Caitlin Montgomery Hubler

YHWH, the traditional God of Judaism, has a name so holy that for millennia worshippers have dared not even to speak it. Special rituals surrounded the word both written and spoken. When Jewish scribes translated their Scriptures, the divine name would not be transcribed but would be replaced by the equivalent of “LORD.” The divine name was considered so holy as to be literally unpronounceable. To this day, in many religious circles it is considered highly offensive to speak the name of YHWH. While this current state of affairs is often taken as assurance of the inherent bond between YHWH and Israelite religion, recent scholarship has called this assumption into question. Various lines of evidence seem to point to the fact Israel once shared in the polytheism of its Ancient Near Eastern neighbors.¹

Undoubtedly, there are portions of the Hebrew Bible that affirm a monotheistic understanding of God. Isaiah 45:18 proclaims, “I am the Lord, and there is no other.” In Deuteronomy 6:4, in the context of teaching the Israelites new commandments, Moses speaks, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.” In these and other passages, YHWH is taken to be one and only divine being, certainly the only one worthy of worship. Yet there are other sections of the Bible that seem to offer a quite different portrait of Israelite theology. For example, later on in Deuteronomy, Moses sings of El Elyon, chief god in the Canaanite divine pantheon, giving underling god YHWH the people of Israel over which to rule.² The Psalmist records a scene of YHWH sitting in a divine council among other gods.³ Multiple texts mention both YHWH and El but as separate figures.⁴ In general, these passages specifically affirming monotheism are typically dated later in Israel’s history, while the passages that seem to affirm polytheism have been dated earlier.⁵

Thus, in order to accurately trace the development of Israelite religion over time, we must recognize the diverse historical and theological contexts in which the various authors of the Hebrew Bible wrote. There are varying theologies in the Hebrew Bible affixed to different time periods in Israel’s history. It is through examination of such theologies and the historical circumstances in which they arose that we might begin to reconstruct the development of the religion over time. Because the Israelites were a relatively numerically insignificant people group in the Ancient Near East constantly being dominated by larger and more powerful nations, there were certain ideas about religion and divinity in the Ancient Near East that could not have helped but bleed into Israelite ideas about God. This is simply the milieu out of which Israel emerged. For instance, the idea of a divine pantheon permeated the Ancient Near Eastern religious landscape. The most powerful god in the pantheon was El: supreme god of Canaanite religion.⁶ El was conceived of as the father and chief of the divine pantheon. At least one scholar has suggested one stage in early Israelite theology, perhaps around the time of the exodus, included El as head of the pantheon directing YHWH, his warrior god based off of texts like the aforementioned Deuteronomy 32:8-9.⁷

But disparate biblical passages are not the only access the modern historian has to ancient Israelite piety. Almost all ancient Semitic names are theophoric: they convey information about the god worshipped by the bearer of that name. Often, these names are composed of a subject with a divine element (a form of YHWH or ‘ēl, for example) and a predicate (a verb denoting the god’s action). Scholars have thus been able to avail themselves of both biblical and epigraphic names in order to reconstruct the piety of ancient peoples. When carefully interpreted, theophoric names can be an important piece in a larger puzzle reconstructing ancient religion.

Perhaps the most significant ‘ēl name mentioned in the Bible is that of Israel itself. Though YHWH is the god traditionally associated with the people Israel, a closer look at the name’s meaning reveals a more complicated picture. The divine element present in “Israel” is ‘ēl, not YHWH. Though the etymology of the word is contentious, possible meanings include “May El Combat” and “El is just.”⁸ For this reason, combined with the aforementioned biblical passages that appear to refer to El as a deity distinct from YHWH, Mark Smith maintains the original God of Israel was, in fact, El.⁹ There would have been nothing preventing the adoption of a Yahwistic name, such as “yisra-yahweh,” or “yisra-yah.”¹⁰ In the absence of this, then, it is reasonable to assume Israel initially perceived El as head of the divine pantheon, and only later came to recognize YHWH as the one true God.

Indeed, non-Yahwistic names abound throughout the Hebrew Bible as well as in contemporaneous epigraphic data. The most abundant non-Yahwistic divine element is, as might be expected from Israel’s name, ‘ēl. However, ‘ēl names occur significantly more liberally during certain portions of Israel’s history, particularly prior to the time of David. Even within the biblical corpus, one is able to observe a shift around the time of David from predominantly ‘ēl names to YHWH names.¹¹ This shift appears to be concurrent with the phenomenon of pantheon reduction in Israel.¹² One is able to observe a general tendency within the Hebrew Bible wherein the worship of the whole pantheon of gods commonplace in the Ancient Near East dwindled down further and further until YHWH was the only acceptable recipient of Israelite worship.¹³ Dennis Pardee has located this major religious shift throughout the second half of the Iron Age.¹⁴

All of this is complicated by the fact much later in Israel’s history, after the exile, ‘ēl is clearly meant as the generic term for “god.” Independent scholar Ryan Thomas makes the point “there can be little doubt based on its prevalence in post-exilic Hebrew names that the theophoric ‘ēl was used as a designation for the national deity YHWH.”¹⁵ Scholars thus run into problems when making straightforward inferences about ancient Israelite piety solely based off the divine element ‘ēl in personal names. Thomas continues, stating “the meaning of the term ‘ēl is often ambiguous in personal names, since it can be used as a proper name, an appellative, or a reference to the personal god, ‘my god.’”¹⁶

Thus, at some point in the development of Israelite religion, the semantics of ‘ēl in personal names shifted. While it once referred to the Canaanite god El, father and chief of the divine pantheon, it eventually came to be used as a generic term for “god.” The question of precisely when, why, and how the semantics of ‘ēl shifted is of great interest for biblical scholars looking to reconstruct ancient Israelite religious history. For purposes of this paper, I wish to focus on the “when” question. What is the semantic meaning of the divine element ‘ēl in theophoric names at the time of the late Iron Age? Does ‘ēl refer to the high Canaanite god El, or does it function as a generic term for “god” such that, for the Israelites, it is essentially interchangeable with YHWH? Throughout this paper, I will argue theophoric personal ‘ēl names at the time of the late Iron Age are evidence of lingering fluid notions of divinity within Israel on a familial level.

Only fairly recently in biblical scholarship has it been considered ‘ēl in personal names may not be a title for YHWH. Jeaneane Fowler simply assumes in her 1988 study the both divine elements are semantically equivalent.¹⁷ Jeffrey Tigay has argued for the same in 1986.¹⁸ However, new research in the field of onomastics by Ryan Thomas does not allow for such a facile identification of these divine elements. My hope is through my presentation and interpretation of his research, what has up until this point been a comfortable consensus view within biblical scholarship will be problematized.

