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In "God Is Watching You: How the Fear of God Makes Us Human," Dominic Johnson explores the evolutionary and psychological origins of religious beliefs, arguing that our fear of supernatural punishment has played a key role in the development of human societies. He examines how the belief in a powerful, all-seeing deity has shaped our moral behavior, social cohesion, and cultural evolution throughout history. Johnson's thought-provoking analysis sheds light on the enduring influence of religion on human behavior and society.

Katharina Luther

Katharina Luther Katharina von Bora (l. 1499-1552, also known as Katherine Luther) was a former nun who married Martin Luther (l. 1483-1546) in 1525. She, along with some fellow nuns, escaped their convent with Luther's help in 1523 in response to his reform movement. Katharina is recognized as the stabilizing force in Luther's life, enabling his later works. Almost nothing is known of her life prior to 1523, and the details of her married life come mostly from Luther's letters. She was the undisputed administer of their home and finances, tending to all the necessary practical matters and allowing Luther the time and space to write, preach, and lecture. In addition to her domestic duties, she also bore Luther six children, ran their farm, supervised servants, operated a successful brewery, and assisted Luther in developing his Church. Her marriage to Luther – a former nun to a former priest – set the paradigm followed by many others and established the model of an ecclesiastical marriage. After Luther's death, she was forced to leave Wittenberg during the Schmalkaldic War (1546-1547) and fled to Magdeburg. Upon her return, she found her lands destroyed and struggled to make a living until 1552 when she left for the city of Torgau. She died there on 20 December 1552. She is celebrated annually on 20 December by some, though not all, Lutheran denominations, though all recognize her contributions to the Protestant Reformation. Katharina von Bora is thought to have been born on 29 January 1499, though her birth date is not recorded. Her parents were untitled lesser nobility, but who they were is debated. Based on different documentation, they were either Johan von Bora (also given as Jan von Bora) and his wife Margarete of Lippendorf or Hans von Bora and his wife Anna von Haugwitz of Hirschfeld. When her mother died c. 1504, her father remarried and sent Katharina to the cloister of Saint Clemens in Brehna to be taken under care and raised as a nun. Sending one's daughter off to a convent was an option taken by many parents who either had too many girls and not enough resources to provide dowries for them all or who wanted to provide them with security and education, or both. A young girl like Katharina would have been admitted as an oblate, studied to become a novice, and then would take the vows to become a full nun sometime around the age of 20. Many women, of any age, chose the monastic life for themselves, however, preferring it to the uncertainty of married life and the dangers of childbirth. Scholars Frances and Joseph Gies comment: For upper-class women, the convent filled several basic needs. It provided an alternative to marriage by receiving girls whose families were unable to find them husbands. It provided an outlet for nonconformists, women who did not wish to marry because they felt a religious vocation, because marriage was repugnant, or because they saw in the convent a mode of life in which they could perform and perhaps distinguish themselves. (64) Convents were also used by the upper class to protect their daughters from political rivals who might try to abduct them and, conversely, to hold powerful or potentially powerful women who had already been abducted, but for many women, the daily life of medieval nuns was freely chosen. In Katharina's case, the decision was made for her. She was educated by the nuns at Brehna until she was around ten years old when she moved to the convent of Marienthorn in Nimbschen, where a maternal aunt was in residency. Katharina would have had to submit to the authority of the abbess who ran the convent and live the monastic life obediently, which included daily routines of prayers, services, tending gardens, domestic chores, and, in some cases, illuminating manuscripts or preparing prayer books. Nuns were also expected to learn needlework so as to embroider the vestments of priests and, in most cases, perform outreach incentives in the community and tend the sick. Nuns could come and go from the convent, but their interactions with the outside world were strictly monitored. Based on later evidence from her married life, Katharina became adept at this time in nursing, administration, agriculture, domestic chores, and beer brewing, as she showed exceptional skill in all these areas, and more, shortly after her marriage to Luther. After Martin Luther's 95 Theses had been translated into German and published in 1518, news of his conflict with the Church would have reached Nimbschen in 1518 or 1519 at the latest. The conflict escalated throughout 1520, culminating in Luther's burning of the papal bull in December and his excommunication in January 1521. Katharina's Escape After Luther's appearance at the Diet of Worms in April 1521, where he defied papal authority and defended his works criticizing Church policy and practice, his popularity – and notoriety – grew. He was already a well-known figure prior to Worms, and the Church and civil authorities, recognizing him as a threat to the status quo, declared him an outlaw and heretic through the Edict of Worms in May 1521. Luther's regional sovereign, Frederick III (the Wise, l. 1463-1525) secured him in his castle at Wartburg, where Luther continued to