Inspiration of Scripture and the Problem of Non-Virgins: A Conversation
Saturday, June 5, 2010 at 9:00PM | by Otter Much of Protestant and Catholic tradition and practice rest on the idea of the "inspiration of scripture."
It's worth wondering what that phrase means.
First, then, here's an articulation of the problem from a friend's question: What does inspiration mean, and what meaning can it reasonably have given some of scripture's enormities?
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From a friend who is disturbed at a passage to which I referred in this post:
If you believe in the Bible as any form of authority, which way do you lean on inspiration?
Wondering how you (and / or your faith community) view biblical inspiration, especially in light of the Old Testament, but in general works as well.Deuteronomy 22:20-21:
20 If, however, the charge is true and no proof of the girl's virginity can be found, 21 she shall be brought to the door of her father's house and there the men of her town shall stone her to death.
God knows good and well all virgins don't bleed on first contact. Death seems a bit barbaric.
Sometimes when these verses are brought up in Christian circles there's a flurry of attempts to spiritualize the verses, that is, to say that they don't really mean what they say.
But the verses pretty clearly make it a capital offense not to bleed on your wedding night. I think it's extremely difficult to soft-peddle that, given that today in the cultures that most resemble that of ancient Judaism, the deaths of women for similar "offenses" are not at all uncommon.
So what's the status of these verses for those who hold to a view of inspiration? The question isn't a minor one: it cuts right to the heart of what you think the Bible is, what your faith is, what your god is like.
She brings up the traditions of the Roman Catholic Church (from the 1913 Catholic Encyclopedia entry on Inspiration):
For the last three centuries there have been author-theologians, exegetes, and especially apologists -- such as Holden, Rohling, Lenormant, di Bartolo, and others -- who maintained, with more or less confidence, that inspiration was limited to moral and dogmatic teaching, excluding everything in the Bible relating to history and the natural sciences. They think that, in this way, a whole mass of difficulties against the inerrancy of the bible would be removed. but the Church has never ceased to protest against this attempt to restrict the inspiration of the sacred books. This is what took place when Mgr d Hulst, Rector of the Institut Catholique of paris, gave a sympathetic account of this opinion in "Le Correspondant" of 25 Jan., 1893. The reply was quickly forthcoming in the Encyclical Providentissimus Deus of the same year. In that Encyclical Leo XIII said:
It will never be lawful to restrict inspiration merely to certain parts of the Holy Scriptures, or to grant that the sacred writer could have made a mistake. Nor may the opinion of those be tolerated, who, in order to get out of these difficulties, do not hesitate to suppose that Divine inspiration extends only to what touches faith and morals, on the false plea that the true meaning is sought for less in what God has said than in the motive for which He has said it. (Denz., 1950)
In fact, a limited inspiration contradicts Christian tradition and theological teaching.
Another correspondent argues that Providentissimus Deus should be subordinated to Divino Afflante Spiritu (by Pius XII in 1943) and Dei Verbum (Dogmatic Constitution by Paul VI 1965).
So what do they say? From Divino Afflante Spiritu paragraph 26:
For what was said and done in the Old Testament was ordained and disposed by God with such consummate wisdom, that things past prefigured in a spiritual way those that were to come under the new dispensation of grace. Wherefore the exegete, just as he must search out and expound the literal meaning of the words, intended and expressed by the sacred writer, so also must he do likewise for the spiritual sense, provided it is clearly intended by God. For God alone could have known this spiritual meaning and have revealed it to us. Now Our Divine Savior Himself points out to us and teaches us this same sense in the Holy Gospel; the Apostles also, following the example of the Master, profess it in their spoken and written words; the unchanging tradition of the Church approves it; and finally the most ancient usage of the liturgy proclaims it, wherever may be rightly applied the well-known principle: "The rule of prayer is the rule of faith."
From the same document, Paragraph 36:
For the ancient peoples of the East, in order to express their ideas, did not always employ those forms or kinds of speech which we use today; but rather those used by the men of their times and countries. What those exactly were the commentator cannot determine as it were in advance, but only after a careful examination of the ancient literature of the East. The investigation, carried out, on this point, during the past forty or fifty years with greater care and diligence than ever before, has more clearly shown what forms of expression were used in those far off times, whether in poetic description or in the formulation of laws and rules of life or in recording the facts and events of history. The same inquiry has also shown the special preeminence of the people of Israel among all the other ancient nations of the East in their mode of compiling history, both by reason of its antiquity and by reasons of the faithful record of the events; qualities which may well be attributed to the gift of divine inspiration and to the peculiar religious purpose of biblical history.
Same document again, Paragraphs 44 and 45:
Nevertheless no one will be surprised, if all difficulties are not yet solved and overcome; but that even today serious problems greatly exercise the minds of Catholic exegetes. We should not lose courage on this account; nor should we forget that in the human sciences the same happens as in the natural world; that is to say, new beginnings grow little by little and fruits are gathered only after many labors. Thus it has happened that certain disputed points, which in the past remained unsolved and in suspense, in our days, with the progress of studies, have found a satisfactory solution. Hence there are grounds for hope that those also will by constant effort be at last made clear, which now seem most complicated and difficult.
