Note: This article is part of a series that will explore the useful concept of frameworks and their applications. Throughout the series, we'll examine how these frameworks influence our understanding of the world, our roles within it, and how they guide our actions and decisions.
In the previous articles in this series, we have delved into the immense utility of frameworks in our exploration and understanding of reality and our roles within it. By examining how these frameworks shape our perception and guide our actions, we have laid a foundation for understanding the hyper-utility of story as framework, thus preparing the way to explore some of the deeper narratives. Having explored some of the cross-cultural imagery from Greece and Mesopotamia shared with the biblical corpus, it’s worth exploring in this article the imagery and themes that run across both books of the Judeo-Christian ethic.
Thanks for reading The Pre-Postmodernist! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
The biblical corpus is, boiled down to its narrative essence, the story of Israel through the notable lineage of Adam, Seth, Noah, Shem, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and David, among others. It culminates in the story of Christ, the conclusion of that lineage, as the last King of Israel and the perfect man, the ideal. Christ is then imparted universally and metaphorically in the sense that the ideal human value, which Christ represents, is diffused beyond the boundaries of the prototypical Israel in a dissolution of the notions of Jew vs. Greek and slave vs. free. This establishes a concept of universal humanity in relation to objective truth, addressing each person's value on an individual level and removing distinctions of tribe, class, or status. And the ideal metaphorically comes alive in those who will sacrifice the parts of themselves that are inadequate in the pursuit of truth and reaching for their unique individual potential.
First Iteration: Cain and Abel
For an example of recurring motifs within this grand narrative, let’s first begin with the foundational story of Cain and Abel. Cain, the firstborn son of Adam and Eve, is a tiller of the soil. Abel, the second born, is a shepherd and keeper of sheep, a theme that consistently threads through the biblical narrative, embodied by figures such as David and Christ, reflecting the Jewish culture and the prominence of sheep husbandry in the region. Cain offers the produce he cultivated, representing the works of his hands, though God found it inadequate. Abel offered the blood sacrifice that pleased God. Cain rose up and slew his brother in spiteful rage. Abel having been slain, Adam and Eve gave birth to Seth, meaning appointed, in place of, or substitute. He was put in place of Abel, to offer appropriate sacrifice, and to be the continuity of the lineage of both Israel and Christ.
This birth order is important as it sets the precedent that becomes the divine exception to the customary rule, and for a very important reason. Cain the firstborn was not blessed by God for his sacrifice, which was found wanting. Instead, the second-born Abel was blessed, killed by his jealous brother, and substituted by his third-born brother, Seth. In the lineage to follow, it became customary, particularly after the Abrahamic lineage, for the firstborn son to receive the blessing and thereby become the family patriarch.
But in several key instances, particularly in the cases of Abel, Isaac, and Jacob, the second-born son received the blessing. Given the significance of these iterative cases, Abel as son of the first man, Isaac as son of the father of many nations, Abraham, and Jacob, who becomes Israel and progenitor of the Jewish nation, they are exceptions to paint an important picture.
Ishmael and Isaac: Divine Sacrifice Over Ordinary Effort
In exploring the second case of Isaac, it is important to understand the context around the lineage. Abraham had been promised by God that his physical lineage would be as plentiful as the stars. But Sarah, his wife, was in old age and unable to conceive. Abraham, in an attempt to work to fulfill God’s promise through his own efforts, conceived a firstborn son with Sarah’s maid, Hagar, named Ishmael, traditionally regarded as the father of the Islamic and Arab people. But God granted the covenant with Abraham’s second-born Isaac, having enabled Sarah to conceive despite her advanced age.
Abraham was then instructed by God to take Isaac out to the land of Moriah and sacrifice him as he would a lamb or ram. This is a repetition of the image of Abel the second-born offering the blood sacrifice. Abraham did as instructed but was stopped prior to plunging the knife into his son by the angel because he had proven he would follow God’s instructions. Earlier in the story, God had made two promises to Abraham: first, that Sarah would bear him a son; second, that his lineage would pass through Isaac. The first promise had been kept. God had already demonstrated to Abraham His capability of bringing a son up from the dead womb of Sarah, a picture, like that of Jonah in the whale, of resurrection. For the second promise to be made good, Isaac would have to live on, regardless of the events that unfolded in Moriah. One could reasonably make the claim that this is one of the first, if not the first instance of plot armor in story, given the promises leading up to the event. Again, the second born is blessed through sacrifice.
