1. In the first place, we may use the term traditional to describe
the general approach to biblical interpretation that characterized the
Christian church prior to the development of modern scientific thought
in the seventeenth century; with some qualifications, such an approach
continues to be used by many readers of the Bible. This viewpoint affirms
that the Bible is primarily a divine book, that, therefore, it is characterized
by perfect unity and infallible teaching, and that recognizing this unique
character is essential for proper interpretation. Thus, for example, any
reading of Scripture that entails contradiction or error would seem to
be precluded.
Within this traditional approach, however, a variety of theories has been
used. According to the allegorical method, which was especially prevalent
during the ancient and medieval periods, the Bible as a divine book is
characterized by multiple meanings. A competing viewpoint has emphasized
the importance of the "literal sense" intended by the author (senses
literalis), but many - especially Roman Catholic scholars - who are
not satisfied with the allegorical approach have nevertheless argued for
the validity of a "fuller sense" (senses plenior - that is, a meaning
intended by God but not necessarily understood by the biblical author).
Another important issue in dispute pertains to the role of the church and
its tradition in the process of interpretation; the Protestant Reformation
of the sixteenth century argued, in distinction from the teaching of the
Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches, that ultimate authority resides
in Scripture alone (sola scriptura) and that, therefore, tradition
must play a subservient role (1).
2. A second major approach is the historical method, which
arose in the context of the Age of Enlightenment and has dominated biblical
scholarship even to this day (2).
Of course, interest in the historical
meaning of the Bible had characterized important groups of biblical interpreters
for centuries, and much of what developed in the modern scientific period
was clearly compatible with earlier approaches. Nevertheless, the new emphasis
on human reason and on the task of "criticism" entailed treating the Bible
as one would treat any other book. This principle meant different things
to different thinkers; for some, though certainly not for all, it meant
abandoning the traditional notion of biblical authority.
In any case, belief in the divine character of the Bible, even when not
rejected, became irrelevant to historical criticism, which insisted on
using an approach that is not prejudiced by dogmatic assumptions. And since
the Bible, like all other books, was subjected to the judgment of human
reason, the historical-critical method normally assumed the existence of
biblical errors and contradictions. As this approach matured in the nineteenth
century, it made dramatic progress in textual and philological analysis,
but at the same time the theological significance of the Bible receded
more and more into the background.
In addition, the desire to develop a method that was consistently historical
led many biblical students to embrace the "history-of-religions" school
(3).
Because this method viewed Christianity as simply one among many religious
phenomena of antiquity, a belief in the uniqueness and divine authority
of the Bible seemed to be excluded. Consequently, biblical interpretation
became dominated by the attempt to explain the text on strictly naturalistic
grounds.
3. In reaction to these developments, many influential thinkers
began, soon after World War I, to argue for the importance of theological
interpretation. Associated primarily with the name of Karl Barth (1886-1968),
this approach denounces the sterility of the historical method (but not
the method itself), seeks to restore confidence in the unity and authority
of the Bible without abandoning the advances of historical-critical scholarship
(hence the label neo-orthodox), and stresses the relevance of the Bible
for today. The implications of this movement, which were considerable,
will be examined below.
[109]
4. A fourth major
approach takes us back to the beginnings of the nineteenth century. Mainly
through the work of Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834), the concept of
general or philosophical hermeneutics was introduced
into the theological discussion but did not play a prominent role until
the twentieth century. The term hermeneutics, at least in its earlier
context, meant simply "the science [or art] of interpretation." The term
general emphasizes the need to develop a broad theory of understanding
that is applicable to any text, but to accomplish such a task we cannot
dispense with philosophical tools and concepts. Almost by definition
this approach involves a strongly interdisciplinary perspective. Indeed,
one of the most influential figures in the development of general hermeneutics,
Wilhelm Dilthey (1833-1911), was primarily concerned with the process of
understanding in all of the humanities and the social sciences. More recently,
as we shall see, this approach has been developed vigorously within the
framework of existentialist philosophy.
