Job: A Comedy of Justice

by Robert A. Heinlein

  She spoke to them and they did go away, after more high giggles. I needed the interruption. I had said to Margrethe what had to be said because she needed immediate reassurance after her silly, gallant speech. But nevertheless I was shaken to my depths.

  I started to speak, then decided that I had said enough for one day. But Margrethe said nothing, too; the silence grew painful. I felt that matters could not be left so, balanced uncertainly on edge. “What is your faith, dear one? Judaism? I do remember now that there are Jews in Denmark. Not all Danes are Lutheran.”

  “Some Jews, yes. But barely one in a thousand. No, Alec. Uh—There are older Gods.”

  “Older than Jehovah? Impossible.”

  Margrethe said nothing—characteristically. If she disagreed, she usually said nothing. She seemed to have no interest in winning arguments, in which she must differ from 99 percent of the human race…many of whom appear willing to suffer any disaster rather than lose an argument.

  So I found myself having to conduct both sides to keep the argument from dying through lack of nourishment. “I retract that. I should not have said, ‘Impossible.’ I was speaking from the accepted chronology as given by Bishop Ussher. If one accepts his dating, then the world was created five thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight years ago this coming October. Of course that dating is not itself a matter of Holy Writ; Hales arrived at a different figure, uh, seven thousand four hundred and five, I think—I do better when I write figures down. And other scholars get slightly different answers.

  “But they all agree that some four or five thousand years before Christ occurred the unique event, Creation. At that point Jehovah created the world and, in so doing, created time. Time cannot exist alone. As a corollary, nothing and no one and no god can be older than Jehovah, since Jehovah created time. You see?”

  “I wish I’d kept quiet.”

  “My dear! I am simply trying to have an intellectual discussion; I did not and do not and never do and never will intend to hurt you. I said that was the case by the orthodox way of dating. Clearly you are using another way. Will you explain it to me?—and not jump all over poor old Alex every time he opens his mouth? I was schooled as a minister in a church that emphasizes preaching; discussion comes as naturally to me as swimming does to fish. But now you preach and I’ll listen. Tell me about these older gods.”

  “You know of them. The oldest and greatest we celebrate tomorrow; the middle day of each week is his.”

  “Today is Tuesday, tomorrow—Wednesday! Wotan! He is your God?”

  “Odin. ‘Wotan’ is a German distortion of Old Norse. Father Odin and his two brothers created the world. In the beginning there was void, nothing—then the rest of it reads much like Genesis, even to Adam and Eve—but called Askr and Embla rather than Adam and Eve.”

  “Perhaps it is Genesis, Margrethe.”

  “What do you mean, Alec?”

  “The Bible is the Word of God, in particular the English translation known as the King James version because every word of that translation was sustained by prayer and the best efforts of the world’s greatest scholars—any difference in opinion was taken directly to the Lord in prayer. So the King James Bible is the Word of God.

  “But nowhere is it written that this can be the only Word of God. A sacred writing of another race at another time in another language can also be inspired history…if it is compatible with the Bible. And that is what you have just described, is it not?”

  “Ah, just on Creation and on Adam and Eve, Alec. The chronology does not match at all. You said that the world was created about six thousand years ago?”

  “About. Hales makes it longer. The Bible does not give dates; dating is a modern invention.”

  “Even that longer time—Hales?—is much too short. A hundred thousand years would be more like it.”

  I started to expostulate—after all, some things are just too much to be swallowed—then remembered that I had warned myself not to say anything that could cause Margrethe to shut up. “Go on, dear. Do your religious writings tell what happened during all those millennia?”

  “Almost all of it happened before writing was invented. Some was preserved in epic poems sung by skalds. But even that did not start until men learned to live in tribes and Odin taught them to sing. The longest period was ruled by the frost giants before mankind was more than wild animals, hunted for sport. But the real difference in the chronology is this, Alec. The Bible runs from Creation to Judgment, Day, then Millennium—the Kingdom on Earth—then the War in Heaven and the end of the world. After that is the Heavenly City and Eternity—time has stopped. Is that correct?”

