Personal Reflections on the Hebrew Bible from a New Testament Scholar

As a historian of religions I have taught Christian Origins for the past 43 years at three major universities. Looking back  here are some thoughts on what I see as 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 am interested in religious and philosophical truth, but my training is that of a historian, so I have in mind here the ancient forms of these traditions–namely the Hebrew faith as formulated by the Prophets and final redactors of the Hebrew Bible, and earliest Christianity as reflected in the New Testament. The following are some of my very personal reflections, taking off my academic hat.

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 or 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, the God of Abraham is most appealing. 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 Divine laws, the “Way” for humankind; a way that brings blessings not curses. The human race is seen starkly in its wayward and sinful condition, yet there are those who love and follow this true God in the midst of it all. Their mission is to be a witness to the “nations” (non-believers) and to bring about the establishment of righteousness, justice, and peace on the earth. On an individual level, as in the Psalms or Job, there is a lot of questing 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 any simplistic view of things is rejected.

The Hebrew canon (with the exception of 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 ways of God revealed in the Torah and Prophets. 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-full doubts about when, and even whether, this will ever come (e.g., Psalm 89; Habakkuk). The Hebrew canon closes with II Chronicles 36:23 – “Let him go up” – which could bear some symbolic meaning. It comes at the very beginning of the Second Temple period: all is open, Israel’s future is still unwritten, and individuals are called to respond.

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, i.e., on escaping this 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 Christology that develops, even in the first century, is 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 Lord of the cosmos. The whole complex of ideas about multiple levels of heavens, 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. All is guaranteed; all will shortly be worked out.

My Attachment to Both Canons

But why bother with either, or with any? I find myself drawn to these texts, these ideas and images, at the heart of our Western cultures, 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 re-present to the world in this small way, this way of peace from which we have fallen? It is a powerful idea, as Isaiah himself knew when he spoke of the child’s leading the lion, the infant’s playing at the nest of the scorpion – “They will not hurt nor destroy on all My holy mountain, says the LORD” (Isa. 11:9).

Yet we daily face the stark reality of life on this amazing and violent planet, with its inevitable ways, “red in tooth-and-claw.” Not to mention the spotted tale of the tiny part of human history we can recover and remember, with its complex mixture of the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the wondrous and the horrible. Nevertheless, I find myself turning to the texts of the Hebrew Bible, amazed at the power of that very ambiguity, on full display in all of its manifestations.