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Thursday 27 November 2008

The Bible - open or closed? (4)

I think that “conversation is the best descriptor we have for the form in which we have received the Bible and for the way in which that form works within the whole canon of scripture” but don't think that has to mean that conversation is a feature of all “the many varied forms that scripture takes.”

My main reason for thinking that is that my argument is that conversation is the best descriptor for “the form in which we have received the Bible” and for “the way in which that form works within the whole canon of scripture.” My argument, therefore, is about the form of the whole canon rather than the form of the parts (e.g. books/genres) that compose it.

Having said that I have been arguing in these posts that both the form of the parts and the content of those parts includes much more conversation than is generally acknowledged by Biblical scholars and theologians. Examples I have used included: the conversational aspects of the Psalms, Epistles and Revelation (form of the parts); and Jesus’ ongoing conversation within the Godhead, his conversational teaching method in John’s Gospel, the retelling of Israel’s story in terms of Jesus that we find throughout the NT, and the many conversations recorded between God and the most significant characters in both OT and NT (content of the parts). However, I certainly don’t want to suggest that all of the forms or all of the content of the parts are explained or informed by the motif of conversation.

I do think, however, that conversation is the best descriptor when it comes to describing the form in which we have received the whole canon of scripture. There is an enormous diversity of texts in the canon of scripture which although they are set alongside each other within the frame of the canon also interact with, speak to, comment on and interpret each other. It is this interaction between the parts of the whole that I want to describe as conversation.

Once you have a frame (e.g. the canon) which includes a diverse collection of different texts, this interaction or conversation can occur in a huge diversity of different ways. These include: different telling of the same events in different ways and to different chronologies (i.e. Samuel, Kings and Chronicles, the four Gospels, or the accounts of the conversion of Saul); retellings of stories in ways that reinterpret the original story (e.g. Paul’s reworking of the Hagar and Sarah narrative, Hebrew’s reinterpretation of the sacrificial system, and Revelation’s reworking of apocalyptic narratives in terms of the politics of the day); passages being interpreted and being capable of interpretation at a number of different levels (i.e. historical and allegorical, as in the Hagar and Sarah narrative); the quoting or paraphrasing of material from one text in another text; and exploration of shared themes in different texts without specific reference one to the other, among others.

I find Josipovici very helpful in describing the way in which this conversational form works as he discusses the opening chapters of Genesis:

“… the chapter advances, by means of the basic pattern laid down in the opening: full repetition, partial repetition, innovation – or any combination of these three elements

… the Hebrew Bible is … concerned with repetition and return

… the Bible works by way of minimal units laid alongside each other, the narrative being built up by slotting these together where necessary. This is an extraordinarily simple and an extraordinarily flexible system, which can lead from what could almost be described as shorthand to rich elaboration. Naturally this is made possible or reinforced by the paratactic nature of Hebrew syntax and by the denial of dualism within the narrative. The three aspects intermesh and create a narrative which can spend nine chapters getting from the Creation to Noah and his descendents, or else cover the ground in just four verses, as in Chronicles: ‘Adam, Sheth, Enosh, Kenan, Mahalaleel, Jered, Henoch, Methusalah, Lamech, Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth’ (1 Chron. 1: 1-4) …

Each new element in Genesis 1 helps to bring into focus prior elements which we would have overlooked had we not been alerted to them by what follows. In just the same way chapter 2 – 3 help bring into focus the theme of division in Chapter 1 …”

Later, Josipovici argues that a “pared-down, reticent style is … the style of the Bible” and that “what it implies is that we can read most episodes in any number of different ways, though always with the sense that other ways are possible.” The narrative, he suggests, always denies us “a point of view above the action” and therefore is not going to help us adjudicate between different readings: “When we think we have found at last a place from which to interpret we find that it too is subject to conflicting interpretations.” Alongside this style, we find that “the events are laid out alongside each other, without comment, and we are never allowed to know whether the pattern we see emerging at one point is the true pattern.”

Such points lead him to conclude that “the Hebrew Bible … chose not to stay with the fulfilment of man’s desires but with the reality of what happens to us in life. We all long in our daily lives for an end to uncertainty, to the need for decisions and choices, with the concomitant feeling that the choices we have made may have been the wrong ones. Yet we also know that life will not provide such an end, that we will always be enmeshed in uncertainty. What is extraordinary is that a sacred book should dramatize this, rather than be the one place where we are given what we desire. But that is precisely what the Hebrew Bible does …”

These approaches present us with an open conversation in which we can participate, as, for example, occurs in Judaism in the Gemarah.

