Theology is exegesis

The chief task of Christian theology is exegesis. The reason for that is devastatingly simple: ‘Jesus Christ as he is attested to us in Holy Scripture is the one Word of God.’ Theology is exegesis because its matter is Jesus Christ as he communicates himself through Holy Scripture. And so attention to Holy Scripture is not only a necessary but also – in a real sense – a sufficient condition for theology, because Scripture itself is not only necessary but also sufficient. One way of writing the history of modern theology would be to trace the sad fate of Scripture’s sufficiency and its reduction to merely necessary status. The counter to this is: exegesis, exegesis and exegesis. The task of exegesis is far too important to be devolved upon biblical technicians. But if modern theology demonstrates a failure on this score, it does not lie primarily on the part of the guild of biblical scholars, but on the part of dogmatic theologians, who have all too often abdicated responsibility for exegesis, and rested content with genres and modes of argument which have encouraged the conceptual takeover of the biblical gospel. Christian theology is properly evangelical, because it is generated by the gospel. But part of securing that evangelical character will be recovering a rhetoric for theology which simply lets Scripture be. Work on that task – which, in their different ways, Barth and Bonhoeffer also deemed theology’s central preoccupation – is scarcely begun.

- John Webster, “Reading the Bible: The Example of Barth and Bonhoeffer”

Good Friday Unlocks the Bible’s Meaning

“My heart has become like melting wax in my belly.” By his belly Jesus means the weak in his Church. How did his heart become like wax? His heart is his Scripture, or rather his wisdom in the Scriptures. But Scripture was closed. Nobody understood it. When the Lord was crucified, it began to flow freely like wax, so that all the weak could understand Scripture. As a result of the crucifixion even the veil of the temple was torn, because what had previously been veiled was now revealed.

-St Augustine on Psalm 22.14

Words, Concepts, Judgments

“It is certainly true that one should teach nothing outside of Scripture pertaining to divine matters, as St Hilary writes in On the Trinity Book I, which means only that one should teach nothing that is at variance with Scripture. But that one should not use more or other words than those contained in Scripture–this cannot be adhered to, especially in a controversy and when heretics want to falsify things with trickery and distort the words of Scripture. It thus became necessary to condense the meaning of Scripture, comprised of so many passages, into a short and comprehensive word, and to ask whether [the Arians] regarded Christ as homoousios, which was the meaning of all the words of Scripture that they had distorted with false interpretations among their own people, but had freely confessed before the emperor and the council. It is just as if the Pelagians were to try to embarrass us with the term ‘original sin’ or ‘Adam’s plague’ because these words do not occur in Scripture, though Scripture clearly teaches the meaning of these words, that we are ‘conceived in sin’ (Ps 51.5), that we are ‘by nature children of wrath’ (Eph 2.3), and that we must all be accounted sinners ‘because of the sin of one man’ (Rom 5.12).”

Luther, On the Councils and the Church (LW 41, pp. 83-84)

Joseph Ratzinger’s “Jesus of Nazareth”

The second volume of Joseph Ratzinger’s Jesus of Nazareth will appear during Lent of 2011, according to the American distributor, Ignatius Press. This volume will discuss Jesus’ passion and resurrection, which helps to explain the book’s timing (even as the pope is currently finishing the third volume). More information on the book and some possible expectations can be found here. Since the first volume of the book (published in 2007) has produced heated debate in numerous circles, especially biblical circles, I will summarize the book’s basic shape in preparation for the second volume. Then, I will briefly summarize scholarly response to this volume.

Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration proposes to be a Scriptural portrait of Jesus Christ. It is at once meant to be a Catholic appropriation of Scripture, showing how it can be employed with a regard for history as well as faith, and at the same time a Catholic appropriation of Christ. These two intentions, toward Scripture and toward Christ, are bound inextricably in the book. To ask which comes “first” is to ask the wrong question. Thus, Joseph Ratzinger – writing, notably, as a private theologian and not in his capacity as pontiff – gives the essential thesis of his book as follows:

It [my book] sees Jesus in light of his communion with the Father, which is the true center of his personality; without it, we cannot understand him at all, and it is from this center that he makes himself present to us still today. (xiv)

His thesis draws from Scripture and from the faith of the Church, a faith inherited from Israel. Ratzinger argues that “Scripture emerged from within the heart of a living subject – the pilgrim People of God – and lives within that same subject” (xx), making Scripture at once the subject of history and of faith. He insists that historical-criticism ought not be abandoned, and yet that it has serious limits: the face of Christ shows us the face of God, and Scripture functions in a similar manner by giving us a portrait of Christ.

