Dale Martin
and the Myth of Total Textual Indeterminacy
by Robert A.
J. Gagnon, Ph.D.
[The following
is the beginning of my response to Dale Martin. Because I have
received many inquiries about his recent book I thought it best to put
out what I have now, however incomplete, and add installments as time
and duties permit.—RG (3/7/07)]
Dale Martin,
professor of New Testament at Yale University, has just come out with
a book entitled Sex and the Single Savior: Gender and Sexuality in
Biblical Interpretation (Westminster John Knox, 2006; released
around Oct. 1, 2006). Since Martin has made a special point of
critiquing my work in this publication, my intention here is to get at
his main arguments through a careful response to his critique.
The Shape of the
Book and a Convenient Omission
Readers may be
disappointed that Martin’s book is not a sustained, comprehensive
argument about gender and sexuality in the Bible but rather a series
of discrete essays, most of which were previously published. Six of
the eleven chapters consist of previously published essays (one of
which, though, had been published previously only in Norwegian: “The
Queer History of Galatians 3:28”). The two and only two essays in his
book closely directed at the Bible and homosexual practice, an issue
to which I have given significant attention—“Arsenokoitês and
Malakos: Meanings and Consequences” and “Heterosexism and the
Interpretation of Romans 1:18-32”—were first published a decade or so
ago (1995-96). They are republished in the book as if no
substantive critique had been offered in the intervening years to
these articles in particular and to the general pro-homosex reading of
Rom 1:24-27 and 1 Cor 6:9 that they represent. We will come back
to why this is omission is significant. Two other chapters consist of
papers that had been previously delivered as talks at a university
seminar in 2001 (“The Hermeneutics of Divorce” and “Community-shaped
Scripture”).
Only three of the
chapters were written specially for this book:
-
Ch. 1, “Introduction: The Myth of
Textual Agency” (pp. 1-16, notes on pp. 187-93)
-
Ch. 2, “The Rhetoric of Biblical
Scholarship: A Primer for Critical Reading of Historical Criticism”
(pp. 17-35, notes on pp. 193-201)
-
Ch. 11, “Conclusion: The Space of
Scripture, the Risk of Faith” (pp. 161-85, notes on pp. 237-40)
The Shape of
Martin’s Critique of My First Book
It is in the second
chapter, and only in the second chapter, that Martin deals with my
work (primarily pp. 25-28 but also a brief reference on pp. 22-23,
with the notes on pp. 196-98). In all Martin devotes six full pages to
criticizing me. I suppose that in some perverse sense I should be
“honored” for this attention; indeed, for being the first in a series
of four persons to receive a critique. Of course, the honor is dubious
since he says that he selects me first because he considers my first
book, The Bible and Homosexual Practice (Abingdon, 2001; 520
pgs.), to be a ‘textbook’ example of “foundationalism” in the study of
the Bible and sexuality. The other three persons critiqued are given
three full pages or less each: Richard Hays (pp. 29-31, notes on pp.
198-99; with a smattering of discussion elsewhere in the new essays),
Francis Watson (pp. 31-32, notes on pp. 199-201), and William
Countryman (pp. 32-34, notes on p. 201).
Rather than read my
book fairly—and, incidentally, Martin completely ignores my many
publications on the Bible and homosexual practice since that first
book—Martin creates a caricature by cutting and pasting texts taken
out of context and misrepresented. This procedure is not too
dissimilar from his treatment of biblical texts in matters of
sexuality, particularly homosexuality.
My Alleged Crime
For Martin, my main
crime appears to be twofold.
First, I believe that
there are some texts in Scripture (and in the ancient world
generally and in our own times), not all, whose interpretation is
relatively secure. Stated slightly differently, I believe that there
are some texts in the Bible, not all, whose meaning—more
specifically, the meaning that the writer(s) intended readers to pick
up from the communication symbols in the text—is clear in its basic
contours to reasonable persons interpreting reasonably and
contextually.
Secondly, I believe
that, on the whole, fidelity to God is more likely and more
often to be attained by conformity to such meaning, especially as
regards core values, than it is by radical deviance from such meaning.
I might add as
regards these two accusations that I am “guilty as charged,” except
that the manner in which Martin charges them is distorted by a
rhetoric that misrepresents the case.