The Second Birth: From Jacob to Israel
Jacob, the son of Isaac, is also a perfect representation of this repeated theme, with more meat to add to the bones of the framework. His Hebrew name at birth, Ya’aqov (יַעֲקֹב), literally means heel as he was tripping his older twin Esau at birth by grabbing his heel, an indication of his cunning, opportunistic, and deceptive character. The birthright was to go to Esau as he was the firstborn. But their mother Rebekah was promised by God, “The elder shall serve the younger.” Acting on that promise, and after Esau had traded the birthright to Jacob for a bowl of lentil stew, as one does, Rebekah helped Jacob pose as Esau to receive the birthright from his aging and blind father Isaac.
This is a morally complex narrative, as Rebekah, acting on the promise of God, deceives her husband and in so doing strips the birthright from her other son. The deception is rewarded with a myriad of consequences, from Jacob having to flee his murderous brother for twenty years to being deceived himself by his uncle Laban. Jacob’s flight began an adventure that would ultimately transform him into the enduring figure he would become.
After having married Laban’s two daughters and fathered eleven of the twelve sons for which the tribes of Israel would be named, Jacob encountered an angel. Jacob wrestled the angel to the point of daybreak. When the angel could not defeat him, the angel touched Jacob’s hip, causing an injury, but Jacob continued to wrestle. The angel pled with Jacob to be let go, and he relented on the condition the angel would bless him. Jacob’s name was then changed to Israel (יִשְׂרָאֵל) meaning he who struggles with God or he who wrestles with God.
Israel reaffirms the point again in his old age as he is set to bless the firstborn of his own son Joseph, Manasseh. Joseph approaches Israel with Manasseh’s head under his left hand and second-borne Ephraim under his right, such that, facing Israel, Manasseh would be guided to receive Israel’s right hand of blessing, customary in this process. But when Joseph got to his father, Israel crossed his hands in the last moment, placing his right hand on second-born Ephraim’s head and giving him the blessing.
What is the meaning behind this repeating motif?
The New Testament Parallel: Fulfillment of the Pattern
In the gospel of John, Christ, speaking to Nicodemus of the Pharisees and the ruling council Sanhedrin, said, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” This picture of the new birth, or second birth had its literal variant in the Jewish tradition through the proselytization process for gentiles entering into Israel. Proselytes were circumcised, washed in water, and made to offer animal sacrifice. This ritual is the picture of new birth or “born again” through killing off that which is inadequate, making room for the metaphoric ideal - the version of you that you could become if you properly engaged with reality and truly understood it. All of these stories point to this imagery repeatedly, like a signaling beacon, instructing the process of death of the inadequate and resurrection of the ideal as the picture of receiving God’s blessing. The second birth receives the blessing.
Back to the original story of Cain and Abel. This story is both profound, but also highly condensed. The entire story is 15 verses and roughly 360 words in English, and anyone who has ever written professionally understands the difficulty in boiling down such profundity into such brevity. It may have taken centuries of oral tradition to properly refine this story into the state in which it was received. How can it be made better? More complete? How can it be built upon to not only solidify the key signals of the theme more permanently but also to expand it exponentially in all directions? Read on.
In Exodus 4, God instructs Moses regarding the Jews in bondage in Egypt, “When you go back to Egypt, see that you do all those wonders before Pharaoh which I have put in your hand. But I will harden his heart, so that he will not let the people go. Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says the Lord: Israel is My son, My firstborn. So I say to you, let My son go that he may serve Me. But if you refuse to let him go, indeed I will kill your son, your firstborn.’”
Now, there are multiple metaphors and pictures across the biblical narrative regarding Israel’s relationship to God. In some instances, particularly in the books of the major prophets, God is referred to as the husband of Israel in the same sense that the Ecclesia is referred to as the bride of Christ in the New Testament. But the metaphor of the firstborn son is foundational and key in the larger tapestry of the story. For, Israel as a people being the firstborn of God makes Christ, the only begotten son of God, per the story, the second-born. And the pattern emerges.
Cain offered the works of his hands in tilling the soil.
Israel offered the works of its hands though the literal ordinances of law.
Abel offered a blood sacrifice found worthy to God.
Christ offered himself as a blood sacrifice, worthy to God.
Cain rose up and slew Abel.
Israel, as Pharisees and Sadducees, rose up and slew Christ.
Seth was raised up as a substitute for Abel whom Cain slew.
And the reader who pursues it is called to be the substitute for Christ whom Israel slew.
