Genesis 1: How Should We Interpret It? --Part 2

Second in a series on In the Beginning . . . We Misunderstood by Johnny V. Miller and John M. Soden. Click here for the first post.

*****

Miller and Soden begin their book with personal statements of "where they are coming from." Both confess long time commitments to literalistic, young-earth creationist perspectives. As Miller put it, he was raised in fundamentalist churches "where the Bible reigned supreme--that is, our interpretation of the Bible reigned supreme. To question our interpretation of the Bible was equal to doubting God and proving you weren't really a Christian" (p. 18).

He struggled with his faith, but eventually gave his life to Jesus. Shortly after making this commitment, he ran into Henry Morris' and John Whitcomb's The Genesis Flood and he "began to believe that if you take Genesis one literally, then you also must take Genesis 2-5 literally, and putting these chapters together with a tight genealogy demands a young earth" (p. 19).

And so he believed and so he taught for many years. But then . . .

One day he came to the conclusion that "all my life I had been reading Genesis from the perspective of a modern person. I had read it through the lens of a historically sophisticated, scientifically influenced individual. I assumed that Genesis was written to answer the questions of origins that people are asking today" (pp. 20-21). Put another way, he had failed to ask--as most authors who debate the meaning of Genesis 1 fail to ask-- "What did Genesis mean to the original author and original readers?" (p. 21).

And that is the primary question that Miller and Soden both seek to answer: What is Genesis 1 intended to teach us? "Only after we see Genesis 1 . . . from the perspective of both its author (in this case, Moses) and its original readers will we have the right to apply it to modern discussions . . . about the age of the earth and the meaning of the days of creation" (p. 23).

You know--you just know--a shoe is about to drop. They're "setting us up" for something. Right? It's obvious.

But for what?

And whatever they are about to say--and you know (since their title, itself, tells you) the authors are going to offer less than gushing approval of their (obviously former) young-earth perspective: If "the perspective of a modern person" isn't good enough to understand what Genesis 1 is about, then what will the perspective of a person from three thousand years ago or more add to our understanding? And, perhaps more important: How can Miller and Soden possibly suggest they could discover what a person of three thousand years ago believed or thought?

Happily, the authors offer answers to these questions--gently, carefully, tentatively, with humility and grace.

Next post in this series found here.

The fuzzy edges of translation

I thought this was pertinent--by way of illustration--to some of the issues I am trying to deal with in this blog.

I ran across an article in the July 2013 Reader's Digest borrowed from an article in Mental Floss magazine by linguist Arika Okrent who, herself, borrowed from Found in Translation by Nataly Kelly and Jost Zetzsche. One short story in particular struck me as helpfully instructive of the need not only for care in translation, but for humble tentativity and resolute commitment to query a communicator's comments . . . especially if or when we sense "our own" interests or views are being threatened.

Rather than extend my introduction, let me "simply" tell the story.

If you're in your late 50s or older, you may recall a famous (or infamous) speech by Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev to Western ambassadors at a reception at the Polish embassy in Moscow on November 18, 1956. He said, in Russian, "Мы вас похороним." Literal translation: "We will bury you," or, even more literally, "We will dig you in."

The meaning was not lost on any of those who were present. It was clear to all that, as Okrent summarizes the story,  Khrushchev was making a threat "to bury the U.S. with a nuclear attack."

Was that his intended meaning?

Before we discuss some other statements Khrushchev made that use much the same phraseology, let me note what Okrent (Kelly and/or Zetzsche) say: "[T]he translation was a bit too literal. The sense of the Russian phrase was more that 'we will live to see you buried' or 'we will outlast you.'"

Ah! A circumlocution for, "We're going to live longer," or, "Our system is better," or, "We'll still be kickin' when your heart's no longer tickin'." Something like that.

Interesting idea.

Can we get any insight from the broader context of the speech?

Wikipedia offers some context. First, from the speech itself:

The actual verbal context was: "Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will [bury you]." 

Hmmm.

The preceding sentence certainly seems to push in the direction of the Okrent/Kelly/Zetzsche interpretation. "History" to that point certainly wouldn't be "on [the Soviet Union's] side" to provide evidence that the Soviet Union would bury the United States with a nuclear attack.

But there is a broader historical context in which we may view that particular speech. Wikipedia goes on:

In his subsequent public speech Khrushchev declared: "[...] We must take a shovel and dig a deep grave, and bury colonialism as deep as we can."

There's that burial verbiage! And this time, we cannot interpret it as being passive, the way Okrent, Kelly and/or Zetzsche suggest.

But the context is broader than this, too:

Later, on August 24, 1963, Khrushchev remarked in his speech in Yugoslavia, "I once said, 'We will bury you,' and I got into trouble with it. Of course we will not bury you with a shovel. Your own working class will bury you," a reference to the Marxist saying, "The proletariat is the undertaker of capitalism," based on the concluding statement in Chapter 1 of the Communist Manifesto: "What the bourgeoisie therefore produces, above all, are its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable." Khrushchev repeated this Marxist thesis at a meeting with journalists in the U.S. in September 1959.

So. We have the context of the immediate speech during the reception. We have another reference to much the same imagery and phraseology just hours later ("his subsequent public speech"). We have comments Khrushchev made to American journalists three years later, and, finally, a direct reference back to it from a speech  Khrushchev made six years later.

So what was his meaning?

Can we "even" take his 1963 reference as controlling? Is it possible he is "reinterpreting" his meaning, at least slightly, from 1956? (I.e., does he "up the ante" a bit by suggesting a greater instrumentality on the part of the Soviet Union than he intended in 1956 when he first made the comment?)

Clearly, there is a lot of burying going on. And, as Okrent/Kelly/Zetzsche comment, however we might interpret the phrase, it is "not exactly friendly." But taken one way it is quite a bit less threatening than if taken another. So which was it?

Genesis 1: How Should We Interpret It? --Part 1

I have been looking forward to writing this post for some time. I can't remember how I discovered this book, but I find its "solution" to the question of how to interpret Genesis 1 extremely gratifying.

