Acts 11

Peter goes back to the church and persuades them to accept Gentiles in their midst. The church is further persecuted but it grows, and for the first time the followers are called "Christians," as opposed to a Jewish sect.

In his comment on my Acts 10 post, Telford was surprised that I called the conversion of Cornelius easy, crossing the ethnic divide was very difficult. I realize that; I just meant that specifically convincing people to follow Jesus always seems easy in the Bible. When Cornelius shows up, Peter gives him his standard spiel about Jesus, and bang! Instant Christian. There wasn't six months of wrangling about the problem of evil and all that. Of course, it helps that Cornelius got a directive straight from God to listen to Peter. I don't know if the Holy Spirit moved me to write to Telford, but it didn't tell me to believe everything he says!

Anyway, this chapter got me thinking about the conflict that comes between keeping oneself pure -- the main preoccupation of the kosher laws -- and going out into the world the way Christians are supposed to. Last year I read a story about the young Australian golf star Aaron Baddeley, who belongs to the fundamentalist Assemblies of God church. He had granted an interview to a freelancer who led him to believe the article would run in some mainstream Australian magazine. But that deal didn't work out, and the freelancer sold it to Penthouse. Baddeley's father flipped out, and was especially angry that Aaron talked about his faith and the AoG in it, and those words had appeared in a porn mag. If I remember right, he said it made him "want to take a shower."

It reminded me of another interview I'd read years earlier, when Alex Haley had interviewed Martin Luther King Jr. for Playboy. King was apparently reluctant to talk to the nudie zine, but Haley convinced him: "Look, you'll reach people who would otherwise never hear you!"

The situations were different, of course; Baddeley did not consent to appear in Penthouse, and he's no MLK, he's an athlete. But his father's reaction, compared to King's, speaks volumes to me about their different attitudes. Baddeley felt the word of God was tainted by appearing in Penthouse; King felt Playboy might be uplifted by it. I know what it's like to be concerned mainly with keeping yourself pure, and it's a self-absorbed, depressing place to live. It's not the sort of Christian I would want to be, if I were one.

The Bible blog craze sweeps the country!

A few days ago I got an email from someone named Dash inquiring about my Biblical blogging. Apparently Dash liked the idea, because s/he has decided to start a new blog going through the Bible from the beginning. Wow. And there's already a Star Trek reference!

Acts 10

For those of you who missed it, Telford left an interesting comment to my Acts 8 post as to why the African eunuch may not have been the first gentile convert:

In Jer. 41:16-42:6 a remnant of Judah (including eunuchs) whom the Babylonians allowed to stay in Judea are attacked and forced to flee. They refuse to obey Jeremiah's warning not to go to Egypt, and take onto themselves his curse. The eunuch may then be a Diaspora Jew, or at least one of Jewish ancestry, or perhaps just a typological figure of the original remnant. (In other words, it is not clear that he is a Gentile.)

In any event, in chapter 10 we have the first bona fide gentile convert, a Roman soldier named Cornelius. Cornelius, we are told, prayed to God and gave alms. One day he receives a vision of God telling him to visit Peter. Peter, meanwhile, gets a peculiar vision of a sheet falling on him filled with unkosher animals, which a voice tells him to eat. When Cornelius arrives, Peter realizes the vision was telling him to share Christ with gentiles as well as Jews. He does so, and and all the gentiles who hear him receive the Holy Spirit.

I suppose of all the people I've encountered in the Bible so far, Cornelius seems the most like me. He was unfamilar with Jesus, but he was praying and giving alms, much as I am. Luke doesn't explain why Cornelius was doing this, but for my own entertainment I like to think that he was doing it for the same reason I am: to align with his conscience. He was a soldier, after all, whose business was killing people, and defending the empire of Tiberius and Caligula. Maybe he hoped there was something beyond Roman imperialism and its hedonistic gods. The fact that Christianity spread so quickly through the Roman Empire suggests a lot of people hoped that.

Conversions are always so much simpler in the Bible than in real life, though. I suppose Telford wishes he had it as easy as Peter when it comes to identifying my inchoate yearning as the Holy Spirit. When I follow my conscience, though, it sometimes puts me at odds with the Christian God, as the recent Exodus debate shows (among others). But even in opposition, Christianity has helped clarify for me what my conscience is. A year ago I felt muddled and apathetic about everything, but now I feel sharper and much more passionate about what I believe to be right. I don't know if this will lead me to God, but I think already it's aligning me with myself, and bringing my soul somewhere closer to its home.

Acts 9

Here we have probably the most famous story in Acts: the conversion of Saul, later known as Paul. After appearing earlier as a persecutor of Christians, Saul heads toward Damascus but is knocked to the ground by a vision of Jesus. Left blind and helpless, he has to be led by the hand into the city. A disciple called Ananias gets a vision himself to go and heal Saul, which he does. After that Saul preaches for Jesus, and has to escape a couple different plots to kill him.

When I was at the going-away party last night that I mentioned earlier, I "came out" about the fact that I'm going to church. Despite my aforementioned boldness (and thanks to Telford for the nice comment on that post, by the way), I had only told one person at the office about the Christian Assembly, and never wanted to bring it up. I didn't want to bring it up last night either, but I remarked that I wasn't planning on leaving L.A. any more, because there are "things keeping me here." For some reason my boss got really curious about this, and kept prodding me until I told him about church.

Soon other people were talking about church experience. The funny thing was that most other people there had been raised in some sort of Christianity, and went to church at least in a spotty way, but none of them was currently attending one. I, on the other hand, come from multiple generations of atheists, and yet I'm the one going. I guess that would go with the perverse sense of humor God develops in the NT. The messiah battles with rabbis and hangs with tax collectors and prostitutes; one of his closest buddies turns him in; then the biggest persecutor of Christians becomes its biggest booster. At some point God decided to turn things upside down, andhe never seems to have stopped.

Acts 8

There are two distinct stories in this chapter. The first deals with a magician named Simon, known in later lore as Simon Magus. Simon has been performing wonders of an unspecified nature, but they're enough to make him famous. When Peter and John come through, though, he's sufficiently impressed to have himself baptized. But he is, as they say, unclear on the concept. When he sees the apostles performing a miracle he offers them money for their power, and is roundly rebuked.

This story deals with an uncomfortable fact: Jesus and his followers weren't the only ones performing healings and amazing feats back then. Just as today, there were all sorts of people claiming mystical powers, and convincing a lot of folks they were for real. But this story places an important moral difference between Christian wonderworking and other magic, by removing the financial motive. Whether the apostles were performing real miracles or not I don't know, but I think they believed they were.

I like the fact that this story goes beyond the my-god-is-bigger-than-your-god stuff that seems to turn up a lot in the Bible. It shows that it is not enough to believe Yahweh is powerful; Simon believes he's powerful, but sees him as only power. That was how most pagan gods of the era were viewed. He does not understand the ethical dimension of the new group he has joined.

The second story concerns another disciple named Philip. Philips meets a high-ranking eunuch from the court of a Nubian queen, who is reading the Book of Isaiah. Philip interprets the messianic passages of the book for him, explaining how they foretold Jesus. The eunuch asks Philip to baptize him, but after doing so Philip vanishes, and finds himself back in Judea.

It's a strange tale. Although Cornelius will appear later as the first "official" gentile convert, the unnamed eunuch seems to precede him. He isn't alarmed by Philip's disappearance, but "went on his way rejoicing." Although how Luke (the writer) would know that is beyond me. Really, the whole thing reads like a dream or a hallucination.

Another strange fact was that a Nubian courtier would be reading the Book of Isaiah to begin with. Apparently he was on his way back from Jerusalem, where he had gone to worship, so he was interested in Judaism. He wasn't alone; my study notes say that "gentiles could worship in the temple enclosure, although they were restricted to the outer court." I wonder how many gentiles were worshipping the Jewish God back then? Certainly it would help explain why converts to Christianity started popping up even before the disciples were specifically seeking them. That gentiles would worship even though they were treated as second-class citizens certainly makes it seem like Yahweh was already a powerful draw.

Acts 6-7

I've fallen behind so I'm going back (temporarily) to blogging more than one chapter at a time. I fear I'm going to keep falling, because I doubt I'll blog tomorrow. Work will be very busy, and then we're heading to a goodbye party for my boss, who's transferring to another bureau. I've learned the hard way not to blog after imbibing!

Anyway, in this case the two chapters tell basically one story. A disciple named Stephen is arrested on charges that he was blaspheming Moses and God. At the trial, rather than answer the charges directly, he gives a sort of SSDB account of Hebrew history, galloping all the way from Abraham through Moses and on to Solomon in about six paragraphs. It's a selective history, emphasizing the extent to which the Hebrews resisted what was good for them. He wraps up:

’You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One, and now you have become his betrayers and murderers. You are the ones that received the law as ordained by angels, and yet you have not kept it.’ (7:51-53)

The listeners respond by taking him out and stoning him to death. As he's dying, Stephen asks God to forgive them.

