BradyC
Puritan Board Freshman
The following is an excerpt from An Introduction to Biblical Hermeneutics by Walter Kaiser & Moises Silva that I read last night and thought was pretty thought-provoking.
In Christ,
Brady
...it is not feasible to separate biblical interpretation from theology. The relationship between exegesis and systematic theology has been one of the most controverted issues in the history of biblical scholarship. Many scholars doubt, or even deny, that it is really possible to use the Bible for the purposes of developing a systematic theology. In their view, the various biblical authors had different, indeed incompatible, theologies, so that the attempt to treat them as a unity can result only in distorting the text.
Evangelical biblical scholars would reject such an approach, but that does not mean they have a particularly high view of systematic theology. Exceedingly few of them show much interest in the subject – if anything, it is viewed with suspicion. Particularly objectionable to them would be the suggestion that systematics should influence exegesis. Yet that is precisely the claim that I wish to make, and here again Calvin provides a remarkable model.
The first edition of the Institutes was published when Calvin was a very young man, and the subsequent revisions and expansions reflect both his growing knowledge of historical theology (references to the Fathers and greater attention to exegetical work. No one is likely to argue that these two sides of his work were independent of each other – as though he forgot about his theology when he exegeted (and that is why his commentaries are so good!) or did not pay attention to the Bible when he did theology (and that is why the Institutes are so bad!). My own thesis s that both his expositions and his theology are superb precisely because they are related. But even if one has little use for Calvin’s system, I wish to suggest that exegesis stands to gain, rather than to lose, if it is consciously done within the framework of one’s theology.
Such an approach, admittedly, seems to be diametrically opposed to the aims of grammatico-historical exegesis. Three centuries ago scholars were already arguing, with great vigor, that systematic theology – especially in its classical form – must be kept separate from biblical interpretation. Indeed, it was not difficult to show that theological biases had frequently hampered the work of exegetes, even to the point of distorting the meaning of the text. True "historical" exegesis was understood, more and more, as interpretation that was not prejudiced by theological commitments. Leopold Immanuel Ruckert, in the preface to his 1831 commentary on Romans, stated that the biblical interpreter must abandon his own perspective.
One of his contemporaries, the great New Testament exegete Heinrich August Wilhelm Meyer, expressed the same idea as follows:
Today most people would view these two formulations as strikingly naïve. But we should not be fooled. The underlying commitment is alive and well. Moreover, there are plenty of exegetes around who might vigorously disown theses statements, but whose work, unwittingly perhaps, is a perfect expression of the same viewpoint. In contrast, I wish to argue that proper exegesis should be informed by theological reflection. To put it in the most shocking way possible: my theological system should tell me how to exegete. Can such an outrageous position be defended? Three considerations make that position not merely defensible but indeed the only real option.
In the first place, we should recognize that systematic theology is, to a large extent, an exercise in contextualization, that is, the attempt to reformulate the teaching of Scripture in ways that are meaningful and understandable to us in our present context. Sometimes, it is true, theologians have given the impression (or even claimed) that their descriptions are no more and no less than the teachings of Scripture and that therefore, being independent of the theologian’s historical context, those descriptions have permanent validity. But the very process of organizing the biblical data – to say nothing of the use of a different language in a different cultural setting – brings to bear the theologian’s own context. Even Charles Hodge, who claimed with great pride that no original ideas had ever been proposed at Princeton, was a truly creative thinker, and his Systematic Theology reflects through and through an innovative integration of some strands of nineteenth-century philosophy with classic Reformed theology.
Intrinsically, there is nothing objectionable in attempting to understand and explain an ancient writing through contemporary categories, yet biblical scholars often assume that such an approach is off-limits. As one writer has put it, biblical exposition should be done "in terms of what the text itself has to say… Resorting to…later formulations is not only anachronistic but obscures the impact of the specific words [the writer] chose to use on the occasion. In short, such an approach is methodologically indefensible." In fact, however, the very use of English to explain the biblical text means resorting to subsequent formal expressions. If a modern writer wishes to explain Aristotle’s thought, for example, we all acknowledge not only the legitimacy but also the great value and even the necessity of doing so by the use of contemporary philosophical terms that make it possible to express clearly an ancient thinker’s writings. Someone who merely restated Aristotle’s teachings using Greek words, or even strict English equivalents, would fail to explain those teachings precisely because no attempt was made to contextualize them.
In the second place, our evangelical view of the unity of Scripture demands that we see the whole Bible as the context of any one part. An appeal to the study of Aristotle is of help here too. The modern scholar looks at the whole Aristotelian corpus for help in understanding a detail in one particular work. To the extent that we view the whole of Scripture as having come from one Author, therefore, to that extent a systematic understanding of the Bible contributes to the exegesis of individual passages. Admittedly, there are some real dangers in this approach. On the basis of a questionable reading of Romans 12:6, Christians have often appealed to "the analogy of faith" in a way that does not do justice to the distinctiveness of individual writers of Scripture. Moreover, it is all too easy to fall into the trap of eisegesis, of reading into a particular text some broad theological idea because we (sometimes unconsciously) want to avoid the implications of what the text really says. It is therefore understandable that Professor Kaiser wishes to restrict the principle of the analogy of faith to the end of the interpretative process, and then only as a means of summarizing the teaching of the passage. To do so, however, is to neglect God’s most important hermeneutical gift to us, namely, the unity and wholeness of his own revelation.
