While I was reading Elizabeth Clark’s work, I found myself attempting to absorb each of the various scholars’ positions and consider how they might be applied to the study of biblical texts. In particular, I found myself deeply intrigued by the problem of contextualism. This problem has surfaced several times within our course discussions over the past several weeks, so this week I will examine several limitations with regards to contextualism, especially the problem of choosing a proper context of genesis.
According to Clark “contextualism refers to historians’ customary appeal to the explanatory force of extratextual political, economic, and social phenomena” (138). On the most basic level, contextualism has to do with explaining something (for example a text) based on the context out of which it arose. However, what is it we are referring to when we discuss the context of the genesis of a text? If we examine the Hebrew Bible, we find a highly complex collection of various literary writings, which arguably, emerged out of a span of about a thousand years. Within the contemporary canon of the Tanakh are three divisions – the Torah, the Nevi’im, and the Ketuvim – and each of these sections gained authoritative or ‘canonical’ status within Judaism at different periods in time. The final section (the Ketuvim) may have received canonical status at the Council of Yavne around 100 CE. Accordingly, the ‘context’ out of which the canonical Tanakh may have emerged was in the city of Yavne, under the leadership of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, shortly after the fall of the Second Temple.
This is one ‘context’ out of which we may interpret the Hebrew Bible and, in particular, the Ketuvim. Surely understanding the context out of which this canon emerged will help to shed some light on the texts themselves; for example, the texts accepted as canonical will have been chosen since they are relevant to several of the concerns that the community would have had at the time and, thus, would likely have some sort of recurring theme or themes. Furthermore, we might assume some sort of editorial order, whether thematic or hierarchical, that the community would have had for the books when they gathered them into a single collection. However, the Council of Yavne is merely one of the ‘contexts’ out of which the Hebrew Bible emerged.
It is of the utmost importance to recall that the Hebrew Bible did not emerge solely out of this single context. This was merely the context out of which the Tanakh as a tripartite canon arose. Rather, each individual book in this corpus has its own context out of which it emerged. Similar to Barthes, Derrida, and Kristeva’s notion of texts being “tissues of quotations” (132), many of these individual texts themselves are collections and redactions of several sources, which, in turn, have their own literary history out of which they emerged. For instance, according to the Documentary Hypothesis, the Pentateuch has, at least, four separate sources, which form an intricate literary history. Each source – J, E, P, and D – were collected and redacted under very different circumstances between the tenth and fifth centuries BCE. Moreover, the J source, for example, is speculated to contain several sources of its own.
Hence, if we wish to consider the context out of which the Pentateuch arose, we can imagine and discuss at least five different ones: 1) the context out of which the sub-sources of J (as well as E, P, and D’s sub-sources) emerged, 2) the context out of which J was collected and redacted, 3) the context in which J and E were combined into the JE source, 4) the context out of which P was incorporated into the JE source, and 5) the context out of which the final form of the Pentateuch was redacted and the book of Deuteronomy was added to the Tetrateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers) to form the Pentateuch. This scenario is further complicated by the fact that J, E, P, and D (and their sub-sources) had, likely, all been passed down orally for several years prior to their literary composition, which seems to begin to blur the distinction between text and context. Moreover, there are scribal variances amongst various Pentateuchal manuscripts, and the Documentary Hypothesis itself is merely conjectural and may not accurately represent the literary composition of the Pentateuch. Simply put, one of the major problems with contextualism is choosing which context is the one most important for properly understanding any given text (Clark 141)?
There are numerous other problems with contextualism. For example, the numerous contexts themselves out of which texts emerge are fluid. For instance, the author of a given text does not instantaneously produce a text. The author spends a period of time either compiling and redacting sources or writing a text. Thus, even the voice of the author may change during the time of composition; such that, even within a single text produced by one author, the text’s ideology need not be entirely consistent throughout. The author is not necessarily constrained by any particular moment in time or any single doctrine. Thus, even the most fundamental assumptions we might assume a text must adhere to, such as the Principle of Non-Contradiction, may not be adhered to throughout the text. Hence, Skinner would have a difficult time in uncovering an author’s intentions (139), given that the author’s intentions are fluid; for instance, most scholars distinguish between an early, middle, and late Plato whose philosophy changes radically throughout his own works.
Finally, even if we are able to isolate a single context out of which the text emerged, the problem of what I shall call contextual expansion arises. Namely, if a text can be understood by its context, we face the problem that it may be ever expanding. For instance, when we come across an archeological discovery in Israel that affects a reading of the book of Kings, our knowledge of the context out of which the text arose expands. Furthermore, if we have a further discovery, our context will expand again, etc. Seemingly, our context will be ever expanding. Thus, at what given point might we assume that our understanding of a given context is sufficient to properly understand a text? Hence, there are several severe limitations to contextualism. Moreover, there is no need to assume that there is merely a single context of genesis for any text; rather, there are several geneses out of which a plethora of meanings arise. Hence, it becomes more fruitful to discuss the development of the composition of a text and its role in a particular community at a given point in time.
