The first point of consideration which I would like to discuss is whether there really are two distinct moral-types represented in this dilemma. Is the difference between human-type morality and divine-type morality a legitimate difference in kind, or is it simply a difference of degree? Our situation could be, in other words, as C.S. Lewis once described it:
“When the relevant difference between the Divine ethics and your own appears to you, you will not, in fact, be in any doubt that the change demanded of you is in the direction you already call ‘better.’ The Divine ‘goodness’ differs from ours, but is not sheerly different: it differs from ours not as white from black but as a perfect circle from a child’s first attempt to draw a wheel. But when the child has learned to draw, it will know that the circle it then makes is what it was trying to make from the very beginning” (The Problem of Pain, 30).
Or, perhaps it consists in neither difference of kind nor degree that we experience the disparity as we do, and our violated feelings are just the result of an elaborate misunderstanding. It seems very unlikely that this could be the case, but isn’t morality such that even its pure expressions can sometimes be obscured or distorted by the circumstances which surround it, and this even when the moral agents in question are other human beings? Surely this tendency of our moral expression is even more in force when the relation involves distinct types of moral agents - particularly agents whose respective roles in the affair are as far removed from one another as creature and Creator.
At face value, divine-type morality certainly isn’t the same as human-type morality. But perhaps appearances can be deceiving. Wouldn’t the best case scenario in this situation be that, after all was said and done, the seeming ‘disparity between moral types’ was simply a product of our own ignorance regarding the supporting justification of the act in question; that, in other words, there was ever only one moral type being represented, the expressions of which were simply distorted by the surrounding context in which we encountered them? If this were the case, all that would be required of us in order to reconcile our standing moral sentiments to those events which our religious commitments compel us to affirm, is to isolate the pure moral expression from all the confounding elements which surround it. It is to this possibility, then, that we will first turn our attention.
I. Are Our Moral Judgments Confounded?
In order to be justified in our moral assessments of another’s behavior, it seems we must first have eliminated all internal bias which might obscure, or otherwise distort our judgment. That each of us are susceptible to such errors in judgment is not only metaphysically possible, but empirically certain. Before pronouncing a wholesale condemnation of Old Testament ethical practices, therefore, I think it prudent to explore the possibility that our own faculties of judgment are confounded in these instances. Listed below are what I think the most likely candidates for potentially tainting our assessment of particular Old Testament events.
1. We are analyzing the events anachronistically;
2. We are analyzing the events ethnocentrically;
3. We have misapprehended the precipitating events;
4. We have misapprehended the supporting rationale; and
5. We have misapprehended the ‘moral jurisdiction’ of the agent(s) involved.
So, possibility one can be cashed out in two similar, but distinct ways. The first way you can take the anachronistic defense is by its conventional presentation: By approaching Old Testament events (occurring between the 1st and 2nd centuries B.C.) from a 21st century ethical perspective, we are likely missing from our assessment certain temporally relevant factors. Without a proper appreciation for the time in which these events took place, we cannot be justified in passing judgment on them.
The second way you might cash out the anachronistic defense is to propose different dispensational mechanisms to be at work in the two respective time frames, such that apparent exoticisms in God’s fundamental nature are really just unfamiliar expressions (from the perspective of our current dispensational context, that is) of the very same fundamental nature. This variety of anachronism is a little bit more difficult to explicate, as it relies upon some rather sophisticated theology - theology, anyhow, with which I am not so well versed. The long and short of the defense, however, is this: Without a proper understanding of God’s purposes in the earth at that time (and particularly, Israel’s role in fulfilling those purposes), we cannot know the moral quality of the events which He mandated.
Moving on to possibility two, it is clear that innate ethnocentrism (that is, our predisposed preference for the culture in which we were brought up, and with which we are most familiar) could also impair our ability to draw accurate assessments of Old Testament events, insofar as they concern cultures which we do not fully understand. As a contemporary example of how ethnocentrism might affect our judgment, reflect on your own attitude toward arranged marriages. For the vast majority of Westerners, the idea of one’s guardians having a say in who we ultimately share our lives with seems archaic, overly paternalistic; perhaps repressive of proper human passions, or even outright cruel. But it is far from clear that our distaste for this common feature of Eastern cultures amounts to anything more than just that, a distaste. And certainly, there seem to be many instances in which marriages established in this ‘exotic’ manner actually turn out to exemplify what we consider the virtues of the institution. In short, exotic doesn’t equate to immoral; and we as Westerners may not be the best judge of Eastern ethical practices.
The third defense suggests the possibility of there being precipatory events of such an abhorrent and insufferable nature leading up to those events recorded in the Old Testament, that the response they occasioned, however gruesome, may have been completely justified. Granted, it is difficult to imagine a state of affairs which may call for the wholesale slaughter of an entire race of people (and perhaps there is none that could justify the inclusion of infants in the onslaught), but at least in certain instances, such factors may indeed have come into play.*1
Possibility four on our list states that certain acts which tend to manifest themselves in incriminating expression may nonetheless proceed from pure and upright intentions. Perhaps the most common example of acts of this sort, which lend themselves so readily to misinterpretation, are those which we refer to as paternalistic. The classic instance of paternalism is a father disciplining the child he loves, often inviting the child’s reproach in his effort to procure the result which is in the child’s best interest. As paternalistic acts are so essential to fulfilling the requirements of love, it is not surprising that so many offensive acts recorded in the Bible are chalked up to God’s paternalism - and perhaps justifiably.*2 This fourth defense provides a natural segue to the final item on our list.
