Theological parallels between Israel's wisdom traditions and salvation-historical traditions

It's often said that Israel's wisdom traditions are devoid of the kind of theology one finds elsewhere in the Old Testament. Brueggemann represents the majority opinion: 

wisdom teaching, in the book of Proverbs as elsewhere, completely lacks the primary marks of Israel's history or of Israel's covenantal tradition. As a consequence in this teaching, Israel stands alongside its non-Yahwistic neighbours in pondering the inscrutible mystery of life, even as that mystery permeates the most concrete and mundane dimensions of daily existence [*]

The following is a thought experiment in relation to this. Assuming a single theological pattern, in which God creates a material universe for the purpose of giving it to humanity to enjoy, yet making that enjoyment conditional upon obedience to will, I came up with the following parallels:

Wisdom:

i) The ultimate telos of wisdom is "salvation," understood in the "this worldly" sense of a long happy life in the land.

ii) The means of achieving this is through 1) discovering and then 2) implementing the insights of wisdom.

iii) The place where one goes in order to acquire this salvific information is the created order, in both its "natural" and "social" dimensions (i.e. through the observation of natural and sociological patterns and the development of codes of conduct).

iv) The epistemological condition for comprehending this reality is "the fear of the Lord." There is no neutral starting point.

v) The source of this information is the Lord. I.e. God himself, through revelation of himself, creates the epistemological conditions by which we can perceive his will in creation.

vi) The reason why this reality (wisdom) does what it does (i.e. give life) lies within the will of the Lord. It's what he wants.

vii) Identifying this reality (wisdom) is equivalent to identifying the Lord's will/purpose (i.e. to offer us salvation in a material paradise).

viii) Wisdom reveals the Lord to the degree that it reveals his will, which is for a healthy created order (Garden-of-Eden-style).

This seems to correspond to the theological logic found in the Pentateuch:

i) The ultimate telos of history is "salvation," understood in the "this worldly" sense of a long happy life in the land.

ii) The means of achieving this is through 1) discovering and then 2) implementing God's revealed will (Torah).

iii) The place where one goes for this salvific information is the Lord's history with his people, in both its experienced and then narrated/liturgically re-enacted dimensions (i.e. tradition and Scripture).

iv) The epistemological condition for comprehending this reality (i.e. truly understanding the spirit of the law, its purpose) is thankfulness to the Lord for what he has done prior to the revelation of his will (e.g. I.e. redemption from Egypt; this experience provides the categories for understanding how to treat ones own slaves).

v) The source of this information is the Lord.

vi) The reason that this reality (his will in Torah) does what it does (i.e. give life) lies within the will of the Lord. It's what he wants.

vii) Identifying this reality is equivalent to identifying the Lord's will/purpose (i.e. salvation).

viii) History (as narrated in the Pentateuch) reveals the Lord to the degree that it reveals his will, which is a healthy created order (i.e. saved from Egypt for Canaan).

Given these parallels, you can see how the Bible exerted a certain "co-ercion" on early Jewish interpreters (Sirach, Wisdom of Solomon) to collapse wisdom and torah into one reality. This wasn't an attempt to impress the Greeks, it was a response to the total witness of Scripture, a response consistent with the Bible's own logic.

To make the parallels more explicit, you get the following pairings:

Law / Wisdom (object to be sought)

Thankfulness for historical preservation / Fear of the Lord (epistemological condition for perceiving this)

land of milk and honey / a good long life (goal of seeking)

obedience / obedience (means of implementation)

the Lord / the Lord (source)

instruction from priests, parents, Scripture etc. / instruction from wise men, parents, Scripture etc. (vehicle for source)

history / creation (location)

Any thoughts?

[*] Brueggeman, An Introduction to the Old Testament, 306.

Dealing with anachronism in Exod 16:1-36

Assuming one wishes to read the Old Testament as "Christian scripture," how does one deal with the presence of anachronism in the storyline? As part of my general overview of Childs' approach to Biblical exegesis, I turn today to Childs' treatment of the anachronism that is found in the story of the manna and quails (Exodus 16:1-36).

According to the story, God commands that the jar of manna be placed “before the Testimony” (i.e. tablets of the Ten Commandments; עדות; v. 34). The problem is that the Ark, which contains the Testimony, hasn't been built yet. Childs rejects both the pre-critical solution to this problem, which says that God's command was given by way of anticipation, as well as the typical historical-critical solution, which say it was simply an oversight on the part of the redactor. Childs interpretation is also not “post-critical,” in the sense that he does not attempt to bracket out the question of the history of the text and remain within the "story world" of Exodus. Rather, he notes that it is often the case that “chronological inconsistencies usually reflect definite theological concerns” on the part of the Biblical editors[1] and proceeds to deduce that intentionality from the effect created by its present placement. In light of this broader editorial activity, he concludes the following:

It is much more likely that also here there is a theological point which caused the writer to override the chronological sequence. A jar of manna which is the sign of God's sustaining mercy is kept alongside the tablets of the law. Indeed, the sign of divine grace preceded the giving of the law of Sinai! Still the emphasis of this passage does not fall on establishing the priority of the manna, nor should the chronology be pressed. Rather, the point of the text focuses on the testimony that the manna and the tablets belong together before God. In New Testament terminology, the gospel and the law cannot be separated.[2]

Note that Childs is happy to let the tension stand at the level of the narrative: there is a genuine anachronism. But this is only a problem to a modern reader, for whom chronological consistency is an overriding concern. When seen in the light of its diachronic development, Childs tries to get to the matter that was editor's concern, and that is theology. You could say God's time over against our time. The "divine economy" trumps "profane history," such that we catch a glimpse into the order of events that really matters: in salvation history, grace always precedes law. 

