On Prophets And Their Demise

Mostly Not About Jordan Peterson

Truly, I say to you, among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist. Yet the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. (Matthew 11:11)

There’s a very strange story in the Old Testament about an unnamed prophet who is killed by a lion. The strange part is not that he is killed, but how and why it happens. I’ve been looking for an excuse to write about this for some time. Then came the recent dogpile on Jordan Peterson regarding this video of him debating twenty atheists, and it seemed as good an occasion as any.

What did I think of the video? I mean, sure, I’ll bite. But only for a moment, only as a setup for my weird story, which I think points to something more timeless about prophets and their plight.

We live in an age of prophets. False ones and true ones and many in between. They see things that we cannot or will not. They speak with authority in our public places—that is, mostly on our screens—warning and entreating us, calling us to heed the God or gods they represent. All prophets, as I think

Paul Vanderklay

has said, are prophets of something. Even when they say they do not believe in gods or spirits, powerful spirits speak through them, for better or worse.

Of course, we don’t usually call these people “prophets.” We don’t usually believe in prophets, much less in gods or spirits. Yet still, we attend to them. We may even reshape our priorities according to their words. But we grossly underestimate the weight of responsibility and accountability that rests on their shoulders. The Bible, however, reminds us repeatedly that the stakes are high. In Deuteronomy 13, for instance, we find that false prophets are to be put to death. In 1 Kings 18, Elijah enacts this very commandment by slaughtering 450 prophets of Baal. Our strange story begins a few chapters earlier than this blood-soaked account. And though it only involves the cursed death of a single man, it’s even more offensive to our modern sensibilities. But first…

Jordan Peterson and the Atheists

I guess I should say from the start of this bit that I don’t really relate to the various take-downs I’ve seen, be they from Christians or non. I’ve followed JP pretty closely for years now, not precisely as a die-hard enthusiast, but as a genuinely interested religious person trying to glean all I can from his (mostly) secular approach to philosophy, psychology, and faith. Almost immediately I could see some major parallels with an early C. S. Lewis, and I was curious to find out whether his deepest philosophical inquiries would lead him closer to Christianity, as they did for Lewis.

Interestingly, they definitely have, to the point where he is now labeled as a “Christian” in a room full of atheists, despite the fact that he still refuses to assume that label for himself! This doesn’t mean I agree with all of his thinking. I have my qualms. But he is older and smarter and wiser than I in any number of ways, so I’ve enjoyed receiving what he has to offer.

I admit that I am more familiar with pre-daily-Wire JP. I haven’t kept up with him very well lately. I didn’t even watch the video in question until last night. But after the initial smattering of viral clips, I pretty much assumed the critics were right. And I wasn’t shocked. I have seen him fail before. The idea of locking him in a room with a bunch of young, feisty atheists racing to “own” the lobster man with one-liners before their two minutes of fame is up didn’t seem like a situation that would bring out his “winsome” side.

Peterson, by his own admission, can be a bit moody, or as the psychologists say, “high in neuroticism.” He is often cranky. He is sometimes distracted by his own inner monologue. These tendencies do not always detract from his stated mission of genuine, mutual truth-seeking. But when they do, he can find himself unable to hear the person who is talking to him. And this, in my opinion, is when he fails.

By the way, I think this would be true of most humans given a spotlight like his, and, for most of us, to an even greater degree. Fame is almost always at cross-purposes with love and sanity. We should not wish it even on our worst enemies. Or perhaps we should only wish it on them.

Anyway, I finally watched the video, and here’s the thing.

I really could not imagine him doing a much better job than he did. He was not having an “off night.” He was not more cranky than he usually is. (In fact, some of my favorite parts of the video were when he interrupted the dialogue in order to remind some of the younger men the importance of manners. Like a wise old man from almost any other generation than ours, he showed little patience for smart-alecks, while remaining hospitable and even complimentary of his more careful and respectful adversaries.) He did seem to hear most of his opponents. He generally responded to their questions and claims thoughtfully and respectfully, though not perfectly. I also think he succeeded in upending some of the more foolish assumptions and unexamined propositions that were placed before him.