According to our last defense, God’s unique position - not only as man’s lover and caretaker, but as his Lord and judge - affords Him certain jurisdictional rights which may not be communicable in terms of any other office which we know. As such, though God may seem to trespass every jurisdictional boundary with which we are familiar, this is no assurance that He has done anything expressly wrong. If such a defense at first sounds strange, I encourage you to think for a moment what kind of rights are afforded certain civic offices without thereby compromising anyone’s moral integrity. A judge, for instance, can: seize another’s property; remove a child from its parent’s custody; deny an individual his/her freedom; even order their execution - all well within the moral confines of the office which he fills. Therefore, insofar as one’s moral integrity is bound up in the appropriate execution of their official responsibilities (whether natural or conferred), there may not be a single fixed standard by which all are held equally accountable; and in such instances as those presently under consideration, when the agent in question occupies an office so categorically distinct from all others, how can we ever be sure when God has overstepped His bounds?*3
II. Can We Secure a Verdict Through the Formal Conditions of Justice?
So, alright, we’ve determined that it’s at least possible to be in error regarding the judgments we make about remote events. But is the elimination of any, or even all potential biases from our assessment likely to alter the nature of these particular events to such a degree that they no longer offend our moral sensibilities? Is even the most charitable representation of what took place in these passages up to par with what we expect of a holy and perfect God?
Since the number of Old Testament passages which rank by this scale as morally suspect is so extensive, I will entertain here only a single instance which I take to be more or less representative of the class. Instead of offering my own clumsy analysis of what would doubtlessly be better handled by an Old Testament scholar, allow me to simply cut and paste from a previous discussion I had with a friend during his enrollment in an Old Testament program. The discussion featured a brief response to certain troublesome elements of Numbers 31, a passage recounting the Israelites’ vengeance on the Midianites. I have included it here along with the original query:
[Query:] Israel's assimilation of Midianite virgins (Numbers 31:18) - how does this reconcile with the general rule of "total annihilation" and prohibited intermarriages? - What is the significance of the nations listed in Deut. 7 as opposed to the Midianites from this story?; what were the conditions for the Israelite army to take spoil or to destroy it? Why were the neighboring nations (Perizzites, Hittites, Amorites, etc.) more significant than those far off for threatening Israel's purity - Deut. 20? And why was God concerned with having gold and precious things in His temple? Is there any reason more respectable than to show superiority over rival nations in regards to wealth, etc.? (see also Deut. 20)
[Response:] This is the best I could find for this so far.
“(3) The destruction of the women and boys (31:13-18)
13-18. We are quite shocked when we find the people are facing anger from Moses instead of approval. The meeting outside the camp is an omen; something is unclean. The Bible says that Moses was furious against the officers of the armies. He does not come to bless them in their victory but to vent his rage at the victories. Even in victory the people can grossly err.
Moses asks almost incredulously, "Have you allowed all the women to live?" (v.15). The text has led us down a line that leads to deliberate surprise. We find ourselves as startled by these words, even as some of the soldiers might have been. But then Moses explains: These were the very women whom Balaam had used to bring the seduction of the people of Israel and to provoke the terrible plague that had broken out among the congregation of Israel (v.16). So boys and women were to be killed; there was to be no mercy, no exception (v.17). Only young girls (demonstrable virgins) would be saved alive; only they had not contaminated themselves with the debauchery of Midian and Moab in Baal worship (v.18). The suggestion is that the participation of women from Midian in the debased orgiastic worship of Baal described in chapter 25 was extensive, not selective. Who would know which of these women was innocent of these rituals? The presumption is that each one was guilty in some manner.
Verse 17 is rather powerful in its formation. It is framed with chiasm of the imperative verb "kill." The following format shows the word order, the pungency, of the original:
'And now, kill every male among the children;
and every woman who knows a man,
a male sexually, kill!'
The brutality demanded by this verse is nearly unimaginable—the killing of boys and babies. One has to ask, What separates this from the Egyptian killing of the Hebrew boy babies in Exodus 1? Since most women were married young in biblical times, most women would have had to be killed as well. Here is the sort of text that troubles us deeply. It is one thing to kill a man. It is one thing to kill a woman in battle. It is one thing even to kill children in a frenzy of hatred. But this verse demands the calm, selective, purposeful killing of women and children after the battle was over.
Verse 18 only increases our sense of unrest in this text. Those girls who were to be kept alive would have to be rather young. Since little girls were preserved, their mothers would have had to be killed.
Such stories are bound to raise questions about the morality of the OT. Ultimately, these questions are darts directed to the person of God. One cannot debate the "morality" of the OT apart from the "morality" of God who is represented in these passages. And once one begins to ask, "Is God moral?" the very question damns the speaker. For who is man to be the instructor of the Lord? (see Job 40:1-2). This is not to say that these passages do not cause us to shriek with inner tension—for they do! But our shout had best not be an arrogant attack on Majesty. Ultimately, people of faith affirm—in the midst of the most negative environment—"The God of Israel will do right."
