I will no doubt be caught up in moments of procrastination in the next two days… but it’s study week, and before I study for my exams I need to finish an essay.
I am intending to include the words milieu, and hegemony, in every essay I write this year. From this point on. Just because I like them.
Got any more words to throw into the pile?
Greek nouns, like the verbs, have a stem, a connecting vowel and an ending. The ending indicates case (and declension).
Third declension nouns have no stem vowel. They just whack the ending onto the noun’s root. The stem is easies to identify by removing the “ος” from the genitive. Third declension genitives receive an ος in every singular genitive and an ων in every plural genitive (regardless of gender).
Nominatives mostly either have just an ς or nothing, datives always end in ι (singular) or σι(ν) (plural), and accusative plurals always end in ς (either ας or ες).
Third declension nouns are categorised on the basis of whether the stem ends with a consonant or a vowel. Consonantal stems are split into categories based on the last phoneme of the stem.
The gender of third declension nouns is not readily apparent – in order to spot them in the wild we need to learn the nominative and genitive singular versions, and the article, as always, will be our greatest ally in figuring out what the noun is doing.
Because there is no stem vowel the dative plural σι(ν) often comes across letters that σ hates. So:
If the stem ends in αντ, εντ, or οντ in the dative case the ντ drops out and the leftover vowel lengthens.
eg: αντ + σι(ν) = ασι(ν)
εντ + σι(ν) = εισι(ν)
πας (meaning all) has a sibilant stem, so it follows δοξα, the stem of the third declension is παντ (from παντος).
πας has four uses:
πας can have many different meanings (sometimes full or pure).
εις (“heis” not eis (which is into)) is the nominative masculine form of one. μια is the feminine nominative, while εν (“hen”, not en (which is in)) is the neuter.
The declension of εις, ουδεις, and μηνδεις is as follows
εκαστος εισ means “each one” and occurs commonly.
Greek double negatives don’t cancel each other out. So ουδεις and μηνδεις (no-one, no-thing) can reinforce a negative .
ουδεις is used in the indicative mood. μηνδεις in the others.
Adjectives in Greek have three degrees – positive (normal) (beautiful, hard, good), comparitive (harder, more beautiful, better), and superlative (hardest, most beautiful, best).
Comparative adjectives take the forms: -τερος, -τατα, -τατον
Superlative adjectives take the forms: -τατος, -τατη, -τατον
So:
δικαιος (positive), δικαιοτερος (comparitive), δικαιοτατος (superlative)
There are a bunch of irregular comparatives:
Adjectives may be used to express a comparison. This happens in two ways:
The comparative form is often used with a superlative function “but the greatest of these” or the elative sense “very great”…
Now. If only I understood all of this regurgitated garbage…
The perfect middle and passive indicative takes the same suffix as the present middle and passive, with a reduplicated first syllable and no connecting vowel.
The perfect middle and passive deals with a present state resulting from a completed action (O <à>). As a middle λελυμαι is “I have released myself” or “I have released for myself,” or “I myself have released”… these translations are approximate and sometimes for the sake of English clarity the simple past is chosen – “so Christ died (aorist) and was raised (perfect passive)” – but the “raised” – like Archimede’s Eureka – places the impact on the current risen state.
The future middle indicative takes the same suffix, with the future time morpheme (σ), and a connecting vowel, added to the stem.
It also, like the present middle, has an irregularity in the second person singular. This can be explained. With the suffix and future morpheme in place this would be λυσεσαι, it would seem that in order to be less complicated the second σ drops out, and the ε and α combine into an η and the ι drops into the subscript position.
So, the future middle looks a little something like this:
The middle voice can be translated as: I will loose myself, I will loose for myself, I myself will loose…
ειμι in future form takes the same endings as λυσομαι (except for a rogue ε). It uses ε as its stem.
Adverbs qualify verbs (and adjectives, and other adverbs).
In Greek, adverbs are formed by substituting ς for an ν at the end of the genitive plural (eg καλων (good) becomes καλως (well)).
Most adverbs just need to be learned as vocab…
The conjunctions μεν and δε are used to contrast two ideas – μεν means “on the one hand” while δε means “on the other hand.” In translation this often works best as “…, but…” – dropping the μεν and expressing the contrast with a conjunction.
In the plural the μεν…δε construct translates as “some… others…
The past middle suffixes used for the imperfect middle and passive, the aorist middle, and the plu-perfect middle and passive.
The Imperfect Middle and Passive is formed by attaching the augment (past time morpheme ε), a connecting vowel, and the secondary middle suffixes (past, middle suffix)…
For λυω the Imperfect Middle Passive looks like this:
ελυομεν translates in the imperfect middle to: “I was releasing myself,” “I was releasing for myself,” “I myself was releasing.” In the imperfect passive it’s “I was being released.”
In the second person singular the form ελυου comes from ελυεσο – the σ drops out and the vowels contract.
Again, which voice you use is determined by context.
First Aorist Middle
The First Aorist Middle is conjugated as:
Instead of a connecting vowel it features the aoristic aspect morpheme.
The second person singular is irregular for the same reason as the Imperfect middle/passive – the σ of the suffix drops out, and the vowels contract.
Because the aorist tense deals with a completed action the middle aorist translates as “I released myself” or “I released for myself” or “I myself released”
The second aorist in middle indicative does pretty much the same as the second aorist active indicative. It drops a vowel form the stem.
