Undeception

This is the fifth of a series of posts on inspiration, inerrancy, and hermeneutics.

The Importance of Determining Genre

Because the Bible is a compilation of literary works, in order to get the sense of it, we must interpret each of them in the manner in which it was intended, viz. according to the appropriate literary category. Surely the principle of interpreting things in the manner in which there were intended approaches tautology, but how many Christians ever really follow it through? As mentioned before, the assumptions that determine the “manner in which it was intended” are too often based on what meets the eye alone. So what do I mean by interpreting the Bible as literature?

You read a novel in much the same way that you read the newspaper, realizing that they are both forms of narrative. How you interpret the narratives in each, however, depends on your recognition of the type of literature you are reading. No one would say that Great Expectations was “errant” or “a pack of lies” unless he thought it was written as history. The same goes for the Bible, which is far from uniform in literary genre. We have farmers, shepherds, doctors, and kings for authors; what thoughtful person, recognizing that God chose this diverse crowd rather than three or four prophets or priests to bear witness to Himself, would conclude that God would homogenize their testimonies into one nameless genre, erasing the distinctiveness of each one in His quest to dole out a series of unanalyzable propositions? Instead, within the pages of Scripture we find a broad range of writing styles that includes poetry, wisdom literature, prophecy, apocalyptic, and epistle.

Moreover, there is not always a one-to-one genre-to-book correlation. Not every segment within the book of Genesis, for example, is to be interpreted as the same sort of narrative, as is somewhat obvious to someone doing comparative literary analysis on the type of stories being told. The Creation part of Genesis shares many characteristics of Ancient Near Eastern mythology, whereas the stories of the Patriarchs remind us of the Icelandic sagas, collections of family stories that give a group of people a common heritage.

The historical-grammatical (or grammatico-historical) method of biblical interpretation is the practice of taking into account the original language and the culture of the original audience when researching the original meanings of Scripture. By and large, though, inerrantists have used this principle as a defensive and reactionary measure to clear up problems rather than as an active interpretive method: for instance, it is responsible for the observation mentioned before that Judah (and later Israel) used accession year dating, because Edwin Thiele looked at Persian (and that of other ANE cultures) record-keeping and saw that this explained a lot of long-supposed errors in the dating of the kings. The historical-grammatical method has been modified by many exegetes to act as a sort of middle-ground that suspends the value of a plain reading if by any means it helps to demonstrate the scientific inerrancy of the Bible. What is missing from that version of the historical-grammatical hermeneutic is the principle we have been discussing that insists upon interpreting the Bible in terms of the literary characteristics, devices, and genres that make it up. We may call this the literary-generic principle; this principle is a tool that cannot be neglected by anyone claiming to use the historical-grammatical method of interpretation and exegesis.

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I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, Covenant Radio, today and feeling rather baffled.

The hosts, both Presbyterians, were interviewing a Reformed Baptist, Dr. Thomas Schreiner. They were engaging him in regard to a recent book of his called Believer’s Baptism that contended a position contrary to their own Presbyterian position. Not being Presbyterian, or even Reformed for that matter, I have had to read between the lines to discern the hot issues in the Presbyterian community from these hosts’ discussions with major Presbyterian ministers.

Now, as I understand it, there is a major rift in the Presbyterian denominations concerning Covenant: one side equates Covenant with salvation, and the other claims that, just as in the Mosaic system, there are participants in and beneficiaries of the Covenant who themselves are not of the elect.

These latter, of whom the hosts of this podcast are representatives, believe that there are by-products of the Covenant that even those who are damned may enjoy. The privileges of the Covenant, although not exhaustively or explicitly elucidated in the podcasts I’ve heard, ostensibly include such things as divine protection and blessing. So a damned child growing up in a household of elect can benefit from his participation in the New Covenant; this view tends to view the sacraments such as baptism (including, most argue, paedobaptism) and communion as ways for these non-elect to remain under the blessing and protection of the Covenant.

