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RAR
THE
SPIRIT
OF
HEBRE W POETRY,
BY J. G. HERDER.
shanno
.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN,
BY JAMES MARSI.
IN TWO VOLUMES,
VOL. I.
"BURLINGTON:
EDWARDSMITII,
(Succe8807 to Chauncey Goodrich.)
1833.
PJ
5022
H543
1833 a
vil
X 244358
of 13873
vo I
Eentciedinccording to Act of Congress in the year 1833, by
:
CHAUSCEY GOODRICII,
in the office of the Clerk of the District of Vermont.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The work, of which a translation is here offered to
the publick, has long been celebrated in Germany, as
one of distinguished merit. On its first publication it
did much to awaken and cherish the taste for Oriental
and especially llebrew antiquity, which has since so
extensively prevailed among the scholars of that coun-
try. It taught them, too, in the study of Hebrew an-
tiquity and Hebrew poetry, as the works of Lessing,
Winkelmann, and others had done in regard to Grecian
antiquity, to divest themselves of the conceptions, and
morles of thought, which are peculiar to their own
country and institutions, and of the peculiar spirit of
their own age ; by the force of imagination to place
themselves in the condition of those ancient patriarchs
and prophets, whose thoughts and feelings they seek to
apprehend; to sec the world as they saw it, to feel as
they felt, to imbibe and to express their spirit in its truth
and simplicity. Hence, though Germany has since
been fruitful in works connected with Hebrew poetry
and history, and though the great work of Bp. Lowth
has been translated and is appreciated there, this
still retains its place, as a classical and standard work.
26953
4
· These general facts might seem sufficient, in the
view even of those, who are not personally acquainted
with the work, to claim for it a place in the biblical
literature of this country, and the few anong us, who
are acquainted with it, have long wished for a transla-
tion, which should render it accessible especially to
all who are professionally engaged in biblical studies.
The same influence, it is believed moreover, is needed
here, and indeed among English scholars generally,
which, as above remarked, it exerted, in concert with
other works, in the country which produced it. The
work of Bp. Lowth is the only one of much distinction,
whose influence is felt either in England or in this
country, in cultivating in the ininds of students a genial
love for the spirit of Hebrew antiquity. What that is,
as compared with the work of IIerder, is readily seen
by any one, who is acquainted with both, and capable
of appreciating the difference between them. Valua-
ble, and indeed indispensable as it is, to the student
of the Bible, from the richness of its thoughts and the
nice discrimination exhibited in its lcarned criticism,
it differs essentially from that of IIerder in the point
of view, from which it contemplates the subject of
which it treats. It seeks to illustrate and make in-
telligible the beauties and sublimitics of Hebrew poet-
ry, by comparing it in all its varieties, with the pro-
ductions of Grecian and Roman art, and has done per-
haps all that can be desired in following out that mode
of critical comparison. It exhibits the views, which
must naturally be taken, and are therefore justly taken,
by a mind thoroughly disciplined and cultivated by a
study of what in English literature is exclusively un-
derstood by classical learning both ancient and modern,
>
5
But in one sense it may be justly said, that the more
thoroughly one's understanding is moulded by the
forms, and occupied with the conceptions exhibited in
the literature of one age and country, the less is it qual-
ified to imbibe the genuine spirit, and feel the simple
power of every other national literature. This must
necessarily be the case, iſ it be so pre-occupied and
biassed as to judge of all others, and test their merits,
exclusively by the result of comparison with that,
from which its own character was derived. Unless
it have the higher power of divesting itself of all that
is peculiar in its acquired forms of thought, and in
those conceptions by which it takes cognizance of the
objects of its knowledge, of clothing itself anew in
the forms of thought peculiar to another people, and
of so adopting their conceptions for its own, as to
contemplate the world around them under the same
relations with them, the man can never participate in
their emotions, nor breathe the spirit of their poetry.
He must not only be acquainted with the facts of their
history, the modes of life, and the circumstances of
every kind, by which their habits of thought and feel- ·
ing were noulded, as a mass of antiquarian lore, but
must learn to place himself entirely in their point of
view, and to see all these particulars in the relation to
each other, and to the observer, which they would
then assume. When he has done this, he will be
prepared to understand why they thought, and felt,
and wrote as they did ; and if he have the feeling and
inspiration of the poet, he will sympathize with their
emotions, and the living spirit of their poetry will be
kindled up in his own imagination. llow difficult it
is for us to do this, however, in relation to the poetry
1 *
6
of a people so widely diverse from us in all the cir-
cumstances of their earthly existence, can be under-
stood only by those who have looked at the subject
with enlarged and philosophical views. Thus to enter
into the spirit - Grecian poetry, to understand the
child-like sinery of Homer, and appreciate
truth of feeling in his representations, is a high attain-
ment for the classical student, yet the Greeks were
our neighbours and kindred, when compared with the
more ancient and Oriental Hebrews. When we place
ourselves in the tents of the llebrew patriarchs, on
the plains of Arabia, or the mountains of Palestine,
every thing is to be learned anew. The language,
the habits of life, the modes of thought and of inter-
course, tlie heavens above, and the carth beneath, all
are changed, and present to us a strange and foreign
aspect. When in addition to this we consider, that
the poetry, which we are here called to study, belongs
to the earliest periods of recorded time, and embodies
many of the first simple and child-like conceptions
of the human mind, and when we reflect, too, how
difficult it is for us to return upon our own childhood,
and revive the faded conceptions and forgotten feel-
ings, with which we then looked abroad upon the
works of nature, observed the conduct of our fellow-
men, or contemplated our own being and destiny, we
may apprehend something of the difficulties, which
an author has to overcome, who would fully cnter
into the spirit of Hebrew poetry, and make it intel-
ligible to a mere English reader. We may under-
stand too how impossible it would be by the method,
which Lowth has pursued, and by that alone, to do full
justice to a body of poetry so peculiar, and so diverse
7
in its whole spirit, from that with which he brings it
into comparison. Hence the necessity of the work
of Herder; and the end, which he sought to accom-
plish, was to supply that, which was wanting in the
celebrated lectures of Bp. Lowth. He has aimed by
tracing the simple and child-like conceptions, which
had been transmitted from the infancy of the race,
and which had a predominant influence, in connexion
with the outward circumstances of their existence, in
giving its character and spirit to their poetry, in a
word, by looking at these in their causes, to place us
in the proper point of view, and enable us to feel and
appreciate them for ourselves. But what farther is
necessary to be said on this point the author has him-
self said in the plan of his work, in his preface, and in
various parts of the work itself.
How far the author has succeeded in regard to the
attainment of his end, the reader, with proper qualifi-
cations for forming an opinion, must judge for himself.
That he has always apprehended in their true sense
the early conceptions of the Hebrews is not to be
supposed, nor would any one probably undertake to
defend all his views, even of important matters, con-
nected with the early traditions of the race. The bib-
lical representations of Paradise, of the garden of Eden,
of the temptation and fall of Adam, of the Cherubim,
of the delugc, and of what Herder denominates my-
thological representations generally, have ever fur-
nished an ample field of speculation, in which every
critick feels at liberty to form his own opinions, and
for the most part to interpret by his own rules. So
far as philosophical and theological considerations in-
fluenced the author, he seems to have aimed chiefly at
8
meeting the popular objections to the representations
of Scripture, which were then very generally preva-
lent, and are so more or less in every age, by showing,
that, although we cannot understand these, as they
would at first seem to mean, when seen from our point
of view, they yet exhibit when seen from the right
position, and in their true relations to the age and peo-
ple, for which they were originally made, a sense both
natural and rational. To judge fairly of the author, as
a man of piety and of sober and correct views, from
the representations, which he has given of these mat-
ters, we must consider moreover the atmosphere, in
which he wrote, and the free spirit of Biblical criti-
cism, as exhibited at the same time by Eichhorn and
other contemporary German writers. But after making
due allowances of this sort, it will still be felt, that
the work contains some things irreconcilable with just
views, nor would I be understood as subscribing to all
the sentiments, which I am herewith exhibiting to the
publick.
If it be asked, why then do I exhibit opinions, which I
deem erroneous, I can only say, that others, as well as
myself, and those in whose judgment I place the highest
confidence, have thought it extremely desirable, all
things considered, that the work should be given to
the publick, and my views of duty to my author, as a
faithful translator, did not permit me to misrepresent
his opinions in any thing of importance.* I was at
*I fear that in one or two instances, the translation, through
inadvertcuice, is such as may seem to convey a sense firther re-
moved from what are considered correct views, than the original.
An instance of this occurs on page 189, where “lell" properly
means the place of the dead. It is explained by referenco to page
176.
9
first disposed to avoid the difficulty by accompanying
the work with notes, and giving in them my own re-
marks, on whatever would probably be considered
objectionable by the lovers of divine truth. I soon
found, however, on considering the nature of the sub-
jects that would require to be noticed in this way, that
I must either give a naked opinion, where a sense of
propriety would not permit me to do so, or enter into
discussions of a philosophical and theological kind,
unsuited to the character, and beyond the proper limits
of the work. My belief is, morcover, that such is
the character and spirit of the work, taken as a whole,
as to give it an influence highly beneficial to the cause
of truth and of sound Biblical learning among us, if
only it be read in the spirit that dictated it, and to cor-
rect in the general result, whatever individual errors
of opinion it may contain. It is only to be regretted,
that the author had not completed the plan which he
had sketched, and we could then, no doubt, hare judg.
ed more fairly, of the proportions and bearings of the
parts which we have.
What, and how comprehensive his plan was, will
be seen from his own sketch of it, immediately fol-
lowing this preface. It seems, too, to have been his
favourite enterprize, and cherished with fondness, as
he remarked to one of his friends, from his very
childhood. His hopes, however, were never fully
realized, and only a part of the general plan was
ever executed. During the latter part of his life,
when he had hoped for leisure to accomplish it, he
was so much oppressed with other duties, as at last to
be removed in the midst of his labours, when he had
scarcely entered upon the third division of his work.
10
Even the two first divisions still required some impor-
tant additions and corrections from the author's hand.
The work however was published by him, and nearly
in its present form, at Dessau, in 1782 and 1783. Af-
ter his death, which took place in 1803, a second edi-
tion' with such additions, as could be made from the
papers, which he had left, was published by his friend
J. G. Mueller of Schaffhausen, in 1805 and 1806. The
third edition, with some small contributions of his own,
was published in 1822 by Prof. Justi, of Marburg, in
two vols. 8vo. This is esteemed the best edition, and
from it the present translation has been made.
Of my own undertaking as translator I have no dis-
position to say any thing further, except that I have
been very well aware of its difficulty, and have aimed
to perform it with all reasonable exactness and fidelity
to the original. As a work of taste, it requires more
care and labour than would be necessary, where less
regard was had to elegance of composition, and I have
aimed, as far as as I was able, to give a fair expression
of the original. The numerous: translations from the
Ilebrew, and other poetical eſſusions especially, I have
endeavoured to exhibit with as much accuracy as could
well be attained in a matter of so much difliculty.
These were regarded by the author, as the chief object
of his work, and his translations from the IIebrew
were made with peculiar care.
Ile aimed to preserve
and exhibit, as far as possible, not the thoughts merely,
but their form and colouring, and the precise tones of
feeling which were associated with them in the minds
of the authors, and of those for whom they were
originally written. In this he has succeeded, undoubt-
edly, far better than Lowth, whose poetical paraphrases
11
serve only to convert the simplicity of the Hebrew
into the more artificial forms of expression, which
belong to the classick poetry of more modern times. It
was a matter of course, therefore, in giving a transla-
tion of Herder, to consider this as the part of his
work, which he would most value himself, and to pre-
serve, as far as possible, his peculiar views of the sen-
timent of the original Hebrew. Yet, in so regarding
it, I have thought it necessary also to have reference
to the language of the English translation, and have
always preferred it, where it could be done without
misrepresenting the sense of Ilerder. Regard to this
has led me also to be less careful of metrical arrange-
ment, than I should otherwise have been. Herder has
for the most part, though not uniformly, adhered to the
lambic measure, though with little regard to the length
of the lines. When this could not be done without
giving the translation a more artiſicial colouring than
suits our notions of simplicity in such things, I have
in most cases merely preserved the parallelisms, and
aimed only at the most simple rhythm. In translating
other poctical effusions, than those from the Hebrew,
a few of which the author has inserted in the work, I
have merely followed the form of the original. My
aim has been in all things of importance, to give a
faithful representation of the author's work in regard
both to matter and form. I could not learn till quite
recently, that a version of any portion of the work
had been previously made either in England or this
country ; but within a few days have received a copy
of a work under the title of “ Oriental Dialogues,"
which is a translation of a part of the first volume of
His work. Several of the dialogues are omitted, and
12
the order of the remainder changed by the translator,
so that it can hardly be considered a satisfactory ac-
count of the original, and, had I known of its existence,
would not have saved me the labour which I have
bestowed upon the work.
The first volume, which is now ready for publica-
tion, it will be observed by comparison with the plan
of the work, contains only the introduction and a brief
account of the life and character of Moses. The other
volume, containing the first and second parts of the
work itself, will be prepared for publication, as soon
as the pressure of other duties will permit. That it
may do something to promote a genuine taste for an-
cient learning, and the simplicity of primitive antiqui-
ty generally, and more especially love for those inspir-
ed records of Hcbrew antiquity, which have so many
and so peculiar claims upon the regard of every stu-
dent, is the sincere wish of the
TRANSLATOR.
PLAN OF THE WORK.
The beautiful and justly celebrated work of Bp.
Lowth, de sacra poesi Hebraeorum, is universally
known, and might seem to preclude the necessity of
the present undertaking. A nearer comparison of its
contents, however, will show, that the present work is
neither a translation, nor an imitation of it. Whether
the sphere, which it occupies, be of equal or inferior
importance, it is at least sufficiently distinct, and can-
not be without its interest and use to the lovers of the
most ancient, simple, and sublime poetry in general,
nor indeed to all, who cherish a liberal curiosity re-
specting the progress of knowledge, divine, and human,
as connected with the earlier history of our race.
In a prolonged introduction are investigated three
principal particulars, from which in its origin the char-
acter of the poetry of the Hebrews was derived. In
the first place, are exhibited the poetical characteris-
tics of their language in its structure and copiousness;
then the primitive conceptions, which they had re-
ceived as a legacy from the most ancient times, and
which constitute, as it were, a cosmology as sublime
as it is poetical; and third, the history of their putri-
archs down to their great law-giver, and whatever
in it was fitted to distinguish, as well the whole na-
tion generally, as more particularly their writings and
the spirit of their poetry.
14
The work itself properly commences with Moses,
the law-giver of the nation; and proceeds to show
what influence he exerted, or failed to exert, on the
spirit of the people, and of their posterity, by his deeds,
hy his legislation, and by the exhibition of both in his
history and in his own poetical effusions. It points out
what conceptions, transmitted from more ancient times,
he adopted and practically applied, and what he al-
tered in this legacy of the patriarchs; what vicw of
their promised land, and of the nations around them,
he aimed to impress upon their minds; and finally, by
what means he formed the poetry of the nation, gave
it its pastorol and rural character, and consecrated it
to the uses of the sanctuary and of the prophets of
Jehovah. The causes by which these effects were
brought about are unfolded out of the history of the
race, and their influence exhibited in the most striking
examples of later times.
In the next place, the history itself is carried for-
ward from Moses to the period of the highest national
prosperity, and of the most powerful king, under whom
and his son occurred the second marked development
of national poetry. The most beautiful specimens of
it, produced during this period, are explained from
the causcs, which gave rise to them, are placed in that
true Oriental light, which is necessary to a perception
of their beauties, and the effects produced by them
in after times unfolded. It is implied of course, that
some of the most interesting and instructive of these
specimens are inserted in the work, in a translation
both intelligible, and capable of exhibiting something
of their true spirit.
The work then passes to the third period of the art,
15
as it existed among this people long before their down-
fall,—to the voice of the prophets.' The characters
of these patriotick and divinely prompted leaders of
the people are unfolded, an introduction given to their
writings, and some of their most touching, beautiful,
and sublime passages here and there embodied in the
work.
Next come the sorrowful tones of lamentation, which
accompanied and followed the downfall of the nation ;
and those which breathed hope and adınonition in re-
gard to its re-establishment ; the effects produced by
the writings of this people, when collected together,
and made known in other languages, especially the
Greek, and their influence through the writings and
teachers of christianity down to our own times.
A few chapters at the end of the work investigate
the history of the mode, in which this poetry has been
regarded and treated by the Jews and other nations ;
the different success, with which it has been imitated
at different times, and in different languages, and final-
ly, what may have been the result of these writings
and of their spirit in the whole history of cultivation,
and of revolutions in the world, so far as known to us.
This annunciation, it is hoped, will be received not
as ambitious pretension and high-sounding phrase, but
simply as the purpose, which the author of the work
has ventured to form and place before him. In magnis
voluisse sat est, is here his chosen motto.
THE AUTHOR,
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
!
The foregoing annunciation of the plan of the work,
supersedes the necessity of dwelling at large upon it
in this place. I shall, therefore, only state briefly how
it is carried out in this first part.
The general purpose of the work, required that this
part should embrace the general and characteristick
traits of llebrew poetry, which mark its essential out-
lincs, its cosmology, the most ancient conceptions of
God, of Providence, of Angels, of the Elohim, and of
the Cherubim, and individual objects, and poetical
representations of nature. With thesc, it must contain
also, especially, the traditions of the patriarchs, which,
as among all nations, so peculiarly among this people,
were the source from which were derived all the
peculiarities of their modes of thinking, consequently
also the genius of their poetry. To set forth these,
and unfold them correctly, was here so much the
more necessary, since most traditions of this kind have
themselves more or less of poetical colouring, and
what is worse, are often greatly misapprel:ended. In
doing this, I have aimed as much as possible at brevity,
have endeavoured not unnecessarily to say for the hun-
dredth time, what had been repeated ninety-nine
times already, and where on account of the connexion
I was obliged to do so, have passed over it as briefly
2*
18
as possible ; for where in common-place matters we
cannot read with interest, we can much less write
with it.
I sought, therefore, rather to set in their true light,
the obscure and misinterpreted histories of Paradise,
of the fall, of the tower of Babel, of the wrestling
with the Elohim, &c., together with particular mytho-
logical representations, and personifications, which
show most clearly the character of Hebrew poetry,
and will at the same time prove of the greatest service
to us hereafter; for before one can say much, either
of the beauty or deformity of an object, he must first
learn to understand it. A right understanding of words,
of figurative language, and of things, will give, with-
out long discourses and a tedious explication of it,
the conception of beauty to one who has the capability
of emotion. To one who is destitute of this, it can
hardly be communicated by exclamations, and repeti-
tions of similar passages from other poets, and much
less hy abstract discussions respecting the nature of
poetry, and its various kinds. From all this, therefore,
the present work will be free.
If I have occupied as much as I could of the work
with the translation of select passages, no one, I hope,
will think it too much, for these are in fact, the very
purpose and subject of the work. They are the stars
in an otherwise empty space. They are the fruit, and
my book is only the shell. Could I have succeeded
fairly in setting forth the specimens which I have
here given, in all their ancient dignity and siinplicity,
I should not, at the least, have failed altogether of my
aim ; for in regard to this, I am of Luther's opinion,
6 that we must let the Prophets sit as teachers, and at
19
1
their feet listen with humility to what they say, and
not say what they must hear," as if we were their
teachers. In this early period, the Book of Job was
especially appropriate to my purpose, and I only wish
that I may have expressed something of that which
my own soul felt in the study of this sublime, simple,
and perhaps most ancient of all regular compositions.
Ardua res est, vetustis novitatem dare, novis auctori -
taten, obsoletis nitorem, obscuris lucen, fastiditis gra-
tiam, dubiis fidem, omnibus vero naturam et naturæ
suæ omnia. Something of this I would have attained,
in what I have said of the patriarchs, of Job, and of
Moses. With mere learning and the characters of a
foreign language, I could not consent to burden my
pages. To the unlearned they are of no use, and the
scholar who has the original language and the ancient
translations at hand, can easily accommodate himself
with them; for liim indeed, especially for the young
scholar, it is a source of pleasure to supply for himself
the grounds of the opinions which he is taught, and
to have something left for him to search out, to compare,
and weigh by his own reflections. Ilence, I have
availed myself of the rich helps of more recent phi-
lologists, where I could do so, without inaking a display
of it, or secking credit by disputing them. To those
whose aid I have experienced, my silent use of it will
be iny thank-offering; and where I could not adopt
their opinion, there-I had ny own opinion.
And in order to advance this always in the mildest
terms, and in the clearest light, I have chosen the
form of dialogue, though unusual, I am aware, in sub-
jects of this sort. How difficult it was for me, too, I
know very well, and to have aspired to rival the graces
20.
of the dialogues of Plato, of Lord Shaftsbury, of Di-
derot, and of Lessing, would have been, in treating
such matters, and with such aims, the extreme of folly.
Here was no opportunity for devising interesting
situations, nor for unfolding new characters, nor finally
for artfully drawing out thoughts from the mind of the
respondent, in which the greatest art especially of
didactick dialogue consists. The aim here was not to
invent in general, but to elucidate, to exhibit, and
point out to vicw, to find what is already before us.
The only speakers admissible, therefore, are the de-
monstrator, and he to whom he demonstrates, friend
with friend, teacher and scholar. My pattern for the
general plan of the dialogue was noi Plato, but the
book of Corsi, or indeed the catechism.
But why then did I choose the form of dialogue?
From more than one cause. First, and more especially
for the sake of brevity. In the dialogue a single let-
ter, the index of a new train of thought, a brief how?
or whence expresses what in the systematick form
would require periods or half pages.
Thus I am
spared such tedious forms of expression, and such
transitions as “it may be said on the other hand" &c.
In the second place, I might in this way be able to
escape the uniform, peremptory, or controversial tone,
of the professorial chair or of the pulpit, which other-
wise could scarcely be avoided throughout the work,
on a subject of this sort. A dialogue, even in the
worst style, gives to the subject animation, variety,
and human interest, if only it do not (as was often the
case here,) treat of matters that are too dry, and con-
tinue too long. In the third place, I escaped, for
which I am heartily thankful, the necessity of contra-
21
-
diction, of strife, and of numberless citations, and
thus avoided a very serious evil. In the form which
I have adopted, the speakers are Alciphron and
Euthyphron. The former speaks very much such
sentiments as are uttered by the publick with its hun-
dred heads, but they speak to one another alonc, teach
and controvert nobody in the world besides themselves.
Whoever does not agree with Euthyphron, may retain
the opinion of Alciphron, 0-have his own opinion.
Finally, I venture to coniess, that the older I become,
the more difficult for me is the tone of an instructer.
Whom does one teach, moreover, when he teaches
the publick as a mass? Where does this publick dwell?
and in what style should we address it, that we may
neither assume too lofty nor sink to too humble a
tone? Here two individuals speak, and whoever will,
may listen, improve what they say, and be either
lcarner or teacher.
Let me venture to say, however, whom I would
most gladly choose for readers of this work. Alci-
phron is a youth; he studies this poetry not from com-
pulsion, not from the necessity of his profession, or of
bread, but from a love of it. Young men then like
hiin, and lovers of Scripture, lovers of the most ancient,
the most simple, perhaps of the most truely heart-felt
poctry in the world ; lovers, in a word of the most an-
cicnt records of the human mind and heart,---unbiased,
fresh, and ardent men of the same character, I would
choose before all others for my readers. Of the child-
hood and youth of the human race, we can best speak
with children and youth. The times antecedent to the
Mosaick bond-service those feel with most congen.
iality whom the yoke of rules has never oppres-
22
sed, and in whom the dawn of the world harmonizes
with the dawning of their own souls. If my book con-
taiis any thing of worth, he is my best friend, who
without either praise or censure procures for it readers
of this description. Each one can always omit, what
does not suit his taste, and for this purpose the con-
tents of the dialogues are prefixed to them.
And if, as I could wish, there be among these youth,
those engaged in the study of theology, I venture to
say a word more particularly to them. The basis of
theology is the Bible, and that of the New Testament
is the Old. It is impossible to understand the former
aright without a previous understanding of the latter ;
for Christianity proceeded from Judaism, and the gen-
ius of the language is in both books the same. And
this genius of the language we can no where study
better, that is, with more truth, depth, comprehensive-
ness, and satisfaction, than in its poetry, and indeed,
as far as possible, in its most ancient poetry. It pro-
duces a false impression and misleads the young thco-
logian to commend to him the New Testament to the
exclusion of the Old. Without this, that can never be
understood in a scholar-like and satisfactory manner.
In the Old Testament we find as an aid to this, a rich
interchange of history, of figurative representation, of
characters, and of scenery; and we see in it the many
coloured dawn, the beautiful going forth of the sun in
his milder radiance. In the New Testament it stands
in the highest heavens, and in meridian splendour, and
every one knows which period of the day to the natu-
ral eye of sense imparts most life and strength. Let
the scholar then study the Old Testament, even if it
be only as a human book full of ancient poetry, with
23
kindred feeling and affection, and thus will the New
come forth to us of itself in its purity, its sublime glory,
and more than earthly beauty. Let a man gather into
his own mind, the abundant riches of the former, and
he will be in the latter also, none of those smatterers,
who, barren, and without taste or feeling, desecrate
these sacred things.
Weimar, April 9th, 1782.
HERDER.
.
DIALOGUE I.
UE
PREJUDICES against the poetry and language of the Hebrews. Causes
of thesc. The language full of action and animation from the mode
of forining its verbs. Importance of this to its poctical character.
Its nouns also express action. The want of adjectives supplied by
multiplicity of names. In what classes of objects these are to be
soughi. Names of the productions of nuture, synonyms, numerals,
words relating to ornament and luxury derived from the neighbouring
nations. Reasons why the licbrew was not developed in the same
manner as the Arabick. of the roots of verbs. Thcy combine
scnsuous form and feeling. Organic formation of words in Northern
and Southern nations. Of derivation from radical words. Wish lor
a lexicon formed on philosophical principles. Of the renses ot lic-
brew rerbs and thicir poctical character. Conjunction of many ideas
in one word. Significancy of lIcbrew lcliers. How to be decyphered.
of parallelism. Founded in that correspondence of quantity which
pleases the car. Of parallelism in Greek metre. How far it lies in
the nature of language and feeling. Something analogous even
among the Vortliern nations. Causes of its peculiarity in the llebrew
language. Its influence and use. Whether the language had ori.
ginally its present number of regular conjugations. Scudy of it as
a poetical languagc. Study of its poctry.
Alciriirox. So I find you still devoted to the study of
this poor and barbarous language! A proof how much early
impressions can effect, and how indispensably necessary it is,
that our young minds be kept clcar of the rubbish of anti-
quity. There is afterwards no hope of deliverance.
EUTNYPITROX, You speak like one of our modern illumi-
nators, who woull free men not only from the prejudices of
childhood, but if possible from childhood itself.
know any thing of this barren and barbarous language ?
What are the grounds of your opinion concerning it?
Do you
3
26
sense.
A. I know enough of it to my sorrow. It was the tor-
ment of my childhood, and I am still haunteil with the recol-
lection of it, when in the study of theology, of philosophy, of
history, and of what not, I hear the ccho of its sublime non-
The rattling of ancient cymbals and kettle-drums,
in short, the whole music-band of savage nations, which you
love to denominate the oriental parallclisin, is still ringing in
my cars.. I still scc David dancing before the Ark of the
covenant, or the prophets suminoning a player, that they may
feel his inspirations.
E. You scom then to have become acquainted with the
language, but to liave studied it with no very good will.
A. I cannot help that; it is enough that I studied it
methodically with all the rules of Dantz. I could cite the
rules, but never know their meaning.
L. So much the worse, and I comprehend now the reason
of your disgust. But my dear Sir, shall we permit ourselves
to hate a science, which we have the misfortune to learn at
first under a bad form? Would you judge a man by his dress
alone ? And that too when the dress is not his own, but
forced upon hiin?
A. By no means, and I am ready to abandon all prejudi-
ces, so soon as you will shew them to be such. This, howev-
er, I think will be dillicult, for I 11:100 pretty well tricd both
the language and its contents.
E. We will make the experiment, and one of us will bc-
come the teacher of the other. Truth is, indeed, to be be-
wailed, if men can never be at one respecting it. For inyself
I would exccrate the impressions of my youth, if they must
bind me through life with the fetters of a slave. But be as-
sured, I have no youthful impressions from the poctical spirit
of this language; I learned it as you did. It was long before
I acquired a taste for its beauties, and only by degrees that I
came to consider it, as I now do, a sacred language, the
source of our most precious knowledge, and of that early
27
to mcn.
cultivation, which extending over but a small portion of the
earth, came to us gratuitously and unsought.
A. You are driving at an apothcosis, at once.
E. At no such thing : we will consider it as a human
languagc, and its contents as mcrcly human. Nay, more, to
give you better assurance of my perfect fairness, we will speak
of it only as an instrument of ancient poetry. Are you
pleased with this subject? It has at least nothing insidious.
A. Certainly nothing, and with such a discussion I should
be delighted in the highest degree. I am glad to converse
of ancient languages, when they are treated only in relation
They are the form, in which human thoughts are
moulded more or less perfectly. They cxhibit the most dis-
tinguishing traits of character, and the manner in which
objects are contemplated by different nations. Comparison
of one with another in these points is always instructive.
Proceed then to discuss the dialect, even of thesc Eastern
Ilurons. Their poverty may at least cnrich us, and conduct
us to thoughts of our own.
E. What do you consider most cssential to a poetical
language ? No matter whether it belong to the Ilurons or
Otalicitans. Is it not action, imagery, passion, musick,
rhythm ?
A. Undoubtedly.
E.
And the language that cxbibits these in the highest
perfcction is most peculiarly poctical. Now you are aware,
that the languages of people but partially cultivated may have
this character in a bigh degrec, and are in fact in this par-
ticular superior to many of the too refined modern languages.
I need not remind you among what people Ossian, or at what
period even thic Grecian llomer sang.
A. It docs not follow from this, that every savage race
has its llomer and Ossian.
E. Perhaps many have cven more, exclusively indced for
Wiemselves, and pot for the language of other nations. In
28
order to judge of a nation, we must live in their time, in
their own country, must adopt their modes of thinking and
feeling, must seo, how they lived, how they were educated,
what scenes they looked upon, what were the objects of their
affection and passion, the character of their atmosphere, their
skies, the structure of their organs, their dances and their m'u-
sick. All this too we must learn to think of not as strangers
or enemies, but as their brothers and compatriots, and then
ask, whether in their own kini, and for their peculiar wants,
they had an Ilomer or an Ossian. You know in regard to
low fcw nations we have instituted or are even now prepared
to institute an inquiry of this kind. With regard to the Ile-
brew's we can do it. Their poetry is in our lands.
A. But what poctry! and in what a language! How
imperfect is it! how poor in proper terins and definitely ex-
presscd relations! Ilow unfixed and uncertain are the ten-
ses of the verbs! One never knows whether the time referred
to by them be to day or yesterday, a thousand years ago, or a
thousand years 10 comc, Adjectives, so important in descrip-
tion, it scarcely las at all, and must supply their place by
beggarly combinations. llow uncertain and far-fetched is
the signification of their radical words, how forred and un-
latural the derivations from them! Llonce the frightful forms
of the catacliresis, tlic far sought images, the monstrous
coinbinations of ideas the most heterogeneous. The paral-
lelisin is monotonous, an everlasting tautology, that, without
a inctrical arrangement of words and syllables, after all very
imperfectly satisfies the car. Aures perpetuis tautologiis
læedunt, says one of those best acquainted with them, Orienti
jucundis, Europa: invisis, prulentioribus stomachaturis, dor-
mitaturis rcliquis. And lic says the truth. This is obser-
vable in all the psalms and productions, that brvathe the spirit
of this language. Finally, it had no vowels, for these are a
more modern invention. It stands as a lifeless and senseless
hieroglyph, very often without any key or certain index of its
{ A
29
:
meaning, at all events without any certain expression of pro-
nunciation and knowledge of its ancient rhythm. What do
you find here of Homer and Ossian ? As well look for them
in Mexico, or upon the sculptured rocks of Arabia.
E. I thank you for the beautiful sketch you have traced
out for our conversation. You have brought forward the
rich materials, and that too with the reflection, and fine ar-
rangement, that might be expected from one skilled in many
languages. Let us proceed first to consider the structure of
the language. Did you not say, that action and vivid image-
ry was the essence of poetry ? and what part of speech paints
or sets forth action itself to view, the noun, or verb ?
A. The verb.
E. So the language, that abounds in verbs, which present
a vivid cxpression and picture of their objects, is a poetical
language. The more too it has the power of forming its
nouns into verbs, the more poctical it is. The noun always
exhibits objects only as lifeless things, the verb gives them
action, and this awakens feeling, for it is itself as it were
animated with a living spirit. Recollect what Lessing has
said of Ilomer, that in him all is bustlc, motion, action, and
that in this the life, the influence, the very essence of all po-
ctry consists. Now with the llebrew the verb is almost the
whole of the language. In other words cvery thing lives and
acts. The nouns are derived from verbs, and in a certain
sense are still verbs. They are as it were living beings, ex-
tracted and moulded, while their radical source itself was in a
state of living energy. Obscrve in modern languages, what
an cflect it has in poetry, when verbs and nouns are still
nearly related, and one may be formed into the other. Think
of the English, the German. The language, of which we
are speaking, is an abyss of verbs, a sea of billows, where
motion, action, rolls on without oud.
A. It seems to me however, that this abundance must
always maintain a certain proportion to the other parts of
3*
30
speech; for if all be action, there is nothing, that acts. There
must be the subject, predicate, and copula-so says logick.
L. For logick that will do, and for its inasterpiece the
sylloyisin it is necessary, but poetry is quite another thing,
and a poem in syllogisms, would have few readers. In po-
ctry the copula is thic inain thing, the other parts are ncccs-
sary or useful only as accessories. Even sliould I admit, that
for an abstract reasoner the licbrew language inay not be
best, still it is, in regard to this active form of it so much thic
more favourable to the poct. Every thing in it proclaims
“I live, and move, and act. The senses and the passions,
not abstract reasoners and philosophers were my creators.
Thus 1 am formed for poctry, nay my whole cssence is
poetry.”
A. But how if they use nouns for adjectives likewise ?
1. Then they have adjectives. T'or every language has
that, which it uses; only we must not judge of it according to
our own necessities. There are many names of things, which
this language lias not, because thic people neither had, nor
know the things themselves ; so on the other hand it has ma-
ny others, which we liave not. In abstract terms it is barren,
but in scusuous representations it is rich, and it has muinerous
synonyms to denote one and the same object Torthe very rea-
son, that this objcct is always inentioned, and as it were paint-
cd in its multifarious relations with all the circumstances, that
accompany it, when presented to the senses. The lion, the
sword, the serpent and the camel have even in the Arabick,
the most cultivated of the Oriental languages this multiplicity
of narnes, because each of thein originally represented the
objcct under a peculiar form, and in a particular point of
view, and these streams afterwards flowed together. In Ile-
brew too this superabundance of sensuous terins is very ob-
servable, and yet how few of them have we remaining. More
than 250 botanical terms occur in the small volunc, that is
left to us, of the writings of the IIebrows, and that too in
31
writings of a very uniform character in regard to their sub-
jects, and composed mostly of history and the poetry of the
temple. Ilow rich then would the language have been, had
it been handed down to us in the poetry of common life with
all its diversity of scenes, or even in the writinys, that were
actually produced. It fared with the IIcbrews probably, as
with most nations of antiquity, the flood of ages has passed
over them, and only a small remnant, such as Noah could
preserve in the ark has escaped.
A. In my opinion we have cnough notwithstanding, for
even in these few books the sainc thing repeatedly occurs.
But we are wandering from our subject. I can very well
believe, that the language, of which we are speaking, in the
lands of another people, might have become rich and refincd.
Ilow copious has the Arabick become, and thic Phænician too
may have been rich enough in the language of trade and
numbers, but for this beggarly race of herdsmen, from what
resources could they forin a language ?
E. Wherce the genius of the people called, and where
their wants required it. It were unjust to expect of them the
language of traile belonging to the Phænicians, or that of
Arabian speculation, since they neitlicr traded, nor speculated,
and yet all this wealth may be said to belong to the language,
for Phænician, Arabick, Chaldce and Ilcbrew are radically
and essentially but onc language. The IIcbrew has numer-
als to an amount that we cannot casily designate, and a mul-
titude of terms for the products of nature, as well as for the
forms of fashion:able ornament and luxury, with which they
were cnough acquainted at an early period. It was used in
the nciglibourhood of the Phoenicians, the Ishumaclites, the
Egyptians, the Babylonians, in short of the most cultivated
nations of antiquits, and as it were of the then cultivated
world, and borrowed from all cnough to supply its wants.
IIad it continued a living languagc, it might have appropria-
ted all that now belongs to the Arabick, which can justly
32
terms.
boast of being one of the most copious and refined languages
in the world.
A. The Rabbins have in fact made contributions to it.
E. Of nothing valuable however, nor in accordance with
the genius of its original structure. When they wrote, the
nation was sunk in poverty, and dispersed over the world.
Most of them conformed their inode of expression to the gen-
ius of the languages, that were spoken around them, and thus
produccil a sorry mcılley, not to be thought of in a discussion
like this. We are speaking of the Ilcbrcw, when it was the
living language of Canaan, and of that too only during the
period of its greatest beauty and purity, before it was corrupt-
ed by the introduction of Chaldec, Greck and other foreign
Within this limit you will not refuse to give it its
duc, as a poor, but yet a fair and uncorrupted child of its na-
tive hills, the simple language of the country and of herdsmen.
Thic finery which it has borrowed from its neighbours, I would
very gladly have dispensed with.
A. In regard to simplicity I admit its clairns with all my
heart. This trait, particularly in scenes of naturc, I have
felt with the emotions of childhood. Still, my dear Sir, this
characteristick seems to me too limited in extent to have
much redeeming cllect and recurs with too much monotony,
nothing has .compass; their pocts are forever sketching, but
cannot give the finer touches of the pencil.
E. Yes, I grant you, they sketch, as few of our pocts do.
Their productions are not loaded with delicate and over-
wrought refinement, but vigorous, cntirc, instinct with life
and spirit. Or their verbs wc have already spoken. They
are all action and emotion. Their radical fornis combine
the representation of a sensuous image with the feeling of
the heart. The nouns too, retaining the properties of the
verb, are still active agents, and exhibit a continual personi.
fication. Their pronouns stand out with the prominence,
that they always possess in the language of passion, and the
33
want of adjectives is so supplied by the conjunction of other
words, that the qualities merely of a subject, assume the form
of distinct individual agents. From all these peculiarities
the language seems to me, I confess, more poetical, than any
other language on cartha
A. It will be most to our purpose, if we conduct the dis-
cussion by means of individual examples. Begin, if you
pleasc, with the radical forms, with the verbs.
E. The roots of the llebrew verbs, I renirked, combine
form and feeling, and I know no language in which the simple
and unstudied combination of the two is so much an afluir of
the senses, and so remarkable. Not so sensible and obvious,
I adınit very willingly, to an car accustomed only to the ac-
cents of Northern languages, but to you, who are acquainted
with the principles of formation in the Circek language, to
you, my scar sir, it will not be difiicult to go a low steps
further, ilud obi:crve with a congenial feeling, the method
morc forcible indeed, liut not therefore more clumsy, of form-
iny words in the East. I repeat it again, in the most preg-
nant terms of thic language are combined the sensuous form
and the sensation or sentiment that it produces. The lan-
guage was moulded and littered with a fuller expiration from
the lungs, with organs yet pliable and rigorous, but at the
same time under a clear and luminous heaven, with powers
of vision acute, and scizing as it were upon the very objects
themselves, and almost always with some mark of emotion
or passion.
A. Form and feeling, tranquility and passion, accents
strong and yet light and lowing ! these are rare combinations.
E. Let us then analyze them and explain the matter more
carefully. o All Northern languages imitate the sounds of
natural objects, but roughly, and as it were only by the me-
chanism of the outward organs. Like the objects they imi-
tate, they abound with creaking, and rustling, and whizzing,
and crashing sounds, which wise poets may employ sparingly
34
with effect, but which the injudicious will abuse. The cause
of this is obviously to be found in the climate, and in the
organs, in and by which the languages were originally formed.
The further South, the more refined will be the imitation of
nature. Ilomer's most sounding lines do not crcak and hiss,
they are sonorous. The words have passed through a refining
process, been modified by fecling, and moulded as it were, in
the vicinity of the heart. Thus they do not present uncouth
forms of more sound and noisc, but forms on which 'fecling
has placed its gentler impress. In this union of fueling from
within, and forin from without, in the roots of their verbs,
the Oriental languages, I mcant to say, are the best models.
A. Is it possible you are speaking of thosc barbarous and
uncouth gutturals ?: And do you venture to compare then
with the silvery tones of the Greck?
E. I make no comparison. Every language suffers by
being thus compared with another. Nothing is more exclu-
sively national and individual than the modes of gratifying
the ear, and the characteristick habitudes of the organs of
specch. We, for example, discover a delicacy in articulating
and uttering our words only from botwccn the tongue and the
lips, and in opening our mouths but little, as if we lived in an
atmosphere of smoke and foy. The climate, our manners
and the prevailing custom requirc it, and the language itself,
has been gradually moulded into the sainc forin. The Italians
and still more thc Grecks, think otherwise. The language
of the former abounds in full and sonorous vowel sounds, and
that of the latter with dipthongs, both of which are uttered
not with the lips compressed together, but ore rotundo. The
accents of the East arc uttered forth morc ab imo pectorc,
and from the heart. Elihu describes it, when he exclaims,
I am full of words,
My inmost spirit labours ;
Lo! it is like wine without vent;
Aly bosom is bursting, like new boliles ;
35
I will speak, and mako myself room;
I will open my lips and answer.
When these lips are opened, the utterance is full of anima-
lion, and bodics forth the forms of things, while it is giving
vent to feeling, and this, it appears to me, is the spirit of the
Hebrew language. It is the very breath of the soul. It does
not claim the beauty of sound, like the Grock, but it breathes
and lives. Such is it to us, who are but partially acquainted
with its pronunciation, and for whom its deeper gutturals re-
inain unuttered and unutterable; in those old times, when
the soul was unshackled, what fulness of emotion, what store
of words that breathe, must have inspired it. It wils, to use
an expression of its own,
The spirit of Gull that spake in it,
The breath of the Almighty that gave it life.
A. Once more you have nearly accomplished its apotheo-
sis. Yct all this may be so in relation to the radical sounds,
or the utterance of fccling that was prompted, while the ob-
ject itself was present to the senses. But how is it with
the derivations from thesc radical terms ? What are they
but an overgrown jungle of thorns, where no human fooi has
erer found rest?
E. In bad lexicons this is indeed the case, and many of
the most learned philologists of Holland have rendered the
way still more difficult by their labours. But the time is
coming, when this jungle will become a grore of palms.
A. Your metaphor is an Oriental onc.
E. So is the object of it. The root of the primitive word
will be placed in the centre and its offspring form a grove
around it. By influence of taste, diligence, sound sense, and
the judicious comparison of different dialects, lexicons will be
brought to distinguish, what is essential from what is accidental
in the signification of words, and to trace the gradual process of
36
COns nolle.
transition, while in the derivation of words, and the application
of metaphors we come more fully to understand the logick of
ancient figurative language. I anticipate with joy the time,
and the first lexicon, in which this shall be well accomplished.
For the present I use the best we have, Castell, Simon, Coccei-
us, and their rich contributors Schultens, Schroeder, Storr,
Scheid, and any other, who has individually, or in associations
contributed to the same object.
A. It will be long yet, before we shall repose ourselves in
your palm-crore of Oriental lexicographyPray in the mean
time illustrate your ideas of scrivation by an example.
E. You may find examples every where, cren as the lexi-
Strike at the first radical form that occurs,
as the priinitive “he is gonc," and observe the casy gradation
of its derivatives. A scries of expressions signifying loss,
disappearance and death, rain purposes, and fruitless toil
nad trouble succeed by slight transitions ; and if you place
yourself in the circumstances of the ancient hierdsmen, in
their wandering unsettled mode of life, the most cistanit deri-
vative will still give back something of the original sound of
the words, and of thic original feeling. It is from this cause,
that the languly'c addresses itself so much to our senses, and
the creations of its poctry becomc present to us with such
stirring effect. The language abounds in roots of this char-
acter, and our commentators, who rather go too deep, than
too superficially, have shown cnough of them. They never
know wlien to quit, and if possible would lay barc all the
roots and fibres of cvery trcc, cven where one would wish
to see only the flowers and fruits.
A. These are the slaves I supposc upon your plantation
of palms.
E. A very necessary and useful race. We must treat
them with millness, for even, when they do too much, they
do it with a good intention. IIave you any further objcctions
against tlie IIcbrcw verbs ?
37
A. A good many more. What kind of an action is it,
which has no distinctions of time. For the two tenses of the
IIebrew are after all essentially aorists, that is, undefined
tenses, that fluctuate between the past, the present, and the
future, and thus it has in fact but one tense.
E. Docs poetry cmploy more. To this all is present time.
It exhibits actions and events as present, whicther they be
past, or passing, or future. For history, the defect, which
you remark, may be an essential one. In fact, thic languages,
which incline to nice distinctions of time, have exhibited them
most in the style of history. Among the licbrews, history
itself is properly poetry, that is the transmission of narratives,
: which are related in the present tense, and licre 100 we may
discover an advantage derived from the indefiniteness or fluc-
tuation, of the tenses, especially in producing conviction, and
rendering what is described, related or announceul, inore
clearly and vividly present to the senses. Is not this in a
liigh degrec poctical? llare you never observed in the style
of the pocts or the prophets, what bcauty results from the
change of tenses? Ilow that, which onc liemistick dcclarcs
in the past tense, the other expresses in the future ? As if
the last rendered the presence of the object continuous and
cternal, while the first has given to the discourse the certainty
of the past, where crery thing is already finished ard un-
changcable. By onc tense the word is increased at the end,
by the other at the beginning, and thus the car is provided
with an agrecable variety, and the representation made a more
present object of scrisc. The Ilcbrews besides, like children
aiin to say the whole at once, and to pos"? ss by a single sound,
the person, number, tensc, action and suill more. low vast-
ly must this contribute to the sudden and simultancous cr-
hibition of an entire picture! Thcy express by a single word,
what we can express oſten only by five or more words. With
us too these have a hobbling Inovement from the small and
frequently unaccented syllables at the beginning or end; with
4
38
them the whole is joined by way of prefix, or as a sonorous
termination to the leading idca. This stands in the centre
like a king with his ministers and monials close around him.
Rather they may be said to be one with him, coming in his
train with measured stops and harinorious voice. Is this,
think you, of no importance to a poctical language? Sono-
rous verbs, which convey at once so inany ideas, are the finest
material for rhythm and imagery. When I can utter, for
example, all that is expressed by the words “ as lic has given
me, "* in a single well sounding word, is it not more poctical
and beautiful, than if I express the same idea in so many sepa-
rate fragments ?
A. For the cyc I have sometimes considered this lan-
guage as a collection of elementary paintings, which are to
be decyplored, as it werc, in a similar manner with the wri-
ting of the Chinesc, and have often lainenteil, that children or
youth, who are to learn it, are not carly accustoined to this
habit of decyphering or analyzing with the eyc, which would
aid thicın inore than many dull and unmeaning rules. I have
read of exinples, where young persons, especially those whose
senses were acute, have made great progress in this way in a
short tinc. We neither of us cnjoyed this advantage.
E.
We may gradually acquire it however by employing
the cye and the car in conjunction. You will in this way
too, remark thic harmonious arrangement of vowels and con-
sonants, and the correspondence of many particles and pre-
dominant sounds to the things signified. These arc of great
use too, especially in marking thic mctrical divisions, and de-
noting their mutual relation. The two hemnisticks have a
kind of symmetry, in which both words and ideas correspond
in an alternation of parts, which are at the same timc paral-
lel, and give a frec indccd, but very simple and sonorous
rhythm.
* As the German and English correspond in this case, in the number
of words, which express the idea, I have translated the illustration. TR.
39
A. You are describing, I suppose, the celebrated paral-
lelisms, in regard to which I shall hardly agree with you.
Whoever has any thing to say, let him say it at once, or car-
ry his discourse regularly forward, but not repeat forever.
When one is under the necessity of saying every thing twice,
he shows, that he had but half.or imperſectly expressed it the
first time.
E, Ilave you ever witnessed a dance ? Nor heard any
thing of the choral odes of the Greeks, their strophe and
antistrophe ? Suppose we coinpare the poetry of the Ile-
brews to the moveinents of the dance, or consider it as
shorter and simpler forin of the choral ode.
A. Add the systrum, the kettle-drums, and the symbals,
and your dance of savages will be complete.
E. Be it so. We are not to be frightened with names,
while the thing itself is good. Answer me candidly. Does
not all rhythm, and the metrical harmony both of motion and
of sound, I might say all, that delights the senses in fcrms
and sounds, depend on symmetry ? and that too a symmetry
casily apprehended, upon simplicity and cquality in the pro-
portion of its parts ?
A. That I will not deny.
E. And has not the lcbrew parallelism the most simple
proportion and syrometry in the members of its verse, in the
structure of its figures and sounds ? The syllables were not
indced yet accurately scanned and incasured, or even number-
ed at all, but the dullest car can perceive a syinmetry in them.
A. But must all this necessarily be at the expense of the
understanding.
E. Let us dwell a little longer upon its gratefulness to
The inctrical system, of the Greeks, constructed
with more art and refinement, than that of any other language,
depends entirely on proportion and harmony. The hexame-
ter versc, in which their ancient poenis were sung, is in re-
gard to its sounds a continued, though ever changing par-
the ear.
40
allelism. To give it greater precision the pentameter was
adopted and especially in the elegy. This again in the struc-
ture of its two hemisticks exhibits the parallelism. The finest
and most natural species of the ode depend so much on the
parallelisin, as nearly to justify the remark, that the more
a less artiſicial parallelism is heard in a strophic in conjunc-
tion with the musical attenuations of sound, the more pleasing
it becomes. I need only to adduce as examples the Sapphic
or Clioriambic verse. All these inctrical forms are artificial
circlets, finely woven garlanes of words and sounds. In the
East the two strings of pearl are not twisted into a garland,
but simply hang one over against the other. We could not
expect from à chorus of licrdsmen a dancc as intricate, as
the labyrinth of Dirdalus or of Thcscus. In their language,
their shouts of joy, and the novements of the dance we find
them answering one to anotlicr in regular alternanions and
the most simple proportions. Even this simplicity scems to
inc to have its beauties.
A. Very great undoubtedly to an adınirer of the parallel-
ism.
2. The two divisions of their chorus confirin, clevate and
strengthen cach other in their convictions or their rejoicings.
In the song of Jubilee this is obvious, and in those of lamon-
tation it results from the very nature of thic feelings, that
occasion them. The drawing of the breath confirms, as it
were, and comforts the soul, while the other division of the
chorus takes part in our alllictions, and its response is the echo,
or, as thc llebrews would say, “ tho daughter of the voice"
of our sorrow.. In didactic poetry one precept confirms the
other, as if the father were giving instruction to his son, and
the mother repeated it. The discourse by this means ac.
quires the semblance of truth, cordiality and confidence. In
alternate songs of love the subject itscli determines the form.
Love demands endearing intercoursc, the interchange of fcel-
ings and thoughts. The connexion between these different
41
expressions of feeling is so unaffected and sisterly in short,
that I might apply to it the beautiful and delicate Hebrew ode,
Behold how lovely and pleasant
For brethren to dwell together,
It is like soothing oil upon the head,
That runs down upon the beard,
Even upon the board of Aaron,
And descends to the hem of his garment.
It is like the dew of llcrinon
Descending upon the mountains of Zion,
When the Lord commanded a blessing,
Even lifo ctcrnal.
A. A fine view of parallelism undoubtedly. But granting
that the car may become accustomed to it, what becomes of
the understanding? It is constantly fettered and can make
no advances.
E. Poctry is not addressed to the understanding alono
but primarily and chicfly to the feelings. And arc these not
friendly to the parallelism? So soon as the heart gives way
to its cmotions, wave follows upon wavc, and that is parallel.
ism. The hcart is never exhausted, it has forcver something
new to say. So soon as the first wave has passed away, or
broken itsell upon the rocks, the second swells again and
returns as before. This pulsation of nature, this breathing
of emotion, appears in all the language of passion, and would
you not have that in poetry, which is most peculiarly the off-
spring of emotion.
A. But supposc it aims to be and must be at the same
time the language of the understanding ?
E. It changes the figure and exhibits the thought in an-
other light. It varies the precept, and explains it, or impresses
it upon the heart
the heart. Thus the parallclisin returns again. What
species of verse in Gerinan do you consider as best adapted
to didactic poctry?
A.. Without qucstion the Alexandrine.
4*
42
E. And that is parallelism altogether. Examine care-
fully why it so powerfully cnforces instruction, and you will
find it to be simply on occount of its parallelism. All simple
songs and church hymns are full of it, and rhyme, the great
delight of Nortlicrn cars, is a continued parallclism.
a. And to this same Oricntal source we are indebtcu
both for rhyme, and the uniform movement of our church
musick. 'The Saracens have thic former and the doxologies
have introduced the latter. Otherwise we should and night
very well have been without cithcr.
1. Do you think so? Rhymes were in Europe long
before the Saracens, correspondencies of sound cither at the
beginning or end of words, according as the cars of a people
were accustomed, or as suited the form of their language.
Even the Greeks had hymns and choral songs as siniple as
our own church hymns can be. The Icbrew parrallelism
has however, we must admit, this advantage over our Northern
languages, that with its small number of words it makes a
more choice arrangement, and admits in the utterance a
greater magnificence of sound. For us therefore it is ncarly
incapable of translation. We often usc ten words, to express
three of thic IIebrew, thic small words produce confusion,
and in the end the piccc becomes either harsh or wearisome.
We must not so much initate, as study and relicct upon it.
In our languages the figures nust be more extended and the
periods rounded because we are accustoined to the Greck and
Roman numbers. But in translating from thic Oricntals this
must be laid aside, for by such a course we lose a great part of
the original siinplicity, dignity and sublimity of the language.
l'or here too
Ile spake, and it was done :
He commanded, and it stood fast.
A. And yet monosyllabic brcvity seems to me conducive
to sublimity.
43
I
E. The Laconic style is neither the style of friendship nor
of poetry. Even in the commands of a monarch, we wish
to see the cffects of the command, and so here the parallel
form returns, in the cominand and its consequence. l'inally,
the concise structure of the Ilebrew language, gives to the
parallelism generally somcthing of the style of command.
It knows nothing of thic oratorical numbers, of Greck or
Roman cloquence. From its general spirit it uscs few
words ; these have mutual relations, and, froin the uniformi.
ty of inflection being similar, they acquire both from the
position of individual words, and the predominant fccling of
the whole, a rythmical movement. The two heinisticky
correspond as word and deed, heart and hand, or, as the
Ilebrow's say, cutrance and exit, and thus this simple
arrangement of sound is complete. Ilave you any thing
furtlicr against parallelism ?
A. I have even something to add in its favour. Tor, in
regard to the understanding, I have often bccn thankful for
its existence. Where should we be left in the explanation of
so inany. obscure words, and phrases, if this did not scrvc for
our guide. It is like the voice of a friend, that tells you far
off in thc thick and gloomy rcccsscs of a forest, “ IIere, here
arc tlic dwellings of men.” But indeed the cars of the ancients
were deaf to this voice of friendship. They followed after
the ccho, as if it were itself a voice, and expected to find in
the second member of the sentencc soine now and precious
sentiinent.
E. Let then go, while we endeavour to keep ourselves in
the right way.
But in regard to this pathless forest I think
you have ovcrdone the matter. In the beginning of our
conversation, if you recollect, you represented the language,
as a lifeless hicroglypliick without vowels, and without a key
to its signification. Do you indccd believe, that the Orientals
wrote entirely without vowels ?
A. Many say so.
E. And say too what is absurd. Who would write letters
44
was
without any means of giving them utterance? Since on the
vowel sounds every thing terininates, and they must in reality
be designated in some general way sooner than the various
consonants, certainly when the more dificult task
accomplished, the casier would not be neglected, when too
the whole object of the work depended on it.
A. Where then arc these vowels ?
E. Read on the subject a work,* which throws much light
upon this, and many other points of IIebrew antiquity. It is
the first introduction respccting the language and writings of
the IIcbrews, in which taste and learning arc cqually united.
It is probable they had some, though few vowel marks (for
those we now harc arc a later device of the Rabbins) and the
matrcs lcctionis are, it appears to mc, a rennant of them.
Grammatical niccty however, was not sought for in thoso
ancient times, and the pronunciation was perhaps as unfixed
as Otfried says, it was in the ancient (erinan. Who has ever
found an alphabet for every sound of cvcry dialect, in which
we speak ? and who would use it if it were found? The
letters stand as general signs, and cvery onc modifics tho
sound to suit his own organs. A series of refined grammatical
rules respecting the change of vowels, the mode of deriving
the conjugations, &c. arc, I fear, but empty sound.
