by Harold Bloom
I find Elisha even more peculiar than Elijah and the oddest of disciples for Elijah to have chosen. He gathers around him a host of sons of the prophets and becomes a kind of war counselor to the royal court. He sanctions the bloodthirsty Jehu, which ironically culminates the tradition of Elijah. His endless miracles seem to me endlessly annoying.
Jehu destroys the family of Jezebel and Ahab. This massacre has the approval of the redactors of Kings. As far as I can tell, the historical Ahab was a strong king, but his military and political successes were cast aside by the Bible. I do not in the least believe in his wickedness or that of Jezebel. She was not even a Hebrew but a Phoenician princess, possibly of the family of Dido of Carthage. But, then, the saga of Elijah and Elisha was not history but religious polemic.
Isaiah of Jerusalem:
“Arise, Shine; For Thy Light Is Come”
THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN sacred and secular works is merely political and social. Though I resist, I am haunted always by the aura of transcendence that the Bible possesses for me.
Isaiah of Jerusalem, himself of the royal house, prophesied in the later years of the eighth century B.C.E. There was a School of Isaiah, including the famous Second Isaiah, who achieves a magnificence I cannot cease hearing in my mind:
Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.
For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee.
And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.
Lift up thine eyes round about, and see: all they gather themselves together, they come to thee: thy sons shall come from far, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side.
Then thou shalt see, and flow together, and thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged; because the abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall come unto thee.
Geneva Bible, Isaiah 60:1–5
Rhapsodic and exultant, this has been interpreted by Christianity as the advent of the Incarnation. From such a perspective, doubtless that is legitimate, however ahistorical. In context, this prophetic ecstasy has its mysteries, yet for me its blessing is literary. I listen even at my age to a trumpet call that urges me to fresh hope: “Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.” I think of Walt Whitman chanting: “Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sunrise would kill me, / If I could not now and always send forth sunrise from myself.” Or I hear Wallace Stevens lamenting: “The exceeding brightness of this early sun / Makes me conceive how dark I have become.”
I am compelled now to live mostly indoors and find myself staring out of the window and being moved by the surprisingly temperate early-March weather. What we call the weather is the absence or presence of sun, wind, rain, or snow: “Ever-jubilant, / What is there here but weather, what spirit / Have I except it comes from the sun?”
Psalms or Praises
PSALMS IS THE longest book in the Hebrew Bible. Doubtless it is also the most influential upon Jews and Christians in terms of high literature; it has brought into existence a large body of major lyric poems, both devotional and secular. And yet it is a puzzling work. There are 150 psalms composed across some six centuries, from 996 to 457 B.C.E. It is possible that some of them were written by King David, but not many. Rather than discuss so large a work, I will confine myself to the psalms that mean the most to me: 19, 23, 24, 46, and 68.
“Psalm,” as an English word, derives from the Greek translation of the Hebrew mizmor, a song set to music. In Jewish tradition, the Psalms were called Tehillim (Praises), and all of them praise and express gratitude to Yahweh. The God of the Psalms has comforted multitudes, whether in the valley of decision, or in the valley of the shadow of death. He does not comfort me, because I do not know how to think in a realm of gratitude.
And yet the Psalms have comforted millions. They pray to a God more compassionate than ever existed in reality. The best critical observation I know about them is by Herbert Marks, who said they were “untouched by irony.”
The God of the Psalms is an absent father, but he can also be an angry presence. In poetic history, Psalm 19:1–6 has been immensely influential.
The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.
There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.
Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun,
Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race.
His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.
That wonderful verse 5 is Miltonic before John Milton. We are dazzled by its double vision of the rising sun as both an agonist and a bridegroom. With Psalm 23, we come to the most famous psalm in the entire English tradition.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
The King James translators superbly misread what they call “still waters” in verse 2, where the Hebrew says “waters of rest.” In verse 4, where the Hebrew says “total darkness,” there is a great transfiguration into “the valley of the shadow of death.” In verse 6, “mercy” is in the Hebrew “loving-kindness,” and “for ever” is the more ambiguous “for length of days.” The dying Sir John Falstaff, as reported by Mistress Quickly in Henry V, evidently sang Psalm 23, though when she gives it as “a babbled of green fields,” she garbles it, intending to say “a table of green fields,” which would fuse together “green pastures” and “Thou preparest a table before me.”
It may be that Psalm 24 was sung during processions of the Ark. It is a triumph of the King James Version.
The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.
For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.
Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place?
He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.
He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.
This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek thy face, O Jacob. Selah.
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.
Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.
Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory. Selah.
Selah remains a mystery. I read this as a celebration of Yahweh as a man of war, particularly powerful in verse 7, which is then repeated as verse 9. Psalm 46 reminds us of Isaiah’s celebration of Yahweh’s defense of Jerusalem. Though Psalm 46 was not written for that intervention, it might well have been.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.
