A Defense of the Imprecatory Psalms
There is such an emphasis put on the promises of the Bible, and such a concealment of its threatenings, that the effect of both is neutralized. Christianity is often so divested of its loftier and more rigorous qualities as to fail to secure any respect.
This article is an adaptation by Stuart DiNenno of an article written by B. B. Edwards in 1844.
There is a particular type of statement or exclamation encountered in many passages of the Psalms and in other parts of the Old Testament of the Bible, which many Christians find mystifying because they appear to be contrary to Christian morality. For this same reason, they are sometimes cited as a justification to deny that the Psalms are suitable for Christian education. Namely, these are the passages in which imprecations are stated against enemies and wicked men. An imprecation is a spoken curse or the act of invoking evil, harm, or divine judgment upon someone. It comes from the Latin imprecari, meaning “to pray against” or “to invoke evil upon.” In the context of the Psalms, imprecations are prayers asking God to bring judgment, punishment, or calamity upon the psalmist's enemies or the wicked. Commonly cited Psalms containing imprecations include Psalms 7, 9, 35, 55, 58, 59, 69, 79, 83, 94, 109, 129, 137, and 140.
Perhaps the discovery of these passages does not destroy the faith of any true believer in the Scriptures, but it often occasions misgivings, painful doubts, and a disposition to leave unread the portions of the Bible in which such expressions are contained. A circumstance which increases the perplexity of the reader is that the imprecation is often found in close connection with language which indicates the firmest trust in God or a high state of devotional feeling. Many ask: How can feelings so opposite coexist?
The calling down of a calamity upon another appears, at first glance, to be at war with some of the better feelings of our nature. It seems to run counter to the common sentiments of compassion within us and the dictates of natural religion. We see that God sends his rain upon the just and unjust, and that he is constantly doing good to those who deny his authority or blaspheme his name. The indications throughout the realms of nature and providence would certainly lead us to feel that we should be like our Heavenly Father, and open the hand of liberal kindness to all men, to enemies and strangers as well as to kindred and friends.
Above all, however, the sentiment seems to be wholly adverse to the spirit of the New Testament. Our Lord gave a new commandment that we should love one another. When thine enemy hungers, feed him. I say unto you, Love your enemies; pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you; speak evil of no man; not returning railing for railing, but, contrariwise, blessing. The whole tenor and spirit of the gospel is selfless benevolence, an all-embracing charity. How are we to reconcile the loving spirit of the new dispensation with the direful maledictions of the old? When we see what seems to be a lack of harmony in the different parts of the Scriptures, how can we believe that the whole of it is from that perfect Being whose precepts must all be self-consistent?
The numerous unsatisfactory methods which have been adopted for the purpose of solving what appears to be a contradiction, betrays the anxiety which it has caused in many pious minds. I will briefly touch on some of these:
By some interpreters it has been suggested that many of those passages which appear in our English version as imprecatory (i.e., as expressing a wish or desire for the infliction of evil), should be rendered as a simple affirmation or declaration of what will take place in regard to the wicked. This view is grounded in the claim that the verb in the original text is in the future tense where our English translation has given it a signification of a wish or desire which does not exist in the Hebrew.
But what shall be said of the numerous passages, where the verb is in the imperative? For example: “Pour out thine indignation upon them; let thy wrathful anger take hold upon them” (Psalm 69:24). “Set thou a wicked man over him: and let Satan stand at his right hand. When he shall be judged, let him be condemned” (Psalm 109:6-7).
And what about the texts where those who take vengeance upon an enemy are pronounced blessed? “O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones” (Psalm 137:8-9).
In what manner, again, shall we vindicate those passages where the righteous are described as looking with joy, feasting their eyes as it were, upon the calamities of their oppressors? “The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance; he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked” (Psalm 58:10-11).
It would therefore make little difference if we were permitted to translate certain passages in a declaratory or prophetic sense, which are now rendered to indicate a wish or desire. The difficulty would still exist in many other passages. And it is clear that the claim itself, in regard to the Hebrew language, is untenable. There are forms of the verb in Hebrew with their connected particles which oblige us to translate using the terms “let,” “may,” etc., so that they express wishes or desires. Often too, the context will not justify any other rendering.
Another way in which some have attempted to remove the difficulty is to consider it as a peculiarity of the Old Testament era, which the Christian dispensation does not recognize. That is, being in harmony with the general spirit of the Jewish theocracy, but annulled by the clearer revelation of the New Testament.