A. And yet boysarc tormented with them. I could never
myself imaginc, that a language so unrefined as the lIcbrew
could have so much regularity even in the import of the
different conjugations, as young students are taught to find in
Thc multitude of anomalous and defectivo
words shows that it is not. The confidence in such distinctions,
is derived from other Oricnta llanguages, by which the Rabbing
were fond of modifying this. They carried into the little
IIebrew tent whatever it would hold.
every word.t
* Eichhorn's Einleitung ins Alte Testament, Lcipzig 1782. Th. 1
S. 126.
+ In a work on the origin of language, p. 30. Ilcrder says, tho moro
uncnltivated a language the more conjugations.
45
E. IIere again we must not go too far. It is well to have
seized upon the technical artificial form of the language, and
for us it is necessary, although it is improbable, that such
was its earliest form, or that cvery IIcbrew had the same
notion of it. How fcw even of our authors, have the entire
form of their language to its minutest inflection so fully in
their heads, as never to commit an crror ? Ilow much too,
docs the structure of language vary with time? It is well
that we have at last found inen, who are directing their
thoughts even to the grammar of this language.
A. After all it appears to inc, that every one must make
bis own philosophical grammar. llc may omit the vowels
and other marks now and then, and bring the conjugations
nearer together. It is not necessary always, to go through all
the seven changes of a verb, to learn its forin,
E. llc may become too, by this method, a sccond Mascler
or Ilutchinson. Tlc best coursc is to have the cyc diligently
practised with thic paradigms, and the car with the living
sounds of the language, and both habitually associated. In
this manner onc comes at the genius of the language, and
makes tlic rules inore casy. The language will then be no
longer a schoolboy and Rabbinical jargon, but the old IIcbraic,
that is, a poctical language. The attention of the boy must
be awakened to it, that of the youth rewarded by its poctry;
and I am confident, that not only boys but old men, would
hold their Bible as car, as their Ilomer or Ossian, if they
kncw what was in it.
A. Perhaps I may also, if you proceed with me, as you
have begun.
E. We will continue the discussion of the subject in our
walks, and more especially in our morning rambles. The
poctry of the Ilchrews, should be heard under the open sky,
and if possible in the dawn of the morning.
A. Wly at this particular time?
E. Becausc it was itself the first dawning of the illumination
46
of the world, while our race was yet in its infancy. We sco
in it the earliest perceptions, the simplest forms, by which the
human soul expressed its thoughts, the most uncorrupted
aflections that bound and guided it. Though we should be
convinced that it contained nothing remarkablc, yet tho
language of nature in it, we must believe, for we fcel it.
The first perceptions of things, must be dear to us, for we
should gain knowledge by them. In it thc carliest Logick of
the senses, the simplest analysis of ideas and the primary
principles of morals, in short, the most ancient history of the
human mind and heart, arc brought before our cycs. Were
it cven the poetry of cannibals, would you not think it worthy
of attention for these purposes?
A. We meet again, you say, in the morning.
DIALOGUE. II.
Dawn of the morning. It presents an image of the creation of the world.
Earliest views of nature. First feeling and conception of the Great
Spirit, as a powerful being. Whether this feeling was a slavish fear,
or brutal stupidity. Probuble origin of ideas of the terrible in the reli.
gions of antiquity. Example of clear notions of God, as a God of
power, and also as supremic in wisdom. Of the Elohim. Probable
origin of the idea of them. Whether it gave occasion to idolatry. Ne.
cessity and use of the idea of onc God to the human understanding.
Service of poctry in confirming and extending it. Simple means to
this end, the parallelism of the heavens and the carth. What the po.
etry of the Orientals gained by connecting them and cxhibiting their
relations. Its mode of representing God at rest and in action. His
word. Early notions of the ungels. Images of God as the cver ac-
tivo Lord of Creation.
The first rays of the dawn were not yet visible, when the
two friends found themselves together at an appointed spot,
a delightful cminence, that furnished a wiele and beautiful
prospect. They saw before them all the objects of nature
lying yet formless and undistinguished, for the night had
wrapt thein up in its vcil of obscurity. But soon the night
brccze sprang up, and the morning appeared in its loveliness.
Its going forth was as if the Almighty had cast a reviving
look upon the carth and renovated its existence; while his
glory accompanied it, and consecrated the heavens as his mag.
nificent and peaceful teinple. The higher it rose, the more
elevated and serene appcared the golden firmament, that grad-
ually purified itself from the subsiding waters, clouds and
vapours, till it stood displayed, as an upper ocean, an expanse
of sapphire interwoven with gold. In the same manner also
the earth sccined to rise up before them. Its dark masses
48
:
became distinguished, and at length it stood forth like a bride,
adorned with herbage and flowers, and waiting for the bless-
ing of Jehovah. "The soul of man clevates and purifies itself
like the morning sky; it wakes and rouses itself from slum.
ber, like the virgin cartlı ; but at no moment is the delightful
vicw attended with such sacred awc, as at the first existence
of light, the brcaking forth of the dawn, when, as thic IIc-
brews say, the hind of the morning is struggling with the
shades of night, and, with its head and knees bended together,
waits for the moment of relcasc. It is, as it were a birth of
the day; and every being shudders with a plcasing dread, as
if conscious of the presence of Jehovah. The most ancient
nations made a distinction between thic light of the dawn, and
that of the sun; considering it an uncreated being, a bright-
ness that gleamcd from the throne of Jehovalı, but was re-
turned again, so soon as the sun awoke to shinc upon the
carth. It is the vicegerent of the Deity, beliind which Jcho-
valı limself is conccaled.
EUTHYPHROX. Olscrrc, my friend, tlc peculiarity and
splendour of the vicw which at this inomcnt opers before us.
It was from this that knowledge first dawned upon the hu-
man mind, and this perhaps was the cradle of the first poetry
and religion of the carth.
ALCIrrox. You agree then with the author of “ Tho
carlicst Ionuments," but remember his vicws have been con-
trovcrtcd.
E. So far as our purpose is concerned, nothing lias been or
can be objected to thein, so long as the morning dlawn remains
what it is. IIave we not at this moment belield and admired
all the changing scenes in this vast work of creation ? From
the dark moving pictures of night to thic inagnificent uprising
of the sun, with whom all beings in air and water, in the
ocean and upon thic carth scem to awake into being, the whole
has passed before us. Is it objccted, that the moon and stars
do not come forth simultancously with the sun ? Perhaps
49
too you may add with equal force on the other hand, that all
the phenomena of the morning belong to every day, while
those of crcation are to be divided into the labours of six.
But why waste our time with such discussions ? Not only
the first brief history of the creation, but all the Hebrew
songs in praise of it, nay the very names of those glorious
phenonena, that we just now sa w before and around us, were
for thc inost part formed, as it were, in the immediate view of
those very scenes ; and it was this view that prompted the
most ancient poctry of nature on thic subject of the creation.
A. When, and by whom, was such poctry formed ?
E. I know not, for my understanding cannot carry back
its rescarches to the cradle of human improvement. It is
sufficient, that the poctical roots of the language, the hymns,
that celebrate the creation, and fortunately the first sketch
of a picture, after or in conjunction with which both sccm to
have been formed, are still cxtant. What if :ve, in our pre-
sent interview, inquire into the carliest iscas, derived from
the contemplation of nature, and from the connexion and pro-
gress of its changing and varied scenes, wbich are exhibited
in this childlike and beautiful poetry of nature? We can
hardly spend our morning hours in a more suitable manner.
A. With all my hicart; and I am convinccil, that to the
great being who pervades and surrounds us, nothing is inore
acceptable than the thankful offering of our inquiring thoughts.
The morning of the day will remind us of the morning of in-
tellectual illumination, and give to our souls the vigour of
youth, and the freshness of the dawn. In general I have
remarkcıl, that the poctry of overy people is characterized by
the influence of the climatc, in which it is forined. A de.
pressing, cold, cloudy atmosplicre, gives rise to images and
feelings of the same character; where the sky is screne, open,
and expanded, the soul also expands itself, and soars without
restraint.
E. I could say much against such a theory, but let it pass.
5
50
Those features of poetry, and those images, to which I wish
now to direct your attention, are those which spring from the
earliest and most chilellike intuitions and feelings of the hu-
man mind, and are occasioned by the inore obvious appear.
ances and events of the external world. These are every
where the same. In all climates, and under every sky, night
is night, and morning is morning. The heavens and the earth
are every where spread above and beneath us; and the spirit
of God, which fills them, which gives to man lis elevation,
and, at the view of the glories around him, kindles up the na-
tive poetry of the licart and the understanding, extends to all
its crcative energies.
A. Begin, then, if you please, with the primitive notions
of the human mind.
E. With what else could I begin, than with the name of
Ilim, who in this ancient poetry animates and binds every
thing together ; whom it (lenoininated the strong and the migh-
ty; whose power was every where withicssed; whosc unseen
presence was ſelt with a shuddering of reverential fear;
whom men honoured ; whose name gave a sanction to the
solemnities of an oath ; whom they called by way of eininence,
the Great Spirit, and whom all the wild and untaught nations
of the earth still seck after, and feel änd adore. Even among
the most savage tribes, how elevated docs poetry and senti-
ment become through the all-pervading feeling of this infinito,
invisible Spirit!' To them the remarkable plicnomena, and
the active powers of nature, appoir as the index of his imme-
diate presence and agency, and they fall down and worship
him. Not from slavish fear and senseless stupidity, but with
the lively fceling, that in these manifestations of liis power, lie
is ncaror to them, they offer up, in honour of the great Spirit,
thcir (carcst possessions with childlike-forms, and awc-struck
adoration. This feeling pervades the history of all ancient
people, their languages, their liymns, their names of God,
and thicir religious rites, of which, from the ruins of the an-
51
cient world, a multitude of monuments and proofs will occur
to your observation.
A. They do so, but the philosophers have explained this
feeling of awe in a far different manner. Fear and ignorance,
say they, have produced imaginary gods. Slavish terror and
brutal stupidity have paid them homage, as powerful but ma-
lignant beings, in short as invisible and evil demons. In all
languages religion employs torrns of fear and dread, and in
the IIebrew they adduce as proof a catalogue of the most an-
cient names of God.
E. The hypothesis, like most others that are brought
forward, is not a new one, and I fear is as false as it is old,
for nothing is more casily misinterpreted by frigid, and at the
same time superficial thinkers, than unsophisticated human
fecling. So far as I am acquainted with antiquity, I think I:
discover continually increasing evidence, that this feeling of
reverential liomage is, in its siinple and primitive character,
neither the servile homage of a slave, nor the stupidity of a
brute. The circumstance, that all nations worship gods of
some kind, distinguishes them from the brutes; and almost
universally the feeling has prevailed, that our cxistence is a
blessing, not a curse ; that the Supreine Being is good, and
that the service, which we ought to yield to him, must not be
an offering of fear and terror, presented as to an evil demon.
A. But are you not acquainted with many observances
that spring from tcrror, and have you never read the books
of an author,* who derives all religious from the desolation
of the world by the flood, and fearful forebodings of renewed
destruction ?
E. Do not disturb liis asbes-Ile was a superintendant of
bridges and dikes, and so must cx-oflicio believe in a Neptu.
nian philosophy. This books are so bad, his learning so full
of uncertainty, and his imagination so confused, that they al-
* Boulanger,
1
.
4
&
52
together very much resemble the waters of the deluge. But
we will go upon safe ground, and admit, that the religion of
many ancient nations had indeed a mixture of terror ; especi-
ally of nations who dwelt in inhospitable regions, among rocks
and volcanoes, on the shores of a teinpestuous sea, or in caves
and mountain cliffs, or whose minds were impressed by some
grcat devastation, or other terrible cvents. But these are
plainly exceptions, for the whole earth is not a perpetual de-
luge, nor a burning Vesuvius. The religion of nations in
inilder regions we find mild, and even among those most
impressed with i:leas of the terrific, thic existence of a power-
ful good spirit is liever wholly given up, and still alınost
always predominates in its influence. Finally, all these ap-
pendages, the oflispring of fear, superstition, and pricstcraſt,
belong in fact to later times. The ideas of the most ancient
religions, are grand and noble. The human race scerns to
have been originally furnished with a fine treasure of knowl-
edge, unbiassed and uncorrupted; but their degeneracy, their
wanderings and misfortunes, have alloyed it with baser metal.
But let us Icave this tumultuous crowd of nations; we are
now to speak of one people, and of onc language.
Of onc, however, in which the most ancient names of
God arc indicativc, not of benevolence and love, but of power
uud rcicrcncc.
E. Truc, these are the first impressions in relation to the
incomprchensible Creator. Power, boundless power, is the
attribute, that first fixes the attention of a focble creature of
the carth. lle cannot but feel this, and his own coinparative
weakness, since his breath is in the hands of God, and his
very existence but the effect of his will, his to us incompre-
hensible power. The ancient book of Job furnishes tho clear-
est proof of this on every page.
Well do I know, that it is thus,
For what is a man, against God ?
Even the wise, and the powerful,
53
Who hath withstood him, and prospered ?
He removeth mountains in a moment,
He overturncth them in his wrath.
He shakesh the earth from its foundation,
And its pillars tremble.
Ilc commandcth tho sun, and it riscth not;
Ile scalcth up the stars in their dwellings;
Ilc sprcadeth out the heavens alone,
And walketh upon the suminit of the waves.
lic hath made Libra and the polar star,
The seven stars and the chambers of the South.
Ile docth great things, that are unscarchable,
And wonderful things, without number.
Lo!lic passcth by mc, and I scc lim not;
Before me, and I am not aware of it.
llc taketh away, and who shall restore ?
Who shall say, what doest thou ?
Do you not believe, that this lofty feeling is the feeling of
nature ? and that the more clear and comprehcnsively a peo-
plc bcholds in cvery thing the power of God, the more stirring
and forcible will be the expression of it? Even the wisdom
of the God, whom they worship, by which he has formed not
only thc inanimate but tlic animatc creation, is to them but
a form of power, a vast ocean of intellectual energies, in
whose dept! s they are lost. Do you not recollcct an example
of this in llebrew poetry ?
A. You allude to my favorite psalm ; it shall now be also
my morning prayer.
Jchovah, thou searchest and knowcst me.
Thou knowest when I sit down, and when I arise,
Thou bcholdest my thoughts from afar.
Whether I am going, or lying down, thou secst me,
And art acquainted with all my ways.
Before a word is formed upon my tongue,
LO! O Lord, thou knowest it all.
Thou hast shapen ine in very part,
And placed thy forming hand upon mc.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
5*
54
:
It is high, I cannot attain to it.
Whither shall I go from thy spirit ?
Whither shall I flee from thy presence ?
If I ascend into heaven, thou art there!
If I make my bed in the abyss, thou art thore;
If I sonr on the wings of the dawn,
And well in the uttermost sca,
Even there shall thy land lead me,
And thy right hand guide me,
If I say, the darknoss shall cover me,
The night shall be for duy to me,
Even the darkness shall not hide from thee.
The night is clear to thce, as the day;
Darkness and light are alike to thico.
For thou hast formod my inward parts,
Thou didst environ inc in my mother's womb.
I will praise thee for the wonders of my form
All thy works are wonderful;
My soul knoweth it well,
My bones were not hid from thce,
When I was slapen in secret,
Curiously wrought in the depths of the carth.
When yet unformed, thine cycs belield me,
And in thy book was I already described ;
The days of my life alrcady numbered.
llow weighty are thy thoughts to me, O God!
llow overwhelming the sum of thei!
Do I number them ? they are more than the sand :
I awake as from a dream, and am still with thee.
E. You have contendeil boldly with the expression of the
original ; but, to be frank, I confess the heartfelt simplicity
of Luther, even when less minutely correct, seems to mo
more stirring to the feelings, perhaps becausc my car was
accustomed to it at an early period. Can you name to me
such a hymn as this, full of the finest natural thcology, from
any other people equally ancient ? Ilcre are the purest con-
ceptions of God, of his omniscience, and his forc-knowledgo,
his intimate acquaintance with the human soul, his omni-
presence, thc cflicacy of his purpose in our formation as in
55
the creation and government of all things, and that too set
forth with energy and fervour. Even the thoughts, of which
many modern philosophers make so much, that God in his
being has no analogy with any created object, that night and
day are alike to hin, are in many passages, of Job, and the
prophcts ; and cven in the simple word holy, that is, wholly
incomparable, so appropriately expressed, that I know_no
purer Theism than prevails in these songs of praise.
A. But recollect to what period these fine passages be-
lony, and that in the inost ancient hymn to the crcation, the
Elohimn still prevail.
E. Withirut doubt Moscs found the term in this ancient
picture of the creation ; for he, the great enemy of polytheism,
and of all that might lead to it, would certainly not have in-
troduced it.
A. Such is my belief, and he joined with it perhaps the
word crcutol in the singular to guard against the tendency
to polytheism, But notwithstanding the primitive idea of
Elohim remained still polytheistick. It was the Eloliin, at
whosc wisilom the serpent taught the first inan to aspire and
who probably in the opinion of Eve derived their wisdom
from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. The East, as you
well know', is peopled with invisible beings, and has especial-
ly one race of refined spirits, which subsist on the fragrant
exhalations of trees, wage war with the giant spirits of cvil,
and presiile over plants, trees, Nowers, inountains, even the
clements, the stars, &c. Polythicism of this kind is suited to
all uncultivated nations, and the rich imaginations of the Ori-
cntials could barely remain free froin it. To them cvery
thing appeared instinct with life, and they pcoplcd the uni-
verse with living beings. Such are tlıc Elohim, the Adonim,
and Schadim of thic IIebrews, thic Izcds of the Parsi, the Lahi
of the Thibetians, (a name that seems to resemble Elohim,)
thic Demons of the Orphic hyinns ; in a word, the most ancient
spirits and gods of the uncivilized world,
56
E. Be it so if you please. Do you find any thing debasing
in the idea, that a weak creature of the earth, like man, who
looks with wonder upon the beauty of the world, and meets
with no visible author of it; who beholds cvery where power
and wisdom, a self-regenerating and exhaustless creative en-
ergy',
and becomes attached to particular objects of beauty
should assign to these objects cach its own invisible creator,
prescrver, and restorer? To the bodily cyc the thcatro of
tlic world is destitute of causes, and yet intensely filled with
effects., IIow natural then for one to imagine to himself
distinct and appropriatc crcativo agents, of which one formed
this, anotlicr that fair work of creation, as a trce, a plant,
or an animal, with perhaps a fond partiality for it, and a pro-
found feeling of its wants, and the capacities of its nature for
enjoyincnt. These creative beings maintained an affection-
atc sympathy with cvery part of the creatures of their power,
and, according to the more common representation, trans-
formncd sometimes plants into their own forin, and sometimes
themselves to that of plants. The yenius of cach living pro-
duct was believed to perish and revile along with it; in
short, these Elohim were then perhaps thic Genii of the crea-
tion, but probably connected in this more ancient fi:ith with
none of those fabulous tales, which ile later mythology in-
vented for them. As the angels properly so called, of whom
we shall speak hy and by, come into vogue, these Elohim
and Genii fell into neglect; those stood around the throne of
God, and were princes of heaven, these but the attendants
and protectors of the lower orders of the creation, and so
subaltern spirits. The later mythologies of the East have
many fables respecting the relations and contests of these two
orders of beings, telling us how tlic Genii secretly listened
behind the curtain of the Great King in the councils of the
angels, how thicy were watched, and punished, &c. If tho
origin of these representations of the Elobiin was entirely as
I have now described it, was it not innocent? or could you
have any thing to objcct to it.
57
A. So far as fceling and poetry are concerned, nothing
at all. To the imagination, indeed, it is cren a benefit. It
places man in a world full of animation, where every flower,
every tror, every star rejoices with us, has its own spirit, and
feels its own principles of life. What pleascs and improves
the imagination licrc, however, may not be so acceptable to
the understanding
E. Why not? Even in the most ancient times this idca
had among these nations no connexion with polytheism,
From one of thic psalms of David we Icarn, that the Clohim
were spirits but little superior to man in rank and excellence,
while at thic same time thic doctrine of tlic unity of Ciod the
Crcator, cannot be mistaken in the first picture of the crca-
tion. This one doctrinc too, as it seems to me, has given an
elevation and truth, a simplicity and wisdom to the poetry of
tlıcse Orientals, which rendered its subsequent influence, as
the guide of civilization, a blessing to the world. It is im-
possible to say what treasures of knowledge and morality
were destined to accruc to our racc from the idea of the uni-
ty of God. lIc turned away in consequence from superstition,
from idolatry, from the rices and abominations of divinely
authorized disorder, and became accustomed to remark in
every thing unity of purpose, and so by degrees wisdom, love,
and benevolence in the laws of nature ; to find unity in inut-
tiplicity, order in disorder, and light in darkness. From tho
idca of onc crcator the world came to be considered as a
united whole ; (xoquo;;) the mind of man was directed to its
combined glories, and learned wisdom, order and beauty.
The contributions of philosophy and poetry to the same end
have also produced the most beneficial effects, especially the
poetry, of which we are trcating. It was the most ancient
obstacle to the progress of idolatry, of which we have any
knowledge, and it poured the first bright beam of unity and
order into the chaos of the creation. Can you tell by what
means it has accomplished all this?
A. What are they?
58
E. A very simple matter, the parallelism of the heavens
and the earth. The works of creation must in some way
be separated and classed in order ; the more unstudied, the
more obvious, clear, and comprehensive the division, the inore
likely to be perpctuated, and this has been so.
A. Where?
E. In this whole body of poetry, which I might there-
fore alınost denominate the poetry of heaven and earth. The
earliest picture of the creation is arranged after this model,
and the division of the so called six days' work has also a ref-
erence to it.
When the heaven is liſted up, the carth is
brought forth also and adorned ; when the air and the water
arc peopled, the carth also becomes inhabited. The same
parallelism of the heavens and the earth pervadcs all the
hymns of praise that are grounded on this picture of creation ;
the psalms, where all the works of nature are invoked to praiso
their Creator ; the most solemn addresses of Moscs and the
prophcts ; in short, it appears most extensively throughout the
poetry and the languagc.
A. And yet the division seems to me to have no uscſul
relation between its parts. What is the carth in comparison
with the heavens, or what relation have the licavens to the carth?
E. It is one of the very objects of this poetry to contrast
the boundlessness of the licavens with the nothingness of the
earth, their elevation with our abascinent. For this end the
radical forins of the language employ all their descriptive
powers and bold imagery. Do you recollect no examples
of it?
A. Examples in abundance.
Heaven is my throne,
The carth my footstool.
E. An image so grand that I might add to it,
My limit is infinity,
59
Or, with Job might ask,
Wilt thou find out the wisdom of Eloah ?
Wilt thou fathom the perfection of Shaddai?
It is high as heaven, what wilt thou do?
Dccper than the abyse, wliat dost thou know?
Its micasura is longer than the curth,
And broader than the sea.
A.
Here you perceive the notion of the boundlessness of the
world of sense. Of that which we call the universe, these
ancient nations knew nothing. The name world-Acon-in
later times gave to tliem the idea of everything despicable,
worthless, and evanescent. The heavens grow old, and are
changed like a garment, thic earth is a thcatre for phantoms,
and senseless apparitions, and a burial place for the dead;
but it is the God of the heavens and the earth, who was be-
fore the mountains, and remains ctcrnal as the heavens. He
it is, who created and renews tlıcın, before whom the heavens
flcc away and the earth is scattered and dispersed in im-
mcnsity like the dust.
But what, I must ask still, las poctry gained by this
parallelism, that has no correspondencies?
E. To inc it seems to have gained much. By this it was
led to compare the finite and the infinite, and to contrast
immensity with nothingness. All that is fair, grand and sub-
lime, is, in the imagination of the Orientals, heavenly ? the
low, weak, and insignificant, is placed in the dust of the earth.
All power descends froin heaven : all that is beneath, by
incans of invisible but powerful tics, is ruled, guiled, and
disposed of from above. Above, the stars emit their ever-
lasting radiance; there are expanded the clear and cloudless
heavens, and the sky liſts its azure arch in undisturbed sereni-
ty ; bencatli, all is mutable, carth-born dust, and corrupted.
The more the human soul connected the two, and Icarned to
contemplate them together, the more its views becamo enlarg.
60
.
ed, correct, and marked with wisdom. . It learned to define,
to measure, and to number the earthly hy. means of the hea.
venly. It reached a point above the world, froin which to
direct and govern the world itself. Do you not believe, that
mere earthborn poetry, however refined, must be necessarily
poor and grovelling? All clevating and subliinc poetry is
by an influenco from above.
A. Yet, let me say, it is mother carth that gives to all
forms their characteristick outline, and consequently their
beauty.
E. For that reason too, the Orientals associate the hea.
vens and tlic carth together. From the foriner their poctry
gains sublimity, compass, clcarness, and cnergy, just as our
souls rcccive the impress of sublimity when we direct our
eyes to heaven. The heavens are the efficient cause, the carth
the instrument and thcatrc of its cflccts, only not the perpetu-
al theatre. Even in the formation of man the heavens and
the earth co-operate ; from this hc rcccives his body, from
those liis living spirit. As the atom on which we walk ig
encompassed by the heavens, so the little splicre of our ob-
servation and knowledge floats in the immensity of the eter-
nal, where all is glory, energy, and spotless perfection. To
me that_poctry sccins great which holds us to the steadfast
contemplation of what wc arc, and what we are not; of the
high, the low, the weak, and the powerful ; it would be false
and dclusive, should it give one part only of these opposite
vicws, and mutilate, or withhold the other. All sublimity
requires the boundless and immensc, in short, the heavens ;
as all beauty and truth requires definite limits, that is the
earth.
A. You have very well defended your parallelism, and I
am desirous to follow it myself through the poctry of Job, the
Psalms, and the Prophets, and know whether, as you say, so
much that is great and beautiful is dcpendent on it, as to re-
ward the frequent appeal,
1
61
.
Give ear, ye heavens, and I will speak,
And hear, O earth, the words of my mouth.
Show me now, however, in what manner the one God of
heaven and earth is instrumental in poetry also in associating
and binding them together.
E. Ile connects them at some times in a state of rest, it
othcrs in action. At rest, when, as an eastern king, he sits
enthroned in the heavens, and commands the creation of the
world by a word. And here again the first and most sublime
parallelism of the two became the model for the manner of
representation in after times :-
God said lct light be,
And light was.
This sublime language of God becomes in various ways, in
thic poctry of the lIcbrcws, the form for the most concise and
forcible imagcs, in which the style always is,
IIc spakc, and it was done,
He commanded, and it stood fast.
The more strange and obscure the object, which God com-
manded, and which obeyed his will, the more wonderful, and
the greater the beauty which it confers:-
He said to the snow, be upon the earth,
To the rain also, and torrents were poured forth.
One of the psalms, that is generally indeed interpreted in a
too spiritual sense, exhibits a similar picture :-
He sendeth forth his word upon the earth.
His word runneth swiftly.
Ile giveth snow, like wool,
Ile scattercth hoar-frost, like ashes.
Ho castcth forth his ice like morsels,
B
62
Who can stand beforo his frost ?
He sendeth his word again, they are melted.
Ilis wind returns, the waters flow frcoly.
Ilere the word of God is personified, as a messenger, as it
oſten is by the IIchrews.
A. In that they do wiscly; for iſ the command and the
cflcct are always to be repeated, their sublimc poctry inust
soon become monstrous, and tediously uniform.
E. It is not wanting in personifications, for indeed all its
employment of angels is nothing inore. The most ancient
idca was not, that tlicy stood as inactive beings, and sung
around the throne of God, but rather, that all the objects of
nature at his cominand became angels and living beings.
Ilc maketh the winds, his messengers,
Ilis ministers, the flaming firo.
ܪ
Thc book of Job is full of these personifications. Thic
stars especially afford us onc of the carliest and finest concep-
tions of angels, as the inessengers of God. Their sublimity
and bcauty, their untroubled radiance, and ceaseless inotion
cxcitc at once the idea of sustaincu delight, and the harmoni-
ous movements of musick, and the dance. At first they were
the daughters of God, who encompassed his tlırone with joya
ſul cxultation ; soon they became his host of warriors, in splen-
did battle array ; and then thcy appear also in the form of his
messengers and servants. In Job we shall sce adinirable ex-
amples of all this, and contrasted with thein, his carth-born
scrvants, sunk in comparative dcbaseincnt. Thus the God of
the Elobiin, that is of the Genii and the rulers of the lower
crcation, is still in a higher sense the king of angels, and of
the host of heaven, Jehovah Sabaoth ; although this was in-
deed an idea of somewhat latcr times,
A. Why so ?
E. Becausc in earlier times God was not thought of, as an
63
Sunconcerned and inactive king, enthroned apart in the heavens,
but as a father and master of a family, whose busy agency
was every where felt. As in the picture of the creation noth-
ing was too small or insignificant to be beneath his creating
power, so he daily creates and orders every thing anew. He
daily stretcies out the heavens, as wlien he first created them,
and goes for this end on the billows of the ocean to the utmost
bounds of the horizon, where he pitches his tent. Daily he
calls forth the dawn, as he called it at first, divides out the rain,
and opens the treasures of liis houschold. Ile tics up the clouds,
likc lcathern bags, traces out channels in heaven, and yives the
lightnings his commands ; clothes thic flowers and cherishes the
plants, generates thic dew, and provides for all beneath the sky.
Job and the Psalms aro full of images, in which, as the cv-
er active father of his family, no work, and no creaturc is be-
neath his care. What heartfelt interest, what wakeful and
ever incrcasing confidence in God this must give to llcbrew
poctry, is better felt than described. But not the Ilcbrew poct-
ry alonc ; all thic poetry of the Orientals is full of praises of
the Divinc Being, that would be surpasscd with as much diffi-
culty, as the childlike confidence in hiin and submission to
his will, which form the groundwork of their religion.
A. Is theirs a good groundwork however? If God is thus
concerned in thic control of the smallest objects of nature,
will not men become unconcerned and inactive? If the hosts
of God are every where encamped to relicve our labours, of
what use is huinan efort and skill ?
E. Of this we shall have an opportunity to speak herc.
after. At present the sun is in the licavens, and warns us, that
our chosen hour is past. Go we then to our labours : the
morning will return, when we mcet again.
As an appendix to tho German there is published here a hymn to the
Deity froin the Persian, to excmplify the remarks on the general charac.
ler of this class of Oriental poctry. It is taken by Herder from an Er.
glish work, "Specimens of the Institutes of Timour, by Ilunter and
64
White." As it is not very necessary to the general object of the work,
I have not thought it worth the while to retranslate it, and know not
where to find the work from which it was taken.
.
DIALOGUE III.
Thoughts suggested by night and twilight. The stntc of unborn souls.
Job's description of ancient night. Ilad the Orientuls any idea of a
chaos? Their notions of the most ancient condition of the carth.
The Spirit upon the waters. Origin of the sensuous idea of Spirits.
Voice of a nightly apparition in Jobi. First appearance of light. Its
gladdening ellect. Glowing pictures of it in the poetry of the Orien.
tals. Personifications of light, and of ile dawn. l'octical images of
lieuven, as an arcii of Waters, as a treasure liousc of all that is anima.
ting and refreshing; as sapphire, and as the tent of the father of
creation. Poetical geogony of the Orientals. Ilow far it corresponds
to the natural history of our carth. Animation of plants. Its cirect
in giving a delicacy of spirit, and comprehensivences of feeling to
poctry. Why have the llebrows no hymus to the sun and stars ?
Personifications. Beautiful ond corrcct use of them in llebrew poctry.
Representation of the stars, as angels; as daughters of God, as an ar.
iny, as a nock of sheep under the Supreme Shepherd. Particular pas.
sages respecting them. Of the lively sympathy of Orientul poetry
with the brute creation. Of God as their universal parent. Why in
this poctry brutes are sometiincs put before man. Of men. David's
hymn to the creation.
On the following day Alciphron did not firil to loc punctual
at the morning hour of poetry. We must not dwell to day,
as we did yesterday, said Eutbypliron), when they met togeth-
er, on individual ideas, but I will direct you to a more general
picture, and at the same tirne richer, than the tablet of Cebes.
Is not one suggested to you by this fearful obscurity, in which
all beings are at this moment involved, as if impatiently
waiting for the light.
A. Do you mean the state of the dead among the Ori.
entials?
65
E. That is not the topic, with which to begin our con-
versation. I was thinking indeed, of Sheol, but rather as
the state of things yet unborn, which are waiting for the
light, and hoping to find along with it unmingled joy. Rec-
ollect, for illustration, the night to which Job doomed in his
imprecations the hour of his birth. There sleep unborn
nights and days. God looks down froin his clevation, and
calls forth this or that as lie pleases, and it comes forth with
exultation to join the choir of its companions in the circular
dance of the year.
Perish the day, in which I was born;
The night when they said, a son is brought forth.
Let that day bu darkness,
Let not God inquire after it from above,
And let no light shine upon it.
Let darkness and death-shade seize it,
The clouds cver rest upon it,
The blackness of misfortune terrify it.
That night! lc: darkness take it away,
That it join not the days of the year,
Nor come into the number of the months.
Let that night be set apart by itself;
Ict no sony of joy resound in it.
May thosc curse it, who curse the day,
Who can call up the monsters of the decp.
May the stars of its twilight be dark;
Let it wait for the light, and light come not;
Nor let it scc the cyelids of the dawn,
Becausc it shut not up my mother's womb,
Nor hid cvil from my eyes.
Where have you seen the ancient night to which this unhap-
py man consigned his birth-day, or the gloom of a starless,
rayless, and horrible darkness, that waits in vain for the morn-
ing, more fearfully described ? No song of gladness cheers
it, and its silence is interrupted only by the muttered spells
of those, at whose enchantments the day goes not forth to
6*
66
interrupt them in their works of darkness. You know how
Shakspeare describes a night like this.
A. IIe does not yield to the Orientals. But you said
something of the state of unborn souls. The passage you
have repeated seems to me to have no reference to such a
state.
E. The realms that contain thein, however, arc silent and
formless as the night. They are shapeil in the deepest ob-
scurity, in tlic centre of the carth, and there wait the light,
as at this moment all creatures wait for it. The hour of
thcir birth is struck-God calls tlıcm forth.
A. The representation is remarkably adapted to the senses.
E. Like all the poctical fictions of the IIebrews. They
know nothing for example of a chaos, in which before the
formation of our world the atoms that composc it, were driven
about, as chance directed ; a fiction, for which we are indebted
to the Grecks. In their minds its place was supplied by a dark
gloomy sca, upon which the wind of the Almighty was hover-
ing with an agitating cflect ; and the picture, as it appears to
me, is so much the finer for being truc. Such was in fact the
first condition of our carth, as the structure of it shows, and so
it must have stood for ages, until, by the wonders of creation,
it became inhabitable. This picture has something in it
natural and conceivable ; that formless chaos has neither.
A. The spirit, to which you alluic, that brooded over the
waste and fatboinless abyss, is to mc pcculiarly striking, and
nerer fails to inspire me with awe.
E. It was to the Orientals the first and most natural image
of that which constitutcs liſc, power, impulsc in crcation ; for
the idea of a spirit secms originally to have been formed from
thic fceling of the wind, especially at night, and combined with
power, and the sound of a voice.
A. You remind me of the appearance of an apparition in
Job. There is form and yet no form ; a gentle whisper, a
murmuring like the voice of the wind, but with it also the
pow-
67
er of the wind, the energy of spirit. It raises the hair on
end, and rouses all the terrors of the soul. “It harrows up
the soul with fear and wonder."
A word stole secretly to me,
Its whispers caught my car;
At the hour of night visions,
When deep sleep fallcth upon man,
I was scized with fear and shuddering,
And terrors shook my frame.
A spirit was passing before me,
All my hair stood on end.
Ile stood still, but I saw not his form,
A shadowy image was before my eyes;
It was silently whispered to me,
Ilow can man, &c.
E. There is as you say a form without form, silence, and
yet a voice, and after all the powerful cſſect alone indicates
the formless figure, and so it must be. The more closely de-
fined its features, the feebler would their cffcct become. Form
and definitcness are incompatible with our notions of spirit:
it is the offspring of the wind, and inust preserve the character
of its origin. But look! yonder come the glories of the morn-
ing. Let us leave the visions of night to their repose, while
we adore the l'ather of Light.
Jehovah, my God, thou art full of majesty,
Thou art clothed with dignity and glory.
Ilc puticth on the light, as a garment,
Ile sprcadcth out the heavens as a tent.
When the first morning bcam shot forth, thou, the creator.
didst declare the light to be good, and didst consecrate it to
be an eternal emblem of thy presence, and of thy divinc glory,
of all delight and purity, of all wisdom, goodness, and blessed-
God dwells in light, and his countenance beams with
paternal goodness, and paternal joy. Ile enlightens the hearts
ncss.
68
1
of all good men, and illuni inates their path. In their original
darkness he sent them the first ray of light, in the night of
affliction and death he sends into their hearts a beam of unceas-
ing joy and hope. As God, he displayed his glory in the cre-
ation of light, as the father of the universe in irradiating with
its beams the souls of men, and leading us onward from this
twilight of existence to brighter habitations. Is there any crc-
ated existence, that would better deserve to be the garment
of Jehovah, who, as to the essence of his nature, dwells in cter-
nal obscurity ? Light is his swiftest messenger, winged almost
with the pinions of his omnipreselice, and the emblem of Di.
vine purposes and joys.
A. The poctry of the II cbrews has consequently fine image.
ry drawn froin this source.
E. Perhaps no poetry in the world has drawn from it with
more beautiful cffect. The very name of light has in this
language a lofty and noble sound, the emblem of all that is
joyous and transporting. While it paints darkness in images
of fear and horror, it places in aniinating contrast, the bright
eye of day, the eyelids of the opening dawn. All the pictures
of the dawn associate with it ilie idea of waiting, of expecta-
tion, of desirc, and its appearance brings fruition. The morn.
ing star, which we see before us, is licre a fair son of the twi-
light; for like every thing clse, light and darkness has cach its
palacc, its peculiar and inaccessible dwelling. The dawn ap-
pears in Job as a licro, who scatters the bands of mistocrs, do
prives the robber of_the covering of darkness that protects
him, gives to all things thcir form, and stamps them, as it were,
with a new impression of his scal. From the womb of the
morning dawn, is born the dew, her numcrous host of glitter-
ing children. See you not there the fair mother before you,
in that beautiful blending of light and darkness ? observe too,
how the Eternal Father is gradually expanding and arching
over us the tent of his azure heavens.
69
:
He sits above the circle of the carth,
The inhabitants of the world are grasshoppers before him.
He stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain,
He spreadeth it out as a tent to dwell in.
But let us pass, if you plcuse, to the mythology of the hea-
vens themselves.
A. The Orientalists must have, I fcar, great disputes to
decide what Moscs meant by his firmament between the wa-
tcrs and the waters. 1!'hether it be a tent, an arched cor-
ering above, or a chrystal firmament on which the waters
rested, it secins diflicult to determine.
E. No disputes are necessary, for the pictures are all
common, and, rightly understool, are also suitable and dig.
nificd. The most ancient ideal is certainly not of a firmament
or foundation of glass, since lass was unknown till a laic
period. The most ancient mythology represents the heavens,
as an arch of water, and even the thirone of God as begirt
with darkness in the midst of the waters. In the celebraiec
song of David even it is said,
He stretcheth out the heavens as a tent,
Ilc placcth amid the waters the arch of this dwelling.
Ilc maketh the clouds his chariots,
Ile gocth forth on the wings of the wind.
Even at this late period we see nothing of the chrystal fir-
mament, but a tent, a sublime palace arched over with the
waters of heaven. Such also is the tradition of the Arabi-
ans-God called forth the heavens from the waters, and form-
cd then for a habitation. The beautiful correspondence
with truth too, in thcsc representations, considered as pic.
turcs of natural history, is matter of wonder.
A. I have always admired it, and also the descriptions
of the clouds, of the lightning and the rain, as peculiarly
beautiful. The droughty Orientals, scem to look upon the
heavens only as a store-house for their refreshments, a sup-
70
1
ply of the blessings, which their carth so often denied them.
E. And they have clothed this beautiful idea in a variety
of imagery. At one time he binds up the waters in the clouds,
as in leathern bags, and their airy tissue is not broken. In
them is the water of life for man and beast. At another he
drives them, filled with the stores of his bounty, hither and
thither, to refresh the thirsty regions of the carth, and pours
them out with a profusion, that overflows cvcn the deserts,
where no man dwells, nor blade of grass springs. Ilc is often
described, as going forth majestically in these waters, passing
from land to land, for its relicſ, and treading upon the swel.
ling floods of licaven. There lic has his treasures of waters,
and traces furrows in heaven, and opens channels, by which
to conduct them. Again he rends asunder his tent, and lots
thic rain descend, divides the heavens, or opens the windows
of his royal palace, and deluges the carth with torrents. The
last were probably conceptions of a late period, when God
was represented as the king of heaven.
A. And was he not so represented at an carly period ?
E. Whether carly or not, lie was still carlier represented
as the father of a family, who extended liis parental care to
man and beast. Observe the numerous passages of this kind
in the l'salms and prophets. What heartfelt prayer for rain
and refreshing waters ascend to heaven! Ilow do all eyes
wait, and the parched tongue, now animated anew, abound
in thanksgiving! The finest images of the bounty, the uni-
versal goodness, and providence of God are borrowed from
the rain and the dew. So also the most carnest prayer and
cordial longing after God, are represented under the image of
burning and consuming thirst :
As the hart pantcth for the fresh fountain,
So pantcth my soul after thec,
My soul thirsteth for God,
For the living God.
When shall I come to him,
And behold his face?
71
Images of this kind give to poetry a community of feeling
and sympathy between brute animals, men, plants, and all
that has life; the Supreme and Eternal Father, is the father
of all.
A. But how then were the heavens represented as solid?
E. It was on account of their sapphire appearance, their
glowing splendour, their unchangeableness, and their beauty,
Perhaps the most ancient notion was, that this solid firmament
was ice, from which the hail descended. The Arabs have
pictures, according to which the lightnings are but sparku,
that fly off from the sapphire firmament. Finally, when the
heavens came to be represented as a temple and palace of
God, this pure azure of the sky was the ground floor of his,
and the covering of our habitation. To those who dwelt in
tents, however, the idca of a licavenly tent seems to me to
have been the greatest favorite. They represent God as dai-
ly spreading it out, and making it fast to the mountains, the
pillars of heaven. It is to them, an emblem of security, of
rest, and of the paternal intercourse and friendship, in which
God lives with his creatures.
A. And how do they trcat the carth?
E. You will learn froin their own words, if you go on
with the psalm, in which David has given a picture of the
creation.
A..
Ile hath established the carth upon its foundation,
Il shall not be moved for over and ever.
Ile hath covered it with foods, as with a robe ;
The waters stood above the mountains;
At thy rebuke they licu,
At the voice of thy thunders they hastcd away.
Then roso up the mountains, the valleys sunk down,
To the place which thou didst appoint for them.
Thou sclicst boundaries to the floods,
They shall not pass over and return
To delugo the carth.
72
Thou sendest forth springs in the valleys,
They run between the mountains,
They give drink to the beasts of the field,
The wild bcasts qucnch their thirst.
Above them dwell tho fowls of heaven,
Thoy sing among the branches.
Thou watercst the hills froin thy storc-house above,
From the fruits of thy works* thou satisficst the carth,
Makest grass to grow for cattle,
And seed for the service of man,
That lic inay bring forth bread from the carth,t
And make his face to shino with plenty,
Wine also that maketh glad the heart of man,
And bread, that strengthencil man's heart.
T'he trecs of Ciod are full of sap,
The ccdars of Lebanon, which he hath planted,
Where the birds build their nests,
And the fir trees the house of the heron.
Tlic inountains ho made for the wild goats,
The rocks as a reſuyc for the conies.
4
E. With what a joyful expression that poct surveys the
earth! It is a green mountain of Jchovalı, which he has
raised up from the waters ; an Elysian field, which he has
established above thic scas for the habitation of his living
multitudes. The scrics of images, which the poct has made
use of, contain cxactly the natural history of the carth. At
first the waters stand above the mountains, at the coinmand
of God they shirink beneath. Now the mountains rise up,
the valleys sink, as the waters rusla tlırough and level them.
Finally God scts bounds to the floods, and makes fast the
* With the fruit of thy work, i. c. with the blessings which thou crea.
test. Gol is represented as the father of a family, always busy and
providing for the carth.
1 The production of bread from the earth is referred not to God, but
IIc has caused sced to grow for them, that thicy may sow it and
procure thcnisclvcs brcad. I have transposed parts of the 14th and 15th
verses, by which they acquire more symmotry, and cven the words o
better consonancc and arrungement.
men.
73
earth. Then the fountains break forth in the vallies, the
streains run between the mountains, where their beds are
already hollowed out; to them the beasts resort, and above
them the birds sing, for the banks of streams were first cov-
cied with trocs. We shall find in Job more sublime pictures
of the formation of the earth ; more true or beautiful are
scarcely possible.
A. And in truth whatever is most consonant to nature is
most perfect in beauty. What are all the inythologies to me,
if they teach me nothing? What profit do I gain, for exam-
ple, when the Northern Edda represents heaven, as the skull
of a slaughtered giant, the earth as formed from his bones,
and the rivers from his blood ? Poetry, in order to affect the
hcart and the understanding, must conibine beauty with truth,
and animate both with sympathetick feeling.
- E. The poetry of the Orientals seems to me to combine
all these. What sympathy, for example, docs it exhibit with
flowers, plants and herbs ? As it ascribes to all in a certain
degree the principles of life, and more than figuratively per-
sonifies them, so God is represented as their father, who
bestows his blessings upon them, who nourishes them with
rain, and serves them with the brcatlı of spring. Their res-
toration and the renewal of their verdure was a beautiful
emblein of the resurrection of the dead, as thcir preservation
was a memorial of his universal providence. The leaves of
plants seem to have been carly remarked, and the palm trec,
the cedar, the vine and the olive have furnished beautiful and
sublime images to the poetry of the IIebrews But this, alas!
is all which they have furnished. Ilad we more of their
pastoral fubles like that of Jotham, or of the class to which
the Song of Solomon belongs, what fine poetry and personi.
fications should we find in them! Perhaps more beautiful and
diversificct, than the dialogue of our own poet between the
rose and the zephyr, or those in the Persian between thc rose
and the nightingale, the wanderer and the turtle dove. As
7
74
it is we must content ourselves with a single collection of
such songs, but one that breathes throughout the fragrance
of the rose, and brings back the musical notes of the turtle ;
I mean the Songs of Solomon. But the sun, my friend, is
rising high.
A. Be not in haste. Point me rather to some examples
-of fine personiſication and hymns addressed to the sun. The
Hebrews I believe have none of these.
E. Hymns addressed to these, or to any other object of
nature, this poctry could not have. It would be idolatry, and
you are aware how conscientiously this was avoided. Job says,
Had I looked at the sun, wlicn it slione forth,
And the moon going abroad in its beauty,
So that my heart had burned in sccret,
And I had kissed my land for them,
This would have been an abomination,
For I should have denied the God of Ileaven.
When this fccling was so sincere and carnest, no hymns
to the hosts of licaven were possible. Thc Hlcbrew poetry,
guarded against this species of idolatry with the more extreme
caution, because the Orientals in general were not so much
attracted by any inferior idols, as by the king and queen of
heaven, and to these their hearts were very greatly inclined.
It becainc tlicrcfore a direct object of this poetry to represent
the sun and moon as the scrvants of God, and to ascribe to
him also all glory and truth, righteousness and beauty.
God said, Let there be two great lights in heaven
To rule over the scasons.
IIe placed them in the firmament
To have dominion over the scasons.
L
They are kings of the world, but only subordinate to God,
his representatives, his creaturcs and messcngers.
In those
characters alone the Ilcbrew poctry has cmployed them.
A. It has uscd them you mean but little ?
75
E. Yes, much and appropriately too. The sun, moon and
stars also were animated. They had their dwelling places
and tents in heaven, as they still have in the minds of the Ara-
bians and other nations. You know the beautiful passage, for
which you may seek a parallel among the Greeks in vain.
For the sun he hath pitched a tent in the heavens,
Froin which he gocth forth as a bridegroom
Out of his chamber,
And rejoiceth as a hero
In the career of victory.
IIc gocth forth from the end of heaven,
Ani gocth onward to the end of it,
And fillcıl the world with his beams.
The moon and stars also have their dwellings, in which,
when they are to be darkened, God scals them up, or in which
they timidly shrink and hide themselves, when thc glory of
Jehovah appears. Thus in Ilabakkuk, for example, God
comes forth in his war-chariot to conquer and divide the land;
the sun and moon comic in astonishment to the doors of their
tents; his lightnings are slot forth, his arrows fly round him,
and they hide themselves in confusion before the presence of
his grcatcr glory.
The mountains saw theo and trembled,
The waters passed away,
The deep uttered its voice,
And lifted up its hands on high,
The sun and moon stood still in their tents;
When they saw the brightness of thinc arrows,
The glittering splendour of thy lightnings,
They hasted away.
A more sublime personification I consider hardly possible.
All nature listens ; its swiſtest objects stand still, its brightest
are obscured. In the same spirit the stars are made the mar-
tial host, the exulting children of God. Whatever is pure,
76
The sun,
fair, and immortal, is compared with the stars, and the angels
are often personified in them.
A, But for what purposes are these glittering hosts sent
and employed ?
E. Those for which God employs his servants.
as even its name indicates, is a messenger, but never the ori-
ginal fountain of blessedness and beauty. Even the nourish-
ment of plants is not ascribed to it, but to the Supreme Fa-
ther, who refreshes and waters them with the air, the dew,
and the rain : it only brings about the seasons--a king
of the carth, but in subordination to the King of kings.
The stars as his army go out and engage in battle. To them
were ascribed the water-spouts and the overflowing of rivers ;
and in the song of Deborah they are beautifully personified in
this character. In their character of angelick messengers
they are capable of failure. He discovers thein out of the
way, and does not trust them with confidence. IIc finds inn-
perfection in thcir brilliancy, and the heavens are not pure in
his sight. But finally, when the future days of his own peculiar
reign shall arrive, then shall the sun shinc with sevenfold bright-
ness, and the light of the moon shall be as the light of the
That poctry, which so profoundly comprchcnds the na-
ture of things; which binds all the objects of crcation together
in such admirable ordcr, and, in a sublimc choral
song which
represents God as the great shepherd of licaven, who knows
and calls for the stars by name as his shcep, and foods them
under a variety of images on thic azurc ficlds of the sky; who
girds Orion, and consoles the nightly wanderer for the loss of
her children ; who binds together the seven stars in their sis-
terly union, and hides his sccret treasures in the South ; such
poetry is the daughter of heaven and carth. When we come
to treat of the book of Job, what clevated vicws of the stars
will it furnish us.
A. I anticipate it with delight, and am for ever reconciled
to the most ancient poetry of the world. I have been particu-
sun.
ܪ
77
larly, struck by its perfect sympathy with brutes, and the whole
animate creation, and was delighted even in childhood to find,
that it treated the brute animals (so called because they are
dumb) as the brothers of man, who wanted nothing but the
power of speech. The wild beasts it denominates living crea-
tures, or the living, because the domistick animals are, in the
comparison, as it were still and dead. I was delighted, when
I found the voice and language of brutcs so forcibly expressed
in the language ; when the prophct coos with the crane and
the turtle dove, and mourns with the ostrich in the wilderness.
I rejoiced at finding the form of the stag, thic lion, and the ox,
sometimes thcir strength, stateliness, and velocity, at others,
the acuteness of their senses, their habits of life, and their
character described and painted in appropriate terms, and wish.
ed that in place of some of the sacred songs we had more of
its fables, parables, riddles respecting the brute creation, in
short, more of the poetry of nature ; for this seems to me to
be among this people the most happy, and of the most perfect
simplicity.
E. The name of God, however, must always belong to it,
as a necessary accompaniment, for he is the parental head of
this whole animate creation. IIe gives to every creature its
food ;--all eyes wait upon him, and he lights them up with
joy. The young and hateful raven does not cry unhcard, and
the wild chamois goat experiences his parental care, and is dc-
livered in her time of nccd. IIe lives as it were with every
animal in its peculiar sphere, feels its wants, and fulfills its
wishes, because he has given to all their natures. To him
nothing is wild, nothing dumb and despised. He roars with
the lion after his prey, and looks down from his mountain eyry
with the glance of the cagle. The wild ass lives upon
upon his pas-
tures, and the hawk flies by his wisdom. Ile too is the great
decp, the realm of monsters. The hated crocodile is the object
of his paternal love, and behemoth is the beginning of the ways
of God, the most magnificent of his works on earth. In short,
7*
78
this poetry is full of natural feeling, full of the universal
providence and goodness of God in his wido empire. It was
nourished in the bosom of nature, and cherished in the lap
of our mother carth.
A. I now discover (what I have often wondered at with
some perplexity) why it is, that in this poetry a reference is
sometimes given to the brutes over men, and the ass of Ba-
laam has more influence with the angel, than the prophet
who rode her. In the book of Job, God is represented as
delighting in the horse, and the lion, as being proud of behe-
moth and leviathan, but is silent respceting man.
E. It docs not however pass over man with neglect ; he
is the image of God, the masterpiece of his works, and onc
of the visiblc Elohim here upon the carth. But of this at
another time. Tinish now your song of praise, and I will
closc with one to correspond with it.
A.
He made the moon to divide tho scasons,
The sun knoweth his going down.
Thou makest darkness, and it is night,
In which every beast of the forest creeps forth;
The young lions roar aſicr their prey,
And scck their food from God.
The sun riseth, they hurry a way,
And lay themselves down in their dens.
Then man gocth forth to his labour,
And to his work in the field until evening.
How manifold are thy works, O God,
In wisdom hast thou made them all;
The earth is full of thy treasures.
The sea too, 80 vast, so wide in cxtent,
There are swarms innumerablo,
Living things small and great.
There go the ships,
There sports the leviathan,
Which thou hast made to play therein.
These all wait on thee,
To give them meat in its season ;
Thou givest it them, they gather it;
0
79
Thou openest thine hand, they are satisfied with good.
Thou turnest away thy countenance,
They are filled with terror;
Thou takest away their breath,
They return back to their dust;
Thou sondest forth thy breath,
They are created ancw,
And thou rencwest the face of the earth.
The glory of Jehovah endureth for ever.
Jchovah rejoiccth in his works,
Ile looketh upon the carth, and it trembleth,
He toucheth the mountains, and they smoke.
I will sing to Jchovah as long as I live,
I will praise my God, while I have bcing.
Ny song of him shall be sweet,
I will be joyful in Jehovah.
Praise the Lord, O my soul,
Ilallelujah.
E. I remain pledged for a corresponding specimen ; but
since you prefer hymns, here is one entirely in the Oriental
style. In my opinion there is indeed but one style in this
class of poetry in all the living European languages, and that
is the style of Job, the Prophcts and the Psalms. Milton has
especially interwoven it in the composition of his immortal
pocmThompson has trodden with fccble steps in the same
path, and among us Kleist las very philosophically adorned
it. For this style and this imagery we are indebted to the
simplicity of the llebrew poetry.
*
* Reference is had in the last paragraph to Milton's morning Hymn
of Adam in the 5th Book of Paradise Lost, which it is not thought ne.
cessary to copy in the translation. Tr.
DIALOGUE IV.
)
Transition to the book of Job. Bost method of reading it. Descrip.
tions of God, as judge of the stars, the creator of the world, the
stiller of the tempest. Style and character of Elihu in his descrip-
tions. Examples of his style. Discourse of God out of the tempest.
Elucidation of its sublimo pictures of naturc. Of thc poetry of nature
in general. Whether it be a lifeless spccies of poctry, and undo.
serving of the namo. Object of the poctry of nature. First mcans
of attaining it, personification, animation. Examples from Job. Wheth.
er the most ancient times have an advantage over us in this respect,
and why. Second requisite for this class of poetry, that it be the in.
terprcter of nature. Examples from Job.
Examples from Job. Influence of the poctry of
nature on the feelings. Third requisite, that it have an object and
purposc.
Illustrations from Job.
Wiley Euthyphron enquired for his friend, he found him
reading the book of Job.
ALCIPROX. You see how your scholar is employed, and
it is hardly necessary to say, that I am reading this book
with delight. I cannot yet indeed accustom myself to the
long specches, the tedious complaints and claims to innocen.
cy, and still less the vindications of Providence, which cannot
themselves be vindicated. Of the guiding thread of the dia-
logue, I yet know nothing. But the descriptions of nature
in it, the sublime and yet simple account of the attributes of
God, and his government of the world, elevate the soul. If
you are inclined to listen then, I will (as these people say)
open the treasures of my hcart, and read a few passages to
you. I leave it to you afterwards to set me in the right way
in regard to the plan, the antiquity and author of the book.
