The Bible, I think, is shorthand for a series of practices. It isn't simply "a text". This comes as a bit of a shock to lots of folks, so it normally requires unpacking. Let me lay out some of the contours of my thinking about biblical inspiration in order to open up a conversation.
In short, I think the Bible is that set of canonical textual, oral, practical practices created by and constitutive of the community of God's people. It's a text accessible in much the same way that Shakespeare is most accessible to trained actors -- training in other Christian practices associated with the Bible brings meaning to disciples (students). It requires those other practices which then make the Bible intelligible -- practices like prayer, communal discernment, preaching, communion, service, etc.
Lots of us think the Bible is a book that we can simply pick up, and in which we can read God's message to us, whoever this "we" might be. But I maintain that kind of privitism and individualism with the biblical text pushes it into the margins. The reason we have such contentions about how the Bible is inspired (whether it's Dictation, Limited Inspiration, or Plenary Verbal Inspiration) is that we've already divorced the Bible from those other practices that make the Bible to be Scripture.
We tend to think that the Bible's important because of the x that it represents: Historical events, ancient religious sensibilities, ideas, doctrines, etc. For example, if we think that the book of Leviticus represents the taboo system of ancient Israel, then we can use sociological theory to organize our readings of the text. We discipline our reading in order to bring out what we imagine the text is about. The same holds true for whether we think the Gospel of Luke is history or not. We adopt historical methods to weigh the evidence that the story re-presents, trying to bring what actually happened into focus by screening out the obvious ways in which that text is meant to convey more than history.
The trouble here is that inspiration theories do one of two things: They either create a death-by-liberal-neglect of the text, or a death-by-conservative-torture. Neither of those two things are right to me.
For conservatives, the Bible is in charge, in some kind of one-to-one correspondence way. For liberals, the individual reader is in charge. Both of those seem to collapse what we're after -- the Kingdom of God -- into something just a book (something that's "out there", away from us, at arms' length) contains.
I maintain there's a better way.
I take my cue here from Matthew 22-23.
In Matthew 22.23-46, Jesus' rivals offer him pointed questions on the scriptures to discredit him. He answers with astonishing exegetical wisdom, then explains that "you are wrong because you neither know the scriptures nor the power of God" (22.29). His three replies regarding the resurrection, the greatest commandment and the Messiah as David's son and Lord, all interpret Israel's scriptures according to "the power of God". Conversely, he complains in Matthew 23 that the scribes and Pharisees interpret the scriptures according to their own power. That's the fundamental contrast in the passage.
So what does this have to do with a theory of inspiration?
Plenty.
Lots of folks read "scribes and Pharisees" in a literal sense, but I think that's wrong-headed. Jesus is speaking here "to the crowds and to his disciples" (23.1). His warnings aren't just directed to his adversaries, but to the leaders in his own movement.
The scribes and the Pharisees teach out of a methodological elitism -- out of their own power. They twist the Bible into gaining a meaning that benefits themselves. By contrast, Jesus teaches out of a power that is humble and serves -- he teaches out of the power of his Father. We are not teachers, but taught, not masters of the text, the mastered (23.4-12).
Our theories of inspiration teach out of our own power. We're like the scribes and Pharisees when it comes to approaching scripture. We rely on our own social power, not on the practices of service and costly humility. We intervene to prevent others from accessing this text in ways God might use by requiring they fit some preconceived category. That's the very warning of 23.13-15, and I have to wonder what that means for trained academics like myself.
We're fools, in our inspiration theories, who make exegetical distinctions that are abstracted from the very Kingdom of God that Jesus has brought into our midst. We're focused on the "gold of the Temple", but not the Lord in it. In our theories, we become lost in a maze of details that are no longer largely connected to the metanarrative of the Word of God incarnate in Jesus Christ.
If you want to talk about Scripture then, I think you have to begin with the very life breathed in Jesus himself. Scripture derives its authority not from having been spoken by God, but from having spoken of Jesus. It's a derived authority.
As a derived authority -- as a revelation of the Incarnate One of God -- Scripture is part of those practices that make sense only in obedience to Jesus: Prayer, fasting, giving, kindness, humility.