I think this provides a partial answer to the question about the extent to which reinterpretation of stories is actually a conversation: “In what way do the Jewish scriptures respond to the way in which they have been re-interpreted within the passage where the re-interpretation takes place?” The layering of stories and interpretations across the canon of scripture continually brings us back to the question as to whether any one story or interpretation is definitive and closed or whether there is an open ongoing conversation about interpretation in which we can participate. The next part of my argument picks this up in more detail.

Another part of an answer to this question is found in the responses of people in the Gospel/NT stories to the retelling of Israel’s story undertaken by Jesus and Paul. These make it clear that there are alternative perspectives and challenges to these retellings/reinterpretations. So, conversation within the text with the stories being reinterpreted occurs through those that challenge the reinterpretation. Again, this brings us back to the overall structural question of the canon of scripture as to the open or closed status of these stories/interpretations.

In the construction of the Christian Bible the open conversational form of the Hebrew Scriptures is combined with a sense of fulfilment through the forward drive of the story that it tells:

“It’s a magnificent conception, spread over thousands of pages and encompassing the entire history of the universe. There is both perfect correspondence between Old and New Testaments and a continuous forward drive from Creation to the end of time: ‘It begins where time begins, with the creation of the world; it ends where time ends, with the Apocalypse, and it surveys human history in between, or the aspect of history it is interested in, under the symbolic names of Adam and Israel’. Earlier ages had no difficulty in grasping this design, though our own, more bookish age, obsessed with both history and immediacy, has tended to lose sight of it. Neither theologians nor biblical scholars have stood back enough to see it as a whole. Yet it is a whole and quite unlike any other book.”

This then means that there is also a conversation/dialogue/dialectic between the open laying of texts alongside each other without comment and the closed forward thrust of the story. The Bible, as a whole, is a both/and: it is both open and closed; both structure legitimating and structure subverting (to use Brueggemann’s terms); both a unity and an arbitrary construct (Josipovici). As a result, there is also a see-saw movement or conversation in our response as readers:

“there is a constant see-saw movement at work in our relation to the books that matter to us: we are drawn to them because they seem to speak to our condition, and we seek to make them more and more our own; but we are also drawn to them because they seem to be other than us, because they guide us out of ourselves into what we feel to be a truer, more real world.”

This brings us nicely to the hermeneutic circle or spiral where the conversation between whole and part and the conversation between reader and text are very much a part of what I am trying to describe. What I am seeking to do, however, is broaden our sense of the extent and variety of ways in which conversation occurs in and through scripture beyond the two conversations that often form our understanding of the hermeneutical circle.

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Noah and the Whale - 2 Atoms in a Molecule.

3 comments:

Philip Ritchie said...

Thanks Jonathan, I guess we have been practicing what we preach with our own hermeneutical spiral in conversation over the subject!

I think we are in very close agreement over your central thesis which I agree is a broadening and deepening of the sense in which we see conversation taking place in scripture.

My one comment would be that I am still not sure which parts of scripture you might regard as closed. For myself I think it is what I described as my understanding of the meta-narrative in scripture which is the proclamation that the risen Jesus is Lord and Messiah and the fufilment of the Old Testament scriptures. I do not think scripture gives us the space to question this resolution of the story though I fully accept the story goes on from that pivotal revelation in what Wright describes as Act V. Thus the conversations take place within or under that meta-narrative.

Anyway, I'm off to Jerusalem at 5am tomorrow with laptop in tow, so I look forward to keeping in touch. Shalom.

Jonathan Evens said...

Thanks Philip,

Hope you have a great time in Jerusalem. I look forward to your posts from there.

I want to post some more about the narrative of scripture so will pick up your comments on that when I do so.

I agree that we have been going usefully round our own hermeneutic spiral as we've discussed and that we are very close in our understanding of these issues.

All the best,

Jonathan

Jonathan Evens said...

I would agree that what is closed is the development of the narrative that is found in scripture and which Wright has summarised as being like a five act play with Act 1 Creation, Act 2 the Fall, Act 3 Israel, Act 4 Jesus and Act 5 giving us the New Testament as its first scene together with hints as to how the play will end. It is worth noting however that this narrative has its open elements in the form of gaps in the narrative and different tellings of the same events which do not always fully cohere.

I would hesitate in calling this narrative a meta-narrative because it is threaded through the fragments which form the whole canon of scripture rather than over-arching them. At the same time it is not a micro-narrative because its full telling is not contained by any one of the books forming the whole canon of scripture. It may be that a new descriptor is needed for the kind of narrative that we find in scripture or it may be that we need to speak of a meta-narrative that emerges through the linking and interweaving of micro-narratives.