EUTILYPIIROX. It is a very proper course for you to begin
in that way of selecting particular passages. 'To read tho
81
i
work continuously is for us perhaps too strong meat. We
are accustomed to preſer brevity in the dialogue, and a more
bbvious scquence of ideas, than we find here. The Orien-
tals in their social intercourse heard cach other quictly
through, and were cven fond of prolonged discourses, espe-
cially in versc. 'They are pearls froin the depths of the ocean
loosly arranged, but precious: treasures of knowledge and
wisdom in sayings of the olden times.
A. But of what time? One must be surprised to find
here so much intclligcncc, and furnished so abundantly with
unperverted impressions and idcas of naturc; and yet again
there are other ideas so poor, so childlike.
E. Pass over, if you please, the consideration of time
and authorship, and confine yourself to thc work, as it is, in
its poverty and its richness. Beyond, all contradiction the
book is froin very ancient times, and I take it up whenever I
venture to decypher its thoughts, with a specics of reverence.
My thoughts are carried to distant countries and remote ages,
the ruins of the great revolutions that have taken place as
well in matters of tastc, as in the governments of the world.
I listen to a voice that comes to me from a distance, perhaps
of three or four thousand years, and instead of sitting in judg-
ment on the book, or bringing it to the test of my own times,
I say to myself in the words of the book itself,
We are of yesterday, and know nothing,
Our lifo on carth is but a shadow.
The fathers, thcy shall teach and tell us.
They give us the language of their hearts.
Proceed then with its beautiful descriptions of God and na-
ture. My car is open, and listens with attention to the ideas
of the most ancient of the infant world.
A.
Power and its terrors are his,
He is arbiter in the heights of heaven.
.
82
Are not his hosts without number,
And his light prevails over all ?
Shall man then be just before God?
One born of woman bo pure ?
Behold even the moon abides not with its tent,
The stars are not pure in his eyes.
And shall man, who is a worm, be puro ?
A child of earth, a worm!
E. A sublime representation of God, the Supreme Judge
of heaven ! the arbiter among the stars and angels. His glit-
tering hosts are numberless, his splendour obscures them all;
his lights, his purity, the truth and justice of his judicial decrce
puts them to silence. The moon with its tent disappcars,
the stars are iinpure in his sight. Then from these bright
eminences we glance at man, and ask,
Shall man, who is a worm, bo purc?
A child of carth, a worm!
A. Your explanation of the obscure words, “ He maketh
peace among his heights, over whom doth not his light arise ?
The moon pitchcth not her tent before him," plcascs me much.
I see the Eastern judge, who dicides between angels and stars.
How finely and poetically too is the darkenci moon intro.
duced. Its tent is gone from heaven, it has concealed itself
from the presence of its judge.
E. Proceed to the remarks of Job; they are better still.
A.
Whom helpest thou ? him who hath no strength ?
Whom dost thou vindicate ? whose arm hath no power?
To whom give counsel? one without wisdom ?
Truly much wisdom hast thou taught him !
To whom dost thou give knowledge by words?
And whose breath dost t:ou breathe?
E. To whom do you suppose this passage to relate ?
A. It seems to me to refer to God. Job means to say,
.
83
that God needs not to be vindicated by him, that his very breath
is the breath of God, and that a helpless creature cannot be-
come the defender of his Crèator.
E. Proceed, I shall not again interrupt you.
A.
.
The shades are moved from beneath,
The abyss, and those that dwell in it.
The realms of darkness are naked before him,
And uncreated night without a covering.
Over the wasteful decp hc spreadeth out the heavens,
Hc hangcth up the earth upon nothing;
He bindeth up the waters in his clouds,
And the clouds are not rent under them.
Ilo closcth up his throne round about,
Ilc spreadeth the clouds around him.
Ile appointeth a boundary for the waters,
To where the light is ended in darknces.
The pillars of hicaven tremble,
They are shaken at his reproof.
By his power he scourgcth the sea,
By his wisdom he bindcth its pride.
By his breath he garnishcth the heavens,
His hand scircth the flecing serpent..
Lo these are a part of his ways,
A whisper that we have heard of him;
But the thunders of his power,
Who can comprehend ?
E. A splendid passage, and, as you are turned poet, I will
become your commentator. Job surpasses these opponents
in the excellence of his effusions, as much as he has the ad-
vantage of them in the result of their contest. lle paints
only a single representation of the power and majesty of God,
but he draws his image from the deepest abyss, and carries
his picture to the highest point of sublimity. The realms of
non-cxistence are spread before the Alinighty, the boundless
depth of vacancy stretch beneath him ; and as these were
conceived, as we have before seen, under the form of a rest-
84
less ocean, he represents this, the vast realm of ancient night
and unborn ages, as appearing before the Almighty, unveil-
ing its wild abyss, and the horrid commotion of its billows.
The shades tremble, the shapeless forms of future being are
moved with expectation, the abyss, which never before saw
the light, is without a covering, Now begins the work of
creation. IIc sprcads out the heavens over this dark and
boundless deep ; he establishics the earth and causes it to rest,
and as it were to be suspended over nothingness and vacancy.
(For these rcalins of night and of the shades were supposed to
be subterrancous.) Now he arranges the heaven in order,
binds up the waters in clouds, and forms for himself the open
expanse ; builds and adorns his throne, in the midst of the
waters ; cncloses it around, and spreads the thick clouds as
a carpet beneath it. Then lie mcasures and designates the
boundaries of the watery heavens to where the light and dark-
hess niingle, that is, to the extreinity of the horizon. Next
his power is exhibited in the thunder, and still inorc to mag-
nify the effect, in a storm at sea. The waves are represented
as rebels, whom he drives before him, and can in a moment
bind in chains. A single breath from hiin, and the sca is
calı, thc licavens clear ; bis hand meets only with the flying
serpent (either according to an inayc occuring in other pas-
sages--I's. Ixxiv. 13. Is. xxvii. 1)--the monsters of the deep
in the nighbouring scas, as the crocodile, or perhaps the
flying and curling waves theinselves, which his hand sinooths
and levels. Either way the picture closes with a stillness as
sublime and beautiful, as the tumult, with which it coinmen-
ced, was terrifick. And thesc, says Job, arc but a single
sound, a small part of lois wonders.
The thunders of his power, who can comprehend them ?
Every morning, as day breaks from the darkness of night,
every storin, especially at sea, brings the magnificent picture
before us. Ilave you any other passage ?
85
A. Take, if you pleasc, the laudatory hymn of the inspired
Elihu, imıncdiately preceding the final and magnificent re-
sponsс of the Divine Being.
E. Observe however by the way, that it stands there only
as a foil to increase the cliect of that response. Much as El-
iliu thinks, and ſincly as he spcaks, lic is still, as he himself
says, but now and fermenting winc, that rens and escapes
from tlic bottles. Ilo has splendid images, but directs them
to no end; and the finest of them are only amplifications of
those, which Job and his friends had employed in a inore
concisc fomm. lIcncc no answer is returned to him. lic pre-
pares the way for the entrance of the Divine Bcing, and pro-
claims it without limself being aware of it. In describing it
rising tempest in all its phenomena lic paints, without knowing
it, the coming of the judge.
I had never remarked this prospective design in the
progress of the picture.
E. It is however, as I think, the soul of the wholc, with-
out which, all that Elihu says would be more tautoloty
As the passage is too long to bc taken entire, begin at the
words “ Lo! God is grcal."--I will occasionally alternate
with you.
A.
$
Lo, God is Inighty in his power,
Where is a tcaclicr like him?
Who shall try liis ways ?
And who shall say thou hast crred ?
Consider and praise his doings,
For all men cclebratc tliem,
And all incn belold thein,
But wcak nan sees them froin far.
Lo, Ciod is great, and we know it not,
The number of his ycars is unscarchable.
Ilc draweth up the drops of water,
Rains arc cxhaled upwards in vapour ;
The clouds pour them down again,
They drop upon men abundantly.
8
86
Who can understand the outspreading of his clouds,
And the fearful thunderings in his tent?
Behold, he encompasseth it with lightnings,
And covereth with foods tho lcpths of the sea.
By these lic cxecuteth judgment upon the people,
And givcth also their fool abundantly.
With his hands lic holdeth the lightnings,
And commandcth them whicro they shall strike.
llc pointch out to them the wicked;
The cvil.docr is the prey of his wruth.
E. All these images will occur in a more concise and
beautiful forin in the language of God, that follows.--The
tempest is now rising upon them, and Elihu proceeds--
Therefore my heart is terrificd,
And Icaps from its place with aların.
Ilear ye! () licar with irembling his voice,
The word, that gocth out of his mouth.
It gocth abroad under the whole licaven,
And his lightning to the ends of the carth.
Behind him sound aloud his thunders,
lIc uttcrcth the voice of his majesty,
And we cannot explore his thunderings,
God thundercth marvellously with his voice,
He doeth wonders, which we cannot comprehend.
He saith to the snow, be thou upon the carth,
To the dropping slower, and the outpouring of his might;
So that all men acknowledge his work.
A. In the last words I like better the interpretation--Ho
puts the scal upon the land of cvery man, that is, they stand
astounded and amazed, feeling, that they are powerless-a
feeling, that every thunder-shower awakens in us.
E. The terrors of the storin arc farther described.
The wild bcast ficcth to his cave,
Ilc cowers himself down in his den.
Now cometh the whirlwind from the South,
87
And from the North comcth the frost;
The breath of God goeth forth, there is ice,
And the broad sca is made firm.
And now his brighness rendeth the clouds,
Ilis light scuttcrcth ile clouds afar.
They wheel about in their course as he willeth,
They go to accomplish his coinmands
Upon all the fuce of the carılı.
We must be Orientals in order to estimate the good effects
of rain, and to paint with such careful observation, the fea-
tures and the course of thic clouds.--It is obviously a present
scene, which Elihu is describing in what follows--
Attend ! O Job, and hear this,
Stand and consider the wonders of God.
Knowc'st thou how God disposeth them,
How hc kindleth up the light of his clouds ?
Knowest thou how tho clouds are swayed
The marvellous doings of the all.wise ?
llow thy garments become warm to thee,
When he warmcth the enrth frim the South
Ilast thou with him spread out the firmainent,
That stands strong and like a molien inirror ?
Tcach us what we shall say to liim,
We cannot speak by reason of darkness.
Shall it be told to him when I spcak?
Let one open his mouth-Lo! hic is gone,
Ilis light is no longer beheld.
Ilis splendour is behind thic clouds;
The wind passeth, and they are disperscd.
Now cometh the yold from the North,
The fear-awakening glory of Lloah.
As for the Almighty, we cannot find hin,
The great, thic powerful jirlgc,
Unspeakable in rightcousness.
Therefore do men reverence hin,
T'!ic wisest bcliold him noi.
· E. Tlie consequence of the young pretender's forwardness
you perceive is, that lie shows that to be impossible, which
t
88
in the face of his declaration is on the point of taking place.
At the moment, when he is convincing himself, that the dark-
ness of the clouds is a perpetual barrier between men and
God, and that no mortal shall ever hear the voice of the Eter-
nal, God appears and speaks-and how vast the difference
between the words of Jehovali and the language of Elihu !
It is but thic fccllc, prolix bubbling of a child, in comparison
with the brief and majestick tones of thunder, in which the
Creator speaks.--]Ie disputes not, but produces a succession
of living pictures, surrounds, astonishes, and overwhelms the
faculties of Job with the objects of luis inanimate and anima-
tcd crcation.
A. Jchovah spake to job from out of thic tcmpest, and
said to him,
Who is it, that darkcncili the counsels of God.
By words without kı!owledge ?
Gird up thy loins like a man;
I will ask thec, tcach !!101 me.
Where wast thoni,
When I founded tlic carth?
Tell me, if ihou knowest,
W10 fixcil the measure of it? dost thou know?
Who stretched the line upon it?
Whereon stiind its deep foundations?
W!10 laid.tlıc corner-stone thereof,
When the morning stars sang in chorus
And all the solis of God shouted for joy?
.
E. W'c forget the geology and all the physics of more
inodern times, and contemplate these images, as the ancient
poctry of nature respecting the earth. Like a house it has
its foundations laid, its dimensions arc fixed, and the line is
stretched upon it : and, when its foundations are sunk, and
its corner-stone is laid in its place, all the children of God,
the morning stars, his clder oflspring, chant a song of joy to
the great architect and the glad welcoming of their younger
sister. Next follows the birth of thic sca,
89
A.
Who wrapped up the sea in swaddling clothes
When it broke forth from the mother's womb ?
I gave it the clouds for garments,
I swathed it in mists and darkness,
I fixed my dccrecs upon it,
And placed them for gates and bars.
I said thus far shalt thou come, and no farther,
Ilere shalt thou dash thy stormy waves.
E. I do not believe, that this object was ever represented
unccr a bolder figure, than that, by which it is bere expressed,
of an infant, which the Creator of the world swathes and
clothes with its appropriate garments. It bursts forth from
the cleſts of the carthi, as from the womb of its mother, the
ruler and director of all things addresses it as a living being,
as a young giant exulting in his subduing power, and with a
word the sca is hushed, and obcys liim for cver.
A.
Ilast thou in thy lifetime commanded the dawn?
And taught the day-spring to know its place,
That it seize on the far corncrs of the carth,
And scatter the robbers before it?
Like clay the form of things is changed by it, .
They stand forth, as if clothed with ornament,
From the wicked their light is taken away,
Their hauglity arm is broken.
:
E. It is unfortunate, that we cannot more clearly repre-
sent the dawn, as a watchman, a incsscnger of the Prince of
heaven, sent to chase away the bands of robbers-low differ-
cnt thc oſlice from that, which the Western nations assigned
to thcir Aurora! It points us to ancient times of violence,
whicn tcrror and robbery anticipated the dawn.*
A.
Ilast thou entered into the caverns of the sea?
* It is still the custom of the Arabs to go out on plundering excursions
before dawn.
8*
90
Ilast thou explored the hollow depths of the abyss ?
Have the gates of death opened for thec?
And last thou seen the doors of non-existence ?
Is they knowledge ng broad as the carth ?
Show me, if thou knowest it all.
Where dwelloth the lighie? where is the way to it?
And the slarkness, where is its place?
That thou miye'st reach even the limits thercof,
For thou knywest the path to its house,
'Thou knowest, for thou wast already born,
And the number of thy days is great..
E. Every thing here is personificd, the light, the darkness,
deathi and nothingness. These have their palaces with bars
and gates, those their houses, their kingdoms and boundaries.
The whole is a poctical world and a poctical gcography.
A.:
Ilast thou been into the storc-house of the snow?
And seen the treasury of the hail,
Which I have laid up for the time of nced,
For the day of war and of slaughter ?
E. A vein of irony runs through the whole passage. God
fears the attack of his cucmies, and has furnished and sccured
liis vaulted treasury of hail as the armoury of war. In the
clouds too, as well as in the alıy-s, every thing breathes of
poctry:
A.
Where doth the light divide itself,
When the East wind strewcth it upon the carth?
Who divided the water courses of heaven?
And traced a path for the storms of thunder ?
To bring rain upon lands, where no inan dwellcth,
lipon descris, which no man in habiteth,
To refresh the wilderness, and the barren place,
And cause the tender herb to spring forth.
Who is the father of the rain ?
The drops of dew, who hath generated them?
From whose womb camo forth tho ico;
91
The hoar-frost of hoaven, who gave it birth?
The waters hide themsclvcs and become as stone,
The surface of the abyss is confined as in chains.
E. Rich and cxquisite pictures both of the heavens and
the carth! Above, the fountains of light gush forth, and the
East wind scatters it over the countries of the carth, the pa-
ternal rulcr of the licavens traces channels for the rain, and
marks out their paths for the clouds. Bencath, the water
becomes a rock, and the waves of the sca are chained with
icc. Even the rain, the dew and the hoar-frost have their
father and their mother. -- And then follows one of the most
beautiful and sublime views of the Universe
A.
Canst thou bind together the brilliant Pleiades?
Or canst thou loose the bands of Orion?
Canst thou bring the stars of tlic Zodiack in thcir season ?
And lead forth thic Bear with her young ? :
Knowest thou the laws of the licavens abovc?
Or hast thon given a decree to the earth beneath?
Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clous,
And enter into thom clocheil with floods?
Canst thou send the lightninys, that they shall go,
And say to thee, “cre are we?"
Who gave understanding to the flying clouds ?
Or intelligence to thic mctcors of the air ?
Who by his wisdom hath numbered the drops of rain ?
Ilath sent down the gentle showers from heaven,
And watered the dust, that it might unite,
And the clous of the carth cleave together?
E. The description of the so called inanimate crcation is
here ended. But in the description no part of creation is
without lirc. The stars, that joyously usher in the spring,
are bound together in a sisterly union. Orion (or whatever
constellation Chesil may be) is a man girded for action, and
is the pioneer of winter. The constellations of the Zodiack
riso in gradual succession like a wreath cncircling thc carth.
92
The Father the of heavens lets the Bear with her young fced
around the North polc; or (in accordance with another mytho-
logy and interpretation) the nightly wanderer, a mother of
the stars, who is secking her lost children, the stars, that are
no longer visible, is the object of his consolation (perhaps ef-
fected by bringing forth to her view new stars in place of those
that were lost.) One who by night observes the Bear in its
course as if fccding with its young on the fields of the sky
or the Zodiack, that, like a girdle with its beautifully embroi-
dered figures, encompasses thc carth, and rises gradually to
view with the revolving seasons, and then reflects upon the
times, when the nightly slicpherds under an Oriental sky had
these images continually before them and in accordance with
the fancy and feeling, that belong to a shepherd's life, ascribed
to them animated being and form-ouc, who does this, I say,
will perceive at once the starry brilliance and beauty of this
passayc, although, as to its conciseness and symmetry, and
the connexion of its parts, it can be but imperfectly transla-
tcd. It is the sainc also with thic passage, in which God is
represented, as giving understanding to the darkness, to the
roviny clouds, and inctcors. The personifications both of
fecling und of forin in poetry vanish in another language.
Yct all these images, the sending out of the lightnings, and
their reply, the going forth of God among the cluuds, his
numbering of the drops of rain, their gentle but copious de-
scent at his cominand, are in the style of the inost beautiful
descriptive poctry.
A. You scem to be an admirer of this whole spccics of
poctry--and yet our critics hold it to be the most barren and
inanimate in the whole compass of the art.
Somnc indeed will
not even accord to it the name of poctry, and denominato
it a heartless description of things and forms, that are inde-
scribable.
E. If such be the fact, I agree with all my heart, that it
does not deserve the name of poctry. Those miscrablc wri.
93
ters, who describe to us the spring, the rose, the thunder, the
ice, and the winter, in a tedious and unaffecting style, are
neither good in poctry, nor in prosc. The truc poetry of
nature has something else, than a dull description of individu-
al traits, to which in fact it is not principally devoted.
A. And what has it in the place of it ?
E. Poetry. It makes the objects of nature to become
things of life, and exliibits them in a state of living action.
Look at Job. lIcre llic_cart is a palace, of which the build-
er laid the corner-stone, while all tlic children104Godt-shouted
for joy at the event. The ocean was born and wrapt in gar-
ments, like a child. The dawn is...an-active agent, and the
lightning spcaks. The personification is kept up, and carried
through with consistency, and this gives to poctry its aniina-
tion. The soul is lurried forward, and fccls itself in the
midst of the objects described, while it is a witness of their
agencies. Tedious descriptions, on the other hand, disjoin
them, and paralyze their powers. They exhibit but a tatter-
ed dress of words, abstracted and partial shadows of forms,
where in truc poetry we sce actual and living beinys.
A. But who, my friend, could venture to write poctry in
the style of the Orientals? to present the occan as a chill in
swaddling clothes, tie arsenals of snow and liail, and channels
for water in thic licavens ?
E. No one should do it. For cvery language, every na-
tion, crery climate has its own measure in matters of taste,
and thc peculiar sources of its firvourite poetry. It shows a
lamentable porerty to attempt to borrow from a people so di-
versc, yet we must adopt the same principles, and create out
of the same material. Ilc, to wlose cyes and hcart nature
has no lifc, to whose apprehension it neither speaks, nor acts,
was not born to be its poct. It stands lifeless before him,
and it will still be lifeless in his writing.
A. It follows then, that the ages of ignorance had great
advantages over those, in which nature is studied, and becomes
94
T
the object of knowlcdge. They had poetry--we have only
description.
E. What call you the ages of ignorance ? All sensuous
tribes have a knowledge of that nature, to which their poetry
relates ; nay, they have a more living, and for their purpose a
better knowledge of it, than the Linnaan classifier from his
bookish arrangement. For a general knowledge of species
this method is necessary, but to make it the foundation of
poctry would be about as wisc, as to write it out of llubncr's
rhyming dictionary. For myself I admire thosc times, when
man's knowledge of nature was perhaps less extended, but
was a living knowledye, when the cye was rendered discrim-
inating by impassioned ſecling, wlicn analogics to what is hu-
man struck the vicw, and awakened feelings of astonishment.
A. It were to be wished tlıcn, that the times, in which
those feelings prevailed, were again experienced.
E. Every age must make its poctry consistent with its
ideas of the great system of being. or if not, must at least be
assured of producing a greater cflict by its poctical fictions,
than systematick truth could secure to it. And may not this
often be the casc ? I have no doubt, that from the systems
of Copernicus and Newton, of Buffon and Pricstley, as eleva-
ted poetry may be made, as from the most simple and child-
like views of naturc. But why have wo no such poctry?
Why is it, that the simple pathetic fables of ancient or un-
learned tribes always aflcct us more, than these mathematical,
physical, and metaphysical niceties? Is it not becausc the
people of those times wrote poetry with more lively appre-
hensions, because they conceived ideas of all things, including
God himself, under analogous forms, reduced the universe
to the shape of a house, and animated all that it contains
with human passions, with love and hatred ? The first poct,
who can do the same in the universe of Buffon and Newton,
will, if he is so disposed, produco with truer, at least with
more comprehensive ideas, the effect which tlicy accomplish-
1
95
ed with their limited analogies and poetic fables. Would
that such a poct were already among us, but so long as that
is not the case, let us not turn to ridicule the genuine beau-
ties in the poetry of ancient nations, because they understood
not our systems of natural philosophy and metaphysics. Na-
ny of their allegorics and personifications contain more ima-
ginative power, and more sensuous truth, than voluminous
systems--and the power of touching the heart speaks for
itself.
A. This power of producing emotion, however, seems to
me not to belong in so higli a degrce to the poetry of nature.
E. The more gentle and enduring sentiments of poetry
at least are produced by it, and niore even than by any otlier.
Can there be any more beautiful poetry, than God himself has
exhibited to us in the works of creation ? poetry, which II
spreads fresh and glowing before us with every revolution of
days and of seasons ? Can the language of poetry accom-
plislı any thing more affecting, than with brevity and simpli-
city to unfold to us in its mcasure what we are and what we
cnjoy? We live and have our being in this vast temple of
God; our feelings and thoughts, our sufferings and our joys
are all froin this as their source. A species of poctry that
furnishics inc with eyes to perceive and contemplate the works
of creation and myself, to consider them in their order and
rclation, and to discover through all the traces of infinite
lovc, wisdom, and power, to shape the whole with the cyc of
fancy, and in words suited to their purpose—such a poctry
is lioly and heavenly. What wretch, in the greatest tumult of
his passions, in walking under a starry heaven, would not
experience imperceptibly and even against his will a soothing
influence from the clcvating contemplation of its silent, un-
changeable, and everlasting splendours. Supposc at such a
moment there occurs to his thoughts the simple language of
God," Canst thou bind together the bands of the Pleiades,"
&c.-is it not as if God himself addressed the words to him
OS
from the starry firmament ? Such an elicct has the true po-
etry of nature, the fair intcrprcter of the nature of God. A
hint, a single word, in the spirit of such poctry, oſten suggests
to the mind cxtcnded scenes ; nor does it mcrcly bring their
quict pictures before the cyc in their outward lincaments, but
brings them liome to thic sympathics of the heart, especially,
when the heart of the poct himself is tender and benevolent,
and it can hardly fail to be so.
A. Will the heart of the poet of nature always cxhibit this
character ?
E. Of the great and genuine poct undoubtedly, otherwise
hc inay be an acute observer, but could not be a refined and
powerful expositor of nature. Poctry, that concerns itself
wit! tlic deeds of men, often in a high degree debasing and
criminal, that labours, with lively and aflecting apprehensions,
in the impuro rocesses of thic heart, and often for no very
worthy purposc, may corrupt as well the author as the reader.
The poctry of divine things can never do this. It enlarges
thic licart, while it expands thic vicw, renders this serene and
contemplative, that cncrgctic, free, and joyous. It awakens
a lovc, an interest, in a sympathy for all that lives. It ac-
customs the understanding to remark on all occasions the
laws of nature, and guides our reason to the right path. This
is especially truc of the descriptive poetry of the Orientals.
A. Do you apply the remark to the chapter of Jobs, of
which we were spcaking ?
E. Certainly. It would be chilish to hunt for the system
of physics implicil in the individual representations of poctry,
or to aim at reconciling it with the system of our own days,
and thus show that Job had already learned to think like our
natural philosophers ; yet the leading idea, that the universe
is the palace of thic Divinc Being, where lic is himself tho
director and disposer, where every thing is transacted accord-
ing to unchangeable and eternal laws, with a providence,
that continually extends to the ninutest concern, with be-
ܪ
97
nevolence and judgment—this, I say, we must acknowledge
to be great and ennobling. It is set forth too, by examples,
in which every thing manifests unity of purpose, and subor-
dination to the combined whole. The most wonderful phe-
nomcna come before us, as the cloings of an ever active and
provident father of his houschold. Show mc a poem, which
cxhibits our system of physics, our discoveries and opinions
respecting the formation of the world, and the changes that
it undergocs, under as concise images, as animated personi-
fications, with as suitable expositions, and a plan comprising
as inuch unity and variety for the production of effect. But
do not forget the three leading qualities, of which I have spo-
ken, animation in the objects for awakening the senses, inter-
prctation of nature for the licart, a plan in the poem, as there
is in creation, for the understanding. The last requisite al-
together fails in most of our descriptive pocts.
A. You require, I fear, what is impossible. Ilow little
plan arc wc able to comprehend in the scenes of nature ?
The kingdom of the all-powerful motlicr of all things is so
vast, her progress so slow, her prospective vicws so endless-
E. That therefore a human pocmn must be so vast, so slow
in progress, and so incomprehensible ? Let him, to whom
nature exhibits no plan, no unity of purpose, hold his peace,
nor venture to give her expression in the language of poetry.
Let him speak, for whom she has rcinoved the vcil, and dis-
played the truc expression of her features. Ile will discover
in all lier works connexion, order, bcncvolcncc, and purpose.
Ilis own poctical creation too, like that crcation which in-
spires his imagination, will be a truc zo'quos, a regular work,
with plan, outlines, incaning, and ultimate design, and com-
inend itself to the understanding as a whole, as it does to the
heart by its individual thoughts and interpretations of nature,
and to the sense by the animation of its objects. In nature,
all things are connected, and for the view of man are connect-
ed by their relation to what is human. The periods of timo,
0
3
98
as days and years, have their relation to the age of man.
Countries and climates have a principle of unity in the one
race of man, ages and worlds in the onc cternal causc, one
God, one Creator. IIc is the cyc of the universe, giving ex-
pression to its otherwise boundless void, and combining in a
harmonious union the expression of all its inultiplied and mul-
tiform ſcatures. IIcre we are brought back again to the East,
for the Orientals, in their descriptive poctry, however poor or
rich it inay be julged, sccurc, first of all, that unity, which
the understanding demands. In all the various departinents
of nature thcy bchold the God of the heavens and of the earth.
This no Greck, nor Celt, nor Ronan las cver donc, and how
får in this respect is Lucretius belind Job and David !
DIALOGUE V.
Descriptions of the animate creation in Job. Leading traits of his im.
agery. - Where Jub lived. Whether in the valley of Gutah near Da.
mascus. Grounds for considering the proverbs of this book as the
wisc sayings, or the philosophy, of the children of Edom. Egyptian
imagery in the book. Whether the author of it was an Egyptian.
What extent and variety its imagery embraces. Whether behe.
moth be the clephant, or the hippopotamus. Whether Moses wrote
the book, translated it from the Arabick, or found it with Jethro.
When it was brought to Judaca. Whether it was imitated in the po.
etry of the IIebrews. Whether the historical introduction is as an.
cicnt as thic book itself. Whether the Satan of this book is a concep.
tion of Chaldec origin, Of the juridical forms, under which Job repre.
sents objects both in heaven and on earth. Plan of the book, as a ju.
dicial process, and a wil.combat. Whether the friends of Job are
distinctively characterized. Whether their several discourses, as put
together, exhibit a connected train of thought. That the book is no
drama in successive acts, but a consessus of wise men after thic manner
of the East. Whether it is founded on historical facts. Its poetical
style and composition. Appendix.
ALCIPROX. I am eager to proceed to the second part of
God's address to Job. In this we shall find the brute forins
also not only animated, but all become ensoulcd with human
feelings. I will read, and then wait for your interprctation.
The king of beasts is the first to advance.
Dost thou hunt for the lion his prey ?
The hunger of the young lio!is dust thou satisfy,
When thcy lie in wait in their dens,
And crouch under covert in ambush?
Who.provideth for the raven his food,
When his young cry unto Goll,
And wander for lack of meat?
Dost thou know whon the chamois-goat brings forth?
.
100
And mark the birth-throcs of the hind ?
Dust thou number the months they fulfil,
And know the period of their bringing forth 3
They bow themselves, and give birth to their young,
They cast forth the oil spring of their pains.
Their young ones increase in strength;
They grow up in the wilderness;
They go from them, and return no more.
Euthyrrox, The terriſic cruelty of the lion, the hatc-
fulness of tho young raven, for which yet God provides, and
its hoarsa cry of distress, here so briefly described, all speak
for themselves. The paternal tenderness of God also, with
which he regards and provides for the wild chamois of the
rock, we have already remarked. Observe now, morcover,
the recompenso with which God rewaris her pains, “ller
young soon grow 11), ind no longer demand her carc.” In rc-
gard to other animals also, we find notice of this fatherly ſccl-
iny, with which God spares them and compensates the evils
of their condition. The following is an example.
A.
Who went forth thc wild ass frco,
And broke for him his slavish bonds ?
The wilderness linve I made an house for him,
And the barren descrt his dwelling.
He scoils utilic uproar of the city;
The cry of the driver, he heedcth it not.
lo spictlı out in the mountains his pasture;
IIc searchcth after every green thing.
..
E. With low truc a feeling of liberty is the nature of
this timid aniinal described. The unfruitful descrt is its
dwelling place; and this it barters not for the noise of the
city, nor will listen, like its enslaved brother, to the driver's
voice. It looks away rather to the green herbage of the
mountains, and spies out the smallest blade of grass. It lives
in the wilderness unoppressed, free, and joyous.
A.
Will the buffalo be willing to serve thee,
101.
And abide through the night at thy crib?
Wilt thou bind him with his band in the furrow,
And will he harrow the valleys after theo?
Wilt thou trust him, becausc he is strong,
And commit unto him thy labour?
Believest thou in him, that he will gather thy harvest,
And that thy threshing loor sliall be filled ?
E. The wild and tamc ox are here contrasted with each
other, and the foriner will not perform the work of the latter.
In short, every crcature is fashioned for its own ends, and
lives and finds enjoyment after its own way. But the three
finest descriptions are yet to come, those of the ostrich, the
horse and the cagle; and they close magnificently these pic-
tures of the brute crcation.
A.
A wing with joyous cry is uplified yonder;
Is it the wing and feather of the Ostrich ?
When she commits lıer eggs to the carth,
And leaves them to be warmed on the sand,
She heels it not, that the foot may crush them,
And the wild boast trample upon them.
She casts ofl' hicr young for none of hers;
In vain is her travail, but she regards it not ;
For God hath made her forgetful of wisdom,
And hath not imparted to her reflection.
At once she is up, and urges herself forward.
She laughs at ihic lorso and his rider.
llust thon given the horsc his strength,
And clothea liis neck with its flowing mane ?
Dust thou make him Icap like thic locust?
The pomp of his neighing is terrible;
Ile paweth the carth and joycth in his strength,
When lie goeth against the weapons of war.
He scoflcth at fear, and is nothing daunted,
And turneth not back from facing the sword.
Above him is the rattling of the quiver,
The lightning of the spcar and the lance.
With vehemence and rage he devoureth the ground,
And believeth not that the trumpet is sounding.
9*
102
The trumpet sounds louder; he cries-aha!
And from far he snuffeth the slaughter,
The war-cry of tho captains, and the shout of battle.
Is it by thy understanding that tho hawk flicth,
And sprcadeth his wings to the south wind ?
Is it at thy word, that the cagle is liſted up,
And buildcth his nest on high?
IIc inhabiteth the rock, and all night is there,
Iligh upon the clill, his rocky fortress.
From this lic spicth out his prey,
Ilis cye searcheth it out from afar.
Ilis young ones are grecily of blood,
And where thic carcasscs are there is ne.
E. Mark now the peculiar boldness of these three descrip.
tions. The ostrichi, on its first rising to the view, is sketched
with an expression of cayerness and cxultation. Such is the
feeling of surprise and wonder too, that the name is at first
forgotten, and it presents itself to the sight, as a winged giant,
exulting in the race and shouting for joy, What is stupid for.
getfulness in thc bird, appears as the wisdom of the Creator,
by which he has kindly adapted it to its shy and timid life in the
descrt. Ilad it more consideration and tenderness, it would
mourn for its abandoned young; and hence God has denied
it understanding, but given it its wild cry of joy, and its
winged speed in the racc. The description of thic horse is
perhaps the noblest, which has cver been given of this animal,
as the region also, in which the book was written, produces the
noblest of horses. It is here, as the Arabians regard it, an
intelligent, bravc, war-like animal, that partakes in the ex-
ultation of victory, and by its loud ncigling joins in the
battle-cry of lerocs. Last comes the cagle with its upward
Night and sovereign cyc. IIis royal tower, his sanguinary
propensities, and his piratical omnipresence also are truly
inarkcal, and he closes the list as king of the feathered tribes,
as it was begun witli thic lion, the sovereign of another king-
dom in the brute creation. Belicinoth and leviathan, the
monsters of the watcry world, are still to follow.
103
A. These I will peruse by myself; and instead of dwel-
ling upon them at present, explain to me rather the general
sense, the aim of introducing these pictures, the connecting
thread of discourse through the book, and as far as may be,
also, the time and place, in which the author lived.
L. So you venture to enquire also, whicre the author lived.
But how can we know this, if we know not the author him-
self? Thc cnquiry must clearly depend for its result upon
another, namely, where is the scene of the book laid, --where
did Job dwell? If the historical introduction prefixed to the
poctical part of the book is ancient and worthy of credit,
(and it is certainly something more than a newly invented
story), he dwelt in the land of Uz. But where was this land
of U'z?
A. It must have been the delightful valley of Gutah
around Damascus.
E. On this supposition, lowever, the introduction of the
book is at variance with the book itself ; for licre, obviously,
we meet with no Syrian, but with Irabian and Egyptian
In all its poctical imagery there is no picture which
is distinctively Syrian, though that country is so rich in natu-
ral scenery peculiarly its own. We must then give up this
place, whosc claim is founded upon a resemblance of its namo
alone, and that probably given at a later period, and look
into the IIcbrew writings for ourselves. Do you know of no
other Uz besides this little colony froin Damascus ? Road
· Genesis, xxxvi. 28.
A. So one of the children of Edom had this name also.
And where docs Jeremiah place the daughter of
Edom?
A. “Oh daughter of Edonn, that dwellest in the land of
Uz."
E. Nothing can be plainer. And whence came the friends,
Sccncs.
* Lam. iv. 21.
104
who visited Job, and who lived in his neighbourhood ? In
the books of Moses even, we find both Eliphaz and Teman
among the sons of Esau. In many passages of the prophets*
Teman is referred to as a country or city of Edom, diştin-
guished for prudent counsels and wisc sentences, just as we
find it represented in the character of Eliphaz. Bildad of
Shuah, Zophar of Naamalı, and Elihu of Buz are all from
places in or near Iduma'a. Shuah was a near relative of
Dedan,t and Dedan dwelt on the borders of Idumaca. The
other cities nained were in the same region; and in general,
the manners and customs represented in the book are Idumaan,
Arabian.
A. Can there have been at that carly period such a degree
of intellectual cultivation in Iduma'a ?
E. If not, the pret is at fault in his introduction, in fixing
the scene of his poem without regard to the proprieties of
time and place; but of this, I am disposed to believe, he
knew better than we do. Were it loſt wholly to us, we should
probably deny the representations of the book, and say, that,
in times so ancient and regions so uncultivated, such wisdorn
and such accurate knowlculye of nature could never have ex-
isted. Yet several of the proplicts were clearly of a different
opinion.
A. Which of the proplicts ?
E. Those who in their own tiinc, when Edom had been
often subdued and placed under the yoke, still treated it as
the classic land of Oriental, that is, Arabick wisdom. The
prudent men of 'Teman, and the wise men of Edom scem to
have been proverbially spoken of. I Now we know in what
this Oricntal or Arabick wisdom consisted. It was made up
of poctry, proverbs, lofty figurative representations and riddles,
as this book represents it. It gives cvidence in itself of the
region, to wliich it belongs, for the scene and the whole cos-
* Jer. xlix. 7. Obad. viii.9. + Gen. xxv. 2. 3. Jer. xlix. 8. Ezek.
xxv. 13. Jer. xlix. 7. Obad. viii. 9.
105
tume are entirely Idumaan. Job is an Eastern Emir, as his
friends probably were also, and of the same character with
the princes of Edom mentioned in the books of Moses. Jor-
dan occurs in the book, as the name of a river. It no where
rccognizes the laws of Moses, or contains any allusion to
them; and though it abounds in idcas pertaining to judicial
forms and proceedings, thcy are all adapted to the tribunal of
an Oriental Emir. This mode of representation perrades the
whole, and is the very soul of the book.
A. But it has also numerous representations of objects
pertaining to Beypt-of the Nile, (which herc, as in Egypt, is
called the sea), of the papyrus rced, of the crocodile and the
islands of the scad.
E. Suller mc to procecil, and I will add also—thic behe-
moth, (which was probably the hippopotamus of the Nile, and
not the elephant,) the tombs of the kinys, not forgetting the
clephantiasis :--and why should it not ? Job surcly did not
live in Beypt; or in other words, the scenery and mode of
thinking in thic book, are not Bryptian. The mythology
whiclı prevails through all the poctical representations is lic-
brcw, or rather Oriental, (taking this latter word to express
the general notion of what belongs to the IIebrew in common
with its kimirei dialects). The ideas of Guil, of the world
and of its origin, of mai), of destiny, of religion, are all Ile-
brew or Oriental, such as are expressed in no other language
but these. If you have not discovered this from our former
conversations, you may nevertheless find it on cvery page of
the book itscil. Thus the Egyptian imagery is Egyptian still,
and wears an aspect of extrancous and far-sought ornament.
It is not to be mistaken, that in the whole book, this kind of
Asiatic pomp of stylo prevails, both in the figurative represen-
tations and in the facts presented. We shall find in another
part of our enquiries all the treasures of Oriental imagery
in a poctic strain where we should least expect it,in a culo-
gy of wisdoin ; and the same is observable in many other de-
106
scriptions in this book. They are introduced as something
strange and beyond the knowledge of the vulgar. In respect
to the ostrich, the bchemoth, and the leviathan this is unde-
niably the case. Had these two last animals 'been common
in the country, where Job lived, they could not have been
described as so gigantick, nor with such an air of solcmnity.
They appear as forcign and strange monsters, as objects of
curiosity and wonder; and this is the purpose for which they
arc introduced.
A. Is it possible, then, to determine with any degree of
precision the sphere in which tlic author of the book was at
home, and what among the objects presented in it was strange,
or what was familiar ?
E. With tolerable precision. The mode of life, tlic pos-
sessions, the judicial tribunal, the happiness of the Emir are
all his own conceptions, and on these the whole is built. II
is acquainted with the offering of sacrifices, but it is the pa-
triarchal offering, conducted by Job himself, the father of
the family. Arabian deserts, streams failing from drought,
moving hordes and caravans are images of most frequent oc-
currence in the book. Bands of robbers, dwellers in caves,
lions, and wild asses, the avenger of blood, all tlic formalities
of an Asiatic court of justice, and a number of other less im-
portant circumstances, which cannot so casily be reckoned
up, together point out, in accordance also with tlic Lxx and
the historical introduction, Idmaa as the place, in which
the scene of the book is laid. On the other hand, the treasures
brought from Africa, the rarities of Erypt stand out as orna-
mcnts derived from rare and far-sought knowledge. The
leviathan and behemotli, at the end of the book, are the pil-
lars of IIcrcules, the ultima Thule of the author's chart of
knowledgc.
A.
You consider the beliemotlı, it seems, as the hippo-
potarnus. According to the common opinion the elephant
was intended.
107
E. The latest common opinion I have little chance of al-
tering ; but that of carlier times supposed it to be the rhi-
noceros ; and not only respectable authorities, but obvious
traits of the description favour this view. Thcy are however
not conclusive. In general, the description is undoubtedly
that of an animal whosc usual resort is the river, since it is
introduced, as something singular, that hic cateth grass like
tlıc ox, that the mountains bring him forth food, and the
bcasts of the field play around him. llc sleeps among the
rccds, and lics concealed among the marslies on the shore of
the river, which clearly does not suit a description of the clc-
plant, IIc goes against the stream, as if he would drink up
the river with his enormous mouth, a character not well fit-
ting a land animal. IIis strength too is in his loins, and his
force is in the navel of his belly, where on the contrary the
clephant is weakest. IIis boncs arc like brazen rods, and his
back-bone like a bar of iron. IIc that made him has fur- .
nished him with a sword, for the sharp-pointed and projecting
tusks of the hippopotamus may be considered his weapons ;
and the language applies better to these, than to the weapons
of the elephant. Sinco, moreover, the name behemoth itself
is probably the Egyptian name of this animal, p-che-mouih,
(here molificil, as all forcign words were by the IIebrews
and Greeks, to suit their own forms), and since, in company
with the crocodile, it is placed apart from the land animals,
which also vre arranged in a separate discourse by themselves,
and represented, as all crcatures of the watery realm are by
the Orientals, as something foreign and monstrous ; it seems
to me, that this opinion has it least a balance of probabilities
in its favour, and will at length become the prevailing one.
Read Bochart, Ludolf, and Rciinar, and I believe you will
find the description as accuratc, as it could well be of a re-
mote and strange animal.
But the proboscis, which he morcth like a cedar ?
E. It is not a proboscis, but the tail, which the language
108
es.
here indicates ; nor is the length of the cedar the point of the
comparison, but its bending over as the cedar bends its branch-
This is the scnsc expressed by the ancient versions, and
thic image fits the appearance of this round-shapel inonster.
But cnough. Who, think you, was the author of the book ?
It is said Moses wrote it, while he was with Jethro
E. I am sorry that I cannot find reason to adopt this prct-
ty general and quite ancient opinion. 1, too, rack lioscs very
high as a poct, but fin no more evidence that lic wrote the
book of Job, than that Solon wrote the Iliad and the Eumcni-
des of Ischylus. I can boast, I believe, of having studied
the poetry of Moses and this also without prejudicc. I make
allowance too for the difference which a change of circum-
stanccs, age, occupation, &c. would producc; still they ap-
pcar to me as dirccily opposed to cach other, as the East
and the West. The poctical style of Job is throughout con-
cise, full of meaning, forciblc, licroick, always, I may say, in
thic lofticst tone of expression and the boldest imagery. No.
scs, cven in the sublimest passages, has a morc flowing and
gentle style. The very peculiarities in the style of Moses
and in the arrangeincnt of his imagery arc forcign to this
book. The voice, to which we are bcrc listening, comcs
forth in rough and interrupted tones from among the rocks,
and can never have been trained in the low and level plains
of Egypt. The style of thought is that of an Arabian, of an
Idunaan, as well in thic pericrul scope of his imagery, as in
those little favourite traits, which are oftcn even more char-
acteristick than any other. The fancy of the poet acījuircs
its character in south, and as it then shapes itscli' it always
remains, especially in its great features, which carly imprcs.
sions render indeliblc. Job abounds so much in images
drawn from thic paternal and judicial character of an Oriental
Emir, which lic applics even to God, that wc sce in what
sphere he was clucated and his iinagination formed. But of
this Moses saw nothing in Egypt, nor did any of his fathers
109
sustain the character of an Eastern prince, such as is here
exhibited. To him the whole of this was foreign ; and it
would be a fact truly marvellous, if toyether with the poetry
admitted to be his, his laws and institutions, he had produced
also this collection of poetry, in the spirit of an entirely dif-
ferent race of people, of a different mode of life, of a world,
in short, to which he was a stranger. By going over a few
passages I might have saved the necessi: cf saying so much
as I have ; but you can easily make the cuinparison for your-
self.
A. May we not suppose, then, that. Moses, while with
Jethro, translated the poein from the Arabick ?
E. I might be willing to adinit it, if it should seem to
have come among the Ilebrews by his means. But how are
we to prove this? In my opinion it is not a translation, but
was written in licbrew. I know of no ground there is to sup-
pose it a translation. It approaches the poetical style of the
Arabians, as Idumaa borders on Arabia, and their customs and
the spirit of their poetry naturally exert a reciprocal influence.
I find nothing farther than this to give credit to the hypothesis.
Rather the strong fcatures of originality in the book are at
variance with it.
A. At least, then, Moses may have found it during his
residence with his father-in-law.
So that we may not leave him idle, while tending the
flocks of Jethro. Yet I must say, that even this opinion, how-
ever gladly I night entertain it, seems to me improbable.
Had this book, accre:lited by their respect for Moses, coine at
that period into the hands of the llebrews with its assemblage
of incomparable imagery and genuine poetry, we should have
found inany more traces of its having been imitated by the
Ilcbrew poets, than are now perceivable. How often do the
prophets crowd and encroach upon each other! borrowing their
images one from the other, in a confined and narrow circle,
and only filling it out and applying it each in his peculiar way.
.
Ei.
10
110
This ancient and venctable pyramid stands for the most part
unimitated, as it is perhaps inimitable.
A. But are there not then initations in the Psalms ?
E.
Imitations perhaps of particular passages and of indi-
vidual imagcs." But do you see no ncarer way for the Israel.
ites of the age of David to be acquainted with Edorn, than
through the intercourse, which they had in the time of Moses ?
A. David we know reduced Edom to subjcction.
E. While Moses came in collision with them by their re-
fusing him a passage. It was besides not accordant with the
sentiments of Moscs to borrow from the people bordering on
Canaan, cither books or religious notions, since lie aimed as
far as possible to make tlie Israclites in every thing a scparate
people. In the time of David the matter was otherwise,
When he cast his shoc over Edom, as a scrvant, both its strong
cities and whatever treasures of knowledge it miglit possess,
were at bis command ; and a kiny, who valued himself more,
and gained greater honour, on account of his poetical produc-
tions, than of his throne, would probably take some pains to
obtain thein. Thus came into his hands, this book of ancient
wisdom, celebrating in lofty and poetical strains the steadfast
picty of one of their ancient Enirs; and well was it worthy
to be read by a prince and patriarch like David. If in his
later Psalms, (for in thesc alone are similar expressions obser-
vable), he strove to imitate it, this proves, that he too felt the
sublimity of its style, and aimed to join it with his pastoral
strains. . I do not inyselſ, however, ciscover so many passages
even in thic l'salms, which appear to be properly imitations of
this, still fewer in the proplets; and Ezekiel is the first, who
incntions Job by namc. This occurs in c. xiv, 20; and the
name is liere placed after those of Noah and Daniel. In short,
I follow the most ancient notice we have of this book. It is
attached to the translation of the LXX and is as follows.
“ This book is translated from the Syriack, (a manuscript in
the Syriack character). Job, wliose proper name was Jobab,
111
.
lived in the district of Ausitis on the borders of Idumæa and
Arabia. On the father's side he was descended from Esau,
and was the fifth froin Abraham. : The kings of Edom were
Balak the son of Beor, Jobab, who was called Job, &c. The
friends, who came to liim were Eliphaz, an Edomitc, prince
of Teman ; Baldad, Enir of Shuah ; Zophar king Naamah.”
This account cannot be supposed entirely factitious, cspccially
nothing in the book contradicts it, though indeed it may casily
be said, that it grew out of the resemblance of the names Job
and Jobab, and is founded on the family register of the Edom-
ites furnished by Moscs. But certainty cannot be attained in
matters of so high antiquity, and it is happily unnecessary for
the understanding of the book.
A. Do you then consider the historical introduction equal-
ly ancient with the poetical parts ?
E. I have sometimes had doubts on this point, but found
them of little weight. The first chapters are written with
such patriarchal simplicity, such commanding brevity, and un-
studied sublimity, that they are fully worthy of the author of
the poetry. I rnay add too, that the scene presented in the
first chapter is obviously the groundwork of the whole book.
A. But how is the mention of Satan to be accounted
for-a notion of so much later origin.
E. The representation of Satan, as he appears here, I hold
to be very ancient. lIc is simply.one of the arigels, i. e. one
among the attendant train of the Supreme Sovereign. In this
character he is sent as a incsscnger to search through the world
and bring information. Ile inerely acts in accordance with
the duty of his office, and God himself directs his attention
to Job. IIe goes no farther than he is authorized to do, and
this he does only by way of trial. God maintains the right,
though for a long time, indeed, he perrnits Job to be severely
tried; and at the end of the book Satan is no longer heard of.
This conception of him, as an angel or messenger commis.
sioned of God, is so widely different from the later Chaldee
112
conception, that I cannot but wonder how it should have led
Heath and others to consider the whole book of Chaldee origin.
Such a conclusion fally very wide of the mark. The Chaldee
Satan is the opposer of Ormuzd, and the primitive cause of
all evil. The agent represented in Job cannot even be com-
pared with the 'Typhon of the Egyptians, or what the ancients
called a man's ovil genius. IIc is nothing but the attendant
angel of the tribunal, a inessenger sent out to inake enquiry,
to chastise and to punish. I have already remarker, how much
the reference of every thing to a court of justice prevails
throughout the book.
A. Yet I confess this view of tho subject not a little sur-
prises me.
E. Why should it ? Every age and every nation transfers
the picture of its own customs both to the upper and nether
world. As in the first chapter here it is represented, that God
sits in the heavens, as an Emir, and at certain periods gathers
around him his servants, the angels, in order to receive inform-
ation from the carth, and as Satan is sent with a court cornmis-
sion to prove Job, whether he be a true worshipper of God,
and faithfully edheres to him, so Job appears through the whole
book, as one who is punished without a hearing, as an aggriev-
ed person, who has been unjustly treated. lIe wishics only,
that he may sce his jullye, and that lie would himself take cog-
nizance of the matter. llis friends are the advocates of God,
who assume to justify the Supreme and All-powerſul Judge
against him as already condemned, and resort to various sub-
terfuges for that end. Al last the sovereign appears in his
own person, and in the attributes of majesty calls Job to
account. Job is silent, restitution is made, and he is richly
compensated for the grievances which he had suffered. This
is the plan of the book.
A. It would be very instructive to see it cxhibited in detail.
E. I have sketched some farther outlines of it, which you
can read. You will find the conrecting thread of discourse,
and the characters of the speakers pointed out.
113
A. Is there, then, a methodical connexion among the
speakers, an intelligible relation of parts, and a progression
in the action represented, discoverable ?
E. Certainly there is, only not after our fashion. Job
begins with uttering his complaints :* the three opponents
make their several speeches, and Job answers. This process
is repeated three times, t except that in the third, the part of
Zophar is wanting. Job after defending himself against then
keeps the ground alone, and sets forth his cause in represent-
ations, which are unquestionably among the finest passages in
the book.t lle pictures his former happy condition, his
present wretchedness, and his innocence, in a style at once so
beautiful and affecting, that at the close, in the fulness and
simplicity of his heart, he utters the wish
Oh that I had one, who had heard me,
Now that I have made my defence!
Oh that the Almighty had answered me,
And one had writ my cause in a book !
As a mantle I would lay it on my shoulder,
As a diadem would I bind it to my turban,
I would number all my steps before him;
As a prince would I draw near unto him.
As such too, he stands before us in the book, and listens to the
discourse of Elihu,ll till God appears, as the supreme in author.
ity and wisdom, to decide the contest.
A. Is the book, then, to be considered a kind of drama ?
E. Not according to our conception of the drama ; for
how would such an one be possible, in exhibiting what is here
placed before us? llere is no action; all is motionless, and
the time is spent in prolonged discourses. 'The historical
statements before and after are obviously but the prologue and
epilogue, the entrance and the exit. But I shall not contend
• Chap. iii.
# Chap. iv-xiv. XV-xxi. xxii-xvi,
# Chap. xxvii-ux. Chap. xxx-xxxvii. 4 Chap. xxxviii-.
10*
114
about a woral. The discourses are indeed divided off at inter-
vals; yet the words scene, act, would scem to me entirely
misplaced here. It is in fact simply a consessus of wise men, ,
engaged pro and contra in discussing the justice of the Supreme
Governor of the world, a conflict of arguincnt and of wisdom
respecting the case of Job. In this alone consists its dramatic
character.
A. Do you suppose the book to be founded on historical
facts ?
E. That is to mo a matter of indifference. Its powerful
and profound poetry makes it a history, such as we have few
examples of. It becomes, by the depth and truth of its exhi-
bitions, a history of afflictei and suffering innocence all over
the world. It docs, indeed, render the picture more grateful
to think a man like Job actually lived and that he gave proof
of a soul so firm, of a spirit so elevated as this book exhibits.
In that case the book is for him the perpetual memorial which
he wished, a monument more noble than brass, more durable
than marble. It is written with deep impression upon the
hearts of men, and its living imagery will be preserved in
everlasting remembrance.
A. But the discourses which are contained there, the tri-
bunal and the appearing of God, the representation of Satan,
and the substance of the images presented cannot be all
history.
Who could discourse extempore in such style as
this ?
E.. In the style of composition it is poetry from beginning
to end. Of this there is no doubt, but poetry of a kind, which
is of all the most natural. The Oricntals are fond of these
learned consessions, and of long discourses in a loſty, figura-
tive stylc, which they heir through, and listen to with patience,
and then answer after the same fashion. This sw mashal,
is their philosoply, the stately ornament of their rhctorick and
poetry. To gratify a taste for this, to indulgc thc cherished
fondness for hearing lofty sentences, and for celebrating the
115
combats of wit and wisdom, the poet meditated and wrote this
conflict of suffering virtue, of human wisdom overcoming and
again overcomne. IIow much of it may be history, how much
of it may ever have been actually spoken as here recorded, it
is of no use for us to know. The poet heard it all and has
composed it into a harmonious whole, which is still extant and
perhaps the most ancient composition of art in the world.
A. I rejoice at it, for I am deeply interested in the sub-
ject of it also, as showing how wise men of the most ancient
tincs discoursed of the providence of God and the destiny of
man.
E. In order to the last, however, we must previously treat of
the Oriental traditions, which relate to the creation and des-
tination of man, by themselves. We shall there find ourselves
in a garden, where the earliest germs of poetry were cultivated,
and learn what flowers and fruits have been derived from it
to the poctical productions of later times. You well know
the estimation, in which the Oricntals and all nations, whose
minds are equally under the dominion of sensc, hold such
traditions of the olden time, the sayings, names, and historical
notices of their fathers. The most ancient poctry, and the
style of thought in this book, receive their forın and character
wholly from this state of mind.
A. I shall gladly accompany you into this garden of the
primitive Ilcbrew world,
E. Here are the few pages respecting the book of Job,
to which I alluded.
APPENDIX.
Briof outline of the book of Job considered as a composition.
The scene presented in the book is two-fold, in heaven,
and on earth. The scene of action is above; that which is
below is occupied with discourse only respecting what is
116
acted in the other, without comprehending its true import.
Hence the uncertain and fluctuating speculations—the every
day condition of all the philosophies and theodicees 'in the
world.
The object, of which the book treats, is an upright, guilt-
less man, in a condition of suffering, and even of bodily an-
guish. We forgive him all his lamentations and sighs, for
even a hero is permitted to groan froin bodily pain. He sees
death near, and longs for it; his life is en bittered, why should
he not groan ?
Job's sufferings are inflicted to promote the honour and
glory of God; they are designed to maintain the truth of what
God had spoken in praise of his servant. Can human suffer-
ings be represented in a light inore honourable to the suffer-
er ? In this general view of the contents of the book, it may
be considered a theodicee, or philosophical justification of
the Governour of the world in the permission of evil; not a
partial justification such as the wise ones of the earth con-
trived, though these too said much ihat is ingenious.
