Book #6 In The Beginning - Henri Blocher

         I’ve been particularly interested in the opening chapters of Genesis, because there is so much contention about it; and as Blocher puts it ‘the beginning unlocks the principle, the constitution reveals the nature. The human race quite rightly feels that it cannot find its bearings for life today without having light shed on its origins’ (p. 15). This book (ISBN: 9780851113210) is an attempt to examine carefully the first few chapters of the book of Genesis. I think Blocher has done a fine job in highlighting certain aspects of the texts and he comes to some good conclusions of which I will attempt to share a few.

          Firstly, the creation accounts shouldn’t be read literally. Chapters 1 and 2 argue for an appreciation of the literary genre of the chapters and Blocher adopts the ‘historico-artistic’ interpretation of the week of creation (p. 49). The text doesn’t warrant a literal reading, but this doesn’t mean we are compromising to the pressures of science. The author of the creation accounts had a message to share, and that was certainly not to establish scientific facts. Furthermore, Blocher suggests that a ‘form-filling’ understanding of the creation week is probably the most faithful interpretation of the stories. Also, the emphasis of the author is in the orderliness and aesthetic goodness of God’s creation.

          Secondly, what is traditionally called ‘the Fall’ is perhaps better understood as ‘the breaking of the covenant.’ It does not revolutionise our understanding of Genesis 3. But it does help us to be aware that no one approaches the Biblical text without presuppositions. Blocher argues that this event is historical, but the Biblical author has no qualms in using figurative (or symbolic) language in his narration. We need not take ‘historical’ to mean ‘literal.’ Nevertheless, he argues that we must affirm that there was indeed a historical man called Adam (although the Hebrew wordplay allows the convincing argument that the chapter describes the human condition, rather than explain its origins). This warrant is found in the New Testament treatment of Adam, especially in Paul’s writing. Thus, Genesis 3 does try to narrate how sin originated in the world. Blocher argues that God is not the creator of evil, but doesn’t necessarily locate its origin. Scholars like Westermann and Moberly would argue that the reticence of the text hints that the question of origin is probably one we should avoid. Nevertheless, Blocher interprets the snake as a symbol of Satan, citing other Biblical usages as the warrant for such a reading.

          Thirdly, Blocher does argue that Genesis 3:15 is the ‘protoevangelium’ – in other words, the prototype of the Gospel message. He places emphasis on the curse as being a long and extended warfare that ultimately ends in the triumph of the woman’s offspring over the snake’s offspring. This is probably the safe Evangelical understanding of the curse. Although many scholars do argue that this reading is difficult to locate within the context, Blocher draws from other parts of Scripture to support his assertion. For Blocher, and many Evangelicals, the punishments God pronounces on Adam, Eve and the snake are not merely bad news. There is also good news, for instance when God clothes Adam and Eve with garments of skins.

Evangelicals find the ultimate fulfilment of God’s grace and mercy - where sin abounded as evinced in the chapters following Genesis 3 – in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is not outrageous for one to come to this conclusion and I dearly hold onto this understanding of the opening chapters of Genesis although my mind is torn between this interpretation and the very convincing arguments of Biblical (and less traditionally-Evangelical) scholars. It sometimes does seem like a battle between faith and the intellect. I’m attempting to reconcile this dichotomy within myself but sometimes end up more confused.

The opening chapters of Genesis is full of literary and theological riches, but if I’m not careful, I might be swimming in waters too deep. Perhaps this is why I often hear about Christians losing their faith after being exposed to academic theology. In churches and families, we certainly need a more robust theology that will help Christians cope (for overcoming is really difficult) with the challenges to our understanding of Scripture that the outside world offer. I have learnt from reading Blocher’s book a lot about God’s character; but I have also learnt that a simplistic faith, that ignores the importance of grappling with the Biblical text does more harm than good. I’d rather be marvelling at the Bible than be illusorily (like Adam and Eve) thinking that I’ve got the important things about the Bible and life sorted out. 