However, God is the author of these dispensations, and the general spirit of the two must be the same. We ought not to vindicate one Testament at the expense of the other. What is essentially bad at one period, must be so at all times. Cruelty is no more tolerated in the laws of Moses than it is in the epistles of Paul. Those have not carefully read the book of Deuteronomy who have not observed the special pains which God took to impress upon the hearts of the Israelites the importance of treating kindly, not only the widow and the orphan, but the stranger, the Egyptian, and the hired servant who was not of their own nation. No small part of the Levitical law is taken up with commands and appeals designed to counteract the narrow and selfish spirit of the Hebrews.
Besides, the principle under examination runs through the entire Scriptures, the New Testament as well as the Old. Paul says, “Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil: the Lord reward him according to his works” (2 Timothy 4:14). Here Paul is explicitly calling on God to punish Alexander for his wickedness; it is difficult to see how this statement differs materially from the imprecations in the book of Psalms.
It has been supposed by some that the passages in question are to be understood in a spiritual sense; that the reference to individuals is not real, but imaginary, assumed for the time being, and for an ultimate purpose that is entirely different from what lies on the face of them. But the simple statement of such a position is enough to show its absurdity. If Doeg, Ahithophel, and Alexander the coppersmith, were not real persons, then what were they? Besides, where would such a principle of interpretation carry us?
Still others have conjectured that only temporal calamities were desired by the Psalmist, there being no allusion to those punishments which may affect the soul in the eternal state. But it is difficult to perceive how the principle in the one case differs from that of the other. If we may pray that a particular person may go down alive and instantly into the grave, and that the direst plagues may fall on his family, till their very name is blotted out, how can we claim that those heavier evils which the soul shall suffer hereafter are excluded? Also, many imprecatory passages speak in general terms and do not appear to be limited to a particular nature of punishment or to a certain period of duration.
None of these explanations solves what many perceive as difficulties; they rather only attempt to explain them away. But as we will see in the following justification of the words used by the sacred writers, there is no need to make excuses for the language contained in the imprecatory Psalms, as it is both in accordance with human nature and in harmony with godly morality.
The principle behind the imprecations in Scripture may be best stated by beginning with several illustrations of evil, noting in particular how according to the constitution of our souls we all naturally react to them:
Doeg, an Edomite herdsman, in the time of Saul, killed eighty-five unarmed, helpless priests, when he knew that they were wholly innocent of the charge made against them, and when no one else dared to touch these consecrated servants of the Lord. But with this he was not satisfied; every woman and child, every breathing thing fell under the assassin's knife. Now the very mention of the atrocity stirs up feelings in us which cannot be repressed, and which are only rendered the more poignant by reflection on the attendant circumstances.
The murder of the children at Bethlehem by order of Herod, another Edomite, was an act of gratuitous cruelty which the imagination utterly refuses to carry out into its details. The shriek of the frantic Rachel in every dwelling where there was a little child to be struck down is all that the heart can bear. Towards the author of the decree every reader of that history has had but one feeling.
The woman that wished the head of the venerable forerunner of our Lord to be brought to her in a basin, who desired to enjoy a sight which would have curdled the blood of anyone else, has excited a feeling in every reader's heart that no lapse of time has in the least degree diminished.
The striking of a great bell at midnight in Paris was the signal of a deed at which men shudder now when reading its account, though it be at a distance of over 450 years. The St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 1572, in which thousands of Protestants were brutally murdered by Catholic mobs, was a night long to be remembered. It was an outrage upon the nature which God has given to his creatures, which admits of no defense, and which necessarily demands an atonement that is not yet fully paid.
Recalling the darkest moments of the French revolution, we are consoled by one thought: The day of retribution that was to come for the perpetrators. Every spectator of the tragedy feels, even if he does not say, blessed shall he be who rewardeth thee as thou hast done to others. And when the cup is poured into the lips of the evildoers—to the very dregs—there is a satisfaction. A great moral debt has been paid. God's righteous government has taken a firmer hold of men in consequence. The divine veracity has received a new illustration. He who sowed the wind, has reaped the whirlwind.
What is the character of the principle manifested here? What is the nature of that which we feel toward such evil and the men who commit it?
A primary element of it is indignation. Before we have had time to reflect, there is a spontaneous gush of the emotion of anger towards the evildoer. We cannot prevent it, even if we would choose to do so. It is prior to all deliberation. In its first outbreak, it is above control. It is outraged nature that will have to be vented. In the commission of a great wrong, particularly where the accompanying circumstances are such as to strongly arrest attention, the being is something more or less than human, whose soul is not deeply stirred.
