, was not of native Jewish origin, but imported from
Alexandria, and was the source of the ascetic gloom opposed by Koheleth.
Koheleth’s denial of the Immortality of the Soul does not, according to
Grätz, involve the denial of the Resurrection of the Body, the
Resurrection being regarded in early Judaism as a new creative act.[452]
It is not clear to me, however, that Koheleth accepts the Resurrection
doctrine, even if he does not expressly controvert it.

Footnote 452:

  _Kohelet_, p. 29. Certainly this is not the view of Talmudic Judaism,
  at least not in the sense described by Dr. Grätz. See Weber,
  _Altsynagogale Theologie_, p. 323.


30. _Page 245, note 3._—Herder says with insight, though with some
exaggeration, that most of Koheleth consists of isolated observations on
the course of the world and the experience of the writer. No artistic
connection need be sought for. But if we must seek for one (_so that
Herder is not convinced of the soundness of the theory_), it is strange
that no one has observed the twofold voice in the book, ‘da ein Grübler
Wahrheit sucht, und in dem Ton seines Ichs meistens damit, “dass alles
eitel sey,” endet; eine andre Stimme aber, im Ton des Du, ihn oft
unterbricht, ihm das Verwegne seiner Untersuchungen vorhält und meistens
damit endet, “was zuletzt das Resultat des ganzen Lebens bleibe?” Es ist
nicht völlig Frag’ und Antwort, Zweifel und Auflösung, aber doch aus
Einem und demselben Munde etwas, das beyden gleicht, und sich durch
Abbrüche und Fortsetzungen unterscheidet.’ _Brief das Studium der
Theologie betreftend_, erster Theil (_Werke_, Suphan, x. 135-136).




                                 INDEX.


 Aaron, celebrated by Sirach, 193

 Achamoth, Gnostic myth of, 161 _n._

 Adam, occurrence of the word in ‘Proverbs,’ 119

 Addison, 145

 Age, ascribed to Job, 71;
   description of, 229 _sq._

 Agur, 154, 170 _sq._

 Ahriman, 80

 Akabia ben Mahalallel, 300

 Akiba, Rabbi, 283

 Alexandria, importance of, to Jews, 181

 Allegorical view of ‘Job,’ 65;
   of Koheleth’s portrait of old age, 229 _sq._

 Alphabet of Ben Sira, 195 _sq._

 Amenemhat I., 156

 Amos, parallels to ‘Job’ in, 87

 Amos iv. 13, v. 8, perhaps interpolations, 52, _n._

 Angels, doctrine of, 44 _sq._ _See also_ Spirits

 Apap, the serpent, 76

 Apocrypha, value of the, 179

 Aquila, versions of, 277

 Arabian theory of angels, 44 _n._

 Arabic Literature, euphuism in, 206

 Arabic Poets, subjectivity, 64;
   parallels to ‘Job’ in, 100

 Arabic Proverbs compared with Hebrew, 134;
   one quoted, 64

 Arabisms, in ‘Job,’ 99, 291 _sq._;
   in Proverbs, 172

 Aramaisms, in ‘Job,’ 15 _n._, 92, 97, 99, 291 _sq._, 294;
   in ‘Proverbs,’ 154, 168, 172;
   in Koheleth, 257

 Aristeas, the fragment of, 96

 Aristotle, definition of Virtue, 28

 Arnold, Matthew, 122

 Artaxerxes II. and III., 258

 Ashmedai, 80

 Assyrian, Discoveries, 5 _sq._;
   Policy of uprooting nations, 73;
   Theory of Angels, 44 _n._

 Atomism, doctrine of, 263

 Atonement, doctrine of the, 3, 287, 45

 Augustine, Saint, quoted, 147, 284

 Aurelius, Marcus, mentioned, 289;
   quoted, 234;
   compared with Koheleth, 245, 266 _sq._


