Thus far we have considered the collecting of the
New Testament books,
their copying and translation,
and the methods by which
one tries to ascertain what their authors were saying and the circumstances
under which they wrote.
But we seem to have failed to come to grips with
the most important question of all.
We have considered what they wrote and
how they wrote it;
we have not considered why they wrote,
and this is the
ultimate question of New Testament study.
Unless we reach this question and
make some attempt to solve it,
there is no particular reason for us to be
studying the New Testament rather than any other collection of ancient documents.
This point should be expressed with appropriate caution.
It is not suggested
It is simply suggested that the New Testament writers had a purpose for writing and that unless this purpose is kept in view the analysis of their writings will be fragmentary and will produce nothing but a collection of fragments.
To some extent the history of New Testament interpretation -
or, more accurately,
of biblical interpretation -
is roughly identical with the history of systematic
theology.
Most systematic theologians have believed that they were interpreting
what the New Testament meant as a whole.
To be sure, the use (conscious or
unconscious) of the allegorical method often led them to read more into the
text than more literal-minded exegetes have been able to find.
But even the
allegorical method requires that some passages in scripture be taken literally;
these passages are usually regarded as the keys to the understanding of the
Bible as a whole.
In modern times, increasing use of "the historical method"
has led to insistence upon the variety of the outlooks expressed by biblical
writers and sometimes to the refusal to lay emphasis upon their common faith.
In place of "biblical theology" or "New Testament theology" we have varieties
of New Testament religion.
Such a concern is justifiable in relation to a
situation in which differences were obscured and the New Testament was viewed
in two dimensions rather than three or four.
It is not justifiable if it
obscures the ultimate unity of purpose underlying the New Testament books.
Again, the New Testament has sometimes been viewed as historical in the
sense that it provides nothing but evidence for the development of early
Christianity.
The purpose of New Testament study is then regarded as the
discovery or uncovering of various layers of tradition which either obscure
or rightly draw out the implications of the earliest gospel.
Only this earliest
gospel is finally to be regarded as authoritative, or else the story of early
Christianity, now truly seen, somehow possesses a meaning just because it
is seen.
It should be said that such a notion is akin to the theory of Marcion rather
than to anything to be found either in the New Testament itself or in the
writings of Christian theologians.
There is no reason to suppose that only
the earliest strata of tradition contain the true gospel;
had this been so,
we should obviously have no New Testament, and none of the books in it would
have been written.
What we must look for, instead, is the purpose for which
the New Testament authors wrote.
There are several ways in which this purpose has been sought. We have already
mentioned the first, called "biblical theology".
But before turning to it
we should mention the preliminary study,
popular in antiquity (Origen) and
today as well,
of the meanings of New Testament words.
This study, as we
have already argued (Chapter III), does not usually produce absolutely definite
results.
At the same time, it must be admitted that it is indispensable for
our understanding of the texts.
Unless we have some idea of the probable
ranges of the meanings of words we cannot possibly go beyond what the authors
said to why they said it.
Literary criticism is a necessary part of theological
interpretation.
From this kind of literary criticism we then pass on to interpreting
whole books and trying to see what their authors were saying,
and - to some
extent - why they spoke as they did.
But the final questions take us beyond literary criticism into the realm
of theology.
Why do the various New Testament books exist at all?
What impelled
their authors to write?
Surely it was not that they wanted to achieve literary
fame,
for few of them were stylists and the Greek that they used is not the
same as that of the "best" writers of their day.
Instead, it must be stated
that they wrote because of their conviction
that what had happened in the
life, death and resurrection of Jesus,
and in the work of the Spirit in the
new community,
had given them insight into the plan of God for the salvation
of men.
The differences among the books and among the individual authors
are due to the varying ways in which these authors understood the meaning
of the events and the divine plan,
and to the varying circumstances in which
they wrote.
