Fri 9 Nov 2007
On Interpretation: A Christian Framework for the Study of Literature
Posted by Mathew Block under Academia, Literature, Main, Theological Musings
[2] Comments
As the study of literature has progressed throughout history, we have seen the birth and demise of many theories regarding its interpretation. The current plethora of ideological frameworks in which one may read texts is clear indication of the confusion and disagreement among scholars: feminisms, queer-theory, post-colonialism, post-structuralism, Marxism, new historicism, and so forth and so forth. With such a selection of choices available to us, we may naturally ask, “What is truth?”1 Or rather, as some of our colleagues would have us question: “Is there truth at all?”
For those of us who subscribe to the Christian faith, there can be no question as to our allegiance to truth. We hold not simply that there are facts of matter, nor that there are only truths of convenience, but rather that there is one Absolute and Unchanging Truth overall. Jesus Christ has said, no less than 78 times, “I tell you the truth.”2 And not only does he speak truth, he is the very essence of Truth itself. As he has so explicitly said, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”3
This fundamental concept of an Absolute underlies our entire faith. It must be True that there is a God. It must be True that all mankind is sinful. It must be True that God is Love and thus wants none to perish. It must be True that He sent His Son to die in our place, that we might have access to eternal life. It cannot be some personally-comforting strength and it cannot be some personally-fulfilling philosophy. As Paul says, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile.”4 Our faith must be based on reality else it is useless. There is, indeed, truth.
If this be the philosophical framework from which we approach our faith, it must also be the framework from which we approach interpretation. There is truth, in both the small sense and large sense. Yet if there is truth, we must agree that there exists the possibility of misconstruing or misunderstanding that truth. One need only look to the many misinterpretations of Scripture riddling our churches in order to see this fact. It is not difficult for any one person to say that another group is wrong regarding some matter of interpretation. Yet, if we may call certain interpretations “wrong” we agree (whether tacitly or explicitly) that there is a “right” way in which to read. Thus is our approach to Scripture. So too it must be our approach to literature.
When one attempts to read Scripture from a pious Christian perspective (that is, from the originally intended meaning), we subscribe to certain tenets of interpretation. We hold that Scripture is “God-breathed”5 and that it “never had its origin in the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.”6 Thus, we say that Scripture is written by God. He is the Author. And as such, His purposes in writing continue down to the present age. Scripture is as unchanging as God Himself, for the Word of God is Jesus Christ. His words still hold meaning for us today.
Yet we do not deny the context in which He writes. He uses mortals as His pen, and each mortal leaves their own mark on their page. If Moses is a red pen, then Paul is a blue. Thus it is that Peter can write of Paul, “He writes the same way in all his letters.”7 We can clearly see how each human author’s own individual personalities give character to the inerrant Word of God.
There is, of course, more context than just the individuals themselves. We must also realize the further contexts of immediate audience and historic cultural environments. The author of Hebrews writes, at the first, to the Hebrews. When Paul writes Galatians he writes to the Galatians. To more fully understand the meaning of the text, one must recognize the original recipients and the culture in which they live. Yet the text has meaning not only to the first audience, but also to others of that time, and to us as well. Paul, when he sends his letter to the Colossians, gives the very specific instructions that “after this letter has been read to you, see to it that it is also read in the church of the Laodiceans and that you in turn read the letter from Laodicea.”8 The reason is clear: the same meaning can be accessible to people of different places and circumstances.
And this is true of the Christian’s appraisal of literature. We, though often studying selections from eras not our own, can still come to understand the same meaning as the piece originally intended. We may not always grasp the intended purpose. But it is theoretically possible to do so, and it is to this level of truth we must attempt to raise ourselves.
We have seen how a Christian must approach Scripture when it comes to interpretation. The recognition of the Author with His purpose, as well as the context and means by which He writes are necessary for a full understanding of His work. So too, the study of literature requires us to begin with a framework in which we may read and come to understand the content of a piece.
The first aspect of this framework must be a recognition of the existence of the author. The author does exist. There is a creator behind the creation. Like God, who speaks9 the “Word”10 in order to bring creation into existence, the author writes their creation into existence. Among these, there are those would imitate the creative work of God and those who, in their folly, would seek to replace Him and “be as gods.”11 The author may not be dead. But she is certainly not God either.
As we read an author’s work, we must recognize the distinct personality and character of the author. Her personality colours her creation. Knowledge of the creator, therefore, is of inestimable value in helping to uncover the meaning of the creation. Of course, there is the possibility that an author could choose to write outside his own character. And we must be wary of this possibility. Nevertheless, it is enough to say that when one understands the author, one has a better chance at understanding his work. In addition to this, we must also remember that the author does not draw upon his or herself alone when they create. Unlike God, humanity does not create ex nihilo. The author exists in time and space, in a society and culture. The more we learn about these cultural contexts, the greater our understanding of the outward theories and opinions with which our author is engaging, sometimes in favour, sometimes in conflict. Moreover, we gain knowledge of the audience and thus, some greater insight into the intended meaning. Therefore one must learn to understand both the personal individuality of an author as well as the societal contexts in which she writes if we are to accurately comprehend the purpose of her literature.