But however ingenious the speculations of these worldly
philosophers, they yielded no consolation to the afllicted suffer-
er, but rather embittered his sorrows. Job surpassed them in
his representations of the power and wisdom of God, in those
views, by which they sought to silence his complaints, but
remained miserable still-the customary picture of worldly
consolation. Their vicws are too narrow, and too much obo
scured. They look in the dust of the earth for that which
they should seek above the stars. None of them look so far;
no one even conjectures, that the reason of Job's amictions
was what the first chapter represents it.
In the mean time what honour is bestowed upon the
sackcloth and ashes of the humble suflerer! He is made a
spectacle to angels and to the whole host of heaven. Job
maintains his integrity, justifics the word of his maker, and
Cod holds the crown in readiness to adorn his brow. This
. 117
two-fold scene, and the invisible spectators of Job's patience
in suffering, give a sacredness to the representations of the
whole book.
But the man, whom the inhabitants of heaven are con-
strained to regard as a model of human fortitude and constancy,
is upon the earth, involved in a conflict of argument, and here
he is human like other men. The poet has given him a char-
actor of rashness and warmth of (celing, which at the first
address of Eliphaz, though really of a soothing character, hur-
rics him away. This leaven of his natural temper is the
condiment of his virtuc, and indeed of the dialogue itself,
which would be tcdious and uninstructive, if it contained
only the complaints of the suſlerer, and the condolence of his
friends.
An accuracy of discrimination, and a nice sense of proprie-
ty in adapting the parts, pervade thic whole work. The three
philosophicrs exhibit distinctive characters in their discourses,
and Job is made to surpass them in their several attempts
both as a philosoplior and as a poct. Eliphaz is the most sen-
sible and discerning, and so modest, that in the first lesson
which he aims to give to Job le docs not speak liis own
thoughts altogether, but communicates an oracle.* Bildad
trcats Job more severely, and Zophar for the most part only
repeats what Bildad had said. IIc is also the first to with
draw from the scene.
The round of interlocutory discourse between the partics
is thrice repeated.t At the closc of the first, they are already
so much at variance, that Job formally appeals from them as
his accusers to God. In the second, the thread of the argu-
ment is most involved, and the plot, if we may so call it,
most intricatc ; for at the end of this, Job afirms in answer
to Zophar, that the wickcl even prosper in the world though
he is only seduced to do so in the heat of discussion. Eli-
phaz socks, by an ingenious turn, to produce a better under-
* Chap. v. 12. + Chap. iv-xiv. IV-xxi. xxii-xxvi.
Chap. xiii.
ll Chap. xxi.
118
i
standing, but the matter has gone too far. Job declares his sen-
timents;* Bildad has little,t and Zophar nothing to'say in reply,
and Job comes off' triumphant. Ile then proceeds with calm
confidence, like a lion ainong bis defeated enemies, retracts
what lie had uttered froin the excitement of the con!cst,f and
in three successive paragraphs exhibits specimens of thought
and imagery, which are the crown of the whole work.pl
However monotonous all these discourses inay have sounded
to us, they have in fact their lights and shades; and the course
of thought, or rather, the complication of the argument be-
coincs more and more intricate from one discourse to another,
till Job returns upon his own stcps, and modifics his former
expressions. Whocver has not been guided by this thread,
and especially, if he has not remarked how Job wrests always
from his hand his opponent's own weapon, and either says the
same thing better, or assuines the same grounds for his own
discourse, has failed of apprehending the animated and pro-
gressive character, in short, the very soul of the book.
Job commences with a beautiful clegy, and closes for the
most part cach of his discourses with an affecting lamentation
of the like kind. These may be compared to the chorus of
the ancient tragedy, and serve to give : universality of charac-
ter and human interest to the argument of the picce.
After Job has silenced the three wise men, a younger pro-
phet ushers himself upon the scene. T. Like most inspired men
of the same sort, he is assuming, bold, and supercilious, Ilo
discourses in a loſty style, and accumulates figurative cxpres.
sions without cnd, and to no purpose ; and hence no one
even returns hiin an answer. IIc stands there as an empty
shadow, between the discourses of Job and the address of
the Supreme Judge, who by his actual appearance only shews
his nothingness, and the shadow vanishes. Ilis introduction
* Chap. xxiv. + Chap. xxvi.
Chap. iii,
1 Chap. xxvii. Il Chap. xxviii-xxx,
I Chap. xxxii-xxxvii.
119
in its relation to the composition of the whole is wisely and
instructively arranged.
God himself appears upon the scene unexpected and with
overpowering magnificence. He breaks in upon the prophet,
who, without being aware of it, had described his coming,
and treated it as an impossible event ; passes by the wise
men, who had assumed to be his advocates, and directs his
discourse to Job. With him too, he speaks not at first as a
judge, but as a teacher.* le proposes problems and hard
questions to him, who had overcome all opponents and ex-
hausted as it were all the treasures of wisdom. These relate
to the inysteries of creation and providence, and confound
ánd put to silence the worldly wisdorn even of Job himself.
IIe places before him seven striking forms of the brute
creation, and finally the monsters of the deep,t all which, as
the patcrnal author of the universe, lie has created, and for
all which, with paternal fondness, he daily provides. “Where.
fore arc tliese creatures here? They are not for man's behoof,
most of them are even injurious to man. With all his world-
ly wisdom, Job is put to silence and confounded. Submission
therefore to the infinito understanding, the incomprehensible
plan, but obvious and acknowledged goodness, of the great
father of all, who cares for the crocodile and the raven-this
is the solution of the probleins concerning providence and
destiny from the mouth of the Supreme Ruler himself, who
utters his voice in the teinpest, with the conspiring move-
ment, as it were, of the whole crcation. The true thcodicee
for man is a study of the power, wisdom, and goodness of
God in all the works of nature, and an humble acknowledg.
ment, that his understanding and his plan surpass the com-
prehension of ours.
God does not make known cren to Job, wherefore he had
subjected him to trial. He restored him to happiness, and
recompensed him for the injuries, which he had suffered,
* Chap. xxxviii.
Chap. xxxix-xli.
/
120
and this was all that he could ask. So far, on the other
hand, were those who had placed themselves in God's stead
from being honoured and rewarded, that they were required
to scck atonement by an offering from the hand of Job.
Thus lofty and divinc is the plan of the book, of which I
have sketchied only some feeble outlines. If not the produc-
tion of a sovercign prince, it is worthy to have been so, for the
style of its representations is princely. Through the whole book
God acts as the king, as the father, as the superintendant and
director of the wide crcation. Angels and men, the raven
and the behemoth are all equal in his sight. The finest
descriptions of the attributes and of the government of God,
the most persuasive grounds of consolation, and whatever
can be said, on opposite grounds of argument, of providence
and human destiny arc scattered throughout thc book ; but
the divinest consolation and instruction are found in the gen-
eral conception and plan of the book itself. In this view it
is an cpic representation of human nature, and a theodicec or
justification of the moral government of God, not in words,
but in its exhibition of events, in that working, that is without
words. Eccc spectaculum dignum ad quod respiciat intentus
operi suo Dcus. Ecce par Deo dignum vir fortis cum male
fortuna compositus.
But who shall answer our enquiries respecting him, to
whose meditations we are indebted for this ancient book,
this justification of the ways of God to man, and sublimc cx.
altation of humanity,--who has exhibited them too, in this
silent pirrurc, in the fortunes of an humble sullcrer, clothed
in sackcloth and sitting in aslies, but fired with the sublime
inspirations of his own wisdom? Who shall point us to the
grave of him, whosc soul kindled with these divine concep-
tions, to whom was vouchsafed such access to the counsels of
God, to angels and the souls of men, who emlíraced in a
single glance the heavens and the carth, and who could send
forth his living spirit, his poctic fire, and his human aflections
191
to all that exists, from the land of the shadow of death to the
starry firmament, and beyond the stars? No cypress, flour-
ishing in unfading green, marks the place of his rest. With
his unuttcrcd name he has consigned to oblivion all that was
earthly, and, leaving his book for a memorial below, is en-
gaged in a yet nobler song in that world, whicre the voice of
sorrow and mourning is unheard, and where the morning
stars sing together.
Or if he, the patient sufferer, was here the recorder of his
own sufferings, and of his own triunph, of his own wisdom
first victorious in conflict, and tlıen humbled in the dust, how
blest have been his afllictions, how amply rewarded his pains!
HIcre, in this book, full of imperishable thought, he still lives,
gives utterance to the sorrows of his heart, and extends his
triumph over centuries and continents. Not only, according
to his wish, did he dic in his nest, but a planix has sprung
forth from liis ashes, and from his odorous nest is diffused an
inccnsc, which gives and will forever give reviving energy to
the faint and strength to the powerless. Ile has drawn down
the licavens to the earth, encamped their host invisibly around
the bed of languishing, and made the afllictions of the sufferer
a spectacle to angels; has taught, that God too locks with a
watchful eye upon his creatures, and exposes them to the trial
of their integrity for the maintenance of his own truth, and
the promotion of his own glory. Behold, we count them
happy which endure. Ye'have heard of the patience of Job,
and have seen the end of the Lord, that the Lord is very pi-
tiful and of tender mercy.
*
*James, v. 11.
11
r
DIALOGUE VI.
Of Paradise. Poetical ideas of it exhibited in pictures of youth, of love,
and of the scenery of nature. Whether it ever had a real existenco.
Why Moses placed it in the remoteness of an enchanted land. From
what causc also this region particularly became the scene of so many
tales of enchantment. Of the tree of life. Beautiful peculiarity of it
in the poctry of the IIebrows. Whether the represcnuutions of Para-
disc tend to hold men too much under the influence of scusc. Wheth,
er they contribute to clicrish thic Oriental love of reposc. Of Adam's
conversing with the brutes. Pictures of the golden age in the peace-
ful intercourse of all animals with each other. Of love in Paradisc.
The same idcally represented in all songs of love. Whether Adam
received Eve withi songs and prophetick anticipations.
. Delicatc ex.
pression of the aflections of the sexes in these prinicval traditions.
Of the tree of knowledge. What is meant by the knowledge of good
and evil. Why the serpent might cat of the trec, but man not. Char.
acter of the serpent as an artful, crafty animal, and a deceiver. Why
men wished to be as the Elohim. Distinction betwecii tric and fulso
wisdom. Whether the tradition of llic tree of knowledge is an Eso.
pic fable. Explanation of it is an ancient tradition. Consequences
of cating of the forbidden tree. Change in the condition of man.
Analogy of what is here related to our own experience. The original
germs of various kinds of Oriental poetry contained in it. Of the
Cherubim. Whether they were a mythological representation of the
thunder storm in the form of horses. Of the war-charioi, in wliich
God is represcted in Ilabakkuk. Of the Cherubim in the tabcrnacle
of Moses, in the temple of Solomon, and in Ezechiel's visions. Of
Ezechicl's Cherub on the mountain of Gioc. Traditions of the most
ancient fabled animals of the primitivo world, who guarded the
trcasures of Paradise. Whether the Cherubim of Moscs were
Sphinxes. Ilow from the ark of the covenant tlıcsc representations
were transferred to tlic clouds, and at last appeared in visions of the
prophets. Their origin and composition. Of the Oriental mountains
of God. Of the chariot of Elijah, and of the chariots of God in the
wilderness. Most ancient representations of thunder. Appendix.
Biblical poems descriptive of the Cherubimn and of thunder.
EUTHYPORON. We are again together, and are favoured
with a delightful morning.
123
Alciriiron. Yes, very opportunely, and with singular ap-
propriateness to the subject of our present conversation.
You are to carry me back, you will recollcct, to the infancy
of our race, and so at the same time to the Paradise of my
own carly years; for in fact, the race, as a whole, in my
apprehension, no less than the individual, has its distinct and
successivo periods of developement; and those of tfic one
arc analogous to those of the other. Thus the morning will
be to me one of delightful recollections.
E. Recollections of your own youth do you mean?
A. It was the delight of my childhood to wander in
those scenes of beauty and innocence, which we picture to
ourselves in the primeval Paradise, to accompany the patri-
archis of our race with affectionate regard, or with tears of
regrct, in the carliest events of their history. Early imprese
sions from the poets without doubt contributed to this ; and
indeed we have very finc pocts, who have given us picture
of such cbjects.
E.
Every people has them. Among all nations, who are
not wholly savage, a fccllc ccbo at least is still heard re-
specting the blissful golden age of their ancestors. The
pocts, always the most uncorrupted and susceptible of im-
pressions among a people, the children as it wore of the Mu-
scs, have scized upon these tradisions; the young have a
natural fondness for thein, and repicat in their own drcains
dic pictures of happiness, which they present, while the spring
revives the recollection of them in the minds of all, and re.
stores their original freshness as it were from year to year.
Thus pastoral songs, poctical delincations of the good old
times, and scenes of Paradisiacal peace and happiness have
becn multiplici, and will always remain the favourite objects
of contemplation for the young. What indeed docs man aim
at with all his ardent wishes and longings, what can he have,
but Paradise ? that is, beauty and repose, health and love, sim-
plicity and innocence ?
184
and care.
A. But how sad to reflect, however, that most of what is
thus represented is but a dream, or soon to become so. The
primeval Paradise is lost, the Paradise of spring and of youth
passes rapidly away, and we are driven out of it into the
open ficld of labour, annid the summer heats of anxious toil
Wherever, too ainong the nations, a race inay be
found in thc enjoyment of innocence, of peace and of Paradise,
there we soon scc the serpent intruding, and happiness trilled
away through groundless and self-excited passion. Close by
the tree of life grow's always for man the wished for tree of
that proud knowledge and understanding, of which lic par-
takes at the expense of his life. Such is the fate of mortals.
E. You are a very cloquent interpreter, 1 perceive, of
those traditions, of which we are to speak, and must have felt
dccply the refined yet natural sense, which they express,
i. Yet there is much of which I have iny doubts. IIad
Paradise ever a real existence, or is the whole a poctical tra-
dition ? Moscs clearly represents it as a wide extended and
to liim unknown fairy lani. Ilc places it, too, precisely in
tiosc remote regions, where fable has placed cvery thing
marvellous, including in its wide compass Colchis and Cashi-
mire with their golden streams, thc Phasis and the Oxus, as
well as the regions of the Indus and Euphrates. In this broad
land, to which he gives the name of Eden, or the land of de-
light, he represents God as planting a garden. Where, then,
in a country so extensive was the garden situated ? Where
are the inarvellous trees, which grew in it-the tree of life
and the tree of knowledge ? llave theso ever come to ina-
turity? Where are they now, and where stood the Cherubim ?
All this, I confess, has to me, the appearance of fable.
E. So it should have ; and the purpose, which we are now
secking to accomplish, is to distinguish between fable and
truth, that is, between historical fact and the dress in which it
is clothed. You have remarked correctly, that Moscs, or the
tradition copied by him, gives the situation of Paradise only
125
within very wide and vague limits, and that the region in
which it is placed, is just that fable-land, in which the nations
of antiquity placed their finest pictures of all that is visionary
and enchanted--the golden fleece, the golden apples, the plant
of inmortality, &c. It was the garden of their Gods and
Genii, of their Pcris and Neris, with other creatures of en-
chantment. But do not all these later marvels show, that
there must have been some more simple tradition, and some
real fact in primcval history, in which they had their origin?
There must have been some causc for the singular fact, that
the traditions of the whole world chance to point towards
one and the sainc region. The human race, which, so far
as history and the progress of cultivation enables us to judge,
has been only gradually spread over the earth, must some
where have had a beginning ; and where more probably-
whether we look at history, or the formation of the carth's
surfaccm-than in thosc very regions, to which these traditions
direct us? Ilerc we find the most elevated places in the
continent of Asia, the back-bonc, as it were, of the ancient
world. They are the most fertile, too, on which the sun
shines. Here nature scems almost spontaneously to yield her
agency to man, and anticipate his labour. Morcover the
very indefiniteness, which you speak of in Moses' account of
the situation of Paradisc, is an evidence of its truth. IIe
would give no more than tradition had furnished. IIe had
neither traversed the country, nor could have found there, had
such ever been made, the original archives of Paradisc ; so
that what lic did was all which he had the mcans of doing.
But it is not our business at present to trace historical truth.
We may therefore leave this tradition in its original vague-
ness, and consider only to what poctical representations it
has given rise.
A. It has indced becn a fruitful source, a tree with many.
branches, and adorned with flowers. For the traditional idcas
of Paradise infuse themselves into the boldest anticipations of
11*
126
the prophets, and the tree of life still blooms in the very last
of the books of scripture. It is thus the beginning and the
end of Hebrew poetry.
E. And still beautiful at the end, as in the beginning.
How has the Paradise of Adam been ennobled by the prophets!
They have exalted and transferred it to the times of the Mes.
siah, while the writings of the New Testament have raised it
to still higher dignity in the representation of heaven itself.
There blooms the tree of life, there we have placed all the
scenes of Paradise, and scck beyond the rivers and the ocean
the golden regions of antiquity and the islands of the blest.
In the whole compass of Oriental poctry, even among the
Arabians and Persians, the ideas of Paradise contain the high-
est ideal of human happiness and bliss. It is the dream of
their love, of their youth, of their hopes, both for the present
and even the future world--a land,
Where vain illusions shall deceive no more,
Nor thought revive tho anguish of the past;
Where all, that is, endures, and all is bliss,
An endless bridal and perpetual dawn.
A land, whoso streams a sweeter fragranco yield,
And trees cust round a more substantial shade,
That never wastes nor vanishos:away.
A. But may not such pictures have had an undue effect
in holding men under the influence of scnsuous objects ?
E. And what pictures, cither of this or of the future world,
should the poet make, but such as are representable to sense ?
Beyond the limits of our own fair world of sense, too, we
know no other, whose images might be employed; and men
of those primeval times had no more abstract instruments of
thought cven, than the images of sense. If those, who were
already given up to sensual indulgence, have still continued
so, if Mohammed, in accordance with his previous propensities
has conceived the joys of Paradise with the grossness of sensu-
127
ality, the fault is in the abuse of sense, not in the thing itself.
And yet injustice is sometimes done in this point even to the
disciples of Mohammed. Their poets and philosophers have
shown as much metaphysical refinement respecting their future
Paradise, as any of the Northern nations. In general too, it
seems to me, we must make some allowance here for the
characteristick spirit of Eastern nations. They feel and enjoy
more exquisitely ; why should not also their poetical expres-
sions of love, of delight, of desire, and hope, breathe the same
spirit of refined and voluptuous enjoyinent ?
A. It seems a thing of course ; and in poetical pictures of
innocence, or of the beauties of spring, I gladly admit it, and
fear only, that representations of Paradise, in the same spirit,
may too much cherish that relaxation and repose of mind, to
which the Orientals in general are so much given.
E. Suppose they do. I know not, since we are so well
furnished with task-masters in the community, why the nation.
al poetry should be a task-master also. To me it is gratifying
rather, that in their burning plains, wherever they meet with
shady trees, or hear the sound of bubbling fountains and
cooling streams, their lively imaginations picture to them the
tranquil joys of Paradise, and that, in the poctick fervour of
their feelings, they denominate this the land of Eden, that the
dwelling place of repose, the strong hold of pleasurc, or by
other terms of the like kind. Would it have been better, think
you, that like the Northern heroes they had transformed their
Paradise into a golden banqucting hall, or had conceived
Hobbes' representation of wild and universal war, as the
original state of nature? It is the office of poctry, I appre.
hend, to soften the manners of men, not to make them
savage. All representations, which contribute to this end,
promote their improvement. Pictures of a Paradise of inno-
cence, of love, and enjoyment in the bosoin of nature have
undoubtedly done som
A. Have those two marvellous trees also contributed to
the effect ?
128
A.
E. The tree of lifo certainly. It is, in the poetry of the
Orientals, even in itself considered, a most agrccable and
delightful image. Did we but know where it blooms, should
we not all go on a pilgrimage to visit it? Now that the fear
of God, temperance, and wisdom are represented as a tree of
life, which blooins for us all, should we be less excited ? Can
we be unaffected by it, wliere represented, as in the last book
of the New Testament, as the tree of immortality? There
it stands before us, at the end of our course and of the strife
of our pilgrimage, in the Paradisc of God. It is there to
revive and restore the conquering but wearicd soldier, to heal
all nations with its unfading leares, and to nourish them with
its ever fresli and new returning fruits. When my tongue
shall no longer be sensible to the fruits of the carth, let me
dic in the hope, which this representation inspires.
And the tree of knowledge ?
E. We will talk of that hercaſter. Did it never strike you
also, as a finc incident in the account of Paradise, that God
brings to Adam the aniinals of the brutc crcation to see what
he would call them? By this living intercourse and study of
nature, man cultivated his faculties of perception, of compar-
ison and abstraction, his reason and language. The first names
in his dictionary were the living crics of brute animals, modifi-
ed by their relation to his organs, and to his feelings. The first
perception, which hc had of the various dispositions and
characters of the soul, was in the brutes ; for in their looks,
their gait, and whole mode of life, that which peculiarly
characterizes each is distinctively, consistently, and unchang-
ingly expressed. The divinity has here exhibited before us,
as it were, in a sportive representation, a continual Esopick
fable. Nor has any poctical tradition of Paradise forgotten
moreover, to represent man here in conversation with the
brutes. Ile is their king, their master, their eldest brother.
They live at peace among themselves, and in quict subjection
to him.
A. A fabulous age truly, in a two-fold sense.
129
E. At least a goldon age. Listen to a single description
of it in the language of Isaiah.
* The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
The Icopard shall lic down with the kid,
The calf, thic young lion, and the iatling together,
And a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall feed quietly;
Their young ones shall lic down together,
And thic lion shall cut straw like the ox.
The suckling shall play on the hole of the asp,
The wcancd child on the cockatrice's den;
There shall be nonc to hurt nor destroy
In all my holy mountain,
For the earth is full of the knowledge of Jehovah,
As the waters cover the sea.
Of such pictures as this the prophets are full, and with the
most skilful and animating application.
A. And the representation of lovc, as it cxisted in Para.
dise—what can you say iu praise of that? Milton and others,
it is truc, have given very fine descriptions of it.
E. Many otlıcrs have done so besides Milton. The love
of Paradisc is thic artless and primeval description of all love.
The new anıl mysterious longing of thic man, who finds him.
self alone, and is unable to express the want which he feels,
but which is responded to, as it were, froin the heart of his
paternal Creator, his sleep, his dream perhaps, the forming of
his wife out of liis own breast, out of the shicle and resting
place of his own heart, the farther particulars, that God brought
her to him, and blesscd them both, that Adam embraced her
with the natural expression of admiration and delight, that
both were naked, but as yet without the occasion or the
fccling of shamc—all this is so delicately felt, so bricily, yet
so beautifully expressed, that were it even a incrc poetical
representation, it is yet worthy to be the poetry of Paradisc.
* Isaiah xi. 6.
130
Love of this description belongs to Paradise. It is the first
incipient waking of the heart in the beautiful visions and
drcamy anticipations of youth. All the genuine inspirations
and poetry of that age, indeed, are drawn from the quiet
· fountains of this garden of Eden, these feelings so full of
simplicity and innocence. The Oriental pocts morcover arc
accustoined to draw their pictures of love and youth in this
same spirit. Tlie Song of Solomon, for example, miglit scem
to have been written in Paradise. Adam's simple expressions
of admiration and love, “thou art my own, thou art my other
self,' arc heard in its alternating voices from one end of it to
the other.
A. You do not suppose, lowever, that Adam himself ut-
tered the words ascribed to him, with the prophctick expres-
sion which they include ?
E. Whether he did or not, the feeling, which animates
then, was his feeling, otherwise neither tradition nor the
writer, who recorded it, would have put the language in his
mouth. Let him have uttered it as lic would, and as he was
able, by tones, or gestures, or perhaps by both together, it
is that simplest, fullest, and purest einotion, which, united
with innocence and prophctick anticipation, makes up the
whole Paradise of the licart. The developement of other
propensities, according to this account, was the fruit of the
forbidden tree, the step, as it were, by which they went out
froin Eden, and you know the conscquences, which were
brought upon the mother of our race.
A. You have made out a rather refined analysis of the
history of Paradise. Could it be the aim of these ancient
traditions to explain and analyze it for us in this manner ?
E. It is at least an incidental purpose of traditions so full
of meaning and of sentiment as these, for the narrative is ob-
viously directed to this end. At first “ they are naked and
are not ashamed," they cat of the tree, and see their naked-
1063; thic Paternal Judge appears and makes known to them
131
.
*
their future lot, plainly the state of marriage and of family
cares and anxicties, and the divine being himself provided
them with clothing. The Paradise of their emotions is over,
the scene is changed, and they are involved in the toils and
troubles of lifc.
A. This vicw resembles the hypothesis
E. I beg you will mention no mere hypothesis* like that
to which you seern to allude. Nothing is more foreign to
the language and allegorical style of the Orientals, than this,
and several others, which are yet more improbable and far-
ſetched. The Orientals know no ,allegorical dress of such
fashion, as would make the tree of knowledge what this hy-
pothesis assumes. A fiction of this sort is but one of the
impure inventions of our own auc, unworthy of a narrative
so ancient, of such child-like simplicity and such purity, as
the history of Paradisc. The event alluded to in regard to
Adam and his wife is directly spoken of, and on the other
hand the feelings, which sprung from partaking of the tree,
are given with truth and simplicity. They were incw, but
disturbing and disagreeable emotions, and they lled to conceal
themselves among the trees of the garden. Their father's
voicc brcalis in upon the tumult of their unquiet anticipations,
and you know what followed. If all this was what your lis-
pothesis supposcs, then we may prove that white is black.
A. I wish you would explain your views inore clearly also
respecting the trcc itself, and the instruinent, by which de-
ception was produced. In doing so you are unfolding and
explaining to me perhaps the most ancient fables and hiero-
glyphics in existence, and that too without going aside from
our proper purposc..
E. Whether this narrative be a fabulous and hicroglyphick
picture, will appear hercaſter ; at present let us consider it
simply in its proper character, as an artless, child-like tradi-
* Probably that of Beverland is hero mean.
132
tion. What think you wag the tree of knowledge? What is
the import of the expression ?
A. The knowledge of good and evil mcans, in the lan-
guage of the East, so far as I know, prudence, discretion.
It is commonly predicated of those years, in which a man
comes to understanding, or it denotes one's moral judgment,
his capacity for the cxcrcise of this, in short, his practical un-
derstanding.
E. And thus, wlien a man comes to years of understanding,
lic knows how to distinguish-what, hitherto, bic has been
learning to distinguish-good and evil. The remains truc to
his duty, and resists all temptations to the contrary, he distin-
guishes good and evil. If by a faulty step lic is made to ex-
perience thic fact, that the punishment of liis fault immediately
follows his not distinguishing, then he knows what is good
and cvil, but not in the most agrecable way. lIore you sce
the whole history of this tree, and its truc meaning. God
forbade man the use of it, and lience he was charged with a
specifick duty in relation to it. This was the first casy excr-
cisc in tlic distinguishing of good and evil. All other trees
were good, for the use of them was permitted ; this was cvil,
for it was forbidden. The serpent interpreted otherwise, and
said “this tree is forbidden to you, böcause it gives the knowl-
edge of good and cvil, that is, a liigher knowledyc. Eat of
it; and from being children you shall becoine men, from be-
ing men you shall becomnc Elolin.” This was a sccond and
different incaning. Finally they atc of it and were indeed
enlightened. They saw truly, that they had done wrong;
and feelings and vicws were awakened in them, which they
might well have done without. These the Creator made for
them the occasion of new trials and duties. IIc placed them
in a different condition, and aided them with the first ncces-
sary inventions. This was a third meaning. Gou might now
say, either in derision or in carnest, “ Man has become as
one of the Elohim, he has learned to distinguish good and
133
evil.” Thus, as we look at the narrative in different points
of view, we find one and the same idea, having different as-
pects, but essentially the same thing. Can any thing be more
satisfactory, than a development of this sort, so complete and
80 simple ?
A. It is very well in a fable, but I know not whether it
be equally so in a history, on which so much depends. Mil-
lions of men have tasted death in the cating of this apple, and
yet it was caten, it seems, through a misunderstanding.
E. The doctrinal consequences remain as they were, and
do not concern us at present. We are treating here of a
tradition handed down from ancient times, and from the in-
fancy of our racc, which must be considered in the spirit of
those times. Let us proceed to examine it more closely in
this relation. It contains in fact the fundamental ideas of all
moral poctry in the East.
A. If so much depends upon it, I would very gladly do so.
E. In the first place, then, the man had obligations of du.
ty to discharge ; the bruto which probably atc of the trce,
and by his example (the most powerful language) excited the
man to cat, had nonc. For the brute to cat was no sin, for
man it was otherwisc. Do you obscrve the distinction ?
A. It occurs to me also, that the Orientals divide created
beings into thosc, which are frec, and those which have obli-
gations of duty. The first includes all brutes, since they
have no command given them ; man alone is bound by com-
mands and a law of duty.
E. This distinction throws light upon the whole matter.
The serpent acted in simple accordance with its nature,
when it ate of the trec ; the man when he would eat of it, and
follow the example of the brute, neglecting the dictates of
reason, acted in violation of his duty. Do you remember
what was said of Adam's intercourse with the brutes ?
A. HIC learned from them, and made nse of their example.
On this occasion too he learned a lesson of evil.
12
134
E. And what sort of animal did God employ as the ac-
cidental cause of the first aberration of his reason, of his
faculties of perception and imitation ? Could he have used
a more fit one? The character of the serpent is that of sub-
tilty and craft. IIere he acts and speaks in accordance with
it, and is afterwards exhibited in the same character. Ile is
the symbol and receives the reward of a deceiver and seducer,
A. The history I perceive assumes a new character.
Would that it were a fable! It would indeed be a beautiful
fable.
E. In regard to its outward form and colouring, it should
always be considered as such. It was a fable, but one rep-
resented in outward act. Without doubt you arc acquainted
with numcrous traits in the fables of Æsop and Lockman,
which resemble our account hierc of the serpent's character,
and the curse inflicted upon hin.
A. Yes, thic fables and traditions of the East are full of
them. They ascribe to the serpent inanifold art and wisdom,
the art, for cxample, which men have so much sought after,
of becoming young again, and restoring their siglit in old
agc--that also of hiding themselves in danger with great
skill, cspecially the licad, in which their power and life aro
concentrated. It is said too, they posscss the sccrcts of na-
ture, and arc actuated by a spirit. I have read many marvel-
lous tales how serpents hcal the sick, understand the voice of
the charmer, and stop tlcir cars against disagreeable words
of enchantment; how they listen to musick, and follow the
voice of their pricsts-indced a multitude of traditions, of
which one scarcely knows what to think, or how far to credit
them.
E. Many of them may only exbibit the natural history of
the animal, of which our knowledge is too limited; others
are derived from fragments of this primeval tradition, to
which more and more of the marvellous and incredible has
been continually adhering. Thesc marvels have at length
135
1
At
become the belief of the common people, and contribute very
serviceably to the inventions of the poet, and to the self-inter-
ested craft and deception of the magician and the priest. But
enough for us. Throughout the East, the serpent is celebra-
ted as a knowing, craſty brute ; and we need not prove, that
it is a base and noxious one. Observe now with what cor-
rectness all these traits are brought out in this narrative.
first, he appears as a knowing, and showy, or glistening animal;
afterwards, as a base deceiver, creeping slyly upon the earth,
and aiming his blow at the liccl. At first he eats the food
of the Gods, knows the sccrct powers of nature, and has fel-
lowship with the Elohim; afterwards he creeps upon his
belly, and is condemned to cat the dust of the earth. So far
is he from being immortal, that man has power to bruise his
head, while he can only repay it with a blow upon the heel.
At first, a friend of Evc, whoin he wishes to make a Goddess;
then, an enemy of her and her children, so that the mother
of serpents is treated, as it were, as the proper enemy of her
whole race.
Can you conceive a more instructive contrast
in one animal ? A base worm! and shall it aspire to teach
man who is formed in the image of God? The ſolly of man in
imitating so.degraded a being is placed in the strongest light.
A. Immediately after the fact also, the man sees his ser-
pent-scducer as he is involved in the curse, which is here
pronounced upon him. The story is finely turned ; and if
the facts related ever happened, the man could not have had
a more instructive apologue. The tree, the serpent, the ac-
tion are the teachers here, and the words only express what
alas! cxperience too clearly taught. From this view I can
perceive the crrour of thosc, who have puzzled their brains to
determine whetlier the serpent had feet before this, or a hu-
man understanding to perceive the import of the curse, &c.
E. The Rabbins have still more mischievous conceits ;
but let us not disturb these people, for we have still many
traits of this instructive picture to bring out. The serpent
1
136
was, by means of the tree, to open the man's eyes, and to
give him the clear-sightedness and wisdom of the Elohim.
Why was this? Why betray man with this hope in particu-
lar? Do you remember what we have before said of the
Elohim?
A. I understand, I believe, to what you rcfer. By the Elo-
hiin you suppose to be meant those beings, who, more
knowing than men, with open vision look upon the secrets
of nature, and, as it were, behind the curtain, listen to the
working of its hidden powers.
E. The existence of such powers of knowledge is a wide
spread faith among thic Orientals, who strive after this mys-
tcrious knowicilyc of maturc, as we once did aſtcr thc phi-
losopher's stone. It is incredible what stories and fables
respecting this hidden wisdom have been handed down from
thc highest antiquity. llere it grows upon a particular tree,
now it is concealed in a figure, a scal, a talisman ; then the
fowls of heaven prate of it, but for the most part it is
spirits, Genii, who feed on the fragrance of the flowers, with
this food of the Gods partake also the knowledge of the Gods,
and here and therc-especially under compulsion-impart
their wisdom to individual meni. The moral instruction of
the Orientals also has taken a very peculiar direction in pre-
ccpts and poctical fictions associated with these traditions.
A. Even their precepts also ?
E. They always warn men to shun forbidden arts, and care-
fully to distinguish this falsc and hurtful knowledge from the
true, the sole and simple wisdom. I could adduce for you
herca multitude of sayings, in which thic fear of God, and the
fear of demons, obcilicncc to God, and fleeing before the cn.
chantments of false knowledyc, arc placed in opposition to
each other. That is the tree of life, this the forbidden tree
of a false and depraving knowledge. But let us return to our
history. Is it not such, or do you prefer to consider it a fa-
ble?
A. I cannot deny that I do.
137
.
Why
E. I would like to see then with how much consequent-
ness you can connect together in it the causes with their
effects. T'or it is the essence of a fable, that it be a consis-
tent whole, and that what is represented in act be represented
in a manner picturable to the sense. Take the tree, then,
in any one of the senscs, which the language admits, and
there still remain supcrfluous and irrcconcilable traits. It is
a trec, to which, as God dcclared, either obcdience or death
was attached ; yet death did not follow, but rather effects of
a different kind not included in the threatening. If we at-
tach knowledge to the trce under the same notion of knowl-
edge which the serpent held out, to make the fable consistent,
we must admit the language of God to be untrue ; for to
some extent at least, the promise of the serpent seems to have
come to pass. Their cycs were in fact opened, and they
became, as God himself dcclares, like the Elohim.
then had hic forbidden them the trec? And why does this
newly acquired knowledge, like that of the Elohim, bring
after it thorns and thistles, agriculture and the pains of child-
birth? Why too must these new Elohim go out of Paradise ?
It would rather seem, that thcy ought to remain with their
brethren the Elohim. Are we to suppose then, that God in
reality feared, as they had tasted of the tree of knowledge,
they might also cat of the tree of life, and becoino immortal,
as they had become knowing, against his will ? Your fable
needs a dcfcnder.
A. I leave that for you.
.
E. That I cannot become, so long as it must be consid-
ered a füble. But suppose it to be a tradition, a narrative of
an instructive history, the facts of which actually took place
with the parents of the human race, and every thing follows
naturally. Begin the explanation where we left it, “they
wero nakci and were not ashamed;" could men continue in
this state ?
A. Some enthusiasts say so. They hold that Eve would
not have conceived and borne children as women now do ;
12*
138
that this is the wages of sin, and an equivalent for the pun-
ishinent of death.
E. So Eve was not formed, aș women of the present day
are ; for in their formation they are designed to become
mothers; and the first blessing pronounced expressly shows,
that men were forined with the intention that they should
pcoplc the carth. The earth also is fitted to be the liabitation
of men, and the sweat of the brow belongs to the cultivation
of the carth, as necessarily as pain to childbearing. In short,
till the authors, to whom you refer, show is another carth,
and another humanity, than we are acquainted with, and than
that to which the blessing at the creation of our race obviously
had reference, we may leave them to dream of Adam's glass
body, and a Paraclise under the Nortli pole. We have said too
much of them already.
A. You suppose. then, that God actually created man for
tlic condition, in which we now find him?
E. And who clse should have formed hin for it? The
Devil, the enemy of man, surely did not, and God, who formed
him out of the dust, ncccssarily foresaw the development,
which took place. Ilc weighed the dust in his hand, and know
what would come out of it ; hic mcasured the powers of liis
soul, and knew crcry errour of. which it was susceptiblo.
In trutlı, if we deny this, we make ourselves unworthy of our
reason, of our humanity, and of our carth. No philosophy is
more odious to me, than that which employs cycry art to put
out a man's cres, in order that he may not know himself, The
poetry of the lebrows, indeed the philosophy of both Testa-
ments, knows nothing of this sublime nonsense. In none of
the l'salms, or of the prophcts, is this listory introduced in
such a scnsc, and that shown from it, which this pseudo-phi-
losophy would have it show. Adam, says the scripture, sinned
first, and we all sin as he diel; we must thereforc dic also, as
he dicd. As Eve was betrayed, so we are betrayed, and
estranged froin our simplicity--this the scripture aflirms, but
not that so soon as he sinned ho lost his humanity, and suffer
· 139
ed for himself and his posterity ten thousand actus and raptus,
new powers introduced, and former ones taken away, in his
understanding and will, his senses and all his members.
What he did suffer is hcre plainly described.
A. What then was it, and how did it follow from the
prohibition and the tree in question ?
E. Admit the supposition, that it was a noxious but not a
deadly trec, of which God had warned them not to cat. We
may then conclude, that God denominated the effect of it
death, partly as opposed to that of the tree of liſe, and partly
is the severest threatening, by which lic could restrain man
from the use of it. In the mican time, IIc who knoweth the
bounds of all things, foresaw this abcrration from duty, and,
since it would have been inconsistent with his wisdom to
create a human race to no other end but to perish in the first
moment of existence, he placed in the way, and as the occa-
sion of his disobedicnce, a trec which, in the plan contem-
plated for humanity, both answered a present purpose, and
must serve after a sort to introduce his subsequent condition.
A. I do not understand you.
E. The fruit of the tree inflamed his appetites, gave an
impulse to his blood, placed him in a state of fear and
unquictness, of terrour and astonishinent. This state of his
ſcelings the Creator made usc of, and pointed out to his children
the consequences of their first transgression, to themselves and
their seducer. This latter he made an object of abhorrence
to them, and even from their present fcclings, before inexpo-
rienced, predicted for themselves in future, new scenes of lifc.
The maid of Paradise inust hiercafter become a mother; she,
who had hitherto been the betrothed bride of Adam, was to
become Evc, the housewiſe, the ministering attendant of the
living beings, who by her should be born into the light of the
world. The quiet dweller' in Paradisc, who had spent only
the first period of his youth in this nursery of his carliest
development, had now more toilsome labours before him
140
which yet belonged also to his proper destiny; and finally the
painful word death, was announced, and for this fate also he
was prepared in the tenderest manner. In short, his first
errour was made under a paternal guidance, to promote the
progress of his being ; the punishment, which God inflicted,
was the chastisement of a father, a blessing in disguise. The
household door must be opened for man, and his own fault
must be the occasion of opening it.
A. What a new aspect docs the history in this vicw of it
assume. Now the whole of it intcrprets itself, and no fcature
of it is useless; even in the tone of the punishment inflicted,
all is fatherly and forbcaring; it is a progressive history of
humanity. The father permits his child to fail in his weakest
point, to break for itself the apple of future cares and discords,
and to owe it to itself, that it is no longer in Paradisc, in which
it could not and should not always continue. The man has,
by his own arbitrary and self-willed conduct, turned himself
out of his father's house ; he must now be his own master,
and his own provider.
E. Do you scc nothing more in this history, no analogy
with our present condition ?
A. A continued analogy. Our lifc also passes through
the same conditions. We too sin like Adam, and like him are
punished, that is, brought into a state of greater hardships, but
yet a necessary one.
E. Can you draw no conclusion from it with regard to the
proper nature of evil?
A. That it consists primarily in a deviation from truth
and simplicity of heart, through alien, indefensible and delu-
sive principles of action. The commandment is always at
hand, the law is ever present, cither in us or without us, in our
consciousness and conscience, or in a positive obligation of
outward duty. The serpent, which seduces us, too, is always
there, and always tempting—the inclinations of the scnscs and
of our sensual nature, the false representations and illusive
生
​141
ܪ
promises of the too confident and proud, understanding, or all
these together. The consequences of transgression, too, are
ever the same ; and I trust in God, that the chastisements also,
which he awards to each of his erring creatures, will prove to
be paternal favours, dispensations of Providence for our best
good, though for the present not joyous but grievous.
E. IIcre we scc human naturc, in its general character,
and in its various relations, just as the poctry of the Orientals
in later times has represented it. At first we have nature,
Paradise, love, innocence, a kingdom of beasts, in sliort every
thing with which the fancy of youth so delights to occupy
itself'; in the midst stands the tree, by which man's obcdicnce
was to be tried, and to which, in thc inoral poctry of the East,
every thing is referred ; and from thic cating of its fruit com-
mence those cvils, which are lamented in such touching
clegics in Job and in the Psalıns,-toil, bondage, sickness and
death. I might indccd denoininate this short chapter an en-
cyclopedia of humanity, and wish in vain, that I were ablo
to set forth, in poctry or proso, its crcry condition and rom
lation in a manner as free and natural, as that with which it
is unfolded in this simple narrative. The fables of Prome-
thcus and Pandora are poor in comparison. But one object
in this history yet remains, and a very poctical one.
A. The Cherubim with the flaming sword ? That I sup
posc means the stecds of the tempest, the horses of the
thunderer.*
E. The horses of the thundercr ? and at so early a period ?
Ilow improbable a representation must it have been in a
tradition of those primeral times !-a tradition, too, that pic-
turcs every thing clsc so cntirely correspondent to those
* The view of the Cherubim, here referred to and controverted, was
maintaincd about the middle of the last century, by J. D. Michaelis, in a
dissertation, de Cherubis cquis tonantibus, and at the time, when this
work was written, was thought more worthy of attention, than it would
bo now, TR.
142
times. Did Adam know any thing of these horscs ? What
meaning would they have for him, and how came he by such
an image ? And moreover what have thcy to do here?
Tempest-stecds with a flaming sword to keep the way of the
tree of life!
A. You do indeed make me somewhat at a loss. Yct
such is the image expressed by the Cherubim throughout the
poctry of the Ilebrows.
E. I know not a single passage, which gives even plau-
sibility to it. In one of the later prophets* God is represent-
ed with horses, but these are by no mcans the Cherubiin.
There he is described with a war-chariot, to which indeed
horses are properly attached, but in this image he is not
represented as thundering. Ile stands upon his war-chariot,
and mcasures out the land to the Israclites ; before himn gocs
the pestilence, and birds of prey are flying to his fcct. lle
beholds and drives asunder the nations, and a panick fear
falls upon the tents of the land of Midian. Now hic drawg
his bow and shoots forth his arrows, he smites and dashcs in
picces his enemics ; in short, hic wields the whole armoury
of ancient warfare. IIc returns in majestick array ; and his
horses go, as they came, before his triumphant car, through
the sea, through the heaps of great waters. Is this the same
image with the other, and does hc here speak of the Chicru-
bim?
A. But the Greeks gave his chariot and horses to Jupiter,
the thunderer, and Virgil has beautiful representations of the
sort.
E. Is Jupiter Jchovah ? Are the Greeks IIebrows? Is
Virgil a IIebrew poet? Tho Peruvians represent thunder
as the shattering of a vessel, which the fair Goddess of rain
holds in hier hand. Iler brother comncs and dashes it in
pieces, then it thunders, and the rain pours down. Such is
* Hab. iii. 8.
143 :
the mythology of the Peruvians, but what would
be the effect
of attempting by the aid of this to interpret the poetry of the
Hebrews? Do we then know nothing of the Cherubim from
the language of the Hebrew pocts themselves ? Are they
not distinctly represented to us as works of art ?
A. Let us go through an examination of the passages ;
and first of the form, in which they are represented standing
over thic ark of the covenant.*
E. "There they have wings and faces, look down upon
the covering of the ark, and overshadow the mercy-seat.
This is neither the figure nor the position of your thunder-
bcaring steeds. And probably in the samnc figure, in which
they stood hcrc, they were also wrought in the tapestry or
carved on the walls. In Solomon's temple tlicy stood in the
samc form, only norc large and magnificent. The descrip-
tion is wliolly a repctition of the same.
A. But after all there is not much described in it, for
how many difl'crent forms might agree in having faces and
wings ?
E. Look then at the temple of Ezechiel.I In his de-
scription the Cherubim have the heads of a man and of a
lion, without any conceptivis of the form of a horse. To the
same prophet the Cherubim appeared in the clouds.ll One
Cherub stretches forth his hand, and it is a man's hand, which
takes the fire from the altar. The countenance appears, and
by the comparison and distinction n.ade, its form becomes
obvious. Each of the creatures has four faces, those of an
ox, of a man, of a lion, and of an eagle, according to the
side from which they were seen. These four faces John saw
also, only not all on the same animal. Therefore-
A. What then do you infer from the form ?
E. Two inferences follow from it beyond dispute. First,
that the Chcrubim are a compound of several distinct ani-
* Ex. xxv. 17. 18. Xxxvi. 8. 35. +1 Ki. vi. 23, 2 Chr. ii. 7.
| Ezech. xli. 18.
| Ezech. i. 10. a. 14.
144
mals, and second, that among those the figure of the horse is
not found at all.
A. Is there no other passage
E. One more, and that a decisive one in regard to the
present question. The proud king of Tyre is called by
Ezechiel* a Chcrub, who dwells in Eden, in the garden of
the Elohim, upon the holy mountain, and walks up and down
in the midst of the stones of fire. This is cmployed as the
highest representation of his might, and of his proud mag-
nificence. All the splendour of precious stones is employed
for his ornament, and the day of his crcation is a day of re-
joicing. IIc appears as a creature exalted and perfect in his
ways. Now we know what forms of the brute creation wcro
employed in the primeval world, and especially, by the Ori.
entals of these regions, as symbols of magnificence and
pride-precisely those four, which are included in the com-
position of the Cherubim, the lion, the ox, the man, and the
eagle. The proverb of the IIebrews rcspccting them is well
known.--- There are four creatures of stateliness and pride
in the world, the lion among the wild beasts, the ox among
the tame, the caglc among birds, and man above all."
A. But it seems to me, that this proverb clocs not decide
with certainty for those carlicst times ; for the composition of
the Cherubiin does not appear to include uniformly the same
elements.
E. As all forms of art, especially when used for cmbellish-
ment, vary in some degree with the times; yet the spirit of
the composition is not to be mistaken. Ezechiel places his
king of Tyre, where the inost ancient cherubim stood, on the
holy mountain of God in Paradise, and gives hin a forin and
character of splendour, of wisdomn, and over-awing magnifi-
He derived this impression probably from his actual
appearance, and very naturally employed, to express it, the
image of the Cherubim, which, on account of their fearful
cence.
* Ezech. xxviii. 14. See Appendix II.
145
and awe-inspiring forms, were placed to keep the way of the
tree of life. It seems to me, that this description of Ezechiel,
in connexion with the other traditions of the Orientals, gives
us so distinct a conception of these shapes of wonder, that
we may venture to leave out of view altogether the represen-
tation which you suggested.
A. To what other traditions do you alludc ?
E. Do you know of no other fabled forni of the brute
creation, that lived upon the mountains of the primeval world,
in the very region in which our account places Paradise, and
guarded there the treasures of the past ?
A. The dragons and griffins of antiquity guarded treasures
of gold or golden apples.
E. That was a tradition of a later period, or more Northern
tribes. The Orientals have a winged animal that dwells
upon the mountain Kuf, and had many a war with the giants
of the olden tinc. It is a creature, they say, of reason and
religion, speaks all the languages of the world, has the wisdom
of the sphinx, the artifice of the gritlin, and guards the way
to the trcasurcs of Paradise. It is a prodigy among the works
of God, a creature not to be overreached by craft, nor to be
overcome by power. The sphinx of the Egyptians, the dragon
of the Greeks, and the griffin of the Northern anythology,
are all of one and the same composition, modified only by
differences of age and country. In tracing the history of
these, you will sce the later fables, and marvellous tales of
the guardians of thc trce of immortality at the gates of
Paradise, the dazzling forms of terrifick grandcur upon the
holy mountains, with the flaming sword which turns every way,
just as Ezechicl has described the Cherub. Every nation has
retained the same in poetry and traditions, added to it from
time to time, and modified it by its own fictions. For us it
will be suflicient to trace the history of the Cherubim in the
poetry of the IIebrews. At first they appear here as a guard
with a flaming sword (not as destroyers to lay waste Paradise,
13
146
1
as some have fancied in contradiction to the literal sense)
They appear again in the tabernacle made by Moses, who,
perhaps because he discovered a resemblance between them
and the sphinx, placed them after the Egyptian form upon the
ark of thic covenant. From the ark of the covenant they
were transferred to the clouds ; for since the divinc glory
descended upon them there, they must be placed as its support-
ers hcrc also. It thus became a peculiar poctick image of
the Hebrews,and at last appeared in the visions of the prophets.
The transfer of the Cherub, which was originally a work
of art upon the ark of the covenant, to the clouds, as a crea-
ture bearing up the throne of Jehovali, was indeed very
naturally suggested by the expressiori, “ God enthroned upon
the Cherubim,” which occurs, as a designation of the Divine
Majesty, cren in the books of Samuel.* So soon as it had
been applicd to the representation of God in the clouds, the
imagination of the poet had full scope for employing it in its
pictures of celestial olijccts, and David seems to have been
the first, who availed himself of the image.t Yet so far is
thie Chcrub, as employed by David in describing a thunder
storm, from sugresting the tempest-stced, that even had some
ground existed in other passages, it inust have been excluded
from this. David's Cherub is a winged animal, upon which
God flies, and corresponds in the parallelism with the wings
of the wind, while thic thunder and lightning are described
by their own proper imagcry. Even in the age of Isaiah,
God wlio sitteth upon the Cherubim, is no more than the old
Josuick representation, which occurs in the books of Samuel
and the Psalms. When God appeared to liim, there were no
Cherubim in the form of his manifestation. It was not till
later times, and out of Judaa, among the captives by the river
Chebar, that the old poetick image came to appear in prophet.
}
* 1 Sam. iv. 4. 2 Sam, vi 2. + Ps. xviii. 11. (Appendix III.)
| Isa. xxxvii. 16. | Isa. vi, 1-8.
147
ick visions; and here the Cherubim are seen in their fullest
splendour.* It was however no thunderer's car which they
bore, and much less drew after them. They bore up the throne
of divine majesty, and above them was as it were sapphire, that
is, the clear and luminous heavens. Like the rainbow in the
clouds, so was the appearance of the brightness round about,
tranquillity, majesty, and grandeur in their most impressive
form, but certainly no picture of a thunder storm.
A. The Cherubim, then, according to your theory, had
three distinct periods, as works of art in the temple, as repre-
sented in the clouds, and as scen in the visions of the prophets.
E. To tlıcse you may add also that of their mythological
representation in the tradition of Paradisc, for this was the
original ground of all. Tad they not been exhibited in this
tradition, Moses would not have placed them upon the ark of
the covenant, and so they would not have been transferred to
the clouds, nor finally have appeared in prophetick vision. You
will readily scc morcover how, in the course of these changes
in the modle of its use, the image itself must also experience
a change. In the most ancient tradition it was a creature
inspiring wonder and awe, in the tabernacle a lifeless work of
art, in the Psalms a poctick imaye, and finally in the prophet-
ick visions a Swov, a celestial creature, the bearer up of the
divine majesty. The difference of usc, and the distinct sphere
of cach, Ezechiel himself gives. In the licavens he describes
their forms, as living and majestick, with their four marvellous
faces ; in his temple he leaves the only two of these, cither
because he would not represent a human countenance in the
temple, in order to avoid idolatry, or because he doubted
respecting the skill of the artificers. In the tabernacle of
Moscs both circumstances were combined, and the form in
which the Cherubim were there represented, was undoubted.
ly very simple.
* Ezech. i and x.
148
A. The conception of the Cherubim, then, as we learn
from these views, was, in its leading character, that of a
creature of marvellous and supernatural form, a compound of
several distinct animals.
E. That is undeniable. It appears also, from the de-
scription of their forin, which Josephus gives as traditionary,
that the Cherubim were winged animals (Swa) of a form, to
which nothing seen by human cyes had any resemblance, a
fabulous compound of the majestick, the terrible, thc power-
ſul and the marvellous. Undoubtedly within its own limits,
embracing as it did, in its clements, the four proudest forms
of earth and air, the cagle, the ox, the lion, and man, it va-
ricid, according as the poct introduced it in his imagery, or
art could mould it into its own shapes. The Arabick tradi-
tions also inention respecting the Cherubim of thic ark, that
they were a winged being in buman form, with a look, which
was dazzling like a flame of lirc, and in time of war sent a
tempestuous wind upon the eneiny—a fable, the ground of
which we may find in Biblical history.
A. But how do you account for the origin of the first and
most ancient mythology of the Cherubim at the gates of Par-
a dise?
E. Or this also the same universal tradition gives a very
probable explanation. That these Cherubim were stationed
to keep the way to the tree of life, to the garden of the
Ilesperides, is the unaniinous report. That the Cherub of
the Orientals had his station upon a mountain, and walked
up and down in the midst of the stones of fire, is the testimo-
ny of Ezechiel, and is confirmed by traditions, which prevail
throughout tlic East. They all assign bim liis place upon a
mountain of farther Asia, behind which lies Paradise, proba.
bly in the same region in which Moses has placed his also.
Do you know of no other mythology which speaks of a moun-
tain of God ?
A. I know of none.
E. It is known and familiar to all the Eastern nations
149
from Thibet to the Red Sea, a mountain on which dwell the
Gods, the Lahi, the Elohim, the Demons and happy men, and
which some few traditions, that have found their way into
Hebrew poetry, place toward the North. Who was the king,
that in the ironical representation of Isaiah says,
I will ascend up into heaven,
Above the stars of God will I oxalt my throne;
I will sit upon the mount of the congregation,
Upon the heights of the North?
This mythology could not have originated with the Hebrews,
since they have Sinai and Zion, for their holy inountains ;
and you know, with how much zeil Isaiah exalts his holy
mount Zion above all the mountains of the earth. But in
the discourse of Llibu* God comes also from the North in
golden splendour. IIe breaks forth from his holy congrega.
tion, or assemblage of Gods, as he did to the Israelites from
Mount Sinai. Perhaps this mountain of the North was the
same mount of the Cherubim, on which the King of Tyre in
Ezechiel walked up and down before the garden of God, and
in the inidst of the stones of fire.
A. And how did the notion of Cherubim upon this daz-
zling mountain originate?
E. It was at first undoubtedly, as simple as the tradition
of Paradise itself. Men were banished from it, and a lofty
mountain-range lay probably between them and the happy
residence of their childhood. This too, abounded perhaps in
wild animals, of which the adventurous wanderers, who would
have scarched out the way thither, brought back marvellous
and frightful talcs. Above, upon the inountain, hung the
thunder-clouds, or it may be the mountain sent forth volcanick
flame. These, mingling in the tale of the wanderer, would
naturally enough be combined, and thus form the fabulous
* This will be understood by referring to the author's interpretation of
Job, Chap. xxxvi. 22, as given in the fourth dialogue p. 87. Tx.
13*
150
animal, with a flaming sword, which turned every way, a
compound of many phantoms. Or it may be, that, when the
first men were compelled to go out from Paradise, and cast
a look behind them, they beheld flames shooting here and
there, with other dazzling meteorick sights, and wild forms of
the brute creation, and thus received an impression, which
they transmitted, and which afterwards, from sccing the
mountain and from the tales of travellers, of adventurers, and
pocts, shaped itself to a creature of strange and marvellous
form. But be that as it may, there is at least no ground for
the fiction, that the Cherubim carried man froin Paradise, as
poets and painters have sung and pictured it. God himself
removed them out of the garden, and the Cherubim came as
its guardians.
A. But was not Elijah taken up to heaven by a chariot
and horscs of fire ?
E. That too was a war-chariot, a triumphal car, not a
mythological thunder-car, much less a Cherub. So Elisha
understood it, who witnessed the phenomenon. The import
of his exclamation was, “ Thou hast been the champion of
Israel, his chariot and horsc; therefore also heroick and war-
like is thy ascent, and as a conqueror : dost thou appear in
the heavens." So when the chariots of God arc said to bo
thousands of thousands, the image is taken from war and
triumphal chariots, as the wholc Psalm shows. God camo
forth from Sinai to go before Israel, and to conquer the land;
the mountains tremble, kings ſice before him. lle divides
the spoil, and soars aloft with his chariots; he carries his
captives away in triumph, and distributes his gifts. It is
the same representation, which we saw in the imagery of
Habakkuk, and which, in describing the conquest of the land
of Israel, is set forth in the finest songs of triumph.
