Committed Critic

Some of my favorite theological texts are those that exhibit a phenomenon called “intertextuality”: the use of one story or text within another, often with the result of tweaking (or outright changing) the older text’s meaning to make a theological point. Intertextuality can consist of quotations, allusions, or both.

The interesting task, as Richard B. Hays argues, is digging into how the one text uses the other as a part of a sort of stream of ideas, which often includes so-called “echoes” of meaning that lie in the interation between the two (or more) texts. The world’s best literature, in my opinion, uses intertextual references to other stories or ideas that are obvious enough for us to recognize but subtle enough to delight us when we unravel all their implications.

A good example of intertextuality in Scripture is Romans 7, which I described under my previous post (10/18/06). Paul seems to use the story of the temptation of the man and the woman in the garden to demonstrate how Sin uses the Law to lead us to death. That interpretation is rather subtle as these things go, and in fact we may even have conjured up a meaning for it not intended by Paul. However, there are far more obvious passages, especially those that include direct quotes from OT texts. In the case of Romans 7, my argument has in its favor that Paul has already brought up the story of Adam’s transgression (in Romans 5), which makes it far more likely that he had that story in mind in Romans 7 as well.

In any event, some of the scriptural and theological texts that I find most striking are those that refer intertextually to the creation story in Genesis 1, especially to the creative proclamation “Let there be light.” Today I want to begin a series of posts reflecting on some of these, how they fit together, and why I find them interesting or even moving.

I’ll begin with the best-known example of Christian theological reflection on the creation story. The allusion is almost unmistakable because the book begins with same two words (3 words in English) as the Greek Old Testament:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was god. He was with God in the beginning. Through him, everything came about––indeed, without him not one thing which has come about came about. In him was life, and the life was the light of humanity. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has no hold of it.There was a human, sent from God, named John. He came for testimony, in order to testify about the light, so that all would believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify about the light.

The true light, which enlightens all humanity, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world had come about through him, and yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and yet his own did not receive him. But for whoever did receive him, he gave to them––to those who believed in his name––authority to become children of God: those born not of blood or of the will of flesh or of the will of a man, but born of God.

And the word became flesh and dwelled among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of the only son of a Father, full of grace and truth. (John testifies concerning him, and he has cried out saying, “This was the one of whom I said, ‘The one coming after me is ahead of me, because he existed before me.’”) Indeed, all of us have received from his fullness, grace upon grace. Because while the law was given through Moses, grace and truth have come about through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God, but God the Only Son, who is at the side of the Father, has made him known.

[A note in explanation of my translation “the Word was god” (with a little “g”) in light of Greek grammar: I know most translations read, “the Word was God” (with a capital “G”), but that’s a little misleading with respect to the syntax of the Greek sentence. The placement of the word “god” does not reflect the proper name “God,” but rather what is usually called a “qualitative” sense of the word. It’s like saying, “Abraham was father to a great multitude;” calling him “a father” or “the father” wouldn’t mean quite the same thing. Some have suggested translating the phrase in John 1 as, “the Word was divine;” that would be accurate but would miss out on the repetition of the word “god,” which I think is important for the rhythm of the sentence. This grammatical subtlety of the passage is actually an excellent parallel to the subtlety of Christian reflection on what it means for Jesus to be divine.]

John turns the prologue to his story of Jesus into a retelling of the creation of the world by playing off the ambiguity of the Greek word logos. Among its many meanings, logos can mean both “word” and “reason” (i.e., logic); Greek philosophers often used it with the latter meaning. Philo of Alexandria (20 B.C. – A.D. 40), a Jew who was heavily influenced by Greek thought, portrayed the logos in personified form as an angel of wisdom who was responsible for directing humanity toward paths of righteous reason, lest they incur the wrath of God through their unreasoned wickedness. The OT book of Proverbs personifies “Wisdom” (closely related to the logos in Philo’s hellenistic Jewish thought world) as a (female) figure who participated in creation (Prov 8:27f).

It wouldn’t have been much of a stretch for early Christians to identify this apparently divine figure with Christ, and John 1 is a great example of just such an identification.