Although other apostles have gotten into some legal scrapes before now, I think Stephen is the first person to end up dead from it. Exactly why his punishers don't feel politically inhibited the way they did with Peter isn't clear, but the description makes it sound like a kind of mass rage descended on them for being criticized so sharply, and they killed him without much forethought.

In a way, Stephen was not telling them anything that they didn't know; probably the greatest charm of the Old Testament is its honesty about how its heroes screw up. And in my experience, Jews know this, and are among the most self-critical of peoples. I am reminded of a remark I overheard by a Jewish office-mate, about Catholicism: "You know, you'd think that two religions based so heavily on guilt would get along more." But evidently, the Jewish establishment of the time had become so complacent they'd forgotten how to cope with criticism. And, sadly, soon the tables would be turned, and it would be Christians doing the persecuting.

Pharaoh's children

Jeanne d'Arc has a powerful post considering why even Iraqis who fled Saddam's Iraq would fight against the American invaders. She compares the phenomenon to herself and her abusive father:

When I was thirteen, he left. I have a very vivid memory of that night. My mother was at work. I watched him pack. He was drunk, crying, and I felt sorry for him. He kept telling me how everyone loved his father, and he wished he was like him, but he couldn't be. And then he started screaming that he could have been a better father if he just had a daughter who was worth something. He grabbed my face in one big hand and said that if anybody asked me how come I didn't have a father, I better tell them it was because I didn't deserve one. I couldn't figure out if he was angry or sad, and not knowing scared me more than anything. I locked myself in the bathroom for awhile, and when I came out, the apartment was silent. I remember going from room to room, doing something very weird -- looking in the closet and under the bed and in hidden corners, even in the narrow space beside the refrigerator where my mother kept the broom, not trusting that he was gone, terrified that he would leap out at me. And then, when I believed he was gone, and I was safe, I started to cry, because I had made his life so miserable, and now that he was gone -- and somehow I knew that time it was for good -- I had no way to make it better.

I haven't seen him since. A few years ago, out of curiosity, I checked his name on a social security website and discovered that he died about ten years ago. Over the course of several days, I went back and looked at that information quite a few times, half expecting it to change. But finally it sank in, and I sat at the computer with a great wave of relief washing over me, a sense of safety I don't think I've ever experienced in my life. And then I started to cry in big gulping gasps. And for the life of me, I can't explain why...

From the first time I heard the neoconservative dream that Iraqis would refuse to fight for Saddam and welcome American "liberators" with open arms, it seemed to me not only highly unlikely, but dehumanizing as well. As if oppressed people don't have the same mixed-up emotions that the rest of us have. As if complex inner lives were unique to technologically advanced societies. We want to believe that there's a small number of bad Iraqis who fight for Saddam, and an enormous number of good ones who are on our side, or will be as soon as they can break free enough to express their true emotions. After all, we're good, right? How could they fail to see that?

I am more sympathetic to the war than she is, but I know exactly what she means. Saddam has been in power for the whole lifetime of many Iraqis; he's formed a personality cult around himself, his picture is everywhere, and the sort of mockery we direct toward our presidents is forbidden and rarely heard. Iraqis may fear and sometimes despise him, but he's in their psychic landscape, and all those years of propaganda can't go without effect. In those ways, a dictator is like an abusive parent. When they're really good at it, they can seem to distort reality itself.

I don't want to flog this to death, but I think this articulates something that was floating nebulously in my mind when I was criticizing Exodus. Maybe the common Egyptians failed to resist Pharaoh; maybe they even collaborated in oppressing Hebrews. But Pharaoh wasn't some elected leader who they could have gotten rid of if they didn't like his policies. They were brought up to believe he was literally a god, the offspring of those who control the sun and the rains who make the crops grow. It was wrong, but the actual God did not seem to be talking to anyone except the Israelites at this point, aside from bashing the s@$t out of them. I tend to think of Egyptians as victims of Pharaoh as much as anyone, especially since so many were themselves slaves, who never saw the promised land.

It had to happen

The war has a drinking game.

I'd like to thank...

Bill Allison answers my earlier question about whether Saudi Arabia can survive as a nation without the House of Saud:

There are counter-narratives coming from the various regions other than Najd asserting their old identities, but between the centralization that took place in the 1930s and the enforcement of Wahhabi orthodoxy, these haven't taken hold. Al-Rasheed sees the Islamists as being far more likely to cause trouble for the ruling family than, say, Hijazi nationalists. It's also hard to say whether regional identity would reassert itself if the House of Saud fell. Oil wealth has changed the society dramatically, as have the methods by which the regime has centralized power. The old tribal alliances and identities might exist beneath the surface, but they certainly don't operate as they once did. I would suspect that the Shi'ite-traditional Sunni-Wahhabi fault lines might be far more powerful than the old regional identities.

Good points. Certainly a lot more has changed since the Ottoman Empire days than just the Sauds taking over.

Also, Katheryn from Brasilianista Aspirante responded to my earlier post, explaining what a Brazilianist is:

A Brazilianist is a non-Brazilian scholar (in the humanities and social sciences) whose research focus on Brazil. Usually Brazilians use the word "brasilianista" to refer to North American scholars who study Brazil, but there are some Brits who are considered to be Brazilianists. Strangely, Brazilians do not call non-Anglophone, non-Brazilian scholars who focus on Brazil (such as the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss) "brasilianistas", but instead refer to them by their academic field (anthropologist, historian, political scientist, literary critic, musicologist, art historian, sociologist etc.).

There is something about being "Anglo-Saxon" that makes Brazilians want to slap the title of Brazilianist on any Anglophone who knows something about Brazil and can get by in Portuguese. In a magazine article written in 1998, a Brazilian-born anthropologist studying the Brazilian community in Los Angeles called *me* a Brazilianist -- and I was still an undergrad, albeit one who knew some Brazucas (Brazilian-Americans) and had joined some Brazilian organizations in LA.

Cool. While we're at it, be sure to pray for her...

Acts 5

This chapter consists of two substories. In the first, a married couple hides some of their proceeds from the sale of some real estate from the church. Once the deception is discovered, they fall dead on the spot.

This is a dark turn from what went before. While Jesus was alive, he used his powers for help and not for harm, and forgave those who persecuted him. At this point, God returns to the ass-kicking standard of the OT (and it won't be the last time, either). I'm still recovering from all the violence in Exodus, so frankly, I don't feel like engaging this.

In the second half, Peter does more healings, and is again arrested. This time he and some other apostles get thrown in the clink, but at night an angel frees them. While the priestly council is trying to figure out what to do, Gamaliel, apparently a teacher of Paul's, argues for their release on peculiar grounds. Other religious groups had come before and been smashed; if God is not with the Christians, they'll be smashed too. If God is with them, no one can stop them. Why not let them go, and see what happens?

This is strange logic coming from a Jew. The Hebrews got whupped a number of times in the OT, and took it as punishment for their unfaithfulness to God; yet they never doubted that they were ultimately the Chosen. I guess the point he's making is that once the leaders of these other groups got killed, the followers dispersed; they didn't push on the way Christians have done. Still, the passive way Gamaliel frames the groups' demise ("he was killed") seems to be avoiding the fact that they fell because somebody out there was actively persecuting them. If everybody followed Gamaliel's logic, they would keep on going even if they weren't with God! Well, I guess that's what the Romans are for...

Acts 4

Peter and John are arrested, and the authorities find themselves with a political problem. The apostles' healing of the crippled guy has put the crowd behind them, and no one disputes their miracle. So the authorities let them go, but tell them to put a sock in it about Jesus. The apostles refuse, and pray for boldness in preaching the word.

Some time ago, Telford wrote me an email that ended:

Thanks for never being bashful. I serve a God who advises his followers to be just as brash. Knock on that goddamn door till in opens (Luke 11:5-13).

First of all, I think it's hilarious that Telf put a Biblical cite on such a, um, loose paraphrase of the actual line (but I suppose that's how you know you're corresponding with a theologian). But I was gratified to read it, because I know that once I get on something I have a relentlessness that can freak people out. I suppose since Telford thinks I'm being relentless about the right things that isn't surprising. But even so, it's not like it's always been easy for him, as readers of this blog will know. I can be just as unsubtle in disagreeing as in seeking.

Actually, one thing generally that's really pleased me about the Christians that I've met in the blogosphere and at church is how little I feel the need to censor myself. I remember after I raised my question that kicked off the dying-for-sins debate, my mother asked me (with great concern) if any responses had been shocked, appalled, etc. They weren't, of course, but my mother always had the idea (which I think I absorbed, as children do) that you have to walk on eggshells around Christians because they're really easy to offend. I am sure such Christians are around (probably especially in the Tennesse of her childhood). But I've found quite the opposite to be true: the more honest I am, so long as I'm not rude or mean, the happier everybody seems to be. I guess that, from their side of the fence, Christians don't meet a lot of people who honestly engage them, as opposed to insulting them or just evading the whole thing. So even if my gift of boldness isn't going to quite the same purpose as the apostles', I hope it's serving some use for the people in my life, Christian and otherwise.