The book's title: In the Beginning . . . We Misunderstood . . . by Johnny V. Miller (former president of Colombia Bible College [which became Colombia International University during his tenure as president]) and John M. Soden (professor of Old Testament at Lancaster Bible College and Graduate School).

I have urged my acquaintances at Sonlight to incorporate this book into the Sonlight high school curriculum—and at least some of its basic insights and perspectives into earlier grades’ teaching notes. Hint: Miller and Soden take a strongly non-concordist view of Genesis 1-3.

As I wrote on this blog two years ago:

The concordist interpretations seek to show how modern scientific teaching is well in line with what the Bible teaches about creation and the early history of the world. ("See, if we reinterpret this word as meaning _______, and if we recognize that this word means _______ [etc.], then there is no conflict at all between science and Scripture!")

The non-concordist interpretations, by contrast, say, in essence, "Look, the biblical record in Genesis 1-11 has no relation to modern science or history. Don't even look for evidence that tries to tie the Bible's teachings in Genesis 1-11 to modern science or history. It doesn't. It 'teaches' everything obnoxious to modern science and history that the young-earthers claim . . . and more. Except . . ." . . . 

The non-concordists suggest various ways by which evangelicals ought to understand Genesis 1-11--ways that, they say, honor the Bible as God's inerrant, infallible Word (as per the standard evangelical statements of faith) while also containing statements or teachings that don't even come close to according with the truth of history and science as we know it. 

My view: In the Beginning . . . We Misunderstood is the first book on a generally POPULAR level that seeks to address the topic of Genesis 1-3 in a way that honors the legitimate intentions and concerns of both old- and young-earth creationists while also--and more importantly and fundamentally--seeking truly to honor the text of the Bible as written and the context in and for which it was written.

As  Miller and Soden note, the concordists on both side—the Ken Hams of the world on the young-earth side and the Hugh Rosses of the world on the old-earth side—all read into the text modern scientific “insights” that were never there in the first place . . . and, therefore, they try to make it say what it obviously doesn't say.

Meanwhile, however, all of the non-concordists I have read prior to Miller and Soden tend to note the problems with concordist interpretations [“so,” they conclude “therefore, we must adopt a non-concordist interpretation”], but/and, then, they immediately “get on” with “the science” of the age of the earth . . . and jettison any concern with or attempt, properly, to interpret the biblical text. I.e., they leave us with an open question as to what was the Bible meant to say? How should we interpret it?

Miller and Soden provide what I find to be a rather satisfying answer.

It is an answer that will shake up most fundamentalists’ and/or evangelicals’ perspectives on the Bible. But I believe Miller and Soden have gotten to the deepest roots of my discomfort with both the old- and young-earthers’ claims. . . . I sense they honor the text as written, the Bible as God's inerrant Word. They also leave modern science to do whatever it will do.

And in case you are wondering: they say, YES, the Bible--"even" Genesis 1-3--is authoritative. But/and it is authoritative and speaks authoritatively in a way that doesn't happen to have anything to do with the age of the earth or scientific evidence concerning the age of the earth.

--More in my next post . . . found here.

A New Faith Paradigm -- Part VI

After a five-month break, finally, I'm back . . .

Sixth in a series inspired by Kenton L. Sparks’ Sacred Word, Broken Word: Biblical Authority & the Dark Side of Scripture.

First post here.

*****

Sparks' Chapter 8, "Christian Epistemology: Broken Readers of Sacred Scripture," was, perhaps, for me, the most important and gratifying in the entire book.

Funny: I wrote a couple of papers about epistemology back when I was in high school. This stuff mattered to me. And it still matters. What do we know and how do we know it? Do we really know what we say we know?

At the time--and, honestly, since then--I never acquired the kind of vocabulary (much less gained familiarity with the concepts) that Sparks discusses. But as I read his chapter, I sensed he offered the most honest and humble--not to mention realistic--account of epistemology I have ever heard of. I found myself nodding in agreement throughout Chapter 8. But it wasn't merely that I found something to agree with. It was my sense that Sparks was expressing, in a very brief, tightly-reasoned space, what I have been groping towards for years.

If someone can help me improve upon what Sparks has offered, I will be delighted. But at this point, I find deep satisfaction in his advocacy--and, now, my concurrent advocacy, following Sparks--of the view he espouses.

Sparks opens his chapter with the following question [emphases mine]:

If . . . Scripture . . . is an adequate and useful book written from fallible human perspectives and includes diverse and sometimes conflicting viewpoints on the same subjects--and if we ourselves, as readers of Scripture, are in turn fallible readers, how can we know when our interpretations of Scripture are correct? And how can we be certain that we have arrived at the proper theological conclusions?

Answer, according to Sparks: We can't.

BUT . . .

And that "but" is huge.

Sparks explains five different approaches to epistemology, five different perspectives on knowledge. And when you get to the end of his explanations, I believe he offers us reason to believe that, even if we can't be--as he puts it--infallibly, incorrigibly, indubitably certain of the things we claim to know or believe, we can still be confident enough in what we know or believe to move forward--in life and in faith.

Five Different Perspectives on Knowledge

Tacit or “Simple” Realism

Basic perspective: Unstated, unexamined epistemology. As Sparks expresses it: this is where we start when we are infants. "All of us tacitly and unreflectively assume we have the capacity to know the world around us as it really is." (p. 74)

Reflective Realism

Basic perspective: "[H]uman perception and tradition provide a generally trustworthy understanding of reality. . . . [W]e should think critically about our grasp of reality." (p. 74; italics added)

Modern Realism

Basic perspective:

• "[W]e can only know ‘the truth’ when we overcome human tradition by ‘rising above it,’ so to speak, in order to see the world ‘as it actually is.’" (p. 75)
   
• "[B]y carefully interrogating and setting aside tradition, we can achieve an infallible, incorrigible, and indubitable grasp of the truth. . . . [O]n those points where we are very careful, we simply cannot be wrong." (pp. 75-76)

Sparks notes that "Modern Realism is still alive and well on the contemporary epistemic scene. It is especially prominent in everyday life and in some quarters of Christian Fundamentalism. . . . Paradoxically, the necessity for this theological move was engendered by Modernism itself, whose quest for indubitable, incorrigible certainty was adopted by Fundamentalists as the only appropriate basis" for confidence in the Gospel and/or assurance of salvation. (p. 76)

