The Church of Christ, Scientist: “The Latest Fanaticism”
This article begins as a kind of preface to another article (the name of which is not mentioned) in the same periodical, which, supposedly, gives the “readers a colorless account of the movement; and…is by far the best, clearest, most intelligible, and most wholly unprejudiced account…” (675) The purpose of this article, it maintains, is to give an “opinion” (676) on the non-biased account. The first opinion given is that Christian Science is “simply the latest manifestation of that fanaticism which every now and then breaks out to show mankind what possibilities of folly there are in the race.” (676) This is very significant, and tells us a lot about society in that period. The use of the word “latest” signals that Christian Science was one of many religions to form in quick succession, and, probably will not be the last. This word trivializes Christian Science in the same way one trivializes the latest fashions: it treats it as transitory and as yet another in a long series. This may reveal that the public in late 19th century America considered the religious groups that were forming (including Christian Science) to be fashion-of-the-moment or sensationalist religions, and not to be trusted or even studied in depth (one need only to read a short summary of their beliefs to come to a full and complete judgment on the legitimacy of the religion). The mention of “that fanaticism which every now and then breaks out” (676) also gives us a sense of this period as being one filled with religious revival. It also tells us that many were fatigued by this culture of revivals.
Another interesting choice of language that reveals something about the sentiment of American society in this period toward new religions is how the preachers of Christian Science are compared to “the modern advertising astrologers and seventh sons of seventh sons.” (676) This is significant because it shows that new religions, like Christian Science, were seen to be in the same category of non-religious superstitions. The article even goes so far as to say that the periodical will not give Christian Science, like these other superstitions, “respect.” (676) Obviously, as this is a Christian journal, the writer is speaking from a Christian-biased perspective, and assumes all his audience is Christian. His tone is of one assuming he is speaking for the moral majority. Though the article is Christian in bias, one must wonder whether this article would be much different if it were written for a secular periodical. The writer assumes everyone has “as little respect for [‘the prosecutors of the Salem witches’] as [‘modern advertising astrologers and seventh sons of seventh sons’]” (676) which means that this must have been a fairly common sentiment. Thus, the writer in effect tells us that society must have viewed Christian Science as simply another superstition, to be avoided (because it can be), and to be ignored (because it is only a transitory fad).
Bibliography
The Christian Union. "The Latest Fanaticism." Friends' Review; a Religious, Literary and Miscellaneous Journal (1847-1894), May 30, 1885: 675-676. http://search.proquest.com/docview/91025857?accountid=15172 (accessed September 13, 2013).
For the purposes of this essay, I will use a labeling scheme similar to Van Inwagen. I am going to define a miracle as that phenomenon which departs from natural law within an interval of “t1 to t2”, (t1 being the moment of the initiation of the event departing from natural law, and t2 being the moment this event ends), and label it A, and disassociate it from that which happens after t2, i.e. the consequence of the said miracle.[1] I will define “t2 to the present” to refer to the consequences of the said miracle A, and label this B.
We live in a world which places great precedence on science, and, in fact, relies on it to an extent. Who now sees a ball fall to the ground and thinks of a different explanation for its proclivity towards the Earth than that of Newton’s laws of gravity? Furthermore, we use these laws to help design such things as airplanes and grandfather clocks, relying on the idea that these laws will never change. This may be so, but what if the grandfather clock’s weights being pulled towards the Earth by the force of gravity were the consequence B of a miracle A? This would mean that if A had never occurred, B may or may not have happened, possibly resulting in a consequence in which the laws of gravity were perceived to be broken. By Hume’s and Van Inwagen’s definitions of a miracle, this would be considered a miracle. However, this is clearly not a miracle, and would, in fact, be how the world would function in the absence of miracles. If the very underpinning of the laws of gravity (and indeed any other scientific or observed law) is incessant strings of miracles A[2] setting off expected consequences B, then the absence of miracles A might or might not cause a complete undermining of any and all perceived laws in science. A good analogy to use for this scenario would be to think of the miracles A as a kind of “fuel” for the consequences B (the laws of nature as we currently understand them). If the fuel were to “run out,” (if the miracles were to stop occurring) it would be quite plausible that the consequences B would be unable to occur.
A scientific world-view would not make belief in the occurrence of miracles irrational. It seems that there is an infinite amount of knowledge about our world that we do not yet know, or have not discovered. For example, we still have not found a definitive answer to the question of what is the “smallest particle,” or subdivision of any body. Time seems to be infinitely dividable, challenging our ability to set arbitrary units upon it. Thus, conjectures such as the ones I am making regarding the origins of the laws of nature are still possible, given that we still do not know what causes them on a fundamental level. It is equally possible that we cannot know, a conjecture surely harrowing to scientists. The end of scientific inquiry occurs when the final underpinning of our experience is understood, one which is possibly unobservable or miraculous and, if indeed it is, must be accepted as such given our experience. If indeed the underpinning is miraculous, by its very nature, we should not assume that the occurrence of miracles is a constant. Instead, we should assume that, at any time, miracles may not occur, and this would not be surprising. Thus, we should not be surprised if the consequence of a lack of this underpinning, miracles, were the breaking of natural laws. Perhaps a contrived story could further illustrate and make plain this assertion. Let’s say that Mark is sitting at an empty desk, when, all of a sudden, a book spontaneously appears in front of him on the desk. Surely, Mark would be surprised, as he is expecting his world to constantly conform to the laws of nature and this is contrary to them. However, now that this event has occurred, Mark can begin to realize that the laws of nature themselves could be seen as laws which were assumed by man to be constant, when in fact, they are not. After realizing this, any other breach in the laws of nature that Mark might encounter would not surprise him, as a fundamental change in his view and understanding of the world has taken place. In this way, if science reaches a point where the underpinning of our experience is fundamentally and essentially unobservable or miraculous, there is no way for us to ever be able to place such complete predictive power on the consequences of such unobservable or miraculous elements (such as the laws of physics, gravity, or any other natural law). We would need to include, after the formulation of a law of nature, a clause which states that “the law is true with the condition that the essentially unobservable elements which make up all aspects of our experience remain in a state that is consistent with how they have always been, or interchange with any state which would produce the same consequences that remaining in the same state would.” This clause, given that we still do not know the smallest, most fundamental particle that makes up that which we experience, is perfectly acceptable. Thus, a scientific world-view incorporating these clauses would not find a belief in miracles problematic or irrational. Mackey states, in his Miracles and Testimony, that “we are fairly good at detecting dishonesty, insincerity, and lack of conviction, and we readily reject what we are told by someone who betrays these effects. But we are strongly inclined simply to accept, without question, statements that are obviously assured and secure.” (Mackey 426) This is the cause of Mark’s initial surprise. Because scientists often make statements about the laws of nature with such certainty, this causes us to be “strongly inclined” to take their words as the fullness of truth. Scientists should not, however, continue to have this air of certainty, because, as I have pointed out, many things have yet to be discovered (and may even be undiscoverable) which could completely reverse their idea of the very fundamentals of our experience.
