Job 28

Introduction

Job 28 is one of the great poems of the Hebrew Bible — a sustained meditation on wisdom that breaks entirely with the forensic drama of the surrounding chapters. There are no accusations, no defenses, no curses. The debate falls silent, and in its place comes a hymn. The poem is so distinct in tone and content that many interpreters read it as a literary interlude inserted by the author between Job's vow of integrity (chs. 27, 29–31) and the divine speeches — a kind of theological fulcrum for the whole book.

The poem moves in three waves, each building on the last. The first wave (vv. 1–11) is a marvel of descriptive writing about the ancient practice of mining: men plunge into the earth's deepest darkness to retrieve silver, gold, iron, and copper. They penetrate places no eagle has seen, no lion has trod, overturning mountains, hewing channels, dragging hidden things to light. It is a picture of extraordinary human ingenuity and courage. Then the refrain sounds: but where can wisdom be found? (v. 12). The second wave (vv. 13–19) answers by negation — wisdom cannot be bought with all the world's treasure. The ocean says "not in me." Abaddon and Death say "we have only heard a rumor." The third wave (vv. 20–27) reaches its resolution: only God knows wisdom's place. He saw it when he weighed the wind, measured the waters, set a limit for rain, and laid a path for lightning. The poem ends with God's pronouncement to humanity (v. 28): the wisdom available to man is not cosmological but reverential — the fear of the Lord, turning from evil. This is precisely the description of Job in the prologue (Job 1:1). The poem's final irony: the man asking for wisdom to understand his suffering already has the only wisdom accessible to humans.

The Marvel of Mining (vv. 1–11)

¹ "Surely there is a mine for silver and a place where gold is refined. ² Iron is taken from the earth, and copper is smelted from ore. ³ Man puts an end to the darkness; he probes the farthest recesses for ore in deepest darkness. ⁴ Far from human habitation he cuts a shaft in places forgotten by the foot of man. Far from men he dangles and sways. ⁵ Food may come from the earth, but from below it is transformed as by fire. ⁶ Its rocks are the source of sapphires, containing flecks of gold. ⁷ No bird of prey knows that path; no falcon's eye has seen it. ⁸ Proud beasts have never trodden it; no lion has ever prowled over it. ⁹ The miner strikes the flint; he overturns mountains at their base. ¹⁰ He hews out channels in the rocks, and his eyes spot every treasure. ¹¹ He stops up the sources of the streams to bring what is hidden to light.

¹ Surely silver has a place where it comes out, and gold has a place where it is refined. ² Iron is taken from the dust, and copper is poured out from rock. ³ He sets an end to the darkness; he probes every limit — stone in deep gloom and shadow. ⁴ He breaks a shaft far from where people live, forgotten by any foot, hanging far from humanity, swaying. ⁵ The earth — from it comes bread, but underneath it is turned up as if by fire. ⁶ Its stones are the source of sapphires, and it has flecks of gold. ⁷ No hawk knows that path; no falcon's eye has caught sight of it. ⁸ The proud beasts have never walked it; the fierce lion has never crossed it. ⁹ He reaches his hand to the flint; he overturns mountains from the root. ¹⁰ He cuts channels through the rock, and his eye sees every precious thing. ¹¹ He dams up the seeping of streams, and what was hidden he brings to light.

Notes

The poem opens with mining — a deliberately unexpected starting point for a wisdom poem. The poet describes ancient mining operations with the kind of precise detail that suggests direct acquaintance: shafts sunk into rock, ropes on which miners hang and sway, underground water channels dammed, mountains overturned. The point is not the mining itself but the contrast it sets up: human ingenuity can penetrate the deepest earth and drag forth its hidden treasures — yet wisdom eludes the same effort.

The darkness of the mining imagery is vivid: אֹפֶל in v. 3 — "thick, impenetrable darkness" — and צַלְמָוֶת, the "shadow of death" that has appeared throughout Job as the darkness of grief, death, and the underworld (Job 3:5, Job 10:21, Job 24:17). The miner invades even this domain and brings things to light. But wisdom will not yield to the same invasion.

The image of the miner in v. 4 is remarkable: דַּלּוּ מֵאֱנוֹשׁ נָעוּ — "they hang far from humanity, swaying." The word דָּלָה means to hang, dangle, or draw up (like water from a well). The miner is suspended on a rope in the shaft, swinging in darkness, far below any human world. It is one of the most striking images of human courage and ingenuity in the Bible.