Postmodern Anti-Realism

Basic perspective:

• “[K]nowledge only counts if you can demonstrate that it is incorrigibly certain.” (p. 78)
   
• “[T]radition inevitably shapes us and . . . also blinds us to the truth. [Therefore,] it follows that human beings simply do not know the truth: we do not know reality as it is. What we mistakenly embrace as ‘reality’ is nothing other than invention." (p. 77)
   
• "[W]e cannot overcome tradition and hence we cannot see 'reality.'" (p. 78)

Postmodern Practical Realism

Basic perspective:

• "[W]e need not prove that we are right in order to have genuine knowledge. This is why young children . . . can have knowledge without proving it to themselves or others." (p. 79)
   
• Cultural traditions do not necessarily--nor most of the time or primarily--blind us to the truth; rather, traditions are "right about the world (generally speaking) because, by [their] nature, tradition[s are] the product of humanity's successful engagement with a real world and real people." (p. 79; italics in the original)
   
• Despite its generally positive outlook on tradition, Practical Realism believes that we ought to be "suspicious of tradition, since tradition is always warped and always wrong in some ways or others. . . . [T]his goes double for something like theology, where our goal is to describe God and his dealings with humanity." (p. 79)
   
• "[T]radition can provide a useful and adequate grasp on . . . reality. The grasp is not on a toggle switch that is either right or wrong. Rather, it lies on a continuum between better and poor: it can be very good or very bad, . . . some cultural traditions [can] be 'better' or 'healthier' than others, . . . but [none will be] perfect." (p. 79)
   
• Despite its imperfections, "[i]n the best cases, human knowledge is wholly adequate for the needs of our situation." (p. 79; italics in the original)

How is this possible?

• "Practical Realism accounts for interpretive success in terms of analogy and metaphor." (p. 79) Thus, "in a satisfying conversation with a friend about my feelings and thoughts, the result will not be that my friend has at any point actually understood my thoughts and feelings as I understand them. Rather, my friend's understanding will be similar or analogous to what I have tried to express, so that I feel understood in some way or other. . . . [M]y friend undoubtedly errs in some ways as he tries to understand me, and, make the issues clear, I will undoubtedly err in understanding myself." (pp. 79-80; italics in the original)

I don't know if this is why I was particularly drawn to Sparks' perspective, but knowing my own manner of thinking, in which I consistently look for analogies to explain what I am thinking, and having long believed that analogies are the best way to explain a subject, I imagine it is understandable why I so strongly embraced Sparks' comments about conversing with his friend.

And as for his last point, about erring even in understanding himself, I cannot help but give a hearty Amen: “Yes! That’s correct. I often don’t understand myself. I try to understand myself. I often interrogate myself. But, at root, I know I fail. I cannot fully, completely, ‘incorrigibly and indubitably’ determine my own motives. Or, to quote Jeremiah, ‘The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked; who can understand it?’ (Jeremiah 17:9) But that doesn’t mean I need to despair of ever understanding myself to a significant degree. . . .”

"In the final analysis," Sparks concludes, "the fundamental differences among Modernism, Anti-realism, and Practical Realism can be expressed with the commonly used metaphor of ‘capital T' versus 'small t' truth. Modernists believed that human beings can attain the 'Truth,' Antirealists maintain that 'Truth' does not exist, and Practical Realists believe that 'the Truth,' though it exists, is accessible to human beings only by analogies that yield partial, useful, 'small t' truths." (p. 81)

Sparks has several other insights that I found useful in this chapter.

• "Practical Realism does believe that there are such things as 'right' and 'wrong,' 'correct' and 'incorrect,' 'certainty' and 'uncertainty,' 'knowledge' and 'ignorance.' But these words have different nuances for Practical Realists them for Modern Realists. 'Knowledge' means that we have an understanding of the world that is analogous to, but not identical with, the realities that we seek to understand. 'Correct' means that our judgment yields practical success rather than precise and perfect understanding. As for 'certainty,' Practical Realists regard this as the perception that 'We must be right.' The trick is that, while this perception is absolutely essential for our everyday hermeneutical engagements and generally serves us well in the practical sense, in the final analysis it does not yield capital T 'Truth' or guarantee that we are right. We can be both quite certain and quite wrong. . . ." (p. 82)
   
• "Shared beliefs and opinions are actually adjacent overlapping concepts and perceptions." They are not identical. They cannot be identical.
  
  Sparks avoids going into great detail about the idea, but I think most of us can understand that no two human beings think exactly the same way. We have different experiences, different emotional predilections, different personalities; a taste or smell or color that excites one of us will create a negative response in another. (These observations are mine. However, I have no doubt Sparks would agree with my observations.)
  
  As a result of these differences in perspective and the way we think:
  

  Real differences are . . . inevitable and lead inexorably to the internal conflicts and disagreements that arise in human institutions and traditions. . . . [T]hese cultural limits are true, not only of me and you, but also of those who wrote the Bible. A case in point appears in 1 Cor 11:14-15, where the Apostle Paul incorrectly assumes that 'nature itself' proves that men should have short hair and women long hair. He did not realize that this inference was drawn through a cultural lens rather than directly from the natural order. Errors of this sort are endemic to human judgment. Try as we may, we simply cannot avoid them. (pp. 84-85)

• "If Practical Realism is a good description of how human beings actually conduct our lives, then we can anticipate that its basic contours are implied in many sources and places, including in biblical thought. And this is indeed the case. The Bible is introduced by an epistemic commentary. I refer to the Fall of humanity in Genesis. . . . Whatever insight the first couple gained from [their] pursuit [of knowledge] ( . . . 'knowing good and evil'), the result was not suited to them, nor did it entail all divine knowledge. So as we begin to read Scripture, it immediately steers us away from the idea that human beings can or should see the world as God sees it.
  
