REFLECTION- Rhetoric and Ethic: Introduction

This is the beginning of a series of reflections based upon my reading of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza's book Rhetoric and Ethic (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999). Schüssler Fiorenza is a New Testament scholar who has been foundational for feminist biblical studies. Each reflection will be based upon a chapter of the book and will generally start with a quotation from which the bulk of my thoughts will spring. Hopefully, my thoughts will be relevant and provoking without having read the book; but if you are interested further, you should pick up this book or another book by Schüssler Fiorenza (In Memory of Her is an excellent starting point).

"If biblical studies were to change into a public discourse it would not seek just to describe and understand but to change and transform the unjust situation of wo/men's religious and academic silencing marginalization, and exploitation. Biblical studies would then be able to acknowledge openly its political function rather than to continue to hide behind a value-neutral and disinterested scientistic ethos of scholarship." (Schüssler Fiorenza, p.8)

Perhaps those of us on the margins know it best: interpretation has consequences. How we read a text influences our actions, especially when these texts are viewed as sacred scripture. This is not necessarily shocking news to anyone: in the past hundred years we have witnessed many horrors as the result of dangerous interpretation. And scholarship has certainly learned that it to has to be careful what it says. But, dangerous interpretation is not the only problem with which biblical studies needs to be concerned. The myth that Schüssler Fiorenza identified ten years ago still pervades biblical scholarship today; this myth is that there is a solitary correct interpretation of a text ("what the author really meant") and that with the proper tools we can discover this interpretation.

Does this sound a little like high school chemistry? It should: that's why Schüssler Fiorenza coins the term "scientistic" to describe it. And that's the problem: biblical interpretation cannot be a science. For starters, we are too removed from the time period and the texts we have are so scrambled that it is anyone's guess what the original manuscript actually said. We can make damned good educated guesses, but at the end of the day, we have to admit that we are nowhere near certainty.

Maybe it is possible to actually discover what someone actually wrote and meant two thousand or more years ago. But even if the apostle Paul were to pop in from heaven (or hell...) and tell us exactly what he meant in all his letters (and which ones he actually wrote), this would not change the fact that the Bible has a life of its own. Trying to leave biblical interpretation under the terms of the first century is impossible because too many people still find these texts to have relevance and meaning to their lives today. Claiming historical authenticity is not a method of exact interpretation: it is an attempt to fortify one's interpretation in the past in order to blockade responsibility for the consequences of an interpretation.

The truth is that everyone approaches textual interpretation with a different background and point of view: our experience informs how we read a text. As a gay man, I read the Bible differently from someone else, be s/he heterosexual, transgender, lesbian, etc. Too often, the "most historically accurate" reading of a biblical text is truthfully the way a white, educated, Western, heterosexual male would interpret it. What biblical studies must do is realize that there is a plurality of interpretations for any given text, and this is okay. Instead of focusing on whose interpretation is the most accurate (nobody's is), we need to discover what informs each other's approaches, attempt to learn about other backgrounds and reading methods, and seek to examine and critique the consequences of an interpretation. This approach seems much more fruitful than a quest for the holy grail of true textual meaning.

On "Literal" Translation

These days it seems just about impossible to talk about the New Testament, as written in Greek, without somehow ending up in a discussion about what the most "literal" translation of the text would be. Actually, this can be found in discussion of translation outside of the Greek NT: in my last Greek class (classical Greek), we would often cite the "literal" translation of a word or phrase. This terminology is problematic. The problem is that "literal" is becoming synonymous with "accurate" - a translation of the text that is not literal strays too far from what is actually written in the original. Maybe that part isn't such a problem by itself. The problem is when "literal" also comes to mean "word-for-word" (as close as possible). Unfortunately, translation is not an exact science: you cannot plug one word in for another as if decoding a child's cipher (a=1; b=2, etc.).Languages do not develop with the thought "How will this translate?" As a student of Greek, I have come to discover that it is impossible to completely convey the sense of a Greek text in another language. No translation can be perfect: the goal of translation therefore is to give the best approximation of a text in a language that will allow it to be read by a wider audience. It is possible for one translation to be better than another, but it is also possible for two translations to be very different but equally accurate.

