Tag Archives: just for fun

Robinson adopting Paul’s style?

I may be completely alone in this, but I find humor in Paul’s remarks in 1 Cor 1.14-16:

I thank God that I baptized none of you except Cripus and Gaius, so that no one would say you were baptized in my name. Now I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized any other.

Every time I read this passage I hear the first bit (“I thank God . . .”) spoken with passion and definiteness. And then I imagine Paul thinking, “Oh crap, that’s not right”, before–under his breath, maybe or in hushed tones–mentioning the first half of the second bit (“Now I did . . .”), and then resuming the original passion and definiteness for the final claim, “beyond that . . .”.  It’s almost as though Paul’s desire to make a point got the better of him and he suddenly realized it, thus requiring some self-correction. (Or maybe Sosthenes chimed in and reminded Paul of what happened).

But there is something else about this passage that I appreciate, and that is Paul’s decision to leave the self-correction in the text for everyone to see. Sure, since this comment was early on the in letter, Paul could have said, “Scrap that and let’s start again.” But he doesn’t. It’s almost as though he’s saying: “See, I’m not perfect; I screw up from time to time. But I’m willing to own up to it.” Could this be a part (or an illustration) of the wider argument he is making to the Corinthians? Maybe.

However, answering that question is not the point of this post. This post is about something I noticed this morning while reading a little handbook on Romans. I found what looks to be John Robinson adopting Paul’s style:

Perhaps the easiest way to picture the progress of the epistle is as though you were making a journey by canal across an isthmus. You could imagine the epistle going from Corinth to Rome across the isthmus of Corinth, though the first canal was not in fact begun until about ten years after Paul was writing. It was started by the emperor Nero in 66-67 with a work-force largely composed of indentured Jewish slaves, and then abandoned unfinished. Until that time, smaller vessels were apparently dragged over bodily on some sort of slipway. But imagine, for the sake of the exercise . . .

–J.A.T. Robinson, Wrestling with Romans (1979), 9

It’s as though Robinson realizes, as soon as he writes it, that his analogy is crap–or at least historically inappropriate–and has to correct himself. Hence the over-qualification. As with Paul, what’s interesting in this case is that Robinson retains the analogy for the sake of his argument (which is quite good, by the way) and we get to see it–despite its inappropriateness. Any other writer today would rework the argument or come up with a different analogy for the final manuscript so as to avoid embarrassment. Not Robinson. And that’s commendable.

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human error and bible translation

C. Michael Patton posted a brief list of mistakes in various Bible translations since the 16th century. Some are quite funny, and others invite a chorus of, “Oh my”. What I found a bit humorous was that the majority of the mistakes came from the (so-called) divinely inspired, sovereignly protected, infalliable, only true translation: the KJV.

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my desktop

Screen Shot 2012-12-05 at 15.05.47

Clutter-free, for once.

What’s your desktop?

(imitating Jim West)

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and we learn the easy way…

…what happens when you don’t use (or notice) spell-check:

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quotes for the morning

In the opening portion of his book, Here and There in the Greek New Testament (1898), Lemuel Potwin articulates the essential traits (or qualities) for exegetes of the NT.* Two stood out from the others, simply because their practicality (and dare I say necessity) is sometimes overlooked.  First:

Sympathy with the writer.  The New Testament was written with a religious intent. To understand it fully we must have a religious spirit. We go with the writer and put ourselves in his place. This  is not in conflict with the open mind [trait #1], for with open mind we get as near as possible to the writer in order to catch his thought and feeling, which together make his meaning. . . . Indeed it is a literary axiom that a writer, to be appreciated, must have a large measure of sympathy. “Not to sympathize is not to understand.” This need of religious sympathy is emphasized by the inspiration of the writers. The reader needs the same Spirit. Further, [and this is the point I wanted to stress] as the New Testament has several authors, this sympathy must be individualized. The matter-of-fact Mark, the mystical John, the warm-hearted Peter, and the profound enthusiast Paul, cannot be read well, all with the same feeling. The ideal exegete will enter into the mental states, and even the moods of each one. . . . (p. 13)

