Making Sense of Ancient Readers

I just finished a review of Jonathan D. H. Norton's excellent monograph, Contours in the Text: Textual Variation in the Writings of Paul, Josephus and the Yahad for the upcoming edition of the Stone-Campbell Journal. I found the book an exemplary monograph, razor-sharp in its focus, judicious in exegetical decisions, cautious about conclusions and a truly original, creative argument. I also found it extremely difficult to write a review of a PhD dissertation for a broader audience, but a good exercise nonetheless. 

I will post the review here when it is released, but for now I want to highlight the main argument, which  I consider quite convincing. The primary question Norton is seeks to answer is: was Paul aware of different textual traditions?  One of his key points is that the debate has been based on anachronistic approaches to textual plurality. The organization of manuscripts into “text-types” is a modern tool used to classify and organize “major textual lineages of transmission,” but these categories “do not correspond to any ancient copy” (41). Norton thinks that the high degree of textual fluidity in the first century, the existence of variant copies in the same location, and the genre of “rewritten Bible” all suggest that ancients were well aware of the “multivalent” character of copies while distinguishing “between copies [. . .] and the abstract body of the work itself” (44). Thus, ancients were aware of textual plurality, but they did not conceive of it in modern terms.

The dominant argument against Paul’s awareness of textual plurality has come from Dietrich-Alex Koch and Christopher Stanley who employ what Norton calls the “suitability argument” (47-48, cf. 153-61). This argument assumes that Paul’s citations were chosen to support his arguments and that some citations would have been more effective had he cited a variant reading (examples: Rom 9.25 [Hos 2.1^LXX]; Rom 11.26 [Isa 59.20]; 1 Cor 3.19 [Job 5.13]; 1 Cor 14.21 [Isa 28.11]; 1 Cor 15.54 [Isa 25.8]). From these instances, which Norton thinks “rarely support” the suitability argument, “Koch and Stanley generalize [. . .] that Paul always cited his sources uncritically” (47). In opposition, Norton argues, “In some cases citations play more than a purely rhetorical role. The citation is indispensable to Paul’s logic, that is, Paul’s appeal to the passage logically structures his argument and one could not remove such a citation without disrupting the coherence of the argument” (47).

Not only are some texts crucial to Paul's logic, but Norton questions the way Paul's citations have been evaluated. Typically, Paul's citations are compared based on their lexcial similarity to Old Testament text forms (Old Greek, Masoretic Text, Aquila, Theodotian, Symmachus, etc.). Instead of basing comparison on lexical similarities, however, Norton astutely suggests comparisons should be based on “semantic criterion.” 

The basis of Norton’s argument is twofold. First, it has been shown, most definitively by Christopher Stanley, that ancient writers “frequently altered the wording of their sources for rhetorical, stylistic and theological purposes” (51). Thus, lexical changes are not necessarily an indicator of Paul's source, but might simply reflect his alterations. Second, different text forms of a given passage can convey the same meaning in distinct lexical forms, making them virtually the same in the view of an ancient reader. 

Norton highlights a couple of examples to make his point about the need to move away from lexical critiera for measuring textual variation. The first is Genesis 2.24, cited by Paul in 1 Corinthians 6.16. It reads in the LXX, “The two will be one flesh” while the MT reads “they will be one flesh.” The lexical difference (addition of “the two” in the LXX) does not alter the meaning of the text in the slightest. Conversely, it is also often the case that distinct text forms of the same passage convey “completely different senses” (51). Here Norton contrasts the “sense contours” of Habakkuk 2.16 evidenced variously as, “You will be sated with shame instead of glory. Drink, you yourself, and be circumcised/stagger” (Hab 2.16 [MT]/1QpHab. 11.8-9). In these variant forms, the meaning of the text is changed. Norton's point, and it is a crucial one, is that discerning ancients’ awareness of textual forms should focus on semantic criterion, what he calls “sense contours,” rather than the modern text-critical concentration on lexical criterion.


In thinking about how ancient readers handled texts the precise wording becomes less significant than the "sense" of the text . . . 

What might this indicate about how textual criticism ought to be practiced?

Is it now crucial to analyze not only the forms of the text that Paul cites, but also the forms he doesn't? What might that tell us about his approach to these texts?

tolle lege

Five Views on Justification

Today the meaning and significance of the pet protestant doctrine of justification is “contested at virtually every turn.” James K. Beilby and Paul R. Eddy’s, Justification: Five Views presents a thoughtful introduction to the debate. The book is the most recent installment from IVP in the “Spectrum Multiview” series. As usual, the format consists of each contributor stating his case followed by a series of short responses from each of the others. The editors of the volume (Beilby and Eddy) have served in the same capacity for other Spectrum Multiview volumes, most recently on The Historical Jesus. In Justification: Five Views the contributing authors and perspectives are as follows:

• Traditional Reformed – Michael S. Horton
• Progressive Reformed – Michael F. Bird
• New Perspective – James D. G. Dunn
• Deification (Theosis) – Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen 
• Roman Catholic – Gerald O’Collins and Oliver Rafferty

I am particularly looking forward to the chapters by Dunn and Bird, NT scholars who will contribute most in the NT aspect of the debate. However, I’m also interested in the Eastern perspective of Kärkkäinen and the Roman Catholic response to this seemingly very protestant squabble.

So, what exactly is the dispute? After all, justification has been the central feature of protestant doctrine since Protestantism carved out its place in the landscape of western Christendom. Martin Luther claimed, “If we lose the doctrine of justification we lose everything” (Lectures on Galatians, cited on pg 24). Similarly, John Calvin described justification as, “the primary article of the Christian religion” (Institutes 3.2.1; cited on pg 26). Justification is at the heart of protestant theology, yet recent developments in NT studies have fractured fault-lines of debate in the once firm foundational doctrine.

Beilby and Eddy provide a comprehensive yet surprisingly succinct introduction to the debate in two chapters. The first chapter spans from Origen to contemporary feminists and places the recent discussion in the context of historical theology. The highlights include sections on Augustine (19-21), Luther (24-26), Tillich and Bultmann (34-37). The introductory material is fairly derivative, but it seemed to me that these sections were the most familiar territory to the editors. The difficulty of this broad introduction is the numerous sub-debates of historical theology. For example, Augustine’s view of justification is as much contested as Paul’s. Thus, it is difficult to provide a sufficient introduction without getting lost in the intricacies of sub-debates. Beilby and Eddy have managed a fine attempt, if occasionally erring on the side of generality rather than intricacy.

The second chapter frames debate in terms of the “New Perspective.” For the uninitiated, the New Perspective (NP) is really not all that “new.” Spearheaded by E. P. Sanders’ Paul and Palestinian Judaism (in 1977), the fundamental axiom of the NP is that the reformers were wrong about Second Temple Judaism. NP folks argue that the portrait of Judaism as a “works-based” religion whereby Jews earned salvation through meritorious acts of righteousness is fundamentally flawed and not the object of attack in Romans and Galatians. The most representative figures of this diverse group are E. P. Sanders, James D. G. Dunn and N. T. Wright. Agree with it or not, the NP debate has set the theological agenda for Pauline studies in the last forty years. It’s ramifications for justification are significant because it requires rethinking what Paul means when he talks about being justified by faith apart from works (esp. Rom 3.21-26; Gal 2.15-21). The exegetical issues of the discussion revolve around Paul’s relationship to Judaism, the role of works in final judgment, the OT background of justification and the meaning of the phrase “faith of Jesus.” Both introductory chapters are necessary to appreciate the significance of the debate and what is truly at stake.

