As to how new it is, or what it is, I am not as sure as I ought to be, but still Im taken with a new approach to Scripture. The approach I am getting at is that assumed by those such as N.T. Wright. Here is a shallow account of it:
1. The approach seeks to think about scripture and its content in the thought forms of the Biblical writers. Of course, elevating "authorial intent" as the standard of meaning of scripture is nothing revolutionary. Yet, it seems that much of the typical (conservative evangelical) hermeneutics I have encountered end up methodologically looking for authorial intent via dialectical proof texting, wherein in we discover Paul's intent by some sot of comprehensive harmonization of his texts that pertain to some subject. In addition to this method, we end up construing the authors intent in our own modernistic concepts. However, this approach to Scripture I am considering seeks to drive deep into the author's conceptual springs from which flow his particular images, language and theology. We are looking to think in Paul's terms--be it the "two-aged" eschatology, or "mystery" as the inclusion of the Gentiles, etc.
2. This approach is thus historically/sociologically driven. No longer do we work with the "plain meaning of the text as we read it;" Instead, we seek out the "perhaps lost (partially or substantially) meaning of the text as it was meant." To accomplish this, we avail ourselves of all the modern day resources of history and sociology. Thus, in this hermeneutic, extra-Biblical texts of communities that we think the Biblical authors may have identified with, their Christian distinctives aside, are essential to the interpretive enterprise. The dead sea scrolls, targums, Jewish psuedopigrapha and apocrypha, the Septuagint--whatever can reveal the spirit of the times, these are our guide to getting into the Biblical authors' thought world, where the true meaning of the text/content of their theology lies. Since nearly much of the New testament was written by Jews (and many of the first Christians were Jews), recovering the first century Jewish mind is part of understanding what Jesus meant to these earliest Christians. Another part is understanding the (roman) world into which this theology was thrust. N.t. Wright calls this the derivation and confrontation of Biblical ideas, but that is a matter of too much detail for this post. The basic point is that, for this "new" approach, Historical sociology is the new hermeneutic key.
My trouble with all this, and thus, the reason that I write, is that this approach stands in a tension with tradition. Wright, and the wave of new testament scholars of which he is but a single part, are, in a creative and respectable away, going "back to the Bible," and with great fruitfulness. But, are they leaving their foundation in doing so? Craig Bartholomew and Michael Goheen in their book "The Drama of Scripture", while arguing that "the vision of God's ultimate purpose" for the world is not one wherein "Christians [are] suddenly transported out of this world to live a spiritual existence in heaven forever, quote N.T. Wright's statement, "Very often people have come to the New testament with the presumption that 'going to heaven when you die' is the implicit point of it all... They acquire that viewpoint from somewhere, but not from the new Testament." Bartholomew and Goheen go on explain just where that 'somewhere" is: "this view of the end is the result of the combination of Biblical teaching with pagan Greek philosophy in the early centuries of the church. It is especially in Augustine's early work, harmonizing Scripture with Neoplatonic philosophy."
Yet, while Wright, Bartholomew and Goheen may claim that God's ultimate purpose is to restore all of creation rather than to provide an escape from it, the seeming subtlety beneath it all is the conviction that church history basically started off on the wrong foot. As Christian became predominantly Roman-Gentile, it drifted from its homegrounds, loosing the context that grounded the intricacies and profundities of its thought. How much of our theology and interpretation is what is is because it was formed in this Greco-roman setting, rather than in its native Jewish contexts?
I think this "new" hermeneutic realizes that its conclusions may differ from those of Christian tradition. But how can this be done so comfortably?! it is as if, in the attempt to fetch fresher water, we are poisoning the well! Is there a way to keep the essentials of our tradition--, creeds, councils, basic orthodoxy, all without which we are completely lost--and yet claim that we, because of 1500 years of improper trajectory, need to significantly adjust our bearing? Can we articular this rigorously, so that we don't stand on our tradition with one foot and kick it out from under ourselves with the other? I hope so. In fact, I'd love to help. But that dang N.T. Wright has probably already stolen the idea and is now turning it into yet another book. How to proceed forward without leaving anything behind: it is a notorious struggle...