The pluperfect middle and passive feature reduplication of the consonant, the past time morpheme, the secondary middle suffixes (with no connecting vowel).
So:
It can be translated as: “I had released myself,” “I had released for myself,” “I myself had released,” as a passive it should be translated “I had been released.”
The first aorist passive indicative is obtained by adding the augment, the passive morpheme (θε or θη), and the secondary active endings.
The first person singular aorist passive is translated “I was released.”
Loses the θ from the morpheme. Keeps the same suffixes as the first aorist passive indicative.
Obtained by adding the passive morpheme, then the future time morpheme, and removing the final ν, and adding the primary middle endings
So:
The first person singular translates “I will be released.”
Second Future Passive Indicative forms, like the second aorist, lose the θ from the morpheme.
Irregular Passive Forms
Chucking a θε (or θη) into a word causes trouble if the stem ends in a consonant. Mainly if the consonant is one of those ones that doesn’t really play nice with others.
This time the changes can be summarised as:
Examples are:
Demonstrative pronouns are like pointing at something. If there is a table in the room and I want to draw attention to it – I’d say “this table.” If, however, the table is outside the room I’d say “that table”… we all know the difference between this and that instinctively – but I hadn’t really analysed this instinct before in terms of proximity…
This in Greek is αυτος. At least in the masculine nominative singular. There are a couple of grounds for confusion in the below declensions because I’m not typing accents… αυτη is both the feminine nominative singular demonstrative pronoun this (woman – if used substantively) and the feminine nominative singular personal pronoun – the only difference is in the accenting.
Masculine
Singular
Plural
Feminine
Singular
Plural
Neuter
Singular
Plural
The nominative singular and plural masculine and feminine all being with rough breathing.
For more remote objects the demonstrative pronoun is εκεινος (that). Its declension is identical to αυτος.
Masculine
Singular
Plural
Feminine
Singular
Plural
Neuter
Singular
Plural
There are three main uses of the demonstrative:
All our verbs up until now have been active indicative – the subject has been doing the action. Greek has a middle voice – where the subject acts for its own interest, and a passive voice, where the subject receives the action of the verb.
So the passive of “I release” is “I am being released,” or “I am released.”
The forms of the passive and the middle are identical. And only context determines which one is used.
The forms of the present middle and passive indicative are:
The middle voice can be translated as “I am releasing myself,” or “I am releasing for myself,” or “I myself am releasing.
The middle has three uses:
Deponent verbs are verbs that have middle or passive forms but that have lost their active form. The middle/passive verb has taken the active verb’s place, eg ερχομαι means “I go,” it is middle in form but active in meaning.
Deponent verbs tend to involve:
In some verbs the active form has one meaning and the deponent another – αρχω means “I rule” but αρχομαι means “I begin” – these are rare.
A lot of deponent verbs form compound verbs with prepositions.
Agency
A verb in the passive voice will often come with an agent – the person or thing producing the action.
Some unboring posts in the pipeline people. I promise.
Personal Pronouns
To recap some English grammar – a pronoun is a noun that stands in the place of a noun. Like “it” or “this.” A personal pronoun is a noun that stands in the place of a person.
The first person singular pronoun in English is “I,” in Greek it’s “εγω.” Fitting really.
Because we’re dealing with nouns we’re looking at the same four major cases (in fact, there are no vocatives in the first person, because you don’t talk to yourself in Greek land. That would be crazy.
So the first person pronouns look like this:
Singular
Plural
εμου, εμοι and εμε are used to emphasise the pronoun.
The second person pronouns like this:
Singular
Plural
The accented forms of the pronouns are used for emphasis. Accents are too hard to type consistently, so you’ll just have to imagine them all over the place here, and elsewhere.
A tip for differentiating the second person plural nominative and the first person plural nominative is to remember that “u” is the first letter of the second person, and the last letter of the English equivalent (you) while “e” is the first letter of the first person, and the last letter of the English equivalent (we). There has to be an easier way to express that…
And the third person like this (it has masculine, neuter and feminine versions, eg. he, she, and it):
Masculine
Singular
Plural
Feminine
Singular
Plural
Neuter
Singular
Plural
There are no vocatives in the third person, and the declension, across the genders, is exactly the same as αγαθος (the adjective), except for the neuter nominative and accusative, which follow the declension of the definite article instead.
Characteristics of Pronouns
Special Uses of αυτος
αυτος has two special uses.
We’ve covered present and future tense already, where we learned that to futurify a verb you add an s after the stem (eg λυω=present, λυσω = future) Greek likes indicating changes with new letters. It’s much the same in past tense, though there are three past tense varieties to be mindful of. These are:
These “secondary” (ie past) tenses receive a past time morpheme (called the augment) which usually appears as an ε, but there are rules about what happens when the ε meets other vowels. It can’t coexist.
They also get secondary suffixes (bits on the end of the word) that can vary slightly but are mostly:
The imperfect is formed by:
So:
The imperfect has four main uses:
These uses are determined by context.