  "The author of the book of Job provides a fuller explication of this principle by deftly sketching out the profound contrast between divine and human knowledge. . . . As the story unfolds we learn that Job's theology is 'right' and that his friends were 'wrong.' . . . But the author's epistemic point runs much deeper, I think. For it is quite clear that Job was right only in comparison with his friends. . . .
  
  "We would more precisely say that Job and his friends were partly right and partly wrong, but in a way that made Job’s partial understanding of human suffering more complete and healthy and that of his friends. But in the end even Job repented, for in this biblical story about epistemology, only God gets everything right. . . ."
  
  THEREFORE,
  
  "At best we find ourselves in Job's epistemic position. That is, perhaps we have a better understanding of things than someone else, but we never have it spot-on and, if pressed, must repent in dust and ashes. This is Christian Practical Realism in a nut shell: God has it perfectly right, while human beings are partially right and partially wrong, but in a way that admits some human perspectives are better or more adequate than others. . . . " (pp. 86-87)
   
• "Scripture is beautiful and broken, and it is being read and studied in the church, and sometimes outside of the church, by beautiful and broken human beings. Nevertheless, Christians have theological and philosophical reasons to suppose that, when we read Scripture well, we are able to understand it. And as we understand it, we shall find that God's truth and beauty run deeper, and are more potent, than the brokenness that God is healing." (p. 88)

I would like to bring my commentary and observations about Sparks' book to a close at this point. However, before I sign off, I want to make two observations.

• First, I sense I have hardly done Sparks justice by stopping at this point. It is in the chapters that follow this one that he explains the practical implications of the foundational work he has done in the first eight chapters.
  
  In Chapter 9, for example, he addresses the issue of the perspicuity of Scripture. (Is the Bible really understandable to anyone but a scholar?) –If you have paid attention to this post so far, I expect you ought to be able to make a reasonable and fair guess at Sparks' answer. Extremely oversimplified: Yes, it is understandable. But the less educated and less thoughtful one's reading, the more likely one is going to understand it less well. Similarly, of course, the scholar who approaches the Word with "all brains" and "no heart" is going to do a far less creditable job of interpreting the Bible than will he or she who reads it with both heart and mind (not to mention training and experience!)!
  
  Chapters 10 to 12 address the difficult fundamental questions that any honest evangelical or fundamentalist Christian must ask if we grant Sparks his thesis. In other words, if his thesis is correct and "Scripture speaks the truth through perceptive yet warped human horizons," and if the Bible is, as Sparks claims, "a diverse and broken book," then "how can we use it to weave a useful and coherent understanding of God and of his relationship with us? How can the Bible . . . serve as a primary source of our theological insight?”
  
  Then there is Chapter 13: "Validity and Biblical Interpretation" . . . in which Sparks demonstrates how we can use the insights of a Practical Realist epistemology in order to properly interpret Scripture in all its multi-voiced wisdom and beauty.
  
  And then, finally, a brief, not-quite-two-page afterword, "Final Thoughts."
  
  Sorry! I'm saying no more about the book's content. Read the book.
   
• Before I completely leave this book, however, I wanted to comment a little about a matter--perhaps the matter--that has held me back from posting until this time.
  
  As I think about this new perspective on the Bible, and, especially, as I think about the way in which Sparks speaks of Practical Realism as the most--what I am calling--honest epistemology, I am bothered by the following thought. I am disturbed by the thought that, if we "buy" these views, we will not--I will not--follow in the footsteps of our "elder brothers and sisters" in the faith. Specifically, if this is how I believe (or, perhaps, rather, how I disbelieve), doesn't that mean I will not be willing to give my life for the Lord? Won't I be unwilling to become a martyr, if called upon to do so? Or, even--far short of giving up my life--doesn't it mean I will make few if any sacrifices for the faith--my faith? Doesn't it mean I will not (as I have found, already, I do not) boldly, "in season and out," seek opportunities to "share my faith" as I once did? (I am making a confession, here! --My faith and practice has changed!)
  
  And these thoughts bother me for numerous reasons.
  
  1) Because Jesus said, "He who is not willing to give up his life for my sake, will lose it" (Mt. 16:25). "For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will also be ashamed of him when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels" (Mark 8:38).
  
  2) Because I used to be willing to knock on people's doors (when I was a minister of evangelism). I used to be quite "bold." But now--for the last many years--I have found myself quite reticent to initiate conversations with non-believers about Jesus. (I am happy to discuss just about anything at any time if the subject is out on the floor for discussion. But I can't remember the last time I actually initiated a conversation with a non-believer about sin or salvation or new life in Jesus.)
  
  3) Because I find myself, more and more, "simply" less sure of myself, of my interpretations (and/or of my opinions) than I used to be. --And isn't my attitude, my reticence, my lack of conviction, obviously different from people like St. Paul and St. John who could (and did) say things like, "we know that God, in his justice, will punish anyone who does such things" (Rom. 2:2); "we know how dearly God loves us" (Rom. 5:5); "we know we will . . . live with [Christ]" (Rom. 6:8); "we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose" (Rom. 8:28); "we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body" (2 Cor. 5:1); "we know he hears us when we make our requests, we also know that he will give us what we ask for" (1 John 5:15); etc.?
  
  The question that has been haunting me: Aren't all of these things partially a result of my faith having been shaken, my loss of stalwart assurance that I can understand the Bible and be absolutely sure of the capital-T TRUTH?
  
  . . . I have been meditating on this question--these questions--for weeks . . . maybe even months.
  
  So, I ask myself--and I place it before you now, publicly: Am I risking a greater loss of faith, a further erosion of confidence, by adopting a Practical Realist epistemology?
  
  My conclusion: No. Because the Practical Realist epistemology is, ultimately, the epistemology I have held as my own for as long back as I can remember. I couldn't have named my epistemology. I couldn't have summarized it as Sparks has. But, even during all those years I was--have been, diligently--pursuing the Modern Realist epistemology that I believe my spiritual forebears held, the fact was, it was a pursuit. A Modern Realist epistemology was a hope, a dream. It was a desired conviction, a "faith statement" I (have believed I) was taught I had to hold if I was to hold onto my faith.
  
