PEACE AND COVENANT.
.W
HEN we look at the soul, we always see a community rising behind it. What it is, it is by virtue of others. It has sprung up from a family which has filled it with its contents, and from which it can never grow away. The family forms the narrowest community in which it lives. But wherever it works, it must live in community, because it is its nature to communicate itself to others, to share blessing with them.Loneliness, the lack of community, the Old Testament only knows as something unnatural, an expression that life is failing.
It is the suffering who speak of being alone, men like Jeremiah and Job. “I sat alone because of thy hand, for thou hast filled me with bitterness”, says Jeremiah (15,17). The horror of loneliness is described in powerful imagery: “I am like the &‘iiUr bird of the wilderness. I am like an owl among the ruins. I watch, and I am as a sparrow alone on the housetop” (Ps. 102, 7-8). When Hosea is to give a true description of the misery of his people, he calls it “a wild ass alone by himself” (Hos. 8,9). These similes from the animal world express the abnormal : As bird and wild ass belong in their flock, and outside this are abandoned, so it is with human beings.
Community is found wherever the blessing is, community being a common participation of blessing. A community like the one described by Job is characterized by the harmony arising, in that the whole of the community is penetrated by the blessing. This harmony the Israelite calls S/Z&ML,, the word which is usually ren- dered by peace. Its fundamental meaning is totality; it means the untrammelled, free growth of the soul. But this, in its turn,
264 PEACE AND COVENANT LACK OF PEACE 265 means the same as harmonious community; the soul can only
expand in conjunction with other souls. There is “totality” in a community when there is harmony, and the blessing flows freely among its members, everyone giving and taking whatever he is able to.
Soul is will. A community of souls must therefore mean that one will more or less prevails among the souls. “Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen, for we be brethren”, says Abraham to Lot (Gen. 13,8). Nothing is more unnatural than strife between brothers. It may happen when a demoniac spirit possesses them and confuses their souls, as may at times occur in an army which has a mighty God against it (Judg. 7,22; 1 Sam. 14,20). Or it takes place in a dissolved community, where all human order has been made to give way to chaos. When everything collapses in
Israel, every individual will fight his brother and his neighbour (Is. 19,2) ; no one will be able to trust his neighbour, but a man’s enemies will be the men of his own house (Mic. 7,5-6) ; every one alone will they have to totter out through the breaches of the palaces lying in ruins (Am. 4,3).
According to the evidence of prophets and psalms this dissolu- tion is in full progress in the Israelitic towns. Strife and murder rage in Jerusalem, says Isaiah ( 1,21). Jeremiah cannot trust anyone. “For even thy brethren and the house of thy father, even they have dealt treacherously with thee; yea, they cry after thee with full throat; believe them not, though they speak fair words unto thee !” (Jer. 12,6). “All my men of peace watched for my fall” (Jer. 20,lO). The Psalms give us a glimpse of the sinister life in a community where “they speak vanity every one with his neighbour” (12,3), watch for each other like wild beasts of prey, desire to trample on each other and eat of the flesh of each other, where the man is betrayed by those who are nearest to him. “I am a fear to mine acquaintance.; they that see me in the street flee from me. I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind; I am like a broken vessel. For I hear the slander of many; fear is on every side, while they take counsel together against me, devise to take away my life” (Ps. 31,12-l 4). We hear complaints from one who
is attacked by his own “man of peace” in whom he trusted and who ate his bread (Ps. 41,lO).
It is the life in the great towns, and in particular Jerusalem, of which these and many similar exclamations show us such desolate glimpses, displaying a state of dissolution. Here we are told what peace is not; and yet there are suggestions of what it ought to be. The “man of peace” is he with whom one shares one’s bread, whom one relies upon, and from whom one would least of all expect enmity. When an embittered psalmist proclaims that the table of his enemies shall “become a snare before them and their men of peace” (Ps. 69,23) l then it shows how close is the community between those who have peace.
We must, as it were, feel our ground towards the implication of the word, whose substance is so obvious to every Israelite.
