Deviation and Fantasy: On the Question of the Status of the Bible as Fantasy

Abstract

The paper explores the possibility of classifying the Bible as a work of fantasy, or as a work including fantastic elements. It looks into the unique status of Biblical fantasy and the challenges to such a classification, including its literary features and presumption of ontological realism. The paper defines fantasy as a literary work whose content is characterized by surfeit or deviation to which no extra-textual ontological pretension is attributed. However, the argument goes beyond the ontological theme to stress the significance of the transcendent in both religious literature and fantasy. The Bible is viewed as fantasy in this sense and in some additional senses already within some of its own parts (such as Lamentation and Job). The paper studies these texts in this context and in relation to the theory of fantasy.

1. Introduction

The claim that the Bible does not derive from a divine authority, but rather from the human imagination, has been posited in various forms since at least the seventeenth century, with Spinoza’s writing a key milestone along the way (de Spinoza [1670] 2007, chp. 1). Spinoza does not constitute a lone voice in this respect, but formed part of a wider circle of Cartesian theology manifested in other thinkers of his time, such as Petrus van Mastricht (1630–1706) (Lee 2017, pp. 48–50). These arguments generally came as criticism regarding traditional, authoritarian views of the Biblical text. Naturally, this critical approach evoked a (sometimes panicked) reaction, though not necessarily from recognized representatives of the religious establishment. The passionate reactions to these positions continued for centuries to come, in literary discourse as in other spheres. T.S. Eliot and C.S. Lewis, a quintessential fantasy writer, provided particularly interesting responses. Eliot argued that the Bible’s far-reaching literary influence was due not to its literary quality but to the fact that it presents the word of God. Eliot warned that presenting the Bible as literature1 would mean the death knell for its unique status and its ongoing influence on humanity (Eliot [1932] 1966). C. S. Lewis argued that while the Bible offers us both good- and bad-quality literature, those categories should not be applied to it, since what is ultimately crucial is its religious significance, not its literary quality (Lewis 1959, p. 361).2 Thus both a poet and a classic fantasy author rejected the “literary” character of the Bible. Unlike many readers of the modern era—from Friedrich Schlegel to Robert Alter and Frank Kermode, who sought to present (and admire) the Bible as a work of literature, we have here a position that rejects the literary status of the work and contrasts it to the religious authority of the text. Of course, Lewis’s own works largely contradict this position, echoing as they do such biblical themes as the Garden of Eden and thereby positioning the Bible as a source of inspiration and dialogue in fantastic creativity. Such an approach may seem to imply that the Bible itself constitutes a literary and fantastic realm (Shippey [1994] 2003, p. ix), and in any case certainly not as one that is overtly disconnected from the act of literary creation. The same approach can be found among later fantasy writers, down to Terry Prarchett and Neil Gaiman (Pratchett and Gaiman 1990), who treat the Bible as an amusing realm of fantasy and parody, yet do not neglect its dimension of religious authority—if only in order to undermine it. Similarly, Israeli fantasy authors such as Yehuda Agus and Shimon Adaf approach the Bible as an overtly fantastic realm, yet remain acutely aware of its critical position for Hebrew culture, as well as its canonical and authoritative status. Their works both dismantle and preserve this status, drawing on irony, dirges, provocation, and sometimes even enchantment.

Like fantasy writers, the theory of fantasy has also addressed the question of the status of the Bible relative to fantasy literature. In this context, however, the question was not whether the Bible is the fruit of human imagination, but rather more concretely, whether it can be properly categorized as fantasy literature or as a work containing elements of fantasy. This matter has been discussed by various scholars (e.g., Feldt 2012; Pippin and Aichele 1998; Zipes 1998; Davidsen 2016b; Petersen 2016). Their pioneering insights have made an important contribution to this discussion. I seek to add and elaborate various aspects that can help focus the discussion they initiated. My discussion will center around the question of the turn to the transcendental (in religious and fantasy literature) and the ontological question (the ontological pretension of the literary text). As far as possible, I seek to avoid assumptions concerning the worldview of the ancient writers or readers regarding ontology, nature, and so forth, since this leads to a highly speculative minefield.3 Accordingly, the ontological aspect will be discussed here only in the sense of that ontological position that is implicit from the text itself. Naturally, biblical literature offers a diverse array of poetry, liturgy, theology, words of wisdom and prophecy, and much more. This article focuses on one specific aspect and its possible affinity to the theory of fantasy; by so doing, of course, it in no way seeks to reduce the entire biblical realm to this aspect.

My guiding definition of fantasy literature is a literary work whose content is characterized by surfeit or deviation to which no extra-textual ontological pretension is attributed. This is somewhat similar to what Pascal Boyer refers to as “ontological violation.” Interestingly enough he attributes this not to fantasy, but to religion. Still, his characterization of this phenomenon is very similar to a number of phantasy definitions: “[…] they violate intuitive expectations at the level of ontological domains.” (Boyer 2001, pp. 80, 324).