The only way to understand such a ghastly command is to realize what was at stake in the story of Baal Peor (ch. 25), the incident that gave rise to the holy war in the first place. This story is not just another account of sin and rebellion in the desert. Indeed, if the story of Baal Peor is not an unusual and remarkable account, then the punishment meted out in chapter 31 is not in keeping with the crime.
Numbers 25 is unique. It records an altogether new type of sin and rebellion—one that bears within itself the threat of the doom of the nation as a whole. As we know, from our distance, it was the very type of evil described in chapter 25 that finally destroyed the Hebrew kingdoms in the land. While it is difficult to say such a thing, the destruction of the women and the boys was an act of God's mercy—for Israel. There is a sense of perspective here that is so very difficult to grasp and yet which permeates the Word of God: Divine judgment is sure for the nations who are a threat to the existence of God's people or who have rejected his grace. And that remains true in our own "sophisticated" day. The nations today, and the ungodly among all peoples, are at risk. They know of risk from the possibility of nuclear disaster, from the threat of war, from the tweaks of nature, and from the freaks of chance. But the nations today are at risk from the judgment of God. This is true whether they acknowledge it or not. One day that judgment will come. At that time there will be no weeping over women and boys who died in ancient Midian three and a half millennia ago; at that time the judgment of God will transcend anything ever written in the harshest Scripture. And God will still be merciful and holy, maintaining glory and honor in the midst of havoc and ruin. The God of Israel will still do right” (Allen, Ronald B. Expositors Bible Commentary: Numbers 31:13-18).
Now, such an interpretation of that event recounted in Numbers 31 will appease some and only further agitate others. Certainly, it is of some consolation to imagine the victims of the slaughter as categorically wicked, but it seems somehow unfeasible that this was truly the case. Besides, even if we were supposed to read the passage in this light, it is nevertheless unclear why such a fact should necessitate their destruction - indeed, the scriptural recounting itself apparently allows for the extension of mercy to at least the young virgin women.
Other interpretations I’ve come across of the same passage (e.g., the christian-thinktank account linked in a previous response), interpret the reference to the ‘Lord’s portion’ of the plunder (vs. 18) as designating a subset of the survivors that was to be destroyed.
“I should also point out that the ‘for yourselves’ phrase (31.18) is NOT actually referring to ‘for your pleasure’, but is a reference to the opposite condition of ‘for YHWH’ which applied to all people or property which was theoretically supposed to be destroyed in such combat situations. The herem (or ‘ban’) specifically indicated that all enemy people or property which was ‘delivered over to YHWH’ was to be killed/destroyed. By referring to ‘for yourselves’, then, in this passage, means simply ‘do not kill them’. This can also be seen in that this ‘booty’ was not ‘for themselves’ actually, but was distributed to others within the community.”*4
If such an interpretation of vs. 18 is true, it seems to raise the subsequent consideration of why, if it was otherwise appropriate to spare the female children for assimilation into the Israelite community, would God still insist on the destruction of a portion of them (32 to be precise - see vs. 40)? If the extension of mercy is on the table, how could anyone give preference to destruction?
Whatever the case, it is not clear which, if any, of the available interpretations of this passage is entirely accurate of the actual event. It might just be that the passage I have chosen is one in which the available evidence is too paltry to inform a judgment in one direction or the other, in which case we might hope for a less ambiguous case to be proffered in the future (and the reader is encouraged to do so). However, in the interest of moving forward, I would like to consider the prospect of determining guilt or innocence on more informal bases.
III. Is God Subject to Informal Conditions of Justice?
Running our initial assessments of these Old Testament passages through this gauntlet of potential defenses, we have observed that one is often left with more of a ghost of an event than an actual event. The amount of admittable, concrete evidence with which we are left to subject to analysis becomes perhaps too paltry to be conclusive one way or the other. But this seems no good for either side represented in the argument: What was desired by the defense was a clear victory, an absolution of guilt, a complete vindication; conversely, what was desired by the prosecution was a declaration of guilt, a holding accountable of the accused, and justice for the alleged victims. All that was attained by either side was a mere acquittal.
In the absence of a verdict, both parties are left with an feeling of unsettlement. For the prosecution, the feeling is perhaps very similar to that of when a known criminal, with a rap list of alleged crimes reaching to the floor, is finally brought to trial under the pretense of there existing that long-sought-after piece of irrefutable evidence which will finally determine his guilt (perhaps the ever-improbable eye-witness testimony), only to elude again, on the basis of a mere technicality, the fate which rightly belongs to him.
It seems somehow inappropriate that our knowledge of God’s moral integrity should have to hang in limbo between two sets of contradictory evidence.*5 Presented with the opportunity, we would like for God to demonstrate at least the slightest motivation to disavow, or distance Himself from, such testimony as might call His moral integrity into question. But in the absence of such demonstrations, one is at a loss but to suspect that He feels no such need*6 - which far from assuaging our suspicions, rather seems to indicate what we already have so much reason to believe: that the culture which produced these accounts was simply insensible to the dubious nature of their content.