Third, and finally, my proposal will sound a lot less shocking once we remember that, as a matter of fact, everyone does it anyway. Whether we mean to or not, and whether we like it or not, all of us read the text as interpreted by our theological presuppositions. Indeed, the most serious argument against the view that exegesis should be done independently of systematic theology is that such a view is hopelessly naïve. The very possibility of understanding anything depends on our prior framework of interpretation. If we perceive a fact that makes sense to us, the simple reason is that we have been able to fit that fact into the whole complex of ideas that we have previously assimilated.
Of course, sometimes we make the fact fit our preconceptions and thus distort it. The remedy, however, is neither to deny that we have those preconceptions nor to try to suppress them, for we would only be deceiving ourselves. We are much more likely to be conscious of those preconceptions if we deliberately seek to identify them and then use them in the exegetical process. That way, when we come across a fact that resists the direction our interpretation is taking, we are better prepared to recognize the anomaly for what it is, namely, an indication that our interpretative scheme is faulty and must be modified. In contrast, exegetes who convince themselves that, through pure philological and historical techniques, they can understand the Bible directly – that is, without the meditation of prior exegetical, theological, and philosophical commitments – are less likely to perceive the real character of exegetical difficulties.
The old advice that biblical students should try as much as possible to approach a text without a prior idea as to what it means (and that therefore commentaries should be read after, not before, the exegesis) does have the advantage of encouraging independent thinking; besides, it reminds us that our primary aim is indeed to discover the historical meaning and that we are always in danger of imposing our meaning on the text. Nevertheless, the advice is fundamentally flawed because it is untrue to the very process of learning. I would suggest, rather, that a student who comes to a biblical passage with, say, a dispensationalist background, should attempt to make sense of the text assuming that dispensationalism is correct. I would go so far as to say that, upon encountering a detail that does not seem to fit the dispensationalist scheme, the student should try to "make it fit." The purpose is not to mishandle the text but to become self-conscious about what we all do anyway. The result should be increased sensitivity to those features of the text that disturb our interpretive framework and thus a greater readiness to modify that framework. - Moises Silva An Introduction to Biblical Hermeneutics Pages 259-264
Evangelical biblical scholars would reject such an approach, but that does not mean they have a particularly high view of systematic theology. Exceedingly few of them show much interest in the subject – if anything, it is viewed with suspicion. Particularly objectionable to them would be the suggestion that systematics should influence exegesis. Yet that is precisely the claim that I wish to make, and here again Calvin provides a remarkable model.
The first edition of the Institutes was published when Calvin was a very young man, and the subsequent revisions and expansions reflect both his growing knowledge of historical theology (references to the Fathers and greater attention to exegetical work. No one is likely to argue that these two sides of his work were independent of each other – as though he forgot about his theology when he exegeted (and that is why his commentaries are so good!) or did not pay attention to the Bible when he did theology (and that is why the Institutes are so bad!). My own thesis s that both his expositions and his theology are superb precisely because they are related. But even if one has little use for Calvin’s system, I wish to suggest that exegesis stands to gain, rather than to lose, if it is consciously done within the framework of one’s theology.
Such an approach, admittedly, seems to be diametrically opposed to the aims of grammatico-historical exegesis. Three centuries ago scholars were already arguing, with great vigor, that systematic theology – especially in its classical form – must be kept separate from biblical interpretation. Indeed, it was not difficult to show that theological biases had frequently hampered the work of exegetes, even to the point of distorting the meaning of the text. True "historical" exegesis was understood, more and more, as interpretation that was not prejudiced by theological commitments. Leopold Immanuel Ruckert, in the preface to his 1831 commentary on Romans, stated that the biblical interpreter must abandon his own perspective.
In other words, I require of him freedom from prejudice. The exegete of the New Testament as an exegete…has no system, and must not have one, either a dogmatic or an emotional system. In so far as he is an exegete, he is neither orthodox nor heterodox, neither supernaturalist nor rationalist, nor pantheist, nor any other ist there may be. He is neither pious nor godless, neither moral nor immoral, neither sensitive nor insensible.
One of his contemporaries, the great New Testament exegete Heinrich August Wilhelm Meyer, expressed the same idea as follows:
The area of dogmatics and philosophy is to remain off limits for a commentary. For to ascertain the meaning the author intended to convey by his words, impartially and historico-grammatically – that is the duty of the exegete. How the meaning so ascertained stands in relation to the teachings of philosophy, to what extent it agrees with the dogmas of the church or with the view of its theologians, in what way the dogmatician is to make use of it in the interest of his science – to the exegete as an exegete, all that is a matter of no concern.
Today most people would view these two formulations as strikingly naïve. But we should not be fooled. The underlying commitment is alive and well. Moreover, there are plenty of exegetes around who might vigorously disown theses statements, but whose work, unwittingly perhaps, is a perfect expression of the same viewpoint. In contrast, I wish to argue that proper exegesis should be informed by theological reflection. To put it in the most shocking way possible: my theological system should tell me how to exegete. Can such an outrageous position be defended? Three considerations make that position not merely defensible but indeed the only real option.
