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Exegetical Fallacies
Carson, D. A.
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eBook - ePub
Exegetical Fallacies
Carson, D. A.
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This book offers updated explanations of the sins of interpretation to teach sound grammatical, lexical, cultural, theological, and historical Bible study practices. "A must for teachers, pastors, and serious Bible students."-- Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society
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Word-Study Fallacies
What amazing things words are! They can convey information and express or elicit emotion. They are the vehicles that enable us to think. With words of command we can cause things to be accomplished; with words of adoration we praise God; and in another context the same words blaspheme him.
Words are among the preacherâs primary toolsâboth the words he studies and the words with which he explains his studies. Mercifully, there now exist several excellent volumes to introduce the student to the general field of lexical semantics and to warn against particular abuses;[1] and this is all to the good, for Nathan Söderblom was right when he said, âPhilology is the eye of the needle through which every theological camel must enter the heaven of theology.â[2]
My own pretensions are modest. I propose merely to list and describe a collection of common fallacies that repeatedly crop up when preachers and others attempt word studies of biblical terms, and to provide some examples. The entries may serve as useful warning flags.
Common Fallacies in Semantics
1. The root fallacy
One of the most enduring of errors, the root fallacy presupposes that every word actually has a meaning bound up with its shape or its components. In this view, meaning is determined by etymology; that is, by the root or roots of a word. How many times have we been told that because the verbal cognate of áŒÏÏÏÏÎżÎ»ÎżÏ (apostolos, apostle) is áŒÏÎżÏÏÎÎ»Î»Ï (apostellĆ, I send), the root meaning of âapostleâ is âone who is sentâ? In the preface of the New King James Bible, we are told that the âliteralâ meaning of ÎŒÎżÎœÎżÎłÎ”ÎœÎźÏ (monogenÄs) is âonly begotten.â[3] Is that true? How often do preachers refer to the verb áŒÎłÎ±ÏÎŹÏ (agapaĆ, to love), contrast it with ÏÎčλÎÏ (phileĆ, to love), and deduce that the text is saying something about a special kind of loving, for no other reason than that áŒÎłÎ±ÏÎŹÏ (agapaĆ) is used?
All of this is linguistic nonsense. We might have guessed as much if we were more acquainted with the etymology of English words. Anthony C. Thiselton offers by way of example our word nice, which comes from the Latin nescius, meaning âignorant.â[4] Our âgood-byeâ is a contraction for Anglo-Saxon âGod be with you.â Now it may be possible to trace out diachronically just how nescius generated âniceâ; it is certainly easy to imagine how âGod be with youâ came to be contracted to âgood-bye.â But I know of no one today who in saying such and such a person is âniceâ believes that he or she has in some measure labeled that person ignorant because the âroot meaningâ or âhidden meaningâ or âliteral meaningâ of âniceâ is âignorant.â
J. P. Louw provides a fascinating example.[5] In 1 Corinthians 4:1 Paul writes of himself, Cephas, Apollos, and other leaders in these terms: âSo then, men ought to regard us as servants (áœÏηÏÎÏαÏ, hypÄretas) of Christ and as those entrusted with the secret things of Godâ (NIV). More than a century ago, R. C. Trench popularized the view that áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) derives from the verb áŒÏÎÏÏÏ (eressĆ) âto row.â[6] The basic meaning of áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs), then, is ârower.â Trench quite explicitly says a áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) âwas originally the rower (from áŒÏÎÏÏÏ [eressĆ]).â A. T. Robertson and J. B Hofmann went further and said áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) derives morphologically from áœÏÏ (hypo) and áŒÏÎÏÎ·Ï (eretÄs).[7] Now áŒÏÎÏÏÏ (eressĆ) means ârowerâ in Homer (eighth century B.C.!); and Hofmann draws the explicit connection with the morphology, concluding a áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) was basically an âunder rowerâ or âassistant rowerâ or âsubordinate rower.â Trench had not gone so far: he did not detect in áœÏÎż (hypo) any notion of subordination. Nevertheless Leon Morris concluded that a áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) was âa servant of a lowly kindâ;[8] and William Barclay plunged further and designated áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) as âa rower on the lower bank of a trireme.â[9] Yet the fact remains that with only one possible exceptionâand it is merely possible, not certain[10]âáœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) is never used for ârowerâ in classical literature, and it is certainly not used that way in the New Testament. The áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) in the New Testament is a servant, and often there is little if anything to distinguish him from a ÎŽÎčÎŹÎșÎżÎœÎżÏ (diakonos). As Louw remarks, to derive the meaning of áœÏηÏÎÏÎ·Ï (hypÄretÄs) from áœÏÏ (hypo) and áŒÏÎÏÎ·Ï (eretÄs) is no more intrinsically realistic than deriving the meaning of âbutterflyâ from âbutterâ and âfly,â or the meaning of âpineappleâ from âpineâ and âapple.â[11] Even those of us who have never been to Hawaii recognize that pineapples are not a special kind of apple that grows on pines.
