At the Pinnacle of Literature
To give an adequate judgment of the King James Bible is impossible; it presents one of those rare cases where superlatives are not only justified but even positively demanded. Quotations alone are sufficient to demonstrate its matchless beauty of language. In view of all that has been written in its praise, much comment is superfluous.
There are certain passages which, to use the critical method of Matthew Arnold, may be taken as “touchstones” of the literary supremacy of the Authorized Version. The prophecies of Isaiah, for instance, reach a level of sublimity that has never been equalled. No artist in prose, not even Sir Thomas Browne with his stately flow of words, has ever written anything comparable in beauty with these utterances. Consider
72 the fortieth chapter of the book. Here is a strain of quiet nobilty that bespeaks divine compassion. ‘Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned; for she hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” Working on a plane far above that of the merely literal rendering, the translators have here caught the very spirit of the God-given original. There is an infinite tenderness in these words, reserved as befits Almighty God, yet exquisitely personal withal. ‘Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.” This is no elaborate rhetoric, consciously wrought. In their very simplicity the words are inexpressibly lovely. The repetition of “comfort” falls on the ear like a benediction, and makes a cadence always to be remembered for its haunting music. Suddenly there come words alive with joy. The advent of John the Baptist is foretold. “The
73 voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.” And now the prophet, his heart swelling with heavenly joy, mounts a towering peak of sublimity. “O, Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain; O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah, Behold your God! Behold, the Lord will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for him: behold his reward is with him, and his work before him. He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those
74 that are with young.” This is immortal poetry, enduring in beauty because it reflects so truly the inspired original. It is poetry that has lasted for centuries and that is echoed in some of the loveliest songs ever written, several arias from the great Handel’s Messiah.
For another “touchstone” and one of a different character, let us turn to the New Testament. In the fourteenth chapter’ of the Gospel of John is the familiar Bequest of Peace, so dear to the hearts of Christians. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I. And now I have told you before it come to pass, that,
Verses 27-31. 75 when it is come to pass, ye might believe. Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me. But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence.” It was with these words that the Saviour, prior to the agony of the garden, comforted His bewildered disciples. Out of the compassion of His great heart He spoke with tender intimacy. Although the Cross with its utter darkness and black sorrow loomed before Him, with supreme unselfishness He paused to comfort His disciples, the sheep of His love, perplexed, ignorant, and afraid of the foreboding of the unknown future. Ina passage so sacred as this, a single false note, a word wrongly chosen would be an ineffaceable blot. And it is just here that the greatness of the King James Version is shown. There is no artifice, no straining after effect. The words, simple, almost commonplace, carry
76 with them a noble dignity. As we read, we seem to hear the Saviour quietly speaking to the hushed disciples, telling them not to fear, for He will come again.
Is this translation a miracle of literature? One would almost think so, for the attainment by scholars, no matter how distinguished, of heights of expression never reached by Shakespeare or Milton is certainly without parallel. Yet there are good reasons why the King James Bible stands where it does. No translators ever had before them an original so wonderful as the Bible. Malory put the Arthurian legends into his native language, and produced an English masterpiece — Morte d’Arthur. Sir Thomas North translated the Latin of Plutarch and made a superb book more vivid than the original, and furnished Shakespeare with the material for several tragedies. John Florio turned the perfect French of Montaigne into English unique for its individuality. But the Arthurian legends, Plutarch’s Lives, and the Essays of Montaigne are not to be compared with any one of hundreds of passages in the Bible. They are simply incapable of inspiring their translators as the Word of God has inspired not only King James’s scholars but also all the men who have labored over it throughout the centuries. No secular book has the power of firing the higher faculties that is latent in the Prophets, the Psalms, and practically the whole of the New Testament. The inspirational quality of the Bible itself, then, does much to explain the miracle of the Authorized Version.
If we examine into the condition of the English language at the beginning of the seventeenth century, we shall find another reason for the greatness of the King James Version. In 1611 English had but recently emerged from mediaeval obscurity. After the comparative sterility of the fifteenth century, drama and poetry burst out into the Elizabethan period, that carnival of superb
78 vigor and passionate beauty. Shakespeare, Spenser, Marlowe, Greene, Webster, Jonson, -a veritable pageant of great writers producing great works, passed by within a few decades. English became the medium of masterpieces. Still fresh and flexible, plastic to new influences and new impressions, it was splendidly fitted for the subtle business of translation. By the very genius of its idiom, it was remarkably adapted for rendering the languages of the Scriptures — Hebrew and Greek.
