Much has been written about Job, and it seems in recent years to be a particular target for religious satire. There is something about our modern, relentlessly secular, religiously insecure society which I think finds the whole premise somewhat discomfiting, prompting the focus upon it. Reading it, there is something a bit strange about the premise, with God and the Adversary seeming to act more like buddies challenging each other to prove their respective bona fides over drinks than avowed enemies and opposites for all of Creation. However, the specific deific (and satanic) interactions which excuse the premise of the book are more like set dressing, a religious framing story, if you will, for a serious, grounded, and thoroughly mortal philosophical discussion. This book reminded me less of other Biblical entries and more of Plato’s Dialogues.
The book’s heart is not about divine shenanigans or devilish trickery. Nor is it the superficial wallowing in misery that is sometimes depicted. Instead, it consists of a stricken Job and his friends engaging in a series of dialogues about the morality and philosophy of his circumstances and existence. Despite the similarity in format, it is a starkly different understanding of reality and Man’s relationship with morality than the various Greek schools of thought would posit a century or two later. I’d say it most closely resembles some of Aurelius’ musings on stoicism, but with a less individualistic focus. Job’s philosophy is not stoicism, but it similarly places acceptance of that which we cannot control as a central tenant.
Here’s a question: if selflessness is rewarded, will people do what is selfless for selfish reasons? That’s certainly the argument Rand makes in The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, depicting charity done right as a self-benefiting activity as much as it benefits the recipients. She doesn’t depict this as a negative, but rather a feature; it ties back to the claim in The Wealth of Nations that our dinner comes not from the beneficence of the baker, the brewer, and the butcher, but from their regard for their own self-interest. This is a mainly ends-oriented view, in which the motivations of the individuals involved is less important than their actions and their outcomes. However, biblical morality concerns itself more with motivation, and the framing story in Job asks this question; Job’s resultant suffering is meant to test his righteousness in the absence of reward – that is, will he continue to be selfless if the selfish reasons for doing so are removed?
The answer is, unsurprisingly, more complicated than popular retellings indicate. The emphasis is usually placed on Job’s continued piety in the face of his new circumstances, either to highlight the strength of his faith, or to paint his faith as ridiculous. Both tellings neglect that Job views his own suffering as unreasonable and concludes that God is unjust, while maintaining his faith in God regardless of this conclusion. He is not blind to the apparent contradictions, but rather embraces them. This is his argument with his companions in the dialogues: that God is not necessarily just, but that He should reward righteousness. They largely argue that he must be guilty or unrighteous in some way, operating from the assumption that God is always just. That is, until Elihu comes by to tell them all that they’re wrong, that suffering is not truly a punishment but a way to make the sufferer more receptive to divine input, and that God is just because He defines justice (which yes, is a tautological argument, and a quite confident answer to the famous question “is conduct right because the gods demands it, or do the gods demand it because it is right?”). Elihu, though, only shows up at the very end, the writing style for his sections are notably different from the rest of the book, and none of the other characters acknowledge him, leading scholars to conclude (and me to agree with them) that this section was added to the book at a later date.
All this thought-provoking philosophy is somewhat undercut by the conclusion, in which Job’s prosperity is restored and increased as a kind of recompense for the capricious suffering he endured. This seems to a) eliminate the ability of this narrative to provide insight or answer to the framing question about selfish selflessness, and b) undervalue Job’s experience throughout the book. Sure, some things can be replaced easily, but his wife, his children? Being provided a new wife and children does not one-for-one replace the old, nor does it erase or compensate for the suffering experienced. But then, perhaps my view on this is a product of the more individualistic worldview we inherit from the Greeks, which was less prevalent (and sometimes actively opposed) in the Hebrew tradition.
As all of this hopefully makes clear, Job is a book that will keep you thinking, embracing complex ideas that we continue to ponder today. It certainly reads more contemporary than many of the preceding books. There is a strong argument to be made it is the first example in the Bible of “wisdom literature.” Where the previous books are interesting primarily for their history, their narratives, and their mythtelling, Job can be rightly read today the same way we still turn to the dialogues of Plato, Aristotle, Xenophon, and others – and, just like we can read Plato without needing to believe in the Greek gods, you can approach Job without needing to hold yourself faithful to a particular Abrahamic tradition. You might think you know the story of Job, but reading and pondering the full text for yourself is something deeper and more meaningful.
