Why do most conservative evangelical Christians not even discuss Proverbs 8 in regards to the “creation wars?” The answer is simple. They instinctively understand that Proverbs 8 is not meant to be taken literally. Proverbs 8 is poetry, and like the rest of the Book of Proverbs it is filled with metaphor, simile, hyperbole and a plethora of other literary devices. We read Proverbs 8 and easily discern that its genre is not historical narrative. Because of this we understand that we cannot expect it to behave as a piece of historical narrative might behave. Yet, when we read Genesis 1 we often jump to the conclusion that it ought to be understood literally. Conservative evangelical Christians often jump to the further conclusion that this literal understanding is a kind of polemic against evolution. Yet neither conclusions are necessarily correct. Why should Genesis 1 be understood as historical narrative? I am, personally, unaware of any convincing argument for why its genre must be historical narrative, and not a whole host of other possibilities.

Where does this leave us? Certainly not hopelessly adrift, as some might suggest. It does reveal that understanding the Bible is not an easy thing all the time. It often takes hard work and study to understand the Bible, as it takes hard work and study to understand any piece of ancient near eastern literature. That shouldn’t dissuade anyone from studying the Bible, it ought to encourage everyone that it is a book worth studying.

It also ought to make it clear that genre is a key link in determining the purpose of a text. As I already mentioned, we instinctively understand that Proverbs 8 is poetry, specifically poetry meant to teach. It falls in the broader section of Proverbs 1-9 which is clearly addressed to young men as a means of starting them on the wise path in life. Proverbs 8 is part of this. In my opinion, Genesis 1 is a (possibly liturgical) polemic that shows how God is fundamentally different from the other gods (there are other ways to understand the genre and purpose of Genesis 1 that do not see it as historical narrative). The use of metaphorical and other non-literal language in either passage in no way takes away from what they are trying to do. Quite the opposite, the metaphorical and non-literal language in both passages adds to what they are trying to accomplish.

In the end, genre is vitally important to determining the meaning of a text. How one understands the genre of a text irrevocably impacts how how understands that text–whether as polemic, temple cosmology, ancient near eastern creation motif, chiastic hymn, or historical narrative. My own hope is that one day evangelical Christians may begin to understand that studying genre–and by extension other ancient near eastern literature which helps to flesh out a genre–is an important part of studying the Bible. In addition, I hope that one day we as Christians will understand that a disagreement over the genre and purpose of a text is normally not cause for throwing someone out of a church.

Proverbs 8 is a poem in which the speaker, Lady Wisdom, discusses how she was with God when he created the world. Indeed, one even gets the impression that Lady Wisdom assisted God in his creative activity. Below, I include the relevant verses from Proverbs 8. I assume that everyone already knows Genesis 1.

22 “The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work,
the first of his acts of old.
23 Ages ago I was set up,
at the first, before the beginning of the earth.
24 When there were no depths I was brought forth,
when there were no springs abounding with water.
25 Before the mountains had been shaped,
before the hills, I was brought forth,
26 before he had made the earth with its fields,
or the first of the dust of the world.
27 When he established the heavens, I was there;
when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
28 when he made firm the skies above,
when he established the fountains of the deep,
29 when he assigned to the sea its limit,
so that the waters might not transgress his command,
when he marked out the foundations of the earth,
30 then I was beside him, like a master workman,
and I was daily his delight,
rejoicing before him always,
31 rejoicing in his inhabited world
and delighting in the children of man. (ESV)

Recently, I’ve discussed genre and it’s importance in understanding the Bible. To illustrate this importance, I thought we might look at Genesis 1 and Proverbs 8. Both of these passages discuss what we might call the creation of the world, but they do so in widely disparate terms.

Genesis 1 is, of course, familiar to us. Proverbs 8, however, may be less so. Here Lady Wisdom explains how she was at the creation of the world. Before the world began God created Lady Wisdom. But she also gives us some hints about how God created the world. In this passage there is no hint of creation via divine fiat (i.e., God does not command things to be, and they are). Rather, God shapes the mountains. When God makes the sky firm (!) Wisdom is with him. Lady Wisdom explains that God set a limit on the sea, and made foundations for the earth.

There are quite obviously difficulties in reconciling a literal reading of this passage with a literal reading of Genesis 1. For instance, why is Lady Wisdom not mentioned in Genesis 1? Why does God shape the mountains here, but in Genesis he simply commands them to be? What is all of this about firm skies? In some ways, if one understands the background that both of these passages are set against (an ancient near eastern understanding of the universe, e.g., a solid/firm sky, the earth sitting on pillars, etc), they actually make some sense side by side. Nevertheless, if we were to accept the plain, literal reading of Proverbs 8 we come away with a rather different view of the creation than we do if we accept a plain, literal reading of Genesis 1.