The introductory material alone is worth making the book assigned reading for an undergraduate course in Pauline theology. For only $ 15.35 at Amazon, and even less in the Kindle version $ 9.99, it is a steal. All in all, it is a solid introduction to a NT debate and the significant theological implications that result. Students will be well served by such an introduction.

Navigating Cultures and Biblical Interpretation

Anyone who has read the Bible knows it’s weird. Some of the commands found in its pages are utterly foreign to contemporary readers. Some instructions sound ridiculous: injunctions against cooking an animal a certain way (Deut14.21), or avoiding pork as unclean to the touch (Deut 14.8; cf. Lev 11.26). Or consider this one: “You shall not sow your field with two kinds of seed, nor shall you wear a garment of cloth made of two kinds of material” (Lev 19.19). Really?

Not only do most Christians ignore these commands, but they don’t even understand them. A typical Christian response to these passages is, “Ah yes, but these are Old Testament commands. So, clearly they don’t apply to us as Christians.” This response is woefully inadequate, not least because there are equally odd commands in the New Testament that contemporary Christians do not understand or practice either.

For example, when was the last time you entered a church service to “greet one another with a holy kiss” (1 Cor 16.20)? Most churches follow, in some form or another, Jesus’ command to remember the Lord’s Supper (1 Cor 11.23-25; cf. Mt 26.26-29 || Mk 14.22-25 || Lk 22.18-20). Why, then, do they ignore the command recorded in John’s version of the story, “You ought to wash one another’s feet” (Jn 14.13; cf. 1 Tim 5.10)? The Apostle Paul commands women in worship to cover their heads (1 Cor 11.6-7), ignored every Sunday at my church. James said that if a man is sick he should, “call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord” (James 5.14). Both testaments contain commands and teachings that people, even self-proclaimed “Bible-followers,” ignore. No matter loudly or adamantly people claim to “just do what the Bible says,” they do not.

We all interpret the Bible to make sense of it. Indeed, for most people a large part of this has already been done for them since they read the Bible from a translation. One of the most important questions when reading scripture is evaluating how it should be applied. Why are some passages still applicable and others abrogated? It is precisely this question that William J. Webb attempts to answer in his brilliant book, Slaves Women & Homosexuals: Exploring the Hermeneutics of Cultural Analysis. Webb focuses on three issues that make the Bible distasteful in modern culture – slavery, women and homosexuality.

Webb describes his approach to application as a “redemptive-movement hermeneutic.” The redemptive-movement hermeneutic (RMH) endeavors to “engage the redemptive spirit of the text in a way that moves the contemporary appropriation of the text beyond its original-application framing” (30). Thus, passages that are culturally irrelevant today have to be read first in the framework of their original culture and then the spirit of that text must be translated. Some passages are enduring and require little to no cultural translation. Other texts, however, are actually misapplied if applied without cultural translation.

The RMH is set in contrast to what Webb calls a “static appropriation of scripture.” A static hermeneutic applies the words of a text without little concern for how the words of a text fit in their original cultural context (30-31). A static hermeneutic assumes that the best application of scripture is simply what the text says regardless of cultural context. A RMH, in contrast, tries to discover the original intent of a text before applying it in a new cultural context.

The book addresses three issues with his RMH. First, Webb analyzes the issue of slavery. The Bible does not condemn slavery in either testament (Lev 25.44; Eph 6.5-9; 1 Pet 2.18). Indeed, many Christians were slave-owners and attempted to defend their dehumanizing activity with the Bible. On the other hand, the abolitionist movement was spearheaded by Christians who also used the Bible to defend their cause. Second, Webb addresses the contentious issue of what role women ought to have in the church. The Bible reflects the patriarchal cultures in which it was produced (Gen 3.16; 1 Cor 11.2-16; Eph 5.22-24; etc.). This issue, unlike slavery, is still widely debated though the cultural trend in the western world is moving toward women gaining increased leadership. Third, Webb applies the same criteria of cultural analysis to homosexuality. It is condemned in both the Old and New Testament (Lev 18.22; 20.13; Rom 1.27; 1 Cor 6.9-10; 1 Tim 1.9-10), but is this just another example of a culturally relative teaching? Webb attempts to apply the same criteria to all three issues.

This nuanced approach has much to commend it. First, it allows for consistency in application. I remember teaching at a Bible Study when a man in attendance claimed, “If the Bible was written today, it probably wouldn’t command us to wait until marriage to have sex.” He assumed that sex within the confines of marriage was a cultural value of the ancient world, which is completely incorrect. But, to his credit he was trying to read the Bible with cultural awareness. The fact is, as Webb points out, “Most of us are oblivious to the culture around us. Like the air that we breathe, it is invisible and we simply take it for granted” (21). How do we discern what parts of the Bible are actually culturally relative and what parts we simply don’t like because of our own cultural assumptions? Webb’s consistency is one way to allow ourselves to be culturally aware and still submissive to the intent of scripture.

In addition to consistency, Webb’s approach reads the Bible appropriately as a product of culture. Indeed, “Not only were the authors [of the Bible] influenced by their own cultures, but the text itself was transmitted through various cultural forms, known as genres” (23). The Bible is written by people situated in specific cultures who, though divinely inspired, could not see outside of their cultures. Webb laments, however, “Many Christians, particularly at a popular level, read the Bible simply as a flat-surfaced, two-dimensional kind of text. They seek to understand what the words of the text say as if they were spoken in a vacuum” (83). This approach ignores the fact that the Bible did not fall out of the sky. A culturally-aware reading of the text is both historically disciplined interpreting the meaning of a text in its original context and intent on allowing the Spirit to speak through the text anew to challenge our own cultural values and assumptions.

To this end Webb develops 18 criteria for evaluating the cultural components of a passage of scripture. He also categorizes the criteria according to their relationship to the text of scripture and their persuasiveness. The first category consists of “persuasive intrascriptural” criteria (criteria 1-5, chpt. 4). The second category describes “moderately persuasive intrascriptural” criteria (criteria 6-13, chpt. 5). The third category refers to “inclusive criteria” (criteria 14-16, chpt. 6) which refers to theological analogy (does this reflect God’s character?), contextual comparison (do other commands in the same context have enduring cultural significance?) and continuity/discontinuity between testaments (is the command consistent in both the Old and New testaments?).  The fourth category of criteria is “persuasive extrascriptural criteria” (criteria 17-18, chpt 7) which refers to pragmatic comparison (does the command make sense in another culture?) and scientific/social scientific evidence (does cross-cultural analysis or modern science help explain features of this text as cultural relative or enduring?). The next chapter is intriguingly titled, “What if I Am Wrong?” Here Webb weighs the merits of his interpretive decisions on the women issue and concludes that while there is some “wiggle room” it is untenable to conclude with either an ultra-patriarchal or feminist view.

What are his conclusions on the three major issues? I would encourage anyone interested in these questions to read Webb’s book to see how he arrives at these conclusions based on each criteria, but these are the general conclusions:

Slavery: Though the Bible does not condemn slavery outright, there is a consistent movement away from its dehumanizing practices in both the OT (Deut 16.10-11; 15.12-18; 31.10-13; Exod 21.20-21; 23.12; Lev 25.39-43) and NT (Philemon; Gal 3.28; 1 Cor 12.13; Col 3.11). Culturally, slavery was an assumed institution in the ancient world. The early church did not oppose it structurally for the sake of the more urgent need to preach the gospel (Titus 2.9-10; 1 Tim 6.1). Ultimately, Webb concludes that slavery was a cultural reality that was not God’s desire.