Book #5 Oedipus Rex

          After a gap of 3 months, I have finally run out of excuses to put off updating this blog, although not many people read it. I guess the practice of thinking and then formulating them into structured sentences is still a helpful exercise to keep one’s mind alert and organised – otherwise my brain becomes a jumbled nexus of ideas with no beginning or end.

          In light of this needing one’s mind to be clear and able to process and organise information, I thought that I could write about a recent book I read and studied for my exams – Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex (ISBN: 9780140444254). The play is based on the mythic tradition of Oedipus, who is prophesied to kill his father and commit incest with his mother. The play seems a straightforward process of self-revelation whereby Oedipus gradually finds out his origins, thus confirming that he has indeed fulfilled the prophecy of the Oracle at Delphi. I have to say that in writing this, I am assuming a basic understanding of the Oedipus myth.

          However, some scholars have suggested that in Sophocles’ treatment of the myth, we cannot take it for granted that he is merely adhering to the established facts of the myth, after all, there are other contemporary playwrights who change certain details of the story. An example would be Frederick Ahl’s thesis (ISBN: 9780801425585). He suggests that in fact, Oedipus is misled into believing that he has indeed fulfilled the prophecy when there is a glaring lack of substantial evidence to support his self-accusation. The warrant for such an unconventional reading is that these scholars have the mythic tradition in mind, but do not let that tradition override the actual play. Thus, in Ahl’s analysis, he considers the original Greek and shows that Sophocles has expertly used wordplays and ambiguities of speech to dramatise a story of Oedipus’ self-deception. I cannot go into further details about Ahl’s thesis, but it is quite convincing, at least for me. What I want to consider are some thoughts that reading Ahl’s argument and rereading the play have struck me.

  

          Firstly, speech is power. The ability to manipulate language and people’s emotions with the words we say give an individual so much power and authority over others who are less articulate. If we consider Oedipus as a play of language where characters are engaged in a contest of speech, then we begin to grasp the significance of Oedipus’ fall from greatness. But why do we say speech is power? It is because characters in the play have successfully (whether intentionally or otherwise) given Oedipus wrong information or vague information; and it is Oedipus’ inability to distinguish between trustworthy and untrustworthy sources that leads him to misinterpret facts.

          This leads to the issue of asking questions. I know it might seem trivial but I have begun to see how asking the right questions is crucial if we want to make right judgments. An example within the play is the question of the number of King Laius’ murderers (King Laius’ is the supposed father of Oedipus). Reports say that a gang of people killed the king and his entourage. But Oedipus insists that he killed an old man and all of the members of his party, and Oedipus acknowledges that this is probably the most crucial information that will confirm either his innocence or his guilt. However, when he meets with the supposed survivor of that incident, he fails to ask this most important question. He was distracted by the question of his birth and origins that he has forgotten the real issues at stake. This is another reason why we can affirm that Oedipus is wholly responsible for his tragedy – his inability to keep his head in a time of crisis.

          Thirdly and finally, be careful when speaking to masters of rhetoric. In our modern society, they would be the lawyers, the politicians and maybe the salesman. If speech is power and that the ability to ask right questions is a sign of discernment, then we must be careful when encountering people who derive their power and authority from the words they say, or more importantly, words they do not say. Silence and the lack of reliable information led to Oedipus’ misrepresentation of reality, let us not follow in his footsteps.

          The tragedy of Oedipus is then his blindness – his inability to distinguish truth from half-truth. The catharsis of the play is not Freud’s suggestion that he has fulfilled the Oedipal complex all of us dream about, but that we need to see what Oedipus fails to see. If we are unable to see past the web of lies Oedipus surrounds himself with, his tragedy becomes ours.

