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.
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).
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.’