Housekeeping

Sorry about the lack of posting -- my home Internet connection conked out last night, so I was just left with the one fluffy post about dairy products. (I'm glad Kathy enjoyed it, anyway.) This evening is going to be crunched because of Alpha, but work today looks like a lot of sitting around waiting for callbacks, so I'm hoping to squeeze in another Acts post or two.

I wrote to Rob Carr of UnSpace about a week ago to inquire about the future of his blog, and didn't get an answer. I hope he's OK, wherever he is. But since he lasted posted on Feb. 5, I removed him from the blogroll on the assumption UnSpace is defunct. Rats. Where else am I gonna find a bird-watching, Harry-Potter-spoofing liberal Presbyterian elder?

Meanwhile, his place under Miscellaneous Monotheists has been taken up by Noli Irritare Leones, for reasons described here. I also added Cinderella Bloggerfeller and Daniel Drezner to Righties and Academia, respectively.

About a week ago Patrick wrote me to ask, "How come the right-wingers are called 'righteous' while the lefties are merely 'loud'?" It was (I assume) tongue-in-cheek, but hey, he had a point. So I now I have a list of Lucid Lefties. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

The milky way

I was pleased to see Cecil Adams take on some of the sillier claims of anti-dairy activists. Maybe it's just living in California, but I seem to have heard an awful lot of that stuff. The weird thing is, I don't just hear it from animal-rights people. I've known meat-eaters who claim dairy is somehow bad for your digestion, it has "bad fat" in it, or -- my favorite -- "you shouldn't drink it because you're not a cow."

A couple years ago I bought a series of personal-training sessions at my gym, which included constructing a diet for me. My original trainer formed a pretty sensible one, which (with a few tweaks) I went on to lose 35 pounds with. But in the last session my usual guy was gone and subsituted with a man who had some pretty weird health ideas, based on what's "clean." This wasn't so much in the kosher sense of clean so much as how you digest things, but I'm really not sure. I don't think he understood it himself, actually, he just picked it up somewhere and was convinced it worked. And dairy products (natch) weren't "clean," even though he was fine with eating meat. Since this was my one and only encounter with the guy, I just smiled and nodded and went home and completely ignored his instructions. (I love being a grownup.)

What is it about dairy products that seems to make people wacky? I can only think it's a kind of backlash -- people's mothers tell them to drink their milk, and all these ads from the milk lobby tell us it's the virtuous thing to do. I guess there's a thrill in revealing that all that healthy stuff that was foisted on you all your life is really ... POISON!! Or something like that. All I know is there's hardly a dairy product I don't like, so keep your issues away from me.

Acts 3

Peter encounters a beggar outside the temple who's been lame since birth, and heals him This is, I believe, the first time a healing has been done by an apostle rather than Jesus himself.

It's hard for me to read stuff like this without thinking of my brother-in-law. I met him when my sister first started seeing him in 1989, and he became like an adopted big brother to me, very loving and supportive. But he was always in pain. In the mid-70s he was in a building that collapsed from structural defects, and though surgery pulled him out of the initial paralysis, he remained fragile and plagued by problems. A few years after I got to know him he fell -- the sort of ordinary fall that most people would recover from -- went through another round of surgeries, and wound up in a wheelchair. And the pain gotten worse. I can see it in his eyes, in the way his smile is always a little cramped.

In the last year or so he's worked hard to strengthen himself, and he's noticeably improved. Last summer when I visited them, he proudly showed me that he could stand (a bit shakily) for ten seconds or so, which he had not been able to do in years.

Watching this long struggle is why, to be perfectly honest, stories like Acts 3 seem almost pornographic to me. Peter says, "Stand up and walk," and the man's "feet and ankles were made strong," and he literally jumps to his feet. I know many people draw from this the hopeful message that God can perform such miracles, and part of me wants to draw that also. Yet it's manifestly true that except maybe for a few instances like that, when he has a specific Gospel-spreading purpose, God does not do such things.

Coincidentally, yesterday my sister emailed me a link to this page. She's normally not interested in religion, so I was a little surprised. I don't agree with everything the author says, but I resonated with this:

The value of meditation and prayer are well established. The Church provides a place to focus one's attention upon both public and private concerns. Corporate and private prayer each have genuine value. Yet to corrupt this vital function with an appeal for a supernatural Lone Ranger to ride to our rescue is to weaken our spiritual strength and the capacity of the Church to contribute to our individual and corporate need in times of stress. We cannot be con men exploiting the legitimate needs of our parishioners with "worn out magic." We must heal the sick, not add to their sickness. When my wife was dying from a malignant brain tumor where the mortality rate was 100% regardless of treatment, it was almost more than I could bear to tolerate the comfort of the well meaning pious who urged me to "pray for a miracle." What kind of god would participate in such cruelty? Let the child in the next room die, but save my wife? We have to do better than that.

It is better, in a way, to think that God isn't in the miracle-cure business at all than to think he does it with such caprice. Telford has told me before that the miracles in the New Testament aren't supposed to be magic tricks to impress the gullible -- there signs of what will be, in the kingdom of God. Maybe he's right, but still it's hard to read of a crippled man jumping around, while the rest of us have to wait until the end of the world.

Uck

All this time in front of the computer is finally catching up with me, and my eyes literally ache. I have to run outside and play now. I'll be back with more Acts and whatnot when I feel better.

What falls away

Matt Welch says that if we're going to democratize Iraq, Saudi Arabia should be next. Matt has been on the House of Saud's ass for 15 months now, and he knows whereof he speaks.

I've been wondering about something, though. We've all been wondering if Iraq can last as a coherent state, given the Sunni/Shiite and Arab/Kurd divisions. Saudi Arabia is basically all Arab and Sunni, but it comprises three distinct regions (west, east and middle) that weren't historically part of one political unit until Ibn Saud conquered them in the 1930s. As the name suggests, the whole national identity comes from the House of Saud. If it loses the Sauds, what will it be?

Since Bill Allison has been reading a history of the country, he might have a better idea of this. I don't know what, on the ground, separates a Hijazi from a Nejdi. But one thing that's interesting about the Arab world is that while theoretically they all speak Arabic, and use a common written form, the spoken forms have diverged to the point where some consider them separate languages. The Ethnologue, the fabulous online language database, counts 35 spoken varieties of Arabic. Within Saudi Arabia, the linguistic divisions conform to the three political divisions I described.

I don't know how much these linguistic divisions matter, but it does insinuate who's talking to whom. If Saudi Arabia is no longer Saudi, will its regions be talking to each other?

Compulsion

Noah Millman makes the case for Conservative Judaism ordaining gay rabbis. He calls it a "narrow, sectaran post," but the issues are pretty much the same for gays in any religious community, I think.

A wrinkle in time

Somewhere in the miasma of my brain, David Frum's much-blogged piece denouncing paleoconservatives connected with Harry Steele's theory that the left was splitting in two camps based on the changes stemming from the Cold War's end:

Opposing the actions of the US in the cold war meant allying yourself with its opponents, or at the very least lending them your sympathy and that was really not a problem for the left, including people who would call themselves liberals rather than socialists or communists. They could see a fair case for democracy in Chile, land reform in Latin America etc and I am still not convinced there was a lot wrong with such view.

But I don’t want to go over the historic rights and wrongs of the cold-war debates at this stage. What I think is critical now is that the same outlook has been maintained for a world where the opposition to the US and liberal democracies in general, comes not from leftist or national-liberation movements but from essentially fascistic forces. This is the point where the line has been crossed, where what may have been a progressive outlook in a previous era becomes a fundamentally reactionary position.

I found this via Junius last month, and thought it was a great point. Chris Betram wrote at the time that what clinched this for him was the war in Bosnia. Where some on the left were sympathetic to the Serbs because they were theoretically socialist, he realized they were ethnic reactionaries in another guise. And al-Qaeda, of course, is as politically incorrect as they come.

What the Frum article suggests is that this split is happening on the right as well. Thirty years ago anti-Americanism was the domain of the left, and while of course a lot of it still exists in the left, a lot of the most radical and scary rhetoric and actions are coming from the far right. Frum shows how paleocons have actually been sympathizing with America's enemies, because fanatical ethnic and religious purity resonates with them. And beyond the paleocons are the white-supremecist and other fascistic movements that are probably more dangerous than any domestic left-wing group right now. The Oklahoma City bombing, after all, was done in the name of similar views.

What makes this so dizzying for those who grew up in the Cold War is that it's not just a political shift, it's a kind of temporal shift. As Frum writes:

When NATIONAL REVIEW declared in its founding editorial that it would stand "athwart history, yelling Stop" the history it had in mind was Marx's "History" — the "History" with a capital H that was supposed to run inevitably toward Communism. By November 1989, that History had indeed stopped — was rapidly running backward — and the great question for conservatives was, "What now?"