Why Does Martin
Lie By Saying That I Flatly Reject Any Notion of Textual
Uncertainty?
According to Martin’s
lead-off charge, “Gagnon flatly rejects any notion that
textual interpretation is an uncertain endeavor” (p. 25; emphases
added). To be blunt, this claim by Martin is “flatly” a lie. In my
fifth and longest chapter of my first book, “The Hermeneutical
Relevance of the Biblical Witness” (pp. 341-486), I begin by setting
out “some basic principles for guiding application” of the message
about homosexual practice. (This message was not presumed but rather
discussed and argued in the first 340 pages of my book.) I ask (pp.
341-42):
1. Is the issue a matter of significant concern in the
Bible?
(a) Is there a consistent
perspective in the Bible?
(b) Is it a serious moral
issue for biblical writers?
2. Does the biblical witness remain valid in a
contemporary setting?
(a) Is the situation to which
the Bible responds comparable to the contemporary situation?
(b) Are the arguments made by
biblical writers still convincing?
(c) Do new socio-scientific
insights or cultural changes invalidate the biblical witness?
(d) Has the church adopted a
consistent and strong witness on the issue over the centuries?
(e) Does a new work of the
Holy Spirit in the church justify changing the biblical position?
To note that such
guidelines exist and then to address each of them systematically, as I
have done, surely makes clear that textual interpretation often is “an
uncertain endeavor.” Moreover, I note textual ambiguities throughout
my book. For example, I state on p. 201 n. 21 that “the decision is
difficult” as to whether “Matthew” forbade remarriage even for men who
divorced adulterous wives and conclude by saying, “I am not sure what
the solution is.” What Martin apparently doesn’t like is that I do not
consider all texts to be ambiguous as to intent or meaning.
When one thinks of Martin’s comment, it really is kind
of ludicrous. The idea that I, or anyone of any intelligence,
could argue that no text in Scripture (or anywhere else) on any issue
at any time is ever uncertain is such a “flatly” erroneous charge as
to call in question Martin’s entire credibility. If Martin sincerely
believes that this is what I think, then he is obviously a poor reader
of texts, certainly of anything that I have written. But I don’t
believe that he is a poor reader of texts generally, not at least of
that magnitude. This leads me to question whether he had any intent to
portray me fairly and charitably.
Consequently, for
Martin to characterize my interpretative stance before unsuspecting
readers as “Gagnon flatly rejects any notion that textual
interpretation is an uncertain endeavor” is to engage in a blatant,
and probably deliberate, distortion of the truth. Of course, it
wouldn’t look as effective for Martin to critique a position that
holds that some readings of ancient texts are, for all intents
and purposes, secure and reliable. The reason is simple; namely, most
persons reasonably subscribe to just such a position. That Martin
evidently feels the need to produce a caricature of me—indeed, to lie
about me—in order to ‘score points’ with readers suggests that he is
aware of how weak his overall position is. He knows that he cannot be
persuasive to others unless he is successful in portraying me falsely
as a one-dimensional cardboard character. Lacking a strong argument,
Martin resorts to a rhetoric of caricature.
Martin’s “Texts
don’t speak” Argument and His Claim of Textual Indeterminacy
There are two main
prongs to Martin’s general argument:
1) The
meaning of a text in its historical context cannot be recovered
with a reasonable degree of certitude.
2) Such
meaning should not be recovered as a normally controlling
influence on hermeneutical application for a contemporary context.
As we shall see he
also uses both arguments in his specific critique of my work. For now
I shall focus more generally on the first point.
Central to the first
contention is his insistence that “the Bible (or any text) does not
speak.” This is a point that he repeats so often and so stridently as
to leave readers with the impression that he believes he has made a
brilliant point. The very first sentence of his first chapter
underscores this point: “One of the central goals of much of my
writing . . . has been to undermine a common assumption . . . that the
Bible ‘speaks’ and our job is just to ‘listen’” (p. 1). So enamored is
he with this theme that
I sometimes illustrate my
point when asked to speak about “what the Bible says about
homosexuality.” I put the Bible in the middle of the room or on the
speaker’s podium, step back, and say, “Okay, let’s see what it says.
Listen!” After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and some
snickers, I say, “Apparently, the Bible can’t talk.” (p. 5)
Such is the current
state of the discipline that this passes for profundity among many.