A. But what other image do you give me, as a represent-
ation of the thunder?
E. The voice of a reproving father. This image still
presents itself to the minds of all children, and is found in
161
the simple history itself, in which the thunder-horses have
been sought. “They heard the voice of Jehovah walking in
the garden in the cool of the day." Nothing is more proba-
ble, than that this voice was the sound of thunder, and that
by this expression the image was introduced and continued
in the poetry of the Hebrews. And if so would it not be
unreasonable to suppose that an image, so accordant in its
primeval simplicity and artlessness with the child-like and
artless character of the narrative, and one so complex, bear-
ing the artiſicial character of a later age, were used with
reference to one and the same thing? I have now exhibited
to you, I believe, the history of the Cherubim, in its origin
and progress, and with adequate proof; and that is all that
can be expected with regard to a mythological conception in
poetry so ancient. Read and comparc, and you will no longer
have any doubts on the subject.* Wesce in the mysterious
and incomprehensible creatures, of superhuman wisdom and
majestick form, bcaring up the canopy, on which rested the
throne of the Most Iligh; and by whom could this be more
appropriately sustained, than by the symbols of all that is
sublime and awc-inspiring on the carth, combined with an
idea of the inconceivable and unapproachable, of profound
knowledyc, and unuttered wisdom.
APPENDIX I.
Ezechiel's Vision of God enthroned above the Cherubim,
I looked, and lo! a whirlwind from the North+
Came sweeping onward, a vast cloud, that rolled
Its volumes, charged with gleaming fire, along,
And cast its dazzling splendours all around.
Now from within shonc forth, what secmed the glow
See Appendix I.
+ Here too, as in Job, xxxvii, 22, the vision of God comes from the North,
and probably also from the mountains of the Gods. Isa. xiv. 14. Ezechi
xxviii. 14. Again in the vision of Zechariah vi. 1-8 the horses, which
have gone to and fro through the earth, go towards the North as their
placo of rest.
182
Of gold and silver,* molten in the flame,
And in the midst thereof the form expressed,
As of a four-fold living thing--a shapot
That yet contained tho somblance of a man.
With four-fold visage cach, and each four wings,
On upright limbs and cloven foot they stood,
And shono with splendour as of burnished brass.
Withdrawn bencath their wings, on every side
Were human hands, for cach four-sided sccmcd,
And four-fold had their faces and their wings.
Then, wing to wing, and each to each close joined,
They turned not in their going, but went forth,
Advancing each with look and course unchanged.ll
* Properly an amber-coloured metal, compounded of the two of pecu,
liar brilliancy, and highly valued in ancient times, but for which we have
Tr.
no namc.
+ In this view I have adhered strictly to the sensc of IIorder, who un.
derstands the whole as one living crcaturc. Sec Ezech. x. 15. 20. and
Gesenius' Lexicon. Tr.
* In the form of the Cherubim, particularly in its having the cloven
feet of the ox, we cannot but recognize a resemblance to the sphinx,
though this latter was modified in accordance with the forms of Egyp.
tian mythology and art.
|| An image of the omnipresence of the throno of God, and of the un.
returning progress of his working throughout the natural world. [L.
could not of course be understood from this, that each face, or even each
of the four.fold forms of the living creature, went forward by itself, in
such a way as to separate the onc from the other; nor that there was no
change of direction in the motion of the whole. The whole obviously
moved as one, and below they are described as going and returning.
The meaning then must be, that cach several face looked constantly in
the same direction, and when it advanced moved in a direct line without
turning. In the lines following that, to which this note is attached, I
have exhibited the direction of the different faces more distinctively per,
haps, than the author intended to do. My conception of the matter is,
that, as the whole approached him from the North, the human face, in
each of tho four,fold forms, was directed towards the prophet, those of
the lion and ox, to the right and left, and the eagle's backward, or to
wards the North. Thus the four human faces looked to the South, thong
of the lion to the East, and so of the others, being directed to the four
153
1
In all the four.fold visaged ſour was 8800
The faco of man; the right a lion, and an ox*
The loft distinguished, and to all tho four
Belonged an oaglo's visage. By itself
Distinct, their facos and their wings they each
Extended upward, joining thus, it socmed,
Two winys for flight, while two their bodice veiled.t
With course direct, and forward cach advanced,
Whither tho spirit moved they went, nor ever turned.
The several living forms, like glowing coals
Appeared. What scemed the name of torches played
Between them, and the dazzling light of fire.
From out the fire went gleaming lightnings forth;
And quick, as lightnings flash, the living forms
Were here and there, went forth and back returned.I
1
cardinal points, and those of the same kind always to the same point,
whether in motion or at rest. When therefore the whole moved in the
direction of the human face, it went South without furning or changing
its direction ; but when the whole went North, or in the direction of the
cagle's face, the human must necessarily move backwards, and so of
the others, but cach always looked in tlie sane direction, or to the samo
cardinal point, and went forward in no other. This view secms to me
to agrce with the original of the tenth verso, and with the whole descrip-
tion in this chapter; and though in Ezcch. X. 14. the face of a Cherub
(sce the following note) is named as the first, it seems probable at least
from the context, that the whole was scen in a dillerent direction, or to.
wards the East. TR.)
* What the prophet here calls the face of an ox, in Chap.x. 14. he
calls the face of a Cherub; and it was perhaps commonly considered as
peculiarly such, from the fact, that the form of the ox was the predom.
inant one in the whole composition, as the aspect of the sphinx shows.
+ This veiling of their bodies, as appears from the vision of Isaiah,
Chap. vi. 2. was a symbol of their unworthiness to serve the Lord of
Creation.
I I havo omitted here the description of the whcels beneath the throne,
as indeed they aro not found in the description of John, Rev. iv. They
serve however to show, that the Cherubim did not draw the throne of
the Divine Majesty, as horses harnessed before it, but bore it up as
154
1
Above their heads, high over-arching, seemed
An azure firmament outspread, like clear
Transparent crystal, that inspired with awe.
Approaching near the firmament, their wings,
Extending wing to wing, were upward spread.
With two they bore themselves aloft, with two
They veiled their bodies round, And as they went,
I heard the rushing sound of wings, like rush
Of mighty waters, or the distant sound
Of thunder, the dread voice of Shaddai.*
They went with sound of tumult, liko an host,
And when they stopped, they closed again their wings,
For when, from the o'cr-arching firmament
Above a voice was uttered forth, they stood
With wings depending, and close veiled around.
And high upraised above the firmament
There seemed the sapphire splendour of a throne,
And on the throne there sat, what seemed the form
Of man. It shone with amber glow of gold
And silver interinixed, as burning fire.
Both inward and without, and from thc loins
Above and underncath it seemed like firo,
And shone with radiant lustre all around.
As shines the rainbow in the day of rain,
So scomed the lustre of that radiant form.
winged creatures. The Cherubim and the living wheels entirely cor.
respond to each other, as well in regard to number, as to the rapidity
and direction with which they moved.
* Obviously the thunder is distinguished from the sound and still more
from the cssential being of the Cherubim. It is here introduced simply
as an image by way of comparison, just as rushing waters and the moving
of an army are introduced. It is here called the voice of Shaddai, as it
generally is in Hebrew poetry. Even when the Cherubim stand still,
und let fall their wings, it thunders in the firmament above them. In
the vision of John also, Rev. iv. 5. the thunder proceeds from the throne,
and they contribute nothing to it. They aro the bearers up of the Me
jesty of God, the image of all that is majestick in his crcation, serving
and unceasingly praising him; the symbols of hidden wisdom. When
the seals of the book are opened, (Rev. vi.) these living creatures call to
the apostle, in vision, to come and see what was contained in the book,
155
The aspect of Jehovah's Majesty
I saw in this, and fell upon my face
And heard the voice of ono that apake.
APPENDIX II.
Lamentation over the downfall of the King of Tyre under the image of
a Chorab.
Oh thou, the crown of art, with wisdom fillod, t
And perfect in thy form, in Eden thou
Hast been, the garden of the Elohim.
With every precious stone wast thou adorned,
With ruby, emerald, and the diamond's firo,
With hyacinth and jasper, onyx stone,
And supphire, and with gold. They welcomod thos,
The day of thy creation, with the voice
Of joy and praisc, with drum and trumpet's sound. I
I placed theo for the Chcrub, that outstretched
Its wings, and guarded Eden; thou didst stand
Upon the holy mountain of the Gods,
The Elohim, and up and down didst walk
Amidst the stones of fire. In all thy ways
* Ezcch. xxviii. 12. This passage is an imitation of the lamentation
of Isaiah over the King of Babylon, Isa. xiv. 2. a translation of which
will be found in one of the subsequent dialogues. It is placed here on
account of the description of the Cherub, which Ezechiel, according to .
his custom in using figurative language, has carried out in detail.
+ Tyre was the richest commercial city of its day, and as the terms,
Phænician or Sidonian work, was in ancient times the cominon name
of works of art, so the object here represented could not be more affect
ingly bewailed, than under the form of a rich and finished work of art.
I Perhaps this applics, as matter of fact, to the beautiful situation of
Tyre, which seemed purposely designed for trade and magnificence.
As a figurative representation, it is a well-known custom of the East to
accompany birth-day and other celebrations of that sort, with musick
and sound of kettle-drums.
ll I know not'whether these stones of fire, or glowing stones, are to be
considered precious stones, or whether they are something accompany.
ing the flame of the sword, that turned every way. I could wish, that
the mythology of this mountain of the Gods were explained by moro .
morous traditions, and hope it may be so hereafter.
155
Hast thou been unpolluted, from tho day
Of thy creation, till transgression now
Is found in thee. By all thy merchandise
Hast thou becn filled with violence and fraud,
And therefore will I thrust thce, as profane,
From out the mountain of the Elohim.
Thee, the protecting Cherub, I destroy,
And cast thee from amidst the stones of fire.
Thinc heart was lifted up with ornaments
of beauty, by the brightness of thy form
Wust thou despoiled of wisdom; thicrcfore now
Will I reject and throw thce to the ground,
And make of thee a gazing-stuck for kings.
By all thy many crimes, and by the fraud
Of traffick in thy merchandisc, hast thou
With shame defiled tlic glory of thy name;
And from thy bosoin shall go forth a fire, †
That shall devour thec. Thou shalt be but dust
And ashes, in the sight of all, that look
Upon thee. They among the nations round,
That know thy greatness, with astonishment
Shall see thy downfall. Thou hast been the pride
Of earth, but henceforth shalt thou be no more.
APPENDIX III.
Description of the thinder.f
* In imitation of Isaiali, xiv. 16.
+ Perhaps this trait also in the picture of the Cherub has reference to
ibo devouring Name, that turned every way. It is the way of Ezochiel
to fill up his pictures even to the minutest point. Thic fire of the Cherub,
if such bc the mcaning, is herc turncd against himself.
1 Ps. xviii. This is introduced here to illustrate the mythology of the
thunder and of the Cherubimn. The whole movement of the Psalm is
beautiful. David, in imminent danger of death, calls upon God, and his
cry is heard without delay. God delivers him by nieans of a thunder.
storm, perhaps in the midst of battle, from death and from his enemies.
That death is represented here, as a hunter with nots and cords, is well
known. The other images, of the rivers of Belial, and the kingdom of
the dead, will be explained in the following dialogue.
157
The foods of death encompassed me.
The rivers of Belial filled me with dread.
Around me were the cords of the grave, *
The snares of death were before me.
In my distress I said I will call on the Lord,
And unto my God will I cry aloud.
He will hear me from his palace,
My strong cry shall reach his car.
Then the earth shook and trembled,
The foundations of the mountai'18 moved,
And were shuken, becausc he was wroth.
There went up smoke out of his nostrils ;t
.
The expression "cords of the grave" is sufficiently harsh, but could
not well be softened without losing the personification, which Herder
intended to exhibit. (See the previous note.) Fidelity seemed to re-
quire, that I slıould exhibit this, though I like better in regard to the
sense of the original, the opinion of De Wette, that no personification
was intended. Tr.
+ A tempest, perhaps accompanied by an earthquake, is here pictured
forth with all its striking phenomena. The earth shakes. The smoke
goes forth from his nostrils, that is (v. 16.) the violent wind loaded with
vapour, which precedes the tempest; now the lightnings commence; the
heavens beconic darker and more depressed, and secm to sink towards
the earth; the storm sweeps along with increasing fury; the darkness
becomes intense, interrupted only by the lightning's flash. At length
the loud thunders are heard, the lightnings are redoubled, and shoot
forth in al directions, speeding themselves onward. All this, in its sev.
eral successive traits, is clothed in continuous mythological imagery.
The ruler of the icinpost casts forth in his wrath, smoke from his nos-
trils, and then fire from his mouth, by which the icy arch of heaven is
made to glow like burning coals. Now he inclines the canopy of the
heavens. as it were, towards the carth, wraps himself in the darkness of
night, and shoots forth his arrows, hurls abroad his lightnings, and winge
them with speed. In this rich imagery, by which the thunder is repre.
sented, the Cherub is no more than a correspondent to the wings of the
diorm, as the parallelism shows. He is merely the vehicle, on which
God moves, just as he is often said to move on the wings of the wind.
In this Psalm, then, the leading image, by which the thunder is repre- .
sented, is that of the voice of an angry and reproving God-a figure,
that in the 29th Psalm alone occurs seven times.
14
158
Fire from his mouth dovoured around,
Coals were kindled before it.
He bowed the heavens and came down,
Darkness was under his feet,
lle rode upon a Cherub and did Ay,
Ile flew on the wings of the storm.
Now he wrapped himself in darkness,
Clouds on clouds enclosed him round.
At the brightness before him the clouds vanished,
Hail.stoncs fell, and coals of firc.
The Lord thundcrcd in the heavens,
The Highest uttered forth his voice,
There were hail.stones and conls of fire.
Then he shot forth his arrows around,
Redoubled his lightnings, and sped them forward,
The depths of the sea were laid open,
The foundations of the earth revealed,
At the reproving voice of the Lord,
At the blast of the breath of his nostrils.
lle reached down from on high,
And took hold upon inc;
From decp waters hic drew nic forth,
And freed me from my strong enemics,
Froin focs, that were 100 powerful for me.
APPENDIX I V.
The voice of Jchovah.*
Give to Jehovah, ye worshippers of idols,
Give to Jehovah honour and power.
Give to Jehovah the glory of his name,
Worship Jehovah, arrayed in his Majesty.
The voice of Jehovah is above the waters,t
* Ps. xxix.
+ The parallelism shows that these waters are not the Mediterranean
Sea but the waters of heaven-the dcnsc rain.clouds. In the sequel it
159
The God of glory thunders on high.
Johovah thunders upon the great waters,
The voice of Jehovah sounds with might,
The voice of Jehovah sounds with majesty.
The voice of Jehovah shivers the cedars,
Jehovah shivers the cedars of Lobanon.
He makes them to skip like a calf,
Lebanon and Sirion like a young ox of the desert.*
The voice of Jehovah scattcreth the flames,
The voice of Jehovah shaketh the desert,
Jehovah shaketh the desert of Kadesh.
The voice of Jehovah maketh the hinds bring forth,
And layeth the forest bare of its leaves.
Jehovah sitteth and poureth out the floods,
Jehovah is enthroned as a king forever.
will be shown why Jehovah is specially represented as the God of thun.
der. That this Psalm is a continuous description of a tempest is too
clear to be disputed.
* A wild animal of the ox kind resembling the buffalo. TR.
DIALOGUE VII.
Tradition of the origin of man. Name taken from the notions of his
tendency to dissolution, his feebleness, and relation to the earth.
Elegy of Job on the destiny of man. Of the breath of God, as the
sensuous image of power, in thought, word, and decd. Hyınn on the
strength and Godlike character of human nature. Sublime foreto.
kening of the same in tho creation. From what conception can Epic
poetry impart to human naturo, in its physical and spiritual relations,
ideal elevation and dignity? How far has the poetry of the Bible de.
veloped this? Whether this conception be too pure and divine ?
Why the moral sentiments of the earliest times and the poetical ex.
pression of them must have immediate reference to God. The useful
effect, which this produced. Whence the conception of a kingdom of
the dead originated. Elegy concerning it. Whether it is at variance
with the immortality of the soul, or rather presupposes it. Poetical
view of places of burial, and of the life of those entombed in them.
Poetical description of the kingdom of the shades among the Hebrews,
Celts, and other nations. Whence probably originated the notion of
giants in the Oriental kingdom of the dead? Why whole kingdoms
and cities sleep in it. Of Belial the king of the shades, and of Scheol,
his palace or kingdom. What images has this representation furnish.
ed for the New Testament? The influence of this conception on the
minds of men. Language of God on the subject of immortality in na.
lure-in revelation. Translation of Enoch. Whether it is a frag-
ment of poetry-a reflection awakened by his premature death. Re.
ception of the patriarchs into the unseen world, as the true friends of
God. Impression produced by the conception of the congregation,
the kingdom of the fathers. Two Psalms with their explanation.
That the 16th Psalm was by David, and contains tho notion of an
eternal dwelling in the presence of God. Whether the Israelites
borrowed or derived from the Egyptians the representation of the
Islands of the blessed. Origin of the notion of a resurrection of tho
dead. Appendix containing a description of the kingdom of the dead,
as represented by Job, an Arabick Song of consolation respecting the
condition of ono deceased, and a designation of the probable course,
in which the Hebrew notions of the state of the dead were unfolded,
A considerable time intervoned, before these conversations
were resun.ed. Alciphron had lost his best friend by death,
161
and his mind was oppressed with gloomy feelings. At length
during an evening walk, while the setting sun was beauti.
fully exhibiting the daily repeated image of our own depart-
ure, he began again, after some other conversation, with a
subdued and melancholy tone as follows.
ALCIPIIRON. You have forgotten, Euthyphron, the beauti-
ful tradition of the origin of man, with which is so nearly
associated his whole earthly destiny-earth to earth. From
this Adam came forth, and to this he returned, into the bo-
som of the mother that bore him. Earth to earth! is re-echo-
ed from the whole life of man. I seem, even now, to hear
it reflected in the hollow sound of the last sod of earth thrown
upon the grave of my friend, and I have recently found a
melancholy pleasure in reading many of these Oriental po-
eins, for which formerly I had no relish. All the terms, by
which man is here designated, are indicative of nothingness
and decay. He is a clayey tabernaclo, which moths and worms
are incessantly destroying ; a flower, which the wind passeth
over and it is gone, or which the sun shines upon and it is
withered. Perhaps no poctry has represented the images of
this perishable and shadowy character of man in so touching
a manner, and at the same time they all flow naturally out of
the radical forms of the language, as if they were the ori-
ginal conceptions of the character and destiny of the race.
Is it a pleasure for thee to oppress,
Thus to disparage the work of thy hands ?
Consider yet, I beseech thee,
That thou hast formed me as clay,
That I must soon return to the dust.
Permit me, in this tranqnil evening twilight, when the sun,
the task-master of our earthly labour, is sinking beneath the
horizon, and all creatures seem to be enjoying their release
from an oppressive, but vain and unsatisfying toil after the
perishable objects of sense, permit me to read to you an ele-
14*
162
gy, which I have never myself so deeply felt as now.
as now. Job
was a great and philosophick poet. Ho understood what the
life of man is, and what it is not, and what we have to hope
for in the end.
Hath not man the task of a servant on oarth?
Are not his days the days of an hircling?
As the servant longeth for the shade,
And the hircling looketh for his reward,
So to me have evil months fullen,
And wcarisomo nights been counted out to me.
When I lay myself down, I say
When shall I riec again ?
The night is irksomc to me,
I am wearied with rostless dreams,
Till the dawning of the morning.
My ficsh is clothed with worms and decay,
My skin becometh closed and healed up,
But breaketh forth again in now sores.
Ny days have flown, and are passed away
Swiſter than a weaver's shuttle,
They failed when hope was gone.
1
Oh! romeinber, that my life is a breath,
Minc eyes shall never turn back
Tosce good upon the earth.
The cyc, that seeketh, shall not find me,
Thine eye will seek me, but I am no more.
As a cloud wastcth and vanisheth away,
So man gocth down to the grave,
And comcth up again no more.
He reiurneth not into his house,
And the place of his dwelling
Shall know him no more forever.
Therefore will I not refrain my mouth,
I will speak in the anguish of my spirit,
I will cry out in the bitterness of
my
soul..
Am I the river and its crocodilo,
That thou seuest a watch over me ?
If I say my bed shall comfort me.
163
My coach shall relieve my sorrow,
Then thou scarost me with dreams,
And torrifiest mo with visions,
So that my soul chooseth death,
Death, rather than this frail body.
I am weary of liſo, I would not livo always.
Let me alonc, for my days are vanity.
What is man, that he is so greut to thee,
And thou actical thinc heart towards him?
That thou visitest hiin every morning,
And provest him every moment?
Ilow long wilt thou not look away from me,
Nor let me rcst, till I draw my breath ?
llave I sinncd; what did ). against thce ?
On thoni, that look est upon men,
That thou scliest nie as a mark for thco,
And makost nie a burthen to mysolf.
Why wilt thou not forget my transgression,
And suffer my guilt to go into oblivion ?
For in a inoment I lie down in the dust,
In the morning thou seckest me, and I am not.
1
Such is the fate of inancarth to carth! the first and only
oracle of God respecting our destiny. What will a taberna-
cle of clay, in which a fleeting breath sports itself, in its pride
ask more?
Euthyrion. But you forget, my friend, that this taber-
nacle of clay is cnsouled by the breath of Jehovah. In the
inspiration of God is inbreathed the spirit of immortality,
and of all living cnergics. Have you never remarked the
representations of similar origin, which ascribe to the breath
of God all the powers and miracles of thought, and of a will
of Godlike energy, nay, as the word of truth itself declares,
the imparting of a divine spirit and of a Godlike faith?
Your grieſ has led you to contemplate one aspect only of
buman destiny ; the other is presented in the poetry of the
Hebrews with no less force and clearness.
A. With force, do you say? What is a breath? You
+
164
.
would not look here for the metaphysical soul of our phi.
losophers ?
E. Most certainly not, nor an analysis of its faculties
according to our methods. But the essential, the eternal in
its substance, that it came from God and returns to him, that
in its perishable tabernacle it puts forth divine energies, and
proceeds in a special manner from the word, from the breath
of the mouth of God, this is clearly and fully expressed in
this language and poetry.
A. Hardly so ! for how late was all this thought of. In
a book* belonging to the period of the captivity we are
first told, that the breath returns to God, who gave it ; and
there it is plainly a sentiment of Chaldee philosophy super-
added to the simple traditions of antiquity. In the account
of Adam, in Job, in the Psalms, there is nothing of it.
E. Will you not examine more carefully these concep-
tions of the immortality of man, of his weakness and his
strength, especially in regard to the peculiar notion, that his
soul is the breath of God. I think you must have overlooked
many things, or suffered yourself to be led away by novel
opinions ; and surely the matter is too important, and too
deeply concerns our humanity, to be lightly disposed of.
The spirit of God bloweth upon mc,
The breath of the Almighty giveth me life.
My countenance is as thine before God,
I also am formed out of the clay-
So long as a breath is in me,
And the spirit of God in my nostrils,
My lips shall not speak wickedness,
Nor my łongue utter calumny.-
Ia this feebleness or strength ?
A. The highest degree of force in words.
E. And among the Orientals a word is the utterance of
thought, of will, of all the inward energies of the soul. It
was early remarked, how great a mystery is involved in the
• Ecclesiastes, xii. 7.
165
}
fact, that the soul thinks, the tongue speaks, and the hand
executes ; that our soul thinks, and others understand and
listen to it merely by means of the breath of the mouth. To
God himself nothing could be ascribed, it would seem, more
powerful than a word, a breath. It is compared to the flame
of fire, to the hammer which breaks the rock in pieces.
When all things fail, the breath of God still endures and is
still efficient-efficient as wind, reviving as rain that de-
scends and imparts life and fertility.
A. That is the breath of God in nature, the immediate
working of his omnipotent will-but the breath of God in
man ?
E. lle too, man himself is mighty, because he partakes
of a divine inspiration ; so that flesh, and spirit, i. e. human
weakness, and Godlike energy, are placed in continual con-
trast.---Recollect an expression, which we find even before
the flood, and in the mouth of God himself.
My spirit shall not always
Continue to act in men,
For they are flesh.
Observe too, how their fleshly nature, by a general corruption
of inanners, shows its character especially in sensuality and
imbecility. Nay, go back to the first representation of man,
with which God introduces him into the world. He was to
be an image of the Elohim, a visible manifestation of their
invisible powers, disposing and ruling like them, and in their
stead Let me too, since you have been gratified with an
elegy on the wcakness of man, repcat to you a Psalm* de-
scriptive of his dominion and power; a Psalm, which in the
prattling of infants establishes for God a strong hold of ad-
iniration and praise, at which every enemy falls prostrate ;
2 Psalm, which crowns man 'with the dignity and majesty of
the angels, as a God of this lower world, as a triumphant
saler over all the works of Jehovah, which lie prostrate at his
* Ps. viii,
166
feet. It is worthy, and might seem intended, to be uttered
forth beneath the open and wide expanse of the starry heaven,
which is even now outspreading itself over our heads.
Jehovah, our God, how excellent is thy name
In all the earth!
Thy praise is sounded above the heavens,
From the mouth of babes and sucklings
Hast thou prepared a strong hold of praise
Against thy foe, at which he is prostrate.
If then I look at thy heavens,
At these, the work of thy fingers,
The moon, and the stars, which thou hast ordained
What is man, that thou art mindful of him,
The son of man, that thou visiteɛt him,
In rank, thou hast placed him nearest the Elohim,
Thou hast crowned him with honour and majesty,
Hast made him lord of all thy works,
llast placed all things under his feet.
His are the herds of sheep and oxen,
The bcasts of the field are his also,
The fowls of heaven, and the fish of the sea,
And whatever passeth the paths of the seas.
Oh Lord, our God, how excellent is thy namo
In all the earth!
Carry back now this Pindarick song of praisc into the history,
of the creation, from which it was taken, and with what
Inajesty does man appear!-When all else is created, God
pauses, as it were, takes counsel with liinself, and seems to
bring forth the form of man, as from his own heart. The
yet urcrowned creation stands still, and waits for its visible
God, and creator. If we were to form a representation of
man in the style of genuine cpick dignity, and clevation,
froin what more lofty and comprehensive idea could it pro-
ceed?
A. Hcbrew poetry however has not furnished such a
representation.
167
E. To furnish such in the worldly sense of poetical
representation, was not its purpose ; since man has provided
himself with this, in manifestations of both good and evil.
What have not inen done upon the earth, in works of art, and
in the exercise of power? What have they not attained ?
To what have they not aspired? What a splendid and loſty
theme is presented to the poct, who would increly celebrate
this historically, in its leading and inost important facts!
and that whether hic sung the triumphs of the spirit of man
in the inventions of science and art, or the operations of his
hand, the deeds of his almost omnipotent will.-But, as was
remarked before, it was not the aim of this poetry to carry
out the ideal of man in a physical, but in a spiritual sense.
llow sublime and beautiful are the conceptions, which it has
drawn from the image of God in the human forin, and exhi-
bited through the Old and New Testament ! Son of God was
prcdicated of Adam ; friend of God, of Enoch, of Abraham,
and the most favoured of the patriarchs. A second Adam
appeared, to exhibit, and to verify to his brethren the truc
form and character of a son of Jehovah, to build
human race to this idea in all worth and perlection of being.
It seems to mc, thicre is no purer and more subline conception
of the ultimate cnd and aim of the being of man in cither
the poetry or prosc of all other nations.
A. If only it be not too purc, and too loſty for our com-
prehension! What know we of God? and how can men
iinitatc God, unless he hunblcs himself below the proper
powers of his being ? The view, which we take of our des-
tination, and of our duty, must be human, not divine.
E. The moral views exhibited here unite both; for you
just now observed, that the weakness and abasement ot' man,
was pictured in it with no less truth. In relation to our
bodies we cannot be the sons of God according to the pure
conceptions of the East, for God has no outward figure, and
we are formed of the earth. But his finger has fashioned us;
up the
}
168
and the lips of Jehovah have moved, as it were, over the
mouth and countenance of man with a brcathing of kindness
and love. There they still move and breathe upon us ; ſur in
the animated countenance the Spirit of God is visible. In
poctry, which does not overlook tho weakness of inan, in
order vainly to ascribe to him the self-sufficiency and indepen.
dence of a divine being, but which at the same time is not
seduced by his weakness to deny his rcal dignity and high
destination ; in this appears a child of God formed for eternity,
but yet a feeble and a mortal child.
A. Yes, truly a child! for the poetry and morals of this
people are extremely child-like. All their conceptions are
referred back to God, and every thing is derived from the
will of God, so as at length must enfeeble the will of inan,
as well as his powers of rescarch. It becomes a blind or
fanatick devotion, in short, Islamism.
E.
Can the papyrus grow up without sap?
The water lily incrcanc without moisture?
It is yet green, and has not been cut down,
But while all else flourislics, it withers away.
So is the coursc of all, that forget God,
The hope of the ungodly shall perish.
That is cut off in which he trusted,
Ilis confidence is the spider's web,
She leans upon her house, it will not sland,
She holds fast to it, but it cannot endurc.
So he stands green and fresh, at carly dawn,
And sends forth his branches in the garden,
Ilo eniwines the rock with his rooir,
They cncompass the whole wall.
At once he is away from his place,
Which says to himn “ I never saw thee."
A. You have given ine a prolonged image, but no answer.
E. The picture itself is an answer. Poetry without God
169
is a showy papyrus without moisture ; every system of morals;
without him, is a mere parasitical plant. It makes a flowery
display in fine words, and sends forth its branches here and
there; nay, it insinuates itself into every weak spot and crevice
of the human soul; but the sun riscs, and it vanishes. The
man that invented it himself donies it, and its place and condi-
tion are no where known. Yet I would not by this, detract
any thing from the worth of psychological investigations, or
even descriptions ; but the first, the most ancient and child-like
poetry and morals, could not be psychology, otherwise it
would forcver remain a labyrinth of dark sayings. What was
admitted with regard to the poetry of nature, holds still more
in regard to the ethical poetry of the most ancient tirnes; the
idea of God must give it intelligibility and sinplicity, fecling
and dignity. The child is directed by the word of bis father,
the son is formed by the modes of thinking, and character of
the author of his cxistence. The fear of God, which admits
not a spirit of arguincntation, was licre also the beginning of
human wisdom.
A. For the beginning it was well, and helped him on his
way. But wliy inust it always accompany lim ? It holds
him perpetually in leading strings, and the child never learns
to go alonc. Nust not this be the case in the East ? From
the childish habits and feelings transmitted from the prime-
val world, come the burdensome and slavish Mosaick ceremo-
nial, and instead of the human spirit's elevating itsell, it sank
still lower. Why was this, but because it always looked to
God with a slavish fear, and never lcarned to know its own
powers ?
E. What occasioned the Mosaick ceremonial, we shall
learn in its proper time, and will transfer no later notions to
a period, when milk and honey yet flowed for the child-like
capacity of man in morals also. Foo the child it is well,
when it follows implicitly the instruction of the father. In
the ethical pootry of the Orientals the idca of God is the
15
170
• sun in the firmament, which illuminates the whole horizon
of human existence, and even at a late period marked, with
its clear and distinct radiance, the dial plate of particular
relations and duties. To us of the present day, this sun seems
· too burning and oppressive; then its light was indispensable ;
for this simple, child-like morality, enſorced by reverence for
the Divine Being, and wholly derived from him, was to guide
the nations of the earth in the way, and must therefore be im.
parted to them with a character thus child-likc, simple, rigid,
and elevated. Both in this, and the future world, God was
here represented as the guide and father of men.
A. In the future world too ? There we come upon the
subject of which we at first intended to speak. At how
late a period then, let me remark, and how gradually, from
what trifling considerations, and these mostly inferences,
which infer too much, and proofs, which prove too much,
nay, from blind wishes, and obscure presentiments, has man's
hope of immortality been produced! Adam was carth, and
knew of no immortality. Ile saw Abel lying in blood; the
first death was bewailed, although there was no dead to be-
wail,-yet no angel came to comfort the inourners with the
least hope of immortality.. IIis soul was in the blood, and
was poured out upon the earth ; thence it cricd towards
heaven, and was buried with the blood. Such was thic faith
of the first world, and even after the flood." The fathers
fell asleep, and their life was ended. Their age is named,
and nothing more ; or they are gathered to their fathers, that
is, to the grave. This was in time shaped into a realm of
shades. But read, throughout the Old Testament, the dark,
indistinct, and disconsolate, poctical representations of this
realm of shadows or permit me to offer only one of them to
the remembrance of my deceased friend. If it were possible
for him'to be about us, he would surely now be hovcring licre ;
but even this truth-telling elegy declares, that it is impossible,
that there is no return from the dominions of the dead.
*
* Gen. ix. 4....6.
171
Man, born of woman,.
Is of few days,
And full of trouble.
He cometh forth as a flower, and is cut down,
He fleeth also as a shadow,
And continueth not.
Upon such dost thou open thine eye,
And bring me into judgment with thee?
Among the inipure is there one pure ?
Not one.
Are his days so determined ?
Ilast thou numbered his months,
And sct fast his bound for him,
Which he can never pass
?
Turn then from him, that he may rest,
And enjoy, as an hireling, his day.
The tree hath hope, if it be cut down:
It becometh green again
And new shoots ure put forth.
If even the root is old in the earth,
And its stock die in the ground,
From vapour of water it will bud,
And bring forth boughs, as a young plant.
But man dicth, and his power is gone:
lic is taken away, and where is he?
Till the watcrs waste from the sea,
Till the river fuileth and is dry land,
Man licth low, and riscth not again.
Till the heavens are old, he shall not awake,
Nor be arouscd from his slcep.
Oh! that thou wouldst conccal me
In the realın of departed souls, *
llide me in secret, till thy wrath bc past,
Appoint me then a new term,
And remember me again.
But ulas! if a man die,
)
• To make the sense here intelligible to the English reader, I have
amplified the expression, but without adding to the meaning of the Ger.
man. Whether the original llebrew meuns any thing more than the
grave, as given in our common version, seems at least very questiona.
ble. TR.
172
1
He shall never revive.
So long, then, as my toil endureth,
Will I wait, till a change come to me.
Thou wilt call me, and I shall answer,
Thou wilt pity the work of thy hands.
Though now thou numberest my steps,
Thou shalt thon not watch for my sin.
My transgression will be sealed in a bag,
Thou wilt bind up and removo my iniquity.
Yet alas! the mountain falleth and is swallowed up,
The rock is removed out cfits place,
The waters hollow out the stones,
The floods overllow the dust of the carth,
And thus thou dcstroycst the hope of inan.
Thou contendest with him, till he faileth,
Changcst his countenance, and sendest hiin awøy.
Though his sons become great and happy,
Yet lic knoweth it nota
If they come to shame and dishonour,
lle perceiveth it not.
Could the sentiment be more forcibly expressed, that there is
no return from the realıns of death, that there no knowledgo
of the happiness or miscry of our friends cver reaches us,
and that nothing dwells there, but gloomy obscurity, silence,
and everlasting oblivion ?
E. You are right. But of what return do you suppose
the language here is to be understood ? Obviously of a re-
turn to this life again, to taste the good things of the earth,
which Job was so little able to enjoy. And this it seems to
me does not interfere with the strongest convictions of im-
mortality. Whose soul after death has cvcr returned to
enjoy the blessings of the carth ? That job fully believed in
the continued existence of something in the kingdom of the
dead, we see even here, froin the wish, that God would hide
him there, till his anger was laid aside, and then restore him to
life ; although he saw, that this was too presumptuous a hope,
and hiinself abandoned it. But let us examine more ncarly
173
the belief of the Orientals respecting a realm of shades, and
trace from early times the circumstances, which gave occa-
sion to it, as well as the original notions of the thing itself.
A. In the first conception undoubtedly it was the grave
simply, the abiding and everlasting dwelling place of the
dead ; only that they thought of them to be still living in
their graves. These therefore they denominated houses, of
rest, the dwelling places of endless peace. I have read some
poems of the Arabians, in which they are represented, as
visiting the graves of their friends like dwelling places, con-
versing with them, while yet in their graves, and watering
the dust of their dwellings, or planting them with herbage,
In short this has been in the East an ancient and wide-spread
illusion, which came down among the IIebrew's even to a
late period, and gave occasion to numerous traditions of dia-
logues, of visions, of sufierings, and of journcyings in the
grave. As the soul was conceived to be a inerc shadow, a
living breath, so its place was assigned in subterrancous re-
gions, in a place of rest, and of perfect equality. This it is,
which the complaint of Job represents so feelingly, that there
kings and slaves, servants and their taskmasters, are all free,
all equal and all alike, at rest but powerless, as a shadow with
out distinction of inembers, as a nerveless breath. Thus the
whole you perceive was a mere illusion. The dead were
held so dear, that one could not and must not think of them
as dead, cren in the grave, and thus they were represented
therc, as still having an animate though shadowy existence.
Their living power and energy were destroyed, and they only
wandered and flitted in the realms of the dead, in the dark
netber-world, as limbless and powerless beings. There flow
with a noiseless current the rivers of sadness and sorrow,
there dwells the king of unsubstantial shadows : there earth
subduing conquerors still delight in their tragick scenes, and
cannot frce themselves from the dreams of earth ; but they
are empty shadowy scenes. So David often prays, that God
15*
174
would still give him here his songs of joy and triumph, for
in the realms of dcath all is voiceless and still ; there no songs
of thanksgiving for triumph over conquered cnemics are ever
sung. So too the philosophical author of the Book of Eccle-
siastes, whom you have adduced as testifying to the doctrine
of immortality, says bricily, but well,
What thine hand findeth to do,
Do quickly, while thou hast power,
For there is no work nor device,
There is no knowledge nor prudence,
In the shadowy realm, whither thou goest.
0
Call to mind now your favourite Ossian, and his Colis. The
fathers of his heroes, whose shadow-realm was in the clouds, .
grasp at the sword, but it is only air or vapour, a cloud with
rcddcniny hues, their arm itself too is a shadow, a breath,
that flits with the air. Like them, and like the llebrews, all
ancient nations have had a kingdom of their fathers, a realm
of departed souls, where each follower still the employment,
to which he had been accustomed on earth. Some have rep-
resented thein as assembling in green fields, others in the
clouds; the Orientals, who adlicred to the primitive concep-
tion of the grave, placed them under the carth. The whole
is only a cherishıcd illusion, not a clear and well assured
conception of the immortality of the soul.
It is only a
shadow, like the subject matter, which it represents.
E. Every shadow presupposes a substance, a real being.
An illusion itself is a shadow of truth. Would the illusion of
immortality have been, or have become, as you acknowledge
it has, so universal, if it had not had a universal ground in
the hearts or in the traditions of the human race?
A. In the hearts of men was a wish, a friendship, a hope,
which produced the pleasing, or the painful dream, and even
shaped it perhaps into a universal tradition. Must a man
utterly perish as the brutes ? Would not one gladly wish
175
to live with the sleeping objects of his affection, his fathers,
or his children buried in a premature grave ? Among the
Orientals without doubt the flood gave the first great occasion
for the poetical representation of an empire of the dead.
Consider what an impression upon the subsequent traditions
must be produced by this monstrous event, the engulfing of
thc whole living world.
In those days lived the world-subduers,
The offspring of the sons of God, and the daughters of men.
They were men of power and violence,
: The renowned hcroes of the ancient world.*
Thus it was the Rephaim, the giants, who groan and wail
bencath the waves, whose voice perchance was thought to be
hcard in the roaring billows, and whosc restless motion was
felt in the carthquake and the storm at sca. But these were
the most ancient and gigantick inliabitants of the empire of
death. In process of time these traditions were softened
down, and it was the silent congregation of the dead, which
Job and the IIebrews described. Still the ghosts of heroes
continued always to wander in the nether-world. Ghostly
kings were scated upon shadowy thrones; nay, kingdoms and
states were ilierc, and armies of the slain. (For among the
Orientals not persons only, but things, the instruments of pow-
er and pride, had cach its spirit, and consequently its glost).
Thus this subterrancan rcalın came to have in time its king
also, Belial, the king of powerless and unsubstantial shades;
und Schcol became his palace, a royal residence of invincible
strength, witla brazen gates and bolts. What once became
.
* Gen. vi. 4. The name School itself is derived from that, which
sinks under or is buried, as from the depths of the earth, or the bottom
of the sea.
In many representations Scheol occurs as the ground of a
sunken world, and the Rephaim, the shadow-forms, the ghosts, havo al-
ways in Job and the prophets something of the gigantick. The passages,
lo which Scheol occurs, have been collected and critically examined by
Schcid, (diss. ad cantic. Hiskis).
176
his prey he never suffered to escape, and no captured soul
could ever be redeemed from his grasp. Even in the New
Testament this mythology has given occasion to many con-
ceptions, as of the king and the conqueror of hell, and of
death, who opens the gates, which none could open, who
subdues powers, and frees captive souls, which none could
subdue and set free. The sense of these images is quite
unappropriate, if we apply them to our notions of hell and of
dsath, but within the proper sphere of ancient poctical de-
scription they present a sublime picture of a hero, and of a
ruler, whose dominion is universal. lle in whose power
were the souls of men, (he who had the power of death),
was an unrightful usurper, and the anointed of God wrested
from him his prey. For four thousand years you perceive
men were, without assistance, a prey to these terrific, ghost-
ly powers, slaves, who all their lives long must tremble in
the bonds, and with the fear of death. To this is to be as.
cribed such sorrowful lamentations, as those of liczekiah,
and such want of courage in view of death, which other na-
tions met with heroick resolution. The IIebrews were still
in this point one of the weakest nations o! the carth. The
sad and mournful inages of their ghostly rcalm disquieted
them, and were too much for their self-possession. They
were even more painful, than a belief in utter annihilation.
E. I have permitted you to carry through your discourse,
and your historical deduction of the kingdom of the dead has
been to me like the melancholy plaint of one in afriction,
who finds pleasure in wandering among the shades. You
have studied these realms it secins with much attention. But
turn your cycs now upward to the stars. That is the book
of immortality which God unscals and spreads open to us,
and to all people and nations, with every returning night.
Think too of the quickening, life-giving iufluence of the
morning, which every day is the symbol of our resurrection
a8 sleep is an image of death-a symbol that speaks with
.
177:
clearness, and is every where understood. But do you know
of no other hope, that was revealed to men at a period suf-
ficiently early to support them against the terrors of the grave ?
Who was it, of whom it was said at an early period ?
He lived the friend of God,
And while he walked with God,
He was seen no more,
For God had taken him up.
A. You do not consider this saying, the fragment perhaps
of an ancient song, as a narrative surely of the translation
of Enoch to heaven? It is the soothing echo from the grave
of one, who had prematurely died, and had not attained to
the years of his father, and his brothers. . When children
have yet no conceptions of the other world, we say to them,
“ Your brother is with God! God has taken him away so
early, because he loved him, because your brother was so
innocent.” The first generations of men were still in the
same sort of childhood.
E. I willingly admit it, and at all events a premature re-
moval of an object of affection would make the child-like
impression, which you describe ; just as other nations have
said and believed, “ This innocent and beautiful youth the
Gods have carried off ; this delicate and guileless maider.
Aurora has stolen away." But permit me to say, that this
soſtening of the language in my opinion is hardly satisfacto-
ry for the narrative in question. The pervading tradition
even of other nations has connected with it a more pregnant
sense, and the poetry of the Hebrews has obviously attributed
to it the same, and built upon it. “ God took him to himself,
God took him to his own dwelling placc,” became afterwards
on many occasions the expressive phrase to denote the fate
in the other world of those, who were the favoured of God,
and without doubt the notion was derived from this most an-
cicnt friend of God. He lived in evil days, and was zcalous
178:
for the honour of God; perhaps was scoffed at and persė.
cuted, as in later times was Elijah, the partaker of the same
glorious fate, and the former, as well as the latter, God would
also in the end distinguish with the marks of his approbation.
Not perhaps in so brilliant a manner as Elijah, yet with the
same majestick dignity surely, God conducted his chosen
friend into his own eternal dwelling. So Paul understood
the expression, so the last book of scripture received and
applied it in the image of the two witnesses ascending to
heaven in a cloud, and so it is understood by the kindred na-
tions of the East. The Arabians have a multitude of fables
respecting the wise, the innocent, the lonely, the zcalous, the
prophetick, the persecuted and despised Idris, (so they call
Enoch) whom God received into heaven, and who dwells in
Paradise. Other nations place him upon Albordy, the daz-
zling mountain, on which was held the assembly of the Gods,
as tradition also speaks of his intercourse, not with Jehovah,
but with the Elohiin. This translation of Enoch, instructive
as it was, came at once to be also a matter of peculiar in-
terest, and full of hope, as prefiguring a like removal to
himself or other friends of God.
A. What others ? I recollect no other example but
Elijah.
E. Abraham was a friend of God like Enoch, and you
know how distinctively God is called the God of Abraham,
of Isaac, and of Jacob. He is not the God of the dead, but
of the living, and for him they all live.* For this world these
patriarchs were dead, and without enjoying the promises,
which God had given thein ; they entered into the dwelling
place of their heavenly friend, into a better Canaan; and the
congregation of their fathers became the beautiful family and
* Nothing is proved here from the language of the New Testament
The argument there on the contrary (Mutt. xxii. 32. llcb xi. 13-16)
derives increasod evidence from the fact, that these conceptions woro
mado the ground of representations in the Old Testament.
170
national phrase of the Hebrews, their kingdom of the dead,
or of the blessed. They were like Abraham, like Enoch, in
the Paradise of God their friend.
A. I understand the expression of being gathered to their
fathers, as meaning nothing more than the depositing of one's
dead body, with those of his fathers, in the family tomb.
E. Certainly this external custom, which with good rea-
son is held dear by every people, that has not been broken
off from its own stock, and that retains an affection for its
ancestry, this I say has undoubtedly had an influence in pre-
serving the faith spoken of, and rendered it visible, as it were,
to the sense, but by no means includes the whole of it.
Abraham was gathered to his fathers, though he was not
buried with them, and Jacob wished to go down to the realm
of shades, to his beloved son, although he supposed him to
have been torn in picces by wild beasts. You have eren
yourself related, how all the nations of the earth, even those
we call savage, believe in such an assemblage of their fathers
in the realm of departed souls ; and it is affecting in a sur-
prising degree with what joy the father goes thither to the
embraces of his son, the son to meet with his father, the
mother with her child, and friend with friend. I will give
you an affecting elegy, as a proof of this, and in books of
travels we have a multitude of such witnesses and proofs.
Such were those nations, whose departure was among the
shades, and who must have formed their notions on the old
tradition alonc. From this each nation formed for itself its
kingdom of the dead, its congregation of the fathers, accord-
ing to its own notions and modes of life. The IIebrew
race adhered to the conceptions of their fathers, and since it
was the highest glory of the race, that Abrahanı, that their
father, was the friend of God, could it bo, that God who
loved him here, and who had accompanied him with support
and consolation to the brink of the grave, would now desert
him in the grave ? that he would leave him to the gloomy
180
night of a tyrannical and all observing kingdom of the dead ?
Even now, was the language of their faith, he shows himself
as a friend, and hospitably opens to him his light and glori.
ous dwelling. Ile has taken him to himself-is the beautiful
language even of the Psalms.
A. I recollect one; but to me it is very obscure.
E. We are even now arrived at the house, and will read
a couple of them before wo separate. One of them* sounds
very much like an evening prayer, and some have even con.
sidered it as a funcral elegy of the poet himself.
1
Hear this, all yo nations,
Give car, all inliabitants of the world!
Ye men of low, and men of high degree,
The rich and the poor, listen together.
My mouth shall speak wisdom,
My heart shall mcdiate of prudence,
I will give car to a dark parable,t
I will solve my deep problem on tho harp.
Why should I fear in tho duys of cvil,
Thouylı the injustice of focs environ me?
Thesc have confidence in their strength,
And boast themselves of their great riches.
Can one of them, then redeem his brother,
And deliver him from death?
Can he cven give to God a ransom for him?
Too costly is the price of the soul,
Ile bringcth no ransom forever.
That lie may always continue to live? .
That he may never behold his grave ?
Ile must behold it; for cven thc wisc die,
Just as the fool and the senseless perish, t
* Ps, xlix.
+ The poet listens to his song on the harp, as if it came to him from
the strings of his instrument. Lyrick poctry, singing and instrumental
musick, were then united. The problem, which the poet proposes to
solve, is the prosperity of the ungodly, as we see from what immediately
follows.
1 The fool and the senseless person are here synonymous, as the last
verse of the Psalm shows.
181
And leave their wealth to strangers. ·
Their grave is now their house forever,
Their tent henceforth from age to age.
If they call countries by their names,
The man in honour* abideth not always,
In death he shall be esteemed as the brute,
He must go hence.
This is their fate ; they also perish;
And those after them make them their song.t
As sheep they are driven to Hades,
There death shall feed upon them,
And soon the upright shall rule over them.
Their image is with empty shades beneath,
And there is their habitation.
But my soul will God redeem from Hades,
He will receive me to his habitation.
Fear not then, when one is made rich,
When the glory of his house is increased.
* The man in honour, is one of those distinguished men, who give
their names to countries.
+ I leave it undetermined, whether we are to understand here a song
of praise, or of reproach and mockery. Of both in the mean time they
would be alike ignorant in the realm of shades.
Herder expresses briefly some doubt in regard to the sense of the
last words here, and the editor, Prof. Justi, has given a few critical
remarks upon the whole verse. Instead of translating it, I have thought
it better to give the substance of both his and De Wette's views. The
words translated, "death shall feed upon them," they understand, as a
continuance of the metaphor in the preceding line. Death is a shep.
herd, and after driving them to the nether world, “feeds them there."
The next line they translate, “the upright shall tread upon them,” i. e.
upon their graves, or their dead bodies, with triumph. The remainder
Prof. J. translates their rock decays" i.e. the rocky cave, in which they
arc buried, and “the realm of shades is their dwelling," henceforth their
only dwelling. De W. “The nether, world marg their form." "By
reason of theis dwelling place," i. e. the grave. In the preceding parts
of the Psalm, where Herder differs from the English translation, De
Wette very nearly coincides with it. TR.
16
182
In death he shall carry nothing away,
And his glory shall not descend with him.
While he lived, he did well for himself,
And thou art praised, if skilled for thine own good.
Soon he goes to the dwelling of his fathers,
His eternal house, and sces the light no more ;
Now proud of wealth, and void of sense,
Thon like a bruto, and banished hence.
A. I have never apprehended so clear a connexion in the
sentiments of thie Psalm.
E. Yet it is accordant with the meaning of the words ;
and the distinction, which we spoke of, is clearly recognized.
Thc mcrcly sensual souls, who indulge in vain boasting and
display, who know nothing but the pleasures of scnsc, and
arc without understanding, arc driven down like shcop, where
(according to a representation sufficiently horrible) death
fccds upon and devours them; while God redeems the souls
of the upright from IIades, and rcceives them into liis own
habitations. The former wasto away a prcy to death, and
the upright rule over them in the morning, i. c. soon, early,
as after a night of sleep, the light of a fairer morning goes
forth. The other Psalm, to which I refcrred, marks this
distinction still more clearly. In that, God takes the dicad
body of his chosen under his protection even in the grave,
and from the night of the grave points out a secret path to
the dwelling places of his own hcavenly light.
A. I understand that Psalm as little as the forrner one.
It must be I suppose the prayer of a priest labouring under
discase, whom God supplics with food and drink, and who
prays for a speedy restoration to health.
E. It is as clearly a prayer of David, as it is one of his
most peculiar and characteristick Psalms. IIis form of ex-
pression, and his personal character may be traced in every
verse.
:
Preserve me O God, for in thec do I trust,
.183
I said to Jehovah, thou art my God,
My happiness hangs all upon thee.*
The sanctuaries of his land,
I hold them dear,t
In them is all my delight.
Let others serve their many idols,
And offer them strange sacrifices.
They are offerings of blood; such will I not offer.
I will not take their names upon my lips.
Jehovah is my portion, and ny cup,
In abundance thou hast cast me my lot,
Pleasant places have fallen to me,
And I have a goodly heritage.
Therefore will I praise Jehovah,
Who hath given me counsel,
By night also my heart goeth after him.
Jehovah is continually before me,
lic is my dofence, I shall not be moved.
Therefore my heart rejoiccth,
My soul cxulteth within mo,
My body also shall rest sccure,
For thou wilt not leavo my soul
To dwoll in the realm of shades,
Nor suffer thy faithful scrvant
In the grave to sce corruption.
Thou wilt show me the way to life,
The fulness of joy in thy presence,
And of plcasures with thco forever.
This Psalm scems to me, both in regard to its contents, and
in its relation to the character of David, to be perfectly clear.
The expression," God is on my right hand," i. e. as a friend
he acts in conjunction with me and for me, the circumstan-
ces enumerated, that God has given him a fair inheritance
• Herder defends this translation by supposing a different reading of
the text. Do Wette translates “there is no happiness for me without
thee," or independent of thee. Tr.
+ Here also a conjectural reading is adopted and the conjunotion at-
sached as tho suffix pronoun to a preceding word. T..
184
not received from his father, (the crown among God's pecul.
iar people); this has fallen to him through the councils of
God and his disposition of the lot, (as their lot once fell
to the tribes, and God often instructed and sustained him in
his afflictions) ; therefore he cleaves so fast to God, longs
after him, esteems so highly the sanctuary of Jehovah, and
thinks upon it by day and by night, will have no intercourse
with foreign idolatrous kings and their offerings ; but esteems
Jehovah his portion and his cup, i. e. an inherited golden
cup, used on festival occasions, the honour and ornament of
the family, a costly inheritance, which he will exchange for
nothing else--do not all these appear to you very intelligi.
ble, and characteristick of David ?* Every trait can be au-
thenticated from his life and from other Psalms.
A. And what further in relation to the future world ?
E. God, who was his friend, his father, and his portion
here, will not leave him even in the night of the grave : (there
his body rests under the special protection of God); his
faithful friend and scrvant-Chasid-he will not give over to
the terrors of the realms of death ; he will show him a way
from the darkness of the grave, to his own dwelling of light,
and receive him there with hospitality as a father and friend.
You sce clearly in this the conception, which was formed
from the translation of Enoch, which the congregation of the
Chasidim, the friends of God, Abraham, Moses, &c. more
distinctly impressed, which afterwards the translation of Eli-
jah confirmed, and which finally became the Paradise, the
dwelling of the fathers, and a perpctual banquet of joy in
Abraham's bosom-conceptions, which we still find in the
New Testament, and which here were spiritualized, illustra-
• That David is to be regarded in this Psalm, as the type of the Mes.
siah, is scen from the New Testment, but does not belong here. We
speak here of the character of the person thore spcaking, and of tho sena
timents contained in the Psalm according to their proper connexion.
185
ed, and beautifully confirmed, as the last poetical book of
scripture especially shows.
A. But it is said, the Hebrews adopted the Egyptian my-
thology of the Islands of the dead.
E. Two poets, who were fond of Egyptian imagery, Mo-
ses and Job, have once used an expression denoting a quick
passage by ship into the other world ; and these are the only
traces of it. This mythology never gained a place among
the Hebrews, and could not ; for they had much better images
belonging to the traditions of their own race and nation.
They knew nothing of judges in Ilades, nor of Charon; and
their Belial is any thing else rather than one of these forms.
lle is, as you observed, a king of powerless shades, and
Scheol, hell, is his kingdom, his dwelling place. Their king-
dom of the fathers in the presence of God, is surely not de-
rived from Egypt.
A. And the resurrection of the dead ?
E. It is a conception pertaining to the kingdom of the
Messiah, as this was already confirmed by the figurative de-
scriptions of the prophets; and we shall speak of it hereafter.
For the present I must bid you good night! we are both
going into the arms of the representative and image of death,
and, according to the later analogical representation of the
pocts, the souls of the good are cvcn in sleep in the Paradise
of God.
APPENDIX.
1 JOB'S DESCRIPTION
OF TIIE KINGDOM OF THE DEAD.*
Wherefore did I not perish in the womb ?
Why not expire, as soon as I was born ?
Why did the knees receive and sustain me?
Why did I learn to hang upon the breast ?
Now should I have lain still and been quiot,
• Job, iii. 11. x. 20.
16*
186
I should have slept and been at rest
With kings and rulers of the earth,
Who built desolate places for their graves;
With princes who had abundance of gold,
And filled with treasures their houses of death.
Like an untimely birth I had been buried,
Like infants which never beheld the light.
There the wicked coase from troubling,
There the weary are at rest.