Back in the Cold War, the West's enemy was a type of futurism. Marxists were so destructive because they sought to tear down societies and remake them from scratch. But now we are future, and attacks are coming from the past. As Eastern Europe, East Asia and Africa move fitfully in a liberal-democratic direction, malcontents want to turn back the clock -- to the days of the Caliphate, to the antebellum South, to the medieval days when Kosovo wasn't Albanian. And even the left-fringe activists these days are backward-looking, like the folks who sabotage genetically engineered crops to halt biotechnology.This is hard for both left and right to adjust to, I think. The left got so used to pointing to America's regressive aspects that it's tough to admit it's actually more progressive than most of the world; the right has to admit that, while change may alarm them, there are lots of things in the past that they really don't want to go back to.

Of course, as the Cold War showed us, what the future seems to be isn't always what it turns out to be. But the perception now that things are heading our way puts us in a very different spot than we were before. What we have to resist now is the futurist urge to coerce people into "progress." Josh Marshall warned recently that some in the administration would like to use this war as an entree to remaking the whole MIddle East. I agree with Josh: Be afraid. The future can change before you know it.

Acts 2

This is the chapter whence Pentecostals get their name. Gathered with a crowd of Jews from many countries to observe Pentecost (50 days after Passover), the disciples receive gifts of the Holy Spirit, and start speaking in tongues. Unlike Pentecostals today, their tongues are actually the languages of the various foreigners who assembled.

What most strikes me about this story is how it's the Tower of Babel on rewind. In that story, you'll recall, humanity speaks one language and unites to build a city with a huge tower in the middle. God finds this threatening -- "nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them" -- and scatters them around the world speaking different languages, so they can never reunite.

Like a lot of early Genesis, this story feels like a pagan folktale that was shoehorned in -- what's up with this insecure God, and these overpowerful humans? But Acts 2 sends the message that if God was ever threatened by human unity, he isn't now. Although the conversion of the gentiles is still in the future, we have our first hint of the new religion's global reach.

By the way, I have to say that this cracked me up:

All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, ‘Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. (2:12-15)

Uh-huh. Nobody gets drunk before nine in the morning. Unless they're just continuing from the night before, I suppose...

Uh oh

Louder Fenn and John J. Miller are both impressed by the, er, moral clarity of three-year-olds.

Guys. Do you remember what life was actually like on the playground? When I was growing up some lefties had an affair with the whole children-as-teachers-of-peace thing, and this is equally goofy. I could say it no better than Eve Tushnet:

Also, why is it somehow considered profound when a child rephrases his or her parents' political bromides in an even more simplistic and unenlightening fashion? I mean, that's nice dear, now run along.

Acts 1

The physician Luke picks up where he left off. The risen Jesus tells his disciples to tell the world about him, and that they will be getting help from the Holy Spirit (more on that in the next chapter). Then he disappears.

The followers go back to Jerusalem and choose a replacement for Judas named Matthias. While discussing the matter, Peter mentions in passing how Judas supposedly died:

Now this man acquired a field with the reward of his wickedness; and falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out. This became known to all the residents of Jerusalem, so that the field was called in their language Hakeldama, that is, Field of Blood. (1:18-19)

This is quite a different story than the Gospel of Matthew tells, which says Judas repented his act, returned the money, and killed himself. The authorities used the money to buy the field, thence known as the Field of Blood.

The disciples probably knew about Judas' death only through the rumor mill; one imagines that, after the betrayal, Judas put as much real estate between himself and them as possible. It's probably impossible to know what really became of him. But the fact that these two different stories were already circulating among the early church suggests to me a split, which exists to this day, in attitude towards the enemies of the church. Richard John Neuhaus, writing about the possibility of universal salvation, pointed out that we don't know for sure that Judas is in hell. The idea that Judas repented certainly makes him seem salvageable. The story of him callously buying a field and dying in a freak accident, on the other hand, sounds a lot more vindictive. The apostles would have been understandably wounded at their former friend's betrayal, and one can imagine them enjoying the gross-out details.

Certainly Judas would have presented one of the world's toughest jobs of forgiveness. But then again, that's what Jesus told his followers to do. I suppose I could do no better than Stanley Hauerwas, whom the Gutless Pacifist quotes today:

I do not want my enemies forgiven. I want you to kill them (as sometimes prays the psalmist!). Actually, I would prefer to pray that you punish them rather than kill them, since I would like to watch them suffer. Also, I fear losing my enemies, since my hates are more precious to me than my loves. If I lost my hates, my enemies, how would I know who I am? Yet you have bent us toward reconciliation, that we may be able to pass one another Christ's peace. It is a terrible thing to ask of us. I am sure I cannot do it, but you are a wily God able to accomplish miracles. May we be struck alive with the miracle of your grace, even to being reconciled with ourselves. AMEN.

Exodus 35-40

Exodus wraps up with the building of the tabernacle, described in the same numbing detail as the instructions for building the tabernacle. The Hebrews are following previous directions, of course, but you also get the feeling that such a communal project is important after the trauma of the golden calf episode. Everyone contributes whatever possessions and talents they have to the endeavor; we are told some people were even turned away, so great was the giving.

Infighting is a great danger for any newly liberated group of people. The way the Israelites' solidarity quickly fractures after they leave Egypt is all too familiar to observers of postcolonial societies in Africa or Asia. One can't help but think Pharaoh would have been mighty amused to see what happened. The impressive Jewish knack for survival is showing itself already.

The converse danger for newly free peoples, however, is to take the unity brought by collective struggle into peacetime, leading to a militaristic authoritarianism. Robert Kaplan writes and interesting account in the new Atlantic Monthly of Yemen and Eritrea, two neighboring states representing the extremes of these problems. Yemen's local clans have never really come under central control, and have never stopped fighting each other. Eritrea, meanwhile, gained an extraordinary sense of unity and pride from its long struggle against Ethiopia, and is a rare model of civic order in the region. But the state is turning oppressively defensive and conformist, squashing the press and ignoring all external input.

Israel-to-be has to deal with both of these temptations. Telford points out that for a while authority became too centered on Moses, until his father-in-law intervened. Yet Moses is clearly and essential unifier; it was because he was gone so long that people turned to the golden calf to begin with.

It's hard to think about all this now without thinking about the people of Iraq. They've been under one tyrrany or another for a long, long time. Chaos threatens the moment Saddam is gone. Will they be able to find the balance?

Exodus 32-34

This section starts with the famous story of the golden calf. When God sees the Israelities worshipping an idol he flies into a rage, which Moses talks him down from. But once Moses comes down and sees what's happening, he loses his own temper and sets off a fratricide that kills 3,000 people.

Cheery story to read on the eve of a war, no? One thing that struck me, though, was that even though Moses tells his followers to "kill your brother, your friend, and your neighbor" (32:27), he spares his own brother Aaron, who actually made the calf. Aaron's account of himself is rather peculiar:

And Aaron said, ‘Do not let the anger of my lord burn hot; you know the people, that they are bent on evil. They said to me, “Make us gods, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” So I said to them, “Whoever has gold, take it off”; so they gave it to me, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!’ (32:22-24)

This sounds like what the Washington press corps calls the "passive exonerative" construction -- as in, "mistakes were made." In fact, earlier in the chapter it says specifically that Aaron formed a mold and cast the calf with it, so the it-just-popped-out story sounds extra unconvincing.

After this miserable tale is over, though, the mood seems to get almost wistful. The chastened Israelites strip off their garments and wait while Moses keeps conversing with God every day in a pillar of cloud, "as one speaks to a friend" (33:11). Although Moses gets closer to God than anyone else, he pleads with God to let him closer still. Show me your ways, show me your glory, show me your face, he asks. God says Moses couldn't survive such an encounter, but says:

‘See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen.’ (33:21-23)

There's an odd tenderness to this, after all the violence that's gone before. I feel for Moses' yearning to commune with his maker, especially after the earthly relationships turned into such a disaster. In the next chapter Moses goes back up on the mountain to receive the stone tablets of the Law, and returns with his face shining so brightly that he has to veil it when he's with other people. Apparently a mistranslation of this in the past led English speakers to think he came back with horns, leading to all the paintings depicting a weirdly Pan-like Moses, but the shining makes a lot more sense. Like the "glow" after seeing your beloved, brought to life, an almost unbearable joy.

The beginning of the end

So, Bush has told Saddam to hit the road.

I haven't been blogging about the war for pretty much the same reason as Charles Murtaugh -- I'm in the agonized middle about it, and it's too depressing. So much is based on what is hard to really know. Is Saddam Hussein just a dangerous nutball, or is he a dangerous nutball of world-threatening proportions? And what's going to happen in Iraq once he's gone?

Meanwhile, there's our own leader at home to figure out. Posting on Josh Claybourn's blog, Brian Logue complained about the press' alleged fear of Bush's religion:

Here is a survey of this charge against our President. I wonder if this would be tolerated if our president was New Age or some other chic religion that is non-western in origin? How can a Christian Society be so biased? How is it that some would deny what we are at the core?