write and translated the New Testament into German. Among his many criticisms of church policy was monastic life, which he claimed was unnatural and unbiblical. These views may have circulated around Marienthorn prior to 1521 but certainly would have afterwards, even if the abbess had tried to silence them. Exactly how Katharina first learned of Luther's criticisms is unknown, but she had embraced them by 1523 when she wrote him directly asking for his help. She and a few other nuns of Marienthorn (the number of them is given at either eight or twelve) wished to leave the convent and required his assistance. This was no small matter since abducting a nun or helping her leave the monastic life was a criminal offense. Scholar Gwen Seabourne comments: The gates of the convent allowed movement in both directions, and both church and secular authorities had an interest in keeping them under surveillance. Royal concern was with disorderly conduct and security of convents at a time when they might be used to house royal or noble women and also to confine the daughters of dangerous opponents. A statute of 1285 made removal of nuns from their convents an offense which might result in a prison sentence, compensation to the convent, and a payment to the king. The offense was that of the person removing the nun, rather than the nun herself, so liability was incurred whether or not the nun consented to her removal. (2) This statute could only be enforced by the authorities of the region in which the offense took place, however, and if one could remove the nun to another principality, which chose not to enforce it, punishment could be avoided. Luther arranged to have a well-respected merchant, Leonard Kopp, help free the nuns in the region under Duke George and bring them to Wittenberg, which was controlled by Frederick III. Kopp regularly delivered herring to the convent, and on the Eve of the Resurrection (Easter Eve) 1523, Kopp made his delivery and then hid the nuns in his wagon and rode out through the gates. Scholar Roland H. Bainton, who maintains the number of the nuns was twelve, writes: Three returned to their own homes. The remaining nine arrived in Wittenberg. A student reported to a friend, "A wagonload of vestal virgins has just come to town, all more eager for marriage than for life. God grant them husbands lest worse befall." Luther felt responsible to find for them all homes, husbands, or positions of some sort. An obvious solution was that he should dispose of one case by marrying himself. (293) As Luther had hoped, Frederick III did nothing about the statute of 1285, and the newly arrived nuns were free to marry or return to their families. Luther first tried to place them back with their parents, but this did not work as the families refused to be implicated in a crime, and further, many simply could not afford to support a daughter, much less one who had renounced her vows and would be difficult to find a husband for. Marriage After exhausting the option of returning the women to their former homes, Luther set about finding them husbands himself. Scholar Lyndal Roper observes: Luther needed to settle the women in respectable marriages as soon as possible to avoid malicious gossip, and thus found himself in the unexpected position of marriage broker. As a result, the situation forced him to think about female desire…It may have been that the subject came to mind because he was beginning to be tempted himself. (264) By 1525, Luther had found respectable matches or positions for all of the nuns except Katharina, who was first placed as a servant in the home of the clerk Philipp Reichenback and then of the artist Lucas Cranach the Elder. Luther arranged at least two matches for her, neither of which worked out, and heard from his friend Nikolaus von Amsdorf that she had said she would marry only Amsdorf or Luther, but preferred Luther. Luther, although he had advocated for the marriage of former priests and nuns, did not consider it an option for himself as he had been condemned as a heretic and an outlaw in 1521, knew there was always the chance he could be arrested and executed, and did not want to inflict that loss on a wife. There was also the concern, voiced by his friend Philip Melanchthon (l. 1497-1560) and others that marriage would detract from his public image as a selfless champion of the faith and possibly derail the reform movement. Still, some of his friends, like Amsdorf, suggested he marry Katharina to resolve her problem and also make a statement for the new faith on the respectability of a marriage between two former ecclesiastics of the Church. Luther, Amsdorf suggested, should practice what he preached and show others by example how a marriage could work. Bainton notes: [Luther] did not respond seriously to the suggestion until he went home to visit his parents. What he related, probably as a huge joke, was taken by his father as a realistic proposal. His desire was that his son should pass on the name. The suggestion began to commend itself to Luther for quite another reason. If he was to be burned at the stake within a year, he was hardly the person to start a family. But by marriage he could at once give a status to Katherine and a testimony to his faith. In May 1525 he intimated that he would marry Katie before he died. (294) Katharina von Bora and Martin Luther were married on 13 June 1525 in a small ceremony and held a larger celebration on 27 June. They were given the former Augustinian dormitory (the so-called Black Cloister) as a home by John, Elector of Saxony, brother of Frederick III. The Black Cloister was a large building surrounded by fertile land, which the Luthers immediately opened to anyone in need of lodging, a policy that would remain in effect for the next 20 years. Daily Life, Children, & Table