Reviews presented
at Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature Philadelphia, 2005
in the Consultation on Contextual Biblical Interpretation by
Randall
Charles Bailey,
“What Ever Happened to the Good Old White Boys?”
Review of Global
Bible Commentary, Daniel Patte, Gen. Ed., Abingdon, 2004
by
Randall C. Bailey
Interdenominational Theological Center
Atlanta, GA
What a formidable task to just
collect such an array of biblical scholars, from such a variety of
contexts. I am amazed, awed, and
thankful for the work of the editorial board of this most important project for
the work they did in gifting us with such a variety of scholars and
scholarship. Being able to read the
works of scholars from across the globe, many of whom I knew, and many of whom
I met in the course of reading this work, is a major contribution that this
volume presents to the guild of biblical scholars and to the ecclesiastical
structures who have nurtured them. No
longer can the guild say with integrity that they do not know of any biblical
scholars other than white men and a few white women. No longer can the guild say with integrity
that there is only one way of reading a text or that there is only one context
from which “REAL QUESTIONS” can arise.
No longer with integrity can the guild continue to practice intellectual
dishonesty by ignoring the works of those who come from outside the mainline
networks. Now, be clear, I am not saying
that they can no longer do these things.
Rather I am saying that no longer WITH INTEGRITY can they continue these
practices. And for this I am most
grateful to the editorial team of this volume.
One of the major contributions
of this work is giving to us dialogue partners from across the globe. It makes us aware of new works and writings
which we have missed. It makes us aware
of new writers whose careers we need to follow.
I know Amazon.com is happy with the acquisitions I’ve made over the past
few months as I came across works cited in this volume which help me in my own
research. The inclusion of biographical
materials and bibliographies by the writers as footers to the front of each
article in this book has made a significant contribution to my own library and
I’m sure to those of many of us in this room today.
The format of the volume, by
foregrounding the social context from which the writer speaks is most helpful
to readers and a revolutionary move on the part of the writers. While it is not new, since womanist, feminist, and other scholars have been trying to
teach us the importance of social location in the scholarly endeavor and the
importance of foregrounding this in our work, many of us trained in the “myth of
objectivity” also know of codification of Eurocentrism,
have resisted this way of speaking and writing.
Such materials in this volume help to broaden one’s understanding of the
Christian journey/trek across the globe and its impact. I would have to say Christian, since most of
the authors with the exception of Brenner and Cooper, in this volume profess
Christian beliefs, and also since the ordering of the chapters in the book
follow Luther’s Canon, thus giving a decided Christian flavor to even the Hebrew
Bible section of the book, to which I shall confine my remarks.
Learning of the ways in which
the biblical text was introduced into various parts of the world, was most
intriguing. To hear of the use of the
text as a counter-cultural force in places like pre-WWII Korea (Wong) and
current day India (Melanchthon) was most helpful in
seeing the power of this text. Learning
of the ways in which continental Africans have conformed themselves to the
text, sometimes to the exclusion of traditional religious elements (Kwasi), sometimes to the syncretism of the same (Adamo), has been challenging and eye-opening for me
personally as a biblical scholar and believer.
Uncovering the roles that class, gender, ethnicity and sexuality play in
the readings of the writers of this volume has been illuminating. It is to these dimensions of “contextuality”
that I would like to address my remarks.
As “contextuality” is used in
this book, there are two different main subcategories of the term. The second is the “context” in which the
biblical text is presumed to have been produced. For some authors this is primarily an
historical critical construct in line with source criticism, giving authorship
and date information for the writing of the biblical book to the reader. For others this is an opportunity to raise
ideological questions regarding the text, its production, and commitments in
ancient Israel. For others this endeavor
is to situate the biblical book within a social matrix which can intersect
positively with the social context of the writer. These ways of dealing with contextualizing of
the biblical texts is the first signal to what has happened to the good old
white boys. For while very few of the
writers in this volume fit into that category, without exception, it is to the
good old white boys, and in a few instances, the good old white girls, to whom
the writers in this volume turn to answer the contextual questions. The bibliographical listings at the end of
each chapter are dominated by the writings of the “good old white boys.” Their ways of dividing up the biblical book
generally predominate the ways in which the book gets treated by the authors in
this collection. Their arguments over
genres and which passages are significant still steer the discussion in the
commentaries. So, while they are not
listed in the “Table of Contents”, the good old white boys are alive and well
in their grip on the discipline and in our own contextual readings of the
biblical text. For many of the writers
in this volume these were their teachers.
For some the listing of these works becomes the stamp of academic
integrity. For others these ultimately
are the authorities by whom we must pay homage.
Interesting, there is little critiquing or taking these approaches to
dividing up the books to task, though there are some examples of this, such as
in Sampaio’s treatment of Hosea.
Let me hasten to state that the
writers of this volume often cite works by biblical scholars who are not white
and male. Most of the times, however,
these are references to scholars from their own geographical contexts or their
own racial/ethnic identities, a point to which we shall have to return later in
this review. The one place where there
is some crossover is among women scholars.
By the same token, though very
seldom is it acknowledged in the articles, the context of “being in the bible”
as the “authoritative Word of God” is most important to the writers of this
work. If there is a problem to be explored
regarding the oppressive use of the text, it is generally to the interpreters
that these writers turn for blame. It is
not the biblical text itself which is the culprit. Rather it is the ways in which the text has
been so called “misused.” Thus, the
deity as character is out of bounds for analysis in most instances by these
writers, either in regard to the ethics of this character or in regards to the
complexity of this character. While this
may be a result of the social context of the writer and the way the writer’s
community views the biblical text, it greatly impacts the “contextualization”
treatment of the biblical book itself in the works in this volume. As Adamo informs us
it is the potency of the words, which come from God, which prove efficacious in
the African context. Thus, the
contextuality of the biblical books is inscribed in canonization and its
meanings for the writers in this volume.
Again, though this is not spoken of directly, “being in the bible” a
major contextualizer in the readings that are given
to the commentaries in this volume.