When criticizing me,
Martin alleges that “Gagnon constantly, and with no hint that he is
using a metaphor, portrays the Bible as ‘speaking,’ or
‘condemning,’ or performing some kind of action” (p. 25; emphasis
added). The silliness of this allegation should be readily apparent:
If I didn’t think I was using a metaphor then I would have to believe
that texts really do speak in audible voices or really do write
themselves. Does Martin really believe that I think this? Texts are a
medium, not an agent. Everywhere in my work I operate
with the notion that specific, culture-embedded persons and
communities speak through texts. Anyone with a minimal ability
of comprehension can see this in page after page of what I have
written on the issue of the Bible and homosexuality. Assuming the
intelligence of my critics, only someone determined to put forward a
false caricature of me could say otherwise and then it could only be
done out of deceit.
Does Martin
Practice What He Preaches about Textual Indeterminacy? A Look at His
Chapters on 1 Corinthians 6:9 and Romans 1:24-27
The sheer silliness
of the allegation turns into hypocrisy when Martin does the very thing
that he castigates me for doing. Now I make no claims to having gone
through Martin’s writings with a fine-tooth comb to uncover all such
instances. That would be a waste of my time. A few examples will
suffice. In ch. 2, just two pages (!) before lambasting me for
“portray[ing] the Bible as ‘speaking,’ or ‘condemning,’ or performing
some kind of action,” he states that Romans 1 “does not explicitly
condemn same-sex activity” (p. 23). Moreover, in his very opening
line in “Arsenokoites and Malakos: Meanings and
Consequences” (ch. 3), he states: “The New Testament provides little
ammunition to those wishing to condemn modern homosexuality” (p. 37).
But texts cannot “provide ammunition” insofar as they are lifeless,
inanimate script, right?
If even a person who
has told himself, “Don’t ever say that the Bible performs some kind of
action” lest he be accused of inconsistency and hypocrisy can’t help
but occasionally speak in such terms, why, then, should the rest of us
be held to a strict standard of avoiding such metaphorical language?
For neither do we think that texts can speak audibly or write
themselves, divorced from real historical personages and communities.
Both Martin and I prefer, when referring to Pauline texts, to write
“Paul says (thinks, believes)” rather than to say the text does so.
But shouldn’t this be even more of a metaphor from Martin’s
perspective? After all, we don’t have direct access to Paul. We only
have relatively direct access to the medium of his text (albeit
transmitted over centuries by scribes). Is it not, then, truer in some
respects to say that “the text says”? It is Martin himself who insists
that “we can never actually go to the author’s intention” (p.
6). Yet throughout his writings, page after page, Martin makes
reference to what Paul said, believed, and thought, without so much as
batting a literary eye (oops, another metaphor).
In the same chapter
on “Arsenokoites and Malakos” Martin states that “we
possess many occurrences of malakos [the term for “soft men” in
1 Cor 6:9] and can be fairly confident about its meaning” and
about “the hatred of women inherent in the ancient use of the
term” (pp. 43). This reference to words meaning something is
carried throughout the chapter. But I thought, based on what Martin
claimed, meaning wasn’t “inherent” in the text but resided in the
interpreter? And that we couldn’t be “fairly confident” about what a
given writer might have meant?
Indeed, Martin goes
on to say that “malakos is easy to define” and that “to
say that malakos meant a man who was penetrated is simply
wrong.”
There is no question,
then, about what malakos referred to in the ancient world. . .
. The meaning of the word is clear. . . . Malakos means
“effeminate.” Why has this obvious translation been universally
rejected in recent English versions? . . . Do we condemn what Paul and
his readers are likely to have considered effeminate . . . ? .
. . Some scholars and Christians have wanted to make arsenokoites
and malakos mean both more and less than the words actually
mean. . . . Rather than admitting the obvious,
that malakos is a blanket condemnation of all
effeminacy, they explain that it refers quite particularly to the
penetrated man in homosexual sex. . . . It should be clear that this
exercise is driven more by heterosexist ideology than historical
criticism. (pp. 43-44, 47-49; emphases added)
Note the one
occurrence of “likely” and the hardly waffling “fairly confident” in a
sea of unequivocal adverbs, adjectives, and descriptive phrases: “easy
to define,” “no question,” “clear,” “obvious,” “actually.” Anyone who
disagrees with Martin is “simply wrong.”
