J. Joseph Porter The Sublime and the Unspeakable in the 137​th​ Psalm “There are good reasons,” Frederick Buechner writes, “for not reading it” (Buechner, 41) — the Bible, that is. “It is a swarming compost of a book, an Irish stew of poetry and propaganda, law and legalism, myth and murk, history and hysteria” (43) — a book in which “the sublime and the unspeakable are always jostling each other” (42). Buechner mentions Psalm 137, “which starts out ‘By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept’ and ends ‘Happy shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!’” (42). Even when translated “as un­poetically as possible” (Brenner 76), the first two stanzas of Psalm 137 (vv. 1­6) are indeed sublime: On the rivers of Babylon There we sat, and cried When we remembered Zion On willows within it we hung up our harps For there our captors asked us for words of song And our enemies, for joy “Sing to us a song of Zion!” How can we sing Yhwh's song on foreign soil? If I forget you, Jerusalem, let my right [arm] be forgotten, Let my tongue stick to my palate if I do not remember you, If I do not remember Jerusalem first, in my joy. (Psalm 137.1­6, Brenner’s translation) Babylon is a seemingly idyllic land of rivers and low­hanging trees — but it is not Zion, and so the psalmist and his Judahite companions weep. Babylon no longer bears a threat to them — there is no hint that their safety or well­being are at risk; it is not even clear that their captors 1 intend to mock them (Brenner, 78) — but it is not Zion, and so they cannot sing: “How can we sing Yhwh’s song on foreign soil?” And yet, precisely because the psalm’s first two stanzas are so sublime, its jarring third stanza is all the more unspeakable: Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites The day of Jerusalem’s fall, How they said, “Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to its foundations!” O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back What you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones And dash them against the rock! (Psalm 137.7­9, NRSV) The psalm’s change of mood from lamentation to imprecation is first alarming, and then appalling: “The spirit of revenge is overpowering, especially in the chilling final verse, with its images of innocent babies having their brains smashed out on rocks” (Stowe, 97). What are we to make of this psalm? And what are we to do with it? It is a sublime song about not singing, a remembrance of an oath never to forget, and yet also a lament warped into an unspeakable curse. Some have excised the last three verses from their liturgies and songs (Brenner, 86; Stowe, 97­98), and thus from their memories; the New Oxford Annotated Bible even suggests that Psalm 137 may be a combination of two separate compositions (OAB, 894). Whether or not that is the case, however, “[t]he interpreter … has to account for [the] whole passage,” because there appears to be “no ancient witness … that omits vv. 7­9 from the biblical text” (Brenner, 86). In this essay, I will argue that Psalm 137 is a text which, regardless of its actual date of 2 composition, recounts both the grief and the rage of Judahites uprooted and exiled to Babylon during the sixth century BC. Through the centuries, of course, the psalmist’s Babylon has been understood as a symbol for Rome (Brenner, 82), Great Britain (Stowe, 100), and many other empires; in fact, at least one commentator contends that the psalmist himself meant for “Babylon” (or “Edom”) to be “either symbolic … or else non­specific, referring to any political and military oppressor” (Brenner, 86). Its original meaning, however, strikes me as both specific and non­symbolic: It is a lament over Jerusalem, a song of love for Zion, and a song also of hatred for Babylon and Edom, a call for vengeance upon them. I will argue, furthermore, that Psalm 137 has come down to us today most importantly as an enduring reminder that “one can be a victim and a perpetrator at the same time” (Brenner, 80); that the line between the two is often blurred, or even nonexistent. Undoubtedly, Psalm 137 is also a fruitful resource particularly for the exiled and oppressed. It “is highly adaptable, open to a variety of interpretations. [...] Its Babylon can stand for any oppressive power or force of injustice, whether political, cultural, or spiritual” (Stowe, 96). And yet its deeper lesson is germane for all of us, exiles or not, oppressors or oppressed: “[T]he dialogic condition of being perpetrator as well as victim is a distinct human condition” (Brenner, 89). One man’s Judah is another man’s Babylon. The sublime and the