First, this was written about 1500 years ago. Amazing. Put this guy in a pulpit today.
Second, we have the rare occasion to hear from Hannah's song on the coming Sunday. To someone raised on Mary's magnificat, Hannah's musical number feels rougher, closer to the guts, with less care for poetics and more presence of viscera.
Hannah suggests something to us that, while a perfectly common lesson in Scripture, is one that we continue to ignore on almost every level. "Not by might does one prevail."
Such a simple sentiment. Notice that it is not the opposite of 'might makes right.' Instead, Hannah is claiming that one simply does not succeed by might. Might doesn't win things. It's not the strength of the arm or military of bank account that allows a person to prevail. I find myself wondering: do any of us actually believe this? Do I believe this, on any level? And notice, too, that Hannah doesn't claim that this is an ideal that we should strive for--she claims it as fact.
I can think of at least three different ways we could understand this statement.
1. The Sun and the North Wind. If you don't know this story: This particular folk tale relates how the two place a bet on who can get a guy to lose his winter coat faster. The strong North Wind tries to blow it off him, but the guy just holds the jacket tighter and tighter. The sun just relaxes and opens up, and it warms up, so the guy takes the jacket off.
Not by might does the wind prevail, but simply by letting go does the sun win. Might doesn't prevail because the very process of forcing something raises everyone else's forcing, and all the forces prevent anyone from moving. Relaxing, as does the sun, opens up new worlds and possibilities by letting us all relax.
2. The Tao Te Ching. Here, we are commended to hold to the weaker because it wins us the stronger. Without wandering here endlessly in Chinese metaphysics, here is a short summary of how the Tao imagines that might does not prevail. It is, says the Tao, that someone submits that creates the possibility of any kind of contest at all. If I punch my dog, I can do that only if my dog is there to be punched, treats the punch as a punch, and so on. Literally, with no dog, I don't get to feel like a dog-puncher. My dog creates the possibility of my being a superior feeling dog-puncher. By submitting to the punching, my dog enables my feeling strong, victorious.
Something similar happens when Christ invites us to turn the other cheek. If we punch back when we are hit, we have fulfilled all the rules for the creation of a fight, a violent contest where the fighter wins. If we turn the other check, something that looks like weakness, we reconstitute the whole situation by the very definition of how we behave. By weakly submitting to being hit, but then inviting a second, we have made it clear that it is only at our invitation that the situation exists. The suggestion seems to be that victimhood is undone not by becoming a victimizer but by undoing the system by acknowledging our complicity in it and changing it.
3. The weak win because they leave room for God's action. The strong prove so blind to God's action because of the reliance they develop on their own strength, but because the weak always turn to God--having no other choice--they find victory.
So, do the weak win in our society? I still, I think, have a hard time believing that. But perhaps Hannah's point is a deeper one. When we live in a society of violence, of victimization, of force, then nobody wins. It's only the weak that invite God's presence in, which is the only thing that just might save the weak, just might save me. Only by changing the game does anyone win.
