In Part One of this article, I outlined the
historical literary genre known as the epic, and I suggested that we cannot
“fully appreciate and honor the Prophet Elijah without consciously reading his
life story as that of an epic hero.” (I also included a technical explanation
for the different versions of his English name, if that sort of thing interests
you. If it doesn’t, here’s the synopsis: The Hebrew name אֵלִיָּה would have
sounded like “eleeyah,” the spelling “Elijah” has been around a long time but
no longer encourages Hebraic pronunciation, and the spelling “Elias” came to
English from Greek via Latin.)
Now it’s time to look at how we can understand and honor the
Holy and Glorious Prophet Elijah, whose feast is July 20th in the Byzantine
rite, through the lens of epic heroism.
“Into the Midst of Things”
One of the most well-known features of epic literature is
the convention of beginning in medias res, which literally means “into
the midst of things” and is used in literary theory for works that dive right
into the primary narrative. The epic poet is expected to quickly capture the
reader’s attention by dispensing with any sort of preamble and, at least
initially, with events that led to the main action of the poem. The Aeneid
gives us a fine example:
I sing of arms, and of the man who first
Came from the coasts of Troy to Italy
And the Lavinian shores, exiled by fate.
Much was he tossed about upon the lands
And on the ocean by supernal powers,
Because of cruel Juno's sleepless wrath.
These are the first lines of the poem, and Virgil’s song is
already recounting Aeneas’ tempestuous voyage away from Troy. The narrative
does not begin with the Trojan War or even the fall of Troy; we will, however,
hear about some of that action later, in a flashback. (By the way, I’m using
Christopher Pearse Cranch’s 1872 translation here; I’ve sampled many Aeneid
translations, and this is my favorite. It’s truly excellent, and not well
known.)
The opening lines of the Iliad have an even stronger in
medias res feeling, and they also give you an idea of the stylistic
differences between Virgil and Homer. (In fairness, though, this is from the
Robert Fagles translation, which is superb but probably amplifies those
differences.)
Rage – Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
This is how the story of the Prophet Elijah begins:
And Elijah the Tishbite, who was of the sojourners of
Gilead, said unto Ahab,
As the Lord, the God of Israel, liveth, before whom I
stand,
there shall not be dew nor rain these years,
but according to my word.
(1 Kings 17, 1)
No prelude, no family history, no tales of his previous
life, not even the typical prophet-introducing phrase “The word of the Lord
came to...” (this comes after his introduction, in the next verse). Elijah
simply bursts onto the scene, and before the end of the first verse in which he
is mentioned, he is already defying the wicked King Ahab. Biblical scholars
puzzle over this abrupt entrance. They observe that we never learn his
parentage or tribe, and the epithet “Tishbite” deepens, rather than clarifies,
the mystery of his origin.
From a literary standpoint, though, this technique makes sense, as the German commentators Keil and Delitzsch at least partially recognized: “This abrupt appearance of Elijah ... is rather a part of the character of this mightiest of all the prophets.” It is an appearance in medias res, eminently appropriate for an epic hero.
Sacred Digressions
Epic poems are carefully enriched by digressions from the
main storyline. This occurs as a story-within-a-story that narrates prior
events, as prophecies uttered by a seer, or as episodes that are connected rather
loosely to the principal action.
Elijah is fundamentally a prophet, so that connection already exists, and furthermore, his life is episodic, consisting of sudden, brief appearances within the larger frame of a grand mission to defend the cause of God when Israel was drowning in its own iniquity. We feel this especially in the homely stories of the ravens and the widow of Zarephath, which directly follow an introduction that portrays his prophetic mission as intense and momentous.
And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning,
and bread and flesh in the evening;
and he drank of the brook.
And it came to
pass after a while, that the brook dried up,
because there was no rain in the
land. (1 Kings 17, 6–7)
So he arose and went to Zarephath;
and when he came to the
gate of the city,
behold, a widow woman was there gathering sticks:
and he
called to her, and said,
Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel,
that I may drink. (1 Kings 17, 10)
Digressions bring variety and interest to a narrative, and more importantly, they allow an author to communicate themes and character traits that might be lost amidst the primary action of the epic story. Elijah is not only the bold, fiery prophet of Mount Carmel; he is also a humble, compassionate Israelite who promised the widow that her cruse of oil would not fail, and raised her son from the dead. And that brings us to our next epic moment in the prophet’s life.
The Underworld
The katabasis, from the Greek word for “descent,” is
a distinctive feature of epic literature. It refers specifically to a descent
into the underworld—that is, the world of the dead. The paradigmatic example
occurs in Book 6 of the Aeneid, but not until Dante’s Inferno would
epic katabasis reach its poetic and theological summit.
Elijah never descends to the underworld, but we hear echoes
of katabasis in the story of the widow’s son, when Elijah confronts
death and overcomes it. There are only three instances of someone being raised
from the dead in the Old Testament, which suggests that great significance is
involved in such events. The detail of Elijah stretching himself upon the dead
child three times emphasizes his participation in the death, as though he
mystically entered the realm of the dead in order to draw the child out of it.
And he stretched himself upon the child three times,
and
cried unto the Lord, and said,
O Lord my God, I pray thee, let this child’s
soul come into him again.
And the Lord hearkened unto the voice of Elijah;
and the soul of the child came
into him again,
and he revived. (1 Kings 17, 21–22)
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The Heroism of Faith
The last epic moment that I’ll mention requires little comment. It radiates the heroic energy that we naturally sense in the feats and conquests of ancient heroes, while also utterly surpassing them—for this is a feat of the spirit, not of the body. This is not a conquest of valor and strength and martial skill, however good and noble those things may be, but a conquest of one who prays, and who trusts—against overwhelming odds—that his prayer will be heard.
The passage is simply a masterpiece of epic literature.
Saint Elijah the Prophet, defender of Israel against the impious tyrant Ahab,
pray for us.
And he put the wood in order, and cut the bullock in pieces,
and laid it on the wood. And he said,
Fill four barrels with water, and pour it
on the burnt offering, and on the wood.
And he said, Do it the second time; and
they did it the second time.
And he said, Do it the third time; and they did it
the third time.
And the water ran round about the altar; and he filled the
trench also with water.
And it came to pass at the time of the offering of the
evening oblation,
that Elijah the prophet came near, and said,
O Lord, the God
of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Israel,
let it be known this day that thou art God
in Israel,
and that I am thy servant,
and that I have done all these things at
thy word.
Hear me, O Lord, hear me,
that this people may know that thou, Lord,
art God,
and that thou hast turned their heart back again.
Then the fire of the
Lord fell,
and consumed the burnt offering,
and the wood, and the stones, and
the dust,
and licked up the water that was in the trench.
And when all the
people saw it, they fell on their faces:
and they said, The Lord, he is God;
the Lord, he is God. (1 Kings 18, 33–39)
