[A Wright Understanding of Biblical Studies]
By Darren King
If you're perused the pages of Precipice once or twice you've no doubt concluded that the writings of N.T. Wright receive mention as much as anyone's, perhaps more so. The Bishop of Durham's work has certainly been pivotal, almost beyond measure, in my own understanding. Of course, there's nothing particularly novel about that. After all, the Bish is often noted, quoted and referenced in a wide variety of emerging church contexts. And his influence certainly goes well beyond the rather porous boundaries of the EC. Scot McKnight recently went as far as to say that the work of Wright represents the future of western theological studies. High praise indeed!
Of the numerous Wright books that I've read include two of the three in his epic three part series Christian Origins and the Question of God. Actually, when it comes to this particular series, I've actually been reading it like Hebrew; which is to say that I've been reading them from last to first. in 2006 I digested the voluminous the Resurrection of the Son of God, a mammoth 800-page beast which is the third of the three book series. Last year I followed that up with the equally good, and just slightly less large Jesus and the Victory of God. And now, over the last couple of weeks, I've been working my way through the first book in the series, The New Testament and the People of God. If you get the opportunity, and you can handle the sheer size of these books - they range in size from 500 to 800 pages each - it's well worth the time and effort spent to read them. This three part series is a thorough theological, biblical education in itself.
Wright begins this first book in the series, as he does to some extent with the other two, with a quick overview of the discipline of biblical studies. In the introduction Wright distills for us the two streams of thought that tend to express 20th and 21st century biblical studies. The Bishop writes,
There have been two groups, broadly, who have tried to inherit this territory for themselves, to make this book (the New Testament) their own preserve... here are those who, having seized power a century or two ago, and occupying major fortresses (eminent chairs, well-known publishing houses, and so-forth), insist that the New Testament be read in a thoroughgoing historical way, without inflicting on it the burden of being theologically normative. We must find out the original meanings of the texts, and them out as carefully as we can, irrespective o the feelings of those who thought that a particular passage belonged to them and meant something different. There is sometimes an arrogance about this claim to power. Building on the apparent strength of history, and able to demonstrate the inadequacies of the simple way of life which preceded them, such scholars have set up concrete gun stations where before there were vineyards, and they patrol the streets to harass those who insist on the old simplistic ways.
There are, those on the other side, those who have shown just as much determination in resisting the advance of the new regime. Some still regard the New Testament as a sort of magic book, whose 'meaning' has little to do with what the 1st century authors intended, and a lot to do with how some particular contemporary group has been accustomed to hear in it a call to a particular sort of spirituality or lifestyle. This phenomenon is seen most obviously in fundamentalism, but it is by no means confined to the groups (mostly in the Protestant traditions) for which the word is usually reserved.
Wright goes on to argue that both of these responses are born of Modern assumptions. Both are responses, to some degree, to questions posed by the Enlightenment experiment. It should be remembered that Wright penned these words back in 1989. Still, not all that much has changed since then. Take Marcus Borg for instance. A contemporary of Wright, Borg claims that the supernatural-style events in the Gospels must
necessarily be a-historical, later church editions and additons, simply because the Modern Mind knows that such events are patently impossible. Therefore, according to Borg and his like, another explanation for their appearance in the New Testament texts must exist. But to those of us postmodernly-informed, such assumptions reach too far. In fact, as Wright argues in this book, this distinction between the 'natural' and the 'supernatural' is itself a Modern construct. Still, as much as we postmoderns disagree with Borg's worldview assumptions, he is still a very popular, influential New Testament scholar- especially in mainline Protestant circles. Not surprising of course, considering they too hang their understanding largely around Modern constructs. Which is to the point, not much has changed in the various streams of biblical studies since 1989.
What I appreciate about Wright is that he is not afraid to wear two hats simultaneously. He doesn't lend any credence to the claim that to be a good, honest scholar, one must detach oneself from faith. In reality, there is
no unbiased perspective. Whether you approach the New Testament and the events within it with the skeptical lens of a secular humanist, or through the optimistic lens of a follower of Christ, one's worldview is going to both
take from, and
contribute to, the interpretation of the text itself, as well as the historical process surrounding it. As Wright puts it "all history involves selection, arrangement and so on, and... the idea of a 'neutral' or 'objective' history is a figment of post-Enlightenment imagination." Understanding this inevitable subjectivity, Wright didn't bat an eye when shifting from the role of New Testament scholar to that of the Bishop of Durham several years ago. Nor does he assume his theological enquiries should stop now that he has taken on a more "spiritual", pastoral role. The role informs the enquiry, and vice versa.
Thinking about all of this yesterday, my mind drifted back to my Biblical Studies days in university. I remember beginning the program through the eyes of faith. But somewhere around my second year, I shifted towards the more narrow perspective of historical reconstruction and literary analysis. The shift was not sudden, but gradual. And at first I sought out a greater, more nuanced understanding of historical context and literary genre, in order to gain more perspective for my faith. Still, I have to admit that, at some point, towards the end of that year, I found myself left with a loosely connected collection of tattered shreds that were once composite parts. I had deconstructed to the point where the temple of my own understanding had nearly crumbled. Then I realized that when it comes to faith and New Testament understanding, this inspired work of God definitely is more than the sum of its parts. You can peak in the nooks and crannies for color and clarity, but press too far - without simultaneously holding to the bigger picture - and the whole thing begins to come apart at the seams.
So what's the solution then? Onward with the endless deconstruction, or forward with the unwavering eye of assumptive faith? Well... neither. Which is to say... both/and. The truth is that there's value in blending the two. Where the line begins and stops I can't tell you. But then again, that's a bit of Modern question, isn't it? As others have pointed out, ultimately Christianity is an experience of the risen, historical, yet transcendent Lord, not an intellectual system one ascents to. So if it is my, or your, intellectual infrastructure that is challenged, well then, that's not really our faith in Jesus anyway, is it? To those who have ears let them hear!
As Wright argues throughout this voluminous three volume series, these two disciplines: faith and study, must necessarily interact with each other. If they do not then we have done justice neither to faith, nor to contextualized, historical study. Wright summarizes the interaction between these two thusly,
Here is the paradox that lies at the heart of this whole project. Although the Enlightenment began as, among other things, a critique of orthodox Christianity, it can function, and in many ways has functioned, as a means of recalling Christianity to genuine history, to its necessary roots. Much Christianity is afraid of history, frightened that if we reallt find out what happened in the first cetury our faith will collapse. But without historical enquiry there is no check on Christianity's propensity to remake Jesus, never mind the Christian god, in its own image. Equally, much Christianity is afraid of scholarly learning, and in so far as the Enlightenment programme was an intellectual venture, Christianity has responded with the simplicities of faith. But, granted that learning without love is sterile and dry, enthusiasm without learning can easily become blind ignorance.