Dr. Schreiner sides with the other camp of Presbyterians and argues for believer’s baptism only, for the same reason that only believers are supposed to partake in communion – they heap (additional?) damnation onto themselves by unworthily participating. He views Hebrews 6 and the other warning passages not as directed toward any non-elect Covenant members (a concept he rejects) but toward the elect. He attempts to defend his view against those like me who say that the multitude of warning passages throughout the Bible, if directed toward the eternally secure elect, are merely empty threats, since it is impossible for them to become apostate. He argues that the teaching of Hebrews 6, “The elect who fall away are damned”, is a completely true statement — only it never actually has the occasion to be realized. In other words, it’s not an empty threat, but a theoretical statement of an impossibility expressed as though it were a possibility. I fail to see how the nonsense factor is mitigated by this spin.

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This is the fourth of a series of posts on inspiration, inerrancy, and hermeneutics.

In the discussion of the mode of the Bible’s inspiration I pointed out that the Bible is a compilation of literary contributions empowered by God and intended to thoroughly equip His people for every good work. My main point could be summarized that God authorized the Scriptures, but was not the author of them.

An admittedly limited analogy of this point draws a parallel between the Bible and the King James Version of the Bible. King James commissioned it, and it is therefore known by his name, although the translators and not he carried out his intentions. In reading the KJV we are realizing one of the ultimate purposes King James had for it. One of the chief purposes for the Bible’s commissioning was for our instruction, and we fulfill that goal when we allow ourselves to be taught by those men He commissioned to write it. One of the limitations of this analogy is the observation that God had a lot more to do with the Bible’s content than King James did with the Authorized Version: specifically, we discussed how God invaded the literature to deliver specific messages through His prophets. Even in these instances, however, the actual sentences and structure with which they framed these messages constituted their own works of literature.

Each of these literary contributions must be approached on its own terms, and never held to the preferred standards of the day and culture in which it is interpreted. Currently, the two standards that are the default for many Christians today are the standards of plain reading and scientific inerrancy (this term is discussed below). This view says that God constructed the Bible so that the most obvious reading is the intended one so that no one, even (some say especially) the least educated would be deprived of the truth, which is always presented in a way that precisely mirrors all relevant historical and scientific facts. Any part meant to be understood using anything besides a literal interpretation is plainly explicit. This approach might be understandable if the “plain” interpretation were consistent across the board, but things that are plain to some are not plain to others: for example, when does Jesus say that His parables are fictional? It is sometimes hotly debated whether the story of the rich man and Lazarus is history or a parable, due to the fact that he actually names a character rather than referring to him obliquely as “a certain man”. Someone from a remote culture with an animistic background might find comfort in a literal reading of Psalm 91:4, where God’s pinions are promised to cover the believer. When does Revelation say that the dragon or the vials or the Lamb are symbolic of other things? Obviously, even the most adamant “plain reading” advocates are making judgments on genre and style in their “plain reading”. This standard is “plainly” inadequate. How about the standard of scientific inerrancy?

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We must not then as Christians assume an attitude of antagonism toward the truths of reason or to the truths of philosophy or the truths of science or the truths of history or the truths of criticism. As children of the Light, we must be careful to keep ourselves open to every ray of light. Let us then cultivate an attitude of courage as over against the investigations of the day. None should be more zealous in them than we are. None should be more quick to discern truth in every field, more hospitable to receive it, more loyal to follow it wherever it leads. It is not for Christians to be lukewarm in regard to the investigations and discoveries of the time. Rather, as followers of the Truth, indeed we can have no safety in science or in philosophy save in the arms of Truth. It is for us, therefore, as Christians to push investigation into the utmost, to be leaders in every science, to stand in the band of criticism, to be the first to catch in every field the voice of the Revealer of Truth who is also our Redeemer. All truth belongs to us as followers of Christ, the Truth. Let us at length enter into our inheritance.

B.B. Warfield, Selected Shorter Writings (Phillipsburg: PRR Publishing, 1970), 463-65.

This is the third of a series of posts on inspiration, inerrancy, and hermeneutics.

We can summarize the previous discussion by saying that 2 Timothy 3:15-17 teaches that these writings collectively known as the Bible have been infused with the breath of life from God’s own lips, and we may confidently infer that the Bible has therefore taken on all the practical properties for which God ordained it. This post examines those properties.

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This is the second of a series of posts on inspiration, inerrancy, and hermeneutics.