If, after all the arguments have been presented, we have still failed to satisfy what we recognize to be the formal conditions of determining guilt, are we thereby defaulted to taking a passive posture toward God’s alleged crimes?*7 Are we not justified outside of these formal conditions in maintaining private convictions about His guilt or innocence? Might such convictions be justifiable, perhaps, on some informal basis, such as the manner in which He cooperated (or failed to cooperate) with the process itself? If, for instance, He has not been forthcoming in His testimony concerning these events - if He seemed, perhaps, to be obstructing our pursuit of justice - doesn’t this behavior itself demonstrate an attitude of contempt toward our institutions of justice which is unbefitting a holy and perfect God?*8
Implicit in this last consideration is a more general question regarding the extent of obligation imposed upon an individual in virtue of their having pledged themselves to a particular moral standard. In order to explore this issue, however, we must rely on an assumption - namely, that all agents involved in moral interactions with one another are bound by the features of a single, common moral standard. For convention’s sake, then, let us assume the human moral standard to extend over all parties, human or divine.
III. Are There Real Implicit Moral Obligations?
Human morality, whatever its fundamental basis turns out to be (and we will revisit this very question, in fact, in the next installment of our discussion), is at least on some level a social contract between its fellow observers.*9 It was in homage to this fact that, when questioned by the expert in the law as to what was the greatest commandment, Jesus points to two explicitly relational obligations: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind,’ and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,” - indeed, it is upon these two commandments that “all the Law and the Prophets hang,” claimed Christ (see Matt. 22:35-40).
Insofar, then, as we are assuming human morality to extend over all parties engaged in moral interactions with one another, this social element of morality is being extended over all parties as well. Looking, then, to the structure of our existing social institutions for that particular feature which might ground its function in moral affairs (and thereby define what we mean when we refer to one’s obligations to the social element of a moral system), we discover language. Paul Ricouer of the University of Paris once spoke to this moral utility of language in his consideration of that which he identifies as its fundamental act: the promise. As he reflects,
“How can I speak of a lie without contrasting it with a true statement? And what about reality? How can I speak of an illusion without starting out from that? That means you have to start out from the basis of a true statement - make sure people can rely on your words. I think Derrida somewhere calls it the religious act par excellence: believing someone else’s word. And that’s the basis of all interaction. It’s the basis of a promise. Because a promise is not just any old act: it’s a fundamental act; because it’s based on three things: first, I am bound with respect to myself; second, I am bound with respect to the other person who is relying on me to keep my promise; and third, I am protecting the language as an institution and using it honestly. There are three partners in the promise: there’s me, there’s the other person, and there’s the language itself. So that, I would say, is the basis for trust.”
Now, Ricouer hits on some major moral themes in this statement about language: from the function of promises to define new moral obligations, to the reliance upon both explicit as well as implicit meanings of terms to communicate the content of any particular obligation, to the fundamental interrelatedness of our engagement in the act of promise-making with the development of trust between two parties. Each of these themes acquire an even profounder significance, however, when we consider their applicability within the context of our present inquiry - namely, as governing over our presumed interactions with God. 2 Peter 1:3-4, for instance, designates our trust in the promises of Scripture as the functional means by which believers live out the Christian life. As it reads,
“His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires” (italics mine).
Such an arrangement, however, can present significant problems for Christians when they recognize that such trust is conditioned (if not for the very first engagement, at least for its preservation through future engagements) upon the quality of our experience in interaction with the promise-maker. Long story short, according to Ricouer, if the promise-maker fails to uphold even the implicit content of any particular promise, he would have effectively violated the sustaining principle of our institution of language. Such a violation would amount to no less than a breaking of one’s obligations to the social element of our moral system.
But what do you think? Are there real moral obligations - and, therefore, real moral offenses - outside or beyond those merely formal conditions which the system features? Put another way, are there real implicit moral obligations grounded in the social element of human morality? And if there are, is God guilty of offending them?
Footnotes:
*1 - This kind of defense is used rather effectively to justify the gruesome events recorded in Numbers 31 (see www.christian-thinktank.com/midian.html).
*2 - A nice argument for paternalism can be made on the basis of Christianity’s zoe/bios distinction. Insofar as the Bible equates true life exclusively with zoe, or soul-level life, it is always justified to terminate a life sustained solely on the bios, or biological level whenever the persistence of the latter interferes with the production, or preservation of the former. See for instance, John 6:25-59, 15:1-7; 1 John 5:11-12.
*3 - As Lewis writes, “The relation between Creator and creature is…unique, and cannot be paralleled by any relations between one creature and another…Such a unique relation can be apprehended only by analogies: from the various types of love known among creatures we reach an inadequate, but useful, conception of God’s love for man” (The Problem of Pain, 33).“When the relevant difference between the Divine ethics and your own appears to you, you will not, in fact, be in any doubt that the change demanded of you is in the direction you already call ‘better.’ The Divine ‘goodness’ differs from ours, but is not sheerly different: it differs from ours not as white from black but as a perfect circle from a child’s first attempt to draw a wheel. But when the child has learned to draw, it will know that the circle it then makes is what it was trying to make from the very beginning” (The Problem of Pain, 30).
