What, then, of the possibility that Jonah yearns for the salvation of Nineveh? Does the text really give rise to another reading, in which the prophet seeks out a paradisiacal world free of punishment and suffering? Whereas some of our book’s allusions allow exclusively for a moralistic Jonah, the story itself does yield an alternative, pacifist conception of his motives. Indeed, crucially, still other allusions point strongly toward this additional layer of meaning.
To begin, consider that the term yônâ, when applied to a human being, tends to evoke not a raging oppressor but the more tranquil image of a dove, as when it signifies wholesome, gentle beauty in the Song of Songs.1 In fact, the parallel between Jonah and the yônâ sent flying off the boat in the flood story in Genesis, despite the contrasts already noted, intensifies the prophet’s association with that peaceful bird. Furthermore, in his only appearance in the Bible outside our book, Jonah relays a prophecy of restoration that comes to fruition despite the unworthiness of its beneficiaries (2 Kgs 14:23–27). If, accordingly, the passage in Kings bears significance for our story, it might well suggest that the prophet fancies redemption for the sinning Ninevites even in the absence of contrition.2
Another set of evidence, however, carries far greater importance. Specifically, our story offers numerous indications that Jonah, by withholding his pronouncement and pursuing an idyllic existence, actually wishes to salvage – and to inhabit – the very Edenic reality embodied by Nineveh.
By way of introduction, recall that the standard translation of the Lord’s opening command, which renders kî in the sense of “because,” might easily suggest that he is dispatching Jonah to proclaim destruction on the city (“Arise and go to the great city of Nineveh and call out on it, because their evil has risen up before me”). If the prophet understands his mission this way, it follows that, by running away, he is seeking to withhold the dire pronouncement. Jonah’s actions – his journey toward “beauty” (yāpô) and his boarding a Tarshish-bound vessel – only add to the perception that he is driven by an aspiration toward Eden-like placidity. Recall, furthermore, that the text generates an analogy between Nineveh and Tyre, the Edenic coastal city supplied/signified by fortune-laden ships of Tarshish. This analogy contributes to the sense that Jonah, by loading treasures onto the Tyre-like vessel, wishes to maintain, rather than to obliterate, the resplendence of Nineveh. For even though the prophet heads in a direction away from the actual Assyrian city, the futility of his action proves no different from that of other manifestations of his escapist endeavor: much like Jonah’s descent into unperturbed sleep during the storm, his ill-fated voyage offers no genuine promise of preventing the imminent disaster. Rather, his flight amounts to nothing more than a hopeless, deluded effort to avoid confronting a reality that distresses him.
The text, moreover, goes beyond this Tyre connection to provide some strong indications that the prophet’s Edenic sanctuaries stand not as alternatives to the paradisiacal Nineveh, but as embodiments of it. First, the sea creature that swallows Jonah bears an equivalence to Nineveh, a city whose name and ideogram invoke the imagery of fish. According to our first reading of the story, this association merely helps identify the fish’s belly as an alternative Edenic domain. This explanation, however, suffers from a serious drawback. To recognize such a connection, the reader must link the creature to Nineveh, and then link Nineveh to Eden based on an Edenic depiction of Assyria in Ezekiel 31 that makes no reference to Nineveh or to fish. The fish motif in Jonah, consequently, works far more effectively if the creature signifies the Assyrian city in and of itself.
Second, recall that the Eden-like qîqāyôn corresponds to the arrogant cedar that represents Assyria. Consider, then, that when the plant grows above Jonah, who is probably sitting not very far from Nineveh, the possibility arises that it might symbolize that very Assyrian city. At the end of the book, moreover, the Lord draws a direct comparison between the qîqāyôn and Nineveh, even as the analogy ultimately underscores a pointed difference between them. There would appear to be good reason, accordingly, to link the qîqāyôn to the city itself.3
Most important, however, is one essential inner-biblical connection that links Nineveh to both the ship and the plant – hardly, it would seem, just for the purpose of indirectly invoking the Garden of Eden. This connection warrants our especially close attention.
