Biblical Hebrew

The Hebrew Bible, in Hebrew, is incredibly poetic. I'm surprised at how much I prefer the Hebrew to the English translations I see.

For example, take 2 Samuel 7: 8.

New International Version: "Now then, tell my servant David, 'This is what the LORD Almighty says: I took you from the pasture and from following the flock to be ruler over my people Israel."

King James Version: Now therefore so shalt thou say unto my servant David, Thus saith the LORD of hosts, I took thee from the sheepcote, from following the sheep, to be ruler over my people, over Israel.

Word for word Hebrew translation: And now, thus you will say to my servant, to David, Thus says The Lord of Armies[1], I took you from the meadow, from behind the sheep, to be the prince[2] over all my people, over Israel.

[1] Or possibly "God of War."
[2] Literally "the one in front."

As you can see from the above, only the KJV comes close to retaining some of the poetic structure, the parallelism and repetition, of the original. However, it also seems to place its own poetry above that of the original. This isn't bad, necessarily, but in other places of the Bible, such emphasis strains translation quite a bit. Also, without context, I doubt many people today would have any idea what a sheepcote was. (And I think that sheepcote implies a pen, anyway, something much smaller than a meadow or a pasture.)

Edit: I removed the term "original Hebrew" because I realized how silly it is. The Masoretic text that my copy is made from (the Lenigrad Codex) comes from the early 11th century. Some of the scrolls it was based on seem to pre-date the texts used to make the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Torah that is quoted in the New Testament), and others seem to be versions from after the Septuagint's formation. Unfortunately, all of the scrolls have a pesky habit of being slightly different. The other big extant source, the Aleppo Codex, also has a few differences. The Aleppo Codex is a few decades older (from the 900's), but the Lenigrad Codex's superiority comes from the fact that we have an entire copy of it. Still, however, "original" isn't quite a valid term.

That reminds me of something. I enjoy the way that notations are used in the Hebrew. I can't understand most of them yet, but many have to do with mistranslations or misspellings. A good analogy would be if you were tasked with copying the Gospel of John, and the only scroll you had that held a surviving John 3:16 said:

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting lies."

When a situation like this happened with the ancient scrolls being copied into the Masoretic texts, the scribes copied everything exactly as it was written. The words are holy, and so are the letters, and there will be no risk of sin by changing what has been written! However, they did add notations that say things like, "This should say life instead of lies."

The situation I've noticed more often than others involves the Hebrew word "lo". There are two silent letters in the Hebrew alphabet, and "Lo" can be spelled with either of them. "Lo" spelled one way means "no." "Lo" spelled the other way means "to him" or "his." Needless to say, this can cause some fairly bizarre translations unless one notices the notation. This has caused problems in my class, so it's funny to see that it caused problems over a thousand years ago, among trained scribes, as well.

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The Authority of Paul

As a child, I considered the Bible a single work: the word of God. I looked at it as if it was one book, written by one person. The book was infinitely old. I knew that there were men who wrote it down, but considered the "inspiration of God" to be a kind of dictation. God told them what to write, and they wrote it.

I thought that the Torah/Pentateuch was written by Moses. I didn't really think about who wrote the rest of the Old Testament, honestly. The New Testament was written by Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and Paul. A few others wrote a couple things here and there; I wasn't sure about the details.

A lot of this, I know now, is because I had not really read much of the Bible. I went to church most Sundays with my mom and my sister, and I went to Sunday School beforehand. I thoroughly enjoyed Sunday School, but the sermon (which I called "church," in stark contrast to Sunday School), was a thing to be dreaded. I still listened, mostly, because I had no real choice in the matter. I often read parts of Genesis and Revelation because they were interesting, but there's only so much KJV one can take.

At this point, I started realizing that Genesis and Revelation didn't seem quite literal, and my concept of divine inspiration started to change. I thought that perhaps the Creation had been shown to Moses, in a dream or a vision, and he had written his description afterwards. This seemed to make sense; I thought that the Creation was something that would be completely indescribable in human language, so it was logical for God to show Moses a vision of the Creation and have him "translate" it, in a way, into a form which humans could more easily understand. Considering that Revelation itself claims to be a vision, this concept of inspiration worked easily with that book.