What I am clear about however is that this narrative subverts the micro-narratives from which it emerges. This can be clearly seen in the way in René Girard applies his understanding of mimetic desire to the interpretation of scripture.

Girard suggests that we act on the basis of mimetic desire leading to conflict and violence which we resolve by the expulsion or sacrifice of scapegoats. Girard claims that as a result societies and cultures are originally based on founding murders where this single victim mechanism is in operation. He points to Cain’s murder of Abel as being the Biblical story which reveals this basis to human culture:

“What has happened since the foundation of the world, that is, since the violent foundations of the first culture, is a series of murders like the Crucifixion. These are murders founded on violent contagion, and consequently they are murders occurring because of the collective error regarding the victim, a misunderstanding caused by violent contagion.”

Over time, Girard argues, this mimetic process is disciplined by ritual into sacrificial systems which repeat the founding murder.

In this scenario, after the Fall, God wishes to communicate his love his love to us, these same human beings intent on personal or group survival. As he has given us free will, he has to communicate in and through the social and cultural structures which we have now created (i.e. sacrificial systems) but, in order to reveal his loving self, in a way that engages in an internal dialogue and critique of these same systems. Accordingly, he gives his chosen people, who have recent and personal experience of being scapegoats and victims, a founding story in which human sacrifice is emphatically rejected in favour of animal sacrifice (Genesis 22. 1-19).

At Mount Sinai the Israelites are then given the chance to become a nation of priests enjoying the kind of intimate, direct relationship with God that Moses has. God wants to draw them as a whole into an intimate relationship with him where they can debate, argue and influence God and where they are not simply obeying an external set of rules but have internalised God’s framework for life and live freely within it (Jeremiah 31: 33 & 34). God sets out for the people his vision of their relationship with him (Exodus 19: 6). They are all to be priests and, therefore, in time will be able to come directly into his presence.

He also provides the tools to make this happen (Exodus 20: 1–17). Limits are what parents set while they are teaching their children how to respond to the situations with which life will confront them. When they have learnt, they no longer need the external limits because they have internalised and can utilise these lessons. An analogy is that of a child learning to cross the road. Parents firstly lay down strict limits on what the child can and cannot do. Then the child is taught how to cross the road in safety. But when the child has learnt how to judge distance and speed then s/he is free to cross the road wherever s/he judges it is safe to do so and is no longer restricted to recognised crossing places.

This developmental process seems to be what God intended for the Law as can be seen in the way that both the writing prophets and Jesus use the Law. What they consistently do is to emphasise the core/the spirit/the fulfilment of the Law, not its external application (see, for example, Amos 5: 21 - 24 and Matthew 5: 17 - 48). Girard gives us a clear example of this occuring in writing about the woman caught in adultery (John 8: 3 – 11):

“The Law of Moses provides for stoning in the case of well-defined offenses. Moreover, because the Law fears false denunciations, to make these more difficult it requires the informants, a minimum of two, to cast the first two stones themselves.

Jesus transcends the Law, but in the Law’s own sense and direction. He does this by appealing to the most humane aspect of the legal prescription, the aspect most foreign to the contagion of violence, which is the obligation of the two accusers to throw the first two stones. The law deprives the accusers of a mimetic model.

Once the first stones are thrown, all the community must join in the stoning. To maintain order in ancient societies, there was sometimes no other means than this mechanism of contagion and mimetic unanimity. The Law resorts to this without hesitation, but as prudently, as parsimoniously as possible. Jesus intends to go beyond the provisions for violence in the Law, being in agreement on this point with many fellow Jews of his time. However, he always acts in the direction and spirit of the biblical revelation and not against it.”

What we see here is a law that in its literal application is structure-legitimating being re-imagined in terms of an essence that embraces pain. This is, therefore, in Brueggemann’s terms, counter-testimony. The people of Israel, at Sinai, are offered the opportunity to live in the counter-testimony and in conversation with God to move beyond the literal and structure-legitimating application to the embrace of pain that is its essence and core. The people, however, refuse this deeper level of relationship with God whilst still promising to obey him (Exodus 20: 18 – 19). They ask that Moses enters into this intimate relationship with God on their behalf and report back.

Instead of the counter-testimony, they choose a structure-legitimating, contractual relationship saying to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die” (Exodus 20: 19). This then becomes the pattern for God’s relationship with the people of Israel throughout the Old Testament. The people relate to God legalistically and through individual mediators (whether prophets, judges or kings) within a relationship that is fundamentally one of gift/grace. This is the tension of the Old Testament. Not that, at base, the relationship between the people and God is not of grace but that the people refuse to follow through on the logic of this and enter into the intimate relationship with God where they can internalise and utilise his pattern for life as a whole people.