 Babylonian, animal fables, 126;
   physical theology, 52

 Bacon, Lord, the _New Atlantis_, 132;
   _Adv. of Learning_, 210

 Bagoses, 258

 Bede, the Ven., on ‘Job,’ 90

 Bedouin prayer, 52

 Behemoth, 56

 Ben Abuyah, 150

 Bereshith Rabba, quoted, 188

 Bernstein, on ‘Job,’ 293

 Bertholdt, on ‘Job,’ 293

 Bible, Milton’s view of the, 253

 Biblical criticism, 1 _sq._

 Bickell, as a critic, 241;
   on Job (xix. 25-27), 35, 288;
   on Prov. (xxii. 19-21), 138;
   on Sirach, 195;
   on Koheleth (iv. 13-16), 213, (iii. 11) 276, (viii. 10) 220, 276;
   list of poetical passages in Koheleth, 206;
   on the text of Koheleth, 273;
   and _passim_

 Bildad, his home, 15;
   the advocate of tradition, 17, 23

 Binney, Mr., 296

 Birthday, Job’s curse of his, 16

 Blake, William, quoted, 54;
   his illustrations to ‘Job,’ 19, 45 _n._, 50, 56, 59, 65, 106 _sq._

 Book of the Dead, parallels with ‘Job,’ 39, 76

 Böttcher, on ‘Job,’ 68

 Bradley, Dean, 215, 229 _n._, 248

 Breton legend of St. Ives, 140

 Briggs, Prof., on Elihu’s speeches, 93, 296

 Budde, on Aramaisms in ‘Job,’ 291 _sqq._

 Buddha, 218

 Buddhist sayings, 128

 Budge, Mr., on Tiamat, 78

 Bullinger, on Sirach, 197

 Bunsen, quoted, 108 _n._

 Bunyan, 109


 Camerarius, edition of Sirach, 197

 Canon, the, final settlement, 233, 281

 Carlyle, quoted, 112, 144 _n._, 246

 Ceremonial system, value of, 119 _sq._;
   approved by Sirach, 190

 Chabas, M., quoted, 57

 Chaldæans, 73;
   their philosophy known to Job, 51

 Chateaubriand, quoted, 65

 Chinese proverbs, 129

 Christ, never used directly anti-sacrificial language, 3 _sq._;
   Kenotic view of His person, 7;
   whether Job a type of, 102 _sq._;
   foregleams of, in Prov. viii., 176

 Christian doctrine in Koheleth, 248 _sq._

 Church of England, attitude to Biblical criticism, 1 _sq._

 Cicero, dialogues, 207

 Clement, of Rome, 176

 Coleridge, quoted, 108

 Constantinople, Councils at, 107, 282

 Cosmos, conception of the world as, 52, 161

 Cox, Dr., quoted, 46


 Daniel, plural authorship of the Book of, 8

 Dante, allusions to, 28, 51, 66, 76, 159, 194, 230;
   quotations from, 45, 54, 130;
   comparison of the _Divina Commedia_ to ‘Job,’ 111

 Davenant, quoted, 252

 David, idealisation of, 131 _sqq._

 Davidson, on Job (xix. 25-27), 34

 Dawn, personified, 77

 De Jong, on Koheleth, 240

 Delitzsch, on the Praise of Wisdom, 163;
   on the date of Proverbs, 170;
   on the period of Koheleth, 258;
   his Hebrew New Testament, 288;
   and _passim_

 Derenbourg, quoted, 100

 De Sanctis, quoted, viii.

 Determinism, in Koheleth, 265 _sqq._

 Deuteronomy, in the reign of Josiah, 6;
   points of contact with Job, 86;
   influence on the Praise of Wisdom, 168 _sq._;
   (xxxii. 8) explained, 81 _n._, 291