In the comments, Jon Darby said roughly what I was thinking:

The press seemed to have a field day with the Reagans when it was learned they used astrologers.
http://www.who2.com/nancyreagan.html

Whether the media would be gentler and kinder if he were New Age is moot since I think we'll see a midget in the White House before we see somebody who belongs to a non-mainstream Christian religion. JFK's Catholicism was a major issue, you'll recall.

Actually, given that Gore-Liebermann won a slim majority of votes, I can imagine a Jew getting there in my lifetime. (For that matter, a midget doesn't sound that unthinkable either!) But it's true, if some New Ager won the presidency our culture would be so different that any comparison is useless. If the press now tends to go mushy on people like the Dalai Lama, it's because he has no real power in our society. If the Dalai Lama were president and had control over the purse strings and the nukes, you betcha there'd be scruitiny.

It seems to me that the real question regarding Bush's faith is whether it's a source of humility or self-aggrandizement. Critics fear that he has a messianic sense of mission, and imagines himself specially chosen by God to fight evil. Dave Neiwert expressed this fear a while ago, though his chosen example, lifted from a Progressive article, doesn't seem very impressive to me:

That Bush believes he was assigned the Presidency from on high comes through in another passage of Frum's book. After Bush's September 20, 2001, speech to Congress, Gerson called up the President to compliment him: "Mr. President, when I saw you on television, I thought--God wanted you there," Gerson said, according to Frum.

"He wants us all here, Gerson," the President responded, according to Frum.

If anything, that sounds like he's disclaiming special status -- sure, God wants me here, but he wants everybody here! The other direct quotes from Bush that the article cites seem similarly ambiguous. When Bush says, "I could not be governor if I did not believe in a divine plan that supersedes all human plans," is he saying he's specially appointed for leadership? Or just that without his faith he'd be a drunken shlub who never got anywhere?

I think part of the problem here is that evangelicals tend to see the hand of God in everything. I've certainly noticed this since I've been hanging around them. They tend to see God at work in what secular types would call chance or fortune or personal strength or other people's decisions. A lot of it seems pretty silly to me, frankly, but the point is that they don't imagine they're special. They think God works in everybody's life.

All of which isn't to say definitely that Bush doesn't have a messiah complex. I certainly hope not. But psychoanalyzing somebody from a distance was always a tricky business anyway.

Exodus 24-31

This section I admit to skimming some, because it's a very long and tedious set of directives on how to build the Tabernacle, what the priests should wear, how they should sacrifice, etc. Through most of it God sounds like the world's most exacting interior decorator:

You shall make an altar on which to offer incense; you shall make it of acacia wood. It shall be one cubit long, and one cubit wide; it shall be square, and shall be two cubits high; its horns shall be of one piece with it. You shall overlay it with pure gold, its top, and its sides all around and its horns; and you shall make for it a molding of gold all around. And you shall make two golden rings for it; under its molding on two opposite sides of it you shall make them, and they shall hold the poles with which to carry it. You shall make the poles of acacia wood, and overlay them with gold. (30:1-5)

And so on for seven chapters. I wondered at first why God would care about such things as the length of the priests' undergarments. Then again, I thought, this is the sort of thing the priests would want to know. If God just said, "Build me a good temple, dress nicely, and make some sacrifices," they'd be left wondering, "What on earth could we build that we know would please God?" And, no doubt, start arguing about it.

In fact, it would be nice if God were this detailed about everything. A lot of the most important commands -- "love your neighbor," "honor your parents" -- are rather widely open to interpretation. Much ink and blood has been spilled over the centuries trying to figure out exactly what it is that God wants.

On another subject, I'm wondering about this passage:

Then Moses and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel went up, and they saw the God of Israel. Under his feet there was something like a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. God did not lay his hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; also they beheld God, and they ate and drank. (24:9-11)

Back in the dying-for-sins debate, Tom wrote that no one before Jesus could survive looking at God, and quotes a later chapter of Exodus in support. So what were these men seeing up there? Did they see him but not see his face?

The trouble with taxonomy

I had an email exchange with Patrick Nielsen Hayden today about my blogroll categorization scheme. Among other things, he wondered why it seems like most of the bloggers people identify primarily as Catholic are conservatives. I seem to recall this question came up in the Catholic blogosphere itself not long ago, but I'm not going to try to dig up the debate.

Anyway, I pointed to Noli Irritare Leones and Not For Sheep as non-conservatives on my Catholic list. Thinking about it later, though, I wondered if NIL even belongs there. She seems to be involved in both Catholic and Quaker activities. So I decided to go back to her first post and see how she describes herself:

I'm a religiously eclectic Christian (raised Episcopalian, Quaker as an adult, married into Catholicism), politically mostly liberal, and professionally an engineer. My current reading material is Thomas Merton's Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander and Edward Schillebeeckx's Jesus. My volunteer activities include various things associated with my Quaker Meeting (Recording Clerk, Library Committee, currently on a First Day School teaching team, though I drop off the teaching team at the end of the month), moderating soc.religion.mormon (I did say I'm eclectic in my religious interests, didn't I?), and occasionally (like, every couple of months or so) helping prepare food at a local Catholic Worker house.

Darn bloggers. You try to pidgeonhole them, they go flapping out before you know it!

The telltale keyboard

Clive James' review of a new biography of Aldous Huxley is an interesting read. But I can't help noticing how well it fits David Sexton's description of a piece by a reviewer who hasn't actually read the book:

They take issue only with specific sections of the work. They never make sweeping negative assertions ("there is no mention anywhere in this book of ..."). They deliver wellturned essays about subjects they already know about (Napoleon, say, or the national health) and then add just a few kind words about the publication in hand ("as X says, in this lively account").

James writes a long and scholarly essay about Huxley and his books, with exactly two brief but complimentary mentions of the biography at hand. Wouldn't want to leap to conclusons ... but ...

Down among the reeds and rushes

Yesterday I took a break from Exodus and started rereading a short book I have about the first civilizations of the world. Among the people I read about was Sargon the Great, who sounds like a Star Trek character but was actually the first person to rule all of Mesopotamia, in about 2300 B.C. Civilization grew up in Sumer, in the southern part of the region, but Sargon was an Akkadian, from the north.

One legend has it that Sargon was an illlegitimate baby whose mother put him in a basket and set him afloat in the Euphrates, where he drifted downriver to Sumer and was brought up a Sumerian. The resemblance to the Moses story is obvious, and in fact, this isn't the only tale of this type. The ancient Indian epic the Mahabharata also has an illegitimate baby who was floated in a river and wound up in a royal court, though I forget now exactly who the character was.

I don't know if floating babies in rivers was common back then, or if this was just a story that bopped around the Middle East at the time. As the urban-legend trackers Snopes often find, a tale about one famous person will often get transferred to another one who seems plausible, especially if the original subject drifts into obscurity. The common thread between these characters is that they had unlikely origins for ending up among royalty, and yet they did. Possibly this story was simpler and more dramatic than however Moses did wind up in Pharaoh's household.

I have heard it suggested that Moses actually was an Egyptian, who married into the Hebrews and came to identify with their cause. Stranger things have happened. But personally, I don't see how it makes a difference either way. What he did as a grownup was a lot more important.

Exodus 20-24

This section is basically a Cliff Notes version of Leviticus, with God laying out the Ten Commandments and various other laws and penalties.

It made me think of a recent article about patterns of revenge in stateless societies. With no formal system of justice, things tend to spiral downwards into revenge and revenge for the revenge until the violence goes way beyond the original crime. Here's the "money quote":

"A life for a life, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth was not, for the tribal people who codified this rule, a recipe for unbridled violence, but rather an attempt to contain it," Dr. Beckerman says.

This is an important thing that a lot of moderns don't realize when they look at ancient law codes. The severity of the penalties -- death for adultery, for instance -- are not due to a tyrannically moralistic state but the fact that the penalties people exact on each other, when left to their own devices, are even more severe. There are societies in the world even today where, if you catch your wife with another guy, you're more or less expected to kill them. This attitude lingered on in the West for a long time -- the hero of Jane Eyre, for instance, isn't seen as especially evil just because he shot his mistress' boyfriend. This was not because of an abstract moral objection to adultery, but because of a natural rage at the injury.

In fact, some legal codes of the day went a lot farther than the Bible on the tit-for-tat scale. As I recall, in the Code of Hammurabi if someone killed your child then one of his children would be killed, and in the Assyrian code if you raped someone's wife then your wife would get raped. (Who the lucky party was who carried out this punishment, I don't know.) Of course, this also reflects the fact that women and children were regarded as property of men, which the OT basically agrees with, but not (fortunately) to that extreme.

If we don't look at things that way in the West today, I suppose it's because we've moved so far away from the lawless state that justice has become depersonalized. Adultery is, for most people, a lot more painful than getting their wallets snatched. But sex is seen mostly as a ''private" matter, which is a distinction I don't think the ancients would have understood. Law isn't really about personal pain any more; it's about abstract concepts like individual rights and property rights. (Although civil law still has that element, as in damage awards for "emotional distress.")

