Wisdom Actors, part 2
Religion and politics
Let’s begin with religion and politics. After all, Daniel, we know from the text, was a person holding deep religious convictions as a devote Jew, yet he rose to the highest offices of political influence in Babylon. How is this possible? How may a person serve in a government that not only doesn’t square with his or her religious beliefs but has just conquered your land?
Truth be told, this is much more our question today than it would have been in Daniel’s time. That is, we read back into his time our questions and assume they were Daniel’s. For instance, one of the biggest, if not the biggest, concerns in the White House and in Washington think tanks since 9/11 has been what the relationship of religion and politics should be in U.S. foreign policy, or if there should be any such relationship at all. Religious scholars and professionals at the highest levels of government have written many books about this.we read back into his time our questions and assume they were Daniel’s
To offer but one example, former secretary of state Madeleine Albright wears her heart on her sleeve. “What role, if any, should religious convictions play in the decisions of those responsible for U.S. foreign policy? But perhaps we should begin by asking why we are even thinking about these questions, given America’s constitutional separation of church and state. And haven’t we long since concluded that is a mistake, in any case, to mix religion and foreign policy? I had certainly thought so.” (Albright, The Mighty and the Almighty: Reflections on America, God, and World Affairs, 2006, p. 6. Also see books on this topic by scholars such as Scott Thomas, Douglas Johnston, and others in the Bibliography.)
Officials in Daniel’s time did not need to process a worldview shift in order to consider the relationship between religion and the states as crucial. We today in the West don’t have much we can say to them about this. But they have a lot to teach us. Even old-world Israel’s constitutional “king-prophet-priest” separation of powers gave that nation a political structure in which religion played a central role. The basic questions we struggle with today in a “secular” West about the interplay of religion, the state, and international relations were not their questions.
As I wrote about Ezra the priest and shuttle diplomat, a question during that time about whether a devoutly religious person could serve in foreign government would seem silly, like today hearing your neighbor ask what electricity is for. In the collective worldview of that time and region, you could not separate or marginalize the state or international relations from religious issues, interests, and actors. It all went together for them like soup and water. So the questions the devout Daniel and his three Jewish colleagues asked, and the questions that their Chaldean colleagues asked, were: “Where will I draw the line as a religious person serving in government?” And, here, much can be learned from the text.
Sticking point about food
The informative narratives of several religious sticking point issues are instructive in this regard. At great potential cost to their lives, Daniel and his three Jewish colleagues dig their heels in and say: “This far will we go, but no farther.”
The text indicates that soon after the four friends enter their apprenticeships, “Daniel resolved not to defile himself with the royal food and wine, and he asked the chief official for permission not to defile himself this way” (1:8-10). Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah also felt the same way (v. 11) and Daniel becomes the group’s spokesperson on the issue. This sticking point probably would have been rooted in their Jewish religious conviction about food intake, but the decision meant a huge risk, both for the four friends and their don, Ashpenaz, who even asks Daniel to consider changing his mind. After all, he explains, I could lose my head over this.
From the use of the word “defile,” which is a seriously judgmental value-laden word, it is possible to speculate that there might have been quite a heartfelt discussion taking place between tutor and pupil about the contradictions in Daniel’s mind between the king’s pantry and Jewish dietary laws. If we also assume that Ashpenaz understood that, which seems likely to me, given his education as head tutor, well, I for one, would quite like to have been sitting in on that conversation. And there seems to be some slight hint in the narrative that Ashpenaz won the early rounds of debate. This, too, makes sense to me. After all, even though Daniel held this strong religious conviction, I can imagine that as a young man recently arrived at the king’s college, he was no match in this argument with his tutor. Or it may have been that Ashpenaz simply put his foot down and said “We’re not going there! You want to get me killed?”