Another element is compassion towards the injured party. We have an instinctive pity for weakness crushed in the dust, for innocence betrayed and violated. When we examine the case of Naboth, an unoffending man who is defrauded of his rights because he would not alienate the inheritance of his fathers, and is then taken and murdered on religious grounds by lying testimony, sentiments of the tenderest interest in the wretched sufferer spring up. Our hearts rush towards him with the warmest compassion and toward his persecutors with violent anger. We would rescue him, if possible, before the fatal stones are thrown, and we would beat down his oppressors into the dust.
Another ingredient, and a principal one, is a sense of justice. When a crime of extraordinary atrocity goes unpunished, we feel that justice is defrauded of its dues. We are indignant that such a wrong should not be redressed. While the crime remains unpenalized, we have a feeling, not only of insecurity, but that justice has been violated. Public order is disturbed; a shock has been given to that sense of rectitude which is common to all men.
These feelings are not of momentary duration. They grow stronger with the lapse of time. Reflection only adds to their intensity. The more deliberation, the more we see their reasonableness. In other words, when a great outrage is perpetrated, nothing will calm the disquieting of our moral nature but the infliction of a penalty. The grievance must be redressed. A voice within us calls imperatively for reparation, whether we, or others, are the authors of the deed. The endurance of suffering is an indispensable condition for the return of peace. We secretly desire the speedy infliction of the penalty on ourselves if we are conscious of guilt, and, on others, also, if they are the evildoers. And what we crave, by an irrepressible instinct of our moral nature, may we not, on fit occasions, express in language?
It is an original attribute of our nature; it has all the marks of a simple and ultimate fact of our being. It is, in the first place, instantaneous in its manifestation. Its movements are rapid as the light. It gives no notice of its coming; neither can we stay it. In certain circumstances, it will arise despite all the physical and moral obstacles which we can array against it. In this respect, it stands precisely on the ground of the other original properties of our constitution.
Again, it is universal, and therefore, original. It has shown itself in all ages, in every state of society and period of human life, among the crudest and the most refined. Wherever the voice of a brother's blood has cried from the ground, it has found an answering echo in every bosom, no matter whether in the midst of the most polished society, or in the remotest outskirts of paganism. Or, if it has shown exceptional strength, it is in the breast of him who has the most refinement, and who has advanced the furthest in the Christian life, because such a man has the most comprehensive acquaintance with the bad effects of crime, and the greatest desire that right should triumph over wrong.
It may be maintained further that this feeling is not necessarily accompanied with any malice towards the sufferer. An atrocious crime is committed in our neighborhood; we have the strongest sympathy for the injured party and indignation towards the evildoer. We unite in all proper measures to bring him to what we call a deserved punishment. We rejoice when we learn that he has been apprehended, and that justice is permitted to take its appointed course. If we do not, in so many words, imprecate calamities upon him, we feel and we perform what amounts to the same thing. We ardently desire and pray that he may suffer punishment. If he is proved to be guilty, we are disappointed if he escapes. We are even eager to cooperate in efforts to bring him within the arm of the law. But all this need not be attended with any desire to witness the sufferings of a human being or with the taking of pleasure at the pain of punishments. We have no malice or private revenge to gratify. The absorbing emotion is for the good of society. We have the persuasion that if the criminal escapes, the bonds that hold men together will be weakened, if they are not destroyed.
That there may be this entire freedom from personal ill-will is shown by the fact that our feelings are precisely similar, in kind at least, towards an offending contemporary or neighbor as they are toward a notorious culprit who lived ages ago, or may now live at the ends of the earth, and whose punishment, or escape from it, cannot possibly affect us personally. The utterance of this moral feeling is the utterance of humanity within us. It is an expression of sympathy in the well-being of the race.
Instead of the feeling in question being sinful, it may on the contrary be the evidence of a generous sympathy, of a finely educated conscience, and of a character conformed to the great standard of perfection. Not to possess this moral sympathy might indicate a pusillanimous nature, a dullness of spiritual apprehension, and no desire that the disorders in God's kingdom should be rectified.