5. Quite a different perspective is that provided by modern linguistics.
The scientific study of language made some extraordinary advances in the
nineteenth century, and these were appropriated by biblical scholarship.
At that time, however, the focus of linguistics was on the historical and
comparative method: How have languages developed and how are they related
to one another? A fundamental change in approach is usually credited to
the Swiss scholar Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913), who argued that linguistic
study should be primarily synchronic in character, focusing not
on the evolution of a language (diachronic perspective) but on its
system or structure at a particular time. These and related ideas had a
crucial impact on the development of so-called structural linguistics,
but it was not until the 1960s that biblical scholarship began to appropriate
those insights (4).
(Saussure's work also served as a springboard for a broader and quite distinct
movement known as structuralism, which in turn has influenced some
aspects of biblical interpretation.)
6. Interestingly, a parallel development known as linguistic
analysis took place about the same time in the English-speaking world.
Also known as analytic philosophy, it may be viewed as a reaction to certain
speculative and abstract currents of thought that were popular at the turn
of the century. According to the proponents of the new approach, the real
task of philosophy should be the clarification of concepts, which requires
a careful analysis of language. Later developments in this philosophical
tradition - such as "speech act theory" - have strongly influenced the
contemporary theological debates.
7. Another discipline that has obvious contacts with biblical interpretation
is literary criticism. Several approaches that emerged in the twentieth
century will need to be taken into account below. The dominant tendency,
however, has been one of minimizing the significance of the author so as
to emphasize either the independent value of the text or the active role
played by the reader.
These seven major approaches do not constitute an exhaustive list, and
readers of the Bible are often discouraged by the very complexity of the
subject. Nevertheless, some overarching ideas can be identified that may
help to isolate the most fundamental questions.
Literary Theory and
Philosophy. Even as these developments were taking place in biblical
and theological scholarship, a parallel set of ideas was coming to expression
in the field of literary criticism. As early as the 1930s, important literary
scholars were arguing that the traditional approach to criticism was unsatisfactory
- that the usual concern
with the author was misguided. What a poet may have intended in writing
a poem, for example, may be of some historical interest, but that has little
relevance to our understanding of that poem. Known as the "New Criticism,"
this approach treated the text as an artifact independent of its author
and thus reopened the question of textual meaning.
The interrelationship among the disciplines of literary criticism, philosophy,
and theology has deeply affected the debate during the past several decades.
Perhaps the most prominent figure has been the German philosopher Hans-George
Gadamer, whose name is usually (though not always fairly) associated with
a relativistic approach to interpretation. Indeed, Gadamer went
so far as to give the impression that truth in interpretation is a matter
of personal taste (9).
It is important to keep in mind, however, the context of his argument.
What Gadamer was most concerned to refute was the claim that the scientific
method alone is able to arrive at the truth. At the root of this method
is doubt-that is, doubt about anything that has not been repeated and verified.
Accordingly, tradition is "prejudice" and must be eliminated. But the humanities,
and history in particular, are not subject to this kind of repetition and
verification, so the inference might be drawn that the humanities cannot
arrive at the truth.
Over against that viewpoint, Gadamer argued that "prejudice" cannot be
eliminated. Indeed, "prejudice" is essential for consciousness and understanding.
His intent was to rehabilitate tradition (particularly the classics), which
provides the presuppositions that can be tested as they are applied to
the texts. Gadamer also placed much emphasis on the view that the past
is not fixed, that prior events and texts change inasmuch as they are continually
being understood. If so, it is not possible to identify the meaning of
the text simply with the author's intention.
Ironically, soon after the publication of Gadamer's work, modern science
underwent some radical changes, largely as a result of the work of Thomas
Kuhn (10).
It is now generally recognized that the sciences are not so fundamentally
different from the humanities; the former no less than the latter are deeply
involved in hermeneutics, so that no field of study can escape some measure
of relativity. Be that as it may, Gadamer's thought had a deep impact not
only on philosophical discussion but also on the study of literature and,
therefore, on theological and biblical scholarship.
Particularly well-known in this connection is the work of Paul Ricoeur.