unspeakable, though they jostle each other, rarely stray too far from each other’s side. As has been noted, Psalm 137 may be divided into three sections: vv. 1­4, 5­6, and 7­9 (Stowe, 96). The first is a communal lament in exile over Jerusalem: “By the rivers of Babylon— / There we sat down and there we wept / When we remembered Zion” (Psalm 137.1). The exiled Judahites hang up their harps (137.2), refusing to sing (or play) when their captors ask them for a 3 song (137.3­4). The second is the psalmist’s personal oath not to forget Jerusalem, or else to become unable to play or to sing (OAB, 894): “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, / Let my right hand wither! / Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth, / If I do not remember you” (Psalm 137.5­6). (Stowe perceives the musical and personal nature of the punishment in William Billings’ adaptation of Psalm 137, but apparently not in the psalm itself; Stowe, 101.) The third is a communal curse against Edom and Babylon, who tore down and devastated Jerusalem (137.7­8): “Happy shall they be who pay you back / What you have done to us! / Happy shall they be who take your little ones / And dash them against the rock!” (137.8­9). Psalm 137 therefore seems to be a lament written either by or from the perspective of “[a]n exiled people, weeping, remembering the homeland and the temple in Jerusalem, destroyed by Babylonians in 587/6 B.C.E.” (Stowe, 97). Its “dominant motifs” of exile, memory, and “verbal revenge” all accord with such an origin (Brenner, 78). The description of exile in Psalm 137 does not appear to contradict the historical record — though, admittedly, “[w]e are not well served … by our Old Testament sources for any attempt to write … even a historical sketch of the exilic period, whether of conditions in Judah itself or among the Judaeans deported to Babylonia” (Nicholson, 48; cf. Meyers, 210, 213). The impact of Babylonian conquest varied throughout Judah; while “the settled area in the environs of Jerusalem … was decimated,” Benjamin seems to have been left mostly “untouched” (Meyers, 210­211); in fact, the town of Mizpah in Benjamin served as “an active administrative city during the neo­Babylonian period” (212). Those Judahites who did not remain in Judah but were exiled to Babylon “quickly integrated themselves into the Babylonian economy” (214; cf. Nicholson, 43­44) and made no 4 plans to return home soon (Nicholson, 44) — as both biblical evidence (such as Jeremiah 29) and extra­biblical evidence (such as sixth­century neo­Babylonian texts referring to a City of Judah in Babylon) suggest (Meyers, 213­214; Nicholson, 42­43). There is “little indication” that the Babylonians enslaved the Judahites or “greatly interfere[d] with their cultural autonomy” (Meyers, 216). On the contrary, many of the Judahites participated in “legal, commercial, and administrative matters … engaging in various occupations and even, it seems, holding minor local administrative office” (Nicholson, 43). Nevertheless, they also “felt the loss of their homeland deeply” (Meyers, 214), as well as the difficulty of “retain[ing] and sustain[ing] their own national, cultural, and religious identity among the ethnically and culturally mixed populace of Babylonia” (Nicholson, 47). Psalm 137’s poetic portrayal appears to match this depiction of life in exile. The “dire, visceral imagery” (Meyers, 210) of Lamentations’ account of life in vanquished Jerusalem is wholly absent from the psalm; in keeping with the documented prosperity of the Judahite exiles in comparison with the Jerusalemites, it records no physical or economic distress, but only the “devastating loss” of displacement from home (216). (Indeed, Psalm 137 is the “classic statement” of this loss; Meyers, 214). Moreover, the psalmist’s fear of forgetting Jerusalem seems entirely reasonable given that “the exiles deported to Babylonia in the early sixth century were destined to live out their lives there” (Nicholson, 41). Consequently, it also seems reasonable to date the setting and composition to the exilic or early post­exilic period, as most biblical scholars in fact do (Brenner, 81). Despite this correspondence, Athalya Brenner has proposed that Psalm 137 postdates the exilic and early post­exilic periods and is “historically non­specific” (Brenner, 86), written not 5 with the Babylonian exile in view but rather “any exile situation” (86). She lists several arguments in defense of this proposal. First, Psalm 137 uses ​qatal ​rather than ​wayyiqtol ​verbal forms, which are chronologically vague and “[indicate] a later composition