When I started really reading the Bible, I started to notice problems with my concepts of Biblical authorship. For one, why would Moses describe himself as the most amazing, humble person who had ever lived? That almost seems humorous. Also, why would Moses describe a time period as "At that time, the Canaanites were in the land" (Gen 12:6), when he didn't live in any time when they weren't in the land? To continue with that line of thought, why would Moses' narrative continue on to describe events past his death (Deut 34)? Why does Deuteronomy continually use phrases like "as it is to this day" (Deut 3:14), if Moses was writing it just a few years after the fact? I suppose he could have been told by God about events that had not happened yet, but that seems like you’re stretching possibility to make something seem real just because you’ve already decided it must be real.

Regardless of these authorial problems, though, the Bible projects a powerful feel of the sacred. I consider it holy. It is very, very old, which certainly contributes to this feeling, but there are older texts that I don’t feel that way about. Is this aura of sanctity something that comes only because I was raised in a culture that reveres the Bible so? I don’t know. However, regardless of this feeling of sanctity, ever since I was nineteen or twenty years old when I really started to read and pay attention to the Bible, there’s been a section which has bothered me. I speak of the letters of Paul.

I do not understand why Paul’s letters should be seen as authoritative. He often claims that he was given revelation by God himself, but many people have claimed divine revelation. Even if we take completely seriously Paul’s statement that all scripture is inerrant, why are we to assume he’s even talking about his own letters? Did he know they would become so important? In context, Paul was almost certainly only talking about the Hebrew Bible. What else would be considered “scripture” at this time?

Paul is a very important man. Without him, it’s unlikely that Christianity would have survived very long outside of a small sect of Jews. He was the ideal form of a charismatic—traveling from city to city, giving sermons, writing letters, and generally yelling at anyone who he thought was wrong about Jesus’ message. He effectively “kick-started” the Christian church, spreading it to peoples which would have otherwise been ignored.

Of course, not everyone agreed with him. Even the “pillars of the church” in Jerusalem didn’t seem to give him too much favor. According to Acts, a source probably close to the Jerusalem church, Paul visits Jerusalem immediately after his conversion on the road to Damascus. He isn’t trusted at first, but Barnabas convinces them to accept Paul. Paul then stays awhile in Jerusalem, preaching with Barnabas (Acts 9:26-28). This story implies that Paul sought out the “pillars” in Jerusalem, and wanted them to accept him.

According to Paul, however, he waited three years after his conversion to go to Jerusalem. He specifically says:

I did not confer with any human being, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus. Then after three years I did go up to Jerusalem to visit Cephas (Peter) and stayed with him fifteen days; but I did not see any other apostles except James the Lord’s brother. (Gal 1: 16-19)

Paul is very adamant that he did not consider Jerusalem’s approval to be relevant. He also specifically denies having anything to do with anyone except Peter and James. Then, as if he’s fighting Jerusalem propaganda that shows him as subservient (as Acts does), he exclaims, “In what I am writing to you, before God, I do not lie!” (Gal 1:20).

Even more telling is the disagreement between Jerusalem and Paul concerning the Torah. In both Galatians and Corinthians, Paul says explicitly that it is not necessary to follow the Torah's commandments concerning circumcision. He says:

It is those who want to make a good showing in the flesh that try to compel you to be circumcised—only that they may not be persecuted for the cross of Christ. Even the circumcised do not themselves obey the law, but they want you to be circumcised so that they may boast about your flesh. May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ . . . For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything. (Gal 6: 12-15)

This is echoed in 1 Corinthians 7:18-19. Clearly, Paul sees little value in circumcision. Paul also writes:

Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian. (Gal 3:23-25)

He doesn't seem to believe that the Torah is still valid at all!