Fantasy literature is conventionally regarded as a genre grounded in the challenging of conventions regarding the picture of reality. It has often been suggested that fantasy presents an alternative picture of reality that contradicts the prevailing one (E.g., Schwenger 1999, p. 20; Wolfe 1982, p. 6). This type of definition focuses attention on ontology: the extent to which the literary picture is consistent with the extra-literary picture. I do not suggest that the ontological question should be abandoned, but I seek to place at the center of the discussion not ontological consistency, but rather the turn to the transcendental. Like religious literature, fantasy literature also seeks to digress from an immanent picture of reality, from some form of positivist reduction (Todorov 1975, p. 168), to dimensions of mystery, wonder (See Swinfen 1984, p. 5; Williamson 2015, p. 42; Wolfe 2011, p. 72), and charm. These are achieved in part through the replication of motifs from ancient myths (Attebery 2014, p. 3). This deviation is appealing, particularly to those who take pleasure in secrets and mystery—in other words, in ambiguity, or to those who find enchantment in the turn to the ancient and primordial—an enchantment with which we are already very familiar from romantic literature. The dissatisfaction with the world “as it is”, on the one hand, and the pleasure in ambiguity, antiquity, and mystery, on the other, are common to religious literature and fantasy literature. In fantasy literature it is the ludic element that permits the integration of segments of ancient myths alongside episodes from modern reality4 that creates the sense of wonder, enigma, mystery, and ambiguity. In this manner, fantasy literature acquires a certain numinous quality. In this sense, fantasy literature, which began to emerge as a distinct genre in the eighteenth century, is relatively close to premodern religious literature. However, in the case of fantasy literature, the numinous dimension (and sometimes the longing for such a dimension) passes through the filters of complex and critical modern awareness.5 This observation also applies to writers with an overtly religious conscience, such as Lewis and Tolkien. Accordingly, the numinous dimension can never be secured in its entirely. It will appear as an ironic aspect (in writers such as Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams), a challenged and criticized one (as for example in George Martin’s writings), or as an element embedded in the past that is now virtually impenetrable to any living connection (Neil Gaiman). Even in ancient literature, however, a certain reticence or distancing can be observed regarding some numinous manifestations, alongside a longing. This combination of longing and awareness of a gap creates frustration, an emotion that is readily discernible in such biblical books as the Psalms and Lamentations.

I will attempt to show that the Bible (In this paper I will be considering the Hebrew Bible only, and employ “the Bible” for shorthand) does contain the radical deviation from reality necessary for it to be classified as fantasy literature; however, alongside the element of deviation it is also characterized by ontological pretension. What I refer to as ontological pretension is very close to what Torsten Pettersson called reference ambition and reference authority.6 Pettersson suggested that there is no essential difference between religious texts and fantasy, since both deal with the same content (gods, angels, etc.).7 Davidsen disagrees and argues that it is possible to identify assumptions in religious texts concerning the ontological validity of their content (Davidsen 2016a, pp. 490–92). I tend to agree, although it should be added that this is a somewhat elusive matter. For example, a story such as that of Elijah’s revelation at Horev (I Kings 1:19) ostensibly assumes the presence of God in the world (outside the story). Yet, the story itself raises the question of truth: Elijah does not doubt God’s existence, but questions His status and strength in the world, and accordingly God is called on to demonstrate His might. Moreover, as Davidsen rightly argues, truth need not be a function of adequacy (in the sense of a turn from the text outward to the world); it may also be a function of a sense aroused by the text itself.8 In the case of I Kings 19, the gradual revelation that leads the reader through a series of negations (is God confined to the noise?—no; is God confined to the wind that breaks mountains and rocks?—no) creates a disturbing and persuasive sense. The text does not necessarily create certainty, but rather a theological tension based on diverse possibilities and diverse potential manifestations of God. God does not appear here as a given or a firm phenomenon, but rather has the destabilizing quality of shifting sands. It is precisely this destabilizing quality that draws the Bible closer to what Todorov defines as a formative aspect of fantasy.9 Such descriptions, which depict the divine (and sometimes the prophetic) manifestation as a destabilizing one (and, perhaps we may suggest, a complex literary one) create an opening to perceive biblical texts as fantastic on the basis of the narratology or literary technique of the biblical authors themselves.

When discussing whether a particular text constitutes fantasy, it is usually preferable to rely more on the text itself and less on assumptions concerning the relationship between the text and the manner in which its authors or assumed readers perceived some extra-textual reality. It is, of course, useful to discuss questions such as the deviation from reality, but it is better to seek to locate a contrast between different levels or perceptions of reality within the text itself. In Tolkien’s works, for example, the hobbits’ perception of reality is very different to that of Gandalf, Elrond, and so forth. There is a gulf between the “great world” of the sorcerers, the elves, and so forth, which is a world that includes a complex politics as well as magic, and the limited, pastoral world of the hobbits, which is dominated by a form of provincial (rather than scientific and modern) skepticism concerning magic and anything that lies beyond their immediate boundaries. In Harry Potter, we can assert with a considerable measure of certainty that Hermione and Luna Lovegood do not live in the same world; or, at least, they perceive the world in completely different ways. The sorcerers in general perceive the world in a different way to humans who are not sorcerers. In George Martin’s writings, modern skepticism is embedded in the text through the perspective of characters such as Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, and Aemon Targaryen. In the biblical instance, I will present several examples below in which the biblical story itself offers different perspectives on reality, creating an internal conflict (e.g., between king and prophet, between Hebrew and Egyptian sorcerers, and so forth). This creates a multi-layered text that allows us to map some of the events as moderate deviation, to use the term I will adopt here—and perhaps even more than moderate.

Another form in which the text itself creates a fantastic effect, without the need to rely on assumptions concerning extra-textual reality, is what Mendlesohn terms Intrusion Fantasy, entailing a type of “invasion” by the fantastic dimension into the internal literary reality. The fantastic dimension gradually expands within the story, often in a threatening and disturbing manner.10 A good example of this are the stories of Stephen King. In the biblical context, we might think here of the plagues in Egypt or the episode in Chapter Four of Exodus, where God appears as a type of nightmare and attempts to kill Moses.

2. Fantasy and Mimesis

One of the most fundamental distinctions in the theory of fantasy is that between the mimetic and the fantastic. While fantastic literature naturally includes mimetic elements, as a literary form it comes to contradict or refute familiar reality, or to play with it and propose alternatives. Todorov suggested that fantasy arouses in the reader a sense of hesitation and destabilization, cracking our image of reality; the encounter with the fantastic is tantamount to an encounter between a secular human and the supernatural.11 This suggests that fantastic literature is very close to religious literature. I am inclined to agree with this comparison, although I would suggest that at least since the nineteenth century, the suggestion activated by fiction is more or less confined to the literary work itself. Nevertheless, it is clear to me that the encounter with the works of such authors as E.T.A. Hoffmann, Philip K. Dick or Stephen King may certainly have the affect of cracking our comfortable perception of reality. In this respect, such works are rather similar to biblical passages such as Isaiah 6 or Ezekiel 1, at least in terms of their literary qualities and the experiences of the characters.