 De Vere, Aubrey, quoted, 105

 Dillmann, on style of Job, 294

 _Dīn Ibrahim_, morality of the, 98

 Dragon Myth, 16, 24, 76

 Dramatic character of ‘Job,’ 107

 Drunkenness, 140, 156


 Ebers, Prof., 40, 269


 =Ecclesiastes, the Book of=—
   (_a_) Canonicity, 279 _sqq._;
     title, 207 _n._, 298;
     date and place of composition, 255 _sqq._, 271, 278;
     break in its composition, 204;
     language, 256;
     style, 203, 207, 246;
     how far autobiographical, 209;
     comparison with Job, 203;
     with Sirach, 279;
     its standpoint, 200 _sqq._;
     its pessimism, 215, 251 _sq._, 301;
     its relation to Epicureanism, 215, 222, 252, 262 _sq._;
     to Stoicism, 264
   (_b_) _Passages explained or emended_:
     (iii. 11, 12), 210, 260, 276, 299;
     (iii. 17-21), 211;
     (iv. 13-16), 213;
     (v. 17), 260;
     (v. 19), 261;
     (vi. 9), 261;
     (vii. 1), 215;
     (vii. 18), 261;
     (vii. 27), 219;
     (viii. 10), 220, 276;
     (viii. 12), 220;
     (x. 20), 222;
     (xi. 9-xii. 7), 300;
     (xii. 1-7), 226;
     (xii. 8-14), 229 _sqq._, 261, 301
   Transpositions, 273 _sq._;
   Interpolations, 275, and 211, 213, 224 _sq._, 226, 229 _sq._

 Ecclesiasticus, _see_ Sirach

 Edwards, Sutherland, on Mephistopheles, 110

 Egypt, theory that ‘Job’ was composed in, 75

 Egyptian, animal fables, 126 _n._;
   discoveries, 5;
   incantations, 16;
   proverbs, 129;
   influence on Koheleth, 269 _sq._

 Egyptian-Jewish literature, 181

 Elephantiasis, Job’s disease, 22

 Elephants, 57

 Elihu, genealogy, 42 _n._;
   speeches of, 68, 90 _sqq._;
   their date, 42, 92;
   their style, 47, 92, 291

 Eliphaz, his home, 15;
   the ‘depositary of a revelation,’ 17

 Elohim, the sons of the, 14, 79, 81, 82, 151

 Emerson, quoted, 160

 Enoch, 297;
   Book of, 268

 Epictetus, 234 _n._

 Epicureanism, in Koheleth, 240 _sq._, 252, 262 _sq._

 Epicurus, 222

 Ethics, practical, relation to Hebrew Wisdom, 118 _sq._;
   of the Proverbs, 135 _sq._

 Euergetes II. Physkon, 180

 Ewald, his division of the Book of Proverbs, 134;
   of the Praise of Wisdom, 162;
   on the date of Proverbs, 190;
   on Koheleth, 236 _sqq._;
   and _passim_

 Ezekiel (xiv. 14), 60

 Ezra, why not mentioned in Sirach, 193 _sq._


 Family life, in Proverbs, 136

 Farmers, Israelitish goodwill to, 136, 214

 Faust, the Hebrew, 150

 Fees, whether paid to the ‘Wise Men,’ 124 _n._

 Fénelon, 67

 Friends, Job’s, Emeers, 15;
   representatives of orthodoxy, 17;
   their narrowness, 30

 Froude, J. A., quoted on Job xxvii., 95 _n._


 Gamaliel, 280

 Geiger, on Koheleth, 238 _sq._

 Genesis, no protest against Idolatry in, 71;
   opening chapters of, 6;
   (xiv. 19-22), 160

 Gilchrist, Life of Blake, 107

 Ginsburg, Dr., on ‘proportionate retribution’ in Job, 69;
   on Koheleth, 236;
   on Eccles. (iii. 12), 210 _n._;
   and _passim_

 Gnostic myth of Achamoth, 161

 God, name of, in Koheleth, 201, 217

 Godet, 288

 Grätz, on Koheleth, 244, 301

 Grave, Job’s, 60

 Greek influence on Koheleth, 202, 241, 260 _sqq._

 Green, Prof., of Princeton, on Job, (xix. 25-27), 33, 34 _n._;
   (xxvii.-xxviii.), 94

 Gregory the Great, on ‘Job,’ 90


 Hai Gaon, Rabbi, on ‘Job,’ 61

 Harischandra compared to Job, 63

 Harnack, quoted, 263

 Harūn ar-Rashid, 131, 296

 Hegesias Peisithanatos, 268

 Heine, on ‘Job,’ 104

 Hellenic movement in Palestine, 181

 Hengstenberg, on ‘Job,’ 61;
   on Koheleth, 249 _n._

 Herder, on ‘Job,’ 295;
   on Koheleth, 301

 Hezekiah, the Song of, 88;
   his supposed authorship of Proverbs xxv.-xxix., 142 _sq._;
   his views on medical science, 191

