Monthly Archives: November 2023

Parables

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Jesus’ parables are analogies: similes or metaphors. ‘The Kingdom of heaven is like’; ‘there once was a man…’ Every one of the parables tells a story that didn’t actually happen. There was no literal Good Samaritan, no Prodigal Son or Sower. Jesus, or more probably the gospel authors, made up these stories to illustrate ‘mysteries’ (μυστήριον; gnosticism anyone?) What do they say about the parables? The majority appear in Matthew’s gospel, though Mark and Luke also include them. There are none in John. Did he, a supposed eye and ear- witness, not know of them?

Mark has Jesus say to his disciples:

To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables, so that “‘they may indeed see but not perceive, and may indeed hear but not understand, lest they should turn and be forgiven’” Mark 4:11-12

Mark lets his readers in on the ‘secret’ (μυστήριον again) because there are mysteries within the cult, secrets available only to the initiated. Remember, the parables were written – they are almost certainly literary creations – 40 years after the cult was established. Only cultists would understand the secrets/mysteries embodied in the parables. Parables, Mark tells us, are intended to disbar those who are not spiritually attuned from salvation/the kingdom of God/eternity.

The word translated as parable also means ‘riddle’, designed to puzzle or obfuscate. But Mark doesn’t just say the parables are intended to do this. He says ‘everything is in parables’. What did he mean by ‘everything’? All of the teaching he attributes to Jesus? All of the episodes he relates? Could it be that the entire Jesus story, crucifixion and resurrection included, is one long, extended parable? A metaphor, if you like.

You bet it is.

Related:

Stories about Jesus

The Jesus Story v. Reality

Cruci-fiction

Inventing Jesus

The Bible as Metaphor (again)

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A few days ago, Dennis and I visited Penrith, a small market town a short distance from the city where we live. What a delight it was to discover that the street preacher who plagues our city – the humourless Dale McAlpine – also inflicts himself on this smaller place. We so enjoyed hearing him bellow out, as we manoeuvered past his confederates handing out poorly written tracts, that we were all sinners – ye, everyone of us – bound for hell.

As we stopped at an ATM we heard Dale announce how Jesus healed lepers and cured leprosy, which patently he did not. He said Jesus’ healing of lepers was a metaphor for what he could do for us all, by removing our sin and making us whole again. His metaphor schtick – an sophisticated one for a simple street preacher – put me in mind of our very own Camp commenter. As Sunday school teacher Don frequently reminds us, the Bible is a) literature and b) largely metaphorical.

In case he’s forgotten and is arguing this week that we should view the bible’s stories as historical accounts (his other favourite tack), here’s what he actually said:

Much of scripture is the kind of literature in which metaphor and other kinds of figurative language is common… you are out of touch with the literary character of ancient literature.

I hope you all feel thoroughly chastised by this. I know I do. Don was taking exception to my post in which I itemised the Bible’s mythical creatures, talking animals and impossible events. So, I’m going to take him, and Dale at their word and take a fresh look at the Bible’s use of ‘metaphor and other kinds of figurative language’

First though, let’s understand that metaphor and figurative language are distinctly literary techniques. In literature and sometimes in speech, metaphors make subtle comparisons and bring to mind a host of associations that the author does not then have to explain. Outside of fiction, they don’t have much of a function. We don’t, for example, attribute metaphorical meaning to human events and interactions in the real world. The present war in the middle east is not a metaphor for something else, like, for example, the warfare that Christians believe rages in the Spirit world. Sleepy Joe Biden’s activity, or lack of it, is not a metaphor for the present condition of the USA (let’s hope not anyway). Our personal relationships are not metaphors for something grander. There is no metaphor embedded in actual events or real world interactions.

No. Metaphor exists almost entirely in literature. While the occasional non-fiction author might add a metaphor for flourish, strictly speaking, metaphor exists in and for fiction and poetry. More than this, when, in fiction, ideas are expressed metaphorically, it signals that the surface meaning is of lesser significance. It is the underlying or hidden meaning that matters. The fiction is the vehicle by which the metaphorical truth is conveyed. Don admits as much in his comment.

