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A Theology Of Reading: The Hermeneutics Of Love
If the whole of the Christian life is to be governed by the "law of love"--the twofold love of God and one's neighbor--what might it mean to read lovingly? That is the question that drives this unique book. Jacobs pursues this challenging task by alternating largely theoretical, theological chapters--drawing above all on Augustine and Mikhail Bakhtin--with interludes that investigate particular readers (some real, some fictional) in the act of reading. Among the authors considered are Shakespeare, Cervantes, Nabakov, Nicholson Baker, George Eliot, W.H. Auden, and Dickens. The theoretical framework is elaborated in the main chapters, while various counterfeits of or substitutes for genuinely charitable interpretation are considered in the interludes, which progressively close in on that rare creature, the loving reader. Through this doubled method of investigation, Jacobs tries to show how difficult it is to read charitably-even should one wish to, which, of course, few of us do. And precisely because the prospect of reading in such a manner is so off-putting, one of the covert goals of the book is to make it seem both more plausible and more attractive.
199 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2001
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664 people want to read
About the author
Alan Jacobs
79 books537 followersAlan Jacobs is a scholar of English literature, literary critic, and distinguished professor of the humanities at Baylor University. Previously, he held the Clyde S. Kilby Chair of English at Wheaton College until 2012. His academic career has been marked by a deep engagement with literature, theology, and intellectual history.
Jacobs has written extensively on reading, thinking, and culture, contributing to publications such as The Atlantic, First Things, and The New Atlantis. His books explore diverse topics, from the intellectual legacy of Christian humanism (The Year of Our Lord 1943) to the challenges of modern discourse (How to Think). He has also examined literary figures like C. S. Lewis (The Narnian) and W. H. Auden. His work often bridges literature and philosophy, with books such as A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love reflecting on the ethical dimensions of interpretation.
An evangelical Anglican, Jacobs continues to influence discussions on faith, literature, and the role of reading in contemporary life.
Jacobs has written extensively on reading, thinking, and culture, contributing to publications such as The Atlantic, First Things, and The New Atlantis. His books explore diverse topics, from the intellectual legacy of Christian humanism (The Year of Our Lord 1943) to the challenges of modern discourse (How to Think). He has also examined literary figures like C. S. Lewis (The Narnian) and W. H. Auden. His work often bridges literature and philosophy, with books such as A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love reflecting on the ethical dimensions of interpretation.
An evangelical Anglican, Jacobs continues to influence discussions on faith, literature, and the role of reading in contemporary life.
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May 25, 2024The idea of developing a “theology of reading,” of discerning what it means to read as a Christian (rather than separating one’s faith from one’s reading), has a lot of value. Jacobs’ answer is hinted at in his subtitle, The Hermeneutic of Love: the book offers an inversion (and challenge) to the “hermeneutic of suspicion,” the (lamentably regnant) approach to reading and interpretation that operates from a starting point of doubt, skepticism, or apprehension. You see this, for example, in the modern scholar who approaches a work of literature as nothing more than a vehicle for encoding and promoting certain ideologies (often pernicious), or the post-modern assumption that all analyses and arguments are “really” self-serving power-claims.*
But as Jacobs cannily points out, one can also see the hermeneutic of suspicion at play in Christian circles, in the emphasis on theology as a matter of setting up intellectual guardrails and reading the Bible as a matter simply of “getting it right.”†
I would add too that a version of this approach to reading can be seen, not just among scholars and theologians, but among general readers as well: approaching the text to find out whether or not we will see ourselves reflected in it, whether we can “relate” to it, and making that a precondition of our appreciation, is a mode of reading grounded in suspicion of the text. (“You’ll need to prove to me that I’ll get something from this before I will enjoy it or let myself admire it.”)
Neither the scholar nor the theologian nor the general reader in such cases approaches their reading by submitting themselves to the text, opening themselves up to listen to it on its own terms: that’s the hermeneutic of suspicion, in which “the text comes under the control of the reader,” so as to “preserve alienation as a condition of freedom from the text.” Jacobs quotes this statement (from Gerald Bruns) at least twice in the book. It hits the nail right on the head.
By contrast, says Jacobs, the “hermeneutic of love” would approach texts by asking: “What would interpretation governed by the law of love look like?” And that is what the book explores—the topic is both fascinating and worthwhile, and altogether commendable.
My only reservation about the book is that it’s not as clear and engaging as it could be. I was warned by my friend Beth (to whom I owe my copy of this book) that it’s very different from Jacobs’ usual style. Jacobs is a master of lucid explanation and coherent, pleasing writing; and while those qualities are frequently on display in this book, it is overall harder going than his other books. (I agree with my friend that a lot of Jacobs’ ideas here are better articulated in his more recent Breaking Bread with the Dead. I would recommend reading that first, and coming to A Theology of Reading if you want to go deeper.)