Now I certainly do
not agree that, in the context of 1 Cor 6:9, malakoi means what
Martin claims it must mean. In fact, I have critiqued his
argument and similar arguments about 1 Cor 6:9 in my first book and
works thereafter.
Cf. The Bible and
Homosexual Practice (Nashville: Abingdon, 2001), esp. pp. 303-36;
Homosexuality and the Bible: Two Views (Minneapolis: Fortress,
2003), 81-88, with online notes 96-111 at
http://robgagnon.net/TwoViews.htm; and “A
Comprehensive and Critical Review Essay of Homosexuality, Science,
and the ‘Plain Sense’ of Scripture, Part 2,” Horizons in
Biblical Theology 25 (December 2003): 226-39, online
here.
Essentially I argue that the meaning of malakoi (lit.,
“soft men”) in context is not the broad sense of merely effeminate men
but rather has the more restrictive sense of “men who feminize
themselves to attract male sex partners” (incidentally, this is
similar to the meaning given to the term by both Victor Furnish and
Bernadette Brooten, two scholars supportive of homosexual unions).
What is the evidence for the more restrictive sense?
1. Its
place in the vice list amidst other participants in illicit sexual
intercourse. Since it is sandwiched in between the terms
pornoi (a generic term for sexually immoral persons but, in the
immediate context of 1 Cor 5, applied specifically to the incestuous
man in nearly identical vice lists; cf. 5:9-11) and moichoi
(adulterers) on the one side and arsenokoitai (men who lie with
a male) on the other side, it is probable that malakoi too has
to do with immoral sexual relations.
2. Its
pairing with the immediately following word arsenokoitai.
Since arsenokoitai means “men who lie with a male” as a
reference to the active, insertive partners in male-male intercourse,
it is likely that malakoi refers to the passive, receptive
partner in such intercourse. Indeed, the two preceding terms
eidololatrai (idolaters) and moichoi (adulterers) form a
natural pair in the Old Testament, making more probable the pairing of
the next two terms, malakoi and arsenokoitai.
3. Philo
of Alexandria’s use of cognate words. Philo (a first-century
Jewish philosophy) uses cognate terms to malakos to refer to
men who actively feminize themselves for the purpose of attracting
other men: malakia and malakotēs, “softness”; also:
anandria, “unmanliness,” hoi paschontes, “those who are
‘done’” [as opposed to the “doers,” hoi drōntes], and
androgynoi, “men-women” (cf. Special Laws 3.37-42; On
Abraham 135-36; Contemplative Life 59-61; translated in
Gagnon 2001a, 172-75).
4. Greco-Roman
usage of malakoi and the parallel Latin word molles (soft men).
The terms malakoi and molles could be used broadly to
refer to effeminate or unmanly men. But in specific contexts it could
be used in ways similar to the more specific terms cinaedi
(lit., “butt-shakers”) and pathici (“those who undergo
[penetration]”) to denote effeminate adult males who are
biologically and/or psychologically disposed to desire penetration by
men. For example, in Soranus’s work On Chronic Diseases (early
2nd century A.D.) the section on men who desire to be
penetrated (4.9.131-37) is entitled “On the molles or
subacti (subjugated or penetrated partners, pathics) whom the
Greeks call malthakoi.” An Aristotelian text similarly refers
to those who are anatomically inclined toward the receptive role as
malakoi (Pseudo-Aristotle, Problems 4.26). Astrological
texts that speak of males desirous of playing the penetrated female
role also use the term malakoi (Ptolemy, Four Books 3.14
§172; Vettius Valens, Anthologies 2.37.54; 2.38.82; cf.
Brooten, 126 n. 41, 260 n. 132). The complaint about such figures in
the ancient world generally, and certainly by Philo, centers around
their attempted erasure of the masculine stamp given them by
God/nature, not their exploitation of others, age difference, or acts
of prostitution.