While this may also be attributable to the desire that this book serve
both the academy and the church, it is deeply imbedded in the views of the
writers themselves. As Weems states these “texts are simultaneously to be
submitted to and struggled against (212).”
Thus, the Context of the biblical text is defined by what prevailing
biblical scholarship and ecclesiastical authorities have claimed it to be, and
to these altars many of these writers bow.
I am not pointing this out here to problematize this work, rather to be
descriptive of how it works in the volume.
The first and foremost way
“contextuality” works in this volume is the social location of the writer of
the article. The varieties of ways this
happens is most fascinating. For some,
such as Cooper and Scholz’s treatment in Leviticus,
religious affiliation and nationality predominate. For some the political situation in their
countries predominates in the definition of context, such as for Kwasi, Pixley, and Wong, in their
respective treatments of Judges, Exodus, and Esther. For some it is their racial and cultural
identities which predominate in their self-contextualizing, such as for Havea, Lee, and Weems in Numbers,
Lamentations and Jeremiah respectively.
For others it is gender concerns as they impact either themselves or
women and children in their contexts, such as for Sampaio,
Melanchthon, and Fewell in Hosea, Song, and
Ezra-Nehemiah respectively. For others
it is the geographical location in which they are located and its impact on
others, such as for Amos and West in Genesis and Samuel respectively. Still for others it is their religion which
defines their context, as with the dialogue of Cooper and Scholz. In
other words, the freedom of these writers to determine what they mean by
context and what context means to them is part of the genius of this book. The varieties in the ways in which
context gets defined, both from an historical to a contemporary construct,
helps us to see that not only for this writer, but for all writers,
contextuality functions in our writings.
The conscious attempt to explore this dimension of scholarship and to
foreground it in each article helps the reader to look not only at these
articles but articles in other books and
to deduce how contextualized all scholarship is. This learning in fact runs contrary to the notions which many writers in this collection
claim, namely that Eurocentric research is non-contextual. The questions which scholars raise grow out of
one’s context and one’s relation to that dimension of life. All scholarship is contextual. In my
reading Noth’s
argument for amphyctiony and Alt’s Stammes grow out
of their mythic understandings of the development of
Archie Lee, Adamo and Havea
raise an alternative ways of doing contextual readings, which seems to differ
from most of the writers in this volume.
While most of the writers take ancient Israel’s context and see how
it relates to their own, even to the point of using it as the norm by which to
judge their own contexts, the above mentioned use their context to filter the
biblical writings. In other words, these
writers use their own cultural understandings as the lens through which to read
the biblical text. They raise the
question of privileging one’s own context as reader. Adamo raises the
problem that the missionaries took so much away from African religious
expressions and expectations, but replaced it with nothing to address these
concerns. He then argues that the
African Independent churches place these religious understands back at the
center and read the Psalms as incantations within this framework. Thus, the number of times the name of the
deity is called in a Psalm speaks to the ways in which it will be seen as
addressing a problem of the reader.
Similarly, Havea and Lee take their peoples’
literature and proverbs and use them to assess the strengths and weakness of
ancient Israel’s literary attempts to address analogous situations.
It is intriguing that this method of contextualizing is such a minority
expression in this collection. Most
of the other writers see themselves and their people in the role of Israel in
the text, even when this is not the most appropriate analogy given historical
experiences. Thus, Mbuwayesango
can on the one hand say that the invasions and colonization in southern Africa
make Joshua 1-12 problematic, but she then turns around and advocates the
principles of division of the land proposed in Joshua 13-20 as applicable to
the context. How can the principles of the invader-colonizer be useful to the
actions of the indigenous people, I wonder? Similarly, Kwasi’s
claim that the problems in post-colonial Congo were attributable to the abandonment of the “God of the
Ancestors” caught me off guard. I first
thought he was stating that the abandonment of traditional African religion in
favor of Christianity was the problem, which made sense to me. In reading further, however, he calls YHWH
the God of the Ancestors. I was
taken aback. By the same token he is
oblivious to the misogyny in the book of Judges. While Wong sees the killing of the indigenous
people in the end of Esther as reason to question the usefulness of the book
for her people, Massenya in advocating both Ruth and Naomi as role
models for African Southern African women, must ignore totally the sexual
actions depicted in the book, and cannot center on Ruth as the convert. Similarly Pixley’s
concentration on Exodus 1-24 as the model and not the integral relation of the
26-40 on the liberation message is intriguing.
What makes this all the more intriguing is that Robert Allen Warrior’s
challenge to such readings seems to have gone unheeded. There
appears in this contextual approach a tendency to see our experiences as valid
only in so far as we can see them modeled by ancient Israel and their god or
gods, depending on one’s readings of the text.
As a person of African descent I
am intrigued by this collection and its implications for us on the continent
and in the Diaspora. What has happened
to us that we feel confined to pushing
our story and our understandings of deity into someone else’s story. What has happened to us that even when we see
the ideological problems in the text that we contort ourselves into reconciling
ourselves with such texts? In most of
the Latin American writers it appears that the tendency in dealing with such
texts is similar to the African and African Diasporan
readers, namely to protect the deity, or
should I say the depiction of the deity, as it appears in the text. Why is
it that some Asians are able to resist this tendency? What a happened in the process of
globalization of this religion and in the missionary efforts, which caused such
upheaval. Was there more respect among
the missionaries for the Asian religions and traditions, that their efforts
made way for differing readings? Was the
missionary dissing of African and so called
Aboriginal peoples and religions so vicious that we capitulated to their
demands in ways that resulted in our giving up our selves to the venture. And as Adamo asks,
to what purpose? And are the
psychological scars so devastating and deep for us, that we cannot recover and
will continue capitulating to these texts, to be submissive to them in the
service of what? In the African Diasporan traditions in the US there is evidence of our
rejecting the text, rewriting it in lines of our own religious experiences, as
presented in the Spirituals. In the
African continental context, there are traditions of rejection of the text and
now reclamation of constructs such as ancestral veneration as integral to the
religious experience of the people, but these are minority possibilities for
today. Why, I ask, do we submerge and subjugate our stories to these in the
text? And will that continue
forever? This collection has pushed
me to explore these questions more deeply than ever before, and for that I am
grateful.
