Another fun title with a totally unanswerable question. I could perhaps say the main character of the Bible. But instead, I think I’ll speak of God as the most complex literary character in human history. Defining “God,” especially God in the Hebrew Bible, is not a simple Sunday school exercise. But to those of us who have experienced American Christianity, it seems like it should be.
VeggieTales, Satan, and the Origins of Curiosity
When I was a kid, I was deeply fascinated by theology. Obviously, I was not reciting Karl Barth or learning lexical forms of dead languages. But I knew with absolute certainty: my God was the best, and only, God. I was deeply religious. As a child, I cared for nothing more than God being known. Missionaries—such as Jim Elliot—were all but superheroes to me.
I recall a particular fascination with creation. As a young “artist,” I often drew deeply theological images. That is a mature way of saying I drew lots of pictures of VeggieTales. But the most common image I recall drawing—that did not feature anthropomorphic Bible-believing vegetables—was a man holding the globe. God created everything! And, God holds that Creation.
But there was an issue I could not reconcile: Satan. That mean old bully. I was intrigued, though cautiously and anxiously, with Satan. God’s archnemesis, thus mine as well. Every time I was upset or hurt, it was because of that red-haired goat man.
This was my dilemma, however: if God created everything, did God not also create Satan? And thus evil/sin? I know I must have asked this at least a hundred times. Obviously, it is a deeper and more mature reflection now… but that curiosity is where it all started.
And thus, it seems my whole life has been devoted to answering these unanswerable questions. The questions remain the same. Where is God when people suffer? Why do the righteous suffer and the wicked prevail?
“Out from Under:” The Theologies of the Hebrew Bible
As I have inched closer to the final thesis submission, I have found myself reflecting—quite passionately—on some of the Christian rock I was so deeply obsessed with in middle and high school. Among my favorites, a song that especially became valuable while my mother was sick, is “Out from Under” by Red. The song perfectly encapsulates the development in my theology during that time:
“So tell me where were you,
When everything fell down like thunder,
I begged you to pull me through,
But I couldn’t get out from under.”
I believe these lyrics, generally speaking, accurately sum up the theologies of the Hebrew Bible. In this post, my goal is to establish an idea of how diverse and sometimes troubling depictions of God in the Hebrew Bible can be.
Again… What’s in a Name?
I will not treat every single name of God; that is what a theology library is for. However, I would like to zero in on the two primary names used for God in the Hebrew Bible: YHWH and Elohim.
Those familiar with scripture will recognize YHWH, the name that should not be spoken and thus profaned. YHWH is the more personal, covenantal name of God, appearing nearly 7000 times throughout the HB.
Elohim is the runner-up, with about 2600 occurrences in the HB. This term is often considered the “less personal.” It underscores God’s supreme power and majesty, especially emphasizing the role of Creator.
God as Creator: Cosmic Architect vs. Intimate Gardener
The most obvious of all God’s roles in the HB is in Creation. We are given two separate creation accounts in Genesis 1:1-2:25.
- In the first (1:1-2:4a): There is a chronological, structured account of creation, emphasizing the seven days.
- In the second (2:4b–25): The narrative is more story-driven, focused on human relationships and the creation of humanity. It is a “zoom-in”, if you will, on the Garden of Eden and the creation of humankind. Here, we find God named as YHWH Elohim. Literally, “Lord God.” There is a great deal of divine intimacy in this tale.
Enough narrative analysis. Let’s “zoom-in” on the divine character.
In Genesis 1, God is the Cosmic Architect. This God is entirely transcendent, speaking the universe into existence from the void. It’s orderly, majestic, and distant. God is entirely separate from Creation.
In Genesis 2, however, God is a sort of Intimate Gardener. God is highly anthropomorphic and immanent. This deity is literally in the dirt, forming humanity with “hands,” breathing into nostrils, and walking through the garden in the cool of the evening. I always loved that last part; God just calmly navigates the garden in the expressive “cool of the evening.”
