By Lambert Strether of Corrente.
You probably know Psalm 23. It goes like this:
1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
(I have used the King James version, because English prose and poetic stylists were in top form in the early 1600s, as gloriously shown here. I’m guessing the King James is the version most familiar to readers, from being read at funerals). I will not do a close reading of the text; rather, my focus is on the material aspects of the relation between shepherd (God) and sheep (you or me), and not on the social aspects; my cursory research couldn’t determine the social status of shepherds when Psalm 23 was written, or in the psalm itself, whether the youngest boy in the family, a priest, or both. As soon as you look closely at those material aspects, the Psalm becomes either, well, delusional, or else savagely ironic.
Let’s get the pleasant, pastoral aspects out of the way first:
1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
This is, indeed, the shepherd’s duty. From the Ancient Hebrew Research Center, quoting Fred H. Wight, Manners and Customs of Bible Lands (reviews), on “green pastures”:
One of the principal duties at all seasons of the year is for the shepherd to plan food for his flock. In the springtime there is an abundance of green pasture, and usually the sheep are allowed to graze near to the village where the shepherd’s home is located. After the grain is reaped, and the poor have had an opportunity to glean what is left for them, then the shepherd brings in his flock, and the sheep feed on certain fresh growths, or dried blades, or an occasional ear of grain that the reapers may have left, or was overlooked by the gleaners. When this source of food is exhausted then the pasture is sought in other places. The wilderness of Judea which is located along the western side of the Jordan Valley is carpeted in the spring with a certain amount of grass and this turns into standing hay as the hot weather comes, and this becomes food for the sheep during part of the summer.
And on “still waters”:
In selecting pasturage for the flock, it is an absolute necessity that water be provided, and that it be easy of access. Often flocks are stationed near to a stream of running water. But the sheep are apt to be afraid of drinking water that moves quickly, or that is agitated. Therefore the shepherd looks for pools of water, or provides some quiet place where they may quench their thirst. … But when all such watering places are dried up in the heat of summer, as is often the case in Palestine, then wells are used…. The matter of water supply plays an important part in locating the flock for pasturage.
So far so good. Setting aside the “soul” and “righteousness” in Line 3 — after all, shepherding, as a pastoral occupation, is done for milk, meat, and above all, wool, not for less substantial reasons — we come to line 4:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
What, exactly, are the staff and the rod. The staff is unproblematic. Wight once more:
It is a stick five or six feet long and sometimes but not always has a crook at the end of it. It is used like Western men would use a cane or walking stick. It is useful in handling the sheep, and also for protection.
The rod, for me, is problematic. Wight:
It is like a policeman’s club. It is often made of oak wood and has a knob on the end of it. Into this knob nails are sometimes driven so as to make a better weapon. It is very useful for protection, and no shepherd would be without it.
The prophet Ezekiel refers to the custom of the sheep passing under the shepherd’s rod for the purpose of counting or inspecting them….The law of Moses speaks of tithing the flock for a specific purpose at such a time. “And concerning the tithe of the herd, or of the flock, even of whatsoever passeth under the rod, the tenth shall be holy unto the Lord” (Lev. 27:32). To do this Jewish writers tell us that the shepherd allowed the animals to come by him as they would under the rod at a narrow entrance. The head of the rod was dipped into some coloring fluid and was allowed to come down upon every tenth one that passed by, thus marking him as the one to be given to the Lord for sacrificial purposes
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The shepherd in Psalm 23 is, then, what Thomas Pynchon, in Gravity’s Rainbow, calls a “pointsman”:
Come back, here, to the points. Here is where the paths divided. See the man back there… He is the pointsman. He is called that because he throws the lever that changes the points. And we go to Happyville, instead of to Pain City… The pointsman has made sure we’ll go there. He hardly has any work at all. The lever is very smooth, and easy to push…. But look what a lot of work he has done, with just one little push…. That is because he knows just where the points and the lever are. He is the only kind of man who puts in very little work and makes big things happen, all over the world.
That is, the sheep marked in color from the shepherd’s staff is heading — unbeknownst to itself, it’s a surprise — to Pain City, and the unmarked sheep to Happyville (or, I suppose, depending on your eschatology, the other way round). Pynchon gives another example (sadly, I can’t recover the passage) of a pointman is the SS officer at the end of the line in Auschwitz, pointing the debarking passengers left (to the ovens, Pain City) or right (to the camp, Happyville).
So either the person for whom the sheep is a metaphor knows that the Shepherd God is a pointsman (savage irony) or not (delusion). In either case, where’s the “goodness and mercy”?
The what-I-suppose-I-must-label as psychology of Psalm 23 — the sheep’s happiness, the confidence in the shepherd’s care, the calm lack of fear — reminds me forcefully of Temple Grandin’s work on humane animal slaughter. See, e.g., “Voluntary Acceptance of Restraint by Sheep:”
Sheep can definitely be trained to voluntarily accept repeated restraint in a relatively comfortable restraint device…. Labor requirements would be reduced because one person can easily restrain the animals. Stress on animals may be reduced because sheep which voluntarily accept restraint seldom struggle.
Because who wants struggle? And “Lowering Stress to Improve Meat Quality and Animal Welfare“:
Gentle handling in well-designed facilities will minimize stress levels, improve efficiency and maintain good meat quality. Rough handling or poorly designed equipment is detrimental to both animal welfare and meat quality. Progressive slaughter plant managers recognize the importance of good handling practices.
Good eatin’.[1]
NOTES
[1] “It’s a cookbook.”
NOTES
Nothing on “sheepdogging,” please. And since this will come up: If you must compare citizens to sheep — “sheeple” — please reflect on the level of effort required to make that metaphor fit them, instead of blaming the individual. Also, don’t exempt yourself.