115 - Reflections on Revisions

Reflections on Revisions
By Hugh T. Kerr

EVERYONE knows that toward the end of his long and varied career, Augustine prepared a critical retrospective of his enormous theological output called the Retractions. It wasn't so much that he wanted to make radical changes in what he had already written, but, as the Latin retractiones suggests, he needed to pick-up again and take-in-hand for review and fresh examination some of his major theological emphases. It was a self-imposed literary assignment many authors, ancient and modern, feel compelled to undertake.

I

Revision may be required of a translation or exegesis of a biblical passage, a sermon, a worship service, an article or a book simply because times change as well as minds. Beyond that, writers and preachers are never quite satisfied with the first effort. It has been said that if it weren't for deadlines, nothing would ever get published. Revision can mean taking a new look at something old, or it can mean changing things around in the interests of a new structure and sequence.

Schleiermacher issued his big treatise on The Christian Faith in 1821, followed nine years later in 1830 by a second, considerably revised edition from which the English translation (1928) is made. At the suggestion of H. R. Mackintosh, one of the translators, Donald M. Baillie prepared a little manual (1922) with the lead paragraph headings of both editions on facing pages. Barth, who followed Schleiermacher's method of lead paragraphs in his Church Dogmatics, thoroughly frustrated his earlier readers by revising his commentary on Romans through six editions. Both Schleiermacher and Barth, by the way, resisted, in vain as it turned out, attempts to define their theological positions as the establishing of "a new school."

Bonhoeffer first became known to a wide American audience with the publication of his Cost of Discipleship (1947; Ger. ed. 1937). He later expressed some reservations about the book but said he was content "to let it stand" so long as his later writings were allowed to correct and supplement his earlier work. The name of H. Richard Niebuhr was first identified with a little book of socio-religious analysis, The Social Sources of Denominationalism (1929). But in a later reprint (1957), like Bonhoeffer, he indicated some reservations based upon later reflection.

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When Anne Morrow Lindbergh began to "journal," as we say today, "thinking with a pencil," she had no idea that her random thoughts about one woman's personal meditations would be of any interest whatever to anyone else. But talking with friends, she was persuaded to publish her musings, and Gift from the Sea (1955) became an unexpected "sleeper," selling quietly but steadily year after year.

After her famous husband's death, a twentieth anniversary edition was published in 1975 with a brief but explanatory preface. It was not in the form of a revision, but a sort of belated rationale for printing the book in the first place. By allowing her private thoughts to be published, she suggested that her little book, still in print, was meant to "return my gift from the sea" for others to have and to read. In a theology class where students were given freedom to select either a term paper or a project, one woman seminarian wrote an extended essay based on the Gift, examining biblical and psychological symbols relating to water and the sea. Two other students, working independently of the first student, put together a sight and sound slide presentation with readings from the book. One of them was a woman skilled in multimedia techniques and the other a man who had been a professional photographer. When shown to the whole class, they were surprised at the positive response. Anne Morrow's Gift, apparently, keeps giving.

Let two personal examples of revision and renewal from an editor's pencil serve to continue this line of discussion.

II

When I began to teach theology at the Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in 1936, I was fresh out of graduate school with a detailed knowledge of Strauss, Biedermann, and Troeltsch but with not much else. I figured my doughty trio would make a poor introduction for first-year seminarians and, so, greatly daring and mostly for my own edification, I plunged into Allen's two-volume English translation of Calvin's Institutes, studying it word for word and page by page.

What interested me most about Calvin at the time were the structure and sequence of his system. As I was reading, I underlined, in blue crayon-pencil, passages that seemed to me instructive for students who could handle the drift of Calvin's argument but whose attention span beyond a modest display of the reformer's theology could not be taken for granted. Some friends and colleagues who heard about the project through the students urged me to put the underlined passages together into a textbook format that might be published.

Shortly thereafter A Compend of Calvin's Institutes was issued in 1939 by the Presbyterian Board of Christian Education in Philadelphia, the precursor of the Westminster Press. The Board was fearful that the little volume might not sell, and so I was asked to put up a subvention to insure against financial loss for the publishers. But the Compend not only made it own way, it was translated into Japanese and Korean, and in 1964 came out in paperback with a new foreword.

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A completely new, revised edition, Calvin's Institutes: A New Compend (1989) has just recently appeared and in time to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of continuous compend circulation. A New Compend is a much better book, based on the newer Battles' translation and revised considerably at several points.

A few brief reflections on the often-tedious task of plowing through Battles' two-volume 1734 page rendition of Calvin's massive opus: (1) no matter how good translations can be, Calvin's language seems ponderous and turgid for today, and there is no way to make his writing "inclusive"; (2) even though the Compend is only one-tenth the size of the original, there is still much included that will seem to many, especially seminarians, as and futile; (3) structure and sequence still seem to me essential for any constructive theology, as in the Creed, the liturgy, the seasons of the Christian year, and the stages of faith and life; (4) but conviction and even passion, and Calvin had both, are also necessary for a creative theology and today that may seem more important than skill at discursive argument; and finally (5) through it all, Calvin still speaks with the voice of one steeped in the Scriptures and whose heart, as he inscribed on his so-called crest, was devoted "completely and sincerely" to God in Jesus Christ.

