A New Kind of Christianity - Brian McLaren [39]
Read as a constitution, the Bible has passages that can and have been used to justify, if not just about anything, an awful lot of wildly different things. For example, let’s say we approach the Bible with this question: How should we treat our enemies? Matthew 5:44 tells us to love them. Romans 12:17–21 tells us to do good to them and never seek revenge against them. First Peter 3:13–17 tells us to suffer at their hands and set an example for them. Psalm 137:9 says we should joyfully dash their infants against a rock. Psalm 139:19 says we should hate them. Deuteronomy 7:1–6 says we should destroy them utterly and show them no mercy. If we want to call down fire on them, we can reference 1 Kings 18:20–40, but before we do so, we’d better check Luke 9:51–56, which condemns that kind of thinking. Similarly, we could find verse precedents in the Bible to justify polygamy and celibacy as equal or better alternatives to monogamy (Gen. 4:19; Exod. 21:10; Deut. 25:5–10; Titus 1:6; 1 Cor. 7:1, 29), not to mention a wide array of rules governing dietary, sanitary, clothing, personal grooming, and agricultural matters.
To deal with these tensions, Christian scholars have suggested any number of interpretive techniques. For example, some say “first mention” is primary. Others say that last mention trumps first mention. Some say the Old Testament is valid unless the New Testament overturns the Old Testament. Others say, no, it’s a new Testament, so it doesn’t depend on the old, but replaces it. Some say the Bible permits whatever it doesn’t forbid, and others say it forbids whatever it doesn’t permit. Some say, “Interpret Scripture with Scripture,” but they never quite make it clear which Scripture trumps the other—does Psalm 139:19 trump Matthew 5:44, or vice versa? Some say the more general trumps the more specific, and others say the specific eclipses the general. How do we decide?
When we’re in a quandary, some say (maybe not this bluntly, and maybe not in public) that we should interpret a text the way our denominational founders, current leaders, radio and TV preachers, or leading seminary professors ask us to. Others say, no, we’ve got to go back to the sixteenth-century Reformers and their interpretations. But others say, no, we need to go back farther, to St. Thomas, or St. Augustine, or the patristic period. Still others say, no, we go straight back to the Bible itself—it’s sola scriptura (“by Scripture alone”) to the rescue—and we must never let human traditions and opinions get in the way of our own private interpretation. And still others say—well, they don’t say this, but this is what they do—interpret the Bible pragmatically, meaning in the way that won’t get you fired or in the way that will keep converts and “love gifts” and “amens” flowing in.
One other feature of our current use of the Bible deserves to be mentioned—and questioned. Whom does our current approach favor or empower? Clearly, the constitutional approach to the Bible provides authority and employment for people who learn to read it and use it with a lawyerly approach. Their approach to the Bible bolsters their authority in the communities to which they belong. That doesn’t make the approach wrong, but it does suggest that “insiders” who depend on the constitutional system for their salary and social status will be unlikely to question it and equally likely to defend it passionately. They are far from disinterested “objective scholars” in this matter.
When I began to realize the degree to which we use the Bible as lawyers use a constitution, I knew we were in trouble. At least good constitutions can be amended. At least lawyers, for all their reputed hubris, don’t claim to speak for God, and even if they did, there would be other lawyers with divine pretensions in the courtroom with an obligation to challenge their position. In contrast, in many religious settings, there are no checks and balances, and challenging an authority figure’s interpretation can lead to excommunication.