His first and primary claim—that atheists do not understand the God they reject—was, in my view, proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was proven in almost every interaction, and it was certainly proven by the sum of the interactions. As someone familiar with Peterson’s rhetoric and the philosophical framework which undergirds it, this much was clear to me.

But mostly what I mean is, I could not imagine him doing a better job.

Certainly I could imagine other Christians—say, Wesley Huff or Bishop Barron or Jonathan Pageau or the late Tim Keller—saying far more of the things I would have wanted to say. I could imagine all those men representing the Christian faith more effectively in both their arguments and their demeanor. They would not only have represented Christianity well, they would have represented…Christianity.

This is not, however, what I understand Jordan Peterson’s vocation to be. He was not there to represent Christianity. He literally refused to be labeled a Christian on multiple occasions. Rather, he was there to do exactly what he did—and has done for a quite a few years now—to be a thorn in the heel of modern atheism.

Okay. I have said too much, far more than I intended, about the latest viral clip of Jordan Peterson, which will probably be forgotten a month from now anyway. But hopefully you will not forget the very strange story I’m about to tell you from 1 Kings.

The Man of God, the Lying Man of God, & the Lion

Recall that the Books of Kings and Chronicles tell the story of the long line of Israel’s rulers after David. Basically, despite a few bright moments, it’s not a pretty story. The kings continually fail to do as they should, the kingdom splits, and ultimately they end up in exile. There’s a kind of repeating chorus throughout the narrative that goes something like this:

Now so-and-so began to reign over Judah. And he walked in all the sins that his father did before him, and his heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God, as the heart of David.

But, near the beginning of the narrative, before this chorus becomes a pattern, we meet a man named Jeroboam. Near the end of Solomon’s reign, the prophet Ahijah meets Jeroboam and gives him a message. He tears his cloak into twelve pieces and says,

Take ten pieces for yourself, for this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘See, I am going to tear the kingdom out of Solomon’s hand and give you ten tribes. But for the sake of my servant David and the city of Jerusalem, which I have chosen out of all the tribes of Israel, he will have one tribe.’

According to Ahijah, Solomon has allowed the worship of foreign gods and has been obedient to the Lord like his father David. Therefore:

You [Jeroboam] will rule over all that your heart desires; you will be king over Israel. If you do whatever I command you and walk in obedience to me and do what is right in my eyes by obeying my decrees and commands, as David my servant did, I will be with you. I will build you a dynasty as enduring as the one I built for David and will give Israel to you.

After this, in an act eerily reminiscent of Saul, Solomon tries to kill Jeroboam. He then flees to Egypt, only to return after the death of the king.

Fast forward a bit, and, sure enough, Jeroboam becomes king over the northern tribes. But sadly, he does not do what the Lord commanded of him. Fearing that people might return to Solomon’s son Rehoboam of Judah, he sets up golden calves in Bethel and Dan as alternative worship sites to Jerusalem, leading Israel once again into idolatry.

Here begins (finally) the weird story of the death of the unnamed prophet in 1 Kings 13:

By the word of the Lord a man of God came from Judah to Bethel, as Jeroboam was standing by the altar to make an offering. By the word of the Lord he cried out against the altar: “Altar, altar! This is what the Lord says: ‘A son named Josiah will be born to the house of David. On you he will sacrifice the priests of the high places who make offerings here, and human bones will be burned on you.’” That same day the man of God gave a sign: “This is the sign the Lord has declared: The altar will be split apart and the ashes on it will be poured out.”

At the end of this speech, King Jeroboam raises his hand, ordering that the man be killed on the spot. But as he does, his hand withers, proving that the prophet is truly from God. When the prophet then heals his withered arm, Jeroboam is amazed and invites him to stay and eat with him in the palace. But the prophet is under strict orders from God. He must not stay in Bethel for any reason. He was sent only to deliver his message, then to leave the land for good. So he leaves.

Meanwhile another old prophet in the land hears of this man of God and of his words and deeds before the throne of Jeroboam. So he gets on his donkey and sets out to meet the man on his way out of town. Sure enough, he finds him on the road and invites him to come and eat with him. But the man refuses.

