I just can't get past that intrepid leper in Mark 1:40-45. The guy approaches Jesus, kneels in his path (depending on your assessment on a significant text problem), and challenges him: "If you choose, you can cleanse me."
I've written before about the ways in which this guy's behavior provokes Jesus. Begging and kneeling are aggressive acts, and his speech -- If you choose -- places quite the claim on Jesus' attention. One might add that the description of Jesus reflects the tension in the scene. Jesus is angered by the leper (another text problem, but I'm highly confident this is the best reading); the "touch" Jesus extends is hardly a gentle word (haptō); Jesus' command that the man not relate what happened to him carries the force of a scolding; and Jesus "casts away" the poor guy (ekballō).
Nevertheless, the leper goes out and preaches (kēryssein) the word about Jesus. This contributes to the growing role of crowds in Mark's narrative. Crowds eventually determine the shape of Jesus' ministry in many of Mark's stories.
But there's one thing about the leper's behavior that has my attention for now. Jesus warns him to "say nothing to nobody" (mēdeni mēden eipēs), an emphatic double negative. Both forms, mēdeni and mēden, occur elsewhere in Mark, but never together as a double negative. Yet we encounter one other double negative at the very end of the story. Having seen the empty tomb and received the commission to tell the disciples about the resurrection, the women "say nothing to nobody" (oudeni ouden eipan), another emphatic double negative connected with the same verb (16:8). Again, both oudeni and ouden occur elsewhere in Mark, but never together as a double negative.
Let's compare. The leper is commanded to say nothing to nobody, but he tells everybody. The women are commanded to tell the disciples, but they say nothing to nobody. One story occurs almost at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, immediately before it becomes controversial; the other at the very end.
Could it be that Mark is contrasting the leper as first evangelist with the women, whose witness occurs despite their fear? (Otherwise, how would the story have been told?)
One more thought. Mark is entirely capable of constructing such extended echoes of its own story. Consider the tearing (schizomenous) of the heavens at Jesus' baptism ("You are my beloved Son"; 1:10-11) with the tearing (eschisthē; same verb) of the temple veil at the moment of his death ("Truly this one was the Son of God"; 15:38-39). These are the only two occurrences of schizō in Mark.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I wonder about Zacchaeus (Luke 19:8)
It's been awhile. Maybe I haven't had anything smart to say.
The story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10) has long been taken as a model story of repentance. According to this reading, this rich -- and corrupt -- tax collector encounters Jesus. Jesus, who has come to call "sinners to repentance" (5:32), so impresses Zacchaeus that he determines to give half his possessions to the poor and to repay those he has defrauded four times what he has taken.
In Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers, I basically agree with this assessment. There, I simply note that Jesus never criticizes Zacchaeus or calls him to repent. The larger point is that in Luke (and in all the Gospels) Jesus never condemns ordinary sinners; instead, he simply joins their company as he does with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus responds to Jesus not because Jesus condemns his behavior but as a response to Jesus' self-invitation: "Zacchaeus, hurry down, for I must stay at your house today." Since it happens before a crowd, I understand Jesus' call as a public affirmation of Zacchaeus, regardless of his business affairs.
But one thing gives me pause, Zacchaeus' speech in 19:8. Perhaps Zacchaeus accepts his identity as a sinful tax collector, yet he has already struggled to live righteously. Here's the speech in my own literal translation.
After all, are there not righteous sinners all around us? That is, are there not people whom we stigmatize on account of their lifestyle or profession, who nevertheless demonstrate impressive acts of compassion and righteousness? I recall Chris Chambers, the "bad" kid in Stand By Me who reconciles his friends and risks his own life to save his friends. Sure enough, Chris participates in delinquent behavior, yet he's the hero of the story. Perhaps people of faith would do well to think about the heroism and compassion of the supposed "sinners" in our midst.
The story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10) has long been taken as a model story of repentance. According to this reading, this rich -- and corrupt -- tax collector encounters Jesus. Jesus, who has come to call "sinners to repentance" (5:32), so impresses Zacchaeus that he determines to give half his possessions to the poor and to repay those he has defrauded four times what he has taken.
In Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers, I basically agree with this assessment. There, I simply note that Jesus never criticizes Zacchaeus or calls him to repent. The larger point is that in Luke (and in all the Gospels) Jesus never condemns ordinary sinners; instead, he simply joins their company as he does with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus responds to Jesus not because Jesus condemns his behavior but as a response to Jesus' self-invitation: "Zacchaeus, hurry down, for I must stay at your house today." Since it happens before a crowd, I understand Jesus' call as a public affirmation of Zacchaeus, regardless of his business affairs.
But one thing gives me pause, Zacchaeus' speech in 19:8. Perhaps Zacchaeus accepts his identity as a sinful tax collector, yet he has already struggled to live righteously. Here's the speech in my own literal translation.
- But standing, Zacchaeus said to the Lord, "Behold, half my possessions, Lord, I am giving to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I repay [it] fourfold."
- But standing, Zacchaeus said to the Lord.... The crowd is complaining that Jesus has chosen to keep company with a sinner. What if (a) in response to their complaint, (b) Zacchaeus stands up for himself and (c) addresses Jesus directly in the presence of the crowd?
- "Behold, half my possessions, Lord, I am giving to the poor...." Note that Zacchaeus speaks in the present, not the future, tense. Perhaps Zacchaeus is defending himself: what if he already gives half his possessions to the poor?
- "and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I repay [it] fourfold." We normally translate this clause in the future tense but the verb is present tense here as well. What if Zacchaeus (occasionally?) does defraud people as an inevitable part of being a tax collector, then tries to correct the fault?
After all, are there not righteous sinners all around us? That is, are there not people whom we stigmatize on account of their lifestyle or profession, who nevertheless demonstrate impressive acts of compassion and righteousness? I recall Chris Chambers, the "bad" kid in Stand By Me who reconciles his friends and risks his own life to save his friends. Sure enough, Chris participates in delinquent behavior, yet he's the hero of the story. Perhaps people of faith would do well to think about the heroism and compassion of the supposed "sinners" in our midst.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
New Insights on Text Criticism
Every once in awhile, I'll refresh myself as to what's going on in New Testament textual criticism, the attempt to understand the history and development of texts of New Testament documents. Just this week I encountered one of the most intimidating scholarly works I've ever seen, James R. Royse, Scribal Habits in Early Greek New Testament Papyri (New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents 36; Brill, 2008 -- 1051 pages, $369.00!!!). That's right; three hundred sixty-nine bucks.
Needless to say, this is a book I scanned rather than read, but it's a book that offers two important claims. Each claim contradicts the way I was taught to do text criticism back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and each is plausible.
First, a little background. This book is so huge because it involves an intense study of the six earliest NT manuscripts available in papyrus (not the little fragments, but major manuscripts), some of the most ancient witnesses to the transmission of the NT texts. As an index of the kind of research involved consider this: the chapter on papyrus 46 is over 160 pages long and has 866 footnotes.
Here are the two claims. First, almost all of us were taught that scribes are more likely to add material to their source manuscript (Vorlage) rather than omit material. After all, with sacred texts, wouldn't scribes be reluctant to lose any material at all? A good example might be John 7:39. The original probably read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified" (NRSV). But some manuscripts read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet the Holy Spirit had not been given, because Jesus was not yet glorified." Since the first reading did not conform to emerging orthodoxy (the Holy Spirit is eternal), so some scribes rendered it doctrinally harmless with a longer phrase.
Royse shows that the earliest scribes, usually accidentally, omitted material far more often than they added it. Therefore, we should offer good reasons when we judge a longer reading to be more ancient than a shorter one. Such good reasons would include conforming a text to its parallels within the New Testament or theological considerations -- as in the example above.
Second, scholars have long noted that some scribes harmonized one Gospel story to its parallels in other Gospels. Modern translations of Mark 10:7 will include footnotes that show how scribes conformed this verse to the language in Matthew 19:5 and Genesis 2:24. Back in the day, we were trained to consider variant readings of certain passages with possible parallels in the canon.
Royse shows that the earliest scribes were far more concerned to harmonize passages to their immediate literary contexts rather than to parallels from other texts. To be honest, I have no idea how that insight will play out for practical textual criticism, at least where clear harmonization to parallel passages has occurred. At the same time, additional sensitivity to immediate context may resolve some questions. One classic case is 1 Thessalonians 2:7, where it is unclear whether Paul describes himself and his colleagues as gentle or as infants. Prior to 2:7, Paul describes his innocence (thus, "infants"), but later in 2:7-8 Paul compares his ministry to the work of a nurse (thus, "gentle").
