Words, Communication and the “Bigness” of Language

Who would have thought something as innocent as language could fuel a debate?  Actually, I suppose it makes sense; we all use language.  But it did not occur to me that language itself can take on new meanings.

Recently, in a class on interpretation, the professor made a case for the “bigness” (my word, not his) of language.  He sees our surroundings “speaking” to us in a way.  Pieces of art communicate without words and often we discern the piece’s meaning much the same way.    We cannot “put it into words.”  A tragic situation or the aftermath of a disaster is usually wordless.  But there is no less communication, no fewer expressions than in a situation full of words and conversation.  But is this language?  Are there really patterns in the world or events that communicate meaning enough to constitute “language”?

Some in the class disagree.  One student, majoring in Musicology, believes it is precisely our inability to put music into words that forces us to reserve “language” for our system of lexemes, morphology and syntax, not any other sort of communicable reality.  Another student, a linguistics major, thinks along these same lines.  She even says the definition “language” has already been claimed by linguists: it is the socio-linguistic system of words that we all agree upon, though the system can take on different shapes (Spanish, German, Arabic, etc.).  Interestingly, she brought in Wittgenstein (who might have something to say about reserving “language” for the linguists and philosophers!).  Both students insist that my professor needs to pick a different term.  Anything but “language.”

Two problems bubble up.  First, the argument can easily swing the other way.  What if “language” appropriately fits on the meta-level (communication via real life) and our social system of words and phrases is the one that needs to pick a different term?  Is it not just as reasonable to say that our “word-system” is a permutation of a larger whole?  It is striking.  We speak of “language” as the process of communicating things and ideas while at the same time calling systems like Spanish and German “languages.”  I don’t think there is a problem with this duality; language is big and covers little versions of “language.”  Maybe there are three levels: 1) the meta-language woven through reality; 2) language as the human system of words and figures of speech; 3) languages specific to a nation or ethnicity.

The second problem is analogy.  For the sake of argument, let’s say we cannot use “language” to refer to how reality communicates to us.  Still, we require linguistic terms to describe this level of expression.  A painting, for example,  conveys, means, expresses, symbolizes, points to, obscures, clarifies and even communicates.  In explaining the action taking place between the experience and the one experiencing, we inevitably use language-like terms to show what we mean.  We interpret language wherever we go, whether it is from a person, a book or a piece of music.

Language is a toughy.  If anyone has any suggestions for how to think about this stuff, throw down! But whatever it is, you can’t use language.  Just kidding.

Movie Break: Doctor Who

Alright, Doctor Who is not a movie.  Nevertheless, it is definitely worth noting.  If you are looking for a televised equivalent to hard drugs, look no further.  This show has been on the BBC from 1963-1989 and then from 2005-Now, making it the longest running science fiction series of all time.  For the purposes of this post, I can only discuss what is called the “New Doctor Who” (2005+) since I haven’t seen the older episodes.  Assuming the difference is similar to the old Star Trek series and the new spinoffs, then I think I’ll live.

A mysterious traveler, known only as “The Doctor,” shoots through space and time, righting wrongs, solving galactic puzzles and generally being rad.  Along the way, he gets lonely and picks up an earth girl of one personality or another and they travel together as “companions.”  How do they travel?  A blue, 1950’s phone-booth originally meant to call police and now acts as a time machine entitled the “Tardis”….of course.  The Doctor has a sonic-screwdriver that opens any door.  Every alien imaginable is encountered, even one that is just a face (“The Face of Bo”).  They meet Charles Dickens, Agatha Christie…you name it!

At this point, you are reacting one of several ways: 1) Respectful Decline (“Hmm.”); 2) Disbelief (“There’s no such show.”); 3) Rejection (“LAME!”); 4) Embrace (“I will drop what I am doing and watch it immediately.”).  Assuming you picked number 4, you will not be disappointed.  Trust me, I realize what the synopsis sounds like.  Each situation that appears “too fantastic” in the show is balanced by clever resolutions.  Take the run-time of the whole series for example: the way the show has been running since the 60’s as well as supplying fresh “Doctors” (after all, how can the same guy play the main role all these years?) is because of a side-story written into the fabric of the premise.  When the Doctor is mortally wounded, he regenerates.  Once he regenerates, his appearance completely changes; hence, the reason there have been 11 Doctors (David Tennant being the best, in my opinion)!  It is a fine way to counter the tendency for protagonists to be a flat, one-sided character over time.  This variety adds all sorts of fun dimensions to the show.