The First and Second Birth
The first birth is the natural man. Short-sighted, self-indulgent, ego-centric, impulsive, unprincipled, and aimless. From Paul’s letter to Corinth, “But the natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him,” the Spirit of God having been previously defined as objective truth. Compared to beasts of the field driven by basic instincts and immediate desires. The second birth is the result of sacrificing those basic instincts and immediate desires in supplication to the reality of existence. It is submission to an objective truth in opposition to one’s immediate interests. Insomuch as the Spirit is objective truth, it is a spiritual birth or spiritual man. This terminology, however, has centuries of baggage and abuse as an emotive and fantastical vehicle for all manner of superstition and sophistry, such that it bears mentioning here.
As a metaphor, one who seeks truth in opposition to his immediate desires is enlightened, meaning one who has the light within them or has moved into the light. Light is equated with truth throughout the text, while darkness is described as its absence. From Christ to Nicodemus, “And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world,” meaning himself as the bearer of truth, “and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.” This is the nightclub, the back room, the alleyway, where sunlight does not disinfect. It’s the boardroom of a pharmaceutical company, the staff meeting at the New York Times, the clandestine meeting at a luxury hotel, and the closed-door session.
Several years ago, I was a groomsman in a wedding in Baton Rouge held at the Old State Capital, now a historical event center. The groom and all the groomsmen were changing in an old boardroom, the site of many meetings held by Huey Long, known as “The Kingfish” and a former Louisiana Governor. He was infamous for his demagogic nature and dictatorial rule to maintain power. One of the fellow groomsmen, a former SEAL with whom I had previously worked extensively, stopped and looked around the room, saying, “Can you imagine all the crooked sh*t that’s gone down in this room?” We all laughed in the moment, but then the mood turned somber.
I felt the same somber air when, deployed to Basra, Iraq, we would hold meetings with our Army counterparts in the basem*nt of Uday Hussein’s palace. The darkness of that room and the privacy it afforded the mad son of a dictator facilitated the torturous carnival that must have transpired within it.
Just as with the term spiritual, the term enlightened also has contextual variants that taint it, having historically been used by charlatans and sophists, thus requiring careful discernment.
What is Truth?
The current state of play in philosophy is tainted by a wrong turn taken in reasoning this problem set: “What is truth?” As I have alluded to in previous content, that wrong turn occurred when the postmodernists rightly noted the infinite possible ways to interpret reality. But the conclusion derived from this fact, and the aforementioned wrong turn, was that objective truth wasn’t possible and doesn’t exist. Figures such as Peterson and Lindsey have written on this issue at length, and rightly so. This event is of key importance and why this publication has its name. The pursuit of truth as good is a requirement for scientific inquiry, born out of religious tradition. Without that bulwark, the entire enterprise descends into administrative Soviet-style power struggles, followed by a descent into darkness and corruption.
The question that led to this wrong turn isn’t a new one. For as Christ was interrogated by Pilate, the prefect of Judaea, he answered and said, “For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.”
To which Pilate replies, “What is truth?”
Pilate's query is seen by some commentators as scoffing and cynical. And fair enough, this is a reasonable read regarding the value of the text, particularly in the era those commentators lived. But this query now embodies a critical philosophical issue. It brings to the forefront the problem the postmodernists rightly identified, though their conclusion has proven a disintegrating agent. Without the pursuit of objective truth, the distinction between principled action and short-term self-interest is obscured and its values reversed. Without a steadfast pursuit of objective truth how can a man in Pilate’s position not give into the mob that’s been inhabited by the metaphoric spirit of Cain, and in so doing kill the innocent while releasing the murderer? That picture is as relevant now as it has ever been.
It’s also important to note that, while Jacob started his story as the heel and rose to the station worthy of the name Israel, by the time of Christ, Israel had once again become the corrupt heel in the story. This certainly isn’t a condemnation of literal Israel or the Jewish tradition, as nearly every character in the biblical narrative that is featured as upright and virtuous gets their turn being the heel of the story, from Job, to Gideon, to Peter. This is an important duality that is laid out in the text. In the next article, we will explore the idea of duality in both the characters and symbols within the story of stories. Thanks for reading.
Brooks Crenshaw is a writer, columnist, and speaker who focuses primarily on philosophy, economics, and policy while serving as a manufacturing and technology consultant. With a background as a Naval Special Warfare intelligence professional and an economic advisor and Director of Research for the Commonwealth of Kentucky, he holds an MBA from Vanderbilt University.
Thanks for reading The Pre-Postmodernist! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