Talk Luther gave three reasons for his marriage: "to please his father, to spite the pope and the Devil, and to seal his witness before martyrdom" (Bainton, 295). At first, he gave no indication that he actually cared for Katharina herself, but soon after their marriage, he declared "I would not exchange Katie for France or for Venice, because God has given her to me" (Bainton, 294). Luther's affection for his wife is evident in his letters in which he praises her as a treasure, as "Doctor Luther," "The Lady of Zulsdorf" (their farm), "My Lord Katie," and "My Katie". Katharina's affection is evident in how she cared for her husband, even though he presented a number of challenges. Bainton comments: Marriage brought new financial responsibilities because neither of them started with a cent. Katherine's mother died when she was a baby. Her father consigned her to a convent and married again. He did nothing for her now. Luther had only his books and his clothes. He was not entitled to the revenues of the cloister, since he had abandoned the cowl. He took never a penny from his books and his university stipend was not enough for matrimony. In 1526 he installed a lathe and learned woodworking that in case of need he might be able to support his family. But one may doubt whether he ever took this thought seriously. He was minded to give himself exclusively to the service of the Word and he trusted that the heavenly Father would provide. His faith in God's providence placed Katharina in the role of provider and sustainer of the household, which would eventually include their six children – Hans, Elizabeth (who died young), Magdalena (who died at age 13), Martin, Paul, and Margarete – four orphans they took in from Katharina's side of the family, and assorted others seeking temporary or long-term shelter. Additionally, there were Luther's friends, students, and admirers, who came to hear him speak around the dinner table and had to be provided with food and drink. Student boarders provided steady income, but at various times, there were as many as 25 people in the home who needed to be fed. Katharina tended a small farm, cultivated an orchard, created a fishpond for fresh catches, maintained a yard of hens and ducks, and kept cows and pigs, which she slaughtered and dressed herself. She also brewed her own beer, said to be of high quality, which she sold and also used for the household. Further, she took great care of Luther's health which was never robust. Bainton writes: He suffered at one time or another from gout, insomnia, catarrh, hemorrhoids, constipation, stone, dizziness, and ringing in the ears. Katie was a master of herbs, poultices, and massage. Her son Paul, who became a doctor, said his mother was half one. (299) She supported her husband completely and was treated by him as an equal, always present at the gatherings which came to be known as Table Talk, during which Luther would hold forth on various issues after dinner and plenty of his wife's beer. Those in attendance would write down anything he said and later edited and published their collected pieces totaling 6,596 entries. Katharina told Luther at the time he should charge them for taking down his words, but he would not allow it. As usual, she complied with his wishes and continued her support, allowing him the intellectual and financial freedom to pursue his work. Throughout their marriage, Katharina was keenly aware of her husband's importance, but he was equally aware of how her support enabled him to pursue his work. His opponents regularly mocked and insulted Katherina personally and their marriage generally in pamphlets which Luther responded to with far greater wit and insight in defending her. Their happy marriage served as a model and inspiration for many others of the time and afterwards. Conclusion Luther died of a stroke on 18 February 1546, and Katharina, in a letter to her brother's wife, Christina von Bora, vented her grief over the loss, saying she could not eat or drink or sleep. Her loss was compounded by financial problems. Luther had left everything to her in his will but had not executed it properly, and she was denied her inheritance. While she was appealing to the authorities to rectify this, the Schmalkaldic War erupted between Luther's followers and the Catholic forces under Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. She fled to Magdeburg until the conflict ended with a Lutheran defeat in 1547 and then returned to Wittenberg, only to find the Black Cloister destroyed, her lands torn up, and all the animals gone. She was able to sustain herself there through the generosity of John Frederick I, Elector of Saxony, son of John the Elector who had given the Luthers the cloister when they married. In 1552, the plague reached Wittenberg, and Katharina left for Torgau, where she hoped to find better fortune and safety. She fell from her wagon outside the city's gates, breaking her hip, and then contracted an unknown disease which she died from on 20 December, aged 53. She was buried in the cemetery of Saint Mary's Church in Torgau and was largely forgotten afterwards as attention continued to be lavished on her husband. Scholarly studies of Katharina Luther in her own right only began in earnest in the 20th century and have been hampered by the scarcity of primary sources concerning her. Even so, her reputation has grown in the past 100 years as she has come to be better recognized. Torgau now hosts the museum dedicated to her as well as preserving the house she died in. Beginning in 2011, Torgau instituted an annual award for outstanding female achievement in social causes in Katharina's name, and she is celebrated as a strong woman of conviction and the emotional and practical support that allowed Marin Luther to fully develop his vision.