Though this book is new, Royse's work has been known to text critics for a long time. I'm eager to see what the reviews make of it.
Needless to say, this is a book I scanned rather than read, but it's a book that offers two important claims. Each claim contradicts the way I was taught to do text criticism back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and each is plausible.
First, a little background. This book is so huge because it involves an intense study of the six earliest NT manuscripts available in papyrus (not the little fragments, but major manuscripts), some of the most ancient witnesses to the transmission of the NT texts. As an index of the kind of research involved consider this: the chapter on papyrus 46 is over 160 pages long and has 866 footnotes.
Here are the two claims. First, almost all of us were taught that scribes are more likely to add material to their source manuscript (Vorlage) rather than omit material. After all, with sacred texts, wouldn't scribes be reluctant to lose any material at all? A good example might be John 7:39. The original probably read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified" (NRSV). But some manuscripts read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet the Holy Spirit had not been given, because Jesus was not yet glorified." Since the first reading did not conform to emerging orthodoxy (the Holy Spirit is eternal), so some scribes rendered it doctrinally harmless with a longer phrase.
Royse shows that the earliest scribes, usually accidentally, omitted material far more often than they added it. Therefore, we should offer good reasons when we judge a longer reading to be more ancient than a shorter one. Such good reasons would include conforming a text to its parallels within the New Testament or theological considerations -- as in the example above.
Second, scholars have long noted that some scribes harmonized one Gospel story to its parallels in other Gospels. Modern translations of Mark 10:7 will include footnotes that show how scribes conformed this verse to the language in Matthew 19:5 and Genesis 2:24. Back in the day, we were trained to consider variant readings of certain passages with possible parallels in the canon.
Royse shows that the earliest scribes were far more concerned to harmonize passages to their immediate literary contexts rather than to parallels from other texts. To be honest, I have no idea how that insight will play out for practical textual criticism, at least where clear harmonization to parallel passages has occurred. At the same time, additional sensitivity to immediate context may resolve some questions. One classic case is 1 Thessalonians 2:7, where it is unclear whether Paul describes himself and his colleagues as gentle or as infants. Prior to 2:7, Paul describes his innocence (thus, "infants"), but later in 2:7-8 Paul compares his ministry to the work of a nurse (thus, "gentle").
Though this book is new, Royse's work has been known to text critics for a long time. I'm eager to see what the reviews make of it.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Cultural Criticism of the Bible
I've just submitted a review of a fascinating recent book by David A. Sánchez, From Patmos to the Barrio: Subverting Imperial Myths (Fortress 2008). The review will appear in Biblical Interpretation.
Sánchez provides an excellent case of an emerging movement in biblical studies, cultural criticism. He begins by interpreting the Woman Clothed with the Sun (Revelation 12) as an appropriation of a familiar Roman imperial myth. The basic argument is that oppressed peoples appropriate the imperial myths of their oppressors and turn them to their own ends; that's what happens in Revelation 12. (To some degree, this isn't news among interpreters of Revelation.)
What distinguishes Sánchez's approach, however, is that he identifies cultural appropriations of Revelation's Woman in two subsequent counter-imperial movements, devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe in seventeenth century Mexico and in twentieth century Los Angeles. Imagery of the Virgin is heavily patterned after the figure in Revelation 12, and it was adopted by Spanish colonizers.
Sánchez's book makes for interesting reading in its own right. For the moment, I'm more interested in what the work implies for cultural studies. Traditional approaches to the New Testament largely restrict themselves to explicating the text's ancient meaning. Over the past forty years or so, that model has been repeatedly challenged in a variety of ways, but it still holds for most interpretations. Cultural studies approaches change the conversation by seeing the Bible as a cultural phenomenon throughout history. Thus, asking how Matthew might play out in African missionary contexts (Musa Dube), or how Luke is interpreted in European art (Mikeal Parsons), stretches the range of biblical scholarship. It's not totally new, but interest in cultural studies, particularly studies informed by a liberationist perspective, is growing.
In response to Sánchez, I'd like to ask two questions.
Sánchez provides an excellent case of an emerging movement in biblical studies, cultural criticism. He begins by interpreting the Woman Clothed with the Sun (Revelation 12) as an appropriation of a familiar Roman imperial myth. The basic argument is that oppressed peoples appropriate the imperial myths of their oppressors and turn them to their own ends; that's what happens in Revelation 12. (To some degree, this isn't news among interpreters of Revelation.)