And there is, indeed, purpose behind each selection. The author did not simply combine ink and paper in some Darwinian method where, by slow processes of natural evolution, the poems and essays we read today formed themselves. No, we have already recognized the presence of an author. And this author has painstakingly linked lines of ink to form letters, letters to form words, and words to form the piece in question. There is a specific plan. There is order. There is purpose. And thus, our role as interpreters, is to learn to read the piece as the author would have us understand it, as the author herself would understand it. It is to this end that we must apply ourselves. We may not reach perfection. But we may approach it.
Yet our study of literature is not entirely based on historical methods. As we said of Scripture, there is within literature a meaning which may transcend time. There are certain characteristics which are common to peoples in whatever culture and whatever era they live. The primary of these is also the most disheartening. All humanity, since the beginning of creation (or rather, shortly thereafter) have been victims and perpetrators of sin. This is the common thread. Our common humanity, if you will. Sin. And recognizing this fact allows us great insight into the literature we study, as well as ourselves. It is the knowledge of sin, understood to exist by people of all time (though they have disagreed as to exactly what was or was not sin) that is an indelible mark and binding tie on us all. We are one in the flesh.
Yet because all peoples have recognized sin, so too do we share a common desire for the eradication of sin and the suffering it creates. We desire salvation. In order to find this salvation, some have looked to personal fulfillment via material wealth, others to the creation of utopian societies, and others to divine intervention. There have been countless solutions proposed, some approaching goodness, some much more malevolent; some individualist, others communal; some inward-looking; others outward-hopeful. Regardless of the difference of opinion, the fact remains that we desire an answer to the burning issue of sin and suffering. And it is around this fundamental tension of common human experience that all literature circles. Humanity is not perfect. There is a curse upon us, as well as on all of creation. It is for this reason that conflict is the necessity of plot and it is for this reason that suspense exists. Things may not go well for the protagonist. She may suffer terrible tragedy. For that matter, things may not go well for the author. He may suffer terrible tragedy. If there is plot, there will be sin. It may be ignored, it may be covered up, and it may not be dealt with openly. But it exists. And the focus of any piece of literature will inevitably move to answering whether or not the suffering will be solved: “Will salvation come? Will there be a ‘happily ever after’?”
Armed with such knowledge, we may boldly approach the writings of humankind. Combining our knowledge of a shared human experience of sin and desire for salvation, with the study of the context of a piece, we may gain some cognisance of the truth regarding a piece. We may learn to see what the author saw, and while we may disagree with the author’s conclusions (and rightly we should in some cases. As Paul writes, we are to “test everything” and “hold on to the good”12), we will still have understood as the author understood. Such must be the goal of all our literary studies. For when we have first understood, we may then discuss. And when we discuss, we may use our words to bring glory to God. Amen.
1 John 18:38 Unless otherwise specifically noted, all Scripture quotations are selected from the NIV.
2 The first of these 78 times appears in Matthew 5:18.
3 John 14:6
4 1 Corinthians 15:17
5 2 Timothy 3:16
6 2 Peter 1:21
7 2 Peter 3:16
8 Colossians 4:16
9 See Genesis 1:3 and following: “And God said…”
10 “In the beginning was the Word” (John 1:1)
11 Genesis 3:5 KJV
12 1 Thessalonians 5:21
Okay, so I figure that my calling in life is to be your devil’s advocate, before you become St. Mathew, the patron saint of literary criticism. As someone who has grappled with the issues of literary theory, and historicism in particular, I have a few questions. First, what do we do with tradition? Let me use an example, particularly Song of Solomon. I do not think it is feasible to argue that this, in its original historical context, is an allegory of the relationship between God and the church, or God and the Jewish people (as it was taken by the Jews). It is a love song, and, even if it has hints of being something higher than this, it took church/Jewish tradition, and not historical method, to establish that it was about God and his people. So, if we are hardcore historical method type people, must we reduce it to a mere love song? Again, take the Psalm of the suffering servant. Presumably historical method would not show that it is about Christ. I am getting, perhaps, at the difficulty that a religion like Christianity poses to historicism; if time itself is not an absolute (God transcends time), and things like prophecy can occur, and people like Moses and Elijah can randomly appear in the time of Jesus, how can we “fix” anything in a particular historical period. How do we know that history will not miraculously elude us?
I also wonder about the relationship between church tradition and history. It would seem that hardline historical methods of reading the Bible began around the time the church discarded tradition. That is, people got tired of doing Bible Study with the communion of saints, and so turned to an impersonal “science” instead to validate their readings of the Bible. Doesn’t this mean that historical readings of the Bible inherently promote a certain amount of spiritual loneliness and individualism? After all, historicism means that historians become an elite spiritual class who mediate the Bible to the poor, unwashed masses, who cannot interpret the Bible for themselves. Instead of being governed by a pope, we are governed by a historian.