Monday, September 21, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Inspiration...Object and Extent
As usual, theology class left me a bit confused as I thought through old ideas in new ways. The subject was inspiration. The question, whether the Bible on our desk was inspired. According to the doctrine of inspiration, after the author of 1 John penned the words “Ἰησοῦς ἐστιν ὁ Χριστὸς” [“Jesus is the Christ”; let’s assume this, for sake of discussion, to be a complete, indicative sentence], he, while staring at fresh ink, is staring at inspired words. However, what if his buddy Jim walked up, peered over John’s shoulder, and perfectly copied those words—Would Jim be staring at inspired words? According to the doctrine (as relayed by Dr. Gentry), no. Inspiration is an attribute predicated to the process of writing the original manuscripts of scripture, not to the actual original manuscripts themselves. Inspiration is a non-transferable attribute. If one photocopied the original manuscript, the photocopy would not be inspired, because it was produced by a photocopier which was not governed by God’s special working, rather than by the special guidance and intention of the Holy Spirit.
Yet, I have understood it, recent Christians have gone about affirming that “the original manuscripts of scripture are (were) inspired by God,” obviously thinking that “inspired” is an attribute of the manuscript. So, while inspiration may properly be a quality of an action—namely, the penning [verb] of the Biblical texts—there is another sense in which it is a quality of the text. In the first, inspiration refers to the Holy Spirit’s influence (“super-intention”) upon the writing subject; in the second, inspiration refers to the fact that the words of the original manuscript were intended and given to man by the Holy Spirit. Let’s think about this second kind of inspiration. Imagine that John were to rewrite, perfectly, without deviation, a second copy of his first epistle. Doesn’t it seem reasonable (thought paradoxical) to say that John, after such a rewriting, would have just produced an inspired text, even though he did so without being inspired? Because John was inspired (in the first sense) in the writing of 1 John, the text of 1 John is inspired (in the second sense). But then, 1 John is an inspired book. And if doesn’t matter which copy you pick up—if it is exactly the same as the one John first wrote, it is inspired.
Or, have I made an assumption? I think I have. There is a difference between saying “’That leather skin [or piece of papyri] with ink lines on it,’ (which is the original copy of 1 John), is inspired” and saying “1 John is inspired.” One refers to a particular (i.e. the original) copy being inspired; the other, to the text, to the abstract nature of the text, being inspired. So, can we say that “the text” in the second, abstract sense, is inspired, or that it being inspired follows from John being inspired while writing the identity-making copy of it? Assuming we can say this, is that “inspiredness” transferable to an English copy? I suppose that depends on whether the language of a text is an accidental or essential property of “a text” (in the abstract, nature sense). If part of the identity of 1 John is its “being written in Greek”ness (or, if part of the identity of 1 John is certain attributes that necessitate the text’s being written in Greek), then a particular 1 John in English is not really 1 John at all. Or, is 1 John something beyond language, having its identity purely in meaning? In this case, particular copies of I John relate to “1 John” similar to how statements relate to propositions. If this second account is the case, then our Bible stand a chance at being inspired (in so far as they faithfully capture what the original 1 John communicated [darn, communication is a joint activity; texts don’t communicate; texts and people communicate, right?]. However, if “1 John” is by nature a Greek text, then there is no sense, not even a derivative one, in which our English Bible’s are inspired.
I suppose my driving question is "To what does the quality 'inspiration' apply? And if the answer is 'the original manuscripts of scripture,' then to what does this quality extend?" Does it extend to all documents insofar as they exactly reproduce the (ink coordinates of the) original? Or, more broadly, does it extend to all texts in so far as they capture the nature (meaning) of 1 John?
What does it mean for something to be the “Word of God.” And, if “Ἰησοῦς ἐστιν ὁ Χριστὸς” is or ever was the word of God, then is “Jesus is the Christ/Messiah/Anointed one” the word of God? Too many questions; not enough theories...