And if the wished-for solution be slow in coming or does not satisfy us, since perhaps a successful conclusion may be reserved to posterity, let us not wax impatient thereat, seeing that in us also is rightly verified what the Fathers, and especially Augustine, observed in their time viz: God wished difficulties to be scattered through the Sacred Books inspired by Him, in order that we might be urged to read and scrutinize them more intently, and, experiencing in a salutary manner our own limitations, we might be exercised in due submission of mind. No wonder if of one or other question no solution wholly satisfactory will ever be found, since sometimes we have to do with matters obscure in themselves and too remote from our times and our experience; and since exegesis also, like all other most important sciences, has its secrets, which, impenetrable to our minds, by no efforts whatsoever can be unraveled.
It seems to me that we can sum up all that by saying, "Rum business, reading scripture." But "God wished difficulties..."? With the lives of young girls on the line, God wished difficulties.
So we'd pay attention.
Hmm.
Dei Verbum has this to add:
In composing the sacred books, God chose men and while employed by Him they made use of their powers and abilities, so that with Him acting in them and through them, they, as true authors, consigned to writing everything and only those things which He wanted. Therefore, since everything asserted by the inspired authors or sacred writers must be held to be asserted by the Holy Spirit, it follows that the books of Scripture must be acknowledged as teaching solidly, faithfully and without error that truth which God wanted put into sacred writings
The writer who pointed these documents out goes on to say that she believes the Hebrew Bible (or Old Testament) serves the purpose of "paving the way" for Jesus and that many things in it (covenants, marriage, and so on) "prefigure" the coming of Jesus.
She recommends then that the death penalty for non-virgins emphasizes the marriage relationship and its sanctity and therefore the relationship one enjoys with Jesus Christ.
My preliminary response as an outsider and ex-evangelical to that is, "Okay, so did God tell the ancient Israelites to kill non-virgins or not?" Let's just cut to the chase, here.
There's a problem for anybody scandalized by these verses: we assume that not stoning non-virgins is a good thing. How in the world would we know God's attitude about this? What we're saying is that our cultural value (not stoning non-virgins) is right, and I think we're smart enough to realize that what we're really saying here is that if this is truly the voice of God in the Hebrew Bible, then we want no part of him.
And though I respect the Catholic Church in many ways, I'm not buying that there ever was a time when such a command was inspired by a god worth worshiping.
In other words, I believe I am right, and scripture is wrong. There cannot be two ways about it.
(Note for another day: I think that at least two of the gospel writers, Mark and John, thought like I do about this.)
From Providentissimus Deus:
In fact, a limited inspiration contradicts Christian tradition and theological teaching.
That document is of limited force in the RCC. I think it does directly contradict the one quoted above, which I'll look at in a second.
But note that the view of inspiration here is "monolithic," by which I mean that "it's all true in the same generic way, or none of it is." A reader might have some room to say about a story that it is a parable or that some readings are figurative. But we are in a dangerous position when it comes to stoning virgins.
Providentissimus Deus asserts in so many words that you take all of scripture or none of it (and I have never seen at all how one could swallow PD and not stone non-virgins).
So to return to the idea that the command is inspired and aims to point at marriage and thus to Christ: this is a really deeply unsatisfying answer. To say that a thing is an "incomplete" or "not the fullness" of revelation is to undermine the very sense of inspiration, isn't it? I mean, here's the question: Did God say to stone non-virgins, or not? If God DID say it, then don't you find it a bit rough on the girls in question that they should be put to death so people in 1500 years might better understand Christ?
If it's "progressive" revalation, how is that different from saying "It was wrong, but we can wrangle some good out of it by reinterpreting it," which happens to be true of any text you care to name from scripture to pornography?
So I think this view is almost a non-answer in that it seems to shy away from the inevitable conclusion that, No, this portion of scripture is not inspired in any meaningful way, unless one wishes to say that the interpretation of it is inspired, that one may find the beauty of covenant love nestling under the murderous idolatry of the hymen.
Furthermore, the covenant-love interpretation is just to take the laws selectively. To say that one "values" virginity and the covenantal gift it represents (to some) is one thing. To say "kill non-virgins" is something entirely other. To say one has pride in one's race is great. To say one aims to eliminate another race is horrible.
To harp on a theme, was it God's will that the Israelites stone non-virgins or not? Because they surely took the command to mean that it was, at least in some times and some places. Like pretty much everybody, they made the god in their own image, and in his image they demanded of themselves what they wanted.
If we're going to spiritualize it and say that it's all about God's intention, as revealed in Christ, then what we're going to end up doing is saying, "Okay, these things were not God's will as they are stated, they are God's will as they are interpreted. And this is fine: in fact it strikes me as being reasonable. But it creates a whole new meaning for the word "inspiration" which I would like to hear articulated.