An author who took the alternative creation dimension of fantasy literature very seriously was Tolkien; indeed, he asserted that the fantasy writer continues the divine project (Tolkien 2001, pp. 9–10, 37–38, 47–56, 66–68, 70–73). His position also implies a linear connection between the Bible and fantasy literature and the perception of the Bible as an ancient fantasy work from which all later works in the genre branch off.

One common literary technique employed to advance the goal of challenging our perception of reality is the inclusion of characters who represent the expected, routine, or “reasonable” perspective. These characters tend not to deviate from familiar reality and to regard such a deviation as a priori spurious, ridiculous or improbable. In the Harry Potter books, the Muggles exemplify this perspective, being ordinary mortals not imbued with the ability to perform magic or discern the magical strata of reality. In Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, the hero, known as Shadow Moon, fills this function, though the events he encounters force him to change his assumptions. In The Lord of the Rings, the situation is somewhat more complex: the hobbits, who are themselves fantastic creatures from the standpoint of the human reader, function within the story as beings with a rather parochial and narrow-minded worldview characterized by suspicion of anything that smacks of magic, or even of adventures and of creatures other than their fellow hobbits.

In the biblical story, too, we find similar sets of doubters. In Exodus, Moses’ ability to bring about an impressive deviation from reality in its regular conception is put to the test in his encounters with Pharaoh and his magicians. The Egyptian sorcerers respond to each act of magic performed by Moses and Aaron with a parallel spell of their own, thereby proving in their eyes that Moses’ actions are no deviation from their familiar world, which already includes magic (Exodus 7:8–8:14). Moses himself doubts the greatness and divinity of the God that is revealed to him, demanding evidence and proof (Exodus 3:11–14). So, too, does Gideon in his encounter with the angel (Judges 6:17–21), and Manoah remains rather skeptical of the angel heralding Samson’s birth (Judges 13:11–21). Though the Bible presents an element of deviation from mimetic reality, here, too, it is initially met with skepticism and disbelief. Thus, the biblical story illustrates the deviation from the immediate mimetic realm (as this is portrayed in the story itself), yet it sometimes challenges this deviation. It is fairly apparent that the biblical authors are not satisfied with an objective or mundane description of reality. Initiation stories such as those of Gideon or Samson are conveyed through manifestations of miracles and mysteries. The prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel are exposed to divine images that shake their souls. These stories aspire upward and outward, yet on more than one occasion moderating or restraining tones can also be discerned.

3. Deviation

The transformative nature of fantasy and its effort to undermine our perceptions, assumptions, and attitudes about the world (Schwenger 1999, p. 20; Cox 59) lies in the literary effect of deviation. As for the Bible, we find a deviation from reality as it was allegedly perceived by the author in more than a few of its books. The element of deviation is presented by intra-textual means, that is to say expressed within the text itself (Petersen 2016, p. 503). I find that the Bible tends to present a more moderate deviation from reality. By Moderate deviation I mean an extreme event that deviates from the routine presentation of reality but does not deviate from the accepted ontological framework assumed by the text itself (which includes, in the biblical case, gods, angels, divine creatures, and fire-breathing leviathans). Such an event could take place within a context that would appear to be realistic, historical, etc. (Ibid., p. 506). This distinction is somewhat similar to that proposed by Tom Shippey between the unusual and the impossible. Shippey suggested this as a thumb rule for distinguishing between what one might refer to as old fantasy (from the Bible to medieval romance and the Icelandic sagas) and modern fantasy (Shippey [1994] 2003, pp. x, xi). Such are the miracles performed by the prophets Elijah and Elisha that take place within the ostensibly chronological and historical continuum of I Kings. In this sense, there is no major difference between the deeds of these two prophets and those of Milisanre in A Song of Ice and Fire, which are also embedded in an ostensibly chronological and factual narrative describing wars and political intrigues.

4. The Internal Biblical Perspective

Notwithstanding the above discussion, it is still possible to speak of (moderate) deviation within the framework of the picture of reality. Indeed, when the Bible uses terms such as “wonders”, or notes that an event was exceptional and had never been seen before, it is explicitly recognizing the deviation. One example of this is the locusts in the Exodus story: “Locusts invaded all the land of Egypt and settled within all the territory of Egypt in a thick mass; never before had there been so many, nor will there ever be so many again” (Exodus 10:14).

In the Bible, both routine and its disruption are associated with God. Familiar, routine reality is established by the leadership of God, but this may be “broken” by means of intervention, whether divine or through human agents such as Moses or Elijah. Such a breaking usually causes astonishment, dread, helplessness, or enchantment—effects that are very close, if not identical, to those associated with fantastic literature (Todorov 1975, p. 25). Some scholars have described the miraculous character of such texts as a legendary quality; others have referred to their mythical character, arguing that it is pointless to attempt to denude the Bible of this character, i.e., to demythologize the text (Longman 2012, p. 455; Hutcheon 1985, p. 81).12 In accordance with the conceptual infrastructure I seek to present here, I would argue that in some cases, at least, we may accompany the terms “miraculous” or “mythical”13 with the term “exceptional”,14 which (subject to the reservations discussed below) also implies the term “fantastic”.15

Zakovitch makes the interesting observation that the miraculous occurrence creates a surreal state of affairs: the borders of reality are blurred, ethereal beings descend to earth and vice versa (as when Elijah ascends to the sky in his chariot of fire, 2 Kings 2:11); seas and rivers become land (Exodus 14:11); the seasons are confused (with rain falling during the harvest, and so forth); the heavenly bodies digress from their course (Joshua 10:12); the dead return to life (1 Samuel 28:13); and animate and inanimate objects are exchanged (as when Lot’s wife is turned into a pillar of salt) (Zakovitch 1991, p. 23).16 For our purposes, the term “surrealistic” could be replaced by “fantastic.” Such an environment is thoroughly familiar to us from fantasy stories—the obvious example being Alice in Wonderland (where a less obvious one would be Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita).

