How to read the Bible

Thomas

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Just a note –

Rabbinical Judaism and Christianity came into existence as near-contemporaries in the Graeco-Roman world. Both reflect the religious thinking of their time. Neither was ever 'literalist' in the way modernity is. In fact the only Christian who seems to have read the Bible literally was Marcion of Sinope, and he came to the conclusion that the God of the Hebrew Scriptures was something of a tyrannical monster and hence could not possibly be the Christian God.

Much of the Judaism of the first century, like the Christianity of the apostolic age, presumed that a spiritual or allegorical reading of the Hebrew texts was the correct one. Neither Philo of Alexandria nor the apostle Paul rarely interpreted scripture in a sense other than allegory.

Biblical literalism – especially that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God – is something of a superstition. The idea is not 'Christian' in any meaningful, historical way. (And a sense very not Jewish.) It is a late Protestant invention, and somewhat silly if not indefensible – Just watch US President Bartlett tackle Biblical literalism in The West Wing.

From Paul on, only the spiritual reading of the Old Testament was accorded doctrinal or theological authority. The Bible is only that – sacra doctrina – when it is read 'spiritually'.
 
On the flip side, however, is our habit of reading texts habitually, that is, according to the received wisdom, rather than reading what is actually there; what the text actually says. Rather, we read with the sense that such allegories, built on mythic materials, should in some sense be morally continuous with the narratives themselves. Or, more to the point, morally continuous with our contemporary religious morality.

(That is the only way to explain how Christendom in the West has ended up so, so far from what Christ literally preached; how is it even possible to think in terms of 'Christian conservatism' when Christ was diametrically opposed to conservative ideals, both literally and figuratively? Christ was clearly and indisputably a radical socialist ... )

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There is nothing wrong, of course, with interpreting the Garden of Eden narrative as a benign God faced with a disobedient humanity; as the story of the first transgression of the Divine Word; as the story of a diabolical temptation; the loss of innocence; of hubris in seeking to become gods ...

But to assume that reading of the narrative is the intended reading, that that is what the story is telling us, is sheer anachronism.

At its most basic, the tale has absolutely nothing to do with a good God (let alone a single God), sinful humanity, the devil, a primordial transgression, the loss of innocence, an attempt to self-deification, or with any sort of transgression at all in any moral sense.

Rather, it is a fairly typical, very ancient, folkloric myth. This is the story of why immortality is an illusion, why we toil, why women must suffer so in giving birth.

In that sense, the early chapters of Genesis are no more – nor less – inspired, divine, or true than any other collection of ancient myths that arose in the region and across the world. It is only when those myths are read within a communal narrative, when they become a tradition, that they are held as 'inspired' – as 'scripture'.
 
So, having prefaced my text – here is a reading of Genesis as the text has it, without any additional narrative or commentary:

Before anything else, one has to acknowledge a degree of discontinuity. Evidently the narrative has been pieced together from disparate sources and traditions. There are two separate and contradictory accounts of Adam being placed in the garden. Sometimes there are two trees in the center of the garden, sometimes only one. The word Elohim seems on occasion to serve as the name of God, at other times it retains its plural sense as Gods, or should we say God and gods? But let this not disturb us too much.

Anyway ... the premise of the tale is the fairly common myth of a tree or trees whose fruits nourish and preserve the gods. In this version, YHVH – the main God among the gods – has planted a garden paradise to shelter the magic trees that grant the gods their powers. The fruit of one gives them knowledge – what is good, what bad, and so on. The fruit of the other tree gives them extremely long – possibly eternal – life.

To avoid upsetting sensibilities, I will refer to the singular deity as the Master, and the plural deities as masters.

Having created the garden, they, the Master and his court, being by nature an aristocracy, need someone to look after it. So the Master fashions a creature to tend the Garden – a serf. Now, this Garden being something of a Divine Court, it is necessary to keep the serf to some degree ignorant of the true nature of what grows there. So he tells his serf that the tree of knowledge bears a poison fruit (something of an untruth) and warns him in no uncertain terms that to eat it would be fatal.

The Master then notices that his serf is lonely, so decides to supply him with a helper. The obvious solution is fashion another clay creature, but instead he chooses to bring all the animals to the serf to see if any of them will suffice. They don't. In fact, in what scholars will in time call the Yahwist narrative (unlike the Elohist narrative of the first chapter of Genesis) the creation of the animals of the world is a series of inept attempts at providing the serf with a useful assistant (2:18-20). Only after this long succession of failures does the Master solve the problem by splitting the clay creature into two by removing one of his “sides” (or “ribs”) and shaping a woman.

Success. He leaves his serfs to their tasks.

We are told that our serfs were naked but not ashamed (2:25). To our Biblicised ears, this sounds like an indication of their innocence, but in the context of the tale, formed in a time of wealthy landowners and an exploited peasantry, it is evidence of the pathetic ignorance and penury in which their Master keeps them.

At this stage, there is no further pronouncements. Whether we should think of their situation as a good one, indeed perhaps as good as they are ever likely to get, or whether we should hope for some liberation from their existence as serfs, there is no comment.

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At this point a snake appears (not, in any sense, the 'devil', a figure the original authors of the story had not the faintest concept), the “wisest” or “shrewdest” of all the animals. When Eve repeats the – let's not beat about the bush here – the lie about poison fruit, the snake disabuses her: Of course you will not die, rather, if you eat, your eyes will be opened, knowing what is good and what bad, and thus you will become like the masters themselves.