So, here's one hypothesis: "Inspiration is that state of a text which God has so interpreted in the life of Christ as to render a truth that was not before discernible in the text itself, including but not limited to the distillation of root values and core ethics." Which has alarming implications, and impressive possibilities. But it kills the idea that God ever said, "Stone the non-virgins." The utterance, we would have to say, was never God's, though at its heart perhaps lay a truth: God values virginity, real or symbolical.
I don't know if that's true, but I know it beats hollow the idea that he said "Stone the non-virgins."
A good Catholic would, I think (and hope) come back with the idea that the Bible cannot be understood as an inspired book without a strong community of interpretation that is transformed by Christ and the life of the Holy Spirit in the community.
Fair enough, and this is a huge feature of Catholicism: it can adapt its interpretation to reasonableness as each time and place construct "reason."
But it does kill the idea that the text itself was inspired.
It's the interpretation that's inspired.
Or if the message itself is inspired, then the most logical interpretation ("kill the non-virgin") is excluded purely on interpretive grounds, and God, knowing that the most obvious interpretation would be the most compelling one for a thousand years, did not inspire a text that would save lives but would cost them preparatory to the coming of the right interpretation.
Some god.
If an incomprehensible god were to inspire a text that text would necessarily be opaque, and the opaqueness becomes a feature, not a bug, as the Catholic documents insist. It resembles God and provokes mystery and wonder that produces humility.
I have very little problem with the things that one cannot understand and which therefore must be cast poetically, such as the nature of time in scripture.
But the case we're addressing from Deuteronomy (and, say, the bizarre test for adultery in Numbers 5) are of a different order: we read them and understand them perfectly. And they are absolutely shocking. They present us with a whole different order of difficulties than the one addressed in Divino above:
MOSES / GOD: You may divorce your wives.
MAN (?) or GOD (?): Moses is inspired and speaks for God.
JESUS / GOD: You may not divorce your wives as Moses permitted.
MOSES (?) / GOD: Stone the adulteress. And the non-virgin.
MOSES (? another place) / GOD: Do not stone the non-virgin. Or the adulteress.
GOD / JESUS: Do not stone the adulteress.
MAN (?) or GOD (?): I am the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Not an insurmountable problem, unless one clings to a view of inspiration that is overly simple or which drains interpretation out of the whole dynamic. But deadly to a very simple idea of inspiration.
The inspiration of the text at the beginning, or the idea that the text itself is inspired rather than the relationship between God and the interpreter(s) produces nothing coherent.
And the idea that the interpreter is inspired of course throws one against other problems, and the whole idea of the Word as text begins to unravel at that point.
Reader Comments (16)
I've always been of the impression that the Law was written to be so harsh & burdensome as to be impossible to follow (which doesn't speak well of God, does it!), because if the Law were easy to follow we wouldn't need Jesus. I guess that isn't a very satifying answer, but it's all I've got.
This passage (proof of virginity) is especially troublesome to me personally as I was a non-bleeding virgin (you really wanted to know that, didn't you?)....I cannot know how the Law was enforced, but one hopes that in actual fact Mercy was more important than precision in following the Law.
Of course, stoning the non-virgins could have been done for the "good" of the non-virgin's soul (although I don't think that Israelites had a concept of soul at the time the Law was being written), in much the same way the Inquisition was carried out to save the souls of those who didn't believe or believe correctly, as the case may be.
Jennifer writes:
Not at all satisfying, for two reasons.
First of all, it's perfectly possible to keep the law. You just have to want to, and that means believing deep down that it's a good law and the right thing to do.
Second, and I know this sounds prim and stodgy, those Israelite girls are human beings and somebody's children, not object lessons.
I'm not sure what you'd hang that hope on... Go to Google and type in "Stoning." Look for images.Hurl your breakfast up and cry for five days.
But I'm not sure Yahweh, if any, could count on that.
And if he meant, "Don't really do it," you'd think that'd be part of the utterance.
You're right that the language of "soul" was (literally) foreign to the Israelites at the time of Deuteronomy.But, to be brief, fuck the soul.
We're talking about putting people to death here.
It's a common idea in history to save the soul by giving the flesh over to Satan, but it's a really, really bad idea.
And insofar as that's Deuteronomy's intention, and insofar as one single girl (virgin or not) paid the price of life for the sake of her soul, the Bible's just wrong about that. It's not good. It's not worth worshiping that god.
Well, I'm incredibly simple-minded, but I've come to the conclusion that not all of scripture is inspired. I wonder if the Old Testament writers were products of their culture, and wrote things that they believed were inspired by God, when they, in fact, were not. Maybe they truly believed that God told them to stone non virgins or slaughter innocent children. And although these things are abhorrent to us today, they made sense in ancient culture.
I think that we would all say that killing innocents is wrong. And when we say that all of Scripture is inspired, or inerrant or whatever, we have to do a lot of fancy foot work with these troublesome passages in order to maintain our belief that God is love. I mean, does Love demand the savage murder of innocent women and children? Of course not. So, we have to conclude that those passages are not "inspired". And I think (at least I hope) that you can do this and not lose faith. I don't know why we have to believe that every word of Scripture is inspired in order to believe its truth. It's a story, a book; and we've elevated it to a place of almost being equal with God Himself. I always thought it was an evangelical problem, but it seems, from what you've written above, that it's universal. Maybe I'm wrong (about not believing in the inerrancy or inspiration of all Scripture), but it's the only way I can still call myself Christian.