  But the truth is, during all that time, I kept finding myself wondering in the back of my mind: "How does this work? Is this true? Has ________ [whoever the latest-and-greatest teacher was] really mastered [this particular text . . . let alone the whole counsel of God]?"
  
  And I realize that, although I am not likely to be the very first man to run out and get himself killed for the cause of Christ, if and when push comes to shove, by God's grace, I intend to stand for my convictions. And even though I am not likely to do any more knocking on neighbors' doors the way I once did, I do seek to speak carefully and thoughtfully and with consistent integrity of conviction if and when the opportunity arises (according to my best understanding of what an opportunity looks like). My "preaching," as it were, has changed, but it isn't as if I no longer (or will no longer) "preach."
  
  Finally, while I find myself far less sure of myself--or of my companions (or, should I say, of my companions' statements of faith and/or conviction)--than I once was (or, at least, than I once was willing to permit myself to believe or pretend to believe): I am not convinced it is a bad thing to admit, forthrightly: "I see your point. I understand the evidence you have garnered for your view. But I see there is evidence that points in a different direction as well."
  
  And so--as I was meditating just yesterday--I am thrown back on a statement of conviction first expressed by St. Paul and subsequently made into the centerpiece of one of the hymns of my youth: "I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed to Him against [i.e., until] that day."
  
  Ultimately, I say to myself, that is the bedrock of my faith.
  
  I find myself shaking and questioning. "Is that really You, God? Did You really say that? I mean, did you say what I think You said? Have I understood? Or . . . ????"
  
  And I believe that is an okay place to be. Indeed, it is probably a better place, a more open and honest and useful place, than if I were to speak with undoubted conviction: "Yep! I heard Him! I know what He said! I've got that one covered. . . ."

Answering a concern about claims of Scripture being broken: A New Faith Paradigm -- Part V

Fifth in a series inspired by Kenton L. Sparks’ Sacred Word, Broken Word: Biblical Authority & the Dark Side of Scripture.

First post here.

*****

I wanted to reply to something my brother Pete wrote in response to my last post. I could "hide" my reply in the give-and-take of the Comments section. But I thought his comments--and my (though I perceive it to be Sparks') reply--were worthy of greater visibility.

Pete wrote,

Ummm... Sparks seems to be starting from a very arrogant position, that I find increasingly common: the arrogance of assuming he is more moral than God. Or that he would do it differently than God.

Specifically, when I read

Thus, says Sparks, when we read passages like Deuteronomy 20:16-18 where the Israelites are commanded by God to annihilate the Hittites, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites without mercy, in fact what we ought to understand is that God--the God we read about in Matthew 5:43-45, the God who commands us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us....

Who says that annihilating these ancient peoples was somehow in opposition to the command to love your enemies?

I relate what God asked them to do... to the single-person act of executing a murderer. Killing the murderer is not murder; the death is "on the head" of the criminal. So too, these ancient (very evil) peoples were -- by God's reckoning -- worthy of death. That He chose people to dispense justice is God's choice. Sometimes He used the Israelites, sometimes He used others like the Babylonians etc.

I suspect that we today don't have a problem with the Bible as much as we have a problem with God's purity and holiness. We water down God to make Him "nice." And by doing so we also water down the value of His loving act of sending His son to earth to die in our place.

And my reply:

Interesting hypothesis. And particularly interesting because Sparks himself attempts to address the charge.

Your concerns arise because of things he says most pointedly in Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 consists of Sparks' discussion of six questions. The last question is this: “If we admit that Scripture is as I have described ["broken"], does this not open up the door to an 'anything goes' theology that interprets Scripture so that it says nice things that we like? Will we simply pick and choose as 'final' those texts that suit our fancies?” (p. 64).

Short answer: Yes. Absolutely. Such a view does open up the door to an "anything goes" theology. And to abuse by arrogant human beings.

But.

Sparks writes:

all Christians succumb in some way or other to this threat. To see how true this is, one only needs to notice that, even among Fundamentalists who deny the human error in Scripture, one finds a wide variety of conflicting "inerrantist" readings. Some inerrantists claim that the Bible clearly teaches "predestination," others that it clearly teaches "free will." Some inerrantists argue that Scripture strongly supports "infant baptism," while others believe that it obviously teaches "believer's baptism." Some inerrantists are "pacifists," while others advocate "just war" theory.

No approach to Scripture, whether hermeneutical or theological, will prevent us from badly misreading it at points. But this much is certain: in the end, the success of biblical interpretation depends a great deal on whether we want to listen to God or merely tell him what he ought to say (pp. 64-65; emphasis mine).

This last comment reminds me of a question that meant much to me back when I was in college and during my years as a minister of evangelism. I asked skeptics who appeared, to me, to be using questions as a kind of diversionary tactic (and I often asked myself--because I, myself, am often so skeptical): "So. Suppose I answered all of your questions: Would you be willing to follow Jesus and do what He says?"

Sadly, the honest answer, too often, was (or is), "No. No way!"

So this honest answer points to the real problem. Ultimately, the real problem isn't honest doubts; the real problem is a matter of the will: "I am not willing to follow Jesus. I am not willing to obey God."

(By the way, this question of mine really came from Jesus in John 7:17: "Anyone who is willing to do the will of God will know whether my teaching is from God or is merely my own.")

But Sparks says more than this on the subject. And I think I would be unfair to you, my reader, as well as to Sparks, if I were not to point out at least some of the general hermeneutical principles he discusses in Chapter 10, "Listening to the Diversity and Unity of Scripture," where he responds a bit more directly to Pete's question.

Sparks calls the hermeneutical principles he discusses in Chapter 10 factors in theological interpretation of Scripture.

The fifth factor, he says, is that

we must distinguish those points where God uses [the human writers'] discourse to direct us explicitly in appropriate and redemptive directions ("love your neighbor as yourself"; "do not kill") from those points where the text, more warped by human sinfulness, implicitly witnesses to a broken human situation ("kill the Canaanites"; "buy foreign slaves"). (p. 110)

Isn't that beautiful? (Tongue in cheek. Sarcastic.)