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3 comments:
Andrew,
I completely agree with you regarding the importance of recognizing multiple contexts of composition or “origin.” Your statement regarding the composition of the Tanakh: “Similar to Barthes, Derrida, and Kristeva’s notion of texts being “tissues of quotations” (132), many of these individual texts themselves are collections and redactions of several sources, which, in turn, have their own literary history out of which they emerged”, demonstrates the multiple layers of complexity involved in the development and composition of texts. Also, you mention orality as blurring the distinction between text and context, which I also find a strong point.
From reading your post, I am not sure how feasible it is to determine which context is the one “most important” for properly understanding a particular text, one of the major problems with contextualism as you mention. Given that there theoretically exists an infinite number, how can we tell which one is the most fitting for the text in question? Even if a particular theory seems to offer a possible (and even likely) explanation for the composition of a text, how can we be sure it’s the accurate model of composition? It may be tempting at times to accept whatever theory of composition seems to provide the simplest explanation (e.g. involving the least amount of sources, the fewest scribal differences, etc.), but given the complexities of history, Ockham’s Razor may not apply in such circumstances.
Also, you point out the fluidity in the nature of textual authorship. I think that this idea of the changing voice, mind, thought process, etc. of a text’s author (or authors) contributes to a better understanding of the non-uniform nature of any given text. One thing that I have always found in reading religious texts in particular is that ideas within the text that seem contradictory are often reconcilable when understood in light of authorial fluidity. That is, seemingly contradictory statements can be interpreted as representing particular changes in an author’s context, be they personal changes (psychological, intellectual, emotional, etc.) or environmental (social, political, etc.). Your statement: “The author is not necessarily constrained by any particular moment in time or any single doctrine” is something that I find is taken for granted in the analysis (and often times, criticism) or religious texts in particular. I think that the fluidity of authorial intent, as well as context is something that should always be kept in mind in studying texts.
Finally, given the complex nature of the “genesis” of texts, I agree that it is much more beneficial to study the development, composition and role of religious texts for particular communities/groups at specific moments in time. Not only does such a study allow for the complex question of textual origins and meanings to be limited to a narrower and specific context, but in discussing the role of texts for particular communities, multiple methods and disciplines can be applied. This allows for the collaborative approach of research to be employed, bringing together the strengths of multiple methodologies.
- Adam
Hey Andrew,
I enjoyed reading your post especially for the discussion of the genealogy of parts of the Hebrew Bible and the various recensions. I thoroughly enjoy editing texts and working with manuscripts, though Greek (and some Latin) in my case.
Anyways, I like the notion of fluidity, which you mention, and which for me is the essence of a text and not only of context. You also mention the importance of an ever changing context and of the temporality of context – I’d speak about texts this way, but the play, the movements still take place beneath the horizon of context. Otherwise, if context is objective, unchanging ground, as I also mention in my post, we assume an ontology of presence which is highly problematic. So we approach what simultaneously conceals and reveals itself – it’s a play. And why can’t we think of it this way, think of it as a game, one which divulges riches at every turn, at every instant? Is it not enough that we tease some gems from the infinite riches and folds of texts and of context?
I use the singular for context, because, as I mentioned once in class, it’s not multiple, and the word doesn’t mean that, at least it didn’t in its origin. To speak of contexts, to use the plural, is counterintuitive, I think, when you think of the word itself and its origin. I think it changed, it became multiple, when everyone began to claim that they had discovered the context of a given text (broadly speaking). The problem, however, was that everyone had ‘discovered’ a different, a personal context, and so from the infinitude of context we arrived at a scattered multiplicity of contexts, each of which was held up as ‘The Context’. It’s as though we all grasp at single pieces of an infinite puzzle and yet have the audacity and lack of perspective to deem our own, individual piece as ‘The Puzzle’ in its entirety.
best,
babak
Hi Andrew,
I particularly enjoyed your use of the Hebrew bible to explain the interwoven nature of text. Your argument about expanding context is interesting. I would like to consider how this definition of context affects the definition of text, as they are interrelated concepts. What do you make of the idea that text is also always inwardly expanding? When I talk of ‘text’ here I am thinking not in terms of the document but of ‘text’ as the interweaving of a possibly infinite number of ideas/threads. As you have mentioned, according to the Documentary Hypothesis, the Pentateuch has four sources, which have multiple sources of their own which we know of. We have already acknowledged the limitations of our ability to understand the context out of which a given text arises, so I think it would be prudent to assume that we are also equally limited in our knowledge of the various sources of the text. In this way, the ‘text’, the threads that comprise the text, appear to multiply the more and closer we examine. In terms of a scholarly approach to a text, you argue that it is more fruitful to “discuss the development of the composition of a text and its role in a particular community at a given point in time.” I agree with you that this is more beneficial than trying to nail down authorial intent, which is impossible given the multiplicity of sources/‘voices’ present in every text. It seems like we just have to step into the river, get our bearings, and proceed as best we can. With text and context infinitely expanding, what other option do we have but to insert ourselves into a particular time and place and attempt to make sense of the information that we are receiving?
Amy
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