This leads us to the specific meaning of the word theopneustos. The phrase “inspired by God” seeks to render this enigmatic near hapax legomenon which is a compound adjective with the components theos ‘God’ and pneustos ‘breathed’, represented quite literally in many translations as “God-breathed”. It is often argued whether this word designates Scripture as the manifestation of or as the target of the breath of God: God’s breath is either the source of Scripture or is merely the reason each writing is divinely effective. This last option is closely related to the source of the term “inspiration” pertaining to this doctrine, because the Vulgate translates it “divinely inspired”, or literally, divinely in-breathed. It has been claimed that this reading would require a missing Greek preposition en- ‘in’ before pneustos, so that we should have theëmpneustos.^[1] This form may perhaps have been more conclusive,^[2] but aside from the fact that this is in effect an argument from silence, such a preposition is not grammatically or semantically necessary. The extra-biblical usage of this word is altogether indecisive on the precise mechanics. Are there any other factors that might give us some direction?

Paul used a compound so exceptionally rare that even then it likely had the potential for confusion if left to its own inherent meaning; this suggests that Paul did not use it in complete isolation and probably assumed it would be understood in terms of some implied context. Is there a reference elsewhere in the Bible to God’s breath being manifested as an object, as is claimed with the notion of “writings exhaled by God”? Although I am unaware of an example of this, the argument from silence is of course no more instructive for my argument than for anyone else’s. Rather the strength in my argument comes from asking the same sort of question about the other proposed meaning: what other Scriptures can be found that reference God’s breath infusing something? If so, what is God’s breath doing there?

The notion of God-breathing seems to be a rather explicit allusion to the Genesis account of man’s transformation into a “living soul” as a consequence of God’s “into-breathing” – His inspiration. This was very probably what Jerome had in mind in the Vulgate’s rendering. With an already existing (albeit obscure) compound, it would likely never have occurred to Paul to insert a directional preposition such as the proposed en- (or eis-) before the deverbative element when the allusion was clear enough without it. Paul said “God-breathed” knowing that Timothy would immediately associate that expression with Genesis 2:7.

God’s breath consecrated and empowered the writings of Scripture formed from the dust of the ground (men), and not dictated or handed to man on tablets of gold by the Almighty. As C. S. Lewis put it, this body of the literature of men sovereignly foreknown and ordained was “raised by God above itself, qualified by him and compelled by him to serve purposes which of itself it would not have served”^[3].

This is the first of a series of posts on inspiration, inerrancy, and hermeneutics.

In determining the value and purpose of the Bible, we have to begin by looking at its origin. While a description of the process that put the words of the Bible on the page in mechanical terms is interesting, the theological and philosophical answer to the question of origin is foundational. This we refer to as the issue of inspiration.

The passage in Scripture usually cited as the primary source of the doctrine of inspiration is 2 Tim 3:16-17. This begins, “Every Scripture is inspired by God…” The syntax of the phrase is the most problematic aspect, because in the Greek the word “is” (the copula) does not occur, a situation common in Greek that does not always carry any detectable significance. The ambiguity of where we should understand the copula is significant in this case when you factor in the word kai, which could be translated either “and” or “even” based upon where you insert the understood “is”: in other words, should we render this verse as “Every Scripture [is] inspired by God and [is] useful…” or “Every God-inspired Scripture [is] also useful…”? In the first, the point of the statement is that God inspired Scripture and hence it is useful for doctrine, etc. In the second version, inspiration seems to be the qualifier, and that seems to suggest that there are Scriptures that are not inspired and that those are not necessarily useful.

But would it really mean that? Keep in mind that the word graphe meant simply “a writing” when the word was used outside the New Testament, but within the New Testament it is always understood to mean “sacred writing” or “Scripture”. My understanding is that theopneustos, commonly translated “God-breathed”, was probably intended not to strengthen the already specialized “Scripture” sense of the word but rather to act as a specializing qualifier for the more general meaning “writing”, thereby forming a phrase meaning literally “God-inspired Writing” and hence “Scripture”. Besides this, the usage data gathered by Robinson and begrudgingly confirmed by House seems fairly conclusive about the use of that particular syntactic construction throughout both the NT and the Septuagint: in almost every instance the adjective is attributive (i.e. it modifies graphe to mean “every God-inspired Writing”).^[1]

If this interpretation is taken, we translate kai as “also”. So what is the significance of the phrase “also useful”? What was it useful for in the first place? Here, the context strengthens the case. If we look at the previous verse, we see that the start of this inspiration passage is not verse 16, but verse 15:

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