In conclusion, the fact that we still do not know the smallest particle or the shortest duration of time leads me to believe that (based on the history of science finding ever smaller particles) the smallest particle and shortest duration of time is unobservable. Given this lack of information, it is possible that miracles could be occurring to such a particle (as Van Inwagen surmises) that we are unable to observe. If this is the case, and if it is also the case (a highly likely proposition) that the consequences of this miraculous change in the causal power of this unobservable particle follow the natural law, it could be stated that, though we do not (and cannot) know for certain the nature of the miracle, we can say with certainty that, unless we know the nature of this smallest and most fundamental particle (an impossibility), we cannot be certain that the laws of nature (or indeed, any law obtained by scientific method or life experience) are constant.
Works Cited
Mackey, J. L. “Miracles and Testimony.” Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. By Louis P. Pojman and Michael C. Rea. Sixth ed. Boston, MA: Wadsworth/Cengage Learning, 2012. 425-432. Print.
Van Inwagen, Peter. “Of ‘Of Miracles’.” Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. By Louis P. Pojman and Michael C. Rea. Sixth ed. Boston, MA: Wadsworth/Cengage Learning, 2012. 415-425. Print.
[1] Van Inwagen combines t1-t2 with “the early stages of any such ‘divergence’” (Van Inwagen, 416), which, “stages” being plural, would include the most direct consequence(s) of the miracle occurring immediately after t2.
[2] Again, given that the miracle occurs in an extremely brief amount of time (an amount shorter than that degree of time which can be observed) to a particle smaller than that which can be observed.
This infallible assurance does not so belong to the essence of faith, but that a true believer may wait long, and conflict with many difficulties, before he be partaker of it: yet, being enabled by the Spirit to know the things which are freely given him of God, he may, without extraordinary revelation in the right use of ordinary means, attain thereunto. And therefore it is the duty of every one to give all diligence to make his calling and election sure, that thereby his heart may be enlarged in peace and joy in the Holy Ghost, in love and thankfulness to God, and in strength and cheerfulness in the duties of obedience, the proper fruits of this assurance; so far is it from inclining men to looseness. ~Westminster Confession of Faith, Chapter XVIII, section III.
Let us therefore, having witnessed the paschal mystery of Christ's resurrection, by which our own salvation has been purchased and in which our own resurrection can share, be solemnly reminded of that which, especially in this season of God's redeeming glory, may at times be overshadowed by our proclivity for complacency in our spiritual lives: the fact that our God is a loving, but jealous God; all-knowing, and all-powerful. Take care not to replace the majesty of our Father in Heaven with the entrapment of the vain idols of the world. Trust not in your own conscience but in that of the Spirit. When the enemy draws near, cry only to God, your help forever. Then, only then, shall you experience Sin fleeing from your presence as it did from the Cross, and bask in the glory of blessed assuredness, grace, which is a gift from God and a product of his freedom. In the name of our only mediator and advocate, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns in heaven with the Father and the Spirit for ever and ever. Amen.
What I looked for in a church dramatically changed between the time I was attending my parents’ church and when I had entered an Episcopal church for the first time. I grew up in an evangelical Presbyterian mega church in which average Sunday attendance approached three thousand. It was the only church I had ever attended and thus I had a limited notion of the diversity of Christian religious experience and worship. What “worked” for me at the megachurch would become the things that I sought out in other churches, not knowing of the range of other possibilities from other denominations that could enhance my worshiping experience. Most of all however, I felt that I never had a close relationship with God, and I wanted that to change.
That change happened when I entered Christ Church, New Haven one Sunday in October of 2011. The worship style was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The ministers and servers were elegantly garbed in colorful fabrics with intricate patterns. Clouds of incense seemed to rise like a spirit, mingling with the light of the stained glass windows, and encircling various objects such as a magnificently adorned book, and a large glowing cross. The altar party seemed to be moved not by their own volition, but by God himself, in a flow that evoked the motion of angels. Time seemed but a distant concept; the mass seemed to happen beyond its very existence. Bells would ring and cause motion, whose motion caused even more bells to ring. Every motion and movement was caused by one before it, and caused some after it. A line from Psalm 96 came to my mind upon reflecting on the service: “O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness…” (Ps. 96:9) I was engaged in the service using all of my senses: I could see the beauty of holiness, smell the whirling, fragrant incense, hear the chiming bells and angelic voices of intonations and polyphony, feel the wafer and chalice touch my hand and lips, and taste the elements of Holy Communion commingling on my tongue. All one had to do was close his eyes and instantly he could imagine himself in heaven, experiencing the splendor of God.
After this first experience at Christ Church, I had to return. The worship style awakened in me a more profound and mysterious form of devotion that reached into the depths of my soul and seized me at my core. A latent yearning for such mystical devotion had been just under the surface but had never been fulfilled nor even acknowledged until I discovered this form of worship. The years of longing for a more intimate relationship with God was put to an end in finding fulfillment in this new experience. While I felt at first that my encounter with Christ Church was fortuitous, I have come now to believe that it was actually God’s answer to my seemingly ceaseless prayers for his presence in my life.
I return to Christ Church every Sunday because I appreciate its witness to many different forms of prayer, spoken and unspoken. I have learned that prayer does not necessarily entail words, but can also include silent meditations on beautiful things offered to God, or becoming enraptured by transcendent hymns. It was not long before I decided to join the Acolyte Corps. Being a part of the movement of the service is also, for me, a form of prayer. Holding the cross reminds me of Christ carrying the burden of all our sins on his back in the form of the cross upon which he was to be crucified. Holding a candle reminds me of how Christ is the “light of the world” (John 8:12) to “lighten the Gentiles” (Lk. 2:32). Swinging a smoking censer reminds me of the dispersive presence and formlessness of the Holy Ghost, and of our prayers which gently waft to the Father above.