In the Ancient Near East, each theophoric name contains both a divine element, typically as subject, followed by a predicate. For example, the biblical name Abijah (‘abiyah) contains the YHWH divine element and means “YHWH is my father.” Scholars have long been in the practice of putting together collections of theophoric names in order to make comparisons between YHWH and other Ancient Near Eastern deities in the conception of ancient Israelite worshippers.

Recently, Ryan Thomas has combined the work of several earlier scholars to create a composite database of late Iron Age Hebrew personal names.¹⁹ Importantly, both biblical and epigraphic data are thus included in this set. Thomas points out methodological problems associated with the sole use of biblical names to reconstruct ancient Israelite religion. Uncertainty about the dating of particular texts as well as the possibility of later redaction present issues with a straightforward interpretation of personal names in biblical texts. Thomas reminds us, “In all likelihood, the names stem from disparate time periods and reflect different stages in the development of a mono-YHWHistic sensibility.”²⁰ Another strength of Thomas’s collection is its exclusion of possibly inauthentic archaeological material.²¹

When Thomas compared the predicates of the personal names, he found half of all the names occur with predicates attested with either theophoric element (YHWH or ‘ēl). That is to say at least half of the time, YHWH and ‘ēl are essentially interchangeable in terms of the actions they perform or the descriptions afforded to them. Given this evidence alone, he says, “We could reasonably assume that YHWH was the regular proper name of the chief Israelite deity during the monarchic period and later, while El was an additional title reflecting the deity’s historical development from or conflation with Canaanite El.”²²

While he acknowledges this evidence may be interpreted as an interchangeability of YHWH and El, thereby upholding the consensus view, a closer look at the data complicates this conclusion. More important than the similarities between the predicative elements are the differences. As it turns out, though half of the YHWH and ‘ēl personal names occur with predicates attested in both, this occurs with a relatively small number of predicates. The actual number of predicates able to be used with either YHWH or ‘ēl is rather low, at 21%. Many (58%) of the predicates are attested only with the YHWH theophoric, but few (20%) are attested only with an ‘ēl theophoric.²³ Because of the fact 78% of the individual predicates are exclusive to either YHWH or ‘ēl, Thomas sees reason to believe their onomastic profiles were distinct to the extent they may have still been conceived of as separate deities.²⁴

In fact, some predicates exclusive to YHWH and ‘ēl are found in multiple instances, increasing the likelihood these are part of distinctive onomastic profiles.²⁵ Thus, there are predicates occurring abundantly with ‘yah that have no equivalent in ‘ēl, and vice versa. To make things more interesting, predicates unique to each name can be grouped into particular categories, allowing us to make generalizations about the conception of each deity’s character. For example, the predicates of YHWH names tend to be more closely associated with the following characteristics: strong and powerful, warrior-like, protective, and triumphant, immanent, beautiful, engaged in the birth process, acting as a witness and intercessor, with a need to advance his claims of lordship.²⁶ In many ways, these predicates cohere with the image of YHWH as “warrior god who intervenes in favor of his people.”²⁷ Predicates attested only with El names, on the other hand, emphasize general beneficence, transcendence and firmness, judgeship and authority, force behind the birth process, and his identity as a covenant partner.²⁸ Likewise, this picture of El fits quite nicely with what we know of El as the powerful father of the divine pantheon: the elderly bearded figure who sits enthroned among the divine council.²⁹

One seemingly important difference between YHWH and El deals with the kinship terminology specific to each. Throughout the Ancient Near East, kinship terms are used alongside divine elements in personal names as “divine epithets or appellatives.”³⁰ Certain epithets, such as “paternal uncle” and “father-in-law,” are seen abundantly with ‘ēl but never with YHWH. In contrast, “brother” is attested at least 28 times with YHWH but never with ‘ēl.³¹ YHWH is, emphatically, “the divine brother,” in contrast to El whose profile is more “parental and ancestral.”³²

Based off of these unique emphases, Thomas summarizes what he takes to be the overall difference between YHWH and El: “YHWH is implied to be more of an active, young, interventionist, and warrior deity, whose lordship must be asserted, whereas El is more transcendent, abstract, and secure in his authoritative position.”³³ Thomas’s ultimate conclusion on this is we should consider the possibility YHWH and ‘ēl were actually just still separate deities throughout the monarchic period for both Israel and Judah.

There may also be distinctions made between YHWH and El in other late Iron Age epigraphic data. Kuntillet ‘Ajrud has revealed various inscriptions wherein El is praised. While it has generally been taken for granted that, in these cases, El is to be identified with YHWH, Mark Smith has pointed out this is not necessarily the case. It is equally possible El still referred to the high Canaanite god who is the father of the pantheon.³⁴

The divine elements present in Israelite personal names are clearly of religious significance, but the question remains as to what level of religious significance they occupy. We must recall there are different levels of religion in the Ancient Near East: familial, local, and national. It is not necessarily the case all three of these will cohere, though neither is it necessary they will be incompatible.³⁵ Albertz and Schmitt point to the curious absence of any official Israelite tradition in personal names. There are no references to those specific elements of the Hebrew narrative one might expect if one’s name was intended to express the official national religion: elements such as exodus, conquest, kingship, Sinai, Zion, or Bethel.³⁶ “The primary traditions of official Israelite state and temple religion are thus almost entirely absent from both biblical and epigraphic names.” Nor do official cultic activities make appearances in the predicates.³⁷ It is merely the divine element itself, whether YHWH or ‘ēl, that shows up in personal names.

This absence does not suggest a lack of familiarity or disagreement on the part of everyday Israelites with the official religious traditions of their polity. Though familial religion is distinct from state religion, this difference does not necessarily mean there is a conflict between them.³⁸ It merely reinforces the separation of religious spheres of influence present in most Ancient Near Eastern societies more generally. Albertz uses the term “internal religious pluralism” to describe this phenomenon, which may be more helpful than “syncretism” in describing the ways in which social stratification can create divisions between family and state religion.³⁹ As Dennis Pardee comments, “We may conclude that the proper names inform us of a different and broader pantheon in the popular religion perceivable in the proper names, as compared with the official religion of the Bible and of most of the extra-biblical inscriptions….”⁴⁰ It is thus safe to conclude the religious experiences that resulted in names for children were “almost entirely independent of the official state and temple religion.”⁴¹

Rather than relying on the events of their polity’s collective past, Israelite families contained their own reservoirs of religious experience from which to draw when naming a child. Names were often influenced by the religious experiences of mothers during events surrounding the birth of a child. After giving birth, mothers were mandated to spend a given period of time separated from their families as a “cryptic reflection of the intimate encounter with the divine that has happened during birth.”⁴² It was during this time the mother would come up with a name for the child, often influenced by the religious experiences they had during their period of confinement after the birth. During the joyful reuniting of the mother and new baby with the rest of the family, there was a feast during which the father would have the chance to accept or reject the name chosen by the mother.