Regarding the meaning of
arsenokoitai in 1 Cor 6:9, “men who lie with a male,” Martin is
less certain. He is not certain enough to claim “to know what [it]
meant,” though he thinks it “probable that arsenokoites
referred to a particular role of exploiting others by means of sex,
perhaps but not necessarily by homosexual sex” and he adamantly
denies that anyone can say with reasonable certainty what it
meant. Martin’s supposition here appears to be that if Martin can’t
figure it out, no one else can. In this, too, I believe that he is
mistaken. The evidence is, in fact, overwhelming for taking the
term, in context, as an absolute indictment of men who serve as the
active partners in male homosexual practice of any kind (see my
resources cited above).
My main point here,
though, is that as regards Martin’s handling of the term malakoi
texts “mean” something and only an idiot or a dissembler could
argue otherwise since, according to Martin, the meaning is “clear,”
“obvious,” and “simple.”
Martin’s Textual
Determinacy Manifested in His Shaming Rhetoric
Martin is so sure of
himself that he can even, in facile and flat manner, charge those who
think otherwise with being motivated by prejudices akin to racism and
sexism. In just this one 14-page article alone we read:
By analyzing ancient
meanings of the terms . . . we discover that interpretations of arsenokoites
and malakos as condemning modern homosexuality
have been driven more by ideological interests in marginalizing gay
and lesbian people than by the general structures of historical
criticism. (p. 38; similarly, p. 43)
Why has this obvious
translation been universally rejected in recent English versions? Doubtless
because contemporary scholars have been loath to
consider effeminacy a moral category but have been less hesitant in
condemning gay and lesbian people. (p. 47; emphasis mine)
People who retain Paul’s
condemnation of effeminacy as ethical grounding for a condemnation of
contemporary gay sex must face the fact that they thereby participate
in the hatred of women inherent in the ancient use of the term. . . .
To mask such problems and tell our fellow Christians that the word
“really” refers just to boy prostitutes or, worse, “passive
homosexuals” is by this time just willful ignorance or dishonesty.
(p. 48; emphasis mine)
It should be clear that
this exercise is driven more by heterosexist ideology than
historical criticism. (p. 49; emphasis mine)
The hypocrisy here is
underscored by his criticism of me for allegedly “resort[ing]
to shaming rhetoric” (p. 28). The examples that he cites are all taken
out of context or in other ways misrepresented, as we shall see later.
But there is no mistaking the context for Martin’s remarks above since
the accusation that everyone who comes to different conclusions from
him is a “heterosexist” is the centerpiece and conclusion of
his article—and not only this article but of his work generally. For
example, this shaming rhetoric and attribution of foul motive appears
also throughout ch. 4, his article “Heterosexism and the
Interpretation of Romans 1:18-32,” where his thesis is:
I will demonstrate . . .
that modern scholars are being disingenuous or self-deluding when
they claim that their position—the heterosexist position—is simply an
appropriation of “the biblical view.” Their reading of Paul is
prompted not by the constraints of historical criticism or their
passive perception of the “clear meaning” of the text, as they claim,
but by their inclination (not necessarily intentional) to reinforce
modern heterosexist constructions of human sexuality. (pp. 52-53;
emphasis mine; note here he says “not necessarily intentional” while
holding open a “disingenuous” motive; compare his attribution to
“willful ignorance or dishonesty” above)
It is certain . . .
that heterosexism has led [scholars] to introject their own modern
conceptions of sexual desire and its relation to “nature” into the
biblical text. (p. 60)
Having denied that
heterosexist scholars interpret Paul they way they do because they are
simply “reading the text,” I wished to propose other reasons to
explain why they have misconstrued Paul’s writings. . . . I suggest
that a specifically modern form of homophobia—an irrational and
exaggerated loathing and fear of homosexuality—has motivated many such
interpretations. (p. 63)
Ironically, Martin
says of me that
Recourse to shaming
rhetoric is often the final recourse of one who truly believes that
“nature” or “the text itself” provides a clear, self-interpreting
foundation for ethics. If other people cannot see it, there must be
something wrong with them. (ibid.)
Hasn’t Martin
demonstrated clearly by his own actions that “recourse to shaming
rhetoric” is much more of a staple of his own work and views?