Ezekiel’s revelation (chapters 1 and 7) is a good example of an exceptional event taking place within the boundaries of divine dynamics. The prophet depicts an unusual, heart-stopping image of a heavenly chariot comprised of strange animals, lightning and fire. On the one hand, this depiction stands out within the Bible as extraordinary. On the other hand, it can be seen as an amalgam of various iconographic images familiar to the people of its period, such as Mesopotamian mythical creatures.17 In other words, the prophet creates an unusual literary depiction, but one that is based on the conventions of his time. And yet these conventions themselves would be expected to provoke astonishment and wonder, and are based on a deviation from familiar reality. This feature is pronounced in the reactions of the prophets, such as Ezekiel and Isaiah, to the unique sights that appeared in their visions (e.g., Isaiah 6:5).

There is an expectation in the ancient literature that the gods will perform signs and wonders; yet at the same time these actions inspire anxiety, astonishment, and confusion (alongside enchantment, admiration, and elation). The author of Deuteronomy writes: “He is your glory and He is your God, who wrought for you those marvelous, awesome deeds that you saw with your own eyes” (Deuteronomy 10:21). In other words, the author defines God as an entity whose actions are exceptional. Similarly, Job speaks of the God “who performs great deeds which cannot be fathomed, and wondrous things without number” (Job 9:10). The Psalmist uses similar language, but in the negative: “They forgot God who saved them, who performed great deeds in Egypt, wondrous deeds in the land of Ham, awesome deeds at the Sea of Reeds” (Psalm 106:21–22).18 Thus the message to the reader is that despite God’s ability to perform all these wonders, you have forgotten Him and his wonders.19 Alongside this criticism of its audience, the Psalms also includes clear criticism of the absent God, whose wonders are no longer apparent on Earth, together with an enormous thirst for such wonders (Psalm 64 is a good example of this). This thirst has concrete historical significance (the desire to extricate the Children of Israel from their inferior condition), but also a different meaning—that of a religious “thirst” for God’s presence, which in this context also implies the presence of miracles and wonders, of some surfeit element. In our context, this may be termed a fantastic thirst.

To a large extent, the fantastic moment is created by the character’s amazement or astonishment at the vision, occurrence or object that appears in the text (as in Isaiah 6:7 or Genesis 28:17). In this context, we might think of a much later figure from the fifteenth century, Rabbi Joseph Della Reina (Navaro 1904). In order to collect useful information in preparation for his planned war against Satan, Della Reina uses magical phrases to force angels to come down to him from heaven. He knows that they will come down and awaits them—and yet when this happens, he is shaken and shocked to his core, losing his senses due to their immediate and powerful presence, highlighting the radical character of such occurrences.

The deviation in the Bible is particularly associated with God’s presence and leadership. From the outset this is presented as a deviation from reality, as is formulated in the book of Deuteronomy:

You have but to inquire about bygone ages that came before you, ever since God created man on earth, from one end of heaven to the other: has anything as grand as this ever happened, or has its like ever been known? Has any people heard the voice of a god speaking out of a fire, as you have, and survived? Or has any god ventured to go and take for himself one nation from the midst of another by prodigious acts, by signs and portents, by war, by a mighty hand and an outstretched arm and awesome power, as the Lord your God did for you in Egypt before your very eyes? It has been clearly demonstrated to you that the Lord alone is God; there is none beside Him. From the heavens He let you hear His voice to discipline you; on earth He let you see His great fire; and from amidst that fire you heard His words.

(Deuteronomy 4:32–36)

In other words—nothing here is normal. This perspective formed the basis of the rabbinical approach (as particularly prominent in the writings of R. Judah Loew of Prague), according to which the Jewish people lives within a distinct set of laws that differ from the natural laws that apply to the other peoples; its collective life is a miraculous continuum that does not obey the rules of nature or human history (Loew 1599, chp. 25). In this sense, we may see an interface between religious perspectives and fantastic literature, as both lean heavily on deviation from the norm. In both cases the deviation is not coincidental or “technical”, but is related to a passion for a surfeit dimension, some fullness that is uplifting yet at the same time distant, lofty, and invisible. When Gideon asks, somewhat provocatively, “[…] where are all His miracles which our fathers told us about?” (Judges 6:13), he is complaining about the removal of the surfeit dimension from the world. Such complaints also appear frequently in the Psalms, Lamentations, and Job. The world bereft of the surfeit dimension is portrayed as a meager, inadequate, and miserable place. Similarly, throughout The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien laments the diminished world that retains only a faint shadow of the splendor and grandeur of the ancient kingdoms. Neil Gaiman’s American Gods may also be read as a kind of dirge (albeit intermittently reserved and ironic) for some enchanted presence that is gradually abandoning the modern world. Interestingly, for Weber the diminishment of enchantment has its origins in the ancient world (Weber 1952, p. 341),20 and this process is reflected in the Bible, albeit not only in the sense to which Weber referred. Even in the Bible, the gaze sometimes turns to an earlier world that apparently already seemed to be virtually lost to the ancient authors of the biblical literature. An example of this are the references to the vanishing giants of Canaan.21