date” (81­82). Second, Babylon and Edom both sometimes serve as symbols for other empires (especially Rome) in Jewish and Christian texts (82­84). In addition, there is no evidence that of “specific first­hand ​suffering” on the part of the psalmist (84) — no evidence that he himself “participated personally in the Babylonian exile” (85) — and also no evidence that any enemy of Israel or Judah ever crushed their children against rocks (86). As a result, Brenner asserts not only that Psalm 137 was written long after the Babylonian exile but also that it does not specifically address that exile (86). Brenner’s arguments for this second position strike me as unconvincing. It is true that both Jewish and Christian texts sometimes use Babylon as a symbol of Rome and other empires. However, this symbolic usage does not seem to have developed until the rise of the Roman Empire, centuries after even the latest parts of the Hebrew Bible — when all the texts which Brenner cites in support of her argument (Revelation, 2 Baruch, 2 Esdras, the Sibylline Oracles, and so on) were written. It is telling, after all, that she mentions no other examples from the Hebrew Bible of such a symbolic usage of “Babylon.” Brenner also claims that “the introduction of Edom alongside Babylon is problematic” (Brenner, 83), presumably because the exiles were brought to Babylon and not to Edom. But Brenner herself offers an explanation for the reference to the Edomites when she mentions their “​historical ​behavior during the destruction of Jerusalem” (83). If the Edomites assisted Babylon in Jerusalem’s destruction, then their appearance in Psalm 137 is hardly grounds for its historical 6 non­specificity — even if symbolic usage of “Edom” “harks back to biblical times” (84). Finally, neither the supposed lack of evidence in Psalm 137 of the psalmist’s own suffering nor the lack of evidence of the smashing of Judahite children compels us to interpret the psalm as Brenner does. Again, Brenner herself notes “evidence of suffering and being away from one’s own territory” in the psalm (Brenner, 84), as well as its reference to murdered children not unlike the children mourned in Lamentations (84). It is therefore unclear what further evidences of the psalmist’s suffering Brenner requires — particularly in light of the Babylonians’ tolerable treatment of the Judahite exiles. Of course, Brenner’s remark that there is no evidence of the smashing of Judahite children is correct. But the reference to such smashing can still be explained easily enough as poetical hyperbole on the psalmist’s part, without the further supposition of historical non­specificity. Brenner’s purported similarities between Psalm 137 and Jeremiah 51 do not seem nearly overt enough to demonstrate “conscious literary borrowing” rather than personal suffering on the part of the psalmist (84). Thus, I maintain the belief that Psalm 137 specifically concerns the Babylonian exile. I also am not yet persuaded to reject an exilic or early post­exilic dating of the psalm. I do not doubt that “its language is probably later than that of the exilic or early post­exilic period” (Brenner, 86). However, I find it unlikely that such a passionate psalm about the Babylonian exile would have been written centuries after that exile. Babylon’s rule over Judah was followed by Persia’s, when Cyrus conquered Babylon in 539 BC. But Cyrus allowed the exiles to return and dealt with the Judahites well enough to “[fulfill] the quasi­messianic hopes of Deutero­Isaiah” (Meyers, 218). Why would a Judahite compose a psalm lamenting over Jerusalem and cursing Babylon long after being permitted to return to Jerusalem and witnessing 7 Babylon’s defeat? (As Brenner concedes, “the vehemence of the last stanza … still has to be accounted for” even if we accept her interpretation; Brenner, 86.) Perhaps, then, the language of Psalm 137 shows only that it was revised or edited after its original composition, such that its present form dates to well after the early post­exilic period. At the very least, I am not yet compelled to reject an exilic or early post­exilic dating of the psalm. In any case, regardless of the circumstances of its original setting and composition, Psalm 137 has persisted in the memories of different exiled and oppressed peoples for over two millennia. After the Titus’ destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70, for instance, some Jews identified the psalm’s Babylon and Edom with Rome (Brenner, 82). But it is in the New World that Psalm 137 has flourished; according to David Stowe, “[n]o song text has exerted a more sustained pull on the political