Ultimately, I think Joseph Kelly is right when he says that this debate is really about worldview. But, I think that we can narrow things down a bit more. Certainly worldview plays a huge part in this debate, but I think that a more specific issue is also at play. I’ve mentioned genre and its importance in biblical interpretation several times recently. This, I’m afraid, is another example. Mohler understands Genesis 1 as an historical narrative. I’m not certain why he sees it as such. I had a discussion with someone who agrees with Mohler recently, and his reasoning for Genesis 1 being understood as historical narrative is that such an understanding was “the plain meaning” of the text. This kind of thinking has obvious problems (e.g., “the plain meaning of the text” presupposes an understanding of genre, thereby determining how the plain meaning is arrived at. Plain meaning in poetry is quite different from plain meaning in a royal annul, which is quite different from plain meaning in a law code, etc, etc). I would assume that Mohler has more robust reasons, but I am not aware of them.

So, Mohler understands Genesis 1 as some kind of historical narrative, because of this he believes that Genesis 1 is supposed to convey a more or less literal “this is the way it happened,” view of creation. But Bible scholars, some of them quite conservative, have proposed a wide variety of ways to understand Genesis 1. For instance, some think it is a liturgical hymn. Others think that it is a functional chiasm, the first several days creating abstract things and the later days creating the concrete containers (cf., Kline, Kingdom Prologue). Still others see Genesis 1 as speaking of the world not in literal terms, but in temple imagery (e.g., John Walton). I say all of this to say that I believe that Mohler, in making his understanding of Genesis 1 a requirement for being a Christian, has in fact made his understanding of the genre of Genesis 1 a requirement for being a Christian. As far as I am aware, the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy is entirely compatible with any of the views I mention above. That makes Mohler a conservative among conservatives.

It is probably obvious that I find some very large flaws in Mohler’s interpretation of the Bible. I think he has failed to take into account a plethora of cognate literature. Most disappointingly, I have not–as of yet–seen him discuss the ancient near eastern literature that has a bearing on Genesis 1. Even more disappointingly, I have not seen him discuss his own understanding of why Genesis 1′s genre ought to be understood as a literal narrative explaining creation in detail as opposed to a polemic against other nations’ understanding of creation, or as opposed to temple imagery, or as opposed to any other number of options.

I’ll be dealing with Genesis 1 and genre again in the next few days, this time with reference to Proverbs 8. Stay tuned.

Let me give an example. A conservative evangelical Christian might read any number of prophecies in the Hebrew Bible and automatically apply that prophecy to Jesus Christ, because she has been predisposed to do so. Whether formally or not, she has been taught to read biblical prophecy in a certain way. Similar things take place when a reader fails to understand when metaphor is being used and when it is not. Conservative evangelicals are regularly taught that the Bible is a history book. As a result, they expect it to conform to the norms of modern history books–much like I automatically expected Charles’ map image to conform to my modern idea of what a map is for.

One could look at this from another direction. I have often heard pastors declare that the Bible is God’s love letter to each individual in a congregation. Pastors often mean well when they say this, but I think that it again leads to a misunderstanding of exactly what the Bible is. This in turn leads to a misreading of the text because the reader expects one thing but encounters something that is, in actuality, something quite different. This is, of course, at the heart of the evangelical debates about inerrancy, creationism, etc. Charles points out that looking at cognate texts can help us understand the Bible. He’s absolutely right. Looking at other ancient near eastern texts helps the modern reader to approach the Bible in the proper light so that when it does not conform to a modern ideal of a love letter, or history book, or whatever else, we are able to understand why and interpret it properly.

As it turns out, the map that Charles displayed wasn’t inaccurate at all. My expectations of it were what was inaccurate.

First, summer modules are a two-edged sword. On the one hand, they’re very helpful because it provides students a way to retake a class they may have failed to put the work into, or to take a class that they wouldn’t otherwise be able to fit into their schedule. On the other hand, there is just too much information in a standard semester-long course to try to cram it into a summer module that normally only lasts two weeks. I’ve been a student in plenty of summer classes, and it’s hard enough trying to process all the information. Having now co-taught a summer module, I know that professors don’t have it any easier. Trying to say everything that needs to be said in a short amount of time is very difficult.