Currently in my faith life, I am still in a transition period with regard to which theological doctrines I believe and which I reject. Coming from a strict Calvinist background, I was not given much room to think for myself on what I believed. What draws me to the Episcopal Church, most especially at this transitional time in my life, is the fact that there is much more space given to theological variance; besides the unifying fundamentals of the ancient Creeds, there are no long-winded confessions concerning the will or the nature of the Lord’s Supper that one is bound to believe in. This allows me to have conversations with people who, though we worship in the same space, hold a wide variety of theological positions, thereby fostering my own sense of what I believe. It is also, however, reassuring to know that, though we do hold a wide variety of positions on certain things, we are all united by the words of the Book of Common Prayer. Every Sunday, I am comforted knowing that other Episcopalians around the world, however diverse we may be, are all sharing in the weekly experience of the eloquent rhythm of the words of the prayer book. Finally, though I may not live in New Haven forever, I will always remember Christ Church as the place in which I drew near to God and never looked back.
On the Universal Applicability of Truths Gained by Religious Experience under Certain Conditions.
First, I would like to argue that perceptual beliefs based on religious experiences are at least equally valid as perceptual beliefs based on sensory experience. I will do this by means of responding to objections.
Objection I. If not everyone has religious experiences, how can we determine that God exists? Why then should religion be universally accepted?
Answer. The ability to have sensory experience is not also universal, yet it is universally applied; for instance, a completely blind man never having seen colors has no evidence to support the belief of their existence. However, if he believes in their existence, he has come to such a conclusion based on evidence drawn from other people’s sensory experiences. Explaining colors entirely to a blind man is impossible; and for the blind man, the existence of color is something ineffable. The blind man cannot fully comprehend the nature of color, yet this does not preclude its existence. If for one man color is ineffable and incomprehensible, and for another it is describable and understandable, nothing prevents God, Whom only those with the ability to have religious experiences are able to perceive, from being describable and understandable to some,[1] and ineffable and incomprehensible to others. Thus, colors exist as surely as God exists, and vice versa. Religion should be universally accepted just as our perceptual beliefs about our world are accepted. Our world is physically accessible and understandable only through the senses; and, as such, “…we have no cognitive access [to our physical world] that is not based on sense perception.” (Alston 242) Our reliance on—and restriction to—sense perception for perceiving and understanding our world in the physical does not mean that understanding the divine must also be restricted to sense perception.[2] Just as a blind man understands as much as he can about what the world looks like by means of hearing a description of it by a man who can see, so too are people who do not have the proclivity of having religious experiences able limitedly understand God through revealed religion and by those to whom religious experiences are common. In fact, it could be said that the basis of religion is a text received by means of religious experience.
Objection II. Accounts of religious experiences are diverse and often contradictory. For example, some religions hold that there is but one God, while others hold that there are many. As for sensory experience, all agree on the perceptual belief. Given this, how can religion be universally accepted?
Answer. The question of religious pluralism often divides people who maintain that their religion is the true religion. This is belief is not a problem in itself; the problem arises when, given that there is one true religion, yet do different false religions claim that title. I would like to argue, however, that all religious experiences are experiences of that one true religion, but due to a person’s preconceived notions of what he believes, the religious experiences are corrupted subconsciously so that they may fit into the model of his religion (if his religion is a false religion). Due to this corruption, the information extrapolated from such a corrupted version of the religious experience is contradictory to another false religion, and may even be contradictory to the true religion which produced it in the first place.
One way we can tell that all religious experiences are initially (or “prima-facie”, to use Alston’s term (Alston 242)) from the same source, that is, the one true religion, is that it becomes clear after comparing accounts of religious experiences that there are some commonalities. For example, let’s say a man who professes Buddhism has a religious experience. The religious experience (unadulterated) has to do with a single, omnipotent God, and not many Gods. The Buddhist would then subconsciously adapt the religious experience to be about his polytheistic faith by interpreting it to be about multiple gods. This adaptation is what causes and perpetuates the existence and prevalence of false religions, and the strife and turmoil that arises from their existence.
Second, I would like to counter William James’s idea that a religious experience is not applicable universally. James comes up with criteria for use in determining whether something is a religious experience or not. However, he does not have any criteria which help determine whether a religious experience is corrupted from the original unadulterated religious experience of the one true religion, or whether it is prima-facie. James’s criterion of ineffability, while it could be true that religious experiences in the prima-facie stage are unable to be communicated fully, this does not mean that an acknowledgement of the fact that one had a religious experience is impossible. What I am arguing here is that the very acknowledgement of a religious experience is applicable universally in that it provides evidence for the existence of the possibility of religious experience to those who never have them. For something to be completely ineffable, its very existence would not be able to be expressed. The fact that we do have many historical and current accounts of religious experiences tells us that they are not purely ineffable; they are able to be acknowledged at least in their basest form: as a religious experience. If it were possible to express the prima-facie religious experience, this would be ideal, and should be universally accepted, but as it is not possible, the best way to utilize accounts of religious experiences is to compare them with each other and to deduce what the core similarities are. These core similarities are as close as we can get to an account of the prima-facie religious experience. This should be applied universally, as the sample of the religious experiences used in deducing the prima-facie religious experience should be all-inclusive. Practically every major religion has at least one god or higher power, so deducing the simple fact that “God exists” from an all-inclusive sample of religious experiences would be easy. Thus, given this logic, it should be universally applicable that God exists.
Conclusion. It is clear now that religious experiences should not be judged by the same set of standards as sense perceptions. Religious experiences are part of an entirely separate class of experience than physical sense perception. At the present moment, the realm of religion and the realm of the physical are not connected, and they must be accessed using different faculties. Instead of applying a scientific method to religious experiences as we would to sense perceptions, we should create a standard of verification to determine how corrupted from the prima-facie religious experience any given report of a religious experience. The standard should be the deduction of commonalities of a large non-biased sample of religious experience, and if a given religious experience contains more commonalities to the standard, it can be judged to be less corrupt than if it had less commonalities, in which case it would be judged more corrupt.
Works Cited
Alston, William P. "Perceiving God." Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. By Louis P. Pojman and Michael C. Rea. Sixth ed. Boston, MA: Wadsworth/Cengage Learning, 2012. 241-247. Print.
James, William. "Mysticism." Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. By Louis P. Pojman and Michael C. Rea. Sixth ed. Boston, MA: Wadsworth/Cengage Learning, 2012. 224-241. Print.
Footnotes
1. Here, I am assuming that God is readily revealing Himself to be understood and experienced by those who have religious experiences.