Thus, a very robust set of rituals surrounding pregnancy and birth abound in ancient Israel. Indeed, the event of childbirth was an incredibly important time in an Israelite woman’s life, believed to be a supernatural intervention of God.⁴³ As a result, childbirth held incredibly significant events in the life of the entire family. This is substantiated by the large number of personal names that directly refer to the event of childbirth: a remarkable 25.9% of total ancient Israelite personal names contain some reference to birth within their predicates.⁴⁴ The largest subgroup of these names is composed from the verb natan “to give,” such as ‘ēlnatan “‘ēl has given [the child]” and Netanyahu “YHWH has given [the child].”⁴⁵

Thus, it is most reasonable to assume it is the religious piety of the family, especially the mother, that provides the impetus for the inclusion or exclusion of either the YHWH or ‘ēl divine element. The fact there exists such a robust onomasticon for ‘ēl, one able to be distinguished from YHWH, begs the question of interpretation. While it is theoretically possible this incongruence in onomastic profiles is merely an accident of historical discovery, and archeologists may one day unearth more epigraphic data to suggest YHWH and El were indeed conceived of more similarly, it is not likely this “incremental aggregation will dramatically alter the basic picture provided by the biblical record as well as the accumulation of inscriptional material over the last century.”⁴⁶ At any rate, we must reconstruct history with the tools available to us today and be willing to revise them should contradictory evidence come to light.

A deeper understanding of the unique ways in which Ancient Near Easterners conceived of divinity in general is helpful in interpreting these results. I wholeheartedly agree with Thomas there are clearly distinct onomastic profiles associated with YHWH and El. However, I want to challenge the idea distinct onomastic profiles automatically necessitate two ontologically distinct gods. While this is a fairly typical assumption for those of us steeped in Western civilization to make, it is problematic when applied to Ancient Near Eastern religion. Benjamin Sommer helpfully elucidates: “For Ancient Near Eastern religions, gods could have multiple bodies and fluid selves. Greek religion assumed a basic resemblance between mortals and immortals in this respect, whereas Ancient Near Eastern religions posited a radical contrast between them.”⁴⁷ Thus, worship of two differently named gods ought not be blindly taken as an expression of polytheism. In fact, Ancient Near Eastern ideas about gods are better described along a spectrum of fluidity vs. nonfluidity than one of polytheism vs. monotheism.⁴⁸

Sommer points to two sorts of divine fluidity present in the Ancient Near East, the first of which is called “fragmentation.”⁴⁹ Examples exist of multiple gods with a single name who “somehow are and are not the same deity.”⁵⁰ In this sense, one might find different “iterations” of the same god at specific locales. This sort of divine fluidity is found among gods of the same name. A possible allusion to this concept is found in the epigraphic evidence at Kuntillet ‘Ajrud, which mentions “YHWH of Teman.”⁵¹ This may have been what the Deuteronomist was targeting in the Shma.⁵²

However, for purposes of conflation of ‘ēl with YHWH, I am more interested in the second sort of fluidity Sommer outlines, involving “the overlap of identity between gods who are usually discrete selves.”⁵³ He continues by describing several Akkadian texts that “describe one god as an aspect of another god,” and others that “refer to two gods as a single god even though the same texts also refer to each of these gods individually.”⁵⁴ Even with gods of two different names, this occurs. One prominent example of this concept of fluidity is found in the Babylonian creation epic, the Enuma Elish. At one point in this poem, Anu, Ea, and Enlil, the three high gods of Mesopotamia, are all equated with young Marduk.⁵⁵ However, perhaps a more instructive example for our purposes is found in this late-second-millennium hymn to the god Marduk:

Sommer suggests an “incipient monotheism”⁵⁷ in this hymn: while it makes reference to gods other than Marduk, it reveals its writers have begun to conceive of the personalities of these other gods as extensions of Marduk rather than ontologically distinct beings. Given the rampant cultural diffusion in the Ancient Near East, it is thus reasonable to suppose even in their pre-exilic references to ‘ēl, ancient Israelites did not conceive of El as ontologically distinct from YHWH but as a manifestation of a particular grouping of YHWH’s qualities.⁵⁸

Therefore, it is possible in drawing upon the older figure of El in the naming of their children, Israelites of the late Iron Age were actually making a statement about YHWH: mapping onto him characteristics that had, up until that point, been associated only with El. The ancient Israelites were no strangers to the fact El originally referred to the high Canaanite father of the divine pantheon. This would have been a deliberate move that would have expanded rather than constricted the repertoire of YHWH.

This is reasonable partly because it is precisely the move the biblical authors would eventually fully make in explaining Israel’s prior worship of El. The qualities that once belonged to El are mapped onto YHWH in new ways that reinforce the new understanding of YHWH’s transcendence and lordship over all. For example, the Psalmist equates YHWH with Elyon, an epithet hitherto used only of El.⁵⁹ When Israel adopted YHWH as its chief god rather than El, it did not break whole cloth from previous worship traditions. Instead, as Smith states, “At a variety of sites, Yahweh was incorporated into the older figure El, who belonged to Israel’s original West Semitic religious heritage.”⁶⁰ The title ‘ēl berit, “El of the covenant,” became a signifier for YHWH.⁶¹ When YHWH first reveals his name in Exodus 3, he does so while implying Israel’s ancestors had worshipped him under a different name.⁶²

To make this statement is emphatically not to suggest YHWH and El were essentially interchangeable in the minds of ancient Israelites at the time of the late Iron Age. Again, there does not appear to be firm evidence denoting this phenomenon until after the exile. What I am instead proposing is an intermediate step between the Israelite familial worship of El as a fluid deity and the worship of YHWH as a non-fluid deity: one in which specific states of being and activities traditionally attributed to El are beginning to be thought of as expressions of YHWH’s power. Just as Adad is called the expression of Marduk’s might, so perhaps El had begun to be conceived of as the expression of YHWH’s transcendence.

