Dear readers,
Thank you for your patience with my excruciating number of exam related posts in the last two weeks. My fellow students like it, and it helps me to clarify my thoughts.
You will be glad to know that other than a couple of Greek posts I might make in the next day or two, the exam related content is over and done with for another nine months.
I now return you to the regular irregularity that is st-eutychus.com.
Regards,
Nathan
Lest you think the story about a farting boy was the low point of my internet browsing today, think again, there’s a report going round that the off-cuts from circumcision procedures in hospitals around the world (the foreskins – hey, it’s in the Bible so it’s ok to mention here) are being sold for hundreds of dollars a pop to help develop moisturiser. Fancy that? Fancy that! Fancy, that. Three appropriate responses.
The Stir’s Christie Haskell dug deep into the largely hidden industry of baby foreskins. An infant’s foreskin has special cell properties, similar to those found in stem cells. Their versatility means that they can be used to cultivate skin cells.
Because of this, they’re not tossed out with the rest of the medical waste after a birth. Instead, hospitals sell them to companies and institutions for a wide variety of uses. Companies will pay thousands of dollars for a single foreskin.
Some of the strangest purposes they’re put to:
Yeah. From here. Corroborated here (and elsewhere – or it could be some sort of horrible joke)
I think this might be old.
But it doesn’t stop it being a damning indictment on the editorial policies of local branches of Fox News.
Seriously.
“Boy farts on school bus, gets detention” wouldn’t have even been given a run in my school newspaper.
Rob a bank wearing this. Go on. I dare you. Well, not really. But this would be an interesting “signature” approach to crime.
From DeviantArt.
If there happens to be a question about the meaning of Daniel this is what my answer will look like (though I’ll pad it out with some Bible):
Ask a Christian doomsday cult fanatic what their favourite book of the Bible is, and in the mix with Revelation and Ezekiel will no doubt be the book of Daniel. Daniel is a tale of two halves – the latter half has been widely recognised as apocalyptic in nature – a cryptic condemnation of foreign rulers, and a message of hope for the people of God in the midst of foreign persecution. But what to do with the first half of the book? Chapters 1-6 read like a series of court tales in a foreign land, with enough similarities to a Disney movie to spawn countless retellings in children’s stories in churches around the globe. But could it be that simple?
Short answer, no. Like many stories that appear to be straightforward and geared towards children (Shrek for example) the story contains an undercurrent of harsh and satirical criticism of foreign rule – a mocking of inept kings, with a hopeful note for the people of God. God is in control, despite Israel’s political dilemma.
The identification of Daniel as a Menippean Satire was proposed by Valetta. Valetta identified the fourteen elements of satire from the late (second century) BC period. A recognition that has implications for the dating, and interpretation, of Daniel. Debate in scholarly circles has been largely settled on the question of a sixth century prescriptive dating of the second half of Daniel – while scholars are not ruling out predictive prophecy per say, some, such as Goldingay, note that such a level of detail is not common in Biblical prophecy (though such an assumption seems also to depend on ruling out a single, early, author of Isaiah), other problems presented for a sixth century dating include a series of historical inaccuracies that are best explained if the book is written in the second century with a sixth century setting. The only scholar of note still advocating a sixth century dating is Tremper Longman. Longman’s position sees him advocate a fairly simplistic application of Daniel’s first six chapters, he sees them as stories of bravery under fire, to be imitated by believers facing hostility.
Daniel as satire presents a more robust application – foreign rule is seen to be ridiculous, or worthy of ridicule, in comparison to the greatness of God’s rule. Clues for the satirical reading include the use of the language of the court (Aramaic) for much of the negative presentation of foreign rulers, the refrain “oh king may you live forever” occurring at intervals and incidents where the king is experiencing a particularly humiliating or traumatic time, and the presence of all fourteen elements of the Menippean Satire described by Bahktin. A satirical reading also integrates more comfortably with the apocalyptic undertones of the second half of the book – positioning the whole book as a rebuke of foreign rule designed to inspire hope within the oppressed people of Israel. The satirical take on the king (probably Antiochus IV) softens the target for the deadly blow of chapters 7-13, the prediction of his downfall. The book then contains a united condemnation of foreign rule, a message of judgment, and a message of hope for the oppressed.