Given all this, can we view the Bible as fantasy literature? If it suffices for a story to present a deviation from daily, routine reality for it to be considered fantasy, then the answer is a clear yes. The splitting of the sea is just such a deviation, as is the stopping of the sun in the middle of the sky (Joshua 10: 12–13). However, the answer changes if, to be considered fantasy, a story must contradict reality, that is to say present a deviation which is in no way realistic or reasonable. At least from the perspective of the Bible’s authors (as reflected in the text), the Bible does not offer fantasy following that definition. Rather than a deviation from reality, the Bible offers a deviation within the familiar reality, as this is gauged according to the implicit standards of the biblical story itself. The deviation seen in overtly fantastic literature would seem to have a similar character. In Tolkien’s works, for example, mythical or theological elements are sometimes interwoven in a narrative that appears to be realistic. This weaving “elevates” the story, as Tom Shippey has shown.22 These elements do not contradict the broad conceptual foundation of the story. This can be termed a moderate deviation, as opposed to a radical deviation. Moderate deviation, as seen in the biblical story as a whole, maintains a connection with reality. The biblical story is not presented by its authors as fiction, rather as a version of reality endowed with ontological validity. Thus, even the astonishing deeds described therein do not deviate from its overarching picture of reality.23

We may turn, for example, to the prophetic literature. When the prophets speak of a sight or a vision, it seems clear that they are referring to something that according to their understanding actually occurred, and not to something they imagined (although here, too, the distinction between a vision—which may also be a subjective or internal appearance—and an external happening is sometimes blurred). The Bible indeed leaves some room for questioning prophetic truth, as will be illustrated below. However, the overriding position of the prophetic books is that they are presenting the living words of God, spoken from God’s mouth. In this respect they differ sharply from the authors of modern fantasy. Although the latter are not necessarily in the habit of declaring explicitly that the things they describe “did not really happen”, the framing of these events in a fictional work in itself shows that they do not have any ontological pretensions.

Another type of deviation offered by the Biblical text could be termed “monolatric deviation.” The text accentuates the greatness of God’s deeds by contrasting them with the familiar standards within the polytheistic landscape of the ancient near east. Thus, for example, Elijah displays God’s might in the context of a competition with the Canaanite gods (I Kings 18:20–38), and Isaiah describes the fright afflicting the Egyptian gods in their encounter with God (Isaiah 19:1).

These are all types of moderate deviation. This kind of deviation does not translate into fantasy as we are used to thinking of it, meaning literature that presents an alternative to a given ontological reality. Moderate deviation is not sufficient. To be fantasy, it must shake the ontological foundation the Bible presents, or at least introduce a crack into it. As we will see, these cracks already begin to open up in the Bible itself.

5. Shaking the Biblical Ontological Foundations

The ontological pretensions of the ancient text were already the subject of critical examination at the time of its writing. I shall seek to show this through one particular aspect of prophetic literature and through a number of aspects concerning Lamentations and Job.

5.1. Prophecy

Even in their own times (as is implicit from the Bible itself), the prophets constituted a small and oppositional group, whose claim to hear the word of God did not lie unchallenged. The ruling classes of kings and priests regarded this group with reservations, suspicions, and contempt, while the broad masses paid no attention to their reproaches (e.g., Jeremiah 26:5). Thus the picture of the world to which they adhered, of a prophet enjoying a direct channel of communication with God, was viewed with skepticism by their surroundings. This tension is very apparent in Ezekiel:

He said to me, “O mortal, I am sending you to the people of Israel, that nation of rebels, who have rebelled against Me […] And you, mortal, do not fear them and do not fear their words, though thistles and thorns press against you, and you sit upon scorpions. Do not be afraid of their words and do not be dismayed by them, though they are a rebellious breed.”

(Ezekiel 2:3–6)

We are repeatedly informed here that the Children of Israel are obstinate, since they refuse to listen to God’s word as conveyed by the prophets and do not take the prophets and God’s word as it emerges from their mouths seriously. The text attributes the value of truth to God’s words and to the images revealed to the prophet, yet at the same time it records the fact that the people of his time do not acknowledge their truth. Accordingly, it would seem that even in biblical times there were those who regarded prophetic statements and divine images as a type of fantasy. From the standpoint of the biblical author, such a phenomenon is attributed to the masses who close their hearts to the truth that comes from the prophets’ mouths (and these “masses” include not only simple folk, but also members of rich and well-established circles, as is very clear from Amos’s prophecy, as well as the monarchic and priestly classes24).

Prophetic truth is also attacked from a different angle. It is worth recalling that the Bible itself recognizes that some prophecy is no more than fantasy, in discussing the tension between a true prophet and a false one, as in Jeremiah:

I have heard what the prophets say, who prophesy falsely in My name: “I had a dream, I had a dream.” How long will there be in the minds of the prophets who prophesy falsehood—the prophets of their own deceitful minds—the plan to make My people forget My name, by means of the dreams which they tell each other, just as their fathers forgot My name because of Baal? Let the prophet who has a dream tell the dream; and let him who has received My word report My word faithfully!

(Jeremiah 23:25–28)

The author’s position is that a clear distinction can and must be made between a true prophet and a false one. The false prophet merely had a dream, whereas the true prophet heard the words of God, whose power is (or is supposed to be) apparent from within the prophecy. However, the mere act of raising this issue openly recognizes the possibility that a given individual’s prophecy might be questioned. In principle, such a process of questioning might apply to any prophecy. Thus the text implies that each prophecy should be examined in its own right, in order to ascertain whether it is true or false. In this respect, the text undermines itself: contrary to God’s own words, prophecy does not enjoy total validity. And so the Bible itself positions prophecy in a relative light, creating the possibility of viewing prophecy (specific prophecies, any single instance, and ultimately even—all prophecy per se) as a construct that verges on fantasy, that is to say—literary content of surfeit or deviation to which no extra-textual ontological pretension is attributed.

