by A. J. Jacobs
On his list: Finding Nemo (namely, the line “Give it up old man, you can’t fight evolution, I was built for speed”). And Gilligan’s Island (they used the word prehistoric twice in one episode; “there’s no such thing as prehistoric,” Carl says). Other violators include Bugs Bunny, Lilo & Stitch, Bob the Builder, and The Incredible Mr. Limpet.
“It used to be my favorite movie,” he says of Limpet. “And then I played it for my family, and thirteen minutes in, there was a nerdy science guy who pulls down a chart and starts talking about how fish were our ancestors. I had to stop the movie and talk to my family and explain.”
Of course, when it comes to secular entertainment, creationism’s enemy number one is Inherit the Wind, about the famous Scopes “monkey trial.” It debuted as a play in 1955 and was later turned into a Spencer Tracy movie. And Carl—along with all his colleagues—insists that it’s wildly unfair to Christians.
When I got home, I rented the movie and compared it to the actual court transcripts. And I have to say…the movie is wildly unfair to Christians. Or at least to this strain of Christianity.
William Jennings Bryan—a deeply religious three-time Democratic presidential nominee who was the prosecuting attorney for the anti-evolution folks—was turned into a total buffoon named Matthew Harrison Brady, played by Fredric March. Brady is a potbellied glutton prone to burping and smacking his lips. In one scene, he’s gorging on fried chicken out of a basket—in the courtroom.
The film re-creates the famous showdown over the Bible between Bryan and the brilliant Chicago lawyer Clarence Darrow. It’s a good scene. But if you read the court transcript, it was actually a more interesting and subtle confrontation. For instance, here’s the dialogue from the movie:
Darrow: Do you believe every word of the Bible is true?
Bryan: Yes. Every word is literally true.
And here’s the corresponding real exchange:
Darrow: Do you claim that everything in the Bible should be literally interpreted?
Bryan: I believe everything in the Bible should be accepted as it is given there. Some of the Bible is given illustratively; for instance, “Ye are the salt of the earth.” I would not insist that man was actually salt, or that he had flesh of salt, but it is used in the sense of salt as saving God’s people.
Like creationists today, he admits that there is some figurative language in the Bible, even if most of it should be taken as literally true.
And he had wit: “I believe [the Bible] was inspired by the Almighty, and He may have used language that could be understood at that time, instead of using language that could not be understood until Darrow was born.” [Laughter and applause.]
Not bad, you know?
As I said, I still believe in evolution. There’s nothing that will change that, even if they found Noah’s Year-at-a-Glance calendar on a pristinely preserved ark. And, yes, I know there’s artistic license and all that. But it does seem odd to me that this movie—which is supposed to be a champion for the truth—distorted the truth so much. Why do that? Especially when you have reality on your side.
I spend my last half hour at the museum bookshop. I flip through dinosaur books for kids, a Far Side–like cartoon book about the fallen world, biology books, and theology books. I spend several minutes skimming an astronomy book called Dismantling the Big Bang, which aims to expose the philosophical weaknesses of said theory.
It makes me think of AiG’s resident astrophysicist, Jason. Before I left, he wanted to make clear to me that he’s not geocentric—he doesn’t believe the earth is the center of the universe. “Does anyone anymore?” I asked. He said, yes, there is a group called “biblical astronomers”—they believe the earth is stationary because the Bible says the earth “shall never be moved” (Psalms 93:1). Jason considers them an embarrassment.
That was something I hadn’t expected: moderate creationists who view other creationists as too extreme. But it will turn out to be one of this year’s big lessons: Moderation is a relative term.
In the seventh year there shall be a Sabbath of solemn rest for the land…
—LEVITICUS 25:4
Day 42. On my flight back to New York, I sink into a minidepression about the museum. All that creativity and enthusiasm—it seems like such misplaced energy.
I feel the need to compensate, to do justice to the Bible itself. So I vow to spend the next few days finding biblical literalism at its most noble. And today I may have found it while reading a book about faith-based ethics called The Quiet Hand of God. Namely, the movement by faithful Christians and Jews to apply the Bible’s financial laws to the world’s poverty crises. Here the Bible has saved thousands, maybe millions, of lives.
Here’s how it works: The Bible says that years—like days of the week—belong in a cycle of seven. The seventh year is called the Sabbath year, and big things happen.
First, that entire year, you must stop working. No farming is allowed. This is so the land can rest, and the needy can come and eat all they want from the vines and olive trees. Second, you must forgive your neighbor’s debts. All IOUs are erased.
After seven consecutive Sabbath cycles—forty-nine years—something even more radical happens: the Jubilee year. During the Jubilee year, you must return all property to its original owner (Leviticus 25:10).
Scholars aren’t sure how strictly the Jubilee law was practiced in ancient Israel. It’s possible it was practiced only by a devout sprinkling of farmers. And naturally, as my banker friend Ivan points out, if we followed these today, it would throw the financial markets into utter chaos.
Even on a personal level, I’ve found it a challenge to practice. Consider the not-working part. I’ve worked for sixteen years straight, so I’m long overdue for a yearlong hiatus. The problem is, I’ve got a deadline for this book and a kid who is obsessed with offensively pricey Thomas the Tank Engine toys.
