Idolatry and adultery
Chapter Five
Turning the imago Dei upside down: idolatry and the prophetic stance
Idolatry is rooted in forgetfulness – forgetting what God has done for Israel. Fidelity is rooted in remembering.
After creation – whence is the image?
It is often a point of theological curiosity why the language of ‘image of God’ (ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm) occupies a place of such enormous proportions in the history of theology even though it is used with surprising infrequency in the biblical canon. Representatively Berkhouwer writes:
It is indeed rather striking that the term is not used often at all, and that it is far less ‘central’ in the Bible than it has been in the history of Christian thought. This apparent discrepancy vanishes, however, when we note that Scripture’s references to the image of God, whenever there are such, have a special urgency and importance. Furthermore, there is the possibility that Scripture often deals with the concept of the image of God without using those exact words, so that we surely should not a priori limit our investigation of the concept to considering only places where the term itself is used.
The point is important though it probably ought to be qualified further. Theology has too often not paid enough attention to the language of the biblical text, but it is also the case that the biblical text can use a variety of terms to represent similar realities. It may be the case that the theology has wrongly fixated on the image of God as the defining essence of what it means to be human, while it is also the case that the image-of-God language does provide important clues about the story of humanity told across the biblical canon. It may be that the absence of the image-of-God language after Genesis 9 is in fact an important part of the story, even if it is not a significant philosophical construct from which a general theory of human nature arises.
There is a theological dynamic in which the language of the image of God is manifested across the breadth of the canon, though the language itself changes. The very change of terms across the canon is itself indicative of larger theological points. This is clear in at least two ways: at the point where the language of image drops out, the language of idolatry becomes prominent; and secondly the re-emergence of the language of ‘imaging’ is most strongly connected to the arrival of Jesus Christ, who is both the restorer of the image of God and the one who ultimately breaks the power of the idols by overcoming the temptations of the evil one.
The shape of the canonical story suggests that the overriding dimension of the image to the original is that of worship, honour, completion and satisfaction, and conversely suggests that the subverting of the relationship of image to original is that of perversion, corruption, consumption and possession. Conceptual overlap of the two canonical constructs of ‘image’ and ‘idol’ illuminates in turn a central Christian conviction, namely humans are made in such a way as to yearn for something beyond themselves that will grant them significance. This yearning leads them in two different directions – towards a remnant of desire for their Creator and conversely towards an emerging new desire to replace their Creator with something in the created order over which they exercise control. This is not a general theory of human nature, but concerns simply and specifically a dynamic in the relationship of Creator, creature and creation.
Consider briefly the obvious overlap of the two constructs. Both contain connotations of reflection. Image language is suggestive of mirroring or reflecting, as a statue serves the function of imaging a dead war hero. In the ANE idols likewise reflected the deities to which they pointed. In fact the Hebrew term for ‘image’ (ṣelem) had the semantic range to include idols as well. At an explicit level both carried the substantive denotation of making visible that which was not readily seen. The imago Dei was/is the visible representation of the invisible God. Idols were the visible representations of deities, who though they did not exist, nonetheless exerted powerful influence. Both constructs in their religious usage connoted a demand for worship. The prohibition of idolatry entailed a ban on the worship of other gods. The ‘image of God’ was a title given to humans as creatures called to worship their Creator. Both constructs in this way defined an essential aspect of the creature–Creator relationship.
It is significant that though the language of ‘image’ (ṣelem) was largely positive in the primeval history of Israel (Gen. 1 – 11), almost every other instance of ṣelem outside that context is pejorative. It took on the denotation of a sign that pointed representatively at a foreign god (cf. 2 Kgs 11:18; 2 Chr. 23:17; Num. 33:52; Amos 5:26; Ezek. 7:20). It became allied with a host of other Hebrew terms casting a pejorative tone onto Israel’s dalliances with these foreign gods. Other terms for idols included pesel (Exod. 20:4; Deut. 5:8; 7:25; 27:15; Isa. 44:10–20) (carved or graven image), tĕrāpîm (‘family idols’; Josh. 24:14; Judg. 17:5; 18:14–20; Hos. 3:4; 1 Sam. 19:13), ’āwen (‘plain idol’; Deut. 32:21; Isa. 66:3; 41:29) and semel (‘carved likeness’; Deut. 4:16).
The semantic similarity of the two theological constructs (image and idol) across the canon is a small clue that helps us understand better the dynamic at work in worship. The Bible often speaks of this dynamic in terms of the connection between the sacred artist and the work of art created. Humans are made by the divine artist as his reflections. The idols were made by the human artists, and in an ironic twist the human artist became a reflection of the idol. This dynamic of ‘being made by’ and ‘being made into’ underwrites both constructs (image and idol) and makes them radically different from each other.
To understand this is also to understand the manner in which the idols subverted Israel’s security. YHWH was the sworn protector of Israel. As he had made them, so he would be with them. In Israel’s loyalty to YHWH came their security and significance. The idols could grant no protection to Israel in the face of the threats that surrounded them. Nor could they answer Israel’s pleas for help and mercy. The idols promised great blessings but could not deliver on those promises.