The Bible can then be seen as the record of a conversation between God and a human race which has, as a whole, rejected this conversation but which, in a remnant (mainly Israel and the Church), continues to oscillate between dialogue and independent rejection. This is, finally, why the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is so decisive. As we have seen, Jesus lives fully in the counter-testimony, the conversation with God which embraces pain and imagines possibility, and he enables humanity to enter that conversation too.

Girard describes this radical reversal in terms of God first taking the side of the victim and then, in Christ, becoming the victim:

“The desire that lives through imitation almost always leads to conflict, and this conflict frequently leads to violence. The Bible unveils this process of imitative desire leading to conflict, and its distinctive narratives reveal at the same time that God takes the part of victims. In the Gospels the process of unveiling or revelation is radicalized: God himself, the Word become flesh in Jesus, becomes the victim … The New Testament Gospels are the starting point for a new science or knowledge of humanity. This new knowledge begins with faith in Christ the innocent victim, and it becomes the leaven that will work itself out and expand to the point that the concern for victims becomes the absolute value in all societies molded or affected by the spread of Christianity.”

Gerd Theissen sets a similar understanding of Christ’s revelation in the language of science by writing of Jesus as an ‘evolution against evolution’:

“In an evolutionary perspective religion has often been simply one of the social mechanisms by which control, and hence the continued survival of the strong, is established; but in these two cases [the increasingly monotheistic faith of ancient Israel and in the life, teaching and death of Jesus of Nazareth] religion takes an unprecedented turn, and becomes instead an agency of healing for the wounded. In the religion of the prophets, and in the religious commitment for which Jesus lived and died, we see the distillation of faith in a God who is on the side of the downtrodden rather than their oppressors, and who seeks to bring a new, supernatural order of justice and peace out of the natural laws of selection and mutation which spell death for the weak and powerless.”

James Alison also describes this same process as it is revealed in three key biblical moments: Elijah on Mount Horeb, the Exile and the conversion of Saul. The story of Eiljah on Mount Horeb is "the story of the un-deceiving of Elijah" in which he learns "not to identify God with all those special effects which he had known how to manipulate to such violent effect [on Mount Carmel]:"

"The still, small voice says much more than it seems to: it says that God is not a rival to Baal, that God is not to be found in the appearances of sacred violence."

Then in the Exile we see: "all the structures of group belonging, of personal, family and tribal belonging, in the dust. The whole imaginative within which Yahweh was worshipped, torn to shreds." The process of recovery "gave rise to a religion of texts, and of interpretation of texts, with the Temple, the cult and the monarchy relegated to second place . This means the reinvention of a new form of Yahwist life, where Yahweh is disassociated from many of the things which had seemed immutable and indispensable elements of his worship."

Finally, something similar occurs in Paul following his conversion experience:

"All of Paul's preaching, all of his theology, is characterised by the process of the collapse of a certain sacre structure, and by the slow discovery of the perspective given by a new focus on Yahweh, the Pauline equivalent of Elijah's still, small voice. Paul's whole argument about the Law is nothing other than the attempt to make it clear that, from the moment when the rsurrection makes present the crucified one as a constant hermeutical companion in our living of the religion of Yahweh, even that which had seemed sacred and untouchable in that religion, the very Torah of God, is desacrilised. It has to be understood according to whether it contributes to the sacrifice of other victims within a sacred order, or whether it is interpreted in such a way as to deconstruct the world of sacrifices and sacred orders."

Alison argues that the narrative of scripture leads us into a space where we understand that God has nothing to do with the "sacred forms of the past, with all their violence and their victims" and "where we learn, precisely in the midst of the deconstruction of all that, new ways of speaking words of God, so as to participate in the new creation."

Alison therefore sees the development of the narrative of scripture as deconstructing or subverting the understandings of God articulated in the initial stages of that narrative. In this way, the story told in scripture is one that is in dialogue with itself where the development of the story goes together with a developing revelation of God. This narrative and conversation he sees as leading us to a place where we can learn "new ways of speaking words of God", a phrase that reminds me of some words of Rowan Williams from Christ on Trial:

“All human identity is constructed through conversations, in one way or another. The gospel adds the news that, in order to find the pivot of our identity as human beings, there is one inescapable encounter, one all-important conversation into which we must be drawn. This is not just the encounter with God, in a general sense, but the encounter with God made vulnerable, God confronting the systems and exclusions of the human world within that world – so that, among other things, we can connect the encounter with God to those human encounters where we are challenged to listen to the outsider and the victim.”