Solomon's song: translated and explained, in three parts

Preface

Every new book to be profitable asks a certain degree of attention. But a reader is not always disposed to give a new book much attention ; and indeed it must be allowed, on the strictest doctrine of chances and probabilities, that as an hundred are to one, so is the chance against the new claimant. However, here is a new book that humbly sohcits attention ; and let the reader remember, if it should not prove profitable, unless he gives it the requisite attention, the fault may not be wholly mine.

Part I. The Manuduction

' PAGE

I. The Design 1

The Design (coNxmuED) 17

Adverse Authority 20

n. Places est Scripture where Divine Love assumes

THE Form of an Erotic Similitude . . 31

The Unity 40

III. Amatory Devotion in Heathen Literature and est

the Church since the Days of the Apostles 50

Happiness 70

lY. Divine Love an Intellectual and Informing

Passion 95

Y. The Dramatic Element in Interpreting the Bible 133

Particular Application 145

The Use of the Imagination . . . . 166

YL The Double Sense 171

YIL Metaphysics 187

Exemplification 205

The Example of the Sacred Writers . . 209

Part II. The Veeston 223

The Golden Song of Solomon .... 228

PART III. The Claim and the Proof 304

The Canon 313

Part I. The Manuduction

THE MANUDUCTIOIN.

THE DESIGN.

One of the first requisites to the understanding of this mystic Song is to see the author's design, — "In every work, regard the writer's ^nd." The Bible is too often considered by the neologist as a book of fragments, having no moral unity, — no single design, no divine design ; and this injustice to the whole necessitates a greater injustice to all the parts, — nay, a want of perception of their import, or beauty. Every part of an arch rests on the key-stone. The history of the kingdom of God may be considered as one great drama, terminating in the triumph of grace over sin, and good over evil. " Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain ; for the former things are passed away."

No book has suffered more than this Song from the want of seeing the design. There is a twofold want. First, a want of seeing the design of the whole work of revelation ; and secondly, a want of seeing the design of this particular book, and its harmony with the whole. Let us then point out, first, its probable

Historic Origin ;

and this may help us to the moral design.

That the book was written by Solomon, I shall assume ; for there is no end to that destructive criticism which whispers suspicions of a later origin. Even the Pentateuch itself has not escaped the daring innovators ; and Aramseanisms, or later forms of Hebrew, are found in the earliest books of the Bible. The neologists prove that nothing is or can be ancient. I must be allowed to say, without depreciating any man's Oriental learning, that I cannot conceive of a degree of familiarity with any of these languages, which have been dead for many centuries, which can justify a critic in such bold censures as they undertake to pronounce.*

* Dr. Noyes, after giving several instances of alleged Aramasanism, comes to this very judicious conclusion : " From these and other instances, Gesenius, De "Wette, and Umbreit have referred the Book of Job to the time of the captivity, — a period assigned to it by Le Clerc, Warburton, Heath, Garnet, and Rabbi Jochanan, among the older critics. But from the few remains of Hebrew literature that have come down to us, and our imperfect acquamtance Avith the history of language, it follows that it is by no means certain that the words and forms above mentioned may not have been in use in some parts of Judaea before the time of the captivity. ]*}^ as a prefix, occurs in the Book of Judges. See vi. 17." — Preface to Job.

They cut here and slash there, until the whole forest of antiquity is levelled to the ground. Indeed, I cannot conceive of any language, which is not vernacular, being so critically known to a man as to justify him in upsetting all tradition, and saying he finds modernisms in every page. Dr. Bentley, in his dissertation on the Epistles of Phalaris, speaks very modestly of the modernisms he discovers in those Epistles, and places the chief evidence of their forgery on the anachronisms which he everywhere discovers. Besides, suppose there are real Aramseanisms, is recency of authorship the only way in which they can be accounted for ? We are told in the sacred history, that Solomon " spake three thousand proverbs, and his songs were a thousand and five," (1 Kings iv. 32,) and why may not this be one of them ? Who more likely to produce it, than he of whom it is said, there came of " all people to hear the wisdom of Solomon, from all the kings of the earth, which had heard of his wisdom" ? There is no end to this learned scepticism ; and truth would always be found by these sagacious divers, were she always certain to conceal herself in the bottom of a well. They are sure to miss her when she is on the surface.