The contrast of v. 5 is deliberate: the same earth that yields bread to those who farm its surface is being "turned upside down as if by fire" beneath — a picture of the volcanic transformation underground that produces metals and gems. Above: ordinary life. Below: a hidden world of treasure and fire.

Verses 7–8 emphasize the exclusivity of the miner's path: no hawk (עָיִט), no falcon (אַיָּה) has spotted it from the air; no שַׁחַל — the fierce lion — has prowled it. The animal world, with all its sharp senses and wild ranging, knows nothing of what lies beneath. This prepares for the later claim that not even the realm of the dead knows where wisdom dwells.

But Wisdom Cannot Be Found or Bought (vv. 12–19)

¹² But where can wisdom be found, and where does understanding dwell? ¹³ No man can know its value, nor is it found in the land of the living. ¹⁴ The ocean depths say, 'It is not in me,' while the sea declares, 'It is not with me.' ¹⁵ It cannot be bought with gold, nor can its price be weighed out in silver. ¹⁶ It cannot be valued in the gold of Ophir, in precious onyx or sapphire. ¹⁷ Neither gold nor crystal can compare to it, nor jewels of fine gold be exchanged for it. ¹⁸ Coral and quartz are unworthy of mention; the price of wisdom is beyond rubies. ¹⁹ Topaz from Cush cannot compare to it, nor can it be valued in pure gold.

¹² But wisdom — where can it be found? And where is the place of understanding? ¹³ No mortal knows the way to it, and it is not found in the land of the living. ¹⁴ The deep says, "It is not in me," and the sea says, "It is not with me." ¹⁵ It cannot be given in exchange for fine gold, nor can silver be weighed out as its price. ¹⁶ It cannot be valued against the gold of Ophir, against precious onyx or sapphire. ¹⁷ Gold and glass cannot equal it, nor can vessels of pure gold be its exchange. ¹⁸ Coral and crystal need not even be mentioned; the acquisition of wisdom is above rubies. ¹⁹ The topaz of Cush cannot match it; it cannot be valued in refined gold.

Notes

The refrain of v. 12 — וְהַחָכְמָה מֵאַיִן תִּמָּצֵא — "but wisdom, from where will it be found?" — is the pivot of the whole poem. חָכְמָה and בִּינָה — "wisdom" and "understanding/discernment" — are the paired terms of the wisdom tradition (see Proverbs 1:2, Proverbs 4:5-7). The poem has used mining as its controlling metaphor: men can mine anything — but wisdom cannot be mined.

The תְּהוֹם, "the deep/abyss," in v. 14 recalls Genesis 1:2 — the primordial deep that was before creation. Even the most ancient and vast depths of the ocean have no wisdom to offer. This echoes the structure of chapter 26, where Job moved from the trembling dead beneath the waters to the horizons of the cosmos — and found only the fringe of God's ways.

The list of precious commodities in vv. 15–19 is deliberate overkill — the poet accumulates material after material to emphasize the total inadequacy of all earthly wealth. כֶּתֶם אוֹפִיר — "the gold of Ophir" — was the most prized gold in the ancient world (see also Job 22:24, Psalm 45:9, Isaiah 13:12). שֹׁהַם, "onyx") סַפִּיר, "sapphire") זְכוֹכִית, "crystal/glass" — a word appearing only here in the OT, denoting something transparent and brilliant) פָז, "pure gold") רָאמוֹת, likely "coral") פְּנִינִים, "rubies/red gems" — the word used in Proverbs 3:15 "more precious than rubies") פִּטְדַת כּוּשׁ, "topaz of Cush/Ethiopia") — wisdom outvalues them all, and cannot be exchanged for any of them. The verb in vv. 16 and 19 תְסֻלֶּה — "be estimated/weighed/equated" — from סָלַל (salal) — suggests the weighing of commodities on a balance scale: no amount of the world's finest materials on one side of the scale can balance wisdom on the other.

Only God Knows Wisdom's Place (vv. 20–27)

²⁰ From where, then, does wisdom come, and where does understanding dwell? ²¹ It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing and concealed from the birds of the air. ²² Abaddon and Death say, 'We have heard a rumor about it.' ²³ But God understands its way, and He knows its place. ²⁴ For He looks to the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens. ²⁵ When God fixed the weight of the wind and measured out the waters, ²⁶ when He set a limit for the rain and a path for the thunderbolt, ²⁷ then He looked at wisdom and appraised it; He established it and searched it out.

