BIBLICAL Horizons, No. 35
March, 1992
Copyright 1992, Biblical Horizons
The Hebrew word translated as "grain offering" or "cereal offering" is minchah. Like the translation of `olah as "burnt offering," the translation of minchah as "grain offering" is somewhat deceiving, since minchah does not refer to grain or cereal. In liturgical contexts outside of Leviticus, in fact, the word can refer to bloody sacrifices as well as unbloody sacrifices (see Gen. 4:3-4). Even in the law, where minchah is used exclusively of unbloody offerings, the word does not refer to the material used in the offering, but to the meaning of the offering.
We can gain a perspective on the meaning of minchah by noting its usage in non-liturgical texts. At times, it is best translated simply as "gift" or "present." Jacob sent a minchah to Esau as he returned from his sojourn with Laban (Gen. 32:13); in this context, the word comes close to the sense of "bribe." In other passages, it comes closest to the English word, "tribute." When a conquered people rendered homage to their conquerors, they paid minchah. When the Moabites were ascendant over Israel, the Israelites sent Ehud with a minchah to give to Eglon, king of Moab; Ehud brought a sword instead (Judg. 3:15-18). Later, the Israelites gained mastery of Moab, and the Moabites send a minchah to David (2 Sam. 8:2). Bruce Waltke concluded from his study of the term that the word always includes the idea of an inferior’s showing homage to a superior, of a vassal’s giving tribute to his lord, of a dependent’s showing respect to the one on whom he is dependent.
The analogy between these non-liturgical uses and the Levitical use of the term is obvious. By bringing a minchah to the Lord, the Israelites were confessing their dependence upon, their loyalty and vassalage to the Lord of the covenant. For these reasons, it is useful to think of the "grain offering" as a "tribute offering."
The tribute offering provides us with a number of perspectives on Biblical economics and ecology. First, it is a liturgical expression of the Biblical theology of ownership and property. By offering the tribute offering, the Israelite confessed ritually that he had nothing that he had not received, that the land and its produce were unmerited gifts from God. The memorial portion of the tribute offering was a token that the whole was at the disposal of the Lord. Thus, in the tribute offering, the Israelites acknowledged that they were merely stewards of a land not their own. In the New Covenant, the tithe is our tribute offering, our confession that we are vassals of the Great King.
The tribute offering, however, represented not only the property of the worshiper, but his labor. The worshiper expended time and energy in producing the materials that were offered as tribute to the Lord. Grain was not offered in its raw state; it was either ground into flour, baked into bread and wafers, or roasted in the fire (see Lev. 2). Oil, not olives, was spread on the wafers or mixed with the flour that was turned into smoke. The libation that accompanied the tribute offering was not an offering of grapes, but of wine. What was offered as tribute, then, were the products of man’s transformative restructuring of the original materials of creation. What was offered as tribute to God was not creation per se, but creation developed, molded, transformed, glorified by human labor.
Several important truths about work emerge from a consideration of the tribute offering’s relation to human labor. First, it shows that our self-sacrifice to the Lord is not merely an act of the will, an inner surrender to His will. Instead, we offer ourselves to the Lord precisely by offering our work to Him. Work dedicated to the Lord is a necessary outflowing of the self-sacrifice of faith. Christians have a duty not only to perform good works in the narrow sense of works of charity, but also to work faithfully in a calling. Faith without work is as dead as faith without good works.
Second, the tribute offering points to one of the goals of work. The tribute offering is not, as we have seen, merely an offering back to God of what He has given to us, but of the creation transfigured. The tribute offering thus reminds us that our calling, like Adam’s, is to glorify, develop, improve, transform this world, so that we can offer it back to God for His delight and pleasure. God made the world good, but He wants it to be made better; He made the world glorious, but expects mankind to work to transform it from glory to glory. God expects us not to bury our talents, but to increase them. Thus, the tribute offering embodies a theology of progress. When history ends, man will be expected to present to God a world transformed by human effort and skill, a world more glorious than the original creation. The tribute offering is an eschatological offering.
Third, the tribute offering confirms the Reformation principle of vocation. It teaches that all work can be pleasing to God. Farming and cooking are among the most basic, least glamorous kinds of work. Yet God accepted the prepared products of the field and vineyard as his food, and the Bible tells us the products of these labors brought pleasure to Him (Lev 2:2). Similarly, in the New Testament, Paul teaches that even the menial work of a godly household servant pleases God (Eph. 6:5-8).
Fourth, the tribute offering points to the proper relationship between work and worship. The Israelite plowed his field, sowed his seed, cared for and harvested the grain, ground it into flour, and baked it — he expended all this energy and time with a view to bringing the fruit of his labors into the house of God, to offer it to Him and to support the priests and Levites. The tribute offering reinforces the Biblical truth that the ultimate purpose of our work is to bring glory to God. On the other hand, the Bible also teaches that one of the effects of worship is to empower us for work. By sacrifice, the covenant was renewed, the worshiper was cleansed and refreshed, and sent back to his labors. The Christian life is a cycle of work and worship; we worship in part so that we can work effectively and faithfully, and we work in order to render homage to our Lord.
The tribute offering also has relevance to environmental concerns. As we have seen, it points to the Adamic calling to develop and transform the world. Man’s calling is not to preserve the pristine condition of the creation. It is true, of course, that the Bible teaches that man should use the creation wisely and carefully. The dominion command does not justify short-sighted pillaging and raping of God’s earth. But much of contemporary environmentalism assumes that man’s only legitimate role in "nature" is that of Preserver. Ultimately, this stance is based on an idolatry of nature. The Bible’s protest against this idolatry is woven into the details sacrificial system.
More generally, the tribute offering implies that what is natural is not necessarily more pleasing to God. Nature is not normative. Even many Christians who resist the extremes of environmentalism have unwittingly fallen into a kind of idolatry of nature, assuming that natural things are better (that is, more pleasing to God) than man-made things. Foods grown by natural methods are inherently better than foods grown with chemical fertilizers; natural childbirth is better than using drugs; natural family planning is ethically superior to the use of contraceptives; and so on.
The problem with such positions is not always that they are wrong, but that the arguments used to defend them assume that the "natural" is somehow inherently superior to the "man-made." The argument for natural foods has sometimes been framed this way: God knew what He was doing when He created the earth, so it’s bad for man to interfere with the natural growth of foods. Now, in fact, it might be true that naturally grown foods are more nutritious than chemically fertilized foods. But the above argument assumes that nature is normative, and that man’s calling is to stand back and let nature take its course. The tribute offering assumes a quite different calling for man.