You know how they say that pigs are the animal most closely genetically related to humans based on DNA? No? Well, I may have just made that up. You’ll have to google it…
But it turns out that a taste recognising robot thinks that human flesh tastes like bacon (don’t worry, they didn’t actually feed it a human).
That cute little fella is a robot that is designed to recognise flavours. He’s meant to be used for tasting wine, but Wired tells of a scary moment when somebody put their finger in his mouth:
“The idea is that wineries can tell if a wine is authentic without even opening the bottle, amongst other more obscure uses…like “tell me what this strange grayish lump at the back of my freezer is/was.”
But when some smart aleck reporter placed his hand in the robot’s omnivorous clanking jaw, he was identified as bacon. A cameraman then tried and was identified as prosciutto.”
A cool video, with a few swear words (in text).
OK Go make the best film clips. By a long way. If I had to list the top three film clips of all time they’d have the top three spots… this is amazing.
This is a nice, simple, little comic explaining what it is that goes on when you type a web address into your browser. It’s a handy reference for when you have those conversations with a dullard who doesn’t really know what’s going on, but suggests it has something to do with monkeys or magic. Or Monkey Magic.
Via labnol.
While I’m on the subject of economics, if you like Seinfeld, and want a crash course in economic principles, then this is the website for you. It uses clips from the sitcom to teach economic principles. Who knew, the show wasn’t about nothing afterall – but about economics.
Here’s an example that teaches you about game theory, and cost-benefit analysis, and dominant strategy.
“George thinks he has been offered a job, but the man offering it to him got interrupted in the middle of the offer, and will be on vacation for the next week. George, unsure whether an offer has actually been extended, decides that his best strategy is to show up. If the job was indeed his, this is the right move. But even if the job is not, he believes that the benefits outweigh the costs. “
The site is called Yada, Yada, Yada, Econ.
It’s more than possible that I have posted this exact infographic previously. But I like it. It’s about coffee. And it is interesting.
From Mint.com.
I don’t like decaf (but I will roast some for you if you ask nicely – in fact, it’s the only coffee I currently have because Australia Post is tres slow at the moment. I like putting French words into sentences when they are completely unnecessary…
From Fake Science, via Gary.
Right. Here goes. This is my attempt to synchronise all of those posts on wisdom literature and the Old Testament the way I’d approach answering a question about how wisdom fits into Biblical Theology. I haven’t fact checked any of this – I put it together from memory. Under “exam conditions” except that I typed it, so it took about half the time to write that it will tomorrow…
The Wisdom Literature has presented a dilemma for scholars seeking to integrate it into popular Biblical theology framework – Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes contain no obvious allusions to redemptive history, especially to touchstones such as the covenant and promise fulfillment (especially the Abrahamic covenant of Genesis 12). A further challenge is presented by the appearance of a strong dependency on the wisdom literature of other Ancient Near Eastern nations, similarities that have prompted some scholars to treat the wisdom literature as an errant step-child of Old Testament theology.
Von Rad and Eichrodt were the first 20th century scholars to have a bash at piecing a theology of the Old Testament together, and both struggled to find a place for the Wisdom corpus in their ideas of redemptive history and covenant fulfillment. Von Rad even dismisses the most natural link in Proverbs to this redemptive work – the reoccurring phrase “the fear of the Lord” on the basis that it is simply an adoption of ANE wisdom through a monotheistic lens. I would suggest that the “Fear of the Lord” is a unifying theme of the wisdom books (reoccurring throughout Proverbs, and bookending Job and Ecclesiastes) – and rather than being the result of redaction, that it serves to locate wisdom alongside the covenantal responsibilities of Israel. Where the law establishes the floor of Israelite behaviour, the wisdom literature, in understanding how humans were created to live, establishes a goal for God’s people to strive for.
Goldsworthy, Brueggemann, and Goldingay have suggested worthwhile approaches to integrating the wisdom literature into Biblical Theology, approaches Wilson describes, and critiques at some length.