Childs is also sensitive to the issue of over-weighting the editorial concern. In his opinion, the weight of the text does not consist in the fact that it is now placed before the giving of the Law. It still has a degree of independence over against its larger narrative context. The main point is "pericope immanent": gospel and law cannot be separated.

---

[1]     Childs, Exodus, 291.

[2]     Childs, Exodus, 291-292.

The tradition history of the office of Moses: Childs' take

In my current series of posts (summarized here), I'm working through examples of Brevard Childs' exegesis, as found in his two commentaries: Exodus and Isaiah. We are currently interested in Childs' understanding of the particular profile of the various tradents of Israel's sacred traditions. In my last two posts (first here, then here), this was expressed in primarily source-critical categories (with a bit of editing thrown in). We concluded that these tradents were motivated by theological concerns. But this theological agenda pervades more than literary documents and their later redaction. According to Childs, a theological concern - often understood in cultic categories - was operative at all levels of the tradition, including the oral stage. Here is my summary of his complex treatment of the tradition history of the office of Moses [I should add that as Childs' career unfolded, he became increasingly sceptical about our ability to make these kinds of hypotheses. Nevertheless, as we shall see, he retained his commitment to the idea that the canonical process was inherently theological]:

Israel's witnesses did not only take the form of literary interpreters of tradition. If one digs back even further, Childs believes, there is evidence of cultic rituals and sacred offices (Childs often gives precedence to the oral stage as being of more significance for the current shape of the text than the interweaving of various sources¹). His most complex theory concerns the existence of two forms of the Mosaic office rooted within ancient Israel's cultic institutions, the traditions of which were later combined at an oral stage of development before the prophetic authors of the source documents provided their own additional literary stamp.² These two religious institutions are deduced from two conflicting narrative sequences. In the first, the people are terrified by the theophany of God at Sinai and request Moses to serve as mediator (20:18-20). God accepts the proposal and mediates the law through him. Then on the basis of the divine commands Moses leads the people in a ceremony in which the covenant is ratified (24:3-8). The ritual consists in a rehearsal of the law, a commitment by the people, and a rite involving blood manipulation which seals the pact.

On the other hand, there is a conflicting story in which God himself legitimates Moses, a decision planned from the outset by God (19:9). Later, Moses alone is given the commandments and on the basis of these laws God makes a covenant with Moses on behalf of Israel (34:27). In this tradition the people do not participate in a covenant ceremony of ratification but are simply informed by Moses of the covenant (34:32). Central to this pattern is that God's direct revelation—face to face—adheres to Moses alone and not to the people.

The stereotyped nature of these stories leads Childs (along with Mowinckel and von Rad) to the conclusion that they do not simply describe a historical event. Rather, they have a cultic stamp and function as aetiologies for the establishment of an ongoing office within an institution. Though both offices share prophetic and priestly characteristics, they differ in their institutional locations.³ In short, the first form of the Sinai tradition “had its setting in the covenant renewal festival in which Moses functioned as the prototype of covenant mediator between God and the people.”⁴ The second sequence also represents an office (see the frequentative tense in 34:34), though this time anchored in the institution of the tent of meeting (ch. 33), which parallels Sinai in its function as the site of divine theophanies. In this office, Moses speaks to God “face to face” and is represented as a "continual vehicle of the will of God,” a “continuous medium of revelation,”⁵ as well as an intercessor (34:7, 9; ) and recipient of the divine spirit (Deut 31).

In the later history of tradition, the institution of the tent of meeting declined, to be absorbed by covenant renewal tradition. This dominant form of the tradition has given the overall structure to the present Sinai narrative in Exodus 19-24. This process was only intensified by the author of Deuteronomy, who has completely overshadowed the tent tradition. Nevertheless, the tent tradition has not been completely eliminated. It still enriches the Deuteronomic concept of the office, as now a major feature of Moses' function is his intercession for the people (Deut 9:13-21;25-29). Finally, in the Priestly theology one can trace another diverging development. The vocabulary of the old tent of meeting tradition has been absorbed into the Jerusalem theology. The tent has now become identified with the tabernacle (מִּשְׁכָּן). The LORD now dwells in the sanctuary and the cloud and glory reflect the permanent divine presence. “Nevertheless, the priestly school retained its sense of continuity with the older tent tradition and continued to afford a channel for preserving traditions of Moses' office which were found in the tent tradition, such as the shining face of Ex.34.29ff.”⁶

The final set of tradents are the redactors, who have attempted to bring these disparate though interrelated traditions-turned-source documents into a unified narrative. Thus, in the sealing of the covenant narrative (24:1-18), Childs identifies the following signs of harmonization:⁷

1. whereas v. 1a speaks of the ascent of the elders in a way which seems to disregard Moses' special role as mediator, vv. 1b-2 have altered the original impact of the verse so that Moses' unique role is not diminished.