What follows in Ratzinger’s deceptively short book is a complicated synthesis of theological reflection, detailed Scriptural reading, and historical analysis. He presents this synthesis in the form of a basically Synoptic chronology of distinct topics: from Jesus’ Baptism, into the Temptation, forward through his ministry into the Transfiguration. Most of the book is spent in the Synoptics, with a shift toward John later in the work. He makes good on his promise to see Jesus in light of his communion with the Father, and that relationship dominates Ratzinger’s interpretation of texts. Presupposing the overarching unity of Scripture, as well as faith’s ability to “read” the contours of this unity, Ratzinger frequently weaves together the multiple Synoptic accounts. He accomplishes this intertextuality in varying ways, depending on whether he discuses a specific topic (as in “The Lord’s Prayer,” which more freely associates the passages underneath the unifying heading), or whether he discusses the unique qualities of a book in the canon (as in his section on “Three Major Parables from the Gospel of Luke”). The book is not at all a display of papal hyper-intertextuality, as for example with some of the more dizzying passages in John Paul II’s encyclicals, though it is not without such moments.

Notable in Ratzinger’s exegetical “style” here, and this is not always typical of him (see more rigorous exercises such as Principles of Catholic Theology), is the ability to draw out further implications from the text in what might be called a more spiritually aware variant of reader-response criticism. This is the “pastoral” bent of the book, often maligned among scholars. But this tendency does not, as far as Ratzinger appears concerned, deviate from the essential thrust of the book – which is indeed a hybrid of spiritual and exegetical rigor. He sees no opposition between the “Christ of faith” and the “Jesus of history,” and is determined to indicate the possibility of such a unity in his own exegesis.

Ratzinger displays a profound concern with the New Testament’s relationship to the Old, and he cites texts from the prophets and the Torah with notable frequency. He appears at least partially influenced by Paul’s writings in this regard (along with a strongly liturgical sensibility), and in his citations reveals frequent reliance upon Paul’s view of the relationship between the Old Law and the New. It is therefore not surprising that, a year later, he as pope would proclaim the Year of St. Paul, a year for ecumenical endeavors and – it should not be forgotten – a long series of homilies on the Pauline letters (here is the very last).

Ratzinger thus reveals himself to be immensely concerned with the direction of Scripture in modern scholarship and among ordinary Catholics, and in this book he attempts to address both.

Scholarly reaction to the book is easy to summarize: abject hatred. The book was almost universally derided by scholars, and I will not attempt critique their fairness or unfairness here. Instead, I will offer a quote from Luke Timothy Johnson, who in his review manages to be eloquent whether or not I agree with him:

It is, in short, a book that falls between the worlds of scholarship and devotion, contributing little of substance to either and noteworthy primarily because of the office held by its author. (Modern Theology, 24 no 2 Ap 2008, p 318-320)

That is certainly damning, and a good example of the scholarly reaction to the work. Fair reaction or not, the pope managed to hit a nerve, causing a quite entertaining level of hostility. So I must wonder: where is this nerve, what does it mean…and do I also want to strike it?

[Book in discussion: Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger, translated by A. J. Walker (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2007)]

Ratzinger on Theological Exegesis

I’m currently reading through Ratzinger’s (Benedict XVI’s) The Nature and Mission of Theology. This morning, I ran across a passage that bears repeating.

If theology considers its own specific property only as an obstacle, how can it possibly yield any fruit? We must factor Church and dogma into the theological equation as a generative power rather than as a shackle. Indeed, only this ‘energy source’ discloses to theology its grand perspectives. As an example, let us take exegesis, which even today is considered to be the classic illustration of the fact that the Church is a mere hindrance to theology. What, then, does a theology which emancipates itself from the Church actually achieve? In what sort of freedom does it then find itself? It becomes antiquarianism. It limits its researches to the past and advances varying hypotheses regarding the origin of individual texts and their relationship to the historical facts. These hypotheses interest us more than other literary theories only because the Church still asserts that these books document not merely past events but what is true. Neither does the attempt to make the Bible relevant by means of some personal philosophy improve matters, for there are better philosophies which nonetheless leave us cold. But how exciting exegesis becomes when it dares to read the Bible as a unified whole. If the Bible originates from the one subject formed by the people of God and, through it, from the divine subject himself, then it speaks of the present. If this is so, moreover, even what we know about the diversity of its underlying historical constellations yields its harvest; there is a unity to be discovered in this diversity, and diversity appears as the wealth of unity. This opens up a wide field of action both to historical research and to its hypotheses, with the sole limit that it may not destroy the unity of the whole, which is situated on another plane than what can be called the ‘nuts and bolts’ of the various texts. Unity is found on another plane, yet it belongs to the literary reality of the Bible itself.

From Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, The Nature and Mission of Theology (trans. Adrian Walker; San Francisco: Ignatius, 1995), 64-65.

