The Bible in Fifty Words

As I’ve noted before, I am for many reasons a fan of Urban Dictionary. Today I stumbled upon this entry, in which a clever user attempts to summarize the Bible in fifty words. Thought it was worth a share.

God made, Adam bit, Noah arked, Abraham split, Joseph ruled, Jacob fooled, Bush talked, Moses balked, Pharaoh plagued, people walked, sea divided, tablets guided, Promise landed, Saul freaked, David peeked, prophets warned, Jesus born, God walked, love talked, anger crucified, hope died, Love rose, Spirit flamed, Word spread, God remained.

Not terrible, I suppose.

For the original entry, click here and scroll to entry 5 (as of 5/22/2012).

The Illusive Reader

Six months ago, if you would have asked me about the topic of my dissertation, I would have told you that it was a study of the Protevangelium of James. My answer today would be largely the same. If you would have asked me (six months ago) to describe for you the identity of the reader in my study of Prot. Jas., however, I would have looked at you like you were insane: I am the reader, right? Wrong.

To be sure, the question of the reader has always been in the back of my mind: interpretation of ancient texts demands an ancient perspective, after all. If one approaches Prot. Jas. (or the Bible) in terms of one’s modern sensibilities, the result is likely anachronism, at least from a historical-critical point of view. This is of course not to say that modern readers cannot rightly interpret ancient texts. Rather, it is to say that modern readers must make judgments about what an ancient text can and cannot say on its own terms. Recently, however, the issue has become fuzzier (at least in the context of my project).

Without going into too much detail, my project involves the ways in which Prot. Jas. affects the imaginations and hermeneutical sensibilities of its readers. This involves discernment of various echoes in the text, as well as the new meaning engendered by those echoes. In short, my project focuses on what is going on between Prot. Jas. and, say, the Gospel of Luke.

The specific identity of the reader in the context of this project has proven to be quite important, and increasingly more complicated. Namely, to claim that there is an echo in this or that text implies the presence of a reader who is able to hear said echo without recourse to a lexicon or electronic database of ancient texts…clearly, I am not that reader.

I have several options with respect to how I’m going to frame what I mean by reader:

1. Implied Reader (Wolfgang Iser)
2. Informed Reader (Stanley Fish)
3. Intended Reader (Erwin Wolff)
4. Model Reader (Umberto Eco)
5. Super Reader (Michael Riffaterre)
6. Authorial Audience (Wayne Booth)

My task is to figure out what the differences are between these different readers, many of whom do not exist and never have existed in any objective sense, as well as why those differences actually matter to my project. As this project continues to unfold, I’m hoping to dedicate some posts in the near future to each of these readers. We shall see.

Stigmata and Christian Apocryphal Literature

I spent the majority of yesterday composing a written statement for a fellowship application. Part of this process involved reflecting on the past 10 years of my life – where I’ve been, what I’ve done, what I’ve studied, and how all of those things have contributed to my present research interests. Self-reflection can be fun, and it forces you to remember things that you’ve long since forgotten.

As I was trying to come up with an answer regarding why I chose to study Christian apocryphal literature, I decided it might be helpful to think about the first time I even heard about Christian apocryphal literature. The answer, which I did not include in my written statement (because it’s stupid), made me chuckle.

During my senior year of high school, I watched a movie called Stigmata. It had just been released. The movie tells the story of a young woman who becomes possessed by the spirit of a dead stigmatic priest. The young woman receives the stigmata, speaks in foreign tongues, and leads an investigator from the Vatican on a wild goose chase to find a lost gospel that the Church was attempting to suppress. The “lost gospel” in Stigmata is none other than the Gospel of Thomas, discovered at Nag Hammadi in 1945. At one point in the movie, a priest describes it as “an Aramaic scroll from the 1st century, discovered near the cave of the dead sea scrolls outside Jerusalem. Alameida [the dead stigmatic priest] and I concluded that it is a gospel of Jesus Christ. In his own words: Aramaic.” At the end of the movie, the following text pops up: “In 1945 a scroll was discovered in Nag Hammadi, which is described as ‘the secret sayings of the living Jesus.’ This scroll, the Gospel of St. Thomas, has been claimed by scholars around the world to be the closest record we have of the words of the historical Jesus.”