In the ANE kings were believed to function as vice-regents of distant deities, imaging those deities in the discharge of their duties. In Israel idols were thought of as images of these same distant deities. Surrounded by nations where idol-making and idol worship was common, Israel were called to be unique. There were to be no material images of an invisible deity among the Israelites. In neighbouring cultures carved statues abounded as the visible representations of invisible deities in whom the hopes of the nations resided. These gods often acted in arbitrary fashion and demanded fealty on the part of their human servants. The full power of the distant deities resided in the concrete idols and became an ever present reminder of the obligations that fell upon their human subjects. By contrast in Israel there were to be no carved images because God had already made a concrete image both visible and tangible to all who would look. That image was nothing less than the man and woman of Genesis 1:26.
The danger of idolatry for Israel lay in the tendency that emerged to try to find a compromise between the exclusive demands of YHWH’s commands and the promises of the idols. The idols represented the false gods and thereby exerted pressure upon Israel to chase after security and significance, a security and significance the gods could never provide. It was the chasing after idols that altered the nation’s identity and made the longing for security and significance precarious. The more Israel chased after the security promised by the idols, the less secure they were. Israel were already in a covenantal relationship to YHWH, redeemed from bondage in Egypt and brought to a land flowing with milk and honey. YHWH was no ordinary local deity. And Israel were called to relate to him in peculiar ways as a reflection of the peculiar God he was.
The subversion of those ‘peculiar ways’ was the underside of the canonical witness regarding the imago Dei. Idolatry was the conceptual ‘turning upside down’ of the originally intended relationship of image to original. Idolatry construed Israel’s identity (and representatively human identity) on terms opposite those revealed in creation. The creature made a god in its image, in whose shadow the creature’s identity was cast. Promising blessing, the idol created bondage. Promising protection, it created insecurity.
Divine fidelity and the image
Within the narrative of Israel’s canon their identity as the people of YHWH was rooted in the original calling to image him. And this ‘imaging’ called them to a relationship of intimacy with their Creator or covenant Lord, which they were to reflect in all their relationships. The original mandate to image YHWH was theologically turned upside down with the idolatrous pursuit of meaning or purpose apart from him. Yet YHWH remained faithful to his people or image. His fidelity stood in contrast to his people’s infidelity. This was one of the reasons why the language of idolatry emerged at the point where the language of imaging receded after Genesis 9. The focus of the covenant history from that point forward was upon YHWH’s actions in redeeming or renewing Israel. The dialectic of YHWH’s faithfulness and Israel’s unfaithfulness animated large portions of the Old Testament narrative from Genesis 12 onwards. There were important signposts along the way of a new work of the Spirit in the hearts of Israel even when these promissory notes appeared marginal to the primary plot line. Abraham’s faith, Moses’ leadership, Ruth’s fidelity or David’s remorse all pointed at future works of the Spirit, but they quite clearly ran against the grain of the normal pattern of Israel’s dispositions.
The promise of an enduring divine presence even in the midst of human unfaithfulness was a central dimension of the new kind of covenant promised to Abraham and his descendants. The exodus from Egypt was undoubtedly the redemptive event in Israel’s history that proved God’s promises of enduring presence were trustworthy. The exodus was not an event that simply resided in Israel’s memory. It was an event that defined YHWH’s fidelity to his people for all the generations that followed. It was the event above all others that interpreted Israel’s plight across their history in the face of many dangers. As God had rescued them from slavery in Egypt, so he would rescue them from present dangers. The promise of YHWH’s presence was certain in the present because of what he had done in the exodus.
But the narrative of Exodus was also followed quickly by the precarious journey into the Sinai wilderness. Israel seemed uncertain about their fate in the desert. Where they had pleaded with God for help while enslaved in Egypt, they now complained to him for the conditions they experienced in their new-found freedom outside Egypt. They did not know where food or water would come from, nor how they would navigate through the desert wilderness. Their constant grumblings prompted a surprising series of displays of YHWH’s faithfulness to them. Geographical guidance was provided by a pillar of fire at night and a moving cloud during the day. Water came from a rock. Bread descended from heaven. Quail were mysteriously provided. It would have seemed reasonable to suppose that gratitude would naturally flow from Israel’s experience of God’s good gifts in the desert. Contrary to expectations, however, Israel could not quite accept that God would continue to provide for them. Their uncertainty was a striking and unexpected part of the story. They believed their own eyes in the face of danger, but their memories of God’s concrete and tangible actions on their behalf seemed very short indeed. They knew the danger that confronted them in the harsh wilderness. They seemed less sure about the God who remained hidden from view if also abundantly compassionate in all his actions towards them.
God had promised Moses that he would bring the people out of Egypt in order to establish a covenant with them at Sinai. It would be a covenant established on the basis of his abundant kindness towards them. The exodus from Egypt was not only to escape slavery but more importantly to establish them as a people who worshipped their God and only him. He brought them out of Egypt to Mount Sinai in the middle of the wilderness for one primary purpose – to worship. At the base of the mountain they were instructed that Moses would be heading up the mountain to meet YHWH. The instructions were clear that the people were not to come up the mountain. It was Moses alone as their mediator and representative who would meet YHWH face to face. After receiving their instructions, Israel pledged fidelity to YHWH and to keep their distance from the mountain.