Another side of the
contextualized scenario is seen in the works of the some of the Euro-descended
writers in this volume. It is most
interesting to me that West doesn’t read
Samuel from the standpoint of a descendant of the colonizers who felt God
had given them a Jerusalem royal theology to control the land forever,
subjugating the local Ammonites, Moabites, Edomites,
Sea Peoples, etc. Rather he shares the reading of the subjugated people. I often wonder, are there no ordinary white South African readers. Similarly Amos reads Genesis through the eyes
of the so-called “Middle Easterners” in Lebanon and Palestine, with whom she
lived and worked. What would happen to a
reading of Genesis from the standpoint of the Brits who saw God having given
them dominion over all and the imperative to subdue the whole land? I
guess I am wondering if this approach to contextuality is within the framework
that is only the darker people who are contextual? Is this colonization of knowledge? While it is clear by their commitments to
this project and inclusion in this volume, that this is not their intent. We have to ask, when will the “WHITE VOICE” become contextualized and put on the level
playing field with the other contextual voices?
Fewell attempts this in her opening statements, but follows through
primarily in terms of gender. It
appears to me, that in order for this project to go to the next level, such
contextualizing of Eurocentric approaches and exploring of this variable’s
impact on the reading will need to be placed in dialogue.
Finally, while this project has
most successfully put before us varieties of ways of reading and interpreting
the text, it also shows us some short falls which need to be addressed, three
of which will be mentioned here. First,
as noted above, the major dialogue partners for these writers is the canon of
Eurocentric male writers, with a smattering of writers from their own national
and or racial context. Given this
collection and its richness of authors and citations of their writings, the
next move is to see how these groups and individuals dialogue across their
boarders. In other words, at what point
will the Asians cite the Latin Americans? When will the Latin Americans cite the
Africans? And when will the Africans
cite the African-Diasporans? It is clear that the work that has been done
to open the subject of context now needs to be opened further to our dialoguing
also with each other and not just with the guild doorkeepers. With all the work that has been done on
African backgrounds for the Hebrew text, it is disappointing to see that not
even the African writers engage this material.
Writers are still talking about Mesopotamea as
the primary influence on ancient Israel and not ancient Africa.
Secondly, the men HAVE TO START
READING THE WOMEN. Engagement of and
resistance to misogyny in the text cannot be only the charge of women. When one writes from a context, if the
context is patriarchal, one must critique the context and the text. The same goes for class and sexuality. The heterosexual bias in this collection and
the non-engagement of queer theory shows that it is really only one part of the
guild that will be privileged. Again, in
speaking from our contexts, when there is theory which shows biases in our
contexts, we must in integrity engage the dilemma.
Thirdly, writing for the
ecclesial institutions does not mean that we in the academy do not have a
charge to push them on issues. Engaging
the ecclesial institutions means respecting their approaches and readings, but
also challenging them on their centrisms, which are
not necessarily liberatory for their followers nor
their communities.
Again, I thank the contributors
to this volume for the ways in which they have expanded my horizons for
biblical interpretation and for the honor to enter into dialogue with them
around these issues.
Latin American Biblical
Interpretations
in Global Bible Commentary
Mercedes L. García Bachmann
ISEDET,
Buenos Aires, Argentina
This is not an easy
task for me. There are blind spots in my vision, which have to do, precisely,
with where I do stand. Rather than speaking
about myself, I try to outline how do I see my own and my colleagues’ work as
Latin American biblical scholars. In this way, I try to acknowledge other
people who have treaded this path along with me and mostly ahead of me. I do
believe this hermeneutical contextual approach is a valid one. Through the
seven points of my first part (called “Main Issues”) and my conclusions, I try
to show why.
I scrutinized all GBC
articles written from the LA experience. They are nineteen.[1] Overall, I find two
key terms. The first one, “(economic) system,” is often mentioned explicitly;
the second one does not appear so often, but is nevertheless acknowledged with
names such as “conflict,” “death,” “injustice,” “poverty,” and others. Perhaps
an example will help. In his article on Matthew, Duarte states that
Jesus’ messianic
identity is defined by places of death: the cross where he dies and Bethlehem
where his people (the children of his people) die (2:16).
... In the
beginning of the gospel, the identity of the Messiah and his function
contradict each other; the hope of the poor is ‘fulfilled’ in the death of the
poor.[2]
From these nineteen
articles, the main issues I find significant (besides those specifically raised
by the biblical text discussed) are the following ones: 1.socio-economic
matters, including especially 2.imperialism; 3.concern for the weakest members
of society, 4.refusal to take every text as normative; 5.confidence in people’s
ability to read texts and reality; 6.a community-oriented, rather than
individual-oriented reading of the Bible, and 7.a sense of responsibility to
share hope despite everything.
1. Socio-Economic
Matters
One common trend I
perceive is that of correlating biblical concerns with socio-economic matters.
From its beginnings, Latin American liberation theology has made use of the
tools provided by Marxist analysis of social class and surplus appropriation of
goods. Class and economy are powerful components in everyone’s life; a fact
that usually goes unacknowledged until our interests are touched –or until life
puts us in contact with other realities, opening our eyes. Most of us writing
in the GBC are engaged in grassroots movements, where it is but
impossible to be blind to class issues.[3]
This awareness may be seen very clearly in Krüger’s article on Luke’s God and Mammon:
By telling the
story (or stories) of Jesus, this author addresses some very serious problems
in his communities: the increasing social and economic differences between the
rich and the poor, the total disregard and contempt of certain social groups by
others, the self-centeredness of some individuals. ... He shows the link
between Jesus and a group of people who were poor, disregarded, and sinners.