Second, and related to the first, I think that I would prioritize slightly different aspects of each of the prophets I discussed with the class if I were to do it again. I’m fairly certain that this is something that even professor who have taught for twenty years say after finishing a class (even a semester-length class!). I look forward to my next opportunity to teach the Latter Prophets, as I think I’ll do much better.

Third, we used Exploring the Old Testament: A Guide to the Prophets by J. Gordon McConville. I think this textbook is quite good for a college level survey course. It also has the bonus of having a chapter on Lamentations, which Mandy somehow managed to squeeze into our survey. If I had the opportunity to teach this course again, I’d want to try some different ways of integrating the textbook with the classroom experience. As it was, we asked the students to write a one page interaction paper based on one of the boxes in the chapters covering the prophets we were going to talk about that day. We spent the first few minutes of class discussing their short papers. It worked OK, but in hindsight, I would have liked to see a little more effort by the students (generally, of course, some students did an excellent job) to process his arguments. Perhaps this would have been easier to see in a normal semester-length class? Either way, I’d like to come up with some way to improve the textbook-student-classroom relationship.

It is in her discussion of this later use of Bathsheba that I think Berlin may reach too far. She argues that in 1 Kings there is a contrast between Bathsheba and Abishag (pg 27ff). This is certainly true. However, Berlin may read too much into Bathsheba’s character. She suggests that “one can feel a twinge of jealousy pass through Bathsheba as she silently notes the presence of a younger, fresher woman.” Whether the historical Bathsheba (oh my!) may or may not have felt jealous at the sight of Abishag is, of course, besides the point. I am not convinced by Berlin’s reasoning that Bathsheba is portrayed as feeling any jealousy. If anything, I think the repetitious mention of Abishag lying with David is more to highlight his own feebleness and lack of sexual prowess, in contrast to his earlier exploits with Bathsheba who now enters as the legitimate wife. Berlin mentions this interpretation, but seems more keen to perceive a reaction in Bathsheba that I am simply not convinced is in the text. Nevertheless, an endnote (pet peeve: I hate endnotes. Footnotes are superior in every way) directs the reader to Berlin’s comments about repetition in narrative on page 74.

On page 74, deep within chapter three, Berlin makes the interesting point that repetition of facts previously mentioned in the narrative serves to shift the point of view from that of the narrator to the “newly arrive character,” (pg. 74). This is an interesting proposal, and I look forward to reading chapter three which deals at length with point of view.

On the whole, I found chapter two to be interesting, and much of what Berlin proposes is easily verifiable. Aside from her desire to see more emotion in Bathsheba than I believe the narrative allows, the chapter is quite helpful. The final part of the chapter deals with characterization. Here Berlin provides a somewhat standard treatment, although the biblical examples she provides serve well to drive home the points she makes for biblicists.

Fair warning: These kinds of things normally follow a predefined pattern for me. I start reading the book, review the first chapter, and then get so interested in the book that I don’t stop to blog until I’ve finished, at which point it seems somewhat tedious to go back through each chapter and write a review.

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Adele Berlin’s first chapter essentially explains what poetics is (the science that aims to find the building blocks of literature, “poetics is to literature as linguistics is to language” pg 15) and is not (interpretation). For someone who doesn’t have a great deal of background in poetics as a discipline this chapter is quite helpful. In fact, Berlin’s advocacy for a robust poetics in relationship with biblical studies resonates with me. This may be because I already see a great need for taking a step back and studying the Bible before jumping to interpretation. Perhaps this is because of my seminary background, where students (and sadly sometimes professors) wish to jump to interpretation (i.e., what does the text means) before doing the necessary ground work to answer that question. She is also quick to point out that, as the title of the book suggests, she is not writing a book on poetics, but rather a book on the poetics of the Hebrew Bible.

Near the beginning of the chapter, Berlin points out something that I wish I could get every first year seminarian or freshman at Bible colleges to understand. In fact, if I could get everyone who reads the Bible to understand her point, I would die a happy man. Berlin explains, “Above all, we must keep in mind that narrative is a form of representation. Abraham in Genesis is not a real person any more than a painting of an apple is a real fruit. This is not a judgment on the existence of a historical Abraham any more than it is a statement about the existence of apples,” (pg. 13, emphasis original). She goes on to explain this at more length. But these couple sentences truly do the job nicely by themselves. Narrative is representation. To borrow from cultural anthropology, the Bible does not have a 1:1 correlation to reality. Berlin would say that no literature does, because literature is–at its heart–representation, art. She is absolutely correct. Just as a painted portrait of an individual is *not* the person, but merely an artist’s representation of the person, so also with narrative works, including the Bible.