learning the lyrics of god

A preacher once told me, “Although I often read a psalm to people in the hospital, I would never consider preaching from a psalm because I do not know what to do with it.” Not knowing “what to do” with the poetry of the Bible has made biblical poetry a closed book to many Christians. Happily, it is a problem with a ready solution. We can learn “what to do” with the poetry of the Bible. The purpose of this article is to equip pastors, Bible teachers, and laypeople to handle the poetry of the Bible with zest and confidence. To achieve this purpose, I have divided my material into three topics, as follows: three common fallacies about poetry that need to be refuted the seven most important things you need to know about the poetry of the Bible three tips for handling the poetry of the Bible with confidence Three Fallacies About Poetry The first fallacy that we need to lay to rest is that poetry is beyond the reach of people today. In the past, say many people in the pew, poetry was a normal part of life, but that is no longer true. I increasingly hear of people pressuring Sunday school teachers to leave the poetry of the Bible untouched, and preachers have been influenced by the same trend of the time. There is no chronological factor whatsoever in the accessibility of poetry. People in Bible times were not in a privileged position in regard to poetry. The situation might actually be the reverse. Our own world is image-oriented, matching the way in which poetry relies on imagery (words naming concrete objects and actions). Additionally, people in an age of texting are accustomed to brief modes of communication, and poetry is likewise a compressed form of discourse. Equally fallacious is the claim that poetry is an unnatural form of discourse. People who make the claim incorrectly believe that prose is the natural form of communication, and poetry an aberration. All of us speak poetry part of the time. For example, we sing hymns, which begin as poems and become hymns only when music is added to them (after which they do not cease to be poems). We speak of the sun rising and setting, of game changers and cliff hangers, of killing time and juggling our schedule. All of these are poetic metaphors. Why do we use them? Because we correctly sense that poetic speech often conveys truth more effectively than literal prose. A third misconception is that poetry is unrelated to real life. This is doubly false. At the verbal level of the actual language used, poetry stays close to the everyday experiences of life. Biblical poets keep us rooted in a world of water and sheep and light and pathways. Additionally, at the level of content, poems have exactly the same subject as all other literature, namely, universal human experience. Both of these points — that poetic language and the content of poems put us in touch with everyday experience — were encapsulated in the title of a book on poetry:  Poetry and the Common Life . 1 Seven Things You Need to Know About Poetry Fiction writer Flannery O’Connor famously said that “the writer should never be ashamed of staring.” She meant that literary authors need to be close observers of life. Teachers of literature often adapt O’Connor’s statement and apply it to readers: readers, too, should never be ashamed of staring at a text. But we should not say this glibly. Merely staring at a poem in the Bible will yield meager results. We need to know what to look  for , which is to say that we need to know how poetry works. We can begin with seven things readers need to know about poetry. 1. We know that God expects us to understand and enjoy poetry. This is not a controversial claim. We know that God wants us to have poetry as a component of our spiritual lives because at least a third of the Bible comes to us in the form of poetry. Poetry is present throughout the Bible. For starters, we can think of books that are wholly or largely poetic in format: Psalms, Proverbs, Song of Solomon, and Job. But those are only the  obvious  places where we find poetry in the Bible. The books of Ecclesiastes and Revelation, though printed mainly as prose, are actually poetic in their technique. Jesus’s discourses are heavily poetic in their language, and it is no stretch to say that Jesus is one of the world’s most famous poets. Beyond these saturated poetic parts of the Bible, we find metaphors and other figures of speech on nearly every page of the Bible. The New Testament epistles feature passages like the following as a staple: “At one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light” (Ephesians 5:8). We can draw three conclusions from the fact that God gave us a poetic Bible. The first is that it gives us and our charges an incentive to embrace and master the poetry of the Bible. If God gave us poetry, he wants it to be present in our lives. Second, the heavy incidence of poetry in the Bible stands as a rebuke to people who disparage it and try to steer us away from it. God is not honored by lazy Bible readers who refuse to master the poetic parts of the Bible. Third, if poetry permeates the entire Bible, we need to be ready to recognize it wherever it appears, not just in the obviously poetic parts, and to deal with it as poetry. 