The book of Jonah bears a widely acknowledged correlation to the prophecies of Nahum, who likewise forecasts the destruction of Nineveh. On a basic level, this correlation underscores a contrast between the wrath of God in Nahum and the mercy that he displays in Jonah. For example, the divine-attribute formula in Nahum highlights the Lord’s vengeance (Nah 1:3), whereas the one in Jonah emphasizes his mercy (Jonah 4:2). And a rhetorical question at the end of Nahum serves to condemn Nineveh, whereas the one at the end of Jonah affirms that the city merits divine compassion.4 At the same time, however, some additional, notably meaningful parallels to Nahum – most of which have gone unremarked – help generate a formidable case that our prophet wishes to rescue the imperiled Assyrian city.
First, observe that the vengeance of God in Nahum’s opening prophecy takes the form of cataclysmic events in nature (Nah 1:3–6), beginning with a raging storm.5 Right after depicting these disasters, Nahum rhetorically asks, “Who can stand (ya‘ămôd) before [God’s] anger (za‘mô)?” (1:6). Subsequently, he challenges Nineveh with the query, “Why do you plot (tĕḥaššĕbûn) against the Lord?” (1:9). This uncommon usage of ḥšb (“plot”) occurs also in Jonah when, after the tempest arrives, the text tells us that the Tarshish-bound ship “plotted (ḥiššĕbâ) to break apart” (Jonah 1:4).6 And after the sailors throw Jonah overboard, the text employs personification once more when, again recalling the language of Nahum, it states that “the sea stood back (wayya‘ămōd) from its rage (za‘pô)” (1:15).7
These correspondences suggest that the vessel in Jonah stands in parallel to Nineveh in the text of Nahum, where, significantly, one finds no mention of the city’s Edenic character. Most straightforwardly, the correlation thus suggests that Jonah, by setting out on the treasure-laden ship, sought to inhabit an enduringly resplendent Nineveh – not, as our first reading would have it, a more authentic Eden that would rise up on the Assyrian city’s proverbial ashes. The Lord, consequently, casts a storm on this glamorous Nineveh-on-the-sea that “plots” to help Jonah avoid confronting the actual city – the “plot” thus nearly causing the vessel to break apart – and he only prompts the waters to “stand back” from their “wrath” when the crew expels both the ship’s fortune and the recalcitrant, bliss-seeking prophet.
Crucially, moreover, in a later passage in Nahum, we find that “lots (gôrāl) were cast on the honored ones (nikbaddêhā)” among the ill-fated nations that sought to rescue Nineveh (Nah 3:10). Working off this motif, accordingly, our story – through the key, thrice-repeated expression “cast lots (gôrāl/gôrālôt)” (Jonah 1:7) – recounts how a lottery helped determine the fate of the dove-like prophet who, much like those nations, wished to prevent the city’s destruction. Indeed, recall that this uncommon niphal plural denoting “the honored ones” of a nation likewise appears in the phrase “to dishonor (lĕhāqēl) all the honored ones of (nikbaddê) the land” (Isa 23:9) – a formulation that inspired our text’s use of lĕhāqēl (“to get the weight/honor off”) to describe the purging of the vessel’s Edenic treasures (Jonah 1:5). It emerges, then, that the sea-storm passage in Jonah, if indirectly, associates the term nikbaddêhā/nikbaddê with the ship’s precious cargo and Jonah’s attempted escape, both of which mark the prophet’s presumptuous effort to preserve the resplendent Nineveh.
Next, we turn to the paradisiacal plant that rises above Jonah – perhaps originating from the site of Nineveh – which shows unmistakable parallels to the cedar that represents Assyria. According to our first reading, this analogy to Assyria serves merely to confirm the qîqāyôn’s Eden-like character. Recall, however, that the worm that attacks the plant bears an association with ravaging locusts. With this in mind, observe that the locust motif dominates the concluding passage of the book of Nahum (3:15–17), beginning where the prophet envisions a fire consuming Nineveh like a swarm of locusts. For one thing, the presence of this image helps confirm that our text, too, means to evoke that motif. More important, however, it suggests that the locust-recalling worm, when it assails the qîqāyôn, attacks not merely a representation of Eden but also an embodiment of Nineveh, a city that, as Nahum affirms, faces destruction by a locust-like onslaught.