But something took place between verses ten and eleven to convinced Daniel to shift his focus from argument to experiment and from Ashpenaz to a person the English translors call “a guard” (v. 11). The original language, however, indicates that he was more of a butler, which makes sense considering that this is the man to whom Daniel is proposes a ten-day dietary test. “Give us nothing but vegetables to eat and water to drink,” Daniel explains. “Then compare our appearance with that of the young men who eat the royal food, and treat your servants in accordance with what you see.” When, “at the end of the ten days they looked healthier and better than any of the young men who ate the royal food,” Daniel and his three friends are placed on the new diet permanently (1:11-14).
Whether this experiment took place behind the back of Daniel’s don, the narrative does not indicate. But it shows a wise piece of negotiations, a vital skill for any budding diplomat. And the outcome is a win-win for all the parties. Daniel was not making demands or threats, nor was he seeking just his own interests but mutual gain for all. When his first attempt leaves the problem unresolved to Daniel’s liking, he enlists a a responsible third party (the butler) as a mediator, puts for his proposal, and after objective evidence has been determined he will leave the final decision in the hands of the butler. And when the new diet becomes normative for the four young pupils, it has the added benefit of getting Ashpenaz off the hook with the king. As someone has said, diplomacy is the act of letting the other guy have your way.
Sticking points with names
Other sticking points appear in the text. One seems strange. It concerns a choice the four made that went to the heart of their lives, again while at university, and their decision might make some of us balk. Although the four are adamant about their diet, they permit their names to be changed. No big deal? Well, how about if you were being told that you had to change your name in a way that you considered extremely offensive to you as a Christian or a Muslim?
In the story, each of their birth, or Hebrew, names are in various ways are associated with characteristics of Yahweh, the God of Israel, but upon entering university their names are formally changed to denote various pagan gods (1:6-7). For instance, Azariah, whose name in Hebrew means “the Lord helps,” receives the name Abednego, “slave of Nego,” as the English translators have it. But many scholars see “Abednego” as a distortion of “Arad-nab?,” meaning “servant of Nab?,” (a principle god of the Babylonians, thought to have been Nebuchadnezzar’s personal god).how about if you were being told that you had to change your name in a way that you considered extremely offensive to you as a Christian or a Muslim?
Daniel, whose name in Hebrew means “judge of God” (other sources have “God is my judge,” or “God will judge”), is given the name “Belteschazzar,” which was formed from “Bel,” a word ultimately associated with Marduk, the chief god of the Babylonians. The name is similar to that of Belshazzar, the king of Babylon in Daniel 5. It is unclear what “Belteschazzar” actually meant, but in common speech it meant “lord” or “master,” similar to the way the name of the Canaanite god Baal was used by the Canaanites. “Bel” was a Babylonian word for “master” or “lord.” It is possible that “Belteschazzar” meant something like “Bel is my prince.” In Isaiah 46:1, Bel (Marduk) is paired with Nebo (Nab?) and both are departing helplessly from Babylon into exile. (Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible, 2000, p. 162.)
You have to imagine what this would have been like, to have been asked – you a pious Jew – to submit to having to walk around with that kind of name. Yet Daniel carried it in the government, where he had to respond to it all the time. Whenever he was asked, “What’s your name, sir?”, this devout Jew had to reply, “‘Bel is my prince’ is my name.” Just think what that meant to his soul as a pious Jew. It would have been a sticking point for many godly Israelites of the time, for whom any association with a foreign god was a religious bugaboo. Antipathy toward other gods was deeply inbred in the collective unconscious of the people. Yet Daniel, who is certainly aware of this powerful historic connotation and its religious implications, makes not a peep of protest. It does not seem to be a sticking point for him.
The change of names, however, was not only a personal religious compromise. It was politics by another name. It meant, at least symbolically to the royal court, a changed national allegiance. Their Hebrew names went to the heart of their Israelite identity and national allegiance, a fundamental point whose implications would have been clear to their tutors and to every other Chaldean official. If Daniel wanted to be a subject of the king of Babylon and an official in the royal court, no way would he be permitted to answer the question “What’s your name?” with “Judge of God!” The changed names therefore served an important political purpose. If these four budding Jewish scholars were to be fully integrated into Chaldean officialdom, lingering allegiance to Israelite nationalism would have to go away, at least symbolically. The new names served that purpose, and were probably were part of an official ceremony in which the four swore allegiance to Babylon as kind of naturalized citizens (K & D, “Daniel,” vol. 9, p. 79).