Also, I am curious about how we must view literature if it is, as you suggest, a search for salvation and a struggle against sin. Does this mean that the more perfect we are – the closer we are to God – the less we will need literature? Also, what do we do with the fact that the Protestant system offers instantaneous salvation? Why would we write about the struggle to gain salvation if we already have it? Is the appreciation of plot simply a sign of spiritual weakness (it means that we have not accepted salvation?)? And if perfection means that there is no more literature, how will we sing songs in heaven? I would posit that hierarchy and a system of gradual progress are necessary for plot, as they allow one to move from one sphere to the next. In fact, I would posit Dante as the ideal example of this; one can still have art in heaven, because one still has hierarchy. The reason most evangelical art fails is because the evangelical God is not multilayered, nor is the evangelical heaven. As soon as God enters the picture, the story is over. And because evangelical art wants God to enter the picture as soon and as directly as possible, there is no room for art. We must keep it simple, confined to five spiritual laws; anything else must be considered dithering casuistic sophistry (personally, I like casuistry because it comes from the Jesuits). Anyway, my challenge to you is this; I think there can be Christian art, but I’m not sure if there can be evangelical art.
“Not only was the Teacher wise, but he also imparted knowledge to the people. He pondered and searched out and put in order many proverbs. The Teacher searched to find just the right words, and what he wrote was upright and true” (Ecclesiastes 12:9-10 NIV).
My dear Koheleth,
Like your name’s sake, you are, indeed, full of wisdom, and you posit some interesting questions (and I am surprised why?). I can only hope that my responses will be as interesting as yours, and explanatory as I would like.
The first issue you discuss is that of tradition. Specifically as an example, you ask what we do with the Church’s traditional interpretation of Song of Solomon as an allegory of God’s love for the Church when it is written at the first, as you state, as a love poem. The other example you give is the Psalm speaking of the Suffering Servant which Christianity has interpreted as prophetic of Christ. The question, as I understand it, is the following: When we look so intently at the historical context, must we ignore how tradition has interpreted a text? Must we ignore how the Church has understood Scripture, and look instead to a “historical”-only reading of the text?
Far be it from me to suggest that the Christian interpretation of the Messianic prophecies in the Old Testament is somehow incorrect, or to claim that Song of Solomon cannot be taken allegorically as Christ’s love for the Church. I do believe these things to be true. Yet these things are understandable within the interpretive theory I have proposed. The thrust of my argument is that we must, in our efforts to understand a text (even Scripture) seek to understand the intent of the author, which is often more easily attained by taking into account the historical context of the piece. The understanding of Scripture that I put forward in my article is that the Author of Scripture is God, and that the human writers are merely part of the “context” in which He writes. Thus, while the human writers may not have understood that what they were writing was prophetic in regards to Christ (such as in the Psalm of the Suffering Servant), or that it was allegorical of the love of God (such as in the Song of Solomon), God Himself, as the Supreme Author did intend these meanings to exist in the text. And the Church, looking back on Scripture, was able to see these meanings as part of the Author’s purpose in writing. They were able to uncover part of the Author’s intended meaning which had not been fully grasped, even by the human writers who composed it.
This is different, I feel obligated to say, than suggesting that “reader response” results in a valid interpretation of a text. Reader response moves the authority from the author to the reader in stating what the meaning of a text is. This is not my argument. I argue that the Church was able to recover a hidden meaning of the text which the Author (God) had truly intended, not construct their own “personal meaning.” I give no credence to the idea of “reader response” as an adequate method for interpretation. The author as creator must have authority.
Your notes regarding the relationship between Church tradition and history are well taken. In many errant branches of the Church, historians seem to have been setup as “an elite spiritual class who mediate the Bible to the poor, unwashed masses, who cannot interpret the Bible for themselves.” It is highly dubious, I think, to suggest (as some do) that the Bible cannot speak to people unless mediated by the historian. I would also argue though that it is highly dubious to suggest the Bible cannot be understood unless mediated by tradition. “For the Word of God is living and active” and “sharper than any double-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). If this be the case, then God’s Word can speak for itself. However, it is useful and beneficial to provide the individual with helps and context in which to read God’s Word, and these can be provided by both history and tradition working together. We don’t throw a Hebrew Old Testament and Greek New Testament at someone and expect them to understand it. Rather, we translate it for them, and provide them information (traditional and historical) as a means by which to understand it.
The last of your comments regarding my very real advocation that in all literature the “fundamental tension of common human experience” is sin and the desire for salvation is one deserving of more time and effort than I feel able to give at the present. Expect a response to these questions in the near (or at least as near as I am able) future.