2. Originally there were two different accounts of the covenant ceremony. That described above and one involving a covenant meal. In order to harmonize the two, vv. 1-2 and 9-11 have been joined to vv. 3-8, so that the meal now functions as a culmination of a single rite.

3. v. 2 had singled out the special role of Moses. This element is now joined by a literary redactor to vv. 3-8, 12-14 in order to produce the effect of different stages in a series of ascents up the mountain. Verse 2 provides a point from which to make a smooth tradition to the command in v. 12.

1See Childs' handling of sources vs tradition-history on pp. 7-8; 184-186; 274-284; 321-326.

2Childs, Exodus, 344-360.

3Childs, Exodus, 357.

4Childs, Exodus, 355.

5Childs, Exodus, 356.

6Childs, Exodus, 359.

7Childs, Exouds, 502.

J, E, P as theological witnesses

The logic of Brevard Childs' canonical approach flows out of a commitment to understanding the reality testified to by the historical prophets and apostles. He does not start with an a priori commitment to the final form of the text, synchronic exegesis for the sake of it, or a broad thematic approach to Scripture. Rather, he looks to the historical tradents that gave us what was to become Scripture and attempts to understand what they were getting at. From that diachronic analysis his gaze is directed elsewhere, but only after the tradents themselves have redirected him.

An illustration of Childs' understanding of the nature of these tradents can be found in his source critical analysis of the Book of Exodus. Childs finds here a diversity of tradents who were involved in the production of the text. The “Plagues of Egypt” narrative (Ex 7:8-11:10), for example, consists of Priestly and Jahwist sources with small fragments of the Elohist (P, J, E), supplemented by late glosses.¹ Each source has its own narrative account of the plague, drawing on a common body of pre-existent oral tradition, and each witness originally stood independent of the others. These authors responded to their authoritative tradition in different ways, yet guided by the common desire to shape that tradition for the next generation of faith.

The Jahwist, for example, “shows tremendous freedom and imagination in fashioning his account,” despite the “traditional forces bearing on the writer which had determined in general the conclusion and general structure of the narrative.”² J builds in a concession motif, for example, creating a sense of increased tension in which Pharaoh's reneging on a previously granted concession (8:28; 9:28) turns to an impasse created by the inadequacy of Pharoah's later offer, (10:8-11), climaxing in the final breakdown in communication (10:24-29). In addition to this, the Jahwist skilfully portrays Moses and Pharaoh as competing antagonists—despite the roles which tradition had assigned to them—and creates an interesting tension between the LORD's absolute demands for release and his willingness to negotiate.³

The Elohist, on the other hand, is only preserved in fragmentary form, though as a continuous strand nonetheless. The movement of his narrative follows that of the Priestly writer and seems to reflect more the original tradition which was their common source. The plagues come in quick series and have no affect on Pharaoh because of the hardness of his heart.

The editorial integration of E with J results in an expansion of J's basic schema, such as the transition from the Lord's executing the plague in J to Moses' being the agent.

Again, the Priestly source reflects a variant tradition to that of J. For example, there was a distinction between plagues and miracles which originally served to distinguish the traditions of P and J. In P's schema Moses and the magicians compete in the performing of miraculous signs, yet the signs soon take on the characteristic of plagues, whereas the J source speaks initially of plagues, but these shortly function as signs. P also interprets the function of the hardening of Pharaoh differently to E: rather than plagues being a result of Pharaoh's hardness, Pharaoh is hardened so that the Lord can multiply his signs. Another difference to J and E is that for P the killing of the first-born does not belong the the plague tradition but to an originally independent Passover tradition. This plague is neither a plague in a sequence nor a sign, rather in P's account it functions to bring about the release of the Israelites, in fulfilment of the promise of 7:3-5. P also links the plague tradition to the crossing of the sea, in contrast to J, for whom the sea tradition belongs to the tradition of the wanderings in the wilderness.

Not only do these authors actualize their sacred traditions in differing ways, the combination creates an actualization of its own. Both the passover and reed sea traditions are brought into closer proximity to the plague tradition and there is a merging of miracles and plagues so that signs function as plagues and plagues serve as signs. In addition to all this, the various glosses evidence further theological reflection on the content of the tradition, actualizing the text for later generations in various ways. In 9:14-16, God's long-suffering does not represent self-restraint rather than impotence. 9:19-21 evidences a didactic interest to distinguish between “god-fearers” and the unbelievers, providing a testimony that the solidarity of judgement against all Egypt could always be relieved by faith in God's word. 10:1b-2 is a theological expansion, Deuteronomic in character:

The author uses the hardening vocabulary of J, but the theology of P. Any clear-cut distinction between sign and plague has also been lost. The expansion reflects the early interest in the actualization of the plague for a later generation. Here the Deuteronomic interest is more didactic than liturgical (cf. Ex.13.14f.; Josh.4.21). The understanding of the plagues as a testimony to God's great power by which to make sport of mighty Pharaoh is at work.⁴

In terms of Childs' canonical approach, the following key ideas ought to be borne in mind: 1) there is a dialectical relation between later witness (the sources and their redactors) and prior tradition. Prior witness constrains later interpretation, later interpretation shapes prior tradition. The prior tradition is thus religiously authoritative; 2) this process of interpretation was theological and aimed at identifying God's will for later generations of faith (contra many proposals from contemporary scholars today, who consider the primary force at work in Israel's tradition as political manipulation); 3) the redactional shaping of the sources is an extension of the source's own activity of shaping the tradition. There is thus continuity: the continuity of (dialectical) theological reflection, indeed reflection on the content of the tradition. One could no doubt claim that the tradition prior to these sources also partook of this same process. 4) The final form represents the culmination of a process of theological interpretation within the context of a broader understanding of the will and identity of God.