 Hillel, Rabbi, a copious fabulist, 128;
   the School of, on Koheleth, 280

 Hitopadesa, quoted, 153

 Hitzig, as a critic, 241 _n._;
   on the arrangement of the Praise of Wisdom, 163;
   and _passim_

 Hooker, 161, 162, 216 _sq._

 Hosea, parallels to ‘Job’ in, 87

 Humboldt, A. von, 46

 Humour, touches of, in ‘Job,’ 13, 14, 49, 109, 290;
   in Proverbs, 148 _n._;
   in Koheleth, 200, 216

 Husbandmen, Israelite goodwill to, 136, 214


 Ibn Ezra, opinion that ‘Job’ was a translation, 96

 Ibycus, the cranes of, 222

 Idealism, of the Prophets, 119

 Immortality, the hope of, in Proverbs, 122 _sq._;
   attitude of Koheleth to, 216, 251, 301

 Inconsistencies in the Canonical Scriptures, 204

 Indian, animal fables, 126 _n._;
   proverbs, 129

 Inspiration, view of, broadened by literary criticism, 7

 Irving, Edward, 162

 Isaiah, mythological allusions in, 78;
   parallels to ‘Job’ in, 84, 87;
   xxviii., 14, 120 _n._

 Israel, Job a type of, 58;
   the word not in Proverbs, 119;
   Koheleth indifferent to its religious primacy, 199

 Israelites, low religious position before the Exile, 6;
   their sympathy with husbandmen, 136, 214

 Italian moralists, their use of ‘Job,’ viii.

 Ives, Saint, Breton legend of, 140


 Jamnia, Synod of, 233, 280

 Jehovah, the name, 71, 72 _n._;
   consistency of the speeches of, in ‘Job,’ 48, 94

 Jeremiah, parallels to ‘Job’ in, 86

 Jerome, Saint, on metrical character of ‘Job,’ 12 _n._;
   on Epicureanism in Koheleth, 262, 281

 Jewish nation, like Job, a byword, 32

 =Job, the Book of=—
   (_a_) Proposed title for, 12;
     divisions of, 12 _sq._;
     perhaps a translation, 96 _sq._;
     probable stages of the growth of, 66 _sqq._;
     date of, 67 _sqq._, 88, 157;
     place of composition, 75;
     effect of removing the interpolations in, 70;
     Aramaic colouring of, 15 _n._, 92;
     whether historical, 60 _sq._, 183, 290;
     whether autobiographical, 63;
     whether a drama, 107;
     polemical aim of, 65;
     religious teaching of, 102 _sqq._;
     feeling for nature in, 51;
     humour in, 13 _sq._, 49, 109, 290;
     influence of, on other writers, viii. 83 _sq._
   (_b_) =Author=, the greatest master of Hebrew Wisdom, 11;
     circumstances of his age reflected in xvii. 6-9, 32;
     a traveller, 75, 97;
     looks beyond Israel, 65;
     place of writing, 75
   (_c_) =Hero=, his name, 62;
     title given him by the Syrians, 65;
     his nationality, 13, 59, 117, 170;
     whether historical, 60 _sqq._, 103;
     great age ascribed to him, 71;
     his grave, 60;
     dual aspect of, 32;
     a type, 17, 21, 22, 28, 31, 32, 58, 65
   (_d_) =Text.= (i.) _Passages explained or emended_:
     (vi. 25), 288;
     (xi. 6), 26;
     (xiii. 15), 28;
     (xv. 7), 167;
     (xvi. 2), 31;
     (xix. 25-27), 33 _sqq._, 288 _sq._;
     (xxxiii. 13), 44;
     (xxxviii. 41), 52 _n._;
     (xxxix. 10), 53 _n._
     (ii.), _Passages misplaced_, list of, 114;
     also 38, 39 _n._, 40 _n._, 41, 50, 68, 94, 115
     (iii.) _Passages interpolated_, 55 _sq._, 68 _sq._, 94, &c.