2. I am not saying that the divine cannot ever be perceived using sense perception.
By Christ’s Passion our weakness was cured. By His Resurrection death was conquered. Still we have to be sorrowful for the world, as well as joyful in the Lord, sorrowful in penance, joyful in gratitude.
St. Paul the Apostle’s Typology in his Epistles to the Romans and Galatians.
St. Paul unites the Old Testament with the Holy Gospels using a technique of typology in which stories from the Hebrew Bible, such as those of Adam and Abraham, are described as “types” or prefigurations of the Gospel. In the fourth chapter of his epistle to the Romans, St. Paul writes that “death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam’s transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come” (Romans 4:14) In this passage, we see that St. Paul is describing Adam as a prefiguration of Christ. Adam, the single man who introduced death into the world, is like Christ, the single man who offers us a path to overcome death. The prefiguration employed in this passage makes it clear that St. Paul believes the story of Adam and the story of Christ rely on each other. Christ would not have been necessary if Adam had not sinned. Likewise, it is impossible to understand the consequences of Adam’s sin without understanding God’s self-sacrifice in the Gospels. In creating this typological statement, St. Paul also comments on the nature of the Old Testament itself: that it is necessary in the understanding of the Gospel; it sets up the context for mankind’s necessity of Christ. St. Paul also describes Abraham as a type of Christ. He does this by merging the promise made by God to Abraham that “all nations [shall] be blessed” (Gal 3:8) with the promise of general salvation to all that believe on Christ. For example, St. Paul states that “…if ye be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Gal. 3:29). St. Paul even goes so far as to intimate that Abraham received the very Gospel of the New Testament before it was revealed to the world through Jesus Christ when he writes that “…the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the heathen through faith, preached before the gospel unto Abraham, saying, In thee shall all nations be blessed” (Gal. 3:8). Thus, not only is the Old Testament necessary for the New Testament, but also is the New Testament present in the Old Testament. Thus, Abraham is “Christ-like” in that he not only knows of the Gospel, but also produces the nations that shall be saved by Christ, Himself an offspring of Abraham’s seed.
The Question of the Importance of Works in Being Chosen for Salvation.
In the Revelation of St. John, in the twentieth chapter, St. John prophesies that there will be two resurrections of the dead: one for those who
...were beheaded for the witness of Jesus, and for the word of God, and which had not worshipped the beast, neither his image, neither had received his mark upon their foreheads, or in their hands; and they lived and reigned with Christ a thousand years (Rev. 20:4)[1]
and one for the “rest of the dead” (Rev. 20:5) who shall be “judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works” (Rev. 20:12). This raises a question about what role works play in salvation. St. James notes that “faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone” (James 1:17), and rhetorically asks, “can faith save him?” (James 1:14). Conflict arises when one considers what St. Paul writes in the First Epistle of St. Paul the Apostle to Timothy. He writes that “…Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief” (1 Timothy 1:15). This is problematic; if the very purpose of Christ’s sacrifice was to save them whose sin is their very identity, which would make works irrelevant. A sinner with many works and a sinner with few works are both equally sinners, and thus, equally atoned for. In the passage from Revelation, there are two resurrections; one for martyrs and one for the rest of the dead. In the second resurrection, the dead are judged according to their works as written in the Book of Life. However, with martyrs, the idea of works is not even brought up. If one were to make the case for works being necessary for all men to be saved, how could it be that the act of being martyred was a work? Perhaps the solution to this problem can be found in a different interpretation of how works arise. Perhaps having faith (as is described of the martyrs, they believed in the “witness of Jesus, and…the word of God” [Rev. 20:4]) inevitably produces works, regardless of intention. If this be the case, then it is not by the amount of works that the dead are judged and chosen, but the depth of their faith.
[1] All scriptural citations are taken from the Authorized King James Version of the Holy Bible.
A Systematic Interpretation of the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins.
The parable of the wise and foolish virgins, Matthew 25:1-13, is rich in allegory, full of possibility for interpretation, but also a bit problematic. Dean O. Wenthe, in his essay “The Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids”, notes that the parable “has been interpreted in a wide variety of ways. One scholar has understood it as an attack upon the hypocrisy of Jewish teachers in Jesus day. Still another says that it can only be properly understood if we assume that the setting is Passover-night. Bultmann and Donfried regard it as an allegorical creation of the early church” (Wenthe 9).[1] I would like to systematically put forward my own interpretation of the parable, give examples of other avenues of possible interpretations as they might arise, and analyze what Jesus’ concluding admonition means in the context of my interpretation. The context of this parable is important in determining what type of information it conveys. Wenthe notes that “this parable is placed in a series of eschatological admonitions” (Wenthe 9), so it is highly probable that the content is similar. If the parable be indeed eschatological, this would inform the range of possible interpretations we could give it.