Compare this with the Acts' account of Paul's last visit to Jerusalem. When Paul gets to Jerusalem, the elders of the church there tell him that there are many Jews who have heard rumors that Paul has been teaching that it is not necessary to observe the Torah, and they want to kill him! To protect him, they ask that Paul go through a ritual purification to prove that he is an observant Jew who believes in the Torah. According to Acts, Paul goes through with the ritual (Acts 21:17-26).

If this is true, then Paul is certainly being, at least, a bit duplicitous! I could not blame him for this, personally; being threatened with death by a few thousand angry Jews is probably not high on anyone's list of fun things to do. If it was duplicity, then it's understandable. However, the Paul that is described in his own letters seems unlikely to fake such a thing! The account of Paul in Acts, where Paul both seeks Jerusalem's acceptance and submits to their authority, does not mesh well with the account of Paul's own letters, where he could care less about what Jerusalem thinks.

Does this mean I think Paul is bad? No. I think he was wrong somewhat often, but I certainly don't think he was a bad person. Nor do I think his letters are useless. (At the very least, they certainly helped spread the message of Christ.) In some ways, I believe Paul had a better understanding of the truth than the pillars of Jerusalem; I certainly believe in justification by faith, possibly even more than Paul himself!

I do, however, think that Paul's letters are simply that: letters written by a particularly zealous and charismatic early believer. They are canon because they were early; they were so well circulated, and Paul was so well respected by the gentile Christians, that by the time any sort of real New Testament started to be canonized, most everyone was already reading them. They are good to read, and they are good to think about, just as any well thought-out sermon or treatise is good to read and to think about.

However, he has no more cosmic authority than any other man.

I admit that this raises a somewhat large problem: if I do not accept the Magisterium's word concerning what texts do and what texts do not have authority, whose word do I accept? My own? If that is true, how do I myself decide this thing? This is something I need to ponder.

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Take that, schedule!

So attempting to have a set schedule with this blog was obviously a mistake. After missing a week, I felt as if I had somehow failed, and thus I felt like I should just stop completely. After all, it's better to do nothing if all you're going to accomplish is failure, right? Heh, I know how goofy that kind of reasoning is, but such knowledge didn't keep me from being affected by it.

In any event, I'm going to try and take this blog back up. I'm not sure exactly what my new 'schedule' will be, but I'm certainly going to try and update a couple times a week, at least.

I'd post something of substance tonight, but I'm actually quite sleepy. After being unable, for one reason or another, to sleep more than four or five hours straight since last Wednesday night, I'm excited about the prospect of a good night's sleep.

Right and Wrong, Good and Evil

While writing this, I realized that Matthew at Liberal Jesus made a post about the same topic. I'm still posting this, however, because I think that my post in part answers a question that he asks.

In a comment on Liberal Jesus, Micheal Ejercito said:

I find nothing wrong with the idea of God ordering Israel to do genocide. God determines what is right and what is wrong.

I personally loathe this explanation of morality. I cannot deny it makes sense, no. If God creates the universe and has ultimate power over everything in it, who are we to challenge his divine authority?

I personally do not think that we will ever need to challenge his authority. I base this belief on my second axiom of divinity: God is not a bastard. (The first axiom is, "God exists.") By this, I mean that I believe God is inherently good. I believe he loves us, that he loves his entire creation, and as such, he acts towards his creation in a moral fashion.

But does that mean that God himself determines what is right or wrong? What if God were to change his mind? And, as Matthew asks, what god gets to decide what is right or wrong?

Morality has to come from a place other than God for two reasons:

1. God does not seem to speak personally to every person, or at least, many people with dissenting moral beliefs continue to claim that they have each been spoken to by God.
2. If our opinion of what is right and wrong is based only on what God says, then why does it matter? We're not good people, we're just doing what we're told, because the person telling us what to do is bigger than we are, and he might beat us up.

The first reason is the most practical; everyday we all hear different opinions about what is right and what is wrong, and these people often claim that God has spoken to them (if not out loud, at least in their hearts). Even in the Bible, there are dissenting beliefs. James believes that Christians should be circumcised, and Paul thinks the practice is pointless and unnecessary. So when two people give us different explanations for what God thinks is right and wrong, who do we believe?