Finally, it seems that tribute offerings were offered only as an accompaniment to a bloody offering. The evidence is not perfectly conclusive, but what evidence we have strongly suggests this conclusion. (For a discussion of this question, see J. H. Kurtz, Sacrificial Worship of the Old Testament, [Minneapolis: Klock and Klock, (1863) 1980], pp. 303-14).
Assuming that this is the case, it implies that our work, even our good works of charity and mercy, are not acceptable to God in themselves. It was Cain’s sin to presume to offering tribute offerings, works, apart from the shedding of blood. Such good works do not make us acceptable to God, and good works are not acceptable to God unless offered on the basis of a substitutionary sacrifice. Just as the grain offering was offered only on top of the bloody offerings, so also the fruits of our labors and products of our hands, our culture as well as our worship, is acceptable to God only as we offer it to Him in the Name of Jesus Christ.
BIBLICAL Horizons, No. 35
March, 1992
Copyright 1992, Biblical Horizons
The normal word (`olah) that is translated as "burnt offering" and "whole burnt offering" has nothing to do with either burning or wholeness. It is the noun form of a verb meaning "to go up, to ascend, to climb." The reason for translating it as "burnt offering" is not difficult to see. After all, the burnt offering was the only offering wholly consumed in the altar fire. Yet, the names of the other offerings have nothing to do with the disposition of the animal’s flesh or blood. The "sin offering" is not called the "sprinkling offering," though the sprinkling of blood is highlighted in the rite of the sin offering (Lev. 4). The peace offering is not called the "partly eaten" offering, though the communion meal is highlighted (Lev. 3). Instead, the names of the other offerings tell us something about the meaning of the offering, not something about the rite, and it is only reasonable to conclude that the name of the burnt offering does the same.
I propose, at least for the duration of this essay, that we think of the "burnt offering" as an "ascension offering." (Similar suggestions are offered by S. R. Hirsch, The Pentateuch [Gateshead: Judaica Press, 1989], vol. III, pp. 10-11 and Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989], pp. 5-6.) All of the offerings picture the "ascension" or "glorification" of the animal or cereal into the cloud of God’s presence. The "burnt offering," however, pictures this more dramatically than the others, since the whole animal ascends. Because the burning is highlighted in this offering, it is preeminently the ascension offering.
In this context, the rite of the "ascension offering," and especially the unique elements of the rite, point to the conditions for ascension into God’s glorious presence. The rite of the ascension offering tells us the conditions by which a sinner can enter into the kingdom of God. The rite teaches us that sinners enter the kingdom only through a bloody substitutionary death, just as the animal is turned into smoke only if it is set apart (by laying on of hands), slaughtered, and has its blood sprinkled around the altar. Beyond this, however, the burnt offering was skinned, cut into pieces, and certain parts were washed.
Before we look at two of those unique elements–the skinning and cutting–we must anticipate a series of questions. Are we reading too much into these details? Are the details of the ascension offering theologically significant, or are they merely convenient ways to burn an animal?
The skeptic would point out that there are obvious reasons why the ascension offering would be skinned and cut. Animals for other offerings were skinned (cf. Lev. 9:11), but the act of skinning is not mentioned and highlighted in the text. Is that a mere "accident," or does it mean that the skinning of the animal has some particular relevance to the ascension offering? Leviticus 1 says that the ascension offering was cut into pieces because it was the only offering in which all the flesh was actually placed on the altar. Are these obvious, practical considerations sufficient to account for the details of the text of Leviticus 1? Or do the details carry theological weight?
For several reasons, I believe the details carry symbolic and therefore theological significance. First, the rite could have been different. It was certainly possible for God to require the hide of the animal to be burned. There is nothing implausible about burning a whole animal on the altar. Recognizing this fact leads us to ask why God required this and not that. Why skinned and not with its hide? Why cut and not whole? Even if these questions do not readily occur to us, I submit that they would have occurred to the ancient Israelite. Anthropological literature suggests that the details of religious rites carry enormous symbolic weight among ritually sensitive people.
Second, these are the very words of God (Lev. 1:1). The whole chapter claims to be a transcription of the speech of God. Every word must therefore be taken with the utmost seriousness. God does not waste His breath.
Finally, the purpose of the text lends itself to a theological interpretation. Contrary to the assumptions of liberal and too much evangelical scholarship, Leviticus is not a mere historical document, which shows us how an ancient people worshiped their God. It is the revelation of God’s character and His plan for redemption. The sacrificial system is a revelation of the way sinners approach a Holy God. Superfluous details and mere conveniences have no place in such a text.
To understand the symbolic significance of the skinning of the animal, we need to remind ourselves of the biblical theology of skin. Within the theology of Leviticus itself, skin and clothing are analogous to each other. Leprosy, for example, can infect either the skin or one’s clothing (Lev. 13:22, 47-51). The priest had to wear undefiled garments (Ex. 28; Zech. 3:4) and was disqualified from service if he had unclean skin (Lev. 21:20). The verb translated "skin" in Leviticus 1:6 is elsewhere used to refer to stripping off clothes (cf. Lev. 16:23; 1 Sam. 19:24). Skin is our natural clothing, and clothing is an additional layer of skin.
When Adam and Eve sinned, they realized that they were naked and they hid from God. Because of their sin, their skin was defiled, and they knew that they were unfit for God’s presence. Throughout the Bible, nakedness and shame are virtually synonymous; both point to God’s judgment against sin. To be ashamed is to stand condemned before the Judge. In His mercy, God slaughtered animals and made new clothes for Adam and Eve (Gen. 3:21). Still, even with their new clothes, Adam and Eve were unfit for God’s presence; they were still barred from re-entering the Garden.
The rite of skinning points to the fact that ascension into God’s glory, re-entrance into the Garden, requires a more radical remedy than the covering of animal skins. It is not enough to cover defiled skin; the defiled skin must be stripped, and new skin must be provided. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; this mortal must be stripped to put on immortality, this perishable flesh must put on imperishable, this defiled skin must be replaced by robes of glory (1 Cor. 15:50-53). In baptism, our defiled skin is stripped, and we are clothed with the Resurrected Christ (Rom. 6:1-11; Gal. 3:27). Baptism brings with it an obligation to daily strip off the old skin and put on the new; the rite of burnt offering teaches us that we must kill the flesh to enter into life (Rom. 8:13).