Women: As we have already observed, the Bible was written in a patriarchal context. It was a common cultural assumption that women were not good leaders (cf. Isa 3.12). Still, Webb points out, “On the whole, the biblical material is headed toward an elevation of women in status and rights” (76). He notes that the Bible has numerous instances of women being protected, elevated in status or serving in leadership roles that are counter-cultural in their original contexts (i.e. Num 27.1-11; 36.1-13; Deut 20.10-14; 22.19;, 29; 24.1-4; Judg 5.8-16; Acts 18.26; Rom 16.1-2). This along with numerous other criteria, lead Webb to conclude that women were kept from leadership positions not because of some eternally enduring difference between men and women but because of cultural realities.

For example, in 1 Timothy women are prohibited from teaching in Ephesus in the first century (1 Tim 2.11-15). Webb’s RMH attempts to understand why Paul said this about women in leadership in that context, and then he applies the principle today. In this case, Webb thinks Paul is opposed to women serving in teaching leadership roles at Ephesus because in that culture they lacked education, experience and awareness of broader cultural nuances. Thus, a RMH application of 1 Tim 2.11-15 is that people who are easily deceived regardless of gender should not teach.

Homosexuality: Unlike slavery and women’s status/leadership, the Bible demonstrates a consistently negative view of homosexuality. In this discussion, it is important to define “homosexuality” because some interpreters claim that what the Bible actually condemns is rape or the ancient practice of pederasty – a culturally accepted practice in the ancient world (particularly Greece and Rome) wherein older men would have sex with younger boys. Webb argues that consensual homosexuality was practiced in the ancient world and is included in the negative commands in the Bible (39, 81-82, 156, 250). Webb maintains that homosexuality is consistently condemned in the Bible while the wider culture of the ancient world accepted the practice. In this instance the counter-cultural movement of the Bible is to condemn homosexual practice. For this and other reasons, therefore, Webb thinks injunctions against homosexuality are enduring commands not culturally relative. Webb also suggests, however, that “a redemptive focus to our lives means that we love homosexual people as ourselves. It means that we treat them with the same kind of grace, respect, care and compassion with which we want to be treated” (40).

Even if you do not agree with his conclusions, William Webb has given a gift to the church by creating a series of interpretive criteria whereby we can consistently interpret and apply the Bible in all its cultural nuances. The book is an attempt to provide, “a tool for the application process in hermeneutics.” While Webb has focused on only three very timely issues, he suggests “the various criteria may be used as a grid to explore any aspect of Scripture where one might suspect or question the impact of culture” (246). Indeed, this is a fascinating prospect that I thought ought to be explored further. How might Webb’s criteria work out in relation to other issues?

Webb provides the answer as it relates to corporal punishment in his latest book, published just this year Corporal Punishment in the Bible: A Redemptive-Movement Hermeneutic for Troubling Texts. I have received a copy for review from the good people at IVP and as a new parent I’m glad to have it. The book is designed, like Slaves, Women and Homosexuals to be an exercise in cultural hermeneutics. In this instance Webb touches on a culturally relevant parenting issue. What does the Bible say about spanking? Having read the introduction and skimmed large portions of the book, Webb’s recent work looks to be a strong sequel. Whether you agree with his conclusions or not, I think Webb is exactly right to create a consistent hermeneutic to address the very different cultural realities in the Bible and how the text can still speak today.

What does a Pastor do?

I have no idea.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have an idea, but that’s about it. Some might think it rather odd that I am a pastor and yet I have only a rough sketch of what it means to be a pastor. Indeed, most of what I know about this calling has come from piecing together what I see at work in Scripture, my personal experience with my former pastors and congregations, and the exploratory writing of fellow pastors. Eugene Peterson has been a particularly helpful guide for me. His book Working the Angles has been seminal in shaping my idea of what a pastor does. His most recent book, however, The Pastor: A Memoir is a different sort than he’s written before. Here, the premier pastoral theologian of our time tells his story as “Pastor Pete.” It is a warm and poetic personal account of his journey to becoming a pastor and what such work entails. It is just one pastor’s story, but it is a story that ought to give shape to how the contemporary church defines the idea of “Pastor.”

Eugene begins with his experience of pastors as people who ran churches but were rarely interested in God. Based on this experience he never thought he would be a pastor. He candidly describes his perception of the pastors, “For me, being a pastor was what you did when you couldn’t do anything else, one step up the ladder from being unemployed” (81). So, he pursued academics. Yet something happened to him along the way. He discovered Scripture. Despite growing up in a home that was saturated with the Bible in daily reading and memorization he had never really encountered the living word. He describes his young perception of Scripture, “More often than not it was a field of contention, providing material for truths that were contested by warring factions. Or it was reduced to rules and principles that promised to keep me out of moral potholes. Or, and this was worst of all, it was flattened into clichés and slogans and sentimental godtalk intended to inspire and motivate” (84-85). Yet as he sat in a seminary classroom Scripture came alive for the first time.

Thankfully, his encounter with the word was not limited to the seminary classroom. Despite his pursuit of academics, his seminary required church field work. Though he asked the dean for an exemption since he didn’t plan to be a pastor, he was told that the requirement was not about “vocational training.” Rather, it was intended to keep students grounded “using ordinary language with ordinary people.” As the dean put it, “Unrelieved intellectual work, especially theological intellectual work, can shrivel your soul” (85). He discovered the deep preaching of George Buttrick and Harry Emerson Fosdick. In the process, he was introduced to the writing of Karl Barth in conversation with a non-practicing Jew. Barth just happens to be the quintessential pastor’s theologian. In Barth, the young academic discovered a book that fit Kafka’s criteria, “If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it?…A book must be like an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us” (90). Buttrick, Barth and the Bible were hammering on Peterson’s skull and breaking the frozen sea inside of him.

Despite his new perception of scripture and theology, Peterson was still committed to academic biblical study until he met his wife, Jan. As he describes it, “I was going to write books for people I would never meet. She was going to cook meals for family and friends, and for strangers who would be strangers no longer” (98). Peterson completed his PhD (all but dissertation) under the premier scholar of Hebrew Bible at the time, W. F. Albright at Johns Hopkins. He then returned to his former seminary to teach. Then, while reading Scripture in the sharp contrasts of congregation and classroom his perspective changed again. As he describes it,

I was beginning to feel that the classroom was too easy. The room was too small and orderly to do justice to the largeness of the subject matter—the extravagance of the beauty, the exuberance of the language. Too much was excluded from the classroom—too much life, too much of the world, too much of the students, the complexities of relationships, the intricacy of emotions. The classroom was too tidy. I missed the texture of the weather, the smell of cooking, the jostle of shoulders and elbows on a crowded sidewalk. [. . .] Salvation was not a reference traced down in a concordance. Every act of sin and every event of salvation involved a personal name in a grammar of imperatives and promises in a messy community of friends and neighbors, parents and grandparents, none of whom fit a stereotype. (21-22)

Imagine that. Scripture came alive in a classroom, but ultimately moved into the realities of everyday life. How sad it is when an artificial wedge is driven between study and street, when lexicons are abandoned in favor of “practical application.” Inversely, how incomplete studying Scripture is apart from the gritty realities of life intersecting with a glorious and gracious God.