The second reason is less practical, but far more disturbing if given any serious thought. We assume God to be good, because the idea of an evil God is horrifying almost beyond our comprehension. But what if? If God were to tell you to do something you knew to be abhorrent and evil, and he said to you, "It is good if you do it, today, because I am making it good, for you, today," what would you do? Can good and evil be malleable based on what God wants at the time?

Like I said before, I do not think that God can be evil. I don't think it works with the concept of God. Basically, if God were to turn out to be evil, I would not consider that being God. If he was the only thing even approaching divinity, then I would have to believe that there was no God, just a capricious, evil, omnipotent being. But "good" is part of my definition for God.

But then I reach the same problem as before: how do I define "good?"

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Joshua chapters 4-6

Continued from Joshua chapters 1-3

After crossing the Jordan, God tells Joshua to set up twelve stones in memory of the crossing. Joshua gets twelve men, one from each tribe, and has them go back into the Jordan to take one stone each from the area where the priests are standing with the ark (which is still holding back the river). They set up the stones in the new camp, to remind their descendants of their miraculous crossing. This circle of stones would be known as Gigal, and later became an important religious center for the Israelites.

There seems to be two sets of stones mentioned. Joshua 4:9 says that Joshua set up twelve stones in the middle of the river, and that "they are there to this day." Is he replacing the twelve stones that were set up at Gigal? Or is this an older legend that was merged with the one which describes Gigal?

After all the Israelites cross the Jordan (the Reubenites, Gadites, and the half-tribe of Manesseh going first), there was an Israelite army 40,000 strong waiting to attack Jericho. God exalts Joshua before Israel, and they are in awe of him, and then he commands the priests to come out of the Jordan with the ark. As soon as the priests cross, the river falls back into place.

Chapter 5 opens begins by describing how all the kings of the Amorites and the Canaanites were terrified of the Israelites, because they had heard of how the Jordan had been parted for them. Word seems to travel incredibly fast; are Canaanites and Israelites talking to each other? It seems more like this was just a way for the writing to emphasis how powerful the Israelites were.

God tells Joshua to circumcise the Israelites again, for though the ones who had come out of Egypt had been circumcised, they had all been killed by God in the desert. The current Israelites were the children of the Exodus generation, and needed to be circumcised before God would give Canaan to them. Joshua makes flint knives and has them all circumcised. I assume that he delegated this task, as circumcising at least 40,000 men by himself would probably take awhile. Afterwards, they remain camped at Gigal until they finished healing.

The place where Joshua circumcised at least 40,000 men is named as Gibeath-haaraloth, which translates to "The Hill of Foreskins." I can't imagine why the translators generally keep the Hebrew word instead.

On "the fourteenth day of the month" (Josh. 5:10), the Israelites keep the Passover. The next day, they begin to eat the food that the land Canaan itself provides them. Manna, which had long kept them alive during their trek through the desert, stopped falling from the sky on that day. It seems like they were happy about the change, as the verse is written like the change is a reason for celebration.

Joshua, while planning the seige of Jericho, is visited by the "commander of the army of The Lord." Joshua falls to the ground and worships, and is told to remove his sandals, because he is on holy ground.

This seems to come from a time when Yahweh's court was still composed of other deities. While later books would somewhat demote beings such as the commander of the army of Yahweh to mere angels, or messengers, there seems to be a definite distinction in the earlier texts. Note that the verse does not say that Joshua worships God, or The Lord; it is almost implied that the commander-entity is worthy of Joshua's worship. (Of course, there is no question that the commander-entity is a lesser being, and entirely subservient to Yahweh.)

Chapter 6 begins with the siege of Jericho. The city is locked up tight as to defend against the army of 40,000 blessed soldiers, but God tells Joshua his plan to destroy the city. Joshua is to march around the city with his entire army. They should be led by the priests carrying the ark, which will in turn be led by seven priests carrying ram horns. After seven days, the priests will blow the ram horn trumpets and the entire army should shout, which should knock down the walls of Jericho. Joshua follows this plan, making sure that until the seventh day shout, no one makes a noise.