There is precedent for such a fluid understanding of divinity within ancient Israel as well. Pardee comments:

Moreover, besides the name of the state deity Yahweh, there were several other acceptable divine names which could have been preferred names in one family or clan; these may even have been perceived as separate deities or hypostates — a situation comparable in some ways to the Christian trinity, which theologians have explained to acolytes as consisting of a three-fold expression of one (or the like), but which a significant number of Christians go on understanding simply as three.⁶³

These words are rich with meaning, particularly as we seek to conceive of possible relationships between ancient Israelite worship and Christian theology. Though non-fluid understandings of the divine appear to be quite foreign to many of our contemporary western and Christian notions of divinity, there may be less of this distance than is typically supposed. The concept of the Trinity, that God is somehow both three-in-one and one-in-three, has become central to Christian identity. In Trinitarian theology, it is said each person both is God and yet is not identical to the other persons. To the post-Enlightenment western rationalist, this seems to be an insurmountable illogical denial of the logical property of commutative identity. However, this understanding of divine possibility may have fit especially well in the mind of an ancient Israelite.

One God with multiple personalities, each carrying out a distinct function, can be seen as a parallel to non-fluid ancient Israelite understandings of YHWH and El. It is beyond the scope of this paper to speculate as to whether these ancient notions of non-fluidity played any sort of causal historical role in the development of the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. All the same, we are able to look back on such notions and see definitive parallels in contemporary understandings of a Christian God who is, in some sense, fluid. That such echoes of fluidity persist in Christian theology helpfully collapses some of the distance between the late Iron Age Israelite worship and contemporary religious practice.

The process of pantheon reduction by which YHWH assumed his place as non-fluid Lord of the whole universe was a complex, centuries-long process in Israel. Studying this process, however, is more than mere intellectual gymnastics, and is of value to the Christian theologian. For some, the fact YHWH achieved his place in Israelite history through a slow, meandering process is a threat to YHWH’s power. However, there are other theological angles from which to view this historical development. When Ancient Israelites began to transfer worship to YHWH previously offered to El, they were making a statement that reflected their evolving knowledge of God that preserved the glorious process of an evolving awareness of the totality of God’s power. YHWH is not only the immanent advocate and brother, but is also the transcendent, immensely powerful Father, enjoying power over all of creation. That God is revealed incrementally to God’s people in ways they are able to perceive is a timeless principle of Christian theology, one we would do well to remember still today.

Endnotes

Caitlin Montgomery Hubler

I. Translation and Notes

II. Outline

This poem begins with a strong exhortation of a valiant woman as elusive, rare, and extremely valuable. This theme is repeated at the end, where she is praised by her children, her husband, and her community. Most of the poem’s content, however, lies in the middle, in which the woman’s activities and her character are explored. After the initial exhortation, the poem discusses the woman’s manifold talents: providing food and clothes for her family, making profitable business decisions, acting generously towards the poor, etc. There is no obvious order to this list, but immediately following it are explanations of the woman’s character based off of such activities. Because of these skills, she has no fear for the future and is able to freely offer herself and her gifts to her family.

Thus, the flow of the text suggests there is a way in which the woman’s activities shape her so she can be in a place of freedom and self-giving love with respect to her family. Something about the nature of the activities in which she partakes makes her fit to be called a “valiant woman.” The above outline draws attention to this by drawing out the link between her activities and the place she occupies in her home as a result of having engaged in them.

III. Poetic Features

Proverbs 31:10-31 is one of several acrostic poems found in the Old Testament. Each of its verses begins with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet, beginning with א and ending with ת. Dr. Christine Yoder suggests this poem should therefore be taken as an exhaustive “A to Z description” of a valiant woman.⁶ This may explain why the woman’s activities did not appear to have an obvious order to them —perhaps the nature of the poetic form dictated the order of the content. The genre that best describes this acrostic is “heroic poetry.”⁷ Typically, heroic poetry describes the military exploits of an aristocratic male. However, Proverbs 31:10-31 shares several key structural elements with Hebrew heroic poetry. First, these poems directly relate actions done by the hero rather than focus on inner feelings of physical appearance.⁸ Secondly, they employ militaristic imagery. Besides the fact that חָ֫יִל is generally a militaristic term, the woman’s strength is referred to several times throughout the poem.⁹ Thirdly, the main character belongs to the upper class. The woman described is clearly of royal descent, evinced by her wearing of purple robes and fine linen.¹⁰ She enjoys command over maidservants and has enough resources to develop her own vineyard.¹¹ Thus, the fact this genre is used to describe this woman makes an implicit statement about the value of typically understated “woman’s work” in the household and economy.

Another possible function of the acrostic would have been to make the poem easier to memorize for purposes of recitation. In fact, this is how the acrostic actually came to be used in Jewish communities. Every Shabbat, a husband would sing this poem to his wife as a part of the evening ritual.¹² This tradition continues to the present day. Thus, Proverbs 31:10-31 can be understood as both encouragement to seek the archetypal godly wife and as a song of praise a husband uses to praise such a wife when one has been found.

IV. Literary Context

Proverbs 31 is a chapter of advice delivered to King Lemuel from his royal mother. Proverbs 31:1-9 outlines her warnings against “giving strength to women” and drinking wine.¹³ She further cautions him to defend those who are poor and needy.¹⁴ The opening of the chapter, therefore, forms the backdrop against which Proverbs 31:10-31 may be read: as practical advice related to the acquisition of a wife. Just as following his mother’s instruction to avoid drink and promiscuous women will preserve his identity as king, King Lemuel is encouraged to find a wife who will, by her character and valor, “match” his position as king.

Proverbs 31:10-31 also functions as a conclusion to the entire book of Proverbs, a book principally concerned with the acquisition of wisdom and the avoidance of folly. This conclusion forms an interesting contrast with the first nine chapters of Proverbs, which are devoted to explaining wisdom personified as a woman — referred to in scholarship as “Woman Wisdom.” Shared vocabulary and themes indicate the Valiant Woman in Proverbs 31 should be read alongside the profile of Woman Wisdom.¹⁵ I take the position of those who believe the two women “essentially coalesce.”¹⁶ Both women are rare, oversee young women, provide food, bestow honor on their companions, possess physical strength, extend their hands to the needy, laugh, and have identities associated with the “fear of the LORD.”¹⁷

That the Valiant Woman and Woman Wisdom both flank the content of the book of Proverbs draws attention to the differing ways in which each encourages wisdom to be accessed. In the beginning, a young son meets Woman Wisdom in the city streets. Now that the boy has grown, he encounters wisdom yet again —the difference being this time, he is her husband. The instruction he has gleaned throughout Proverbs put him in a new, more privileged position with respect to Wisdom and her benefits. King Lemuel’s mother wants to bring all this instruction to a practical closing: to encourage him to find a woman who embodies the Woman Wisdom. Perhaps it is her embodiment that will ensure a successful reign for King Lemuel.