1Cf. Exodus, 131, for Childs' suggested source divisions with glosses.

2Childs, Exodus, 135.

3Childs, Exodus, 136.

4 Childs, Exodus, 142

Assessing Biblical Law: A division of labour

I posted yesterday on the need for a multiple level interpretation of Scripture. Such an interpretation, however, is an arduous task, as it requires knowledge from all theological fields (Church History, Dogmatics, History of Interpretation, Exegesis, Biblical Theology ... ). How many scholars today can live up to such a challenge? One of the first scholars to pose the challenge was Brevard Childs, in his 1979 Exodus commentary. He divided his commentary up into various stages: diachronic analysis, synchronic analysis, the history of interpretation, and theology. Yet even here, he felt that the dialogue needed to go on, and so he proposes a kind of division of labour. Here's what he has to say on Christian appropriation of Biblical law:

Although the need to provide a far more adequate theological interpretation of biblical law remains primarily the task of the theologian and ethicist, the modern Old Testament scholar can aid in making available pertinent information from his discipline. [*]

According to Childs, then, the theologian needs the exegete, yet given the importance of "correct context," the exegete also needs the theologian. In the context of a discussion of the Christian appropriation of Biblical law, here is an example of what Childs thinks the exegete has to offer the theologian as part of the broader dialogue (he calls them "points that must be taken into consideration"):

1. The historically conditioned nature of the Old Testament law, which includes the Decalogue, has emerged with an even greater clarity on the basis of close study of Ancient Near Eastern material.


2. The Old Testament laws give evidence of having arisen in different historical periods and often performed different functions; there is, however, no clear patter of 'ethical progress' which can be established on the basis of Old Testament texts.


3. Most modern New Testament scholars would seriously question whether Jesus ever intended to present 'a higher ethic'. Certainly his relation to the Old Testament was a different one entirely from that represented by the evolutionist.


4. Jewish interpretation of the Mosaic law cannot be dismissed by Christians as 'rigid' or 'legalistic' but it must be understood, first of all, on its own terms before engaging in a theological debate with Christian theology.

Again, several points should be made which affect the constructive task of developing an adequate theology of biblical law:

1. The idealistic categories which admit divine inspiration only to what is regarded as 'eternally valid' or 'perfect' for all contexts must be firmly rejected in handling the Bible.The theological data of Old Testament law cannot be restricted by an a priori schema of values, symbols, ontology or the like.


2. A theology of biblical law must relate specifically to the structuring of the concrete historical life of the people of God, who in ancient Israel, in the first-century church, and today continue to participate both in the kingdom of God and in the world.


3. All forms of law, Old and New Testament alike, must be ultimately judged in the light of the living God himself who has revealed himself in Jesus Christ through a life of complete faithfulness under the law.

I look forward to reading the recently published I am the Lord your God: Christian Reflections on the Ten Commandments, to see in what sense these theologians have responded to Childs' proposals.

[*] Childs, Exodus, 496.

Call for Papers: Genesis and Christian Theology

I doubt I'll be there, unfortunately, but it looks interesting!

Call for Papers: Genesis and Christian Theology

14-18 July 2009

St Mary’s College, University of St Andrews

The University of St Andrews is pleased to announce its third conference on Scripture and Christian Theology. Since the first conference on the Gospel of John in 2003, the St Andrews conferences have been recognized as one of the most important occasions when biblical scholars and systematic theologians are brought together in conversation about a biblical text. The conferences aim to cut through the megaphone diplomacy or the sheer incomprehension that so often marks attempts to communicate across our disciplines. We invite you then to join us and some of the best theological and biblical minds in careful and often lively interaction about one of the most theologically generative of biblical books: the book of Genesis.

We are now calling for papers that integrate close readings of Genesis with Christian theology. While we are particularly interested in explorations of the dynamic relationship between Genesis and Christian doctrine, we also welcome proposals that combine careful reading of the text of Genesis with theological attention to art, creativity, ecology, ethics, the history of interpretation, or Jewish and Christian dialogue.

The call for paper proposals closes on 15 March 2009. Please visit our website for further details or to submit a proposal: www.st-andrews.ac.uk/divinity/rt/conf/genesis09/.

Interpretation of the Decalogue

At the end of a review of this history of interpretation of the Decalogue, from Jewish midrash through Christian allegory and finally including the historical-critical debate that flourished in Europe, Childs has the following to say:

Certainly it remains a haunting question for anyone who has followed this history of exegesis whether one can really describe it as a history of steadily increasing insight. Perhaps a chart of rising and falling lines would be more appropriate. Certainly, the modern critical period has brought a new dimension of philological and historical precision to bear. Yet to the extent to which the scholar now finds himself increasingly estranged from the very substance which he studies, one wonders how far the lack of content which he discovers stems from a condition in the text or in himself.