Let’s try some illustrations. The underlying metaphor of The Great Gatsby, its truth, is the dark underside of the American dream. Its surface story isn’t real; it is fiction. The metaphor conveyed through Moby Dick – the fictional whale as well as the novel as a whole – is the destructive nature of obsession. Again, as powerful as this is, none of the story that conveys it actually happened. Frankenstein’s central metaphor is the danger that uncontrolled science represents to humankind. The story that carries this message is, however, pure invention. In All The Light We Cannot See, Light is the metaphor, as it frequently is. The characters’ insights into truth are what the author seeks to convey. The fiction is the vehicle of that truth. Choose your own example: fiction embodies metaphor, the ‘truth’ of the story. But the story itself is rarely an actual event. Even when it’s based on one, as the movies say, the narrative is extensively fictionalised.

So, let’s go back to Dale’s leprosy metaphor. In several gospel stories, the authors have Jesus cure lepers precisely to illustrate how he can heal people of their inner leprosy: their sinful nature. Jesus almost certainly did not heal any lepers; this is the fiction. The creators of the gospels designed the story to carry metaphorical meaning, which, in this case, is that Jesus can heal us from sin.

Likewise the stories in which he heals the blind; the blindness is metaphorical. The saviour opens people’s eyes to spiritual truth. He didn’t really cure blind people; that is the fictional vehicle for the metaphor.

He didn’t turn water into wine; the writers of the fourth gospel wanted to convey the spiritual ‘truth’ that the new cult’s beliefs were superseding old Jewish ones; a metaphor was a memorable way to do it.

Lazarus was not raised from the dead; the story is a metaphor to illustrate how God will raise believers at the last day.

The Romans did not execute Jesus; it was the spiritual rulers of the age who, according to Paul in 1 Corinthians 2:8, put the saviour to death. The Romans are the metaphor for the wickedness of these supernatural beings.

Jesus did not rise from the dead. This too is a metaphorical fiction.

How did I do, Don? I’ve interpreted isolated periscopes from the gospels metaphorically. I’ve borne in mind that metaphor and other figurative devices are purely literary, techniques in fiction. I’ve channelled the literary character of ancient literature as defined by you (except of course you never actually do define it.)

You are invited to respond. I offer to post your comment, if it is as lengthy as I expect it to be. You must, however, keep to the point and resist making personal jibes. Choose any of the miracles, healings or pericopes from the gospels and demonstrate that they are real historical events.

It matters to you and to other Christians that the events of Jesus’ life did happen. That they’re not just the invention of clever writers who, taking inspiration from Jewish scriptures, created metaphorical events to convey higher ‘truths’. So persuade us that at least one miracle, healing or episode is more than a literary device, a metaphor for some fanciful theological ‘truth’. Provide the evidence that it really happened. Claiming the disciples witnessed the miracles or healing won’t cut it, when the disciples are themselves characters in the stories, and metaphorical at that.

How To Read The Bible

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A step by step guide to reading God’s Word, courtesy of Don Camp.

Always read passages in context. This is the only way you can understand what they mean.

Synthesise different passages from a range of contexts so that collectively they say something else.

Read the Bible with all the discernment of a fifth grader.

Always take what is being expressed at face value.

Work out what the original author intended. (Note: ignore the Intentional Fallacy for this purpose.)

Scrutinise what the author intended until he says what you think he should say.

Because the Bible is made up of stories, poems and other literary forms, make sure you recognise the genre you’re dealing with and process it accordingly. (Note: different genres may be synthesised if it suits your purposes.)

Always assume that the improbable, implausible or ludicrous parts of the bible are metaphor, allegory or hyperbole.

Interpret metaphor and allegory in a way that eliminates their obvious ludicrousness.

Do not apply the metaphor/allegory principle to the gospels. The gospels are 100% historical documents, untainted by metaphor and allegory.

Ignore any of Jesus’ commands that are expressed as metaphors.