On another note, I thought this was interesting:

When a man seduces a virgin who is not engaged to be married, and lies with her, he shall give the bride-price for her and make her his wife. But if her father refuses to give her to him, he shall pay an amount equal to the bride-price for virgins. (22:16-17)

This is a more pragmatic attitude about premarital sex than you might expect from the Bible, given what is usually taken to be the "Biblical" position on the subject. Not that that mightn't come later; it wouldn't be the Bible if it were perfectly consistent...

UPDATE: Getting back to the subject of revenge, here's another suggestive bit:

Whoever strikes a person mortally shall be put to death. If it was not premeditated, but came about by an act of God, then I will appoint for you a place to which the killer may flee.(21:12-13)

The notes explain that an "act of God" basically refers to an accidental killing. If it was an accident, why would the killer have to flee? I can only think it would be to escape distraught relatives who would want to kill him, even if they knew it wasn't his fault.

In fact, though the above article doesn't mention it, one striking thing about vigilante justice in tribal societies is how little intent actually matters. Kenneth Good, an anthropologist who lived among the natives of the South American rainforest and married one of them, wrote that if a woman was raped in that society her husband would usually beat her out of sheer hysteria, even if he believed that she didn't consent. Her fault wasn't the issue; it just drove him crazy to think she had sex with someone else. Or think of Oedipus, whose whole family was cursed for his patricide and incest, even though he didn't know at the time that he was doing them. It's interesting that God seems to be considering intent but also allowing for the feelings of the family.

Exodus 17-20

Here we have a few different episodes -- Moses draws water from a rock, fights with the mysterious Amelek, and learns to delegate. But the important part of this section is the build-up to the revelation on Mt. Sinai. What's most striking to me about it is the conditions of God's appearance:

...the LORD said to Moses: ‘Go to the people and consecrate them today and tomorrow. Have them wash their clothes and prepare for the third day, because on the third day the LORD will come down upon Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people. You shall set limits for the people all around, saying, “Be careful not to go up the mountain or to touch the edge of it. Any who touch the mountain shall be put to death. No hand shall touch them, but they shall be stoned or shot with arrows; whether animal or human being, they shall not live.” When the trumpet sounds a long blast, they may go up on the mountain.' So Moses went down from the mountain to the people. He consecrated the people, and they washed their clothes. And he said to the people, ‘Prepare for the third day; do not go near a woman.’

God seems a tad unapproachable, doesn't he? Actually, at the last Alpha the lecturer remarked upon how strange Jesus was to this tradition: God being among people like any other person, visible and touchable. In Exodus, so far, he's appeared mainly in the form of fire: the burning bush, then as a "pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night" (which my study notes claim are one phenomenon: "The Lord, depicted as a storm god, radiates light from within a cover of cloud...by day only the cloud is visible, by night only the light"). On this occasion Mt. Sinai is "wrapped in smoke, for the Lord had descended in fire." The whole mountain shakes.

I've heard it said by many Christians that Jesus "bridged the gap" between God and humans, so he would no longer appear as a terrifying destructive force. Although nowadays we seem to have the opposite problem -- not if he appears as fire, but whetehr he appears at all...

I guess it's not just me, then

An interesting discussion has broken out over on Josh Claybourn's blog about Christian pacifism, and how to interpret the violence in the Old Testament. Short answer: it's not easy.

BibleGeek has more on what all of Jesus' sword imagery means.

Pax Camassiana

Telford was not happy with the way the Bible discussion was going, and looking back at my snarly post I don't blame him. So herewith, no more criticizing each other's Scriptural interpretations in public. Of course, other folks can still respond however they like... just keep it polite ...

Exodus 13-16

Here we have the famous parting of the Red Sea, Moses' song of victory, and the Israelites moving into the desert and receiving manna from heaven.

While Exodus flowed pretty smoothly up to now, this part really brought to mind the J-E-P theory that the Pentateuch was stitched together from several different sources telling the same story, because it really feels like that. I've been writing up to now as if Exodus really happened exactly like it says, but there is, in fact, a smell of poetic exaggeration through the whole episode with the plagues. The Torah was probably written down several centuries after the event, and it feels sort of like the Iliad. There really was a Trojan war, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna buy everything Homer says.

Nonetheless, there are parts of Exodus that feel realer than others. The most striking part in this section was the description of the manna, which is so painstakingly detailed:

When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground ... The house of Israel called it manna; it was like coriander seed, white, and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.

Clearly the author is trying to describe something with no clear equivalent in the reader's life, and resorts to approximations: "It was like this, but sort of like that..." At the end of the section Aaron puts an omer (2.2 liters) of manna into a jar for posterity, and I wonder if they still had it when the author was writing. Either way, it's a detail that seems to bring the story out of the mythological and into the concrete.

Out of the ruins

Telford gamely defends Yahweh against my criticisms of his behavior in Exodus. First, the heart-hardening thing:

Here I do not see a "hypercalvinistic" fatalism at work, in which Pharaoh's will is utterly manipulated. Instead I see cooperation. Moses' signs proclam that YHWH is friend of the Hebrews. Pharaoh and his courtiers are enemies of the Hebrews, and that makes them enemies of God. So the signs of YHWH's power provoke fear during the plague and resentment afterwards, rather than compassion and joy. Pharaoh's court has set itself against YHWH and YHWH's people, and it will go down fighting rather than concede the obvious – because to them it is not yet obvious!

Well, Pharaoh may not have been a nice character to begin with. But this repeated "The Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart" is explicitly stated to be God's doing so that "Egypt will know I am Lord." Like I said, this didn't even really work anyway, since Egypt went on worshipping its gods, so it's hard to see what drawing out the death and destruction in releasing the Hebrews even accomplished.

Telford also addresses collective sin:

Regarding collective sin, Exodus does show us that Pharaoh's people, and not just Pharaoh himself, approve of the oppression, share in dreading the Hebrews, and rule over the slaves (1:9-14). This sense of collective sin does not wash out individual people, but it does rightly stress human interconnectedness. Sin is not just an individual thing; it is a social thing, because humanity is intrinsically social.

However, his comparisons with American slavery and today's Iraq seem to only complicate the matter. Not all of "the people" did approve of slavery, and indeed, they fought a nasty civil war over the issue. Moreover, not even in Exodus does God say slavery is inherently wrong, just that it's wrong for his chosen people. (More on this later.)

Iraq is even problematic. One of Bush's arguments in favor of war is that it will liberate the Iraqi people. Whether or not you believe him, the fact that he's pitching it that way speaks to a moral sense on the part of Americans that's decidedly lacking in Exodus. If the White House brushed off fears of civilian casualties by saying, "Sin isn't an individual thing, it's a social thing" -- well, aside from totally confusing the press, I don't think it would play well even with the hawks. Distinguishing between combatants and non-combatants is one of the most basic rules of war, and it's a large part of what distinguishes us from terrorists. Yahweh goes out of his way to hurt everyone in Egypt. Even the animals lost their firstborns, for frick's sake.

Telford sez:

It is here that we see the full point of God's grandstanding as announced in Ex. 10:

I could have stretched forth my hand and striken you and your people with pestilence, and you would have been effaced ffrom the earth. Nevertheless I have spared you for this purpose: in order to show you my power, and in order that my fame may resound throughout the world (10:15-16).

Now why would the God of one people, Israel, care what the world's other peoples think of him? The reader has long known the short answer (Gen. 12:2-3), and Paul will develop a longer one (Rom. 9-11).

Romans I've already mentioned, but Genesis 12:2-3 says:

I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.’

Seems contradictory -- I will curse those that curse you, and yet everybody will be blessed. But, like I keep saying, this God's fame didn't seem to spread throughout the world until Jesus. One is tempted to bring up a cliche about flies, honey and vinegar...

I've read further into Exodus but I'm too groggy to post more tonight. See you tomorrow!

Exodus 9-12

This section concludes the previous one: we have the rest of the plagues, and the Hebrews take off into the desert. I have pretty much the same feelings about it as I did in the last section.

Telford mentions in one of his posts that he feels Christians often skip over most of the OT, going right from the Fall to Jesus. Telford is always emphasizing to me (since I am ever impatient about these things) that God's saving the world is a process, going from small things to large. I suppose that's the theory behind him picking one people, the Jews, to get things rolling, and then expanding to the rest of the world when Jesus arrives.

The thing that bothers me about all this -- and this connects to my complaints about collective punishment -- is that it seems to be saying that individuals don't matter. The people who live and die as God spends thousands of years working out his Great Plan are stuck with the luck of the draw. Maybe you're one of God's chosen people, and are subject to all his benevolence. Maybe you're an Egyptian slave girl who, as if a lifetime of oppression weren't enough, loses her firstborn because Pharaoh's heart is hardened. Maybe you're of in the majority of the world that Yahweh isn't paying attention to, worshipping gods that don't exist.

I realize that this emphasis on individualism is a rather modern way of looking at it, but not entirely. Everyone is a self, no matter how interconnected with others. And when people say God loves me, I wonder what "me" means to God. Am I an individual to him, or part of some group? If so, what group? America? My atheist family? The press? Womankind? God's attitude toward me might be rather different depending on how he categorizes me.