Goldsworthy’s Gospel and Wisdom suggests the “Fear of the Lord” and a linking of the wisdom literature to a wisdom movement patronized by King Solomon (ala the account of his reign in 1 Kings 4-10) provides fertile ground for understanding where wisdom fits into redemption history, and in particular into his rubric of God’s people, living in God’s place, under God’s rule. The wisdom movement, which emerged under Solomon’s reign, sought to understand how God’s place (creation) worked, and thus how best to live under it.
Christopher Wright goes a step further – suggesting that the wisdom literature was part of an international wisdom conversation, and that the 1 Kings account of Solomon dispensing wisdom to the nations is a fulfillment of the Genesis 12 promise of blessing on foreign nations. He suggests the link to Solomon expressed in both Proverbs and Ecclesiastes should be read with this in mind. This perhaps explains the presence of ANE wisdom both overtly (in the case of Proverbs, which includes contributions from foreign kings) and covertly (in similarities between the wisdom literature and contemporary documents – eg Ecclesiastes and the Gilgamesh Epic).
This approach highlights one approach traditionally used to bring the wisdom literature inline with the Old Testament – seeking to find elements of the redemption story in the wisdom literature (eg the link between the “Fear of the Lord” and Deuteronomy 4, and the explicit conclusion of Ecclesiastes that true wisdom is to fear the Lord and keep his commands), and to find elements of wisdom literature in other Biblical texts – an approach that Crenshaw has advocated for understanding such texts as the Joseph Narrative, and the book of Esther. Wilson suggests that Crenshaw takes his conclusion a bridge too far, wanting to see those accounts purely as wisdom when in fact wisdom is simply a part of the picture.
A second, no less fruitful approach to theologizing wisdom is that promoted by Brueggemann and Goldingay – Brueggemann suggests a dialectic approach, with twin poles of creation and redemption sitting at the heart of Old Testament theology, the wisdom literature then naturally explores God’s creation, and what it means to live within it. Goldingay proposes four pillars for approaching these poles – realizing that we live in a world that God created, realizing that the world God created needs redemption, understanding that we are called to live redeemed lives in the creation, and understanding that our hope is in redemption, or new creation – these four points provide a framework that can easily include the law, the prophets, and the wisdom movement.
There is no reason that both approaches will not find rich interactions between the wisdom movement and the rest of the Old Testament – where the Fear of the Lord and a Solomonic fulfillment of the promises of Genesis 12 help tie the Wisdom Literature to the people of the covenant, while the attempts of the books to help us understand the created order go some way to instructing God’s people in how to best live redeemed lives in his creation.
Talk to anybody from the more “loony fringe” side of Christianity and if their favourite book of the Bible isn’t Revelation, it’ll be Daniel. Daniel has all the hallmarks crazy people look for – cool stories, cool symbolism that can be taken literally, and figurative descriptions of political entities that can be interpreted, or reinterpreted, in order to negatively describe just about any political institution that has developed in the last 2,000 – 3,000 years.
Daniel’s dating is a pretty hot topic amongst scholars, most, if not all, have now settled on a date somewhere in the second century B.C, which makes Daniel the last book (chronologically speaking) of the Old Testament, and gives us some picture of the kind of thinking happening in Israel 100-200 years pre-Jesus.
The M Div/Grad Dip question in the exam is likely to focus on the question of meaning in Daniel – and my lovely wife wrote a most excellent essay on Daniel’s genre, which overlapped substantially with the question of meaning. So this post is largely dependent on that work.
She settled on a definition of Daniel’s genre as satire in the first half, with a healthy dash of apocalyptic style in the second half – this means Daniel functions largely as a rebuke of foreign rulers, those who are oppressing Israel, and an affirmation of God’s rightful place with regards to those rulers.
Robyn’s essay says:
“Daniel is God’s assertion of his authority over foreign kingdoms and all who reject him.”