There the prisoners rejoice in their freedom,
And hear not the voice of the oppressor.
The small and the great are equal,
The servant is freo from his master.
Are not my days few, and my life as nothing ?
Let me alone, that I may rest a little,
Before I go hence, and return no more,
To the land of darkness and the shadow of death,
The land of dark obscurity and gloomy shadows,
Where disorder reigns, and even tho light is as darkness.
2 SKETCHES FROM AN ARABIAN ELEGY
OX TIE DECEASED MOTHER OF A HERO.*
We held our swords and lances ready,
Yet fato without an onsct slew us.
We held swift horses on the foot, .:
And yet they boro us not away
From swift destruction's touch.
Whoever lived and loved not this fair world?
And yet enjoyment here is sought in vain.
Thy portion in this life and all we love
Imparts but visions and phantastick dreams.
* This is inserted here to show how poor are the consolations of a
people, who are without the hope of immortality. The leading thought
in Arabick poems of this kind is, “ the grave is our eternal dwelling,
the dead are inhabiters of the dust, which waits for us all. The voice,
which they utter there, is but the hollow and sepulchral sound of the
dead," &c. Ilow much more beautiful ideas on the other hand were
gradually unfolded in the poetry of the Hebrews will be shown in the
specimen following this.
187
Divine compassion strews the hanuth,*
Upon the face, whose beauty is its veil.
The body wastes away beneath the earth,
While thought to us still paints it fresh and new.
The robe of honour over thee is spread,
For thine own son thy power retains.
Now may thy lowly bed of resit
Imbibe the droppings of the morning cloud,
Gentle as thine own hand hath been.
To thino own place hast thou thyself betaken,
Where not the South, nor yet the Northern breeze,
The sweet perfume of incense wafts to thee,
Nor sprinkles o'er thee soft and cooling showers.
A dark abode, where every dweller stays
A stranger, banished always from his home,
And all its tics asunder torn.
There dwells the chaste, the self.protected,
Still pure as water in the clouds of heaven,
Reserved, but true and faithful in discourse;
The great physician now has healed her pain.
We still but help each other to our graves,
And generations following after still,
But trample on the heads of those before.
How many an eye that once was gazed upon,
Is now filled full with stony earth and sand t!
How many now their eyes have closed forever,
Whom no misfortune ever blinded.
Take rcfugc, Saiphoddaulah, in thy patience,
And mountains cannot reach thy firmness;
For much of time and change hast thou endured,
And through all change hast thou remained the same.
* A fragrant powder, which the Arabians strowed upon the face of the
dead. The veil here spoken of is that, with which the body of the dead
was covered.
+ A common wish uttered by the Arabians at the grave. They believed
that even the dead were refreshed by it. They planted their graves
also with evergreen trees, and with flowers, which the women on festival
days sprinkled with water. See Reiske in Motanabbi, from the trans-
lation of which the traits exhibited in this little piece are taken.
1 An allusion to a powder for the eyes, a well known ornament among
the Orientals.
188
THE LAND OF THE FATHERS, ACCORDING
TO THE ISRAELITISU NOTIONS AND REPRESENTATIONS.
He's gone from earth! to what far region going ?*
The friend of God-but here no longer known,
The friend of God-our God his love bestowing
Has placed bim dear his throne.
Tho vile and Godless crow, to sin consenting,
Go down in death beneath the occan's waves,
Thoir ghosts with rage and shame themselves tormenting
In hell's deep hollow caves.t
But after him the Godlike throng pursuing
Shall dwell in Paradise at God's right hand,
Where now, as strangers here the prospect viewing,
They see the promisod land.
Thy friend, Elijah, thero at length appearing, il
Shall soar a conqacror to the lofty sky,
Upborne by fiery steeds, no danger fcaring,
To thce, our God, on high.
Nor shall bis chosen in their graves deserted,
Be left by him, their friend, to cndless night,
But in the realm of shades his rights asserted,
Shall raise them to the light.
For thy supporting hand, Jehovah, pleading,
I'll enter death's obscure and gloomy road, T
Thy hand shall hold me fast, and upward leading,
Shall guide to thine abode.
* Gen. v. 24. Enoch's translation.
+ Gen. vi. 17. The deluge is bero referred to as the probable
origin of the Hebrew notion of the Rephaim in the kingdom of the doad.
Job. xxvi. 5. 6.
1 Gon. xxv. 8. The congregation of the fathers. Soo Mom. xx.
32. Heb. xi. 13-16.
H 2 Kinge ti. 11. 12. Ps. lxviii, 18. Hab. iii. 8. $ Ps. xvi. 10. 11.
I Po. viii. 4. &. Pa. lxxiii. 23. 24.
189
Though from my sight the earth and sky are vanished,
Though soul and body languish, faint, and die,
Yet thee shall I behold, nor o'er be banished,
In fairer worlds on high.
And hell with all its captive throng restoring,
Shall he, who once descended, upward bring,
I hear them cry, in realms of light adoring,
Oh death! where is thy sting ?t
* Ps. Lxxiii, 25. 26.
+ 1 Cor. xv. 55-57..
DIALOGUE VʻIII.
Of poetry which relates to providence. Whether it represents the events
.
which take place in the world, as resulting from a game of chance,
which God is playing with them. Whether its sublimo representations
of the agency of God, as contrasted with that of man, tends to bring
the soul to a state of inaction. Explanation of certain ancient tra.
ditions, from which the later representations of providence were de.
rived. Representation of God, as the avenger of secret sins in the
history of Cain. Affecting and poetical traits in the narrative. Rec-
titude united with benignity in early apprchonsions of God. Transi.
tion to certain animated personifications in the poctry of later times.
Of blood calling for vengeance, of crying sins, of the bird of retriba.
tion, &c. Explanation of the language of God to Cain. Of the
judgment of the deluge. By what principles we are to judge of cvents
of this sort.
In what style of representation the traditions of this
event were conceived. New forni and appearance of the carth aftor
the delugo. Of the traditions respocting giants, the sons of God, the
journal of events in the Ark, the olivo leaf, tho rainbow and the in.
cense of the first offering upon tho renowed carth. Why the rainbow
became the sign of a new covenant. Of the rainbow in the poetry of
Northern nations, represented as a giant's bridge. Of the tower of
Babel. Of the aim and tho style of the whole narrative. What is
meant by the expression, a mighty hunter before tho Lord. Implied
derision and mockery in the whole tradition. General character of
poetry relating to Babylon throughout the Scriptures. Isaiah's elogy
on the king of Babylon. Of God as the conqueror and punisher of
tyrants. Vindication of the brief antithoocs, which occur in tho poet.
ical descriptions of providence. Impression made by this poctry on
the heart. Comparison of Oriontal with other forms of poetry in
regard to providence. Pictures of providenco from Job. Service
which this poctry has rendered to humanity. Appendix, containing
two Psalms and Job's Pindaric odo in praiso of true wisdom.
In a social conversation, at which our two friends wore
present, many touching proofs of an over-ruling providence
were related.
Examples were mentioned showing how
singularly many were forewarned of misfortune, and even
thereby snatched from danger, how richly the children of the
191
4
poor and virtuous are often provided for, how unexpectedly
deeds of baseness are brought to light, and punished accord-
ing to the law of rigorous retribution, and how the prayers
of the upright and pious are often answered in a remarkable
manner, with other things of the like kind. Each of the
company had contributed his mite from his own experience,
and the company separated with very agreeable impressions.
Our Oriental friends remained together, and Alciphron pur-
sued his mode of thinking as follows.
ALCIPIIROX. Did not the conversation, with which we
have been entertained, seem to you, my friend, now and then
to partake a little too much of human weakness? If we
consider every event, as the result of divine purpose, regard
all events as having moral relations, and refer back to God
every act, which we ourselves do, with its happy or unhappy
results, every thing sceins too littlc, too narrow, and con-
strained. In our conversations on the subject, you have in-
deed taken decidedly the opposite side, but have rather
calmed my feelings, than convinced my judgment. Even in
the poetry of the Orientals, men are disposed of by a game
of chance, as the objects, which the invisible mover changes
about as he wills, and independently of any choice of theirs.
This may indeed, as you recently remarked, give to their
poctry a species of dignity and simplicity. Yet I fear it
must be only in words, or at best a sort of beclouded and
uncdifying simplicity. It reduces men to a state of stupidity
and weakness, in which at length they give themselves op
passively to the will of God, and cease to act frcely at all.
They only sing, praise God in hymns, and in short keep a
perpetual holyday. The poctry, of which we are speaking
which shows in sublime contrasts how God works and con-
trols all things, is like a somniferous sound, that puts an end
to our doings, a gentle opiate of the soul. It extols the
works of God, but neglccts to describe with distinctness and
effect the characters and doings of men in their progress to-
192
wards the happiness and misery, which are the consequence
of these. It leaves men undistinguished in the dazzling and
overpowering light of God's glory, and blinds them in regard
to a knowledge of themselves. Or if man will be a judge
of the ways of God according to his own limited rule of moral
judgment ; how short-sighted, harsh, partial, and arrogant a
judge does he become! The poetry of the Orientals, taken
in connexion with their history, shows this abundantly. The
former flics, the latter crccps ; in history all is quicscent, or
wicked, in poetry comfort is sought by ascribing it to God
and there the matter is ended. It seems to me, that in this
point of vicw it has rendcrcd but little service, cither to the
understanding, or the heart of man, It has ratlıcr held him
back, and veiled him with a cloak of divino magnificence, or
by bringing his doings in comparison with the course of divine
government, placed him upon siilts, where he must either
fall, or learn to go alone with great difficulty.
EUTUYPHRON. I see, my friend, the root of your prejudi-
ccs is still always in yourself, and unless this is eradicated,
it is in vain to discourse of the beauty of any poctry whatever.
What would be the use of the sublimest poctry in the world,
if it were but an opiate for the soul, or a vcil for the eyes,
to prevent our knowing the real forms of things, and the true
course of events. But how, think you, shall we best pursue
the inquiry? Have not these notions, and this representation
of divine providence, resulted from the influence of particular
traditions and events? They have at least remained closely
connected with these ancient events, and, in their later appli.
cation even, reference is always had to these. Shall we not
then trace the stream from its fountain ? for I confcss to you
I would not willingly enter into vague and barren discussions
under this azurc firmament.
A. Neither would I ; and the histories of Cain, of Abel,
of the flood, of the tower of Babel, of Sodom and Gomorrah,
of the patriarchs, are all alike before us, and from these per-
haps all such notions have originated.
193
E. Let us first consider, then, the history of Abel. It
stands there like a mournful flower, marked with blood, and
in its simplicity just as poetical as it should be, for a proof of
the punitive justice and the providence of God.
Whero is Abcl thy brother ?*
What dced hast thou done?
The voice of thy brother's blood
Crics to me from the carth.
And now cursed art thou, an exile in the earth,
Which hath opened her mouth,
The sircam of thy brother's blood
To drink from thy hand.
When thou shalt till the ground,
It shall not yield thee its strength,
A fugitivo and vagabond shalt thou bo in the earth.
What do you most admirc in this language, the severity oi
the judgc, or the tenderness of the father? And who shall
inflict vengeance here, if God does not inflict it? The fa-
ther ? But shall the father avenge the blood of his son upon
his first-born ? And must the guilt remain unpunished ?
Shall the blood of a brother be shed like the blood of a brute,
and men be hardened in savage cruelty and wickedness?
And how if the murderer conceal his crime, and fwhen called
in question, rebel against his father himself? The voiceless
earth could not rcycal the transgression to the father of the
race, but to God it made known the deed; the blood cried
out and called for punishment. Observe how naturally, and
how forcibly, every thing is set forth here,—the blood crying
for vengeance, (and for a long time the living soul was sup-
posed to be in the blood ;) the ground proclaiming the deed ;
the maternal carth, which received the blood of her son from
the hand of his brother, drank it, as it were with horror, and
afterwards refused to the murderer the free enjoyment of her
fruitful energies. Observe, with what strict justice God in-
* Gen. iv. 9.
17
194
flicts punishment; for the curse, which he pronounces, only
unfolds the consequences of sin. The murderer could no
longer remain in the house of his father, for there he would
be the occasion of misery to himself and to all. lle could
not stay in the region, where the crime was committed ; for
the blood raised its voice, the echoing carth cried out, and
he himself said, “Every one that finds mc, will slay mo ; I
must be a fugitive and a vagabond on the carth.” The mer.
ciful judge, therefore, did what the perplexed criminal knew
not how to do. IIc removed him from his family, and from
the circumstances which awakened his recollection and hor.
ror of the deed. IIc gave him another, perhaps unfruitful
and mountainous, but for him sccurc region, and even became
himself surety for the prescrvation of his life. Thus the
blood of his brother was atoned for without a bloody revenge.
The living is spared and punishicd. Do you not then consider
this history, as a model of paternal justice ? and is not the
whole tradition, in its several traits, fitted to alarm, to warn,
to sooth, and to bcncfit?
A. And has it produced these effects ?
E. Certainly. Recollect the example of blood crying for
vengeance even in the last book of the:scriptures. The souls,
which are represented as under the altar,* are the blood of
the slain, which had been spilled, as Ahel here may be con-
ceived, in a figurative sensc, to be an oífering, as it were, upon.
the altar. They call for vongcance upon their persccutors,
but white robes are given them; they are withdrawn from
their blood, and put off in their expectations to the day of
God's vengeance. So through the whole of the Old Testa-
ment the blood of prophets and witnesses for the truth calls
for revenge, but God has rcscrved it for himself. Ile is
the judge of all violence and outrage, cspecially of all secrei
sing and deeds of shame. That, of which no man makes
* Rev. vi. 9. 10.
195
complaint, has a voice for him. : That, which none on earth
can or will punish, he must call to account in right of his
authority, as the father and judge of the whole race of man.
!
Thou hast set our iniquities before thec,
Our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.*
This is the pervading peculiarity of Biblical poetry, and truly
a sublime and instructive idea for the human race. By
means of this, God awakened the consciences of men, and
softened them, at least through the influence of fear and
tcrror. Their hands were to be restrained from deeds of
blood, cyen the blood of revengc, and hence the voice of
inisdccds was made to speak thus audibly.
A. But this purpose is not attained. lIow unn.crciful is
the avenger of blood in Arabia even to the present day; and
ainong the IIebrows, it became necessary for Moses to soften
and moderate the existing custom by special laws.
E. From this nothing more can be inferred, than that the
fire of revengeful passions was kindled decp in the hearts of
this peoplc, and that what was of a good tendency only sof-
tened and moderated their cruel and hard-hearted propen-
sities in a less degrec, than it should have donc. According
to the representations of Arabick poctry, the poison of asps
distils from the dead body of the slain, and continucs to do
so, till hic is avenged, that is, sprinkled with fresh blood.7 A
bird of bloody omen rises from the blood, and follows the mur-
derer. Thus, the office of the avenger of blood is inherited
from gcncration to generation, and the avenger becomes in
his turn the prey of the avenger. Every tone and word, that,
in regard to this maddening passion, tends to soften the
human heart, and direct the thoughts upwards, is a gift from
* Ps. xc. 8.
† A number of Arabick pocms containing such sentiments may be
seen in the Hamasa, and many proofs of such a belief are found in their
history.
1
196
heaven, and it is not the fault of the instruction, contained in
these traditions and this poetry, but of the revengeful spirit
of the Orientals, that it has been applied with no better effect.
But there are, in fact, undeniable evidences of moderation,
and beautiful examples of it in the Psalms and Prophets.
Ilow forcible and concise is the complaint of Job.
Dline eye is dim with weeping, *
On mine eyelids rest already
The shadows of death.
No robbery is in my hands,
And my prayer is pure.
( Earth, cover not my blood !
Let my cry go up continually!
For lo! my witness is in hcaven,
My witness dwelleth on high.
My friends are but mockers;
Mine cye looketh with tears to God.
Tender and subdued feelings of this sort are the most beau-
tiful aim of the poet, as they are an honor to humanity,
A. But would it not have been better, if the judge, as a
father, had anticipated the crimc of Cain, and so every crime,
rather than have punished it after it was committed ?
E. He did what was possible in the nature of things, and
so he does now. and always. IIe did in fact anticipate.
Jehovah looked not upon the offering of Cain,
And Cain was wroth, and his countenanco fell.
Then said Jehoval, why art thou wroth ?
And wherefore is thy countenance fallen?
In doing well, shalt thou not be accepted ?
And if thou docst evil, lc, sin is lurking
(As a ravenous beast +) at thy door.
He aims at thec, and thou shalt subdue him.
* Job. xvi. 16-20.
+ The verb here is used in the Arabick of the lurking of wild beasts ;
and there is no doubt, that sin is here personified as a ravenous beast, a
lion, or tiger, that, hungry and blood-thirsty, was lurking at the door of
197
This was all which could be said to Cain. God spake with
him. as with a froward child, and dissuaded him from yielding
to that, which was sleeping in his hcart, and lurking at his
door, like a beast of prey. The criinc so near being commit-
ted could not have been pictured more truly or more ſcarſul-
ly. And what God did to Cain, he does to every man, if he
will but look to his own licart, and listen to the voice of God
in his conscience.
A. But how will you vindicate the judge in regard to the
deluge? Ilow is it to be justified, that on account of a few
Icading men and giants hic inflicted punishment upon the
whole world, sullcred cvery living creature, even the brutes,
to perish, “because all flesh had corrupted his way," and
delivered cight persons with what could be taken with them into
the ark, as alone innocent ? Does not this tradition give the
most narrow and partial impression, that can be conccived ?
E. The judge of the world needs the vindication of none
of his crcatures ! Thosc destinies, to which the whole carth
is subjected, are laws of nature, to which cvery individual
must be subject. It is ill philosophizing over the ruins of a
sunken capital of an cinpirc, or of a perished continent. als
to the brutcs, do tbcy not always follow the destiny of man ?
and, if we must philosophize, might we not, on the ground
of their daily abuse, without much difficulty reason them out of
the world? We must not then judge of this event and tradition,
and contemplate it as metaphysicians, but in its physical and
moral relations, and then see what impression it is fitted to
make. All its accounts of the corruption of the human race
seem to meet together with a heavy and sad impression.
A. Because they are taken froin traditions of a violent
Cain. Letto (in Symbol. liter. Bremens, P. III. p. 563.) adduces two
veges out of the Tograi, which are very apposite here. My friend
is where enemies are lurking as lions lurk round the haunts of the young
deer." So too the resisting of temptation, and the overcoming of sin,
cuuld not be represented to Cain under a more apposite image.
17*
198
and gigantick race, and come to us only through those, who
escaped the deluge.
E. So much the more original arc thcy. The painful
and distressing part of the account, and of the whole record
of the ark, is the best pledge of its antiquity. Compare our
years and our faculties with the years and tho faculties of
thosc Titans, the first-born of the ancient world, wlio yet felt
in themselves the fresh energies of creation, and devoted tliem
to oppression, luxury, licentiousness, and crime alone. Ilow
much even now can a base man, possessed of power and
distinction, accomplish in his brief span of life-and low
much, thell, could they cflect in their thousand years ? per-
haps too with much cultivation, and an entire predominance
of the power of evil. On these grounds, I can readily credit
the ancient tradition.
Jehovah saw the wickedness of micn,
That it was great upon the earth.
Their imaginations, the thoughts of their hearts,
Were only evil and continually.
It repented hiin, that he had made mcn,
that is, men, who could be so carly and so widely sunk and
abandoned in wickedness. llerc too, therefore, he acts, as
a judge, and in father; he gave the earth another ordinance,
and subjected it to new laws.
A. To now law's do you say ?
E. Obviously. After thic flood, the period of human life
is visibly diminished, and however onc may account for the
deluge, it certainly resulted from the natural laws of the
earth in the existing stage of its formation. It had been
gradually and slowly formed, and raised above the waters.
For a long time, and at different periods, the water had stood
above the earth, and in the first period of its being inhabited,
extensive deluges in all parts of it were not unfrequent.
Perhaps too, at that period, only the higher clevations of the
earth's surface were at all inhabitable, the remainder being
199
ܪ
still under water, or exposed to sudden overflows. A sudden
shock, or any cssential change, might bring back the water
upon
the inhabited parts of the earth ; and perhaps this was
dono by a change in the position of the carth's axis. In
short, every thing at that time came into the course', in which
it is now proceeding, and the first heroick age must ncccssa-
rily perhaps be only the temporary condition of the race in
the carly progress of its development, while shaping (and
misshaping) itself in the cxercise of its untried powers;
which condition also had been designed with reference to
this change in the state of the carth. To the beginning of the
development and formation of our racc pertained a lung pe-
riod of life, such as scarcely belongs to our condition now.
l'ithout doubt there was then a corresponding state of the
carth, such as no longer exists. After the flood, God made
a new covenant, a new crdinance for the scasons, tlic custoins
of life, laws and length of days, and from this point, properly
speaking, though still in a dim and obscurc dawning of light,
our history has its origin. The aricdiluvian history sounds
lo us, only as a fabulous account of hcrocs and giants, coming
over the floods of a sunken world.
A. Would that we know something more of these fables
of giants.
L. Wc ought to wish for no such thing, and even the few
traces that we have of thein have been wickedly abused.
What fictions have not been invented out of what is said of
the sons of God, who went in to the daughters of men ? and
yet the expression “sons of God," i. c. nobles, heroes, men of
superior power, beauty, and strength, is common and current
in all heroick songs:-but we are wandering from our purpose.
A. I do not think so. That this sad fate of the earth, if
it was only the course of naturc, should be considered as a
punishment of the giants, and of their intercourse with the
daughters of men ; that Noah should learn to regard himself,
as the one alone chosen for deliverance, as the favorite of
200
God, and the only worthy and upright man-needs an expla-
nation.
E. IIe was so, and therefore ought so to regard himself.
As his name implics, God through him procured the earth
rest from the tyrants. He had been greatly afliicted, and saw
himself, though in a difficult and painful manner, alone de-
livered from death. Ilow narrow and limited is his confine-
ment in the ark! With what longing docs hic open the
window of the ark, aud perinit the birds to fly out! With
what emotion, and what fccling of returning confidence, is
the first discovered olive leaf of the dove regarded! The
whole narrative contains not a word of insult, or malicious
joy, over the perished world, but rather the saddened emotion
of the little band, who had escaped, who looked upon the first
lovely rain-bow, as a sign of the returning sun, and of the
favor of God, and who stopped forth, with a kind of drcam-
ing joy, upon thc muddy surface of their ancient mother
earth. 66 Jehovah smelled the sweet savor of thcir first offcr-
ing, and blessed the earth, and resolved that he would not
again destroy it.” Can the feelings of men be more strongly
expressed, than God himself here feels them as it were for
thein ? Ile sees the returning bow in the cloud with the joy
of a father, and makes it,—the image of his own goodness,
the first glance of the joyous cyc of the world upon the dark
masses of clouds,-to become the sign of his unchangeable
covenant. IIe encompasscs the carth with a fresh and in-
separable chorus of joyful seasons, and these still attend its
course.
A. I have never contemplated the account in this light,
and have often wondered, how a flccting phenomenon in the
clouds could become the meinorial of a perpetual covenant.
E. Of a covenant so sure, that, as Isaiah* bcautifully
interprets this account, the mountains and hills shall be re-
* Isa. liv. 7-10.
201
moved, before this promise of God shall fail. So the tradi-
tions of the North, after their fashion, represent the rainbow
as a bridge, which shall stand firm even to the end of the
world, and can be broken asunder only at the final shaking
of the firmamenta stiff and harsh derivation, it must be
confessed, from this original and child-like tradition, but yet
containing the sense of it. The other wide spread gloss on
the subject is indicated here too, that since the world is not
again to be destroyed by water, it is to be consumed by fire.
In short, my friend, man is a moral being, and should learn
to view every thing under its moral aspect. The carth must
be punished by the waters of the flood, and thosc, who were
saved, must bring with them into their new world the im-
pression, how fearfully God punished the predominance of
crime. The laws prescribed by Noah are therefore strict
and determinate. They indicate the height, to which cor-
ruption had attained in former times, and sketch, as it were,
the first rights of the pcoplc, I might say, of brutes and men,
on the renewed carth. So soon as in the building of the
tower of Babel, an appearance of like proceedings on the
part of the great and powerful occurred,--the judgment of
heaven is again awake to confound then.
A. IIere we come upon a delightful fable! All men are
of one specch and one language, and, as if they might always
have remained so, as if such marvellous confusion would
scarcely have been necessary in the least degree in the
natural course of things, they must build a tower, whose top
sloulu rcach to heaven, and God must find it necessary to
keep a watch upon the progress of the building, and use
carncst precautions respecting it. Ilc came to the conclu-
sion, it seems, that they would not desist, until he performed,
I know not what miracle, upon their lips and language, in
order that what had always happened might happen again,
that is, that they might be scattered abroad upon the earth.
Pardon me, if I find the narrative in itself, and as a specimen
202
But do you
of the judgments of heaven, rather too strongly characterized,
by simplicity.
E. If you look at it in this light, it is so.
observe in what connexion the tradition occurs !
A. In the midst of genealogical registers.*
E. And immediately after those, which are divided ac-
cording to languages, countries, and nations. The collector
of these traditions had some expericnce and understanding,
as well as we, and knew, that with nations, tribes, and wan.
dering migrations, languages also were distinguished. But
on this very account he inserted here this singular tradition,
in order to show by what event men were brought under the
hard necessity of being dispersed and separated from cach
other.
A. And this you suppose was the child-like enterprise of
building a tower up to heaven?
E. It is here represented as childish, and has a childish
result. Because they were of one speech and language, they
would build a tower to heaven, and cven while they were
building they become diverse in speech and language. They
would have a visible mark to prevent their being dispersed,
and became dispersed. The purpose of the narrative is ob-
vious.
A. But the descent and fearſul precaution of God on ac-
count of it?
E. It is obviously said in mockery, as in fact, the whole
tradition is of this character. Ilave you never read the Psalm,
Why do the nations rage,
And imagine a vain thing?
The kings of the carth are assembled,
The rulers take counsel against Jehovahoo
Ile that dwelleth in the heavens shall laugh,
Jchovah shall hold them in derision.
* Gen. xi.
203
Here you have the best commentary on the whole narrative.
Look at the foregoing chapter. Who ruled in Babel ? who
was the builder of it?
A. “ Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the Lord.”
E. And why is he called so ? Certainly not for the foolish
reason, that he hunted foxes and hares on the plains of Shi- .
nar, where there were neither mountains nor forests,-not to
Inention, that one does not hunt such animals before the Lord,
in any peculiar sense. If it were intended to say this, it
would indeed be the most weak and simple of all sayings.
But what is meant by a hunter in Ilcbrew ?
A. A lurking enemy.
L. “ A mighty hunter,” therefore means a crafty, lurking
enemy, of great power, one who ensnares men, and oppresses
thern with cunning and force. Such was Nimrod, according
to the universal tradition of the East, in which he is often
mentioned, and the same thing is contained in the narrative,
which you are so much disposed to ridicule. He found a
delightful plain, materials, and willing laborers, for building
himself a residence and a royal tower. To the subdued and
easily deceived savages, that he had drawn together, he pre-
tended, that it was a token of their security and of their
lasting union, but in his own purpose it was a monument of
his pride and of their slavery. Now you are aware, that the
most ancient times represented the skies as the dwelling
place of God, and therefore, whatever approached them ob-
truded itself upon the region peculiarly belonging to him,
and, as it were, encroached upon his throne. In just this
sense the narrative says,
Go to, let us build a city and tower,
Whose top may reach to heaven.
And God, condescending to imitate their resolve, says in turp.
Go to, let us go down now,
And there confound their language.
204
They have begun their work,
And nothing will be restrained,
Till the work is accomplished.
Do you not perceive a continued strain of sarcasm very ob-
vious here?
A. I am surprised, that I never rcinarked it before.
E. And the greatest reproach of all lies in the result of
their mighty enterprise. They resolved to scale the heavens,
God stood in fear for the safety of his thronc, was assured
that they would not desist from their gigantick enterprize,
and to prevent their success--only laid his finger upon their
lips, changed the articulation of the breath, and there are
the ruins of their cntcrprize. It is called confusion, Babel,
an everlasting monument of their pride, brought low by a
mere nothing. The narrativo accords with the spirit of
the thing. It is the finest example of satire expressed,
with unaffected simplicity, by the event itself, where the
great and the little, the purposed ascent of men, the des-
cent of God, the confidence and arrogance of the former, the
insecurity and dread of the latter, togсther with the singular
means, by which he knows how to free himself from danger,
are placed silently side by side. The confusion of that little
particle of air, which is articulated in the mouth, does more
than a tempest of lightning and thunder; the usurper of the
throne of God stands confounded and put to shame. He
and his royal tower are--a proverb of reproach. “ This
was the mighty hunter before thc Lord,” who ventured to
compare himself with him, and resolved to raise himself con-
spicuously before his eyes, and mount upward towards the
heavens upon the shoulders of betrayed and oppressed hordes
of the human race. That my explanation is the truc one is
witnessed by all the writings of the IIcbrew poets respect-
ing Babylon. They all have precisely the tone and character
of this first tradition.
A. The same tone and character ?
205
E. All are satires upon Babylon, in accordance with the
general spirit and expression of this tradition. As it is here,
80 every where, Babylon is another name for pride, mag-
nificence, arrogance, oppression of the people and of nations,
crafty policy and tyrannical domination. It is continually,
as it is here, thic syrobol of daring impicty against God, of
arrogant and ambitious enterprises, aspiring to the heavens,
and a throne among the stars ; but, at the same time, of con-
fusion and desolation, and of the derision with which God
looks upon the giant projects of men. The laughty queen
has always, as here, the cup of trembling in her hand, from
which slic first causes the nations to drink, and must at last
drink herself. IIer glory is then brought down to the dust,
and its scattered ruins are called-Babcl.
A. You will cnable me, I perceive, to look at all the
prophets more understandingly, for the poetry which they
contain rcspccting Babylon is in this character.
E. The poctry of the Bible respecting other nations is
cqually distinct and characteristick, as we shall see at an-
other tine. Even in the last book of Scripture, Babylon is
cxhibited in the same form and character, as that in which I
have represented it. She has in her hand thc cup of abom-
inations, with which she intoxicates the nations ; on her
forchcad is a name indicative of licentiousness and impiety;
she finally sinks like a millstone cast into the ocean, and
over her ruins is heard a song of derision and lamentation,
in the same spirit, which this tradition breathes. The con-
trolling mistress of the world, the mighty huntress of men,
who arrogated to herself the attributes of Jehovah, is forever
put to shame.
A. I recollect a beautiful elegy of Isaiah, with which I
made myself familiar on account of its reference to the realms
of the dead.* It exhibits the same silent derision, the same
* 189. xiv.
18
206
sepulchral tones of lamentation, which you have mentioned.
It moves in lengthened elegiack measure, like a song of la-
mentation for the dead, and is full of loſty scorn and contu-
mely from the beginning to the end.
E. Will you read it?
A.
In the day, when Jehovah shall give thec rest
From thy distress, and anxiety, and thy slavish bondage,
Then shalt thou take up a song over the king of Babylon,
And shalt say,
How hath the taskmaster become still!
The exactor of gold ceased to oppress!
Jehovah hath broken the oppressor's rod,
The sceptre of the tyrants,
That which smote the nations in anger,
With strokcs, which were never remitied, .
Which ruled them with stern severity,
And oppression that nothing restruined.
Now the whole world is quiet anıl at rest,
The nations send forth a song of joy,
Even the fir trecs exult over thee,
The ccdars of Lebanon,
“ Since thou wast laid low, no onc comes up
To how us down and destroy us."
The ghostly rculm beneath was roused for thee,
It moved to meet ilice at tly coming.
It stirred up for thee the ghostly shades,
Even all the mighty ones of the carth.
It raised them up from their thrones,
All the kings of the nations.
They all welcomed thce, und suid,
“ Art thou also become a shadow. like us ?
Art thou, too, made even as wc ?"
Brought down even to the dead is thy pride,
And low the triumphal sound of thy harps.
Thy couch beneath thee is the worm,
The mould of death thy covering.
Ilow art thou fallen from heaven!
Bright star! thou son of the dawn!
How art thou crushed to the earth,
...
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1
That didst conquer the nations !
Thou saidst in thine heart, “ I will mount to heaven!
Above the stars of God will I exalt my throne !
I shall sit aloft where the Gods assemble,
Upon the mountain heights of the North!
" I will mount up above the heights of the clouds,
I shall become like the Most High!"
But down to the abyss art thou hurled,
To the hollow caves of the dead.
And those, that sec theo, gaze upon thee,
They narrowly scan thcc, “Is this the man,
Who inade the earth to tremble ?
And shattered kingdoms in pieces ?"
" The world around he made like a desert,
lle rendered its cities desolate,
Ile opened not the prison door of his captives.
The kings of the nations all sleep in glory,
Each in his own house, his spacious tomb.
But thou art cast forth from thy grave,
Like a monstrous and abhorred birth. *
Covered with slain, whom the sword hath pierced,
Who sink down among the stones of the pit,
Thou liest there like a carcaso troddcn under foot.
Thou shalt not be united with them in burial,
For thou hast made thine own land desolate,
Thinc own people hast thou smitten.
The seed of evil.doery shall not be named,
Nor called to remembrance forever.
Give their sons to death for the sake of their fathers,
That thcy rise not again and inherit the land,
And fill the country with citics."
I will rise up against thee,
Saith Jehovah of hosts.
I will destroy the name and race of Babel,
The child and grand-child, saith Jehovah.
I will make it a hold for tho porcupine,
A morass of stagnant water;
I will sweep it into the rubbish of desolation,
Suith Jehovah of hosts,
• It is customary with Isaiah to compare a family to a tree, and a
inomber of it to a branch. An abhorred and cast off branch, therefore,
is without doubt a monstrous and deformed birth.
208
E. Here you see the haughty oppressor of the nations,
her, who arrogantly aspired to heaven, and to build her throne
above the stars ; and immediately after the object of God's
derision, humbled to the dust, and thrust down to the abyss ;
she lies amidst the cast off rubbish of desolation. “ The
desolate daughter of Babylon" is the name and representation
of all biblical poetry respecting Babylon, and many traits in
the elegy, which you have read, would scom as if intended
for Nimrod and the first building of the tower. But our
thoughts are becoming as much disperscd, as the people of
whom we are speaking. The leading trait, which we were
to remark upon at present, was this, that the poctry of the
East tends to make us observe more particularly, how the
providence of the heavenly judge dashes the pride of tyrants,
and thrusts down to hell that which would cxalt itself to
heaven.
A. And cxalts too that which is low ; here we have thcre-
fore an example of those sublime contrasts in the agency of
providence, of which we spoke at first, They scem to me
quite too monotonous and full of repetition.
E. Just as the parallelism in its general character seemed
to you, when you first considered it. These contrasts aro
one kind of parallelisin; the loftiest and most powerful
mashal, or poctical exhibition, which such general represen-
tations of worldly sccncs can admit. Do they not also ex-
hibit the nature of things, and give us a vicw of the occur.
rences and changes of the world, as they are in themselves ?
What do we see in the world, and the things of the world
universally, but continual cbb and ſlow, cxaltation and
abasement ? Nothing continues, nothing can continue at
the same point of clevation. All here below is fluctuating
like the waves, and in the sight of God what is this drop of
a world, with all its giants and leaven-daring conquerors, but
a swelling and bursting bubble. IIesiod and Ilomer, Aschy-
lus and Pindar, could paint the fleeting billows of worldly
209
change, as contrasted with the unchanging and unchangea-
ble God of fato, under no form inore true or expressive.
They picture the contrast of the high and the low, the strong
and the weak, as if they had derived it from the East. Now
I willingly believe, that such changes of destiny under the
despotick governments of the East may be more frequent,
more sudden, and more striking. But as to their essential
grounds, they are every where the same, the burden and end
of the song, the result of human history. To him, who, in
reading these contrasts, finds no examples to illustrate them,
they stand as unmcaning and empty sounds ; but to one,
whose memory is stored with facts and the treasuers of ex-
pericnce, they are a poctical abridgment of all history, and
on this account I place a high estimate upon Job, the Pro-
phets, and Psalms.
A. And our church hymns of course no less, since in
these too such contrasts, in regard to the course of providence,
are imitated from the Psalms,
E. Certainly. They sound here, to be sure, comparative-
ly unanimated, dull, and unnatural ; yet many hymns and
Psalms respecting providence are among the finest in our
collections. Some are beautifully versified, the sentiment
universally intelligible, I might say common place. These
hymns too have sufficiently proved their power and influence
on the human heart. They are the consolation of the un-
fortunate, and the support and strength of the poor. They
coine to him, as a voice from heaven, to console him in his
desolation, and they calm and quict his soul. Job and the
Psalıns are a store-house of obscrvations and moral reficctions
on human life, on good and ill fortune, on pride and humility,
true and false self-confidence, and confidence in God. And
since, throughout the whole, the eye of God is represented as
watching over the course of human events, we may say with
truth, that this poetry has exhibited the same unity and sim-
plicity in the succession of events in the world, which, as
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210
wc before observed, it exhibited in the scenes of nature.
The exhibition of art in the poetry of the Greeks is but taw.
dry ornainent compared with this child-like and pure simpli.
city ; and in reading the Celtick poetry, fond as I am of (it, I
always feel as if wandering beneath a clouded evening sky.
It presents indced beautiful scenes in the clouds and on the
carth, but without a sun, without God, and without a purpose
which is determinate, and capable of giving unity to the
whole. Man at last vanishes like a cloudy vapour, while in
the East he stands upon a rock, with the everlasting God for
his sure foundation.
+
I will betake myself to God,
To God will I lift up my voice,
Who docth great things and unsearchablo,
Marvellous things without number.
He giveth rain upon the wido earth,
And sendeth streams upon the dry fields,
That he may cxult those that are low,
And raise to happiness those that mourn.
lle maketh vain the devices of the crafty,
And their hands perform not thcir enterprise..
He taketh the wisc in their own craſtiness,
And precipitatcth the counsels of the intriguer,
So that they meet with darkness in the day.timo,
And grope at noon-day, as in the night.
Thus he saves the poor from their sword,
And the wcak from the hand of the strong,
So that hope is given to the poor,
And iniquity stoppeth her mouth.
Happy is the man whom God correcteth,
And the chastening of the Most Iligh despise not,
For he maketh sore, and bindeth up,
He woundeth, and his own hand health.
In six troubles will he deliver thec,
And in seven shall no evil touch thee.
In famine he shall save thee from death;
In war, from the hand of the sword.
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.
From the scourge of the tongue* shalt thou be hid,
Nor be afraid, when the destroyer cometh.
At the destroyer and at hunger thou shalt laugh,
Nor fear the wild beasts of the earth.
The stones of the field are thy sure allies,
And the wild beasts are at peace with thee.
Thou knowest that thy tent is secure,
Thou returnest, and findest it in safety.
Thou knowest that thy sced shall be many,
Thine offspring as the grass of the earth.
Thou shalt come to thy grave in full age,
As a shock of corn comoth in, in its season.
Let us be thus favoured by the care of providence, and it
would be our own fault, if we should on that account become
careless and inactive. I leave every one to his own taste,
but to me it is obvious, that these simple and unstudied con-
trasts, (child-like and artless reflections on the course of
events from the mouth of aged and experienced men), had
peculiar tendency to nourish the tender plant of a kind of
poctry, that breathics confidence in God and in his special
and providential regard for the human race. The Orientals,
boyond a doubt, produced them; and the most ancient poetry
of the Greeks is, in this respect, entirely Oriental in its char-
acter. But it was only in this simple form, that tlmy could
be apprchcndcu morcover by the most simple and undisci-
plined understanding, and seize upon the heart of man, when
most depressed and most in need of their influence. They
are a kind of mirror of the world, and sum up the experi-
ence of the long and instructive life of the patriarchis. As
inountains grow old, so cmpires fall into decay; as the fresh
leaf puts forth, so now fortunes and new lopes spring up for
man---thus tlic seasons of the year and the periods of human
• The scourge of the tongiie is, according to the parallelism, the bit.
of a blood-thirsty brute. The destroyer is the lion, which in the follow.
ing verse is connected with hunger, i. e. a hungry, ravenous destroyer.
The last verse clearly explains the three preceding.
212
life, the scenes of nature and the varying aspects of human
destiny, are connected together, and God is the controller of
them all. Even at the present day we may hear experienced
and moralizing old men, when the fermenting elements of
life have worked themselves clear, discoursing in the same
tones with Job, the Psalms, and the Prophets, and the in-
credulous and hcadstrong youth finds by experience at last,
that they have discoursed truly. For the most part, too, the
reflections in praise of providence are suggested by the pic-
tures and historical traditions, which we have treated of, or
shall treat of, the flood and the memorials of Divine puri-
ishment, the confounding of human purposes and exposure
of hidden crimes. From these thcy proceed, as their source,
and terminate throughout in the silent fear of God and wis-
dom of man-forming without doubt the richest treasure, the
inost useful poetry and instruction, as the guide of our
shadowy and fleeting life. I could wish I were acquainted
with a pocm, that combined together in its representations
the inost striking and affecting scenes of providence in our
own history. The more simple, the morc Oriental would it
become in its gencral characteristicks.
APPENDIX.
1. A SONG OF PRAISE, ON TIIE HIELP OF GOD.*
God is our refuge and strength,
A sure defence in time of need,
Therefore wc fear not, though the world be shaken,
And the mountains sink in the depths of the sea.
Let its floods roar and be tumultuous !
Let the mountains tremble at his majesty;
Yet will his refreshing streams
Make glad the city of God;
The dwelling place of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her! she is still unmoved!
# Ps. xlvi.
213
***
God helpoth her, looking down upon hor
In the time of hor neod.
The nations ragc, and empires sink,
Ho thundercth, and the carth is melted.
Jchovah, the God of hosts is with us!
The God of Jacob is our refuge!
Come, behold the works of Jchovah !
Who now maketh the countries deserts,
And now, even to the end of the world,
Maketh wars to cease.
Breaketh the bow and cuttcth asunder the spear,
And burneth the chariot in tho fire.
" Bo still and know, that I am God!
The king of nations, the ruler of the world !"
Jehovah, the God of hosts, is with us !
The God of Jacob is our refugc.
2. A SONG OF PRAISE ON TIIE PROVIDENCE OF GOD."
Praise ye the Lord !
Praisc Jchovah, O my soul!
While I live, I will praise Jehovah,
I will praise my God, while I have being!
Put no confidence in men of might,
In a son of man, who hath no strength.
Ilis breath vanishcth, he returneth to tho earth,
And all his purposes arc cut off.
Ilappy is hc, whose help is the God of Jacob!
Who trustcth in Jehovah, his guardian God,
That crcated the heavens, and the earth,
Tho sca, and all that is therein,
And kecpeth truth forever.
IIc procureth justice for the oppressed,
IIc provideth bread for the hungry.
Jchovah giveth cyes to the blind,
Jehovah raiseth up the bowed down,
Jehovah loveth the righteous,
Jehovah prescrvcth the strangers,
le supplieth the fatherless and widows,
And subverteth the counsels of the oppressor.
* Ps, cxlvi.
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Jehovah will reign forever!
Thy God O Zion from generation to generation!
Praise ye the Lord !
3. JOB'S ODE IN PRAISE OF WISDOM.
Man hath found an outlet for the silver,
The place of the gold, which he fineth.
He hath taken iron out of the dust,
And molten brass out of the stone.
He hath set bounds to darkness,
And every extreme hath he searched out,
The stone of dark obscurity,
And of the shadow of death.*
A flood gocth out from the realm of oblivionet
They draw it up from the foot of the mountain,
They remove it away from men.
From the carth upward, goeth forth bread,
And underneath it is changed as by fire.
There in its rocks is found the sapphire,
Interspersed with dust of guld.
The way no mountain bird hath scen,
The vulture's cye hath not discovered it ;
No stately beast hath trodden it,
No lion hath ever passed through it.
Man placeth his hand upon the rock,
He overturneth the mountain by the roots.
He cutteth out rivers from among the rocks,
* Probably the last stone in the mining investigations of Job; the cor.
ner and boundary stone, as it were, of the kingdom of darkness and an.
cient night. H.
The language here used must designate metalliferous stones, veiled
in the deepest night, and deposited in the darkest depths of the earth,
but which yet the unwcaried miner searches out. J.
+ According to this division and mode of reading, the dwelling of
the forgotten would be the kingdom of the dead, and at a greater depth
than the deepest mines have reached. Streams break forth from the
river of eternal oblivion bencath, and yet are overcome by the miners,
pumped dry, and turned out of the way, Yet I confess tho passage re.
mains obscure to my own mind.
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215
And whatever is costly his eye seeth.
He searcheth the floods in their deep fountain,
And that which is hid he bringeth to light.
But where shall man find wisdom ?
And where is the place of understanding ?
Man knoweth not the seat thereof,
It is not found in the land of the living.
The abyss cricth, it is not in me!
The sea respondeth, not in me!
It cannot be purchased for gold,
Nor silver weighed as the price thereof.
Gold from Ophir cannot equal its worth,
Neither the precious onyx and sapphire.
It is never ranked with gold and chrystal,
No precious jewel is ever exchanged for it.
Ramoth and Gabish are not to be named,
For the possession of wisdom is better than pearls.
The topaz of Ethiopia is not compared with it,
The most fine gold cannot cqual it.*
Where then shall man find wisdom?
And where is the place of understanding ?
It is hidden from the cycs of the living,
Kept secrct from the fowls of heaven.
Nothingness and death answer,
Wc have heard the rumour thereof from afar.
God marketh out the road to it,
IIe alono knoweth its abiding place.
* All this variety of wealth indicates the Idumaan origin of the book
of Job. The Idumxans at an early period had the trade by way of Ezi.
on Gebor and Elath on the Red Sca, which the Israelites first gained
under Solomon. Hence their acquaintance with Ophir, Æthopia, and
the costly articles here named. From the passages relating to mining,
which occur in this book, doubts have been started in regard to its anti-
quity, but wholly without reason. So soon as gold and precious stones
were dug from the mountains, mining existed, and there are proofs
enough, that it cxisted very carly. The passage of Job, in which it is
said, “gold comes from the North," is wholly misunderstood, when ap.
plied to trade in gold. The trade of which Job speaks was wholly with
ibe South by way of the Red Sea, and the parallelism of that passage
speaks of the golden splendour, in which God appeared froin the North,
a8 was clearly shown in the previous dialogues.
216
He scoth cvon to the ends of the earth,
He looketh abroad under the whole heavens.
And as he appointed their weight to the winds,
And gave to the waters their measure,
And established its law for the rain,
And marked a path for the tempest,
A path for the flashes of the lightning;
Then he saw it, and computed it, *
lle determined it, and scarched it out.
And to man hc said ;
“For thee, the fear of the Lord is wisdom,
And to avoid evil, that is thy understanding."
* Wisdom here is not yet properly personified, as in the Proverbs of
Solomon, and the poctry of Jub is far older, than that in the writings of
Solomon. The latter is brilliant, the former sublime; the latter full of
thought, and in a polished style, but has nothing of the energy and
strength, which characterize :he genius of this ancient Idumaan book.
I wonder therefore how any one could imagine the author of Solomon's
Song to be the poet of the book of Job; two works at opposite ex.
iremes as to the style of poctry and the modes of thinking.
DIALOGUE IX.
Objections, which havo been made against the Israelites as a people,
and must also have a bearing upon the spirit of their poetry; their
narrow, self-satisfied and exclusive views, their inactive or profligate
ancestors, their denunciation and hatred of all the nations of the earth,
as well as of tho race, which had the nearest affinity with them. The
point of view for investigating these objections. Of Ham's transgres.
sion and punishment. What this was, and how far it must necessarily
fall upon Canaan. Of the drunkenness of Noah, the sojournings of
Abraham, and the rights which the Canaanites themselves admitted
bim to have. Of his conduct in Egypt, his magnanimous and noble
character. Of his being the friend of God. Description of it, as the
most calm and contemplative ideal of humanity, as the highest aim of
the choice, and vocation of a people, i. e. of a national cultivation.
First characteristick of Hebrew poetry, its expressiveness of friendly
communion with the Supreme Being. Passages from Isaiah respect
ing Abraham, as a patiern to his descendants. Of the delinquencies
of the patriarchs, especially of Jacob. Whether he received the name
Israel in a dream. Explanation of the narrative of his wrestling with
the Elohin. Of the conflicts of mortals with Gods among otber na.
tions. The csscntial destinction between them, and the symbolical
import of this narrative. Jacob's dream of the ladder that reached to
beaven, and his notions of the angels. Whether the blessings, which
the patriarchy pronounced upon their song, showcd partiality. Bless.
ing of Ishmael. Description of Hagar's wandering in ille desert.
Blessing of Esau and of Jacob. Glance at the land of Canaan. Sec.
ond characteristick ofits poetry, its relation to the promised land and
to the patriarchs. Appendix. Poctical extracts from Job for mark.
ing his character, as an ideal of the happiness, of the moral character,
and virtue of an Oriental prince.
AlcirurOn. The belief in providence, which you lately
unfolded to me out of the writings and from the history of
the Ilebrew nation, and which you extolled as a flower full
of beauty and interest for the human race, has no adversary
I could wish rather, that the writings of this people
had in fact unfolded it in a form unmixed with national pe-
culiarities, and interesting to the whole human race. But
in me.
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218
{
: has it been done in this form? Was not this belief among
them a mcrc national faith, so narrow and exclusive, that it
might rather be considered offensive and hostile, than friendly
to the race. They were God's peculiar pcoplc, chosen and
sct rt cren in their ancestors. No blessing coines upon
any new offspring in the successive generations of their pa-
triarchs, but a curse must at the same time fall upon a neigh-
bouring racc, even if it be that of a brother or a near kins-
Noah is not content with blessing Shem, he must at
the same moinent pronounce a curse upon IIam. Isaac can.
not receive a blessing, but Islumael must be thrust out from
his home and family; nor Jacob, without corresponding and
injurious neglect of Esau. So it is throughout. Moses and
Joshua slay the ancient and rightful inhabitants, in order to
convert to the benefit of God's closcn pcoplc a country,
which according to human laws did not belong to thein.
You know how much sarcasm and how many invectives are
uttered respecting the history of this people, in which I have
no participation, because they often give pain tu innocent
persons, who have no knowledge of the subject or of the
times. Yet it is diflicult to controvert the leading idea, that
this people, even from their origin, cherished varrow, cxclu-
sive, and arrogant viows, which havė, impressed themselves
also upon their poctry, and have spoiled the best part of it
by a mixture of denunciations and hatred of other nations:
And yet I can discover in the history of their patriarchs no
appearance of extraordinary merit. What licroick decds have
they to exhibit, which would not be far outdone by the records
of other nations? What great names, on which the glory of
their race can be even tolerably well sustained ? Can they
appeal to Noah, an example of drunkenness; to Abraham,
who disowned his wife in Egypt; to the timid Isaac; to Jacob;
who so cunningly overreached his father, his brother, his fa-
ther-in-law, and the whole world; to the incestuous Judah; the
revengeful Simeon and Levi; or finally to Moses, who with
219
hard-hearted insensibility. cut off whole nations ?. And could
such mon be the founders of a nation chosen of God, of
God's peculiar people? In this peoplo all the tribes of the
earth are to be blessed ; and yet they imprecate curses upon
all nations, though they know only their names, and often, in
the songs of their prophets, weakly and with hostile feelings
rejoice, that their ſuture king will at last reduce them all to
subjcction. · They have no representation more delightful to
thein, than that of their king coming from Mount Seir, as a
treader of the winc-press, and with garments dyed in the
Wood of a kindred people. The whole earth must be laid
waste, in order that their poor and barren land, thcir race
despised by all nations, may bear rule alone. Answer me
now, my friend, in regard to these objections, but, I beg of you,
not mystically and thicologically ; of such vindications I have
read enough and more than enough. Why did not Abraham
continue where he was ? Why must the unoftending Canaan
pay the forfeit of his father's indiscretion or villainy? or the
unfortunate Esau suſier, because his mother cooked a kid,
before he could prepare his wild venison ? And yet on these
old wives' tales lepends all the peculiar distinction of this
people, their ancestral honour, and the loſty triumph of their
prophecies and I'slus. The most beautiful poetry in the
world becomes poor and contemptible, when it grounds itself
with an exclusive and hostile fecling on traditions of this sort.
EUTUI PIIROX. You have overwhelmed ine, my friend, with
objections, which I have reason to be thankful, do not affect
niy own rice. I am no IIebrew, and have no interest in this
pcoplc, as a people. They were not certainly chosen for
their own worthiness, and no one has exposed their weakness
and shame with more force, than their own prophets. I
willingly grant you, that they greatly misappreliсnded the
purpose of their clection and peculiar privileges, and sadly
profaned with superstition und idolatry, with stupid pride,
obsequious vanity, and other vices, that Palladium, for which
:
220
they assumed far too much credit to themselves,-their faith
in Jehovah, as the only and the true God. But we are not
here called upon, as it seems to me, to vindicate the nation,
as a nation, much less their national prejudices and vices, but
the purpose of God in the events of their history, and the
flowers of that poetick growth, which, in the results of its de-
velopment has actually, (for this is matter of fact and no
theological mysticism), produced fruits for the benefit of so
many other nations. And since we are conversing about a
shepherd race, let us recline under this spreading tree! We
will imagine it to be Abraham's terebinth tree at Mamre, and
even speak in the tones of calm contemplation, like the pa- .
triarchal shepherds ; not with the artful wit of Voltairc, nor
with the dark malignity of Bolingbroke and Morgan. The
tranquillity of nature around us awakens peaceful enotions
and we will endeavour to keep at peace with these forms of
ancient simplicity.
First, then, of Noah, You call the conduct of Ilam to-
wards him indiscretion or villainy. Let it be the one or the
other, you must give the father permission to punish it.
A. To punish it?
E. That is the sense of it; and I know not why, when we
fall upon a word that is misunderstood, we should not put an
intelligible one in the place of it. The father was a king in
his own family, and had sovercign power even over the life of
his sons. Noah was the second Adam, the patriarch of a
new.world. IIe must appear to his family alınost in the char-
acter of a God ; for it was only through him and for his sake,
that they had been delivered from the general jullgment. Now
no greater ofl'ence could have been committed against him,
than Ilam, who was himself a man of mature years, and had
sons, committed in this case. You know with what rigour
the laws of filial reverence and modesty in domestick inter-
course are guarded in the East, and in a period so carly were
rightfully regarded as sacrod. Those members which Ilam
ܪ
221
created with mockery, were held sacred. He offended his
brothers, and was guilty, if you will allow the expression, of
violating the injured majesty of his father. His transgression
was domestick, and so was the punishment. He had insulted
the patriarch of the race, and punishment was inflicted upon
the son and his offspring. In short, he was deprived of the
rights pertaining to a son, and was degraded to the condition
of a family servant among his brethren.
A. Is that the import of the words?
E. Look and sec.
Curscd be Canaan;
Let him be a scrvant of servants to his brethren.
Blessed be Jehovah, the God of Shem,
And let Canaan be his servant.
Let the Elohim enlargc Japheth,
Let him dwell in the tents of Shem,
And let Canaan bc his servant.
Whether Canaan participatcà in his father's offence or not, he
naturally participated in the punishment ; .for when the father
was deprived of his filial rights, his children must suffer with
him. So it is 110w in regard to all family misfortunes, and it
secins to inc, that Noah inflicted a punishment, which, ac-
cording to the then prevailing customs and mode of thinking,
iſ not light, was yet not unjust ; ignominy with ignominy,
scorn with scorn, insult with insult.
1. But why was Canaan, the youngest son of Ham, alone
named ? for llam had older sons. A wishful glance at the
land of Canaan sccms to have had its influence here.
E. Ir it were so, then it was an application merely of the
tradition to a casc, in which the Israelites were more par-
ticularly concernel. You know, that tho national rights of
ancient nations (lcpended on such traditions, and the relations
of the tribes in their origin to each other. In the East, in
India, I might say, indeed among all small tribes, which re-
main attached to their original stock; the same is true, even
at the present day. Yet I believe, that, as to the fact, Ca-
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222
naan, the youngest son, participated in the transgression, and
perhaps the peculiar expression, “ Noah knew what his young-
er son had done unto him," points to this. The narrative is
too concise to decide this point; and, if it did, the privilege
of indulging misanthropy, and of conquering the Canaanites,
wherever found, could not be given by this sort of prophetick
narrative. Jacob imprecated curses upon his two sons,
Simcon and Levi, cvcn on his death-bed, because thicy had
revenged the deepest stain upon the honour of his house
with the blood of a Canaanitish family.
A. And yet Joshua destroyed them without mercy,
E. We will speak of that hercaftcr ; let us confine our.
selves for the present to the history of the patriarchs. You
called Noah a drunkard. I have no doubt you will retract
the expression, when you read the narrative in its connexion.
It was the first experiment in the cultivation of an unknown
plant, which might have resulted in the same way to Bac-
chus hiniself.