I’m currently working on the grammar of Habakkuk 3 for a class this semester. Any chance to learn more about Hebrew grammar is well worth taking, and Habakkuk 3 just makes things that much more enjoyable. One of the first things that pops out about the grammar in Hab 3 is that scholars don’t particularly agree on how to render the verbs. Below, I outline the three ways I’ve noticed scholars rendering the verbs in Habakkuk 3:

1. Some scholars render the yiqtol forms as present-future and the qatal forms as past. (e.g., J.J.M. Roberts, Sinker). In Roberts’ case, at least, this is because he views the poem in Hab 3 as a visionary experience of the prophet. However, he does not elaborate on why he has chosen present-future and past. It could be that he is trying to bring out the aspect of the verbs by using these English tenses (understandable), it could also be that he views Hebrew as tense-prominent. I’d disagree, but an aspect-prominent view of the language could produce a nearly identical translation.

2. Other scholars analyze the yiqtol forms in Hab 3 as short-form preterits (e.g., Hiebert, Robertson, Andersen). That is okay, but I think it is far from certain that the context requires such an explanation. Basically, the scholars who take this view are following Robertson, and I’m just not convinced that his arguments are strong enough to support this understanding of the forms in Hab 3. I’d be happy to be proven wrong, however.

3. The final way in which scholars understand the verbs in Habakkuk 3 is disappointing, to say the least. Some scholars simply flatten all the forms (yiqtol, qatal and wayyiqtol) into English present tense forms (e.g., Smith, O. Palmer Robertson, Haak). Now, it may be that the scholars who do so feel that there is some interplay between aspect in Hebrew that simply cannot be brought into English. However, none of the authors mentioned above discuss their reasons for translating the forms in this way. My reaction is to say that this option really ought to be avoided, as it’s no option at all.

So, those are the three ways I’ve noticed scholars handling the forms in Habakkuk 3. Have I missed anything? Perhaps someone out there would like to argue for one of the above three? I don’t personally find any of them entirely convincing. I’d rather posit some kind of interplay between unbounded action (yiqtol) on the one hand and bounded action (qatal) on the other. How this would be represented in English is, of course, difficult. The idea is also still somewhat nebulous in my mind.

Basically, I’m proposing wildly speculating that there is some interplay between imperfective and perfective aspect in the Hebrew. Perhaps the imperfective action simply paints somewhat broader strokes and the perfective action views smaller, particular instances? Alternatively it may be that the poet intends an interplay between the qatal and yiqtol forms that, in English, would require a vast array of constructions to represent–thus they could not adequately be represented by a simple 1:1 correlation of verbal forms. In either case it may be that all the verbs have the same time reference, but the aspect is what differs.

I’m very interested to hear what thoughts others might have on this topic.

I’m currently attempting to understand what Elihu offers (if anything) to the Book of Job. Clines has an enticing quote from Carol Newsom (on pg 710 of his second volume) which he does not cite. He says only that Carol Newsom said it. I have checked his bibliography at the beginning of the section, and there are no works by Newsom cited there. My first thought was that it would be in her book, A Contest of Moral Imaginations. However, it could also be in her NIB commentary on Job, or possibly in one of the articles she has written. Below I’ve included the entirety of the quote which Clines gives–if anyone knows where I can find the context, that would be extremely helpful.

into an intense moment, not just among the characters in the book, but also between the reader and the book. He breaks the dramatic spell and spoils the integrity of an aesthetic, emotional, and religious encounter at the climax of the book….By the end of chap. 27, Elihu has distanced the reader from the immediacy of Job’s passion and has changed the nature of the reader’s experience of the book, so that ideas dominate over passions….Elihu’s need to control–to control the reader’s perception of God and perhaps even to control God–is amply on display when he speaks. This dynamic, coupled with Elihu’s unconcealed conviction that he alone understands what is said and can point out and remedy its defects is what earns Elihu the undying resentment of generations of readers.

Summary:
Leslie Wilson undertakes to do what many before have attempted: understand the Book of Job. Specifically he argues that the book is best understood via an intertextual reading within the cultural milieu of mid-2nd century Palestine. Job then becomes a kind of a book about messiahs. In Wilson’s own words, “[the author of the Book of Job] describes a paradox, the enigmatic conundrum articulated above. A ‘messiah’ is simply a logical impossibility…salvation at the hands of Yahweh will be apocalyptic….for humanity and indeed the deity to survive, there must be a truce,” (pg 4).