At the same time, the quest for wisdom is necessarily ongoing. The structural composition of Proverbs as a whole is a testament to its content: at the end of a book of instruction to a young man who has grown into a King, there is yet more instruction about how to attain wisdom. Thus, the quest for wisdom is ongoing and cannot be exhausted even by the years spent in its pursuit.

V. Exegetical Focus

Proverbs 31:10-31 invites the reader to consider the rare reality of the human embodiment of Woman Wisdom: a valorous, capable woman whose diverse set of skills make her an irreplaceable, praiseworthy, and heroic unit in both family and society.

VI. Feminist Criticism

 Careful use of feminist criticism can yield further insight into possible interpretations of Proverbs 31:10-31. This form of post-analytical criticism, birthed in the 1970s following the women’s movement, takes seriously the reality biblical texts were written during patriarchal times and often without women in mind.¹⁸ In so doing, it attempts to counteract misogynistic interpretations of certain passages. Methodologically speaking, feminist criticism “moves women from the margins to the center of analysis in order to show alternatives to patriarchal and androcentric forms of thought and organization.”¹⁹ Proverbs 31:10-31 is unlike many biblical texts selected for feminist criticism in that this passage does in fact have a woman as its main character. Nevertheless, feminist criticism can still be of assistance by way of highlighting problematic ways various communities have received this poem.

Importantly, my approach differs from certain feminist biblical critics who believe the biblical text itself is in need of revision or rejection altogether.²⁰ While there have been undoubtedly damaging interpretations of this and other passages that have greatly injured women, I do not see anything inherently misogynistic in this passage. In my particular application of feminist criticism to the poem of the Valiant Woman, then, I will examine how this text has been received in conservative evangelical communities in ways that have hurt women with the goal of redeeming the original message of the passage. When stripped of interpretive bias and examined in light of its own cultural context, I believe Proverbs 31:10-31 is good news for women.

Contemporary conservative evangelical communities tend to place a great deal of emphasis on Proverbs 31 in their women’s ministries. Entire programs are set forth in order to encourage the development of “Proverbs 31 women,” typically meant to help women discover the ways in which they can improve themselves as creative and resourceful homemakers, caring mothers, and doting wives. Men, on the other hand, look at the passage as a checklist of qualities any future wife must meet. The result is an unhealthy amount of pressure on women to fit a specific profile of success, dangerously forcing some to fit into an artificial mode that ignores or devalues other parts of their identity.

Undoubtedly, much of this has a basis in the actual text. The Valiant Woman of Proverbs 31 is certainly a wonderful homemaker, mother, and wife. But trouble arises when interpreters ignore the vast cultural gulf that exists between 5^th-century B.C.E. Persia and 21^st-century American suburbia and simply “cut-and-paste” meaning from one culture to another. As Old Testament scholar John Walton says, it is not enough for biblical interpreters to translate language — culture must be translated as well.²¹ This means taking seriously the world in which the author of Proverbs wrote and the fact his words were received and applied in that cultural location first.

The poem was most likely composed in the period after the Babylonian exile during which important shifts in social structure greatly affected the place of the home in the formation of Israelite religious and cultural identity.²² Because the “outward” signs of Israelite identity — the “great national centers of government and religion” — had collapsed, the home became the new, most important social and religious institution.²³ In the absence of previous regulators, the home was the central place for economic activity, where goods were produced. In the 6^th century B.C.E., the home played a similar role as does the marketplace in 21^st-century America. Much like modern companies, these households were largely economic institutions in which every member worked to ensure the wellbeing of the entire unit. Members were not restricted to those related by blood and marriage, but rather included marginal people, whether they be slaves, servants, concubines, or day laborers.²⁴ As a result, these households were “largely self-sufficient in the producing of shelter, food, and raw materials for clothing and pottery.”²⁵ If there arose an excess in productivity, it would result in “cottage industries and a barter and even more expanded trade system by which needed products, such as food and pottery, but also luxury items could be obtained.”²⁶

The Valiant Woman, then, symbolizes someone who has mastered the art of flourishing in what, in her context, was the primary sphere of influence. The problem, then, arises when the interpreter assumed the particular practices which made a woman חָ֫יִל the 6^th century Persia B.C.E. are the same practices that make her worthy of that title today. Indeed, it is clear from even this cursory historical study such domestic skills symbolized something far different in the past than they do today. Contemporary 21^st-century American society does not have a household-based economy but a market economy. As a result, influence in the marketplace is thus set as the ideal to measure one’s power and agency economically and often socially as well. For better or worse, household work is simply taken to mean something different in contemporary times because it plays a different role in the overall scheme of culture and identity making.

The Valiant Woman is essentially someone who takes initiative to do important things. “She is not a pampered lady cared for by servants but instead engages in her own acts of labor and industry.”²⁷ Without translating culture, one might be at risk of saying the key message of the Valiant Woman is every woman ought to learn how to sew purple linen. However, when one is able to see the larger picture of the role this work played in ancient post-exilic Israel, the central idea becomes something much more culturally transcendent: to praise women who excel in roles of societal influence.

This widens rather than narrows the interpretive lens: certainly, stay-at-home moms with wonderful crafting skills could be considered Valiant Women today. However, interpreting culture as well as language allows for interpretations in which a CEO who has never cooked a day in her life can be equally praised for her status as a Valiant Woman. If one were to construct a modern-day portrait of a Valiant Woman based upon the same ethic of Proverbs 31, one might arrive at any number of different descriptions: “she directs her company without fear for the future, for she has carefully considered its budget,” “she teaches herself how to play guitar so she can entertain her friends,” or “she reads well into the night, for she wants to prepare well for her presentation.” Once that extra interpretive step is taken, this text is free to be what it is: a song of appreciation for the many ways in which women use their initiative and talents to better the world.

It bears repeating the main way in which this text has been used in Judaism is men singing the text to their wives in adoration on a regular basis. Throughout history, men have not used this passage as a checklist for wife-shopping, but as language to praise what their wives already do. It was never intended to be an impossible standard women must struggle to live up to generation after generation. Rather, it is an invitation for women to step back from their busy lives, relax, and allow themselves to be praised for the Valiant Women they are.