The plan works perfectly, and the walls collapse. Joshua makes sure that the soldiers know not to kill Rahab or anyone inside her house, and that they should not loot things "devoted to destruction" (6:18). Also, everything made of gold, silver, bronze, or iron should be considered sacred to The Lord, and put in The Lord's treasury. "Then they devoted to destruction by the edge of the sword all in the city, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys" (6:21).

Rahab and her family are brought out of their home by the spies who first met her, and the Israelites burn the entirety of Jericho to the ground. Everything except the gold, silver, bronze, and iron is destroyed utterly. When the Israelites conquer a city, they do not play around. Rahab and her family join the Israelites, and their descendants are considered part of the nation.

Joshua ends the chapter by swearing an oath to kill the firstborn and the youngest of anyone who ever tries to rebuild Jericho.

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The Middle Road

I've long known of Buddhism's teaching of the "Middle Way," that neither excess nor asceticism provides one with a good way to live one's life. When Siddhartha left his rich life on the search for enlightenment, he first followed a path of severe asceticism; the legend goes that at one point, he could survive on a single grain of rice per day. However, this did not lead him to his destination. He realized that forcing oneself to live in total austerity was as much of a purposeless indulgence as was to live in extravagance and debauchery. The true road, he discovered, was the way between the extremes.

I was reading, today, the book To Be a Jew, by Rabbi Hayim Halevy Donin. I was struck when I came across a section entitled "The Middle Road." In this section, Rabbi Donin quotes the incredibly influential Medieval Jewish philosopher Maimonides:

Lest a person says: Since jealousy, lust, and desire for honor are evil ways . . . I will separate myself completely from them and go to the other extreme, to the point where he refuses to enjoy the pleasure of food by abstaining from eating meat and drinking wine, where he refuses to marry a wife, or to live in a pleasant house or to wear nice clothing but instead chooses to dress in rags . . . this too is an evil way, and it is forbidden to go that way.

Maimonides, whose Hebrew name was Moshe ben Maimon but is more widely known by his Greek name, was referring to a section of the book Ecclesiastes (which is generally attributed to King Solomon, though his name never appears in the text itself). Ecclesiastes says:

Do not be too righteous, and do not act too wise; why should you destroy yourself? Do not be too wicked, and do not be a fool; why should you die before your time? It is good that you should take hold of the one, without letting go of the other; for the one who fears God shall succeed with both (Eccles. 7: 16-18).

I have to mention here that Maimonides's name, in Arabic, is Abu Imran Mussa bin Maimun ibn Abdallah al-Qurtubi al-Israili, and that he's often referred in Jewish works by the acronym Rambam. Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. Whew.

It is not good to indulge in excess and evil, of course not. However, it is at best only slightly better to indulge in extreme "righteousness." I sincerely doubt that either Maimonides or the writer of Ecclesiastes meant that it was wrong to be very good and abstain from evil, but rather that it is wrong to interpret the rules in such an extreme fashion. It's wrong to drink to excess, but it is just as wrong to abstain entirely under the pretense that "Wine is evil!" It's wrong to become a glutton, but it's just as wrong to proclaim that eating is a sin.

I think, here, that the emphasis needs to be on the proclamation of the self as "righteous" and the condemnation of the avoided act as "evil." If one did simply did not enjoy eating meat, then would there be anything wrong with that?

I'm reminded of a certain type of person--I've met several of these people during my life, and perhaps some of you have as well. They don't watch TV. Not only do they not watch TV, but they don't even have a TV. Not only that, but they take every opportunity available to bring up the fact that they don't watch, no, that they don't even own a TV. They take an enormous amount of pride in the fact that they are "better" than the rest of us plebeians, glued to the idiot-box.

