Hermeneutics: Hopefully this doesn’t get too technical. Questions about interpretation have been near the forefront of some of my recent thinking, especially the way we can become so familiar with our own conclusions that we stop noticing how much interpretation is involved in reaching them. I was writing to a friend a few minutes ago and mentioned that I had come across a little book in my library that I didn’t even remember owning. It was written by another believer on a particular doctrine of Scripture, and seeing it reminded me of a conversation from some time ago. Someone had once tried to persuade me that this man’s position deserved particular weight because of his education, and, as part of the argument, because he had actually written a book.
That memory made me laugh, and I wrote this to my friend: “The reason that made me laugh is that when this brother was telling me about this individual he mentioned his education and then concluded with something like, ‘And he’s even written a book.’ I remember thinking at the time, written a book? Oh boy, who cares? He could have written an entire set of commentaries. What does that have to do with anything? Looking at this little booklet now, though, I’m thinking I certainly hope this isn’t the book he meant, because I’ve written more than this in a single post.”
Do you see that last sentence? “I’ve written more than this in a single post.” I knew exactly what I was doing when I wrote it. I arranged the words in a way that served the point I wanted to make. I wanted the comparison to land, and I wanted the contrast to do some of the work for me. And if I’m being truthful, there is a certain satisfaction in that. With my background, and with the education I never had, there is something in me that enjoys being able to say, “See, I’m not completely ignorant.”
But that is what got me thinking. The sentence is true. I really have written individual posts longer than that booklet. Nothing I said was false. And yet truth can still be used. Notice how I didn’t have to misrepresent anything. I only had to choose the comparison that served my purpose best, frame it in a particular way, and place it where it would have the greatest effect. The facts remained facts, but I was still guiding the reader toward the impression I wanted to leave.
And what was that impression? That perhaps the fact that this man had “written a book” was not nearly as impressive as it had once been made to sound. By comparing the size of his booklet with something I had written myself, I was reducing the weight of that appeal to authority. I never actually said, “His book is insignificant,” or, “My writing is more substantial than his.” I didn’t have to. I arranged the true facts in such a way that the reader was likely to understand something very close to that.
And I began wondering how often we do something very similar with Scripture. We may never alter a single word. We may quote every verse accurately. We may carefully give chapter and verse. We may even insist that we are simply allowing the Bible to speak for itself. But if we have already decided where the argument must end, we can still arrange the biblical material in a way that gets us there. One passage comes into the foreground while another fades into the background. One verse becomes controlling while another becomes an exception. One word receives enormous attention while another is passed over quickly. Some texts are permitted to speak with their full force, while others are immediately interpreted through a theological framework we already possess.
Nothing necessarily has to be misquoted. And that, I think, is where hermeneutics becomes especially important. Hermeneutics is simply the matter of interpretation, how we understand what we are reading. Just as I did not have to say anything false about that little booklet in order to create a particular impression, we do not have to alter the words of Scripture in order to guide an argument in a particular direction. The passages may all be quoted accurately. The real questions often involve which passages we choose, how we arrange them, what weight we give them, and how we explain their relationship to one another.
And I referenced this recently because I hear some version of this all the time: “I don’t follow creeds. I don’t follow systems. I just read the Bible and let the Bible interpret itself.” I understand what people are trying to say by that. They usually mean that Scripture, rather than tradition or a theological system, should have the final word. And I certainly agree with that. But the idea that we can somehow approach the Bible without interpretation is simply not realistic. The moment we begin deciding what a passage means, how it relates to another passage, which texts help explain it, and what conclusion follows from it, we are already interpreting. Even the phrase “letting the Bible interpret itself” requires someone to decide which passages are interpreting which other passages and why.
But nobody comes to a passage as a blank sheet of paper. We bring words we have already learned – doctrines we have already been taught – sermons we have heard – books we have read – arguments we have made – experiences we have lived through – and conclusions we have already reached. Some of those things may help us tremendously. Some may hinder us. Most of the time, we probably do not even realize how much they are influencing what we see.
That does not mean Scripture is unknowable. It does not mean every interpretation is equally valid. And it certainly does not mean that truth itself is uncertain. It simply means that we are not infallible interpreters of an infallible Bible. There is an enormous difference between saying, “Scripture is true,” and saying, “Therefore everything I believe Scripture teaches must be true.” Those two statements are not the same.
Perhaps one of the greatest dangers in Bible interpretation comes when that distinction begins to disappear, and our interpretation becomes so familiar to us that we no longer recognize it as interpretation at all. Our theological framework becomes invisible. We no longer see the lenses because we have been wearing them for so long. And then disagreement becomes very difficult. If someone questions our conclusion, it can begin to feel as though they are questioning Scripture itself. If they read a passage differently, we may assume they are refusing to submit to the Bible, when in reality they may simply be questioning the way we have arranged and interpreted the biblical material. That does not mean they are right. But neither does it mean we are.
Which brings me back to that sentence about the little book: “I’ve written more than this in a single post.” True. But why did I choose that truth? Why that comparison? Why that placement? Why that emphasis? Because I wanted it to do something. And perhaps that is a worthwhile question to bring with us when we read, teach, write about, or argue from Scripture.
Not merely, “Is what I am saying true?” But: Why did I choose these texts? Why did I put them in this order? Why did I emphasize this verse and barely mention that one? Why does this passage become the rule while another becomes the exception? Would I read these words the same way if I had never been taught my present system? Am I allowing Scripture to form my conclusion, or am I arranging Scripture around a conclusion I already wanted to reach? Maybe manipulating a text does not always mean changing its words. Sometimes it is simply controlling the lighting around them. And perhaps the more we realize how small our own understanding is beside the breadth and glory of biblical truth, the more willing we become to notice our own hands on the light switch. MPJ