The word “Pastor” is not found in the Bible, and yet it describes a fitting role of the church leader as a servant-shepherd. Peterson’s tale of what a Pastor ought to be is a compelling plea for an endangered species. As he sees it, “Men and women who are pastors in America today find that they have entered into a way of life that is in ruins. The vocation of pastor has been replaced by the strategies of religious entrepreneurs with business plans.” (4). After an unlikely road to his vocation as a Pastor, Peterson began a church plant in suburban Maryland. So, he read the most recent books on ministry and discovered handbooks for “running an ecclesiastical business.” He admits, “I was astonished to learn in one of these best-selling books that the size of my church parking lot had far more to do with how things fared in my congregation than my choice of texts in preaching” (112). He was even advised after the construction of a building, when congregational enthusiasm waned, that he should “start another building program” to rally the troops (202). Peterson knew they didn’t need another building, but this was the substitute for real discipleship – working harder at growing immature churches. Instead, Peterson spent six years toiling hard ground to cultivate spiritual growth that would foster real discipleship.

Peterson correctly observes that one of the major problems with pastoral work today is how it has been objectified and systematized into something manageable. He protests, “We cannot make an object of God: God is not a thing to be named. We cannot turn God into an idea: God is not a concept to be discussed. We cannot use God for making or doing: God is not a power to be harnessed” (186). Pastoral work is a profound mystery because it is concerned first and foremost with God and his activity among people. There is no sure-fire method to connect people with the living God apart from God’s involvement. Yet churches routinely employ strategies and plans to meet goals and build programs. All the while thinking God is pleased with their improvement on his otherwise ineffective public relations campaign. In the process we trade the mystery of God for the convenience of something measurable. We pull out our oars and row to get things done, rather than putting up sails and waiting for the wind of the Spirit to blow.

Peterson’s lively tale cannot be dismissed as a harangue against big churches. Nor is he opposed to programs. He describes his own logic in implementing home-based “covenant groups” as a means to deepen relationships with fellow believers and listen to God in Scripture and prayer (256). His problem is not with creating programs, but with measuring a church in terms of its programs. “A program defines people in terms of what they do, not who they are. The more program, the less person. [. . .] Treating souls for whom Christ died as numbers or projects or resources seemed to me something like a sin against the Holy Spirit” (255). Pastors are concerned with God and people not getting things done.

Right from the outset, Peterson is careful to avoid falling prey to his own critique. He is adamant that there is no clear plan to becoming a pastor. “I want to insist that there is no blueprint on file for becoming a pastor. [. . .] I have found that it is a most context-specific way of life: the pastor’s emotional life, family life, experience in the faith, and aptitudes worked out in an actual congregation in the neighborhood in which she or he lives—these people just as they are, in this place. No copying. No trying to be successful. The ways in which the vocation of pastor is conceived, develops, and comes to birth is unique to each pastor” (5-6). Thus, Peterson tells his specific story. He provides a reminiscence of what God did in his life as a pastor. It is a story lived out of the firm conviction that the God of the Bible is still very much at work. As he saw it, his vocation as a pastor was to pay attention and call those placed in his care to the work and wonder of God. That’s his idea of a pastor.

I have an idea of what it means to be a pastor, but that’s all.

Paul and Ancient Letter Writing

Letters have had a huge impact on my life. At the beginning of the summer of 2004 I met a girl in Texas. Though I had recently sworn off relationships, I was enchanted. Unfortunately for our blooming romance, my summer was committed to traveling around the country. For the next eight weeks I moved every Saturday shuffling from one summer camp to another. These camps lacked the technologies of modern communication. I had no cell service or wireless internet. In fact, I didn’t own a cell phone and high speed internet was still a novelty, certainly not available in the rural areas where I worked. Landlines charged exorbitant rates for long distance calls and I was a poor college student. Still, I could not risk having no contact for two months. So, I wrote letters . . . lots of letters. She wrote me letters too. It turned into quite a collection. It also built the foundation for a relationship that would eventually become a marriage.

That summer was probably the only time in my life I worried about the aesthetics of my handwriting. As I reflect on that process, it seems like ancient technology. Since then, I have not penned a single letter. Anymore, I never write anything by hand except the occasional illegible signature.  Contemporary literate communication is now conducted through almost entirely electronic means. It is fascinating to think about how drastically different communication is today than it was just seven years ago. To consider the literary communication of the early Christians is to step back almost 2,000 years. As one would expect, the technologies and conventions involved were even more unlike today.

Unfortunately, we often pay no attention to letter writing practices in the ancient world. How did people communicate across vast distances without phones or telegraphs? Letters of course! But how did most people communicate with letters when the vast majority of the population was illiterate? Interpreters usually give no thought to the technology and conventions involved in ancient letter writing. As a result, we mistakenly import our cultural and technological assumptions into Paul’s letters. We picture the Apostle sitting at a desk scratching on paper in silence, deep in theological thought. Then, Paul rushes the letter to the nearby post-office and the process is complete. E. Randolph Richards in Paul and First-Century Letter Writing: Secretaries, Composition and Collection provides a fascinating analysis of the historical processes involved in ancient letter writing. Throughout his analysis Richard illuminates Paul’s letter writing practices. The result is a uniquely insightful picture of Paul’s letters were written and thus ought to be interpreted.

After a brief introduction to the topic of ancient letter writing, Richards spends his first chapter showing how modern portraits of Paul, both popular and academic, are rife with anachronistic assumptions. Paul’s letters were not lone productions scratched out in silence as Paul conjured them in his head, only to be mailed the next day. The rest of the book is spent analyzing ancient letter production from the evidence of Cicero, papyrus letter collections and occasionally Seneca. Richards’ book is thoroughly documented and provides explanations that are based on historical precedent rather than modern assumptions.

Summary of Chapters:

