The author staged this dialogue on the Ash-Mound, outside the village. After the loss of property and children, Job, all covered with boils, takes a potsherd with which to scrape himself and sits down upon the Ash-Mound. When the news of his misfortune reaches his three friends, they proceed forthwith to visit him. As these old sheiks approach Job, and find him changed beyond recognition, they lift up their voices and weep. They also tear off their mantles and sprinkle dust upon their heads. Seeing that Job is in deep distress, they seat themselves near him and remain there seven solid days and nights without ever speaking a word. Finally, Job opens his mouth and curses the day of his birth, in one of the most pessimistic poems ever recited. Even the comforters can scarcely believe their ears, so shocked are they at Job's blasphemy. Still, they retain a measure of sympathy, for Eliphaz asks with great delicacy:
"If one assays to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved?
But who can withhold himself from speaking?"
You remember, Job, how you instructed others when they were weak and afflicted. "Recall, I pray thee, who ever perished, being innocent?" Now be a man, take your own medicine, repent of your sins, and God will return your prosperity. But Job only pours out his grief in fresh torrents. This causes Bildad to respond with alacrity:
"How long wilt thou speak these things?
And how long shall the words of thy mouth be like a mighty wind?"
Nevertheless, in spite of Bildad's lengthy rebuke, Job continues to pour out his complaint until Zophar can stand it no longer.
"Should not the multitude of words be answered? You are too full of talk for a righteous man. Your boasting will not silence us. For your mockery we shall make you ashamed." And when Zophar had finished his vehement reproach, Job was mad.
"No doubt but ye are the people,
And wisdom shall die with you."
Thus the argument went back and forth with criminations and recriminations, until Job and his friends were exhausted.
While the discussion was raging, there came along a young theologian who, being attracted by the discussion, remained to hear it through. It turned out that the speeches of both Job and his friends were to him equally disgusting. So he decided to wait and set them all right by his superior wisdom. Though this young man was filled with wrath at what he heard, yet he respectfully waited until the old men had finished. Then he reminded them that it was his respect for age that had kept him still until now. Having expressed his surprise at not finding wisdom associated with years, he takes thirty-three lines to tell them how smart he is; and assures them that they shall hear something worth while when he gets to speaking. Some years ago while reading this with my wife, I could scarcely wait until young Elihu got through boasting; I was thrilled with a desire to hear his new position. At last he began his argument. But, to my great surprise, I could see no difference between his position and that of Job's opponents; and as my wife could see no difference, I was convinced that there was none. Like Job's antagonists, he argued at great length and with much beauty that misfortune is a proof of guilt. Finally, however, he did add a suggestion. Misfortune is a warning not to sin more, lest you suffer more. Of course none of the older men deigned to answer this young upstart by so much as a word.