This is the second post in a series I’m calling Tough Questions.  To read the intro to the series, click here.  To read the first post, click here. 

 Today’s question: “How do I understand contradictions within the Bible?”

Wendy and I have been looking at houses.  We went out this past Saturday with our realtor and look at a bunch.  There was one I really liked.  It was an old farmhouse that had fallen in disrepair.  There were two downed trees in the back yard, several of the windows were broken out, and much of the exterior wood was decaying.   Before we could move in, it would need a full overhaul.  Despite all of this, even before we’d gone inside, I believed this was the house for us.   As we toured the property with our realtor, I made excuses for major problems.   I heard phrases coming from my mouth like, “Sure every inch of this ceiling has paint pealing off, and yes, that paint is probably lead based, but I’m sure we can simply scrape and repaint it.”  Or, “Wow!  Look at that tree root growing up right through the floor.  How many houses have character like that?”  Or, “Sure the kitchen ceiling is currently being supported by giant iron car jacks, but I bet that would be a great spot for some new columns.”

Then we to see a different house.  It was near a college.  The moment we pulled up to it, I knew it was not the house for us.  As I walked through the first floor I immediately discovered all kinds of problems.   I found where a new wall had been added to create a separate living space from the kitchen and I questioned the logic of the construction, “Why would you put that there?  That’s dumb.”   As Wendy and our realtor discussed the beauty of the newly renovated kitchen, I loudly proclaimed, “There’s no place to put the dinning room table.  Where would we fit our table?”   Walking through the second floor, I joked with Wendy about the small closets and oddly shaped rooms.  All of my suspicions were confirmed when we visited the basement.   The space was divided into four small bedrooms.  All the walls were covered with a strange, plastic wall board.  ”Well we would have to completely redo all of this!” I declared disparagingly.

We won’t be buying either house.  Much to my disappointment, as we left the farmhouse we ran into some workmen who told us it was scheduled to be burned to the ground by the Baltimore Fire Department.   I was thankful to discover second house was out of our price range.

You may now be asking, “Why was I willing to excuse the utter desolation of the farmhouse, but searched for problems in the college house?”

It comes down to trust.   Because of past experiences, I’m prone to trust old construction over new.  I approached the ancient farmhouse with a foundation of trust, with a bias that “in the olden days” they did things “the right way.”  Conversely, I approached the newly renovated house with a foundation of mistrust, with a bias that “new construction” is shifty and suspect because present day builders are “all about money and just trying to rip me off.”

These biases I have are not factually based.  They are not informed by a study or backed by evidence.   They were assemble through my interpretation of past events.  To deny or criticize there existence is fruitless.  Fortunately I see them and recognize that if I’m going to ever buy a newly renovated house, I’m going to have to work get over them.  The most dangerous bias is the undiscovered one.

Trust is a funny thing.  It’s presence or absence shapes our perspective.

This effect of trust effects more than houses.  It is true of our approach to the Bible as well.  When trust is present, I find I’m more willing to forgive contradictions in the text.  When fueled by mistrust, I see nothing be problems and discrepancies.

There has been a lot written about contradictions within the Bible.  Typically the discussion is dominated by two extremes.  There are the “there are no contradictions in the Bible” side.   They are opposed by the “the Bible is a giant mess of holes and discrepancies” team.  I’ve read arguments from both extremes and don’t find myself drawn to pitch a tent in either camp.

The contradictions I’ve seen sited I believe can be classified into three different types:

Inner-Text Contradictions – these are contradictions within a book of the Bible (when Genesis contradicts itself), or when one thing  an author says conflicts with something else the same author has said.
Cross-Text Contradictions - this is when one writer or book disagrees with another writer or book.
Character Contradictions - this is when a statement about God’s character appears to disagree with a an action God takes in the narrative.

I’m going to discuss each separately and explain how trust (or the lack there of) shapes my response.

Inner-Text Contradictions

The most glaring example of this type of contradiction can be found in the first and second chapter of Genesis.  When I read the opening book of the Bible I find two very different creation stories.

In chapter one: plants come first, then animals, and then people.  In chapter two: Adam comes first, then plants, then animals, then Eve.
In chapter one: God is a faceless power who speaks things into existence.  In chapter two: God is elbow deep in mud.  He’s putting Adam to sleep and pulling out ribs.  And He is breathing life into stuff.
In chapter one: there is a grand view of creation.  Things are describe on a big scale.  In chapter two: rivers are named and special trees are described.

When I put on my “mistrustful cynic” hat, I see these two different stories and think, “This author was an idiot.  Clearly when he was copying texts he was not paying attention.”   My assumption is that the authors of  Genesis took two radically different creation stories and slammed them together without making any attempt to smooth them out.  My picture is of an editor who is in to much of a hurry to check his work.  Sadly once the book had gone to press, others couldn’t question it because it had already been declared to be “holy.”

The bias of mistrust toward Inner-Textual contradictions always ends in me assuming a position of superiority based on my privileged perspective from modernity.  ”If only those ancients,” I say to myself as I condescendingly shake my head, “were products of the Enlightenment as I am, then they would have recognized their foolish mistakes before they published their book and would have picked a single creation story.  Silly ancients and their silly-silly ways.”

When I come to these stories with a foundation of trust, my response if radically different.  ”Why,” I ask myself, “would the author leave in two stories so clearly in contradiction with one another?”  Trusting the unknown source knew the discrepancy existed when he published Genesis, I look for meaning in the difference.  ”What is he trying to tell me through the contrast?”    With trust as a foundation, Genesis 1 and 2 become a beautiful conversation about the complexity of God and creation.  When I read it is as if the ancient authors are whispering to me, “This God is to vast to explain with one story.  He is in both.”

When it comes to Inner-Textual Contradictions, I choose to approach them with a foundation of trust, because the arrogance of mistrust leaves me feeling sad and exhausted.

I’m going to stop here for length issues.  Tomorrow I’ll post the second half of this essay in which I discuss the two other forms of contradictions and then talk about how trust is won and lost.