Yet, I have understood it, recent Christians have gone about affirming that “the original manuscripts of scripture are (were) inspired by God,” obviously thinking that “inspired” is an attribute of the manuscript. So, while inspiration may properly be a quality of an action—namely, the penning [verb] of the Biblical texts—there is another sense in which it is a quality of the text. In the first, inspiration refers to the Holy Spirit’s influence (“super-intention”) upon the writing subject; in the second, inspiration refers to the fact that the words of the original manuscript were intended and given to man by the Holy Spirit. Let’s think about this second kind of inspiration. Imagine that John were to rewrite, perfectly, without deviation, a second copy of his first epistle. Doesn’t it seem reasonable (thought paradoxical) to say that John, after such a rewriting, would have just produced an inspired text, even though he did so without being inspired? Because John was inspired (in the first sense) in the writing of 1 John, the text of 1 John is inspired (in the second sense). But then, 1 John is an inspired book. And if doesn’t matter which copy you pick up—if it is exactly the same as the one John first wrote, it is inspired.
Or, have I made an assumption? I think I have. There is a difference between saying “’That leather skin [or piece of papyri] with ink lines on it,’ (which is the original copy of 1 John), is inspired” and saying “1 John is inspired.” One refers to a particular (i.e. the original) copy being inspired; the other, to the text, to the abstract nature of the text, being inspired. So, can we say that “the text” in the second, abstract sense, is inspired, or that it being inspired follows from John being inspired while writing the identity-making copy of it? Assuming we can say this, is that “inspiredness” transferable to an English copy? I suppose that depends on whether the language of a text is an accidental or essential property of “a text” (in the abstract, nature sense). If part of the identity of 1 John is its “being written in Greek”ness (or, if part of the identity of 1 John is certain attributes that necessitate the text’s being written in Greek), then a particular 1 John in English is not really 1 John at all. Or, is 1 John something beyond language, having its identity purely in meaning? In this case, particular copies of I John relate to “1 John” similar to how statements relate to propositions. If this second account is the case, then our Bible stand a chance at being inspired (in so far as they faithfully capture what the original 1 John communicated [darn, communication is a joint activity; texts don’t communicate; texts and people communicate, right?]. However, if “1 John” is by nature a Greek text, then there is no sense, not even a derivative one, in which our English Bible’s are inspired.
I suppose my driving question is "To what does the quality 'inspiration' apply? And if the answer is 'the original manuscripts of scripture,' then to what does this quality extend?" Does it extend to all documents insofar as they exactly reproduce the (ink coordinates of the) original? Or, more broadly, does it extend to all texts in so far as they capture the nature (meaning) of 1 John?
What does it mean for something to be the “Word of God.” And, if “Ἰησοῦς ἐστιν ὁ Χριστὸς” is or ever was the word of God, then is “Jesus is the Christ/Messiah/Anointed one” the word of God? Too many questions; not enough theories...
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Biblical Text: Window or Painting?
A few days ago, I was speaking with an aspiring Bible translator, annoyingly challenging her on the point of bible translation. It seems like Bible translation is this gung-hoe commitment to bring the Biblical text to non-text-based cultures. In my understanding, most people in these remote tribes are not sitting around reading books; the void in their heart is not one and the same with the void on their book shelf. No, these people’s entire view of the world is given to them orally, through the stories, teachings, and traditions of their community and its leaders. So why the push for Bible translation? Well, because we (that includes me) think the text is special, or, more commonly, strongly, and incorrectly, that it is necessary. Some belief along these lines seems to be the only thing that could sustain the 10-20 year commitment bible translation demands.
But the problem for me, and I think, thought they might not realize it, for many other Christians, is that we really don’t think the Biblical text is that special or necessary. Thought we, or at least I, tend to view the Bible as the Christian’s bread of life, it isn’t, and Jesus says so himself (Jn 5:39). The gospel, not the gospels stand at the heart of Christianity. We are saved, not because we buy into to inerrancy or plenary verbal theory of inspiration, but because we buy into the message of Jesus and believe in him as the Messiah who dies for sin and is raised in victory (or something proximal to that).