Well, I'm sure we'll have an interesting discussion at Alpha tonight...

Make a left when you see the cherubim

Tim Noah gives Congress' ridiculous culinary chauvinism the treatment it deserves, but this line threw me off:

A better idea would be to tear out every page in the Bible that features an Iraqi place name, such as Babylon, Babel, the Garden of Eden, Nineveh, and Ur.

The Garden of Eden is in Iraq? I always imagined it being someplace more ... verdant.

A semblance of order

The blogroll was getting pretty long, so I broke it up into subsets. The categories are ... well, pretty random, and certainly some blogs could work in more than one. But it's my blog, I do what I like!

Exodus 5-8

General: Conan, what is best in life?
Conan: To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of the women!
General: That is good.

I brought up this part of Exodus at Alpha a couple weeks ago, because God seems to be doing an awful lot of destruction here and seems to be enjoying it an awful lot. "I shall harden Pharaoh's heart," he says in 7:3, "and I will multiply my signs and wonders in the land of Egypt...The Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I stretch out my hand against Egypt and bring Israelites out from among them." And so we move on to blood, frogs, gnats, etc.

What's the purpose of all this? Why does God harden Pharaoh's heart? Telford, at the time, said Paul later wrote something about this helping convert the Gentiles. I don't see where Paul actually says that, but I think he's talking about Romans 9:

For the scripture says to Pharaoh, ‘I have raised you up for the very purpose of showing my power in you, so that my name may be proclaimed in all the earth.’ So then he has mercy on whomever he chooses, and he hardens the heart of whomever he chooses... What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience the objects of wrath that are made for destruction; and what if he has done so in order to make known the riches of his glory for the objects of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory— including us whom he has called, not from the Jews only but also from the Gentiles?

I suppose we should deal with this when we actually get to Romans, but in any case, it rather manifestly didn't work. The Egyptians were still pagan at the time Paul was writing; it was Jesus, not the plagues, that converted them.

There's also the question of the Egyptians' collective guilt. Telford said that Egyptians as a whole participated in oppressing the Hebrews. From what I know of Egyptian society, I have a little trouble seeing how most Egyptians could have participated; most were peasants, and many were themselves slaves. They were not in a position to object to Pharaoh's commands.

Still, it raises an interesting question: how guilty is a person for "going along"? For the most part, we don't expect everybody to be a hero. Countries like South Africa and former Communist nations have found it's better to forgive people for passive compliance, because otherwise you're indicting the majority of the population. Collective blame can also lead to torturous justifications for violence, as was on display after the 9/11 attacks. Charles Murtaugh noticed last year that both the far left and the religious right seemed to be forming a theodical explanation of the attacks. Jerry Falwell blamed it on our hedonism and Noam Chomsky blamed our imperialism, but both essentially said America's wickedness brought the attacks upon us. And if the victims were not active plotters in the thing, it was New York, after all, capital of hedonism and international capitalism.

So collective punishment is not a game I want to get into. But one thing about Christianity -- an admirable thing, really -- is that it demands that you don't just "go along." Being good is about what you do, not just what you don't do. Last month I linked to this article about Bono, and he had some very sharp words about his current cause, fighting AIDS in Africa:

There should be civil disobedience on this. You read about the apostles being persecuted because they were out there taking on the powers that be. Jesus said, 'I came to bring a sword.' In fact, it's a load of sissies running around with their 'bless me' clubs. And there's a war going on between good and evil.

No wonder he gets along with Jesse Helms and Orrin Hatch -- spiritual warfare, baby! But seriously, reading this tugged at my conscience, just as reading Jesus' uncompromising statements about helping the poor tugged at my conscience. I've long wanted to help the disadvantaged, and have done so in a spotty way, but I feel like I could do more. Telford assured me that "it will happen," but things don't happen by me sitting around. I don't have many vices, but the big one is sloth. I've come to realize that more and more lately. It's easy for me to disappear into my own mind, and hard to engage with the world. Will I be one of those that history judges harshly?

The SoCal Godblogger mafia expands!

I just found myself of the blogroll of Brasilianista Aspirante, a blog by an L.A. grad student and aspiring "Brazilianist" (whatever that is exactly). She's an Orthodox Christian (of the Serbian branch, apparently) and likes Gerard Manley Hopkins. Wow. I haven't read Hopkins since college, I really should get back to him.

Exodus 1-4

Looks like Telford got the jump on me -- three posts already! Fortunately, though I haven't posted yet I did the reading last night, so I should be able to catch up. (And on the "smoothing it out" score, I can report that Exodus goes down very well with Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch.)

First, a technical point. It may be foolish to dispute a professional on this, but I feel Telford must be mistaken here:

God may want to invite Pharaoh to relent with as little force as necessary, and on the most favorable terms. Yet all the signs harden Pharaoh's heart, so perhaps it is better described as a matter of truthtelling. The sequence of events certainly reveals the heart of Pharaoh (and remember, it is hardly soft; this king is already guilty of genocidal infanticide).

Unless there's some other infanticide here that I missed, aren't these two different pharaohs? The Pharaoh who orders the mass infanticide that Moses narrowly escapes, and who gets mad when Moses kills the Egyptian, is declared dead at the end of chapter 2. After all, the whole reason Moses can go back to Egypt is that everyone who had it in for him is dead, right?

On another subject, it's funny that Telford thought of France and the U.S. in regard to Egyptian resentment of the Hebrews, because I did too. Although I didn't quite think the same thing. Actually, the first thing I thought of was Daniel Drezner's post last month objecting to the idea that France owes us for saving them back in WW2. "First of all, what's the statute of limitations on such gratitude? Surely we Americans owe a debt to France for their invaluable assistance during the Revolutionary War -- not to mention the Louisiana Purchase. How much does this place us in France's debt?"

I thought of this in regard to Egypt's debt to Joseph for saving them from famine a generation earlier. How long does the debt run? My feeling about the Egyptians' mistreatment of the Hebrews was that it's bad in itself, not because the Egyptians owe something. As Telford says, the real problem is envy: the Jews are a minority that's doing too well, and multiplying like rabbits. Certainly the Pat Buchanans of the world know the feeling.

But anyway, the really interesting thing about this part of Exodus is the character of Moses that emerges. He has a strangely in-between life, nursed by his Hebrew mother but adopted by Pharaoh's daughter, who gives him an Egyptian name. Despite this largesse, he identifies so strongly as a Hebrew that he kills an Egyptian for beating a Hebrew slave. Thinking of Moses living in Pharaoh's court I can't help thinking of Moll Flanders growing up in the house of the wealthy man who took her in off the street. She was never allowed to forget that she was basically an inferior being who lucked out, thanks to her benefactor's generosity. She was treated as almost one of the family -- emphasis on "almost." I wonder if Moses felt the same.

Moses certainly shows signs of what we might call an inferiority complex when God starts talking to him via the burning bush. He raises all sorts of objections and what-ifs to the plan, wondering how it could possibly work. Even with those out of the way, he's so terrified of public speaking that he gets Aaron to do all the talking for him.

Moses' and Aaron's partnership is one of the most interesting things about this story. I don't think it was unusual in those days for an oracle to have an interpreter, such as the Greek Sibyls, who apparently chattered incomprehensible things that were translated by someone else. I expect that a lot of those people were actually schizophrenics who got opportunistic PR people attached to them. But Moses and Aaron remind me more of the way family members often end up specializing according to temperament. For instance, when I or anyone else in my family is out with my brother-in-law, we let him do the stuff that requires gregariousness -- asking directions, haggling with salespeople, that sort of thing -- because he's so much better at it than anyone else. If you want advice about clothes or other aesthetic matters, ask my sister. When it comes to researching arcane facts, everyone turns to me. I get the feeling Moses and Aaron had a similar thing going on.

The result of it is that while Moses ultimately runs the show, Aaron has the greater visibility. From the point of view of the average Hebrew, it must have seemed like Aaron was leading them as much as Moses. I wonder if God intended leadership to be divided that way, to keep people from investing too much in one person. In the age of the god-kings, that could certainly lead to trouble, as it can today...

Watch this space

The lecture subject at the last Alpha session was the Bible, and why we should read it. I have read parts of the Bible in years past, and sometime around the start of this blog I started reading the New Testament. I read all the way through First Corinthians, and had a brief exchange with Telford about part of Acts. But I fell off the habit when it became apparent that Telford wasn't going to be available for further discussion. For me, taking the Bible straight is kind of like taking vodka straight. As Victor Erefeyev put it in the New Yorker a few months ago, "The Russian gulps his vodka down, grimacing and swearing, and immediately reaches for something to 'smooth it out.'"

OK, so it isn't quite that bad. But whenever I hear Telford -- or just about any other Christian, for that matter -- talking about the Bible, it sounds like a different book from the one I've read. There's also a whole lot of context that I just don't know. So I really don't like to read the Bible without someone to bounce it off of.