The Imperfect form of ειμι (I am)
Aorists have a nice little “aspect morpheme” that makes spotting them in the wild a little easier. They get a σα that sticks on the stem. So to build an aorist verb you:
So:
You’ll notice that in most cases the σα just takes the place of the connecting vowel from the Imperfect. Except in the first person and third person singular. The first person singular is called the “aorist active principal part” and because it breaks the rules, the third person has to as well. Otherwise it would be the same. So it gets an ε.
The aorist plays three roles:
The aorist is more common in the New Testament than the imperfect, so when an imperfect crops up we should ask “why is this imperfect and not aoristic?”
Remember that σ doesn’t play nice with other verbs (from when we were making future tense verbs). This crops up again when you bang a σα onto a stem that ends with a letter that σ doesn’t like.
To recap:
Some examples to watch out for:
The ε is a bit like σ. It doesn’t play well with other letters. These rules obviously come about because of the pronunciation difficulties that would be presented if they didn’t… so εα is harder to say than η. When the augment comes across a stem that starts with a short vowel (ε, ο and sometimes α, ι, and υ) it lengthens to the corresponding long vowel (η, ω). For example, the imperfect form of ακουσω is ηκουν. If the verb already starts with a long vowel, or a dipthong, nothing changes. It has a zero morpheme augment. The pronunciation doesn’t change, but the suffix does. ειρηνευω (I make peace) becomes ειρηνευον (I was making peace).
Some verbs are special and take a double augment. These verbs start with a vowel and consonant, which are duplicated before the augment is added. So αγω (I lead) becomes αγαγ, and then the augment changes it to ηγαγ, and with the suffix ηγαγον (I was leading)
This is one of those subsets of Greek that is designed to infuriate first years. Second Aorists look almost identical to the imperfect. They don’t take a σα, they just drop a cowel from within the stem. The best way to come to grips with this unusual change is to remember that English does it too. eg. I stink, I stank, I stunk.
ελειπον (I was leaving) becomes ελιπον.
Some other verbs are just confusing. λεγω means “I speak,” but ειπον means I spoke. This happened when two verbs that meant the same thing had other forms that fell out of use. An English example is “I go” and “I went” – one is the past tense of the other, but they have very different origins.
Here are some Second Aorist examples:
The stem of γινωσκω is γνο which is lengthened to γνω and in the second aorist becomes εγνων (I knew).
ειδον (I saw) is the second aorist of οραω (I see).
These are just aorist versions of previously covered verbs:
Are you bored with this yet? Don’t worry. There are probably only five more of these posts to go, and then I’ll be on to Hebrew… Thanks for humouring me. Feel free to chime in if you have any suggested memory hooks, or if I’m in error. I know some of you read Greek…
Adjectives
Greek adjectives agree with their noun in gender, number and case. This means a feminine ending, plural, nominative adjective has to match up to a feminine ending, plural, nominative noun. They have endings just like the article.
Greek adjectives work in three different ways:
1. Attributively – describes the noun eg “The good man.” In this use the adjective either shares an article with the noun and comes between the article and the noun, or has its very own article and comes emphatically after the noun eg: “The Man, The good one” which you can simplify to “the good man.” In either use the article comes right before the adjective.
2. Predicatively – The adjective can be used to assert something about the noun – “The man is good” – it functions as a complement, or equals sign (like the verb “to be”). The predicate adjective comes either before the article or after the noun. So it literally reads “good the man” or “the man good,” there will not be an article before good, in both examples you supply an “is” to make the sentence read better. Most of the time in the New Testament, ειμι (or one of its conjugations) will be in the sentence too, as an extra clue.
3. Substantively – Sometimes the adjective will supply its own in built noun (based on the word ending) so “ο αγαθος” without a nominative noun will translate to “the good man” and “η αγαθη” will translate to “the good woman.”
Adjective endings don’t always completely match up – they don’t need to in order to agree in number, gender and case – because adjectives can be used with nouns from other declensions.
There’s a tricky adjectival use where the noun is not definite. In this case you have to use context to figure out if the adjective is being used attributively or predicatively.
The first four prepositions (απο, εις, εν, εκ) only work with one noun case each.
There are five more one case prepositions:
There are six further prepositions that work with two noun cases each.
And two more that have three cases:
The distinction between uses of επι has been lost.
Prepositions before vowels and rough breathing…
Ancient Greeks obviously had troubles ending one word with a vowel and starting the next word with a vowel. So all of these prepositions except περι and προ drop their final vowel when preceding a word with a vowel. The vowel is replaced with a smooth breathing mark.
Sometimes the words get smashed together into compound verbs. If a vowel has dropped out this happens first. If a verb looks like it has a preposition mashed into it, it probably does.
Some translations are obvious eg. εκβαλλω is “out” plus “I throw” so it’s I throw out. Some have become idioms. αναγινωσκω means “I read” not “I know up”.
When a verb is in the past tense it gets an augment, a letter chucked on the front of the stem, when this happens to a compound verb, like εκβαλλω, the augment (normally an ε) goes in front of the stem. So εκβαλλω becomes εξεβαλλω. When a compound verb is used in the New Testament it is often supported by the preposition also being used with the noun.
Compound Verbs Vocab and Memory Hooks
The First Declension (which textbooks tend to deal with second) has a nice rule that helps with the tables. Or a couple of rules.