 Joel ii. 17 explained, 32

 Joseph, the tax farmer, 182, 191, 213

 Josephus, quoted, 190

 Joshua ben Hananyah, Rabbi, 230


 Kalisch, Dr., on Eccles. iii. 12, 210 _n._;
   his _Path and Goal_, 265

 Kant, on Job’s friends, 37

 Kenotic view of Christ’s person, 7, 287

 _Khîda_, a riddle, 125

 Kings, First Book of, (iv. 32) 132, (xix. 12) 19

 Kleinert, on Job (vi. 25), 288;
   on the style of Elihu, 293

 Klostermann, translation of Eccles. vii., 21, 219

 Koheleth, the name, 207, 231;
   his personality partly fused with Solomon, 208;
   his originality, 205, 268 _sq._
   _See also_ Ecclesiastes

 Koheleth, the Book of, _see_ Ecclesiastes

 Koran, quoted, &c., 31, 62 _n._, 63, 79 _n._

 Krochmal, N., on Epilogue to Koheleth, 232 _sq._

 K’sil, = Orion, 77

 Kuenen, on the Levitical Law, 3


 Lagarde, on the use of ‘Eloah,’ 72 _n._

 Lamentations, parallels to ‘Job’ in, 86

 Landed property, accumulation of, 146


 Law, the Levitical, authorship of, 3 _sqq._;
   not enforced in pre-Exile period, 6;
   identification of, with personified wisdom, 162, 192;
   Koheleth’s attitude to, 218

 Lee, Prof. S., on ‘Job,’ 97, 294

 Lemuel, 154, 170 _sq._

 Letteris, Max, 150

 Leviathan, 56

 Love for one’s enemies, 147

 Lowth, Bp., 16, 61, 107, 186, 237

 Lucretius, quoted, 201, 205;
   compared with Koheleth, 263

 Luther, on Job, 61;
   on Sirach, 197;
   on Koheleth, 205

 Luzzatto, on the ‘God of Job,’ 104;
   on Koheleth, 238 _sq._


 Mal’ak Yahvè, 80

 Mal’akim, 79, 80, 82

 Marduk, the god, 77

 Mariolatry, 162 _n._

 Marvell, Andrew, quoted, 144

 _Māshāl_, 125 _sq._, 132, 163

 Maspero, quoted, 76

 Massa, in the Hauran, Israelite colony at, 171

 Medical Science, attitudes of Sirach and Hezekiah to, 190 _sq._

 Meir, Rabbi, the writer of animal fables, 128

 Mendelssohn, on Koheleth, 236

 Mephistopheles, 110 _n._

 Merodach, the god, 77

 Merx, view of Job, 62, 113

 Messianic hope, 119, 188

 Midrash, proverbs in, 128

 Milton, allusions to, 53, 62, 107, 108, 112, 162, 253;
   quotations from, 19, 41, 107, 160, 162

 Mishnic peculiarities in Koheleth, 256

 _M’lîça_, a dark saying, 125

 Mohammed, delight of, in Job, 63;
   religion of, 98

 Mommsen, quoted, 181

 Monarchy, view of, in Proverbs, 145;
   in Koheleth, 222

 Monogamy, in Proverbs, 136

 Monotheism, of Job, 74;
   in Proverbs, 130

 Morality, of the Proverbs, 135 _sq._, 177

 Moses, authorship of the Law, 3;
   nature of his work, 6

 Mo’tazilites, 98, 162 _n._, 296

 Mozley, quoted, 103

 Mussaph prayer, 193

 Mythology, in ‘Job,’ 76


 Narrative poetry, alien to Hebrew genius, 13

 Nature, feeling for, in ‘Job,’ 51;
   in Sirach, 193

 Nebuchadnezzar, 73

 Neferhotep, stanzas in honour of, 269

 Neubauer, Dr. A., 289

 New Testament, attitude to Proverbs, 177

 Nowack, on Eccles. (iii. 12), 210 _n._

 Numerical Proverbs, 153


 Old Testament, general remarks on the criticism of, 1 _sqq._;
   need to distinguish between the parts of, 7;
   critical problems of, not prominent in Christ’s time, 7