Daniel’s genre has huge ramifications on its meaning – and the genre is notoriously different to nail down. A guy named Valeta suggests 32 different genres have been identified for Daniel. Almost everybody thinks chapters 7-12 are apocalyptic. A satirical reading, as advocated by Valeta, requires a 6th century narrative setting, with a second century composition. Part of the argument for a second century dating is an assumption that Biblical prophecy is not as predictive as chapters 7-12 appear to be (which is an interesting assumption). There are, however, a few historical inaccuracies in the account of Israel’s history in 1-6 which make a satirical reading seem plausible.
Historical inaccuracies include the silence of 2 Kings concerning the siege of Jerusalem in the third year of Jehoiakim (Daniel 1:1),14 the lack of evidence for the historicity of King Belshazzar, Darius the Mede, or Nebuchadnezzar’s insanity. Second-century apologists also cite literary evidence such as the use of the term “Chaldeans,” and a bunch of Persian and Greek loan words as evidence for a later date of composition than the 6th century.
Here are some thoughts from Robyn’s essay about the dating and predictive prophecy:
On the issue of predictive versus descriptive interpretation, particularly in light of Daniel 8:23-25 and 11:3-45, evangelical second-century supporters ask not “could God prophecy?” rather “would God do it?” and “did God do it?” To which Collins (1993) replies “there is no apparent reason… why a prophet of the sixth century should focus minute attention on the events of the second century.” Goldingay (1989) adds that such specificity is inconsistent with God elsewhere in scripture for, “he does not give signs and reveal dates. His statements about the future are calls to decision now; he is not the God of prognosticators. He calls his people to naked faith and hope in him in the present, and does not generally bolster their faith with the kind of revelations that we are thinking of here.”
While it’s possible that some of these points rest on assumptions that may or may not be provable, it comes down to a question of balancing the pros and cons of both datings – and the application of the book if it is a late composition (God is more powerful than oppressive foreign rulers) is possibly or greater worth than the application of an early dating (be like Daniel). While this isn’t a great rubric for deciding between two options, none of the assumptions in the paragraph above are any less plausible than those put forward by sixth century advocates. And a satirical reading actually does away with a bunch of the objections (the book seems to be quite conciliatory to foreign rulers at face value).
Longman pushes a sixth century dating, as almost the lone scholarly horse in that race (though he may even be shifting – but I haven’t read his alleged shift yet).
Longman’s (1999) historical reading of Daniel finds the first six chapters as “deceptively simple stories of faith under pressure,” in which Daniel is a clear and encouraging figure to emulate. Longman recognizes the second half of the book as the prophetic visions of Daniel, the message of which are “in spite of present appearance, God is in control.”
Goldingay suggests the court tales narratives of Daniel 1-6 “portray a God who rules in heaven who is also sovereign over the realm of death, who is active in the past and trustworthy for the future.”
Valeta defines the function of satire within this court tale setting as:
“Satire is more than “linguistic and rhetorical cleverness,” it bears “a serious side that can be used to indicate judgments against individuals and institutions and to highlight reversals of status and importance.”
He argues that Daniel fits the criteria for Menippean satire, a serio-comedic precursor to the novel that was studied and defined by Bakhtin. Bakhtin characterises
Menippean satire with fourteen characteristics, all of which are present in Daniel.
Elements of satire include, “comic elements; a freedom of plot an philosophical inventiveness; a use of extraordinary, fantastic situations or wild parodic displays of learning to test the truth; some combination of both crude and lofty imagery, settings, and themes; a concern for ultimate questions; scenes and dialogue from the earthly, heavenly, and netherworldly realms; observation of behavior from an unusual vantage point; characters who experience unusual, abnormal moral and psychic states; characters who participate in scandals, eccentric behavior, and/or inappropriate speech; sharp contrasts and oxymoronic combinations;
elements of social utopia; a variety of inserted genres within the work; a multi-styled, multi-toned, or multi-voiced work that is dialogic based on inserted genres, voices and languages; and a concern with current and topical issues.”
The purpose of the book, employing a satirical reading, is the deconstruction of “kingly authority and power in favor of God’s authority and power” and in this way acts as resistance literature to the regime of Antiochus IV, and as such, the book is a cohesive work, characterized by “a consistent and persistent message of judgment.”