God granted Israel a glimpse of his glory at Sinai. The mountain was shrouded in clouds and poured forth smoke and fire. The earth surrounding it trembled. Israel were on holy ground in God’s looming presence, though that presence remained hidden behind the glory cloud. Israel’s instinctive response was fear in the face of the hostile environment. They believed that if they set their eyes directly on God, they would die from his overwhelming presence. Their great hope was to be near God but their great fear was to be too close to him. They realized they had to be the right distance from him. Too close and they would be shattered by his holiness. Too distant and they would lose his protection. With YHWH there was a paradox of presence. He promised to come to his people at Sinai in the sight of all the people, but also promised that no one would see him. God’s presence was visually an absence. The divine theophany was still largely a mystery. Represented in geographical terms, the narrative of the exodus was clear that space and place represented theological coordinates in the covenant.
Through the mouth of Moses God recalled the historic act by which Israel had been created. Israel were told that their deliverance from Egypt had been a re-enactment of the creation story. God brought them out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage and granted them life in and by his presence. They existed as a people because of God’s gracious act of deliverance and the promise of his ongoing presence in their midst. These were the realities that more than any other were theologically linked to the New Testament witness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. God came to his people and delivered them from bondage and promised to be with them to the end of the age.
The Decalogue and the diatribe against idolatry
The ceremonial granting of the law at Sinai (Exod. 20) was not an abstract legislative event. The law given was covenantal in shape and scope. It cemented kinship bonds that carried with them obligations. Israel were bound to YHWH and YHWH to Israel. The preamble to the covenant ceremony at Sinai began with the words ‘I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery’ (Exod. 20:2). Here articulated was the history recorded that grounded the claim that YHWH was also the suzerain of the covenant. He was the one who was duly authorized by virtue of his actions to stipulate the nature of the relationship established with Israel – he was Lord.
The first law was the central principle of the covenant relationship established at Sinai. Israel were to have no other gods before YHWH. Theirs was a relationship whose bonds were not to be violated by the entry of any third party into the unique intimacy of the relationship. YHWH was to be Israel’s greatest desire and greatest delight. They were to honour him above all even as he loved them uniquely among all the peoples on earth.
The underlying claim was that YHWH would have no rivals to his place in Israel’s life. They were not to seek to control the relationship nor supplant it with other deities they could control. YHWH was not Israel’s possession who would come at their beck and call. He would in the future as he had in the past incline his ear towards Israel and show them great acts of mercy, but the divine will could not be bent by Israel’s desires. Rather Israel were to delight in that which YHWH delighted in and to desire that which he desired.
YHWH understood well Israel’s natural disposition to stray from the intimacy of this relationship. The desire to control their own destiny, to have gods that were more like them and who could more easily be manipulated ran deep in their hearts. There were no other gods like YHWH. It is not an abstraction to say there were no other divine beings who were maximally great. There were no other gods in the metaphysical universe. There was not a pantheon to rival YHWH. There were no other beings omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent. Why then would YHWH enact laws about other gods if in fact, ontologically speaking, there were no other divine beings? It was because the fragility of the human heart disposed it to yearn for security on its own terms. This disposition was made all the more dangerous when it was underwritten with the power to create gods in their own image and imagination. This points at the reality that idolatry was not in the first instance a cognitive error (believing in other gods) but a fallacy of the heart (yearning for control).
The gods created in the deep recesses of the human longing for security were dangerous in a surprising fashion. Though they did not ‘exist’ in an ontological sense, they exercised enormous sway over those who had made them. They took on a virtual life of their own. This was the other side of the first commandment made manifest in the second commandment, ‘You shall not make for yourself a carved image’ (Exod. 20:4). The command was a recognition of the power to craft idols for the purposes of safety to replace or supplement YHWH. The language of ‘image’ (ṣelem) echoed back to Genesis 1 – 9, where it represented the sacred quality of the divine creation of humans. In the second commandment the language of ‘image’ had been turned upside down theologically and represented the profaning of humans in their divine-like activity. The warning against making carved images was a warning against mistaking the created order for the Creator. The rest of creation was not the source of significance and safety, though it often posed the most imminent threats to that safety and significance. Storms, famines, military enemies all posed great dangers to a small nomadic group of Semitic tribes in the ancient world. In the context of the desert wilderness Israel must have heard the warnings of the second commandment with a tinge of fear. How were they to combat the forces arrayed against them if not for their own cunning and craftsmanship? But to ask this question was to see what the heart of the second commandment was centrally articulating – Israel’s security had already been warrantied by YHWH.
The great danger was that Israel would be led astray by their own desires. Those desires would eventually remake Israel in their own image, wherein their identity would mirror the ‘carved images’ they had made to protect themselves. Israel would become like the gods they chased after: fragile, lifeless and fleeting. In essence the second command was intended to protect their identity as image bearers of the divine Creator, secure in his covenant love for them and his promise to be with them always. Israel (like the rest of us) were tempted to define the meaning of life as internal to their own desires and perceptions. Inevitably this led to a ‘thinning’ of self-identity wherein they became ‘minimal selves’, wholly contingent on the gods they had made for security. YHWH’s remarkable love for Israel was intended to fill their hearts with security and comfort in the face of great danger. The answers to the threats they faced lay not with acting on their ever-expanding desires but in facing up to the reality that they were divinely appointed representatives, whose security and significance were rooted in the God they imaged.