Or, perhaps it consists in neither difference of kind nor degree that we experience the disparity as we do, and our violated feelings are just the result of an elaborate misunderstanding. It seems very unlikely that this could be the case, but isn’t morality such that even its pure expressions can sometimes be obscured or distorted by the circumstances which surround it, and this even when the moral agents in question are other human beings? Surely this tendency of our moral expression is even more in force when the relation involves distinct types of moral agents - particularly agents whose respective roles in the affair are as far removed from one another as creature and Creator.
At face value, divine-type morality certainly isn’t the same as human-type morality. But perhaps appearances can be deceiving. Wouldn’t the best case scenario in this situation be that, after all was said and done, the seeming ‘disparity between moral types’ was simply a product of our own ignorance regarding the supporting justification of the act in question; that, in other words, there was ever only one moral type being represented, the expressions of which were simply distorted by the surrounding context in which we encountered them? If this were the case, all that would be required of us in order to reconcile our standing moral sentiments to those events which our religious commitments compel us to affirm, is to isolate the pure moral expression from all the confounding elements which surround it. It is to this possibility, then, that we will first turn our attention.
I. Are Our Moral Judgments Confounded?
In order to be justified in our moral assessments of another’s behavior, it seems we must first have eliminated all internal bias which might obscure, or otherwise distort our judgment. That each of us are susceptible to such errors in judgment is not only metaphysically possible, but empirically certain. Before pronouncing a wholesale condemnation of Old Testament ethical practices, therefore, I think it prudent to explore the possibility that our own faculties of judgment are confounded in these instances. Listed below are what I think the most likely candidates for potentially tainting our assessment of particular Old Testament events.
1. We are analyzing the events anachronistically;
2. We are analyzing the events ethnocentrically;
3. We have misapprehended the precipitating events;
4. We have misapprehended the supporting rationale; and
5. We have misapprehended the ‘moral jurisdiction’ of the agent(s) involved.
So, possibility one can be cashed out in two similar, but distinct ways. The first way you can take the anachronistic defense is by its conventional presentation: By approaching Old Testament events (occurring between the 1st and 2nd centuries B.C.) from a 21st century ethical perspective, we are likely missing from our assessment certain temporally relevant factors. Without a proper appreciation for the time in which these events took place, we cannot be justified in passing judgment on them.
The second way you might cash out the anachronistic defense is to propose different dispensational mechanisms to be at work in the two respective time frames, such that apparent exoticisms in God’s fundamental nature are really just unfamiliar expressions (from the perspective of our current dispensational context, that is) of the very same fundamental nature. This variety of anachronism is a little bit more difficult to explicate, as it relies upon some rather sophisticated theology - theology, anyhow, with which I am not so well versed. The long and short of the defense, however, is this: Without a proper understanding of God’s purposes in the earth at that time (and particularly, Israel’s role in fulfilling those purposes), we cannot know the moral quality of the events which He mandated.
Moving on to possibility two, it is clear that innate ethnocentrism (that is, our predisposed preference for the culture in which we were brought up, and with which we are most familiar) could also impair our ability to draw accurate assessments of Old Testament events, insofar as they concern cultures which we do not fully understand. As a contemporary example of how ethnocentrism might affect our judgment, reflect on your own attitude toward arranged marriages. For the vast majority of Westerners, the idea of one’s guardians having a say in who we ultimately share our lives with seems archaic, overly paternalistic; perhaps repressive of proper human passions, or even outright cruel. But it is far from clear that our distaste for this common feature of Eastern cultures amounts to anything more than just that, a distaste. And certainly, there seem to be many instances in which marriages established in this ‘exotic’ manner actually turn out to exemplify what we consider the virtues of the institution. In short, exotic doesn’t equate to immoral; and we as Westerners may not be the best judge of Eastern ethical practices.
The third defense suggests the possibility of there being precipatory events of such an abhorrent and insufferable nature leading up to those events recorded in the Old Testament, that the response they occasioned, however gruesome, may have been completely justified. Granted, it is difficult to imagine a state of affairs which may call for the wholesale slaughter of an entire race of people (and perhaps there is none that could justify the inclusion of infants in the onslaught), but at least in certain instances, such factors may indeed have come into play.*1
Possibility four on our list states that certain acts which tend to manifest themselves in incriminating expression may nonetheless proceed from pure and upright intentions. Perhaps the most common example of acts of this sort, which lend themselves so readily to misinterpretation, are those which we refer to as paternalistic. The classic instance of paternalism is a father disciplining the child he loves, often inviting the child’s reproach in his effort to procure the result which is in the child’s best interest. As paternalistic acts are so essential to fulfilling the requirements of love, it is not surprising that so many offensive acts recorded in the Bible are chalked up to God’s paternalism - and perhaps justifiably.*2 This fourth defense provides a natural segue to the final item on our list.