Observe, furthermore, that the locust image in Nahum quickly turns to signify something entirely different: the hapless soldiers of Nineveh who are designated to guard the city’s borders (Nah 3:17). These “locusts,” says the prophet, remain perched on the fences of Nineveh in the cool weather, but when the sun rises up (šemeš zārĕḥâ) they disappear, nowhere to be found. Evidently, then, our text draws on this motif when, after the withering of the qîqāyôn, it recounts that “on the rising of the sun” (kizrōaḥ haššemeš) Jonah was attacked by the scorching elements (Jonah 4:8). After all, the analogous phrase “on the rising of the dawn” (ba‘ălôt haššaḥar; 4:7), according to its deeper layer of meaning, refers not to any new occurrence but rather to the rise of the Star-of-Dawn-like plant recounted in the preceding verse. The expression “on the rising of the sun” thus likewise refers to the event reported immediately before it; that is, the shriveling of the qîqāyôn in the wake of the worm-attack. For much like the Assyrian city itself, the Nineveh-like plant – assailed by a locust-like entity – ceases to provide protection at sunrise, thereby leaving its lone denizen at the mercy of the ruthlessly onrushing heat.8
If, accordingly, our book offers indications that Jonah wishes to save Nineveh – his coveted sanctuaries symbolizing that very Edenic location – it remains to see if the story as a whole can sustain such a reading. Significantly, for as long as the text declines to explain Jonah’s conduct, it indeed allows for – and probably even encourages – different interpretations of the prophet’s motives.9 After all, until Jonah finally explains why he escaped, nothing in the text itself requires our seeing him as a zealot. Furthermore, a majority of the allusions we have seen prove equally compatible with the alternative, pacifist conception of the prophet’s conduct: most of these correlations relate to Jonah’s defiant quest for an Edenic existence, which remains in effect according to this new approach.
In fact, even Jonah’s connection to Cain, who hardly strikes a pacifist image, suits this second interpretation. Consider that Cain’s disdain for repentance arises not from any apparent objection to its efficacy, but from a failure to appreciate the potential that it affords. The present reading, in turn, invites an especially befitting application of the Cain analogy. To wit, the initial, ambiguous divine command, instead of suggesting to Jonah that he must proclaim destruction on Nineveh (“and pronounce [doom] on it”), could alternatively have driven him to inspire the city’s residents to reform their ways (“and call out to it that their evil has risen up before me”). Yet the prophet, much like Cain, cannot muster any confidence in the path of repentance. Consequently, he departs “from the face of the Lord” toward a fortune-laden embodiment of Nineveh, closing his eyes to the realities of sin and suffering while seeking to maintain – and to inhabit – the glorious existence epitomized by that very resplendent city. Indeed, this attitude toward repentance endures even when Jonah is forced to carry out his task. After the Lord, intent on exhorting Nineveh to transform itself, insists that the prophet convey “to it the calling that I am relating to you,” Jonah’s actual proclamation – “In another forty days Nineveh will be upended” – suggests that he remains stuck on the virtual inevitability of the city’s collapse. Accordingly, the angst-ridden prophet continues, however fruitlessly, to pursue a trouble-free world, only to find that his paradisiacal aspirations, like those of Cain, cannot prevail over the will of God.
For obvious reasons, however, this reading appears to falter in the final chapter of the book. First, if Jonah wished to prevent the destruction of Nineveh, then his distress and indignation over its rescue would seem to defy explanation.10 Moreover, if the prophet was seeking a peaceful outcome all along, then the conclusion of the story makes little apparent sense. The Lord, under such circumstances, should have had no need to teach Jonah, with the help of the qîqāyôn, that the mercy extended to Nineveh was genuinely warranted.