By ignoring the power of God in Jesus, we begin to construct interpretations and theories and doctrines that are meant to oppress and bring death -- thereby denying the very power of God to speak in and through these words the same words spoken in Exodus and Resurrection (23.23-28).
Rather than engaging better interpreters, we become scribes and Pharisees who persecute those who don't fit our notions of how Scripture offers its meaning. This is where our own hypocrisy is blatantly exposed in all our inspiration theories. Because I don't subscribe to a dictation theory, plenty of folks think I'm denying the power of God. But that's obviously not what I'm doing if you listen to me.
One camp inherits resurrection and love of God and neighbor and the promises of David's son and Lord. The other inherits judgment (23.29-36). I wonder what kind of warning this is meant to pose when it comes to constructing elaborate theories about Scripture that are disconnected to Jesus himself.
So what's a recovering Pharisee like me to do? Read Psalm 118 for starters. There, at the end of Matthew 23, Jesus brings his message back to the Psalms. Specifically Psalm 118. What Jesus ultimately describes in Matthew 22-23 isn't two classes of readers, but one kind of reader with two different expectations. I expect to hear God's power in Jesus Christ spoken in these words, not finding confirmation of this or that theory. How that happens requires a honed theological imagination, prayer, service to the poor, humility, kindness, gentleness, and every other practice to make sense of these words.
This is why I take my model of Scripture interpretation more from the Fathers of the first 600 years of Church history than from contemporary academics. It's why I sound so strange to modern ears. The account of Scripture I develop is as a spiritual practice not as a doctrine of ideas.
I take my cue from Christian practices like Athanasius' On the Incarnation of the Word. In the last paragraph he encourages:
In short, I think the Bible is that set of canonical textual, oral, practical practices created by and constitutive of the community of God's people. It's a text accessible in much the same way that Shakespeare is most accessible to trained actors -- training in other Christian practices associated with the Bible brings meaning to disciples (students). It requires those other practices which then make the Bible intelligible -- practices like prayer, communal discernment, preaching, communion, service, etc.
Lots of us think the Bible is a book that we can simply pick up, and in which we can read God's message to us, whoever this "we" might be. But I maintain that kind of privitism and individualism with the biblical text pushes it into the margins. The reason we have such contentions about how the Bible is inspired (whether it's Dictation, Limited Inspiration, or Plenary Verbal Inspiration) is that we've already divorced the Bible from those other practices that make the Bible to be Scripture.
We tend to think that the Bible's important because of the x that it represents: Historical events, ancient religious sensibilities, ideas, doctrines, etc. For example, if we think that the book of Leviticus represents the taboo system of ancient Israel, then we can use sociological theory to organize our readings of the text. We discipline our reading in order to bring out what we imagine the text is about. The same holds true for whether we think the Gospel of Luke is history or not. We adopt historical methods to weigh the evidence that the story re-presents, trying to bring what actually happened into focus by screening out the obvious ways in which that text is meant to convey more than history.
The trouble here is that inspiration theories do one of two things: They either create a death-by-liberal-neglect of the text, or a death-by-conservative-torture. Neither of those two things are right to me.
For conservatives, the Bible is in charge, in some kind of one-to-one correspondence way. For liberals, the individual reader is in charge. Both of those seem to collapse what we're after -- the Kingdom of God -- into something just a book (something that's "out there", away from us, at arms' length) contains.
I maintain there's a better way.
I take my cue here from Matthew 22-23.
In Matthew 22.23-46, Jesus' rivals offer him pointed questions on the scriptures to discredit him. He answers with astonishing exegetical wisdom, then explains that "you are wrong because you neither know the scriptures nor the power of God" (22.29). His three replies regarding the resurrection, the greatest commandment and the Messiah as David's son and Lord, all interpret Israel's scriptures according to "the power of God". Conversely, he complains in Matthew 23 that the scribes and Pharisees interpret the scriptures according to their own power. That's the fundamental contrast in the passage.
So what does this have to do with a theory of inspiration?
Plenty.
Lots of folks read "scribes and Pharisees" in a literal sense, but I think that's wrong-headed. Jesus is speaking here "to the crowds and to his disciples" (23.1). His warnings aren't just directed to his adversaries, but to the leaders in his own movement.