So. How do we know that "love your neighbor" is sound and healthy and "kill the Canaanites" is warped and broken? (Sparks asks the question. Just like that (p. 111): "How do we know that 'love your neighbor' is sound and healthy and 'kill the Canaanites' is warped and broken?") How do we know whether or not our resistance to the extermination of Canaanites in Joshua arises from spiritual arrogance and sinful flesh? (He asks that question, too. Like that (also p. 111): "Does our theological resistance to the extermination of Canaanites in Joshua arise from spiritual arrogance and sinful flesh--from an unwillingness to let God be God and to accept his wisdom in ordering their destruction?")

Sparks' answer: We know it does not arise from such motives because we have all these "other texts in the Old and New Testaments that teach us to take a strong stand with God against things like violence and genocide" (also quoted from Sacred Word, Broken Word, p. 111).

Our judgment concerning the command to kill the Canaanites arises because of Scriptures such as those I (quoting Sparks) have alluded to before in earlier posts: Matthew 5:43-45; Ezekiel 18:14 and 20; and so forth; and other Scriptures that, as Sparks describes them, offer "explicit biblical evidence that Scripture is in need of redemption and that God is working to redeem it" (p. 66)--Scriptures like Matthew 5:31-32, 38-39, 43-44; 19:7-8.

Or, to sum up (p. 68):

[The most] striking example of the redemption of Scripture is provided by the Gospel of Matthew as a whole. Like other early Christians, Matthew viewed Jesus as the "new Moses" prophesied in Deut[eronomy] 18:15.

Strange, I know. But take a moment to see where Sparks goes with this.

He summarizes the themes in Matthew's Gospel that seek, obviously, to show how Jesus was (or is) “like Moses.”

Ultimately, he ends his parallels in the way that Matthew ends his:

Readers will probably recall that, because of his sin, Moses was not able to lead the Israelites into the Promised Land. At the end of his life, he stood on a mountain overlooking the land and sent to the Israelites, "I cannot go with you, but God will be with you. . . . Go, and kill all the nations." [Footnote: "See LXX Deut[eronomy] 11:23; Josh[ua] 23:4; 24:18." --My take: I don't see the meaning Sparks wants to apply. Though I see a close enough meaning: "Go, and displace all the nations." Or, "Go, and take everything away from all the nations." --JAH] This parallels very closely what we find at the end of Matthew's Gospel. Jesus takes his disciples "to the mountain" and there speaks his own final words: "Go, make disciples of all the nations . . . and I will be with you."

It is quite clear that Matthew wished to portray Jesus as a better Moses, who, because he was sinless, could address his followers from within the land and could extend the promise to be with them in their mission. (p. 69)

Okay. So?

"So," Sparks concludes, "the Gospel of Matthew is a deliberate and sustained attempt to redeem the Old Testament law and make it serve the purposes of the Gospel of Jesus Christ" (p. 69).

Similarly, then, we ought not to be afraid to recognize those "laws that are not good" (Ezekiel 20:25) and that reflect our own human "hardness of heart" (Matthew 19:8). And as we recognize them, we ought, then, also, seek to redeem them and make them serve the purposes of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

We ought not to think that there is "such [a] thing as Martin Luther's 'severe mercy,' which combined the violence of Deuteronomy and love of Jesus to justify the persecution of Jews 'for their own good'" (p. 55). Rather, through "Christ's message and work and the ministry of his Spirit[, we ought] redemptively [to be] putting this [kind of] brokenness behind us" (p. 64).

A New Faith Paradigm -- Part IV

Fourth in a series inspired by Kenton L. Sparks’ Sacred Word, Broken Word: Biblical Authority & the Dark Side of Scripture. 

First post here.

*****

After telling us, more or less, where he intends to go, Sparks encourages us to realize that it is not actually such a radical position to suggest or say or admit that the Scriptures are “broken,” or are in error at different points.

Oh, yes, it is radical in extremely conservative or fundamentalist circles in the United States to say such things. But if you look historically even at various bastions of the faith to whom conservatives and fundamentalists turn for confirmation that they are walking in the truth: if we are coming from such a hyper-conservative or fundamentalist perspective, we will find some truly remarkable statements.

Sparks refers to statements like Luther's judgment concerning the Book of James as an "epistle of straw." If you are at all familiar with Protestant history, that particular judgment on Luther’s part should be an old one. Sparks references, too, however, something I didn't happen to find out about until a few years ago as I was reading up on old- v. young-earth creationist arguments. John Calvin plainly states that the cosmology (view of the created order) presented in the first chapters of Genesis is not according to reality, but is “accommodated,” as it were, to the limitations of understanding of the human beings who were to receive God’s word back when it was written. (Sparks doesn't quote passages from Calvin, but you can find them easily enough. Here, for example, is a whole list of references.) One minor example from the Institutes of the Christian Religion, 1.13.1: “God, in so speaking, lisps with us as nurses are wont to do with little children.”

But Sparks references other church leaders or church fathers whose names I know but whose statements I was not familiar with: Gregory the Great, John Wesley, Gregory of Nazianzus, Justin in his Dialogue with Trypho . . .

I don't want to get into the specific things Sparks quotes from these men. I found the quotes fascinating. And, strangely, reassuring.

But "[i]f these 'giants' of church history were willing to admit that errant and even sinful viewpoints were included in Scripture," Sparks asks (and he notes that Justin in fact openly refers to Ezekiel 20:25 to affirm that God gave the Jews “laws that were not good”; can we say “sinful,” maybe even “evil”?), 

how did they avoid the conclusion that God had erred in Scripture? In every case, they argued that the errors were not God's errors but rather his wise "accommodations" or "condescensions" to the spiritual and/or intellectual limitations of human beings. . . . Paradoxically, these Christian scholars were able to admit the human error in Scripture and, at the same time, to affirm that God does not err in Scripture. In their theological hands, biblical error became God's wise accommodation to the intellectual and spiritual limitations of the human audience. [Emphasis mine—JAH] (pp. 52-53)

Except, Sparks suggests, such a “solution” is a little too clever by half.