  “Well, yes. A professional eschatologist would find that overly simplified but you have correctly described the main outlines. The details are given in Revelations—the Revelation of Saint John the Divine, I should say. Many prophets have witnessed the final things but Saint John is the only one with the complete story…because Christ Himself delivered the Revelation to John to stop the elect from being deceived by false prophets. Creation, the Fall from Grace, the long centuries of struggle and trial, then the final battle, followed by Judgment and the Kingdom. What does your faith say, my love?”

  “The final battle we call Ragnarok rather than Armageddon—”

  “I can’t see that terminology matters.”

  “Please, dear. The name does not matter but what happens does. In your Judgment Day the goats are separated from the sheep. The saved go to eternal bliss; the damned go to eternal punishment. Correct?”

  “Correct—while noting for purposes of scientific accuracy that some authorities assert that, while bliss is eternal, God so loves the world that even the damned may eventually be saved; no soul is utterly beyond redemption. Other theologians regard this as heresy—but it appeals to me; I have never liked the idea of eternal damnation. I’m a sentimentalist, my dear.”

  “I know you are, Alec, and I love you for it. You should find the old religion appealing…as it does not have eternal damnation.”

  “It does not?”

  “No. At Ragnarok the world as we know it will be destroyed. But that is not the end. After a long time, a time of healing, a new universe will be created, one better and cleaner and free from the evils of this world. It too will last for countless millennia…until again the forces of evil and cold contend against the forces of goodness and light…and again there is a time of rest, followed by a new creation and another chance for men. Nothing is ever finished, nothing is ever perfect, but over and over again the race of men gets another chance to do better than last time, ever and again without end.”

  “And this you believe, Margrethe?”

  “I find it easier to believe than the smugness of the saved and the desperate plight of the damned in the Christian faith. Jehovah is said to be all powerful. If this is true, then the poor damned souls in Hell are there because Jehovah planned it that way in every minute detail. Is this not so?”

  I hesitated. The logical reconciliation of Omnipotence, Omniscience, and Omnibenevolence is the thorniest problem in theology, one causing even Jesuits to break their teeth. “Margrethe, some of the mysteries of the Almighty are not easily explained. We mortals must accept Our Father’s benevolent intention toward us, whether or not we always understand His works.”

  “Must a baby understand God’s benevolent intention when his brains are dashed out against a rock? Does he then go straight to Hell, praising the Lord for His infinite Wisdom and Goodness?”

  “Margrethe! What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I am talking about places in the Old Testament in which Jehovah gives direct orders to kill babies, sometimes ordering that they be killed by dashing them against rocks. See that Psalm that starts ‘By the rivers of Babylon—’ And see the word of the Lord Jehovah in Hosea: ‘their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their women with child shall be ripped up.’ And there is the case of Elisha and the bears. Alec, do you believe in your heart that your God c
aused bears to tear up little children merely because they made fun of an old man’s bald head?” She waited.

  And I waited. Presently she said, “Is that story of the she bears and the forty-two children the literal Word of God?”

  “Certainly it’s the Word of God! But I don’t pretend to understand it fully. Margrethe, if you want detailed explanations of everything the Lord has done, pray to Him for enlightenment. But don’t crowd me about it.”

  “I did not intend to crowd you, Alec. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. I’ve never understood about those bears but I don’t let it shake my faith. Perhaps it’s a parable. But look, dear, doesn’t your Father Odin have a pretty bloody history Himself?”

  “Not on the same scale. Jehovah destroyed city after city, every man, woman, and child, down to the youngest baby. Odin killed only in combat against opponents his own size. But, most important difference of all, Father Odin is not all powerful and does not claim to be all wise.”

  (A theology that avoids the thorniest problem—But how can you call Him “God” if He is not omnipotent?)