Nor can I possibly agree with those who regard this book as a collection of songs. The remarks of Rosenmiiller are on this point excellent. '' That this book," he says, " contains one connected song, was never questioned until Richard Simon called it into doubt, by saying it was a collection of various minor poems by various authors ; and since his day the same hypothesis has been adopted by distinguished critics ; the book, according to these critics, is a collection of amatory songs, having no unity but the common subject, like the Book of Psalms, or the Book of Proverbs." But, as Rosenmiiller says, there is no vestige in the book of this variety, — nulla tamen tumultuariae congestionis vestigia. It is everywhere a continued dialogue of the same speakers, in the same style, on the same subject. The unity is complete ; and the man who finds this variety must do as a man who breaks a glass vase, and then complains that he only finds a collection of fragments. The only plausibility that such a theory can have must arise from a peculiarity which pervades all Hebrew poetry ; namely, the rapid transitions by which a primitive people leave the reader to supply the interstices of their thoughts. The transition of such writers is always rapid ; and if every break indicates a new subject and a new author, there is no end to the variety which bad taste and daring speculation may everywhere find. Following these ancient, simple writers is not like walking in the gravelled paths of a garden, trodden down by art and consolidated by the roller, but like walking over the glaciers of the Alps, where you must leap many a chasm, and where you are an unskilful traveller if the first interruption stops your way. The frost in these haggard regions will not im itate the nicety of an artist in his studio.

The want of tact in discerning the difference between a rapid transition (such as constitutes the character and beauty of primitive poetry) has led Rosenmiiller himself, in that beautiful break in the nineteenth Psalm, ver. 7, to find a new subject. " Mihi tamen ea carminis pars, quae inde a versus et decurrit, parum apte cum reliqua videtur cohaerere. Ea vero in utraque rerum et verborum est dissimilitudo, ut nullus dubitem, duo diversa carmina, aut certe diversorum carminum particulas, quorum unum virtutem Jehovae ex opificio coelorum mire relucentem, alterum legum divinarum praestantiam et excellentiam celebraret, casu vel consilio in hoc uno esse conjuncta, quae proinde a nobis erunt sejungenda." But surely there never was a more beautiful unity than this Psalm presents, or a more beautiful transition. How natural that the works of God should suggest the clearer revelation of his Word, and that the same ode should present the harmony of both !

That this book should be regarded as a collection of fragments, is one of the most baseless visions that ever entered a mind darkened by its own ingenuity. Never was there a book that had greater unity. It is all about the same pair, Solomon and Solomitis. The style is the same ; the subject is the same ; and the whole impression is unique. The fragments must be made by the fragmentary mind that reads it.

The best way to discover the moral design of this

6 THE MAlfUDUCTION.

book is to consider its historical origin. "We must endeavor to state to ourselves the circumstances under which its design was suggested and its form arose. It is pretty clear that most of the Psalms, and many of the prophecies, had an occasional and temporary application ; and that the local event was an interpreter to the ultimate design. The analogy of one to the other was often very striking and instructive. Now this principle, sanctioned by so many examples, we propose to apply in explaining the design of this difficult poem.

"We know from the sacred history, that Solomon, in his high glory, made affinity, not only with equal kings, as the king of Egypt, but also with the rural chiefs and sheiks of the tribes around him. We are told expressly (1 Kings xi.) : " But King Solomon loved many strange women " (i. e. foreigners), " together with the daughter of Pharaoh, women of the Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Zidonians, and Hittites ; of the nations concerning which the Lord said unto the children of Israel, Ye shall not go in to them, neither shall they come in unto you ; for surely they will turn away your heart after their gods. Solomon clave unto these in love." Now we must remember that all these nations, except the Zidonians, were pastoral and rural nations, very much below the Israelites in the scale of civilization in the golden days of Solomon. I cannot think that the bride in this song is Pharaoh's daughter, though Lowth and other learned critics have countenanced this opinion. The Solomeith or Solomitis of this Song is everywhere a rural lass, having that mixture of rusticity and refinement which marks the daughter of some sheik, — just such qualities as would now characterize an Arab princess. " How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, 0 prince's daughter! " (vii. 1.) " I am black, but comely ; " that is, a handsome brunette, (i. 5.) ^' I am the rose of Sharon," i. e. a modest autumnal flower, and '' the lily of the valley," i. e. a beautiful flower growing in a humble place, (ii. 1.) She sleeps under the trees ; " our bed is green ; the beams of our liouse are cedar, and our rafters are fir." (i. 16, 17.)