When it is said of a man or a family that there is peace, what then does it imply? The word itself says that it denotes harmony, agreement and psychic community; but it does not say directly how deep and intimate the community is. As a matter of fact, this community may be extremely different. People may meet in peace for a while, without its meaning anything but mutual in- violability, and the souls may be so firmly united that they are entirely penetrated by one will, that they are one. This intimate community is to be found in the family. Peace prevails among brothers.
David, the great ideal of the Israelites, who otherwise was so successful in all he undertook, had little peace within his family.
First he lost the son whom Bath-sheba had born to him. He made every sacrifice in order to induce Yahweh to permit him to live.
He refused to take part in the meal of his men, and the nights he spent in a mourning garment, lying on the ground (2 Sam. 12, 16-17). Of his surviving sons there were several who caused him sorrow. Amnon violated his half-sister Tamar; Adonijah openly revolted against him and was elected king by a circle of adherents.
A grosser breach of peace could not be imagined, but what did David do? He was very angry, but could do nothing. Peace was broken, but could not be made whole because it had been broken by those who were to uphold it. If David had removed the guilty,
266 PEACE AND COVENANT
he would have made whole the breach with a new breach. He could do nothing, because he loved them too dearly (2 Sam. 13,21, the Greek translation ; 1 Kings 1,6).
The son who made David suffer most, was, however, Absalom.
First he killed Amnon, who had violated his sister Tamar. To a certain extent he was justified in doing so: the deed of Amnon must be avenged. But still he killed his half-brother, his father’s son. The attitude of David is determined by conflicting feelings, and therefore his whole behaviour is wavering. David weeps and wails, and Absalom flees, but is later on recalled. Then he raises the standard of revolt against his father. If a stranger had done that, David would have gathered his men, quickly and energeti- cally, and struck him down. But in this situation he acts throughout with a curious mixture of energy and stupefaction.
He flees at once up Mount Olivet, barefoot, weeping, with his head covered. As usual he is able to find the expedient leading to a favourable result, but behind all his commandments lies the fear of victory. This unscrupulous man, who could use the most brutal means when he wanted to strike down his enemies, was, as it were, paralyzed when he was to fight his own son.
When the army was mustered, his chief interest was that the son should not be killed, and his first question was about his safety, when news of the issue of the battle came to him. When he heard that Absalom was killed, he sacrificed the whole of his dignity as king and leader of the army in order to retire and lament the loss of his son. There is no glimpse of joy that a dangerous sedition has been subdued; only despair at the loss of his son. His warriors sneaked into the town, ashamed of their victory, as if they were an army in defeat, while David went to his chamber and wished that he had died instead of his son. All his energy and vitality was broken, until Joab made him summon his strength to preserve the outward appearance of his royal dig- nity (2 Sam. 16-19).
There is no difficulty in understanding the behaviour of David, nor his weakness with regard to his sons. And yet his whole at- titude appears in a different light when viewed from the standpoint of the Israelitic conception of the family.
DAVID AND HIS FAMILY 267
We already know wherein it consists: the family is a common life, an organism which grows and spreads in the shoots which it is constantly sending forth. The symbol of the plant or the tree naturally suggests itself, and the ancients themselves already made use of it. When we speak of genealogical trees, the symbol, properly speaking, can only be applied with certain limitations.
We are thinking of the individual as owing his existence to the preceding generation; but he emancipates himself more and more, until as a grown-up man he has his point of gravity entirely in himself. In the eyes of the Israelites, however, the symbol is fully applicable; indeed, it is rather more than a symbol, for tree and human species are two entirely analogous forms of life. Just as the branch not only owes its existence to the trunk and the root, but constantly sucks its nourishment from it, in the same manner the individual holds his life only in connection with his
family. It is that which is expressed by the sons bearing the name of the father.
That the son places himself outside the family and raises the standard of revolt against his father, is so utterly unnatural that no law can take account of it. It is more absurd than a kingdom divided against itself; it is a unity, a soul that is at war with itself. If the son sets himself against the father, then he is as a diseased member of a body, and the father who, by the acts of the son, is forced to remove him, is as a man who cuts his own flesh.