 Omar Khayyam, 200, 245, 246, 253, 263

 Onias, the High Priest, 213

 Onkelus, Targum of, 264

 Oort, Dr., on proverbs, 127

 Orion, 77


 Palmer, Major, 52

 Parables, in the Old Testament, 126

 Paradise, tradition of, 123

 Patriarchal Age, whether delineated in Job, 13, 71 _sqq._

 Paul, Saint, doctrine of the Atonement, 3, 287

 Pentateuch, the literary analysis of it, 5 _sq._

 Peshitto translation of Proverbs, 174

 Philo, 151, 161 _n._, 264

 Pisa, Job frescoes at, 106

 Pleiades, 52, 290

 Plumptre, Dean, 122, 158, 207 _n._, 212, 245, 263, 265;
   and _passim_

 Prior, the poet, on Koheleth, 237

 Prophetical books, plural authorship in, 8

 Prophets, their antisacrificial language, 4;
   their horizon that of their own times, 8;
   their relations to the ‘Wise Men,’ 119 _sqq._, 182 _sq._

 Proverbs, different names for, 125;
   no collection of popular, 125;
   some originally current as riddles, 127

 =Proverbs, the Book of=—
   (_a_) The division of, 134;
     repetitions in, 133, 143;
     no subject arrangement, 134;
     the tone of the different parts of, 135, 146, 167, 177;
     their dates, 130, 133, 145, 149, 152, 165 _sqq._;
     their authorship, 130 _sqq._, 142, 135, 165 _sq._;
     their form and style, 133, 139, 143. 149, 154, 168;
     interpolations in, 173 _sqq._;
     transpositions in, 174
   (_b_) _Passages explained or emended_:
     (v. 16), 296;
     (viii. 22), 160;
     (xiv. 32), 122;
     (xviii. 24), 137;
     (xix. 1), 135 _n._;
     (xix. 7), 134;
     (xxii. 19-21), 138;
     (xxiii. 18), 123;
     (xxvii. 6), 148, 296;
     (xxx. 1-5), 149 _sq._, 170;
     (xxx. 15-16), 153;
     (xxx. 31), 175;
     (xxii. 1), 170

 Psalms, relations of, to ‘Job,’ 84, 88;
   Psalm viii. 5 parodied in ‘Job’ (vii. 17, 18), 22

 Ptahhotep, Proverbs of, 121

 Ptolemy Arsacides, Golden Table, 289

 Puscy, Dr. quoted, 1


 Q’dōshīm, 80, 149 _n._

 Quinet quoted, 105


 Ra, the sun god, 76

 Rahab, the helpers of, 24, 76

 Raven (in Job xxxviii. 41), 52 _n._

 Realism of the ‘Wise Men,’ 119

 Renan, on the style of Elihu, 47;
   on Koheleth, 206, 234, 242 _sq._, 246, 298;
   and _passim_

 Resh Lakish, Rabbi, quoted, 60

 Resurrection, hope of, 34, 75, 188 _sq._, 251, 301

 Retribution, proportionate, 23, 35, 58, 73, 98, 121, 140, 167, 189, 190
    _n._, 200, 219, 251

 Riddles, proverbs originally current as, 127


 Rig Veda, quoted, 78, 152

 Romans, vii. 20 adopted from Proverbs (xxiv. 17, 18), 147

 Romaunt of the Rose, quoted, 300

 Rossetti, Miss C., 242


 Sacrificial system, importance of, in post-Exile period, 4;
   relations of Job to, 71.
   _See also_ Law

 Salmon, Prof., on Eccles. (ix. 7-9), 262

 Samaritans, 194

 Sammael, 80

 Sandys’, George, translation of ‘Job,’ 106

 Satan, the, 14, 79, 80, 109, 188 _sq._, 297

 Schiller, 12

 Schultens, Albert, quoted, 61, 97, 99

 Sea Life, familiar, 140;
   cf. 133

 Seneca, quoted, 57, 265

 Septuagint version, of ‘Job,’ 113, 114, 296;
   of Proverbs, 173;
   of Koheleth, 277

 Seven Wise Men, of Greece, 119, 124

 Shammaites, on Koheleth, 280 _sq._

 Shedim, 80

 Shelley, delight in Job, 112, 253;
   dislike of Koheleth, 253

 Sibyl, the oldest Jewish, 264

 Simeon ben Shetach, 282 _sq._

 Simon II., 180, 181 _sq._


 Sirach, parentage, 180;
   early life, 182;
   a true ‘scribe,’ 185;
   unacquainted with Greek philosophy, 190;
   interested in nature and history, 193