  She went on, “Alec my only love, I don’t want to attack your faith. I don’t enjoy it and never intended to—and hope that nothing like it will ever happen again. But you did ask me point blank whether or not I accepted the authority of ‘Holy Writ’—by which you mean your Bible. I must answer just as point blank. I do not. The Jehovah or Yahweh of the Old Testament seems to me to be a sadistic, bloodthirsty, genocidal villain. I cannot understand how He can be identified with the gentle Christ of the New Testament. Even through a mystic Trinity.”

  I started to answer but she hurried on. “Dear heart, before we leave this subject I must tell you something I have been thinking about. Does your religion offer an explanation of the weird thing that has happened to us? Once to me, twice to you—this changed world?”

  (It had been endlessly on my mind, too!) “No. I must confess it. I wish I had a Bible to search for an explanation. But I have been searching in my mind. I haven’t been able to find anything that should have prepared me for this.” I sighed. “It’s a bleak feeling. But—” I smiled at her. “—Divine Providence placed you with me. No land is strange to me that has Margrethe in it.”

  “Dear Alec. I asked because the old religion does offer an explanation.”

  “What?”

  “Not a cheerful one. At the beginning of this cycle Loki was overcome—do you know Loki?”

  “Some. The mischief maker.”

  “‘Mischief’ is too mild a word; he works evil. For thousands of years he has been a prisoner, chained to a great rock. Alec, the end of every cycle in the story of man begins the same way. Loki manages to escape his bonds…and chaos results.”

  She looked at me with great sadness. “Alec, I am sorry…but I do believe that Loki is loose. The signs show it. Now anything can happen. We enter the Twilight of the Gods. Ragnarok comes. Our world ends.”

  XII

  And in the same hour was there a great earthquake,

  and the tenth part of the city fell, and in the

  earthquake were slain of men seven thousand:

  and the remnant were affrighted, and gave glory

  to the God of Heaven.

  Revelation 11:13

  I washed another lighthouse stack of dishes while I pondered the things Margrethe had said to me that beautiful afternoon on Icebox Hill—but I never again mentioned the subject to Margrethe. And she did not speak of it to me; as Margrethe never argued about anything if she could reasonably keep silent.

  Did I believe her theory about Loki and Ragnarok? Of course not! Oh, I had no objection to calling Armageddon by the name “Ragnarok.” Jesus or Joshua or Jesu; Mary or Miriam or Maryam or Maria, Jehovah or Yahweh—any verbal symbol will do as long as speaker and listener agree on meaning. But Loki? Ask me to believe that a mythical demigod of an ignorant, barbarian race has wrought changes in the whole universe? Now, really!

  I am a modern man, with an open mind—but not so empty that the wind blows through it. Somewhere in Holy Writ lay a rational explanation for the upsets that had happened to us. I need not look to ghost stories of long-dead pagans for explanation.

  I missed not having a Bible at hand. Oh, no doubt there were Catholic Bibles at the basilica three blocks away…in Latin or in Spanish. I wanted the King James version. Again no doubt there were copies of it somewhere in this city—but I did not know where. For the first time in my life I envied the perfect memory of Preachin’ Paul (Rev. Paul Balonius) who tramped up and down the central states the middle of last century, preaching the Word without carrying the Book with him. Brother Paul was reputed to be able to quote from memory any verse cited by book, chapter, and number of verse, or, conversely, correctly place by book, chapter, and number any verse read to him.

  I was born too late to meet Preachin’ Paul, so I never saw him do this—but perfect memory is a special gift God bestows not too infrequently; I have no reason to doubt that Brother Paul had it. Paul died suddenly, somewhat mysteriously, and possibly sinfully—in the words of my mission studies professor, one should exercise great prudence in praying alone with a married woman.

  I don’t have Paul’s gift. I can quote the first few chapters of Genesis and several of the Psalms and the Christmas story according to Luke, and some other passages. But for today’s problem I needed to study in exact detail all the prophets, especially the prophecy known as the Revelation of Saint John the Divine.

  Was Armageddon approaching? Was the Second Coming at hand? Would I myself still be alive in the flesh when the great Trump sounds?

