I have been thinking lately about the essential differences between Judaism and Christianity, or more properly, the kind of religion reflected in the Hebrew Bible and that of the Greek New Testament. I have long ago given up the idea of any formal affiliations with the major contemporary manifestations of Judaism and Christianity — by that I mean the Orthodox forms of the Jewish faith that developed after Second Temple times, and the Nicene Catholic versions of Christianity that developed in the West and East after Constantine. In terms of personal identity, I find Homo sapien a perfectly adequate category, and I strive to live up to the adjective. I am interested in scientific, religious and philosophical truth, but my training is that of a historian, so perhaps that is why I am drawn to the more ancient forms of these two faiths, that is, the Hebrew faith as formulated by the Prophets and final redactors of the Hebrew Bible, and earliest Christianity as reflected in the New Testament. In considering these two “religions” or ways of thinking about God, the world and human purpose, I find that I am much more drawn to the former than the latter. Why is that so? What is it about the Hebrew Bible, even on a purely mythological level, that seems to draw me so?
Conversely, what is it about early Christianity, especially the systematic interpretations of Paul, as well as his echoes in the Synoptics, and the further quasi-gnostic directions we begin to see in the Gospel of John, that puts me off so?
The Hebrew Bible’s Ambiguity
As for the Hebrew Bible, the whole notion of the One, true and living Creator—that personal, “Force of all Forces,” or as Paul Tillich put things, the conscious “Ground of our Being,” I find most appealing. And yet it is this nameless “One,” El-Elyon, God Most High, who in our narratives, calls Abraham and his extended family for a global historical mission, to bring “light to the nations,” as the Prophets express it. Humans are seen as mortal, made of dust. Consequently, death and human history are taken very seriously. They are made in the image of God, capable of reason and free choice, of good as well as evil. God reveals the Good “Way” for humankind; a way that brings blessings rather than curses, life rather than death. Humans are seen starkly in their wayward and sinful condition—not “fallen,” but rather wandering far afield “outside the Gates of Eden,” as Dylan phrased it so well, as violence fills the earth and every imagination of the heart is “only evil all the day” (Genesis 6:5). Yet there are those who hear the Abrahamic “Call,” and who love and follow the Creator, since “He is not very far from each one of us.” Or as the Greek poets Epimenides and Aratus put things, “In Him we live and move and have our being,” and “We are indeed His offspring” (Acts 17:24-28). This “Servant people,” have the mission to be a witness to the “nations,” and to bring about the establishment of righteousness, justice, and peace on the earth. It is not so much a matter of biological pedigree, as commitment to the Cause. It was to Abraham’s family, as well as his household, to whom God revealed his Plan for humankind (Genesis 18:19). On an individual level, as in Psalms or Job, there is a lot of questioning after God. The ways of God are far from clear. There is certainly expectation of intervention, a longing for God’s help and care, but a simplistic view of things is rejected. The Hebrew canon (except for Daniel) essentially closes with this kind of ambiguity. Humans are to seek God, to live the ways of God on the earth, but much is left open, whether individual ideas of immortality or broader schemes of historical plans and purposes. The essential idea of the Shema is the heart of it all: God’s people are to acknowledge God’s nature, to love God, and to follow the righteous Ways of God revealed in the Torah and Prophets—i.e. as per the ancient question—What does the Creator require of you? (Deuteronomy 10:12-21; Micah 6:4-8). Ecclesiastes shows clearly how many questions are simply left unanswered. True, the Prophets do offer many predictions of a restoration of Israel and even a transformed age to come. However, the texts themselves express lament, and are often full of doubts, despair, and suffering, about when, and even whether, this will ever come (Psalm 89; Habakkuk 1-2). The Hebrew canon closes with II Chronicles 36:23 — “Let him go up,” This final, last word of the entire corpus, could well bear some symbolic meaning: all is open ended, unfolding but still to be determined. History is linear, it rhymes but does not repeat itself, the future offers “all things new.” Israel’s future, and that of our troubled but wonderful planet, is still unwritten, and individuals are called to respond, to “go up” to the Land of Promise in terms of these ideals of peace, justice, love, truth, and righteousness, filling the earth as the waters cover the seas.