Childs, Exodus, 437.

Update: I just read this post again after a few months break. Again, the question arises: why is Childs so cool?

Grace and Law in Exodus

This is part of what we have been doing in our Bible study group. We're looking at the identity of the God of the Old Testament. As Deut 4:32-39 makes clear, God saved Israel and revealed himself to them in word and deed in order that they might know who he is. God's identity is constituted through his salvific action:

Moreover, I have heard the groaning of the people of Israel whom the Egyptians hold as slaves, and I have remembered my covenant. 6 Say therefore to the people of Israel, ‘I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from slavery to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great acts of judgment. 7 I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians. 8 I will bring you into rthe land that I swore to give to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. I will give it to you for a possession. I am the Lord.’ ” (Exod 6:5-8)

This salvation provides the context for obedience to the law:

You yourselves have seenwhat I did to Egypt, and how I carried you on eagle's wings and brought you to myself. Now if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you will be my treasured possession(Exod 19:4-5)

This is seen in the Decalogue itself. God doesn't start with "You shall have no other gods before me" but rather

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. You shall have no other gods before me" (Exod 20:2-3)

This is seen even more clearly in Deuteronomy, where the whole historical prologue, chapters 1-4, precedes the Decalogue in chapter 5.

Fulfilling God's will then, is not a matter of striving to comply to an abstract moral system. It is a response to the redemptive work of God in your life, who calls you into service as a result. Fulfilling God's will is a matter of thankfulness for what God has done.

This echoes the New Testament:

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you (John 15:12)

We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19; see also Rom 12:1).

Sin, then, is not a matter of "missing the mark" in any abstract sense. It is a matter of forgetfulness of what God has done and who he is:

Sons I have reared and brought up,

but they have rebelled against me.

The ox knows its owner,

and the ass its master's crib;

but Israel does not know,

my people does not understand. (Isa 1:2-3)

Again:

they exchanged the glory of God

for the image of an ox that eats grass,

they forgot God, their Saviour,

who had done great things in Egypt (Ps 16:20-21).

Finally,

there is no faithfulness or kindness,

and no knowledge of God in the land;

there is swearing, lying, killing, stealing, and adulery ...

and the land mourns (Hos 4:1-3)

These thoughts are taken from Christ Wright's Old Testment Ethics (reviewed here) and Childs' Old Testament Theology in a Canonical Context.

Jesus and Jewish tradition

Here's what Hermann Diem has to say, taken from my notes on his excellent Dogmatics (the continuity with Childs' canonical approach should be clear!):

Jesus grew up in the Jewish faith in the tradition of Sinai, and recognised its validity by His attitude. In arguments with pharisees, Jesus does not reject the paradosis [Greek for tradition] as such, but applies to it a critical norm as follows: (155)

“where the Law as the content of the paradosis is no longer understood to be the present concrete requirement of God, demanding the self-surrender of man, but rather serves as a form of human righteousness which can be manipulated by man himself in the interests of his own self-justification, then the law in question is to be rejected.” (155)

Jesus

“opposes the tendency to establish the Law as an absolute by putting forward the point of view that the Law exists for the sake of man and not man for the sake of the Law. By this means He refers us back from the Law to the Lawgiver, and thus changes as radically as possible the meaning of the Law itself by restoring its original connexion with the divine Covenant. The Rabbis have forgotten the consolation and the promise of the law and no longer envisage the Scriptures as a whole, as the Book of the Covenant, the document which bears witness to the Covenant grace of God.” (157)

Thus we see His connexion with the Rabbinic tradition of teaching and at the same time the source of His conflict with it. He does not violate the authority of the Scribes and Pharisees ... (Mt. 23:2f), just as much as no iota of the Law will be allowed to perish until all things be accomplished (Mt. 5:18).

For a related post, see my Jewish and Christian appropriation of the Law of Moses

Thread Summary: Examples of "canonical exegesis"

To date, my discussion of the canonical approach on this blog has been largely theoretical and abstract (see this thread, for example). As such, I've decided to collect all my examples of concrete exegesis into one place:

1. Paul's phrase "in accordance with the scriptures"
2. Ancient typology in Genesis 22?
3. The canonical shaping of the Pentateuch, i.e. Genesis, Exodus, Leveticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, with the hermeneutical implications thereof.
4. "Immanuel" in a canonical perspective
5. God, Moses, and Scripture
6. Luke 24:13-35 and the dogmatic/exegesis relation
7. Israel and the divided church
8. "Believing" and "unbelieving" exegesis: an example
9. What was the Deuteronomist doing with the law?
10. "Canon" and the "essence" of Old Testament Prophecy
11. How to read Paul
12. Childs on Jesus and Isaiah 53
13. Canonical shaping of the prophets
14. Source criticism and the final form

What is Good about Noth's Proposal?

Given the methodological problems with Martin Noth's approach to the laws in the Old Testament (see from the perspective of theology), what is good for theology, or at least for Childs' canonical approach?