Endnotes

Caitlin Montgomery Hubler

It is true contemporary debates over homosexuality in many Christian denominations focus less on arguments over specific Biblical passages and more on an overall Scriptural narrative, church tradition, or the value of experience in determining normative ethical judgments. Nonetheless, it remains true debate in some circles over the applicability of certain Pauline texts continues as a central aspect in the discussion over the ethicality of homosexuality. It is an issue that has and continues to divide Christian denominations, churches, and families. Especially for Protestant traditions that pride themselves on Scriptural authority, a thorough exegesis of Biblical passages referring to same-sex eroticism is central to determining the scope of Paul’s claims.

Although multiple passages of interest exist on the topic, in this paper I will limit my comments to Romans 1:18-32. This is arguably the most cited passage of contemporary Christians who claim it to be a clear condemnation of homosexual acts that extends to the present day. See the passage below:

For this reason God gave them up to degrading passions. Their women exchanged natural intercourse for unnatural, and in the same way also the men, giving up natural intercourse with women, were consumed with passion for one another. Men committed shameless acts with men and received in their own persons the due penalty for their error (Romans 1:26-27, NRSV).

I have bolded the word “unnatural” because this Greek phrase “παρὰ  φύσιν” is key for the claim I wish to make in this paper. In contrast to those who would cite Romans 1:26-27 as a condemnation of homosexuality writ large applicable in contemporary Christianity, I will argue it is hermeneutically irresponsible to cite Paul as opposing homosexuality because he opposes same-sex eroticism on different grounds than do contemporary Christians (who cite the passage as a proof text of their own views) who oppose homosexuality. My goals are modest: I do not argue Paul would have been accepting, or even neutral, on the issue of homosexuality. What I will argue is simply to cite the verse as a proof text against homosexuality conceals the complex nature of Paul’s opposition to same-sex eroticism, which depends on elements of Jewish mythological narratives and Greco-Roman culture that many who cite the verses in this way would reject. In order to substantiate this claim, I will evaluate two different exegeses of the phrase “παρὰ  φύσιν” advanced by biblical scholars Dr. John Boswell and Dr. Richard Hays.

Boswell believes Paul’s talk of “nature” in Romans 1 is in reference to the specific, individual “natures” or “characters” of the Gentiles in question and the passage thus refers to heterosexuals engaged in same-sex eroticism as opposed to constitutional homosexuals. Hays counters this by arguing Paul links the Gentile idolatry and same-sex eroticism in such a way as to suggest both are rejections of God’s universal created order as represented in Genesis. Ultimately, I will agree with a third scholar, Dr. Dale Martin, who somewhat side-steps the exegetical question and takes up a hermeneutical one: stating Paul’s opposition to same-sex eroticism stems from entirely different considerations than modern-day Christian opposition to homosexuality. This is important for any hermeneutic of Romans 1 because of the ideological solidarity many Christians assume to have with Paul.

Some preliminary comments about the literary context of the passage in question are now in order. In order to understand how various scholars interpret Paul’s passage in Romans 1, a brief overview of the letter’s main themes and purpose for being written will be useful.

The Apostle Paul had not yet traveled to Rome at the time of his writing the Epistle to the Romans in 56-56 C.E. However, his growing influence in the Greco-Roman Christian world and reputation for counseling churches through ethnic and religious tensions lent him the authority to write this theological treatise to the Christians in Rome. Romans is the work of a developed theological mind, apparently written in response to tensions between Christian Jews and Christian Gentiles in Rome who were confused about how the coming of Jesus affected their relationship to the Mosaic law. Paul counsels the Romans that while the law had its purpose (namely, to reveal the universal human need for grace), the coming of Christ was a major turning point in salvific history. Now, salvation ought not to be understood as a result of meticulous keeping of the law, but as a free gift which comes through belief in Jesus Christ, the Messiah.

Naturally, since Paul had not yet been introduced to the Roman Christians, he had to first find some way of establishing common ground with them. After the formulaic epistolary greeting, Paul runs a clever argument in Romans 1-3 that begins with a condemnation of the Gentile pagans in Rome. Importantly, he apparently thought this condemnation of the pagans to be something that would establish good rapport with both Christian Jews and Christian Gentiles in Rome. Only later does he turn the tables and suggest the Roman Christians perhaps were not so holy themselves — what with all their stubborn insistence on strict adherence to the Mosaic Law and internal ethnic divisions. The purpose of Romans 1 is for Paul to use characteristically Pauline rhetorical strategies to liken his attitudes to those of the Romans, later using this to his advantage pastorally.

Dr. John Boswell argues in his book Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality “παρὰ  φύσιν” ought to be understood in the context of how Paul uses the phrase throughout his other letters. Whereas we in 21^st-century America tend to think of the natural/unnatural distinction in a way highly influenced by John Locke’s talk of “natural law,” in which “naturalness” and “goodness” are synonymous, Boswell indicates Paul did not have the same framework for these ideas (Boswell). One must be careful not to impose anachronistic categorizations on Paul, for whom “natural” was always to be understood as being possessed by someone or something — something individual (Boswell). Jews are Jews “by nature,” Gentiles are Gentiles “by nature” — but this sort of nature is one of personal character and not moral significance. Never did Paul discuss nature in the universal, abstract sense assumed in the modern West because of Lockean moral philosophy (Boswell).

For clues as to what meaning this term did hold for him, we might look to Romans 11:24, in which God is said to be acting “against nature” in His act of grafting the Gentiles into the olive tree (representing salvation). In this passage, “unnatural” certainly has the connotation of artificiality, in that Gentiles had not always shared the same position as Jews within God’s salvific plan. However, there is no suggestion this grafting, though unnatural, is morally degenerate. Far from it — it is presented as a loving act of God. Boswell summarizes the issue nicely: “‘Nature’ is not a moral force for Paul: men may be evil or good ‘by nature,’ depending on their own disposition” (Boswell).

Literary context is also important for Boswell in determining what Paul might have meant by the phrase “παρὰ  φύσιν.” Interestingly, the same-sex eroticism Paul discusses in verses 26 and 27 is linked to a general, hyperbolic sense of idolatry in verses 18-25. In fact, same-sex eroticism is described as a punishment for this idolatry as opposed to its cause. Paul describes how the Gentiles had the opportunity to recognize the one true God, since “ever since the creation of the world, his eternal power and divine nature … have been understood and seen throughout the things he has made” (Romans 1:20). Instead, they rejected monotheism and “exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling a mortal human being or birds or four-footed animals or reptiles” (Romans 1:23). Boswell likens this as Paul stating the Gentiles’ rejection of their “true nature” in the same way later in the chapter he discusses the Gentiles who rejected their “true nature” as heterosexuals to engage in same-sex eroticism (Boswell).