Eizabeth, those are some really good thoughts.
Thank you.
The gospel according to moi:
Did God instruct the Israelites to kill virgins (under certain circumstances)? Yes.
Is the prescribed test for virginity seriously flawed? Assuming basic biology was the same then as now, yes.
Did this scripture result in the violent death of innocents? Yes. Further, I’d say that parts of the Old Testament seem to give—and thus functionally do give—theological back-up to a misogynist understanding of women as property (which for the record I believe is in violent opposition to God’s view of women).
I do believe all of Scripture to be inspired. (Although I can’t give a good explanation of what I mean by inspired, feel free to make whatever assumptions you like about it. That will give us enough precision for an Internet discussion.)
Can I reconcile the horror of these commands with my faith in the God who is love? To some degree, yes. To a large degree, no. But it’s been a long time since I ceased to expect anything important—in life or in Scripture (which are not unrelated)—to fit together with the desired level of uniformity. I certainly can’t argue with those who conclude that these various pictures of God we see in Scripture are utterly irreconcilable—that one simply can’t get anything resembling a coherent picture of God. That’s a respectable conclusion, so what follows is not an argument at all. More of a “here’s where I am.”
The text reads “Purge the evil from among you,” so I assume the stone-the-virgins rule connects with that intent. I’m not inclined to comment about whether the rule was also intended to pave the way for the Savior, etc., etc. (When someone, whether they are humble bloggers or big-shot theologians, start in with the “God did this because . . .”, I generally tune out.) I think it was a pretty straightforward instruction for the community to follow in their responsibility to discourage evil and encourage good.
Obviously, the big problem is that you and I both fear that this rule might be bringing in as much evil as it drives out. I do worry about that; but there’s no way I can assume that that is actually the case—there are too many enormous cultural differences between that community’s way of thinking and my own for me to assert anything like that. Maybe it worked out reasonably well, in a grievously sloppy, human sort of way. Maybe it did a lot more good than harm.
But certainly I wish the rules laid out were clearer and better and generally unambiguously fair and loving and good. I certainly can’t rest peacefully with the idea that as long as things worked out well for the community at large, it’s OK to screw over an individual here and there. Oh, you can bet there are any number of things in Scripture I wish were written differently. And the tendency is, of course, for us to ask, “Why not?” If God is omnipotent and holy and genuinely concerned for our welfare, surely He could/would/should do a little better than this. Right? My gut reaction often is, “Yes, He should have.” But my gut reaction has more to do with me than with God, certainly, so it may not help that much in understanding His character.
I can’t say I have given up my desire for clarity in my understanding of God’s character, but I have given up many expectations surrounding it. (Again, not going to point any fingers at those who say that swallowing this level of ambiguity is too much to ask.)
My bottom line (which, as you see, is not so much a bottom line as a list of questions!) regarding this passage and others of its ilk: I’m not sure that God’s responsibility to steer us toward loving behavior is limitless. I’m not sure He has made it His primary business to give us clear rules for love and enforce them with a Divine reward/punishment system. Is that shocking? I think He was operating more or less that way in the old covenant, with the “follow the rules and you’ll be blessed, break them and I’ll smite you”—I’m just not sure that even then, that was His primary concern. Is God supposed to be precise, unambiguous, watertight in His communication to us? (And if He were, are we able to understand Him in the same perfect manner?) Does my distress in reading this passage come from the sense that God is, at best, being wildly irresponsible? If so, why? Is God responsible for steering us straight? I disagree with Otter that people can do and be good whenever they desire/choose, but I do see it as my responsibility to discern the good and to do it. I don’t generally find God micro-managing me here. And all the weird specificity of some of these rules (e.g., “Do not wear clothes of wool and linen woven together.” Huh?) notwithstanding, maybe He doesn’t see it as His primary job to lay down the law to us in such a way as to eliminate all doubt and potential for abuse.
An imperfect analogy (and I tremble to bring in an analogy at all), but I don't make it my business to ride herd on my kids to behave themselves all the time, and I'm not sure I would even if I had infinite resources to do it. I point the way to love and it's up to them to pursue love. If they want to pervert my guidance, they do. If there are genuine misunderstandings about what I meant, we work it out as we go along. Is it unacceptably loosy-goosy for a deity to operate in a similar fashion?
This was way too long, and yet I’m restraining myself from writing more. I do NOT do well with making a brief comment; I’m more of a discuss-at-length kind of person. You have been warned.
Susan, what you're saying resonates a lot with my views when people ask things like why God made us flawed or why God lets bad things happen to good people: being good is up to us. If it wasn't, it wouldn't mean anything. If we were all perfect, we would all be good, but the fact that we have the capability for both good and evil makes it that much more important when we do the right thing. And things are SUPPOSED to go wrong sometimes. Life is one big, giant learning process for the whole human race. What the point at the end is . . . ? Well, we'll find out when we get there. But we wouldn't get there if not for the journey.