The connection of this original principle of our nature with the imprecations in the Psalms and in other parts of the Bible is obvious. These imprecatory passages are justified by a primary and innocent feeling of our nature. If we were placed in the condition of the sacred penmen, we would feel, and properly feel, as they felt. The sight of the shameless cruelty of an Edomitish herdsman, if it did not dictate an imprecatory poem, would unavoidably awaken the same feelings on which that poem is founded. The impartial spectator, as he stood on the smoking ashes of Jerusalem and saw the Idumeans as they incited the fierce Chaldeans to raze the holy city to its foundations, and heard them devise new and ingenious methods of cruelty, would join in the emotions which called forth the maledictions of the 137th Psalm. Let any right-minded reader look at the lives of Antiochus Epiphanes, of the first Herod, of some of the Roman emperors, of Fouquier-Tinville, Carrier, and Robespierre of the French Revolution, and fail, if he can, to rejoice, even exult, when the same cup is wrung out to them which they had mingled for others. The feeling in the minds of those who penned the 55th and 69th Psalms was not malice. It was the indignation excited by cruelty and injustice, and the desire that the land should be cleansed of blood. They doubtless followed the precept, “Be ye angry, and sin not” (Ephesians 4:26). If we were acquainted with the circumstances which called forth the imprecatory Psalms, we would surely find, as the cause or occasion for them, striking cases of treachery, practiced villainy, and unblushing violations of law.
Our Saviour uttered awful anathemas against the hypocritical Scribes and Pharisees. These were authorized, not simply on the ground that he knew the hearts of men and as judge of the world had a right to anticipate the final sentence, but from the atrocity of their crimes. On account of the reputed sanctity of their characters, they were often made the depositaries of safe keeping for the pittance of widows, or they became guardians of the estates of orphans. These sacred funds they artfully embezzled and appropriated to their personal use, while the helpless owner sought for redress in vain, because the judge in the case might be the swindler himself. No wonder our Saviour denounced the vengeance of heaven on these sanctimonious thieves and repudiators. His curses were sanctioned by a feeling which we have in common with him, and which on extraordinary occasions, we not only cherish, but express or imply in language. If we had been fully possessed of the facts and all the attendant circumstances, as he knew them, or as his disciples might in a degree have known them, we should have seen ample ground for his terrible denunciations.
Our position is indeed different, in certain respects, from those of the inspired psalm writers or of the ancient Jews. We live under a milder and more spiritual dispensation, and we are taught rather to bear injury uncomplaining, and to refer the taking of vengeance to him to whom it properly belongs. We are never to cherish malice or ill-will. We are in all cases to love our enemies, and forgive those who injure us. However, there are times now, both in great national questions and when the ends of public justice need to be answered, when the original principle of our nature is innocently and necessarily brought into active operation. Without it we would look unmoved upon the most stupendous crimes, for no other feature of our moral constitution can be a substitute for this. The danger of its abuse, the fact that it often degenerates into a feeling of malevolence or a desire for private revenge, does not alter its nature or render the indulgence of it unlawful. It remains a principle implanted in our nature by the Creator himself, as real as pity or any other emotion.
In thus briefly considering one of the sterner features of our constitution and some of its practical developments, we cannot but be struck with the sickly type of much of the philanthropy and religion at this present day. In it, love degenerates into weakness; compassion becomes itself an object of pity; benevolence is degraded into an undiscriminating instinct. The employment of force is branded as a relic of barbarous times. The exercise of authority is counted as contrary to the spirit both of the gospel and of an enlightened age. The world must now be controlled by persuasion. It was formerly supposed that law, with its rigorous penalty, was a chief instrument in moral reformations, that it was one of the main elements in the means which God and man must employ in bettering the state of society.
In our day, there is such a prominent and reiterated exhibition of the benevolent character of God as to endanger, if not destroy, its effect on the character of men. There is such an emphasis put on the promises of the Bible, and such a concealment of its threatenings, that the effect of both is neutralized. Christianity is often so divested of its loftier and more rigorous qualities as to fail to secure any respect. It becomes a mere collection of pleasant counsels, an assemblage of sweet recommendations, which it would be beneficial for people to observe, instead of what it is in fact: an alternative of life or death; an authoritative code of morals; a law with inflexible sanctions; and a gospel to be rejected on peril of eternal damnation.
Today’s shallow philanthropists and religionists are as ignorant of the nature of man, as they are of the revelation of God, as little versed in the more imposing features of our constitution as in the high and solemn themes of Christianity. They have little to do with the deeper wants of our moral being. They do not understand how curious and almost contradictory a piece of workmanship is man. They seem never to have imagined that he has the closest relations to a moral law, to an atoning Saviour, to a righteous moral Governor, and to an impartial judgment seat.
Equally ignorant are they of the bonds which hold society together. Much of the doctrine which is industriously promoted at the present day tends to form a counterfeit philanthropy, to make men sympathize with the misfortunes of the criminal rather than with injured virtue or damaged public morals. This weakens the arm of the law and reduces government itself into a entity remarkable for nothing but its weakness.
Further Reading
See R. L. Dabney, Laus Iracundiæ (Praise of Anger), on the author’s website.
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