Two stray observations:
1) Jacobs critiques certain post-modern thinkers (e.g., Derrida) and finds others beneficial and constructive (e.g., Bakhtin). But one of my main takeaways in either case is to be reminded just how ponderous the great post-modern thinkers are, both in terms of their thought and their writing style. Sheesh.
2) I am reminded, as always, that Nietzsche was as odious as he was tedious.
* Some qualifications: there’s a place for identifying what beliefs and ideologies inform an older work of literature; and skepticism and caution can be important parts of assessing arguments. The point, though, is to let the text or the argument speak for itself, to listen to it honestly, before we enter into our assessment and evaluation. That’s charitable and magnanimous, but not naïve, reading.
† This tendency to approach theology by setting up clear boundaries—“no admittance beyond this point”—has conservative and liberal versions. The conservative version is seen, for example, in the idea that discomfort or unease over troubling passages of Scripture bespeaks a lack of firm conviction (such passages are to be enthusiastically embraced); the liberal version of this is to discard those troubling passages altogether (these passages don’t actually reflect Christian thought and can be safely ignored). Neither approach allows for struggle or uncertainty; both seek to exert control over the text.
But as Jacobs cannily points out, one can also see the hermeneutic of suspicion at play in Christian circles, in the emphasis on theology as a matter of setting up intellectual guardrails and reading the Bible as a matter simply of “getting it right.”†
I would add too that a version of this approach to reading can be seen, not just among scholars and theologians, but among general readers as well: approaching the text to find out whether or not we will see ourselves reflected in it, whether we can “relate” to it, and making that a precondition of our appreciation, is a mode of reading grounded in suspicion of the text. (“You’ll need to prove to me that I’ll get something from this before I will enjoy it or let myself admire it.”)
Neither the scholar nor the theologian nor the general reader in such cases approaches their reading by submitting themselves to the text, opening themselves up to listen to it on its own terms: that’s the hermeneutic of suspicion, in which “the text comes under the control of the reader,” so as to “preserve alienation as a condition of freedom from the text.” Jacobs quotes this statement (from Gerald Bruns) at least twice in the book. It hits the nail right on the head.
By contrast, says Jacobs, the “hermeneutic of love” would approach texts by asking: “What would interpretation governed by the law of love look like?” And that is what the book explores—the topic is both fascinating and worthwhile, and altogether commendable.
My only reservation about the book is that it’s not as clear and engaging as it could be. I was warned by my friend Beth (to whom I owe my copy of this book) that it’s very different from Jacobs’ usual style. Jacobs is a master of lucid explanation and coherent, pleasing writing; and while those qualities are frequently on display in this book, it is overall harder going than his other books. (I agree with my friend that a lot of Jacobs’ ideas here are better articulated in his more recent Breaking Bread with the Dead. I would recommend reading that first, and coming to A Theology of Reading if you want to go deeper.)
Two stray observations:
1) Jacobs critiques certain post-modern thinkers (e.g., Derrida) and finds others beneficial and constructive (e.g., Bakhtin). But one of my main takeaways in either case is to be reminded just how ponderous the great post-modern thinkers are, both in terms of their thought and their writing style. Sheesh.
2) I am reminded, as always, that Nietzsche was as odious as he was tedious.
* Some qualifications: there’s a place for identifying what beliefs and ideologies inform an older work of literature; and skepticism and caution can be important parts of assessing arguments. The point, though, is to let the text or the argument speak for itself, to listen to it honestly, before we enter into our assessment and evaluation. That’s charitable and magnanimous, but not naïve, reading.
† This tendency to approach theology by setting up clear boundaries—“no admittance beyond this point”—has conservative and liberal versions. The conservative version is seen, for example, in the idea that discomfort or unease over troubling passages of Scripture bespeaks a lack of firm conviction (such passages are to be enthusiastically embraced); the liberal version of this is to discard those troubling passages altogether (these passages don’t actually reflect Christian thought and can be safely ignored). Neither approach allows for struggle or uncertainty; both seek to exert control over the text.
March 12, 2022
The first book I’ve had to read for my independent study this semester, which is concerning whether or not there is a definitive Christian Literary Theory, along the lines of Marxist or Feminist or Queer Literary Theory. It’s been one of my most enjoyable experiences in college thus far!
Essentially, Jacobs’ argument here is that much contemporary reading is governed by a critical lens (dive into the text, tear it apart, analyze it for various hidden truths or implications or social impacts on the text) and that there may be a benefit of shifting this lens to a love-based hermeneutics (I.e. instead of tearing apart a text to find various truths, approaching it as a whole entity separate from yourself and appreciating all that it contains and suggests—almost like approaching the written work as a loved one or friend and wanting to learn more about it, rather than tearing it apart in the process or analysis). There’s more intricacies and density to it, but basically he wants to move from what Ricoeuer called a Hermeneutics of Suspicion (this text has hidden messages and truth that I need to analyze and deconstruct to find) to a Hermeneutics of Love—didn’t think I’d be so into literary criticism as a topic, but I’ve been loving this study and this was a great book to get it started!