For the interpretation I would like to put forward, let us first break up and unpack each analogical unit of the parable, and define them, verse by verse. In the first verse, we are introduced to the central analogy found in this parable: “Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins…”[2] The fact that the kingdom of heaven is being associated with virginity is interesting: the fact that the kingdom can have this quality must mean that it can lose its virginity. This prompts us to ask the question: What does virginity mean in this context? A virgin kingdom is a kingdom which has yet to be consummated: its day is yet to come. A spiritual marriage must first take place, if this is the case. This also brings up the idea that, although the kingdom of heaven is everlasting (2 Peter 1:11), there will be a single event which “consummates” the kingdom. Before determining what that event will consist of, let us continue to define the rest of the analogical units for the purposes of this interpretation. Still in the first verse, we are introduced to the “lamps”. The symbolism of a lamp is rich. Scripture uses lamps as a symbol in another text: the psalmist states that “[t]hy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Ps. 119:105). Let us thus define the lamps that the virgins carry (if they are lighted or able to be lighted, as the psalm states that the lamp provides “light unto my path”) as the same “word” mentioned in the psalm, God’s word. Whether this “word” is that of God the Father, Christ Jesus, both, or God Almighty (the whole Trinity at once), is open to further interpretation, but is tangential to our discussion.[3] For our purposes, we will label it as simply the “word of God”, and not explicate it further. Whenever prophecy is recounted in Scripture, it is prefaced by the action of the word of God coming upon the prophet. Thus, included within this “word of God” are all the sayings and prophecies of the Hebrew prophets (1 Chr. 7:3, 2 Chr. 11:2, Luke 3:2, Rev. 1:2). Other Scriptures equate the “word of God” with “the counsel of the most High” (Ps. 107:11), “the law of our God” (Is. 1:10); it is eternal (Is. 40:8); man’s sustenance (Luke 4:4); only able to be heard by those who are “of God” (John 8:47); that which is spoken by men who have received the spirit of Pentecost (Acts 4:31); the Gospel (Acts 13:44); not the kingdom of God itself (1 Cor. 4:20); the “helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit” (Eph. 6:17); a sanctifying force (1 Tim. 4:5); it is “quick, and powerful…a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart” (Heb. 4:12); it “framed” the worlds (Heb. 11:3); it is the “King Of Kings, And Lord Of Lords” (Rev. 12:11-16). Thus, it seems the “word of God” (and, consequently, the lighted lamps), is Christ Jesus Himself in the context of His interactions with His creation. Still in the first verse, we are also introduced to “the bridegroom”. The bridegroom is a very common description of Jesus Christ, in the context that He is yet to come.[4] Thus, upon determining the parable is eschatological, reading the first verse, and keeping our definitions in mind, we can state that this parable is possibly communicating to us what constitutes the kingdom of heaven. The movement of the lighted lamps to “meet the bridegroom” is also interesting in this interpretation, as we have defined both to mean Jesus Christ. However, the lighted lamps would be Christ proclaimed, and the bridegroom, Christ expectant. This would imply a reunification within Christ, with Himself. It is not only this, however; the bearers of the lighted lamps also partake in this unification, as we shall see later. The fact that all the virgins possess lamps (whether or not they are lighted or able to be lighted), as signified by the possessive “their” in “took their lamps”, is also significant. The virgins own the lamps; they are their responsibility. For the purposes of this interpretation, I am going to equate the lamps with the virgins themselves; the virgins are their lamps.
Moving on to the second verse, we are told that, of the ten virgins, “five of them were wise, and five were foolish” (Matt. 25:2). The significance of the equal division of five and five is not to be overlooked. What this does is it discounts the idea that quantity is of any importance in God’s decision to save the wise. He does not save the wise because they are more or less in number than the foolish; God is impartial to number. It may also make a statement of the end times: that only half of mankind will be saved, but this is unlikely, given other Scripture regarding salvation (Rev. 14:1). It also could mean that the probability that a man be wise or foolish is the same. The significance of the numbers five and ten could also be discussed, but this would be tangential to our discussion.
In the third verse, we are introduced to “oil”, and that the foolish “took no oil with them” (Matt. 25:3). In the Scriptures, oil has a very significant meaning. Oil is a substance used for anointing (Ex. 29:7). Anointing is a method of sanctifying (Lev. 8:12). Thus, fact that the foolish virgins failed to take oil with them means it is impossible for them to “anoint” or “sanctify” their lamps (which we earlier defined as themselves). The foolish virgins are therefore coming unto the bridegroom without having been sanctified or made clean. Oil is also used for anointing a king (2 Kings 9:6). As those who are faithful to God are made “heirs” in the kingdom of heaven, this oil also bears the significance of being the very “substance” which makes us heirs: the grace of God (Titus 3:7, James 2:5, Gal. 3:29). Physically, as oil is necessary fuel for the lamp, this has implications for the foolish virgins. Just as oil is needed to light the fire in the lamp, so too is the anointing of God’s grace needed to justify us faithful and kindle Christ Jesus within us, baptizing us with fire (Matt. 3:11, Luke 3:16). The foolish virgins, then, do not have the grace of God, and with it, sanctification. It is also crucial that the virgins “provide oil for themselves” (Wenthe 12), because this would mean that both the wise and the foolish virgins have the ability to receive God’s grace, and it is not God’s election concerning to whom it goes.
In the fourth verse, the wise did take oil with them, and thus are capable of sanctification, according to our interpretation. The taking of the oil is now associated with being wise.
The fifth through seventh verse of the parable describe the moment of, preceding, and following the coming of the bridegroom. The symbolism of all the virgins sleeping in verse five could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Sleep is often a euphemism for death (Ps. 13:3, Dan. 12:2, John 11:12-14), especially connoting being dead to spiritual things while on earth (Rom. 13:11, Eph. 5:13-15), as well as being in a state of sin (Eph. 2:5). Thus, we could interpret the virgins to be physically dead, like Lazarus, spiritually dead (although this is unlikely as the wise virgins are spiritually prepared), or in a state of sin. If we interpret them to be physically dead, this parable would be a warning to those yet alive on earth to ready their “lamps” with “oil” (souls with grace), so that when they “sleep” (physically die), they may be judged “wise” before the “bridegroom” (worthy of everlasting life). This interpretation leaves room for the theological idea of purgatory, as the bridegroom does not come immediately to redeem His saved once they are dead, but, in fact, “tarried”: a moment in which, after death, the virgins must take what they have prepared on earth and present themselves to be judged. Only then are they admitted to the “wedding”. We will discuss the meaning of the wedding later. If we are to go with the idea that the virgins are spiritually dead, this would imply that, even though the wise virgins prepared their souls for the coming of the bridegroom, this is not enough. This interpretation, thus, would not make sense, so we will discard it. The third interpretation, that the virgins are in a state of sin, is plausible. If indeed the virgins are representatives of mankind on earth (as we shall see in our later discussion on Jesus’ concluding admonition), it is necessary to take into account that all of the virgins be in a state of sin. The mentioning of “midnight” as the hour in which the bridegroom returns is simply a stylistic hypothetical; it is also mentioned as a possible time for Christ’s return in Mark 13:35-36. The rising of the virgins in the seventh verse could be a symbol of repentance, birthing life from the ashes of the death of sin. The trimming of the lamps could also be seen as a form repentance and spiritual cleansing: readying the soul for judgment. However, since the foolish virgins do not have oil (grace), trimming the lamps (readying the soul/repenting), as we shall see, will do no good.
Verses eight and nine are very interesting because of their interpretive implications for the nature of grace. The foolish virgins ask the wise for their oil, “for our lamps are gone out” (Matt. 25:8). This the first time the foolish virgins realize they are without oil (grace). The foolish realize they are naked before God; they lack the armor of grace and are spiritually empty. Just as the lamps without oil cannot support a flame, so too cannot a soul without grace support the indwelling of Christ Jesus. In the ninth verse, the wise refuse to give the foolish their oil, “lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves” (Matt. 25:8). This could signify that the wise realize that the grace of God can neither be given by man nor received from him; it must be “purchased” from God directly. This “purchase” implies an exchange; an exchange that would be taking place between man and God. The foolish virgins must offer their bodies as “a living sacrifice” (Rom. 12:1) to receive the grace of God. Thus, just as the wise virgins admonish the foolish to buy oil from “them that sell”, so too do those filled with the grace of God admonish them that lack it to offer their bodies as “a living sacrifice” in heavenly exchange for such grace.