First, as understood by these earlier Christians, the human authors of Scripture were colluding partners in the act of accommodation. [Again, my emphasis—JAH] In Calvin's account, for instance, we find that not only God, but also Moses, knew but kept secret the proper scientific cosmology. So God and Moses accommodated their discourse to the confused Israelites. In contrast to this view, I would argue that accommodation did not occur between Scripture's human author and audience but rather between God and the human author himself. God adopted the author of Genesis as his author and, in doing so, adopted that human author's ancient view of the cosmos; God knew the right cosmology, but neither "Moses" nor the Israelites did.

My second amendment regarding accommodation would be its extent. Earlier Christians appealed to accommodation only at certain points. . . . I would argue instead that all Scripture is accommodated discourse for the very reason that, on every page of Scripture, God has adopted the words and viewpoints of finite, fallen human authors as the words and viewpoints of his holy book. (pp. 53-54)

And one final point.

Sparks actually wants to avoid the word accommodation altogether and replace it with the phrase providential adoption. Why? Because if we suggest God "accommodated" his speech to our human level, we come mighty close to suggesting that God took an “active role in communicating errant human viewpoints."

I suspect that a more nuanced account should honor the human will by making this more passive. That is, . . . God allowed his human authors the freedom to be precisely who they were when they wrote Scripture. (p. 54)

Thus, says Sparks, when we read passages like Deuteronomy 20:16-18 where the Israelites are commanded by God to annihilate the Hittites, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites without mercy, in fact what we ought to understand is that God—the God we read about in Matthew 5:43-45, the God who commands us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us that we might be his children; this God has canonically adopted the authors of these passages as his speakers and, “in doing so, he has permitted these authors—fallen as they were—to write the sorts of things that ancient, fallen people would write about their enemies.” (p. 54)

Put another way (my summary, here!), when God’s word (the Bible) tells us that God said something to Moses . . . which Moses then passed on to the people of Israel and attributed to God: we are supposed to “understand” that God never said what Moses attributes to Him.

[And yet, somehow, this (what else can we call it but) lie—this untrue testimony about what God supposedly said, this perjury . . . —We are supposed to understand that this is, somehow, really and truly “God’s word”?!?

Once more, I find my breath being taken away. And I need to give you—and me—a few moments to get our breath back.

But once it is back, . . . I would like to encourage you to plow forward with me just a few more sentences.]

Sparks continues:

It is one of the great mysteries of faith that God's redemptive activity is carried out successfully and beautifully through the agency of fallen men and women. . . .

I would add that a good theology of adoption depends to some extent on the venerable doctrine of providence, a belief that God is active in ordering creaturely realities to their proper ends. . . . As this applies to our theology of Scripture, [this means] that God, in adopting human texts as his own, was involved both in the production of the texts and in their canonical adoption as sacred Scripture. Precisely how God did this . . . is not something we can explicate. But . . . [i]n my opinion, it is a better explication of the “dark side” of Scripture than an approach that seeks to harmonize Gospel love and genocide as theologically compatible ideas. There is no such thing as Martin Luther’s “severe mercy,” which combined the violence of Deuteronomy and love of Jesus to justify the persecution of Jews “for their own good.” (pp. 54-55) 

Sparks doesn't go on at this point to develop his theme of God’s use of fallen men and women to carry out His redemptive activity, but I want to make the point here that I believe Sparks makes quite clear almost 40 pages later.

As I continued to read Sparks, what I heard him saying was that, in the same way that we can learn from (and many of us do learn from)—or, put another way, in the same way that God can use (and, many times He does use)—elder brothers and sisters in the faith, pastors, teachers, martyrs, missionaries and kingdom heroes, and even parents who claim no faith at all—so, too, we can learn from and God can use (but, no, in fact, God has especially chosen to use) this collection of ancient writings called the Bible to teach us today: even if and even as it is broken.

Sparks says we ought not to do what so many of us evangelicals have done through the years: "[set t]he human authors of Scripture . . . to one side (more or less) so the greater emphasis can be laid on hearing the words of the Bible's divine author” (p. 90). Rather, we should recognize that "[t]he Bible is a collection of texts written using ancient literary models by authors steeped in the pragmatic concerns of everyday life in an ancient world. [And w]e should read it as such” (p. 92). "[A] healthy approach to Scripture takes seriously the significant historical and cultural gap that separates the original discourse from its later readers" (p. 91).

In essence, then: YES. These ancient authors made mistakes. They spoke sinfully. They spoke wickedly. Maybe they claimed that God said things that God, in fact, didn't say! And these false, sinful, wicked statements are to be found in the pages of Scripture. And yet, in the same way God has used wicked, sinful, fallen pastors and teachers and church leaders of the modern world to lead Christians today into truth—into the Truth: so He can and has and will use wicked, sinful, fallen authors of ancient literature to lead His people into the Truth. Despite themselves. Despite their errors. Despite their lies. Despite their distortions or misspeaking or truly vile and wicked statements. God, in His good providence, has adopted these fallen, inadequate, broken writings—writings by fallen, inadequate, broken human beings—as His Scriptures. He has permitted His name to be placed upon them—even as He has permitted His name to be placed upon us. He has permitted these words to be identified as His words (and/or His “word”; though note—and this is a very important point that Sparks emphasizes heavily, and I intend to emphasize it appropriately when we get there!: these words, and/or this “word” is not the Word, “the Word made flesh” that dwelt among us!) . . . –Even as God has permitted us to be identified as His people, so He has permitted these words to be identified as His words, His word. And He has used these words (this “word”)—even as He has used us—and He will use them (even as we ought to expect Him to use us) for His good purposes.

Strange? Terrifying? Unbelievable? Yes. All of these things. At least for this conservative evangelical. What kind of authority can such a fallen, broken, messed-up literature hold? And how can one ever say the kinds of things Sparks says about a word that, we are told, was—at least in part—written by men who were "carried along by the Holy Spirit" (2 Peter 1:21)? And what about 2 Timothy 3:16 where we are told all Scripture is "God-breathed" and "profitable"?

Doesn't Sparks' proposed doctrine make a hash of these passages?

As I wrote last time, at this point in reading Sparks’ book, I was very much not ready to embrace Sparks' proposal(s).