• Chapter 2: Richards places Paul in the larger context of the first century letter writing. Most uniquely, he suggests that Paul’s “coauthors” must be taken into account as active participants in producing the letters. 
• Chapter 3: How does one write without pens? Here Richards provides an overview of the nuts and bolts of letter composition describing the writing materials, rough drafts and final products. 
• Chapter 4: Richards describes the involvement of secretaries (paid letter writers) who were an almost universal part of ancient letter writing process. Here Richards shows that there was a spectrum of influence the secretary would wield ranging from little more than transcriber to full blown composer. “The role played by the secretary depended on how much control the author exercised at that particular moment in that particular letter, even shifting roles with the same letter” (80).
• Chapter 5: Here Richards explores Paul’s use of secretaries. The letters explicitly mention secretaries six times (Rom 16.22; 1 Cor 16.21; Gal 6.11; Col 4.18; 2 Thess 3.17; Phlm 19). For the most part, Richards considers Paul’s use secretaries to be in the middle of the spectrum of influence as more than a transcribers but ultimately submissive to Paul’s literary will. 
• Chapter 6: Richards outlines criteria for identifying “interpolations” or preformed material in Paul’s letters.  He concludes, “Even though this material was non-Pauline, it was not un-Pauline or post-Pauline. The material was inserted during the letter’s composition and thus had Paul’s ultimate authorization” (108). 
• Chapter 7: Having identified interpolations, Richards provides explanations for how various preformed material was woven into Paul’s letters to produce a complete letter. “The arguments went were [Paul] intended them to go; the conclusions were what Paul intended to reach. Nevertheless, the smaller, quieter voices of others can still be heard in his letters” (120). 
• Chapter 8: Richards suggests that Paul’s letters reflect neither the top nor bottom of the literary scale of ancient letters. Rather, “Paul’s fall closer to the middle of the spectrum and reflect a Jewish subculture” (140). 
• Chapter 9: Any description of Paul’s epistolary style must recognize the length of time involved in letter composition, the use of secretaries and the presence of coauthors. Richards even suggests that stylistic statistical analysis indicates the kind of diversity one would expect in thirteen letters written in these circumstances. 
• Chapter 10: Describes the process (in terms of time and cost) by which letters were prepared to be dispatched. Richards argues that at least two final copies of each letter were made. One was sent to the recipients and the other kept for Paul’s personal records. There is an interesting chart calculating the comparative cost of producing these letters (169). As a conservative estimate, Richards thinks Paul’s longest letter (Romans) would have costs upwards of $ 2,200 and his shortest (Philemon) around $ 100. “Weeks, if not months, of work likely went into a letter” in addition to “considerable expense” (169). 
• Chapter 11: Once completed, ancient letters had to be sent. Unfortunately, there was no publicly accessible postal system in the Roman Empire. As a result, letters were sent through happenstance travelers who were already going to the intended destination or were sent privately at the expense of the sender. 
• Chapter 12: Travel in the ancient world was far from convenient by modern standards. Still, letters were carried. Depending on the time of year and difficulties of the journey a letter could take just a few days or multiple weeks to be delivered. 
• Chapter 13: Turning to Paul’s specific practices with letter carriers, Richards thinks, “Paul most likely used happenstance carriers to deliver his early letters, Galatians and 1-2 Thessalonians” (200), but then smartened up and began using members of his team as private letter carriers to ensure safe delivery as well as serve as interpretive guides (cf. 209). 
• Chapter 14: The question of how Paul’s letters came together into a collection is something of a mystery. Richards suggests, based on the common practice of authors keeping records of their letters, that Paul himself was responsible for collecting all his letters in a notebook format. These notebooks were posthumously circulated as a collection and eventually canonized. 
• Chapter 15: After explaining the complexity of the ancient letter writing process, and the multiple stages of human activity, Richards probes the question of inspiration. He wonders, at what stage(s) of the process was Paul “inspired” by the Spirit?

This is a book that deserves much attention, but I fear it will not gain the notoriety it deserves. Paul and First-Century Letter Writing is notable for at least three reasons. First and foremost, Richards’ arguments are historically grounded at every turn. With the disciplined imagination of a historian Richards allows the historical context to fill in the picture of Paul’s letter writing rather than pontificate based on modern assumptions.  Whether you agree with his conclusions or not, Richards provides a well-researched argument. 


Second, and this is all too rare in much of contemporary Pauline studies, Richards appreciates Paul’s role as a missionary-pastor working with a team. Richards brings years of personal missionary experience in a culture more similar to Paul’s world than the contemporary West. He provides numerous illustrations that help make sense of cultural differences and missionary dynamics. 


Third, this book is actually readable to people who are not consumed with NT studies. Often when I talk about my reading with my wife she can’t wait to change the subject. With this book, however, she was keenly interested to hear about Richards’ insights. Why might such a triumph of scholarship wallow in obscurity? It lacks a widely published name or a weighty endorsement. Also, the title seems boring. Please don’t let this fine book be ignored. Take and read.

Book Learn’n in the Ancient World (Part 1)

As anyone who has ever sat through a small group Bible study knows, books don’t read themselves. Readers carry with them certain assumptions and expectations about what they are reading. As a result, many small groups “study” the Bible by reading a specific book separately and then gathering to talk about how it “spoke to them” individually. It is sometimes surprising how differently the text speaks to different readers. Other small groups rely on a “teacher” to tell them how the text should speak to them. Increasingly, these teachers come in the form of a commenting author or an accompanied video. Occasionally the “teacher” will actually sit in the group and describe the meaning of the text. I’m not going to pontificate on the relative merits of these various ways of reading the Bible in a group. I only bring up the setting as a window into the way reading commenced in the ancient world.

Today books are conveniently organized in stores and libraries to tell us what we should expect from them. Individuals purchase or check out these books and consume them privately. They know what to expect at the time of purchase because the books are labeled accordingly. If you want to spend time in a magical land you read fantasy. If you want to learn about a person you purchase their biography. If you want to read an interesting story you check out something from the literature section. In short, modern books are produced to be read by a large audience of literate individuals who rarely ever meet one another. In sharp contrast, ancient books were produced and used in a vastly different context.

It is to the context of reading in the ancient world that H. Gregory Snyder turns his attention in his fascinating book, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians. Snyder begins by observing that texts were chiefly used as “part of the everyday business of teaching and learning” (1). Since reading in the ancient world was mostly a social activity, texts required “performances” and presumed and audience (2). Usually, texts were performed by a teacher and the audience was composed of students. Teachers, therefore, often functioned as “text brokers” (3). For most people, these text-brokers were the only available means of accessing texts. Snyder focuses his study on how various groups (or schools) used their respective texts. He is particularly interested in “text-centered” groups and how they “study, maintain, transmit a discrete set of authoritative texts” (5). Snyder’s goal is to understand the reciprocal role of teachers and texts in the ancient world.

To this end, Snyder analyzes five distinct groups and their use of texts. He limits his analysis, for the most part, to the period from the first century BCE to the second century CE. In chapter one Snyder describes his method of evaluation, which is geared toward comparison, and then applies it to how Stoics used their texts. Chapter two evaluates how Epicureans handled their written texts. Chapter three is concerned with Aristotelians (or Peripatetics). Chapter four evaluates the textual practices of Platonists. Finally, in chapter five, Snyder focuses on Jewish and Christian textual practices.  Part one of the review will focus on the first four chapters. Next time I will address his treatment of textual practices among Jews and Christians.

Snyder describes his comparative method at work in each chapter,

I will consider whether the group(s) in question bothered to collect and organize their School texts, and whether they sought to maintain them through textual criticism. Then, we shall ask about the practice of commentary. Following this, we will explore more invasive procedures that involve ‘re-presenting’ the texts: altering them either by epitomizing, paraphrasing, or expanding.  Finally, we shall pursue the question of use, exploring any available testimony that promises to shed light on the way that members of these groups used books in their gatherings. (14)

In the subsequent chapters he follows this method quite closely and with some intriguing results.

Stoics, though “famous for their literary production” (14) exhibit little evidence that they had a recognized body of authoritative works. They do not engage in textual criticism, write commentaries or quote their founders with reverence. Still, Stoics used and produced a significant number of texts. Indeed, we learn from Epictetus that there was a specific reading method used in classroom textual performances that took four stages (22-27). First, a basic reading of a selected text would be recited by the teacher or perhaps an advanced student. Second, an exegesis that defined and interpreted the terms of the passage would given by either the teacher or students. Third, the logic of the argument would be scrutinized. Fourth, the text would be evaluated by testing another hypothesis by its logic. The argument might be extended or limited for the purpose of equipping the student to evaluate how to use texts. Snyder also looks at the literary practices of Seneca which are instructive as a teacher who instructed from a distance through texts. In general, Stoics were committed to textual performances in classrooms, but the goal was not competence in literature but development of reason and character. Thus, they did not venerate texts as much more than tools for development.