Among his numerous suggestive ideas, we should take note of his emphasis
on the distinction between the speaking-hearing and the writing-reading
relation. In spoken discourse, the meaning overlaps the intention of the
speaker. "With written discourse, however, the author's intention and the
meaning of the text cease to coincide .... The text's career escapes the
finite horizon lived by its author. What the text means now matters more
than what the author meant when he wrote it (11)."
In written texts, there is a ``surplus of meaning" not intended by the
author. While Ricoeur himself is not a biblical scholar, he is [112]
deeply interested in religious
thought, and so many theologians and biblical students have been affected
by his work.
J. S. Croatto is an especially interesting example, since his writings,
which arose in the context of Latin American liberation theology, have
become popular in the English-speaking world (12).
According to Croatto, the Bible must not be viewed as a fixed deposit that
has already said everything; it is not so much that the Bible "said" but
that it "says." In committing their message to writing, the biblical authors
themselves disappeared, but their absence means semantic richness. The
"closure" of authorial meaning results in the "opening" of new meaning.
Croatto even tells us that the reader's responsibility is not exegesis
- bringing out a pure meaning the way one might take an object out of a
treasure chest - but properly eisegesis, that is, we must
"enter" the text with new questions so as to produce new meaning.
One can hardly overemphasize the radical character of these developments.
To a practitioner of the historical method, it is simply shocking to hear
that eisegesis may be a permissible - let alone the preferable! - way to
approach the text. For nineteen centuries the study of the Bible had been
moving away from just such an approach (especially in the form of allegorical
interpretation), so that with the maturing of the historical method a great
victory for responsible exegesis had been won. But now we are told that
historical interpretation is prise. And although no one is arguing that
we should return to the uncontrolled allegorizing of some ancient and medieval
interpreters, the search for a meaning other than that intended by the
original author does seem, at first blush, as though one is giving up centuries
of hermeneutical progress.
But the situation is even more complicated. During the past several decades
we have witnessed the arrival of a variety of more specialized, even esoteric,
approaches, such as structuralism, post-structuralism, deconstruction,
and so on (see below, "The Role of the Reader"). At their most extreme,
some schools question the very foundations of Western thought and thus
suggest the impossibility of interpreting texts.
To be sure, there have been some eminent defenders of
"authorial intention" in the contemporary scene, best known among them
E. D. Hirsch. Arguing for a distinction between meaning (the invariable
sense intended by the writer) and significance (the changeable application
of a writing to different contexts), Hirsch believed he could preserve
the crucial role of the original author against the attacks of thinkers
like Gadamer (13).
Moreover, the vast majority of books and articles dealing with the biblical
text continue to place priority on its historical meaning. Especially puzzling
is the fact that, from time to time, one may hear a scholar at a professional
meeting who seems to adopt the newer approach theoretically but whose actual
interpretive work does not appear substantially different from standard
historical exegesis. The abandonment of authorial and historical interpretation
would be difficult to document from the usual articles published in the
recognized journals of biblical scholarship.
Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to infer that the contemporary debates
in hermeneutics are mere games. The challenges to traditional approaches
are serious and need to be weighed carefully. In particular, these challenges
have a direct bearing on the relevance of the Bible for the communities
of faith. After all, whatever the scholars may be doing in their specialized
publications, one must still ask what is the responsibility of preachers
as they address their congregations and of individual believers as they
approach their reading and study of Scripture.
Structuralism.
One of these was French structuralism, a movement that derived its name
- but little more than the name and some terminology - from modern linguistics.
Even in linguistics, the term structuralism is not free of ambiguity. If
all we mean is the recognition that language is a structured system (so
that individual sounds and forms have value not simply in themselves but
in relationship to the whole), then virtually all modern linguists are
"structuralists." The term, however, is more often applied narrowly to
several schools that dominated the linguistic landscape in the first half
of this century (19).
The anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss, finding some of the structuralist
concepts helpful, borrowed them, possibly in an attempt to give scientific
credibility to his cultural analyses. In the process, however, terms were
stretched well beyond their use in linguistics. It was this watered-down
terminology that became the source for key intellectual developments in
France in the late 1960s. One historian has commented: "But the linguistics
of French structuralism and poststructuralism was a mirage. Those who used
its notions understood neither the technical aspects of linguistics nor
the theoretical stakes involved (20)."
In any case, these new ideas began to be applied to biblical literature
in the 1970s, often under the rubric of "structural exegesis." Much use
was also made of semiotics (the theory of signs), since the approach
puts great emphasis on language as a network of symbols. The structuralist
jargon was daunting, and many biblical scholars who expended the effort
to learn the method were greatly disappointed with the results (though
at the hands of some moderate practitioners the questions asked can shed
new light on the text). Part of the reason was that structuralists focused
their attention not on what a text means but on how it produces
meaning; indeed, their concerns fall more easily under the category of
epistemology (or even the study of culture) than that of traditional hermeneutics.
The significance of this movement for the purposes of the present article
lies in the fact that it embodies, sometimes in a radical way, the principle
of the semantic autonomy of texts. In the view of structuralists, biblical
criticism had been much too preoccupied with both the original author and
the historical referent of the text. Instead, they proposed to examine
the text independently of those considerations and to determine the self-contained
value of narratives.
At its most extreme, structuralism gives way to deconstruction,
a point of view normally associated with the name of Jacques Derrida. Deconstruction
is nothing less than an attack on some fundamental concepts of Western
culture, since it appears to call into question the very possibility of
literary communication by insisting on the absence of a fixed language.
As applied to the parables of Jesus, for example, this approach emphasizes
the polyvalence (multiple meanings) of metaphor. The reason a parable can
mean numerous things, we are told, is not precisely that it has a "surplus
of meaning" (Ricoeur's phrase) but that it has a "void of meaning
at its core." Having made that point, and a few others, one will be drawn
to accept
Text versus History.
One of the more controversial elements in this modern emphasis on the autonomy
of the text has been the tendency to play down the extraliterary, particularly
the historical, reference of literary works. In other words, an emphasis
on the text's autonomy means that the text is cut off not only from the
author but also from the extralinguistic reality to which the text apparently
refers. Earlier biblical scholarship (both liberal and conservative) is
often criticized for paying too much attention to the question of historicity.
If conservative scholars wonder what may have motivated a biblical character
to act in a particular way, they are chastised for focusing on the historical
event rather than on the literary skills of the biblical author. If liberal
scholars take to task a conservative reading of some historical portion,
they too are criticized for missing the point. In short, the very asking
of historical questions is seen as basically irrelevant. One proponent
of this point of view suggests that "the new literary criticism may be
described as inherently ahistorical." He further comments: "Consideration
of the Bible as literature is itself the beginning and end of scholarly
endeavor. The Bible is taken first and finally as a literary object (22)."
As is usually the case when a provocative new idea makes its appearance
and is taken hold of by enthusiastic thinkers, the notion of the autonomy
of the text has proven to be a mixed blessing. Both positive and negative
results are clearly discernible. Predictably, formulations that appear
extreme tend to prejudice our acceptance of the positive elements. Even
the most objectionable views, however, are likely to reflect some important
truth, and the effort must be made to do justice to it.
Undoubtedly, historical exegesis - in spite of some notable exceptions
- has tended to ignore the intrinsic literary quality of the biblical documents.
The New Criticism and later developments related to it have taught us to
pay attention to the "texture" of biblical literature. One need not view
this quality as the beginning and end of our interest. To do so would be
to undermine what traditionally has been recognized as a foundational element
of biblical religion - namely, its essentially historical character.
Nevertheless, biblical narrative, as well as other biblical genres that
include historical reference, must not be treated as neutral in character,
free of interpretive and theological "bias." (Belief in biblical inspiration
and infallibility does not preclude-in fact, it intensifies-the importance
of this interpretive element.) Now the theological perspective of the biblical
authors is seldom expressed in explicit terms; rather, it is reflected
in their composition of the text. Accordingly, close attention to the literary
quality of narrative, even if considered in relative independence from
its historical reference, can be of immense value in understanding the
significance of the history that narrative presents.