The scribes and the Pharisees teach out of a methodological elitism -- out of their own power. They twist the Bible into gaining a meaning that benefits themselves. By contrast, Jesus teaches out of a power that is humble and serves -- he teaches out of the power of his Father. We are not teachers, but taught, not masters of the text, the mastered (23.4-12).
Our theories of inspiration teach out of our own power. We're like the scribes and Pharisees when it comes to approaching scripture. We rely on our own social power, not on the practices of service and costly humility. We intervene to prevent others from accessing this text in ways God might use by requiring they fit some preconceived category. That's the very warning of 23.13-15, and I have to wonder what that means for trained academics like myself.
We're fools, in our inspiration theories, who make exegetical distinctions that are abstracted from the very Kingdom of God that Jesus has brought into our midst. We're focused on the "gold of the Temple", but not the Lord in it. In our theories, we become lost in a maze of details that are no longer largely connected to the metanarrative of the Word of God incarnate in Jesus Christ.
If you want to talk about Scripture then, I think you have to begin with the very life breathed in Jesus himself. Scripture derives its authority not from having been spoken by God, but from having spoken of Jesus. It's a derived authority.
As a derived authority -- as a revelation of the Incarnate One of God -- Scripture is part of those practices that make sense only in obedience to Jesus: Prayer, fasting, giving, kindness, humility.
By ignoring the power of God in Jesus, we begin to construct interpretations and theories and doctrines that are meant to oppress and bring death -- thereby denying the very power of God to speak in and through these words the same words spoken in Exodus and Resurrection (23.23-28).
Rather than engaging better interpreters, we become scribes and Pharisees who persecute those who don't fit our notions of how Scripture offers its meaning. This is where our own hypocrisy is blatantly exposed in all our inspiration theories. Because I don't subscribe to a dictation theory, plenty of folks think I'm denying the power of God. But that's obviously not what I'm doing if you listen to me.
One camp inherits resurrection and love of God and neighbor and the promises of David's son and Lord. The other inherits judgment (23.29-36). I wonder what kind of warning this is meant to pose when it comes to constructing elaborate theories about Scripture that are disconnected to Jesus himself.
So what's a recovering Pharisee like me to do? Read Psalm 118 for starters. There, at the end of Matthew 23, Jesus brings his message back to the Psalms. Specifically Psalm 118. What Jesus ultimately describes in Matthew 22-23 isn't two classes of readers, but one kind of reader with two different expectations. I expect to hear God's power in Jesus Christ spoken in these words, not finding confirmation of this or that theory. How that happens requires a honed theological imagination, prayer, service to the poor, humility, kindness, gentleness, and every other practice to make sense of these words.
This is why I take my model of Scripture interpretation more from the Fathers of the first 600 years of Church history than from contemporary academics. It's why I sound so strange to modern ears. The account of Scripture I develop is as a spiritual practice not as a doctrine of ideas.
I take my cue from Christian practices like Athanasius' On the Incarnation of the Word. In the last paragraph he encourages:
But for the searching and right understanding of the Scriptures there is need of a good life and a pure soul, and for Christian virtue to guide the mind to grasp, so far as human nature can, the truth concerning God the Word. One cannot possibly understand the teaching of the saints unless one has a pure mind and is trying to imitate their life. Anyone who wants to look at sunlight naturally wipes his eye clear first, in order to make, at any rate, some approximation to the purity of that on which he looks; and a person wishing to see a city or country goes to the place in order to do so. Similarly, anyone who wishes to understand the mind of the sacred writers must first cleanse his own life, and approach the saints by copying their deeds. Thus united to them in the fellowship of life, he will both understand the things revealed to them by God and, thenceforth escaping the peril that threatens sinners in the judgment, will receive that which is laid up for the saints in the kingdom of heaven. Of that reward it is written: "Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man the things that God has prepared" for them that live a godly life and love the God and Father in Christ Jesus our Lord, through Whom and with Whom be to the Father Himself, with the Son Himself, in the Holy Spirit, honor and might and glory to ages of ages. Amen.That's the best account of reading and interpreting Scripture I've ever read. And it's the best implicit understanding of inspiration I know.