²⁰ So then — where does wisdom come from? And where is the place of understanding? ²¹ It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing; it is concealed from the birds of the sky. ²² Abaddon and Death say: "We have heard a rumor of it with our ears." ²³ God alone understands the way to it, and he alone knows its place. ²⁴ For he looks to the ends of the earth; he sees everything under the heavens. ²⁵ When he gave weight to the wind and measured out the waters by measure, ²⁶ when he set a decree for the rain and a path for the thunderclap — ²⁷ then he saw wisdom and declared it; he established it and searched it through.

Notes

The refrain returns in v. 20, almost identical to v. 12, but now the poem is positioned to answer it — not with a location, but with an identity. Before that answer, the poem completes its survey of the cosmos: all living creatures are blind to wisdom's location; even the birds of the sky, who range above the earth and see far, do not know it. Then, startlingly, אֲבַדּוֹן and מָוֶת, "Death") speak. These personified forces of destruction and death — whose domain is the ultimate limit of human existence — have only heard שִׁמְעָהּ, "a report, a rumor" of wisdom. Even death does not fully possess what it only dimly knows.

The answer of v. 23 is dramatic in its simplicity after all the negations: אֱלֹהִים הֵבִין דַּרְכָּהּ — "God understands its way." The verb הֵבִין is from the same root as בִּינָה (binah) — "understanding." God has understanding of wisdom's location because understanding itself belongs to him. The parallelism is exact: he "understands" (hevin) the way to wisdom, and he "knows" (yada) its place. All of creation lies within his view; its whole fabric is transparent to him.

Verses 25–27 are the theological heart of the poem's third movement. The catalog of creation — weighing the wind (לָרוּחַ מִשְׁקָל), measuring waters (מַיִם תִּכֵּן בְּמִדָּה), setting a חֹק, a "decree/statute") for rain, laying a path for the חֲזִיז, "thunderclap/lightning") — all recall the creation language of Genesis and the cosmic poetry of chapter 26. Within that great act of ordering the universe, then — אָז — he saw wisdom. The fourfold verb sequence in v. 27 is beautiful: רָאָהּ (ra'ah, "saw"), וַיְסַפְּרָהּ (vayesapperah, "counted/declared"), הֱכִינָהּ (hekinah, "established"), וְגַם חֲקָרָהּ (ve-gam chakarah, "and also searched it through"). God did not merely observe wisdom — he surveyed, established, and fully explored it.

Wisdom for Humanity (v. 28)

²⁸ And He said to man, 'Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to turn away from evil is understanding.'"

²⁸ And he said to humanity: "Look — the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and turning away from evil is understanding."

Notes

The closing verse is the poem's answer to the question it has been asking. What is the wisdom available to humanity (לָאָדָם)? Not the cosmic wisdom by which God ordered creation. Not the theoretical key to understanding why the righteous suffer. The wisdom given to human beings is יִרְאַת אֲדֹנָי — "the fear of the Lord" — and וְסוּר מֵרָע — "turning away from evil."

This is the foundational formula of the wisdom tradition: Proverbs 1:7 ("the fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom"), Proverbs 9:10, Psalm 111:10, Ecclesiastes 12:13-14. It is not an evasion of Job's questions but a genuine answer: the kind of wisdom that would explain suffering — the divine perspective on all of history and creation — is simply not accessible to human beings. What is accessible, and what constitutes genuine human wisdom, is a reverential relationship with God combined with moral integrity.

The profound irony is that these two things — יִרְאַת אֲדֹנָי and סוּר מֵרָע — are exactly how Job was described at the beginning of the book. The narrator introduces him as אִישׁ תָּם וְיָשָׁר וִירֵא אֱלֹהִים וְסָר מֵרָע — "a man blameless and upright, fearing God and turning from evil" (Job 1:1). God himself repeats this assessment twice (Job 1:8, Job 2:3). The man who is asking "where is wisdom?" already embodies it. The poem does not resolve Job's suffering — but it quietly affirms that Job's response to that suffering, his refusal to abandon integrity and his relentless address to God, is itself the wisest thing a human being can do.