Relativity in Interpretation.
The old retort "I've made up my mind - don't bother me with the facts"
is usually spoken tongue-in-cheek, but there is more truth to it than we
realize or are willing to admit. And this is not necessarily a matter of
willful obstinance or dishonesty. When someone misinterprets what we say,
we may find solace in the fact that "people hear what they want to hear."
Perhaps more accurately, we could say that people hear only what their
minds are already prepared to hear. It is impossible for us to understand
and assimilate new information except by relating it to what we already
know - that is, by filtering it in a way that fits our "pre-understanding."
A few wise individuals, however, seem able to identify an anomaly quickly,
to recognize that they are unable to assimilate it, and to adjust their
interpretive framework in a way that takes account of the new fact.
Be that as it may, the point is that contemporary thinkers have learned
to accept the role played by the subjectivity of the observer in scientific
research (24).
But now, if these things are true in the "hard sciences," where objective
measurement lies at the core of research, what shall we say with regard
to the humanities, and particularly the interpretation of literature, where
the subjective factor seems so much more prominent? For one thing, these
developments tell us that we probably have overestimated the differences
between the sciences and the humanities. In both of these broad disciplines,
the researcher is faced with a set of data that can be interpreted only
in the light of previous commitments, in both cases, therefore, an interpreter
comes-consciously or unconsciously-with a "theory" that seeks to account
for as many facts as possible. Given the finite nature of every human interpreter,
no explanation accounts for the data exhaustively. And in many, many cases,
it is a set of [118] prior
commitments, rather than the weight of the evidence, that determines the
final conclusion.
That much is widely agreed upon in our day. Some thinkers, however, will
argue that, at least in the case of literary interpretation, we need to
go further. It is even suggested that the role of the reader is and should
be virtually the only thing that matters. For practitioners of both the
historical method (which emphasized the original author's meaning) and
the New Criticism (which disregarded any such authorial intention), the
one thing that could be relied on was the objectivity of the text. For
proponents of "reader-response theory," however - at least in its more
extreme forms - there is no such thing as an objective text. Insofar as
every reader brings an interpretive framework to the text, to that extent
every reader generates a new meaning and thus creates a new text.
This approach, moreover, does not stop at describing what happens when
a text is read; after all, traditional interpreters might recognize that
there is a sense in which that description may be accurate - just as long
as an effort is made to control the tendency! The message of reader-response
theorists, rather, is that this way of reading is legitimate and should
be encouraged in all its many-splendored varieties. Accordingly, specific
points of view become self-conscious hermeneutical strategies. Prominent
in the last decade or two have been Marxist readings of the Bible, feminist
approaches, and studies in African American hermeneutics; but in principle
there should be no objection to taking any ideology as a point of departure
(say, an explicitly capitalist approach to the prophecy of Amos, or a self-consciously
racist reading of the Gospel of John).
Edgar V. McKnight, a respected proponent of reader-response theory, suggests
that, since we cannot completely break out of our self-validating systems,
ultimate meaning is unreachable: All we can hope for is to discover and
express truth "in terms that make sense within a particular universe of
meaning." We may, therefore, continue to discover or create meaning, "which
is satisfying for the present location of the reader (25)."
A specific exegetical example helps to understand what all of this means
for the actual interpretation of Scripture. In 2 Samuel 11 we are told
that, after committing adultery with Bathsheba, David tried to
get her husband, the soldier
Uriah, to go home Uriah, however, refused to do so. Since the rest of the
army was in the open fields, he protested, "How could I go to my house
to eat and drink and lie with my wife?" (see v. 11). Most readers, of course,
will wonder whether Uriah had found out about the affair, but the Hebrew
narrative, so often characterized by gaps of information, does not tell
us. "The gap may be filled legitimately by both affirmative and negative
answers .... The text demands that both hypotheses be utilized to shed
their different light on details in the text; different plots must organized
on the basis of the hypotheses. Moreover, the text requires the reader
to maintain both hypotheses simultaneously (26)."