The English of 1600 was closer to the Anglo-Saxon than the English of today. And Hebrew and Anglo-Saxon, the tongue whose words form the sinews of our speech, have much in common. Both are elemental; both are simple. And both, while capable of vigorous and lyrical utterance,’ are almost incapable of expressing abstract ideas. The
*?Cf. “The Cambridge History of English Literature,” Vol. IV, p. 37.
Old Testament imagery derives its strength from nature and the primitive emotions. Physical activity is at the root of most Hebrew words. The vocabulary of the ancient Jew was extraordinarily weak where the great modern tongues are strongest, namely in philosophical, scientific, and general terms. And Anglo-Saxon partakes of the same characteristics; it has a real affinity for the Hebrew. The fact that the English of the Elizabethan period was nearer to the Anglo-Saxon than the English of today takes on, therefore, a significance for those who are seeking to explain the literary supremacy of the King James Bible. Thus we find Tyndale saying, “And the propirties of the Hebrue tonge agreth a thousande tymes moare with the English then with the Latyne. The maner of speakynge is in both one, so y‘ in a thousande places thou neadest not but to translate it in to ye English worde for worde.” ‘The same thing, although to a lesser degree, holds true for English and Greek. “For the Greke tonge,” according to Tyndale, “agreth moare with English then with the Latyne.”’
Great results obtained with economy of means for expression very often mark high and classic art. Bach in his fugues and passion music, Beethoven in his sonatas and symphonies, these men lacked the orchestral resources which lie ready for the modern composer. Yet they gave perfect expression to their elevation of feeling and grandeur of conception. Similarly literature of the first rank is noted for restraint and simplicity of utterance. The Bible shows this quality in its highest development. It is full of condensed narratives that hold in their close compass whole shelves of drama. The parable of the Prodigal Son, for instance, is the pure gold of concise and pointed story telling. And when abstract themes are treated, the same marvellous brevity holds. Thus in a chapter of but thirteen verses, St. Paul has set down the final word on love.
Careful investigation shows that the vocabulary of both testaments of the King James Bible is surprisingly small; not many more than six thousand words are used — less by half than the vocabulary of Milton and about one-third the vocabulary of Shakespeare. And of this number about ninety-three percent, according to the computation of Marsh (made with allowance for repetitions of the same word) are words of native origin. Yet this vocabulary by no means limited the freedom of expression of the Jacobean translators. On the contrary their work is noted for flexibility, accuracy of phrase, and especially for beauty of rhythm. It is a prose remarkably varied yet always noble — at times well-nigh overpowering for the breadth of its sweep, at other times subdued in its companionable simplicity. But whatever be the effect, it is an effect achieved with the utmost economy of detail.
Thus the reader of the Old Testament continually meets majesty of utterance such
82 as this passage from the end of the prophecy of Habakkuk :°
“Thou didst cleave the earth with rivers. The mountains saw thee, and they trembled: the overflowing of the water passed by: the deep uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands on high. The sun and the moon stood still in their habitation: at the light of thine arrows they went, and at the shining of thy glittering spear. Thou didst march through the land in indignation, thou didst thresh the heathen in anger. Thou wentest forth for the salvation of thy people, even for salvation with thine anointed....”
In contrast is the lovely melody found in these few verses* from the great New Testament prophecy:
“And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in
III, 9-14. * Revelation VII, 14-17. 83 the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.”
Words like this enter the heart softly and remain to comfort.
Fittingly enough, it is in this last book of the Bible that rhythmical prose reaches perhaps its greatest heights. Witness the entire eighteenth chapter, the lament over the fall of Babylon. It reads like some great epic.
“Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird. ... Alas, alas that great city Babylon, that mighty city! for in one hour is thy judgment come. And the merchants of the earth shall weep and mourn over her; for no man buyeth their merchandise any more: the merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all manner vessels of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble. ...”
Subtle cadences that linger to haunt the ear; grief told in imperial rhythms; metals, fabrics, utensils, odors, unguents, food, beasts, ‘‘chariots, slaves, and souls of men,” — all the opulent pageantry of the orient — these live through the pen of — a certain Galilean peasant called John; nay, rather through the pen of a certain Galilean peasant called John, who was inspired by the most high God. No wonder the translators wrote words of supreme beauty. They were dealing with a divine Book!
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