God and God’s name came to represent identical realities in Israel’s history. Naming throughout the ANE was more than merely attaching a verbal sound to an object or person. A name denoted the significance of the object or person. It was no surprise, then, that the third commandment ‘You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain’ (Exod. 20:7) followed straightforwardly from the second. If the second command pointed at the peculiar character of God in opposition to the deities represented by the ‘carved images’, then it followed that he had no ordinary name nor should be named as any ordinary object. Profaning the name of God was prohibited precisely because he was not like any thing or person in the world. He was not an ordinary piece of furniture of the universe. He was not to be thought of as part of the created order, nor to be treated as an idol made from the created order.
In our modern technological culture, names do not mean much. Our children are given names because we like the sound or associate them with a pleasant memory. Names are often thin images for us that do not point at thick realities. The Lord’s name was different. It had a unique denotation and therefore carried weighty connotations. Because it was unlike any other being named, God’s name was sacred in this sense. His name also rested on his people. God had Solomon build a temple for his name where his redemptive presence abided (2 Chr. 6). Jesus was the name above every name (Phil. 2). Names were special in these covenantal contexts. The third commandment recognized this reality and in this sense affirmed that God’s reality was not transient as was that of the idols. His name illuminated this. Israel were to protect that name and thereby were called to reflect his glory, character, mercy and righteousness.
The fourth commandment drew attention to the reality that Israel were to recognize that all of time belonged to their God. The Sabbath command reserved not simply a day for religious activities, but oriented all of time around that Sabbath practice. It was a command rooted in creation and was to be a perpetual principle of the created order. The created order was constructed in such a fashion to remind God’s people that time was sacred. The sun and moon were created for signs and seasons (Gen. 1:14). In this sense the pattern of work followed by rest and satisfaction was the divine pattern imprinted on creation by the Creator from the beginning. The seventh day, which literarily never ends in Genesis 2, was the climax of the six days of labour. Human security was not grounded in human labour, but human labour was given significance in the divine order of creation. The six days pointed at the consummation of the week in the Sabbath enjoyment by Israel of their God.
The Sabbath principle was an overarching principle which affirmed that God was the telos of creation. The Sabbath was not an accidental or contingent part of Israel’s history, nor was it fully defined by any local covenant administration. It was not subsumed under any other cultic principle. All of life belonged to God, but he did not belong to Israel. The Sabbath principle was a piece with the first three commandments that affirmed he alone was God. It was also repeated in Exodus 31 as the means to sum up the sanctity of the covenant YHWH was reaffirming with Israel at Sinai. The affirmations of the Sabbath command in Exodus 20 and 31 served as bookends for the giving of the law at Sinai, and reminded Israel that theirs was a sacred identity because of the God whom they worshipped.
The claim that God alone was God, adumbrated in the first four commands, got refracted in the succeeding six commandments, which concerned responsibility towards one’s neighbour. Jesus interpreted the Decalogue with this twofold structure, and added the comment that the second (love your neighbour) is like the first (love the Lord your God) (Matt. 22:39; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27). The second is ‘like’ the first precisely because the neighbour is like God. The neighbour is an image of the living God. The neighbour is not God, but is like him.
The Decalogue served to underscore the threat that idols played in Israel’s life. The idols did not threaten YHWH, for the deities they represented did not exist. But they threatened Israel’s well-being, because Israel were those who ‘made’ the idols. Promising great blessing, idols created great addictions. As God had made humankind in his image, so idols remade the very humans who had made them. The people became like their idols. This was nowhere more forcefully portrayed than in the golden calf episode of Exodus 32. Here is the paradigm episode of idolatry in the Old Testament.
The golden calf – the ‘great sin’ of idolatry
From the exodus event forward in Israel’s history the greatest danger to the removing of the divine presence was idolatry in the midst of Israel. The landmark text in this regard is Exodus 32, which records the golden calf incident. It is a paradigmatic text whose echo across the rest of the Old Testament serves as a pungent reminder of its enduring significance for Israel’s identity. It served as a template for all of Israel’s unfaithfulness to YHWH – all future episodes of idol-making were interpreted in the light of the paradigm episode narrated in Exodus 32.
The theological context of idolatry in Exodus 32, as we have noted, is found in Exodus 20 and particularly in the second commandment. The prohibition against graven images sets the narrative stage for the ‘great sin’ of Exodus 32. Against the backdrop of Exodus 20 the violations of Exodus 32 are brought into sharp relief.
Running from Exodus 32:1 to 33:6, the account of the golden calf episode is carefully crafted in the book of Exodus. It is carried along by a descent and ascent movement and takes place on two geographical planes. At the foot of Mount Sinai the people gather at the outset and it is here that Moses confronts the idol-makers in the middle of the story. The story also ascends to the top of Mount Sinai where Moses and YHWH carry on an unusual conversation in two parts. In the first part Moses intercedes on Israel’s behalf for God’s mercy, appealing to the divine character as the grounds for that mercy. In the second part Moses intercedes for mercy but now without appeal to the divine character – instead he appeals to his divine appointment as Israel’s intermediary. The descent of Moses from Sinai and then his ascent back up the mount serve as the central theological geography of the story.
