The noun κλιβανος (klibanos) in the Greek classics generally describes some sort of enclosed space that at the bottom is wide but closed, and at the top narrow but open. Specifically, it may refer to a bulging soft vessel for drawing water from a well, or some underground cavern or irrigation passage. Most often, though, our word describes a so-called earthen-oven, a specific sort of funnel-shaped earthen vessel, beneath and around which hot embers were stacked and within which bread was baked, or pottery. Later such bread-ovens would develop into forcibly aspirated furnaces that would become hot enough to smelt metals. Our English word "metal" comes from the verb μεταλλαω (metalleo), to diligently search, which means that metal was named for the technological wisdom it took to get it (Exodus 31:3) — see our article on χαλκος (chalkos), copper.

Such an earthen-oven (particularly one for baking bread) was known in Hebrew as a תנור (tannur), and while this word is formally of unclear pedigree, here at Abarim Publications we confidently list it under the נור נהר (nor nahar) root cluster. The verb נהר (nahar) means both to shine (what a star does) and to flow (what a river does), and a working oven both shines and flows (smoke).

Most significantly, our word תנור (tannur) describes one of two objects that move through the sacrificial halves, which Abraham prepared for YHWH to establish his covenant (Genesis 15:17). These objects are: (1) a dark-smoking (עשן, 'ashan) furnace, and (2) a torch (לפיד, lapid) of fire (אש, 'esh). A similar duality occurs in the pillar of smoke and fire (Exodus 13:21) and king Apollyon of the bottomless pit, as envisioned by the Revelator (Revelation 9:2).

Here at Abarim Publications we would guess that this image expresses the most rudimentary division of the human mind, both individually and socially, namely the division between (1) the emotional core that sits in our deep dark belly (verb θυμιαω (thumiao) means to make smoke and ash; noun θυμοσ (thumos) describes intense mental agitation), (2) our individual rationality seated in our brain, and (3) our collective language, which gives us the ability to connect and combine with others and make the unified super-mind that is our culture (Matthew 18:20), which in turn functions as a vast depository of all knowledge ever obtained by humanity (John 21:25). If we can read, then we can explore the minds of billions (Psalm 16:10) This latter level corresponds to stars (Genesis 15:5, Matthew 2:2), which explains the idea behind Star Trek (and the Odyssey: see the first three lines of the first chapter). The second level corresponds to the sun and the third to the invisible center of gravity of the sun and moon combined, which causes the tides on earth (the idea being that if our rational knowledge is the dry land of our mind, then our emotions are the waters).

This most primal image of the triple decker mind — hence also the ever convenient Knight Bus of Harry Potter, which serves anybody with an active δοξα (doxa) — was in later antiquity further developed to contain seven sub-layers in each main layer, hence the seven circles of hell (a.k.a. the seven seas), the seven lands of earth and the seven heavens (see our article on δρακων, drakon, snake, for more details).

Despite rumors to the contrary, the Bible confidently maintains that the wicked, or perhaps merely their worthless deeds (1 Corinthians 3:13-15), are fuel for the fire (Psalm 21:9, Lamentations 5:10, Hosea 7:4-7), which implies their termination at the broad bottom end, whilst at the higher and narrower end the Bread of Life is baked (see Malachi 4:1). This at once also brings to mind the broad way to destruction and narrow gate to life that Jesus mentions in Matthew 7:13-14. It's prudent to note that both parties enter the oven but only one party comes out.

In the New Testament, our word occurs in Matthew 6:30 and Luke 12:28 only, in the one single description of grass getting thrown into a κλιβανος (klibanos), which is rather odd. Greek had plenty of words that described ovens or fires whose purpose it was to destroy or burn up wastes, but our noun κλιβανος (klibanos) is typically a word that has to do with food or water production. That very strongly suggests that the "grass" that gets cast into our vessel is not waste grass (this is before the time of lawn mowers) but rather grains — σιτος (sitos), grain; κριθη (krithe), barley; πυρ (pur), wheat — that are ground and mixed and made into dough (φυραμα, phurama) and then inserted into our κλιβανος (klibanos). And all this to make bread. The Greek word for bread, namely αρτος (artos), looks closely similar to the adjective αρτιος (artios), meaning precisely right; hence our words artisan, artistic and art.

The etymology of our word κλιβανος (klibanos) is formally obscure but that is mostly because we don't precisely know how and via which route it ended up in Greek. The "-anos" part of our word is a not uncommon suffix, and the remaining bit of our word, klib-, is rather obviously related to the Slavic word hleb/chlev, bread, and hence the English word "loaf" (and hence our English word "lord", which is a contraction of "hlaf", bread, and "weard" or ward: the original "lord" was the provision master). But an additional hurdle to the etymological challenge regarding our noun κλιβανος (klibanos) is that it also exists as κριβανος (kribanos), and that's the version of the fancy Attic of Plato and colleagues. And we don't know for sure what came first, the klib- or krib- version, and if the latter, where this element came from. Interestingly, our English word "crib" comes from the same PIE root "gerb-", to bundle or twist (of wickerwork and reeds) as the noun γραμμα (gramma), a writing.

Either way, no other words in Greek start with klib- or krib-, which points to a later import — kind of like how the word "computer" found its way into most languages of the world, but not its parent verb "to compute" which in turn belongs to both the "comp-" family of words (compete, company, compassion) and the "-ute" family of words (repute, dispute). This will tell future language-archeologists that the word "computer" was native to English and introduced to the rest of the world along with the item that this word described: suddenly, because the computer was a whole new invention that compared to nothing that came before and flooded the world in a wave of brand new technology. It appears that our word κλιβανος (klibanos), likewise, accompanied the item it described and initiated a whole new way of making food.

Curiously, the Hebrew word for milk is חלב (halab), which closely relates to the word for fat, namely חלב (heleb), which (judging from cognate languages) probably referred to the midriff, whose section is more commonly referred to by the word קרב (qereb), innards or inward parts, which corresponds to the verb קרב (qarab), to approach or draw near, hence, quite significantly, the technical term Corban, a gift devoted to God (Mark 7:11). Another noun from this same verb is קרב (qerab), meaning battle. The more common verb for doing battle is לחם (laham), which is identical to לחם (laham), to eat, hence the noun לחם (lehem), bread, and hence the name Bethlehem, meaning House of Bread.

In Greek, there is the verb κλαω (klao), to break (mostly of bread), and its twin κλαιω (klaio), to wail. The Greek word for midriff is φρην (phren), whereas φρεαρ (phrear) describes a cistern or underground cavern, and the verb φραζω (phrazo) means to put into words.

Someone with a poetic eye and a sense of humor may even note a distant similarity between our word κριβανος (kribanos), in which grass is cast, and the noun κραββατος (krabbatos), a make-shift mattress filled with twigs and leaves. Remember that in life, animals of all sorts and heritage find ways to engage all others, not only the ones they biologically relate to. Likewise, the Greek and Hebrew of the Bible burst with word-jokes and look-alikes and imitations, and all these have meaning and association far beyond what can be technically established. Moreover, if all the languages of the world are animals, then writing introduced a kind of agricultural revolution in which Hebrew became the world's shepherd (ποιμην, poimen) and Greek became its dog ( κυων, kuon).