Is it wrong not to watch TV? Of course not. Maybe you think it's boring, maybe you have other hobbies you enjoy more, or maybe you just don't have the time. What's sinful is the extreme moral position taken up by these people; the insinuation that the rest of the population is beneath them in some way. Of course, it's highly doubtful that they would admit that they look down on us for owning a TV . . . but the tone of their voice when they proclaim their own TV-lessness tells another story.

Bringing in the NT somewhat, I'd like to also mention that though Jesus certainly seems to come down closer to the ascetic side of the fence, compared to the extreme asceticism of John the Baptist, who came from the desert "clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and . . . ate locusts and wild honey" (Mark 1:6), Jesus's life was spent quite close to what could be called a "Middle Way."

This message seems to be lost on many modern people, whether they are Christian or not. Even atheists fall prey to this; though rationalism is not without its benefits, at least half the time I hear someone expound upon its advantages, he or she is focusing entirely upon how much better it is than the "imaginations of the superstitious."

I must admit, however, that at least in this country, it is the Christians who fail in this fashion most often. It seems to rarely be enough to simply do what one thinks is right and correct, one must also stand tall on the pulpit and denounce how horrible the people are who don't agree with what you think is right and correct. While this may persuade some weak-willed souls, sad and afraid, into converting, it is entirely the wrong way to go about things. It makes the church look bad, it makes Christians look bad, and it thereby makes me look bad.

I don't take kindly to that.

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"The Trap of Biblical Literalism"

My title here comes from a post on Liberal Jesus, where some of the thoughts I've had about the Bible were expressed quite beautifully. Matthew writes about his personal journey away from Biblical literalism in a heartfelt, poignant manner that makes me glad to have read it.

Literalism is bad because it requires an all or nothing approach to the Bible. Either ALL of the Bible is literally true, or NONE of it is. The logic, as it was expressed to me just the other day, is that "If the Bible isn't literally true, then we have no proof of anything, and we have no reason to believe anything." While it was this past week that I most recently heard this reasoning, I've heard it many times previously as well.

The biggest logical problem with this statement is the implication that we have "proof" of the Bible's truth, if the entire Bible is literally true. By that reasoning, anything that claims to be true must be true; it's basically the definitive example of circular reasoning.

My biggest problem with the above statement, however, is where it's asserted that without complete literal inerrancy, "we have no reason to believe anything." That makes faith seem so small, so fragile, and it makes me wonder how terrified these people must be of losing their faith. If the slightest bit of rational thought enters into their religion, it will relentlessly destroy everything that they believe in, and so it cannot be allowed. I once saw a church that had a marquee that read, "Open mind, open heart, open soul." A religious woman with me commented, "But isn't having an open mind a bad thing?"

I feel sorry for people who live in that kind of terror, all the while wrapped in a cocoon of denial that they tell themselves is safe and warm. There is nothing to fear from rational thought; there is nothing to fear from education. What should be feared is the stagnant darkness that literalism brings about, the faithful terror of not allowing oneself to think. Matthew, in his post, sums up the other option wonderfully:

You can see the contradictions in the text now, but they don't scare you. They simply point to he beautiful frailty of the real people behind the Bible, a frailty that you see all around you every day. As you change the way you interpret the Bible, you change your theology. You begin ignoring those parts of the Bible that endorse prejudice, or misogyny, or genocide. You allow other voices, like science and your own experience, to inform your understanding of God.

No longer is it necessary to pour over the New Testament, looking for a verse that implies that women should not be treated as the Deuteronomy demands. You can simply accept that Deuteronomy was written at a different time, for a different people. While it may be an important text, it is not a set of cosmic rules handed down from God to tell you how to live. If a Psalm implies the existence of a God that you would consider immoral and horrific, you don't have to tear it apart with rationalizations until you can live with what it's saying. You can know instead that the ancient Hebrew who wrote that Psalm understood God differently, and you can use the Psalm to gain a greater understanding of how the ancients texts were informed by that worldview.

It's liberating, and it's a step forward. Instead of connecting to God primarily through a book and using your mind and soul as mere tools that you may make use of, the book itself becomes a tool as you begin to connect to God primarily through your self.

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