The beauty of the word “Word” as employed in John’s retelling of creation is that a spoken word, “Let there be light” (actually two words in both Hebrew and Greek), was the very means by which God created the world. God did not need to use a tool or an assistant or even his hand to bring light to the darkness, but only a word. For John, that word was the Word, Christ.

As beautiful as that reference is on its own, John weaves it into a far more complex picture by playing on the dual meaning of logos as both “word” and “reason.” While it is obvious that darkness and light in John 1:5 function figuratively (referring to the proclamation of righteous knowledge in a world of wicked ignorance), the passage is far richer when we bear in mind that the creation imagery is still in view. In the incarnation, God has repeated his first act of creation, brining light into darkness once again through his Word.

This is not just incidental or sentimental for John. Rather, his entire portrait of Christ is based on the notion that Jesus is the revelation of God. All of his words and all of his deeds reveal God to the world (thus John 1:18, he “has made him known”). What better way for humanity to learn true reason than for Reason (= Light = Truth = Only Son) himself to become a human and meet them in person? To find out what is true about the father, one must watch and listen for what the Son (who is at the Side of the Father) reveals.

We can probably take this one step further, if we push a bit. Gnostics (whose ideology many argue grew up alongside Christianity) tended to separate knowledge from the created world, arguing that the former was good and the latter bad. As a result, they tended to play off the God of Jesus Christ (who revealed knowledge) against the God of Israel (who created the world), thus turning the Creator into a wicked sub-deity who defied what Wisdom, the supreme deity, wanted.

The way John describes Christ in chapter 1, however, undermines what the Gnostics claimed by refusing to see two forces at work. John will not allow his reader to assume that the “Truth” which Jesus reveals is something one must break free from the created world to see. Instead, the logos is the very word God used to create the world––which means the world has to be a good thing. You can’t set up reason in opposition to the created world if the world was created through reason.

So, to put it in modern theological terms, in case anyone wanted to misinterpret Jesus as belonging to another world and somehow condemning created matter, John insists that both “special revelation” (what God tells us in words) and “natural revelation” (what we can learn by looking at creation) come from the same source: the logos who brought light into darkness both in the creation of Genesis 1 and in the incarnation described by John.

I’ve read Revelation a lot lately, so I thought I’d probe it theologically a bit and see what I find. For this post, I want to highlight the central conflict of the book using three key passages. Later, I’ll tease out some of the implications of the book for a more general understanding of the Gospel.

Three quick notes:

• Revelation was written by someone named John (1:1), but it is not at all clear whether this is the apostle or some other John.
• Because of the book’s extensive imagery and symbolism, I take it not as a description of specific future events, but rather as a set of images reassuring believers that God would be faithful to them in their need and their suffering.
• See Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. It’s stinking funny, which is rare for a comedy these days.

Now to the book, beginning with some lengthy excerpts. John wrote to Christians persecuted by Rome, and Revelation portrays the struggle as two beasts lined up against a lamb:

I saw another beast that rose out of the earth; it had two horns like a lamb and it spoke like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and it makes the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast … it deceives the inhabitants of earth, telling them to make an image for the beast … and it was allowed to give breath to the image of the beast so that the image of the beast could even speak and cause those who would not worship the image of the beast to be killed. Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell who does not have the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: let anyone with understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a person. Its number is 666. (Rev 13:11-18, NRSV)

Note two common misconceptions here. First, 666 is not the number of Satan, but the number of a person, perhaps a code referring to the maniacal Roman emperor Nero. So the dragon (= Satan) gives his power to the first beast (Rome?), whose authority is exercised by the second beast (the emperor?). Second, the “mark of the beast” is not some creepy satanic ritual practiced by a few devotees, but a widespread sign of loyalty which almost everyone accepts towards the reigning power of the world. In John’s context, this probably meant participation in the widespread civic worship of the Roman deities.