Feminine Nouns of the First Declension
It splits nouns into categories based on the final letter of the root (which is the noun’s stem). If the root of a word ends with ε, ι, or ρ then the endings go:
If it ends with a sibilant (ζ, σ, ψ, or ξ) then the α becomes an η in the genitive and dative cases – so:
If the root ends with anything else then it gets an η and the same pattern, so:
Masculine Nouns
The masculine nouns are different.
They either end with an α or an η and follow the feminine pattern (except in the genitive). But they add an ς to the end of the last So:
Plurals
All the first Declension nouns have the same plural endings.
Prepositions in Greek always come before the noun they describe. Prepositions in Greek have a semantic range, and depending on the case of the noun they work with have different meanings. Some prepositions only have one case though… These are:
When these prepositions are used with a noun of the same case they work together to form a prepositional phrase. So crowd in the dative case (“τῳ οχλῳ”) would normally be translated as “for the crowd”, when you chuck the preposition “εν” in front of “τῳ οχλῳ” it becomes “in the crowd”
Nouns
A noun has four roles or functions within a sentence, aka cases, (and a fifth rare type): the nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, and vocative. Each has a particular ending which represents the noun’s function in a sentence. They come in declensions (patterns) – each declension has a different set of endings. Nouns also indicate gender. A noun is masculine, feminine or neuter. Inanimate objects can be masculine or feminine.
If it is the subject of a sentence (the thing doing stuff) it’s nominative. If it is the object (the thing stuff gets done to) – it’s the accusative. If it in someway related to possession (eg if it is something from the nominative, or belonging to the nominative) it is genitive. If it is an indirect object it’s dative. For example in the sentence: “I give the ball to you”, I am the nominative, the ball is the accusative, and you are the dative, give is the verb.
The genitive can be used as the “ablatival genitive” which indicates the source of the thing (“I take the ball from the cupboard”), the dative can be used as a locative dative (in), the instrumental dative (by) and the dative of personal advantage (for). These uses are likely to come up in exam questions because they’ll trip you up if you’re not careful.
The declensions come in tables that you have to try to learn by rote. I hate learning by rote.
Nouns have stems too. They have case-number suffixes (like the verbs have person-number suffixes) that stick on the end to tell you what the word does in the sentence.
Neuter plural nouns are a bit like collective nouns in English. They take singular verbs.
Some nouns try to trick you by being cross-dressers or having special patterns (aka declensions). You can always tell what gender a noun is by the article (the) that comes before it. Greek has 24 words for “the”, or more correctly, four cases, with three genders and singular and plural options – there is some duplication across the grid (eg all the genitive plural articles are the same).
Sometimes a nominative cased verb will actually be playing the part of the accusative. This happens in a “complement” where you’re basically throwing an equal sign into the statement. You’ve just got to think of ειμι (I am) as an equals sign. It’ll come with a nominative noun, but you’ll need to supply the pronoun to complete the complement.
Greek, like every other language known to man, has conjunctions. They bring two clauses together.
Because nouns have cases and verbs have all sorts of bells and whistles syntax is of reduced importance in Greek. You can jumble up the order and the meaning will still be determined by the endings. Normal word order for English is “subject verb object”, normal word order for Greek is “verb subject object” – changing the word order is normally a marker of some sort of significant emphasis.
*γγ together is pronounced as ng.
** ui as in suite – which I sort of render as “wee”
I threatened to do this a while ago. I’m testing the theory that blogging is my learning language. So trying to rewrite the chapters of our textbook, and lectures, in a way that makes sense to me. I plan to one day write a book “The Stupid Greek Rules that Exist Just to Confuse Students”. It will make me millions.
If you’d like to join in the fun – how bout suggesting some rude memory hooks for my vocab. The ruder they are, the easier they are to remember.
This rule is one of the first hurdles thrown in for beginner Greek students. The future tense in Greek chucks an σ (s) in the middle of a word, after the stem (the stem of a verb stays the same in any form of that verb, an English equivalent is loved, loving, loves, (I) love – the stem is lov). The σ, called a future time morpheme, doesn’t play nice with some other letters. It’s a bit racialist. It won’t hang out with a π (p), β (b), φ (f or ph) – if you try to make them hang out they get in a twist and become a ψ (ps). The σ is pickier still. It also doesn’t like κ (k), γ (g), or χ(x). With these bad boys the σ becomes a ξ (xs). There are some letters the σ won’t even get tangled up with. They just disappear. These are the τ (t), δ (d), and θ (th).
There are 24 letters in the greek alphabet and the σ won’t play nice with nine of them. It also has its own “special” form when it falls at the end of a word (ς).
There are two Greek letters that look like English letters but sound nothing like them (or three if you think ω looks like a w). The ν is actually an n, and the ρ is an r.
The future time morpheme isn’t the only thing you chuck on a stem. There’s also the person-number suffix. Each verb comes with a built in person. Just in case you’re too lazy to write a noun. So “λυω” which means “I release”, has a built in “I” – a first person number suffix (ω). This suffix changes depending on whether the verb is plural or singular, and whether it’s first, second, or third person. You also, for the purpose of pronunciation (probably) and confusing poor students (definitely), chuck a vowel on the stem before the suffix. I’ll put a / in these examples to demonstrate where the stem ends and the suffix begins.
