Chapter 2 continues.
Section E: Appearance in Greek Thinking
The Greeks were known for seeking to describe what they saw in objective terms. The intent was to give the hearer/reader a concrete impression of the scene or object of concern. They did not prolong their narratives, but stuck with only the essentials.
Boman demonstrates this point by recounting a description from one of Plato’s works. As he notes, you can see it in your mind. He offers a few other examples from Greek literature, emphasizing how the descriptions invoked the image of harmony within nature and architecture in harmony with nature. Yet, there is some ineffable quality to it all. While the latter Greeks described a lot of blue, there was no equivalent word in Hebrew. There is only the reference to the murex dye that can range over quite a wide number of bluish hues.
Early Greek philosophy was more visual and not so abstract in the broader western sense we have now. Boman makes much of the Greek theoria, from which our word “theory” descends. Showing his bias in favor of Plato over Aristotle, he talks as if Plato were the crest of reason and theoretical contemplation in Greece.
Then again, the Greeks did not invest much effort into describing persons with objective visual portrayals. Instead, they tried to invest some kind of moral character in the things they did choose to describe. It’s not that they always considered the good people as beautiful; they knew about the deception of a fair face and body. Rather, they were not objective in describing the whole. Instead, they picked out features that gave clues to their inner nature, Boman tells us.
During the peak of the Homeric Age (the peak of Greek mythology), deities were depicted as highly idealized humans. Boman avoids saying the obvious: Since man was the measure of all things, then ideal men and women were surely the natural representation of these superhumans. The very meaning of the concept of deity was both serious business yet spectacular. They were meant to be seen, and it was part of what the gods did to see and be seen. The etymology of theos was from the word for “spectator” — theoros.
Boman notes that what we consider “Greeks” were actually conquerors of a more primitive people. This latter had a very strong animist religion, revering the spirit powers inherent in all kinds of things. He tells us that the primitive animism peeks through at us with the signature animal traits of the Homeric mythology — Zeus’s eagle, Hera’s cow, etc. This underlying primitivism shows even more strongly in the Dionysian rage parties in the mountains.
However, with the rise of Homer’s heroic mythology, all of the fear-based religion is gone. There are no longer any dark spirits haunting the landscape. It was all happy and bright, but the one thing they must avoid was hubris. Boman points out how this echoes in Hebrew religion’s blanket condemnation of human arrogance. Still, it was nigh impossible for the latter Greek mythology to arise without elevating the deities from animals, plants, and forces of nature, and to make them more like the highest form of life anyone had experienced directly. Thus, the anthropomorphism of Greek mythology was associated with the apex of Greek culture.
And Boman never stops trying to drag the Hebrew and Greek together, even when the fit is very painful and almost ludicrous. I can imagine some folks finding his chatter blasphemous as he strives to redefine Plato as spiritual and mystical like the Hebrews. And yet, his attempts to elevate Hellenism as somehow the final manifestation of God’s revelation fits very neatly into most church folks’ assumptions, even if they never heard of Plato. Boman is in good company.
This several pages of discussion eventually turns back toward trying to explain the message of the Gospels, published in Greek, as an exercise in blending Hebraic thought and Hellenism in telling us about Christ. He keeps ignoring the stark difference in substance by weaving together a false impression from shallow discussion. He even tries to insist that Hebrew literature focused on the concrete, as if ignoring the vast wealth of symbolism, a trick more characteristic of the Pharisees and their perversion of the Books of Moses.