Simultaneously he shows Jesus’ opposition to the selfish rich, who disregard
others and imagine themselves to be self-sufficient people, and his call to
them for sincere repentance and a changed life.[4]
2. Imperialism
Analysis of these
death-dealing economic aspects of past-times and present-day life would not be
accurate without analysing imperialism. I find in my region’s scholarship a
harsh critique of imperial systems, which crush counter-economies and
counter-cultures. This can be seen very clearly in Míguez’s
article on Galatians:
The market is a
mechanism created by human beings as a place where both material and
nonmaterial goods are exchanged and work contracts circulate. ...because it is total,
it seeks to establish itself as the arbiter of all human activity, to occupy
every space of creation and exclude anything or anyone who does not submit to
its rules. ...
Paul wrote his
letters against the backdrop of the Pax Romana as an ideology, an enslaving economy, and
imperialistic politics. It is with the backdrop of the Pax
Americana, the neoliberal economy, and
imperialistic power that we read Pauline literature today.[5]
In the case of some
Roman Catholic scholars, there is also an especially harsh critique of the
instrumental role of the Church in its setting and continuation. I quote:
.. the proclamation
of Christian monotheism often became the mirror image and the legitimization of
the European monarchies and the carbon copy of a theocratic, imperialist
church. This church was more anxious to expand its frontiers and power than to
announce the gospel of life, grace, and liberty.[6]
3. Taking Sides With
The Weakest Members of Society
Although not all
writers surveyed identify themselves as “liberation theologians,” most writings
show first-hand awareness of social class tensions and people’s struggles to
ensure basic human rights. This awareness may come from work with landless
peasants, shantytowns, children and youth, women’s groups, Native American
communities, homeless city-dwellers, and others. When writers go to a biblical
text with those experiences on their shoulders, they discover in the text
insights and clues previously unnoticed. This preference for a reading from the
poor can be seen very clearly in da Silva’s article
on Nahum:
In this context,
the prophecy of Nahum represents a cry of freedom by people who suffer from
injustice, as they witness the destruction of their oppressors. ... “Nahum’s
prophecy is a forceful appeal to people and communities who live in situations
of oppression. It presents its readers with a challenge: remain a silent
accomplice of injustice, or cry our and tear down the tyrannical powers. Nahum
invites its readers to denounce injustice, to restore the usurped rights, and
to proclaim the just judgments of God.[7]
4. Refusal to Take
Every Text as Normative
Here we are getting
into the touchy field of biblical canon and authority, which is, certainly, a
very complicated matter. Yet, writers (I have the suspicion that this applies
especially to women) sometimes are bold in their refusal to take every text as
normative. This can be seen very clearly in Tamez’s
article on 1 Timothy:
We women must
understand the struggle for power and affirm the author’s rejection of any
authority that derives from social status. Yet, on the basis of this teaching,
we must also reject the other part of the author’s teaching according to which
women should be excluded from positions of authority because of their gender.[8]
Tamez’s refusal
comes from confronting a biblical text that coerces women into silence both
with other biblical texts and with reality. For poor women, used to being
single parents, the only financial providers for their homes and the ones
carrying on the neighbourhood’s activities, a text that calls them to silence
is not acceptable, even if put under Paul’s authority.[9]
I would add that,
not only is it not acceptable, but in some circumstances keeping silent might
be deadly, because speaking up in defence of their rights might be their only
way for women and others in a dangerous situation, to survive.
5.
Community-Oriented, Rather than Individual-Oriented Reading
Without going so
far as to compare Latin American scholars to Mediterranean societies –however
much we have inherited from those peoples– I notice in the writings by my
colleagues a perception of reality largely determined by community readings of
the Word, rather than individual readings. This means not only that their
experience with local communities determines their focus, but also that they
see in the texts more than individual heroes (the Hollywood type, winning alone
against the whole world, is not their favourite model). I quote:
The Magnificat begins with the individual and personal in the
choice of the virgin Mary as mother of Jesus (Luke
Or, speaking of the
Servant poems in Deutero-Isaiah,
“At the textual
level, the Servant can only be Israel ... The Servant is the symbol of a
community, not an individual. The ‘we-speech’ of 53:1-6 confirms this
statement.”[11]
Of course, this
community-orientation does not dilute personal responsibility; it is not a “we”
that hides a “me,” but it reminds that no reading is absolutely personal, for
there are always several communities and contacts behind each one of us.
6. Trust in the
Community’s Ability to Interpret the Word
This is an important point in most if not all scholars
researched. Sometimes it is explicitly stated; other times, it is more an
attitude on the part of the writer. Academic study of the Bible is accompanied
by its interpretation within a community of believers. In most cases, these communities
belong to the lower social classes living in shantytowns or very poor neighbourhoods. Its members are usually migrants,
Native-Americans, Afro-Americans; often, they are overworked or unemployed,
many are single mothers with several children, and many are illiterate.
Yet, they are wise!
They have learnt to read below smokescreens set up by politicians,
advertisement, and all kinds of sermons. I quote:
Behind the scholars
of the First World, there is a library. Behind the scholars of the Third World
there are continents of poor and marginalized peoples.[12]
This sentence makes
use of the rhetorical device of hyperbole! We use libraries as well, although
often ours are not so well provided. The point the author tries to make is,
rather, that we read our libraries set in our back as we sit in our desk, but
we take as many insights from people standing, sitting or walking on our side
in the communities we belong to. The following quotation is a little long, but
the last sentence may help see the point more clearly:
It does not take
much reflection to see that this kind of accumulation [i.e., the achievement of
profits as financial transactions, without further increase in the production
of goods] must take away from many in order for some to enrich themselves. This
is possible in large measure by a merciless extraction of wealth from
impoverished countries, an extraction that is only possible through a policing
network of financial organizations controlled by U.S. financial interests:
principally, the International Monetary Fund (IMF),
the World Trade Organization (WTO), and the World
Bank (WB). In our Bible study groups and church reflections, these mechanisms
are understood by ordinary people.[13]
7. Hope Despite
Everything!