As for forgiving debts, I try two things:
1) Since bonds are debts, I try to forgive a bond I have owned for nine years. It was issued by the New York State Dormitory Authority.
“We’ve never had a request like this before,” says the fourth guy I was sent to. He finally suggests that I donate some money to my favorite State University of New York school.
2) To my recollection, the only other outstanding debt that stretches more than seven years is the one owed by my sophomore-year college roommate. He owed me at least twenty dollars. The weasel would buy yogurt with the communal house money, then hide it from the rest of us in paper bags labeled “Photo Equipment—Do Not Touch.” I’ve always held a grudge. I let it go.
But there is something practical I can do. And that’s through an organization called Jubilee USA Network.
Back in the 1990s, two British evangelists named Martin Dent and Bill Peters had an epiphany: They made the connection between the Bible’s Jubilee concept and the third-world debt crises. Dent and Peters had both worked in Africa for the British equivalent of the peace corps. Dent, in fact, had been appointed an honorary chief of a Nigerian tribe. He had seen poverty firsthand. He argued that the developed nations should forgive third-world debt. Often these IOUs were left over from corrupt regimes. The Bible says that everyone deserves a fresh start.
The Jubilee movement they started has resulted in massive cancellations of debt by England, France, the U.S., and others. They got a huge publicity boost when Bono and his sunglasses joined the cause. Here’s what he said about Jubilee in his speech at the National Prayer Breakfast in 2006:
“It is such an important idea, Jubilee, that Jesus begins his ministry with this. Jesus is a young man, he’s met with the rabbis, impressed everyone, people are talking. The elders say he’s a clever guy, this Jesus, but he hasn’t done much—yet. He hasn’t spoken in public before…
“When he does, his first words are from Isaiah: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,’ he says, ‘because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.’ And Jesus proclaims the year of the Lord’s
favor, the year of Jubilee (Luke 4:18).
“What he was really talking about was an era of grace—and we’re still in it.”
I joined a group called Jubilee USA as a volunteer and have been sending out postcards to congressmen and senators about debt relief.
I know. Call Oslo and alert the Peace Prize committee. But it’s better than watching Entourage and eating Fruit Roll Ups. Plus, I scored some points with my socially conscious wife, who joined me for several hours of address writing and stamp affixing. Whenever Julie collaborates with me on my biblical quest, I get a Mr. Berkowitz-like high.
If you can read the writing and make known to me its interpretation, you shall be clothed with purple…
—DANIEL 5:16
Day 44. In an effort to cut down on temptation, I’ve been rationing my news intake, especially when the news concerns Hollywood actresses running off with Pilates instructors. But I spotted one news story that seemed worthwhile. It was about Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia.
Scalia apparently made a speech in Puerto Rico to a student group. He said that those who believe the Constitution should evolve with society are “idiots.” Wrong, he says. We should stick to the original intent of the Founding Fathers. As Scalia put it, “Scalia does have a philosophy; it’s called originalism.” (By the way, referring to yourself in the third person may not be biblically forbidden, but should be. Unless you have a biblical alter ego named Jacob, of course.)
This is helpful. I’ve been trying to focus my mission. Here is my answer: I’ll do the Scalia technique on the Bible. I’ll try to find the original intent. I want to live the original religion.
A lot of people tell me that such a quest is a fantasy. The Bible was written thousands of years ago by people with profoundly different worldviews. And I agree, it’s hard. Much harder than finding the original intent of the Constitution, which was at least written in some form of English, even if the Ss and Fs look alike. The Bible was originally written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. Its journey into other languages has been famously bumpy; the Bible could be the most mistranslated text in history.
The Red Sea is a mistranslation of the “Sea of Reeds.” The idea that Moses (and his descendents) had horns comes from a mistranslation of the Hebrew word qaran. It actually means that Moses’s face was shining, or emitted beams of light.
I’ve been doing my best. Since I’ve been told that reading the Bible in translation is like watching TV in black and white, I’m trying to compensate any way I can. I flip between different versions. I have this fancy Bible software with an ancient-language dictionary. I have my advisory board. I’ve bought books on teaching yourself Hebrew and ancient Greek—which is overly optimistic, given my time frame.
But even if I assume a proper translation, then there’s the not-so-trivial matter of changes in the text over time. Most modern scholars (at least those of a secular bent) don’t believe the medieval scribes were flawless Xerox machines. They made tweaks both intentional and accidental. Similarly, the Hebrew Bible has been stable for centuries, but you can see small variations if you compare it to, for instance, the Dead Sea Scrolls.
But I don’t want to give up just because it’s hard. Especially since the Scalia method of “original intent” continues to be a major force in biblical interpretation, both in Christianity and—rather differently—in Judaism.
A thirty-second history: For centuries, most believed the Bible was a true account of what happened. It was nonfiction, plain and simple. Most people were, as religious scholar Marcus Borg calls them, “natural literalists”—they had no strong evidence to believe otherwise.