2. Poetry requires a slow read. Poetry requires us to read it slowly and analytically. This stands in contrast to the trends of our time. To read slowly is the opposite of the speed reading that our culture encourages. Poetry also differs from genres such as expository prose and stories that carry their meaning largely on the surface. When I said earlier in this paragraph that poetry requires us to read it analytically, I did not mean  meditatively , though that is a good way to read everything in the Bible. Meditation is the reflection and application in which we engage after we have assimilated a text. By  analysis  I mean that poetry embodies its meanings in images and figures of speech that require us to unpack them. After we have done that, we can proceed to meditate on what we have uncovered. 3. Poets speak a language all their own. In resisting the claim that poetry is an unnatural form of discourse, I am not saying that poetry is our  normal  way of speaking. Poetry is a specialized form of discourse. But so is prose. In ordinary conversation, we often do not speak in prose (complete sentences that follow the rules of grammar). Instead, we speak an associative form of communication consisting of single words and phrases, disjointed and incomplete sentence fragments, arranged by stream of consciousness instead of formal syntax and logical argument. The drift of what I am saying is that the entire Bible, prose as well as poetry, requires analysis and unpacking. Very little in the Bible resembles the conversation at the local coffee shop. To return to the announced point, poets speak in what can be called a poetic idiom. It consists of images and figures of speech. All that this means is that we need to educate ourselves into the expectations of poetic discourse, just as we need to educate ourselves into how stories and epistles work. At this point, poetry is no different from the rest of the Bible: dealing with it competently depends on allowing the expectations of the genre to govern our encounter with a text. 4. Poets think in images and figures of speech. Poetry is a way of thinking and feeling before it is a form of speech or writing. Poets write in a poetic idiom because during the process of composition that is how they experience life and record it. As a byproduct of this, we need to credit poets with possessing a skill of expression and perception of the world that most people lack. But this does not separate poets from us; it only means that poets are our representatives. They say what we, too, want said, only they say it better and in a distinctive way. If poets think in images, so must we as readers. 5. Poetry is a form of logic. Modern poet Stephen Spender wrote in his famous essay “The Making of a Poem” that “the terrifying challenge” facing a poet is the question “Can I think out the logic of images?” 2  If we think of poetry as a form of logic, a door is opened into seeing it as more like ordinary speech than we might otherwise think. Logic means making an accurate connection between two things. We can always ask, Why did the poet use this image for this subject matter? Similarly with the comparisons (metaphors and similes) that poets continually spring on us: How is A like B? What is the logic of calling God a shepherd (Psalm 23:1), and the godly person a tree planted by a stream of water (Psalm 1:3)? 6. Poetry is an invitation to discover meaning. Poetry does not carry all of its meaning on the surface. In fact, it is akin to a riddle in the sense that it requires us to discover the meanings that a poet has embedded in the poetic texture of a poem (the images and figures of speech). The poet simply puts a figure of speech before us, such as “the name of the Lord is a strong tower” (Proverbs 18:10), and expects us to figure out the meanings of the comparison. Instead of chafing under this obligation, we and our audiences should relish the opportunity to be active in discovering God’s truth. Unpacking the meanings embedded in poetry can be a pleasurable experience, and additionally it is good at activating a Bible study group in a process of joint discovery. 