But we have an issue here. These two depictions of God have some tensions. That does not mean they are contradictory, or one must completely overshadow the other. But it also means… God is not so simple to explain.
The Deuteronomic God: Retribution, Covenant, aaaaand… Location!
This is not a God who walks in the cool of the evening. This is a God who slaps you for snoring and disrupting the peace.
In the book of Deuteronomy, God, identified here as YHWH, loves retribution. If Israel obeys YHWH, they receive immense blessings (Deut. 28:1-14). If Israel disobeys, however, the curses are cataclysmic (disease, drought, famine, and ultimately, exile).
We’ve now entered the realm of my favorite concept in undergrad, lex talionis. That is the Latin legal principle of exact and proportional retaliation… which is especially underscored as “eye for an eye.” Leviticus, where this specific concept is fleshed out, says:
“Anyone who maims another shall suffer the same injury in return: fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; the injury inflicted is the injury to be suffered.” (Lev. 24:19–20, NRSVue)
This is echoed, more bleakly I believe, in Deuteronomy:
“Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.” (Deut. 19:21)
This is the Law of the Lord: show no pity. Jesus will later correct this (cf. Matt. 5:38–39). Shockingly, writing this post, I am learning that… Jesus was right. As an agnostic, especially one with a penchant for the Hebrew Bible, I feel this is notable.
So, this God loves retribution. And yet, it does not end there. In Deuteronomy 6:4–5, God demands the love of the Israelites. This God becomes a “jealous God” (Deut. 6:15), who does not tolerate the worship of rival deities. This, of course, requires absolute, undivided allegiance.
“So acknowledge today and take to heart that the Lord is God in heaven above and on the earth beneath; there is no other.” (Deut. 4:39)
Honestly, what further commentary can I offer?! I decided to just jump to my next point, so as not to belabor the overall argument. This is God’s location, for Deuteronomy: “in heaven above” and “on the earth beneath.”
The God of the Whirlwind: Job
As an agnostic deeply devoted to the problem of suffering, Job has a special place in my heart. As many professors have said… shouldn’t I be writing on Job?
In issues of theodicy/suffering, as I often say, Job has been beaten to death. Job has suffered enough; surely he does not need a 21st-century American critiquing his theology. The man spoke to God; I should, as he did when he says:
“Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:6)
Ouch.
Job’s God is intensely sarcastic, overwhelming, and transcendent, but crucially, God shows up. When God speaks from the whirlwind in Job 38-41, the divine response is essentially a cosmic flex: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding” (Job 38:4). It is terrifying, yes, but for Job, it is strangely validating. The creator of the universe cared enough to arrive and scold him. The fear of Job’s God is the fear of standing too close to a roaring fire.
So this God is just… this God is painfully just.
Still, no matter how many times I hear the story, God “replacing” Job’s children at the end… I swear this is the worst literary resolve in history. But this is why I studied Ecclesiastes, not Job.
Deutero-Isaiah: The Book of Consolation
The average reader would expect my primary analysis to situate Ecclesiastes with Job, or perhaps Proverbs since “Solomon wrote both.” Nope. Instead, I find the greatest theological interlocutor for Qoheleth is none other than Deutero-Isaiah, or Second Isaiah.
Now, Second Isaiah is NOT an extrabiblical book. Let’s do some source criticism. Isaiah is an extremely long book. Prior to studying theology, I found it all but impossible to read the book. It isn’t just long; it’s long-winded.
Then I met source criticism. Now, I generally despise source criticism. The documentary hypothesis disgusts me. It asserts that the Torah is composed of 5 separate sources—J (Yahwist), E (Elohist), D (Deuteronomist), and P (Priestly)—that were compiled by an anonymous editor. In recent years, this concept has become frowned upon in theological circles. And rightfully so. Yet, I still know at least one professor who deeply loves the documentary hypothesis.