Scripture and Systematic Theology

For biblical scholars to begin asking questions about the theological meaning of the biblical text is immediately to re-introduce theology to the discipline. This does not mean, however, that the whole field of systematic theology now has purview over biblical scholars and the theological meaning of the text. Yes, systematic theologians are equipped through their training to grapple with the myriad philosophical problems that emerge when managing multiple simultaneous theological insights. (And there will be an overwhelming simultaneity when it comes to Scripture.) But they are not, as it currently stands, well-armed to approach the Bible.

Biblical scholars express deep and rightful concern when they complain that systematic theologians do not really know the Bible they use. It is true. Systematic theology leans far more heavily on philosophy than Scripture, and it shows. If systematic theologians are suddenly interested in the Bible again, now that theology is allowed in the Bible again, they had better start reading it again. And this means knowing its history as much as it means knowing its canon.

There is a certain level at which, of course, systematic theologians have a right to ask all kinds of anachronistic questions of Scripture. If it really is a governing text for the discipline of systematic theology, a lasting source of revelation, then it must by all means address the current theological context. (And biblical scholars are not the guardians of theological insight any more than theologians are.) All the same, it is rather telling that these systematic reads of Scripture – these efforts to make it relevant – end up sounding so weird.

When biblical scholars for their part attempt to approach and appropriate biblical theological meaning, they have shown an unfortunate confusion and hesitation. This is not soothing for systematic theologians to observe. Interest in theological exegesis has devolved into an uncertain stand-off between history and theology. Some appear to be interested in theological exegesis simply so that they can re-affirm those dogmatic beliefs they already hold. This is unhelpful. Others are reticent toward theological insight because they wrongly believe history to be more accurate than dogma. This is an absolutely false dichotomy.

Of this much we are assured: no one wants to be (overtly) a-historical. Has it occurred to us that, much as we are historical beings, theology will always carry with it the a-historical? This is precisely because it is about eternal truth in history. So, a lack of historicity can be detested – but not as an unmitigated measure of truth or falsity. Otherwise, history has again become the prime governor of verified fact, and this was precisely the flaw in extreme uses of historical-criticism. (Not that systematic theologians, and our gleeful lack of attention to history, have made eternal truth all that appetizing.)

Such is a brief summary of the troubled relationship between the two disciplines, one that only scratches the surface of history and theory. I will now attempt some commentary about my own field (systematic theology) and how it ought to approach Scripture.

Theologians must realize that we are not well trained in Scripture. Systematic theologians, and I speak now particularly as a Catholic systematic theologian, do not read Scripture enough and certainly have only the most general idea what biblical scholars are doing with it. Part of this ignorance exists because biblical scholars became specialized beyond the practical capacity for systematic theologians to understand or employ their insights, not all of which pertain to theology in any case. But this ignorance is also a real lack of responsible attention. I myself admit that my own work has failed to allow Scripture a consistent place. (Protestant systematic theologians have problems with Scripture peculiar to them, and I dare not cross that battle-line while I am in the middle of picking a fight with my own dear brethren.)

Theologians must listen to biblical scholars. This is distasteful, of course, because it admits a serious weakness. We do not know what we are talking about when it comes to Scripture. Biblical scholars comprehend the Bible and its history much better than theologians do. Pride will do no one any good here.

Theologians must know when not to listen to biblical scholars. Because theological exegesis is, in its current state, so confused and in the midst of development, not everything biblical scholars argue is helpful. There are many moments when biblical scholars no longer consider long-adopted exegetical insights viable. This does not always make such insights in fact unviable – for there is a difference between scholarly consensus and ecclesial truth, and the latter is not dependent on the former while (and here I make everyone uncomfortable) the former is dependent on the latter.

Magisterial influence is yet another difficult discernment, especially for Catholics, though I am convinced it is not always as complicated as we render it. It is easier to agree in theory that the Church ought to lend insight to theological exegesis than it is to work out that theory in practice. The Catholic Magisterium stubbornly maintains its right to serve as the final judgment when it comes to authoritative teaching on revelation, and this of course includes the Bible. It is popular now for scholars to dissent from the official Church, since scholars are in most cases more knowledgeable about the topic anyway. We ought perhaps instead to pause and consider the range and limits of our expertise, since it is not the same sort of expertise to which Magisterium lays claim.

Ecclesial authority is uncomfortable, and the nature of truth is uncomfortable, and obedience is uncomfortable. But they must be addressed, or we are failing the most basic kind of honesty. Nor will I, for my part, tolerate a new Magisterium composed of scholars, as I have little doubt we will be more burdensome to people of faith than bishops are.