As for the laws that seem ridiculously harsh . . . those may have been made by God or men, but they definitely were at least written down by men, fulfilling the needs of the men they were written for. And men desire order (probably more so than God does). Draco wrote his laws in order to keep order. He executed harshly in order to keep the peace. I suppose it is up to us whether we keep the spirit or letter of the law.
Susan writes:
Susan, I can understand what you're saying here.
And I think you point to an interesting idea here: that the goodness of God in Deuteronomy must be judged relative to some dominant culture or other outside the one that speaks for God.
I mean, it might have been barbaric to put to death the non-virgin on her wedding night, but, hey, it was a sight better than putting them to death for no reason at all as the locals did.
But your insistence that scripture is "inspired" then makes me wince a little.
It's "better than what you might have had," but it's not good, and it IS misogynistic, if that word has any meaning at all: women accused of adultery must drink poison and survive to prove their innocence, and there's no argument emphasizing sexual purity or the sanctity of marriage that will make that fly. I could easily believe it beat hollow the practices of the Israelites' neighbors, who didn't even have a trial by poison when a woman was accused of The Wild Thing, but that doesn't raise it to the level of goodness.
I like your analogy about riding herd on your kids: that rings true. But then, you don't tell them, "...and if your brother takes your stuffed jackalope, beat him to death with rocks." So I think the analogy kind of breaks down at the level of the details.
[Edited to add: Actually, you might, but let's assume for the purposes of argument you don't tell them to do that. I realize I'm being presumptuous.]
I like this. And I think that it's true, especially if God IS love.
But on the other hand, I think it means that such wrong turns as we find in Deuteronomy are exactly _not_ inspired by the God who is love, but rather by something far, far different: at best, the need to survive in a hostile world where nature has the upper hand; and worst, a culture making its god in its own image for better and for worse, this being the worst of the worse.
I think the closest I can get to the idea of inspiration at that point is, "Jesus said 'Nuts to that god,' and that's the right way to think about it."
Thanks so much: much to think about in your words, as usual, and I hope you continue to keep my thinking in line.
Susan (or anyone really), are you thinking that God sort of worked within the ancient culture (where killing innocents was commonplace) to bring about his...I don't know...will, or desire or something?
Or do you think that because they were so entrenched in their culture (as we all are really) that they misinterpreted what God was asking of them? I think this is likely. I also like what Otter said here:
Maybe they just got it wrong, and Jesus came to set us right.
Lemme see if I can nail down my thoughts a bit more tightly. Otter, I did not have in mind the idea that “God’s rules for His own chosen posse are a trifle cruel, but hey, look at the bright side—it was a step up from what those other sickos were doing.” The buck-up-it-could-be-worse school of thought has never had much appeal, moral or otherwise, for me. And Elizabeth, I was not thinking in terms of God working within the ancient culture to bring about His will, etc. To the contrary, while I do believe God works through people and events throughout the course of history to bring about His will, I don’t know that He makes many concessions to culture—mine, that of the ancient Hebrews, or anyone else’s. And the few concessions He does make are, I think, in favor of the cultures the Word was written in, not in favor of mine.
Regarding the interplay between God, inspiration, culture and interpretation, let me try another homely analogy. I’ve recently begun trying to teach myself to sew. Thus far I have made three mildly lumpy shirts, a respectable skirt, and one very ugly tote bag. Consider that Ultimate Truth (what God sees and is) is like the human body—robustly three-dimensional, lots of curves and angles, moving freely. Our lives are as the material, relatively quite flat and two-dimensional. Scripture would be akin to the pattern that bridges the realities, similarly flat and two-dimensional but showing how to conform our lives to the Truth. The pattern gives as faithful an image as possible of the body (given that the discrepancies between two and three dimensions cannot be done away with), and will always require that the material be cut, snipped, and stitched in various places. Cultures of different times and places are made of different types of cloth; there is always a need for “fitting” the pattern—I’d call that the work of the Church in interpreting Scripture, and the trick is to be certain that the goal is to make a garment that conforms to the Truth, rather than working hard to avoid doing violence to things we hold dear in our culture. We are naturally averse to cutting off, cutting into, cutting out of the whole cloth of our culture.
So, Elizabeth, where you write
if you are asking whether the ancients made errors in fitting the pattern to the body, I’d say oh, yes! If you are asking whether I believe the ancients who were writing Scripture got the pattern wrong because of their cultural blinders, I’d say nope, I don’t think so. Though I would add that those writers had in mind the qualities of the cloth they were using—let’s call it burlap—whereas we are inclined to utilize Lycra spandex.
Which is a good jumping off place for another point: should Love fit us like spandex? Or will we always find that it chafes in spots?