The search for hidden meanings bound up with etymologies becomes even more ludicrous when two words with entirely different meanings share the same etymology. James Barr draws attention to the pair ŚÖ¶ŚÖ¶Ś (leáž„em) and ŚÖŽŚÖ°ŚÖžŚÖžŚ (miláž„ÄmĂą), which mean âbreadâ and âwarâ respectively:
It must be regarded as doubtful whether the influence of their common root is of any importance semantically in classical Hebrew in the normal usage of the words. And it would be utterly fanciful to connect the two as mutually suggestive or evocative, as if battles were normally for the sake of bread or bread a necessary provision for battles. Words containing similar sound sequences may of course be deliberately juxtaposed for assonance, but this is a special case and separately recognizable.[12]
Perhaps I should return for a moment to my first three examples. It is arguable that although áŒÏÏÏÏÎżÎ»ÎżÏ (apostolos, apostle) is cognate with áŒÏÎżÏÏÎÎ»Î»Ï (apostellĆ, I send), New Testament use of the noun does not center on the meaning the one sent but on âmessenger.â Now a messenger is usually sent; but the word messenger also calls to mind the message the person carries, and suggests he represents the one who sent him. In other words, actual usage in the New Testament suggests that áŒÏáœčÏÏÎżÎ»ÎżÏ (apostolos) commonly bears the meaning a special representative or a special messenger rather than âsomeone sent out.â
The word ÎŒÎżÎœÎżÎłÎ”Îœáœ”Ï (monogenÄs) is often thought to spring from ÎŒáœčÎœÎżÏ (monos, only) plus ÎłÎ”ÎœÎœÎŹÏ (gennaĆ, to beget); and hence its meaning is âonly begotten.â Even at the etymological level, the ÎłÎ”Îœ (gen)-root is tricky: ÎŒÎżÎœÎżÎłÎ”Îœáœ”Ï (monogenes) could as easily spring from ÎŒáœčÎœÎżÏ (monos, only) plus ÎłÎÎœÎżÏ (genos, kind or race) to mean âonly one of its kind,â âunique,â or the like. If we press on to consider usage, we discover that the Septuagint renders ŚÖžŚÖŽŚŚš (yÄáž„Ăźd) as âaloneâ or âonlyâ (e.g., Ps. 22:20 [21:21, LXX, âmy precious lifeâ (NIV) or âmy only soulâ]; Ps. 25:16 [24:16, LXX, âfor I am lonely and poorâ]), without even a hint of âbegetting.â True, in the New Testament the word often refers to the relationship of child to parent; but even here, care must be taken. In Hebrews 11:17 Isaac is said to be Abrahamâs ÎŒÎżÎœÎżÎłÎ”Îœáœ”Ï (monogenÄs)âwhich clearly cannot mean âonly-begotten son,â since Abraham also sired Ishmael and a fresh packet of progeny by Keturah (Gen. 25:1â2). Issac is, however, Abrahamâs unique son, his special and well-beloved son.[13] The long and short of the matter is that renderings such as âfor God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Sonâ (John 3:16, NIV) are prompted by neither an inordinate love of paraphrasis, nor a perverse desire to deny some cardinal truth, but by linguistics.