Dismiss any of Jesus’ more extreme commands – give away all you have, love your enemies, turn the other cheek etc – with the assurance that they’re hyperbole and/or metaphor.

Read the Bible like a first-century believer, even though the Bible didn’t exist in the first century.

On no account concede that Carrier, Ehrman or any other scholar with a book to sell has reached a far more valid conclusion than you have yourself.

To appreciate fully the nuances of New Testament theology, learn Ancient Greek.

Above all, remember that cognitive dissonance is one of the most powerful tools at your disposal.

(Continues in similar vein for 86 pages.)

Thank you, Don. I appreciate how you’ve collected together the many and varied points you’ve made in your recent voluminous comments, synthesised them and presented them here to equip us to read the Bible the Don Camp way. I can’t help but think that, as a result, we’re all that much closer to a personal encounter with Jesus.

The Bible Is Fantasy

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The Bible contains:

113 appearances of angels, usually interacting with human beings;

50+ visions, on which all of Christianity hangs: those of Daniel; Cephas and others who ‘saw’ the risen Christ; Paul and John the Elder in Revelation. 

21 supernatural dreams, including those experienced by Jacob, Technicolor Joseph, NT Joseph, the Magi, Pilate’s wife and Paul. 

Numerous apparitions and ghostly appearances, including that of the resurrected Jesus as well as Moses and Elijah and, in the Old Testament, the spirit of Samuel, conjured up from the grave by the witch of Endor.

Innumerable resurrections: not only that of Jesus but several Old Testament characters, and, in the New, Lazarus, Jairus’ daughter, the young man of Nain and the hordes who rose from their graves at the time of the crucifixion.

Multiple impossible astronomical events, ranging from the sun stopping in its orbit(!); a star wandering and hovering over a small house; a solar eclipse lasting several hours; stars that one day will fall from the sky; a God who lives just above the clouds and a ‘firmament’ between the Earth and the heavens that holds back water;

Several events in which nature is magically controlled: the parting of the Red Sea; Moses’ magician’s staff becoming a snake; the Nile turning to blood; Jonah being swallowed but not digested by a ‘great fish’ and Jesus calming a storm.

An abundance of fantastic beasts and fairy tale creatures: Giants (Genesis 6:1-4, Numbers 13:33); Leviathan the sea monster (Isaiah 27:1 etc); the Behemoth (Job 40:15-24); the Cherubim monsters (Ezekiel 1:4-21); the dragon and other beasts from Revelation

Many characters who are clearly legendary, from Adam & Eve, Noah, Lot and Abraham to Moses, Job, Daniel and gospel Jesus. Some of the Bible’s fictional characters lived to a literally incredible age: Adam 930 years, Seth 912, Methuselah 969, Noah 950, Abraham 175, Moses a pitiful 120. Jesus holds the record being now either 2,000 years old or eternal, depending on how you count it.

5 mythical places: Eden at the beginning of the book; New Jerusalem at the end; Heaven, the abode of God; Sheol the Old Testament place of the dead; Hades (Sheol mark II?) which Jesus visited while supposedly dead in his tomb (Acts 2:27, 31; Matt 16:18).

2 sentient ‘pillars’: one of cloud, one of fire (Exodus 13).

2 talking animals: the serpent in Eden and Balaam’s ass.

1 talking plant (Exodus 3:3).

0 science. No understanding whatsoever of what we now call astronomy, meteorology, germ theory, genetics, evolution, psychology… you name it.

So how do we read all of this? As the ancients themselves would, with an understanding of the world that regarded the supernatural, magic, miracles and monsters as real? We’re told often enough that this is how we should interpret scripture, not from a modern perspective. Perhaps we might credit the creators of the many books of the bible with greater skill, however, and interpret the inclusion of magic and miracle as allegorical or metaphorical; literary pieces, if you will. But then we have to decide which far-fetched stories are myth and which are historical accounts,. There really is no way to do this. A New Testament story awash with impossible events, implausible characters and symbolic tropes is every bit as allegorical or metaphorical as the same kind of story in the Old Testament (or, indeed, in Egyptian, Greek and Roman myth.) The reader who wants to see stories in the Old Testament as carefully crafted allegories has to concede that the Jesus narratives are of the same order.

