Isaac of Stella on Multiple Possibilities of Meaning in Holy Scripture

“The Wisdom of God truly takes many shapes, even though it is very simple, and although it is uniformly one, it is nonetheless found to be many-sided in many ways …
For this reason it often happens that those who disagree about the same Scriptural passages or who espouse different ideas about things can be in the highest agreement or harmony with the Holy Spirit. This is only provided that there has been a decision made not to disagree with the truth of faith, the building up of charity, and the rooting out of cupidity. Everyone is vigilant about these matters when it comes to Sacred Scripture. Fore everyone involved is in agreement about things one way or another, at one time or another. But there is no room for choice between one Spirit and another. On both sides of the issue, as has been mentioned, there exists a harmonious relationship with truth and charity.” (Isaac of Stella. Cited in Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis: Volume 1—The Four Senses of Scripture, p. 81. Emphasis mine.)

I believe that in these two brief paragraphs, 12^th century English theologian, philosopher, and Cistercian monk, Isaac of Stella deftly moves us to a point where we can begin to maneuver between two opposing tensions in understanding the Biblical witness: 1) the move towards an open reading of the Scripture where we read the Bible in concert with others with a critical openness to a plurality of voices and interpretations. This is the move towards Jerome and Origen’s “infinite forest of meaning”. It also is the move where the reader recognizes that Holy Scripture is a living Word that continues to reveal the character, person, and will of God. 2) The move towards a closed reading of Scripture where we narrow our reading towards a point where we can claim to identify what the text meant in its original setting and thus what it means today. In its most charitable, a closed reading simply qualifies Origen and Jerome by simply rejecting heterodox and heretical views. In its most extreme, it allows only one meaning of Scripture and rejects all other interpretations.

First, Isaac affirms what we have already noted: there are multiple interpretations of Scripture. This is obvious enough that it hardly seems worth noting. But Isaac does affirm that there are real differences of opinions. Conflicting opinions are not a semantic game of saying the same thing in different ways: “you say ‘bachelor’, I say ‘unmarried man.’ You say Revelation is like a historical political cartoon obscured by time and I say it’s as an eschatological document outlining the future events.” Make no mistake, the next time you are in a Bible study or are reading two books or hearing two sermons or having a conversation over a coffee and a genuine difference of interpretation arises, it is not likely you’re saying the same things different ways.

Second, Isaac, while recognizing that there are multiple possibilities of meaning, simultaneously recognizes there “can be in the highest agreement or harmony with the Holy Spirit.” It is often assumed that harmony or unity requires total conformity as if we’re grieving the Spirit by reaching different conclusions. Naively, people sometimes point the existence of denominations as proof of the total disunity of the Christian Church as if their mere existence was an affront to God. Similarly, divergent possibilities of meaning seem to negate a Spirit-guided reading of Scripture because if the Spirit is a Spirit of unity and truth how could two people come to opposite opinions? Interestingly, Isaac doesn’t seem particularly troubled by multiple possibilities of meaning as long as the opinions are reached in the Spirit, according to the rule of faith, and with the posture of charity. (Of course, the East/West split notwithstanding, the Church was relatively normalized, at least compared to today.)

Isaac’s qualifications are huge. Much too large to squeeze into one blog post. But they point us in a good direction: one of charity and generosity where the person sitting next to might know as much as you do. Briefly, the rule of the Spirit involves an understanding of Holy Scriptures where the one Holy Spirit legitimately guides two prayerful people into two different possibilities of meaning. Although there are surface differences that cannot be discounted as differences there is a structural unity provided by the testimony of the Holy Spirit. The structural unity or foundation is found in a commitment to what Isaac calls “the truth of faith”. Alternately this might be called the rule of faith. In architecture, two buildings might take very different forms with two very different purposes. A hospital is not a house even though they are both buildings were people can sleep, cook, and eat. However, the two buildings are sound when they adhere to fundamental rules of design. Similarly, a Spirit led reading of Scripture that arrives a different interpretation is sound as long as it corresponds to the rule of faith—those things that all Christians at all times hold to be essential and fundamental to the Christian faith.

Multiple Possibilities of Meaning in Holy Scripture

In one of his letters, Church Father Jerome described scripture as “in infinite forest of meanings”. Likewise the towering Origen referred to the vastness of Biblical interpretation as “the exceedingly broad forest of Scripture.”

In the esteem of these two great minds, Scripture defies easy explanation. Instead the world of the Bible is a vast and sprawling forest. It is a world that is rich and lust. It is a world that is full of twists and turns. It is a world that defies simple solutions. It is a world that opens up new discoveries around every bend. It is a world that never exhausts its riches. It is a world of multiple possibilities of meaning.