In a similar vein, although it is doubtless true that the entire range of áŒÎłÎ±ÏÎŹÏ (agapaĆ, to love) and the entire range of ÏÎčλÎÏ (phileĆ, to love) are not exactly the same, nevertheless they enjoy substantial overlap; and where they overlap, appeal to a âroot meaningâ in order to discern a difference is fallacious. In 2 Samuel 13 (LXX), both áŒÎłÎ±Ïáœ±Ï (agapaĆ, to love) and the cognate áŒÎłáœ±Ïη (agapÄ, love) can refer to Amnonâs incestuous rape of his half sister Tamar (2 Sam. 13:15, LXX). When we read that Demas forsook Paul because he loved this present, evil world, there is no linguistic reason to be surprised that the verb is áŒÎłÎ±Ïáœ±Ï (agapaĆ, 2 Tim. 4:10). John 3:35 records that the Father loves the Son and uses the verb áŒÎłÎ±ÏÎŹÏ (agapaĆ); John 5:20 repeats the thought, but uses ÏÎčλÎÏ (phileĆ)âwithout any discernible shift in meaning. The false assumptions surrounding this pair of words are ubiquitous; and so I shall return to them again. My only point here is that there is nothing intrinsic to the verb áŒÎłÎ±Ïáœ±Ï (agapaĆ) or the noun áŒÎłáœ±Ïη (agapÄ) to prove its real meaning or hidden meaning refers to some special kind of love.
I hasten to add three caveats to this discussion. First, I am not saying that any word can mean anything. Normally we observe that any individual word has a certain limited semantic range, and the context may therefore modify or shape the meaning of a word only within certain boundaries. The total semantic range is not permanently fixed, of course; with time and novel usage, it may shift considerably. Even so, I am not suggesting that words are infinitely plastic. I am simply saying that the meaning of a word cannot be reliably determined by etymology, or that a root, once discovered, always projects a certain semantic load onto any word that incorporates that root. Linguistically, meaning is not an intrinsic possession of a word; rather, âit is a set of relations for which a verbal symbol is a sign.â[14] In one sense, of course, it is legitimate to say âthis word means such and such,â where we are either providing the lexical range inductively observed or specifying the meaning of a word in a particular context; but we must not freight such talk with too much etymological baggage.
The second caveat is that the meaning of a word may reflect the meanings of its component parts. For example, the verb áŒÎșÎČÎŹÎ»Î»Ï (ekballĆ), from áŒÎș (ek) and ÎČÎŹÎ»Î»Ï (ballĆ), does in fact mean âI cast out,â âI throw out,â or âI put out.â The meaning of a word may reflect its etymology; and it must be admitted that this is more common in synthetic languages like Greek or German, with their relatively high percentages of transparent words (words that have some kind of natural relation to their meaning) than in a language like English, where words are opaque (i.e., without any natural relation to their meaning).[15] Even so, my point is that we cannot responsibly assume that etymology is related to meaning. We can only test the point by discovering the meaning of a word inductively.
Finally, I am far from suggesting that etymological study is useless. It is important, for instance, in the diachronic study of words (the study of words as they occur across long periods of time), in the attempt to specify the earliest attested meaning, in the study of cognate languages, and especially in attempts to understand the meanings of hapax legomena (words that appear only once). In the last case, although etymology is a clumsy tool for discerning meaning, the lack of comparative material means we sometimes have no other choice. That is why, as Moisés Silva points out in his excellent discussion of these matters, etymology plays a much more important role in the determination of mea...