So:
The ν on the end of the third person plural is a “movable ν” – it just disappears whenever it feels like it, or before any word that starts with a consonant. It’s like our indefinite article (“an” and “a”, though Greek does not have an indefinite article)
The built in noun works a little like this: νατηανοσ λυει translates “Nathan releases,” a sentence that just has the word λυει translates “he releases.” Or she, or it, depending on context. This becomes handy once you learn about nouns and their cases, because nouns can play different roles in a sentence and sometimes there’s a missing noun that you’ll find inside the verb (if the “nominative” case is missing).
The way a verb functions can also be altered by the presence of a “negative” – in the indicative mood this will be either ου, ουκ (if the word comes before a word starting with a vowel), or ουχ (if the word comes before a vowel that has a rough breathing mark (a rough breathing mark makes a “h” sound so υπο with a rough breathing mark is pronounced “hupo”) so ουκ λυω is I do not release. ην is used in the non-indicative moods.
The question mark “;” changes the verb as well. So λυω; is “Do I release”…
Greek words have a variety of meanings and can’t always be pinned down to a single English equivalent. It’s more helpful to think of them as describing concepts.
ειμι and πειθω contain a dipthong – two vowels stuck together that make a single sound. The ει dipthong makes an “ay” sound. The other dipthongs make sounds like they do in English words, except for αυ (which makes an “ow” sound), the others make sound like the following: αι (aisle), οι (oil), υι (suite), , ευ (feud), and ου (soup)
Luke posted a summary of Mikey’s sermon on the Canaanite genocide. I haven’t listened to it. But I did finish the essay I mentioned in my previous post. This is an experiment in posting essays with footnotes on WordPress. Feel free to tell me why my apologetic for God’s violence is heinous and inappropriate, or to just skip this post. It’s long (I went over the 1,500 word word limit). Does anybody know if there are rules against posting such things before they are marked? I hope my esteemed lecturer reads this before running my text through a plagiarism checker and finds this page online. It is all my own work…
Abstract
The question of violence in the Old Testament is a source of consternation for many – from the rabid “New Atheists” to Christians seeking to synergise the words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, with God’s actions and commands in the Old Testament.
We will explore the violence in Joshua, engaging with scholarly and theological interpretations of the Canaanite “genocide,” and its moral and ethical implications for the Christian.
Concluding that violence described in Joshua was not genocide, but the destruction, largely through dispossession, of an immoral culture, and there is no conflict in this issue for the Christian.
Understanding Biblical violence, especially in Joshua’s conquest narrative, is a difficult task. Some use it to dismiss the notion of God altogether. Richard Dawkins describes the God depicted in the Old Testament as “the most unpleasant character in all of fiction.”[1]
As readers struggle to reconcile the “Yahweh of Armies” in the Old Testament with Jesus the lamb in the New Testament, they apply different interpretive schemas to the Joshua narrative. Some assume intertestamental discontinuity, others read violent rhetoric as a boundary defining sociological device,[2] others use it to derive a “Just War” doctrine.[3] Calvin did not see Joshua as a paradigm for “Christian” warfare, suggesting if not for the “command of God” it was an atrocity.[4]
While acknowledging the work of scholars who argue for an ahistorical interpretation of the conquest account,[5] this piece considers the violence as written, that it occurred as described against the backdrop of Deuteronomic commands to occupy the Promised Land. The question of historical veracity is secondary to this discussion[6] and will only be discussed as it relates to the interpretation of violence in the narrative. This seems the most pastorally valuable approach, as the narrative’s affirmation of violence presents a moral dilemma for the Christian. If we can reconcile ourselves to the notion of actual violence, it becomes easier to justify its use as literary or sociological tool.
The violent events in Joshua, including the conquest of Jericho (Joshua 6:20-21), Ai (Joshua 8:21-26), and Southern and Northern Canaan (Joshua 10-11), are the culmination of God’s promises to Abraham (Genesis 12, 15), and subsequent commands regarding the land throughout the Pentateuch (eg Exodus 23:23-30; Deuteronomy 6:10-19; 7:1-6, 20). The Joshua narrative is framed as a sequel to the Pentateuch through the repetition of the Deuteronomic account of Joshua taking over from Moses (Deuteronomy 31:23, 34:9, Joshua 1).
We read disturbing accounts of Israelites exterminating cities (Joshua 8:24-26, Joshua 11:10-11), with the Lord hardening Canaanite hearts to prevent their retreat (Joshua 11:20). Yahweh participates in warfare, toppling city walls (Joshua 6) and hurling hailstones from the sky (Joshua 10:11).
The mandated annihilation of the Canaanite nations (Deuteronomy 20:16-18) contrasted the way Israel was to treat other conquered people (Deuteronomy 20:1-16). Israel was to practice חרם (herem).[7]
The “completely destruction” of the Canaanites (Deuteronomy 20:17) was not without reason. They were wicked. Leviticus 18 instructs Israel not to behave like the Canaanites. The list of prohibitions includes child sacrifice, incest, and bestiality, finds a corollary in Canaanite culture. If Israel failed to stamp the Canaanites out they would be led astray (Deuteronomy 20:18), and would face their own cursed expulsion from the land (Deuteronomy 28:25-68). The Canaanites were forewarned of Israel’s impending arrival, and some chose to “melt away” (Joshua 2:9, 24), Millar argues that the “whole world” was watching Israel’s journey with God (Deuteronomy 2:25)[8] – the nomadic occupants of the land had ample time to escape.