“I cannot turn back and go with you, nor can I eat bread or drink water with you in this place. I have been told by the word of the Lord: ‘You must not eat bread or drink water there or return by the way you came.”

But the old prophet answered, “I too am a prophet, as you are. And an angel said to me by the word of the Lord: ‘Bring him back with you to your house so that he may eat bread and drink water.’” (But he was lying to him.) So the man of God returned with him and ate and drank in his house.

That’s right. The one true prophet of God lied to the other true prophet of God, and told him the Lord wanted him to do what he was explicitly told not to do. And the younger prophet believes the older, and obeys. Then…

While they were sitting at the table, the word of the Lord came to the old prophet who had brought him back. He cried out to the man of God who had come from Judah, “This is what the Lord says: ‘You have defied the word of the Lord and have not kept the command the Lord your God gave you. You came back and ate bread and drank water in the place where he told you not to eat or drink. Therefore your body will not be buried in the tomb of your ancestors.’”

When the man of God had finished eating and drinking, the prophet who had brought him back saddled his donkey for him. As he went on his way, a lion met him on the road and killed him, and his body was left lying on the road, with both the donkey and the lion standing beside it. [...] When the prophet who had brought him back from his journey heard of it, he said, “It is the man of God who defied the word of the Lord. The Lord has given him over to the lion, which has mauled him and killed him, as the word of the Lord had warned him.”

So the great man of God is mauled by a lion. And the man who lied to him about the Lord’s will, now tells us that this death is indeed the Lord’s judgement against the man. But it gets even weirder…

When he hears of the incident, the old prophet saddles his donkey and goes to retrieve the (still intact) body of the man he seemingly betrayed. And there he mourns and cries, “Alas, my brother!” Finally, in an act of deep respect, he buries the man in a tomb reserved for himself and tells his sons,

“When I die, bury me in the grave where the man of God is buried; lay my bones beside his bones. For the message he declared by the word of the Lord against the altar in Bethel and against all the shrines on the high places in the towns of Samaria will certainly come true.”

And that is the story of the unnamed prophet who is killed by a lion.

Okay, But What Does It Mean?

One thing we’ve (re-)learned in the Jordan Peterson moment is that the world tends to lay itself out in hierarchies. We are always subject to “aboveness,” to authority, to frames and perspectives which have been imposed upon us whether we want them or not. To use a very simple example, children cannot survive—cannot even exist—without parents. But they also cannot perceive the world without the particular lens their parents give them. They may sometimes refuse to obey their parents when they are little. They may even grow to disagree with their parents’ perspectives when they are grown. But the one thing they cannot do is see the world outside of them.

A similar relationship can be found between the people of Israel and their rulers in the Book of Kings. If the top of the hierarchy fails to obey God, everyone is affected. As go the kings, so go the people. If you have bad parents, it doesn’t necessarily mean you will be a bad kid (though it might!), but it does mean your life and perspective will inevitably be shaped by that fact.

Yet parents are not the only hierarchical reality in the life of a growing child. Other powerful influences insert themselves from the outside, which sometimes prove even more influential, for better or worse. A prophet is like this. They seem to come out of nowhere, and yet they assume a position at the very top of the hierarchy. They seem to see things which parents and kings do not, and they speak with comparable if not greater authority.

Now, there are false prophets and true ones. For a growing child, “cool” older friends can have a kind of authority which undermines the healthy role of a parent. (False prophet.) Alternatively, a teacher or coach or youth leader or pastor can speak in a way that also counteracts the negative influences of one’s parents, but in a way that is ultimately good and necessary for the child’s growth and integrity. (True prophet.)

But notice that even the “true prophets” in this example are wielding a disruptive and potentially dangerous amount of authority. They may speak the truth, but they’d better remain absolutely true to that truth over the longhaul, lest the growing child become even more screwed up by them than by their own bad parents or false-prophet friends. There is nothing worse than being let down or betrayed by the best influences in your life. And yet, who can persevere at the top of the hierarchy? The air is thin and the ground exceedingly narrow in the high places where prophets stand and speak.