Maybe, thought, the Bible, while not necessary for salvation, is so for Christian life. Yet, it wouldn’t seem so from our hermeneutics. In most churches, we read the bible for a minute, and then talk about. And if it brought us to focus in closer on the text, that would be good. But it seems that so often the point of Bible teaching is to get one’s students to look thought the details of the text and to the abstracted, life changing principles it contains. For example, the entire point of systematic theology is to get at those principles and doctrines scripture contains. It’s as if systematic theology often sees itself as separating the wheat from the chaff, the meaning and real important doctrine from its textual casing. The theologian or Bible teacher is the great liberator, freeing doctrine and principle from its textual imprisonment. So, the take away from the sermon is never textual; it’s conceptual. It’s “Jesus loves us”; “Jesus wants us to obey him.” [Is it as if no matter how plenary verbal we are in theory, we are neo-orthodox in practice? I'm speaking way beyond my knowledge here, as usual]. But do we leave loving the text, or an abstraction of and from it?
I think this whole musing brings to a question of texts in general. Are we meant to look through them or at them. Are they windows or paintings? If they are windows, then all that really matters is what’s on the other side of them. But what if one can see what’s on the other side of the window other than through the window? If it is what we see that matters, of what concern is the means by which we see it? Yet this is precisely the problem I am having with Bible translators. Why can't just one man from each tribe come learn another language, and speak the Bible to his community? That is how the community would learn normally, plus its quicker and more direct. The end is the same; the people learn to live out of stories they believe to be true. But, if the text is a painting, then the viewer’s response is not consider the scene; it is also to appreciate and love the portrayal. Is not that almost the heart of loving art, loving the precision of the stroke, the blending of color, the contour of the line. But if that is what it is to love art, then what is it to love a text? And, how dangerously are our hermeneutics at odds with a love of the Biblical text?
But the problem for me, and I think, thought they might not realize it, for many other Christians, is that we really don’t think the Biblical text is that special or necessary. Thought we, or at least I, tend to view the Bible as the Christian’s bread of life, it isn’t, and Jesus says so himself (Jn 5:39). The gospel, not the gospels stand at the heart of Christianity. We are saved, not because we buy into to inerrancy or plenary verbal theory of inspiration, but because we buy into the message of Jesus and believe in him as the Messiah who dies for sin and is raised in victory (or something proximal to that).
Maybe, thought, the Bible, while not necessary for salvation, is so for Christian life. Yet, it wouldn’t seem so from our hermeneutics. In most churches, we read the bible for a minute, and then talk about. And if it brought us to focus in closer on the text, that would be good. But it seems that so often the point of Bible teaching is to get one’s students to look thought the details of the text and to the abstracted, life changing principles it contains. For example, the entire point of systematic theology is to get at those principles and doctrines scripture contains. It’s as if systematic theology often sees itself as separating the wheat from the chaff, the meaning and real important doctrine from its textual casing. The theologian or Bible teacher is the great liberator, freeing doctrine and principle from its textual imprisonment. So, the take away from the sermon is never textual; it’s conceptual. It’s “Jesus loves us”; “Jesus wants us to obey him.” [Is it as if no matter how plenary verbal we are in theory, we are neo-orthodox in practice? I'm speaking way beyond my knowledge here, as usual]. But do we leave loving the text, or an abstraction of and from it?
I think this whole musing brings to a question of texts in general. Are we meant to look through them or at them. Are they windows or paintings? If they are windows, then all that really matters is what’s on the other side of them. But what if one can see what’s on the other side of the window other than through the window? If it is what we see that matters, of what concern is the means by which we see it? Yet this is precisely the problem I am having with Bible translators. Why can't just one man from each tribe come learn another language, and speak the Bible to his community? That is how the community would learn normally, plus its quicker and more direct. The end is the same; the people learn to live out of stories they believe to be true. But, if the text is a painting, then the viewer’s response is not consider the scene; it is also to appreciate and love the portrayal. Is not that almost the heart of loving art, loving the precision of the stroke, the blending of color, the contour of the line. But if that is what it is to love art, then what is it to love a text? And, how dangerously are our hermeneutics at odds with a love of the Biblical text?
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