Sticking point about Chaldean esoterica
Returning to Daniel’s Babylonian education, the text does not indicate how this devote Jew kept a clear conscience about some of the subjects he was required to take, yet he went through the course work, took it on the nose, and at the end was graduated summa cum laude. No doubt other devout Jews would have said, “I’d rather die than go through that education.” And that for them would have been a matter of conscience, their sticking point. Daniel, however, whatever his reasons, does not seem fussed about it. He will not only go through it but he will ace it and get on a fast track into a career at the highest levels of government.
Quite unlike his Chaldean colleagues, however, Daniel does have a sticking point about the practice Chaldean esoterica. He will not rely on astrology or on any other esoteric practice of the Babylonian royal court for guidance. Daniel will rely on inspiration from God. As scholars of religious apologetics will say, there is a marked difference between studying astrology to practice it and studying astrology to learn what you’re up against.
Concerning dream interpretation, Daniel does not oppose it, but he refuses to rely on Chaldean religious practice to interpret dreams, visions, and other bizarre occurrences, such as “the writing on the wall.” He is always open to interpreting the kings’ dreams and visions; after all, it is part of his job description, but in doing so he will rely on the “God in heaven who reveals mysteries” (2:28; see also 1:17). This is another of those old-world linkages between religion and politics that seems as puzzling to us in the West today as our disbelief on the matter would have seemed to Daniel. Nevertheless, Daniel’s overt reliance on God’s guidance at turning point moments in his political career earned him favor with the heads of the successive government in which he served. But most pointedly, it marked his “methodology” off from those of the Chaldean esotericists and stood in judgment over theirs.their sticking points are essential to sustaining their freedom of conscience in political life and government service
We see, then, that their sticking points are essential to sustaining their freedom of conscience in political life and government service. And as John Peck and I wrote about Daniel, in Uncommon Sense: “Here’s a person who could go along with the heathen world he was in, at least over education and the sort of name he would carry, but not about food… This is not just fascinating. It’s meant to be instructive for us today in our pluralist situations,” where time and time again, “what for one person is a godly compromise, for another may not be possible” (p. 81). More than that, however, the Book of Daniel leaves open the possibility that even close political colleagues who are members of the same “temple” – or “church” or ”mosque,” for that matter – people whom you might assume would hold similar convictions about the same issues, events, and decisions – may not. Two really strange narratives (I find them so, anyway) concerning sticking points that meant risking life and limb indicate this.
Different sticking points among colleagues
Even among close colleagues of the same “temple” working in the in same government, sticking points may differ, even on life-threatening issues. Although Daniel and his three friends agreed on issues of food, names, and curriculum), Daniel may have had quite a different conscience than his three friends regarding a pretty straightforward matter of Jewish religious allegiance.
The story is set within a controversial policy that gets scant attention in the form of what in our time is known as the famous childhood Sunday school “Tale of the Fiery Furnace.” In brief, Daniel 3 recounts the religious dedication of an immense image of gold made by Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, who then summoned every conceivable government official (3:2-3) to the plain of Dura to worship the image. Anyone who did not worship the image, the policy shockingly stipulated, was to be bound hand and foot and thrown alive into a blazing furnace.
Shadrach (Hananiah), Meshach (Mishael), and Abednego (Azariah) seem to have been trying to make themselves scarce, who can blame them, but eventually they are dragged to the plain, brought into the pagan worship service, and commanded to bow before the huge image. The king – known for his fits of hubris – is enraged when the three refuse. They are given a final chance, say No!, and are then tied up and thrown alive into a blazing furnace. The miracle is that they are rescued by a fourth man, who appears in the flames with them, and who looks like “a son of the gods,” according to Nebuchadnezzar, who has witnessed the whole scene (3:25).