In retrospect, it’s not a good movie, but my young mind was absolutely enthralled at the time. I remember talking with a friend of mine afterward about how something needs to be done about the Church’s attempts to suppress truth like this…we were both really concerned.

I chuckled to myself as I recalled this experience, as it truly is the first time I became aware that there were “gospels” outside of the New Testament. Like many uninformed viewers of the movie, I assumed in my ignorance that what Stigmata claimed about the Gospel of Thomas was true, and I continued to assume that it was true until I heard otherwise (and I seem to recall embarrassing myself in an undergraduate NT course). Of course, there is little truth in what Stigmata claims about Thomas: it is a codex, not a scroll; it is written in Coptic, not Aramaic; it is from the second century, not the first; it was not found near the Dead Sea (Nag Hammadi is over 200 miles removed); some scholars (you know who you are) consider it to be “the closest record we have of the words of the historical Jesus,” but they are a minority. What’s more, the Dead Sea Scrolls were not isolated to one cave, but were spread out among among eleven!

I suppose this memory is useful, if only to remind us about how much garbage there is floating around about the “lost gospels.”

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my rant for the day.

Constitutional Law and Theological Exegesis

This morning when I was raking leaves (a task unrelated to that which I am now writing), I recalled a conversation I had with a friend this past summer. He is a lawyer, and he was asking me about my research on the topic of theological exegesis (I was at the time enveloped in my preparation for qualifying exams, and he was curious as to what could possibly be so interesting). My understanding of theological exegesis, I explained to him, is as follows:

Theological exegesis attempts to affirm the notion that the biblical texts, as Christian Scripture, have enduring value that may at times transcend the intention of the original authors. Moreover, I told him that theological exegesis is not opposed to the reading of the biblical texts in light of developments that arise after them (the Nicene Creed, e.g.), and that such reading does not necessarily hinder the task of interpretation, but may in fact clarify it (this is of course not a direct quote…I have removed the “ums” and upgraded my vocabulary).

He said, “That’s interesting…it sounds a lot like constitutional law debates.” My response: “Say what?” He explained to me that there are in fact several “schools” of thought related to the interpretation of the United States Constitution, and there is an ongoing debate regarding location of meaning and the task of interpretation.

On the one hand, there are those who will say that the Constitution has a meaning, that which was intended by the founding fathers. This “school” of constitutional law, called “Originalism,” holds that discernment of the original meaning of the constitution is the task of constitutional law. One may rightly place Supreme Court justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas in this “camp.” Originalists will not claim that every precept of the Constitution needs to be followed exactly…there is a certain flexibility insofar as later generations may pass laws to override that which was said earlier. The 13th amendment, for example, in outlawing slavery, would supersede that which was said in Article 4 Section 2 of the Constitution, that ”no Person held to Service or Labour in one State, under the Laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in Consequence of any Law or Regulation therein, be discharged from such Service or Labour, but shall be delivered up on Claim of the Party to whom such Service or Labour may be due.”

On the other hand, there are those who will say that the Constitution has an original meaning, but that its significance is precisely in its ability to transcend generations and speak to contemporary situations. In this vein, called “Living Constitution,” discernment of the original meaning is important, but equally important is interpretation of the document alongside developments that have transpired since its institution. Al Gore, for example, once said that “there are liberties found in the Constitution such as the right to privacy that spring from the document itself, even though the Founders didn’t write specific words saying this, this, and this…” The late William Rehnquist once wrote, in contrast, that contemporary leaning toward the idea of living constitution is “genuinely corrosive of the fundamental values of our democratic society.”