Chapter 1 is vital for establishing the genre of the book…
Here, a narrative reading would identify verse 8 as the lynchpin, honoring Daniel’s faithfulness and Jewish distinctiveness. Satire, however, may suggest verse 17, identifying God as the source of Daniel’s wisdom. Furthermore, irony is at work, undermining of the king’s power and dominance; firstly that his victory and looting occurs only because God allows it (Daniel 1:2); secondly, his unsuccessful and superficial attempt to limit God’s power through the changing of the captive’s names (Daniel 1:6, 17-20);45 and, finally, the negotiation and approval of Daniel’s request for vegetables and water proving favorable (Daniel 1:8-16). Additionally, the food episode is hyperbolic because of the profundity of the change in a short period of time.
What Menippean Satire looks like:
“Menippean satire is frequently characterised by fantastic, or otherworldly aspects. Such displacements from reality are frequent in Daniel51 and “shift the viewpoint from normal everyday reality to the unexpected and the divine.” It is used to mock its target and confront political and social norms. In Daniel, “these stories are humorous, ultimate expressions of the crowning and decrowning of authority that is so characteristic of the carnival and menippea. The stories of Daniel 1-6 reinforce again and again the critique of the accepted norm of relationship between the powerful and the powerless, representing the realities of the true authority that comes not from earthly power but by divine fiat.”
There is plenty of irony present in the narrative.
“Furthermore, the cry ‘O king, live forever!’ which resonates throughout is heard when the king is at his weakest. In the midst of the confusing dream of a grotesque tree (Daniel 2:4), at the dedication of the absurd state (Daniel 3:9), when being manipulated by his officials (Daniel 6:6), when kneeling beside the lion pit (Daniel 6:21) and, perhaps most amusingly, it is uttered by the queen when the king was ‘weak-kneed’, or had lost his bowels, before his dinner guests (Daniel 5:10). When read through a satirical lens, such a refrain, which has a facade of positive assertion for the king, is used for ridicule and mockery. To similar effect are hyperbolic multiple-synonyms lists of government officials, citizens, and musical instruments (Daniel 2:2, 6, 10, 27, 37, 40, 46; 3:7, 10, 15; 6:7, etc.) and outlandish actions (Daniel 2:12, 3:19).”
The presence of two languages in the manuscripts – Aramaic, and Hebrew, suggests a satirical reading.
“The ‘official’ language of the royal court, is used in some very ‘unofficial’ ways’ such as paronomasia, repetition and consonance.” Aramaic itself is used to ridicule the king.”
Some concluding thoughts:
“Satire asserts the theme as condemnation for all who reject God’s rule; it enthrones God as supreme ruler and gives prominence Daniel’s prayer as a right response to God’s kingship.”
“God’s judgment is clearly evident in the apocalyptic chapters, particularly in the vision of the Ancient of Days and Son of Man (Daniel 7:1-13). It clearly attests to the destruction of earthly kingdoms and the inauguration of the eternal kingdom (Daniel 7:23-28).”
“The case for a satirical reading of Daniel is compelling. It negates the need for historical accuracy, a stumbling block for advocates of a historical and prophetic-apocalyptical reading. It gives meaning to the countless absurdities, ironies, wordplays and comedic elements that other readings brush over. Daniel conforms to the linguistic stipulations of Menippean satire, making sense of the interplay of voices, mixing of style, language and elements to create a piece that is both comic and serious, episodic and unified.”
The Hebrew word “Hebel” has a pretty broad semantic range – meaning that translating it as “meaningless” is just one of many potential meanings. Literally it means “breath” – but its use in Ecclesiastes is metaphoric.
Scholars are divided on how best to translate it – Fox, in a 1986 article in the Journal of Biblical Literature, settled on “absurd,” Waltke in his Old Testament Theology settled on “nonsense,” Provan, in his commentary on Ecclesiastes chose a “fleeting breath,” while Kidner, in his commentary chose “airy nothingness.”
Provan recognises a bit of circular reasoning involved in the process – Hebel is not used this way in the rest of the Bible, and to understand the way it is used we must understand Ecclesiastes, but to understand Ecclesiastes we need to understand the function of Hebel.