According to our last defense, God’s unique position - not only as man’s lover and caretaker, but as his Lord and judge - affords Him certain jurisdictional rights which may not be communicable in terms of any other office which we know. As such, though God may seem to trespass every jurisdictional boundary with which we are familiar, this is no assurance that He has done anything expressly wrong. If such a defense at first sounds strange, I encourage you to think for a moment what kind of rights are afforded certain civic offices without thereby compromising anyone’s moral integrity. A judge, for instance, can: seize another’s property; remove a child from its parent’s custody; deny an individual his/her freedom; even order their execution - all well within the moral confines of the office which he fills. Therefore, insofar as one’s moral integrity is bound up in the appropriate execution of their official responsibilities (whether natural or conferred), there may not be a single fixed standard by which all are held equally accountable; and in such instances as those presently under consideration, when the agent in question occupies an office so categorically distinct from all others, how can we ever be sure when God has overstepped His bounds?*3
II. Can We Secure a Verdict Through the Formal Conditions of Justice?
So, alright, we’ve determined that it’s at least possible to be in error regarding the judgments we make about remote events. But is the elimination of any, or even all potential biases from our assessment likely to alter the nature of these particular events to such a degree that they no longer offend our moral sensibilities? Is even the most charitable representation of what took place in these passages up to par with what we expect of a holy and perfect God?
Since the number of Old Testament passages which rank by this scale as morally suspect is so extensive, I will entertain here only a single instance which I take to be more or less representative of the class. Instead of offering my own clumsy analysis of what would doubtlessly be better handled by an Old Testament scholar, allow me to simply cut and paste from a previous discussion I had with a friend during his enrollment in an Old Testament program. The discussion featured a brief response to certain troublesome elements of Numbers 31, a passage recounting the Israelites’ vengeance on the Midianites. I have included it here along with the original query:
[Query:] Israel's assimilation of Midianite virgins (Numbers 31:18) - how does this reconcile with the general rule of "total annihilation" and prohibited intermarriages? - What is the significance of the nations listed in Deut. 7 as opposed to the Midianites from this story?; what were the conditions for the Israelite army to take spoil or to destroy it? Why were the neighboring nations (Perizzites, Hittites, Amorites, etc.) more significant than those far off for threatening Israel's purity - Deut. 20? And why was God concerned with having gold and precious things in His temple? Is there any reason more respectable than to show superiority over rival nations in regards to wealth, etc.? (see also Deut. 20)
[Response:] This is the best I could find for this so far.
“(3) The destruction of the women and boys (31:13-18)
13-18. We are quite shocked when we find the people are facing anger from Moses instead of approval. The meeting outside the camp is an omen; something is unclean. The Bible says that Moses was furious against the officers of the armies. He does not come to bless them in their victory but to vent his rage at the victories. Even in victory the people can grossly err.
Moses asks almost incredulously, "Have you allowed all the women to live?" (v.15). The text has led us down a line that leads to deliberate surprise. We find ourselves as startled by these words, even as some of the soldiers might have been. But then Moses explains: These were the very women whom Balaam had used to bring the seduction of the people of Israel and to provoke the terrible plague that had broken out among the congregation of Israel (v.16). So boys and women were to be killed; there was to be no mercy, no exception (v.17). Only young girls (demonstrable virgins) would be saved alive; only they had not contaminated themselves with the debauchery of Midian and Moab in Baal worship (v.18). The suggestion is that the participation of women from Midian in the debased orgiastic worship of Baal described in chapter 25 was extensive, not selective. Who would know which of these women was innocent of these rituals? The presumption is that each one was guilty in some manner.
Verse 17 is rather powerful in its formation. It is framed with chiasm of the imperative verb "kill." The following format shows the word order, the pungency, of the original:
'And now, kill every male among the children;
and every woman who knows a man,
a male sexually, kill!'
The brutality demanded by this verse is nearly unimaginable—the killing of boys and babies. One has to ask, What separates this from the Egyptian killing of the Hebrew boy babies in Exodus 1? Since most women were married young in biblical times, most women would have had to be killed as well. Here is the sort of text that troubles us deeply. It is one thing to kill a man. It is one thing to kill a woman in battle. It is one thing even to kill children in a frenzy of hatred. But this verse demands the calm, selective, purposeful killing of women and children after the battle was over.
Verse 18 only increases our sense of unrest in this text. Those girls who were to be kept alive would have to be rather young. Since little girls were preserved, their mothers would have had to be killed.
Such stories are bound to raise questions about the morality of the OT. Ultimately, these questions are darts directed to the person of God. One cannot debate the "morality" of the OT apart from the "morality" of God who is represented in these passages. And once one begins to ask, "Is God moral?" the very question damns the speaker. For who is man to be the instructor of the Lord? (see Job 40:1-2). This is not to say that these passages do not cause us to shriek with inner tension—for they do! But our shout had best not be an arrogant attack on Majesty. Ultimately, people of faith affirm—in the midst of the most negative environment—"The God of Israel will do right."
The only way to understand such a ghastly command is to realize what was at stake in the story of Baal Peor (ch. 25), the incident that gave rise to the holy war in the first place. This story is not just another account of sin and rebellion in the desert. Indeed, if the story of Baal Peor is not an unusual and remarkable account, then the punishment meted out in chapter 31 is not in keeping with the crime.