In sharp contrast to Stoics, Epicureans “show a remarkable reverence for their founder-figures and the written texts the founders left behind” (45). They labored in textual criticism to have an accurate rendering of Epicurus’ literature (46-53). Epicureans also produced epitomes – shortened versions of original texts or bodies of thought (53-56). These epitomes would provide access to Epicurean thought without the difficult work of reading all of Epicurus’ books. Epicureans even developed a reputation of being lazy or unskilled with books (57-61). This was probably prompted by the fact that Epicureanism was fairly popular among uneducated people. Furthermore, Epicureans were not primarily concerned with Epicurus’ texts per se but rather with his doctrine. For Epicureans, “Texts were vehicles, valuable for what they carried, but not venerated in and of themselves” (65).

Aristotelians were rigorously devoted to their books. Snyder suggests that the primary means of instruction among Aristotelians was continuous reading peppered with comments by the teacher (67). The history of Aristotle works is a bit mysterious. It seems that the texts were lost or significantly damaged and his students set about to recover them (67-69). Thus, Aristotelians often engaged in text critical issues and the need to organize Aristotle’s massive body of writing. The most characteristic form of literary production among Aristotelians was commentary. There were two types of commentary (75). The first commentary type was a continuous comment form following the basic structure of the source text. The second type of commentary was devoted to explaining only selected passages from one or more books. These commentaries seem to indicate that educational practices were typically focused on interpreting Aristotle’s writings. Thus, Aristotelians were the most bookish of the philosophical schools.

Plato’s writings were known for being eloquent and thus attracted an audience beyond the typical student of philosophy. As a result, numerous secondary works were produced to provide access to Plato among those without formal philosophical training. This also produced debate about how the dialogues should be ordered and which dialogues were authentic (94-99). Though less devoted than the Aristotelians, Platonists produced numerous commentaries that were usually focused on only portions of the dialogues. Among this diverse group practices differed, but it seems a large body of secondary literature was produced for classroom use as one way of accessing the wisdom of the dialogues which were unwieldy for classroom teaching. Platonists were used books, but it seems they like their preferred oral debate.

Each of the first four chapters was an enlightening foray into ancient reading practices, but I must admit it was quite outside my area of expertise. I have nothing in the way of critique to suggest in regard to Snyder’s reading of these texts. I will say, however, that after reflection it seems a bit odd to compare the reading practices among elite schools to the literary practices among Jews and Christians. Snyder addresses this objection in his introduction (8-9). He tempers the criticism by pointing out that “not all members of the various philosophical Schools were uniformly wealthy” (8; cf. esp. Epicureans) and conversely that some Jews (i.e. Philo) and Christians were quite wealthy. So since Snyder’s goal is to compare their use of texts, he finds the comparison quite helpful. This is fine goal, but the differences are perhaps more pronounced than he lets on.

Consider for example, the fact that each of these philosophical schools began in the third century BC. As a burgeoning movement, it is difficult to compare the practices of Christians to schools established hundreds of years earlier. In regard to Jews, Israel’s sacred texts were tied with ethnic and social identity in a way that these schools were not.  Perhaps in its more academic forms Christianity and Judaism might be compared to these groups, but as a whole it seems to me that the burgeoning Christian movement has less similarity to these schools than this study might suggest. This is not to say that the comparison is not valuable, but only to recognize that early Christians and Jews did not think of their identity in the same way as these philosophical schools.

Reading the Old Testament with Faith

Have you ever agreed with an atheist? I know I have. If I’m honest, I can resonate a bit with Richard Dawkins’s reading of the OT,

The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynist, a homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully (The God Delusion, 1).

While I have never been so angry about it, I can certainly identify with Dawkins’s atheist assessment. Perhaps after reading about the death of Uzzah (2 Sam 6.1-8) or the divinely sanctioned slaughter of the Canaanites (Josh 6.21; 10.40; 11.12-15), you have questioned the character of God? Maybe your view of God as described in the OT is a distant, sexist, legalistic deity?


Most Christians never vocalize these questions and just turn the page to get to the stories they can more easily stomach. Or, confused believers just skip past the OT altogether and get right to Jesus. I would venture to say that if you’ve never questioned the character of God as seen in these and other troubling OT texts you’ve never taken them seriously. After reading certain parts of the OT it is difficult to avoid the thought that the character of God portrayed there is not the kind of God worth worshiping. Instead, you might easily conclude he’s actually the kind of god you would like to avoid altogether. It is to precisely these troubling texts that David T. Lamb directs his provocatively titled recent book, God Behaving Badly: Is the God of the Old Testament Angry, Sexist and Racist?

Lamb’s answer to these troubling texts is to read them with a hermeneutic of trust. Before condemning problem passages, Lamb wants to understand them. His method is threefold. First, he wants to ask why. What reason might there be for God to be angry or to issue a command for slaughter? Second, he suggests reading these passages in context in order to better understand God’s motives. Third, and this is in my opinion a nebulous method, he suggests that readers should, “have reasonable expectations” (42). The only clarity he gives to “reasonable expectations” is, “You won’t be able to resolve all problems.” Elsewhere, Lamb emphasizes that the OT was “culturally engaged” and thus had to make sense in a radically different cultural context (23). Thus, a “reasonable expectation” would seem to be recognizing how God could teach his people something in a culture far less progressive and egalitarian than contemporary western culture. Still, what do you do with these problematic texts that cannot be otherwise resolved? Lamb doesn’t explicitly say, but one can infer that he wants to read these texts as Scripture, describing a God we don’t always understand. Though we cannot always understand, we can trust him because of the wealth of other texts that point to a good God.

Lamb’s book is a fairly comprehensive popular-level defense of the OT God. After an introductory chapter Lamb sets up seven contrasting descriptions of God and addresses the relevant texts to show that the OT God really isn’t worthy of his bad reputation. So Lamb asks if Yahweh is,

Angry or loving? (Chapter 2) 

Sexist or Affirming? (Chapter 3) 

Racist or Hospitable? (Chapter 4)

Violent or Peaceful? (Chapter 5) 

Legalistic or Gracious? (Chapter 6) 

Rigid or Flexible? (Chapter 7) 

Distant or Near? (Chapter 8)

In each chapter he addresses the texts that seem to portray God negatively (sexist, racist, angry, etc.). Then, he draws from a number of other OT texts that describe God quite positively (egalitarian, caring for outsiders, loving, etc.). Lamb attempts to show that most of these OT texts are not so bad, and that overall the picture of God in the OT is a fascinatingly complex, relationally devoted, and ultimately a good God (179-80). So while Lamb admits, “I don’t always understand [God].” He concludes, “I don’t really think he behaves badly” (176).

According to a recent interview with Lamb, the book is aimed at “as wide an audience as possible,” but specifically focused on those persuaded by the arguments of the New Atheists, seekers troubled by the OT, Christians who neglect the OT because they’re afraid of it, and preachers who ignore the OT because they are ill-equipped to understand it. Lamb is an Associate Professor of OT at Biblical Seminary, an evangelical school focused on training people for ministry, and is trying to make the OT readable without ignoring difficult passages. His style is extremely accessible and filled with illustrations from pop-culture including references to TV shows (The Simpsons, The Office), movies (Evan Almighty, Oceans 13), and comic strips (Calvin and Hobbes, Doonesbury). He also has a self-deprecating humor that makes him quite likable.