          Nevertheless, thankfully, God has revealed Himself to us in the form of His Son and He has spoken definitively that we are not left with half-truths about reality (Hebrews 1:1-3). Let us then be people who ask the right questions and be not swayed by false rhetoric.

Book #4 Conrad's Heart of Darkness: A Critical and Contextual Discussion

I’m back writing after a hectic week where I reaped the fruits of my inability to plan my time well. This is probably the book that helped me begin to understand Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I remember when I first read Heart of Darkness, I was lost in the jungles of Africa for large swathes of the book. However, reading Cedric Watts’ book has helped to provide a framework by which to approach the novella.

          Watts’ discussion divides Conrad’s book into three sections: pre-departure, journeying into the Congo, and back to civilisation. In each section, he looks at some of the literary techniques Conrad employs and discusses how these create certain effects in the reader and how identifying them might elucidate the ‘meaning’ of the text. There are three techniques I would like to mention here: the oblique narrator, delayed decoding and the covert plot.

          The oblique narrator is the first-person narrator (hence the primary or ‘frame’ narrator) who narrates the first-person narration of another character in the book. This is probably the first time I have encountered this technique. What it does is give Conrad the flexibility to play with Marlow’s telling of his experience in the Congo. This means that Marlow does not need to tell a story in a straightforward manner, which he in fact does not do. We can then regard him as an unreliable narrator which makes us question the things he says, lending ambiguity and uncertainty – which is pretty much what Conrad’s book is about.

          Also, this means that Conrad is able to use ‘delayed decoding.’ How this works is that Marlow sees the effect that images, events, people have on him, and only later understands what these actually are or mean. This technique creates a sense of surprise because something seemingly unimportant or comic might be later disclosed as significant or even horrifying. Furthermore, it adds to the air of mystery and foreboding prevalent in the book, because revelation comes slowly and gradually as we travel, with Marlow deeper into the Congo. Also, there is a sense that we are sharing Marlow’s journey. I know certainly that in reading other books, we seem to be participating in the adventure. But this technique that Conrad uses ties in also with the bigger themes of the book, which is interesting if we actually spend time to study these books like literature students or critics.

          Finally, an interesting aspect of the book is the idea of the covert plot. This plot is definitely not the main plot, neither is it a subplot; it is rather a plot that we as readers will not be able to identify (even after multiple readings), however, not knowing it will not leave us completely in the dark. It is a plot that helps to make sense of the story, and might influence us to interpret the text differently. Watts suggests that not many authors do it (thankfully, otherwise I’ll be covert plot-hunting every time I read a book), but Conrad uses it very effectively. The covert plot in Heart of Darkness stated concisely is that the manager of the Central Station wishes Kurtz dead in order to earn promotion. Thus, it is possible to immediately condemn Kurtz as a man who succumbed to the darkness, but in light of this, we could see Kurtz as victim and that because help does not come earlier, he finally yields to the darkness.

          Conrad does not make this darkness clear. It could mean Africa; it could mean the darkness within each individual; it could mean the darkness of the civilised world. And that is what makes Heart of Darkness so thought-provoking. We just cannot be sure! It seems to me that Conrad wants us to think and not jump to conclusions. He wants us to ponder about the state of the human condition. And I think that he has managed to capture one sense of it: that our hearts are indeed dark, but often we cannot accept it, and so we hide behind a veneer of civility and illusory light. And that is why we deceive ourselves. We keep up this image because the truth is too horrifying to behold. So, the light is there, but instead, we often choose darkness – we think that is safer.  

Book#3 The Theology of the Book of Genesis - R. W. L. Moberly

          I grew up with the vague idea that somehow the Old Testament and the New Testament were related. They had to right? Because they are in the Bible, and if they were not connected, why place them together? Then I was introduced to the idea of Biblical Theology, which argues that the Bible has a unified story: God progressively working to redeem his people, his actions culminating in the Person and Work of Jesus. Another important understanding is that because God’s revelation is progressive, Jesus’ coming changes the way we look at certain things in the Old Testament.