Verse ten is open to much interpretation. This verse brings up the idea of timeliness as crucial to salvation. Before the foolish virgins are able to complete the exchange needed to obtain the oil (the grace of God), the bridegroom (Jesus) comes (returns), and “they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut” (Matt. 25:10). The issue of timeliness is one that is full of interpretive possibility. One could argue that Christ is telling us that He (the bridegroom) is predestined to return before some are ready, as those who are not ready at His coming were not destined for salvation. One could also argue that the coming of the bridegroom in this parable happens to have arrived before the foolish were able to obtain oil, and that, it could have been possible for him to have arrived after they obtained it, thus allowing them time to be saved. This verse also introduces the marriage, which is extremely significant. A marriage implies a union of two parties: the bride and the bridegroom. We are not introduced to a bride, however, so we must decide who (or what) constitutes the bride. Bridal imagery pervades both the Old and New Testaments. The bride is God’s people (Is. 62:5), the Church (Eph. 5:25, Eph. 5:31-32, cf. Song of Songs), the new Jerusalem (Rev. 21:2, Rev. 21:9-10), and the Body of Christ (Col. 1:18). Given these definitions, it is possible that the wise virgins are not simply witnessing the wedding, but are, in fact, the very ones the bridegroom is marrying (the five wise virgins, and, thus, God’s saved people, constitute one bride, not five or more). This reasoning gives further evidence that the wise virgins constitute the kingdom of heaven: if the bride is defined as the new Jerusalem (which is heaven), and the wise virgins are, collectively, the bride, then it follows that the saved are the heavenly kingdom, which, after union in marriage, are, in effect, united in Christ. The concept of the “door” mentioned in the tenth verse is also important to our interpretation. The image of the “door” is a very loaded image in Scripture. Doors were a means of separation between the holy and the profane, as in the “door of the tabernacle of the congregation” in the Hebrew scripture (Lev. 10:7). The same also applies to heaven. The door of heaven separates the faithful from the unfaithful so that only the faithful may be in the presence of the tabernacle/temple of God (Ps. 78:23, Rev. 4:1, Rev. 11:19, Rev. 21:3, Rev. 21:22). The door is also Jesus Himself (John 10:9). Finally, there is a judge that stands afore the door of heaven (James 5:9) who determines whether a soul be worthy of entering (Rev. 20:12, Rev. 20:15). The door is also within the soul, just as the kingdom of heaven is within the soul (Luke 17:21), and the door within the soul is one through which Christ must enter (Rev. 3:20). Given these definitions of the “door” which is shut in the tenth verse, we can now interpret what this means in this parable. The wedding occurs within the “room” to which the door leads, which means (using our analogy to the tabernacle of God) that the wise virgins are worthy of being in the presence of God’s temple. The permanence of the closing of the door is open to interpretation. The parable fails to mention whether the door may or may not be reopened. That being said, if one takes into account the passage in Luke which states “knock, and it shall be opened unto you…to him that knocketh it shall be opened” (Luke 11:9-10), it seems as though door is not permanently shut, and may be reopened.
This brings us to the arresting verses eleven and twelve: “Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not” (Matt. 25:11-12) It is left unknown whether these virgins, presumably the foolish virgins, were successful in obtaining God’s grace. There are two possibilities: either the foolish virgins failed to receive God’s grace (because it was no longer possible to receive it or because they failed to offer themselves for the exchange to take place) and called to be let into heaven anyway, or they were successful in receiving God’s grace, but the tardiness in doing so (the door being shut) caused them to be left out of heaven. It is more probable that the first be true, as we have previously determined that the door is not permanently shut. The bridegroom’s words “I know you not” are also significant. In the Scriptures, to “know” is a euphemism for sexual intercourse (Gen. 4:1, Luke 1:34) in addition to its conventional meaning. With this in mind, the bridegroom’s words could signify that the foolish virgins are not included in the consummation of the kingdom (the reunification of Christ and His saved faithful), which would occur after the heavenly marriage to which they were bid to attend.
In the final verse of this parable, the thirteenth, Jesus gives an admonition to them who listen to Him: “Watch therefore, for ye know not neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh” (Matt. 25:13). Through our interpretation of the parable, we can define Christ’s command to “watch” as a sacramental, spiritual vigilance, rather than a physical attentiveness. Christ is not advising us to stay physically awake continuously, but rather to keep our spiritual eyes open through partaking of instruments of God’s grace: the sacraments. Wenthe writes that the “watching” Christ calls us to do “is not to be understood in the narrow sense of rapt attention. Rather it stresses that sort of vigilant activity which results in preparedness at the eschatological appearance of the Bridegroom” (Wenthe 14). By giving an admonition after telling the parable, Jesus thus transforms the parable into an allegory in which everyone is a character: the virgins, the lamps, represent all of mankind; whether or not a man is deemed wise is dependent upon his taking heed of Christ’s advice. Luke, in his telling of the gospel, seems to allude to this parable when he quotes Jesus as saying:
Strive to enter in at the strait gate: for many, I say unto you, will seek to enter in, and shall not be able. When once the master of the house is risen up, and hath shut to the door, and ye begin to stand without, and to knock at the door, saying, Lord, Lord, open unto us; and he shall answer and say unto you, I know you not whence ye are: then shall ye begin to say, We have eaten and drunk in thy presence, and thou hast taught in our streets. But he shall say, I tell you, I know you not whence ye are; depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity (Luke 13:24-27).
If this passage be an allusion to the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, this atfirst would seem to contradict our idea that the door is not permanently shut. However, it becomes evident that those who knock on the door and are not permitted entry are only those who are “workers of iniquity”. The inability for some to enter in through the “strait gate” is due to the fact that, though they have not made the exchange to receive the grace of God, they are still requesting entry into heaven. The fact that the “master” (equivalent to the “bridegroom”, and thus, Jesus Christ) accuses the graceless of iniquity means they have not “trimmed their lamps” (Matt. 25:7) or awaken from the sleep of sin; thus, the passage does not contradict our interpretation.