But despite all the problems such a view might create for the theological systems I have been taught, I was still left with the conviction that I could not dismiss his proposal out of hand. It seemed to me it might yet turn out to be a potentially viable hypothesis. I needed to permit him to present whatever additional evidence he might be able to show me for why and how such a view might actually be workable.

But we have covered enough for one more post. And so I will stop here.

A new faith paradigm -- Part III

Third in a series inspired by Kenton L. Sparks’ Sacred Word, Broken Word: Biblical Authority & the Dark Side of Scripture. 

First post here.

*****

One of the recipients of my last post commented on Sparks' use of the word brokenness with respect to Scripture. To talk of problems? Okay. Difficulties? We can talk about that. Sparks uses the word diversity with respect to the way different human authors of Scripture speak concerning the same subject; their testimonies are diverse, they diverge, they do not all accord one with another very well—or very easily, anyway. Okay. We can handle those kinds of statements, too. But when Sparks begins to speak of brokenness, he is treading in some very deep waters and his terminology is quite troubling. On what grounds can a human being question God's word and claim that it is somehow “broken”?

Is Sparks simply trying to be provocative? Or wanting to point us to some kind of "failure" on God's part to preserve His word from minor (or—all right, in some cases—semi-kinda “major” (depending on how you want to characterize it)) verbal corruption over the centuries?

Chapter 5 makes it clear: No. Sparks is not simply trying to be provocative. And he is not speaking about corruption of the text. He is pursuing something deeper. Far deeper.

Chapter 5 is titled "The Brokenness of Scripture." And Sparks begins in this way:

When someone in Western culture wishes to emphasize how bad things have been or are in our world, one turns almost invariably to the era of the Second World War and the Shoah (or “Holocaust”) as an example. . . . The Shoah has become the quintessential symbol of our fallen world and of fallen, sinful humanity.

But is it not a very deep paradox that the Shoah, in which Nazis systematically exterminated the Jews because of their religion and ethnicity, is mirrored so vividly by the Deuteronomist ban in Jewish Scripture, according to which Israel exterminated the Canaanites because of their religion? . . .

I am reminded, here, of the famous study by the Israeli scholar Georges Tamarin. Tamarin surveyed two groups of Israeli children about the morality of genocidal conquest. To one group he told the story of Joshua's conquest of Jericho, and to the other he told the same story but substituted a Chinese general in Joshua's place. About 60% of the Israeli children approved of Joshua's conquest, but only 7% approved of the Chinese assault. One can read Tamarin’s discussion for the details. His main point is also mine: the Canaanite conquest would strike us as flagrant evil were it not a story from the Bible.

What we face, I think, is the ethical difficulty I mentioned earlier in passing: the problem of Scripture is the problem of evil. (pp. 45-46)

And now Sparks lays his cards—or, should I say, the “game plan” of his “argument”—on the table. He states where he plans to go before presenting his “argument” for it. And, once more, I will confess personal astonishment—shock, dismay—at reading what he writes. “No! No! You can't say that!” And yet he does:

Just as God's good and beautiful creation stands in need of redemption, so Scripture—as God's word written within and in relation to that creation, by finite and fallen humans—stands in need of redemption. (p. 46)

Are you kidding me!?! Can you believe he said that? Scripture needs redemption?!?

He goes on:

Scripture does more than witness explicitly to the fallenness of the created order and humanity. Scripture is implicitly, in itself, a product of and evidence for the fallen world that it describes. . . .

I would join other scholars in suggesting that a robust doctrine of Scripture should not presume that "the text is immune from criticism." Scripture was written by godly but fallen human authors who sometimes thought and wrote ungodly things. If this is right, then the church should not defend Scripture's uniqueness as the divine word by appealing to its perfection. Rather, a proper account of Scripture's goodness and divine origins will closely follow the traditional Christian response to the problem of evil . . . :

God's creation, which is good, nevertheless includes evil. But these flaws in creation should not be blamed on God but rather on humanity and its sinful, fallen state.

God's written Word, which is good, nevertheless includes evil. But these flaws in Scripture should not be blamed on God but rather on humanity and its sinful, fallen state. (pp. 46-47)

Sparks discusses the problem of evil from a relatively conventional, orthodox perspective. He refers, for example, to Genesis 50:20, where Joseph tells his brothers that though they intended evil by sending him off as a slave to Egypt, "God intended it for good to bring about this current result: to preserve many people alive." Similarly, he references Philippians 1:15-18, where the apostle Paul speaks of those who preach Christ—some from envy and rivalry, but others from good will. “But what does it matter? . . . Christ is proclaimed in every way, whether out of false motives or true; and in that I rejoice.”

I'm sure you can think of similar Scriptures. Sparks summarizes:

Acts of human sin, intended by ill will, are understood as standing within God's providential, redemptive activity. And in spite of this . . . we cannot trace the human evil back to God. Humanity is ultimately responsible for what ails the world.

And then:

I believe that the same conception of human and divine agency holds for Scripture.

Or, quoting Bonhoeffer:

We must read this book of books with all human methods. But through the fragile and broken Bible, God meets us in the voice of the Risen One. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Reflections on the Bible: Human Word and Word of God, tr. M. E. Boring (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004), 15.) (pp. 48-49)

No! No! No! Sparks! You are destroying the Bible as I have been taught to know it!

But he rolls on:

[W]e have the paradoxical circumstance in which God's creation and written word, though truly his, include horrible things that he neither created nor said. These terrors, whether of life experience or biblical "texts of terror," cannot be fully resolved by really smart human beings with well-honed hermeneutical tools. They will only be resolved by the eschaton—God’s redemptive activity to set his world aright through Christ. (p. 49)

Yipes!

At this point, in my heart of hearts, I was not ready to embrace Sparks' proposal(s), but I will admit that, despite all the problems such a view might create for the theological systems I have been taught, I felt incapable of dismissing his proposal out of hand. It seemed to me a potentially viable hypothesis. I needed to permit him to present whatever evidence he might be able to show me for why such a view might actually be workable.

I will stop here with this post. As a matter of fact, this was about where Sparks ended his Chapter 5.