And second:

A logical power that is flexible and adaptive. If the New Testament were a collection of orations, like those of Demosthenes, or a continuous treatise, there would be full scope for formal logic and rhetoric. As it is, there is, perhaps, equal, but different, need of logic. The book to be expounded is made up largely of familiar conversations, off-hand speeches, and letters. The course of thought is often abruptly broken; diverse topics are packed together; the feelings press hard on the intellect; the graces of style are unknown or ignored. The well-trained logician finds the logic elusive, but it is there; only it requires mental nimbleness to follow and seize it. Rigidity will fail. There is danger, on the other hand, that different subjects that are brought together simply by rapid speech, or condensed report, be forced into an artificial logical connection. (p. 15)

And a third little gem, just because of its pointedness (or, pointiness):

A knowledge of human nature and quick perception of its springs of action. A mere book-worm cannot be a good expositor, because the New Testament is full of human life. Characters must be understood in order to understand their language. The ancients are not statues in gallery of art. We see them, real and living, in ourselves and our neighbors. Yet our knowledge of human nature must be broad, so that we shall not attribute nineteenth [or 21st] century manners to the men and women of the Bible. [Here's the pointy bit:] This is about the same as to say that the exegete must have common sense. (p. 15)

* He gives 20 +1 distinct traits, all of which are insightful.  (I say “+1″ because the last reflectively asks: “Must, then, one be a Meyer, or a Lightfoot, before he attempt to explain a book that, without explanation, is already plain enough to bring joy and salvation to the humblest mind?” [24]. Don’t worry, Potwin goes on to say the traits are more like an ideal or standard).

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hermeneutical question

This is well outside my norm, but I’m up for a little controversy today. Here you go (it’s a two-parter):

Is it possible to reconcile the command in 1 Cor 7.5 with the exhortation in 1 Thess 5.17?  If so, how would you do it?

The floor is open to serious, whimsical and even sarcastic responses.

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my 2011 blogging summary

This was sent to me by the lovely people at WordPress. Admittedly, this summary is not really substantial in terms of content; I’m sure the one sent to Jim West nearly rivalled Jacob Neusner’s CV. Despite the brevity of mine, it was rather interesting to see the stats. So, for your enjoyment (or boredom), here’s the stuff:

Crunchy Numbers

  • A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,300 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 55 trips to carry that many people.
  • In 2011, there were [76] new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to [198] posts. There were 25 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 19mb. That’s about 2 pictures per month.
  • The busiest day of the year was October 22nd with 169 views. The most popular post that day was On Pliny’s ostrich and reactive behaviour.

Stalkers (er, How They Found Me)

  • Some visitors came searching, mostly for ‘peripatetic learning,’ ‘scared ostrich,’ ‘ostrich scared,’ ‘ostrich burying head,’ and ‘the middle of the earth allen austin.’

Where They Come From (with some added details)

  • Most visitors came from the United States.
    • Top five places, with numbers: California (187), Georgia (92), Ohio (67), Texas (49) and Florida (29)
  • The United Kingdom & Australia were not far behind.
    • Top five from UK, with numbers: Gloucestershire (297), London (40), Birmingham (13), Wiltshire (6) and Cambridgeshire (5)
    • Top five from Australia, with numbers: Western Australia (24), New South Wales (19), Victoria (7), Queensland (6) and South Australia (6)

Who Commented the Most (I’m editing this one slightly; WordPress’ details were a bit off–no offence)

Most Viewed Posts (the Top Ten, with numbers)

Most Commented Post (I’m adding this one, just for fun)

So there you go. Happy days. The (tentative) goal will be to do better and more this year. Thanks to everyone who has wandered here and interacted with this blog in some way. I appreciate your digital company. Have a wonderful new year!