Hopefully you’re now beginning to see how the story of the unnamed prophet is less strange than it first appeared. In a time of hierarchical failure, a man of God is called to speak to the top. Which is another way of saying, he is called to be the top, for at least that moment, to represent the Lord to the king. His instructions are quite clear. His road is narrow. Come. Speak. Leave. Do not even stop to eat.

And he does it. The task may be simple, but it is not easy. The faith and courage required to speak such a message might exceed the capacity of every man in Israel. Yet this one man of God is faithful enough and courageous enough to do it. But as the rest of the story proves, he is not quite faithful enough to persevere at that level of responsibility. If you’re going to rebuke God’s chosen king for his wavering allegiances, you’d better not waver yourself.

But what about the old prophet who lies to him in order to test him? It’s harsh treatment to be sure. But why would a prophet expect otherwise? The one at the top is to be tested most of all, because he must be the most trustworthy. And the test is this: can you sustain this level of faithfulness? Because, if not, you certainly should not retain this level of authority. The stakes are too high, and as all true prophets inevitably discover, God is not messing around.

But notice, perhaps strangest of all, that the old prophet who sets the trap that gets the man of God killed is also the first to praise and honor him once he is dead. Was it some grave sin to agree to eat with another prophet who convinces you that the Lord has ordained it? Grave enough to die on the side of the road. But certainly not grave enough to ruin Israel or besmirch his name. It is only a very small sign of decline. But for those at the top, one small hint of deterioration, if allowed to continue over time, could become the thing that ruins everything for everyone. “Not many of you should presume to be teachers,” etc.

And so, for the person who truly loves God, it is better to die once your appointed deed is done. Yes, it is a judgement (judgement is inevitable), but perhaps much more, it is a mercy. You have done the job you were sent to do. That is enough. Better to die now than to live on to a day where you are no longer able to do what you did—no longer fully His, taking matters into your own hands, making decisions by your own wisdom, outside the narrow purview into which you were originally called. To be holy is to be so close to the fire of God’s life as to be always at risk of your own death. But such a death can be a blessing. Not all men are blessed with the kind of severe mercy that was shown to the prophet in 1 Kings 13. But because he was, his life ended well. Though his death was tinged with shame (as are all deaths), his life was honored and remembered.

There’s a powerful parallel of this in the life and death of Moses. The end of Moses’s life is famously—and one might be tempted to think, needlessly—harsh. After a heroic career as God’s prophet and judge—the burning bush, the plagues, the Passover, the parting of the Red Sea, the giving of the Law, the revelation of His glory, and the promise of Canaan—Moses strikes a rock instead of speaking to it…and the Lord tells him that he will not enter the Promised Land. Instead, he will die in the wilderness, and another (Joshua) will take his place.

Do we then conclude that Moses was an utter failure? Do we blot out his memory or even taint it with the shame of his final misstep? Of course not. Moses was the great prophet, perhaps the greatest in the Old Testament. But his time of leadership had come to an end. Was striking the rock instead of speaking to it some grave sin? Grave enough to die in the wilderness. But certainly not grave enough to undo all he had done with the Lord’s help. Yet what if he had gone on? Could a man in his role, now apparently prone to striking things which God had commanded him to speak to, really continue to lead God’s people across the Jordan? I think not. After all, the entrance to Canaan is Jericho, and the walls of Jericho, if you recall, are a kind of “rock” which must be spoken to rather than struck if they are going to fall. Joshua was the man for that hour, as was Moses for his own.

A prophet is given not only a task but a time. Those of us who feel we have a mantle to wear and a message to share would do well to count the cost, especially if we intend to speak of—or on behalf of—the one true God. For He is indeed merciful enough to cut our ministry short.

Harvey Dent’s famous line from The Dark Knight rings true here, but in a different way than the film intended: “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

The true prophet’s aim is not to die a hero, but to die a man of God, to die holy, completely set apart for Him and seeking only His secret reward. It is, however, quite common to see men with a prophet’s mantle live long enough to serve more than one Master, to live for more than one reward. I don’t have anyone in particular in mind as I write these words. Not Jordan Peterson or anyone else. Perhaps I am thinking mainly of myself. But the lion awaits us all. My prayer is simply that I will remain faithful until the day he strikes. And even then to be able to say, with St. Paul, “Where O Death is thy sting?”

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