Financial and
political crises, old and new, lighter or heavier, can be easily sensed when
perusing the LA writers of the GBC As I read, what called my attention
is the need to offer hope in the midst of those crises. Hope despite
everything! I perceive a sense of responsibility toward society; responsibility
that is more based on prophetic faith than on scholarship:
The church and the
people of God should have a message of hope to proclaim in the seemingly
hopeless situation of a lot of impoverished people in Uruguay. Such a message
–unlike the position of some charismatic churches –must not be perceived as
escapism that drives deprived people into a magic present realm and a purely
eschatological expectation.[14]
On the other hand,
I sense in the biblical scholars surveyed the joy and gratitude of having
learned lots from the people’s reading of the Bible; it is a circle in which
everybody teaches and everybody learns. I quote:
Hearing the
question of these women who are marked by the stigma of marginalization, we
addressed their questions by reading the Bible in dialogue with them. We paid
attention to certain texts that the mainline churches had stopped reading both
in community worship and in theological reflection.[15]
Perhaps a way to
envision this sensation is by the image of a mother mediating between two
quarrelling siblings. These two are the Bible and the people who read it. This
mediating figure would intercede defending the people from certain biblical
claims, for example, by refusing to take every text as normative (as already discussed),
but on the other hand “redeeming” the Bible, i.e., making it available and
meaningful for today’s crazy world.
All Argentineans
writing in this commentary are, to a major or lesser degree, Severino Croatto’s children -we
have been influenced by his teachings, writings and “table talk.” Duarte makes
this explicit in his article, when he states, “Severino
Croatto always taught us that biblical hermeneutics
is a reflection on the text within our own context and with those with whom we
share our reflections.”[16] Starting with this
presupposition, perhaps there is no way to answer questions such as “Is this a
hermeneutically possible interpretation?” but from within the same
hermeneutical conditions –or at least, being very familiar with them. This
standpoint raises, of course, the problem of how to assess other positions.
Perhaps the best way is in occasions like the present one, in which different
positions can introduce themselves and enter in dialogue with each other.
As I tried to
assess contributions from my region and the ethical and hermeneutical questions
they pose, this image came to my mind: when you break an ice cube with a
needle, the needle’s strength is not in its comparative size, but in its
capability of opening up a breach, of producing a weakness in the surface one
wants to break.
The image of the
needle and the ice cube applies in that these writers, aware of the conflicts
that afflict our personal lives, our communities, our churches, our schools,
our countries, and our region, look for conflict within the text, for internal
disagreements, breaches through which to recover suppressed or forgotten
liberating readings. (Of course, other people are doing so too, this is not
specifically Latin American). It derives from the need the oppressed feel to
counter-balance other readings presented as “the Word of God,” which have
adorned oppression with a sacred varnish.
Some writers make
this approach explicit. Gallazzi, for instance, would
(I quote) “use ‘conflict’ as the interpretive key to the text and read these
pages [Ezekiel 40-48] ‘from the margin,’ from the perspective of oppressed
peoples, in order to see how the text takes sides” and to “open our eyes to
recognize when and how power inside our churches follows the logic of
oppression and exclusion.”[17]
I try now to concentrate my conclusions around the
issues of contextuality, concerns, and methodology.
1. Contextuality
The more I reflect
on these issues, the more I remember the tale of three blind men who had never
seen an elephant and tried to describe one from what they touched. According to
their position in relation to the animal, an elephant would be all tooth, like
a wall or a long tail. We all read from our position, which might be broad or
narrow, diversified or not, in solidarity with, or blind to less privileged
positions.
There are at least
class, ethnic, gender, and age factors, which determine our context and which
should be considered when making it explicit. Thus, before we can discuss the
use of these contextual methodological approaches and their validation, we
should discuss whether there is a way of interpreting a text that is not
contextual. I don’t think there is -but perhaps this should also be discussed.
2. Concerns
As I read and read
those nineteen authors, I realized one characteristic is that of looking at
issues from a broader, a panoramic view, rather than an individual view;
systemic manoeuvrings rather than personal accidents. Let me give you an
example. One may look at poverty and even assess that someone is poor because
he or she does not want to work, prefers a more relaxed life, and so on. While
there might be people who think in this way (curiously those who want a more
relaxed life are the rich enough to afford not to work!), in our present-day
world it is no longer possible to make such a naïve analysis without
considering increasing unemployment rates even in the North-Atlantic countries,
drainage of resources from the underdeveloped nations to the developed ones,
financial speculation, high concentration of capitals in ever fewer hands,
exhaustion of natural resources in large areas, war, and so on.
I also notice that
those who have written in this commentary share in common an engagement with
non-academic communities, which determine our readings and also the concerns
with which we read.
3. Methodology
Regarding
methodologies, here I would like to state that, to my knowledge, Latin American
writers do not abjure de the historical-critical methods, which most of us have
diligently learned in our seminaries and schools. Sometimes I have the feeling
that our scholarship is second-class because it does not remain with those
purely academic questions, but it goes further into –and makes it explicitly–
those social, economic, political, and cultural issues that affect our
continent.
And because of this
feeling, I chose two quotations to end up.
It is important to
clarify that Galatians –or any other biblical text, for that matter– does not
directly refer to our present-day situation. Its language, questions, and
metaphors occurred in a specific historical situation. The validity of the
exegetical and hermeneutical task is in trying to find guiding principles from
the text that, in light of faith, will allow us to analyse the new issues of
our contemporary context and to assess how the text addresses these issues.[18]
And the second one,
My primary goal
as I read Matthew is to discover how to formulate the critical questions we
need to address to biblical texts in such multicultural, social, economic,
political, and religious situations.[19]
Both are
definitions of what is the hermeneutical task as envisioned by these writers.
The first one states clearly what the historical-critical methods have taught
as, namely, the gap between the biblical text and ours, and the specific
characteristics of the biblical world. Both state clearly why study these old
texts. One puts it in terms of “guiding principles” and the other, of critical
questions. Both seek answers for today’s world.