7. Poetry is concentrated. An additional trait of poetry has been implied above, namely, that poetry is the most compressed form of discourse. Individual images and comparisons rarely embody just one meaning. When a biblical poet compares the experience of trusting in God to living in his house (Psalm 91:1), the meanings are multiple. None of these traits puts poetry beyond the reach of anyone. The real obstacle to reading the poetry of the Bible is not its alleged difficulty. It is instead unwillingness to spend the time and mental thought required to unpack the meanings that poetry embodies. Three Principles of Poetry In any sphere of life, our methods of accomplishing a task need to be based on an understanding of the principles involved. Perhaps you have shared my experience of trying to screw a bottle top onto a bottle, only to discover eventually that it needed to be pushed on instead. What follows is a section of methodology, equivalent to the first class meeting on poetry in my Bible-as-literature courses. What I am about to say should be understood as constituting “first things” when dealing with the poetry of the Bible. What we need to do first is master the actual poetic texture of a poem (the words, images, and figures of speech). After all, this is what embodies the content. We need to avoid putting matters of secondary importance ahead of analysis of poetic texture. I remember how shocked I was when a biblical scholar said that the first thing he would talk about with biblical poetry is parallelism. That is totally unhelpful. Poetic meaning is embodied in the poetic texture; parallelism is only the verse form in which the content is packaged. It is not unimportant, but it is far down on the agenda of topics that need to be addressed as we deal with a poem. Another preliminary point that I need to make is the distinction between  poetry  and  poem .  Poetry  is the language poets use, as I am about to discuss it. This language often goes by the name  the poetic idiom .  Poems  are compositions constructed out of poetic language. Many specific genres fill out the repertoire of poems — praise psalm, for example, or oracle of judgment, or Christ hymn. In the space at my disposal, I will concentrate on the essentials of  poetry . This is what gets shortchanged in conventional biblical scholarship and Bible study methods. I have divided my primer on poetic discourse into three principles. Poetic Principle 1: The Primacy of the Image An image is any word that names a concrete object or action. In Psalm 1:1, walking, standing, sitting, the way or path, and the seat are all images. I need immediately to note a complexity. In the Bible, “the straight image” is relatively rare. Most images in the Bible are part of a metaphor, simile, or symbol. The picture that Amos paints in his satiric portrait of the complacent wealthy of his society employs straight imagery. Thus, lying on beds of ivory (Amos 6:4) is an example of a straight image because it is not part of a metaphor or simile — the rich in Israel really were lying on beds of ivory. But analysis of a metaphor or simile needs to begin the same way we handle a straight image. In comparisons such as metaphors and similes (which I will shortly discuss), A is said to be like B. Every comparison of this type is an image first (level A), and the meanings we assign to this image at level A are then carried over to level B. This means that everything I am about to say about the primacy of the image in poetry applies to metaphors, similes, and symbols as well as straightforward images. Dealing with a poetic image starts at the literal level of identifying the exact nature of the image. This is usually but not always self-evident. In Psalm 121:6, the striking of the sun by day is obviously the threat of sun stroke and heat exhaustion, but the image in the next line of the striking of the moon by night requires research. Once we have the literal image correctly identified, we need to do three more things with it. First, an image requires us to determine its connotations, either universally or in the specific context of the poem where the image appears. Abiding in a shelter or house (Psalm 91:1) embodies connotations of safety, protection, provision, proximity to others living in the same house, and loving relationship. Second, images usually evoke feelings. Naming the feelings evoked by an image — determining its affective meanings — is an entirely legitimate and helpful form of commentary. Third, we need to explore the logic of an image. Logic involves making accurate connections between two things. To explore the logic of a poetic image means determining why the poet chose a particular image for the experience that is being presented. Before I move to my additional “first things” in regard to poetry, I need to take time out to say that I hope you are not impatient with my nuts-and-bolts approach to the poetry of the Bible. The reason poetry is not treated as poetry in our circles is that interpreters do not begin at the foundational level that I am delineating. I once surveyed what commentaries and study Bibles did with an image that appears more than half a dozen times in the Psalms — raising up a horn (e.g., Psalm 75:10; 89:17; 112:9; 148:14). None of my sources told me what the literal image is; all the attention was devoted to interpreting the conceptual meaning of the image. Poetry needs to be read and interpreted in terms of what it is, starting at the foundational level of its imagery. Poetic Principle 2: The Importance of Comparison or Analogy As far back as the oldest surviving piece of literary theory, Aristotle’s  Poetics , the ability to see