A. Forget the word, and let it pass. Why did not Abra-
ham remain where he was, in his own country? IIis leaving
it was the occasion of the subscquent mischief.
E. Because he was a Nomade, and all Nomades live a
wandering life. They are wanderers still, even to the pre-
sent day, though three thousand years, it may be presumed,
must have made a considerablc difference in the populousness
of these countries. Besides, it was not hc that first becamo
a wanderer ; his father was a Nomade before him, and his
father's father. The brothers of Peleg had wandered with their
tribes even down to Arabia, and the brothcrs of Abrahain,
and his brothers' sons, had planted the best countries of the
neighbouring region, Mesopotarnia, Syria, and Chaldæa. In
regard to physical advantages, Abraham obtained by no
means the best country, and God promised on this account to
make his portion good with blessings of a different kind.
And finally, in the land of Canaan there was no collision of
223
1
interests between Abraham and any one there. He moved
about here and there, as a godlike prince, showed his mag-
nanimity to Lot, and towards the kings whom he delivered
from their enemies, and his integrity of character to the Ca-
naanites, of whom he purchased a burying place. This they
offered him as a gift, but he would not receive it without
paying its price ; and you are aware what they allowed him
along with it. Obviously, the occupation in common with
thein of their country for himself and his latest posterity,
Where the fathers slept, there must the children slecp also.
This was the first principle of national rights among all an-
cient nations. “We will meet you at the graves of our fa-
thers," was the common expression in maintaining their
rights against the encroachment of their enemies. In truth
one who would convict Abraham of misanthropy, of oppres-
sion, of self-sccking, and narrowness of soul, must discover
some new history of his life.
A. Yet he dissembled, and disowned his wife in Egypt.
E. It was not however for him, but for the politick
Egyptians to be ashamed, that a stranger, though even upon.
half groundless apprehensions, must do what he did ; and
the result proved that the fear was not wholly groundless.
Besides, we must not regard a patriarchal shepherd, as a
gallant lover, or a knight by profession, who is ready to die
a thousand deaths for his mistress. Abraham committed an
Orrour; and I am not displeased, that in the history of a great
man the weakness of being needlessly cautious stands record-
ed. In the mean time, the narrative no where says what
vulgar slanderers, in their ignorance of the ancient customs
of the East, represent. We will overlook, then, the mistake
of a hordsman, who knew not how to conduct himself at
court, and observe with what uprightness, dignity, benevo-
lenco, and simplicity, he conducted in his tent, his own shep-
herd's locige. Can any thing be more noble, than the mode
of his intercession for Sodom, his declaring himself to the
224
king of Salem respecting the spoils, and to Lot? Can any
thing be more beautifully pastoral in its character, than his
reception of the angels, and entertainment of them beneath
the tree! In reading it, one is transported into the very re-
gion, and breathes the truc spirit, of pastoral innocence, and
expects, as it were, angels to present themselves before his
own hospitable and simple tent. Finally, his intercourse
with God himself, how full of interest and instruction !
With what calm and unquestioning faith, when his divine
friend required it, did he offer up the dearest object which
he possessed, that on wbich all his hopes were suspended,
which he had waited and longed for, as the highest prize of
his life! Pardon me, my friend, for saying, that I scarcely
know any thing to be compared with this calm, hcroick faith,
this artless confidence between a simple herdsman and the
God of heaven. The poetry of no other people has any
thing to equal it. The poetry of other nations represents
men as holding intercourse with false Gods, with Genii, and
departed heroes, but not with the true and only God of heaven
and earth, and in a way so calm and confiding. The stranger
has no other friend but God, who sent him a pilgrim into
this land of strangers ; but him he hold sfast as the best of all
friends. What delicate passages occur in the conversation
and intercouse of God with him, where he comforts and di-
rects him, encourages him in regard to the futurc, gives him
now a token of his covenant and friendship, now a new namc,
then memorial signs, and requires of him, now this, and now
that return of affectionate confidence.
“Fear thou not Abram,
I am thy shield thy exceeding great reward.”
And he brought him forth abroad, and said,
“ Look towards heaven, and tell the stars.
Art thou able to number them ?"
And he said “so shall thy secd be."
And he had faith in Jehovah,
And he counted his faith to him
For righteousness.
225
So long as artless simplicity affects the human heart, so long
will the beauty of such passages be felt. So also, when God
makes a covenant with Abraham, and condescends in the
form of a column of smoke to pass through between the sepa-
rated parts of the offering, and like a mere mortal to confirm
his covenant by an oath. It was a covenant of friendship for
Abraham and his posterity, which was to make him an ex-
ample of the severest virtue, and his race distinguished for
the same characteristick; which was to set them apart for
no other end but to be the tribe, in which all the tribes of
the carth should be blessed. Do you not discover in this
purpose of God, this ideal of a national cultivation, somc-
thing great and sublime? And where do you find it, con-
sidered merely as a preconceived purpose, as an ideal; among
all the other nations of the earth? Their noblest purposes
were nothing higher, than the attainment of political cultiva-
tion for themselves, or of power and dominion over other
nations,
A. But where then does the corresponding result show
itself among this people ?
E. In the patriarch of the race at least. He stands forth
as a sort of type and symbol of the covenant. He must leave
his paternal hon.c for a dwelling with strangers, and be con-
tent with a pilgrimage in a foreign and uninviting country.
Long he waited for the promise, and saw it not. When at
last he received an earnest of it in Isaac, he was required to
ofler up even hiin as a sacrifice. You see that, in its sym-
bolical character, it is all as it should be in its relation to
God's covenant people. Friendship with God must be the
purpose of their election, but a self-denying, self-sacrificing
friendship. The virtue, to which Abraham was educated,
was a retiring, unpublished, and silent virtue, but on that
account the more noble and beautiful. It is trust in God
even in the greatest difficulties, and in regard to the ultimate
futurc, i. e. faith. A hero in faith, that is, in simple unaf-
226
fected greatness of soul, in an intimate communion of the
heart with the most pure and holy Being--this was Abraham.
Such must his people be--and a hero of this sort is a higher
development of the human spirit, than a hero with his fist,
or the weapons of war, or even with political craft and in-
trigue.
A. So the poetry of this people, then, should be called
the poetry of the covenant.
E. You have the right name, only we must not interpret
it in a thicosophick and mystical sense. It should be under-
stood of a poetry expressive of friendship between man and
his Maker; the child-like poetry, in which feeble men express
their conceptions, and feelings in rcgard to that Supreme Be-
ing, who holds to them the relation of a father ; which rc-
minds them of his covenant, directs them to his given word,
and strengthens their hearts by rccounting the doings of the
Most High. IIence the influence of this poetry upon all
simple and child-like hcarls, upon all purc hicroick souls,
especially in times of distress, and in prayer, under sickness
and suffering. It forms a bond of connexion between men
and (not idols, not Genii, not dlcparted herocs, but) God, the
father of men, and the controller of their destiny. low de-
lightful, in this vicw of it, is the simple story of the patriarchs!
Their outward condition and worldly fortunes were not splen-
did. Few and evil, says the last of then, have the years of
my life been. They are on a pilgrimage, without rest or an
abiding place, and misfortunes are not wanting to their fami-
lics. But God is always near then; bis angels accompany
them, the Elohim are round about them, and the land is inade
sacred, as it were, by their footsteps. And in their dwellings
were preserved the purity of ancient manners, faith in God,
child-like simplicity and devotion, as a sacred treasure trans-
Initted from the primeval world. In this respect, 100, they
were for the poctry of later times the ground of much beau-
tiful and eloquent imagery.
.
227
1
Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness,
Ye that continuo fuithful to Jehovah.
Look unto the rock, whence ye are hewnet
Look to the pit, whence ye are digged.
Look unto Abraham, your father,
Anil unto Sarah, that bare you.
For I called him ilic onc alonc,i.
And blessed him, and increased him.
So now will Jchoval: comfort Zion,
Will comfort all her waste places,
Will make her wilderness like Eden,
TIer desert like the garden of Jehovah.
Joy and glaiIness shall dwell in them,
Thanksgiving and the voice of melody,
3
Observe hcrc the title of lionour given to Abraham--the one
* Isn, li. 1-3.
+ Without doubt, rcfcrcncc is had to ibis passage in Matt. iii. 9.
The Israelites trusted in the circumstance of their being children of
Abraham; and the prophet of the wilderness says, God can from these
stones how out children to Abraham. At least the figure was known
from the expression of Isaiah.
| From this may be explained the obscure passage, Malachiii. 14. 15.
which condemns and opposes the practice of putting away one's wife.
The Lord is witness between theo
And the wife of thy youth,
Whom thou despiscst, and rcjcctcst;
And yet she is thy companion,
And the wife of thy covenant.
So did not tlie alone one,
Though he longed for children.
What thien did the one ?
IIo hoped for them from God.
A peculiar emphasis is given here to the expression, one nlone, which
was alrondy understood from Isaialı, ne a name of distinction for Abra
ham. He was the alone onc, from whom tho race could and must be
dorived. Ilowns old, Saruhi was advanced in ycars, and yet he did not
repudiate her, nor indulge in anger against her.
So watch yc also over your anger desires,
And do not injustice to the wives of your youth.
228
alone ! a rock, which gives itself up to God, and out of which
God hews his chosen people—what various applications may
be made of it for the confirmation of his people's faith.
Look down from heaven, thy holy habitation,
Look from the seat of thy glory and majesty.
Where is thy zeal ? where is thy strength ?
Thy moving, thy compassionate heart
Is now hardened against us!
And yet thou art our father,
Though Abraham be ignorant of us,
And Israel acknowledge us not ;
Thou Lord art our father, our redeemer,
That is thy name from everlasting.
And wherefore hast thou suffered us
To wander so far from thy ways ?
Why hath our heart hardened itself,
Oh Jehovah ! from thy fear ?
O! turn theo again to thy servants ;
We are thine inheritance forever.
Thus God has taken upon himself the paternal rights of
Abraham, who has transferred his children to his care, in
the interchange of friendly and heartfelt confidence.
A. All very fair and good ; but what say you, my friend,
to the faults of the patriarchs ?
E. They are human failings, and the very fact, that they
are recounted, that in their history nothing is kept back and
concealed, makes their shepherd tale, considered as a pasto-
ral narrative merely, invaluable. The timid Isaac, the crafty
Jacob, stand forth in their doings; but you will not deny, that
the craftiness of the latter was always recompenscd with evil;
and in his old age, like Ulysses, he exhibited among these
patriarchal herdsmen a character well tried and approved.
His history is an instructive mirror of the human heart,* and
God himself wiped away from Jacob, arrived at maturc age,
* Steme has an instructive, though too witty sermon on the fortunes
of Jacob, which exbibits his experience of tho law of retribuțion.
229
.
those stains, which in his youth were associated with his
name. “ Thou shalt no more be called Jacob, (a supplanter),
but Israel, a hero of God, shall thy name be ;" a title of dis-
tinction which the poctry of this people also may deservedly
bear. Not physical strength is celebrated in it, but divine
heroism, prayer, and faith.
A. It has not acquired this title however, as Jacob did
his, by a conflict in a dream.
E. In a dream? I perceive you use an expression, not
new indeed, but one which-often as it is repcated-contra-
dicts the narrative when taken in its connexion. Jacob had
divided the encampment and the tents, from fear of a noctur-
nal assault from his brother. Ile then placed himself at a
distance from the tents, not indeed that he might sleep, but
expressly not to sleep.
A. And what did he then ?
E. What preceded we may very easily infer from the
circumstances.* IIc prayed, he wrestled with God in prayer ;
and there must be some visible symbol, that his heroick faith
prevailed with God. Elohim appeared, not Jehovah ; and
you know that in the history of Jacob, as well as in the ear-
lier traditions, the word is used distinctively. The host of
God revealed themselves to Jacob, as two wings of an army
cncamped, and conceptions of angels occupied also his
thoughts. And lo! there appeared to him a hero, the divine
form of a heavenly warrior, and wrestled with Jacob. It
appeared and vanished with the obscure shadows of the dawn;
in short, read the beautiful night vision itself, which, even in
the tone and colouring of the narrative, seems floating anid
the dreamy and troubled shadows of the niglit.
And Jacob stayed alone by night,
Then wrestled one with him, till break of day,
And yet prevailed not over him.
* Gen. xxxii. 10-12.
+ Gen. xxxii. 24,
20
230
$
And when he saw that he prevailed not,
He touched his hip upon the joint.
The joint of Jacob's hip was wrenched,
While thus he wrestled with him.
The man said, “ now let me go,
For morning breaketh."
He said, “ I will not let thee go, until thou bless me."
Then said tho nian, “ what is thy name ?"
lle answered him, “my name is Jacob."
Ile said, “thou shalt no more be called Jacob,
Hero of God shall be thy name.
With Gods and men hast thou conflicted bravely,
And hast prevailed.”
And Jacob asked, and said,
" Tell me also thy name."
Hlo said, “why dost thou ask my name ?"
And then he blessed him there.
And Jacob called the place Peniel: for, he said,
“I saw here face to face the Elohim
And yet my life is saved."
Then rose the sun, as he went forth from Peniel,
And Jacob halıed on his hip.
E. Is there a word here about a dream ? . Is it not all as
plain historical narrative, as the mode of Jacob's dividing the
sheep? Nay, consider what honour could have been attached
to the naine, which was given to the patriarch and to the
whole race.
The dreamcr had wrenched his hip in his sleep,
and therefore he was called Isracl, a godlike hero, his whole
race inlcrited the name for the same reason, and Jehovah
himself came down once and again in order to fasten upon
him the really ironical and reproachful title of a hero in his
dreams. All this too is recounted in a family tradition. Do
you not feel the absurdity of this representation in every
particular ?
A. It is so, I confess. And the name, Elohim, as you
have explained it in a former conversation, frees me from all
doubt. A conflict with Gods, with spirits, with heroick
forms, was nothing strange or unheard of in ancient times ;
231
nay, according to the representations of the poets, it was
commonly considered as the highest proof of heroick power
in man. In Ilomer, gods and men are in continual conflict ;
and Ossian's Fingal also on one occasion by night contended
with a giant spirit. In the East conceptions of the kind must
have been cominon.
E. According to the representations both of their poetry
and history, their most ancient heroes must often have con-
ficted in this manner with spiritual beings and giants. But
lct us not confound this artless narrative with such fables
and monstrous exaggcrations, as belong to the later traditions.
How tranquil and how correspondent to the shepherd's char-
acter is every thing in this narrative! The being, with whom
Jacob wrestled, is not named, does not naine himself, and
leaves it to be inferred, who he was, from the name alone
which he gave to Jacob. Jacob expresses no triumph, re-
lates the story to no one, and wonders like a simple herds-
man, how he could have contended face to face with the
Elohim, and have escapod with his life. But the finest part
of the whole is its inward sense, by which the patriarch was
taught how needless it was for hiin to stand in fear of
Esau, when he had prevailed with Jehovah in prayer, and
with the Elohim by the power of his arm. So the prophet*
explains it, and the figurative sense is plain from the place,
the time, and the connexion of the narrative.
A. And thus the vision in this case expressed to the man
in his alarm, what, on a former occasion, the vision of a ladder
reaching to heaven expressed to the timid youth.
E. The same thing ; only in a manner adapted to the
character of a man. He must not dream, but earn for him.
Belf the name of a hero. The parallel, which you have ad-
duced, is however, a very significant one. The vision shows
the child-like conceptions, which the shepherd youth enter-
tained of God and the angels, and we may regard the dream
* Hos. xii. 4. 5.
232
.
.
as a true pastoral representation. Will you read it? The
evening is gradually approaching, and the sun is going down
in tranquillity and beauty.
A.
Hc reached a place and spent the night,
For the sun was now alrcady set.
Then he took a stone from off the place,
And laid it for his pillow,
And laid him down to sleop.
And there he dreamed, and lo! a ladder stood
Extended high above the earth,
Whose top reached up to heaven,
And inessengers of God went up and down upon it.
And lo! Jehovah stood above and said,
I am Jehovah the God of thy fathers."
非
​并
​And Jucob awoke from his sleep and said,
Surely, Jehovah is in this place,
And yet I know it not !" And ho was soro afraid, and said,
6. How dreadful is this place,
This is none other but the house of God!
Ilcre is the gate of heaven."
And Jacob took thic stonc, at brcak of day,
And set it for a monument,
And poured upon it oil, and called the place Bothel.
And Jacob vowed a vow, and said,
"If Ciod licncoforth be with me,
And guurd me in the way I go,
And give me food and raiment,
That I return and see my father's houso in peace;
Then shall Jehovah be my God,
And this, which I have placed a monument,
Shall be the house of God!"
E. You sce here the artlcss conceptions of the youthful
herdsman. He knew not, that his father's God would be
found except in his father's house. IIe was terrified, that he
had slept without knowing it, upon holy ground, as it were, in
the outer court of God's own dwelling place. He had seen
233
in his dream its doors open, and by a vow proffered to the
place-a house of God, because God in so peculiar a manner
inhabited it. If angels here ascended and descended upon a
ladder, which reached to heaven, it would be easy to suppose,
that one of them, like the Elohim in strength and dignity,
might wrestle with Jacob. Ilave you any thing further to
object to these pastoral narratives?
A. The gross partiality of the patriarchs in blessing their
sons, since, according to the belief of the racc, the wholo
fortune of their postcrity depended on this last prophetick
declaration.
E. · Ilow say you ? Did this depend on the will of the fa-
ther? Was not Isaac in fact partial to Esau ? and would
not Abraham have contented himself with Ishmael? How
much pain did it cost Jacob, that he must pass by his three
oldest sons! and indeed was one of those whom we have
named omitted, so far as regarded temporal blessings? Esau
went to meet Jacob as a prince; while Jacob was and con-
tinucil to be a stranger and dweller in tents. Islimacl dwelt
in his deserts like the wild animal, with which he is compared,
free and joyous. IIis posterity boast of their country, as one
given then by the special favour of God, in which they follow
their vocation, and wish for nothing better. The prophecy,
Ile shall be a fugitive* from man,
Ilis hand shall be opposed to all,
And all men's hands opposed to hiin.
Ile dwells before the face of all his brethren,
1
is fulfilled in the Ishraclitcs, and in its strict and proper sense.
Let us read the touching and truly interesting story of the
exiled Ilagar, wandering in the desert. You will perceive in
this, that the tone and style of the narrative in these traditions
has nothing of misanthropy or of hard-hearted insensibility.
A wild ass. Gen. xvi. 12.
20*
234
The water in the bottle was exhausted,
And Hagar cast the child beneath a tree,
And went away and sat with louks averted,
The distance of a bow.shot off.
For Hagar said, “I may not see
The child while dying.” Thus she sat,
And lifted up her voice and wept.
Then God the crying child regarded,
And from the heavens his angel called,
* What aileth thee, Ilagar, fcar not,
For God hat heard ihe voice of the child,
Where he is lying.-
Arise, and lift him up,
And hold him with thine hand,
For I will make him, yet a mighty nation."
Then God the cyes of Hagar opened,
And she behold a well of water,
And went and filled hier bottle with it,
And gave the child to drink.
And God was with him, and he grew,
And was a dweller in the desert,
And he became an archer.
In the same affecting manner is related the history of the
sorrowful Esau, when he failed of obtaining the blessing,
which had fallen to Jacob). Let us compare the terms of
the blessings bestowed upon both, in order to observe the
difference.
TUE
TIK BLESSIXG BESTOWED BY ISAAC UPOX ESAU.
In the latness of the earth shall bo thy dwelling,
And enriched with the dews of heaven above.
By thy sword shall thy life be sustained,
And thy brother shalt thou serve.
Yet the time shall arrive for theo to rule,
And his yoke shalt thou break from off thy neck.
IBAAC'S PROPIILTICK BLESSING IPON JACOB.
“ Come near now, and kiss me my son."
And Jacob came near, and kissed him.
235
Then smelled he the smell of his raiment,
And blessed him, and said,
* Rehold I smell my son, as the smell of a field,
A field, which God hath blessed.
God give thee, therefore, of the dew of heaven,
The fitness of earth, and plenty of corn and wine.
Let the people serve thee,
And the nations bow down to thee,
Bc thou ruler over thy brethren,
And let thy mother's sons be subject to thee.
Curscd be every one that curseth thee,
And blessed be he, that blesseth thee.”
Do you not perceive in both the voice of destiny uttered
even against the will of the father? Under the form of
Esau the other is fated to receive the blessing, and the fa-
ther to utter for him what he intended to utter against him.
All your doubts and objections against these exclusive dec-
larations fall to the ground, when you consider, that they
were not temporal blessings, to which the chosen son was
destined. His posterity were to guard the name and wor-
ship of Jehovali, and, from the time of Moses onward, to
bear the yoke of the law-a blessing, from which most na-
tions would gladly have been relieved.
A. There was, however, it secins, some special regard to
Canaan!
E. And what was there so important in this small coun-
try? The race must have a habitation in some part of the
world. Their poetry has indeed greatly extolled this little
corner of the earth, and almost every mountain, brook, and
valley, is celebrated by its praises ; but observe it is always
praised, as the land favoured of God, as the land of promise,
and in no other way. Its distinctive name and character
were derived from the promises concerning it, for it was
called the promised land, and you will find, that the poetry
connected with Canaan treats every thing in this point of
view-its relation to God and the patriarchs. Zion, Lebanon,
238
Carmel, are mountains of God; the streams, by which me.
morable deeds were performed, are the rivers of God; the
land is the holy land, marked by the footsteps of God and
the fathers, and the pledge of their being the chosen people.
In the history of other nations there are indications, that they
designated here and there a small piece of their soil, as
made sacred by the presence of their God; but I know no
people whose poetry like theirs has made the poverty of their
country exbibit the fulness of God, and consecrated its nar-
row limits as a theatre for displaying the Majesty of Jehovah.
Even now the great mass of this dispersed race dclude them-
selves with hopes drawn from this source, because thic tradi-
tions of the race, its laws, its poetry, cvcry thing has relation
to the promised land, and, as it were, without a country to
rest upon, the tree of their hopes still flourishes and waves
in the air above.
A. Uninteresting enough, too, for us, since we are not of
that country, and cannot read the denunciations of their
propliets against other countries with the enthusiasm, with
which they listened to them. All thicir golden dreams of the
glory of this narrow region, under a king so long waited for
and still to be waited for, seem to us mere dreams of folly ;
and a greater part of their poctry is to us cqually cinpty and
unmeaniny.
E. We shall speak of that in trcating of the prophets.
Surgamus, solent esse graves sedentibus umbric. It would
give inc great pleasure, if I had removed some of your doubts
in regard to the carly fistory of this people, and from these
traditions of the race placed in a clearer light the charac-
teristick traits of its poetry. It is in a word the poctry of
herdsmen ; a poetry breathing the spirit of their covenant rc-
lation, that is, of the family bond, by which they were united,
and the relation of friendship, in which the patriarch of the
race stood to God; in a word it is the poetry of Canaan as
the land of promise. Read it in this spirit, and it will no
237
!
longer be unmeaning. But if you would see another ideal of
an Oriental hero, distinguished for wisdom, happiness, and
quiet but superior virtue, let it be Job. I will point out to
you the passages, which place his character in the fairest light.
Would that all christian emirs thought, believed, and lived,
as well as he did.
APPENDIX.
1.
PICTURE OF THE PROSPERITY, TIIE ACTIVITY, AND DIGNITY OF AN
ORIENTAL PRINCE.*
Oh that I were as in the ancient times,
The days when God preserved me!
His light shono clear upon my head,
And by his light I walked through darkness.
As once I was in the days of my youth,
When God took counsel with me, in my tcnt,
When the Almighty yet was with me,
And round about me stood my slaves.
And where I went, a stream of milk flowed on,
The rock poured out for me rivers of oil.
When from my house I went to the assembly
And spread my carpet in the place of meeting,
The young men saw me and concealed themselves,
The aged rose up, and continued standing,
Princes refrained from talking,
And laid their hands upon their mouths;
The voice of counsellors was silent;
Ile whosc car heard mc, counted mo blessed,
And lic whoso cyo saw me, bore witness to me,
Because I delivered the poor that cried,
The fatherless that had none to help him.
Ile that was ready to perish blessed mc,
And I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy,
1
* Job. xxix.
+ A lamp was hung in the tent of an Oriental. The glory of his pro-
tecting God is here represented as taking its place. God gave him light
in darkness; sat in council with him in his tent, and whatever he un.
dertook prospered.
238
I put on righteousness and it clothed mo,
My judgment was ag a robe and a diadem.
I was eyes to the blind,
And feet was I to the lame,
I was a father to the poor,
And searched out the cause of strangers.
I brake the jaws of the wicked,
And plucked the spoil from his teeth.
Then I said, I shall perish with my nest,*
I shall multiply my days as the phenix.
My root shall be nourished by the waters,
The dew lay all night upon my branches.
My strength in me shall be refreshed,
My bow renewed in my hand.
Men gave ear to me and waited,
They kept silence at my counsel.
After my words they spako not again,
For my speech dropped upon them as the dew.
They waited for my words as for the rain,
And opened their mouths as for the latter rain.
If I laughed at them they were not offended,
And no one saddened the joy of my countenance.
I chose for them and sat as chief;
I dwelt as a king in the midst of my army,
As a comforter among the mourners.
2.
PICTURE OF MAGNANIMITY AXD UNSILAKEN HOPE IN ADVERSITY.
(After all the messages communicating his misfortunes, his
losses of property and children, were brought to Job in ra-
pid succession, the book proceeds with a calm tone, as
follows.]
Then Job stood up,
And rent his mantle,
And shaved his head, t
The Phønix is obviously intended here ; only through a double
sense of the word, the figure of the bird is immediately changed for that
of the palm-tree, an evidence, that an analogy between the two was no.
ticed and pointed out in the East.
+ Not a tokon of impatience in the East, but of grief.
.
239
And cast himself upon the earth,
And worshipped, and said,
“Naked came I from my mothers womb,
And naked shall I return thithor.*
Jehovah hath given,
Jehovah hath taken away,
Blessed be the Majesty of Jehovah."
[When his friends pressed him with severity, and threaten-
ed him with yet severer judgments from God on account of
secret crimes, when the members of his household and his re-
latives deserted, disowned, and contemned him, he uttered his
feelings in the affecting language, which follows.]
All my inward friends abhorred me;
They whom I loved are turned against me ;
My bone cleaveth to my skin and my flesh,
And scarcely the skin in my teeth,
Have I brought away as a spoil.f
Have pity, have pity upon me, my friends,
For the hand of God is heavy upon me.
Why do yo persecute mc, as God hath done ?
And are not satisfied with my fesh.
Oh that my words were now written,
That they were printed in a book !
That they were written in iron and lead,
And graven in the rock forever!
“I know that my avenger liveth,
* The womb of the mother and of the earth are often connected in
this way in the East.
+ Job. xix. 19.
The figure is taken from the prey, which wild beasts carry away in
their teeth ; his skin is his poor and wretched body, which alone he had
escaped with, (not the skin upon his teeth). His friends are represent.
ed as carnivorous animals, which gnaw upon his skin, upon the poor
remnant of his life.
| These words in their connexion are so clear, that it is surprising
they should have been so often mistaken. His friends had forsaken him,
he had yet one friend, one relative, who would be his avenger, (this was
the duty of the best friend and nearest relutive) and this friend, as the
se quel shows, is God. He shall stand upon the arena, and draw the
sword in his behalf, the sword of the avenger and the judge. He shall
240
Atlast shall he step forth upon the scene.
Though they tear and devour this my skin,
Yet in my living body shall I see God.
I shall see him, as my deliverer,
Mine eye shall behold him, as mine,
For whom so long my heart fainted.”
There shall ye then say,
Wherefore did we persccute him?
Then shall the rout of my cause
Bc at length discovered.
Be afraid for his glittering sword,
It is a sword of wrath, that revengeth injustice,
That will show you, there is a judgment.
3.
MORAL SEXTIMENTS OF AN IDUMEAN PRINCE.*
I have made a covenant with my eyes,
Why then should I look upon a maiden?
What portion should I then have in God ?
What inheritance with God from on high?
Doth not destruction follow the wicked ?
And open shame the workers of iniquity ?
Therefore I thought, he secth iny way,
lle counteth over all my stcps.
Did I ever trcad in the path of the hypocrite?
Or my foot hasten after deception ?
(Let me be weighed in an even balance,
And God will then sec my integrity,)
Did my stcps ever turn from the way?
Or my heart sical after my eyes?
Or any blot cleave to my hand ?
Then may I sow and another eat,
And what I have planted another root up.
be for him, and not for his friends, Job's heart recognises him as his,
(his friend, his kinsman) since on carth all had forsaken him. Then
will the root of his causc, his rectitude, be found out. I know nothing
surpassing this firm and noble confidence, which moreover, though not
entirely in Job's sense, was fully justificd. I could wish, that men would
agree in this interpretation, and deal no more in subtilties in regard to
this passage.
* Job. xxxi.
241
+
If ever my heart went after a woman,
And I laid wait at the door of my friend,
Then let my wife be tho slave of a stranger,
Let her be dishonoured of others.
For that would be a crime even in human courts,
A fire that consiimeth even to destruction,
And would burn out my prosperity to the roots.
Did I ever refuse his right to my servant,
And my maid, in a just cause with me?
What then should I do, if God stood up?
If he enquired of it what should I answer?
Did not he, that made me, make him also ?
Werc we not formed alike in the womb ?
Have I withheld from the needy his desire,
And suffered the widow's eye to fail for food ?
Have I eaten my morsel myself alone ?
Nor let the fatherless partake thereof?
Who had grown up with me from a child,
That I should be to him as a father,
Whom I had guided from the womb.
Have I seen the wretched without clothing,
And the miserable go without a covering ?
That his limbs have not blessed me,
And he been warmed with the fleece of my sheep.
Have I raised my hand against the orphan,
Because I saw partiality in the judgment seat?
Then let my shoulder fall from the joint,
Let thc bone of my arm be broken.
I must now have trembled at God's justice,
And against his highness I could not enduro.
If I have made riches my trust,
And said to gold, thou art my confidence,
And rejoiced in the greatness of my wealth,
Because my hand had gained so much,
If I beheld the sun when it shined,
Or the moon going forth in brightness,
And my heart was secretly enticed,
That my mouth hath kissed my hand for thom,
That too were a crime for the judges,
For I should have abjured the God of heaven.
Have I rejoiced at the fall of my enemy,
21
242
And exulted whon evil came upon him ?
No!my tongne uttered no evil word,
Nor any imprecation against him,
When the men of my tent said,
“Oh that we had his ficsh, it should satisfy us."?
No stranger need lodge in the street,
I opened my doors to the wanderer.
Did I hide my faults like a mean man,
And cover up my crime in a corner?
Because I was afraid of the multitude,
And the contempt of families terrified me,
And kcep silence and go not in publick ?
Oh that I had a judge, who would hear me !
Sec my dcfencc ; answer mc, O! my God!
Oh that one would write my causo in a book !
As a manile would I lay it on my shoulders,
As a diadem would I bind it to my turban,
I would tell all my steps beforo him,
As a prince would I draw ncar unto him.
If my land cry out against mc,
And the furrows thcrcof complain,
Because I enjoy the fruit without money,
And oppress the soul of the owner,
Let thistles grow instead of wheat,
And useless weeds instead of fruit.
• That is, though he were lhe bitterest enemy of my houbo' and all
was in a state of open violence.
DIALOGUE X:
Whether the language of the Hebrews was originally that of the Ca.
naanites, and learned from them by the Hebrews. Improbability of
this opinion, and facts at variance with it in the history and languages
of tho kindred descendants of Shem. That the Phenicians also were
foreign settlers in Canaan. On what the right of the Shemites to this
land, and to Asia generally, was grounded. How far religion was
concerned in it. Diffcrcncc between thc Hamites and Shemitee in
their mode of life, religion, custoins, and language. In what way
these traditions among the Shemites were preserved. The history of
Joseph and of the patriarchs back to Abraham. What we have before
Abraham back to the flood. Relation of the members of this gcnea.
logical register. Whether Moses found it already existing. Ilow it
was formed into a genealogical chart. Whether we have in it a com.
plete chart of the wanderings of the several races. View of what it
must have been originally. Whether the account of the flood were
handed down from tho ark. Whether the deluge was universal.
That the history of events before the deluge is connected with, and de.
pends upon a few significant names. Examples of this. Whenco
thoso significant names were derived. Whether from prophecy, from
translation, or a change of name. 'That the use of writeen characters
perhaps originated in these significant names. Ilow it arosc. Ilow
the earliest traditions were probably preserved. Who was the dis.
coverer of alphabetick writing. That only one alphabet exists, and
that is the Slicmirish. Whether the picture of creation was taken
from Egyptian hicroglyphica. That the oldest traditions respecting
Paradise came down from upper Asia. What in these traditions is
fictitious. Whether the tower of Babel, the pillar of salt, Jacob's
wrestling with God, are so. The song of Lamech, the meaning and
the forin of it. Oithe stylo in other narratives. Difference of the
traditions in regard to the use of the words Elohim and Jchovab,
Appendix. The voice of antiquity.
ALCIPIIRON. We are at length come to the most impor-
tant and general questions, which are connected with this
subject, and perliaps have given ourselves very useless trouble,
in our previous conversations, in deducing the poetry of the
Hebrews froin their patriarchal traditions. For may not
244
these patriarchal traditions themselves have been of later ori.
gin? Did not the Hebrews first learn the language, in which
they are written, from their hereditary enemies the Canaan-
ites? If so, they must of course have been put together
at a later period, or Moses himself devised them.
EUTHIYPIIRON. Before the Hebrews came to Canaan then
.
were they duinb, and had they no language ?
A. Not so neither. Who knows what jargon they made
use of? But the language in which these traditions are com-
posed, is undeniably the language of Canaan, the Phenician
language.
E. And from whom could the Phenicians have received
it? Do you know of no dialects having a kindred relation
to it ? and were not thesc spoken by those, who were obvi-
ously Shemitcs ? Syrian, Arabian, Chaldean, all were pure
Shemitish races, having a kindred relation to Abraham and
his fathers. The languages of their descendants, therefore,
must also of necessity hold a corresponding relation. It is
one of the fables of our own age, the meaning of which I
could never yet comprehend, that the Hebrew language
should be considered as originally and exclusively the lan-
guage of the Canaanites. Even according to profane history,
the Phenicians, after first dwelling upon the Red Sea, inovcd
by degrecs higher up, and planted themselves upon the coast
of the Mediterranean. Now I will not undertake to decide,
whether previously, before they pushed themselves among the
pure Shemitish races, they did not speak a different language,
just as the hypothesis is yet unproved, which has been hazard-
ed in modern tiines, that the most ancient Egyptian language
was kindred with the IIebrew. This lasť hypothesis seeins
to me to have little indeed to support it. The races of Iam
and those descended from Shem scem entirely diverse from
each other, as in manners, religion, modes of thinking, and
political organization, so also in language. But let this be
as it may, all the kindred races, as put down upon the genea-
245
logical table of Abraham, spoke dialects: kindred to the He-
brew, and so his own race must have spoken a similar, and
why not the proper Ilebrew language, as it came downward
from his ancestor Heber. All these traditions, and all the
religious ideas in them, from the most ancient times, must
have been originally conceived and expressed in a language
having a kindred relation to the Arabick, Chaldce, and Sy-
riack. This is proved by the book of Job, which so nearly
resembles them. It is proved, too, by the radical forms of all
the languages named. It is as strange and absurd to say,
that the chapter giving an account of the creation is conceiv-
ed after the style and manner of the Egyptians, as to say,
that it was originally coinposed in the Mexican style. It is
the same with the subscquent traditions. It was the Shem-
ites, who brought down the name of Jehovah from the pri-
meval world, and gave it a fixed place in their language, not
the descendants of IIam and Mizraim. The alphabet, too, of
the Phenicians was not invented by this people, for its names
are Chaldce, not African. The Hebrew therefore is the
original and proper language of the race of Eber, not a lan-
guage begged, or borrowed of others; the Phenicians usurped
it, as they did their country, and both probably for the sake
of trade.
A. Why should they usurp their country? Was not the
world open before them, and did the Shemites, this race of
herdsınen, ever engage in the business of navigation? The
coasts belonged to those who knew how to use them.
E. From the coasts, too, no one was disposed to drive
thom. In the mean time, from the manner in which the
tribes were distinguished and divided off, it is plain, that they
took certain directions in their wanderings, and in whatever
direction it was, believed that certain regions and tracts of
country were given them there. The tribes of Japheth went
Northwards beyond the mountains, and roved at large with
their tents, as the name itself implies. No descendants of
.
21*
246
Shem followed them. Ham went towards the torrid countries
of the South, and so to Africa, as partly the gencalogical
chart of Moses, and partly the name, indicates. If any' tribes
descended from him remained, as was the fact, here and there
in Asia, or at a later date forced their way among the Shem-
ites, they did so at the hazard of being expelled. Tlie most
ancient principle of national rights, which rests on such tra-
ditions of the origin and original prerogatives of tribcs, could
admit no other result. You sce, then, why the Israclitcs be-
lieved themselves to have a well grounded light to the land of
Canaan; for that they firmly believed. This is plain from the
writings of Moscs. Their lawgiver held his opinions on this
point with a zcal and decision which leſt no possibility of
doubt, because not only all the traditions and the whole bisto-
ry of the origin of his race proceeded from and was built
upon this, but the thought could never for a moment be ad-
mitted, that both races could inhabit and posscss thic land in
common. The Shemnites looked upon the posterity of Ilam
as a race of servants, with which even the unassuming and
complaisant Abraham admitted throughout of no intimate
connexion. Eliczer inust go to Arain, (Mesopotamia) Jacob,
too, must go to the distant Aram to secure a progeny for the
race; and a marriage with a woman of Canaan would have
been regarde:l as derogatory to the honour of tl.or rrc:- in
short, as these races were diverse in religion, so also in the
countrics pertaining to thein, in customs, and modes of
thought; and a brotherly intimacy between them was not to
be thought of.
A. I ain sorry for that, especially, that at so carly a po-
riod religion should have been the cause of it. Quantuin
religio--say3 Lucretius rightly.
E. 'This too was the fault of the Hamitcs. From what-
ever cause it happened, we see the fact clearly, that from
earliest tiincs, among the tribes descended from Ilamn, the
most glooiny superstition and the darkest idolatry have pre-
247
Failed. Tradition ascribes the origin of it to Ham himself.
Whether this were so or not, among his posterity the obscure
tendency to a dark or indeed horrible religion is undeniable.
Think of the Egyptians, Phenicians, Carthaginians, the most
cultivated nations belonging to this race ; how gloomy, and
horrid were their religious rites ! and among other African
tribes, the most iniserable fetisch worship has come from the
same source. Glance now for a moment at the language
and religion of the Shemites (for, as to the ground forms, all
thçse tribes from the Euphrates to the Red Sea have but one
language), how pure and simple is their religion ! how en-
tirely abstracted, and purified from all sensuousness, is their
name of God! how characteristick of huinanity their notions
of man and of his duties! It is as if one had passed from
the hut of the slave into the open and free tent of the children
and the friends of God. For consider, it is these same tribes
of Shem, thic Arabians included, to whom the world is in-
debted for the doctrine of the unity of God, and the purest
ideas of religion, and of creation, and who have maintained
and difused theso with a zcal, which they have considered
the highest honour of the race. The lamites on the other
hand went before them in that, which we bow call culture
;
they founded kingdoms, and systems of policy, prosecuted
trade, and built cities. Most of the Shemitcs for a long pe-
riod remained berusinen, or if they entered into other modes
of lifc, continued in a state of grcat simplicity; and you see
how favourable this circumstance was for the language and
traditions of the primeval world, which they transmitted.
They were not rendered artificially complex, nor over-borne
and corrupted ; but in their sinplicity and separation, like
the tent, thicy remained in the tent a sacred legacy of pa-
triarchal origin.
A. There you come again upon a new difficulty. How
is it possible, that such ancient traditions and narratives,
among a pcople so little cultivated, and with their roving
248
manner of life, could be so long preserved, and transmitted
even for thousands of years, in a manner to deserve the least
credence ? My doubts on that point, I confess, are not easi.
ly satisfied.
E. We will begin to unravel the knot at the end, viz.
with the history of Joseph. This must of course, it seems to
mc, be preserved by the race, because it was founded upon,
and served to explain, an important fact, the transplanting of
the whole nation to Egypt. So long as an Israelite lived in
Egypt, Joseph could not be forgotten, if not from thankful-
ness and love, yet from the trouble and oppression, which
they suffered there. Thus this history might and must come
down to Moses, eren supposing that it was not previously
written. Then too, it has such an air of authenticity, and is
so full of Egypt!
A. That is true. It gives us authentick accounts of
Egypt to a certain extent from a very ancient period, al-
though it is conceived in a style very characteristick of the
Israelites.
E. Because it was conceived and related by Israelites,
and not by Egyptians, a sufficier.t pledge that such would be
the case. With this, too, is inseparably connected the history
of Jacob; and this, united with the history of Joseph, forms the
most full and extended of all the traditions,* partly, because
the events related in it were more recent and nearer to the
compiler, and partly, bceause through the medium of twelve
sons and their posterity many particulars of it would naturally
be preserved. There are distinct traditions in it undeniably,
but not a two-fold tradition of the same event, as in more
ancient traditions. Every thing, as far as the nature of the
case would permit, is proved by circumstances of name, place,
monuments, genealogical registers, and since those of neigh-
bouring tribes are industriously and at large inserted among
Gen. xxvii. 50.
249
the registers of this,* they serve to authenticate its history.
These registers are the historical archives of the Orientals,
and the historical traditions are the commentary. In the
history of Jacob, too, the account of his wanderings, of his
children, and his wives, is so in accordance with the life of a
herdsmen, with the relations of a household, and the charac-
ter of woman.
A. But beyond this, the antecedent traditions ?
E. Are more barren and scanty, as they must be. In the
account of Abraham's sojourn in Egypt we recognize a two-
fold traditiont. But here, too, every thing remains so true to
the matter, so suited to time and place, that cach tradition
may generally be distinguished. Observe for example the
reflection of the Arabian descrt in the story of Ishmaeli. Wc
sec, too, from what has been remarkcıl, why the accounts
given of the blessings pronounced, ani of the marriages, are
so minute and full, since from these proceeds, as it were, the
gencalogical tree, on which afterwards cvery thing else is
arranged.
A. But the reference to Canaan is every where observable.
E. It iust be so, becausc Canaan was the end of all
Abraham's sojournings, the sum of all the promises, and the
theatre of all the events of the history. Places and families
were the witnesses of particular events, and the long life of
the patriarchs furnished a security for the preservation of
the whole history. The race was shut up by itself, enjoyed
a quiet mode of life, and the patriarchal traditions, together
with the blessings pronounced, and the promises, formed as
it were the soul, and the intellectual nourishinent of it. A
war-like people have their war-songs, a race of herdsmen
their pastoral traditions.
A. And farther back, beyond the age of Abraham ?
E. The history vanishes cven back to the deluge. A
* Gon. xxxvi.
+ Gen. xii. 20. 16. 21,
Gen. xvi. 21.
250
1
naked genealogical table is all that we have*. And observe
even the poverty of the accounts for this period are a pledge
of their truth. At this time the various races were making
their Inigrations, and moving hither and thither. They inust
acquire consistence, and become established, before we
could hear any thing more from thein. Thus from Abra-
ham to Noah, we have only a catalogue of names for the
whole interval ; yet important names, because they are the
genealogy of those Eastern nations.
A. If they were only authenticated, as we could wish!
E. You must authenticate them for yourself, and the re-
lations of the parts and members, of the different races, and
of the regions of country to which they belonged, furnish
the means of doing so very satisfactorily. Of the progeny of
Japheth the number given is small; two generations only.t
And the race is left there as a terra incognita, beyond the
mountains. The posterity of Ilam recorded are more nu-
merous, but the notices of thein, which are definite, extend
only to the region of country, which lay in the sphere of these
traditions, between the Euphrates and Egypt; the other
names are attached to these only as a terra incognita. In
regard to thesc, too, the more full and distinct notices aro
always connected with some definite occasion and saying,
froin which they proceed, as for example, the account of Nim-
rod and of the Canaanites.1 Tlie register of the children of
Shem shows this still more clearly. lieber's line is traced
downward in both Peleg and Joktan,g and their children, while
of Aram only onc generation is given, I and the other brothers
are passed by and forgotten, because they were too far re-
moved, and no notices were found of them, as of those more
nearly related. The relation then of the members in this
genealogical register furnishes evidence of its truth.
* Gen. x. xi.
+ Gen. x. 2.4.
Gen. x. -14.
iGon. X. Li2. 14-19. Gen. x. 24-29. xi. 10--29. [Gon. X, 23.
251
A. Do you not believe, then, that Moses drew this chart !
E. IIow could he.? It is in fact, properly speaking, no
chart; but, as it was before called, a register. If he had
contrived it, it would have had no authority, and from the
relation of the parts it is moreover plain, from what age and
what region it was transmitted.
A. From what one then ? Iain anxious to know.
E. From about the time of Peleg, and the region, which
he inhabited. In his time the tribes made their migrations;
and as these migrations would be the subject of discourse, or
it would be inquired, in how many distinct branches an origin-
al race had gono forth, this scems to have been the origin of
· these genealogical charts. Hence so little is said of the
oldest sons of Japheth and Shem; and hence the traditions
are chicfly confined to a small region between the Nile and
the Euphratcs or the Tigris. There were the enterprises of
Nimrod, there wandered the generation of Poleg and Joktan,
there Aram cstablished himself, thence the Canaanites went
forth, and this, too, gives its limits to this gcnealogical record.
A. And had Moscs then nothing to do in the construction
of it?
E. IIc made the genealogical record, which he found
existing, as far as he could perhaps, into a geographical chart,
i. c. hic added to it an account of the place and direction, to
which these ancient la mily divisions of the successive genera-
tions of the world had directed their course according to an-
cient tradition. Of Japheth he knew nothing more definite,
and placed his descendants (v. 5.) by a very general designa-
tion in the obscure regions of the unexplored North. In re-
gard to Nimrod, Ashur, and the Canaanites, (v. 8--12. 18.
19.) le added the geographical accounts, which he had re-
ceived ; but most respecting the Canaanites, because they
were the ncarest. Yet particular geographical notices occur
of both earlier and later origin apparently, than the time of
252
Moses. Of the children of Joktan he gave but a brief notice,*
because, not to mention other descendants of Shem, these
were unknown to him. The very poverty you perceive of
this chart, and of these notices, is their security from being
lost or interpolated.
A. It seems to me, too, that much useless trouble has
been taken from considering this chapter, even in respect to
names, a proper and complete chart of the emigrations, of
ancient tribes, and seeking to trace out every name as a coun-
try or city.
E. So it appears to me, though labour bestowed in this
way is praise-worthy, if it is not wholly in a wrong direction,
But who can assure us, that some of these several races, that
then went forth separately from each other, were not soon
lost and absorbed or united with others, and who can tell
whether all the names of families must be found in the coun-
tries which they inhabited ? Even Moses, or perhaps an ear-
lier patriarch, knew of the dwellings of Japheth, nay, of Shem
and Joktan themscives, only the little, which occurs here, (v. 5.
22, 30.) and must we know more than they? Other divisions
and cities again arc described, with a particularity common
in ancient descriptions of countries, as if a small tract were
the whole world. (v. 10. 11. 19. 26--29.) Ilow do we
learn now, that accounts were preserved of the towns and
cities of all these, that, for example, all the song of Joktan,
(v. 26--29) built for themselves cities in the region named.
(v. 30.) The ground of all these errours is, that the chapter
is taken as a proper map or chart, and as one made, by Mo-
ses ; while it was originally a mere register of the different
branches of families in thcir first separation from cach other,
and of their earliest offspring. The later glosses upon this
too, which for us however are very ancient, only designate,
somewhat vaguely for the most part, their possessions and
. Gen. x. 30.
253
dwelling-places, and without affirming whether every name
remained, and continued in the successive generations. In
the mean time it is enough for our purpose, that the register
proceeds, with chronological notices and ages of individuals,
in a way distinct from the accounts of any other people, even
back to the deluge.
A. And so you consider the journal of what took place
in the ark as true and authentick?
E. I know not otherwise how it attained its present form,
and gave the measurement of the water in the daily increase
and decrease of its height above the mountains. Every thing is
noticed as in the actual and ncar view of the thing itself. Its
tone, too, and the fragmentary character of these notices, be-
fore, during, and after the lood, are proof of its high anti-
quity.
A. And was the delugc as universal, as the author of this
supposed ?
E. In relation to our purpose it would make no diference
if we admit that it was not universal. It is sufficient, that
this author held it to be so, and know no country, that had
cscaped its overwhelming waters. Suppose that in the far-
thest East, high inountains and behind them whole kingdoms
were saved from the flood ; he knew it not, and was not
bound to know it. The giants, his persecutors, and with
them all that lived in South Eastern Asia must perish, while
he took with him his household and a stock of animals to a
nore Western region, from which through him the earth
would now begin again to be peopled. If there were a peo-
ple in the extreme East saved from the deluge we shall in
duc time find it out.
A. But how ? and by what means ?
E. By a comparison of their languages, their institutions,
and most ancient traditions, with that which has spread abroad
from mount Ararat. It is generally thought so long a period
22
254
can admit only of conjectures, but I hope they will not always
continue so.
A. And the history before the deluge ?
E. Passes obviously into a mere record of significant
names, genealogical records, and family traditions mingled
together ; and here, too, its poverty is a pledge of its truth.
The voice of tradition would tell only what was known, and
restrained itself to this scanty memorial ;-a barren pedigree;'
and the significant names in it are the sole bridge of com-
munication between that ancient world and our own.
A. You speak of significant names.
E. Every nainc includes in it the whole history of a patri-
arch. Look at this a moment, and begin with Adam. IIe is
called a man of carthi, and that is his history. Ile was form-
ed from the earth, appointed for the cultivation of the earth,
and was returned to earth ; and we know of him nothing fur-
ther. Abel, a man of sorrow, or who was the occasion of
sorrow, gives the history of another. Cain, the first posses-
sion ; and the name of his son Epoch also is cqually signifi.
cant. Noah, under whom, or in whose time, the earth was to
find rest froin the oppression of tyrants ; and so of others.
A. But these could not have been the names, which the
persons bore in their life timic, for all who gave names to
their children were not prophets in regard to their future his-
tory. Did Eve know the future fate of Abel, when she gave
him his naine?
E. That I do not suppose ; in some cases however the
name would afterwards bc interpreted in a sense different
from that in which it was given. Thus in the cxample of
Cain and Noahı. Others suffered perhaps, when the traditions
were formed respecting them; a modification of form, as we
find custoinary in later traditions. Recollect the case of
Abram and Abraham, of Sarai and Saralı, of Esau and Edom,
Jacob and Israel, &c. The man cither assumed from later
cvents in his life a new naine, or slightly modified his former
3
255
1
one so as to make it characteristick of his life. In some
names this would seem to me to have been very easy, as the
kindred forms which proceed from the original root, like
branches from the trunk, would sufficiently show. Enoch,
the son of Cain, bore his name, indicating initiation, in a dif-
ferent sense from the initiated son of Seth. Cain, Methuse-
lah, and others may be interpreted in different ways ; but for
our purpose it is of no consequence. Whether all parents,
who gave names to their children before the flood, were pro-
phets or not, the names of their children are significant names.
With many of them, as also after the flood with the names
of Shem, Japheth, and Ilam, was associated the history of
their lives, and even of the race, of which they were the ori-
gin. From these proper namics, therefore, the earliest history
proceeded; on names was it dependent, and by these it was
preserved. The general customs of the Orientals, logether
with their gencalogical records, prove this beyond a question.
A. But where the history of the life was not conveyed
by the name?
E. There it was attached to it by a song, a tradition.
You see an example of this in the sword of Lainech, and the
translation of Enoch. Of tlic children of Cain no names
were preserved, but the race of the inventor and artificer, and
so this single well-connected family linc leads back to the
highest antiquity.
A.
We ought then to have these naincs still in the ori-
ginal language.
E. That scems to me of litile importance. Were it an-
other language, and the names translated, as for example the
naine of Moses, so much the better, since thus the names would
become truly significant, and their meaning be explained.
A. But in this you at least carry back the invention of the
alphabet to a very high antiquity, For otherwise, the preser-
vation of such names in pedigrees would be scarcely possible.
E.
At first, perhaps, only the numbers which exhibit the
256
ages of the successive generations, were given with some mark
to designate the meaning of the name in cach, and with this
mark would be retained the significant name, and conse-
quently the history of the man. So do all sensuous tribes
even now; and, without a designation of things, mero names
in connexion with the lines and numbers could scarcely be
written or prescrved at all. With the name of Abel was con-
nected perhaps some representation of a man slain, with that
of Enoch the picture of a city, &c. This must be the moth-
od of proceeding, where there was no alpliabct ; but my own
belief is, that the alphabct existed at a very early date ; and
by this very mode of recording names and registers it would
nccessarily be soon invented.
A. Soon ? do you say. It is generally considered the la-
test and niost difficult invention.
E. It would be as dificult after three thousand ycars, as
in the first thousand, indeed inore difficult. If picture and
hicroglyphick writing has once beconic establislied, and so
far in usc, as to scrve the most necessary purposes, no alpha-
bclick writing, pretty surely, is cvcr likely to be thought of, as
the example of the Egyptians and Chinese shows. Pictures
might become hicroglyphicks, but these would never become
letters, if they were modified, for ten thousand years in suc-
cession. From the matter which the painter sccks to reprc-
sent by a picture we could never come at the articulation of
a sound, but rather, the more our attention is fixed upon that,
the further we are from this; and the probability is, that al-
phabetick writing must have been invented very carly, or it
never would have existed.
A. The common opinion is quite the contrary of that.
E. The common opinion, as it seems to me, has not been
formed on sufficiently clear views in regard to this point. If
alphabetick writing was ever to be invented, it must be
brought about by reason of something simple, something very
definite, and very indispensable, which could not be expressed
-257
by images. Now proper names exhibit these very conditions ;
and it is a fact, that names and genealogical registers consti-
tute the earliest traditions of the primeval world. In the
second place, it must be found out in reference to objects,
which were generally known, where a single word, or at all
events, a mark attaclıcd to it, should bring the whole matter
to mind, and such were significant naines, where a word
brought to mind the whole life of the individual named. Con-
nected with it, in the third place, were circumstances favoura-
ble to invention and memory, such as the long lives of the
patriarchs, their simplicity, their avoidance of images. and
symbols of the divinity, the reverence with which they were
regarded by the long line of tlicir posterity, the sublimity of
the idea, under which, by means of these simple but myste-
rious characters, they brought the origin of the liuman race,
and the whole original revelation of God, down to the gene-
rations, which bad sprung from them. The purcst, the car.
licst, and the most urgent necessity gave rise to the invention
or it would never have taken place; is not such your own
vicw of it?
A. Very nearly. Who then was the inventor of the al-
phabet ?
E. "That I know not; who does know? The traditions
of scveral different nations call himn Seth, Thet, Thieut, Thoit,
all onc and the same name. Perhaps it was he, who, ac-
cording to the import of his own significant name, set up a
monument, for alphabetick writing was in truth an everlast-
ing monument. Nor was the invention so difficult, when a
man had once fallen upon thic track. Ile analyzed, we may
supposc, the sound of the voice in uttering some of the names,
which were to be placed upon the genealogical table, and
which could not be represented there by significant images,
and, this done, the invention was accomplished. Children
and grand-children were assembled to learn these monuments,
especially on religious festivals, for these memorials of their
22*
258
fathers were connected with their religious notions and feel.
ings. They learned the names of their fathers combined
with these characters, which represented sounds, and so the
invention would be rendered fixed, and permanent, as far as
any thing could be so. Thus the fifth chapter of Genesis
may have been, with its names and numbers, the first tablet
of thought in articulate sounds, and transmitted perhaps
through Noah, to Shem, as the meaning of the latter name
might denote.
A. And the earlier traditions ?
E. They were transmitted probably in pictured images,
or by mere oral tradition, until alphabetick writing was more
fully established in use. . The history of the creation is en-
tirely a sensuous representation arranged by days' works and
numbers ; in seven pictures of the separate portions of the
created universe ; anci, placed with reference to thcir parallel
or corresponding relations, they could be preserved and ac-
knowledged, because the institution of the sabbath renewed
and retained them in the recollection. But by this the way
was only ;repared for hicroglyphick writing. The case was
similar with the history of Paradise. When the tree, the
woman, and the serpent were painted, there were marks
enough to aid and direct the memory; iu regard to the cause
and manner of what had taken place, and the matter itself ;
the removal from Eden, the altered mode of life, was retained
alas! not by the memory merely, but, in dccd, and in the
rcality itself. Do you see in this narrative itself of the pri
meval world no traces of this mode of prescrving the record
of events?
A. I would be very glad if I could, for without that the
whole is inerely speculative opinion.