Global Bible Commentary: Wisdom Literature
Jim Crenshaw
Duke University
In forty-one years of teaching
the Hebrew Bible I have never thought it necessary to dwell on the particular
context within which my ideas are framed.
I have always believed that my words should be judged in the
international court of opinion on the basis of their logical cogency. In this respect, I have followed the lead of
an intellectual giant in the twentieth century, Gerhard von Rad,
who was content to fight national socialism with the potency of words rather
than opting for the more heralded “in your face” approach of Karl Barth. I am not sure which method, overt or covert,
is more effective. I do know, however,
that my personal psyche is more inclined toward the latter method, one that
demands quiet resolve rather than public display.
Reluctantly, therefore, I
concede that I am a white heterosexual male who was trained as a form critic in
a secular university; that I am most interested in the Bible as literature, but
that the injustices of human existence compel me to ask theological questions;
that I embody a hermeneutic of suspicion toward all texts; that the cultural
context of ancient Israel is the best commentary on the Bible; that I am
liberal in viewpoint, Western in cultural orientation; and that I do not
subscribe to the belief that we have experienced a shift in paradigm from the
historical to the literary, despite the widespread acknowledgment of the role
of readers in modern discourse. History
is still very much with us, as the several interpreters of the Global Bible Commentary painfully remind
us.
That statement rings true even
if one concentrates on the literature from below, the wisdom literature and
other texts like Psalms, Lamentations, and Song of Songs which begin with the
human situation rather than divine revelation.
In formulating the social contexts in which the writers of the
commentary find themselves, they isolate certain systemic evils that threaten
to overwhelm society itself. Two
authors, Brenner and Melanchthon, focus on the plight
of women and religion’s lamentable role in suppressing females and robbing them
of self-esteem. Two more, Adamo and Lee, accuse Western textual methods of devaluing
the special contributions of Asian scholars in a fruitless quest for
universals. Two additional interpreters,
Ntreh and Prior, emphasize the transforming negative
power of colonialism and corrupt bureaucracy that created a dependent populace
that is prone to resignation and dreamlike fantasy. In short, particular histories shape
theological discourse in every instance, contributing both pathos and
protest. Only Prior views the collapse
of civility as a catalyst for creative activity, but this hopeful sign is left
unexplored.
These probes into the different
writers’ social settings reveal astute self-awareness and admirable empathy,
over and above the abhorrence for corrupt regimes that have created a huge gulf
between rich and poor. In a few cases,
disdain for the oppressors has obscured the raw fact that things are rarely so
simple. Imputing greed and ulterior
motives to others even when they clearly possess benevolent intentions goes
hand in hand with a lack of self-criticism, particularly in Ntreh’s
remarks about the church’s practice of hiring Africans to work in timber and
farming and about the salvific potential of strategic investors and foreign
direct investors. One suspects that such
investment strategies, like the International Monetary Fund, will soon be rife
with corruption. Similarly, the charge
of laziness should be seen as a call for self-examination and perhaps a little
honesty that goes beyond pointing a finger at those who are responsible for the
situation.
From my perspective, the most
glaring omission in this section of the commentary is integration of the
present context with that of biblical authors.
The one exception is Brenner, whose brilliant analysis of the social
setting of Proverbs is nicely woven into the discussion of modern
understandings of the place of women in society. For her, the Bible cannot be normative, for
it deprives women of their dignity and turns them into useful items at the
disposal of men. To her credit, she
names the offensive features of the Bible for what they are and refuses to
accept their authority. To be sure, her
stance as a-religious gives her freedom to reject biblical authority, and her
predilection toward literary merit leaves a seriously truncated canon. If only two texts in Proverbs merit one’s
consideration--the imagery about the way of a man in a woman, that is, the mystery of sex, and an emended text
yielding a rejection of hypocrisy--I wonder why Brenner considers the task of
biblical elucidation worth her time.
This criticism aside, I find her treatment of Proverbs exemplary,
perhaps because I share so much with her hermeneutically.
Therefore, I admire the clarity
with which Brenner challenges the universality of wisdom literature by exposing
its class orientation, although I think she downplays the importance of the
family in formulating the oldest collections in Proverbs. Furthermore, I believe that she has
universalized the negative treatment of the other, or female, in Proverbs,
despite positive assessments of wives that do not always require an assumption of
a utilitarian criterion. Brenner’s view
in this regard lacks sufficient nuancing, as least as
I see things. An urban elite may well
have produced the books of Job and Qoheleth, and
without a doubt Sirach and Wisdom of Solomon, but
that assessment applies only to some parts of Proverbs (1-9;
The author whose perspective is
farthest from mine is in many ways the most akin to the popular culture
underlying the biblical books. I refer
to Adamo’s remarkable commentary on Psalms. He pleads for the therapeutic use of specific
psalms to cure stomach problems, gynecological difficulties, coughs, and other
physical diseases. Adamo
goes on to argue for the ritual use of psalms to ward off demons, to protect
travelers, men on military assignments, and hunters. He also promotes the use of charms and
amulets to assist in intellectual tasks as well as amorous ones. The obvious affinities between the Nigerian
cultures he represents and the biblical one make this defense of performative
linguistic acts especially compelling, while at the same time raising eyebrows
over the prominence of magic in such religion.
More than anyone else, Adamo exposes the
fundamental problem confronting Western interpreters--the vast chasm separating
biblical society and the modern industrialized post-Enlightenment one. Which hermeneutic best elucidates the
Bible? Adamo’s
magical/ritual or Brenner’s feminist apologia?
Both, it seems to me, address existential issues, and in that respect
fail to support Adamo’s judgment that Westerners seek
universals, unless Brenner’s Israeli ties place her at arms length from Western
critics.
