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In conjunction with the previous post about Ruth, here is a strange internet discussion:
Although not religious, I’m a defender of the so-called Judeo-Christian tradition. I’m not hostile to religion (except to Islam, which is a political system).The author of this quote, Ilana Mercer, then goes on to say:
I’m of a generation of secular Jews which knows and loves the Hebrew Bible as a tremendous literary, philosophical, and historical achievement.I picked this up from a dialogue that was going on between Mercer and John Derbyshire at a new website called Secular Right.
It is unprecedented that people come outright and say "I am not religious." Previous generations wouldn't even know how to articulate these thoughts. What is even more irritating is the "but" that many of these people add. "Although not religious, I’m a defender of the so-called Judeo-Christian tradition." What does that even mean? As in "I will abstain from participating in one important element of Western tradition, but I will support it anyway?"
People can be overwhelmed by the beauty and poetics of the Bible, just as one can admire the poetry of Shakespeare. But, how can they, if they are so drawn to this book, not feel the mystery and transcendence of it as well? Where does that "tremendous literary achievement" lead to? Just for us to feel its tremendous literary achievement? Isn't there just something a little more than that?
Such is the ways of our modern world, where atheists sit around talking about the literary achievements of the Bible, as though they are great connoisseurs, and yet not have an ounce of reaction to its bigger picture.
Mercer goes on to quote Paul Johnson who says:
The Bible is essentially a historical work from start to finish. The Jews developed the power to write terse and dramatic historical narrative half a millennium before the Greeks.Yes, like the literary achievement, there is no doubt about its historicity as well. But, as usual, these "reasoned" intellectuals go around in circles.
It reminds me of people who endlessly talk about the great champagne they had, or the wonderful cheese you can buy at that high scale market, and who are so engrossed in their ability to discern such wonderful foods. The Bible seems like such an exercise.
So, to Derbyshire and Mercer, what does the Book of Ruth mean, other than to show the strong, quiet character of one woman? What do they make of the final verses of genealogy, which goes down all the way to King David (Ruth 4:17-22). Isn't there some significance to this other than a historical review?
I guess not.
One final gripe I have. The Old Testament is a historical book. But the New Testament has an odd sense of ahistoricity about it. It is almost as though history has come to an end, or has reached its conclusion. Which is of course what Christ's story is all about; the long line of Jewish history, miracles and prophecy, which produced the Son of God, who became the salvation of mankind.
If the Bible were simply a historical document, then what would they make of the New Testament section of that Bible?