There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.
The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted.
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.
Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth.
He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire.
Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.
The river in verse 4 becomes, in Ezekiel and in Revelation, the pure river of the water of life. Yahweh’s great outcry celebrates himself in “I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.”
I have a special passion for Psalm 68:
Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.
But let the righteous be glad; let them rejoice before God: yea, let them exceedingly rejoice.
Sing unto God, sing praises to his name: extol him that rideth upon the heavens by his name Jah, and rejoice before him.
A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.
God setteth the solitary in families: he bringeth out those which are bound with chains: but the rebellious dwell in a dry land.
O God, when thou wentest forth before thy people, when thou didst march through the wilderness; Selah:
The earth shook, the heavens also dropped at the presence of God: even Sinai itself was moved at the presence of God, the God of Israel.
Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary.
Thy congregation hath dwelt therein: thou, O God, hast prepared of thy goodness for the poor.
The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it.
Kings of armies did flee apace: and she that tarried at home divided the spoil.
Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.
Psalm 68:1–13
The thirteenth verse haunted my critical hero, Walter Pater, whose passion for it was transmembered by Henry James to title his great novel, The Wings of the Dove (1902):
If, like Walter Pater and Henry James, you believe that the powers of the high arts are a resurrection, then you are very moved by the psalm’s appeal to your experience. I lie here in a rehabilitation center, and so I too have lain among broken vessels, and I yearn to rise up again in the silver and gold of the ascending dove.
Job:
Holding His Ground
WHAT SHALL WE MAKE of the book of Job, now in this dark year of 2017? As an aesthetic glory, it is unique even in the Hebrew Bible, but what exactly is it? It is certainly not a theodicy. I see increasingly that both Job and King Lear demonstrate that there is simply no language appropriate when we seek to confront Yahweh.
Job’s name seems to derive from the Arabic awah, “he who returns to God,” but the Rabbis saw the name as antithetical, meaning both “just” and “the enemy of God.” In the prologue and epilogue Yahweh is named properly, but in the poem he is called El, Elosh, Elohim, and Shaddai. That leaves us with Ha-Satan, the accuser of sin, but certainly not Satan in the Miltonic sense.
The prologue centers on an extraordinary exchange between Yahweh and the Satan, who is here a kind of authorized accuser of sin.
Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.
And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.
And the Lord said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?
Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, Doth Job fear God for nought?
Hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land.
But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.
And the Lord said unto Satan, Behold, all that he hath is in thy power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand. So Satan went forth from the presence of the Lord.
Job 1:6–12
I always reflect that both Yahweh and the Satan are very unpleasant persons. Job has no faults, though his horrible Comforts will look for what nonsense they can find. As a troublemaker, the Satan is merely laboring in his vocation. Yahweh’s motives appear to be his usual bad temper, or perhaps just a CEO’s skepticism concerning his most faithful employee. To justify Yahweh here you would need all the scandalous talents of Tony Kushner’s Roy Cohn in Perestroika.
We do not know who the poet of the book of Job was. He may not even have been an Israelite. He does not seem to have written the prologue; he begins in the grand debate in chapters 3–31. The inept epilogue is just a pious absurdity.
For me the greatness of Job centers upon chapter 41.
Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down?
Canst thou put an hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn?
Will he make many supplications unto thee? will he speak soft words unto thee?
Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant for ever?
Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?
Shall the companions make a banquet of him? shall they part him among the merchants?
Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? or his head with fish spears?
Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.
Behold, the hope of him is in vain: shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?
None is so fierce that dare stir him up: who then is able to stand before me?
Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him? whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine.
I will not conceal his parts, nor his power, nor his comely proportion.
Who can discover the face of his garment? or who can come to him with his double bridle?
Who can open the doors of his face? his teeth are terrible round about.
His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal.
One is so near to another, that no air can come between them.
They are joined one to another, they stick together, that they cannot be sundered.
By his neesings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out.
Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron.
His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.
In his neck remaineth str
ength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him.
The flakes of his flesh are joined together: they are firm in themselves; they cannot be moved.
His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone.
When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason of breakings they purify themselves.
The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold: the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon.
He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood.
The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble.
Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a spear.
Sharp stones are under him: he spreadeth sharp pointed things upon the mire.
He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.
He maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary.
Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear.
He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children of pride.
Yahweh sanctifies Behemoth and Leviathan, who are the tyranny of nature over humankind. Yahweh is nastily proud of them, and his pride taunts us. What I hear in this is brutal wisdom. And yet the revision touches upon a negative sublimity. Will he make a covenant with thee? Even as a little child I found this divine sarcasm unbearable, but as a bombardment of exuberances it substitutes power for justification. Is this Yahweh really still interested in covenant?
If the book of Job does offer wisdom, it is beyond anything that I can apprehend. Hence the superb poem of chapter 28:12–28, where we have no choice except yielding to eloquence.