Bill Maher is on the loose with his new film Religulous.
Proving yet again that within the breast of every dime-store atheist beats the heart of a Christian fundamentalist crank, the latest pop paladin of Truly True Scientific Atheist Thought sallies forth to combat the ravages of faithheads like Louis Pasteur who promote irrational superstitious belief in unseen realities like "God" and "germs."
The sneer slowly melted into a blank look of bewilderment. Through the fog of exhaustion, as I watched him quietly begin to panic, it dawned on me that I'd accidentally been clever. So I pressed him: "Do you mean to ask if I take it literally that David hid from Saul in a cave? Or do you mean to ask if I take it literally when Genesis speaks of talking snakes and the psalmist says his life is poured out like wax?" By this time, he looked pretty shaken and muttered something about how he didn't know anything about the Bible. Now fully awake and suddenly unexhausted by the smell of prey, I suggested to him that he perhaps should stop asking that question if he didn't know what he was talking about. It was a gratifying moment after a week of having reporters talking to me like I'd just fallen off the turnip truck.
Here's the thing: The Bible, while it is a single book authored by God, is also 73 books authored by men writing under inspiration. Those men were not robots zapped by a God Ray and forced to write against their will. They were perfectly free and writing exactly what they wanted to write. This means, among other things, that they were writing a lot of different kinds of literature and were by no means all writing newspaper language. Therefore, the very first step we should take as readers in understanding a biblical (or, for that matter, any) text is to determine what literary form the author is employing. Is the passage poetry? Historical narrative? Philosophical reflection? Pastoral instruction? Apocalyptic? Myth? Scripture is simply crammed with a wide variety of different kinds of writing, and the kind of writing you are reading will greatly influence the way in which it is intended to be read.
In theological terms, the "literal" sense of Scripture is, "What the author was saying in the way he tried to say it." But Maher makes the mistake of assuming that an author who uses metaphor, fiction, hyperbole, or various other figures of speech does not have a literal meaning. Thus, for instance, if I say, "My heart is broken," people like Maher mistakenly imagine that I "meant nothing literally." But, of course, I do. I literally mean I am deeply grieved and I am expressing that grief via a metaphor. Likewise, if I say, "The line for Religulous was so short, you could measure it in microns," I am using an exaggeration to communicate another literal meaning: Not many people are going to see Bill Maher's ignorant rant against the Christian faith. Indeed, more often than not, figurative language is exactly the right vehicle for conveying a literal meaning and is far better than nonfigurative language. The shortest distance between two minds is a figure of speech.
That is why Scripture employs dozens of different devices to communicate literal meanings. "I am the vine and you are the branches" employs a metaphor to express the literal meaning of the Christian's complete dependence on Christ. Likewise, the author of Genesis uses various linguistic devices (such as measured Hebrew poetry and the image of six "days" of creation) to convey a literal meaning, but many modern readers mistake the device for the meaning. The literal sense of the author was, "Creation is the orderly act of a loving Creator God." What the modern fundamentalist -- both atheist and Christian -- often hears, however, is, "The universe was made in six 24-hour days." This is as wrong-headed as taking me to mean that my cardiac tissue has been torn in half or that Christ had delusions of being a grape plant. It is necessary therefore to distinguish between the literal meaning of an author and the various literary devices he may employ to communicate that meaning.
Take, for instance, the parables of Christ. Jesus tells us the parable of the prodigal son. In relating this story to us, does Luke intend as his literal sense to tell us a true story about a historical Palestinian domestic dispute? Obviously not. His literal meaning is, "God forgives the repentant sinner." But he has used a particular literary device employed by Christ to get that literal meaning across.
All this is fairly smooth sailing. But when we get to fiction rather than parable as the means for conveying a literal sense, the waters can sometimes get a little choppier. Good examples of this are books like Tobit or Judith in the Old Testament. For some reason, the Mahers of the world who (one hopes) have no difficulty recognizing that the fictional parable of the prodigal son communicates a literal meaning somehow are mystified when Old Testament books also aim to communicate truth via fiction. Thus, when Tobit or Judith are shown to contain a number of historic and geographic inaccuracies, some people get the vapors and imagine this means they could not have been inspired by God.
Mark P. Shea. "Literalischtick." Inside Catholic (October 8, 2008).
Reprinted with permission of InsideCatholic.com. The mission of InsideCatholic.com is to be a voice for authentic Catholicism in the public square.
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