In a story too well known for our own interpretative good, the action begins in Exodus 32 with the people grumbling about Moses being gone too long up the mountain in the midst of the cloud and fire and smoke. The Israelites are in the wilderness after their departure from Egypt with the purpose at Sinai being the renewing of the covenant between YHWH and Israel. Warnings are given to Israel not to come near the mount lest they see God and perish. On their behalf Moses has ascended the mountain, as the mediator for the people, to meet with God face to face. After a period of time, Israel suppose they have lost their leader and cry out to Aaron. The reminder is made that Israel have a continuing sense of wandering in the wilderness and should not trust in (and fear) what they can see rather than in what they cannot see, namely in the God who created all they can see. Fear and rebellion are ambiguously mixed in the hearts of Israel. They cannot understand how God can care for them in the wilderness, most especially without their anointed leader present. They fear what they know all too well – a hunger in their belly. And so from their Egyptian experience they lean on the religious habits of those former days. They craft a molten image of a cow that will give them food in the desert. The idol is probably modelled upon the agrarian idols of Egypt from whence Israel has recently come. The account strongly affirms that the ritual creation of the golden calf is performed in direct disobedience to YHWH.
The narrative then shifts to the top of Mount Sinai and grants the reader a sense of divine perspective as it recalls God’s abject disapproval of the making of the golden object. The passage depicts God’s displeasure as hot anger. Then comes the wonderfully bizarre conversation between Moses and God. They seem to argue about who is finally responsible for leading Israel. Moses appears to scold God for forgetting his promises and pleads with him, as if Moses is a famous defence lawyer, telling God that his reputation will be destroyed in all the surrounding parts if, having brought the people of Israel out of Egypt, it is now discovered that he has brought them out only to destroy them.
The reader seems well aware that YHWH is in fact responsible for Israel’s redemption from Egypt and further that Moses has acted (mostly) faithfully to lead Israel out of Egypt on YHWH’s behalf. However, in a surprising turn, Israel attributes responsibility for their exodus to the golden calf they have just made (Exod. 32:5). YHWH, in the cloud on top of the mount and seeing the calf, tells Moses that the Israelites are ‘your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt’ (Exod. 32:7). Moses responds in turn by reminding God that they are ‘your people, whom you have brought out of the land of Egypt’ (Exod. 32:11). The question of ‘belonging’ is the critical question in the narrative, and continues throughout the rest of the canon. To whom do the people belong? And to whom do they confess ownership? These are the questions of identity at the heart of the story of idol-making in Exodus 32. YHWH’s covenantal ownership of Israel is threatened by their attempt to grant ownership rights to the idols. And significantly, Israel’s security is threatened in this change of ownership. Their purpose and significance become as fragile as the calf that can be made one day and smelted out of existence the next.
Joshua accompanies Moses down the mountain, hears loud singing and supposes first that it is the sound of preparations for war. Moses comes closer to the camp and realizes a drunken orgy is going on, focused around the golden calf in the middle of the camp. His anger burns hot, the same description of YHWH’s reaction earlier in the story. And so, in a surprising reversal, Moses’ descent down the mountain is followed by an enactment of swift and severe judgment upon the idol-makers, although he has previously pleaded with YHWH to eschew judgment upon Israel. This is not surprising if we realize that Moses, as the mediator of the covenant, is called to intercede on Israel’s behalf when in the presence of God and to represent YHWH faithfully when in the presence of Israel. Moses is fulfilling both of these roles, though they appear in tension in the story line.
Moses has brought the stone tablets down the mountain. Representing the terms of the covenant, the stones serve as the written record of the covenant relationship between Israel and YHWH. When Moses’ anger burns hot, he throws the tablets onto the ground, smashing them and thereby signalling a break in the covenant relationship between Israel and YHWH. He deals with the covenant breakers by smelting their golden calf, grinding it into a powder, spreading it across the water and forcing the people to drink it. Symbolically the calf is to provide food for them, and now Moses requires the idol to make good on its promise. The people physically take the idol into themselves, and from this point forward in Israel’s history acts of rebellion are characterized by appeal to the calf ’s attributes – a stiff neck, a hard heart, ears that cannot hear and eyes that cannot see. The sensory malfunction language often used in the Old Testament with reference to rebellion resonates from here in the golden calf episode. A dead idol is now imprinted in the living rebellions of the people.
Moses returns to the mount seeking to make atonement for the sins of the people. He stands before the presence of God and pleads with him to forgive Israel’s sin. If God refuses, Moses asks that his name be blotted out of the book God has written, the book of the covenant that is also the book of life. God responds that those who have sinned will be blotted out his book. He calls Moses to lead the people, reminding Moses that he (YHWH) will bring judgment and remember the sins of the people. The passage ends by suggesting that God smites the people because of their ‘great sin’ with the golden calf. The rebellion of Israel has resulted in judgment, a judgment Moses both prevents and is powerless to halt. He is the divinely ordained mediator for the nation of Israel but is not accepted as a atonement for sin to God on behalf of Israel. The nation is preserved as a result of Moses’ pleading, but covenant forgiveness does not occur through his mediatorial pleading. Moses is the leader of the people of Israel but is not their Redeemer. He is a divinely appointed mediator, but does not successfully atone for Israel’s sins. Moses pleads on behalf of Israel when in the presence of God, and in their time of greatest trial does not abandon them. God goes so far as to suggest that he will make of Moses a great nation in place of Israel. At that moment Moses foreshadows the work of the Messiah who, when tempted by the people’s rebellion, refused to be separated from them. Moses points ahead to this radical identification between the Messiah and the people of God, not because they are worthy but because God has appointed him.