I can think of two things:

The theological nature of the traditions. One could construe their nature in a number of ways: they primarily reflect economic, social or political forces, with religion used as a convenient veneer. But for Noth, while fully alive to these dimensions of Israel's life, the primary force at work was a theological understanding of God as the gracious elector of a people, and thus their covenant partner. Regardless of a certain historical minimalism concerning the events at Sinai, the traditions of these events serve to delineate the identity of God and his will for his people. This theological construal grounded the sacral confederacy and in the end could only be broken by the prophetic pronouncement that this relationship was over. Admittedly, Noth thinks that the later development in the post-exilic tradition was a retrograde step, but as I pointed out yesterday, theologically critiquing the elements within the Bible is not intrinsically wrong. The problem is the criteria to be used, and here a recognition of the hermeneutical shape of the canon as theological critique makes up for Noth's more historicist approach.

The theological nature of the canonical process is a foundation stone of the canonical approach. If the traditions-cum-texts were not theological, then the ground for the unity of the canon is lost. Noth's approach needs to be supplemented with an appreciation of the theological nature of the editorial process along with it hermeneutical significance.

The power of the traditions in the life of Israel. Childs' canonical approach is predicated on the idea of an ongoing dialectic between Israel's understanding of God and its traditions. In effect, God works through Israel's traditions in order to guide and shape the nation, while bringing them forward according to his eschatological plans. Noth illustrates not only the theological nature of the covenant/law tradition, but also its ability to constrain history, subordinating even kings to its logic. The struggles of the post-exilic community were done in terms of the ancient institution, though admittedly on Noth's estimate the older situation provides the ground for theologically critiquing what came later. Within a canonical framework, there is not distinction between “authentic” and “inauthentic” periods of Israel's history. Rather, the whole process is considered to be a genuine theological witness, so that critical judgement of the elements within the tradition must be done in terms of the structure give to the whole of the tradition.

The Theological Problem With Noth's Approach

In my last post I summarized Martin Noth's thesis concerning the nature of the Israelite law and its place within the Old Testament. I had also suggested (here) that understanding Noth's approach can help us appreciate what kind of history Brevard Childs thought was “allowable” in order for his canonical approach to stand. Today I post my negative evaluation of Noth's approach. Tomorrow comes my positive evaluation.

Leaving aside the self-evident subjectivity involved in all attempts at critical reconstruction, there are theological problems with Noth's method. His construal of the development of Israelite-cum-Jewish attitudes to the Torah involves a clear value judgement. The apparent development of the idea of the Torah as absolute principle, abstracted from any sense of a covenantal relation (a questionable theory in itself), is judged by Noth to be a step in the wrong direction. According to Noth, it is understandable given general human tendencies, but lamentable given the apparently more profound and authentic significance the law had in its original amphictyonic context. In this light, Jesus' attack on the rabbinic Judaism of his day was a valid call to the true meaning of obedience as response to grace rather than requirement for favour.

Making theological judgements like this are not wrong in themselves. Within the Old Testament itself certain traditions are interpreted along certain axes in the later history of Israel. An implicit theological critique is thereby exercised, in which some dimensions of an event are emphasised, reinterpreted or subordinated. The significant theological question is “what are the criteria that are to be used” when making a theological critique? Noth's own criteria are implicit. He talks of “authoritative exegesis” as being the one that interprets the laws in their original context. But by what measure does he judge the later developments to be degenerative? Especially given the fact that this apparent later development is found editorially inserted at all stages throughout the narrative? Childs' contention is that this editing itself was an act of theological critique, shaping the tradition in a particular way so that it may be heard in a new light. The intention of this editorial shaping was to create authoritative Scripture for later generations of the faithful, so that if our theology is to be faithful to the text, it must take into consideration the hermeneutical manoeuvres of these editors, rather than importing criteria from elsewhere and operating with a “canon within the canon.”

Noth couldn't have taken this option, as the canon of rationalism required him separate out what had been put together for the sake of conceptual consistency. But if the editing process is seen to be a hermeneutical manoeuvre with theological intentionality, then a different “theology of the Torah” emerges, one in which law and covenant belong intrinsically together, in which law defines the holiness of the covenant and in which full commitment is demanded in response.

These are some of the conclusions Childs comes to in his canonical reading of Ex. 19 as a whole. The point is that setting the text within its canonical context yields a different reading to the reconstructions of historical criticism. The theological integrity of the final form allows Childs a certain freedom concerning the precise process of the development of the text. Even if Noth's elaborate theory is historically accurate, it doesn't matter. What matters is what it says now.

Except, as I have said, it does matter to some degree what happened in the process of the development of the text. And this something is what Noth preserves, as opposed to the more cynical approaches of recent historical critics. More on that next time.

M. Noth on The Laws in the Pentateuch

In my last post I claimed that B.S. Childs was committed to the “historicality” of the Bible, i.e. its nature as the product of particular people in particular places and times. Not only is it important to come to terms with this dimension of the text, Childs' entire“canonical project” stands or falls depending on how one construes “what actually happened.” To be sure, he allowed for a lot of leeway concerning the historicality of the events portrayed—Childs was no conservative—but the options are not infinite. In order to help us understand what kind of history needs to have taken place, I will illustrate by looking at the critical reconstruction of the history of Israel's laws by Martin Noth.