The principle implication of this distinction is Paul was condemning heterosexuals engaging in same-sex eroticism, and thus made no comment whatsoever on truly homosexual persons. While some have criticized this view to impose anachronistic categories of orientation that would have been foreign to Paul, I do not think this is necessary for the success of Boswell’s argument (Hays 201). I argue not that Paul necessarily delineated between heterosexuality and homosexuality as orientations (for that depends, in part, of the popularity of myths like those of Aristophanes about the origins of same-sex desire, which is difficult to determine historically) (Hubbard 2). Rather, I contend his comments stem from a worldview that had very different ideas about same-sex eroticism than most people today: worldviews so different, in fact, that applying Paul’s comments about same-sex eroticism to modern notions of homosexuality as a biologically natural orientation is more closely eisegesis than exegesis.

However, Dr. Richard Hays looks doubtfully upon Boswell’s exegesis of “παρὰ  φύσιν,” claiming he dangerously confuses exegesis with hermeneutics. He believes Paul’s comments in Romans 1 are a clear condemnation of not only same-sex eroticism, but homosexuality writ large, and any suggestion otherwise is a wistful rejection of the “plain sense” of the text (Hays 196). The thrust of Hays’s argument is his insistence Paul’s condemnation of the pagan Gentiles’ same-sex eroticism is linked to their idolatry in such a way as to associate both with a rejection of God’s natural (morally right) created order. Whereas Boswell believes Paul could have just as easily chosen any other sin with which to rebuke the pagans, Hays maintains the mention of same-sex eroticism is key to Paul’s overall argument. As he states, “The passage is not merely a polemical denunciation of selected pagan vices, it is a diagnosis of the human condition” (Hays 200).

Hays believes in order to define “παρὰ  φύσιν,” one must be cognizant of the common trope of natural vs. unnatural in Greco-Roman moral philosophy. Indeed, although Paul certainly did not understand “natural law” in a strictly Lockean sense, it can be argued the conceptions he would have had from Greco-Roman moral philosophy are not as dissociated from morality as Boswell claims. Stoicism in particular provides a thorough framework for considering the “natural” (κατά φύσιν) vs. “unnatural” (παρὰ  φύσιν) distinction, in which “right moral action is closely identified with action κατά φύσιν” (Hays 192). While there were no equivalent words in Greek for “heterosexual” and “homosexual,” these phrases function with the same meaning. This is evidenced throughout the many Stoic texts cited by Hays that use the category to discuss the morally degenerate “unnatural” phenomenon of same-sex eroticism: most notably, Dio Chrysostom and Plutarch (Hays 192).

These same categories were adopted by Hellenistic Jewish philosophers, with whom Paul would likely have been even more familiar. Not only did they often associate actions “κατά φύσιν” and “παρὰ  φύσιν” with good and evil moral categories, but they did so on the basis of an appeal to Mosaic law. Both Josephus and Philo, Paul’s contemporaries, used “παρὰ  φύσιν” in this exact way (Hays 193). Thus, Hays would strongly contest Boswell’s assertion Paul refers to “nature” in a personalized, specific way to refer to the individual nature of the being in question. Instead, he would assert Paul is playing on categories of “natural” and “unnatural” present and recognized by his contemporaries as clear references to God’s original created order.

The language of “exchange” used in Romans 1:23, 25-26, therefore, carries great rhetorical power for Hays. It is what cements the link between same-sex eroticism and idolatry as both results of a rejection of God’s created order. Just as the pagan Gentiles “exchanged the truth of God for a lie,” also did their women “exchange natural intercourse for unnatural” (Romans 1:25-26). The idea is idolatry is a form of rejecting the order of creation — and this rejection of God as creator is the first major misstep that causes perversions in other areas of the created order as well. Thus, Hays believes Paul’s presumption must have been opposite-sex eroticism is the natural design for humankind.

A third scholar, Dr. Dale Martin, sees several problems with linking Paul’s discussion of idolatry and same-sex eroticism in such a way. Martin accuses Hays of lumping together idolatry and Adam’s fall through “Augustinian lenses,” which would equate the two, whereas Paul would not necessarily have done so (Martin 54). There is no evidence Paul considered Adam’s fall to be an act of idolatry in the same way as the idolatrous acts of the pagans are described in Romans 1 (Martin 52). In fact, Hays argues “Paul presupposes a Jewish mythological narrative about the origins of idolatry,” which would preclude it from occurring simultaneously with the fall (Martin 53). Here Martin cites various rabbinic sources attributing the origins of polytheism/idolatry to “Kenan, Enosh (son of Seth), or the people of Enosh’s generation” — well after the Fall (Martin 53).

Moreover, Martin sees Paul’s diatribe in Romans 1 as possessing another key element of these Jewish mythological narratives: namely, Jewish “decline of civilization” narratives that function in Greek, Roman, and Jewish circles as a means of explaining how Israel is “set apart” from the excessive immorality of the Gentiles (Martin 53). These stories trace Gentile immorality to some point in history at which they became polytheistic, rejecting the one true God and consequently venturing into sexual immorality and general moral corruption. Perhaps the most famous example of this in Judaism is in 1 Enoch, wherein the Genesis 6 account of the fall of the Watchers is expanded to account for Gentile immorality (Martin 53).

This is an attempt to refute Hays’s idea that in connecting idolatry and same-sex eroticism, Paul is implicitly claiming both are rejections of the created order resulting from Adam’s fall. Paul is operating within a different mythological narrative than the fall of man: the “decline of civilization” narrative regarding the origins of idolatry. Where Hays wants to conflate the two, Martin indicates their differences have important implications for any hermeneutic of Romans 1.

Additionally, when Paul makes allusions to the original created order elsewhere, such as later in Romans 5:12 when he speaks of the fall of Adam, he uses language from Genesis: “the fall,” “Adam,” “Eve,” and talking about general humanity as opposed to a specific group of people (Martin 52). Given this language is absent from Romans 1, and Paul would have likely seen idolatry as having origins separate from Adam’s fall, Martin believes nothing in Romans 1 is a gesture toward the created order. He thus believes interpretations of “παρὰ  φύσιν” like Hays’s hijack Paul’s conclusions while dismissing the premises of his arguments.