At the heart of moral objections to God’s command of “genocide” is the assumption they involved the murder of innocents. The commands themselves are Biblically framed as God’s judgment on the wicked. Canaanite culture was seeped in immorality (Deuteronomy 9:4, Deuteronomy 18:12, Leviticus 18:24-25), the people “hate God” (Deuteronomy 7:10). God’s promise to Abraham came with a four-generation caveat on the basis that the iniquity of the occupants had not yet reached its full measure (Genesis 15:13).
Two seemingly contradictory notions operate regarding the occupants of the land. Israel is to devote those they find to destruction, but the occupants will be driven out (Exodus 23:27-33, 24:34, 33:2, 33:52, Leviticus 18:24, 20:23 Numbers 21:32, 33:52, Deuteronomy 4:38, 6:19, 9:3-5, 11:23, 12:29, 18:12, 33:27). Removal from homelands was a common method of destroying ancient cultures.[9]
This apparent paradox is resolved for us in the case of the Anakites, who were totally destroyed in the Promised Land, but survived in other nations (Joshua 11:21-22). This is not genocide.
The potential injustice is not the punishment of the Canaanites, but the mercy shown to Israel, whose continued occupation of the land depends on obedience (Leviticus 18:28, Deuteronomy 28:36, 63-64, 29:27-28, 30:17-18), they too faced חרם for disobedience (Joshua 7:11).
The interpretation of חרם is controversial. Von Rad (1965) identified it as an integral part of “holy war.”[10] Longman (2003) calls it the climactic aspect of divine warfare.[11] He ties obedience with success in battle against strong enemies, and failure against weak – citing victory in Jericho (Joshua 6:21), and failure in Ai (after Achan’s sin) as didactic moments.[12] Crouch (2009) interprets the command as a socio-rhetorical device brought about as a response to foreign threats.[13]
Rowlett (1996) frames the discussion on חרם and “holy war” at length, concluding that there is nothing culturally unique in Bible’s presentation of divine participation in written accounts of warfare.[14] Lilley (1983) argues that for theocratic Israel all war was “holy,” as was the case for many ancient societies.[15]
Millar (1998) argues for a theological understanding of חרם,[16] he interprets commands to violently dispossess the Canaanites as rabbinic hyperbole,[17] not about warfare, but the need to remove their influence,[18] dismantling the nation.[19] He acknowledges that the command (Deuteronomy 20) is “startlingly literal” – but suggests that the instructions are not simply about military victory but the annihilation of a culture.[20]
A study of Deuteronomy 7 leads to this conclusion. God says he will drive the nations out ahead of them (Deuteronomy 7:1), that the Israelites are to “completely destroy them” (Deuteronomy 7:2), but then provides instructions for living with survivors (Deuteronomy 7:3-5). This would suggest genocide is not the intention, but rather a destruction of Canaanite identity.[21]
In order to reconcile the “immoral” commands and actions God justifies in the Old Testament some scholars, like Seibert (2009), require a separation of the “textual God” and the “actual God”.[22] Cowles (2003) suggests the חרם order came from Satan and was mistakenly applied to Yahweh through Israel’s primitive theology.[23]
These arguments suggest a discontinuity between Yahweh’s Old Testament commands, and Jesus’ words in the New (Matthew 5-7). Death is the punishment for sin (Romans 6:23). It is not out of character for God to be acting as judge over the Canaanites.
Craigie (1978) argues that the violent account was not produced by “barbarous times.”[24] He argues this narrative is pivotal to the Old Testament,[25] and that New Testament writers affirm the Old Testament’s authority.[26]
Rowlett (1996) and the “German school” require a sociological reading of Joshua’s violent rhetoric at the expense of historical truth, comparing Joshua to Shakespeare.[27] Von Rad (1957) suggests that commands to avoid Canaanite cultic practices follow a long history of Israel “going to school with Canaan.”[28]
Brueggemann (2009) argues against a historical-critical study of Joshua, suggesting that its picture of history is subjective[29] and that the story should be considered sociologically and literarily.[30] His view is that Joshua was both identity building for an oppressed people,[31] and the divine sanction of a new social possibility.[32] Brueggemann accepts that God mandated actual historical violence as “a tightly circumscribed in the interest of a serious social experiment” to end dominion and foster an egalitarian society.[33]
Rowlett’s reading of Joshua in the light of a “thinly veiled Josiah provides” insight into the use of conquest rhetoric similar to surrounding nations in order to develop Israel’s national identity.[34] One may dismiss Rowlett’s conclusions on historical veracity while recognising that the narrative had an identity developing function.
Questions have been raised regarding the historicity of events in Joshua and the manner in which the Israelite nation emerged. Noth (1960) argues that Old Testament historical accounts are vieldeutig (capable of more than one meaning).[35] Gard (2003) highlights the divergent interpretations of this violence – after Von Rad (1965) suggested that “holy war” was a product of late theological interpretation of history.[36]
Conversely, Gard’s study of ancient warfare led him to interpret the violence is representative of historical events.[37] Craigie (1978) argues that the violence is historical and essential for establishing a nation in a hostile environment. Goetz (1975) suggests a Utopian vision required a clean slate.[38] Establishing a nation was the purpose of Yahweh’s intervention in history.[39]
Woudstra (1981), like Millar, argues the purpose of the violence in Joshua is theological, suggesting “all dualism between faith and history, and between theology and exegesis should be avoided,” and interpretation should flow from a base of Christian theism, not literature, objective history,[40] or sociology (as advocated by Brueggemann[41]).