With the poetic license of a Jerome or an Origen, the infinite forest of multiple possibilities is an alluring prospect. This touches the nerve of the Protestant sola scriptura by identifying the thickness of Scripture. As an infinite forest full of multiple possibilities of meaning, the Bible is alive and active today. It is more than capable of speaking truth and providing direction in the labyrinth of today and tomorrow’s moral quandaries. The faith of late 18th century France, the urban American church of the 21st century, and the rice patty farmers of Southeast Asia all read the same Scripture but with different eyes. Each person or group enters that broad forest and gleans meaning.

Yet, at the same time, I think there is uneasiness in affirming multiple possibilities of meaning. One of the core understandings of Biblical exegesis is thinking of it as a process that seeks to penetrate what the Biblical text meant as it left the pen of the Biblical author (or was edited by his redactor, or arranged by his editor, etc.). This view of exegesis seems to tip our hat to the impossibility of multiple meanings. The task of the interpreter is to come to the correct meaning of the text and correctly convey that text to his or her modern audience.

Is this not the very nature of a commentary? The commentator researches the historical context. He places the book in a literary, grammatical, and canonical setting. She uses all the tools of ancient and modern research to penetrate the old forms of thoughts. He converses with other commentators along the road, voicing his pleasure or disapproval. At the end, she offers her analysis on what the text means.

And what of heterodoxy or heresy? Certainly, we might all agree, the forest of Scripture isn’t infinite. There is a boundary between the lushness of orthodox Biblical meaning and the wasteland of heresy. There are certain interpretations that exclude other interpretations.

Is it possible to have it both ways? Can one, with Origen and Jerome, affirm the possibility of multiple possibilities of meaning and guard against heterodox meanings? Can one read two commentators who come to differing conclusions about the significance of a text and agree with both? Is it possible to attend two churches and hear two sermons on the same text and agree the Word of God has been proclaimed? Is there a via media that simultaneously affirms both the wideness and narrowness of the Biblical world?

I believe there is. I hope to explore this a bit over the next few weeks. As a thought experiment I’m going to look at some authors, past and present, who have attempted this same process.

My hope is that my next blog will look at Irenaeus and Isaac of Stella and the deposit or truth of faith and the place charity plays in interpretation.

A Happy Marriage and a Lonely Death

I have been spending time reading Rafael Yglesias’ novel A Happy Marriage. The novel, loosely based off the author’s own experience of meeting, falling-in-love, and marrying his own wife only to lose her to cancer 30 years later. The novel alternates between the characters Enrique and Margaret’s few weeks of courtship and the last few weeks of her life. Told entirely from the perspective of Enrique, we are given a first hand look into the emotional anguish he experiences as he faces the death of his beloved. In this paragraph, we see the true solitude in facing the death of a loved one:

He could not and did not ask Margaret or his boys for comfort. His father was dead. His mother too old and too self-pitying to be a solace. His in-laws too frightened and too bereft themselves. His half brother, Leo, to anxious and too selfish. His male friends too distant from the realities and too uncomprehending of the experience. Margaret’s best friend, Lily, too preoccupied comforting Margaret and herself. His half sister, Rebecca, who had been present and understanding and so great a help, could spell and reassure him, but she could not provide, no one could provide, what he had forsaken for nearly three years, what cancer had taken from him, and would soon take from him forever: Margaret’s attention.

Thank God I do not understand Enrique’s suffering. How could I? For each person’s suffering is unique is his own way. The best I could offer is my own sufferings.

But more to the point, thank God I have never had to face the loss of Lindsay. I do not think I could cope. It is something I do not wish to face, nor think it particularly helpful or healthy to speculate on what losing her young to a drawn out terminal illness might do to my psychological state.

What strikes me about Enrique’s pain is the solitude he faces. For thirty years Margaret has been his life and he is now facing a life without her, he is alone. Sure, he has children. Sure, he has family. He has friends. But there is no one to enter into his suffering. To know it as their own.

As I’ve read through this book and glimpsed into the mind of a tortured soul, I can’t help but think of Jurgen Moltmann’s The Crucified God. At it’s heart, it is a profound theological reflection on Jesus Christ’s final cry from the cross: “My God, my God why have you forsaken me.”

Traditionally, theologians and pastors have interpreted this in a number of ways. Most link it to a doctrine of the atonement similar to that of Anselm’s satisfaction theory where Jesus Christ made restitution on the cross for the sins of humanity. Or closely related is the penal theory where Jesus Christ is punished for the sins of humanity. In both theories there is a transaction between God the Father and God the Son where either Jesus incurs the wrath of God or makes a payment to God.

What Moltmann did was flip the transactional theories on their head and address the cross of Jesus that lead to his death as a death within the life of God. So not only did Jesus Christ suffer and died and experienced the throes of a godforsaken existence, but God the Father suffered in the real loss of his beloved Son. Thus, Moltmann argues, there is mutual suffering within the life of God in the death of Christ. This, of course, would frustrate those whose who deny the passion of God the Father.

But, I ask, what God has something to say to the suffering of Enrique? The God who punishes his beloved Son? The God who pours out his wrath upon the cross? Or is it the God who has foolishly and riskily loved and lost? The God who knows the solitude of death?