As a whole, systematic theologians have a troubling tendency to leave behind the Bible. This can happen in a number of ways, though the most popular is the (not unreasonable) claim that the Bible does not directly answer the question at hand. I must wonder to what extent this is a serious mistake. Yes, the Bible functions in a manner remarkably different than systematic theology. The Bible is deeply literary, often mystical, and intertextually complex. Still: how can the Bible abide in theology beyond a merely distilled meaning, and without becoming literalist?

I by no means request that systematic theologians must always cite biblical texts. The mere citing of the Bible does not make a work biblical. Nor does the claim of presuming a “biblical worldview” while never bothering to cite the Bible make a work biblical. How, then, can systematic theology remain biblically informed, yet without unnecessarily burdening it with an unnecessary, even fundamentalist, biblicism -  placing philosophy and the Bible in conflict?

So I close with a kind of awe over the immensity of the problem. I admit that systematic theology only poorly incorporates the Bible in its work, and this is further complicated by the confusion in biblical scholarship. Nor can I resist further aggravating everyone by wondering whether perhaps the official Church has achieved a union between Scripture, history, and theology that the academy has yet to realize. By all means, scholarly work and Magisterial work are not the same – but they are not unrelated, and we are perhaps too quick to dismiss the Magisterium as “pastoral.” After all, a survey of the use of Genesis in the encyclical tradition of the 20^th century alone reveals a rather stunning display of continued exegetical development (increasingly historically aware), parsed in tandem with theological development. That is just one example. To read the encyclicals is to watch Scripture, history, and theology begin to speak to one another. Perhaps the encyclicals are ahead of us on this point and not behind, and I do not suggest this as if it were a product of some personal devotional obedience on my part. I suggest it as a scholar. I ask, genuinely, whether there is an insight here – developed almost unconsciously – that theologians and biblical scholars can discern and employ in their own fields. Whether there is a coherent unity at work that we can, with great effort and creativity, take up as our own and indeed develop further.

Historical Criticism and the Regula Fidei

There is a tendency among some scholars to paint historical criticism and theological exegesis as mutually exclusive; historical critical methodology is seen by some as (at best) a sometimes necessary evil along the road to theological readings, while theological readings are considered by others to be the departure point at which “proper” historical readings of the Bible are eclipsed. As one of the expressed goals of the Marquette Scripture Project is to explore the relationship between historical and theological “methods,” I thought it may be helpful to post some observations as well as some questions for further discussion on this topic.

Benjamin Jowett’s On the Interpretation of Scripture has in recent years become the paradigmatic example of historical criticism gone awry. In this famous piece, Jowett does not decry the belief that Scripture may provide theological truth or instruction, but he assumes the location of such truth to be  in the mind of the authors and original hearers, and that the history of interpretation has lost sight of original meaning. For a scholar like Jowett, who helped pave the way for the necessity of “presuppositionless exegesis,” the fact that his project begins with such a powerful presupposition should strike one as odd. Jowett does not presume to know what Scripture means, but he does presume to know what it does not mean.

Jowett’s fear of theological presuppositions clouding one’s interpretation of the Bible is a shared fear, and it has in part fueled the perceived need to keep “theology” separated from “biblical studies proper.” As Richard Hays demonstrated in the “Theological Hermeneutics of Christian Scripture” group at the 2009 SBL annual meeting, however, reading Biblical texts through the lens of creedal affirmations does not necessarily cloud one’s exegesis; if anything, such a reading can sometimes clarify the exegete’s task.

My question, with regard to Jowett’s fear and Hays’ observations, involves the point at which doctrinal presuppositions could in fact hinder rather than inform exegesis. To begin the exegetical task (like Jowett) with the assumption that the text’s valid meaning is found in the mind of the biblical author, and that such meaning will necessarily differ from that which is found in the history of its interpretation and reception, seems less than helpful. However, should the theological interpreter not remain open to the possibility of finding a meaning that is at odds with a certain text’s Interpretationsgeschichte? It is one thing to read the Bible through a matrix as broad and encompassing as the Creed, but it is quite another to incorporate the intricacies of almost two thousand years of interpretation…or is it? I suppose my question is, “How long is the regula fidei that guides the task of theological exegesis?”

This question will likely produce more questions than it answers, but hopefully such questions will at least stimulate some discussion on the topic.

Welcome

Welcome to the blog of the Marquette Scripture Project, an on-going  seminar run by faculty and graduate students in the department of theology at Marquette University.  This site will serve as a forum for discussions on the nature and purpose of theological interpretation of Scripture, reviews of classic and more recent books in the field, resources, and notices of upcoming events at Marquette.  For more information on the history and purpose of the seminar, click on the about tab; for a sample of some of the events we have already hosted, click on the events tab.  In the near future we will have more regular posts, as well as information about upcoming events.