Meanwhile, this year our church has started a daily Bible reading/journaling program. I have not been doing it but Telford has, turning some journal entries into blog posts (see here and here, for instance), though lately he's fallen behind. Talking it over at church today, we decided to combine these two projects by having me join the Bible reading schedule, and discussing it on our blogs. That gives Telford extra incentive to keep up and me something to, er, "smooth it out."

The reading schedule is somewhat peculiar. Every day covers two chapters, plus a Pslam and/or a proverb. It alternates between Old Testament and New. They started with Genesis, then moved to Luke; now they're in Exodus, and next will move to Acts. I'm bummed I missed Luke; it would have been interesting to discuss, and Acts, which I read just recently, seemed rather tedious and confusing. But maybe it will be better with help.

So starting tomorrow I'm going to plunge into Exodus, and I hope a fruitful discussion. If anyone else wants to join in, of course, feel free.

Whoa!

Telford's gone all Sekimori. I like the Dead Sea Scroll look...

Crack Iraq

Matthew Yglesias contemplates breaking Iraq in two. It's a tempting idea because the state is so jerry-rigged to begin with, but he points out a problem:

The main point is that the populations of multiethnic countries don't really come in neat geographical bits that you can just pull apart. Big cities, in particular, tend to generate multiethnic populations (see, e.g., Montreal in Canada). This means that your new states are going to need to deal with the problem of multinationality just as much as the big state was going to need to. But by making the size of the new minority groups smaller relative to the overall population than they were in the old state you make finding an equitable solution more difficult. You also can get problems where, say, the Kurdish state tries to interfere with the conduct of the Arab state vis-à-vis the Arab state's treatment of the Kurdish population.

This is true. Wherever there have been empires -- and Iraq is smack in the middle of many past empires -- you have all these layers of peoples who've moved in over the millennia. So Iraq doesn't just have Arabs and Kurds, and Shi'ites and Sunnis. It's got Assyrians, Turkmen, Persians, Armenians, and several other little groups. Any Mesopotamian state is going to have to deal with minorities.

Europe used to be more like this, back when Europe had empires. The Hungary part of Austria-Hungary, for instance, used to encompass Slovakia, Croatia, Transylvania (now part of Romania) and small parts of neighboring states. After WWI Hungary was pared back to the land where Hungarians were a majority -- its present boundaries. But fully a third of ethnic Hungarians were left outside Hungary. Ethnic Germans also used to be more scattered around, and there were Yiddish-speaking Jews all over the place. Successive wars and population shifts solidified states to their current tidiness, though you could say the violence in the Balkans is the last spasm of this kind of ethnic state-building.

The larger problem lurking behind Iraq, though, is that the Kurds got royally screwed at the end of WWI. The Kurds are not a small group like the Assyrians: there are about 11 million of them in all countries, and they occupy a fairly contiguous area. The victors considered carving Kurdistan out of what is now Iraq and Turkey. But they wanted to make Iraq majority Sunni, because they feared Iranian influence in a Shiite state. This meant not only Kurds in Iraq but Kurds in Turkey, and now that Turkey is no longer a defeated enemy but a valued ally, nobody wants to get the Turkish Kurds excited by making a truncated Kurdistan.

Our chance to solve the Kurd problem peacefully, alas, seems to have gone by 80 years ago. I fear this problem isn't going to go away until there's a full-blown Kurdistan, but I don't know how that will happen.

Shrinks and shirkers

The Chronicle Review has an interesting article about tensions between psychologists and psycotherapists. I sympathize with the author's complaints -- I've certainly met people who insist blithely that psychology isn't a science, based on the pop versions. A big problem, I have to say, is Freud. Actually Freudians don't seem to be that common among psychologists these days, but he's become so entrenched in the culture that there's no getting away from him. I remember at college I chatted with a student who remarked, "In my sociology class we're learning about Freud, in my women's studies class we're learning about Freud, in my philosophy class we're learning about Freud..."

Bias cut

Mindles Dreck has a good post about media bias, which about sums up my own view of it.

On the same blog, Jane Galt also writes a post about PETA that I can get behind. The few loyalists who were reading me back in November may recall that I vowed to eat only humanely treated animals, and I've stuck with it. I've discovered some interesting companies, such as Petaluma Poultry, with its disconcerting habit of naming its chickens. As Lewis Carroll wrote, never eat anything you haven't been introduced to!

Actually, if I'm at someone's house (or at Alpha) I eat what's served to me regardless of origin. But in my own purchases I try to stick to my conscience.

Popularity

Sheesh, I'm gone for a couple days and my visit count drops through the floor! Sorry for the absence, folks. No real excuse, just wasn't in the mood.

Teresa Nielsen Hayden links to an interesting essay by Paul Graham theorizing about why smart kids tend to get picked on in school. He seems to be on the same wavelength as Glenn Reynolds and me about the unnatural hothouse atmosphere of today's high schools:

Where I grew up, it felt as if there was nowhere to go, and nothing to do. This was no accident. Suburbs are deliberately designed to exclude the outside world, because it contains things that could endanger children.

And as for the schools, they were just holding pens within this fake world. Officially the purpose of schools is to teach kids. In fact their primary purpose is to keep kids all locked up in one place for a big chunk of the day so adults can get things done. And I have no problem with this: in a specialized industrial society, it would be a disaster to have kids running around loose.

What bothers me is not that the kids are kept in prisons, but that (a) they aren't told about it, and (b) the prisons are run mostly by the inmates. Kids are sent off to spend six years memorizing meaningless facts in a world ruled by a caste of giants who run after an oblong brown ball, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. And if they balk at this surreal cocktail, they're called misfits...

Bullying was only part of the problem. Another problem, and possibly an even worse one, was that we never had anything real to work on. Humans like to work; in most of the world, your work is your identity. And all the work we did was pointless, or seemed so to us at the time.

At best it was practice for real work we might do far in the future, so far that we didn't even know at the time what we were practicing for. More often it was just an arbitrary series of hoops to jump through, words without content designed mainly for testability...

When groups of adults form in the real world, it's generally for some common purpose. The leaders end up being those who are best at it. The problem with most schools is, they have no purpose. Their ostensible purpose, scholarship, is a joke, not taken seriously even by those who are best at it. But hierarchy there must be. And so the kids make one out of nothing.

We have a phrase to describe what happens when rankings have to be created without any meaningful criteria. We say that the situation degenerates into a popularity contest. And that's exactly what happens in most American schools. Since the group has no real purpose, there is no natural measure of performance for status to depend on. Instead of depending on some real test, one's rank ends up depending mostly on one's ability to increase one's rank. It's like the court of Louis XIV. There is no external opponent, so the kids become one another's opponents in an inexorable zero-sum competition.

He also makes some good points about the psychology of bullying:

Like a politician who wants to distract voters from bad times at home, you can create an enemy if there isn't a real one. By singling out and persecuting a nerd, a group of kids from higher in the hierarchy create bonds between themselves: attacking an outsider makes them all insiders. This is why the worst cases of bullying happen with groups. Ask any nerd: you get much worse treatment from a group of kids than from any individual bully, however sadistic.

If it's any consolation to the nerds, it's nothing personal. The group of kids who band together to pick on you are doing the same thing, and for the same reason, as a bunch of guys who get together to go hunting. They don't actually hate you. They just need something to chase.

Because they're at the bottom of the scale, nerds are a safe target for the entire school. If I remember correctly, the most popular kids don't persecute nerds; they don't need to stoop to such things. Most of the persecution comes from kids lower down, the nervous middle classes.

That last point has, in fact, been borne out by social-psych research. Bullying isn't so much done by the strong to the weak as it is by the weak to the weaker. Bullies tend to lack social skills and don't figure out how to get what they want by peaceful means, so they resort to abuse. It gives them a short-term fix, but in the long run they fail. In Teresa's comments, Erik Olson explains this well:

There's always a few jocks who insist on ostracizing anyone else who isn't "cool", and typically manage to browbeat thier fellow jocks into going along. In football, they tend to be in the "small" positions -- QB, WR, FS and the like. Why? Because they know, deep down, the only thing they have going for them is that they're good at sport element X, and if it gets around that they can't read, they'll be ridiculed. So, the defense mechanism is to make intellegence uncool, and sports cool -- esp., of course, sport element X, which they just happen to "excel" at.

(Aside, in the real world, they find out throwing a football throw a 5' ring at 30 yards is pretty cool -- but the guys getting free rides to college are throwing them into 3' rings at 50 yards. Oops. This does *very* bad things to thier psyche. Remember this point, later.)

There are always a few jocks who don't play along with this -- but they can get away with it. They've got the atheltic ability to stay on the team (which means they can't be attacked, for fear of weakening the jock class-as-a-whole) and the brains to look others in the eye and say "Bull. You're just covering for your own weakness." They're not really common, but there's one or two on every team.

How do we fix this? How do we break this clique?

Simple. Get coaches out of school. What do washed up jocks with little other skill become? High school coaches. Not only do they tend to the petty tyrant, the setup means they're in close contact with the jocks for many hours a day -- during gym, after school, often, before school as well.

Go read it all.