When we are appalled by the fate of the young women in Deut. 22, what appalls us? Are we appalled that certainly some number of innocent women were betrayed by vicious husbands on their wedding night and then further betrayed by a half-assed system (instituted by the Law of God) that required a proof test that was something less than accurate? Are we appalled that sleeping around was punishable by death? Are we appalled that the crime of pre-marital sex is seen mainly in terms of the woman’s diminished property value and that the “real” crime was against her father (not her husband, not her self, not God)? Are we appalled by the brutal manner of death—stoning rather than, say, lethal injection—or by the fact that it was carried out by her own community rather than some faceless bureaucracy? Are we appalled at the idea that sin—any sin—merits this brutal, violent, personal kind of death? Are we appalled by the idea that sin merits death, period?
Very quickly I have to conclude (for myself) that I am still uncomfortable with the idea that sin merits death. Rather, I am uncomfortable with the idea that my sin—minor peccadilloes all, surely!!!—merits death. (I am not above being consumed with a righteous indignation of a rather violent sort when contemplating the sins of, say, British Petroleum.) And as far as that is the case, I really need to move the discussion from this extreme and remote case to something much closer to home if I’m really going to get anywhere. If I’m not amenable to the idea that my sin merits death, then I’m not going to work with this pattern at all, as I don’t believe in the shape of the Reality it is asking me to conform myself to. And many bright people conclude just that: a really good, holy, just god simply wouldn’t kill people for their sin, and that’s that.
If I have accepted the idea that sin merits death, and I have accepted it to the degree that it has reshaped my understanding of reality in a deep, meaningful, even visceral way, I think it will mitigate some of the horror of passages like this one. Which of course is a Very Bad Thing if the idea happens to be false: haven’t I just confessed that my sensitivity toward human life and suffering is dulled? What might that lead to? But let’s call a spade a spade. And it cuts both ways: when I cry out to God that I don’t deserve the suffering I’m experiencing—and believe me, I do make that plea—I am obliged to confess that although I may not be getting the treatment I deserve from my brothers and sisters (who are lousy jerks themselves), I can’t complain before God that I am undeserving of suffering and death and expect a ruling in my favor (on those grounds).
If that question—Is a God who requires blood shed for sin worthy of worship?—is the one Otter was addressing in this post, I’ve probably said my piece. If it’s more about how cultural differences impact our interpretation of and visceral reactions to Scripture, why then I could go on and on and on. And on and on. I spend a lot of time these days chewing on cultural questions.
As usual, however, I have already embarrassed myself with the sheer mass of verbiage.
Thanks, Otter, for your graciousness in allowing me to monopolize the air time. As for
well, kind sir, I am aware of the great honor of the suggestion, etc., etc., but I find myself unable to accept this fine opportunity. My own line of thinking seems to require practically ceaseless supervision and attention, leaving me with little leisure for the correcting of others—as tempting as that practice always is.
Thus Soozin:
What about "thrown out"? I can see what you're saying, especially the elegance of the two-versus-three dimensions, but we are talking about killing people based on what we know is really doubtful evidence (even if the charge should be a capital offense, which is another topic...).I like this, and in particular the interpretation of scripture being the work of the Church. What it means is that the Church has authority over scripture at least as much as scripture has authority over the Church, and I think that's a necessary step to take.
And perfectly scriptural: Jesus (whose body Paul says the Church is) does substantially toss out scripture by declaring all foods clean. And I think that anybody who says that that's because "food is not relational" just isn't reading very carefully.
No, the Gospel of Mark finds keeping kosher an insurmountable and unnecessary burden to the community into which he writes, and concludes (on the authority of Jesus as Mark remembers him, which I think is an accurate memory) that Jesus wiped out a huge chunk of the Torah with one stroke.
What "inspiration" means though in a case like Deuteronomy's death penalty for hymenal irregularities is a little beyond me.
You're not adapting that pattern to modern Christian life except in the very loosest sense. It's the difference between being proud of being an Israelite (or German) and insisting that all non-Israelites (or Germans) deserve death. (Hell, now I've invoked Godwin's law, haven't I.)
I guess putting it another way, I feel like you're not really answering the problem (which you said you weren't going to do, so I'm not complaining).
Is Deuteronomy inspired in the composition? I don't see how one can say it is. In the case of clean foods, I can see that being inspired "for the time being." Health issues and so on. Not that other people besides the Israelites didn't know about the dangers of eating pork, but hey, if it's true, it's entitled to the word "inspiration," yes?
And if that's true, that common knowledge rises to the level of inspiration when it's written down, then what is the relationship between "inspired scripture" and "inspired Darwinism"? They are both "true," corresponding to observable facts. Neither a prohibition on pork nor genetic drift require "special revelation."
But what about stoning a non-virgin? What sort of claim is being made for this being inspired in any sense at all?
Not really hurling that one at you, Susan, just ruminating. I've drawn my own conclusions, much as Elizabeth has, that "inspiration" is not a very useful word. I'm not sure it really says anything much except "We take these books to have authority," but when you take authority over the stoning-of-virgins, what does that "inspiration" amount to? A "pattern"? What of? And how can the pattern be so far from the actual intention, if the intention is to value a person, to forgive?