Fox, comments on the difficulty the word presents:
No one English word corresponds exactly to the semantic shape of hebel as Qohelet uses it, but it is possible to render the word by an equivalent that comes close to representing its range of meaning and that bears similar connotations. The best translation equivalent for hebel in Qohelet’s usage is “absurd, absurdity… The essence of the absurd is a disparity between two terms that are supposed to be joined by a link of harmony or causality but are, in fact, disjunct. The absurd is an affront to reason, in the broad sense of the human faculty that looks for order in the world about us.
Barry Webb’s Five Festal Garments follows the NIV’s “meaningless” translation, but agrees with Eugene Peterson that the notion of trying to pin down an exact translation of the word is futile. Peterson says “various meanings glance of its surface as the context shifts.”
Webb and Peterson suggest the word serves to demonstrate Qoheleth’s role as a debunker:
“He will not tolerate pretension or allow anything to appear more solid or satisfying than it really is. In a delightful image coined by Peterson, he uses hebel like a broom to sweep away all our illusions.”
Webb comments on the structure of the book, demonstrating a unity within the “frame” – “The body of the book is framed by a superscription, a thematic statement, and an opening poem at the beginning, and three corresponding elements in reverse order at the end: closing poem, same thematic statement, epilogue.”
He sees the internal structure of the book as a series of observations and instructions – hebel occurs 23 times in these observations (out of 38 times in the book). In the observations it is almost always used in a stereotyped conclusion: “This too is hebel.”
Hebel appears as a negative refrain, a “chasing after the wind” eight times. The observations made are to back up the introductory thesis that everything is meaningless.
Webb believes that ultimately hebel refers to the universality of death – it doesn’t matter what we achieve, we’re going to die. He says that’s part of the purpose of representing Solomon’s works and achievements as meaningless – it’s not his apostasy, as the prophets suggest, but his mortality, that makes his great wisdom altogether hebel.
Webb suggests that the writer of Ecclesiastes has Genesis 1-11 in mind as he writes, and that Hebel is not a simple fact, but a reference to the judgment God has placed on the world, a manifestation of the fall.
“The special contribution of Ecclesiastes is to insist on the presence of Hebel as a universal datum of human experience which must be acknowledged, and to rule out of court any kind of wisdom that refuses to do this – even if its practitioners claim to be disciples of Solomon. It guards wisdom against unreality.”
Kidner, in his commentary on Ecclesiastes, suggests the “mere breath” of Ecclesiastes is a desperate and ominous description of that which is slight and passing. He thinks the doubling effect common in references “vanity of vanities” is a parody of “holy of holiness” – and thus utter emptiness stands in contrast with utter holiness.
Kidner both suggest the phrase “under the sun” is the key for defining the scope of the “hebel” statement – it’s not life under God, but life without him.
It is a phrase almost as common as “meaningless” – occurring nearly thirty times in the book. Others have suggested a temporal notion that goes with the phrase – that it means this lifetime, in this place.
Webb suggests that the “under the sun” is not exclusively used to exclude God from the picture.
“What is significant, however, is that the verdict of hebel is consistently maintained, whether God’s involvement with the world is on view at a particular point or not. Belief in God does not relieve the observed and experienced fact of hebel.”
Kidner believes that theologically, we need to read Ecclesiastes in the light of the epilogue to appreciate its place in the canon, and the nature of the discussion.
Webb suggests that the epilogue reintroduces the frame narrator, who seeks to put Qohelet’s thoughts into perspective. He suggests that the epilogue points to the one thing that remains when the searching of wisdom ends in frustration – the Fear of the Lord, which consists of keeping his commandments.
Andrew Shead makes an argument from the text itself, studying the form, and grammar to make a case for unity in style between the epilogue and the rest of the book, suggesting a single author, and a single voice. At this point, Tremper Longman’s objections that Ecclesiastes is a pagan book with no real redeeming features except the opening and closing statements fails to take into account Qoheleth’s purpose as identified by Kidner and others.