It is worth asking, where was Daniel? What was he doing? If he was present on the plain of Dura, why was he not thrown into the fiery furnace? Did he bow before the idol? Perhaps he was lucky and was out of the country on a diplomatic mission. If so, when he was back in-country, we have no indication in the text that the policy had been rescinded. It may have been. But if it was still in effect, Daniel as a government official was required by law to worship the idol. What did he do? Was he present? Did he bow? The answer is left completely open in the text. Maybe this was not a sticking point issue for him.
Apparently, his three friends returned the favor, in an episode that also hearkens back to another famous childhood Sunday school lesson, “Daniel in the Lions’ Den.” King Darius had decreed that “anyone who prays to any god or man during the next thirty days, except to {Darius}, shall be thrown into the lions’ den” (6:7). The new policy was irrevocable, seemingly straightforward, and effected the entire citizenry, but behind the scenes it had been a carefully planned and well-executed trap set specifically for Daniel by his political enemies.
Darius had organized his sprawling kingdom around the rulership of 120 satraps, which were various sorts of high officials who exercised civil, military, and political authority within their districts and provinces (satrapies). Within this national structure, the satraps reported to three “presidents” (cârêk, Chaldean; “administrators,” NIV), one of whom was Daniel. As a member of the ruling triumvir, Daniel had distinguished himself “by his exceptional qualities” and the king sought to promote him “over the whole kingdom,” a position that would make the other presidents subordinate to him (6:3).
The royal prayer edict that threatened Daniel’s life had been instigated in a fit of envy by the other presidents and some high officials who bristled over Daniel’s pending appointment to the highest political office in the land by the king. The edict appears to have been a last resort for these officials, who had placed him under surveillance to try to “find grounds for charges against Daniel in his conduct of government affairs” (6:4). Unable to find any legal way of impeachment, even after sifting through Babylonian law with a fine tooth comb, his political enemies decide on a religious initiative. “We will never find any basis for charges against this man,” they conclude, “unless it has something to do with the law of his God” (6:5).
It does not appear from the text that these officials were motivated by religious animus but by pure political envy. With true Machiavellian overtones, they were simply seeking to get Daniel out of the way. By hook or by crook, they would have Daniel’s nomination to the highest office in the land withdrawn, or worse. Eventually they find a religious way, contrive a law they know cannot be overruled, and present it under false pretenses to the king for his signature. Although couched in a concern for a religious interest, it’s an act of sheer political expediency: “Anyone who prays to any god or man during the next thirty days, except to you, O king, shall be thrown into the lions’ den” (6:7). Daniel’s political enemies know that he holds a deep public religious conviction about praying to Yahweh, and they correctly assume that he cannot possibly obey this law.Where are Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? Why are they not also being fed to hungry lions?
What is this Babylonian president, a devout Jew, to do? He could make a religious compromise. After all, his life was suddenly at stake. Having been promised the top government position, Daniel might have thought: if I’m dead I won’t be of any use to anyone. Or he might have said: I can do a thirty day fast from public prayer to Yahweh and just pray privately; I’ll just ask God to wink at it during the month when I pray to the king (compare 2 Kings 5:18). On a cynical note, he might have thought: I won’t be able to use my inspired wisdom for the greater good of the people if I’m dead, so I’ll do what’s necessary to get this top job and have that much wider influence; and won’t that fool my political enemies when I pray to the king! For many devout believers any of these options might have been taken in the face of imminent death.
But not for Daniel. The officials appear as a united front before the king, lay out the policy (without mentioning Daniel), the law passes, and Daniel decides he is willing to die. He even goes out of his way to ensure that he is seen in public prayer to God. He is then arrested and sentenced to die in the lions’ den.
Question. Where are Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? Why are they not also being fed to hungry lions? What were they doing? Nowhere are they mentioned in this narrative. Were they out of the country? Perhaps they engaged in private prayer to God. Even so, they still would have been required by the new law to pray publicly to the king for thirty days. Did they?