What, then shall we say about Melanchthon? Her
experience in India where the caste system relegates women to an item to be
sold and demands obedience to a husband, even when the pleasure in sex is
wholly one-sided, has elicited a summons to women that they throw off caution
and act unconventionally. The
invitation, she assures us, is issued to female seminarians, who may rue the
consequences of such defiance of social rules.
The marriage of biblical text and Melanchthon’s
cry for assertive sexual agency could hardly be more harmonious. She is not blind to this potential within
Song of Songs, but she rightly wonders whether this book, like so much in the
Bible, represents male fantasy.
Moreover, she recognizes the important function of natural imagery in
the biblical book, which highlights the innate quality of sexual energy.
The subversive nature of Song of
Songs is undeniable, as is the counterbalance where males set norms for female
conduct and imbue it with divine sanction.
Melanchthon moves back and forth between two
oppressive societies, biblical and modern, ever alert to ironies such as the Kamasutra and
subjection of women from childhood. How
can one explain this utter freedom in a literary classic but diminished self
esteem by women in the society that produced the masterpiece? The ominous warning with which Melanchthon concludes her analysis of Song of Songs matches
that being voiced by gays and lesbians in the U.S. Consciousness is being raised, and societal
foment will inevitably follow, as well as considerable suffering by reformers
and conservative resistance by the masses.
The selection of Prior as
interpreter of Qoheleth was a stroke of genius, for
the social chaos in Indonesia has generated resignation comparable to the
biblical author’s futility. Three
decades of the Sohaerto regime have produced a
corrupt bureaucracy comparable to the Ptolemaic system under which the people
of Yehud chafed.
At the same time, economic opportunism abounds in an uncivil society,
where risk is encouraged and sometimes richly rewarded. The “me-first” mentality that characterizes
such societies is exposed for what it is, wholly meaningless in the face of
death. So also is divine silence in a
secular society. Prior sees the
correspondences between then and now, but he fails to acknowledge one important
difference. Whereas Qoheleth
adopts a resigned stance without more than a mild verbal protest, the people of
Indonesia are torn between passivity and outright fanaticism that easily
manifests itself in terrorist acts on behalf of ethnicity.
While admiring Prior’s
description of Qoheleth’s ideas, I confess that I
cannot fully grasp the import of his comments about the need for a prophetic
demarcation of boundaries, unless he refers to the gulf between rich and
poor. Similarly, his remark that Qoheleth invites modern readers to view reality without any
narrative is not self-evident. I cannot
imagine anyone trying to grasp reality devoid of narrative, even if it be the
minimal one attributed to Anatole
The West African context from
which Ntreh looks at the book of Job is rife with
disease, like Job. The devastating
HIV/AIDS virus has destroyed Africa’s children, just as God and nature combined
to take Job’s ten offspring from their parents.
Colonialists deprived a rich nation of its resources in the same way the
deity emptied Job of all his possessions.
Impoverished and sick Africans complain of Colonialism’s abuse of power,
and Job charged God with the same offense.
Inadequate knowledge about the nature and cause of the deadly virus,
plus suspicion that it is of Western origin for the sole purpose of eradicating
African people, leave a vulnerable populace at odds even with friends who wish
to help, especially the church and generous investors. Similarly, Job’s insufficient knowledge,
dictated by the plot, rendered him powerless and threatened his value system.
For the most part, Ntreh recognizes these analogies between West Africa and
first millennium Yehud. What he fails to see, I think, are the wider
similarities throughout industrialized countries. Farmers in the U.S.A. have also see the value
of their land and the cash profit plummet while the rich use their political
influence to obtain mineral rights and to gain control over the best land when
the cost of machinery rises to prices beyond the reach of ordinary
farmers. Economic exploitation, that is,
extends far beyond colonialists, in West Africa. The poor everywhere are forced to work for a
pittance and are frequently accused of laziness, Urbanization encourages sexual
laxity to the extent that family control is relaxed and access to multiple
partners is eased. Talented youth look
for greener pastures, whether they live in West Africa, in the farmlands of
North America, or in countless other places across the globe. For Ntreh, the book
of Job exonerates West African people and challenges them to come to their own
assistance. This self-help is necessary
because God will not provide any relief.
Ntreh’s refusal to rest his hope in a salvific
deity is both sobering and realistic, but it departs radically from the
biblical story where God restores Job in the end. Perhaps we have moved beyond the ancient myth
of divine solicitude, but the loss is profound indeed. “West Africans cannot hope for such an
appearance.” These sad words imply that Ntreh has given up on the God of biblical revelation. He is hardly alone in that sentiment.
The choice of the Tiananmen
Square Massacre as the privotal event for
comprehending the impact of Jerusalem’s destruction as recorded in Lamentations
enables Lee to demonstrate the utility of a cross-textual approach to the
Bible. His rich use of poetic responses
to the modern massacre serve as a permanent reminder that atrocities did not
cease with the closing of the canon. The
poetic imagination has always pondered the depth of human depravity, just as it
has explored the heights of human majesty.
Murder is murder, whether in
Lee’s complaint that western
hermeneutics is too heavy-handed in that it devalues alternative approaches
stands as a powerful incentive for self-examination on our part. To the extent that historical-critical methods
relegate others to a subordinate role devoid of substance, it has become
imperialistic and badly in need of correction.
I find Lee’s additional point intriguing. He writes that western hermeneutics gives
precedence to particular (or special) revelation whereas Asian approaches
emphasize general revelation. At issue,
too, is the biblical claim to constitute final revelation and the Asian
recognition of ongoing revelation.
Because I think the Bible also has a view of natural, or general
revelation, and that wisdom literature champions this broader understanding of
revelation, Lee’s remarks deserve wider dissemination. I also believe that his cross-textual
approach to the Bible has much to commend it, for the task of biblical analysis
is to bring together two cultures, the biblical and the modern. The latter is far from monolithic, as
illustrated by the authors whom I have discussed today.
