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1. Jennifer M. Dines, The Septuagint (New York: T&T Clark, 2004) 145-146.
Early Christian writers followed certain basic principles. When the NT writings were definitively collected, both they and the earlier Scriptures were regarded as one unified corpus. The NT, however, was the point of departure for understanding the OT, and in instances of textual discordance the NT was always given precedence. For example, both the LXX and the MT of Amos 5.27 read: ‘And I will take you into exile beyond Damascus.’ The NT, however, in Acts 7. 43 has ‘beyond Babylon‘ (emphases added). Although patently odd, this reading is upheld as correct, simply because it is in the NT and ‘the first martyr could not have made a mistake’ (Jerome, In Amos…)
This was interesting to me because of something Dines said earlier about Jerome (fourth-fifth centuries C.E.). She refers to “Jerome’s claim that the Hebrew text should form the basis for new translations because it was earlier and more authentic than the LXX” (77). On what basis, then, does he say that we should accept the LXX for Amos 5:27 rather than the Hebrew? Because the New Testament goes with the LXX? Why does the NT do this, when the Hebrew text is earlier and more authentic? I wonder if Jerome addresses these sorts of questions.
2. Folker Siegert, “Early Jewish Interpretation in a Hellenistic Style,” Hebrew Bible, Old Testament: The History of Interpretation I/1: Antiquity, ed. Magne Saebo (1996) 187.
The basic rule [of ancient allegorism] is: things which have something in common are ispo facto a reference to each other. Thus the whole cosmos becomes a universe of cross-references. For modern readers wanting to understand Philo it is crucial to free themselves from the monopoly of causal thinking which has become undisputed since the great successes of experimental science. But in ancient thought—and in poetry of all times—things may be interconnected by a relationship of meaning without acting on each other.
A few years ago, I was talking with a graduate student who took a class at HUC about Philo. This was his first class on ancient allegory, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. When he read Philo’s attempts to treat the Bible as a symbol for the abstract truths of Greek philosophy, he wondered where exactly Philo was getting his interpretations. On what was he basing them? “Was he making this stuff up?,” he asked.
A few years later, I asked the professor this question. He replied that the allegorical method of the ancients was not arbitrary, for they believed there was a system behind it. Much of allegory was based on the meaning of names. For example, Siegert has a list of biblical names along with their meanings. Sarah, for example, is equated with “virtue” or “wisdom” (in Philo’s mind), while Isaac means “laughter.” Isaac was a supernatural gift from God. The lesson from all this is that practicing virtue will lead to happiness, which will be given by God.
The quote from Siegert sheds more light on the ancient basis for allegory. For many in the ancient world, two things that had something in common were related to one another, whether or not one actually caused the other. That’s how people could make associations between, say, the character of Sarah and virtue, or Isaac and the divine gift of laughter.
I wonder if the ancients’ belief in God or a cosmic order was the primary foundation for this outlook. If God is the author of everything, or if there is an order that permeates the cosmos (Stoicism), then there are no accidents or coincidences. Two things that resemble one another do so for a reason. We’re supposed to take notice!
This reminds me of two things. First of all, in the movie Lady in the Water, residents in an apartment complex are trying to get a “narf” named Story back to her own world. One of the characters who’s supposed to help with this is called “the Symbolist.” The Symbolist’s role is to decode the voice of God from the things around him, thereby learning how to return Story to her world. At first, a man who works crossword puzzles believes that he’s the Symbolist, and, although he tries to determine God’s strategy by making connections, his plan fails. But the Symbolist turns out to be his son, who decodes the voice of God from cereal boxes.
Although Roger Ebert viciously shreds this movie, he somewhat likes the concept of decoding the voice of God from the ordinary:
There’s a ridiculous scene (in a not altogether bad way), where Jeffrey Wright (standing in for the auteur?) tries to extrapolate clues from a folded newspaper, prompting one of the tenants to exclaim: “Wow! He’s hearing the voice of god from a crossword puzzle!” This is the closest “Lady in the Water” gets to a solid, provocative idea — that we humans are stumbling in the dark, looking for signs and stories we can interpret to give meaning to a meaningless existence…
Second, I’m reminded of Frank Peretti’s The Visitation. When Travis Jordan was younger, he was trying to decode God’s will for his life. On the basis of “signs” that he saw (e.g., words on a truck, etc.), he concluded that he was supposed to play the banjo at Billy Graham’s Crusade and marry his high school sweetheart. What happened instead was that the Billy Graham people turned him away, and his girlfriend became a Unitarian Universalist who married someone else. So much for decoding the voice of God from the ordinary!
Some Christians believe that there’s a way to know the will of God. Such knowledge can come when our reading of Scripture, circumstances, our inward pull, and what other people tell us line up and agree. Henry Blackaby made this point in Experiencing God. So maybe there are times when decoding God’s voice from the ordinary doesn’t work, meaning we’re stumbling in the dark. But perhaps there’s a way for it to work.