That it is precisely the person who seeks to deny the clear witness of
Scripture on matters that is likely to resort to shaming rhetoric and
to be absolutist about what texts can and cannot mean? For, whatever
Martin says to the contrary, he certainly writes as someone who
is absolutely certain what malakoi in 1 Cor 6:9 means and
cannot mean and how Paul in Rom 1:24-27 certainly does not have in
mind creation and the fall, someone who applies a nature argument that
homosexual orientation is a benign condition like race or sex, and
someone who knows—as his main point, mind you—that there must be
“something wrong” with those who think otherwise. It is surely ironic
when he alleges of me, that “the sense of security provided by
foundationalism makes self-critical awareness unlikely” (p. 198 n.
36). To this I would respond to Martin: What’s your excuse?
Doubtless Martin
would respond (as he has in email
correspondence to me) that he is just “‘playing the game’ of
normal, modern historical criticism,” artificially adopting “certain
assumptions about the social location of the interpretation” and
entering the “discursive realm” and persona of the historical critic.
But can anyone seriously believe, after reading the material above,
that Martin himself does not really think that people who interpret 1
Cor 6:9 and Rom 1:24-27 in ways that indict homosexual practice
absolutely do so because there is “something wrong with them”? And
does he not manifestly base this observation on the “obvious” and
“clear” meaning of texts? Which, then, is the “pretend hat” and which
the real persona? Dale Martin the radical poststructuralist or Dale
Martin the historical critic?
It needs to be said
as well that Martin, in making his arguments, is absolutely convinced
not only of what the text of Scripture says or doesn’t say at
certain points convenient to his ideology but also of what the
scholars with whom he disagrees write and even sometimes what their
motivations are behind what they write. He does this even with
scholars whom he has never met but encountered only through text. How
can he both maintain the “texts don’t speak” contention of total or
virtual textual indeterminacy and then express himself with such
certainty and, indeed, with such obvious emotion in his criticisms of
scholars whom he knows only through text?
There is a jarring
inconsistency here that once again confirms that “Dale Martin the
radical poststructuralist” is more of a pretend hat or persona than
“Dale Martin the textual absolutist” or “Dale Martin the historical
critic.” In caustically berating scholars whom he knows only through
text, he unknowingly betrays that not even he lives like a
poststructuralist.
Martin’s Textual
Determinacy in His Interaction with “Textual Gagnon”
An obvious case in
point is Martin’s reaction toward me. Martin knows only a “textual
Gagnon.” We have never met. What he knows of me he knows only through
my writings (and, so far as I can tell, only through my first book,
The Bible and Homosexual Practice) and through limited e-mail
correspondence that occurred a month or so after the publication of
his book Sex and the Single Savior. After just three exchanges,
Martin knew with all the certitude that anyone could muster that:
-
Gagnon “really [really?] doesn’t
understand literary theory”
-
Gagnon “simply” [simply?] doesn’t
“understand the notion of contextual meaning”
-
Gagnon does not, “in fact [in fact?],
. . . present other people’s work accurately and fairly”
-
Gagnon has “inadequate understandings
of scripture . . . and of interpretation in general”
-
Gagnon’s rhetoric “is not at all [at
all?] Christian and kind”
There is a tremendous
amount of textual certitude here. Note Martin’s persistent use of
adverbial expressions denoting certitude and the categorical/absolute
nature of his assertions: “really,” “simply,” “in fact,” and “not at
all.” And yet all that he had to go on was text.
I honestly don’t
understand how this works in Martin’s head. When he takes off his
textual-absolutist hat and reassumes his real poststructuralist self,
does he cease to be so certain about what I believe, know, and say, on
the basis of reading text? If so, how does this happen? Does he suffer
memory loss? Or does he just will himself to remember that “texts
don’t speak” and then disavow everything he had presumed to be true
about the “textual Gagnon”? It really is confusing to me. How is it
that text does not have determinate meaning and yet he has in my case
only text and comes to a series of strongly held, even offensive,
determinate meanings? If he were only adopting the persona here of a
textual absolutist and did not really believe in his heart these
determinate claims about me, why does the real depth of his emotion
come out when he expresses absolute certitude about what his perceived
opponents believe, know, and write, even beyond what is actually
communicated in the text itself? I think that this is a legitimate
question. I also think the answer is clear, even if Martin doesn’t
want to admit it publicly. If he were only “playing a game” when he
becomes textually determinate I wouldn’t expect him to get so
passionate over what he alleges that I have written, let alone write
six pages about it in a book. His emotive mode of expression betrays
him.