  A thrilling thought, and not one to be discarded too quickly. Many millions will be alive on that great day; that mighty host could include Alexander Hergensheimer. Would I hear His Shout and see the dead rise up and then myself “be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air” and then ever be with the Lord, as promised? The most thrilling passage in the Great Book!

  Not that I had any assurance that I myself would be among those saved on that great day, even if I lived in the flesh to that day. Being an ordained minister of the Gospel does not necessarily improve one’s chances. Clergymen are aware of this cold truth (if they are honest with themselves) but laymen sometimes think that men of the cloth have an inside track.

  Not true! For a clergyman, there are no excuses. He can never claim that “he didn’t know it was loaded,” or cite youth and inexperience as a reason to ask for mercy, or claim ignorance of the law, or any of the other many excuses by which a layman might show a touch less than moral perfection but still be saved.

  Knowing this, I was forced to admit that my own record lately did not suggest that I was among the saved. Certainly, I was born again. Some people seem to think that this is a permanent condition, like a college degree. Brother, don’t count on it! I was only too aware that I had racked up quite a number of sins lately: Sinful pride. Intemperance. Greed. Lechery. Adultery. Doubt. And others.

  Worse yet, I felt no contrition for the very worst of these.

  If the record did not show that Margrethe was saved and listed for Heaven, then I had no interest in going there myself. God help me, that was the truth.

  I worried about Margrethe’s immortal soul.

  She could not claim the second chance of all pre-Christian Era souls. She had been born into the Lutheran Church, not my church but ancestor to my church, ancestor to all Protestant churches, the first fruit of the Diet of Worms. (When I was a lad in Sunday school, “Diet of Worms” inspired mind pictures quite foreign to theology!)

  The only way Margrethe could be saved would be by renouncing her heresy and seeking to be born again. But she must do this herself; I could not do it for her.

  The most I could possibly do would be to urge her to seek salvation. But I would have to do it most carefully. One does not persuade a butterfly to light on one’s hand by brandishing a sword. Margrethe was not a heathen ignorant of Christ and ne
eding only to be instructed. No, she had been born into Christianity and had rejected it, eyes open. She could cite Scripture as readily as I could—at some time she had studied the Book most diligently, far more than most laymen. When and why I never asked, but I think it must have been at the time when she began to contemplate leaving the Christian faith. Margrethe was so serious and so good that I felt certain that she would never take such a drastic step without long, hard study.

  How urgent was the problem of Margrethe? Did I have thirty years or so to learn her mind and feel out the best approach? Or was Armageddon so close upon us that even a day’s delay could doom her for eternity?

  The pagan Ragnarok and the Christian Armageddon have this in common: The final battle will be preceded by great signs and portents. Were we experiencing such omens? Margrethe thought so. Myself, I found the idea that this world changing presaged Armageddon more attractive than the alternative, i.e., paranoia on my part. Could a ship be wrecked and a world changed just to keep me from checking a thumbprint? I had thought so at the time but—oh, come now, Alex, you are not that important.

  (Or was I?)

  I have never been a Millenarianist. I am aware how often the number one thousand appears in the Bible, especially in prophecy—but I have never believed that the Almighty was constrained to work in even millennia—or any other numbering patterns—just to please numerologists.

  On the other hand I know that many thousands of sensible and devout people place enormous importance on the forthcoming end of the Second Millennium, with Judgment Day and Armageddon and all that must follow—expected at that time. They find their proofs in the Bible and claim confirmation in the lines in the Great Pyramid and in a variety of Apocrypha.

  But they differ among themselves as to the end of the millennium. 2000 A.D.? Or 2001 A.D.? Or is the correct dating 3 p.m. Jerusalem local time April 7, 2030 A.D.? If indeed scholars have the time and date of the Crucifixion—and the earthquake at the moment of His death—correctly figured against mundane time reckoning. Or should it be Good Friday 2030 A.D. as calculated by the lunar calendar? This is no trivial matter in view of what we are attempting to date.