Again, this cannot be stated with sufficient emphasis: within the mythic narrative itself, it is the Master who has misled his creatures and it is the snake who is telling the truth. How do we know this? Well, rather than dropping dead, as they were told, the effect is just as the snake said, they discover their own nakedness and of how in ignorance they have been abused by their Master.

The Master's reaction is significant – after having discovered and suppressed this insurrection, and having dealt with the agent provocateur, he hastens to the masters and, in somewhat of a panic, tells them that the serfs have been awakened from their conditioning and have indeed become like their masters, knowing the truth of things!

Now all they need to do is eat of the other magic tree and they'll become immortal!

Before this happens, they must be driven out of the garden (3:23). And so the Master expels the serfs from the garden and posts sentries to make sure there's no chance of their sneaking back in.

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As crazy as this might sound, anyone familiar with, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh, can scarcely fail to note that once again the gods are depicted as powerful, but also silly, stupid and cruel.

(By comparison to those older texts, the early Yahwist narratives of Genesis are models of awe and devotion.)

Later, the signs of redaction and mythical interpretation become more apparent. Cain and Abel is a morality tale (still with the ancient gods' preference for meat over vegetables on the altar). Then a short, enigmatic episode, clearly the remnants of a much more involved mythology of the Age of Heroes – in which the sons of the gods take human wives, and sire the mysterious nefelim (giants), all of which fits the pattern of countless ancient myths about the sexual congress of gods and mortals, and of the demigods, heroes, or monsters born of their unions.
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With Noah one can discern the stirrings of a developed religious consciousness emerging from the mythical past. The tale has its roots in far older Mesopotamian stories of a great flood – eg the legend of Ziusudra, king of Shuruppak, the epic of Atra-Hasis, and of course the Epic of Gilgamesh. The earliest extant versions of the story are various tablets dating back as far as the seventeenth century BCE, but the story is far, far older than that. Yet, as best we can tell, its details remained fairly consistent over all those centuries. By the time of the final recension of Genesis, perhaps as late as the third century BCE, the protagonist has become Noah, but the basic shape of the narrative was largely unchanged; but its moral and spiritual tenor had definitely evolved.

In the tale of Atra-Hasis, the great god Enlil convinces his fellow gods that humanity should be destroyed principally because their numbers have now become so great that they make too much damned noise, the gods simply cannot get to sleep at night. Here the gods seem like a small community of irascible codgers, incensed at how loudly the kids in the neighborhood play their music late at night – though, in this case, they happen to be homicidal codgers. In the version preserved in Gilgamesh – very close to Genesis – Enlil is even more capricious; he decides to exterminate humanity – and the gods by so doing reveal themselves as blithering idiots.

Not only do they terrify themselves by the flood they cause, it never crossed their minds they might themselves be endangered. It never occur to most of them, until it is too late, that if humanity perishes, there will be no one to feed them, and they will starve.

Happily, one of their number, Enki, clearly has something going on upstairs and makes sure this does not happen, by counseling Utnapishtim to build his ark. Even so, food service is delayed. By the time Utnapishtim is able to make an offering on an altar, the poor dears are absolutely famished. Drawn by the “delightful fragrance of the smoke,” the gods “gather ravenously around the sacrifice, like a swarm of flies.”

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By comparison to that bunch, the God of Noah is a much grander, wiser, and more sympathetic figure. His reason for exterminating terrestrial life is not annoyance at humanity’s boisterousness, nor sheer caprice; rather, it is his distaste for humanity’s wicked deeds and evil thoughts).

It's notable that this God's reaction is to sexual intercourse between demigods and humans – proportionately far worse, in response, than the sin of Adam and Eve. They were kicked out of the garden. This mob were drowned. Whereas Adam and Eve were left to continue, this time God decided to wipe the slate clean.

Although an improvement on his Mesopotamian precursors. This God still wages total war and orders ethnic cleansing. He is a God of Purges and Pogroms...

... But bit by bit one catches the emerging glimpses of a later vision of God as theophanic, majestic, holy, hidden, and yes ... just.
 
It reads like part of s masters thesis (to uneducated me) and it felt like a paradigm shift and read (again to me) as something more Fransican than Orthodox.

I have not read David Bently Hart but if I were to believe in G!d, I would have a hard time believing in a G!d that isn't a loving G!d. It has always been the song and dance of do it my way or you go to hell that makes me reject stuff....needless to say (me thinks) I am enjoying reading much of this paradigm shift thinking
 
It reads like part of s masters thesis (to uneducated me)
It's not.

and it felt like a paradigm shift and read (again to me) as something more Fransican than Orthodox.
D'you mean Pope Francis?

I have not read David Bently Hart but if I were to believe in G!d, I would have a hard time believing in a G!d that isn't a loving G!d.
He's not saying that at all.

What he is saying is that Genesis falls roughly in line with Mesopotamian origin tales, in which the Gods are hardly edifying. Jewish monotheism had travelled a long, long way across the centuries ...

It has always been the song and dance of do it my way or you go to hell that makes me reject stuff...
LOL, that's because you are you ... who knows, pwerhaps Jesus made you the way you are to be the exception that proves the rule. ;)
 
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