The Book of Ezekiel provides an example of a remarkable passage that contributes to the undermining of the overall validity of the prophetic narrative (Ezekiel 20:25–26): “Therefore I also gave them up to statutes that were not good, and judgments by which they could not live; and I pronounced them unclean because of their ritual gifts, in that they caused all their firstborn to pass through the fire, that I might make them desolate and that they might know that I am the Lord.” God presents Himself here (through the mouth of the prophet) as an elusive god whose statutes and judgments are not good. This is not merely an allusion to a god who is tyrannical and terrorizes His faithful (an aspect of divinity that has already been discussed by Volz and many others (Volz 1924)).25 Rather, God appears here in a manner that contradicts our expectations on the basis of other passages in the Bible and in the prophetic literature itself. Thus a distinctly “Todorovian” effect is created, destabilizing the reader and shaping an atmosphere that verges on chaos and nightmare.26

5.2. Lamentations

The Book of Lamentations may be read as an expression of wonder and astonishment at what the author perceives as God’s patterns of behavior. The book exposes the enormous gulf between the apparent storm of devastation God directs at His chosen people and the anticipation of divine providence and favor. This gulf creates a sense of a shifting, destabilizing reality. It is indeed possible to read this whole book as a text dominated by an atmosphere of the undermining of longstanding order, and in this context Lamentations can be regarded as a clearly fantastic text in the Todorovian sense of the word.

At the beginning of Lamentations, the author appears to make an effort to adhere to what might be termed “biblical writing habits.” He still attributes the impending devastation he faces as the product of God’s wrath (1:12–13), a common approach among the authors of the prophetic books when discussing future devastation, and the same perspective as that adopted by the author of chapter 28 of Deuteronomy. However, the later sections of the book suggest that this opening approach may have been offered by way of lip service; the text now constitutes a bitter cry to the heavens, intermixed with great astonishment:

• “[…] The Lord in His wrath […]
• Has cast down from heaven to earth
• The majesty of Israel.
• He did not remember His Footstool
• On His day of wrath.
• The Lord has laid waste without pity
• All the habitations of Jacob;
• He has razed in His anger
• Fair Judah’s strongholds.
• He has brought low in dishonor
• The kingdom and its leaders.
• In blazing anger He has cut down
• All the might of Israel;
• He has withdrawn His right hand
• In the presence of the foe;
• He has ravaged Jacob like flaming fire,
• Consuming on all sides.
• He bent His bow like an enemy,
• Poised His right hand like a foe;
• He slew all who delighted the eye.
• He poured out His wrath like fire
• In the Tent of Fair Zion.
• The Lord has acted like a foe,
• He has laid waste Israel,
• Laid waste all her citadels,
• Destroyed her strongholds.
• He has increased within Fair Judah
• Mourning and moaning.
• He has stripped His Booth like a garden,
• He has destroyed His Tabernacle;
• The LORD has ended in Zion
• Festival and sabbath;
• In His raging anger He has spurned
• King and priest.
• The Lord has rejected His altar,
• Disdained His Sanctuary.
• He has handed over to the foe
• The walls of its citadels;
• They raised a shout in the House of the LORD
• As on a festival day.
• The LORD resolved to destroy
• The wall of Fair Zion;
• He made His plans.
• He measured with a line, refrained not
• From bringing destruction.
• He has made wall and rampart to mourn,
• Together they languish.
• Her gates have sunk into the ground,
• He has smashed her bars to bits;
• Her king and her leaders are in exile,
• Instruction is no more;
• Her prophets, too, receive
• No vision from the LORD.
(2:1–9; emphases added)

Thus the author looks on in astonishment as God destroys his city like those of its worst enemies. The rampage of devastation appears to have a relatively spontaneous character—a maddened and uncontrollable rage. Alongside the author’s astonishment, he also shows a tendency to skepticism, alongside clear evidence of trauma. The latter half of verse 9—“Her Prophets, too, receive no vision from the LORD”—suggests a comprehensive crisis that also relates to faith itself; a crisis of total depletion. This crisis may be associated with verse 17 in the same chapter, which depicts a particularly harsh reality: “The Lord has done what He purposed; He has fulfilled His word which He commanded in days of old. He has thrown down and has not pitied, and He has caused an enemy to rejoice over you; He has exalted the horn of your adversaries.” This verse implies that the devastation was planned by God long in advance. There is a glaring contradiction here between the perception of punishment and reward embodied in the book and the inherent predestination underlying this verse. Did God destroy the city in response to its sins, or had He determined to do so earlier, regardless of its conduct (i.e., not according to the rationale of reward and punishment, which axiomatically relates to a specific instance)? Whatever the case, the author paints a portrait of a cruel and stubborn God: “You have slaughtered and not pitied” (2:21).

All this casts the author of Lamentations into a mood that is not only pessimistic and despairing, but also skeptical: “And I said, ‘My strength and my hope Have perished from the Lord’” (3:18) However, he appears to oscillate between pessimism and his desire to adhere as firmly as possible to his old belief in God’s mercies (3:21–31). Throughout the text, the author’s inner vacillation and his tremendous effort to adhere to his faith in times of crisis are palpable. The author almost seems to be trying to convince himself that despite everything he has seen, God’s mercies have not ended. More precisely, perhaps, he is telling himself that it would be better to adhere to this old (denuded) faith, and to eschew for the present a total abandonment; for the latter is nothing less than a condition for sanity, while abandonment and a sober acceptance of reality may lead to insanity. The reader can feel the terrible loneliness of the author, who has not only seen familiar domestic reality collapse around him, but whose God has abandoned him and turned His Janus face on him (for example—3:43–44, 4:13).

Thus the Book of Lamentations is characterized by a blending of wonder, horror, embarrassment, and a sense of a lost way. The entire text seems to rip a hole in the ground of the Bible, and the reader is left hovering above the hole like a spirit over the depths.

