When Interpretation Becomes Invisible: A friend just wrote with a question that made me stop and think. They had been working through a large book on Bible doctrine and began wondering whether there comes a point when a theological framework becomes so settled in our minds that we no longer realize we are reading Scripture through it. I think that is an important question. Not because theology is bad or because systematic books are useless, but because there is a difference between Scripture and our understanding of Scripture, and sometimes that difference can become very difficult to see.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered whether the real concern is not the system itself, but our ability to recognize when the system is shaping what we see. I think this may be the question underneath a lot of what you are asking. If a man believes that true doctrine is plainly stated in Scripture, that the Spirit illuminates truth, and that faithful ministers simply teach apostolic doctrine, then what room is left for him to recognize that his own theological framework may be influencing what he calls the plain teaching of Scripture? That does not prove his conclusions right or wrong, but it does reveal a weakness in the method. It can almost become a closed circle: Scripture is plain; I am teaching Scripture; therefore disagreement begins to look less like disagreement with my interpretation and more like disagreement with Scripture itself.
And I think that is where the real difficulty begins. The problem is not that we interpret Scripture, because there is no escaping that. The problem comes when we stop recognizing that we are doing it. The stronger someone insists, “I’m not giving you an interpretation; I’m simply telling you what the Bible says,” the harder it can become to recognize where Scripture ends and an interpretation of Scripture begins – which statement, incidentally, sounds very humble, because it seems to remove the preacher from the equation. But in reality, it can blur the distinction between what Scripture says and what one believes Scripture means.
Everybody interprets. Everybody makes judgments about which texts explain other texts, how passages fit together, and which truths should shape our understanding of other truths. Denying that process does not eliminate it; it only makes it harder to see. And once the interpretive process becomes almost invisible, so can the theological framework shaping it.
So what do you do? You have this large book on Basic Bible Doctrine. It seems to tell you everything you need to know. It is all laid out plainly, and there is Scripture seemingly supporting every conclusion. There is something very attractive about that. Someone has done the work of arranging everything, fitting the pieces together, and giving you a detailed map.
And I do not think the problem is Gill, Calvin, Fortner, or study Bibles as such. Those books can be enormously useful. The danger is subtler. A theological library can slowly become a kind of second Bible if we are not careful. We begin reading Scripture through categories inherited from the books rather than allowing Scripture itself to challenge those categories. The system becomes the lens, and eventually the lens becomes almost invisible to us. So perhaps one of the questions worth asking is this: when does a theological aid stop helping us read Scripture and begin telling us beforehand how Scripture must be understood?
Of course, there is another danger in the opposite direction. Theology should ultimately lead our eyes toward God and toward Christ. There is something healthy about examining our assumptions, questioning our interpretations, and admitting that we may be wrong. But that process can turn back upon itself almost endlessly. We begin questioning not only what we believe, but how we arrived there, what shaped our thinking, whether those influences were trustworthy, and then whether our own judgment about those influences can be trusted. Somewhere in all of that, we can become so occupied with the machinery of interpretation that we spend more time examining how we see than actually seeing. At some point, we can spend so much time examining the lens that we forget to look through it.
That is why I loved your closing thought. You realized that all of this inquiry was beginning to cost you some peace, and rather than forcing yourself farther into the maze, you said, in effect, “I’m closing the book and going back to Job.” Perfect companion. Job could not figure everything out either. He had questions, his friends had answers – lots and lots of answers – and somehow all of their certainty did very little to help him. Job wanted things to make sense. He questioned, reasoned, and listened while others tried to explain what God must be doing.
And yet one of the remarkable things about the book is that Job never receives the explanation that we, as readers, have been given. He never learns why any of this happened. When God finally speaks, He does not explain every piece of the puzzle or answer every question Job has raised. Instead, Job is brought face to face with the greatness of God Himself. There is something wonderfully sane about reaching the point where we can say, “I don’t know,” close the theological book for a while, and return to Scripture – not necessarily because Scripture will answer every question we have, but because it turns our attention back toward God, where peace is found – not in finally understanding everything, but in trusting the One who does.
I’m sure Job understood something of that by the end: “I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withholden from thee. Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge? therefore have I uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.” Job 42:2-3. MPJ