Childs did not exactly wax lyrical about Noth as he did about von Rad, and “theologian” is not the first job description that comes to mind when one thinks of him. Noth was a historical critic through and through; his passion was uncovering the development of the traditions that eventually led to the final form of the text. Nevertheless, in his actual work we see a sensitivity to the theological dimension of the traditions which Childs held to be critical. Childs respected Noth's work and refers to him positively several times in his Exodus commentary. Though there is certainly plenty in Noth's work that is worth criticising—both historically and theologically—I believe attention to the nature of his historical proposals reveals an attitude common to German critical scholars that formed a positive matrix for the development of Childs' own thinking.

The following is my analysis of his essay “The Laws in the Pentateuch: Their Assumptions and Meaning” in The Laws in the Pentateuch and Other Essays (London: Oliver & Boyd, 1966), 1-107. In my next post I will draw some conclusions concerning the relation between this kind of critical construction and Childs' canonical approach.

I should add that it is not my concern to evaluate the historical validity of Noth's suggestions, but rather to see their relevance to understanding Childs' canonical approach.

In his essay, Noth is concerned to uncover the “true nature” of Old Testament laws, which, despite their diversity, are still “an entity of a particular type.” He starts with the general observation that all human laws require a particular social context in order for them to make sense. In the case of the variegated laws of the Pentateuch, this social context is the “sacral confederacy” of the twelve tribes of Israel. In other words, the social matrix in which these particular laws have their being is not primarily political, it is theological. They are, according to the self-understanding of this confederacy (or “amphictyony”), grounded in a covenantal relationship between Yhwh and his elected people, a relationship which is exclusive and to be guarded at all costs. These laws, in other words, only make sense and indeed only have their validity within the context of a theological construal of a divine/human relationship. Yhwh has “graciously” (to use Noth's term) elected his people and out of this election the people respond in obedience.

This concrete, theological entity known as “the twelve tribes of Israel” (in distinction to the purely political entity of the northern “state of Israel”)continued throughout the historical vicissitudes of Israel's history, up to and into the exile. The power of this sacral confederacy is manifested not only in its ability to survive the political developments of the davidic kingdom, the division of the kingdom and the Assyrian invasion, but also in its impact on the development of these political realities. According to Noth, David's election of Jerusalem only worked because he moved the cultic centre of this amphictyony to the city, and the kings themselves were subordinated to the demands of the sacred laws. Even the “Josianic reform” was done in deference to the prior claims of this religious entity. The law book discovered in the temple, according to Noth, was not an expedient invention of the part of Josiah in order to further his own cause, it was a collection of genuine amphictyonic laws which needed to be inaugurated by a covenantal ceremony involving Yhwh and his people. The laws were made operative, “not by an act of state, but by a sacral ceremony” (45). And not only was this event inherently theological, it was theological in deference to and in continuity with prior Israelite tradition. In this sense, Noth can say that “the introduction of the deuteronomic law under Josiah took place under those circumstances to which the law belonged, on its own showing” (45).

As such, the theological reality which undergirded the amphictyonic league had a concrete Wirkungsgeschichte (i.e. it constrained the direction of later tradition). To be sure, according to Noth, the path hence taken was not straightforward. Josiah did turn this sacred law into state-law, thus shifting its emphasis and later kings disobeyed it altogether. Yet despite everything, the sacral confederacy, and thus the basis for the legitimacy of the laws managed to survive until it was totally destroyed by the exile. But even here, Noth is keen to point out that the decisive element in the dissolution of this group was not political but theological. A cult of sorts could still be carried on at the site of the temple, and there was still a remnant that could lay claim to being the “true amphictyony.” The break came with the pronouncement of the pre-exilic prophets, whose prophecies were confirmed by history, that God had decided to end his relationship with his people. If God pulls out, then the ground upon which the law stands is destroyed.

Without the basis of the confederacy, the law should technically have become invalid. Nevertheless, it persisted in fits and starts amongst competing groups out of competing reasons. Some refused to believe that the relationship was over and hung on to the laws, with prophetic backing, which were now understood within a framework of expectancy of restoration. Others promised the inbreaking of something completely new and discontinuous with the past. Whatever people's hopes, they were not realized and so the old laws became fossilized specimens, detached from their original context. The laws remained “by the power of inertia.” Given their detachment from the theological reality that gave birth to them, these laws became absolutized. No longer were the laws dependent on the “community of the redeemed” (my phrase), but rather the community defined itself in terms of its of a now abstract law, understood to be a self-contained entity. “Covenant” lost its true meaning, morphing into something legalistic, whereby the “salvation by grace” of the amphictyonic league is replaced by works righteousness as God is understood to respond to his people on the basis of their fulfilment of “the law.”

Protestantism anybody?

"Believing" and "unbelieving Exegesis": an example

In a previous post (and here) I asked whether it is possible for a “non-believer” to ever truly understand the Bible. The responses indicate that people assume I'm working with a subjective definition of faith, i.e. the fact of believing itself somehow enables the believer privileged access to the Bible's meaning, hidden from those with other or no faith. I'd like to point out that is not what I mean! When I talk of “believers,” I'm referring to the dominant categories of the faith community to which they belong, rather than any individual cognitive state. In other words, I'm thinking in terms of a community's formal criteria for meaning and truth, it's regula fidei. The important question for interpretation is which categories are most adequate to its subject matter, the Bible. In my opinion, where contemporary criticism errs is that it claims its categories are somehow not those of a particular faith community, but rather objective and theology-free.