In short, the debate concerns whether or not the meaning in the Constitution is static or dynamic: may the “meaning” of this document be something different from what the original authors intended? At its root, the debate centers around the location of meaning and the task of interpretation. Is meaning to be found in text alone, or is meaning to be found within the tradition, which includes the text alongside other factors?

I find the debate interesting given the climate surrounding theological exegesis…I just returned yesterday from the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, where I was reminded yet again that the conversation is far from over. Regarding the biblical texts, there are, broadly speaking, two schools that parallel to a certain degree those present in constitutional law debates. On the one hand, the “Originalists” will say that the biblical texts have a meaning and that this meaning is located in the text or, better yet, in the mind of the original author. On the other hand, proponents of a “living” text will not deny that there is an “original” meaning, either in the text or in the mind of the author, but they will claim that meaning may in fact transcend this original meaning and that the text may rightly be considered (and may in fact only be rightly understood) in light of its effective history.

Two caveats:

1) I’m fairly certain that anyone with a legal background will take issue with the way I’ve framed things here, and I would welcome clarification from anyone with more knowledge on the topic (please do leave comments).

2) The analogy drawn here between constitutional law and theological exegesis is imperfect, as I would claim that the biblical texts are of a different vintage than the Constitution. I include this caveat to appease some who may fear that I am making the Constitution out to be somehow corresponding to Christian Scripture…that said, I suppose the analogy could through some gasoline on discussions pertaining to American Civil Religion (Dr. Michael Gorman has a wonderful ongoing series on the topic).

Enchiridion Biblicum Online

For those interested, I was just made aware that the Enchiridion Biblicum, comprised entirely of Catholic documents pertaining to the study of Scripture, is available online, in English, for free. This is a wonderful resource for anyone interested in theological exegesis, especially in a Catholic context. Not sure how long it’s been up, but it’s new to me!

Find it here.

Peanuts, Biblical Studies and Systematic Theology

A brief commentary on the separation of the theological disciplines:

Some Thoughts on Medieval Exegesis

In the last week or so, I’ve waded through quite a few works concerning exegetical practice of the medievals. Opinions seem to be varied regarding the level of constraint (or lack thereof) that characterizes a medieval approach to the Bible. That is, to what degree are medieval theologians to be considered “responsible” exegetes in their level of respect for the literal meaning of the text. I cite here two opinions…the first from Denis Farkasfalvy’s Inspiration and Interpretation, and the second from David Steinmetz’s classic piece, The Superiority of Pre-Critical Exegesis. Enjoy:

In medieval exegesis the relationship between interpretation and philosophical reflection is often unclear. Lacking a sense for the historical dimension of reality (at least in the modern sense of the term), the medieval exegete may not realize that he must not force upon the biblical text the concepts and the terminology of another culture or age. Medieval exegesis is, therefore, like a kaleidoscope. It is full of shiny items, including many true gems, but also objects that are like glass beads or false gold, appealing to the eye but without lasting value (Farkasfalvy, 151).

Modern literary criticism has challenged the notion that a text means only what its author intends it to mean far more radically than medieval exegetes ever dreamed of doing. Indeed, contemporary debunking of the author and the author’s explicit intentions has proceeded at such a pace that it seems at times as if literary criticism has become a jolly game of ripping out an author’s shirt-tail and setting fire to it (Steinmetz, 37).

Call me crazy, but I’m inclined to affirm both of these statements.

Exegesis as Biography

In 1925 (Feb 1), Rudolf Bultmann gave a lecture to a crowd in Marburg on the topic, “The Problem of a Theological Interpretation of the New Testament.” In this lecture, he makes the point that the fingerprints of the exegete will always be found on the fruits of their labor:

There is no bare interpretation of ‘what is there,’ but in some way (a specific way, in fact, for each case) the interpretation of the text always goes hand in hand with the exegete’s interpretation of himself. We do not encounter history in the same way that we do nature; we can assume a distance from nature; but we stand in history and are a part of it. Therefore, every word we utter about history is necessarily a word about ourselves; that is, it discloses how we interpret our own existence; it shows what sort of openness we have to the possibilities of our existence as humans.