The judgment meted out by Moses in the camp of meeting has been swift and terrible, but the final divine judgment is yet more sobering. Moses’ ascent of the mount near the end of the episode is followed by the final manifestation of God’s righteous anger towards the idol-makers. YHWH delivers a promise that his presence will not reside in the midst of a rebellious people with the haunting words ‘I will not go up among you, lest I consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people’ (Exod. 33:3). God will not dwell in the midst of an idolatrous people. This represents the gravest threat to Israel’s well-being. Their safety is now in doubt because God will not be with them.
Upon closer scrutiny it was not simply any act of disobedience that was the root cause for the removal of the divine presence. Rather the character of idolatry, of creating an image of an alien deity, was the conceptual undoing of the original act of being created in the image of God. Israel’s collective act effected an ironic reversal of the original covenantal arrangement. Rather than illuminating the created order with the reflection of YHWH, Israel now sought their significance and security from the created order. In due course they became like the idol they had created: stiff-necked, hard hearted, with eyes that could not see and ears that could not hear. They became images of an idol. Yet the idol was itself powerless to effect the hoped-for help. The idol was not simply an alternative deity, but a false god, which strictly speaking was no god at all. YHWH’s insistence that no other gods be worshipped (Exod. 20:3) did not imply that there were in fact other gods, but rather that worship or honour was proper only as directed towards him. Worship fashioned the worshipper into an imprint of the object worshipped. Worship of the one true and living God brought life in all its purpose, dignity and security as a consequence. Worship of the false gods refashioned worshippers in the image of the inanimate creation. And for this reason the honouring of the golden calf was the theological turning upside down of the original order of creation.
Covenantal identity and idolatry across the Old Testament
The canonical echo of the Sinai episode reinforces its significance for Israel’s future relationship to YHWH. Israel’s peculiar identity rested in their peculiar honouring of YHWH and keeping their distance from the gods/idols of the other nations. Their place and security in the land was contingent upon this peculiar honouring. Honouring God was an expression of covenantal loyalty to the God who granted them significance and safety.
In Moses’ song recorded in Deuteronomy 32 there is a strong interplay between the idols made by the people and the people themselves. The idols are ‘no gods’ and God shall make Israel yearn to be like the ‘no people’ who follow the ‘no gods’ (Deut. 32:21). The crafting of the idols have robbed them of their identity – their identity as living people has been undermined. The idols, which represent the ‘no gods’, have sucked the life out of their hearts.
The human person as an image stood as a stark alternative to the images (idols) of the nations. The images/idols of the nations were dangerous precisely in the manner in which the golden calf was dangerous. They undermined the covenantal loyalty crucial to Israel’s significance and safety. In 2 Kings 11:18 the images/idols of Baal are destroyed with the recognition that they are powerless competitors to YHWH for Israel’s loyalties. Israel cease to be YHWH’s possession and become instead the possession of the idols. As the canon so often portrays, to be near God is to have life, but to be far away from him is to experience a living death.
In Numbers 33 YHWH issues a warning to this effect regarding the gods/idols that Israel will confront on the other side of the Jordan when they go in to possess the Promised Land. The ‘rebellion in the desert’ serves as a pungent reminder of Israel’s fragile status. YHWH instructs them to ‘destroy all their figured stones and destroy all their metal images and demolish all their high places’ (v. 52) when they enter the Promised Land. The ‘metal images’ are the idols of the Gentile gods. They are the concrete representations of the gods in whom the Gentiles trust. The rehearsing of YHWH’s great redemptive act of exodus is to be an ongoing ritual in Israel to remind them of his mighty acts on their behalf. It is often accompanied by the corresponding rehearsing of Israel’s ‘rebellion in the desert’ – a reference to the making of the golden calf. YHWH’s faithfulness is contrasted with Israel’s unfaithfulness. This is not an indicator of Israel’s hopelessness, but rather of the very great assurance that YHWH will fulfil his promises to them.
Moses reiterates the significance of the golden calf episode at the end of Israel’s wilderness years in the context of the people renewing their vows to YHWH and promising continuing fidelity (Deut. 9). As the people prepare to enter the land of Canaan, the land promised to their fathers, Moses reminds them of their rebellion during their Sinai desert experience: ‘Not because of your righteousness or the uprightness of your heart are you going in to possess their land’ (Deut. 9:5). The primary evidence of their unrighteousness cited by Moses is the making of the golden calf. It serves as the paradigm of their stubbornness. He goes on to cite several more instances of their rebellion in the desert, but the episode upon which the template of rebellion is interpreted is straightforwardly the making of the golden calf.