I'd like to illustrate with two examples of exegesis of Genesis 1 [*]. The first is taken from H. Gunkel, a critic standing in the classic Enlightenment tradition, the second from Bonhoeffer, a confessional critic with both feet in the tradition of the church.

Gunkel's commentary on Genesis was held to be a commentary of unmatched brilliance, in which he brought to bear on his interpretation the full range of ancient Near Eastern parallels. For Gunkel, chapter 1 of Genesis was a reworking from a Hebrew perspective of the Babylonian creation myth, a reworking that retained much of the mythology in a broken, vestigal form. Gunkel emphasized Israel's unique tradition, and he sought, in the spirit of German romanticism, to instill an aesthetic appreciation for the creative genius of this ancient, primitive document.

This can be contrasted with the interpretation of a young Privatdozent, not particularly well trained in Old Testament, who begins his lecture on Gensis 1-3, not with JEPD but with Genesis 1:1: “In the beginning God ...” Bonhoeffer wrote:

The Bible begins with God's free affirmation, ... free revelation of himself. ... In the beginning, out of freedom, out of nothing, God created the heavens and the earth. This is the comfort with which the Bible addresses us ... who are anxious before the false void, the beginning without a beginning and the end without and end. It is the gospel, it is the resurrected Christ of whom one is speaking here. God is in the beginning and he will be in the end. ... The fact that he lets us know this is mercy, grace, forgiveness and comfort. (Creation and Fall, 11, 16)

I'm not sure how to relate these two radically different interpretations ... What makes the difference? Is one more adequate than the other or are they both independent ways of doing two different things? Which one grapples better with the “subject matter” of Genesis 1? As Childs asks, “what caused Bonhoeffer to plunge into a new dimension of reality?”

It seems to me that the difference is one of interpretative context, rather than refined exegetical skill. One is the ancient Near East, the other is the canonical context of the church. But which context helps us grasp the Bible's substance, res, Sachverhalt best?

[*] Taken from Childs, “Interpreting the Bible Amid Cultural Change,” Theology Today 54 (1994), 200-211.

The Talmud on "Costly Grace"

I subscribe to a weekly "eDrash," a commentary on the weekly Parasha along with a connection to a New Testament parallel. The group responsible for this call themselves "First Fruits of Zion" and believe that conversion to Christianity entails keeping the Mosaic Law, including the Oral Law. Fascinating!

I rarely have time to read their comments, but I found today's really interesting. It's a story from the Talmud and as a Christian I found it's message spot on. It illustrates the existential dimension of genuine faith. As Bonhoeffer says: "acquired knowledge cannot be divorced from the existence in which it is acquired." [*] Wanting to follow God's commandments is one thing, grasping what that actually means is another thing altogether. The difference amounts to the distinction between "cheap" and "costly" grace.

I've cut off the commentary's Christian application as I didn't find it relevant. Here's the rest:

Thought for the Week

Out of all countries, the Holy One, blessed be He, chose the land Israel, and from the land of Israel he selected the Temple, and from the Temple, He selected only the Holy of Holies. Similarly, out of all the nations God selected Israel, and from Israel, He selected the tribe of Levi, and of the Tribe of Levi, He chose Aaron. (Exodus Rabbah 37:4)

Commentary

You shall make holy garments for Aaron. (Exodus 28:2)

Once it happened, in the days of the Master, that a certain prominent Gentile, a high-ranking officer in the Roman government, was walking past a study hall in Jerusalem when he overheard the school children learning their Torah verses. The man stopped and listened for a little while. He heard the teacher reading from the Torah portion about the high priest’s special garments. He listened while the teacher read the words, "These are the garments which they shall make: a breastpiece and an ephod and a robe and a tunic of checkered work, a turban and a sash, and they shall make holy garments" (Exodus 28:4).

The Gentile did not know anything about the Bible or Judaism except what he had just heard. He stopped in and asked, "Who are these garments for?" The teacher told him, "For the high priest." The Gentile said to himself, "I will convert to Judaism so that I can become a high priest." He went to Rabbi Shammai, one of the leading sages of the Sanhedrin, and said, "I will allow you to make me into a proselyte on the condition that when I am Jewish you appoint me as high priest." Shammai was so infuriated by the man’s impertinence that he took a swing at him with a builder’s cubit and drove him away. Undeterred, the man went to Rabbi Hillel, Shammai's colleague and another leader of the Sanhedrin. He made Rabbi Hillel the same offer. Hillel accepted the terms and made him a proselyte. But he said to him, "Before a man can be made king, he has to learn about politics and government. Before you can be a high priest, you need to study the arts of governing over Israel from the Torah." The man studied Torah in preparation for becoming high priest, and as he studied, he realized that he did not qualify for the position. He could never be high priest. "Even the common Israelite cannot serve in the priesthood, but only the sons of Aaron; how much less am I eligible," he said. He went to Shammai and said, "If a stranger is not eligible to serve as high priest, why didn’t you just tell me that?" He went to Rabbi Hillel and said, "O gentle Hillel, may blessings rest on your head for bringing me under the wings of the Divine Presence of God. If not for you, I would not have become a believer."

[*] Dietrich Bonhoeffer The Cost of Discipleship (trans. R. H. Fuller; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 51. Trans. of Nachfolge (München: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1937).