E. In the time of Enos, inen began to call on the name
of Jehovah ; and this, under whatever form of words it may
be expressed, presupposes some kind of confession and wor-
ship at a publick religious monument. For that reference is
259
had here to the sons of God, who went in to the daughters of
men, is an explanation, that cannot be sustained. Those
are called sons of the Elohim, occur in a fragment of a hero-
ick tradition, and are obviously designated heroes, inighty
men, as they were clearly shown to be. Here men called
themselves by the name of Jehovah, i, e. professed themselves
his worshippers; and we might naturally conjecture this to be
the time, when Seth set up such a memorial, as was before
spoken of, of the name and word of God, and that the an-
cient fiables of the pillars of Scth were perhaps derived from
this. Yet the whole is, and must continuc, mcre conjecture;
and if we suppose the invention of writing to have been of
later date, it is suflicient, that it was made in the family of
Seth or of Shcm. All the Eastern nations, which have
monosyllabick languages, know only hicroglyphicks. A sin-
gle alphabet alone exists in the world, and the names of the
letters in this, cven as the Greeks afterwards obtained them
through the Phenicians, are obviously Chaldæan, i. c. in the
Shemitish language. The Phenicians had not invented it,
for as was remarked, they had probably received their lan-
gunge itself from the Shemites, as they lived in the midst of
them, and the rest of the descendants of lIam had no alpha-
betick characters. Even the Egyptians had only hicroglyph-
icks ; when they received an alphabct, it had what according
to cominon prejudice were the Phenician characters.
A. You do not then, I suppose, consider the story of the
tree of knowledge, and the picture of creation, to be of
Egyptian origin, formed in soine way from hieroglyphick
representations, and discovered by Moscs ?
E. What is there in these, my friend, that is Egyptian ?
or that even resembles the Egyptian hicroglyphicks ? Every
thing, which aimed to set forth this history in monuments of
art, was ridiculous, and has been ridiculed with good reason
as more recent and spurious. And on what is the opinion,
to which you rcfer grounded? Where are those hieroglyph-
260
icks to be found, from which Moses formed his account?
Where is there any thing like this history in Egyptian my.
thology and language? That certain conceptions of night,
of spirits, of light and other, with certain Egyptian gods, are
mct with is nothing to the purpose, for Mizrain too had his
conceptions of the primeval world, as handed down from the
patriarchs, and from Noah. But how darkly, and gloomily,
are they Egyptianized in this mythology. I would be glad
to find the Ezra, who from the inud of the Egyptian Nile
could draw out and kin«lle in its purity the holy fire of the
first ideas of creation ; and the Jeremial, who could carry it
thither and conccal it in that dark and obscure mass. In the
languages of the posterity of Shem, which we commonly call
Oriental, every thing is clear and strikes the eye at once.
The radical principles, the fundamental conceptions, the par-
allelisin of the heavens, and the carth, of God and man, of
the inanimate and animate creation, are placed and arranged
in accordance with the farins of these languages. Can there
be a more decisive proof than this ? the formation of a whole
class of languages in respect to the scnsuous images expressed
in the radical forms, and in a style so peculiar. Recollect
morcover from what regions these traditions are obviously
derived. Paradise, the tree of life, thc Cherubim, the delugc-
whither docs the collector of them himself refer these? Ob.
serve the constant progress of culturc from East to West,
from the Ganges to Ararat, the migration of tribes from the
mountain elevations of Asia into the low countries, and final-
ly, at a late period, into Egypt, growing in part out of the
mud of the Nilc; how natural is this coursc, and how cor-
respondent is every thing to the history of the earth, and of
the human race ! Eastwards, in the vicinity of the most
elevated regions of Asia, arc still found probably the most
ancient mythologies, languages, and social organizations of
society. There we find still a large class of entirely mona-
syllabick languages, (for all children spoak at first in mona-
261
syllables) and, what is remarkable, these nations still depend
on hieroglyphicks, know no alphabet, and have still their
ancient political organization, which arose obviously out of
the absolute despotisrn of paternal authority, preserved through
thousands of years, as if for a perpetual mcmorial of the in-
fancy of the world. If we shall ever learn more thoroughly
the mythologics and languages of these countries, we shall
sce in a clearer light many things pertaining to the original
history of our racc, and thc derivation of the earliest ideas.
So much, however, we see with the greatest clcarness, that
Egypt could by no possibility be the source of these traditions.
They came down from the high regions of Asia, and were
spread abroad with the diffusion of the Shiemitish race. At
length Canaan bacame the spot for their preservation, and all
the circumstances of the nation were so ordered, that they
could be preserved in their purity.
A. You do not, then, hold the IIebrew language to be the
most ancient that has existed, the language of Paradise, the
motlicr of all the languages of the carth.
E. Ilow could it be, at least in its present statc ? Its
radicals are all regular, and of two syllables, and, in its es-
sential features, it is a highly cultivated language. Men
who lived a thousand years, must have had a different organi-
zation, different organs, consequently also a different language.
Lower Asia, where thesc nations dwelt, (not Cashmire and
the upper Ganges,) is obviously the climate for this language.
Yet, I hold it to be a daughter of the primeval language, and
indeed one of the oldest. The regularity of its radical forms
even is no valid objection to this opinion. This fact, indeed,
arose from the carly use of alphabetick writing ; for it is
proved from the history of all languages and nations, that
alphabetick characters and writing have universally given
regularity to languages, but where hicroglyphicks are used
they remain in perpetual infancy and unintelligible barbarism.”
A. You give me a clearer general view of this matter,
262
it can say
than I have ever beforc had. The more one seeks to find all
things in each, the less does he find any thing satisfactorily.
I will accustom myself to refer back this echo of the prime-
val times to the simplicity of its origin, and to expect, and
hear no more from it, than from the nature of the case,
But must not inuch, that is given here, be the
mere poctical fiction of late times, the tower of Babel, for
example, the history of the desolation of Sodom, Jacob's
wrestling with the angel, &c. ? In regard to the first, you
have shown me, that it is a satirical etlusion respecting the
absurd enterprizes of the first ambitious tyrant. Probably
many things occurred during the building, that produced dis-
sensions, and they therefore abandoned the work, and sepa- .
rated from cach other. As soon as some of thein went away,
others followed, as in the melting of snow, the current formed
by one mass carries off another. It happened herc, as in
the migrations near the cominencement of the christian cra,
and this was only the first general migration of the sort. It
came too, from the very same region, from which all great
migrations have since comc, from Tartary, in cvery age, the
fruitful mother of nations. The history of the destruction of
Sodom is probably a later poetical dress, with which some
Hebrew has clothed facts of history, as the pillar of salt,
probably a more recent memorial, may shoir'. And finally
the wrestling of Jacob with the angel, even as you explain it,
is perhaps nothing more than a poctical description of his
earnest wrestling in prayer, with God, that he would protect
him from the assault of Esau. We find this prayer related
before, and the nocturnal struggle was perhaps the mere fic-
tion of another tradition, which had the name of Elohim,
and related every thing in a poctical dress. The llebrew
propliet, who has introduced it, has indeed so understood it.
“ Ile strove with the angel and prevailed, for he wept and
entreated him.” Bodily conflict is not very successfully con.
ducted by weeping and entreaty. Many other poetical em-
263
bellishments might be named, which we, in the simplicity
our hearts, receive as true history.
E. It would amount to nothing, if the whole were so un-
derstond. But your interpretation does not satisfy me. The
diversiy of languages in the world is a problem, that cannot be
explained from the quiet migrations of the various tribes,
even when 've add to this, climate, face of the country, mode
of life, and customs of different races, as productive causes
of it. Nations often dwell in close contact, of the same race,
i. e. of the same organick formation, but with languages the
most diverse. An island, a small continent, embraces often
within a narrow space, many such ; and the smallest and
most savage tribes abound most in the diversities of language.
If we shall cver have a list of all nations, so as to compare
them together in respect to the three leading titles, which be-
long here, their formation, languages, and the mythological
stores of the different races, we shall be able to judge of these
things more conclusively. So far as I now know, we cannot
explain every thing by our conceptions of the migratory move-
ments of the race. That which necds explanation here is
not diversities, i. c. dialectical variations of one language,
from diferent degrees of copiousness, and causes of gradual
changc, but total diversity, confusion, Babel. Something
positive must have preceded, which placed men's licads so
at variance with each other. Philosophical explanations
are not cnough, and give no satisfaction. I assume a mi-
raculous event to cxplain what is related in this tradition,
because I can give no natural explanation of it. So it is also
with the destruction of Sodom. You have hcrc rather strong
features of poctical embellishment, as for example,
The sun was risen upon the carth,
Wlien Lot was comic to Zonr.
Then raincu Jehovah, npon Sodom and Gomorrah,
Brimstonc and fire from Jchovah, out of heaven.
IIc overthrew the cities there,
4 .
264
And all the plain was desolate,
And all that dwelt in them, and all that grew.
And when Lot's wife looked back behind her,
She became a monument of salt:-
that is, she was consumed, and became, even in her form, a
inonument of destruction, of which in the East, salt was al.
ways a standing monument. It may be, that afterwards, upon
the place where she died, a monument of bituminous frag-
ments was thrown together, as is customary in the East, and
that the expression, pillar of salt, came to be applied to it.
Thus this expression, like the repetition of the name Jehovah,
who caused it to rain, and again, from whom it rained, ap-
pears as a very natural emphasis in the mode of speaking, as
every tradition adheres closely and with cmphasis to its sub-
ject. The perplexing riddles, that have been made out of
both these, are unnecessary, or rise from the love of the mar-
vellous. Finally the story of Jacob's wrestling with the angel
is rclated entirely in the tone of historical narrativc. It is
soincthing in addition to the prayer, and coming after it, not
as a paraplırasc merely,--but I believe we have said enough of
this.
A. You find, therefore, nothing that is properly poctry in
these traditions ?
E. As you understand the word poctry, there is but a sin-
gle poem here, Lamech's on the invention of the sword.
(for this, according to the context, and sound interpretation,
is the import of it, not an unfccling expression of joy at the
murder of Cain.) It has a metrical relation of members, and
even correspondencies of sound. The parallelism occurs in
it, and you thus perceive how ancient this is. Lyrick poctry
and musick are invented in the same age, and in one and the
same family. The former was the daughter of the latter, and
thcy have always been united. In short, here is this brief
triumphal song ; but I can only give it without corresponden-
cies of sound, without rhyme,
265
Yo wives of Lamech, hear my voice,
And hearken to my speech. ,
I slew a man, who woundcd me,
A youth, who smote me with a blow.
If Cain shall be seven times avenged,
Then Lamech, scventy times seven.
He felt thus forcibly the superior efficacy of iron and of the
sword, against the onset of other deadly weapons. Other songs,
and properly poctical cflusions, are not found in these tra-
ditions ; but much of the spirit of poctry in the narrative, in re-
spcct to every thing, especially in concise thoughts and nioral
sentiments. In regard to the concisc, mcasured, and majestick
form of its contents, the picture of the creation is sublime
poctry, though not fitted for musick, or in the form of verse.
The blessings pronounced by the patriarchis are all a lofty
mashal, in concisc expressions full of parallelism, though
again not designed for musick. The whole narrative de-
scription is now pastoral, and now heroick in its own way,
but cvery whicre characterized by simplicity of expression.
The inatter of it, and the tone and spirit of the whole, became
the basis of the subscquent poctry and history of the race, as
the traditions of their fathers do among all nations. In short,
iny friend, we are now through the entrance way, and shall
hercaſter survey the building itself.
A. You must allow mc yet one question. Ilave you ar-
rived to any certain conclusion in regard to those hypotheses,
which explain the diversity of these traditions in the use of
the words Jehovah and Elohiin ?
E. The diversity, especially in the most ancient picces,
is obvious to the cyc, and has been traced out by a recent
author* with an accuracy, which lcaves little to be added
unless indeed an airn at too great precision is injurious to the
hypothesis itself. Passages are separated by it throughout,
which obviously belong together, and are probably from the
;
* Eichhorns Einleitung ins A. T. Th. 2. S. 301-383.
23
266
same age, perhaps even from the same hand. Regard was
probably had to the question, where Elohim, and where Je-
hovah were placed. The most ancient fragments had Elo-
him, and also those, in which the most ancient fragments
were followed as the guide, or something was related, that
was not properly suited to the dignity of Jehovah. Other
fragments, taken perhaps from the mouth of tradition at a la-
ter period, havc Jehovah throughout; yet in those too, this
name was probably often inserted by the compiler. In mat- .
ters of this kind, we can never arrive at the highest certainty,
and in regard to all the traditions, with this or with that name,
their origin from one sourcc, the traditions of the family of
Shem, cannot fail to be recognized.
TIIE VOICE OF ANTIQVITY.
Whence art thou, hallowed voice of ancient ages ?
And whither bound ?
And how, amid the storm of times and nature's changes,
Hath brcathed thy gentle breatlı ?
Com'st thou from life's fair trce and holy fountain,
In Eden's groves ?
That of crcation, and the deep prophctick foeling,
Of man's pure primeval love,
Of that forbidden tree, the cares and sorrows,
Or man deceived,
Of floods, and giants, impious men, that braved the heavens,
Thou spcak'st in arilcss tones?
...
Say, how didst thou avoid the sweeping billows,
That drown'd the world?
And gentle as thou art, cscape the wild dispersion
Or nations o'cr thc carth ?
Did, then, thy father hide thee from the tempest
In Paradise ?
And send thee, with the dove, and loaf of peaceful olivo,
To his new chosen son ?
267
Yes, daughter of the voice divine and human,
Thou wont'st with him,
(His pledge, his legacy, received from holy fathers,)
Within his floating ark.
And thou didst cleave through every generation,
To worthiest names,
Descending safe, by God's own holy name protected,
Till we are blessed by thee.
Yo broken cchoes, and memorial fragments,
Of oarliest times,
To me how dear! for letters, and a pure religion,
The world reccived from thee.
MOSES.
Our distance from each other, my friend, shall not prevent
us from considering the character of that great man, who
not only founded the political, the religious, and social insti-
tutions of the Ilebrows, but more fully confirmed the use, and
animated the genius, of their poetry. We have now passed
through the entrance court of the temple, and, in the funda-
mental conceptions of their poctry and religion, as well as in
the cosmology and most ancient historical notices of this pco-
ple, have collected, out of the patriarchal traditions, materi-
als, to which we shall hereafter have frequcnt occasion to
refer. Now, the whole scene will be changed ; and we shall
no longer find oursclves concerned with a shepherd race, and
with pastoral conceptions of God, and of the sphere of hu-
man life. A man born and cducated in Egypt, but who
made Arabia his adopted country, the thcatre of his plans, of
his dccds, his wanderings, and his miracles, is now before us.
From him, too, and the events of his history, cven thc poetry
of his people derives its spirit, its form, and its developinent.
Let mc approach the nearer, thou serious, sacred shade!
In thec do I contemplate one anong the greatest, and most
ancient of thosc mighty incn, who were the law-givers and
bcncfactors of the human raco! Let not the brightness of
thy countenance shine upon mc, as once it shone, but so that
I may know the features thereof, and show them to my friend,
with that pure light and truth, which thou didst place, as a
sacred syinbol, upon the brcast of the high priest of thy peo-
ple.
The early events in the life of Moscs were of that remarka-
ble kind, which in later periods of antiquity we find, either
as history, or fable, in the early lives of many law-givers and
distinguished men. A Cyrus, a Romulus, and others, were
delivered as he was, and his namo reminded him, that the
269
Divine Being hall not without design delivered him from a
watery grave, by means of the daughter of the king of that
people, which was oppressing his own. In this, as in other
instances, it might seem, as though Providence delighted in
bringing forth from nothingness the most important products
of wisdom and power, by a thread the most slender, and the
most complicated in its windings, and even to employ the
hand of thosc, who are hostile to its design, for the accom-
plishment of its sleep and mysterious counsels.
Moscs was brought up at the court of Pharaoh. Lcarncd
in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, he was also acquainted
with the sccrct knowledge of the priests, and the political or-
ganization of that country, which became the cradle of the
political institutions of various other nations. Tradition rep-
resents him also as a military leader and hicro, but on this
point the history of his own nation is silent.
It is no valid objection to the wisdom of Providence, that
it carries forward its work by instruments, and attains its di-
vine purposes by human mcans. The purpose here to be
accomplishcil was to rcform ; and, as far as it could be done
consistently with other purposes, to bring back to the customs,
and to the God of their fathers, a people who had lost these
customs in Egypt, and to whom, from their near connexion
with the idolatrous worship and priestly domination of the
Egyptians, the God of their fathers was no longer familiar.
To do this, and restore them froin the undisciplined and wan-
dering state, into which their minds had fallen, an Egyptian
guide and teacher was necessary ; who might employ those
very institutions, to which they had become accustomed in
Egypt, in order to restore to them the religion of their fathers,
in the form best fitted to their present capacity for under-
standing and receiving it. Here again, the skill and qualifi-
cations of such a lcader were necessary, in order to make a
lasting impression, and employ even their senses and existing
habits for the attainment of the end ; in short, to construct
23*
270
for them, as Moses did, out of the costume, and external ac-
companiments of idolatry, among a superstitious people, a
form of religious worship, and organize a ritual, which, in
spite of all that was sensuous and typical in it, was the first
political sanctuary of true knowledge on earth. It is idle to
pretend to deny, that Moses, in the organization of the priest-
hood, and the arrangements of the temple and the ritual, had
no reference to those Egyptian institutions, in which he was
himself educated, and from which he aimed forever to re-
form and separate his people; the traces of resemblance are
too obvious to be mistaken. That such was the case is suf-
ficiently shown, by the fact, that he built every thing upon
the pricsthood, and chose and sct apart a particular tribe
for this office, by the offerings, the purifications, the dress,
and the breast-plate of the high-priest, and by many individu-
al rites, which, however, it would be too tedions to cnumcr-
ate here and compare with those of Egypt. Yet, the spirit
of his religion was as obviously not. Egyptian. The God,
which he taught his people to worship, was Jehovah, the
God of his fathers; and even in forming his ceremonial out
of the elements of the Egyptian he employed those only as
the creative spirit cinploys the gross matter, to which it im-
parts a new organization and life. Wherever any thing bore
the impress of superstition, and had only a distant tendency
to idolatry, his course was directly opposed to the dark spirit
of the slavish and enslaved Egypt. Ilis people were taught
to abhor all idolatrous images. The golden calf copied from
models of Egyptian art and wisdoin, he burned with fire, and
in his indignation and zcal, gave it in the ashes, for drink, to
the guilty apostates. His temple neither contained nor would
adınit any outward figurc, or representation of God. The
Cherubim even he adopted not as Egyptian Sphinxcs, but as
the marvellous beings, full of meaning and of terror, which
were referred to in the traditions of his fathers. IIis high-
priest borc upon his forehead, and his breast, neither hicro-
271
פרון
glyphicks nor idolatrous images, but letters and a sacred in-
scription. Through light and righteousness, i. e. the illu-
mination of truth, he consecrated him and the twelve tribes
of his people to God. The sanctuary, which he gave them,
was a temple mysteriously veiled, and adorned with Oriental
magnificence, as the palace of the invisible King, of whom
no representation dare be formed, whose servants were the
priests, and the host of Israel his moving but chosen resi-
dence. In regard to offerings and purifications he avoided
entirely the superstitions of the Egyptians, and in the choice
of food, placed the customs of his people in opposition to
those of Egypt, which abounded in amphibious animals, and
others of such kinds as were forbidden by Moses to the Is-
raelites. This system of laws is the most ancient model,
which we have, at least in a written form, where health,
morals, political organization, and the service of God, are all
combined in ono work and one system.
It is not, however, to be denied, that this whole system was
a temporary Egyptian yoke, indispensable indeed to the Is-
raclites of that day, and generally, as being in itself a great
and necessary step, in the progress of political development;
but unhappy in the extrerie, iſ, like the Egyptian and Chinese,
this must have been in its purpose and result a perpetual
yoke, and an unceasing restraint upon the advancement of
mankind. This, plainly, was not the purpose of Moses, nor
was this his meaning, though he so often called it a perpetual
covenant, and must thus impress it upon his barbarous and
stiff-nccked people, as'Lycurgus did bis laws. For he prom-
ised his people, in his last discourses to them, prophets sent
from God, wise and enlightened men, as he was ; he himself
improved his own laws, and modified them according to cir-
cumstances; and declared finally the great principle, that not
the slavish ſcar and servile worship practised by the Egyptians,
but to love God with all the heart, is the word which abides
in the heart, and is the greatest of all the commandments.
272
His severe punishments were all of them only such as result-
ed from the sad necessity of the times and of the people. In
his last heartfelt discourse, and always indeed, he reminded
them of the fatherly kindness and beneficence of God, and
placed the curse and the blessing, the harsh servitude of the
slave, and the voluntary and affectionate obedience of the
child in contrast with each other. His God is long-suffering
and abundant in goodness. It is only after long endurance
in sparing the offender, and then but for a short space, that
he becomes a jealous and avenging God, till, his hand is
again free to do good and bestow his. blessings. What, then,
would have been the conduct of that god-like man, had he
appeared in those times, when his commands were made a
snare to catch the souls of men, and hold them in a state of
perpetual child-hood ? in times, when his system of laws,
once living in all its members, had become a lifcless mass,
when the least of his precepts had been converted into a golden
calf, round which men danced and revelled in the extrava-
gance of a hypocritical idolatry? With thousand-fold rea-
sons might he have ground it to powder, and given it, as a
cup of abomination, to his sacrilegious and idolatrous people.
But I return to the history of his life. A deed of youthful
heroism drove the future deliverer of his people out of Egypt,
for Egypt was no longer necessary to hiin, and thic time for
deliverance was not yet come. The deserts of Arabia must
become the quict residence of his riper manhood, and tribes
which were kindred to the Israelites in language and origin,
were now his neighbours for forty years. l'abulous accounts
have represented the Arabian Emir or Shcik, Jethro, as the
instigator of Moses, and the author of his political plans;
but, if the history has any truth, nothing could be more di-
rectly contradictory to the view which it gives. Jethro was
indeed a man of prudence and skill, but not of such a spirit,
as that, which impelled Moses to undertake a task so diffi-
cult, and to human eyes so incomprehensible in its results ;
273
for that he was urgently impelled to undertake it, we see in
the fact, that his mission was to him unexpected, was unpre-
meditated, and in his view, incapable of being accomplished.
What a self-commending and heroick picture is this simple
tranquil history of the mission of Moses, of his deeds in Egypt,
of his leading out the Israelites, of his miracles, and wander-
ings. With no pretence, and no demands upon our admira-
tion, in his faults and weaknesses even, it places before us
a man, who never speaks of himself, is never praised, and
lives only in fiis work, in his plans, in his laborious cares,
and hcroick deeds.
The appearing of God in a flaming bush is entirely Arabian
in its character, as the signs and wonders, which he wrought
by his hand, are wholly Egyptian. That desert, which is
wholly fire, and rock, as it were, exhibits the scenery and the
objects, by mcans of which the presence of the Eternal drew
his attention, and was made manifest to him. The miracles,
which his hand was empowered to work, were the weapons with
which he contended against the magicians and wonder-work-
crs of Egypt. They are of a kind, too, appropriate to Egypt,
as are all the plagues, by which he delivers his people from
bondage. Serpents, insects, the Nile, filthy and noxious am-
phibious reptiles, darkness, the destroying angcl, here, as it
were, represent Egypt, in regard both to its productions and
its geographical character.
God led his people out of Egypt with a high hand, and an
outstretched arm. Ile bought his servant for himself out
of slavery, and baptized him, as it were, in the waves of the
Red Sca, that he might be for him a purchased and a bond
servant. The first-born is his also, for he was once delivered,
spared, and a perpetual festival of the passover, with the
blood of a slaughtered lamb upon the door, must indicate this
claim of God, on every house and every generation. On the
farther shore of the Red Sea, in sight of the perished hosts
of their enemies, was sung in two-fold chorus the triumph-
274
al song of Moses and Miriam, which afterwards was the pat-
tern of so many psalms and songs of deliverance among this
people.
As on eagle's wings God bore onward his rcdecmcd people.
A barren desert must become the house for their cducation
and discipline, where he himself supplies them with food and
drink, as his first-born, and the special object of his care.
These proofs of his goodness were, in subscquent periods, the
perpetual theme of their national songs and festival celebra-
tions. IIow much happier would have been the events of
their history, had they also conformed theinsclves entirely to
the purposc, for which their licavenly father separated them
from all other nations in a desert, where they subsisted by
the supplies which his indulgent hand provided, and fully
imbibed the spirit of those laws and customs, by which he
was to form then to a people for himself.
In the midst of a wilderness ſcarſully desolate the law was
given with circumstances of fearful magnificence. With awe-
struck fear and shuddering was established that covenant,
which was to be enforced so often by fearful punishment, by
fiery serpents, and the opening of the carth to swallow up the
disobcdicnt. Where now was the mild and friendly aspect
of the God of Abraham, and of his shepherd sons ? Where
now was the form, under which lic spakc with the father of
this people, as friend with friend, wrestled with Israel, and
blessed him as a youth in his dreaming tent? Where now
were those days of innocence and blessedness, when the tent
of the patriarchs gave entertaininent to angels, and two ar-
mies of God cncamped around a caravan of simple herdsmen?
Now at the presence of the angels of God the mountain is in
a flame; now the carth trembles and quakes before his hosts
as they go forth to war! No one can fail to perceive the
altered language, which now prevails in the description of
this journey of the Israelites, when compared with the former
patriarchal history. Its terrifick tones resound through the
275
desert of Arabia; God is a rock; a burning and devouring fire.
Before him go destructive swarms of hornets, which he sends
upon the people of Canaan. He whets his glittering sword; he
sends out his arrows, which are thirsty for blood. His mes-
sengers of vengeance are Seraphim, fiery serpents, which he
hinisell sends upon his people, and ever and anon he liſts his
hand to heaven and swears, I ain Jchovah! there is none be-
side ! thy God, apostate Israel, and I live forever. The most
sublime poctical cffusions and images in the Psalms and Pro-
phcts are taken froin this journey of Moses through the
desert, from his miraculous deeds, his discourses, and es.
pecially his last poctical cffusion. For this production is
obviously, as it were, the original prophecy, the type and pat-
tern of all the prophets. As this is divided into cursing and
blessing, paternal exhortation and warning, so are all the
prophets. In the tone and movement of the poctry, also, we
see a striking similarity. As this begins with an apostrophe
to the heavens and the carth, so docs Isaialı begin, and many
other prophccics and songs, and probably the first chapter of
Isajalı was placed first, and made the introduction to all the
prophets, on account of its relation to the commencement of
Moscs. The proplicts were directed by the law of Moses,
and inust form themselves after bis cxample.
In a three-fold manner, therefore, Moscs exerted an influ-
ence on the poetry of his whole nation, and cmbraced this,
as he did every thing clsc, in the organization of the state.
First, by his decis ; the going forth out of Egypt, the jour-
ney through the descrt, the conquest of the country, in which
God went before bin and fought for Israel, were the perpetu-
al subject of songs and poctical descriptions, of which I now
name the lainentation of Ilabakkuk and the 68th Psalm, as
perhaps the two most remarkable. This conducting of the
Israclites through the desert, was referred to in after times,
as the type of all God's dealings with this people, and in it
they sought the images and examples to represent their wars
276
ܪ
and victories, the blessings and punishments, which they re-
ceived. The regulation of the service of the sanctuary and
of the priesthood also, I reckon among those acts of Moses,
by which he influenced continuously the poetry of his people.
By means of this it became the poetry of the temple, excluded
entirely all idols, and hymns addressed to creatures or fabulous
beings, brought the name of Jehovah into connexion with the
minutest duties of the citizen, as well as the family relations ;
. in short made the poctry of the Hebrews in all respects sa-
cred. As Moses and Miriam had sung their song on the
shores of the Red Sca, in the same spirit was every thing in
after times celebrated as the work of God. As the whole
· political organization was of a priestly character, as every
thing was founded on the offerings and the sanctuary, so po-
ctry clothed itself in all the ornaments of the priesthood, of
the temple, and of the ceremonial service; particularly when
David, the reviver of Jewish poetry, adhered much to the
magnificence of the sanctuary, and in his songs employed it
even in the descriptions of God. Later prophets first ven-
tured to return to the simple covenant of God with Abraham,
and, because they saw before them the abuse of offerings, the
apostacy of the priests, the idolatry of the temple service,
with all its pernicious consequences, to look back beyond it
all, and recall to mind the father of the faithful. Especially
was this donc by the great Isaiah, the cagle with ficry cye,
and ctherial sunward motion, among the Hebrew prophets.
In this also the plan of Moses had the fate of all systems and
plans; they are first clevated and expanded, then in the end
: contracted and narrowed clown. The poctry of the Ilcbrews
enjoyed an undeniable advantage over all other systems of
national poetry, that of being a divine, a pure temple poctry.
As such, however, it was alused; the trec reinained stationa.
ry and ceased to grow, for it was confined by the roof of the
temple. The most subliine tones of ancient times became a
meagre ccho in the cars of thc drowsy and idolatrous ages,
that succeeded.
?
275
The second means, by which Moses acted unceasingly upon
the poetry of the nation, was by the description of his own
deeds ; by his own poetry and songs. His last poetical effu- .
sion, as before remarked, was the pattern of the prophets.
The Israelites were required to learn it, and make it familiar
to their minds; and severe as it was upon them, they held it in
high esteem. His song at the Red Sea was the model of
their Psalms of praise, of triumph, and of deliverance, as the
lofty Psalın ascribed to him, which is thic 30th in the collec-
tion, was the beautiful model of didactick poems. In gener-
al, the poctry of Moscs, like his life and character, is full of
meaning, but scverc, carnest, and breathing an air of solitude.
It glows with brightness, as his countenance did, but a veil
is spread over it. The spirit that breathes in his institutions
and writings, is widely diverse from the spirit of Job, of Da-
vid, and of Solomon. His own description of his institutions
and journeyings belongs also to the instrumentality, of which
I ain speaking. That he recorded his laws, and the journey
through the desert, and made tlic former a canon for the
priests, the latter, especially the last repetition of the law, a
lesson for the instruction of the people ; that he chose a par-
ticular tribe of incn, who, relieved from other employments,
must devote themselves to reading. copying, and carrying into
effcct his laws and regulations; that he excluded all symbols,
figures, and hicroglyphics, and employed writing, alphabet-
ick writing, as well for the ornament of the high priest, as
for the occupation of the priests, and thereby secured the ad-
vantage of it, for his people ; that he probably collected the
ancient historics and traditions of his race, and prefixed them
to bis history, as sacrcd relicks of antiquity, even as the basis
of liis law, of his doctrines, and of the claim of Israel to the
land of Canaan ; is proof, that he devised his plans, or intend-
ed to do so, for making a barbarian people, at least in part,
and in the fundamental laws of their organization, into a lit-
erary people. The ark of his tabernacle in its alpliabetick
24
278
To their open
inscriptions preserved a treasure of antiquity, and the most
powerful instrument of national cultivation, down to the latest
times. Were its rude tables of the law still extant, could we
still find the stoncs, on which before his death he placed
alphabetick inscriptions, we should truly possess in it the
most valuable monument of the primeval world.
The third means, by which Moses oven provided for the
revival of sacred poctry in times of declension, was the privi.
lege which he gave and secured to the prophets. The far-
sighted man anticipated even, by this privilegc, the times of
the kings, as the times for its exercise, when liis prescrip-
tions should be neglected and violated.
abominations he opposed a voice, which should call back the
people and even the kings to thcir proper place and duty, and
guard itself froin danger by the reverence yic!ded to Moses
as the founder of the nation. Such was the voice of the
watchmen, the wisc inen of the nation, who roused their at-
tention, when all was sunk in sicer, who, when the pricsts
were silent and the great tyrannical, spake in thc name of
Jehovah, advising, comforting, and warning. This privilege
conferred by Moscs has given us an Elijah and Elisha, an
Isaiah and Habakkuk; it has renewed his form and voice, at
least in shadow, and in ccho. T'lic proplicts are not read
understandingly, when they are regarded merely as prophets,
as drcumers, and criers in the place of assembly. They were,
indeed, successors of Moscs, applying and reviving his law in
tiines of declension, and some of thicin men of grcat worldly
wisdom, distinguished orators, and instructive pocts. In Isa-
iah we have more, perhaps, than a republick of Plato, l'i.
nally, I do not consider Moses as the author of the sayings
and propliccics of Balaam. In them breathes another, I ven-
ture even to say, a more poetical spirit, than in the poetry of
Moscs. Great as he was in his poctical character, Moses
was rather a law-giver than a poet, and his last bencdictions
especially show, at least, when compared with the blessing of
279
1
Jacob, the effect of old age, and a soul tending to the grave.
Ile died, says the beautiful tradition of his people, at the
mouth of God, and God himself buried him. He died upon
a mountain summit, overlooking a land, for which he had
done and suffered all that human powers could do and suffer.
IIis eyes might behold it, but his foot not tread upon it.
Even him, though firm as a rock in patience, in doing, and
in suffering, had unbelief and impatience caused to waver,
and therefore he came not to his place of rest, and survived
not the attainment of the end, for which he journeyed. Wise
and happy provision for him, that he did not survive it!
Thus were preserved, unstained with the blood of the Ca-
naanites, thosc hands which stretched the rod over the Red
Sca, which received the law in the clouds, which built the
sanctuary of God. Even in the battle with the Amalekites
they were raised only in prayer.
Ilow great is the difl'erence, if we compare them together,
between the two brothers, Moscs and Aaron. The latter is
the body, the former the soul. « Ilc shall be thy mouth, and
thou shalt be to him in the place of God!" So it remained
always in the relations between priests and prophets. How
few pricsts, even among a people, where they were teachers,
judges, preservers of the laws of the nation, and in a sense
the regal class, ever opposed themselves to the progress of
corruption ? Under the judges and kings did not corruption
indccd always begin with them? As Aaron made the golden
calf, while his brother was holding converse with God, and
mcditating his laws, upon Mount Sinai, so were a hundred
priests the well-fcd scrvants of Baal, while Elijah, the suc-
cessor of Moscs, was mourning upon Mount Horeb or Car-
incl. Among all the prophets, only two were priests, and
those neither the boldest nor the most distinguished.
I have yet to place before you the soul of Moses, severe,
full of zcal, and borne down with anxiety, even to dcath, in
his last glowing and poetical effusion. What his deeds, his
280
institutions, his descriptions, and his other poems have pro-
duced for the voice of poetry, we shall enquire in the sequel ;
but in this poem the images that surround you, are the flam-
ing mountain, the fiery and cloudy pillars, which went before
Israel, and in them the angel of the countenance of Jehovah.
SONG OF MOSES TO THE ASSEMBLED ISRAELITES BEFORE HIS DEATII.
Give car, O yc heavens, to my speech,
Hear, O carth, the words of my mouth.
My doctrine shall drop as the rain,
My words shall distil as the dew,
As rain upon the tender herb,
And as the showers upon the grass ;
For I will publish the name of Jehovah
Ascribe ye greatness to Jehovah our God.
He is a rock,+ his work is perfcct,
And all his dealings are right;
A God of truth, without iniquity,
Sincere and righteous is he.
They only are no longer his children,
* Moses calls heaven and earth to bear witness in the previous chap.
ter, (Deut. xxxi. 28.) as the prophets often did in later times. The
whole of this mild introduction to a didactick pocm, that closes in a
style so ardent, in after times was frequently imitated in the introduction
to similar works.
+ The image of a rock, so frequent in this piece as almost to lose its
figurative character, (v. 15. 30. 31. 37.) was undoubtedly taken from
Sinai and tho rocks of Arabia, among which Israel had so long wander.
ed. On Mount Sinai the covenant was made, and on the part of God it
was enduring as the everlasting rocks.
The Israelites often complained of the way, in which God led them
in the desert. Moses vindicates the cause of the Most High, and shows
that of the promises, which he had made to them from the time of Abra.
ham, not one word had yet fallen to the ground.
|| This somewhat harsh arrangement of words, is undoubtedly genu.
ine, because a similar one occurs repeatedly, (v. 17. 21.) and it is, as it
were, the soul of the piece. God remains their father, with unchanging
faithfulness, but they only have forsaken him, and become first through
unlikeness, and then of necessity, no longer his children. They have
first become ignorant of him, and he has then rejocted them.
281
4
4
1
Their iniquity hath turned them from' him,...'
A faithless and perverse generation.
Is this your requital to Jehovah, !
O foolish people and unwise ?
i
Is he not thy father, he thut hath bought thee ?*;
That hath made thee, and established thee ?
Call to remembrance the ancient days,
The years from generation to generation,
Ask thy father, and he will shew thee,
The aged men, and they will tell it theeet
When the Almighty gave the nations their lands,
When ho separated the children of men,
lle limited the bounds of the nations,
That the numbers of Israel might have room ;f
For the portion of God is his people,
Jacob, the lot of his inheritance.
Ile found him in a desert land,ll
ini
1
* Moses at this early period, has here the expression, which the pro.
phets often usemihat God received Israel in Abraham as a child, pre-
pared him as a people for himself, and gave him being as a father.
Under Moses he bought him to himself out of Egypt as a bond servant;
and has therefore the claiins both of a master, and of a father, as Moses
here distinctly expresses it. Ilow truly also is the distinction found in
the spirit and the events of the different periods.
+ In the sequel is introduced that which it is said the fathers shall
rclatc. Moses:goes back to the separation of tribes, and the division of
countries among them, when the Almighty, in assigning their dwel.
lings to all nations, drew their limits, as it were, narrower, that the line
of his inheritance, Canaan, might be left for the twelve tribes. This
land becomes heroby, as it were, the meditulliun, the central point of
the earth, as every nation of antiquity held their sanctuary to be, of
which we shall speak on another occasion.
That is, the numerous Israel; and in proportion to his numbers will
be the space required for the twelve tribes. The words have given
occasion to too many fables, and yet are very plain.
ll The march of the Israelites through the wilderness. God found
them on the shores of the Red Sea, and led them to the hills of Basban,
the fruits and excellencies of which are deccribed. The words, there
was no strange God with them, express the fact, that Israel was led out
of Egypt, redoomed, and carried onward, under no other guardian God
21*
:282
{
In a waste and howling wilderness ;
He took him in his arms and taught him;
He guarded him as the apple of his eye.
As the eagle covers her nest around,
And hovers over her young,
Spreads her wings, takes them thereon,
And bears them aloft upon her wings ;
So did Jehovah lead him, himself alone,
There was no strange God with him.
He bore him to the mountain heights,
And fed him with the fruits of the earth ;
He made him to suck honey from the rock,
And oil out of the flinty rock,
Butter of kine, and milk of sheep,
The lat of lambs, and of the rams of Basban,
The fat kidneys of goats, and bread of wheat,*
And thou didst drink the blood of the grape.
Then Jeshurunt waxed stout, and rebelled,
Thou wast too fat, too satiate, tou full,
Thou didst forsake the God, that made thce,
And lightly estcem the rock of thy salvation.I
They moved his jealousy with strange gods,ll
1
than Jehovah. Their idolatry and abominations with Baal-Pcor took
place only when they had reached the borders of Canaan.
* I have departed here from the interpunction of the Hebrews, be.
cause the phrase, fat of the kidneys of wheat, scems to have no good
sensc, and the more natural sense is obvious. The detail of these fruits
and eatables is proof, like every thing else in it, of the unborrowed truth
of this poem. After the people had been so long in the desert, these
hills must neem an Elysium, and their fruits the food of Paradise.
+ This word is a title of fondness given to Israel, in the character of
a child, a personification, which runs through most of this picce. The
name occurs also in the blessings pronounced by Moscs and in Isaiuh.
1 The distinction again between the choice of Israel as a son in Abra.
ham, and his purchased deliverance as a servant under Moses.
11 Here wo see the precise, and true conceptions of Moses respecting
idolatry, which were the ground of his legislation. Idols were a mere
nothing, they were an abomination, they were forcign to Israel. The
first reason was philosophical, the sccond moral, the third national.
Their Jehovah was for then the alone true, the holy, the good, the an.
cient God of their fathers, and the guardian God, to whom at Sinai they
had placed themselves under new obligations.
283
1
They provoked his anger with abominations,
They sacrificed to demons, not to God,
To idols, of whom they had no knowledge,
To new gods, that were newly invented, *
Before whom your fathers trembled not;t
Of Him that begat thee,-the Rock-thou wast forgetful,
And didst forget the God that formed thee.
This Jehovah saw, and cast away in anger,
Those who were his sons and daughters.
He said, " I will turn my face from them,
I will sce to what ond they will come.
For they are a perverse generation,
Children of a base and faithless sort.
They moved me to jealousy with their no-god,
They provoked me to anger with their idols;
I also will move their jealousy with a no-people,
With a foolish nation I will provoke their anger.f
For the fire of my wrath is kindled,
And shall burn even to the deep abyss,
It shall consume the earth and her fruits,
And fire the foundations of the mountains.
1
I will hear up afflictions upon them,
And my arrows will I send upon them,
Consumed with hunger, and burned with beat,
Devoured with bitter destruction,
I will send upon then the teeth of wild beasts,
With the poison of serpents from the dust.
* We see how Moses thinks of the God of his people, and of the pa.
triarchs, as an ancient God. Their notices of him, and of the patriarchs,
must therefore be ancient also, and anterior to tho time of Moses. He
did not invent then the religion of the patriarchs, but rather altered it
and niade the child into a servant.
+ The expression is used, not because their fathers trembled with hor.
ror boforo the true God, but because they themselves did before their
imaginary gods and demons.
: The idiomatick form of expression, children, no-children, God, no.
god, nation, no.nation or not-nation, runs through the whole piece, and
is entirely in the spirit of the law-giver. The organization, which he
formed, was for him the only one; all other nations were to him no na.
tions, not organized states, but uncivilized hordes.
284
And say,
The sword shall.be without, and terror within, *
And shall destroy both the young man and virgin, .'1'
The suckling, and the man of gray hairs
il
I had almost said, I will destroy them,+
And blot out their name among mens
Had I not feared the prido of the enemy,
That their oppressors would mistake it,
our own high hand,
And not Jchovah hath done this."
For they are a nation void of counsel,
There is no understanding in them.
O! that they were wisc, to understand this,
That they would consider thcir latter end.
How is it, that one can chase a thousand, t
And two of them put ten thousand to flight ? .
Is it not, that their rock hath forsaken them,
That Jehovah hath given them for a prey ?
Else their rock were not like our rock,
Our enemies themselves being judges.
Their vine is from the vinc of Sodom,
Their grapes from the fields of Gomorrah,
Grapes of gall, their clusters are bitter,
Their juice is the poison of dragons,
The deadly venom of serpents.
Ilave I not already iny secret counsel,
Sealed and laid up in my treasures ?
Vengeance is mine and the day of recompenso,
Their foot is even now ready to slide,
The day of their calamity is at hand,
Their destiny is soon coming upon them."
Jehovah is now the judge of his people,
* Without and within the citics and houses.
+ It is plain, that God is here introduced with human feelings of jeal.
ousy, speaking against other national gods.
* At once thc poct places himself in view of tho melancholy end of
this people, and how exactly, as well as fearfully, was the prophecy
fulfilled! And the legislator of the nation must himself utter it, must
close his life, already mclancholy, with such prophetick anticipations !
a fate, which only a rock like Moses could have sustained.
I Those translations, which take these lines in a favourable sense,
have the context plainly against them. The curse proceeds and contin-
285
It repents him, that they are his children,
He sceth, that their power is departed,
That nothing is left to them more.
He asks them, where are now their gods,
The guardian God, in whom they trusted?
Which did eat the fat of their sacrifices,
And drank the wine of their drink-offerings ?
Let them now rise up and help you,
Let them now be your protection.
See now, that I, cven I am he,
And there are no Gods with me.
I am lic, that killeth and makcth alive,
I am he, that woundeth and healeth,
And none can deliver out of my hand.
For I lift up my hand to heaven,
And say, I am, the living one
From cternity to eternity.
If I whet my glittering sword,
And my hand take hold on judgment,
I will render vengcance to minc enemies,
And will reward them that hate me.*
I will make inine arrows drunk with blood,
My sword shall satiate itself with flesh,
The blood of the slain, and of the captives,
With the head of the chief of my enemy.
Rejoice, yo Gentiles, now his people,
Ile will avenge the blood of his servants,
And render vengeance to his enemies,
And purify his lund and people.
ues to the end of the poem. The blessing first begins in the next chap.
ter. It is indeed a fearful consideration, that God must thus forget the
father in thc judge, and yet feel that they are his children.
* I can understand these words only as still referring to the Jewish
nation, once his children, now his open enemies, on whom he avenges
himself. He rejects them, and takes the Gentiles for his people.
+ The last line is obscure to my mind, because the connecting particle
in the Hebrew is wanting before the word people. It would seem as if
it were wished to read as a blessing; what was meant as a curse, though
the blessing properly follows in a separate chapter. The Gentiles are
here summoned, as now the people of God, to witness the judgment of
286
God upon Israel. He avenges the blood of his servants upon this people,
and purifies the land from sin. (I will not decide, whether in relation to
the last word we should read and or from his people. The blessing
which follows, as well as that of Jacob, is transluted in another work,
"Letters on the study of Theology," and need not be repeated here.)
This chapter ends like the last of the prophets. The nation is cast forth
and banished from the land.
+
INDEX
OP TIIE PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE TRANSLATED AND EXPLAINED IN THIS
VOLUME.
GENE818
VIII.
p. 200.
IX. .
: p. 222.
22: P.
223.
p. 223.
1. 1: p. 55. 58.
5. 6: p. 198.
2: p. 66.
3: p. 61.
12: p.
200.
4: p. 67.
25-27 : p. 221.
6: p. 69.
X. 8–10: p. 203.
11. 12: p. 72.
XI. 129: p. 202.
14: p. 74.
XII.
26: p. 165.
11: p. 223.
II. 7: p. 163.
XIII. 8: p. 223.
8: p. 123.
XIV.
9: p. 125,
XV. 1.5. 6; p. 224.
17: p. 131.
XVI. 12: p. 233.
18–22: p. 128.
XVIII.
23. 21: p. 129.
XIX. 23-26: p. 203.
23 : p. 130.
XII. 15-20 : p. 231.
III. 1: p. 55. 132.
XXII. 1
5. 7: p. 132.
XXIII.
14: p. 133.
XXVII. 27–29 : p. 23.4.
15: p. 136.
XXVIII. 11-12: p. 232.
16–23 : p. 133. 137. XXXII. 21-30: p. 229.
21: p. 141.
XXXVI. 28: p. 103.
IV. 47: p. 196. Exod. XXV. 17. 18: p. 1.12.
9-12: p. 193.
XXXVI. 8. 35: p. 142.
13–16: p. 194. Deut. XXXII. 1-43: p. 280.285.
21-24: p. 265.
1 Sax. IV. 4: p. 1.16.
25-26 : p. 258. 2 SAM. VI. 2: p. 1.16.
V. 1: p. 258. 1 Kings. VI. 23: p. 142.
22-24: p. 177. 2 KINGS, II. 11. 12: p. 130.
29 : p. 200.
Јов, I. 20, 21 : p. 238.
VI.
2: p. 199.
II. 11: p. 103.
3: p. 197.
III. 3-10 : p. 64
4: p. 175.
11-19: p. 185.
p. 223.
p. 222.
288
INDEX.
p. 183.
p. 162.
p. 212.
p. 180.
p. 171.
P. 11.
p. 214.
p. 237.
p. 2.10.
p. 213.
IV. 12-17: p. 67.
XVI.
V. 8-26: p. 210.
XVIII. 5-18: p. 146. 157.
VII.
XIX. 527: p. 75.
VIII. 9, 10 : p. 81.
XXIX, 1-10: p. 158.
11-18: p. 168.
XLII. 2. 3: p. 70.
IX. 2-11: p. 52.
XLVI.
X. 3. 9 : p. 161.
XLIX.
20–22: p. 212.
LXVIII. 18: p. 150.
XI. 7-9: p. 59.
XC. 8: p. 195.
XIV.
CIV. 1-3: p. 67. 69.
XVI. 16–20: p. 196.
4: p. 62.
XIX. 19-29: p. 238.
5-18: p. 71.
XXV. 2-6: p. 81.
19-35: p. 78.
XXVI. 2-14: p. 82.
CXXXIII.
XXVIII.
CXXXIX. 1-18: p. 53.
XXIX.
CXLVI.
XXXI.
CXLVII. 15-18: p. 61.
26. 23: p. 74. Eccles. IX. 10: p. 17.4.
35–37: p. 113.
XII. 7: p. 161.
XXXII. 18-20: p. 3.1. Isa. Vi. 1-11: p. 146.
XXXIII. 3-6: p. 164.
XI. 6-9: p. 129.
XXXVI. 22. 33 : p. 83.
XIV. 3-23 : p. 206.
XXXVII. 1–7: p. 61. 86.
13. 1.1: p. 1.19.
8-21: p.
88.
XXXVII. 16: p. 1.16.
XXXVIII. 1-11: p. 88.
LI. 1–3: p. 227.
12-15: p. 89.
LIV. 7-10: p. 200.
16–23 : p. 89.
LXIV. 15–17: p. 228.
21. 32: p. 90. LAM. IV. 21: p. 103.
30-38: p. 91. EZEC. 1. 1-28: p. 143. 1.16. 151.
39-41: p. 99.
X. 14: p. 1.12. 146.
XXXIX. 1-5: p. 100.
XXVIII. 12-19 : p. 1.13. 155.
6-13 : p. 100
XLI. 18: p. 112.
11-30 : p. 101. HAR. III. 8: p. 142.
XL. 10–19: p. 105.
X. 11: p. 75.
Psawi, II. 1.2. 4: p. 202. MAL. II. 14. 15: p. 227.
VIII.
P.. 166.
INDEX
TO THE CONTENTS OF TIIIS VOLUME.
Abel, his death, 193—the voice of his blood crying in the
language of Oriental poetry, 194.
Abraham compared with Enoch, 178-the reason of his wan-
dcring, 222-liis community of riglit and possession in
Canaan, 223-denial of his wiſc in Egypt, 223-—his friend-
ship with God, 223-a symbol of the covenant with liis
pcoplc, 225—reverence shown for himn in IIcbrew history,
227.
Adoniin, 55.
Alphabetick writing, its probable origin, &c. 255, 201.
Angels, their relation to the Llobiin, 56-in the most ancient
times, personifications of the word of God, 62.
Arabick wisdom, 104.
Ass wild, description of, 100.
Babel, explanation of the account of, 201—-tower of, 201.
Bchemoth, the hippopotamnus, 106.
Belial, king of thic shades, 175.
Brutcs, poctical description of, 77, 99--give occasion for
fables, 13.1—follow the destiny of man, 197.
Buffalo, description of, 100.
Canaan, earliest reference to, 221-poctry of, 235-language
of, 2-14-right of the Canaanites to the land, 246-regard-
cd by the Shemites as a race of slaves, 216—their religion,
2416.
Chamois, description of, 99.
Chaos of the Grecks unknown to the Orientals, 66.
Chart, whether the gencalogical register of the sons of Noah
was also a geographical chart, 251.
Cherubim, 141-151.
.
25
290
Creation, 59, 62, 88-probable preservation of its history, 258–
the picture of it not of Egyptian origin, 259.
Dead, kingdom of the, 170-185.
Deluge, 197, 253.
Eagle, description of, 102.
Earth, picture of its creation, 72-personified, 88.
Edom, 110.
Egyptian, imagery in Job, 105–of the kingdom of the dead,
185—-facts of its history in the history of Joseph, 248-hie-
roglyphics, 259–Egyptian and anti-Egyptian, in the Mo-
saick law's, 270.
Elegy, Sce Lamentation.
Elihu, character of his poetry, 85.
Elijah, 150.
Elohim, probable origin of the conception, 55—in Paradise,
132—as beings wiser than men, 136-on the mountains of
the gods, 149-Jacob's wrestling with the Elohim, 230-
diversity between the traditions with Elohim and those
with Jehovah, 365.
Enoch, 177.
Esau blessed, 234.
Fables, arose from observing the characteristics of brutes,
128.
Fall in Paradise, 130-a narrative of a real event, 137—the
account of it did not originate in Egyptian hicroglyphics,
259.
Genealogics are the historical records of the Orientals, 249,
234.
God, feeling of his presence in nature, 50-knowledge of
him not from slavish four, 51-earliest notions of him
simple, 52--whether polytlicistick, 55--unity of God and
importance of this conception, 57—God of the heavens
and the earth, 58--his word personified, 61--king of the
angels, 62—sustainer of creation, 63, 71, 76_description
of God in Job, 82--judge among the stars, 82-voice of
Jehovah, 158—his address to Job, 88--his intercourse with
291
the patriarchs, 224-effects of faith in liim, 225--Moses'
conception of God, 270-breath of, 163, 165.
Gods, sons of the gods, 175.
Gravc, origin of the kingdom of the dead, 172-Arabick de-
scription of it, 186.
Ham, his transgression and punishment, 220.
Heaven, representation of it among the Orientals, 68–71-
those of the Northern Edda coinpared, 73–parallelism with
the carth, 58.
Ilicroglyphics, their aid in introducing alphabetick writing,
256-261.
Horse, description of, 101-those with the chariot of God,
1.42-of Elijah, 150.
IIymns addressed to objects of nature at variance with the
spirit of IIcbrew poetry, 74.
Immortality of the soul, 170-185.
Ishmael, prophecy respecting him, 233.
Israelites, as the people of God, 218.
Jacob, bis character, 228-wrestles with the Elohim, 229-
prophecy respecting him, 23.1.
Job, how the book of Job should be read, 81-description of
God and nature in it, 31-other particulars in relation to it.
103, 121-description of the rcalin of shades, 185-view of
Providence,-208-representations of Job, 237–242.
Josephi, history of, 248.
Knowledge of good and evil, 132.
Language, its formation, 259—its diversities, 263.
Language, poctical, 27—-42—Northern and Southern, their
relation, 33—Oriental, 3.1.
Language, IIebrew, common mode of learning it, 26-objec-
tions to it, 28-its dcfence, 27-37-parallelism, 39-not whol-
ly without vowels, 14-grammatical form, 45-right mode of
learning it, 45-not the same with that of the Canaanites,
244-not the most ancient language, 261.
Lamech, his song on the invention of the sword, 265.
292
Lamentation over the king of Tyre, 155-Job's over human
destiny, 162–that there is no return from the grave, 171-
Isaiah's over the king of Babylon, 206.
Light, Oriental notions of it, 67-its dwelling place, 90.
Lion, description of it, 99.
Man, his origin, 161-his destiny, 162–his strength, 163-an
image of God, 167–should lcarn to regard every thing in a
moral view, 197.
Moon, personification of it, 75.
Morning dawn, 17-first and natural image of the creation,
48-personification of it, 67-of the morning star, 68, 89.
Moses, neither the author nor translator of Job, 10€-his po-
etry, 108-how far concerned in forming the gencalogics,
251-life and character, 263-other particulars, 270.
Nount of the gods in the North, 1.15.
Names, significant of the patriarchs, 25.1-occasion of alplia.
betick writing, 256.
Night, ancient night of the Oricntals, 65.
Nimrod, 203.
Noah, 199-his cursing of Ilain, 220-why he also cursed Ca-
naan, 221-his drunkenness, 299.
Orion, 91.
Ostrich, description of it, 101.
Paradise, 122-130-preservation of its history, 258-not from
an Egyptian hicroglyphick, 259.
Parallelism, 38-42-of the heavens and the earth, 60.
Patriarchs, how regarded in IIebrew poctry, 227-their faults,
228-blessings pronounced by thcm, 233-back to Abraham,
2.19-to the flood, 2.19-bcfore the flood, 254,
Personification in IIebrow poetry, 93-of brutcs, 99-of the
· realm of shades, 174-of sin, 196.
Plants in Hebrew poetry, 73.
Phoenicians, 244,
Poetry, should render men refined, not savage, 127-relation
of it to God, 169.
1
299
!
Poetry, of nature, among the Orientals, 72-in Job, 83, 93-
of tho Hobrews in relation to the covenant with God, 226-
of Canaan, 235-what is poetry in Genesis, 264.
Polytheisin of the East, 55–
Prophets imitate each other, 110-rights given them by Mo-
ses, 278.
Providence, 191-210.
Rain, representations of it, 69, 86, 91.
Rainbow, 200.
Rhyme proceded the Saracens in Europe, 42.
Salt pillar, 264.
Satan, conception of in Job, 111.
Sea, 89.
Serpent in paradise, 132, 134.
Shiemites, their language, 244-right to Canaan, 246-religion
and spirit, 2.17.
Sin, personified, 196.
196
Snow, 61, 86.
Sodom, 307.
Spirit, 66.
Stars, personified, 66, 76, 88.
Sun, not celebrated in hymns by the Hebrews, 74-personified,
75.
Thunder, 86, 146, 157, 176.
Tree of knowledge, 128-130-of life, 124.
Uz, 103.
Wisdom, Oriental representations of it, 136, 212, 214.
World, 59, 91.
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