Wilson’s methodology is best conveyed, again, in his own words: “the roots of this study of the Book of Job lie in the recognition in the Prologue of a pattern of words and phrases that seemed to frequently originate from the book of Genesis.” To this end the greater part of the book is spent discussing the intertextual links between Job chapters one and two, and the Book of Genesis. Wilson proposes many such intertextual links, though to be sure he finds many links outside of Genesis, especially in the wider Pentateuch.

The second half of the book is devoted to discussing the poetic sections in rapid succession. Of these sections Wilson perhaps focuses most the the “blessing and the curse,” as well as the Elihu narrative, though all poetic sections of the book are dealt with to some degree. In the end Wilson concludes, “Scholars have traditionally perceived intertextuality as a device intended to evoke an inexact association with a person or event. Our author takes intertextuality to a new level…he applies intertextuality to entire stories in the pursuit of his agenda,” (pg 245, emphasis original). Ultimately the Book is unable to answer the question which it sets out to do, according to Wilson. Namely, the issues of a messiah and salvation are impossibilities. There must be an eternal tension between the divine and humanity. Between human and divine “wholeness” (צדק) (cf. pgs 248-249).

The Good:
First I must commend Wilson for dealing with the book as a literary unity. Too often scholars deal with the book in sections, and thereby avoid many of the difficult interpretational issues that arise. Wilson takes the bull by the horns, so to speak, and grapples with the book as a literary whole. Indeed, seeing the book as a unity is vital to his methodology and conclusions.

Second, Wilson makes an attempt at understanding what is going on with the YHWH speeches at the end of the book in light of the book as a literary unity. I fear that he goes too far, and is perhaps reading too much into the text and making the Hebrew do what it can’t do–but I need to check this a bit further. Either way, his willingness to attempt to make sense of the book as a whole deserve commendation.

Third, he has done a huge amount of searching for intertextual parallels. Although I do not find the majority of his examples convincing (see below), a number of them I do find interesting. It may be worthwhile to remove Wilson’s “code” methodology and see what may be found in some of these parallels with a less…stringent method of comparison.

The not so good:
I have already quoted Wilson as writing, “Scholars have traditionally perceived intertextuality as a device intended to evoke an inexact association with a person or event,” (pg 245). There is a reason scholars traditionally view intertextuality in this light–they are being careful. Unfortunately, Wilson goes too far in his attempt at an intertextual reading. It is simply beyond believability that the author of Job expected his readings to pick up on so much of this intertextual rendering.

Even if this were not the case, Wilson at times picks and chooses his parallels to support his arguments. A single example with suffice to illustrate my point. He picks out of the first phrase in Job 1.1 the first two words, איש היה. From here he makes the parallel with Gen 6.9, which reads: נח איש צדיק תמים היה. There are, of course, other parallels to איש היה. The most notable of these is 2 Sam. 12.1. Wilson acknowledges this in a footnote, but explains that “exact wording” is important in intertextual antecedents and since 2 Sam. 12.1 uses the plural it does not qualify. However, one must wonder how it is that “exact wording” can be so important when the Genesis passage moves the descriptors צדיק and תמים before the verb while in Job 1.1 similar words do not occur until the end of the verse, well after the verb. Indeed, צדיק does not occur at all in Job 1.1.

Sadly this same picking-and-choosing may be seen throughout Wilson’s analysis. To say that Job 1 and 2 are attempting to situate Job within the patriarchal world is one thing. To say, as Wilson does, that they are situating Job next to Abraham and Isaac, but excluding Jacob is going to far. Similarly to say that Job 1.1 is meant to recall Gen. 6.9, and thereby introduce Job as a איש צדיק when צדיק is not used in verse one and there are other parallels to איש היה is going too far.

Conclusion:
Although I have found things that make this book quite worthwhile and helpful, the constant attempts at an intertextual reading go too far. It is not that I completely doubt the validity of intertextual readings, rather I doubt that one may expect them to be so specific. The idea of uncovering a code in Job that explains these parallels is dubious at best. It also would have been good to see more pages devoted to defending Wilson’s dating of Job in the 2nd century. Much of his thesis rides on Job being extremely late (so that almost every other book in the Hebrew Bible could have been written and known for the author of Job to pull from). Unfortunately, Wilson only defends this dating at the end, based on the conclusions of his analysis. This is circular reasoning, and further detracts from the feasibility of his study. If Wilson had dealt with the dating of the book more thoroughly, I would recommend it for purchase. As it stands at present, I cannot do so.