          I adopted this approach as I read the Old Testament, which in practice meant that many characters and scenes had typological significance instead of having a more general moralistic application. Also, the link between the Old and the New Testaments became more firmly established. For example, the story of David and Goliath is often applied as challenging and encouraging us (the readers) to be like David in trusting in God to defeat adversity. However, according to Biblical Theology, we are the Israelites, trembling and helpless against the enemy, and David is a type of Christ. His act of saving the Israelites points to Jesus’ act of saving humankind from sin.

          However, this might present problems (of which I hope to engage more in a separate post), one of which is (I think) this: that we are reading into the text (specifically the Old Testament) meanings that were not intended by the original authors. Vaughan Roberts suggests that ‘we need to let each Old Testament passage speak in its own right before we consider how it points to Christ¹.’ So I think that as I try to understand an Old Testament passage and attempt to make its connection to Christ, I need to seriously engage with the text, in its contexts, on its own terms.

          Sorry for the delay but I finally reach my main point. I think that Prof. Moberly (he is my Old Testament module lecturer) does precisely that in his book The Theology of the Book of Genesis (ISBN: 9780521685382). He looks specifically at Genesis, starting with a broad overview of its literature and how one approaches the book, then focuses on passages that have been hotly debated. What characterizes his work is that he does not force his own interpretations on the reader. Instead, most chapters first examine the views of other scholars on the discussed passage and then offers a different viewpoint before presenting Moberly’s own understanding of the text.

          He writes the book from an academic framework, albeit constructed within a Christian frame of reference – something different from what I was previously exposed to. Thus, reading this book is akin to being part of a theological discussion on Genesis. We as readers are practicing theology, which he defines as ‘not a once-for-all exercise in finding the right words and/or deeds, but rather a continuing and ever-repeated attempt to articulate what a faithful understanding and use of the biblical text might look like in the changing circumstances of life’ (p. 19).

          In a gentle way, he challenges us to look beyond our presuppositions, to suspend the preconceptions we always have towards something (in this case the Bible or a particular passage in it) and engage with the text on its own terms. Certainly my understanding of Genesis has been somewhat altered, and more questions have to be asked. I am now less certain about the theology of Genesis but I do not think it is an issue.

          Now, problematic or seemingly insignificant material can be heuristic in any Christian’s attempt to understand Genesis, and consequently, the Bible. We just need to ask the right questions.

1. Vaughan Roberts, God’s Big Picture (Nottingham: IVP, 2009), p. 165.

Book #2: Reformation Spirituality

This is the first book I have read that has taken a distinctively Christian approach to English Literature. The author, Gene Edward Veith Jr., writes that ‘not only can Calvin help to interpret Herbert, but Herbert can help interpret Calvin…’ (p. 24) Herbert is certainly a poet worth studying in relation to his art, but beyond that, to how Christianity and creativity interact to produce beautiful poetry. Reformation Spirituality (ISBN: 0838750710) is a good guide to see that connection.

In the few weeks since I have been introduced to the poetry of Herbert, he has been a great comfort in my Christian walk. It is perhaps easy to think of Christianity as rigid because it is dogmatic; or while reacting to the modern over-inclination towards ‘feelings’ to want to uphold objectivity of truth over the subjectivity of emotions.

However, Veith Jr. shows from Herbert’s poetry that the spirit of the Reformation can be captured in poetry that appeals both to one’s mind and one’s senses. He traces a theological sequence in The Temple (Herbert’s collection of poems): the Law and its function of showing human beings their sinfulness without offering salvation, then Justification in the Person and Work of Jesus and an individual’s response, then the process of Sanctification where the Christian life is a constant battle between sin and God, spiritual despair and assurance of salvation, which culminates in death, then there is an injunction for the Christian to continue warring against the world just as the Church has historically done.