But it is useful in some cases, such as the present. As Isaiah is ostensibly long, we can divide it into three sections:
- Proto-Isaiah (Is. 1-39): Attributed to the 8th-century BCE prophet Isaiah of Jerusalem. Focuses on judgment, warning against foreign alliances, and prophecies concerning Assyria.
- Deutero-Isaiah (Is. 40-55): Also called “The Book of Consolation,” often considered the work of an anonymous prophet living during the Babylonian Exile (6th century BCE). It features comfort, promises of return, and the “Servant Songs.”
- Trito-Isaiah (Is. 56–66): Focuses on the challenges of rebuilding the community and some ethical issues.
Whether you accept three different authors or not, you can accept that there are three different sections. This second source is grounded in the Babylonian Exile, wherein the Israelites have lost everything. The strict Deuteronomic “math” (obey = blessing, disobey = curse) has seemingly resulted in their total annihilation.
Now that we’ve had a seminary-level excursus on source criticism, let’s return to the topic at hand. Deutero-Isaiah literally begins with this:
“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.”
The time of punishment is over. The suffering of the exile is coming to an end. Now, God is showing up. Not only is God showing up, God is providing tender and affectionate care. It is a recurring theme throughout the book:
“Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on his suffering ones.” (Is. 49:13)
“I, I am he who comforts you; why then are you afraid of a mere mortal who must die, a human being who fades like grass?” (Is. 51:12)
Conclusion: The Most Complex Character in Literary History
This is the longest blog post I have ever written. It has become a research paper. We’ve examined numerous texts and theologies. My thesis director would bite my head off for not being “granular.” I do not apologize.
It’s necessary, as you will see in the coming weeks. We need to take a step back and look at the larger picture. And yet, the “larger picture” here is quite small! Those who have followed this blog for some time might expect Amos to make an appearance here. Amos does not.
So, then, why? Why have I made you look at several different conceptions of God in the Hebrew Bible? Well, I cannot spoil the surprise. But if we are going to really zero in on one particular theology, namely that of Ecclesiastes, I feel it is essential to consider who God is throughout the texts.
The God of the Old Testament, I argue, is chaotic. This God created the world and is jealous of one nation’s worship (Torah). Yet, the God of the Hebrew Bible also iterates that “I have also created the ravager to destroy” (Is. 54:16) and “I form light and create darkness.” This very same God, however, is the ultimate comforter, as Deutero-Isaiah begins.
In Job, God is essentially a cosmic bully. A righteous man is tortured over a divine argument between the CEO and CFO of the universe. His children die. In return, he gets… well, new children. And despite his suffering, he is literally taunted by God for his cries.
The most complex character in literary history. God. In the Hebrew Bible, I do not find an “angry God.” Again, I find a chaotic God. One who is tender and loving one moment, yet destroying works and inflicting pain the next. This makes the “fear of God” a little less warm and fuzzy than the Sunday school depictions—and most seminary classes too.
Now, I must clarify that although I am agnostic, I do not find these depictions contradictory. Contradiction is a word beloved by most in my position: the skeptics with curiosity about religion. But I hate it. Especially in this instance. And that is a development in my theology as a result of my thesis. After graduating from Liberty University, dissatisfied of course, I looked up to Bart Ehrman, a progressive (and fellow agnostic) Bible scholar. He finds these portrayals to be deeply contradictory, and thus problematic.
I disagree. Everyone has a different idea of who God is. The writers of the Bible were no different. They may have disagreed—or, they may have just understood different experiences.
It is not contradictory, but it raises some necessary questions. How do Christians reconcile a loving God with a God who destroys and tortures? How do those with religious trauma cope with such a God? And how do the agnostic and atheist perceive a God who seems to be checking all their boxes, specifically contradictory?
I have learned to lean heavily on the definition of agnostic over the term itself: I do not know. As such, I cannot reconcile the God of my previous traditions with the God of the Hebrew Bible. I simply cannot.
But that is okay. I may not believe, but I am deeply curious.