These objections, however, rest on decidedly questionable assumptions.11 First, consider that, after the prophet constructs a sukkâ, we are informed that he sat under it waiting to see “what would happen in the city.” Now according to the simple meaning of the story, Jonah knows quite well that God has rescinded the dire decree. Thus, some commentators suppose – as I do for our own first reading – that the text is now reporting, if rather obliquely, that the prophet hopes the Ninevites will regress and again provoke God’s wrath. Other interpreters, however, draw a very different conclusion: that Jonah departed Nineveh immediately after his pronouncement and remains unaware of any ensuing developments. The distress that he exhibits, therefore, arises from what he anticipates will befall the city, rather than from anything that has actually transpired.12
If this latter alternative is correct, then what exactly is the fate that our angry protagonist thinks will befall Nineveh? According to the common understanding of Jonah’s attitude, he expects, much to his frustration, that the city will survive. Our present reading, by contrast, suggests the opposite: Jonah, who seeks only peace and tranquility for both himself and Nineveh, harbors great skepticism that the Ninevites will manage to effect any change in their destiny. Consequently, he regards his pronouncement – which he had sought to avoid making – as little more than a step in the process of the city’s annihilation, and his distress signals this deeply pessimistic outlook. The prophet, then, far from being distraught over the salvation of Nineveh, experiences anguish over an impending devastation that he feels helpless to prevent.
Immediately, however, we encounter an even more challenging difficulty. An indignant Jonah then lays out his complaint, in which he glumly articulates the merciful attributes of God. How could his statement possibly accord with our present reading, which affirms that the prophet wants the Lord to extend compassion to Nineveh? To address this problem, I propose that we take a close look at Jonah’s remarks – leaving aside any added layers of meaning – and pay careful attention to the distinctly curious structure of his formulation.
“Was this not my word when I was still on my land?” Jonah asks. “That is why I took preemptive action in escaping toward Tarshish. For I know/knew (kî yāda‘tî) that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in kindness, who relents from causing harm.”13 Crucially, the prophet does not directly indicate the substance of his “word.” Rather, the kî-phrase here, much like the one uttered by God at the beginning of the book, yields an ambiguity that our skillful author, in all probability, consciously sought to generate.14 On the one hand, according to the standard interpretation, Jonah fled because of his disdain for the mercy that he “knows” the Lord might yet extend – or has already extended – to the Ninevites. If this is correct, then Jonah’s “word” consists of an objection to God’s compassion, and the kî-phrase fittingly spells out the divine traits that the prophet is protesting.
On the other hand, Jonah might be saying something entirely different: when he initially withheld his pronouncement, far from trying to ensure Nineveh’s destruction, he was seeking divine compassion for the sinful city. His “word,” therefore, consisted of an appeal to the merciful attributes that he “knew” God possesses, but that he now believes will be of no use. The kî-phrase, then, in expounding the “word” of Jonah, suggests not that he is protesting God’s merciful character, but rather that, before being forced to come to Nineveh, he had sought to elicit divine compassion by suppressing his prophecy of doom.15
Indeed, in support of this latter alternative, recall that Cain, when he moves to an area east of Eden, apparently yearns to enter the paradisiacal garden. Hence, when our prophet places himself east of Nineveh, we might easily conclude that he, too, longs to inhabit an Edenic domain embodied by the location that he is facing.16 On this assumption, then, Jonah rejoices over the Nineveh-like qîqāyôn because, to his mind, it represents – as did the ship and the fish – the preservation of the Edenic environment afforded by the city itself, regardless of the morality of its inhabitants. The plant, however, much like those other Nineveh-like sanctuaries, proceeds to vomit Jonah out of its shelter, thereby signifying the inexorably fleeting nature of any such undeserved bliss.
To complete this second reading, we thus only need to account for the Lord’s concluding remark, where he seems to be teaching Jonah, superfluously it would appear, that the mercy extended to Nineveh does not warrant protest. Let us, accordingly, consider the language of the book’s final verse, in particular its opening clause, “wa’ănî lō’ ’āḥûs on the great city of Nineveh.” In line with the conventional reading, which attributes zealotry to Jonah, this phrase is typically rendered, “Should I not spare/show compassion to the great city of Nineveh?”17 That is to say, if the prophet wished to spare a plant in which he invested no effort and that he did not make great, why should God not spare a truly great city whose inhabitants cannot be held accountable for their moral failures?