But Christians participate in worship of only one God:

Then I looked, and there was the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion! And with him were 144,000 who had his name and his Father’s name written on their foreheads. And I heard a voice from heaven like the sound of many waters and like the sound of loud thunder; the voice I heard was like the sound of harpists playing on their harps, and they sing a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and before the elders. No one could learn that song except the 144,000 who have been redeemed from the earth. It is these who have not defiled themselves with women, for they are virgins; these follow the Lamb wherever he goes. They have been redeemed from humankind as first fruits for God and the Lamb, and in their mouth no lie was found; they are blameless. (Rev 14:1-5, NRSV)

Parts of the passage are obscure; presumably virginity isn’t an actual prerequisite for following Christ, though it seems clear that purity is. But the key here is the mark: in contrast to the world, whose devotees receive the mark of the beast so they can carry on in society, followers of Christ receive on their foreheads only the mark of the Lamb.

With the sides defined, conflict is inevitable:

Then I saw heaven opened, and there was a white horse! Its rider is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems; and he has a name inscribed that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, wearing fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name inscribed, “King of kings and Lord of lords.”

Then I saw an angel standing in the sun, and with a loud voice he called to all the birds that fly in midheaven, “Come, gather for the great supper of God, to eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of the mighty, the flesh of horses and their riders––flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great.” Then I saw the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies gathered to make war against the rider on the horse and against his army. And the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet [the second beast] who had performed in its presence the signs by which he deceived those who had received the mark of the beast and those who worshiped its image. These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire that burns with sulfur. And the rest were killed by the sword of the rider on the horse, the sword that came from his mouth; and all the birds were gorged with their flesh. (Rev 19:11-21, NRSV)

The passage is violent, but note that Christians are never called to harm anyone; it is the rider on the horse –– Christ himself –– who is described as vanquishing his enemies. The violence is in response to the persecution and murder of Christians by the most powerful civilization in the history of the world. Believers longed for vindication (6:10), and Revelation reassured them that their martyrdom was not in vain. No matter how powerful Rome may appear, John’s vision says, God ultimately will triumph.

However, humans first must choose sides, and it is here that we must take care interpreting the book. Are Christians meant to find ourselves in the book, as many these days suggest, by aligning ourselves essentially with America’s Republican party over against gays, feminists, abortion doctors, Muslims, and Communists?

I prefer to push in a different direction, which challenges us all rather than allowing us to set ourselves up too easily against those who may offend us, even if some of them indeed oppose God. I believe the mark of the beast represents, at its core, worldliness. The countless people of Rome received the mark of the beast not because they set out to do something evil, but because they wanted to fit in and enjoy all society had to offer. They wanted to be respected by their neighbors, and to participate in the marketplace with everyone else (13:17).

And it seems to me that nothing about American society is quite so worldly as our primary obsession: Wealth.

As powerrful as Rome was, Revelation’s chapter (18) of laments for the city focuses not so much on its power as on its wealth. The lament describes the USA as aptly as it does ancient Rome. We might not recognize our obsession with wealth as worship on par with what the Romans demanded of first-century Christians, but Scripture equates greed with idolatry, and Jesus called Mammon a master who could be served. And our society (from ad execs to politicians) sells us nothing quite so effectively as the pursuit of wealth.

Already we hardly find room in our heads for Christ amidst thoughts of what we wish to purchase. Perhaps it’s melodramatic to suggest, but what if each newer car, each faster computer, each bigger house serves only to etch the mark of the beast deeper and deeper into our foreheads?

For 21st-century Americans, the primary message of this confusing apocalypse may come down to the simple question which Jesus himself raised without talk of beasts or dragons:

Who do you serve? God or Money?

NOTE: At the tail end of my last post, Matt and “friend” are just getting into a discussion of whether there are errors in Scripture; in the meantime, I’ll be pressing on here with another angle on divine violence.

ANOTHER NOTE: Let us be clear up-front that I believe Christ has commanded clearly and without exception that Christians are to work for peace in the world and are not to use violence against one another or against outsiders. Violence, as I will continue to argue, is a specifically divine prerogative, and Christ has given no indication that God wishes us to carry it out for him any more.

I have argued for a Scriptural consistency in God’s use of violence as a means of punishment; here I’ll suggest why Christ would renounce violence himself and teach his followers to do the same. Though I believe Christ reveals God to us, I do not think his stance against violence means God opposes violence per se. Rather, I would argue that Jesus’ teaching and practice on this point reflect (1) the new covenant being established and (2) the nature and purpose of the Incarnation.