resemblances has been regarded as the most crucial test of a poet’s ability. Analogy in poetry takes three forms: metaphor: an implied comparison between two things that does not use the explicit formula  like  or  as simile: an explicitly stated comparison that uses the formula  like  or  as symbol: an image that embodies meanings beyond the thing named Some will be surprised to see symbol on my list, but a symbol operates on the same principle of analogy that the other two do. A symbol has its literal identity (level A) and then adds one or more other meanings to it (level B). What is the effect when a poet draws our attention to a correspondence between two things? It is ingenious: the poet uses one area of human experience to illuminate or shed light on another area. In Psalm 23, a shepherd’s acts of provision for his sheep during a typical day illuminate how God provides for human needs. Poetic analogy is a form of logical equation, as one thing is said to be equivalent to something else. Another helpful term is the word  bifocal : in a metaphor, simile, and symbol, we are required to look at two things — the experience being presented and the image to which it is compared. What interpretive actions do poetic comparisons require us to perform? This is where the word  metaphor  is worth its weight in gold. The word is based on two Greek words meaning “to carry over.” That is exactly what we need to do. If “the tongue is a fire” (James 3:6), we first need to determine what the literal properties of fire are, and then we need to  carry over  those meanings to the subject of human words and speech. Poetry is concentrated, and it is a rare poetic analogy that has only one point of correspondence. Three things follow from what I have said. First, poetry is based on a principle of indirection. Poet Robert Frost said that poetry is a way of saying one thing while meaning another. The poet  says  that the name of the Lord is a strong tower (Proverbs 18:10); he  means  that God is a strong protector with whom we are safe. Second, metaphors, similes, and symbols are an invitation to discover meaning. The poets of the Bible state that A is like B, trusting us to complete the process of communication that they have begun. Third, merely labeling a figure of speech correctly is of very limited value. What matters is that we unpack the meanings embodied in a figure of speech. Poetic Principle 3: Poets’ Preference for the Nonliteral Let me first simply name additional figures of speech that occur so often in biblical poetry that we need to know what they are: apostrophe; synecdoche; metonymy; personification; allusion; paradox; merism. Definitions of these are available on the Internet; for a more analytic discussion of how they actually work, I recommend my book  A Complete Handbook of Literary Forms in the Bible . 3 Most of these figures of speech are fictional and often fantastic rather than factual or literal. In apostrophe, for example, a poet addresses someone not literally present (“O kings” in Psalm 2:10), or something that is inanimate and therefore incapable of hearing and responding (“mountains and all hills” in Psalm 148:9),  as though  these were present and capable of hearing and responding. It is no wonder the world has coined the label  poetic license . We need to handle the poetry of the Bible in the spirit in which it is offered to us, respecting the far-flung imagination of its poets. Embracing the Bible’s Poetry The foregoing has doubtless seemed like sitting in a college literature class. This is exactly what you need in order to read and teach and preach on biblical poetry with confidence. At the beginning of this article, I quoted a preacher who recalled the era of his life when he avoided preaching from the Psalms because he did not know “what to do” with a psalm. After he embraced a literary approach to the Bible along the lines of what I have said in this article, he no longer avoided preaching on biblical poetry. In this article, I have opened a door that can enable you to know what do with a biblical poem. I have one more challenge for you: if preachers and Bible study leaders would devote just two minutes in a sermon or Bible study session to teach or remind their audience of individual pieces of literary methodology, church members would quickly become adept at handling the Bible. A reminder of what a poetic image or analogy requires us to do, or that stories are made up of plot, setting, and character, would equip the person in the pew to deal with biblical texts in terms of what they really are. We have been guilty of a great abdication in this regard, but the remedy is straightforward. All it takes is resolve. M.L. Rosenthal,  Poetry and the Common Life  (New York: Persea Books, 1974). ↩ Stephen Spender,  The Making of a Poem  (New York: Norton, 1962), 54. ↩ Leland Ryken,  A Complete Handbook of Literary Forms in the Bible  (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2014). ↩

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