So on one level, at
least, Dale Martin himself is “exhibit A” against his own
argument for textual indeterminacy. I am tempted to argue that, on
another level, he is also “exhibit A” in favor of his own
argument for textual indeterminacy—but not in a manner he would find
congenial. Martin at so many places misrepresents me that maybe it
really is true that the medium of writing cannot effectively
communicate an author’s meaning. However, I must say that he
ultimately does not prove his case here, for two reasons: (1) that
Martin gets so wrong what I have written is not proof that no one can
understand what I write (I have met many who do understand what I have
written); and (2) there is evidence that he deliberately misrepresents
my work (I have already noted his absurd allegations that I “flatly
reject any notion that textual interpretation is an uncertain
endeavor” and that I am unaware that the expression “the Bible says”
is a metaphor).
The truth is that I
have rarely encountered someone who, in practice, operates with a
greater conviction of textual certitude than Martin. Apparently Martin
does believe that texts control interpretation (he has had nothing
else on which to base his judgments about me) and he is obviously
convinced that his interpretation of “textual Gagnon” is the correct
one (even in the face of a mountain of evidence to the
contrary). Martin is, in reality, the worst sort of textual absolutist
because he deceives himself and attempts to deceive others that it is
otherwise with him.
Martin’s Misguided
Case for Dismissing the Primacy of Authorial Intention
Martin gives an
example from everyday life to argue against “authorial intention as
establishing the meaning of an utterance” (that is, “constrain[ing
its] meaning or . . . control[ling] its interpretation”) and “to point
out that we actually do not . . . take ‘the meaning’ to be equivalent
to the intentions of the author” (p. 6).
Of course, there is
an initial irony here. Martin wants his readers to understand his own
“authorial intention” and clearly thinks that he can communicate
effectively to his readers what his own point of view is, through the
medium of text. I take Martin to be arguing that authorial intention
cannot provide the primary basis for establishing the meaning of
texts. It certainly would be misrepresenting Martin to contend that
Martin believes we should limit the meaning of texts to what can be
discerned from authorial intention. If I argued the latter, Martin
would be the first to contend: You misunderstood me. Then he would
chastise me further for “willful ignorance or dishonesty,” for being
“disingenuous or self-deluding” (to quote his written chastisements of
other scholars). Indeed, when Martin complained to me in e-mail
correspondence that “I [Martin] do not, in fact, believe you [Gagnon]
present other people’s work accurately and fairly,” what is he doing
if not insisting by the use of the adverbs “accurately” and “fairly”
that his own “authorial intention” controls the meaning and
interpretation of his texts? In short: How can one take seriously the
insistence that the authorial intention communicated through the
medium of text should not constrain meaning and interpretation when
this very insistence presupposes the textual constraint of one’s own
authorial intention? One can’t have it both ways, though Martin
appears to want it to be so.
Martin’s example is
this:
When my brother was young,
he was briefly hospitalized due to a collapsed lung. The doctor told
my parents . . . that the condition was congenital. . . . My sister,
a teenager at the time, overheard this conversation and for days
went around telling family friends that my brother was in the
hospital because of a “genital disease.” How do we decide about “the
meaning” of my sister’s statement? Certainly not by simply
attempting to ascertain “what she meant.” (p. 6)
The example, however,
does not demonstrate Martin’s point that “authorial intention” cannot
be accessed through the medium of communication. Rather, it
demonstrates the opposite. The humor of the story—confusing
“congenital condition” with “genital disease”—depends entirely on an
operating assumption that we know the true “authorial intention” of
the doctor and, through that knowledge, recognize the authorial
confusion of the adolescent. Martin himself believed that he had
understood correctly the authorial intention of the doctor’s words,
“the condition is congenital,” and on that basis was able to recognize
the mistake of his teenage sister. Had the doctor been unable to
communicate effectively the intention of his message or had Martin
been unable to understand that intention, he would not have been able
to correct his sister’s misstatement.
Martin further
contends (again, unknowingly presuming on the general reliability of
text for communicating his authorial intention) that
Theories about authorial
intentions providing the meaning of texts must show that to be the
case not only in ideal or even most cases; they must
show that authorial intention is the meaning of a text in all
cases. Otherwise, authorial intention becomes just one more act of
the imagination we employ when we interpret texts. (p. 7)
Neither Martin’s
premise nor his corollary follows in the real world outside the ivory
tower of language games.