She is made keeper of a vineyard, and follows a flock, and the more polished daughters of Jerusalem are jealous of her ; in a word, she speaks like a polished, rural lass. Now if we put the hints of history and of the book together, we may come to the conclusion that Solomon, in spreading his peaceful empire, made affinity with some of the Arab tribes around him. He did it from a partial wish of spreading the Hebrew empire and religion through the vicinity. He did not aim to conquer by war, but by affinity ; he wished to cement a glorious empire ; it is true, that afterwards his idolatrous wives turned away his heart ; but such, probably, was not his first intention. Nothing is more natural than that, when we mix too much expediency in our designs to spread religion, the evil should eat out the good. I suppose Solomon might have a mixed motive ; it was one of those cases where his own wisdom might deceive him ; his folly was not the folly of a fool, and I cannot imagine any other reason for his vast number of wives and concubines. " And he had seven hundred wives, princesses," (mark the word !) " and three hundred concubines : and his wives turned away his heart. For it came to pass when Solomon was old," (mark again,) " that his wives turned away his heart after other gods ; and his heart was not perfect " (mark again) " with the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father. For Solomon went after Ashtoreth, the goddess of the Zidonians, and after Milcom, the abomination of the Ammonites.

And Solomon did evil in the sight of the Lord, and went not fully after the Lord, as did David his father. Then did Solomon build up an high place for Chemosh, the abomination of Moab, in the hill that is before Jerusalem, and for Molech, the abomination of the children of Ammon. And likewise did he for all his strange wives, which burnt incense and sacrificed unto their gods." (1 Kings xi. 3-8.) Several things may be here noticed. First, the vast number of his wives, beyond all the purposes of sensuality, — one thousand ! — and I fancy some of them found their houses more of the convent than the seraglio. No doubt the purpose was to prepare the way for a splendid kingdom. Secondly, it will be noticed that the seven hundred wives were princesses ; now the very number shows they did not belong to great kingdoms, like Egypt ; they must have been princesses in the little tribes around Palestine. Thirdly, it will be noticed that Solomon is not totally condemned : " They turned away his heart ; it came to pass when Solomon was old, that his wives," &c. " He went not fully after the Lord, like David his father ; " " his heart was not perfect with the Lord his God," &c. It seems very probable, therefore, that at first his intention might have been good, or at least he thought so ; he wished to establish a great kingdom ; he was not a man of war ; he must do it by other arts, — the arts of peace; he bound the rural tribes around him to himself by his multiplied affinities ; — none but the best and worst men act from single motives.

Solomon was a mingled character; his great wisdom sometimes marred the simplicity of his piety. Now, putting these things together, I suppose that he wooed and won some beautiful daughter of some neighboring sheik, — perhaps for the first time ; the thing made a great noise in Jerusalem ; the fathers were alarmed, and the daughters of Jerusalem were jealous. Sometimes he carried his rustic bride, his autumnal flower, his lily of the valley, up to Jerusalem, where she complains : " The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me : the keepers of the wall took away my veil from me." And sometimes Solomon himself went down to rusticate in her country, to spend part of the summer ; the wild cliffs were as sweet to the king as the polished houses of Jerusalem were to the bride. " 0 my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret place of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice ; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes." (ii. 14, 15.) These alternations are presented throughout the whole poem. Such, then, is the Historical Origin of this beautiful work. King Solomon chooses some foreign bride ; he deviates from the customs and laws of his country ; his conduct excites great attention, and produces great commotion in Jerusalem. But a popular king has his own privileges ; his intentions are for good, though not legal, and he writes this poem to show how pure his felicity, how happy his marriage with a rural bride, taken from a Pagan nation, whom, nevertheless, he brings under the influence of the true religion, and hopes to convert to the true faith, and make one of the instruments of promoting the glory of his peaceful kingdom.

But we are told in Judges xiv. 4, that, when Samson went down to Timnath, and saw a woman in Timnath of the daughters of the Philistines, and wished to have her for a wife, contrary to the wishes of her father and mother, " his father and his mother knew not that the thing was of the Lord." So in this case, the occasional song was exalted by the providence of God into a higher purpose. That purpose was mainly and primarily to foreshow the formation and union of the Gentile Church with Christ, when a more sublime and spiritual religion should be presented. Of course, in this purpose, as a unity, many constituents are involved ; for example, a higher religion, a higher class of saints, the union of the soul with Christ, — all of which I consider not as separate items, but all involved in the great idea. There is to be a religion (such is the spirit of the book) which, uniting the soul with its Saviour in a nobler life, is to bring the Gentiles under its influence, and have power enough to spread through the earth. For this opinion we should adduce several reasons. First, the perfect analogy between the historical fact and the spiritual signification. If Solomon hoped to spread his kingdom by these marriages, the first bride was not only a type, but an actual specimen, of the signification looked for. Secondly, there is a perfect consonance between this view and the occasional signification of other places in the Psalms and prophecies. They often have an historical origin, and a sublime future import, as, in the seventy-second, the reign of Solomon and the kingdom of Christ. This is the general method ; when the neologists say that whatever is great and splendid about temporal things in the Old Testament was applied by the later Jews to the Messiah and his kingdom, they only pervert and misuse a fact, which is the occasional signal of the great design. Thirdly, this Book would scarcely have had a place in the sacred canon, if the authors of that canon, whoever they might be, had believed it to be a mere love-song ; it would have been like introducing the image of Bacchus or Silenus into their holy temple. On this point one of their own Rabbis has spoken, — Aben-Esra. " Absit, absit ut Canticum Canticorum de amore carnali agat, sed omnia figurate in eo dicantur. Nisi enim maxima ejus dignitas esset, in sacrorum librorum corpus non fuisset relatum, neque de eo ulla est controversia." To which Rosenmiiller adds, that the whole character and design of the sacred books forbid the supposition that a song which sung the loves of a man and a woman should be numbered among the books of the Old Testament. When we read the following verse in the Book of Hymns by Dr. Watts, we have no hesitation, from its place, to allow its subject and design, though the words may seem ambiguous : —