This is made possible because Jesus Christ, the perfect Ascension Offering, was stripped of His seamless garment-skin and, despising the shame, was crucified naked. Because of His obedience unto death, He has ascended on high and has received the gift of the Holy Spirit, which He poured out to clothe His people with power from on high.
A second element unique to the rite of burnt offering was the cutting of the animal into "his pieces" (Lev. 1:6). The word for "cut" means "dismember," and the fact that the animal was cut into his pieces implies that he was divided into his constituent parts. The idea is not so much that of chopping a bull or sheep into stew meat; the idea is more cutting the legs from the hips, the tail from the spine, etc.
James B. Jordan has correctly explained that this points to our being cut up by the word of God (Heb. 4:12). To ascend to God, to be translated into His kingdom, to become new, glorified creations, sinners must first be dismembered by the Word. ("The Whole-Burnt Sacrifice: Its Liturgy and Meaning," Biblical Horizons Occasional Paper No. 11, p. 12).
The cutting of the animals also refers back to the covenant-cutting rite of Genesis 15. The similarities between the rite of Genesis 15 and that of Leviticus 1 are marked. In both, the animals were cut in pieces, but the birds were not (Gen. 15:10; Lev. 1:17). In Genesis 15, the smoking oven and flaming torch of God’s presence passed through the cut animal parts; in Leviticus 1, the fire of God’s presence licked around and enveloped the pieces placed on the altar of burnt offering. Visually, the two rites are very similar: Fire and smoke passing through pieces of animal flesh.
(The main difference is that Leviticus 1 pictures the flesh being taken up into the smoke and flames. Perhaps this points to the fact that God takes the curse up into Himself. More likely, it pictures the heart of the covenant promise, that He take us into Himself, to be a God to us and to our children forever.)
Thus, whenever a priest placed an ascension offering upon the altar, he was standing in the place of Abraham. Each morning and evening, as dismembered carcasses of the daily offerings were consumed on the altar, God was confirming and renewing His self-malediction. He was renewing His promise that sinners could ascend into His presence.
Jesus Christ is the perfect ascension offering in this sense as well. The carcass of the Perfect Victim is public testimony to the righteousness of God, to the fact that God keeps his oath, even to His own hurt, even though it cost Him His Life (Ps. 15:4). Each time we celebrate the Supper, God confirms His promise by giving us the signs of the dismembered victim. And, eating the flesh and drinking the blood, we take into ourselves the self-malediction.
Biblical Chronology
Vol. 4, No. 3
March, 1992
Copyright © James B. Jordan 1992
by James B. Jordan
(This issue of Biblical Chronology concludes a discussion of the Biblical and Assyrian chronologies, begun in January. If you do not have a copy of the January and/or February 1992 issues, you can obtain them from the publisher.)
Did Shalmaneser Know Jehu?
Allis writes: "The Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser contains, in addition to brief accounts of the first 32 years of his reign, `twenty small reliefs, with annotations, depicting the payment of the tribute of five conquered regions.’ One of these annotations, which is placed over a relief picturing a prostrate king paying abject homage to Shalmaneser, contains the words `Tribute of Ia-u-a son of Hu-um-ri.’ No date is given; and Iaua is nowhere mentioned on the Obelisk, though he is elsewhere mentioned on a fragment of an annalistic list. It has been widely assumed that this refers to Jehu of Israel, although as in the case of the battle of Qarqar there is no mention of this event in the Old Testament. Such being the case it will be well to examine these `annotations’ carefully. The first is called `Tribute of Sua, the Gilzanite.’ The only mention of such a tribute in the text of the inscription is in the record of the 30th year (a very recent event); and there we read, `The tribute of Upu the Gilzanite, . . . I received.’ Has Sua succeeded Upu in the course of a year? The fifth relief is described as `The tribute of Karparunda of Hattina.’ Yet the record of the 28th year (also comparatively recent) tells us that Shalmaneser made Sasi, son of the Uzzite, king over them and they sent him presents `without measure.’ How is this to be explained?"
Allis’s argument here is that there seem to be major contradictions on the Black Obelisk itself between the accounts and the annotations, which may indicate that the two were composed at considerably different times, and certainly calls into question any assumption that it accurately reflects the reign of Shalmaneser in all respects.
Allis continues: "Turning back to the mention of Iaua, we note that he is called `the son of Humri.’ This shows the inaccuracy of Shalmaneser’s information. If Iaua is Jehu, then Jehu is called the son of Omri, whose grandson Jehoram was slain by Jehu. Jehu was not of royal descent; he was a usurper, what Shalmaneser called Hazael, `a son of nobody.’"
Allis now turns to a second inscription of Shalmaneser, dating from his 18th year, in which he says he received tribute from I-a-ua mar Hu-um-ri-i (Jehu son of Omri). For reasons that we shall take up later in this essay, this event is to be dated almost certainly in the reign of Jehoahaz of Israel. Allis writes:
"Furthermore, the identification of Iaua with Jehu is uncertain. Tiglath-pileser calls Ahaz Iaua-hazi, which indicates that he knew of Ahaz as Jehoahaz. So Iaua might be shortened from Jehoahaz or from Jehoash, just as the name Hadad (1 Kings 11:14) given to an Edomite prince of the time of Solomon is shortened, perhaps, from the familiar Ben-hadad or Hadad-ezer. If Shalmaneser knew so little about Jehu as to call him the son of Omri,he might easily have confused him with Jehoahaz or Jehoash. This would make the 18th year of Shalmaneser (840 B.C.) correspond to an event in the end of the reign of Jehoahaz or the beginning of that of Jehoash of Israel, according to Ussher’s chronology. The biblical narrative makes no mention of Assyria, in describing the career of Jehu. Hazael of Damascus was Jehu’s chief enemy (2 Kings 10:32f.), and this might not have been the case if Hazael was seriously threatened by Assyria at this time.
"There is then good warrant for Smith’s statement regarding Jehu:
Without advancing any theory for the identification of the monarch mentioned in the Assyrian inscriptions, I would urge that the identity of the Jehu of the Bible with the Jehu of the inscriptions is not proved, and that these notices are not enough to force us to alter all our Biblical dates. (Smith, p. 190.)"