To refer approvingly
to authorial intention as a constraining influence on the
interpretation of written or spoken word is not to assert that people
always express themselves clearly or always say precisely what
they mean. Confusion can and does arise. (Communication between
husband and wife in marriage is a classic case in point.) Yet
confusion can only be recognized as confusion on the assumption that
oral and written communication through language symbols is a generally
reliable method for ascertaining intention. That authorial intention
is not always communicated accurately in spoken word or written text
does not lead inexorably to the conclusion that “authorial intention
becomes just one more act of the imagination we employ when we
interpret texts.” It may, and does, remain the operating premise for
communication until clear indications arise that there is some
disconnect between the communication and the author’s actual
intention.
Martin’s
poststructuralist views unfortunately have real world implications. If
neighbor Miss A frantically knocked on Mr. B’s door, shouting, “Your
child is drowning in the pool next door,” and Mr. B didn’t give
primacy to Miss A’s “authorial intention” by running next door to
check on his child’s safety, Mr. B would be subject to criminal
prosecution if his child drowned (to say nothing of lifelong
psychological torment for neglect). Society would be rightly outraged
if Mr. B’s defense in court was: “Authorial intention is just one of
many acts of imagination that I employ when I interpret people’s
utterances.” On matters even more significant, pertaining to people’s
eternal destiny, Martin would have us believe that when the authors of
Scripture tell us that engaging in certain behavior in a serial
unrepentant manner could lead to our exclusion from the kingdom of
God, we should not give “authorial intention” any special weight in
discerning the meaning of their statements.
Obviously, the fact
that an adolescent may confuse “congenital condition” with “genital
disease” is not a strong argument for why, for example, the authorial
intention of Paul’s remarks concerning incest in 1 Cor 5 cannot be
“recovered” or why it cannot “constrain the meaning” given to such
remarks or “control its interpretation.” If someone wants to argue
that what Paul “means” in 1 Cor 5 is that the Corinthians should
tolerate, or even endorse, a consensual sexual relationship between a
Christian man and his stepmother (or, for that matter, his mother),
that person obviously doesn’t have a clue about how to read Paul’s
communication. Authorial intention is not “just one more act of the
imagination we employ when we interpret texts.” Understood in context,
literary and socio-historical, the communication symbols contained in
the text of 1 Cor 5 certainly carry the normal agreed-upon sense. It
would be nonsense to claim here, as Martin does generally, that “we
can never actually go to the author’s intention,” that
“authorial intention is not the answer to the vagaries of
interpretation because it is part of interpretation itself” (p. 6).
While some of the details of Paul’s remarks in 1 Cor 5 may be subject
to interpretive debate, there is no reasonable interpretive debate
about whether Paul might be approving consensual adult incest. Martin
and others may choose to reject Paul’s views on incest, arguing incest
conducted in the context of mutual love and commitment should be
accepted. But they cannot justifiably ask reasonable persons to
believe that the “historical Paul” himself would have tolerated such a
sexual bond or even to believe that such an interpretation is “just as
good” as one that posits Paul’s absolute opposition.
It is interesting to
note in connection with 1 Cor 5 that the Corinthians had misunderstood
Paul’s textual communication in a previous letter (5:9-12). They
thought that when Paul had earlier written them “not to get mixed up
with (i.e., associate or have contact with) sexually immoral persons”
he meant it in an absurd, absolute sense that included “the sexually
immoral of this world” (i.e. sexually immoral unbelievers). This
apparently led some at Corinth to disregard Paul’s allegedly
impractical command. Now what did Paul do? Did he take this instance
of confusion, throw up his hands, and say, “Authorial intention
apparently cannot be known because texts don’t speak!” or, worse,
“Your interpretation of my authorial intention is every bit as valid
as an act of imagination!”? No, he simply clarified his position,
asserting that of course he could not have meant that they
cease all association with unbelievers because, had he intended that,
they would have “had to come out of the world” (5:10). Paul believed
that by further clarification he could make his authorial intention in
the matter known. So does Dale Martin when he writes his own books and
articles.
To be continued
as time, duties, energy, and interest permit.