Wisdom of Solomon 1–5: The Souls of the Righteous Are in the Hand of God": Two Ways of Reckoning with Death
Scripture: World English Bible · commentary free in this preview
The Meaning
Love righteousness, all you who are judges of the earth.
The book begins by addressing the powerful. It is spoken to rulers and judges, as Psalm 2 was, and it will come back to them in chapter 6, and its first instruction is moral before it is intellectual: love justice, think of God with a good mind, seek him in singleness of heart. Wisdom, it says, will not enter into a soul that devises evil. The book's whole argument is in that sentence. Wisdom is not cleverness; it is a kind of goodness, and it cannot live where cruelty does.
Because God didn't make death, neither does he delight when the living perish. For he created all things that they might have being.
Then the book says something no one in the Hebrew Bible says in so many words. God did not make death. He made things that they might have being, and the generative powers of the world are wholesome; death is not part of the design. It is an intruder, invited in, as the chapter puts it with a chilling image, by people who made a covenant with him because they had decided he was their friend.
"Because we were born by mere chance, and hereafter we will be as though we had never been."
And then the book does the generous thing that the best arguments do. It lets the other side speak, at length, in its own words. The ungodly are not monsters. They are people who have looked honestly at death and drawn a conclusion. Life is short; no one comes back; we came from nothing and go to nothing; our name will be forgotten in time. Some of this is very close to Ecclesiastes — "the dead know nothing... the memory of them is forgotten" — and many readers have thought the author was answering people who read Qoheleth as a license.
What makes the speech so powerful is where it goes. It begins, reasonably enough, with pleasure: let's enjoy the good things that exist... let's crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither. Within a few lines it has arrived somewhere else entirely: let's oppress the righteous poor. Let's not spare the widow... But let our strength be a law of righteousness; for that which is weak is proven useless. The author has watched the slide happen. If there is no God and nothing lasts, the only law left is strength, and the weak are in the way.
"He boasts that God is his father. Let's see if his words are true."
And the strong cannot bear the one person who lives otherwise. The righteous man annoys us; his life is a reproach; he calls himself a child of the Lord. So they decide to test his claim: For if the righteous man is God's son, he will uphold him... Let's condemn him to a shameful death. No Christian can read this without hearing the crowd at the cross: "He trusts in God. Let God deliver him now if he wants him. For he said, 'I am the Son of God.'" The author was not predicting Jesus; he was describing what happens to the righteous in every age when the powerful decide that nothing is sacred. That is why the gospels could find Jesus in it.
Because God created man for incorruption, and made him an image of his own everlastingness; but death entered into the world by the envy of the devil.
This is probably the earliest writing in scripture where the serpent of Genesis is named as the devil, and where death's entry into the world is given a cause beyond the human. Paul will tell it differently: "sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin." The two accounts are not in contradiction; they are two ways of saying that death was not God's intention.
But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will touch them.
Then the sentence for which the book is best known, and which is read at funerals in churches that have never heard of the book. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died... but they are in peace. The righteous who were tested and killed were tested like gold in the furnace, and their hope is full of immortality.
The same chapter turns to two kinds of people the ancient world counted as cursed: the woman who had no children, and the eunuch. For the barren woman who is undefiled is happy, and the eunuch who has done no wrong will receive a delightful inheritance in the Lord's sanctuary. Isaiah had promised the eunuchs "a name better than that of sons and daughters." In a culture that measured blessing in children, the book says that a life is not measured that way. And in chapter 4 it says the same of those who die young: honorable old age is not that which stands in length of time, but an unspotted life is ripe old age. Of the one taken early: Being made perfect quickly, he filled a long time. I do not know a gentler sentence in the Bible for parents who have buried a child.
"This was he whom we used to hold in derision, as a parable of reproach."
The section ends in a courtroom at the end of time. The ungodly see the righteous man standing in glory, and the people who mocked him speak again, and this time they repent, too late. Their lives, they say, passed like a ship through water, a bird through air, an arrow through its target: no evidence of its passage is found. Their reasoning in chapter 2 has come true for them. It was only their own lives that left no trace.
On the hard places. Two. The first is the book's language about the children of adulterers: they will not come to maturity, their illegitimate offshoots won't take deep root. That is a curse on children for their parents' acts, and the scriptures themselves refuse it, in Ezekiel: "A son will not bear the iniquity of his father." The rule of love says it more simply. There is no such thing as an illegitimate child before God, and no reading of this book should be allowed to suggest that there is.
The second is the hope itself. The book speaks of immortal souls, in language much closer to Greek philosophy than to the Hebrew Bible, and later it will say that a corruptible body weighs down the soul. The Christian hope is not quite that. It is the resurrection of the body, the whole person raised, not a soul escaping a body. The two hopes have often been blurred together, and it is worth keeping them distinct. But they agree on the thing that matters on the day of a funeral: the dead are not lost. They are in the hand of God.
The book opens by addressing the rulers of the earth, and its first claim is that God did not make death. Then it lets the ungodly speak: life is short and comes to nothing, so let us enjoy it, and let us crush the righteous man whose life reproaches ours. Against them the book sets its hope: the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God. The childless and the early dead are honored, and at the end the mockers see the righteous man in glory, and understand too late.