Obviously it is legitimate for us to be concerned with the divergent understandings
and the divergent circumstances;
but we must constantly bear in mind the
fact that the diversity is only an aspect of the more central unity to be
found in the common faith -
in God, in Christ, and in the Holy Spirit.
The ultimate task of New Testament study, then, is to look for the whole
as expressed in the parts.
Often this task is rightly regarded as suspect,
for students are likely either
The first error may be called the error
of rationalism.
The only adequate statement, on this view, is the logically
consistent one;
therefore the New Testament must be made logically consistent.
The second error is the error of biblicism;
it denies the possibility that
some biblical doctrines may have been the product of the first-century
mind
(if such a thing existed) rather than of the biblical mind (if such a thing
existed).
It fails to recognize the extent to which the New Testament writings
were addressed to specific historical audiences.
On the other hand, there are equally dangerous errors on the other side,
as we have already suggested.
Students may be content with describing a mass
of heterogeneous statements, insisting upon their inconsistencies, and thus
losing sight of the ultimate unity of the gospel.
They may proceed to a rough
and ready job of "demythologizing",
assuming that passages that they do
not like are mythological and failing to see that not all such passages were
meant literally.
They may look for a simple, authentic (i.e., sympathetic)
gospel
which, freed from all its embarrassing features, may speak directly
to them -
and support their own views.
Both of these errors must be avoided;
but no precise rules can be laid down for avoiding them.
Probably, however, if a New Testament book seems to be nothing but a collection
of contradictions we may suppose that we have misunderstood it;
and if it
clearly supports our own prejudices we may suppose that we have failed to
interpret its message.
The temptation to practise exegesis by removing difficult
passages, and treating them as scribal errors or the work of stupid editors,
should be resisted.
This is to say that in theological exegesis, just as in literary or historical
criticism,
we must maintain a certain measure of distance between the New
Testament and ourselves.
It is not so much a question of temporal distance
(about 1,900 years) as it is a question of "emotional distance".
Otherwise
the New Testament does not speak to us;
we speak for ourselves and use it
only as a megaphone.
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In recent years a favourite method of theological interpretation has been
given the name "demythologizing".
By means of a biblical criticism "free
from compromise"
[The phrase of H. Ott, "Entmythologisierung" Die
Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart II (ed. 3), 479.]
New Testament
materials are first classified into something like primary and secondary.
What needs demythologizing is the secondary language in which the primary
was expressed,
the language which speaks in a "worldly" way of what is "unworldly",
the language of Jewish apocalyptic mythology or of Hellenistic Gnostic mythology.
Such language, as Rudolf Bultmann once said, is unscientific and cannot be
accepted by modern men who use electric light.
According to Bultmann the method, which has affinities with ancient allegorization,
builds on what was right in the older Liberal Protestant theology and combines
with it the discoveries made in the history of religions.
What is primary
in the New Testament, freed from mythology, is then to be interpreted in
the light of modern existentialism.
One can perhaps suggest that the goal, if less methodically envisaged, is
not very different from what Christian theologians have actually sought to
achieve in the course of the history of theology.
The rigidity of the method
seems to arise, at least in part, from a faulty application of historical
techniques.
The latter conclusion is demonstrated, in my opinion, by my book Miracle and Natural Law in Graeco -Roman and Early Christian Thought (Amsterdam, 1952).
Moreover, the demythologizer, like the Liberal Protestant,
finds a Jesus
who in some ways resembles himself
but makes the rise of Christianity incomprehensible.
He makes use of classifications supposedly historical and treats central
elements as peripheral.
Nature miracles, sacraments, death and resurrection
are assigned to Hellenistic mythology;
exorcisms and prophecies belong to
Jewish mythology.
What remains is a Jesus who told stories and uttered wise
sayings (many of them not authentic because commonplace);
he was a teacher,
let us say a teacher of theology.
Somehow he was crucified, and later he
was known to his disciples in an undefinable "Easter-event".
The retention
of the Easter-event keeps the system from losing itself in secular philosophy,
though it evidently confuses the secular philosophers to whom it is supposed
to be addressed.