Numbers 25 is unique. It records an altogether new type of sin and rebellion—one that bears within itself the threat of the doom of the nation as a whole. As we know, from our distance, it was the very type of evil described in chapter 25 that finally destroyed the Hebrew kingdoms in the land. While it is difficult to say such a thing, the destruction of the women and the boys was an act of God's mercy—for Israel. There is a sense of perspective here that is so very difficult to grasp and yet which permeates the Word of God: Divine judgment is sure for the nations who are a threat to the existence of God's people or who have rejected his grace. And that remains true in our own "sophisticated" day. The nations today, and the ungodly among all peoples, are at risk. They know of risk from the possibility of nuclear disaster, from the threat of war, from the tweaks of nature, and from the freaks of chance. But the nations today are at risk from the judgment of God. This is true whether they acknowledge it or not. One day that judgment will come. At that time there will be no weeping over women and boys who died in ancient Midian three and a half millennia ago; at that time the judgment of God will transcend anything ever written in the harshest Scripture. And God will still be merciful and holy, maintaining glory and honor in the midst of havoc and ruin. The God of Israel will still do right” (Allen, Ronald B. Expositors Bible Commentary: Numbers 31:13-18).
Now, such an interpretation of that event recounted in Numbers 31 will appease some and only further agitate others. Certainly, it is of some consolation to imagine the victims of the slaughter as categorically wicked, but it seems somehow unfeasible that this was truly the case. Besides, even if we were supposed to read the passage in this light, it is nevertheless unclear why such a fact should necessitate their destruction - indeed, the scriptural recounting itself apparently allows for the extension of mercy to at least the young virgin women.
Other interpretations I’ve come across of the same passage (e.g., the christian-thinktank account linked in a previous response), interpret the reference to the ‘Lord’s portion’ of the plunder (vs. 18) as designating a subset of the survivors that was to be destroyed.
“I should also point out that the ‘for yourselves’ phrase (31.18) is NOT actually referring to ‘for your pleasure’, but is a reference to the opposite condition of ‘for YHWH’ which applied to all people or property which was theoretically supposed to be destroyed in such combat situations. The herem (or ‘ban’) specifically indicated that all enemy people or property which was ‘delivered over to YHWH’ was to be killed/destroyed. By referring to ‘for yourselves’, then, in this passage, means simply ‘do not kill them’. This can also be seen in that this ‘booty’ was not ‘for themselves’ actually, but was distributed to others within the community.”*4
If such an interpretation of vs. 18 is true, it seems to raise the subsequent consideration of why, if it was otherwise appropriate to spare the female children for assimilation into the Israelite community, would God still insist on the destruction of a portion of them (32 to be precise - see vs. 40)? If the extension of mercy is on the table, how could anyone give preference to destruction?
Whatever the case, it is not clear which, if any, of the available interpretations of this passage is entirely accurate of the actual event. It might just be that the passage I have chosen is one in which the available evidence is too paltry to inform a judgment in one direction or the other, in which case we might hope for a less ambiguous case to be proffered in the future (and the reader is encouraged to do so). However, in the interest of moving forward, I would like to consider the prospect of determining guilt or innocence on more informal bases.
III. Is God Subject to Informal Conditions of Justice?
Running our initial assessments of these Old Testament passages through this gauntlet of potential defenses, we have observed that one is often left with more of a ghost of an event than an actual event. The amount of admittable, concrete evidence with which we are left to subject to analysis becomes perhaps too paltry to be conclusive one way or the other. But this seems no good for either side represented in the argument: What was desired by the defense was a clear victory, an absolution of guilt, a complete vindication; conversely, what was desired by the prosecution was a declaration of guilt, a holding accountable of the accused, and justice for the alleged victims. All that was attained by either side was a mere acquittal.
In the absence of a verdict, both parties are left with an feeling of unsettlement. For the prosecution, the feeling is perhaps very similar to that of when a known criminal, with a rap list of alleged crimes reaching to the floor, is finally brought to trial under the pretense of there existing that long-sought-after piece of irrefutable evidence which will finally determine his guilt (perhaps the ever-improbable eye-witness testimony), only to elude again, on the basis of a mere technicality, the fate which rightly belongs to him.
It seems somehow inappropriate that our knowledge of God’s moral integrity should have to hang in limbo between two sets of contradictory evidence.*5 Presented with the opportunity, we would like for God to demonstrate at least the slightest motivation to disavow, or distance Himself from, such testimony as might call His moral integrity into question. But in the absence of such demonstrations, one is at a loss but to suspect that He feels no such need*6 - which far from assuaging our suspicions, rather seems to indicate what we already have so much reason to believe: that the culture which produced these accounts was simply insensible to the dubious nature of their content.
If, after all the arguments have been presented, we have still failed to satisfy what we recognize to be the formal conditions of determining guilt, are we thereby defaulted to taking a passive posture toward God’s alleged crimes?*7 Are we not justified outside of these formal conditions in maintaining private convictions about His guilt or innocence? Might such convictions be justifiable, perhaps, on some informal basis, such as the manner in which He cooperated (or failed to cooperate) with the process itself? If, for instance, He has not been forthcoming in His testimony concerning these events - if He seemed, perhaps, to be obstructing our pursuit of justice - doesn’t this behavior itself demonstrate an attitude of contempt toward our institutions of justice which is unbefitting a holy and perfect God?*8
Implicit in this last consideration is a more general question regarding the extent of obligation imposed upon an individual in virtue of their having pledged themselves to a particular moral standard. In order to explore this issue, however, we must rely on an assumption - namely, that all agents involved in moral interactions with one another are bound by the features of a single, common moral standard. For convention’s sake, then, let us assume the human moral standard to extend over all parties, human or divine.