In my assessment, God Behaving Badly is an apology that will preach to the choir and speak to the seeker, but do little for the skeptic. In the latter chapters that focus on popular misconceptions of the OT God as legalistic, rigid and distant, Lamb does a fine job of showing how these labels are not accurate. Also, the early chapters refuting the angry and sexist conceptions of God are also quite helpful, even if I think the way the NT gets used in these chapters lacks sufficient nuance.[1] These chapters are worthwhile reading for clearing up misconceptions about the OT and making it more accessible to believers. Lamb’s analysis of the problem passages, however, is less convincing.

The least convincing of Lamb’s arguments appears in chapter four, “Racist or Hospitable?” Let me be clear at the outset, there are not many satisfying alternatives to Lamb’s argument. So, I’m not trying to lambaste him for being dishonest, but I do think his approach is inherently flawed. He turns to one of the most difficult problems for Christians reading the OT, “Should the slaughter of the Canaanites by God’s people be considered an act of genocide?” (76). Before answering the question outright, Lamb points to the context of the Ancient Near East. He describes the despicable military practices of Ashurnasirpal of Assyria and the military activity of the Moabite king inscribed in the Mesha inscription. From these comparisons, Lamb makes two points.

First, he argues that Joshua is clearly using hyperbolic language. While the Joshua texts describe “complete destruction” (Josh 10.40; 11.12-15), there are other texts that recognize (often as a lament) the fact that Israel did NOT completely drive out the indigenous population (Josh 13.1-6; 15.63; 16.10; 23.13; 17.12; Judges 1.19-34). Thus, “To reconcile these two divergent perspectives on Israel’s conquest, a nonliteral reading of the texts that speak of ‘all’ people being destroyed is required” (77). Lamb’s argument, then, is that since Israel did not always follow the divine command for total destruction, they really were not all that violent. Even if these commands were not always followed rigidly, the fact that they were issued at all is still disturbing and without sufficient explanation.

Second, Lamb argues that the conquest narratives of Joshua are much less violent than those of Ashurnasirpal and Mesha. In Joshua, Lamb asserts, “There is no mention of women or children, and no descriptions of brutality or mutilation” (77). Unfortunately, this statement is blatantly false. Joshua does explicitly mention the slaughter of women and children (Josh 6.21) as do other OT texts (Deut 2.34, 3.6). While it is true that total destruction was exceptional for war (Deut 20.10-16) and Israel apparently had a reputation for being merciful (1 Kgs 20.31), this does not mean that Israel was in every instance any less violent than other nations in war. Comparing the Mesha inscription with the conquest narratives of Joshua, it is a stretch to suggest that the Joshua text is less violent. If anything it’s the other way around.

The clinching argument for Lamb is that “unlike Assyria and Moab, which were expanding their own borders to enrich their own kingdoms, Israel was simply attempting to gain a homeland” (78). Unfortunately, this is an instance where the hermeneutic of trust becomes a hermeneutic of apologetic. Israel is assumed to be just in her actions so Lamb’s interpretation of the evidence confirms the preformed conclusion. Reading the Moabite stone, for example, it is clear that King Mesha considered his actions completely justified in light of the oppression he faced at the hands of the Israelite King Omri.[2] Of course Israelite stories would describe the conquest as an innocent attempt to gain the homeland which they believed belonged to them. In much the same way as Moabite stories justify the violence of Moabite kings and Assyrian stories justify the violence of Assyrian kings. Just like contemporary Zionists argue that the land of Palestine belongs to them and thus any violence against indigenous Palestinians is justified. There is, however, one substantial difference between Israel’s retelling of stories and other nations’ retellings. As Lamb points out, God is more than willing to punish Israel for her injustice (pg 79 citing 2 Kgs 17; 24-25). So, Israel reads stories against itself as a crucial part of its own narrative. 

In the end, Lamb’s honesty is laudable, “The Canaanite conquest is probably the most problematic topic in the Old Testament [. . .] I must resort to taking it on faith that even though God commanded his people to kill the Canaanites, he still loves the nations and ultimately wants to bless them” (81). While I disagree with some of Lamb’s arguments, I agree with his conclusion. The conquest narratives don’t make sense to me, but I trust that God is ultimately good. This trust is not an irrational fideism, but rather a wrestling with the text of scripture and the character of God revealed therein. It is precisely because of my faith in God that these violent OT texts are difficult for me to understand. Similarly, my faith won't allow me to dismiss these texts out of hand.

David Lamb has tackled a difficult subject, making the OT readable to everyday people. Even if he falters in regard to a very difficult problem, he has still written a fine introduction to the OT from the perspective of faith. Lamb successfully shows that the god Dawkins so vehemently opposes is not the God of the OT. Rather, God as we see him in the OT is complex, relationally devoted to people in a specific cultural context, and ultimately a good God. If you’re looking for a book to recommend to a believer or seeker struggling with the OT, this is a good place to start.

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[1] For example, Lamb describes Jesus’ temple action (Mt 21.12-13 || Mk 11.15-17 || Lk 19.45-46; Jn 2.14-16) as an important illustration of “the anger of Jesus” (43), but anger appears nowhere in the gospels. If this story was meant to highlight Jesus’ anger how come he is never described as angry in any of these texts? Similarly, he says that he will use the name “Jesus” to refer to the “God of the New Testament” (19). Obviously, Lamb is trying to argue that there shouldn’t be such a sharp dichotomy between the testaments, but this is sloppy theological language. The “God of the NT” is the Father, and Jesus is his anointed Messiah. Furthermore, whatever implications Jesus’ status as Messiah might have for his divine status requires a lot of explanation. Perhaps I’m misunderstanding him, but it does not seem at all accurate to say, “I am simply following the conventions for divine names established in the two testaments” (19). The theological language of the Trinity is not articulated until well into the fifth century. Still, overall Lamb does a fine job dispelling false dichotomies between the OT and NT.

[2] Interestingly enough, Omri is also condemned as a wicked ruler in 1 Kgs 16.25-26 for his idolatry.

Learning to "Read" in an Oral World

Most of my reading, aside from novels, is focused on biblical studies. Right in line with my interests, this summer I’m doing an independent study focused on the Apostle Paul’s education. I am chiefly interested in discovering how educated Paul was and the significance of his education for reading his letters and understanding his mission.

In the contemporary world, literacy (both the ability to read and write) is a key component of education. In fact, without this basic skill advanced education is impossible. In the ancient world, however, the ability to read was limited (perhaps 10 %) and the ability to write was scarcer still. Paul lived and wrote in a world that was dominated by the oral rather than the written word. In the modern world, the written word is such a basic part of everyday life that we have no idea how much the technology of writing influences the way we think. Imagine, for example, “a culture where no one has ever ‘looked up’ anything” (31) or an educational system with no written homework or required reading. Whatever education Paul may have had, it must have been drastically different than modern education simply by nature of the transition from an orality to literacy.

So, I picked up Walter J. Ong’s Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word in order to understand the significance of the orality-literacy shift. I’ll admit that at first glance, I was not excited about the book. It seemed a necessary evil, but much to my surprise I found the book to be a delightful read. Ong’s introduction to the field of orality studies is fascinating and in many ways paradigm shifting. In lively prose Ong shows how much writing is a technology that has reshaped how humans think.