In the first place, we should recognize that systematic theology is, to a large extent, an exercise in contextualization, that is, the attempt to reformulate the teaching of Scripture in ways that are meaningful and understandable to us in our present context. Sometimes, it is true, theologians have given the impression (or even claimed) that their descriptions are no more and no less than the teachings of Scripture and that therefore, being independent of the theologian’s historical context, those descriptions have permanent validity. But the very process of organizing the biblical data – to say nothing of the use of a different language in a different cultural setting – brings to bear the theologian’s own context. Even Charles Hodge, who claimed with great pride that no original ideas had ever been proposed at Princeton, was a truly creative thinker, and his Systematic Theology reflects through and through an innovative integration of some strands of nineteenth-century philosophy with classic Reformed theology.
Intrinsically, there is nothing objectionable in attempting to understand and explain an ancient writing through contemporary categories, yet biblical scholars often assume that such an approach is off-limits. As one writer has put it, biblical exposition should be done "in terms of what the text itself has to say… Resorting to…later formulations is not only anachronistic but obscures the impact of the specific words [the writer] chose to use on the occasion. In short, such an approach is methodologically indefensible." In fact, however, the very use of English to explain the biblical text means resorting to subsequent formal expressions. If a modern writer wishes to explain Aristotle’s thought, for example, we all acknowledge not only the legitimacy but also the great value and even the necessity of doing so by the use of contemporary philosophical terms that make it possible to express clearly an ancient thinker’s writings. Someone who merely restated Aristotle’s teachings using Greek words, or even strict English equivalents, would fail to explain those teachings precisely because no attempt was made to contextualize them.
In the second place, our evangelical view of the unity of Scripture demands that we see the whole Bible as the context of any one part. An appeal to the study of Aristotle is of help here too. The modern scholar looks at the whole Aristotelian corpus for help in understanding a detail in one particular work. To the extent that we view the whole of Scripture as having come from one Author, therefore, to that extent a systematic understanding of the Bible contributes to the exegesis of individual passages. Admittedly, there are some real dangers in this approach. On the basis of a questionable reading of Romans 12:6, Christians have often appealed to "the analogy of faith" in a way that does not do justice to the distinctiveness of individual writers of Scripture. Moreover, it is all too easy to fall into the trap of eisegesis, of reading into a particular text some broad theological idea because we (sometimes unconsciously) want to avoid the implications of what the text really says. It is therefore understandable that Professor Kaiser wishes to restrict the principle of the analogy of faith to the end of the interpretative process, and then only as a means of summarizing the teaching of the passage. To do so, however, is to neglect God’s most important hermeneutical gift to us, namely, the unity and wholeness of his own revelation.
Third, and finally, my proposal will sound a lot less shocking once we remember that, as a matter of fact, everyone does it anyway. Whether we mean to or not, and whether we like it or not, all of us read the text as interpreted by our theological presuppositions. Indeed, the most serious argument against the view that exegesis should be done independently of systematic theology is that such a view is hopelessly naïve. The very possibility of understanding anything depends on our prior framework of interpretation. If we perceive a fact that makes sense to us, the simple reason is that we have been able to fit that fact into the whole complex of ideas that we have previously assimilated.
Of course, sometimes we make the fact fit our preconceptions and thus distort it. The remedy, however, is neither to deny that we have those preconceptions nor to try to suppress them, for we would only be deceiving ourselves. We are much more likely to be conscious of those preconceptions if we deliberately seek to identify them and then use them in the exegetical process. That way, when we come across a fact that resists the direction our interpretation is taking, we are better prepared to recognize the anomaly for what it is, namely, an indication that our interpretative scheme is faulty and must be modified. In contrast, exegetes who convince themselves that, through pure philological and historical techniques, they can understand the Bible directly – that is, without the meditation of prior exegetical, theological, and philosophical commitments – are less likely to perceive the real character of exegetical difficulties.
The old advice that biblical students should try as much as possible to approach a text without a prior idea as to what it means (and that therefore commentaries should be read after, not before, the exegesis) does have the advantage of encouraging independent thinking; besides, it reminds us that our primary aim is indeed to discover the historical meaning and that we are always in danger of imposing our meaning on the text. Nevertheless, the advice is fundamentally flawed because it is untrue to the very process of learning. I would suggest, rather, that a student who comes to a biblical passage with, say, a dispensationalist background, should attempt to make sense of the text assuming that dispensationalism is correct. I would go so far as to say that, upon encountering a detail that does not seem to fit the dispensationalist scheme, the student should try to "make it fit." The purpose is not to mishandle the text but to become self-conscious about what we all do anyway. The result should be increased sensitivity to those features of the text that disturb our interpretive framework and thus a greater readiness to modify that framework. - Moises Silva An Introduction to Biblical Hermeneutics Pages 259-264
In Christ,
Brady
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I'm taking a course in systematic theology at this time (Prolegomena, actually), and this adds nicely to what I've been learning so far.