I do admit that in the ancient world stoning non-virgins gave the community a little stability. Indeed, it does today: witness such things as Sharia Law and Honor killings. But the price of blood paid for that stability is just wrong.
Are you kidding me? This is what it's all about. And your comments are so good you should get a share of the profits. Except there are no profits.Susan, I'm not sure if I understand what you're saying here (It's my fault. I'm terribly slow to understand and oftentimes must have concrete examples in order for things to sink into my thick skull). Are you saying that in our humanity, we cannot understand God's Truth, and so even though these things (killing innocent women) are abhorrent to us, they are just or right or good in God's eyes? And even though we don't understand,we should accept it as God's wisdom, in much the same way that we do not understand meriting death and requiring the shedding of blood for sin, but accept those doctrines as right or good or just?
If so, I do understand that thinking. And I do know that God's ways are higher than ours, and I don't see the big picture as he does. But deep down I just know, and I think everyone knows, and certainly God must know, that killing innocent people is just...wrong. So in order to maintain my faith in the God who is Love, I've had to change my thinking on a lot of things. One of which is that the Bible is inerrant or "inspired" (and what does "inspired" even mean? God-breathed? And what does that even mean?). Because quite frankly, I cannot worship a god who condones or orders the death of innocents. It goes against my God-given sense of what is right and good and loving. So I've thrown away some (most? all?) of my fundamentalist and evangelical thinking on these things and It's been much much better for me.
I also should say that I do not believe that death is a punishment for sin or that shed blood is required in order for God to forgive sins. I have a different take on the Scriptures that seems to validate this view. I reject the penal substitution/forensic views, and embrace something else entirely, namely the teachings of the Eastern Orthodox Church.
First, a rabbit trail. Because I need to pad my answers. Otter says:
Check. I think. As I scooched over from the Protestant church into the Anglican church, I found my understanding of the relationship between the Scriptures and the Church shifted also: much closer to what you describe above, though I confess I flinch a bit, way down deep in my evangelical roots, when it’s stated so baldly. I believe both the Church and the Word have to be subservient to and dependent upon the Holy Spirit to the degree that they have any power/authority. (I was a little sad I couldn’t fit the H.S. into my pattern-making analogy without getting just silly).
But that’s a side issue, of course. The question on the table is, “What do you mean when you say the Bible is inspired?” and, much more to the point, “HOW can you possibly believe that? Sure, you’ve got some good, solid Jesus-love in there, but look at all this outrageous crap you're going to have to swallow with it.” (Is that an acceptable paraphrase?)
The first question is too technical to engage me. I could go back and look up the meaning of inerrant and infallible and inspired and all the other in-s, but since I have enough of an idea for me to get along with, and I won’t be teaching a class on it anytime soon, I confess my intellectual curiosity is too anemic to make me do the research. Maybe Wikipedia has a definition I could copy and paste, but I suspect I’m too lazy even for that. (Yes, I just confirmed it: I AM too lazy to do it.)
The second question, of course, is much more personal and compelling and dynamic, but it compels us to different degrees and in different ways.
On the one hand, we see a decidedly chilling, unsympathetic, and sometimes violent God requiring His people to smite their enemies—to obliterate them and all their animals, in fact—and to kill members of their own intimate community in some circumstances. Not to mention a lot of other confusing, disturbing stuff. On the other hand, we see Jesus teaching (in later versions of Holy Writ, anyway) that only the sinless can throw the first stone, and actually demonstrating that love means sacrificing your body for your enemies. And I don’t see how you can get further away from smiting your enemies than that.
I find that I ride along in life and faith with the one thing in the one hand and the other thing in the other hand like a pair of reins, and it’s rare that I find myself contemplating the difference. It does happen occasionally, most often when others point it out, and it’s easy enough to recognize the difference between the two. Still, my subjective experience remains that of riding a single horse, not of holding the reins of two different beasts. (Can we just pretend this is a less crappy illustration than it is? I know in this case the “horse” is directing me, not the other way ‘round, and maybe IRL the reins are one big loop, not two separate straps, but I’m hoping it all holds together long enough for a fairly simple illustration to compare experience.) The discrepancies in the revelation of the nature of God trouble me at an intellectual level, and even at an emotional level, but I can’t really say it has ever hit me where I live my life. I am frequently confused about what it means to love well, and have frequently found myself, even with the best of intentions, straying from the path, but never in my life have I asked the question “Does God require me to forgive this guy, or to eviscerate him with my bare hands?” and been in genuine doubt about the answer. Never. There are other questions I have about God’s character that create immense tension in my life, but not this one. That’s another reason I am unfit to tackle it: for me it’s more or less an academic exercise, and that’s not the best way to do theology, IMHO. It may be quite different for you: for all I know, your experience has felt more akin to holding the reins of two different beasts that weren’t even in harness and you found yourself being drawn north and south till the bones left the sockets. Or maybe it’s worse than that—maybe seeking to imitate Christ as revealed in Scripture was more like being handed the reins of a disorganized, agitated score of large horses? Maybe not. I dunno.