This is not only a symbol. The strong community between the members of the family has its physical presuppositions, resting upon the fact that their bodies are made of the same substance.
They have the same flesh, bones and blood. “What profit is it, if we slay our brother and conceal his blood”, says Judah to his brothers when they are on the point of committing violence against Joseph. “Come, and let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and let not our hand be upon him; for he is our brother, our flesh” (Gen.
37,27). In the marriage laws “the flesh” i is even the usual appellation of those related. But one can also say “flesh and bone”. Laban says to Jacob: “Thou art my bone and my flesh”
(Gen. 29,14), and the same term Abimelech uses in relation to the Shechemites (Judg. 9,2). In both of these cases it is a question of
d 268 PEACE AND COVENANT UNITY OF THE FAMILY 269 relationship through the mother. Even with her family which,
however, plays a less important part, the man shares flesh and bone. As far as the relationship extends, flesh and bone are com- mon. Therefore David can say to the Judaeans that they are his bone and flesh (2 Sam. 19,13), just as he says it to his relative Amasa (v. 14). Indeed, when all is said and done, the community of all Israel depends upon their having common flesh and bone (2 Sam. $1).
These terms imply that there is a likeness between those re- lated. The flesh and the parts of the body grow out of some other body, and bear its impress upon them, having grown directly from out of the loins of the father, and thus literally being his flesh. Thus anyone can see that the people of Esau are dis- tinguished by their hairy bodies, whereas the people of Jacob are smooth.
It is the chance development of this cls~ts Zoquendi which has made the Israelite speak more of flesh and bone than of blood.
With the Arabians the opposite is the case. In actual fact blood is as essential a part of the community as flesh and bone, indeed, perhaps the most important, for in the blood life is seated. This means that when blood is shed, life expires with it. But it also means more. It means that when human beings belong together and have common blood, then they also have common life. The corporeal community of the family is only one expression or manifestation of the common life pervading it. And it means that it has a common soul, for body and soul are, as we know, only two terms for the same thing.
By the unity of the family it is implied that its will and strength acts in the man. We are given exact information of a man, who his father is, and what family ne belongs to; without that piece of information his being would not be defined. When Gideon received his summons, he answered at once that his family was the least in Manasseh, just as he himself was the least in his family (Judg. 6,15). The family forms the background of a man’s actions, the blessing depending upon its strength and character. But the very example of Gideon shows that a man may rise above the level of his family, and of this we also have other
examples. However, this does not mean that he rises above the family; he invariably pulls it up with him.
Therefore, the conflict between men becomes a conflict be- tween families. If a man rises in the world and gains honour and blessing, the family immediately follows him; and if he is made to fall, it shares his fall, unless it has the strength to uphold him and thus to maintain itself. The latter can take place through blood-vengeance, which in its old form is one of the most pro- nounced outcomes of the solidarity of the family.
The Israel of the Old Testament never abandoned this fun- damental view of the relation between the individual and his family. When Goliath flouted and threatened the Israelites, Saul promised that, whoever killed the giant, his father’s house should be made a privileged house in Israel (1 Sam. 17,25). This form of promise is perfectly natural to the Israelite. A man cannot be a nobleman when his family is not free; his family’s lack of honour would prey on his own and deprive him of nobility and glory.
This appears most clearly in those who attain to the highest dignity, i. e. the kings. When Saul is made a king, it is not only he, but his family that is elevated. “In whom is all the pride of Israel? Is it not in thee, and in all thy father’s house?” says Samuel to him (1 Sam. 9,20), and when he falls as a king, it is his louse which loses its royal dignity (2 Sam. 3,lO). As long as the house of Saul was in power, the rule of David was not safely established. Every member of Saul’s family had in himself an inborn claim to share the glory of rulership. Yahweh had chosen David, not only before Saul, but before Saul and his house (2 Sam. 6,21). The object of David would therefore necessarily be to neutralize all who were of the house of Saul. He showed all his cunning, in that he succeeded in doing it without breaking his covenant with Jonathan, as this covenant laid obligations upon him which might counteract his aim.