Allis adds in a note that one reason for the general acceptance of the identification of Iaua with Jehu "is that many Bible students have seen in it a welcome confirmation of the biblical record by contemporary sources and consequently have paid little or no attention to the serious consequences of these and other identifications, to the havoc which they have wrought with the generally accepted biblical chronology. The picture of Jehu son of Omri prostrating himself before Shalmaneser will be found in nearly every illustrated Bible or reference book. But the reader is not told of the obstacles in the way of this identification" (p. 485).
Returning to the main body of Allis’s book, we find Allis suggesting an event in the reign of Jehoahaz that might better fit the Black Obelisk statement about Iaua, bearing in mind that the Black Obelisk might not have an Israelite in view at all: "The statement that `the Lord gave Israel a savior’ (2 Kings 13:5) in response to the prayer of Jehoahaz (856-839) may refer to an invasion of the West by Shalmaneser III which `broke the power of that monarch for a time, and so gave a breathing time to the Israelites’ (Smith, p. 191). And we would again remind the reader that there is no mention of Assyria in the biblical accounts of the reigns of Ahab and Jehu. The argument from silence may often be weak and inconclusive. But in the case of events of such importance as these which are recorded in Shalmaneser’s annals, if these kings of Israel really figured in them, the silence of the biblical records regarding them must be regarded as significant." (Allis, pp. 417-419.)
Were There Two Hazaels?
There is one more problem between the Bible and Shalmaneser’s inscriptions. Allis writes: "In the Bible Hazael is mentioned first in the command given to Elijah at Horeb to anoint him to be king over Syria (1 Kings 19:15). The wording of the command seems to imply that Hazael was then already a prominent figure at the court of Ben-hadad II. For some reason which is not stated, the commission was not carried out until about a dozen years later in the announcement made to Hazael by Elisha that he was to be king of Syria, which was followed immediately by Hazael’s murder of Ben-hadad II and seizure of the throne (2 Kings 8:7-15). This took place apparently shortly before the revolt of Jehu (884 B.C.), at which time Hazael was already established on the throne (8:28). It was in fighting against Hazael that Joram of Israel was wounded, an event which was speedily followed by the slaying of both Joram and Ahaziah by Jehu (884 B.C.). As a punishment for Jehu’s disobedience, Israel was oppressed by Hazael all the days of Jehoahaz (10:3f., 13:3), a warfare which was continued by Hazael until his death, sometime in the reign of Joash of Israel (c. 838 B.C. or somewhat later, 13:3, 24f.). According to these data Hazael has been assigned a reign of more than forty years, which would not be extraordinary.
"Here again the inscriptions of Shalmaneser raise serious problems in connection with the biblical dates. The Canon gives Shalmaneser a reign of 34 years (858-824), and his Annals state that he fought with a confederation of Western kings, among whom Adad-idri of Damascus is listed, in his 6th, 10th, 11th, and 14th years (853-844). We have noted that no mention is made of any of these campaigns in the Bible. In his 18th year (840), Shalmaneser’s opponent was Hazael of Damascus. Two important facts emerge from these data: Adad-ezer [=Adad-idri–JBJ] reigned in Damascus for at least nine years, and Hazael was on the throne in 840, perhaps somewhat earlier" (Allis, p. 419).
Here is the problem: The Bible says that Hazael succeeded Ben-hadad II just before Jehu came to the throne. The Shalmaneser inscriptions imply that Hazael succeeded Adad-idri between the 14th and 18th years of Shalmaneser. Adad-idri is almost certainly the same name as Ben-hadad. According to the Objective Theory, these two events took place over 40 years apart. Thus, the Objective Theory must posit that it happened twice. The first Hazael succeeded Ben-hadad II just before Jehu came to the throne. The second Hazael succeeded Adad-idri 40 years later, during the reigns of Jehoahaz of Israel and Jehoash of Judah and just before the 18th year of Shalmaneser.
How likely is such a reconstruction? As Allis points out, it is far more likely than the alternative, which throws the later reigns of Israel and Judah into a chaos of co-regencies. There is, however, an even better reconstruction than the two-Hazael approach, but for now, let us see what the two-Hazael theory would entail.
Hazael usurped the throne of Syria shortly before Jehu became king. We can place the event in the year A.M. 3118. Jehoahaz came to the throne of Israel in 3148, after Jehu’s 28-year reign, which began in 3120. 2 Kings 13:3 says that during the reign of Jehoahaz, "the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel, and He gave them continually into the hand of Hazael king of Syria, and into the hand of Ben-hadad the son of Hazael." This indicates that Hazael was still on the throne of Syria at the beginning of Jehoahaz’s reign, but died soon thereafter leaving it to his son Ben-hadad III. Let us put the death of Hazael in 3150 A.M., giving him a reign of 32 years.
Ben-hadad III (called by the Assyrians Adad-idri) thus came to the throne of Syria in 3150 A.M. The year 3151 is the 6th year of Shalmaneser, and it is recorded that he fought Adad-idri in that year. Now we can take note of a suggestion by Allis, namely that 2 Kings 13:5 refers to a war between Syria and Assyria, which granted breathing room to Israel. Notice that 2 Kings 13:3 says that God gave Israel into the hands of Hazael and then into the hands of Ben-hadad III. The next verse says that Jehoahaz prayed to the LORD, indicating that this happened after Hazael was gone and Ben-hadad III was threatening Israel. Verse 5 says that "the LORD gave Israel a savior, so that they escaped from under the hand of the Syrians." This would refer to one of the wars between Ben-hadad III (Adad-idri) and Shalmaneser, which occurred in the 6th, 10th, 11th, and 14th years of Shalmaneser.
In the year 3163 A.M., the 18th year of Shalmaneser, the Assyrians fought the Syrians again, but this time Hazael is king of Syria. This must be a new Hazael, succeeding Ben-hadad III just discussed. This means Ben-hadad III had a short reign, but that is no surprise. Elijah was told on Mount Horeb to anoint Hazael king of Syria in A.M. 3101. Hazael would already have been important at the court of Syria at that time. If he was 30 at that time, he was 47 in A.M. 3118 when he usurped the throne and 79 when he died in 3150. His son Ben-hadad III would have been close to 60 when he took the throne in that year. If we assume he reigned 10 years, we can put his death at the age of 70 in A.M. 3160, which is the 15th year of Shalmaneser. At that point, his son Hazael II took the throne.