What distinguishes Sánchez's approach, however, is that he identifies cultural appropriations of Revelation's Woman in two subsequent counter-imperial movements, devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe in seventeenth century Mexico and in twentieth century Los Angeles. Imagery of the Virgin is heavily patterned after the figure in Revelation 12, and it was adopted by Spanish colonizers.
Sánchez's book makes for interesting reading in its own right. For the moment, I'm more interested in what the work implies for cultural studies. Traditional approaches to the New Testament largely restrict themselves to explicating the text's ancient meaning. Over the past forty years or so, that model has been repeatedly challenged in a variety of ways, but it still holds for most interpretations. Cultural studies approaches change the conversation by seeing the Bible as a cultural phenomenon throughout history. Thus, asking how Matthew might play out in African missionary contexts (Musa Dube), or how Luke is interpreted in European art (Mikeal Parsons), stretches the range of biblical scholarship. It's not totally new, but interest in cultural studies, particularly studies informed by a liberationist perspective, is growing.
In response to Sánchez, I'd like to ask two questions.
- Will cultural studies require collaboration? From Patmos to the Barrio often relies on select secondary sources. This suggests to me that no individual scholar, including Sánchez, is likely to be expert in ancient Mediterranean discourse, seventeenth century Mexican cultural history, and contemporary Chicano/a movements.
- How will cultural studies approaches do history? Though his approach challenges traditional historical critical scholarship, Sánchez often makes direct, "objectivist" historical claims. What is the role of historiography for cultural studies?
Friday, August 29, 2008
the one book I'd recommend to church groups....
... is Struggling with Scripture, by Walter Brueggemann, William Placher, and Brian Blount. It's three short essays, actually lectured delivered for popular audiences -- only 69 little pages and $9.99. This little book opens the best, most honest discussion about the role of the Bible in Christian life of which I'm aware. I've been recommending it for years.
The problem is, churches often get tied up in conversations about the Bible without seriously pausing to reflect on the Bible as a whole. In the current sexuality debates people throw proof texts at one another, often with interpretations that are tenuous at best. That sort of process, something like choosing up sides for a softball game, naturally leads to conflict. Struggling with Scripture opens space for a very different kind of conversation.
Brueggemann resists any attempt to reduce the question of biblical authority to a simple doctrinal statement. Scripture, he says, always surprises us if we're open to the possibility; thus, we cannot determine in advance what it can and cannot mean. He acknowledges that the biblical authors wrote from within their own cultural contexts -- how could they not? -- and that their perspectives were naturally limited. Yet the bottom line, for Brueggemann, is the Bible's inherency, its inherent and consistent testimony to a God who created life, who redeems life, and who will one day bring life to its joyous consummation.
In my view Placher is the star of the show. He acknowledges his gratitude for a life-giving, lifelong encounter with Scripture. Yet he notes that the church has a way of interpreting the Bible to fit its agenda of the moment. Not long ago, historically speaking, the churches used the Bible to defend slavery, then segregation. Not long ago the churches used the Bible to marginalize divorced persons. Now that divorce is more common, the churches have changed. Not long ago at all the churches used the Bible to silence women in ministry. Given this trajectory of "not long ago but now," what will the churches do with the homosexuality question? If we are honest with ourselves, Placher shows us, we have a habit of interpreting to the advantage of the powerful. In the long run Placher defines faithfulness to the Bible as a lifetime of serious, daily engagement with Scripture. We try to see how the parts relate to the whole, we humbly acknowledge we don't know everything, working through those passages that make us uncomfortable. Placher's transparent honesty marks the book's most compelling moment.
Blount's essay raises the stakes even higher. He regards biblical authority as contextual biblical authority, reflecting not only sensitivity to the contexts of the authors but attentiveness to our living context in the here and now. For Blount the Bible is an elusive, living word: "Nothing that is living is ever last." Blount calls attention to how both African American slaves and New Testament writers engaged the Bible to address the emergent concerns of their own communities. It's a high calling, a demanding calling, to interpret the Bible apart from the illusion that we have a final handle on the truth. Blount quotes Tom Hanks from the film A League of Their Own: "It's baseball. It's supposed to be hard. If it weren't hard, then everyone would do it."