The first chapter shows that human language is essentially oral. “Indeed, language is so overwhelmingly oral that of all the many thousands of languages [. . .] spoken in the course of human history only around 106 have ever been committed to writing to a degree sufficient to have produced literature, and most have never been written at all” (7). Further still, written texts are based on oral languages. So, while “Oral expression can exist and mostly has existed without any writing at all, writing never without orality” (8).

So, language is thoroughly oral, but as literates we have a difficult time comprehending the significance of orality and so we tend to describe oral performances using our literate category of “oral literature.” Ong has a helpful illustration of the inadequacy of this approach:

Thinking of oral tradition or a heritage of oral performance, genres and styles as ‘oral literature’ is rather like thinking of horses as automobiles without wheels. [. . .] Imagine writing a treatise on horses [. . .] which starts with the concept not of horse but of ‘automobile’ built on the readers’ direct experience of automobiles. [. . .] In the end, horses are only what they are not. (12)

Unfortunately, it is precisely in literary terms that oral traditions have been analyzed. This is problematic especially because we “read” Paul’s letters as literates when they were written to serve an oral function. The shift from orality to literacy has changed how we “read” but we are often unaware of the changes.

The second chapter of the book outlines how scholars stumbled upon the significance of orality as they analyzed Homer’s literature. This history of the subject chapter is interesting but the book gets really good in chapter three which focuses on how orality alters the mental state of humans. Consider how the orality-literacy shift changes complex problem solving. How does a person “work out” a complex problem without the assistance of writing? Further still, how would a person retain the learned information without writing to preserve it? “The only answer is: Think memorable thoughts. [. . .] you have to do your thinking in mnemonic patterns, shaped for ready oral recurrence” (34). As a result, oral traditions have patterned formulaic sayings and type-characters because without the aid of writing complex syllogisms and plot-lines cannot be retained.

One of the many results of this phenomenon is the traditional orientation of oral cultures. “Oral societies must invest great energy in saying over and over again what has been learned arduously over the ages” (41). This is directly contrasted to contemporary measures of education that reward novelty. Another example is how oral cultures tend to think in terms of situations rather than abstractions. When confronted with geometric shapes, oral cultures don’t see circles and squares but rather situated objects like plates and doors (50). Clearly, the way of thinking in an oral culture is different than that of a literate one.

Even the idea of memorization is different in oral cultures. Literate societies think of memorization as being measured “word for word,” constantly checked against a text as the point of reference. Oral cultures have no way to check a verbatim rendition. So, an oral poet will remember formulaic sayings and type characters in his retellings. Though oral cultures claim verbatim retellings, analysis of contemporary oral cultures suggests an average of 60 percent accuracy when the same story is recorded twice and the two checked against one another (61). It has been noted, however, that the accuracy of oral retellings is significantly higher in some ritual texts (62-64). Here Ong points to the textual fluidity of the Last Supper (Mt 26.26-28 || Mk 14.22-24 || Lk 22.19-20; cf. 1 Cor 11.23-25) as an indicator of the oral way of remembering in the early church (64). Orality changes the way we think about memory and this ought to significantly influence, among other things gospel studies and approaches to the so called “synoptic problem.” Memory was measured differently in the oral world.

In chapter four Ong turns his attention to the way in which “writing reconstructs consciousness.” He argues, “More than any other single invention, writing has transformed human consciousness” (77). Most significantly, writing is a technology that transforms communication from the oral-aural sensory perception to visional perception. Communication in oral situations is fundamentally different than written communication. Spoken words are always highly contextual between multiple people. Written communication, however, is a single person’s word crystallized forever in a text (100). There is no interchange or exchange. Because of this, “written words sharpen analysis, for the individual words are called on to do more. To make yourself clear without gesture, without facial expression, without intonation, without a real hearer, you have to foresee circumspectly all possible meanings a statement may have for any possible reader in any possible situation, you have to make your language work so as to come clear all by itself, with no existential context” (102-3). To illustrate his point further Ong traces the use of Latin as the premier “learned language” and rhetoric as the prime subject for much of western history (107-13). He shows that writing reshapes how humans communicate with one another.

Chapter five is concerned with the development of print culture. When the technology of writing shifts communication from an oral/aural sphere to a visual one, it creates “a shift from sound to visual space” (115). This oral to visual shift is, as chapter five argues, observable in the development of print culture. Whereas early manuscripts were focused on producing a written document usable in a primarily oral culture, today print is intended to serve a literate culture. There are two very helpful illustrations of this point. First, the concept of plagiarism is a preoccupation of a literate society and was of little concern in an oral world. “Typography had made the word into a commodity. The old communal world had split up into privately claimed freeholdings” (129; cf. 131). Stories no longer belong to groups or tribes but to individuals. The second illustration of print culture that I found quite illuminating was the development of plot-lines. This illustration is only introduced in chapter five and transitions to chapter six.

The shift from orality to literacy was first observed in literary analysis of Homer. Not surprisingly then, most studies of orality-literacy shift dynamics have focused on literature and narrative in particular. The shift is keenly observable in the development of the concept of a plot line as seen in chapter six. Today, elementary school students learn the development of a plot in terms of a story arc (139).  In the world of literature the climax of plot is the detective story (141). “In the ideal detective story, ascending action builds relentlessly to all but unbearable tension, the climactic recognition and reversal releases the tension with explosive suddenness, and the dénouement disentangles everything totally – every single detail in the story turns out to have been crucial – and, until the climax and dénouement, effectively misleading” (146). Thus, a very tight plot line allows for great complexity in character development and “plot twists” that turn out to be quite important (148-52). In the context of an oral world, however, the primary genre of oral tradition is the epic, which does not have a linear plot. Epic poetry is episodic. The story begins “in the middle of things” and can contain lengthy digressions that do not serve a specific plot development. Literate stories have intricately woven plots but oral cultures have creative ways of immersing their readers in an episodic experience.

The last chapter of Ong’s book is devoted to some theorems about how the orality-literacy shift can be applied in other fields of study. He points to implications for literary theory (157-162), deconstructionist theory (162-66), speech-act theory and reader response criticism (166-68) and, most interesting to me, the fields of social sciences, philosophy, and biblical studies (168-70). He is particularly emphatic about biblical studies,

Orality-literacy theorems challenge biblical study perhaps more than any other field of learning, for over the centuries, biblical study has generated what is doubtlessly the most massive body of textual commentary in the world. [. . .] But [. . .] biblical studies, like other textual studies, are inclined unwittingly to model the noetic and verbal economy of oral cultures on literacy, projecting oral memory as a variant of verbatim literate memory and thinking of what is preserved in oral tradition as a kind of text that is only waiting to be set down in writing (170).

Ong’s argument burns away much of the scholarly dross that has accumulated around the biblical text over centuries of studying it as a text apart from a developing oral tradition. I think this has significant implications for how we read Paul in light of developing hermeneutical traditions after his death. But alas, I digress.

There is much to commend in Ong’s book. First, it was unexpectedly readable. Filled with interesting illustrations of his points, Ong held my attention throughout. Second, the book forced me to rethink a lot of my assumptions about how I read a text and especially the biblical text. But this rethinking helps in deconstructing false assumptions and reconstructing accurate assumptions about what to expect in oral cultures. Third, Ong’s thesis is bold without being all-encompassing. He rigorously argues that the shift from orality to literacy provided a context for the development of the western world, but he does not want to relegate every development simply to the invention of writing. Orality and Literacy is a fine example of an introductory book to a paradigm-shifting subject. Students of the Bible need to learn to think in an oral world as they “read” in a historically responsible way.