Moving back to "literal" translation, meaning a translation that tries to convey the meaning of each word individually. As noted before, this method generally does not produce an accurate sense of the original text when the entire translation is put together as a whole document. However, when an argument is being made, reference is often made to the "literal" translation in order to make a more convincing argument. I have come to prefer a less loaded term for this kind of translation: usually either "hyperliteral" or "over-literal." These emphasize the fact that word-for-word translation produces a very convoluted version of the original text. Using these terms helps to prevent the danger of allowing "literal translation" to imply the more accurate translation.

So, where does this all leave us? Translation is ultimately subjective. There is no such thing as one objective, most-accurate, "literal" translation. This notion must be abandoned. Every translation is subject to the emphasis and concerns of the translator(s). This is crucial to be conscious of, whether one is reading a translation or doing the translating.

Sound Byte: Rabbi Jonathan Magonet

"Sound Bytes" are quick-ish quotations that I come across that seem interesting and relevant for me to share, but I feel they do not require further comments or explanation at the time.

"In 1968 our progressive Jewish youth movement hosted a group of young Czech Jews for a conference near Edinburgh...We studied some Bible texts and they were incredibly good at understanding them, picking up all the nuances very quickly. I was surprised as they had never studied the Bible before. 'It's easy,' they explained. 'You see, in Czechoslovakia, when you read a newspaper, first you read what is written there. Then you say to yourself, "If that is what they have written, what really happened? And if that is what really happened, what are they trying to make us think? And if that it what they are trying to make us think, what should we be thinking instead?" You learn to read between the lines and behind the lines. You learn to read a newspaper as if your life depended upon understanding it--because it does!' Sometimes the same applies to the Bible, you just have to learn how to read."

-Jonathan Magonet, A Rabbi's Bible (London: SCM Press, 1991), 25; as quoted in Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 14.

Dethroning the god of Masculine Language

And it happened, after the first post! I delayed for a month and a half trying to find the time and the energy to write another entry. Oh well, at least I'm doing it now.

I've been pressured to write about gendered language--something that has always been a "battle" of mine. Changing how we think about language and the defaults that we create is an act that I see as being essential. What I find difficult about writing this post is that there are so many different directions that this post could take. Thus, I begin with a warning: this post could be read as scratching the surface of my thoughts, but it is in no way complete. More than likely, I will have much, much more to write on this topic. That being said, comments (especially constructive ones) are always encouraged. There ends my warning.

My battle for inclusive language began where many begin: God's gender and using gendered-language and metaphors for God. Mary Daly wrote/said, "When God becomes male, the male becomes God" (sorry, I don't have the citation for this). "He/his/him" and "father" are probably the most common Christian references for God--in common discussion, liturgy, and translation of the Bible. However, most Christians will say they believe that God is beyond gender or is genderless. Clearly this belief does not manifest itself in the practice. For many, this is fine: we know God is not actually a man, so it is okay to refer to God solely male imagery. It's more comfortable; it's what we've always done; it's strange to change the language; Jesus did it and so did all of the Church Fathers...and so the list of excuses goes on.

I maintain that this is in fact not okay. In fact, it's hypocritical. If you exclusively use masculine imagery for God, then the God you are speaking about is male. And, as Mary Daly says so well, once God becomes male, then men take the higher ground. Male remains the language default in which the female must decide whether she is included. The male in effect remains God.
I could probably continue write until eternity about male references for God and why I firmly disagree with every argument I've heard defending it. This will be the subject of a future post [hold me to this].

But I move to a more generally concern with gendered language, which is demonstrated in the battle of God's gender. This is concern is: male is default. It happens in every language, English included. But I've noticed it much more particularly as I have started picking up my "ancient lanuages" (Greek and Hebrew to be specific). Unlike English, these languages are actually gendered. Every noun has a gender, and every adjective must be coded to agree with the gender of its subject. There are a lot of ways this can go, but I am going to talk about markedness within language. This is a concept I originally learned in Greek: certain forms are considered more "marked" than others. Unless you have a good reason, you always used the least marked form. For gender, masculine is less marked, neuter and feminine are more marked. This follows in most other languages. If you are referring to a man, you use the masculine. If you are referring to a woman, you use the feminine. If the gender is ambiguous (or you have a mixed group), the gender remains masculine. English-speakers (to speak to what I know) have tried to correct this in common speech (it is now more correct to say "his or her" or even "their" than to say "his"), but masculine still remains the default (most people find it jarring to hear "his or her" and especially just "her").