The problem is, churches often get tied up in conversations about the Bible without seriously pausing to reflect on the Bible as a whole. In the current sexuality debates people throw proof texts at one another, often with interpretations that are tenuous at best. That sort of process, something like choosing up sides for a softball game, naturally leads to conflict. Struggling with Scripture opens space for a very different kind of conversation.
Brueggemann resists any attempt to reduce the question of biblical authority to a simple doctrinal statement. Scripture, he says, always surprises us if we're open to the possibility; thus, we cannot determine in advance what it can and cannot mean. He acknowledges that the biblical authors wrote from within their own cultural contexts -- how could they not? -- and that their perspectives were naturally limited. Yet the bottom line, for Brueggemann, is the Bible's inherency, its inherent and consistent testimony to a God who created life, who redeems life, and who will one day bring life to its joyous consummation.
In my view Placher is the star of the show. He acknowledges his gratitude for a life-giving, lifelong encounter with Scripture. Yet he notes that the church has a way of interpreting the Bible to fit its agenda of the moment. Not long ago, historically speaking, the churches used the Bible to defend slavery, then segregation. Not long ago the churches used the Bible to marginalize divorced persons. Now that divorce is more common, the churches have changed. Not long ago at all the churches used the Bible to silence women in ministry. Given this trajectory of "not long ago but now," what will the churches do with the homosexuality question? If we are honest with ourselves, Placher shows us, we have a habit of interpreting to the advantage of the powerful. In the long run Placher defines faithfulness to the Bible as a lifetime of serious, daily engagement with Scripture. We try to see how the parts relate to the whole, we humbly acknowledge we don't know everything, working through those passages that make us uncomfortable. Placher's transparent honesty marks the book's most compelling moment.
Blount's essay raises the stakes even higher. He regards biblical authority as contextual biblical authority, reflecting not only sensitivity to the contexts of the authors but attentiveness to our living context in the here and now. For Blount the Bible is an elusive, living word: "Nothing that is living is ever last." Blount calls attention to how both African American slaves and New Testament writers engaged the Bible to address the emergent concerns of their own communities. It's a high calling, a demanding calling, to interpret the Bible apart from the illusion that we have a final handle on the truth. Blount quotes Tom Hanks from the film A League of Their Own: "It's baseball. It's supposed to be hard. If it weren't hard, then everyone would do it."
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
the elusive link -- religious experience
Several years ago Luke Timothy Johnson called out the neglect of religious experience among students of early Christianity in his Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity: A Missing Dimension in New Testament Studies. In the interim several attempts to explain the spread of early Christianity have emerged, usually with sociological frameworks.
For my part, 1 Thessalonians 1:5 has long arrested my attention. Recalling his first visit among the Thessalonians, Paul writes, "our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but with power and the Holy Spirit and full conviction."
I take Paul seriously here. Paul is calling the Thessalonians to recall the basic religious experience they shared during Paul's visit. In fact, he devotes most of the letter to this very subject. Apparently, he's trying to maintain a positive relationship with this church he has not seen in a long time. His task, then, is like that of a lover writing a letter to the beloved. She or he had better not overstate how great things were when they were last together; otherwise, the whole enterprise is in trouble. I imagine that Paul actually recalls a shared and powerful religious experience from that first visit.
What I'd love to know is, what does Paul mean by power? What sort of religious experience lies behind this? As we consider how early Christianity spread, let's not shut down our imaginations to the work of religious experience.
For my part, 1 Thessalonians 1:5 has long arrested my attention. Recalling his first visit among the Thessalonians, Paul writes, "our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but with power and the Holy Spirit and full conviction."
I take Paul seriously here. Paul is calling the Thessalonians to recall the basic religious experience they shared during Paul's visit. In fact, he devotes most of the letter to this very subject. Apparently, he's trying to maintain a positive relationship with this church he has not seen in a long time. His task, then, is like that of a lover writing a letter to the beloved. She or he had better not overstate how great things were when they were last together; otherwise, the whole enterprise is in trouble. I imagine that Paul actually recalls a shared and powerful religious experience from that first visit.
What I'd love to know is, what does Paul mean by power? What sort of religious experience lies behind this? As we consider how early Christianity spread, let's not shut down our imaginations to the work of religious experience.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Jesus on Bullshit
I just finished Harry G. Frankfurt's bestselling little book, On Bullshit (Princeton, 2005). If I were really cool, I would've read and commented on it a couple of years ago. Then again, I've long since learned that any attempts at coolness on my part always backfire.