Stated in that fashion, it is difficult to object to the approach, for
it simply attempts to do justice to the literary power of the narrative.
Behind this example, however, lies a commitment to the relativity of truth
in human experience and, therefore, to the validity of multiple, perhaps
even contradictory, meanings. While McKnight himself is care to deny that
"anything goes" (27),
it is not always easy to see how an extreme application can be logically
avoided. In a famous essay that argues against the determinacy of meaning,
Stanley Fish concludes by assuring us that we need not worry that such
an approach leads to relativism; after all, in spite of indeterminacy of
meaning, people continue to participate in communication with confidence
because their beliefs are communal (28)."
Yet, it remains unclear whether Fish's reassurance works out in practice
The Theological Factor.
The application of this principle to biblical studies inevitably becomes
embroiled in fundamental theological disputes. For most of their historical
existence, both Jewish a Christian communities held - and substantial groups
within them still hold - that the Bible does communicate and make accessible
to us ultimate [119] truth.
How is that commitment to be reconciled with the notion that conflicting
interpretations of the Bible, since they have behind them the authority
of their respective communities, are all valid?
Is a Roman Catholic believer, for example, supposed to acknowledge the
truthfulness of a Protestant doctrine even if that doctrine contradicts
and thus undermines an important Roman Catholic tenet? And if an interpretive
community decides that the reader-response approach is invalid, is that
community's interpretation valid too? The term valid is seldom if
ever defined in these contexts (29).
According to what may be described as a "soft" approach, the point is that
no community has a monopoly on the whole truth; therefore, diverse communities,
recognizing that their respective traditions have emphasized different
aspects of biblical truth, may prove mutually enriching. Given human finiteness,
such an emphasis is unobjectionable. What remains unaddressed and troubling
is whether any two views may be mutually exclusive and, if so, whether
it is helpful to regard them both as valid.
Unquestionably, current emphases on the role of the reader cover a wide
variety of approaches. Included under the general category are profound
insights into the process of interpretation as well as faddish ideas. The
danger is that, troubled by what appear to be extreme formulations, we
may close our eyes to the invaluable contributions made by this movement.
Such an overreaction would be particularly unfortunate in view of the character
of Scripture as a book that speaks to all generations. If there is anything
demonstrable in the history of biblical study it is the vigor and consistency
with which believers have "actualized" its teachings in their lives.
This relevance is not the result of the Bible's "timelessness," if we mean
by that a transcendent meaning totally unconditioned by historical factors.
The very fact that the biblical message has proven relevant to remarkably
diverse people living in different ages and different lands is itself evidence
of its essentially historical character; it was given to people in the
context of their life situation, and it has been readily contextualized
by subsequent readers. (To me, the theological explanation is that the
same Holy Spirit who authored the Scriptures - thus biblical inspiration
- is the one who brings understanding to the reader.) It is worth pointing
out, incidentally, that Stanley Fish, whatever other controversial things
he may say, places a premium on the contextual aspect of communication
(30).
Some thinkers view the concept of contextualization as a relativizing of
the Bible that deprives it of its authority. It may well be that the concept
has been abused in specific instances, but biblical authority can just
as easily be undermined by minimizing the reality of historical variation.
The divine authority of Scripture comes to human beings in their concrete
situations, which of course are susceptible to change. The absoluteness
of God's commands thus would not be preserved but rather compromised if
those commands were so general and vague that they were equally
applicable to all situations.
The Legitimacy of
Reader Involvement. Our discussion so far may be viewed as an acknowledgment
of the intense involvement of the reader in the process of interpreting
Scripture. We should not be misled by the apparent novelty, or even avant-garde
quality, of reader-response theory. While it is true that the current preoccupation
with the reader is very much a modern phenomenon, the newness in question
has to do mainly with the self-conscious and explicit character of the
descriptions. But there is unquestionably a reality to which those descriptions
point, and that reality has always been there.