I have always thought the
various exegetical approaches were complementary, the interpreter’s task being
to select the most compelling method for a given text. It follows that I do not believe that every
method throws light on all texts. I
therefore applaud the application of various approaches to the Bible. For this reason, I hesitate to pronounce
judgment on any method so long as it practices a hermeneutic of suspicion;
however, it follows that I cannot endorse a fundamentalist approach that
presupposes an inerrant text. In my
view, the approaches represented by the six authors under scrutiny are
legitimate, plausible, and valid to the extent that they harbor a concern to
link past and present in a productive manner.
Inter(con)textual
Interpretations of the Deuteronomistic History
in
the Global Bible Commentary
Uriah Kim
Hartford
Seminary
After examining the Global Bible
Commentary (henceforth GBC), I knew immediately that I wanted to use it in
the fall semester for my introduction to the Hebrew Bible at Hartford
Seminary. In my class my primary goal is
to have the students become informed and responsible interpreters of the Hebrew
Bible through critical engagement with the Hebrew Bible, biblical scholarship
and their contexts. I decided to use the
GBC for two simple reasons. One,
I was looking for a commentary that would help the students understand that
one’s context matters in one’s interpretation of the Bible. My second reason was a practical one. It was reasonably priced for a hefty book
that has a collection of commentators representing all corners of the
world. I thought it was a bargain.
The GBC proved to a better buy than
I thought. I want to mention just one
more important reason for using it at this point. The GBC forces the readers to think outside
of one’s own immediate context and engage with other contexts around the
globe. Issues and concerns we wouldn’t
have normally thought of become issues and concerns we need to think of
seriously. Interpretations based on
biblical texts and scholarship we have taken for granted from our own context
become problematic and provocative in other contexts. The readers are also exposed to different
contextual methodological approaches practiced around the world. The GBC exemplifies, describes and advocates
global contextual interpretation that is needed in our troubled and contentious
world.
The importance of contextual
interpretation needs to be recognized, and biblical scholars need to make a
conscious effort to embrace it as part of critical biblical studies. Contextual interpretation helps to connect
the world of biblical scholarship to the world at large and makes explicit the
connection between the interpretation and identity of the reader that has gone
unexamined in biblical studies for so long.
Without engaging in contextual interpretation, biblical scholars are in
danger of being caught up in their own world, debating over the text and the
world and history behind the text, albeit important, detached from the
complexity of the global community in front of the text.
In my contextual interpretation of
King Josiah and the Deuteronomistic History,
I have not only engaged
critically with the text and biblical scholarship but also with my context as
well. In my dissertation, now a book, I
interpret King Josiah and the Deuteronomistic History inter(con)textually with
the experience and history of Asian Americans in
A. Kyung Sook Lee’s
Contextual Interpretation of 1 & 2 Kings
Due to my interest in the
Deuteronomistic History I have chosen to comment on four readings in it. I will start with Kyung Sook
Lee’s contextual interpretation of 1 & 2 Kings. Lee is a native of South Korea, received her
doctorate in Germany, and currently teaches in South Korea. South Korea experienced a spectacular
economic success since gaining its independence from the imperial Japan in
1945, developing into the eleventh largest economy in the world. Korean churches also experienced a
spectacular growth in membership, wealth and power during the same period. However, Lee argues that Korean churches have
embraced the “gospel of prosperity,” which rewards those who have succeeded in
the free market economy, but turned their back on the “gospel of justice” for
the poor and the marginalized. In reading 1 & 2 Kings, she acknowledges
that the theology of the Deuteronomistic Historians—namely, the exclusivist
theology of “one nation, one God, one temple”—was appropriate to their context
when they needed to reformulate their group identity in a time of crisis, but
this same theology when appropriated uncritically reinforces the “gospel of
prosperity” and supports the authoritative and exclusivist attitudes that have
become prevalent in Korean churches and have exacerbated the conflicts between
classes, sexes, and religions in Korea.
To counter these tendencies in Korean Christianity Lee uplifts the
multiple voices of the sources incorporated in the Deuteronomistic History that
are potentially empowering to the poor and the marginalized, especially to the
women, but have been muted by the Deuteronomistic Historians in their effort to
formulate their exclusivist group identity.
In particular, Lee argues that the Deuteronomistic Historians have
undervalued the role of women and vilified powerful women, especially foreign
women, and this mirrors the way Korean churches have undervalued women and
vilified women of power. Lee does not
dismiss the contextual theology of the Deuteronomistic Historians, but she
takes the side of the poor and the marginalized and invites the readers to use
the theology of the Deuteronomistic Historians critically and develop a
contextual theology based on the voices of the sources and the experience of
the marginalized that will support the “gospel of justice.”
Lee’s reading is closer to the contextual methodological approach
emphasized in Latin American interpretations—namely, reading the Bible for
“liberation” and justice for the poor and the marginalized—than the
inter(con)textual approach often emphasized in Asian interpretations as I
already noted above. She is reading the
Bible for liberation within Korean Christian culture without putting the Bible
and Christian culture in conversation with Asian cultures and texts. This is not a critique but just an
observation explaining the difference between these two methodological
approaches.
The context of the next three
commentators is Africa where many nations still struggle to meet the basic
needs of their citizens since their independence from the European colonialism
and where Africans must deal with the colonial legacy that continues to
influence the way the Bible is read. The
fact that indigenous cultures and texts have been overwritten by Western Christianity
means that there are a limited number of indigenous texts available to compete
with the Christian text. The “inculturation” approach,
which is the contextual methodological approach often emphasized in African
interpretations, tries to read the Bible as Africa’s own book without accepting
the Christian culture that came with it.
This approach turns the Bible, the book of the colonizer, into “our own
book” and often emphasizes liberation as well.
Dora Mbuwayesango is a native of Zimbabwe and currently teaches in the United States. In light of the fact that the indigenous people of southern Africa suffered greatly at the hand of white settlers who used the Bible to justify the killing of the indigenous people and dispossession of their lands, Mbuwayesango asks, “What can the book of Joshua say to the Canaanites, the dispossessed, and the extermi