A Call for the Comparative Method?

Andy Judd’s Modern Genre Theory is a widely endorsed book that attempts to infuse a bit of life into an otherwise stale conversation in biblical studies. I have blogged about it previously here, but it’s worth repeating that he feels conversations about genre in the discipline of biblical studies are outdated and underinformed. I certainly can’t disagree with this. And the more that I read this book, the more I appreciate it.

               One of the most important things is that Judd goes through and plots out several tenets of the genre conversation. Overall, I like his list. Sure, the list gets a bit cumbersome from time to time, but overall, he paints a nice picture of the framework that governs modern conversations about genre. By implication, this framework should inform genre conversations in the context of biblical studies. But it’s his final tenet that I want to focus on for the moment.

“The ball is always in the reader’s court.”

In short, Judd explains that the reader determines how the considerations of genre will affect the interpretive process. Judd eventually states, “Writers will inevitably leave strategically placed signals as to the genre they anticipate their texts will participate in. But whether the reader picks up on those clues—or chooses to follow them—is up to them” (p. 62). Yes, this is right. Readers have a profound impact on the interpretive process. But is Judd advocating a reader-centric interpretive program, as if intentions of the author or the text may not matter?

In my theological and intellectual tradition, we are hypersensitive to these conversations. We head any threat off at the pass, well before it can threaten our theological and interpretive territory. Indeed, Judd is aware of these concerns, but he does not seem to be shackled by the hypersensitivity of my tradition. Thankfully, Judd does clarify his position on this. He thinks that coordination between the reader and the intention of the text/author is possible. (So, right there, he’s not a threat 😉) But perhaps more importantly, he argues that social factors associated with every genre help frame the conversation and militate against extreme positions. And when these things are minded, any debate about an interpretation’s value or legitimacy need not dominate. It’s communicative efficiency and value can become the focus.  

But I think that there’s a more fundamental consideration here than how genre considerations can frame the debate of an interpretation’s legitimacy or effectiveness. How does one know which genre to consider? Put another way, how does the reader identify the literary type that is either accepted or rejected?

Judd’s answer? Guess work. Albeit educated guess work.

“Our understanding of a text’s genre starts with an educated guess and an open mind” (p. 69). Judd then goes on to describe a process whereby guesses are reinforced or adjusted based on a dynamic and continual loop of observations and feedback between the reader and the text. He calls it the “boomerang test.” And I kind of like this…I think. This proposal doesn’t allow for rampant relativism—as if anything goes and individual people are all that matters. Yet it allows for individual variables to infuse the interpretive process with a responsible amount of dynamism. Moreover, that dynamism is observationally and textually driven. You are to look at details in the text and verify or revise your conclusions. And so ultimately some interpretations are more effective (or better) than others.

But the thread that I want to pull on comes out in the following statement made by Judd in conjunction with his discussion of the boomerang test.

“…we don’t always have first-hand experience with the social situation of an ancient text (unless the genre we are studying is embedded in narrative that describes the situation). Comparisons with other ancient Near Eastern texts and historical information should inform our hunches…” (p. 71).

In other words, the “hunches” that he mentions are initial genre classifications that initiate and are reinforced or revised by the boomerang test.

               For what it’s worth, I think that this point is underemphasized by Judd. Because we are dealing with ancient literary types, we have to know what those are. Sure, there are general literary types, like “narrative” or “poetry” that transcend time and cultures. And they are useful. However,  the beauty of biblical studies is that you quickly start tumbling down literary rabbit holes that require greater sophistication. For example, the classification of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as “gospels” invokes a very technical debate involving ancient literary form, content, and function.

               So, what’s my point? Genre classifications will quickly fall flat without a certain level of cultural literacy. I am thinking of the points made by Christopher Hays in his Prolegomena in Hidden Riches (Westminster John Knox, 2014). And when you are dealing with ancient texts, the baseline information about that cultural literacy can only be filled by similar and similarly ancient texts. In other words, Judd’s program argued in Modern Genre Theory is an argument (at least on one level) for the comparative method of interpreting the Old Testament, which has been made famous in recent generations by people like Talmon, Hallo, Walton, and more. Such an interpretive method is well-positioned to inform people’s initial genre classification that may or may not be revised. It provides data points to show how a writer may be, as Judd says throughout his book, “playing with genre.” It provides, as Judd says, insight and clarity to historical and social situations germane to the literary realities.

               So, while there’s certainly the possibility that this entry is no more than a literary Rorschach Test, I don’t think it is. Judd’s call to invoke modern genre theory into biblical studies is also a call to engage the comparative method.