III. Are There Real Implicit Moral Obligations?
Human morality, whatever its fundamental basis turns out to be (and we will revisit this very question, in fact, in the next installment of our discussion), is at least on some level a social contract between its fellow observers.*9 It was in homage to this fact that, when questioned by the expert in the law as to what was the greatest commandment, Jesus points to two explicitly relational obligations: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind,’ and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,” - indeed, it is upon these two commandments that “all the Law and the Prophets hang,” claimed Christ (see Matt. 22:35-40).
Insofar, then, as we are assuming human morality to extend over all parties engaged in moral interactions with one another, this social element of morality is being extended over all parties as well. Looking, then, to the structure of our existing social institutions for that particular feature which might ground its function in moral affairs (and thereby define what we mean when we refer to one’s obligations to the social element of a moral system), we discover language. Paul Ricouer of the University of Paris once spoke to this moral utility of language in his consideration of that which he identifies as its fundamental act: the promise. As he reflects,
“How can I speak of a lie without contrasting it with a true statement? And what about reality? How can I speak of an illusion without starting out from that? That means you have to start out from the basis of a true statement - make sure people can rely on your words. I think Derrida somewhere calls it the religious act par excellence: believing someone else’s word. And that’s the basis of all interaction. It’s the basis of a promise. Because a promise is not just any old act: it’s a fundamental act; because it’s based on three things: first, I am bound with respect to myself; second, I am bound with respect to the other person who is relying on me to keep my promise; and third, I am protecting the language as an institution and using it honestly. There are three partners in the promise: there’s me, there’s the other person, and there’s the language itself. So that, I would say, is the basis for trust.”
Now, Ricouer hits on some major moral themes in this statement about language: from the function of promises to define new moral obligations, to the reliance upon both explicit as well as implicit meanings of terms to communicate the content of any particular obligation, to the fundamental interrelatedness of our engagement in the act of promise-making with the development of trust between two parties. Each of these themes acquire an even profounder significance, however, when we consider their applicability within the context of our present inquiry - namely, as governing over our presumed interactions with God. 2 Peter 1:3-4, for instance, designates our trust in the promises of Scripture as the functional means by which believers live out the Christian life. As it reads,
“His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires” (italics mine).
Such an arrangement, however, can present significant problems for Christians when they recognize that such trust is conditioned (if not for the very first engagement, at least for its preservation through future engagements) upon the quality of our experience in interaction with the promise-maker. Long story short, according to Ricouer, if the promise-maker fails to uphold even the implicit content of any particular promise, he would have effectively violated the sustaining principle of our institution of language. Such a violation would amount to no less than a breaking of one’s obligations to the social element of our moral system.
But what do you think? Are there real moral obligations - and, therefore, real moral offenses - outside or beyond those merely formal conditions which the system features? Put another way, are there real implicit moral obligations grounded in the social element of human morality? And if there are, is God guilty of offending them?
Footnotes:
*1 - This kind of defense is used rather effectively to justify the gruesome events recorded in Numbers 31 (see www.christian-thinktank.com/midian.html).
*2 - A nice argument for paternalism can be made on the basis of Christianity’s zoe/bios distinction. Insofar as the Bible equates true life exclusively with zoe, or soul-level life, it is always justified to terminate a life sustained solely on the bios, or biological level whenever the persistence of the latter interferes with the production, or preservation of the former. See for instance, John 6:25-59, 15:1-7; 1 John 5:11-12.
*4 - A Christian Thinktank. http://www.christian-thinktank.com/midian.html.
*5 - And yet, “He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth.” (Is. 53: 9) And, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.’” (Gal. 3:13) And finally, “When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left.” (Luke 23:33)
*6 - Although, “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.” (Is. 53:7) And, “Then the high priest stood up before them and asked Jesus, ‘Are you not going to answer? What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?’ But Jesus remained silent and gave no answer.” (Mark 14:60-61)
*7 - As Ken Daniel voiced in his prayer: “How much of this am I expected to absorb and put into the filing cabinet labeled ‘troublesome, contradictory or unjust but accept it by faith anyway’? How much tension can a soul take?”
*8 - It would seem strange, in other words, if God suffered no ill-effects in His ability to relate to us in virtue of His having offended our moral sensibilities. Whatever the fact of the matter may be regarding His guilt or innocence, we have nonetheless been made uncomfortable in His presence due to the natural constraints which our moral sentiments impose on our volitional nature (see Harry Frankfurt’s notion of volitional necessity in The Reasons of Love, especially pgs. 49-50; and The Importance of What We Care About). The following quote by Traherne in reference to natural constraints on God’s love, then, works equally well in the opposite direction: “Love can forbear, and Love can forgive…but Love can never be reconciled to an unlovely object.” (Traherne. Centuries of Meditation, II, 30, as quoted in The Problem of Pain, 28).
*9 - I intend this term loosely, not to refer exclusively to those who make a positive effort to abide by its demands, but to all moral agents as such, whose membership in the larger institution is a mere function of their constitution.