 =Sirach, the Book of=—
   (_a_) Canonicity, 279 _sq._, 282 _sq._;
     the name Ecclesiasticus, 197;
     written in Hebrew, 194, 196;
     ancient versions of, 297;
     its date, 180 _sqq._;
     subject arrangement, 183;
     style, 185;
     whether autobiographical, 186;
     parallelisms in, to Proverbs, 184;
     no philosophical thought in, 182;
     imperfect moral teaching in, 187;
     conception of the divine nature, 188
   (_b_) _Passages emended or explained_;
     (xi. 16), 188;
     (xxi. 27), 189 _n._;
     (xxiv. 27), 196;
     (xxv. 15), 196;
     (xlvi. 18), 196;
     (xlviii. 11), 189, 193;
     (l. 1), 193;
     (l. 26), 193

 Soferim, 238. _See also_ ‘Wise Men’

 Solar Myths, 16, 22, 24, 76, 77

 Solomon, secular turn of, 72;
   reputed authorship of Proverbs, 130 _sqq._, 165, 170;
   Koheleth’s representative of humanity, 202, 207;
   reputed authorship of Koheleth, 255, 275

 Sophia, Gnostic myth of, 161 _n._

 Sophocles, 107, 220

 Spanheim, quoted, 97

 Spenser, the poet, 12

 Spinoza, on Job, 61


 Spirits, classes of, 44 _sq._

 Stanley, Dean, on Koheleth, 245, 255

 Star worship, 71, 82

 Steersmanship, the term, 133

 Stickel, quoted, 102

 Stoicism, in Koheleth, 240 _sq._, 264

 Swift, 15

 Swinburne, quoted, 212

 Syrian title for Job, 65


 Talmud, on Job, 64;
   proverbs in the, 128;
   Sirach cited in, 196;
   comparison of Koheleth with, 205;
   on Koheleth, 281

 Tasso, 109 _n._

 Taylor, C., on Job (xix. 26), 289

 Taylor, Jeremy, 253

 Temple, Bishop, 225

 Tennyson, quoted, 212

 Theism, argument for, early based on tradition, 23;
   of the Praise of Wisdom, 167

 Theodore of Mopsuestia, 107

 Thirlwall, Bishop, quoted, 2

 Thomas à Kempis, 231, 249

 Thomson, the poet, quoted, 21

 Thoreau, quoted, 106, 252

 Tiamat, 77

 Trades, disparaged in Sirach, 186

 Turgenieff, 243

 Turner, Studies Biblical and Oriental, quoted, 46

 Tyler, on Koheleth, 240, 263 _sq._


 Unicorn, in Job (xxxix. 10), 53 _n._

 Utilitarianism of the Wise Men, 121, 137

 Uz, locality of, 13 _n._


 Vaihinger, on Koheleth, 236 _sq._

 Varuna, Vedic hymn to, 154

 Vatke, on date of Proverbs, 1

 Vedic hymns, 77, 154. _See also_ Rig Veda

 Virtue, Koheleth’s ‘theory of,’ 218


 Webbe, George, quoted, 113

 Wellhausen, on Levitical Law, 3 _sqq._;
   on Job, 290

 Wisdom, the Hebrew, nature of, 117 _sq._;
   personification of, 162, 192


 Wise Men, the, 118, 123, 148, 182 _sqq._

 Women, in Proverbs, 135, 154;
   in Sirach, 187;
   in Koheleth, 219, 299

 Woolner, quoted, 229

 Wordsworth, 162

 Wright, Bateson, on Job, 113


 Zeno, 265 _sq._

 Zirkel, on Græcisms in Job, 260 _sq._

 Zophar, home of, 15;
   the ‘man of common sense,’ 17

 _Zwischenschriften_, 180




 ● Transcriber’s Notes:
    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
      when a predominant form was found in this book.
    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
      Text that was in bold face is enclosed by equals signs (=bold=).
    ○ Footnotes have been moved to follow the chapters in which they are
      referenced.