5.3. Job

The Book of Job is relevant for this study since the description it offers of the struggle between God and the leviathan has “literary” qualities, that is—the story was not necessarily intended to impart the actual details of an incident, but rather to present a happening that shows aspects of deviation. Moreover, the description of the world offered in the closing chapters of the book sometimes create the impression that the author was attempting to shift discussion from the ethical plane to a plane of wonderment and fantasy.

The motif of a struggle between God and a primordial creature appears several times in the Bible, as for example in Isaiah (27:1): “In that day the Lord with His severe sword, great and strong will punish Leviathan the fleeing serpent, Leviathan that twisted serpent; and He will slay the reptile that is in the sea.” Such descriptions are reminiscent of ancient myths from the Near East and elsewhere, and like these myths they testify to the strength and heroism of the hero or god who fights the creature (Hume 1984, p. 80).27 The more frightening and mighty the description of the foe, the greater the credit attributed to the god or hero. In this spirit, God boasts of His conquest of the leviathan in His response to Job:

• “Can you draw out Leviathan by a fishhook?
• Can you press down his tongue by a rope?
• Can you put a ring through his nose,
• Or pierce his jaw with a barb?
• Will he plead with you at length?
• Will he speak soft words to you?
• Will he make an agreement with you
• To be taken as your lifelong slave?
• Will you play with him like a bird,
• And tie him down for your girls?
• […]
• Can you fill his skin with darts
• Or his head with fish-spears?
• […]
• There is no one so fierce as to rouse him;
• Who then can stand up to Me?
• Whoever confronts Me I will requite,
• For everything under the heavens is Mine.
• […]
• Who can uncover his outer garment?
• Who can penetrate the folds of his jowls?
• Who can pry open the doors of his face?
• His bared teeth strike terror.
• […]
• One scale touches the other;
• Not even a breath can enter between them.
• Each clings to each;
• They are interlocked so they cannot be parted.
• His sneezings flash lightning,
• And his eyes are like the glimmerings of dawn.
• Firebrands stream from his mouth;
• Fiery sparks escape.
• Out of his nostrils comes smoke
• As from a steaming, boiling cauldron.
• His breath ignites coals;
• Flames blaze from his mouth.
• Strength resides in his neck;
• Power leaps before him.
• […]
• His heart is cast hard as a stone,
• Hard as the nether millstone.
• Divine beings are in dread as he rears up;
• As he crashes down, they cringe.
• No sword that overtakes him can prevail,
• Nor spear, nor missile, nor lance.
• He regards iron as straw,
• Bronze, as rotted wood.
• No arrow can put him to flight;
• Slingstones turn into stubble for him.
• […]
• His underpart is jagged shards;
• It spreads a threshing-sledge on the mud.
• He makes the depths seethe like a cauldron;
• He makes the sea [boil] like an ointment-pot.
• His wake is a luminous path;
• He makes the deep seem white-haired.
• There is no one on land who can dominate him,
• Made as he is without fear.
• He sees all that is haughty;
• He is king over all proud beasts.”
(Job 40:25—41:26, with omissions)

The leviathan is described here as a terrifying beast spitting smoke and fire; even the gods fear him, and he causes the sea to boil and rage as he passes. Longman concludes that the behemoth and leviathan are the most imaginary beings one could possibly describe (Longman 2012, p. 428).28 Longman implies that for the ancient writers, too, these were imaginary creatures; not merely imaginary, however, but radical products of the imagination: beings that contradict the known world with its phenomena—fantastic beings.29 Longman argues that it is precisely imagination that serves the divine rhetoric here: if God has overcome such mythical beings, serving as the ultimate embodiment of threat, might, and strangeness, then clearly He will be more than capable of overcoming any real or concrete being. This assertion is supposed by the fact that the descriptions appear alongside the chastisement of Job as a mortal who dares to question the justice and wisdom of the divine leadership. It is difficult to decide whether Longman’s assertion is correct. For the pre-modern reader, the above description may have reflected a real occurrence—a battle of giants that took place at some point in time between God and the leviathan. Even if this is the case, however, the leviathan was unlike anything the reader had seen or heard of before; the whole essence of the decryption in the Book of Job lies in its deviation and surfeit character.30 It should be noted that the description is provided by God Himself, and is fascinating in its underlying and unresolved tension. God seeks to contain the leviathan within His world and to present it as part of orderly creation, yet the creature is not described as a product of creation—nowhere does the text claim that God created it. The text (placed in God’s mouth) thus implicitly admits that the leviathan belongs to the age prior to the divine act of Creation, before everything that is familiar and comprehensible about the world came into being (the same is true in Psalm 74:14). This tremendous and terrifying creature, a remnant from the eon before the world and before time, has something of the quality of an enclave of darkness and horror within the world controlled and managed by God. In this sense, the description of the leviathan creates an atmosphere of undermining and the disruption of order, contrary to the intention of the divine character and, perhaps, contrary to the intention of the author of Job. Thus, the biblical text here, as elsewhere, undermines its own ethos of Creation.31 It allows another story hiding under the familiar “official story” to peek out. In order to illustrate God’s might, the text paradoxically tells the secret story of the mighty leviathan, who though defeated still swims in the depths of the ocean. Job associates the leviathan here with an element of darkness—perhaps the cosmic darkness that threatens the sunlight. This association reinforces the connection between the leviathan and the darkness that floated above the depths prior to Creation (Day 1992, p. 296). This insight regarding the eternal forces of darkness that have always been present, and cannot be defeated for the foreseeable future, filtered through into later fantasy literature, of which it became an integral part. Figures such as Sauron (who is repeatedly defeated only to reemerge in a new form), the Balrog who emerges from unfathomable depths or Voldemort, who also acquires a new form after each ostensible rout, carry echoes of these traditions. The mythical memory presented in texts such as Job contrasts with the experience of the authors of Lamentations and the Psalms, written in a present from which God is absent. This explains why the memory of that ancient mythical past with its struggle against primeval beings occurs more than once in a context of frustration and surprise at God’s self-concealment. A good example of this is Psalm 74 (verses 1–23, with omissions; emphases added):