This Hazael II did not reign long either. He might have been 50 when he came to the throne, and if we put his death at the age of 60 in A.M. 3170, we are in the 6th year of Jehoash of Israel. 2 Kings 13:24-25 reads: "When Hazael king of Syria died, Ben-hadad (IV) his son became king in his place. Then Jehoash the son of Jehoahaz took again from the hand of Ben-hadad the son of Hazael (II) the cities which he (Hazael) had taken in war from the hand of Jehoahaz his father. Three times Jehoash defeated him and recovered the cities of Israel."
This is not an unlikely construction of events, and provides the following scheme:
Ben-hadad II Ahab
Hazael I Jehu and Jehoahaz
Ben-hadad III Jehoahaz (and Shalmaneser years 6-14)
Hazael II Jehoahaz (and Shalmaneser year 18) and Jehoash
Ben-hadad IV Jehoash
Ben-Hadad Was Crown Prince, not King
There is a possible difficulty, however, because 2 Kings 13:22 says "now Hazael king of Syria had oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz." This may mean no more than that Hazael and his son and grandson (another Hazael) oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz. But let us assume that it means Hazael and only Hazael, as is much more likely. Is there another way to reconstruct the history and do full justice to all the data?
Yes there is. Assume this time that Hazael was unknown when God mentioned him to Elijah, and that Hazael was 30 when he usurped the throne of Syria in A.M. 3118. This would make him 74 in A.M. 3163, the 18th year of Shalmaneser. Why then would Shalmaneser say that he fought Adad-idri (Ben-hadad) in his 6th – 14th years? Why would the Bible say that Ben-hadad as well as Hazael oppressed Israel during the reign of Jehoahaz? Because Ben-hadad was crown prince with his father Hazael. This is not at all unusual, and is by the fact that 2 Kings 13:3 says that Hazael and his son Ben-hadad oppressed Israel in the days of Jehoahaz, while verse 22 says that Hazael oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz. 2 Kings 13:3 does not say that Ben-hadad was king of Syria, only that Hazael was, so we do not need to posit a co-regency. We only need to realize that as crown prince, Ben-hadad was active as commander of the army.
So here is the second way to reconstruct events. Old Hazael stayed in Damascus and sent his son Ben-hadad, the crown prince, to fight Shalmaneser in the latter’s 6th, 10th, 11th, and 14th, years. He also sent Ben-hadad against Jehoahaz of Israel during these years. We notice that neither Shalmaneser nor the Bible calls Ben-hadad (Adad-idri) a king. In the 18th year of Shalmaneser, however, old Hazael decided in view of his son’s four previous defeats, to go to war himself. Shortly thereafter he died, about the time Jehoahaz died and Jehoash became king, and Jehoash began reclaiming the cities of Israel which Ben-hadad had taken.
This is an even simpler scheme, and also accounts for all the facts, as follows:
Ben-hadad II Ahab
Hazael I Jehu
Hazael I & Ben-hadad Jehoahaz (and Shalmaneser)
Ben-hadad III Jehoash
Both of these reconstructions fully account for the Shalmaneser inscription without forcing a reconstruction of Biblical chronology. The Bible clearly tells us that a Hazael was on the scene during the reign of Jehoahaz, when Shalmaneser’s wars with Damascus took place according to traditional chronology. This might have been a second Hazael, a son of a Ben-hadad who succeeded the first Hazael; or it might have been the first Hazael still presiding over Damascus but letting his son Ben-hadad fight most of the battles. Either way, there is no reason to change the traditional chronology because of the references to Ben-hadad (Adad-idri) and Hazael in the Shalmaneser inscriptions.
The first reconstruction (two Hazaels) was originally proposed by Smith and is generally followed by Allis (Allis, pp. 420ff.). The second reconstruction is my own, and I think it is much simpler and preferable. Shalmaneser’s inscriptions say only that he fought Adad-idri of Damascus. They do not call him king (in fact they don’t call Hazael king either). Thus, there is no reason to assume that the Adad-idri (Ben-hadad) who fought Shalmaneser in the latter’s 6th, 10th, 11th, and 14th years was a king. I propose that he was the crown prince, son of Hazael, who was active as commander of the armies during Jehoahaz’s reign according to 2 Kings 13:3, and who logically would have led the fight against Shalmaneser. In the 18th year of Shalmaneser, Hazael himself led the fight. Shortly thereafter he died, and "Ben-hadad his son became king in his place" (2 Kings 13:24).
Conclusion
Virtually all modern scholars are in agreement that the Assyrian Eponym Canon together with various Assyrian inscriptions establish as fact that Ahab of Israel fought Shalmaneser at Qarqar, and that in the 18th year of Shalmaneser, the latter was victorious over Jehu of Israel and Hazael of Syria. The result of these identifications is that either the Assyrian Eponym Canon is in error, or else the chronology of the Old Testament kings is in need of reconstruction. Modern scholars are quick to challenge the Bible and slow to challenge anything else from the ancient world, with the result that all Bible dictionaries and encyclopedias take the Assyrian Eponym Canon as law and propose major revisions in the common sense understanding of the chronology of the kings of Israel and Judah.
In fact, though, there is no reason at all to think that Ahab was at Qarqar, and every reason to believe he would not have been. The assumption that the Ahabbu or Ahappu of Shalmaneser is the Ahab of the Bible is completely gratuitous.
Similarly, Shalmaneser’s inscriptions demonstrate quite a bit of ignorance about the nations far away from him. He rightly calls Hazael a usurper (son of nobody), but calls "Jehu" a son of Omri. Evidently, he or his scribe assumed that the kings of Omriland were all descendants of Omri. Since "Jehu" was not a son of Omri, and since the Assyrians used the name Iaua for other Israelite kings, it may well be that the "Iaua son of Omri" referred to by Shalmaneser is actually Jehoahaz. If we leave the chronology of the Bible and of the Assyrian King List alone, we find indeed that Shalmaneser’s reference to "Iaua son of Omri" fits exactly the time period of Iaua-ahaz (Jehoahaz). Given Assyrian ignorance about the faraway nations, we cannot ask that these inscriptions be perfectly accurate. "Jehu son of Omri" could be any number of people, and is most likely Jehoahaz.