At the same time, however, the phrase might just as well mean something else: “Would I not spare/show compassion to the great city of Nineveh?”18 According to this translation – and in keeping with our present reading of the story – the Lord sharply rebukes the peace-seeking prophet for his resigned attitude and attendant escapism, born of his unwillingness to confront the uncertain consequences of human iniquity: You Jonah, declares God – who in your quest for bliss sought to spare an unmerited, manna-like plant that you did nothing to “make great” – did you really think that I wouldn’t show compassion to the vast, blameless population of the genuinely great city of Nineveh?
In the final analysis, then, the book of Jonah yields multiple sustained interpretations. According to one reading, the prophet, driven by moralistic zeal, attempts to deny Nineveh an opportunity for salvation and instead seeks to occupy Edenic sanctuaries that meet his perfectionist ideals. Simultaneously, another reading ascribes to Jonah a desire for an untroubled, paradisiacal world, epitomized by an enduringly glamorous Nineveh and unencumbered by the ramifications of sin. Significantly, these two approaches complement one another, underscoring the dangers of either extreme and the necessity of a balanced and constructive attitude toward human imperfection and its implications.
Having arrived at this conclusion, we might well deem this pivotal part of our discussion complete. Nevertheless, recent scholarship has opened new avenues in the interpretation of the book’s final chapter, which have significant implications for the present analysis. Specifically, there is excellent reason to embrace a different version of our second reading, one that attributes to the Lord – and ultimately to the story itself – a far harsher stance toward the sinful Assyrian city. Because of the prodigious multivalence that I attribute to the book, I am inclined to think that our author had that version in mind in addition to the one already presented. If, however, one of the two alternatives is to be preferred, it warrants emphasis that this new, more ambitious option has some striking advantages, which make it especially hard to exclude from the set of meanings generated by the story.
According to an increasingly popular view, the final verse in Jonah must be read declaratively rather than as a rhetorical question.19 The Lord thus means to say that, in the end, he will in fact not spare Nineveh, a city populated by nothing more than “ignoramuses and beasts.”20 One the one hand, this reading accounts for the absence of an interrogative hê at the beginning of the sentence (wa’ănî). Indeed, I regard this consideration to be significant for two reasons. First, inasmuch as my analysis ascribes especially meticulous care to the book’s composition, it suggests that any unconventional formulation – even if a philological justification can be marshaled for it – serves to generate added meaning.21 Second, if I am correct that the story regularly employs multivalent expressions, this both enhances the probability that our author omitted the interrogative hê in order to generate a second, declarative meaning and allows an interrogative meaning, with the advantages that it affords, to remain in place simultaneously.
For a declarative rendering to be justified, however, it must accord with both the immediate context and the story more generally.22 Now if, indeed, the Lord is intent on destroying Nineveh, it follows that Jonah, seeking a peaceful world, means to protest against that ominous prospect. Needless to say, this best fits our second reading of the story, which attributes to the prophet a pacifist motive. Recall, however, that in our first iteration of this second reading, Jonah, like Cain, pursues an Edenic existence because of his failure to embrace the possibilities afforded by repentance. If, however, the prophet is correct that the Lord means to condemn Nineveh, it becomes necessary to revisit some key parts of the story with that hypothesis in mind.
To begin with, this approach suggests that, when God initially dispatches Jonah, he actually does mean for the prophet to utter a pronouncement of doom (“and proclaim on it [destruction], because their evil has risen up before me”). At the beginning of chapter 3, then, when the Lord adamantly reaffirms that the prophet must perform his task, his concern must be the opposite of what I suggested earlier: God must be worried that Jonah, seeking to save Nineveh, might cleverly – and inaccurately – interpret his mandate to call for encouraging repentance. Consequently, God demands that the prophet “call out to it the calling that I am relating to you,” meaning that he must be sure to proclaim that the city will be destroyed.23 Jonah, however, by employing the ambiguous verb nehpāket, manages to include a subtle indication that there may be more than one way to actualize the “upending” of the city. The Ninevites, in turn, pick up on the helpful hint and repent of their evil ways toward the goal of transforming their destiny.