" Let my beloved come and taste His pleasant fruits at his own feast; I come, my spouse ; I come, he cries, With love and pleasure in his eyes."

And the same reasoning applies to this book. It stands rank and file amidst the solemnities of revelation. This circumstance has in fact decided the Church, at the least the vast majority of it, to receive the book in its mystical import ; and the fact is significant ; it was the decision of unconscious reason, which the pubhc mind could not resist. . It is one of those conclusions that we adopt before we have analyzed its force. We do not expect the levity in a Greek chorus which we find in an Anacreontic song. But there is another reason. Fourthly, the poor, barren meaning that emerges, if the allegoric is not taken. A very peculiar choice meets us, — the great or the little; the sublime or the ridiculous ; the most exalted devotion or the meanest sensuality. On this point even the comment of Grotius is instructive ; he rejects the spiritual meaning, and where does he fall ? He shows the melancholy consequence of not catching the note of inspiration from its celestial harp. I hardly dare to state the import which this great critic gives to this sacred book. In searching for the latent meaning of this book, we are reminded of the epitaph mentioned in Gil Bias, — " Here is interred the soul of the Licentiate Peter Garcias." The pert coxcomb laughed at the absurdity of supposing a soul interred in a grave ; but his wiser companion fathomed the mystery and found the treasure.

But, fifthly, the place the book supplies in meeting the wants of a certain class of readers, perhaps I may say, in some degree, of all mankind. Who does not know that one great problem always before the awakened and anxious mind is. How shall I get the will to conquer my corruption ? How shall I shake off those evil propensities, which, like iron chains, fasten my soul down to earth and transgression ? To be saved I must be willing to be saved; but how shall 1 get that will ? You tell me that religion is a cure for all sorrow and sin; that it is easy, — "the yoke is easy and the burden is light." But you contradict my experience. It is vain to tell me of the reasonableness of religion ; the human passions are not reasonable, — mine are not; and I turn like a door on its hinges, and yet never get separated from my own selfishness. Such are the complaints I have heard from hundreds of sinners. Now, to such a mind how impressive, how instructive it must be to know that there is a form of religion where even the struggle is lost in the perception of celestial beauty and the free, spontaneous love which arises from it ! There are attainments in religion where it ceases to be an effort, — duty is lost in delight ; Christ is seen and his drawings are felt ; the whole soul is borne on a new current. Let us seek an illustration. Yonder is a barge entering the harbor ; the tide is against her, and the wind is contrary. How they toil at the oars, and how little is their headway ! But suddenly the tide turns and the wind changes ; they spread their sails, and enter the harbor with streamers flying and with triumphant speed. " I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the yine flourished and the pomegranates budded ; or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib." (vi. 11, 12.)

To the Christian, too, the lesson is important. We begin religion in a violent struggle witlt our own evil propensities. It is a most discouraging combat, and our frequent failures plunge us almost into despair. Some of the strongest expressions are used in the New Testament to describe this painful conflict. It is plucking out the riglit eye, tearing off the right hand ; it is a crucifixion ; it is taking up the cross daily ; it drives us to the most agonizing prayer. How delightful it must be to know that when the renovated will, feeble at first, has done its part, a time will come, when, if we are faithful in the struggle, the will must give place to the whole powers of the heart. There will be no struggle, no conflict, no cross. Indeed, the great secret in religion is, to have a clear perception of the celestial bridegroom, and to have the heart in a corresponding state. Strauss says that Christ is a principle, and I believe it. He is a principle and person too ; and he is the more a principle because he is a person ; and Dr. Young was more than a poet when he said :

" Talk they of morals, — 0 thou bleeding Love ! Thou Maker of new morals for mankind, The grand morality is love to thee."