Shalmaneser’s reference to Hazael in the inscription of his 18th year is mostly likely to the Hazael of the Bible who usurped the throne from Ben-hadad just before Jehu came to the throne. The interpreters have erred, however, in assuming that the Ben-hadad who fought Shalmaneser in his 6-14th years was a king. Shalmaneser does not say that he was, and the Bible indicates that Hazael’s son was named Ben-hadad. This Ben-hadad, the Bible indicates, was not only crown prince but also commander of the armies. He raided Israel, and doubtless led the armies against Shalmaneser. Only after several failures on his part did his father King Hazael take up leadership of the army to fight Shalmaneser in the latter’s 18th year.
After defeating Hazael, Shalmaneser "marched as far as the mountains of Ba’li-ra’si which is a promontory and erected there a stela with my image as king. At that time I received the tribute of the inhabitants of Tyre, Sidon, and of Iaua (Jehoahaz), son of Omri" (cited from James B. Pritchard, The Ancient Near East: An Anthology of Texts and Pictures, Vol. 1 [Princeton U. Press, abridged paperback edition, 1973), p. 191).
Open Book: Views & Reviews, No. 8
March, 1992
Copyright (c) 1992 Biblical Horizons
Movies
Movies as an art form have a powerful impact because they take place in a dark room, on a large screen, with no distractions, and because they entail many of the arts: music, acting, choreography, design and color, etc. A movie can be an overwhelming experience for a young person who has not matured in objectivity and in the ability to filter.
Christians sometimes have the idea that Walt Disney movies are acceptable in a way that modern films are not. That is true at one level, in that Disney films do not deal explicitly with sin and evil in the way that some modern films do. On the other hand, Disney’s perspective is every bit as non-Christian. In a Disney film, except for a couple of early ones, God is completely absent as the standard of right and wrong. The Disney films inculcate a moralistic but godless view of the world, and this worldview has not stood the test of time. The Disney generation of kids grew up and went on dope.
In the symbolic matrix of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," the Christian faith is present in the background (seduction and fall, use of an apple, an evil Satanic witch and seven angelic protectors, salvation by the love of the Prince). In Disney’s best animated film, Pinocchio, Christian ideas are more prominent (temptation and maturity, freedom and responsibility–"there are no strings on me," sacrifice and resurrection). One suspects, however, that the Christian elements in these films were not put there by anyone at the Disney studio, but simply show up because they were already present in the original stories.
Christians can enjoy the moral messages of non-Christian movies, such as the Star Wars trilogy, because ultimately all views of right and wrong are derived from the Christian faith. Apart from the God of Scripture, there are no standards of right and wrong. In Star Wars, if the "force" is the ultimate power, and the "force" is morally neutral with a dark and a light side, then on what basis do we choose right from wrong? The movies do not answer this question, because they cannot. Yet, we as Christians can agree that Darth Vader and his Emperor are bad guys, and that Luke, Han, and Leia are good guys. On the other hand, we dare not agree that righteousness and evil simply boil down to good and bad feelings, as the films suggest.
Christians have a basic problem when it comes to movies, though. It is this: We are brought up thinking that movies only exist for entertainment, and that we can relax our guard and suspend our minds when we go to see a Disney flick or Star Wars. After all, there is no sex, blood, or strong language. In fact, however, any form of literature, which is what a film is in the broad sense, must engage the mind and the moral sensibilities. We have to be properly critical of the Disney film, even when we go to see it and enjoy it. By the same token, it is entirely possible for Christians to take a mature and critical approach to modern serious films, and not simply avoid them. There is no need to be afraid of movies; we can always walk out if it gets too rough, or if the treatment is pornographic in sex or violence. So, if you enjoy Superman or Star Wars, go ahead and enjoy it, but don’t be uncritical.
Modern film is often rather hardhitting, and a certain amount of maturity and filtering-ability (or objectivity) is needed to go to see a film like Hardcore, which deals with Christianity and pornography, or even Tender Mercies, which deals with how God converts a man to Himself. Here again, the church cannot legislate universal standards for all men. The Christian must endeavor to know himself, and be careful.
By the way, we find an attitude common among some Christians that "if it is not suitable for children, then it is not suitable for adults." This viewpoint has an air of piety about it, but is in fact an impious denial of God’s call to maturity. There most certainly are things that adults may do, read, think about, and expose themselves to, which children ought not to do, read, think about, or be exposed to. All too often this false piety prevents Christians from dealing realistically in the world God has called them to live in. There are stories that we would not want included in a high school literature text, but that might be important reading for a mature person seeking to broaden his Horizons and become a better servant of the Lord. The same is true of certain films.
Let me suggest some questions we might ask ourselves when we consider going to the movies. First of all, is this a serious, heavy film (like The Godfather), or a light film (like E.T.)? Second, if it is a serious film, do I anticipate getting some personal growth in maturity or understanding from it? Even if it has some bad parts that I have to filter, is there enough that is worthwhile about the film that I, as a serious Christian living in the modern world, have reason to view it? Third, if it is a light film, am I prepared to exercise some critical judgment even as I relax and enjoy the movie?
In other words, we have to realize that serious films are often not made to be "enjoyed." Hardcore, a movie about a Christian man whose daughter gets involved in pornography, is not a pleasant film. It is worth mature viewing, in that it exposes and attacks both Hollywood and the shallowness of much modern Christianity–but any Christian who views it should do so with a serious mind, not expecting a Disney-type entertainment.
At the same time, we have to recognize that entertainment films have to be viewed with a certain critical distance. Few modern movies, and few older movies either, are made with a Christian worldview in mind.
Popular Fiction
From time to time one picks up a certain hostility to popular fictional literature among theologians in the stricter and more orthodox Christian traditions. Since I stand in such a tradition, I believe that this is matter that should be addressed. I believe that this hostility is unfortunate, and I wish in this section to explore some of the positive dimensions of fictional literature.
Man’s task appointed by God involves two aspects, cultivating and guarding. Animals were brought to Adam to help him understand his cultivating task, and the fact that he needed something to help with this task (a wife). Adam named (described, catalogued) the animals, using his imagination and powers of extrapolation to help him begin his task of cultivation. Then God brought an animal to Adam to help him understand his guarding task, and the fact that he needed something to help with this task (a robe of judicial authority). When Adam failed to guard the Garden, cherubim replaced him until the coming of the Second Adam. (I have dealt with this in an essay in Gary North, ed., Tactics of Christian Resistance: Christianity and Civilization No. 3, published by Geneva Ministries; available from Biblical Horizons .)