In any case, questions of the inspiration of Scripture and doubts about the nature and existence of God are community questions, but they are deeply personal also.(I would say, too personal for exploring in depth in a public forum.) How can I answer what I see as the root question, “Why do you believe as you do and not as I do?” I could say nothing and leave you to draw your own conclusions about my sanity, integrity, etc., but that wouldn’t much fun.
Happily, Otter, you have provided me an out right here on your own blog. Somewhere around here I think you likened faith in God to falling in love. As I recall, I took issue with some details of what you were saying, but I can’t (and don’t want to) deny the big truth in that insight. Therefore, I consider myself free to abandon the prose and plunge into something else altogether. I’ll take refuge in poetry, written by a dude who wasn’t even explicitly talking about God. But he surely nailed something here:
In that distance some tension's born/
Energy surging like a storm/
You plunge your hand in/
And draw it back scorched/
Beneath it's shining like/
Gold but better/
Rumors of glory, my friend. I’ve heard the rumors of glory and thus far into the journey, I still believe them.
(Oh, re:
I assume we’ll revisit this when the offers for Riparian Church book deals roll in.)
Elizabeth, you ask
and while that is a perfectly respectable attempt to recast my thoughts more directly and succinctly, I don’t find myself leaping about saying, “Yes, yes! That’s it exactly!” To give a thorough and honest response, I’d need to go another round of holding up your words against my thoughts and saying, “This part here is not at all where I was going, but there’s a strong thread of connection here . . .” and then we’d need to refine again through rounds three, four, five, and so on. As I said at the outset, I haven’t reconciled the slaughter of the old testament with the self-sacrifice of the new, or not to a degree that approaches completion in my mind. I’m not sure I’ll make much progress over the balance of my lifetime.
It’s interesting and even helpful to me to try to make inroads into my own understanding and beliefs by engaging these discussions, but I’d have to be a bigger fool than I am to assume I can reconcile the matter to someone else’s satisfaction. Especially to those who have concluded they are, in fact, irreconcilable (reference the goofy horse illustration above). I don’t know whether you’ve concluded that or not, but thanks for sharing a bit of your own story. Your introduction of the theology of the Orthodox Church intrigues me, largely because of the timing: I don’t know many Eastern Orthodox folks, but I happened to have a six-hour conversation about theology just this past Saturday with a Greek Orthodox friend (yep, for better or for worse, that’s my idea of a big Saturday night. Well, one of them, anyway). It was fascinating (and a little sad: I hadn’t really realized that the Orthodox Church does not recognize any church but their own. Unless I join the Orthodox Church or he leaves it, we will never receive the Eucharist together. Which is kind of a big deal.) I would not have inferred from our conversation that the Orthodox Church has rejected the idea of the inspiration of Scripture, but then we didn’t touch on the subject directly.
Susan, if you ever want to guest-blog, I think I'm insanely crushing on your writing style... If you ever feel like you have something to say, just shoot me a note and we'll get you on Riparian Church. Any topic, perspective, or whatever you like.
I'd offer you a pseudonym if I thought we could disguise that style.
Susan, I get the rumors of glory. I suppose I'm really questioning whether a doctrine of inspiration is really all that glorious.
Maybe in the way that the totality of scripture hits you, something glorious happens.
But as a doctrine? A dogma?
No. I think not.
But that says that the inspiration has as much to do with you as it does with the book in front of you.
And that's very Christian: you matter as much as God does, in some ways.
Otter,
Thanks, ever so, for the kind remarks. I wish I could just blush and simper and murmur, “Oh, it twarn’t nuthin—just what popped into my head,” but the truth is I spend a truly ridiculous amount of time thinking this stuff through and then writing it out. I can’t read something and zing off a thoughtful response the way you and Elizabeth and the others have been doing. I love that process, though, and find it absorbing, which is precisely why I can’t indulge in often: all well and good for Mommy to spend the day happily parsing out the vagaries of her opinions, but when it’s 5:00 p.m. and the dinner meat’s still in the freezer and the little kiddies still haven’t learned their differential equations, I’m not always sure it was all time well spent. It’s a mighty fine thing once in a while though, so I plan to gratefully take you up on the invitation to guest-star—I mean guest-write—on your blog at some point. Maybe later this summer?
As to your latest point, you’re absolutely right, of course: the glory’s in the whole of Scripture, or in what it points to, not in doctrine. I have the greatest respect for man’s urge to sift, sort, organize, systematize, analyze, and otherwise press for greater understanding. I think it’s not only legitimate, but necessary. In one of my nine lives I’ll go to seminary and study theology in a big way. (Probably the same life in which I am fabulously wealthy and punt on the Thames.) That said, doctrine is a very human attempt to summarize, simplify, outline and otherwise boil things down, and when the “things” in question are all the unfathomable profundities of God, mankind, and the cosmos, well, of course we’re going to do a hack job of it. The Iliad may blow your mind and give you chills, but the Cliff’s notes on The Iliad? No way.