But let us leave philosophy to the philosophers and ask one further historical
question.
Presumably the mythology in which the Christians expressed themselves
was intended to convey meaning to prospective converts.
But we know that
in antiquity there were many who regarded the Christian gospel, with or without
myth, as both meaningless and untrue.
Can one speak, then, of "the ancient
world view" as that which prevents modern men from recognizing the truth
of the gospel?
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Historical criticism by itself can never provide a guide to the theological
understanding of the New Testament.
Historical criticism can only attempt
to show what was regarded as important at various historical points.
The
question then arises whether or not the New Testament is a self-contained
unit
or, at least, to be interpreted in relation only to itself and to the
Old Testament.
Here historical criticism is of some value,
in that it can
suggest that the New Testament books were written in and for a community
by men who were members of that community,
and that this community, originating
in the work of Jesus,
has a history which extended beyond his resurrection
and, indeed, beyond the apostolic age.
In other words, the New Testament
writings cannot be understood apart from the life of the apostolic and post-apostolic
Church.
To be sure, Clement and Ignatius (for example) were as likely to
misunderstand the meaning of the gospel as were Matthew and John - or Paul.
But the meaning of early Christianity cannot be recovered unless we take
into account not only the New Testament but also the post-apostolic writings
of the Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists and Irenaeus - to mention no
others.
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When we have mentioned the Apostolic Fathers and others, we immediately
confront the question of the limits of early Christianity.
It is fairly evident
that Simon Magus, for example, is not a good witness for early Christian
life;
for one thing, he regarded himself as the saviour of mankind, or rather
of a small fraction of mankind, the spiritually elite.
It is more difficult
to assess the evidence provided by Marcion, chiefly because Harnack regarded
him as the forerunner of nineteenth-century biblical critics.
But it would
appear that since Marcion denied that Jesus actually lived as a human being
and held that the universe was the product of an inferior god, his testimony
to Christian doctrine cannot be accepted.
Similarly those apocryphal writings
that grind special theological axes must be viewed as belonging to the periphery
of Christianity. Jerome suggested that gold might lie in the mud of these
documents;
but the proportion of mud is remarkably high.
Some early Christian writers, and perhaps even some New Testament writers,
were influenced by what seems to us to be Gnostic terminology.
But it still
remains to be shown that this terminology was always Gnostic and that in
Christian writings its overtones were Gnostic.
Once more, "modern" men often
find the "existential"-sounding Gnostic ideas attractive.
This is not to
say that they (either the men or the ideas) can be regarded as Christian.
One of the chief values of the Gnostic movement was that it aided the Church
to define its own terms and to reject Gnosticism as such.
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Gnosticism ultimately denied the reality of both history and tradition by
insisting upon the historical unreality of Jesus.
A truly theological interpretation
of the New Testament must therefore take its stand upon the ground of historical
fact, recognizing that Jesus and his disciples really lived and really taught
what the New Testament documents indicate they taught.
At the same time,
such an interpretation must not deny the reality of modern interpreters and
of modern men and their ideas.
It must resolutely admit the existence of
distance between the New Testament and ourselves.
It must not, however, exaggerate
the measure of this distance.
Modern men often live longer than ancient men
did; all men die, and all men are subject to drives, which do not vary greatly
from one century to another.
Their attitudes to death and to these drives
will vary, but nothing beyond confusion results if we try to make the New
Testament writers share our own attitudes.
The basic question is probably that of theological authority.
Is authority within Christianity derived from the Bible alone, or from tradition
alone?
Or is it a kind of mixed authority in which scripture, tradition
and reason all have roles to play -
roles whose significance can be assessed
differently under different circumstances?
It would appear - at least,
so it appears to the author - that the second option is the only tenable
one, given the existence of the Church and the necessity of modifying various
aspects of Christian teaching under varying circumstances.
This is to say
that we read the Bible not with "eyes of faith" alone but with two eyes
which give perspective.