Everything that men do entails both a guarding and a cultivating aspect. Sometimes one or another is prominent, and we set aside some men to work most particularly in one area or another, but every human enterprise entails both to some degree. This is also and maybe especially true of the arts. The arts help us to understand the world, enhancing our ability to cultivate it, and the arts reinforce the boundaries of our life, which is their guarding function (or alternatively, the arts challenge us to change those boundaries). Most art, especially popular art, simply reinforces common mores and folkways, and is thus culturally conservative. (It may come as a shock to hear that "rock" music is culturally conservative, but it is. Rock music reinforces the basic standards and social drift of our culture, which is why it is so powerful in the minds of youth. I am using the term "conservative" in a social, not a moral sense, obviously.)
Our concern here is not with "great" literature. Few have ever suggested that Shakespeare, Milton, Cervantes, and Dostoievski be removed from the shelves of Christians. What we want to explore here are four of the most popular forms of fictional literature: detective stories, war stories, science fiction stories, and love stories.
Before doing so, let me make one observation. The danger in fictional literature lies in the manner in which it is approached. It is entirely possible to use fiction as a means of pure escape, and derive nothing further from it. This is not necessarily wrong in itself, provided the "escape" can be tied to the Christian sabbath concept. By this I mean that the "escape" serves to reinforce basic Christian values, and not undermine them. An escape into a pornographic novel works against the faith, but an escape into a Christian novel (say, The Lord of the Rings or Foucault’s Pendulum) can work to reinforce (guard) the faith. All the same, many have found that saturation in fiction is debilitating. I believe that this is because too much of any kind of rest and relaxation is bad. How many of us get into foul moods on vacation, or while reading a long novel? This is probably because we are not balancing rest and work.
My point is this: There is nothing wrong with "escapist" literature in itself. It can be misused, but it can also be used properly. To take time off for rest, and spend time enjoying a fictional story or universe can be a good thing, if it serves to reinforce and refresh the faith, and provided it is done in moderation. With that in mind let us consider the four types of literature we mentioned above.
Detective Stories. In this category we place all those stories that involve crime solving. It has often been observed that such stories have developed only in the Christian West. Why? It seems to me that there are two general reasons. First is the fact of a transcendent law. In all pagan cultures, the laws of the gods are either unknowable, or else they are kept a mystery by the priests. The functioning law or order in society, which defines right and wrong, is simply the power of the human overlords. In such a context, the moral drama of detective fiction cannot take place. To write and to enjoy detective fiction we have to realize that murder and rape are always wrong, whether committed by a lord or by a commoner. Detective fiction thus presupposes a Christian view of transcendent law, law that comes from a universal God, law that is known by every man.
Second, detective fiction depends on the regularity of cause and effect. No pagan culture has any real understanding of cause and effect. If we read Homer or any other pre-Christian writer, we find that all kinds of things happen without rhyme or reason. Magic pervades all. Only on the foundation of a doctrine of creation can we have a notion of genuine cause and effect. God caused the world to come into being. This undergirds causation. It also means that the world is intelligible, because the creation bears the imprint of the Creator, and so does man. Thus, the mind of man can understand the world and God.
Everything has to work out logically in a piece of detective fiction. When we finish the story, and find out who did it, we want to say "Of course. Why didn’t I see that." A good writer gives us all the clues beforehand, so that we feel stupid that we did not see it earlier, and we admire the hero the more for having figured it out.
Does reading detective fiction ("dime store trash") reinforce Christian values? Yes, obviously it does. It reinforces our moral standards, and our committment to the intelligibility of cause and effect in the universe. It reinforces our belief that bad guys will eventually be caught and good guys rewarded. True, in real life this does not always happen before the Final Judgment, and perhaps detective fiction fails to reinforce this fact adequately, but no type of literature can be expected to do everything.
As Christian faith declines in our society, we can expect detective fiction to disappear. It will make less and less sense, and become more morally nebulous. Moreover, even classic detective fiction could use improvement. All the same, there is no reason to condemn detective fiction as a whole, and every reason for Christians to get busy and reform it more fully. So, don’t feel guilty if you like Sherlock Holmes, or Agatha Christie, or Dorothy Sayers. Have a good time escaping with them.
War Stories. War is bad. The only reason Christians engage in war is for some overriding moral purpose. Among the pagans, war is fought for pride and honor, or sheer rapine. The great Cossack hero, Stenka Razin, was celebrated precisely for his bloodthirstiness. The oft-sung Song of Stenka Razin tells how Razin is spending too much time with a captured Persian Princess. His men are dismayed. "No more war and rapine," they mourn. "He dallies all day long with that girl." Overhearing his men, Razin comes to his senses, and swearing never again to depart from the true Cossack way, he throws the girl overboard to drown in the Volga.
Is this what Western European and American war stories are like? No, because of Christian influence. Here again, tales focussing on conflict, whether war stories, spy novels, tales of intrigue, historical adventure, or wild west stories, require a firm moral basis in order to be acceptable to us. The Scarlet Pimpernel delivers the helpless from the machinations of evil powers. Gunslinging lawmen bring outlaws to justice. Nazis are evil, and the men fighting them are heroes. The thrill that comes from this kind of literature comes from the defeat of evil by good.
Here again, we have to say that in real life the defeat of evil does not happen so swiftly and easily. Moreover, those who fight evil can themselves become corrupt (as Dumas shows in The Count of Monte Christo); after all, "vengeance is Mine, says the Lord." All the same, the "just war" is a distinctively Christian notion, and in most war literature it plays the basic role.
When the good guys are not all that good, it becomes more difficult to write spy or war novels. I doubt if there will be much war literature coming out based on the Viet-Nam war. The situation was morally too ambiguous. The man who writes under the pseudonym "John Le Carre" has done a good job of pointing out this modern problem in his series of "Smiley" novels. Smiley, at some points an Arthur figure, is continually cuckolded by his whoring wife Ann, who signifies Arthur’s bride, England. It turns out (in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy) that Ann has actually had an affair with a Russian agent. How are Smiley (Arthur) and his lieutenant Peter Guillam (Peter the Protector, the Church[?]) going to defend or protect England in such a morally ambiguous situation? Does England even deserve to be protected? In a later novel, Smiley’s People, Smiley renounces Ann (England) and devotes his energies to protecting the poor refugees of communist tyranny. They at least are (semi-) deserving of his attentions. "Le Carre" has been criticized for not giving us heroic heroes, but his point is that such men cannot live in times like ours. Perhaps he goes too far, but his indictment of the modern, corrupt, post-Christian West is damning and profound. His major theme is betrayal, and who can stand for what is right when there is betrayal on every side?