What effect, then, do their efforts generate? However obvious the answer might seem, let us pay careful attention to the final verse of the chapter, particularly its latter half: “and God relented from/had remorse regarding (wayyinnāḥem ‘al) the bad that he had said he would do to them, and did not do [it] (wĕlō’ ‘āśâ).” This formulation creates two problems. First, its language clearly draws on the text of Exodus 32:14, which affirms that the Lord, in the aftermath of the sin of the golden calf, “relented from the bad that he had said he would do to his people.”24 It thus begs explanation why our text, which weighs its terminology so carefully, finds it necessary to add the extra clause “and did not do [it]” at the end of the line. Second, in that same clause, what might account for the uncommon elision of the direct object “it”?25
To resolve these difficulties, I propose that, shunning all preconceptions, we render this line in keeping with its apparent literal meaning: “and God had remorse regarding the bad that he had said he would do to them but had not done.”26 According to this translation, the Lord – perhaps anticipating the moral regression and attendant destruction of Assyria – experiences regret that he did not simply annihilate Nineveh without involving our stubbornly idealistic prophet. After all, now that the people have repented, what is God to do when forty days are up? Can he justify destroying the city anyway, even though the moral picture, as things stand now, has become decidedly more ambiguous? Or does he have no choice but to allow Nineveh to survive, at least for the time being?
What is more, consider that the first half of this verse likewise features extraneous language and an a typical structure: “And God saw/took note of (wayyar’) their deeds, that (kî) they turned back from their evil ways.” Why does the text say that God saw “their deeds” and “that they turned back from their evil ways”? Is this not redundant? Might there be, then, an alternative way of reading the line – perhaps without assigning to it this relatively uncommon appositional syntax? Moreover, what are the ostensibly favorable “deeds” that helped trigger a reversal of fortune for this long-sinning population? Could it be just their fasting and donning of sackcloth?27 Could the expression “their deeds” merely refer to the cessation of their wicked behavior? Or is the text only making an oblique reference to unspecified deeds that it acknowledged earlier at best by implication?
In response to all these questions, I submit that the kî-phrase (“kî they turned back from their evil ways”), like others we have seen, is designed to bear two meanings. According to the simple rendering, the word kî yields the translation “that,” and it introduces an elaboration of the irredeemably superfluous reference to “their deeds.” In line with our present reading of the book, however, we may translate the verse as follows: “And God took note of their deeds because (kî) they had turned back from their evil ways.”28 In principle, the text might thus be emphasizing that, because the people repented, the Lord – despite his preference to destroy Nineveh – had to take note of their (unspecified) better deeds, and he in turn regretted not having annihilated them earlier. I am inclined, however, to favor an even more ambitious explanation: the verse recounts that, because the Ninevites desisted from their evil, God was prompted to inspect the full array of their deeds – past, present, and future – and came to regret that he had not obliterated them before allowing this ephemeral, last-minute show of deference to complicate the moral equation.
Either way, according to this approach, the verse stops short of indicating the Lord’s actual decision. This omission, in turn, allows us to interpret the remainder of the book in strict chronological order. First, Jonah, who recognizes that the fate of Nineveh remains uncertain, becomes distressed that his proclamation might contribute to the fall of the city. He affirms, accordingly, that when he ran from pronouncing doom he was appealing to God’s contrary disposition toward mercy. Then, after the Lord challenges his pacifist indignation, the prophet places himself east of Nineveh and builds a sukkâ, a would-be divine abode that signifies his wish to preserve the paradisiacal city.
With Jonah thus anxiously awaiting God’s verdict, an Edenic, Nineveh-like qîqāyôn grows above him. Crucially, according to this reading, it is not the purpose of the plant to give the prophet the fleeting, mistaken impression that Nineveh will endure regardless of the morality of its inhabitants. Rather, the flourishing qîqāyôn signals to Jonah the actual rejuvenation of Nineveh in the wake of its abandonment of evil. Jonah then rejoices greatly over the growth of the plant, rightly perceiving that the Lord has, at least for now, decided not to destroy the repentant city.