For those who don't know, On Bullshit is a serious work of philosophy though it is less than 70 pages long. Frankfurt has since published On Truth, which I have not read. Frankfurt's distinction between bullshit and lying may illuminate Jesus' saying concerning oaths (Matt 5:33-36; cf. James 5:12). Lying, according to Frankfurt, requires a concern with the truth. Lying happens when someone says something that they know to be false in an effort to lead others to believe what is false. In other words, to lie you have to care about the truth. But bullshit happens when people don't care about the truth at all. Bullshit is simply talking for the sake of some purpose unrelated to the words coming from one's mouth.
Perhaps the most simple case of bullshit occurs when a student says something like, "I bullshitted my way all the way through the exam." What that student means is usually something like this, "I wrote and wrote, hoping to confuse the instructor into thinking I had something of value to say, hoping I got lucky and said something relevant, most of all hoping to cover up my ignorance."
Jesus' sayings concerning oaths strikes somewhere near this point. The saying stands among the famous Antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount: "You have heard it said, but I tell you...." Jesus begins by addressing a commandment concerning fulfilling oaths, then he moves on to prohibit oaths altogether. Just "Let your word be, 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'' anything more than this comes from the evil one" (NRSV).
And what is the purpose of an oath? An oath serves not to make a truth claim but to attest to the sincerity of the person speaking the oath. In other words, an oath is a kind of personal guarantee having nothing directly to do with the matter at hand. In short, oaths are a specific form of bullshit.
I grew up in Alabama, where bullshit is an art form. To be honest, I enjoy bullshit a lot. However, Christian groups have occasionally emphasized Jesus' teaching concerning oaths. These promote a sober approach to human interaction, where people say exactly what they mean, no more and no less. Personally, I find that approach to life a little stifling. On the other hand, I see way too much bullshit in the church, from fake enthusiasm in worship leaders, to fake happiness in ordinary people. Folks can spot that kind of bullshit a mile away, and it does great harm to the church. Indeed, I bullshit may be one of the major reasons that most churches are declining. If Christian faith isn't strong enough to engage real life, why bother?
I recommend Frankfurt's On Bullshit.
For those who don't know, On Bullshit is a serious work of philosophy though it is less than 70 pages long. Frankfurt has since published On Truth, which I have not read. Frankfurt's distinction between bullshit and lying may illuminate Jesus' saying concerning oaths (Matt 5:33-36; cf. James 5:12). Lying, according to Frankfurt, requires a concern with the truth. Lying happens when someone says something that they know to be false in an effort to lead others to believe what is false. In other words, to lie you have to care about the truth. But bullshit happens when people don't care about the truth at all. Bullshit is simply talking for the sake of some purpose unrelated to the words coming from one's mouth.
Perhaps the most simple case of bullshit occurs when a student says something like, "I bullshitted my way all the way through the exam." What that student means is usually something like this, "I wrote and wrote, hoping to confuse the instructor into thinking I had something of value to say, hoping I got lucky and said something relevant, most of all hoping to cover up my ignorance."
Jesus' sayings concerning oaths strikes somewhere near this point. The saying stands among the famous Antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount: "You have heard it said, but I tell you...." Jesus begins by addressing a commandment concerning fulfilling oaths, then he moves on to prohibit oaths altogether. Just "Let your word be, 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'' anything more than this comes from the evil one" (NRSV).
And what is the purpose of an oath? An oath serves not to make a truth claim but to attest to the sincerity of the person speaking the oath. In other words, an oath is a kind of personal guarantee having nothing directly to do with the matter at hand. In short, oaths are a specific form of bullshit.
I grew up in Alabama, where bullshit is an art form. To be honest, I enjoy bullshit a lot. However, Christian groups have occasionally emphasized Jesus' teaching concerning oaths. These promote a sober approach to human interaction, where people say exactly what they mean, no more and no less. Personally, I find that approach to life a little stifling. On the other hand, I see way too much bullshit in the church, from fake enthusiasm in worship leaders, to fake happiness in ordinary people. Folks can spot that kind of bullshit a mile away, and it does great harm to the church. Indeed, I bullshit may be one of the major reasons that most churches are declining. If Christian faith isn't strong enough to engage real life, why bother?
I recommend Frankfurt's On Bullshit.
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