In conclusion, the parable of the wise and foolish virgins seems to be an allegory concerning the nature of salvation, and how it may be achieved. It emphasizes the necessity of God’s grace in salvation, as well as the responsibility of the individual to obtain it. The parable also calls us to sacramental vigilance, and continual repentance, that we may be made worthy of His promises and enter into His kingdom in heaven.
---
Works Cited
Wenthe, Dean O. "Parable Of The Ten Bridesmaids : Matt 25:1-13." Springfielder 40.1 (1976): 9-16. ATLA Religion Database with ATLASerials. Web. 8 Dec. 2012.
[1] Wenthe, Dean O. "Parable Of The Ten Bridesmaids : Matt 25:1-13." Springfielder 40.1 (1976): 9-16. ATLA Religion Database with ATLASerials. Web. 8 Dec. 2012.
[2] All scriptural citations are taken from the Authorized King James Version of the Holy Bible.
[3] cf. John 1:1-10, and other writings on the nature of the Trinity in relation to God’s word.
[4] “…Jesus [is] transferring the Jewish expectation of Himself with the bridegroom (Matt. 9:14-15 and parallels) and…[is] transferring the Jewish expectation concerning the coming of God the Father to His own person and word just as He had done in Luke 13:24-30” (Wenthe 13).
O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times did'st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O blood of loving, blood of tasting, blood
Of my dear wanting, and my pining wait!
Fair blood that now upon my fingers drips
Is also coursing through my very veins.
Gouge my heart, O gouge it with his blood!
After all the time I spent in prayer
We are together in my birthing room.
We feel the heat of love between our bodies,
A heat which ever wraps us in a cloud
Of ecstasy on high. Embracing we
Are given to each other, and our love
Is on the highest mountain, Calvary.
Upon my lips the blood pours from the cross
Which falls before my humble looking on.
I it was who killed my very savior
So that the blood would on my face be poured.
In careful pace I Calvary ascended,
And saw the blood all frothing and forthcoming
From his glorious lips. Embracing me
He tore right through the nails. I saw the blood
All over my own body, entering
my gaping mouth in awe of his detachment.
Then my eyes were lifted up to heaven,
Beholding my conception from the lamb.
At the moment of my very birth
The blood was consummated with my flesh,
And from henceforth holy was I then.
O I will not dare to ever leave him,
Him with whom my coursing blood is one.
The Difference in Approach to the Synoptic Problem between the New Jerusalem Bible and Bart D. Ehrman’s The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings.
The “synoptic problem” concerning the relationship between the narratives of the three synoptic (that is, telling the same story) gospels is explained in fundamentally different ways in the New Jerusalem Bible and Bart D. Ehrman’s The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings. In the NJB, the goal of the “Introduction to the Synoptic Gospels” is to ultimately reaffirm Church tradition through modern scholarship, while that of Ehrman is to eschew tradition and study the Gospels from a secular standpoint.
The New Jerusalem Bible wastes no time in setting up its stance on the Synoptic Gospels; yea, it even states it in the very first page of its “Introduction to the Synoptic Gospels”: “According to the same ecclesiastical tradition Matthew the tax collector, himself one of the apostles (Mt. 9:9; 10:3), was the first to write…” (1599) The rest of the introduction is very authoritarian in tone; it prescribes which “critics” are worthy of being mentioned, and proceeds to support them. It never, however, attempts to break down the critics’ hypotheses into a didactic format which would allow the reader to come to the same conclusions himself. Instead, it simply lays out what it believes to be fact. It uses language such as “…according to tradition which there is no reason to doubt…” which forces the reader to believe what is said following.
Ehrman takes a different approach in the sixth chapter of his book, The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings, entitled “The Synoptic Problem and Its Significance for Interpretation.” Not only does Ehrman propose that Mark was the first gospel from which the others were based, instead of Matthew, but also states his claim in a way that is more accessible to and participatory with the reader. He makes use of the didactic format of posing rhetorical questions, which, while not meant to be answered, allow the reader to formulate his own perspective and theories on the “Synoptic Problem.” Ehrman refuses to use Church tradition in his analyses, instead opting for a more secular approach—one which does not assume anything, and which utilizes a more “scientific” evidence-based method.
In closing, the NJB and Ehrman’s The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings differ in their approach to the synoptic problem. In the NJB, the tradition of the Church with regard to the “Synoptic Problem” is the foundation upon which further scholarship and research is based; it is a “given”, so to speak. In Ehrman, however, nothing is a “given”. Scholarship should not only examine the texts with unbiased eyes, but also prove theorems instead of assume they are true.
Lord of all the hosts of heaven, snare me in thy mystery; Yet for thee with joy and sickness am I wrought up achingly. Send me now into thy prison; barricade me with thy heart, That from thy abiding nearness may I never be apart. He, e’en he, whom my soul loveth, sendeth down his clemency; From his wounds his blood he poureth o’er my body copiously. One in union, e’er engagéd, I with him shall henceforth stay; I, e’en I, have heard him beckon “rise, fair one, and come away.” Lord for thee am I a captive, thou my wholehearted desire; Throw thy grace upon thy inmate; set me free, rapt in thy fire. See my arms, for thee they posture; see how they await their fill. Come thou, Lord, in flaming vict’ry; for I hunger for thee still. Thou who to thy lowly servant split the skies to condescend, Capture me for I am falling, blissfully at thy right hand. Witness hosts! I found my Maker: God, the womb from which I fell. E’en if heaven break asunder, shall I not far from him dwell.
The pericope in which King David commits the sin of adultery with Bathsheba and the sin of the murder of Uriah, in the eleventh and twelfth chapters of the second book of Samuel, tells us much about the nature of sin and what it means to be purified of one’s transgressions. It also exemplifies for us how God deals with our sins. The fifty-first psalm, David’s hymn of lament and of pleading for forgiveness, gives us further insight into the nature of sin and redemption.
Let us first look at the way in which the scene of David’s sin is brought up in the overall narrative of second Samuel. The tenth chapter is mostly a narrative of a war; at its close, David is depicted as slaying “the men of seven hundred chariots of the Syrians, and forty thousand horsemen, and smote Shobach the captain of their host, who died there” (2 Samuel 10:18).[1] In the first verse of the following chapter, some time has passed, Ammon has been destroyed, Israel has “besieged Rabbah”, but, for reasons unknown to us, David decides to “tarry still at Jerusalem” (2 Samuel 11:1). This seems to be an abrupt detour from the main narrative, which has us wondering whether this story was a later insertion. If it were in fact an insertion, one must ask the inevitable question: what purpose would it serve to tell us about David’s sin? Would not it be better that we be denied the knowledge of it, leading us to judge him as more holy, and less susceptible to carnal sin? On a similar note, the incipit of the fifty-first psalm is as follows: “To the chief Musician. A Psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet came unto him, after he had gone in to Bath-sheba” (Psalm 51:1). Why would David desire to write a psalm about his sin and send it to the chief Musician?