Within God’s various covenants, he uses violence in various ways. At the time of the flood, God has no particular covenant with the people, so he judges them according to their thoughts and behavior, which are only wicked all the time (Gen 6:5). He punishes them with an unmediated act of divine violence. Later, God violently delivers Israel from Egypt in accordance with his covenant with Abraham. Israel is his elected people, and God uses (again, unmediated) violence against their enemies to establish and uphold his covenant with the elect. When God gives Israel the promised land as a part of his covenant with them, the violence against the Canaanites is carried out by the elect, at God’s command. Later, in the conquest of Israel and Judah by Assyria and Babylon, the violence is directed against the elect and carried out by others, apparently through God’s manipulation of geopolitical circumstances. It is worth noting that this violence still upholds God’s covenant with the elect; Deuteronomy warns that God will use violence to instruct sinful Israel so that it can follow God faithfully in the future.

It is also worth noting that in these examples God uses violence by at least four different means: forces of nature, (e.g., the flood), his own hand (the angel of death in the Exodus), the people of his covenant (in Canaan), and other nations (Assyria and Babylon).

The biggest theological problem I know of in the OT is the genocide described in the conquest of Canaan. Theologically, I would argue that this extreme violence is grounded in God’s election of Israel to be a people to serve him exclusively. Israel is not undeserving of the same kind of destruction (Deut 9:4-6), and in fact God has nearly destroyed them on more than one occasion. But, it is evident that Israel will not serve Yahweh exclusively if followers of other gods are present, and this is one stated rationale for wiping out men, women, and children (Deut 7:2-6). God’s primary concern is the purity of Israel, and he acts accordingly. Whether we can accept that rationale or not, it is grounded in God’s covenant with his elect. The only defense I can think of from a Christian perspective is that this is what was necessary for God to establish a people through whom he could bring Christ to the world. Of course, we might suggest he should have given the matter a bit more thought.

Jesus, establishing yet another covenant (the kingdom of God), is himself nonviolent not because God has changed, but because God is creating a different sort of covenant with a different group of the elect. In Christ, God throws open access to the new covenant, so that everyone alive is elected, at least if they’ll accept it. Because every outsider is a potential member of the new covenant, there is no sense in destroying them. In the conquest of Canaan, God sought to drive out certain groups to make room for the elect; now God sends the church to transform those groups into the elect.

Jesus does teach nonviolence as he inaugurates the kingdom of God, but it is not because that kingdom is inherently nonviolent; rather, it is because God wishes to throw open the kingdom to as many as will willingly enter before the end. Jesus’ parable of the weeds (Mt 13:24-43) reflects this situation; presumably weeds can become wheat before the harvest. Revelation describes an end time when God will unleash violence, directed primarily against the powerful (e.g., Rev 18), but also against those who serve them. Revelation hints that even this violence is intended to drive people to repentance (Rev 16:9, 11). In any event while the kingdom of God belongs by right to the meek and the peacemakers, God eventually will give it to them using violence against the powerful and the wicked.

The nature of the incarnation provides a second reason why Jesus did not teach or use violence in his ministry. Christ, as God in the flesh setting an example for how humans are to act toward one another, behaves according to God’s wishes for humanity. God insists that the new covenant under Christ leave every opportunity for every person to repent and turn to God. God himself may remove the opportunity for repentance at times (e.g., Ananias and Sapphira), but the believer is not allowed to take that initiative (Rom 12:19).

In my opinion, the reason for the discrepancy between divine and human behavior is that God can be truly just, while a human agent lacks the full knowledge and consistent character to always judge justly. If a Christian decided that another person’s life should be forfeit, he or she might make a mistake and unfairly take away that person’s opportunity to repent. While many people nevertheless die unfairly, a believer is not to participate in such injustice. Therefore God retains the prerogative to use violence to achieve justice, and Jesus, as a human teaching other humans, reflects this truth in his own behavior.

The task of Christian theology is a constant struggle between what we want (or experience) to be true of God and what we find in Scripture. In many cases, we may feel that certain scriptures can be downplayed because they are not consistent with God’s character in Scripture as a whole. However, in this case, I continually find that it is Scripture as a whole that testifies to God (and Christ) as a divine warrior who will bring justice to the earth through violence if need be.