imagination of Americans than Psalm 137” (Stowe, 95). Psalm 137 “[appears] in the first English­language book published in North America” (95) and was set by several Puritan psalmists (98­99). William Billings, “America’s first significant homegrown composer” (99), adapted it memorably in his anthem “Lamentation Over Boston” (100); Frederick Douglass quoted it verbatim in his famous speech “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”, noting the resemblance of the Babylonian captors’ request to the demands made of enslaved Africans in the United States to perform their songs (103). It resurfaced a hundred years later “in a completely new musical guise, the protoreggae version first recorded in 1969 by the Melodians” (96). Since then, it “has been covered numerous times by groups representing a variety of musical styles: gospel, disco, country rock, alternative, hip hop” (96). Its theme of “cultural dispossession and exile” has resonated with “large numbers of people over the course of American history. It offers a memorable image of uprooted people languishing beside a river, called to make music but 8 unsure how to proceed” (96). Nevertheless, as Stowe also observes, Psalm 137’s message is ambiguous (Stowe, 105). Stowe notices ambiguity in Frederick Douglass’ use of the psalm — “[I]s [Douglass] comparing the [United States] to Babylon, that signifier of oppressive evil? Or is Douglass drawing an analogy between white Americans and the pre­Exilic Jews whose sin brought on the destruction of Jerusalem?” (104) — and traces that ambiguity back to the psalm itself. In so doing, he agrees with Brenner in her claim that the psalm reveals to us the ambiguous and “dialogic condition of being perpetrator as well as victim” (Brenner, 89). Brenner, in fact, reads Psalm 137 alongside Jan T. Gross’ book ​Neighbors​, which recounts the “total annihilation of a Jewish community” in the Polish town of Jedwabne at the hands of its Catholic neighbors in 1941 (78). The Catholic Poles of Jedwabne, Brenner writes, were both victims and perpetrators (88): victims of both Russian and German invaders (79), and perpetrators of a genocide within their own town. Their grief at the devastation of their homeland led them to round up their Jewish neighbors, force them to sing, and murder their children (78­79). If these Poles — educated, civilized, modern — can become both victims and perpetrators, Brenner argues, then “everyone can function as both simultaneously or successively” (88). The sublime and the unspeakable, then, jostle each other in Psalm 137, in Jedwabne, and in all of us. Stowe and other commentators are mistaken to detect an “intense contrast between the reverent spirit of the first six verses [of the psalm] and the unbridled malice of the last three” (Stowe, 97) — for the sublime and the unspeakable go hand in hand, in Psalm 137 as almost anywhere else. The sublime grief of the first six verses brings about the unspeakable rage of the last three; Psalm 137 is in every respect “an integrated whole” (Brenner, 86). 9 This, of course, is why Psalm 137 and the rest of the Bible are worth reading. The Bible teaches us about ancient Israel, but it teaches us no less about ourselves: [J]ust because it is a book about both the sublime and the unspeakable, it is a book also about life the way it really is. It is a book about people who at one and the same time can be both believing and unbelieving, innocent and guilty, crusaders and crooks, full of hope and full of despair. In other words, it is a book about us (Buechner, 43). 10 Works Cited Brenner, Athalya. “‘On the Rivers of Babylon’ (Psalm 137), Or Between Victim and Perpetrator.” ​Sanctified Aggression: Legacies of Biblical and Post Biblical Vocabularies of Violence​. Ed. Jonneke Bekkenkamp and Yvonne Sherwood. London: T&T Clark International, 2003. Buechner, Frederick. ​Beyond Words: Daily Readings in the ABC's of Faith​. New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2004. Coogan, Michael David, Marc Z. Brettler, Carol A. Newsom, and Pheme Perkins, eds. ​The New Oxford Annotated Bible​. New York: Oxford UP, 2010. Meyers, Eric M., and Sean Burt. “Exile and Return: From the Babylonian Destruction to the Beginnings of Hellenism.” ​Ancient Israel: From Abraham to the Roman Destruction of the Temple​. Ed. Hershel Shanks. Washington: Biblical Archaeology Society, 1999. Nicholson, Ernest W. ​Deuteronomy and the Judaean Diaspora​. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2014. Stowe, David W. “Babylon Revisited: Psalm 137 as American Protest Song.” ​Black Music Research Journal​ 32.1 (Spring 2012): 95­112. 11