Woudstra identifies a schism between those who construct hypothesis on the assumption that God’s intervention in history, and those who assume none.[42] Historical interpretations derived through the latter category will inevitably produce theologically anemic results.
“Is the pious loved by the gods because it is pious, or is it pious because it is loved by the gods?”- Socrates, Euthyphro, 399BC
This Euthyphro dilemma is significant moral question for Christians responding to God’s violent actions. Divine special pleading is not required to justify these actions. The Biblical account leaves no room to question the morality of God’s actions, they are affirmed throughout as just. While one might dismiss the text, one cannot argue that God’s actions are immoral on the basis of the written account.
Goetz (1975) suggests the framework that all deserve death, with mercy an act of grace allowed Calvin to dismiss any analysis of God’s morality vis-à-vis the Canaanite situation “out of order.”[43] Calvin argues it is God’s decision who deserves death, and at what point.[44]
Wright (2004) argues the conquest was a limited event,[45] employing conventional warfare rhetoric, described as an act of God’s punishment, with a promise of equal treatment for Israel in response to disobedience, and that the conquest anticipated the final judgment.[46]
The utilitarian use of violence is not morally normative for the Christian. Neither is all violence necessarily evil.[47] Joshua’s violence serves to fulfill God’s promise to establish a nation. The atonement pivots on an act of violence, which has implications in determining the permissibility of violence.[48] Goetz suggests that the cross should be understood as the focal point of rage between humanity and God.[49] Mouw (2003) concludes Christians are to suffer violence, not enact it.[50]
Rowlett, while arguing for a non-interventionist understanding of Joshua identifies a conundrum for the Christian pacifist – “placing emphasis on divine involvement in conquest stories, rather than human agency, involves the deity in complicity with violence.”[51] Syllogistically, if Yahweh is perfect and just (Deuteronomy 32:4), and complicit with violence, then violence can be just. Furthermore, Jesus simultaneously affirms peacemakers, and the Old Testament (Matthew 5:9,17). Questioning the morality of God’s dispensation of justice in the Old Testament must also raise questions about the morality of his right to judge.
We have rejected both the views of those who see discontinuity between the God who destroyed nations and humbled himself to a violent death, and non-interventionist views of violent accounts. So far as the New Atheists are concerned, interpreting the “God of the Old Testament” without the external criterion of the teaching of Jesus may indeed prove troubling,[52] but in this light Christians can rightly affirm instead the “God of the whole Bible” as perfect, just, faithful and upright (Deuteronomy 32:4).
[2] Rowlett, L.L, Joshua and the Rhetoric of Violence: A new historicist analysis, (Sheffield:Sheffield Academic Press), 1996, pg 181
[3] Boettner, L, ‘What the Old Testament Teaches Concerning War,’ The Christian Attitude Towards War, (New Jersey:Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing Company), 3rd Edition, 1985, pp 12-17
[4] Goetz, R, ‘Joshua, Calvin and Genocide,’ Theology Today - Vol 32, No. 3 - October 1975, p 264
[5] Dever, W.G, Who Were the Israelites and Where Did They Come From, (WmB Eerdmans:Michigan), 2003, pp 37-48
[6] Wright, C.J.H, ‘What about the Canaanites?,’ Old Testament Ethics for the People of God, (Leicester:InterVarsity Press), 2004 pp 472-473
[7] חרם (herem) : To devote or consecrate to destruction.
[8] Millar, J.G, Now Choose Life: Theology and Ethics in Deuteronomy, (Leicester:Apollos), p 149
[9] Ahlstrom, G.W, The History of Ancient Palestine (Minneapolis: Ahlstrom, G. (1993). The History of Ancient Palestine. Minneapolis: Fortress Press.Fortress Press), 1993, p 601
[10] Von Rad, G. Der Heilige Krieg im alten Israel, (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht), 1965
[11] Longman III, T, ‘The Case for Spiritual Continuity,’ Show Them No Mercy: 4 views on God and the Canaanite Genocide, (Michigan:Grand Rapids) 2003, pg 172
[12] ibid, pg 173
[13] Crouch, C.L, War and Ethics in the Ancient Near East: Military Violence in the Light of Cosmology and History, (Berlin:Walter De Gruyter GmbH and Co), 2009, pg 183
[14] Rowlett, ‘Divine Warfare,’ Joshua and the Rhetoric of Violence, pg 65
[15] Lilley, J.P.U, ‘Understanding the Herem’, Tyndale Bulletin, 44 no 1 My 1993, p 169-177, cf Crouch, C.L, War and Ethics in the Ancient Near East, pg 189
[16] Millar, J.G, Now Choose Life: Theology and Ethics in Deuteronomy, p 156
[17] ibid
[18] ibid, p 158
[19] ibid, p 159, “This is theological preaching, urging Israel on to wholehearted obedience. In this context we should expect some hyperbole, at least,”
[20] ibid, p 159
[21] ibid, “Throughout this chapter, it is clear that the Mosaic Preaching is concerned to bring the Israelites to the conviction that shattering the structures of Canaanite society is a theological necessity. This is expressed not in terms of driving out or dispossessing the Canaanites, but of destroying them.”