I would like to propose that David’s sin is not only necessary to the narrative, but also that it is documented for the purpose of making him seem more holy, and that he is holy despite the fact that he is susceptible to carnal sin. Sinning is mandatory for David in order for him to have the opportunity of repentance. Just as he needs mêlée to put forth an impression in our minds of his physical prowess, so too does he require a sin to show through it his piety. This purpose-driven description of David’s affair is eloquently supported by Moshe Garsiel in his essay, “The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach”, when he writes that “biblical narrative is by nature historiography—semihistorical [sic] writing of a theological, ethical, social, and national character. To convey messages in these realms, the biblical authors sometimes give their historiography a literary and esthetic shaping…”[2] The fourteenth century English mystic, Julian of Norwich, weighs in on this very idea, in her transcendent compendium of her divine visions, Revelations of Divine Love. She claims that “God also showed me that sin is not shameful to man, but his glory; for in this revelation my understanding was lifted up into heaven; and then there came truly into my mind David, Peter and Paul, […] how they are famous in the Church on earth with their sins as their glory. And it is no shame to them that they have sinned, any more than it is in the bliss of heaven, for there the badge of their sin is changed into glory. In this way our Lord God showed them to me as an example of all others who shall come there.” (26) The purpose of David’s sin, then, according to Julian, is to set an example. We will return to this idea later.
The moment David confesses to Nathan that he has “sinned against the Lord” (2 Samuel 12:13), Nathan responds to him by saying that the Lord “hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die” (2 Samuel 12:13). This one verse is responsible for changing David’s sin into his very glory. John the Evangelist offers Jesus’s interpretation of repentance when he quotes him as saying that “likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance” (Luke 15:7). David’s affair, then, is actually beneficial in creating an image of David’s piety. Because it is so, this may explain why the story starts so abruptly in the middle of a narrative of warfare: perhaps a later writer inserted this account in order to increase the reader’s notion of the holiness of King David.
The insertion of the pericope (if we continue with this hypothesis) could also have the purpose of ennobling Solomon. Solomon, David’s second son to Bath-sheba, inherits the throne from David. Emphasizing the fact that Solomon was God’s gift and reward for David’s repentance (“the Lord loved” Solomon [2 Samuel 12:25]) would greatly increase the reader’s credence in Solomon’s authorial competency.
The fifty-first psalm, David’s actual plea for mercy from God, allows us into the actual psyche of David during this pericope in Second Samuel. The very first verse, which is as follows: “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions” is all that is required of David in his repentance. After this verse, we shall say David is purified. However, the psalm does not stop there. Not only does David want to return to a cleansed state, but he also asks for more. In later verses, David asks God “to make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice” (Psalm 51:8) that he may “teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee” (Psalm 51:13). This “teaching” is crucial in understanding the purpose of the story of David’s sin: to have the authority to teach God’s directive of repentance and sanctification. Thus, David himself, in stating what he plans to do after he has been forgiven and his sins have been purged,[3] realizes the benefit his sin has bestowed upon him. Perhaps paradoxically, the psalm itself is a pious teaching of how to respond to sin and communicate one’s repentance to God; David simultaneously repents and teaches repentance in the same stroke.
The role of Bath-sheba in the pericope in Second Samuel is noticeably passive. She never has a motive of her own, nor does she speak. Her emotions are only mentioned, albeit in a vague way, when she hears of her husband Uriah’s death: “she mourned for her husband” (2 Samuel 11:26). We could even go so far as to say that Bath-sheba is nothing but an “agent” to allow the sin to take place.[4] Garsiel writes that “the narrator offers no direct report of Bathsheba’s attitudes, so that scholars regard her as a minor figure or an ‘agent,’ an object to satisfy David’s lust.”[5] Continuing with this hypothesis, Garsiel writes that we can see Bath-sheba as “a tragic figure, involved without deliberate will in adultery and murder, and forced to marry in haste to escape the consequences.”[6] However, I depart with Garsiel’s idea that it is because she is a “victim of circumstances that Nathan helps her son to become king.”[7] As I previously mentioned, it is because God rejoices in a repentant sinner much more than a continuously pious man. Bath-sheba is “involuntarily caught up in events” not because of her being star-struck at the idea that a king has sent for her, but because she is required to play the role already created for her; David cannot commit adultery without someone with whom he can commit it. Due to the inevitability of destination (whether that be the story writer or God himself), David and Bath-sheba are, in essence, powerless to fate.
In conclusion, after repentance and punishment, David’s sin is a testament to his holiness. From the very start of the pericope, we get the feeling that it has been inserted abruptly, due to its departure from the previous narrative. Going further with this, we wonder why a narrative describing a king’s sin would be inserted. However, after further consideration, it becomes clear that the sin is, as Julian of Norwich says, David’s “glory.” It is a pedagogical narrative of repentance and making oneself right with God. It also casts a light on how God views a repentant sinner (one worthy to be rewarded) and, as Solomon himself is that reward, renews and increases the legitimacy and authority of the Davidic line.
Works Cited
Garsiel, Moshe. "The Story Of David And Bathsheba : A Different Approach." Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55.2 (1993): 244-262. ATLA Religion Database with ATLASerials. Web. 1 Nov. 2012.
Julian of Norwich. Revelations of Divine Love (Short and Long Text). Trans. Elizabeth Spearing. London: Penguin, 1998. Print.
[1] All Scripture is taken from the Authorized King James Version of the Holy Bible, unless otherwise stated.
[2] Garsiel, Moshe. "The Story Of David And Bathsheba : A Different Approach." Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55.2 (1993): 244-262. ATLA Religion Database with ATLASerials. Web. 31 Oct. 2012. Page 247.
[3] Psalm 51:7
[4] Garsiel, Moshe. "The Story Of David And Bathsheba : A Different Approach." Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55.2 (1993): 244-262. ATLA Religion Database with ATLASerials. Web. 31 Oct. 2012. Page 253.