Whether we like it or not, readers can - and routinely do - create meanings
out of the texts they read. That being so, several options are available
to us. At one extreme, we could legitimize all reader responses, or at
least the ones that have the authority of some community behind them; it
is doubtful, however, whether the integrity of Christianity can be preserved
within such a framework. At the other extreme, we could attempt to suppress
the reader's prejudice. In effect, this is what historical exegesis has
had as its goal: total objectivity on the part of the interpreter. But
such objectivity does not exist. And if it did exist, it would be of little
use, because then we would simply be involved in a bare repetition [120]
of the text that takes
no account of its abiding value. Paradoxically, the success of modern biblical
criticism was obtained at the great cost of losing biblical relevance.
The historical method was not necessarily wrong in distinguishing
what the Bible originally meant from what it means today. In practice,
however, it also separated the two. The new approach teaches us,
or rather reminds us, that if we do not know what the Bible means today,
it is doubtful that we know what it meant then. At all stages of interpretation
some human need is being met. None of those activities presents us with
a "purely objective" truth that is removed from all human questions and
concerns. Every request for "meaning" is a request for an application because
whenever we ask for the "meaning" of a passage we are expressing a lack
in ourselves, an ignorance, an inability to use the passage. Asking for
"meaning" is asking for an application of Scripture to a need; we are asking
Scripture to remedy that lack, that ignorance, that inability. Similarly,
every request for an "application" is a request for meaning; the one who
asks doesn't understand the passage well enough to use it (31).
In short, it is not necessary to suppress our present context to understand
the text. On the contrary, at times we need to approach Scripture with
our problems and questions if we would truly appreciate what it says. And
that is to recognize that in order to value the text, the reader must have
a commitment to it. Commitment, however, entails pre-understanding, and
such a "prejudice" is not only permissible - it is required.
Users of The New Interpreter's Bible will note, in the very format
for the commentaries, a deliberate attempt to avoid a false dichotomy between
"what it meant" and "what it means." Although individual contributors reflect
a variety of viewpoints with regard to reader-response theory, the project
as a whole acknowledges, in contrast to the older method, the legitimacy
of the interpreter's self-involvement.
Respect for the Author.
One could argue that this is the only honest way of proceeding before further
considerations are brought to bear on the text. Our social interaction
with one another is anchored on this principle. We all recognize that it
is utterly unjust to take a conversation we have just heard and interpret
the words of one of the speakers in a sense different from-let alone contradictory
to-the sense meant by that speaker. Indeed, we routinely denounce that
sort of thing as morally unacceptable behavior. The notion that such a
principle can simply be suspended in the case of written documents cannot
be justified.
Consider, for example, liberation theologian Croatto's claims (summarized
early in this article) that interpreters should read into the text their
own meaning. One suspects that Croatto would be deeply offended (and rightly
so) if we were to interpret his book to mean that the best kind of hermeneutics
is the fundamentalist approach, or that his book sets forth a capitalist
ethics on the basis of which the United States is justified in exerting
imperialist pressures on Latin America. Such an interpretation of Croatto's
work would be deplorable.
In response, some may suggest that he was only referring to works that
have become classics, whether religious or otherwise. There is no doubt
a measure of truth in this argument: A classic work becomes part of a given
community, whose members, by their very use of the work, put their own
imprint on it. But to admit that much is a far cry from what some moderns
are suggesting. Can it reasonably be argued that the more important a work
is the greater liberties we may take with it? That the more we respect
a text, the more justified we are to disregard its author? Whatever other
functions a classic may have, it continues to be a historical document,
requiring historical interpretation. It should be kept in mind, incidentally,
that Bultmann's own emphasis on preunderstanding, far from removing the
need for historical interpretation, was intended to do real justice to
serious texts (34).
Part of the difficulty arises from the role played by poetry in most societies.
It is, of course, true that if someone composes a poem or produces a painting
- that is, a purely artistic product - the creator is inviting us to "interpret"
that work in a variety of ways. But the biblical texts are not art in this
sense. Even the Hebrew poetry of the OT cannot be reduced to pure art.
