Robert Baker and Martin Lucas made a mistake. A big one. In the year 1631, these royal printers reissued the King James Authorized Bible, first published a mere twenty years prior. But they trusted the wrong person. The typesetter accidentally forgot a word. In some cases, no one would notice. In many instances, it might not matter. Yet of the 788,280 words in the King James, the typesetter forgot the word “not.” And it was a “not” in the Ten Commandments. Exodus 20:14 now read: “Thou shalt commit adultery.” Oops.
When the error surfaced, Charles I, successor to King James, summoned Baker and Lucas to court. He fined them £300 (around $85,000 today), revoked their printing license, and destroyed most of the bibles. About ten copies remain of what has come to be called “the Wicked Bible.”
The text of the Ten Commandments continues to court controversy. Most recently, Louisiana passed a law requiring all K–12 classrooms to display a poster of what it calls “The Ten Commandments.” The law even specifies its text, which relies on the King James Bible. Two weeks ago, a federal judge blocked the law’s implementation, for now. But we should still be concerned about this new push to bring religion into the classrooms, not just on Constitutional grounds, but for the sake of historical accuracy. For while the Ten Commandments, as preferred by Louisiana legislators, do not reproduce Baker’s and Lucas’s memorable error, they perpetuate their own series of misconceptions and mistakes. As in the seventeenth century, the government seems unable to get the Bible right.
To begin, “the” Ten Commandments do not exist. Exodus 20:2–17 and Deuteronomy 5:6–21 each contain a different version of what God tells Moses on Mount Sinai. Is Moses enjoined to “remember” the Sabbath, as in Exodus, or to “guard” it, as in Deuteronomy? By legislating the word “remember,” the Louisiana law privileges Exodus over Deuteronomy. It is “a” Ten Commandments, not “the” Ten Commandments.
And it is not even Ten Commandments. Count the “dos” and “do nots” of the Louisiana or Exodus text, and one reaches the number eleven or twelve, at minimum. The version in Deuteronomy also contains at least twelve decrees. But at least the Bible unambiguously calls them “the ten things” (Deut 10:6), a term lifted from a completely different set of laws in Exodus 34:17–26. In doing so, Deuteronomy is practicing what we might call creative mathematics.
As in the seventeenth century, the government seems unable to get the Bible right.
When Baker and Lucas set out to reproduce the King James, they failed by mistake. Louisiana failed on purpose. Their second commandment—if it is the second—prohibits graven images. But it omits the injunction against creating likenesses of objects in the heavens, earth, and sea. I guess art class isn’t cancelled. Similarly, their commandment to remember the Sabbath skips the words that follow: “Six days shalt thou labour.” No homework on Saturday and Sunday, no forcing employees to work on weekends. At least the Louisiana text retains at least one theologically iffy carrot: Honor your parents and you will live a long life.
It also keeps some of the more problematic translations within the King James. Taking the Lord’s name in vain probably means something more like lying under oath than saying “goddamnit.” And not stealing more reasonably refers to kidnapping than nicking your neighbor’s KitKat. Finally, the proper translation of the Hebrew lo tirzach is “thou shalt not murder,” not “thou shalt not kill”—so apologies to opponents of the death penalty and “stand your ground” laws.
No version of the Ten Commandments—if we even ought to call it that—captures the complexity of the text and its history. Each version privileges a specific form of religious expression and fails to represent the nonsectarian ethos of public education. If we truly wish to plaster the walls of our classroom with foundational legal documents, let’s start with one that contains a text about which we can all agree. I suggest the Bill of Rights, specifically the First Amendment.