The problem with this is that it privileges the male, which is the unmarked default. It sounds small, but it is not. Language has power; the way we choose to use language influences our mindsets and what we are used to hearing. To allow masculine language to remain the default continues a system in which men are automatically preferred by virtue of always being included in general language. Those not part of the unmarked group (women) must adapt to deciding whether the language actually includes them in any given situation and to being referred to as part of a gender to which they do not identify.

Of recent, my favorite example of this is from translation of Mark 13.15-16 (part of the apocalyptic sayings of Jesus). My translation of the verse is: "The one on the roof must not go down nor enter from her/his house to take up something, and the one in the field must not return to the things-left-behind to take up her/his garment." If one chooses to bring out the masculine language in this verse, it would read: "The man on the roof must not go down nor enter his house to take up something, and the one in the field must not return to the things-left-behind to take up his garment."
Neither translation is technically wrong: if one interprets this passage to only be speaking to men, then the latter translation makes sense. If one thinks that Jesus is speaking more generally, then the former is more correct. When I produced the former translation on a test, my Greek instructor crossed through the "her" in "her/his." I argued--and still maintain--that my translation is correct as written. Yes, technically I have translated a third-person-singular masculine pronoun ("his" in English) as a gender-neutral term; but in Greek, the feminine equivalent would only have been used if solely women were in mind.

Some might call the latter translation (using only "his") more "literal" but I maintain that this is incorrect terminology. This is the most literal translation if you were translating the text in 1960, when it was still standard in English to refer to both male and female subjects using the masculine. This is no longer standard in English--it is still "acceptable," though I also maintain that it is actually not acceptable to permit sexist language. It is true that Greek does not have the same gender sensitivity that we have today, and it is also true that this makes translating a text into English a challenging task (for authorial intent comes into question). When we translate an ancient text into our own language, we cannot use the sexist language of the past as an excuse for us to continue using sexist language. As I have noted above, there is to much at stake in the way we use language and the power that gendered language has over our thoughts. The male will continue to be God until we are willing to enforce a change in how we gender our language in all areas.

Increasing the Presbyqueerian Population

So, here goes. I'm starting a blog...we'll see how long it lasts. And what ends up on here. I've thought for a while that it might be nice to have a place to put some of my thoughts out in the open, but I always decided it wasn't worth it. Until today:

I was Googling "Presby-queer-ian" after church to see if I could find the t-shirt I had heard about. Instead, I came across a Blog by this title, described as a "feminist, queer, ordination journey." There were only six posts, but all of them rang true to many of my own experiences. While I am not seeking ordination, I am (like the author) decidedly Presbyterian; despite many considerations of changing denominations to a more open-and-affirming one, I have found myself more comfortable and at-home in the PC(USA). At times, it is frustrating being a feminist, postmodern, uber-liberal, gay man who is somewhat loosely (at least these days) in the Presbyterian church. At the end of a blog-post, the author above wrote, "So right now in the island of identities, we are at Presbyqueerian, population – 1."

My thought was "Two! Two!" It was then I realized that Presbyqueerians are probably a pretty small breed: especially when it comes to Presbyqueerians attending seminary or divinity school. The church, generally speaking, won't ordain us; the result is that many leave. The number probably decreases when you throw in an additional qualifier of people who are deeply engaged in feminism and gender theory.

So, that's me: A gay feminist Presbyterian preparing to study New Testament with a heavy eye to gender theory and criticism.

My blog is titled "Questiong certainty, with a lot of doubt..." with thanks to Anne Lamott, who writes, "...the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some life returns" (from Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith). This title also rings true to my interest in postmodernism, which often calls default interpretations into question, posits new ideas, but always leaves the ultimate answer in ambiguity.