[22] Seibert, E.A, Disturbing Divine Behaviour: Troubling Old Testament Images of God, (Minneapolis:Fortress Press), 2009, pp 169-182
[23] Cowles, C.S, ‘The Case for Radical Discontinuity,’ Show Them No Mercy, 2003, p 40.
[24] Craigie, The Problem of War in the Old Testament (Oregon:Wipf and Stock), 2002 [orig. 1978], pp 34-35
[25] ibid, pp 36-37
[26] ibid, pp 37-38
[27] Rowlett, op. cit, p 163
[28] Von Rad, G, Old Testament Theology: The Theology of Israel’s historical traditions, (Louisville:Westminster John Knox Press, 2001 edition), 1957, pp 24-25
[29] Brueggemann, W, Divine Presence Amid Violence: Contextualising the Book of Joshua, (Colorado Springs:Paternoster Press) p. X
[30] ibid p. 4
[31] ibid, p. 26
[32] ibid, p. 30
[33] ibid, p. 39
[34] Rowlett, op. cit, p 181-182
[35] Noth, M, The History of Israel, translated by Stanley Godman, (New York: Harper & Row) 1960, pp. 48-49
[36] Von Rad, G. Der Heilige Krieg im alten Israel, (Gottingen:Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht), 1965, pg 18, cf. Gard, D.L, ‘The Case for Eschatological Continuity,’ Show Them No Mercy, 2003, p 119
[37] Gard, D.L, op cit, p. 119
[38] Goetz, op. cit. p 273, “Utopian revolution without extermination must degenerate into mere reform-and mere reform compromises with the evil it seeks to redress.”
[39] Craigie, P, The Problem of War in the Old Testament, pp 69-74
[40] Woudstra, M.H, The Book of Joshua, (Grand Rapids:Wm B Eerdmans), 1981, p. 21
[41] Brueggemann, op. cit, p. 3
[42] Woudstra, M.H, op. cit, p. 19
[43] Goetz, R, ‘Joshua, Calvin and Genocide,’ Theology Today, Vol 32. No 3, October, 1975, p 266
[44] John Calvin, Commentaries on the Book of Joshua. Trans. Beveridge, H (Grand Rapids:Wm B Eerdmans), 1949, p 163, “There is no more ground for obloquy against him than there is against those who pronounce sentence on criminals. Even though in our judgment, children and many women were without blame, let us remember that the judgment-seat of heaven is not subject to our laws… Certainly any man who will thoroughly examine himself, will find that he is deserving of a hundred deaths. Why, then, should not the Lord perceive just ground for one death in any infant which has passed from its mother’s womb? In vain shall we murmur or make noisy complaint, that he has doomed the whole offspring of an accursed race to the same destruction; the potter will nevertheless have absolute power over his own vessels, or rather over his own clay.”
[45] ie. they were not normative of the Old Testament or Israel’s approach to its neighbours
[46] Wright, C.J.H, ‘What about the Canaanites?,’ Old Testament Ethics for the People of God, (Leicester:InterVarsity Press), 2004
[47] As Christian pacifists are wont to do – for example Millbank, J, ‘Violence: Double Passivity,’ Must Christianity Be Violent? Reflections on History, Practice and Theology, edited by Chase, K.R and Jacobs, A. (Michigan: Brazos Press), 2003, p 183
[48] Mouw, R.J, ‘Violence and the Atonement,’ Must Christianity Be Violent?, 2003, p 163
“If it is true, as reformed theology has put it, that the transaction of the cross necessarily required that Christ experience the wrath of the Father, then Reformed thought does indeed insist that violence is an essential feature of the atoning sacrifice of Christ – an insistence, they might go on to point out that has clear implications for questions about the permissibility of violent activity.”
[49] Goetz, op. cit. pg 274, “The cross not only is the focal point of divine wrath against us; it is also the focal point of human rage against God. The human comedy has stored up a reciprocity of outrage that only the trial and death of one who was both the son of God and the son of man can suffice.”
[50] ibid, pp 165-166
[51] Rowlett, Joshua and the Rhetoric of Violence, pg 67
[52] McGrath, A, The Dawkins Delusion: Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine, (London: SPCK), 2007, pp 58-59
So today I presented the thing about how to talk to atheists I mentioned a while back. Here are my notes. You’ll probably recognise them if you’ve been reading for a while. This was a great way to justify all the hours I’ve spent in seemingly fruitless debate in the last 18 months.
Things not to say
Here’s a list of things they say not to say (or do)…
This is not necessarily a list of things not to do, just a list of things atheists have said that they find annoying (from commenters on a site called the Friendly Atheist):
Things to say
When Mark Driscoll, in a column in a Washington Paper, was asked what the best case for Christianity was for skeptics this was his answer:
Christianity is not first and foremost about a sacred place to pilgrimage to, a philosophical system to ponder, a moral code to live, a religious tradition to honor, or an impersonal god to experience. Rather, Christianity is about a person who claimed to be the only God and said he would prove his unprecedented claim by living without sin, dying for sinners, and conquering death through resurrection.
Things to do…