The New Testament’s Answers
The New Testament comes out of a wholly different milieu. First, it is part and parcel of the broad changes in religious thought that we know as “Hellenization.” It is characterized by a vast and expanded dualistic cosmos, an emphasis on immortality and personal salvation, that is, on escaping this dark and evil world for a better heavenly life. At the same time, and to be more specific, it is absolutely and completely dominated by an apocalyptic world view of things, whereby all will be soon resolved by the decisive intervention of God, the End of the Age, the last great Judgment, and the eternal Kingdom of God. In addition, the views of Jesus as the cosmic Christ, that develop, even in the first century, are thoroughly “Hellenistic,” with Jesus the human transformed into the pre- existent, divine, Son of God, who sits at the right hand of God and is the Lord of the cosmos. The whole complex of ideas about multiple levels of heaven, fate, angels, demons, miracles and magic abound. It is as if all the questions that the Hebrew Bible only begins to explore — questions about theodicy, justice, human purpose, history, death, sin—are all suddenly answered with a loud and resounding “Yes!” There is little, if any, struggle left. There are few haunting questions, and no genuine tragedy or meaningless suffering in the grand scheme of things. All is guaranteed; all will shortly be worked out in one great Cosmic Fix.
Of course, various attempts are made to reinterpret this early Christianity for our time, usually in terms of ethics or some existential core of truth (Schweitzer, Bultmann). But early Christianity rests on two essential points, both of which resist easy demythologization: it is a religious movement built upon a failed apocalyptic view of history; and an evaluation of Jesus as a Hellenistic deity, that is, a pre-existent divine Savior God in whom all ultimate meaning rests. If these are unacceptable in the modern scientific world, or incompatible with the fundamental Hebrew view of things, then the whole system becomes difficult, if not superfluous. This is not to say that there are no similar problems with the Hebrew Bible, but fundamentally things are different. Even Daniel, who begins down the path of fantastic apocalyptic answers to hard human questions about the meaning of history, constructs scenarios and puts forth speculations on just when that “time of the End” will arrive, that have long ago expired. That is one good reason Daniel was never included among the Prophets in the Jewish canon.
Admittedly, the Hebrew Bible, like the New Testament, is “interventionist” to the core, and that is a problem for modern scientific assumptions. God calls Abraham, delivers Israel from Egypt, reveals the Torah at Sinai, gives the Land to the Israelites, expels them in a double Exile, and promises to bring all Twelve Tribes back at the end of days and usher in the messianic Kingdom of God. And yet, there are many dark areas, many unanswered queries, and much doubt and debate expressed about it all, even within the texts themselves, not to mention 2500 years of “history as usual” on this planet earth—wars, tragedies, injustice, oppression, and unspeakable evil. But more important, the two major problems for the later Hellenistic age — human mortality and the question of final historical purpose — are left open and vague. This is the main difference between these two canons. And I consider that a positive for the Hebrew Bible. Best to leave the “secret things” to the Creator and be about the business of making this planet the “Good earth” it could be for all creatures, great and small.
My Attachment to Both Canons
But why bother with either, with any? I find myself drawn to these texts, these ideas and images, even if only on a mythological level. For example, my commitment to vegetarianism, though resting on other grounds, is reinforced by the ideal picture in Genesis 1, where humans and beasts are given only “green herbs” to eat. It is only after the Flood that meat is allowed, when sin and violence had filled the earth. Are we to strive to re-present to the world in this small way, the way of peace from which we have departed? It is a powerful idea, as Isaiah himself knew when he wrote of the wolf and the lamb lying together, a little child leading the lion, and infants playing at the nest of the scorpion, “They will not hurt nor destroy on all My holy mountain, says the LORD” (Isaiah 11:9).
Yet we still daily must face the stark reality of life on this planet, with its inevitable ways, “Nature, red in tooth and claw.” One could go on and on with this. The biblical images are powerful — but are they necessary, and are they the best or most truthful ones? Why are they so much of my life? Why do I even think of them as a kind of “message” deserving of proclamation? Do we need such myths? What about simply stated philosophical statements? Isn’t that enough? Certainly, all language about God and the great religious questions is necessarily anthropomorphic and analogical. We should not naively imagine that we live without myth and symbol. But to what degree are we able to affirm honestly the reality of a heavenly Jesus Christ seated next to God in the heavens, or his Second Coming, or—even more fundamentally—the Creation accounts of Genesis and the Sinai revelation in their most literal telling? I still find myself picking up the Bible daily, mostly the Hebrew Bible, and reading it with a strong sense of its value and power. I want to share it with my children and with my students, to talk about those stories and ideas, so couched and formed by the world view of an age long past, which I am convinced speaks with a clarion voice to our 21st century world of darkness and confusion, which is nonetheless full of millennial hope and promise.
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