This book is very readable and helps to thread the various theological themes that are present in Herbert’s poetry. To understand Herbert, one needs to grasp the doctrines of the Reformation that he held dear. And to understand the Reformation, Herbert’s poetry sheds light on how the break away from the Catholic Church and the embracing of the doctrines of Predestination and Perseverance of the Saints give comfort and hope to a generation previously living in perpetually fear.

For the modern Christian, Herbert’s poetry captures the truth of the gospel succinctly and his ‘plain style’ makes his poems easy to read and understand. There is much comfort in his trust in God and confidence in the character of the God he believed. I would certainly like to know God the way he does. In a time when a lot of things are uncertain, globally and personally, it is easy to swayed and blinded, having my eyes veiled to see the gloominess of reality instead of the light that gives all reality the shadow that looms over me.

Veith Jr. is helpful in presenting a Herbert who does struggle in his Christian life, yet at the same time is able to find comfort and security in the character of God. Perhaps that is the way for me to deal with the vicissitudes of life present at this juncture: to pick up my Bible and let God speak.

Maybe if one day you find yourself lost, read a few poems by George Herbert, get a glimpse of the God that loves him, then pick up a Bible and read about the God that loves us – you and me – and that He still cares, no matter what.

Book Project: 50 Books In 2015, Book #1

          In a conversation with another literature student about New Year Resolutions, she mentioned about setting herself a resolution to read 100 books in a year. I had a thought about it and found that it was a great idea to set a reading target for the year.

          Thus, I have decided to start a personal project of reading 50 books in a year. And after reading each book, I hope to share some personal reflection. I hope this will encourage me to read consistently and also to be thinking about what I am reading. Perhaps what I have learnt will be an encouragement to others.

          So here is book 1 (and some thoughts), The Trellis and the Vine by Colin Marshall and Tony Payne (ISBN: 9781921441585). The trellis represents the structure of a church that keeps it functioning. This includes the various committees, administration work and management issues. The vine however, represents gospel work: the process of making disciples through proclaiming and praying.

          They argue that God is doing this in the world: ‘Spirit-backed gospel preaching leading to the salvation of souls.’ (p.35) If that is really the case, that means our efforts should be on vine (gospel) work, which involves proclaiming, prayer, and people.

          Their point has implications to at least two groups of people: church leaders, and ‘normal’ church members. I think for church leaders, it is a challenge to re-evaluate the many programs that are run by the church. The question to ask is: are our activities making disciples of Jesus - disciples who will boldly live a distinctly Christian life in an increasingly secular world? Our focus should be training the next generation of Christians who will bring the gospel out to people who need it rather than to maintain existing church structures so there is a sense of observable achievement.   

          For the ‘normal’ church-goer, the Great Commission (Matthew 28:18-20) is a great indictment against our oftentimes ‘consumeristic’ approach to church. Marshall and Payne argue that the Great Commission is ‘a commission that makes disciple-making the normal agenda and priority of every church and every Christian disciple.’ (p.13) This means that I am as much involved in gospel work – the prayerful proclamation of the gospel to people – as my pastor is. I am a minister, I am a servant. And every week (and throughout the week) as I meet other Christians, it is my job to disciple them as much as I am being discipled by other Christians. I cannot sit back and do nothing, expecting that it is ‘other’ people’s job to greet newcomers or ask about a Christian brother’s Christian walk.

So vine work happens when Christians are equipped through prayerful proclamation from people to do prayerful proclamation to people in the pattern of 2 Timothy 2:2 ‘and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.’

That means that when I go to church next Sunday, as I am reminded of the gospel through the preaching of the Word, I am being equipped to serve other Christians and non-Christians. When the sermon ends, it’s not time to go back, but time to start serving.

I know that there are lots of challenges that await, but let’s try it out. I think we will realise how inadequate we are, and perhaps we will learn to trust the God ‘who gives the growth’ (1 Corinthians 3:7) and cling to the gospel even more dearly.