On religious interpretation

The monks in Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose frequently debate one another on the finer points of scripture. Comically, these debates turn on such minutely fine points that the monks are in danger of entirely shaking off any proper perspective on Christ’s teachings. Whenever a monk is murdered, the blind monk Jorge takes it upon himself to interpret in these unnatural deaths signs of the forthcoming apocalypse, and is certain that they loudly echo warnings given in Revelations. In the novel, Jorge represents the over-literalist approach to interpretation, whereas the friar William of Baskerville represents the more liberal, and by implication more modern, approach.

Devotees of religion do indeed tend to fall into one of two camps. In the one, we have the literalists. These tend to have a simplistic understanding of their holy texts, and indeed often appear to be ignorant of the idea of interpretation itself. This stance is unsustainable, given the myriad apparent contradictions that exist in almost all religious books, by the admission even of followers themselves. In the other camp are the interpretationalists, who argue that there is no text without context, and that Christ’s injunction to turn the other cheek, say, cannot be understood in isolation, but must be understood as just one small part of a larger structure. It is easy to see how the major religions of the world, if given over entirely to the most liberal of interpretationalists, cannot be really coherent guides to life. One theologian might argue that Christ’s words encourage a pacifist approach to violence, while another might say that in fact Christ was only speaking ironically, and that he would never have meant such a thing at all. This, perhaps, is taking it rather too far, but the point is that if the idea that “the interpretation is all” is given free rein, we might never have an understanding of any religion, and we would be left to our own moral devices, for better or for worse—which is exactly where we started.

The approach of the interpretationalists, nevertheless, is more sophisticated than that of the plain literalist’s. They understand that it is the job of the religious follower—all followers, not just theologians—to really grapple with the text, and so comprehend the true meaning and spirit behind it all, rather than only to take what is convenient[1]. But let’s pause there: is the literalist’s approach really quite as backward as we tend to think it is? Perhaps rather it is an absolute insistence on literalism that is the problem, rather than the thing in itself. Should we not be literalist in certain contexts? There are times, surely, when literalism is called for. If Jesus says that so-and-so is good and so-and-so is bad, why should a Christian not take him at his word? Such an injunction is explicit and direct, and is not spoken in the phraseology of parable or symbolism. Jesus was indisputably a moral teacher; surely in admitting that there are phrases that Jesus uttered with directness that might not be taken literally, we credit him (and the Gospels in general) with too much sophistication for their purpose? It must be horribly frustrating, if you are a figure like Jesus or Mohammed, presumably meaning only to spread a good moral message, that such simple commands can be obfuscated and twisted for the purposes of anyone.

To assert that one’s religion admits of many interpretations, because of the subtlety of the language or the unfathomability of God, means that even those aspects of the text that were otherwise safe and solid must necessarily be cross-interrogated. Naturally, it is good that all parts of the text are questioned, but there are a few select parts which must be held as constant bastions, unchanged no matter what. For instance, all Christians should agree that Christ’s injunction to “love thy neighbour as thyself” is one of those, especially as it resides in a passage about “the great commandment in the law”.

Yet there are passages which can in no way be said to be symbolic, and indeed appear perfectly clear and direct, that are nevertheless troublesome—not inherently so, perhaps, but problems arise when an ancient text comes into direct conflict with modern sensibilities. An-Nisa, the sura of the Qur’an which focuses on women, has a notorious passage in which Mohammed advises men on how to deal with wives suspected of adultery or general ill-conduct. The passage forms the foundation for much of the arguments of those opposed to Islam, and indeed upon reading it, it is difficult not to come away with a sense that it does permit violence against women:

Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allah has given the one more (strength) than the other, and because they support them from their means. Therefore the righteous women are devoutly obedient, and guard in (the husband’s) absence what Allah would have them guard. As to those women on whose part ye fear disloyalty and ill-conduct, admonish them (first), (Next), refuse to share their beds, (And last) beat them (lightly); but if they return to obedience, seek not against them Means (of annoyance): For Allah is Most High, great (above you all).

Verse 34 of An-Nisa, The Holy Qur’an

Now, there are many moderate Islamic scholars and imams who argue that the Qur’an does not permit damaging violence, rather it only permits mild beating, and nothing that can permanently harm the woman. Be this as it may, it is certainly hard to see how the passage of An-Nisa is anything other than demeaning to women—after all, it is addressed to men, and the same right is not given to women, despite the fact that men are just as likely to be adulterous. Yet there are some Islamic scholars who argue that in fact that passage is, if anything, empowering to women. This really is a sublime case of extreme liberality of interpretation. It would be understandable to try to belittle its importance as a part of Islam, but to say that it is empowering seems to be a case of self-delusion.

Is it possible to understand the passage from An-Nisa as ironic? On first inspection, no. But perhaps if one has read the Qur’an an innumerable amount of times, it becomes possible to pick up on such a subtlety. The problem is that while irony is very often contextual, the suras of the Qur’an can be read in any order and as such it should be possible to treat each one as self-sufficient. Reading the whole of An-Nisa, as opposed to just this passage, does not help to show any irony or indeed any other hidden subtleties in the passage. Perhaps it is possible to say, though, that a true Muslim should be so immersed in the Qur’an as a whole that it becomes one, and all the separate parts, however contradictory, become like individual threads in a single complex tapestry, and thus it becomes apparent, with sufficient mastery, that it is not acceptable to hit women after all. If that is the case, that is an aesthetic and purely subjective experience which cannot feasibly be used as the basis of an argument. There is no scholar in the world who can argue from that to the conclusion that the Qur’an is necessarily an enlightened book, because there are clearly many very devout Muslims in the world who, rightly or wrongly, do beat their wives (and far worse) apparently in the name of Islam, and justify it by the aforementioned passage.

If you are a prophet or a writer of a holy text, the employment of irony is indeed a very dangerous game. Kierkegaard called irony the incognito of the moralist. Be that as it may, if you consider it your vocation to teach the world how to live, you are assuming an awful lot if you think that anybody other than the most intensely dutiful scholar will understand you on so deep a level.

It is often claimed to be a virtue of holy texts that they are highly interpretable. There is a vague sense that the more interpretable they are, the more they are “infinite” and permanently enlightening. This may be true of great works of secular literature, but it is a criterion that is highly questionable to apply to a work that is meant to be a guide to life. It is especially troubling when the religion itself, or its followers, claim divine authorship. In that case, we should trust that God’s words must be taken at face value. The more difficult they are, the less people will be able to follow them, the more dispute there will be, and the more impedance there will be to real understanding and therefore the sort of paradise of virtue which religion generally looks forward to. In the case of the Qur’an, its author claims to be channelling the words of God himself. This necessarily impedes a real interpretive approach to the text. If only followers of religion would accept the human origins of their belief systems and the fallible nature of the writers of their holy texts, then they could take these books in their proper spirit: as attempts to improve human life, rather than as final verdicts on the state of humanity and the universe.

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[1] Even though the interpretationalist takes what is convenient to justify by interpretation what is inconvenient.