Whatever literary and artistic features we may find in Scripture, its primary
purpose is to communicate an intelligible message that requires a response.
The Character of
Scripture. Here, however, once again we come across a theological issue
that has a history of vigorous controversy. Is God's revelation really
propositional in character (that is, conveying information) or is
it personal (establishing a relationship)? The so-called dialectical
approach associated [122] with
the theology of Karl Barth, concerned that orthodox Christianity downgraded
the Bible to the level of a static document, emphasized the relational
quality of the Word of God (this view, with some modifications, became
the dominant position and continues to be widely held). Evangelical theology,
on the other hand, concerned about the subjectivity implied in Barth's
approach, has insisted that the biblical revelation is propositional.
While I am committed to the latter perspective, one must be careful not
to fall into indefensible disjunctions. The whole of the biblical text
can hardly be reduced to a sourcebook of information - there is much more
to Scripture than that (35).
But neither can we suggest that God's revelation consists of a personal
encounter void of content. Indeed, nothing is more basic to Scripture than
the fact that it communicates to us God's good news. The
question is, then, whether, by an appeal to the autonomy of the text or
the role of the reader, we have the liberty to subvert that message.
Semantic Theories.
In any case, the careful empirical work of modern linguistics should provide
a solid foundation for discussions about meaning (and, therefore, about
the interpretation of texts). A variety of theories have been propounded;
we need not identify them all, but several emphases deserve mention. One
long-standing explanation - more or less discredited among professionals
but unconsciously assumed by most speakers even today - is the reference
or denotation theory of meaning. According to this view, words function
like names - that is, labels attached to extralinguistic objects. As a
comprehensive explanation, this theory is most inadequate. Even when applied
to "names," the concept of reference is only part of the picture; both
"New York City" and "The Big Apple" refer to, or stand for, the same extralinguistic
entity, but it would be misleading to say that their meaning is identical.
The problem is even more serious when we take into account words for which
it is difficult to identify a referent (e.g., beautiful).
A competing approach is the functional view of meaning, which stresses
the contextual use of language. This explanation has been proposed in various
forms by such philosophers as Gilbert Ryle, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and J.
L. Austin (42).
The emphasis on context is congenial to scholars in the field of general
linguistics. This approach can be easily integrated, for example, into
a view of language as a structured system, in which value arises from the
relationship that holds among the diverse linguistic elements. Thus the
potential meaning of the word good depends on its relationship to
words of similar meaning that could occupy the same context, such as nice
and excellent, the actual meaning of the word in an utterance is
determined by its relationship with the other words in that specific sentence
(43).
Although much more satisfying than the reference theory of meaning - at
least when discussing the meaning of vocabulary items - the contextual
approach cannot account for every semantic problem in language. Other perspectives
and emphases can and should be used to shed greater light on the question
of linguistic meaning. In particular, it is worth pointing out that to
recognize the strong connection between meaning and usage does not do away
with the concept of reference, especially in the case of whole utterances
or propositions. Take the sentence Abraham Lincoln delivered a powerful
speech at Gettysburg. The two proper names in that sentence certainly
denote (that is, have a one-to-one correspondence with) extralinguistic
realities. The terms delivered and speech are not totally
devoid of reference, but their meaning is to a large extent determined
by linguistic relationships. This is even more true of the adjective powerful,
for its semantic value depends almost entirely on both the presence of
other adjectives that could occupy that spot in the sentence and the specific
combination of the adjective with the noun speech.
Note, however, that the recognition of these facts does not in any way
undermine the denotative character of the sentence as a whole. As
a historical proposition, the meaning of that statement is inextricably
tied to the referent to which it points. (Moreover, the referential character
in view is independent of its truthfulness. If we replace Abraham
Lincoln with Plato,
the sentence, though false, would still denote something outside of language
itself.) In sum, it is important to keep in mind that competing theories
of meaning need not be mutually exclusive of each other. More important,
one must not conclude that an emphasis on inner-linguistic semantics results
in the destruction of objective meaning.