Sadly, however, the peace-seeking prophet returns to his state of despair when the Nineveh-signifying qîqāyôn withers. After all – as was known to our book’s audience – the great city represented by the qîqāyôn would, like the plant itself, eventually be attacked and devastated.29 Jonah, accordingly, must learn that, notwithstanding the value of peace and the merits of compassion, the wickedness of a population may at times necessitate truly dire consequences. This, in turn, becomes the purpose of the story’s concluding dialogue, where the Lord explains to the prophet why, in the end, he indeed will not spare the majestic Assyrian city.
Previously, I embraced a connection between the qîqāyôn and the manna, arguing that the plant signifies unmerited divine largesse, which cannot endure. On this basis, I explained that God, when he comments on the fate of the qîqāyôn, is saying that Jonah did nothing to earn it or to instill in it any “greatness.” The city of Nineveh, by contrast, is a “great” entity, one whose amoral conduct did not quite justify its annihilation.
Observe, however, that whereas the Lord states explicitly that Jonah did not make the plant “great,” he does not complete the thought by spelling out who made Nineveh “great.” To fill this gap, I initially appealed to the manna analogy, suggesting that the great city deserved a chance for survival because the Ninevites built it up – in contrast to the qîqāyôn and the manna that came into being without any human effort. The present reading, however, which affirms that God is condemning Nineveh, requires that we abandon this entire explanation. For Nineveh’s greatness – whatever amount of human toil brought it about – has now become an apparent strike against it, contributing in some way to the Lord’s decision not to spare the city.
Why, then, does the text not say who made Nineveh great? The matter is left ambiguous, I submit, precisely to allow for a different, if hardly novel, explanation: it is God who made Nineveh into a great and powerful city.30 This final verse thereby emphasizes the incongruity between Nineveh’s greatness, on the one hand, and the wickedness of its inhabitants, on the other. After all, a people in whom the Lord invested much can only survive if its conduct proves befitting.31 Hence, God declares that he will ultimately not spare the great city of Nineveh, because its moral standing falls well short of justifying the preservation of its majesty.
I thus propose the following interpretation of the Lord’s concluding admonishment: You Jonah sought to spare a paradisiacal qîqāyôn whose idyllic character – like that of the city it signifies – was due to no personal investment of yours, the plant having risen up suddenly and having endured for just a short time. I, by contrast, will not spare Nineveh itself, a city that I endowed with greatness only to have it wasted on a vast population that cannot tell the difference between good and evil, not to mention a sizable bunch of out-and-out animals.
It emerges, then, that insofar as a pacifist Jonah flees his mission out of concern for the future of Nineveh, the story allows – intentionally, I suspect – for two variations of the Lord’s position. According to one interpretation, the merciful God, no less than the prophet himself, yearns for the city to achieve salvation. A skeptical Jonah, therefore, must learn that, despite the genuine possibility of devastating punishment, repentance holds serious promise for a sinful people like the Ninevites. Alternatively, the Lord – taking the past, present, and future into account – seeks to bring about the destruction of Nineveh, whose conduct will, at some later point, inexorably necessitate that unfortunate outcome. The dejected prophet, accordingly, must be taught that, divine compassion notwithstanding, the presence of abiding evil may indeed justify the obliteration of a great and resplendent city.
Either way, this perspective on the book suggests that a peace-seeking Jonah, unwilling to confront the prospect of Nineveh coming to a violent end, dreamily seeks to ensure the preservation of its Edenic glory. By contrast, according to our initial, more conventional reading, it is a zealous Jonah who tries to escape his restorative mission, vainly pursuing a paradisiacal world whose moral perfection matches its aesthetic splendor. In the final analysis, the book thereby yields two fundamentally distinct understandings of the conduct of its protagonist that attribute to him opposite, extreme reactions to human imperfection and its ramifications. Neither extreme, however, accords with God’s purposes. Instead, by shunning the prophet’s utopian absolutism, the Lord endorses the human struggle for moral improvement – a painstaking process that necessarily entails sin and punishment, on the one hand, and repentance and forgiveness, on the other.