They don’t write books like this anymore, do they? Nothing could be more absurd or embarrassing than “reviewing” this, so I’m of course not doing it. Just some completely random notes.
The experience, the experience. It’s like protoplasm, a primordial literature mush out of which all genres gradually emerge. The founding myths come first, of course, the archetypes of fall or flood. But what is it about these impossibly detailed and non-existent genealogies? And mirroring it existent but even more absurdly detailed geographies – map-less, the space compressed into the temporality of speech.
But as far as lists go, nothing is more maddening than instructions for building tabernacle, the most infuriating IKEA manual ever. Exodus 27-35. Yes, eight chapters of ridiculously and needlessly precise construction instructions.
The patriarchs are generated as half-human mythological figures, and they gradually gave place to the masses of people who once shout in one voice, other times they murmur in cacophonic chaos - they're led ultimately by Moses, who, in touching twist of fate, doesn't get to enter the promised land.
All this somehow coalesces into chronicles of Deuteronomistic history books. Repetitive and boring as good history books are. All of this is about making sense of history, and of being abandoned, of being on the receiving end despite being righteous. You learn that from the Ten Commandments, the first is the crucial one. Like you have one fucking job: Worship YHWH. Don’t go whoring with Baal. And yet, here we are. God’s patience is endless, but ultimately Israelites are shipped to Babylonian captivity. Much of the Deuteronomistic history books is about making sense of this catastrophe. And it boils down to disobedience.
With regard to making sense of history: how about violence? There are occasional outbursts of genocidal violence in Pentateuch. Genocide of Midianites in Numbers 31 – not even required by God, but realized out of Moses’ own initiative. But genocidal frenzy erupts in full in Joshua. Remorseless, celebratory, without hint of modern embarrassment. There was not a question of making sense of that while captured in Babylon, but how to make sense of it now?
A hypothesis of mine that needs to be worked out: having God commanding genocide in your Holy Scripture can make you more attentive and thoughtful about violence, and ultimately make you abhor it more. There’s a lot of “Biblical” violence in Western history, but secular mind can cut it off as not being part of its story, separate oneself from it. That’s an easy way out – but for Abrahamic religious mind, genocides are part of your story. Accepting the genocidal foundations, which are everywhere objectively, can lead one to abhor it more. (Or less – Joshua was employed to justify colonial conquests, of course.)
At the same time, another more caring theme runs through the Old Testament: care about the strangers. You were strangers in Egypt, so you know the experience. Don’t be the pharaoh to strangers. In Ezekiel 22:29, this is how God rebukes the Israelites: “The people of the land have used oppression, and exercised robbery, and have vexed the poor and needy: yea, they have oppressed the stranger wrongfully.”
The historical reflection and sense-making is thus more nuanced. There’s anti-monarchist slant in Samuel and Kings. There’s anti-anarchist slant by the end of Judges – episode starting with 17:6: “In those days there was no king in Israel, but every man did that which was right in his own eyes.” Of course, it gets relentlessly violent from then on. It’s also strangely beautiful.
It’s also fascinating how God withdraws from the world the more we get to present. In 1 Maccabees, there’s literally no God. God doesn’t do anything. God’s implied presence is what motivates those like Judas Maccabeus, but God’s actually absent. Secularism is already reached as an option within theism.
On the back of the historical sense-making, more genres are produced as outshoots. Such as straightforward “court drama” of Susannah in Daniel. The skits: what is it with two she bears that Elisha employs to maul 42 kids in 2 Kings 2:23? Pointlessly violent, Tarantinesque episode that has no consequence on anything whatsoever.
The tantalizing eroticism of Song of Solomon, contained within Bible for no reason whatsoever.
The poetic beauty of Ecclesiastes, probably my favorite book in Bible, the ultimate, “musical” meditation on the meaning. “That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been” (3:15).
The equal beauty of Book of Job, where “man is born into trouble as sparks fly upwards” (5:7). Where Job is angry at God for not at least ending the misery he caused him. Where the problem of evil is tackled. Where the solution is God basically rebuking Job: Did you really think you could fucking get it? What were you thinking? “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding” (Job 38:4).
The psychedelic beauty of Revelation. The linguistic beauty of the simple expressions such as “and it came to pass” and “well stricken in age” in Genesis, where somehow even language is born. The grandiose beauty of that simplest but most poignant of expressions in Exodus 3:14 – one that will haunt Western philosophy to these days.
The eye-ring-angels of Ezekiel. The utterly depressive desolation of Lamentations of Jeremiah. The beasts in visions of Daniel. The incomprehensibly gory, imposing but mesmerizing imagery of Leviticus. The disturbingly detailed condemnation of sex with animals like it was not a theoretical problem. The “rivers of Babylon”, “where we sat down”, and “yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion” (Psalm 137). Isaiah, whose words, unknown to me (why didn’t I know, though? what’s this intellectual laziness?), made way to Händel’s Messiah. The lusting for horse dicks in Ezekiel 23:20. And politics presented as marriage in Hosea.
Also, for me it’s so interesting to learn that there’s basically no afterlife in Old Testament (except for, maybe, 2 Maccabees). You die, you die - how are you buried depends (if you’re eaten by dogs, that’s bad), but overall it’s the nation that lives on, not individual souls. (There’re hints at resurrection, though, such as Ezekiel 37:3-5.)
But there are also the quiet parts, the infuriating boredom, of most of the Proverbs, most of the Psalms. The Twelve being mostly pointless. And Jeremiah can’t get more tiring in condemnation of idolatry. The repetitiveness of Chronicles that causes headache.
A mush explodes to multiplicity and variability. The life emerges – the literary life, preceding the factual life. But what happens with that zealotish figure of Jesus, preaching perfection, chastising hypocrisy. Preaching love, but also exhorting to fight. “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law” (Matthew 10:34-35).
But also, finally, the complete delegitimization of not only genocidal violence, but also of conquests. It’s all about hearts and minds now, not about land.
That’s a simplification of the complexity, the collapse of multiplicity, an intense focus. The history begins anew, it’s about how we make it. The revolutionary coda to the circular sense-making. The seeds of further simplification, maybe? “Every man according to his ability” (Acts 11:29), “to all men as every man has need” (Acts 2:45).
(A lot revolves around the ultimate question of men’s penises. The circumcision. Is it necessary, as Leviticus requires, or can our foreskins enter the Heaven? Paul’s decisive move towards the universality of Christian Church is to preach “the circumcision of the heart, in the spirit” – Romans 2:29 – instead of the actual one.)
The ultimately Platonic simplification in the beginning of Gospel of John – Jesus as logos.
But also the weight of the past – Jesus as presupposed in Isaiah. The fulfillment of the law instead of its cancellation. But also the preference of love, charity, above the law. But also the random relapses into Leviticus law, like in James’ epistle. All simplifications are illusory, unstable, the multiplicity pulsates and flows over.
What else, what else. Yes, Paul’s view of the position of women is troubling sometimes. Jesus, the Son of Sirach, is a bit better, but not much. But I can’t hear them over the shouts of Deborah (Judges 5), the prophetess. And the courage of apocryphal Judith.
Yes, I know those six verses that can be misconstrued as condemnation of homosexual relationship. But I’m too mesmerized by the gay bromance of David and Jonathan, and by the lesbian power of Ruth and Naomi.
But ultimately, it’s all about those expressions that unknowingly to me penetrate my whole life, become part of my cultural baggage. Of stories that haunt us. And of finding all this in the context that explains nothing, that makes everything even more disorienting. The basic blocks of the thinking turn against me in whirlwind. I no longer know where I stand, but I’m just fascinated, with my eyes open.