But, sixthly, I think this must have been the origin and the signification of this song ; that is, its sublime meaning gi^ew out of its historical origin, from the fact that all the Pagan nations had similar ideas, and God, in thus signifying his will to his people, only employed the universal language. The Pagans regarded all nature as one great sympathetic system, indicating by the informing spirit future events. The flight of a bird, the motion of a serpent, the form of a cloud, the speaking of an ox, the voice of thunder, stumbling at the threshold, were all omens. Nature was everywhere sensitive and significant. We are told by Tacitus that the Germans were accustomed to set a captive of the nation with which they were at war and one of their own people at single combat, and judge by the event the fate of the war. What is this but the same principle, — a portentous incident foretelling a great result ? How much more would the Jews, from their remarkable theocracy, be led to judge in the same way ; and how credible is it that God should use such means to signify his will. The Bath Col — the voice among the Jews — was founded on the same principle.

Lastly, the unmistakable authority of the Apostles sanctions the same principle. But on this point we shall not at present enlarge.

THE DESIGN (Continued).

There naturally, then, grows out of the historical origin this spiritual design. As it has been forcibly remarked that the Psalms were written to show us, after reading the continual ritualism of the books of Moses, that there was a spiritual power in the old religion, so this book seems to have been written to show us the ultimate spirit of the true Church. When religion was ritual in its dress, it was sectional in its character. Circumcision, for example, confined it to the Hebrews. But the idea of an enlarged Church was connected with a refined religion. The higher spirit of religion was all-embracing. The affinity of Solomon with some Arab princes was made the occasion of showing a Gentile Church and a purer faith. The lessons of this book are, first, that there is something in religion which no words can teach. It transcends the power of language. It can be felt only by a bursting heart. It is life. " My soul breaketh for the longing it hath." Secondly, love is this transcendent spirit, — supersensual love. But, thirdly, not blind love ; love arising from the perception of celestial beauty ; distinct from delusion, because founded on truth. Fourthly, this passion and perception are mysteriously interlocked ; we cannot say which is cause and which consequence. We

B may say the perception of the beauty produces the love, and the love, or at least the disposition to love, produces the perception. Here is an involution which no mental analysis can unfold ; and this book presents the two poles of this electric tide ; to our experience they come together, but we cannot tell which is cause and which effect, which is prior either in time or in nature. Fifthly, the mystic union with Christ ; what is it ? Here it is shown as it must be shown in the emotional. Sixthly, there is a higher class of saints ; —

" They scorn to seek our golden toys,

But spend the day and share the night In numbering o'er the richer joys

That Heaven prepares for their delight; While wretched we, like worms and moles, Lie grovelling in the dust below."

Seventhly, piety, owning its origin, tends to its end. Religion begins in severe struggles ; it is a period of conflict. Augustine has stated the difficulty, and in part solved the mystery. " Unde hoc monstrum, et quare istud ? Imperat animus corpori et paretur statim ; imperat animus sibi et resistitur. Imperat animus, ut moveatur manus, et tanta est facilitas, ut vix a servitio discernitur imperium ; et animus animus est, manus autem corpus est. Imperat animus, ut velit animus, nee alter est, nee facit tamen. Unde hoc monstrum, et quare istud ? Imperat, unquam

Tit velit, qui non imperat, nisi vellet ; et non fit, quod imperat. Sed non ex toto vult ; non ergo ex toto imperat." (Confess., Lib. YIII. c. 9.) " Whence this wonder, and how does it come ? The mind commands the body, and is immediately obeyed ; the will commands itself, and is resisted. The mind commands the hand to move ; and such is the facility of the obedience that we hardly discern the commanding from the servile power. The mind is mind, the hand is body. The mind commands according to its own will, and yet does not obey itself. Whence this wonder, and how does it arise ? That power commands by its will whose whole province is to will, and yet, itself commanding itself, the deed is not done ; and the reason is, the will is not entire ; the command is not from the whole heart." Now, in all these struggles, it is delightful to know the higher, spontaneous state to which every successful struggle tends ; and how important it is to get those perceptions by which the whole power of Christ rushes on the soul. 0, there is a flame that burns up our dross, and the will has scarce anything to do ; it has sunk back and is lost in governing love. Lastly, this book shows that felicity is the gratification of celestial love. When an Almighty Saviour becomes the bridegroom, heaven, earth, and sea, the stars and the sky, become the marriage-chamber, and all the works of nature glow with the consummation.