I find Martin’s arguments persuasive and believe they arise from an attitude toward Biblical hermeneutics that should be forwarded. The principle of examining the premises Paul uses for his argument and not merely taking his conclusions for granted is a noble one in Biblical scholarship. A responsible definition of Biblical authority ought to be one that honestly wrestles with the extent to which contextual and historical considerations come into play when taking moral judgments from ancient authors as authoritative. Far from a devaluation of Biblical authority, what this does is allow the Bible to be evaluated on its own terms. Only then can it be put into conversation with other forms of Christian revelation, namely, nature and experience.

Take for example another instance in Paul’s letters in which he makes a similar appeal to nature, 1 Corinthians 11:13-15: “Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering” (1 Corinthians 11:13-15, NRSV).

Most contemporary Christians would reject Paul’s conclusions in this passage (a woman ought to either veil herself or cut off her hair, as per verse 6) because he begins with premises with which they would disagree. The sort of “nature” Paul discusses here may in fact be what he believes is the abstract, universal order of creation set by God in Genesis — but it is historically conditioned by strong views of male-female hierarchy in the ancient Greco-Roman world. Martin identifies within this hierarchy the “implicit devaluation of the feminine,” also a relevant factor when examining ancient attitudes toward same-sex eroticism (Martin 58).

In order to determine why Paul and his contemporaries might have seen same-sex eroticism as self-evidently “unnatural,” it is necessary to examine what role sexual orientation played in the opinions of the populace toward it. It is certain there were myths, like that of Aristophanes, which purported to explain homosexuality alongside heterosexuality as both naturally occurring phenomena. However, this was likely not the predominant view, and indeed, more influential philosophers rejected it (Loader 2). What can be constructed as historically probable is the attitude same-sex eroticism did not arise out of any biologically “natural” orientation, but was instead an extreme expression of heterosexual lust and/or gluttony. It is inordinate desire rather than disoriented desire (Boswell). Dio Chrysostom puts it this way:

The man whose appetite is insatiate in such things, when he finds there is no scarcity, no resistance, in this field, will have contempt for the easy conquest and scorn for a woman’s love, as a thing too readily given — in fact, too utterly feminine — and will turn his assault against the male quarters, eager to befoul the youth who will very soon be magistrates and judges and generals, believing that in them he will find a kind of pleasure difficult and hard to procure (Dio Chrysostom 7:151-52).

The naturalization of gendered hierarchy plays an unmistakable role in the attitudes of the ancients toward same-sex eroticism. For example, Plato agrees same-sex eroticism is “contrary to nature”: but on the grounds a man ought not be mounted “like cattle” (Moralia 751d). A similar justification is used in reference to exegesis of 1 Corinthians 6:9, in which the word “μαλακός,” literally meaning “soft.” is used in a derogatory way to refer to the submissive partner in same-sex male intercourse (Martin 44). In other words, it was the very parts of ancient Greco-Roman culture with which the modern world might most vehemently disagree that were the basis for common attitudes toward the ethicality of same-sex eroticism.

If a disruption of gendered hierarchy is also for Paul what makes same-sex eroticism unnatural, then any Christian who uses Romans 1 as a proof text against homosexuality must also adopt the ancient Greco-Roman ideas of gendered hierarchy in order to fully take Paul’s word as authoritative. In the same way a Christian might reject Paul’s instruction for women to be veiled on the basis of disagreeing with the principle that “nature itself” teaches it, so might a Christian reject Paul’s condemnation of same-sex eroticism on the basis he simply had no concept of homosexuality as a biologically natural orientation. The question also demands to be asked of what relevance is contemporary biological information that suggests homosexuality does contain a natural as well as an environmental component (Mondimore). If Paul operates under a biological paradigm no longer considered accurate, the effect this has on his ethical judgments which are based on such a paradigm is a serious question faced by those seeking to define Biblical authority in a responsible way.

If one is to be a responsible reader and interpreter of the Biblical text, one cannot evaluate Paul’s conclusions apart from the premises he uses to make his arguments. Because his opposition to same-sex eroticism is based on ancient Greco-Roman ideals of gendered hierarchy and an etiology of homosexuality with which modern biology would disagree, it is hermeneutically irresponsible to cite Paul as opposing homosexuality as distinct from merely same-sex eroticism. This is particularly the case if one believes, as Boswell and Martin both claim, “παρὰ  φύσιν” is Paul’s way of referring not to the created order in Genesis, but to the specific pagan Gentiles in question. Importantly, qualifying Paul’s comments in this way does not necessarily constitute a rejection of the authority of Paul: it is simply to recognize the limits of that authority. One might affirm he made authoritative conclusions based on the available information he had at the time while also affirming new information might alter our interpretation and/or application of his comments today.

Paul’s comments regarding same-sex eroticism in Romans 1 demand a response from contemporary Christian communities with a high view of Scripture. Just as they cannot be directly transplanted from the ancient Greco-Roman world that had no concept of a homosexual orientation, there are also problems with tossing them lightly aside as products of the past with no relevance to today. The work done by Biblical scholars balancing exegesis with hermeneutics is valid and necessary for this passage in particular. Debates over the ethicality of homosexuality will continue to rage within denominations and churches, but perhaps responsible Biblical scholarship can serve as a guiding light.

Works Cited

Boswell, John. “The Scriptures.” Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century. Chicago and London: U of Chicago, 1980. Print.

Dio. Dio Chrysostom. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U, 1993. Print.

DeYoung, Kevin. What Does the Bible Really Teach about Homosexuality? Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2015.

The Harper Collins Study Bible: New Revised Standard Version. General Editor: Harold W. Attridge. San Francisco, CA: HarperCollins Publisheres, 1989.

Hays, Richard B. “Relations natural and unnatural: a response to J Boswell’s exegesis of Rom 1.” Journal of Religious Ethics 14.1 (19860101): 184-.

Hubbard, Thomas K. Homosexuality In Greece and Rome : a Sourcebook of Basic Documents. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003.

Loader, William. “Same-Sex Relationships: A 1^st-Century Perspective.” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 70.1 (2014): 1-9. Academic Search Complete. Web. 30 Oct. 2015.

Martin, Dale B. Sex and the Single Savior: Gender and Sexuality In Biblical Interpretation. Louisville, Ky.:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2006.

Mondimore, Francis Mark. A Natural History of Homosexuality. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996.

Plutarch, and Grēgorios N. Vernardakēs. Moralia. Lipsiae: B. G. Teubner, 1888.