Science Fiction Stories. Science fiction is a form of fantasy literature that depends on technology to provide it credibility. It is distinctively Christian in its presuppositions, even though very few Christians have ever written science fiction (C.S. Lewis and Cordwainer Smith being the two tremendously great exceptions, and more recently Fred Saberhagen, Tim Powers, Gene Wolfe, and James Blaylock). Technology is a purely Christian thing. It is impossible to take a technological view of the world in a pagan culture, partly because the world is seen as inhabited by spirits who will be offended if we manipulate the world, and partly because the means of manipulation is seen as magical, the use of mental and/or ritual occult powers.
It is Christian faith that pronounces the world free of demons and spirits, and that encourages men to manipulate it. It is Christian faith that says that men cannot and must not try to play god (via magic), and that directs men to the use of tools (technology) as a means of dominion. In fine, the development of tools (technology) is exclusively Christian, and has happened beyond a very marginal degree only in the West. Indeed, the two great eras for technological development were the Christian Middle Ages, and the protestant Industrial Revolution.
What makes a story science fiction rather than fantasy is that the writer tries to make his world credible in terms of technological devices rather than in terms of magic. Thus, science fiction tends to reinforce the Christian conception that progress is linked partially to the development of technology, the expansion of dominion under the cultural mandate.
Of course, most science fiction stories are actually war stories, or detective stories, or love stories that are set in some future time. The "pure" science fiction story, however, revolves around the implications of some new technological device. There is a classic story, for instance, by Robert Sheckley, "The Gun Without a Bang," which explores the possibilities of a laser pistol. Landing on a new planet, the hero cannot wait to use the laser gun. Attacked by local beasts, he ray-guns them to death. Right away, however, he notices that since the gun does not make a bang, the animals that remain are not scared off. Indeed, the simple disappearance (disintegration) of their fellow beasts does not seem to register with them at all. Thus, they continue to harass him.
In time, while protecting himself against beasts, he happens to shoot the laser pistol in the direction of his spaceship, thereby riddling it with holes. The ship shortly comes to look like swiss cheese, and he is stuck on the planet. When a rescue team arrives, they find him using the pistol for the only thing it is good for — using the butt to drive nails. So much for laser pistols. (Perhaps George Lucas had this story in mind when he developed the laser sword for Star Wars, a weapon without the complications pointed out by Sheckley.)
Science fiction, since it involves projections of the future, utilizes the Biblical view of a progressive (non-cyclical) future, and also gives a greater play to the imagination in some ways than do other kinds of popular literature. On the one hand, the belief in an intelligible and progressive future is distinctively Christian, but on the other hand, the future portrayed is almost always non-Christian (except in Cordwainer Smith’s stories). Thus, at one level, science fiction reinforces Christian values, while at another, it tends not to.
I might also add that many SF writers eventually stop writing technological stories and turn to fantasy (for instance, Jack Chalker, Robert Heinlein, Andre Norton). I believe that this is because their presuppositions eventually overtake them, and they lose interest in the Christian technological worldview. Well, a lot more could be said about science fiction, its problems and possibilities, but we must move on.
Love Stories. For some odd reason, the notion circulates around in some hardcore Christian circles that arranged marriages are preferable to marriages based on romance. This supposedly is more Christian. After all, love is nothing but obeying the law, or nothing but a principled attitude of concern.
Actually, these ideas come from pagan, not from Biblical sources. The practice of arranging marriages comes from the belief that when two children marry, their families are also coming into covenant with one another. The Bible, however, states from the outset, "for this cause a man shall leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife" (Gen. 2:24). What happens in marriage is not the joining of two families, but the creation of a new third one. Pagan cultures try to obscure this, and tie the new marriage to the old ones by a variety of means.
Now, it is true that Abraham arranged Isaac’s marriage, but is it also true that the text calls attention to the fact that Isaac loved Rebekah (Gen. 24:67). Arranging marriages apart from the desires of the young man and woman involved has no place in Biblical society. Marriage should be for love, and be romantic.
We see plenty of vignettes of this in Scripture. We can think right away of Jacob and Rachel, or of Othniel and Achsah. The foundation for this is God’s love for His bride. Don’t we resonate to stories of mighty princes who fall in love with humble peasant girls, and bring them to the palace, where they live happily ever after? Why do we like that story? Because it is nothing but the gospel. (It is the story of the Song of Solomon as well.) Maybe the humble girl is like Cinderella, a princess unawares. Maybe not. The foundation of such stories, however, is in the way God seeks and woos His bride.
Romantic literature (love stories) developed only in the Christian West under the influence of the Gospel. Love stories may be tragic in tone (as in courtly love and unrequited love), or they may be joyous (when the boy and girl finally get to marry in the end). All of these various themes have their foundation in the relationship between Christ and the Church.
I am not trying to justify everything found in dime store romances, but I am saying that there is a fundamentally Christian foundation to such stories. If they delight a portion of the population of the post-Christian West, it is because a general Christian consciousness about romantic love still pervades our society to some extent. Romances replaced pornography during the Christian Middle Ages, and nowadays pornography is supplanting the traditional romance that culminates in marriage. Deplorable as this is, and cheap as many fictional romances are, we should not be blind to the fact that the subcultural literature of love romances serves to reinforce a Christian view of the world, albeit in shallow and popular form.
A Christian marriage should be romantic, and if it is not, the medicine to restore it is a strong dose of the greatest of all romances, that of Christ and His bride, for this romance is the foundation of all human love.
Summary. My purpose in this brief survey has not been to discuss all the ins and outs of popular literature. We have seen that four of the most popular forms of cheap fiction in our society were produced by Christian faith, and cannot exist apart from Christian faith. Even though such literature has fallen on hard and perverse times, and much housecleaning is needed, the fact remains that Christians can appreciate much of what is there, and need not be ashamed for saying so.
After all, what greater detective story is there than the Biblical story of judgment and restoration? And what greater war story is there than the Biblical story of God versus His enemies? And what greater story of technology, dominion, and future expectation is there than the Biblical story of dominion and apocalypse? And what greater love story is there than the Biblical story of Christ and the Church? Modern popular fiction may be a cheap copy, but if we enjoy the original, we may also find delight in the copies (provided they are not degraded). Copying God is, after all, what being His image is all about.
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