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words being Fry-ed

For the past two Sundays evenings my lovely bride and I have been watching a series by the inimitable, Stephen Fry.*  The series is called, “Fry’s Planet Word” and for those able to access BBC iPlayer, episode 1 is here and episode 2 is here.

To speak generally, Fry in episode 1 explores not only the nature of language as a distinctly human characteristic but also its evolution, especially the 2000+ languages that ostensibly emerge from a single tongue. Along the way Fry intimates a concern about the apparent devolution of language (or, linguicide–as he will later call it) brought about by the advancement and development of the ‘global village’, where a small number of languages are becoming the lingua franca of this village. The concern is therefore not with the interrelationships with other peoples and cultures that can be and are formed; instead the concern is with the loss of particular languages that are essential to the unique identities of those peoples and cultures.

Then, and retaining the generality of my comments, Fry in episode 2 picks up the theme of ‘language as identity’ and places it at the forefront of his investigation. Specifically Fry examines accents and dialects not only as unique in form and character but also inextricably bound to people’s sense of self. It is here that the concern intimated in episode 1 receives explicit attention. The attention falls on those languages or dialects that have struggled to survive, not because of the history (or, historical existence) of the language or dialect of a particular people but because that language or dialect retains, reflects and recalls the history of the people who possess it. Hence Fry’s (appropriate and needed) concern: if a language or dialect is lost, the identity of those who possess it is also lost; and that loss would truly be a tragedy, especially if the loss was the result of a desire to create a linguistic homogeny suitable for life within the global village.

I’ll end this post with a quote from the conclusion of episode 2, followed by a slight reapplication.  While the context of this quote is people’s fascination with identifying themselves with a particular football club, the substance of Fry’s remarks apply to things beyond that fascination.

Those who say, ‘Well, it doesn’t matter to me; I have no sense of identity. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m British. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m English. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m from Shropshire or Yorkshire or Kent or Norfolk.’ Maybe they’re right, but I can’t feel like that; I have this . . . I can’t help but belong. I think it was Clemenceau, the French Prime Minister of the earlier part of the 20th century, who said he was a patriot but he wasn’t a nationalist. And they said to him, ‘What do you mean by that?’ He said, ‘Well, I think a patriot loves his country but a nationalist hates everybody else’s country.’ (56.54–57.33)

To broaden the application of Fry’s comments: patriotism is people loving and cherishing specific aspects of their culture or nation, those things that make them who they are and distinguish them from others cultures or nations; but that does not mean they necessarily hate those who are unlike them. Nationalism, on the other hand, is people arrogantly perceiving aspects of their culture or nation as so unique and superior that such things must become universal for other cultures or nations. Nationalism is hateful because it has little-to-no regard, respect or love for the unique and historically rich identity of others.

* Stephen Fry is one of several people in the UK I would love to meet. So if Fry is reading this, or if someone has connections: if ever in Cheltenham, then coffee, tea or lunch–my treat.

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cruising around

For those of you (not on Facebook) who have not seen these and would like to do so, here is a small collection of photos from our recent cruise to Amsterdam and Copenhagen.  I say ‘small collection’ because I only posted about 110 of the 430 pictures I took.  I may post the others later.

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found, but apparently still lost

YahooTravel supplies us with a captivating look at ‘10 lost cities of the world‘.[1] Forbes.com runs the same story but adds five cities to the list. These sorts of categorisations make me laugh primarily because such places are not lost; they’re found, and have been so for quite some time. If these cities were truly lost, we would not be reading about it on Yahoo or Forbes . . . or anywhere else, for that matter. Why? Because they would be lost–i.e. unseen by us. ‘Lost cities’? Give me a break; the Yahoo and Forbes writers aren’t fooling anyone (I hope).

Despite the misnomer, one thing about the pictures is unmistakable: the ancients were incredible in their skill.

[1] What I found interesting was that the above headline is what the article says, but the header in the internet window reads: ’10 Cities of the Lost World,’ which carries a different meaning.

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