But the genius of the show lies in its unfettered imagination.  By “unfettered,” I mean boundless; no plotline is off-limits.  Still, its not silly or childish.  There are some laughs, but to call it ‘tongue-in-cheek’ is inaccurate.  The places they go, the encounters they have and the questions they run into are captivating.  As with any good show or film, it defies emotional strictures (sadness for dramas, fear for horror, etc.), tapping into every mental sensation you can imagine.  Sometimes all these genres mix together.  Sometimes you really don’t know what you are supposed to think.

In an entertainment world where the same formula is constantly repeated (Big Brother to Jersey Shore, Law and Order to CSI, True Blood to the Vampire Diaries and on and on and on), at least one show is throwing out the over-processed cloning that seems to make up today’s television.  How many more motions do we have to go through until we realize that high-quality shows and films do not need “realism” (alleged), a bloated budget, actors who are there for appearances’ sake or even the ridiculous rants that pass for true-to-life dialogue?  It will be awhile, but until then, we have the Doctor.

Its Like Using a Bible to Paddle Through Microchips…

Biblical interpretation is not a science, but its not just an art either.  One characteristic we can be sure about is biblical interpretation is, in part, malleable.  The way we read contours to the lifestyle and habits of the interpreter.

So what sort of biblical interpretation can we expect from a culture inundated by technology?  In a paper, given at ETS, Brian Toews discusses the relationship between biblical interpretation and two different worldviews: the technological and the agrarian.

The “technologian” tends to use the world around him or her.  Consider a river: when the techno-worldview encounters the river, he or she sees a location for a power-plant driven by the water.  The world is shaped, changed and ultimately exploited in order to profit the user.  What is key is how the world changes from one thing to another.  Conversely, the agrarian worldview sees a windmill.  In this case, the force of either the water or the wind propels the windmill.  Something is generated for the user, but not at the expense of the world.  No use or exploitation occurs; it is the very definition of “natural.”

To make his point stronger, Toews adds C.S. Lewis to the mix.  In an inaugural address at Cambridge, Lewis noted the following:

“Lastly, I play my trump card. Between Jane Austen and us, but not between her and Shakespeare, Chaucer, Alfred, Virgil, Homer, or the Pharaohs, comes the birth of the machines. This lifts us at once into a region of change far above all that we have hitherto considered. For this is parallel to the great changes by which we divide epochs of pre-history. This is on a level with the change from stone to bronze, or from a pastoral to an agricultural economy. It alters Man’s place in nature. The theme has been celebrated till we are all sick of it, so I will here say nothing about its economic and social consequences, immeasurable though they are. What concerns us more is its psychological effect…But I submit that what has imposed this climate of opinion so firmly on the human mind is a new archetypal image. It is the image of old machines being superseded by new and better ones. For in the world of machines the new most often really is better and the primitive really is the clumsy. And this image, potent in all our minds, reigns almost without rival in the minds of the uneducated. For to them, after their marriage and the births of their children, the very milestones of life are technical advances.”

If we agree with Lewis, a reorientation of the human image took place.  It is easy to see how our view of scriptural interpretation falls within this same reorientation.  Too often, readers of the Bible use the text to produce an effect, a result, or, to stick with the technological jargon, a product.  Not only do we reduce the text to a single, static expression (by making Scripture a producer), we suffer the effects of living with a technologized set of lenses.  We become impatient.  We become unsatisfied.  No longer can we sit and read an entire book of Scripture; it must be cut down to verses and snippets.  Think about it: people have difficulty with speaking to another human being or watching a full-length film without texting, tweeting or watching things in 3-D.

An article in Outside magazine, entitled “Natural Intelligence,” makes some striking remarks along these lines:

“Information has infiltrated our every waking minute.  Unctuous personalities squawk at us from flat-panel TVs on gas pumps.  Billboard companies replace pasted paper with flashing digital displays.  Screens pop up in airports, coffeehouses, banks, grocery-store checkout line, even restrooms.  Advertisers hawk DVDs for preschoolers on the paper liners of examination tables in pediatricians’ offices.  This info-blitzkrieg has spawned a new field called interruption science and a newly minted condition: continuous partial attention.”

I’m not a big fan of the “Studies show…” hype, but these ideas compel me to keep an eye out for suspicious activity.  Imagine having “continuous partial attention” every time you read the Book through which your life is governed!  This article also hits on  what we lose in the “info-blitzkrieg”:

“Electronic immersion without a force to balance it creates a hole in the boat, draining our ability to pay attention, think clearly, be productive and creative.”

We need not subscribe to just any “force to balance.”  I don’t even know what such a force looks like exactly.  But it is enough to know a natural, non-exploitative way of reading Scripture is at stake.  Of course, “natural reading” can sound similar to “the one, right way of reading.”  Certainly, it is a danger; however, “natural” should be inclusive, expansive and communal (not unlike an agrarian worldview).