It looks like we have to read the Bible as 21st century readers, because that is what we are. After all the Bible is supposedly a book for all time. We can, however, recognise the way in which its many creators saw the world – populated with fantasy creatures and subject to impossible events – and accept that they were wrong. Reality is not as they perceived it. What we cannot do is claim that the Jesus story is an oasis of truth in the midst of all this fantasy . 

Mr J: The Defence

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Unfortunately, Mr J is unable to speak for himself so I have taken it upon myself to defend him. I’m going to prove to you he exists and that he loves us all.

The first thing I want to mention is how he created the Earth and everything in it in six days, about six thousand years ago. Or possibly not. It’s might’ve been billion years ago and it might have taken a very long time. Mr J would like to keep his options open.

In any case, he eventually created human beings, either on the sixth day or billions of years later. He quite probably controlled evolution to get to them, killing off billions of other creatures along the way just so humans could emerge. Some might say this was pretty heartless but it’s the only way natural selection could produce Mr J’s favoured creation. All a bit hit and miss, but Mr J knew what he was doing. I read it in a Richard Dawkins book some time.

Anyway, once humans appeared they managed to upset Mr J in some silly, insignificant way, so that he had to come up with a whole series of complicated plans to bring them into line.

The first plan was, admittedly, not all that great. It was necessary though. He drowned the lot of them, every man, woman and child, except for one old drunkard and his family. Needless to say the humans that came along after them weren’t any better than the ones who’d come before. No surprise there! Mr J rightly blamed the humans themselves for the shortcomings he’d built into them. That and the demons with their boss, Satan, whom he’d thoughtfully made right back at the start of the six days. Or maybe it was during the billions of years when he was creating everything by process.

Er… moving swiftly on, his second plan was that he’d just concentrate on one special group. He picked, for reasons best known to himself, a small, nomadic desert tribe. He demanded of those who had them that they should slice the tops off their penises. Weird, I know, but other tribes were doing it and Mr J thought if it was good enough for them and their fertility deities then it was good enough for his besties too. They also had to obey all 613 of the rules he would make up as he went along. This was to set a moral example to his Chosen People so naturally included instructions on how to beat their slaves, how to stone people to death and how to massacre their neighbours. Needless to say, despite how reasonable Mr J’s terms were, the useless humans couldn’t manage to comply with them. He was more than pissed. He let other tribes brutalise them, had them turn on each other and sent them into exile. But still they didn’t learn. You might think he’d have done better offering some encouragement, a little bit of positive enforcement, but you’d be wrong. Mr J always knows best.

The time rolled round for another half-arsed plan. This time Mr J sent a Figment Of His Imagination down to the Earth so the friends for whom he’d set such a good example while punishing them endlessly, could engineer his death. Or maybe it was the Romans who did it. Whatever, the story got around that after his execution this Figment had come back to life, which meant all sort of marvellous things would happen, including a complete reboot of the Earth. The old deal with its dick-docking and interminable lists of rules was over. There was a new deal now: believe it and you’d live forever: don’t and you’d boil forever in a fiery pit while demons tortured you for eternity.

Soon after this (because a thousand years is like a day to him), Mr J became something of a recluse. He removed himself from time and space – no more walking in gardens and masquerading as a burning bush – he would become… transcendent! He also announced, in a revelation to some churchy types, that he wanted, henceforth, to identify as a threesome. He insisted he be called ‘Daddy’, ‘Sonny’ and ‘Friendly Ghost’ all at the same time. It was a mystery why he…

Hang on. I just can’t go on with this. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be defending Mr J but when you see it written down like this, none of it makes sense. None at all. It’s rubbish and if this is what Mr J is all about, he can’t be defended. Not by anyone with half a brain anyway, and I like to think I have at least that. Mr J will just have to defend himself or, failing that, get someone without any critical faculties at all to do it for him.