• […] Why, O God, do You forever reject us,
• do You fume in anger at the flock that You tend?
• Remember the community You made Yours long ago,
• Your very own tribe that You redeemed,
• Mount Zion, where You dwell.
• […]
• They made Your sanctuary go up in flames;
• they brought low in dishonor the dwelling-place of Your presence.
• They resolved, “Let us destroy them altogether!”
• They burned all God’s tabernacles in the land.
• No signs appear for us;
• there is no longer any prophet;
• no one among us knows for how long.
• Till when, O God, will the foe blaspheme,
• will the enemy forever revile Your name?
• Why do You hold back Your hand, Your right hand?
• Draw it out of Your bosom!
• O God, my King from of old,
• who brings deliverance throughout the land;
• it was You who drove back the sea with Your might,
• who smashed the heads of the monsters in the waters;
• it was You who crushed the heads of Leviathan,
• who left him as food for the denizens of the desert;^-c
• it was You who released springs and torrents,
• who made mighty rivers run dry;
• the day is Yours, the night also;
• it was You who set in place the orb of the sun;
• You fixed all the boundaries of the earth;
• summer and winter—You made them.
• Be mindful of how the enemy blasphemes the LORD,
• how base people revile Your name.
• […]
• Look to the covenant!
• For the dark places of the land are full of the haunts of lawlessness.
• […]
• Rise, O God, champion Your cause;
• be mindful that You are blasphemed by base men all day long.
• […]

The writer complains in bitter amazement that the God who performed great deeds, such as overcoming the primordial creatures, is now allowing the foe to humiliate His own people, and thereby also His own name.

Job also complains to God, and God’s reply mentions His past triumphs against the primordial creatures. The context is apologetic, of course—God is attempting to defend Himself against Job’s accusations. But God’s line of defense is strange: rather than offering a direct answer as to why He has caused Job so much suffering, He boasts of His strength and dominance (Job 40:6–12). He rhetorically—and provocatively—asked Job whether he himself is capable of subduing great foes, and mentions two by way of example—the behemoth and the leviathan.

God’s response to Job is certainly one of the most beautiful and impressive texts ever written. At the same time, as Northrop Frye observed, it is difficult not to wonder in what sense this lyricism is relevant to Job’s suffering or his slaughtered children (Frye 2005, p. 369). Norman Habel offers a plausible and interesting answer to this question, arguing that God’s response is deliberately peppered with bizarre statements and passages, such as the image of God tricking the sea (Job 38:10–11) or of God both hunting lions and killing other creatures to provide food for the lions (ibid. 39–41). Habel suggests that such images are intended to create a picture of reality that embodies a wondrous dimension (Habel 1985, Habel, 534–35). Job does not receive a substantive or factual response to his complaint, which is instead left to hang in the space created by the story, alongside strange digressions such as the image of Job’s daughters playing with the leviathan (Job 40:29). The implicit answer to Job’s complaint, therefore, is that just as the world is wondrous and strange, so are the events he has experienced. His suffering integrates wondrously in wondrous reality. Job phrased his complaint in ethical terms, but God’s response shifts the discussion from the ethical to the fantastic. In this fantastic world, everything does not necessarily have a reason, or at least not a reason that can be defined in ethical terms. Thus the story undermines the conventional perception of reality embodied in Job’s complaint and instead offers a terrible but wondrous world, horrifying, beautiful, fantastic, and meaningless.

The three examples discussed above—the prophetic literature, Lamentations, and Job—together illustrate the manner in which biblical literature cracks the conventional world it itself implies concerning the nature of reality, of God, and of God’s relations with the world. It offers paths of deviation from this world, creating an atmosphere that challenges and shakes the foundations of reality it laid itself. Thus this literature undermines itself, creating literary enclaves that may be characterized as biblical fantasy.

6. Conclusions

In this essay, I have considered the question of the Bible being fantasy literature. I showed that the Bible contains moderate deviation (alluded to by the text itself). I argued that the Bible manifests moderate deviation from reality and an aspiration to heightened enchantment and wonderment. In this sense, it embodies the typical thrust of later fantasy. I then went on to suggest that we may regard sections of the Bible as fantasy in light of the fact that within the Bible itself, doubts are raised regarding the validity of prophecies or of the prophets’ status (this is seen in the attitude of the masses toward the prophet, the attitude of the monarchic or priestly classes, and also in the recognition of false prophets). The study of Lamentations here exposed a skepticism concerning God’s status in the world and the ethos of choice and providence, while the review of Job exposed a description of a God whose actions lie more in the literary domain than in those of ontology or ethics. All these features create conditions that enable us to locate fantastic tendencies within biblical literature. This literature offers us wild, radical stories bursting with surfeit and deviation: stories that feature, alongside God, a plethora of angels, sons of God, the divine creatures of Ezekiel, and primordial animals such as dragons, a fire-spitting leviathan, and the enormous and bizarre mammal called the behemoth. The Bible offers us images such as the one that appears in Chapter 14 of Zechariah, when God stands like an enormous giant over Jerusalem, surrounded by a daylight unlike day and a nocturnal darkness unlike night. God’s legs are embedded in the Mount of Olives, and their weight splits the mountain, bringing forth a spring of water from the valley and flooding the eastern sea and the western sea. This is a wonderful and evocative description, a disturbing, reality-jolting description of the type that Todorov would surely have characterized as overtly fantastic (Todorov 1975, pp. 135–36; cf. Zipes 1998). and Farah Mendlesohn would perhaps characterize as an Intrusion Fantasy.32 It is a worthwhile pursuit to discuss it as such.