III

Another revision assignment has occupied what free hours remained after the compend project. This again was a textbook designed for supplemental reading with original texts relating to the history of the Western theological tradition. Readings in Christian Thought appeared under the Abingdon Press imprint and has been in circulation since 1966. It was a big book of nearly 400 pages with introductory explanatory prefaces and double-column selections of Christian doctrine from the early church to Pope John XXIII and Vatican Council II.

The "Second Edition" of Readings (1990) involved not only revision but substantial restructuring. Many of the previous inclusions now seemed of only minor significance, whereas a whole new library of texts demanded attention if the volume were to be inclusive and contemporary. It is impossible to wash the masculinist language of older texts, but it is possible to make the prefaces and introductory material inclusive, and this required considerable re-writing. There was also a vast new collection of writings by women in all ages of the classic Christian tradition. Some, at least, of these mostly unknown sources had to be included, and reference to recent anthologies could be mentioned in editorial comments.

As to contemporary theology selections, it is obvious to all that much has happened since John XXIII, and attention must be paid to more recent trends even if critical perspective on today is always more difficult than evaluating ancient writings. A decision was made, rightly or wrongly, to choose three recently deceased figures to suggest what kinds of theological directions could be projected with some assurance. So, we

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took Karl Rahner (1904-1984) who had ties with Vatican II and whose extensive theological writings will surely continue to influence many areas of theological investigation. Thomas Merton (1915-1968) seemed a good second choice not only for his own sake but as a representative of the current interest in both the inner spiritual quest and the confrontation of Christianity with other religions. The third name is that of Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968), whose voice rallied the consciences of peoples everywhere and whose call for liberation has had a ripple effect on many different kinds of present-day theological discussions. These names are not just types, but significant passages from their writings have been included.

Again, whether wise or not, it was decided to allow these figures of the day-before-yesterday to speak for themselves rather than include a miscellany of items from living theologians. Some hint of what may be in store for us has been relegated to editorial commentary.

What can be learned from this kind of revision and restructuring? (1) As with Calvin, the Readings the second time around meant letting go of previously valued luggage in favor of retaining the essentials; (2) the process of selecting what to include is always arbitrary and anguishing; (3) the volume, as with any such anthology, is necessarily restricted in outlook, in this case the emphasis is on the Western tradition and with special attention to works on doctrinal theology and the mystical-spiritual tradition rather than on biblical studies or ethics; (4) thinking that students and others, wanting to know something of the content and sequence of Christian thought, need some basic information about names, places, and dates, the various editorial prefaces required concentrated writing with a sense of flow so that all these prefatory notes might be read together as an express run through the main stations of Western Christian thought; (5) a word of advice for those contemplating similar kinds of anthologies: be prepared for a protracted correspondence seeking permission from publishers to reprint even small sections of copyrighted material. This is especially irksome for contemporary texts, and in the case of selections for Rahner, Merton, and King, for example, the permission fees seemed excessive.

IV

The foregoing may seem like an immodest sales pitch. Of course, I'd be glad if the new editions made their way on their own. But I'm not bucking for tenure or a salary raise, and I can think of lots of other things that would have been easier and more enjoyable to do. By the way, to make the revision assignments acceptable ("easier and more enjoyable"), a couple of spaced weeks at a small hotel in Bermuda did the trick but virtually wiped out advanced royalties. The point is that for a piece of concentrated writing or research, don't count on doing it in free time or on vacations-get away and stay away.

On a more serious level, "revision" in one form or another is a constant challenge for all of us involved in teaching, preaching, and Christian

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ministry of any kind. To "revision" is to see all over again, to take another look, to readjust our perspectival spectacles, including a critical inside look at ourselves. It may seem contrived, but it is pure coincidence that several articles in this issue of THEOLOGY TODAY are illustrative of the dynamics of revision and renewal.

The history of theological and biblical interpretation, as of pastoral care and practice, involves continuing and unending revision. There is, of course, an alternative. We can, and many do, resist revision. We can remain where we are and where we were, and we can take refuge in standing pat and refusing to budge. But a stand-still theology or a static life is not going anywhere. The prescription to revise, to change, to alter one's views can be a threatening and upsetting experience, like the rich young ruler who couldn't give up the things that he thought meant his security.

In the old days of the steam locomotive, the engine would occasionally be stalled on what was called "dead center." The weights of the big driving wheels and the pull shafts that connected one set of wheels to another could be poised by chance in such a way that no amount of pressure could start the wheels to roll. To be stuck at "dead center" is not a live option for theology today or tomorrow.

Everyone knows Santayana's remark about those who forget the past and are then required to repeat it. Another version of the same thought is Desmond Tutu's quotation that "we learn from history what we do not learn." Or, as the old proverb put it, "from the fires of the past, carry the flame, not the ashes."

Hugh T. Kerr