In language hearkening back to the golden calf episode, Israel’s prophets often referred to Israel’s hard-heartedness, stiff necks, their having ears but not seeing and having eyes but not seeing (cf. 2 Chr. 30:8; 36:13; Neh. 9:16–17; Job 41:24; Isa. 6:9; 32:3; 44:18; Jer. 5:21; 7:26; 17:23; Ezek. 3:7; 12:2; Pss 95:8; 115:5–6; Zech. 7:11). The golden calf had sensory organs but they did not function. So Israel had the capacities to see and hear and taste YHWH, but these capacities were as defective as the golden calf ’s sensory organs. These terms of sensory malfunction became common terms for Israel’s unfaithfulness to YHWH. They were connected to taking on the imprint of the idol that was made at the foot of Mount Sinai. It is not that all rebellion was identical, but rather the wide conceptual template of idolatry was large enough to bring some notion of coherence to Israel’s rebellion against YHWH.
Often the summaries found later in the canon of the large narrative of YHWH’s actions in redeeming Israel recalled the two typological acts in the desert – the exodus and the golden calf. So Nehemiah’s recounting of redemptive history at the rebuilding of the temple calls to mind both God’s great act of deliverance from Egypt and Israel’s ‘great blasphemies’ with the golden calf (Neh. 9:21). Stephen’s speech, which reviews the history of Israel, likewise connects Moses’ rule as the redeemer of Israel in bringing them out of Egypt by the power of God and the people’s rebellion in requiring Aaron to make a golden calf to lead them (Acts 7).
The hymnody of Israel likewise connects the great act of God’s redemption in the exodus and the contrasting act of their infidelity in the episode. Psalm 106:19–21 offers these words:
They made a calf in Horeb
and worshiped a metal image.
They exchanged the glory of God
for the image of an ox that eats grass.
They forgot God, their Savior,
who had done great things in Egypt. . .
The retelling of the story of Israel’s redemption is contrasted with the story of their making of the idol. God brought Israel out of bondage and gave them life. In turn they made idols and became like their idols, without life.
Throughout Israel’s history no single term was used for idols, but the variety of terms in their own way drew attention to the likeness of the idol to the gods, and the devastation wreaked by the idol on the idol-maker. Idolatry was a large umbrella of concepts, all of which pointed at the subversion of the original relationship between image and original. The idols were described as ‘metal images’, ‘carved images’, ‘figured stone’, ‘idols of wood and stone, of silver and gold’ (Deut. 29:17) – often drawing attention to the stuff out of which the idol was made, and thereby drawing attention to the reality that idols belonged to the class of things ‘made’ rather than to living people.
If the language of ‘image of God’ (ṣelem ’ĕlōhîm) drew attention to the visible representation of the living God, the language of idol drew attention to the visible representation of the gods that were not living. Jeremiah refers to the idols as scarecrows. They look like living people but are not able to talk or walk (Jer. 10:5). There is no life in the idols and therefore they cannot be life-giving. Although they look like living creatures, they neither have life in themselves nor represent living gods. Isaiah loomed large over the Old Testament in the period of the monarchy, and it was he who offered the clearest and richest denunciation of idolatry in the period. In Isaiah’s denunciation of the idols there were several important insights into the genuine theological dynamic of idolatry. Occurring during the reigns of four different monarchs, the second half of Isaiah opens with four spiralling poems, each in turn having to do with the confrontation between YHWH and the gods of the nations. By turns they are legal in tone and by other turns like proverbs in tone. At times YHWH appears to be prosecuting a case against Israel’s covenant-breaking practices. At other times Isaiah appeals to the irrationality of idolatry itself and seems to be pleading for Israel to recognize the inner logic of their practices with the idols. That inner logic is the crafting of communal significance and safety with the labours of their own hands. Here is the central contradiction of idolatry. It is God who formed humankind. It is God who has designed humans for significance. And it is God who protects his creatures. Time and again Isaiah reminds Israel that the Lord has created them and has redeemed them (Isa. 40:26, 28; 41:14; 42:5; 43:1, 3, 14–15; 44:6, 21, 23–24). Idolatry is the strange turning of this reality on its head, by suggesting the very objects of one’s making are the means by which one can gain significance and security.
In Isaiah 40 idol-makers are portrayed as Godlike in their creative abilities. But unlike God, idol-makers get faint and their strength wears out. They become hungry and thirsty, as all humans do. God not only does not grow weary or faint, but in that familiar refrain of Isaiah 40:31,
they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.
At a certain point Isaiah’s argument becomes almost satirical. The idol-maker cuts down trees to make his idols. He uses some of the wood for cooking, some for heating and the rest to make his idols. As if the scraps of wood are worthy objects of worship. The satire unveils the genuine mechanics of idolatry. The idol-maker ventures to make his own idol as the means to control his own significance and safety. The tragic consequences are that this activity becomes an endless chasing after an ever elusive goal.
In Isaiah 44 the idols are said to be ‘empty/nothing’ (tōhû; v. 10), hearkening back to the formlessness and void (tōhû wābōhû) of the earth in Genesis 1:2. The emptiness of the idol, however, belies the arrogance of the project. Idol-makers suppose they are actually creating a deity. The rhetorical question therefore is, who indeed can possibly make their own god? What sense does it make to say that the god who made us is made by us? The inner logic of idolatry is exposed. The idol is nothing, but the project of idolatry is itself dangerous. There is no need to fret about idols from one vantage point. They are representatives of beings that do not exist. They are empty/nothing. But from another angle the project of idolatry is theologically dangerous, for it seeks to turn the created order upside down – the Creator becomes the created, and the created becomes the Creator.