With one eye we read the New Testament to see what
it may say to us about the gospel and about the early Church, which proclaimed
the gospel.
With the other we look at it more critically to see whether
or not what it says to us is historically and theologically true.
Both
eyes are kept in focus by the use of the glasses provided by tradition,
by historical scholarship, and by theological inquiry.
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What we have been trying to indicate is that the object of New Testament
study is the understanding of the New Testament.
Such understanding requires
us to devote our attention primarily to the New Testament itself and to enter
into an encounter with what it says.
For this reason we must attempt to devise
some kind of method for the encounter --
not that the encounter absolutely
requires the use of such a method,
but that, methods being what they are,
it is better to have a more adequate and explicit method than to imagine
that we are not using one when we actually do so implicitly.
In dealing with the New Testament, then, the first question to be raised
is this:
"What is the New Testament?"
Answering this question requires us to investigate
the history of the New Testament canon (Chapter 1).
The next question is, "What
does the New Testament say?"
The attempt to deal with this problem leads us
into the realm of textual criticism and the study of translations (Chapter
2).
When we have considered these two "what" questions,
we are ready for the further
question, "How does the New Testament say what it says?"
Here we enter the areas
of translation and of literary criticism,
which is essentially the analysis of
the style of the various New Testament writers.
Stylistic analysis can lead us
towards understanding what the authors intended to say,
for style cannot easily
be separated from content.
The style is the instrument that the author uses for
expressing his thought (Chapter 4).
Only after these investigations have been
made
are we ready to investigate the problem of
why the authors said what they
said.
The ultimate "why" question can be answered in two ways.
First, it can
be answered historically,
in relation to the authors' place within the stream
of Christian life and to their various environments in the ancient world (Chapter
5).
Second, it can (and must) be answered theologically,
in relation to the author's
purposes in setting forth their basic understanding of the gospel -
that is to
say, of the ultimate meaning of the revelation of God in Christ (Chapter
6).
The fundamental questions involved, then,
are the questions of "what" (Chapters
1 and 2),
of "what" and "how" (Chapters
3 and 15),
of "how" and "why" (Chapter
5),
and of "why" (Chapters 5 and
6).
Naturally there is more overlapping
than this schematic statement suggests.
We are dealing with real phenomena
(the New Testament writings),
which cannot be neatly dealt with by having
a schematic structure imposed on them.
But it can be argued that unless all
the steps of this procedure are kept in mind, somehow or other,
our interpretation
of the New Testament will be unbalanced and/or inadequate.
The final result of this kind of analysis will be historical, we should
claim;
but it will also be theological in so far as we finally concern ourselves
with the basic purpose or purposes that the authors had in view.
In this
sense, a non-theological interpretation is inadequately historical,
and a
non-historical interpretation cuts theology (at any rate, Christian theology)
loose from its moorings
or, to change the figure, deprives the ship of its
rudder.
The same point can be expressed in a different way, if one does not wish
to make use of theological language but prefers to remain in the realm of
the historical.
The historical method, to a very considerable extent, involves
placing a document in its historical context and tracing interrelations.
The historical context of the New Testament documents is a double one.
First,
and more generally, there is the context provided by the life and thought
of the Graeco-Roman world and, a little more specifically, of Judaism in
this world.
This context is often regarded as all-important.
But there is also the second context, which, for the New Testament writers
themselves, was the more important of the two.
This is the context provided
by the life and thought of the early Christian Church.
In order to understand
this context it is necessary to venture into the areas of biblical and church
history and of biblical and Christian theology.
By laying emphasis on environmental
study at both levels
we can cross the bridge between history and theology,
provided that we are willing to recognize a considerable measure of continuity
between the early Church and the Church today.
Finally, even if we do not recognize the continuity
we can at least recognize
the significance of the early Church
as providing the historical environment
for the New Testament.
Without the "hypothesis" of the Church
the New Testament
documents are like isolated pearls without a string.
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