But more and more, science began to butt up against the literal biblical story. How to reconcile Galileo’s universe with Joshua stopping the sun in the sky? Or Darwin’s theory of evolution with Noah’s ark? You saw several reactions. Two of the major ones that have dominated for a century are:
1. Modernism. This says that science and religion are separate. As Stephen Jay Gould put it, they are “nonoverlapping magisteria.” The Bible is packed with figurative language and poetry. The creation story, powerful as it may be, is a myth. But religion and the Bible still have a place, because science can’t answer questions about faith, purpose, and the meaning of life.
2. Fundamentalism. This view continues to assert that the Bible is 100 percent inerrant, both in morals and historical accuracy. Joshua really did make the sun stand still. Noah really did pile the animals onto a big boat made of gopher wood. They admit there is some nonliteral language in the Bible—when Isaiah says the “trees clapped,” it’s obviously a metaphor. Same with Jesus’s parables. But unless a phrase is clearly figurative, the Bible should be taken at face value.
Like sixties White House advisers, fundamentalists have their own domino theory. If one part of the Bible is proved wrong, why should we believe any of it? It’s a good point. And as an agnostic, I had this view from the other side. Why should I follow a book that seems to condone slavery and hand chopping? The question helped inspire my quest.
The Christian literal movement is, of course, famous for its conservative politics. To oppose homosexuality, for instance, its adherents cite Leviticus 18:22: “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.”
But not all Christian literalists are conservative; there’s a growing progressive movement. One branch calls itself Red-letter Christians—after the color of the text of Jesus’s sayings in old Bibles. The Red-letter Christians—such as reverends Tony Campolo and Jim Wallis—focus not on homosexuality or abortion, but instead on the literal adherence to Jesus’s teachings about poverty and peace. When I start exploring the New Testament, I’ll be consulting both sides.
Jewish biblical interpretation has taken a slightly different path. I got a crash course in this from a frighteningly smart rabbi named Robbie Harris. Robbie—who talks so quickly that my fingers ache from typing notes—is a professor of the Bible at the Jewish Theological Seminary in Upper Manhattan.
When I first met him, Robbie was on his cell phone with a publicist from the Knitting Factory, the hipster downtown music club.
“OK,” he said. “Great. I’ll call you later.”
He was playing there next week, he told me. His band is called Shake, Rabbis and Roll (SR2, for short).
“What kind of music is it?” I asked.
“Rock and roll. Do you like rock and roll?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Robbie played me a couple of songs from his first album, which “went aluminum.” I liked them, especially the one about the snobby New York girl. (“She looks at Central Park as the Great Divide/And now she thinks she’s slumming on the Upper West Side.”)
He’s an observant Jew, but one to whom I can relate, since—unlike the totally religious Mr. Berkowitz—he straddles the secular and Jewish worlds.
Here’s what Robbie taught me: In Judaism there’s the literal meaning of the biblical passage, and then there’s the interpretation of the rabbis in books like the Talmud.
Sometimes these two line up. When the Bible says don’t mix wool and linen, that’s what it means: Don’t mix wool and linen. Here the rabbis just elaborate on what kind of wool (sheep’s) and how far apart it must be from the linen.
But other times, the literal meaning is light years from the rabbis’ interpretation. For instance, the famous line in Leviticus “an eye for an eye” doesn’t really mean pluck out the other guy’s eye. It’s much more civilized than that. The tradition says it means this: “cash for an eye.” The attacker has to pay the victim the monetary value of the eye.
Or consider this passage: “You are not to boil a young goat in the milk of its mother” (Exodus 23:19, NASB).
If you take this literally, as I’m trying to do, this is relatively easy. I think—with a little willpower and a safe distance from farms—I can make it for a year without boiling a baby goat in its mother’s milk. My friend John suggested that, worse comes to worst, I could boil the
baby goat in its aunt’s milk. Thanks, John.
But the rabbis have a far more elaborate interpretation: Exodus 23:19 actually means to separate milk and meat. Which is where you get the kosher rules banning cheeseburgers. Along with the myriad rules about how long you must wait between a meat course and a dairy course (from one hour to six hours, depending on local tradition) and whether you should separate dairy utensils and meat utensils in a dishwasher (yes).
Strict Orthodox Jews believe that God gave these amplifications—the “oral laws”—to Moses on the mountaintop. That’s why he was up there for forty days. Moses passed on the oral laws to the Israelites, who told them to their sons, and so on until they were eventually written down. Traditionally, the laws from the all-important five books of Moses—the Torah—come to a total of 613. (My list of rules is slightly longer because I included advice from other parts of the Old Testament, such as Proverbs and Psalms.) Other Jews believe that the oral laws have developed over thousands of years but are sacred nonetheless.
There is one sect of Judaism that rejects oral law altogether. Its followers are called Karaites, and they are theological minimalists, adhering only to the Bible. This can result in some ultrastrict behavior. On the Sabbath, many turn off the heat so as not to engage in commerce with the electric company, which could be considered work. “I just wear a lot of layers,” one Karaite I interviewed told me. “It’s not so bad.” The Karaites had their golden age in medieval times—an estimated 10 percent of Jews were once Karaite. They have since dwindled in number to about fifty thousand, mostly in Israel and, oddly enough, Daly City, California.