And David himself, from the very first, always made his own family rise with him. When he went into the desert and commenced his life as a captain of freebooters, his brothers and the whole of his father’s house rallied round him (1 Sam. 22,l). They are
270 PEACE AND COVENANT
solidary with him, and quite naturally follow his destiny. When David has gained the power, the chief thing for him is to keep it for his house. The prophet Nathan te!ls him that his house shall be established for ever (2 Sam. 7,16), just as it is his house that was stricken when he committed his crime with Bath-sheba (2 Sam.
12,lO). Monarchy belongs to his house, and when Jeroboam has taken the north country from Rehabeam, it is still “David’s house”
which he fears (1 Kings 12,26).
Monarchy belongs to a family, because the blessing cannot be the possession of an isolated individual. It must necessarily spread to all with whom his soul is organically united. This refers to all forms of blessing, also the one which the priest possesses. There- fore priesthood is also identified with one family. In Shiloh it was Eli who, in the older period, officiated in the temple. As a matter of course the sons succeed and partake of the privileges of priest- hood. It had been given to Eli’s father’s house, with the promise that it should possess it forever. But the sons of Eli degenerated;
they were not the true souls of priests, and had to perish. Their father is irresistibly involved in their ruin; the arm of Eli and his father’s house is cut off, so that none of his family reaches old age, and priesthood is given to another (1 Sam. 2,27 ff.). So families of priests replace each other.
It is the family feeling which is the most fundamental part of the soul of the man, nor is it touched in vain. When Jacob saw the daughter and herds of his kinsman at the well’s head near Haran, family feeling stirred his strength so violently that he alone could lift the stone, which otherwise required the united strength of all the shepherds. And Laban confirmed the family feeling by saying: Surely, thou art my bone and my flesh (Gen.
29,14).
Kinship is given with birth, but we know that it is not merely a community of body, seeing that not only those who are related in the flesh make part of the unity. When once the wife has been received into the family of her husband, she enters into its psychic unity, and this not only holds good of her, but of all that attaches itself to the sphere of the family. This is most vividly illustrated by the old narratives.
COMMON RESPONSIBILITY OF THE FAMILY 271
Achan of the tribe of Judah, who takes part in the fights of the Israelites under Joshua, has purloined a good deal of silver, a wedge of gold and a costly Babylonian garment from the spoil, which was consecrated to Yahweh for destruction. The garment he has hidden, but the consequences are obvious, the Israelites suffering a severe and unexpected defeat when they go against the town of Ai. Joshua complains before Yahweh, and the reason of their defeat is made known to him: Yahweh is enraged, because part of his spoil has been stolen. The oracle is asked, and soon
Achan is taken and unreservedly confesses his guilt. “And Joshua took Achan, the son of Zerah, and the silver, and the garment, and the wedge of gold, and his sons, and his tent, and all that he had, and they brought them unto the valley of Achor, all Israel standing by. And Joshua said: Yahweh shall trouble thee this day, for thou hast troubled us. And all Israel stoned him with stones, and burned them with fire, after they had stoned them with stones” (Josh. 7).
There is an,other narrative of quite a similar kind in the Pen- tateuch (Num. 16). Two men, Dathan and Abiram, have revolted against the rule of Moses, which to them seems intolerably despotic.
But Yahweh takes the part of Moses. The two men and their families are isolated, all Israel standing aloof from their tents, where the rebels are now left alone with their wives and children.
At the prayer of Moses the earth opens and swallows up Dathan and Abiram; alive they go down into Sheol with all that apper- tains to them.
From these events we learn that the man forms a complete unity with the whole of his family, his “house” and his property.
Psychic community means, above all, a common will and so a common responsibility. The man is the centre of this common will. He does not act for himself alone, but for the whole of his house. Whatever he has done, the house, the family has likewise done, for together they form an organism so closely knit that no single part thereof can be separated as something independent.
The two examples are by no means the chance outcome of blind passion in the souls of Moses and Joshua; on the contrary, they