Apart from the distinct Heideggarian “odor” that permeates this lecture (Heidegger, in fact, was in the audience when Bultmann delivered it for a second time in Göttingen, five days after the original delivery in Marburg), I found it to be quite a provocative and interesting read.

One of the hallmarks of the discussion surrounding the issue of “theological exegesis” or “theological interpretation” seems to be a brazen rejection of the idea that exegesis without presuppositions as a fantasy, and that the New Testament demands to be read and interpreted in the same spirit in which it was written. That is, the texts of the New Testament were written in a spirit of faith, and to read them solely from the perspective of a cold, detached observer will ultimately lead to a skewed (or at least limited) perception of their meaning.

In a more recent work (“The Superiority of Pre-Critical Exegesis, sic et non,” Trinity Journal 24 (2003)), Daniel Treier draws what I find to be a helpful distinction between “meaning” and “significance” of a text. Treier claims (rightly, I think) that scholars operating outside the realm of faith, whether intentionally or by virtue of their lack of faith, may say much about the meaning of a given text. To speak to a text’s significance, however, belongs to the interpreter who is willing and able to read the text from the perspective of faith.

Treier’s distinction (which, notably, has been made by others), I think helps to maintain the importance of practicing historical-critical methodology alongside “theological exegesis.” To suggest doing away with the former (as more than a few are apt to do, both in proposition and practice) will almost certainly lead to a naïve reading of the Old and New Testaments in which our modern worldview and concerns are forced into a thought-world that is often foreign to our own.

Having surveyed much literature on theological exegesis, I have found that one of the most pressing issues for the discussion is how exactly to keep interpretations of the biblical text grounded. That is, how does one acknowledge and honor one’s own faith perspective while simultaneously maintaining that ancient texts have their own concerns that may be different from those that we bring to them? It is an open question, and I don’t pretend to have the answer, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Proclaiming Truth

When I was in seminary, I took Introduction to Preaching. At some point in our class, a fellow student asked the professor about whether or not it is appropriate to illustrate sermon points with stories that are untrue. The professor’s response to these questions (which I recorded verbatim): “The way I see it, the sermon is the time at which the Gospel is proclaimed as true. If you think that you can preach this Gospel while simultaneously attempting to deceive your congregation, be my guest.” Point taken, Dr. Long.

I recall my professor’s response because this morning I stumbled upon a list of stories that are commonly used as sermon illustrations (I’ve heard each of them more than a few times). These stories, as it would happen, are completely and absolutely untrue, but this is often not known by those who use them. So, spread the word!

How many have ever heard:

• That the “eye of the needle” is a gate in Jerusalem.
• That “gehenna” refers to a burning trash dump.
• That the high priest used to go into the Holy of Holies with a rope tied to his ankle so that he could be pulled out in the event that he died.

Any others you can think of, leave a comment!

See the full list HERE.

HT Trevin Wax and BibleX

Were Adam and Eve “Naked” in the Garden?

In LXX Gen 3:11, God poses the question to Adam, Τίς ἀνήγγειλέν σοι ὅτι γυμνὸς εἶ; That is, “Who told you that you are naked?” This morning, I posed the question of how we are to take the adjective γυμνός. If you have never lived in the South, then the answer to this question is simple: Adam and Eve were “naked” in the garden.” If you have lived in the South, however, the question becomes more complicated.

In the South, a distinction is drawn between being “naked” and being “nekkid.” If you are in the former state, it is implied that you are simply without your clothing. If you are in the latter state, then in addition to being without your clothing, it is implied that you’re up to no good.

Urban Dictionary rightly states, “Nekkid is not simply being without clothing–It means you are gettin’ nekkid for mischevious purposes. Naked is natural; nekkid is naughty.”

In the context of Southern exegesis, I would have to say with great confidence that Adam and Eve were not “naked” in the garden. No, the situation is far more grave than that.