Idolatry and adultery
The language of marital infidelity is a root metaphor in the Old Testament to make explicit the character of idolatry (cf. Exod. 34:14–15; Lev. 20:5; Judg. 2:17; 1 Chr. 5:25; Isa. 1:21; 23:17; Jer. 3:8–9; Ezek. 16:17; Hos. 4:12–13; Mic. 1:7). ‘To go whoring after other gods’ is a common way to speak of idolatry (Exod. 34:15–16; Lev. 20:5; Ezek. 6:9; 20:30). Picturing God as the bridegroom and Israel as his bride allowed the history of Israel to be construed as a sacred romance. The bridegroom searched out the bride and redeemed her from troubles she had brought on herself that had been thrust upon her by outside forces. The bride was not always careful to keep interlopers out of the marriage bed. She too often played the harlot.
The big picture of the sacred romance uncovered one very important dimension, though not the only dimension, of the relationship between YHWH and Israel. Within the metaphor of marriage Israel are depicted as desiring the very things YHWH abhors, suggesting not simply that Israel have broken laws (they have) but also and more profoundly that they have let their hearts go astray. Israel are to desire the things YHWH desires and to delight in the things in which he delights. The language of sexual desire for the idols connotes that sense in which the whole person has gone astray, and though momentarily pleasurable, ultimately the alliance with false gods is destructive of the whole person and community.
By way of contrast Israel’s true bridegroom (YHWH) manifests a genuine love for the bride – a love both glorious and enduring. In the later prophets especially (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Hosea; Isa. 61 – 62; Jer. 25; 33; Ezek. 16; Hos. 3) YHWH’s faithful love of Israel stands in stark contrast to their faithlessness. The use of marital language to depict YHWH’s relationship to Israel points back to the Genesis account, where the marriage relationship was an integral part of the order of creation, and most especially a reflection of the triune God. The sense of ‘belonging to each other’ that marriage affirmed was rooted in the original relationship of Elohim to our human parents. They were created in God’s image as those who naturally belong to God, not as possessions but as people in relationship. Those created in the imago Dei were called or privileged to be in a relationship of intimacy with their Creator.
The story of the sacred romance between YHWH and his bride was corrupted by the parallel story of Israel’s marital infidelity where she continually prostituted herself before other gods. Israel’s bridegroom is continually described as ‘compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love and faithfulness’. The terms of intimacy are unmistakable. YHWH loves his bride. By contrast Israel are those who ‘broke faith with the God of their fathers, and whored after the gods of the peoples of the land’ (1 Chr. 5:25). Israel’s behaviour is not a result of a cold calculation as to which gods can deliver on their promises. Rather it is like a consuming lust for love. The worship of other gods by Israel reflected an insatiable need for love detached from any ties of faithfulness.
The marriage relationship is an integral part of the created order as manifested in the typological passage of Genesis 2:18–25. So the covenantal bonds between YHWH and his bride are wired into the fabric of redemptive history. Those whom God redeems enjoy a covenantal sense of belonging to him, not as mere objects of his possession but as people in an intimate relationship. YHWH is jealous of this relationship. He protects it and goes to extraordinary lengths to keep his bride pure in the relationship.
The graphic depiction of Israel’s infidelity to YWHW becomes all too concrete in the tragic story of Hosea. Hosea is a faithful Israelite in a period of moral declension in the northern kingdom. Israel are mired in a period of serious idolatry and Hosea’s words come ‘like a bear robbed of her cubs’ (Hos. 13:8). And yet in the midst of the divine indignation at Israel’s spiritual adultery YHWH expresses an undying love for his bride. That radical love is given voice in the living parable of Hosea and Gomer. The faithful Israelite prophet is to marry Gomer, a prostitute of ill repute as a vivid analogy of YHWH’s marriage to his unfaithful bride, Israel. In the marriage between Gomer and Hosea three offspring are produced, all of whom seemed destined for despair. They are named Jezreel, No Mercy and Not My People. One can only imagine the parental discouragement regarding their prospects. During the marriage, Gomer shows no signs of forsaking her former ways and continues the nightly trysts with a variety of lovers. At some point Gomer abandons Hosea entirely and ends up prostituting herself into slavery. Humanly speaking, Hosea’s relief must have been palpable. Whatever relief he might have experienced was short lived, however. He is instructed by YHWH to search out Gomer and buy her back from slavery. Hosea is to redeem Gomer and take her again as his bride. It is almost unfathomable to understand the costliness of Hosea’s calling to his unfaithful bride. It remains mysterious, but, in one of the few interpreted living parables in the Old Testament, the relationship of Hosea and Gomer is directly explained against the backdrop of YHWH’s unfailing mercy to his people. In the very place ‘where it was said to [Israel], “You are not my people,” it shall be said to them, “Children of the living God”’ (Hos. 1:10). The surety of that hope lies not with Israel’s will, but with the steadfast determination of YHWH.
That divine determination does not fit neatly into our moral categories. Mercy of this sort seems contrary to our intuitions about justice, even if it is also clear that justice is not undermined. The great reversal occasioned in the practice of idolatry, of turning the theological order of Creator and creature upside down, is itself reversed again in the divine determination to show mercy and love justice. The power of the idols will be broken in the strange display of YHWH’s compassion most fully articulated in Jesus Christ. To the living word, the perfect image and the exact representation we turn in the .