Toews is on to something, in the end.  Biblical interpreters ought to be on their guard, not only in terms of rendering interpretations accurately, but by checking their surroundings for what is both subtle and oppressive.

Canon and Scripture in 11 Lines or Less!

In the latest issue of JETS, Eugene Merrill attempts to summarize Brevard Childs, the canonical approach as well as its impact on Old Testament biblical studies.  What is truly amazing is not that he proceeds to criticize the approach, but that he attempts to do all this in 11 lines.  How inspiring!

My purpose in calling attention to this section of the article is not to fault Merrill for writing too little on the subject.  No, my intention is to note an unfortunate truth: Childs’ canonical approach, I suggest, is still misunderstood by his detractors.

Merrill is a gifted scholar, to be sure.  He possesses a comprehensive perspective of the OT as evident in his many works.  However, this point does not preclude a tendency to write off those pesky OT perspectives that allegedly wave a “liberal flag.”  Let’s look at some of the oversights in Merrill’s section (entitled ‘Canonical Redaction [or reduction],’ har, har):

“Brevard Childs popularized the terms ‘canonical criticism’ and ‘canonical theology,’ meaning in both cases that all that can be known for certain about the OT and its development is what can be found in its final post-exilic canonical form.  This appears to rid the scholar of the need to quarrel over method in constructing models to account for the origins and processes of biblical tradition.  The whole can be dismissed by maintaining that the canonical shape is the last layer of reshaping and reinterpreting biblical texts so as to make them meaningfully authoritative to every generation that embraced them as God’s word.  Once more, evangelicals in some instances are finding comfort in this approach because it delivers them from the burden of always having to argue for or ‘prove’ some point or other as regards authorship, dating, text transmission, and the like.”

We can begin at the beginning.  Merrill  believes Child’s popularized ‘canonical criticism’ and ‘canonical theology.’  Neither is completely true and both need qualification.  Canonical ‘criticism’ is a good designation for James Sander’s work which seeks to supplement other higher-critical tools with an awareness of canonical function.  On the contrary, Childs was not the least bit comfortable with the label “canonical criticism” for this reason; a “canonical approach” (a more accurate heading) was never meant to be another higher-critical tool.

‘Canonical theology’ is too broad to represent Childs’ approach well.  So many interpreters claim a canonical aspect to his or her theology that the concept is bound to flow into and mix with some voices that do not agree with some of Childs’ major contributions (e.g., Christine Helmer, James Barr, Nicholas Wolterstorff, Kevin Vanhoozer).  Issues of canonical unity and interpretation tend to bleed into issues of ‘biblical theology.’

The second, and most important, problem with Merrill’s blip is his rendition of what Childs calls the “final form.”  This idea is the epicenter of misinterpretation.  Echoing the well-noted concerns of John Barton, The Old Testament: Canon, Literature and Theology (2007) and James Barr, Holy Scripture: Canon, Authority and Criticism (1983), scholars accuse Childs of dismissing the interpretive value of the pre-canonical material while at the same time privileging the interpretive value of the final presentation of the canon.

This accusation is not only unfounded, its boring!  The hand-me-down effect of this indictment is huge; too many biblical scholars default to the secondary literature and, thereby, do violence to the definition of “final form.”  Childs’ primary concern is “understanding the relationship between the divine initiative that created Israel’s Scripture and the human response that receives and transmits the authoritative Word” (Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture [1975], 79).  Naturally, this program endeavors to look at everything in between.  The final form, therefore, is nothing without its formationality.  Studying the final form of the text implies that one study the rough texture of the text preceding the final presentation.  We can not identify the final form without an eye toward this development; the final form would be shapeless.

As for Merrill’s last remark, it is difficult to say whether or not he is serious.  Does he believe evangelicals need to “prove” authorship, date and the like?  Why is “prove” in quotes?  If this statement is in the same vein as sentence two (which I believe it is), then it seems the sarcasm train has left the station.  Well played, sir!  As Christopher Seitz points out in an essay on theological interpretation and canon, these elements (authorship, transmission, dating) are precisely what most evangelical scholars believe Childs emphasizes too much.  Take Childs’ commentary on the book of Daniel, for example.  Much of the preliminary remarks are devoted to the bi-fold construction of the chapters, a Maccabean dating and the historical situation surrounding transmission (namely, the actions of Antiochus IV).  Few evangelicals enjoy this little bit of historical reconstruction.

Little else needs to be said about Merrill’s mini-rant, but I suppose it is only 10-11 lines  🙂