Essentially, Jacobs’ argument here is that much contemporary reading is governed by a critical lens (dive into the text, tear it apart, analyze it for various hidden truths or implications or social impacts on the text) and that there may be a benefit of shifting this lens to a love-based hermeneutics (I.e. instead of tearing apart a text to find various truths, approaching it as a whole entity separate from yourself and appreciating all that it contains and suggests—almost like approaching the written work as a loved one or friend and wanting to learn more about it, rather than tearing it apart in the process or analysis). There’s more intricacies and density to it, but basically he wants to move from what Ricoeuer called a Hermeneutics of Suspicion (this text has hidden messages and truth that I need to analyze and deconstruct to find) to a Hermeneutics of Love—didn’t think I’d be so into literary criticism as a topic, but I’ve been loving this study and this was a great book to get it started!
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October 28, 2023This was a hard read for me. Jacobs cites a panoply of philosophers, a few of whom I have a glancing acquaintance with, most completely unfamiliar to me. There are many interesting thoughts here that I hope to return to in the coming days, hopefully expanding this post. In the meantime I’ll share one criticism: I wish Jacobs had shared more practical advice on HOW to read with charity. What does treating a book as my neighbor actually look like (or not)? I picked up a few concrete directives - attention seems to be key. I wonder if Jacobs’ later Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction and Breaking Bread with the Dead are a more hands-on outworking of the theory presented in this book? I may have to revisit them…
In the meantime, is providing a star-rating, while a handy shorthand, in keeping with reading with charity? Would I deign to rate my neighbor?!
*10/28 Revisiting this post to add some quotes.
From the chapter “Contexts and Obstacles” reflecting on “The Pleasures of Love in the Act of Reading”:
“The kind of pleasure we take in a well-crafted work of literary art is very like the pleasure we take in a well-cooked meal, in that it is something given to us by another person. It is a gift we honor, and whose giver we honor, by receiving it with gratitude. It is not always appropriate, it is not always charitable, to take that which is offered to us in a spirit of pleasure and recreation and use it according to a rigid criterion of studious application.” 24
“Goethe once wrote in a letter that ‘there are three kinds of reader: one, who enjoys without judgment; a third, who judges without enjoyment; and one between them who judges as he enjoys and enjoys as he judges.’” 24
Reflecting on the fearfulness of love:
“To love one’s neighbor is always a risk, for whether that neighbor returns or shuns our love we will in the striving for charity reveal (to our neighbor, and to ourselves) elements of our character that will not be pleasant to have revealed…As interpreters of texts, then, we should ‘test the spirits’ (1John 4:1) present in what we read; but such testing will be nothing more or less than sin if we do not simultaneously offer up our own spirits to be tested, both by the works we read and by the righteousness of God that is our proper rule and standard.” 33
From the chapter “Love and Knowledge”:
“There is, then, a reciprocal relationship between love and knowledge: We love people because of what we know about them, to be sure, but we also come to know them more fully because we love them. Certain kinds of knowledge of people (connaitre rather than savoir)—are available only to those who love them. This is perhaps the chief lesson to be learned from attending to the passage from Much Ado About Nothing that was featured in my prelude.” 43
“Whereas Aristotle‘s aristocrats seek out friends whose strengths complement their strengths—so that they help one another grow in power and excellence—Christians share one another’s weaknesses, and seek to serve one another: thus we are told not only to ‘rejoice with those who rejoice’ but also to ‘weep with those who weep’ (Rom 12:25).” 49
From the chapter “Justice”:
“Bleak House, then, is in part an argument-through-narrative for the restoration of a comprehensive…charity as a means for achieving the demands of justice, demands that the language of justice alone cannot support…Thus the story I have been telling bears not only a historical, but a kind of allegorical relationship to contemporary literary and cultural studies: I understand much current political criticism to be fundamentally Pardigglean—the academy is full of ‘inexorable moral Policemen’ whose big ideas about justice prevent them from receiving the kind of loving attention that would enable them to be truly just in their reading—whereas my position, shameful though it may be to say in the current context, is fully Summersonian. Esther’s reply to Mrs. Pardiggle, properly considered and expanded, contributes to a theology of reading by showing how a concern for justice should be governed by the Christian commitment to charity.” 135, 137-138
In the meantime, is providing a star-rating, while a handy shorthand, in keeping with reading with charity? Would I deign to rate my neighbor?!
*10/28 Revisiting this post to add some quotes.
From the chapter “Contexts and Obstacles” reflecting on “The Pleasures of Love in the Act of Reading”:
“The kind of pleasure we take in a well-crafted work of literary art is very like the pleasure we take in a well-cooked meal, in that it is something given to us by another person. It is a gift we honor, and whose giver we honor, by receiving it with gratitude. It is not always appropriate, it is not always charitable, to take that which is offered to us in a spirit of pleasure and recreation and use it according to a rigid criterion of studious application.” 24
“Goethe once wrote in a letter that ‘there are three kinds of reader: one, who enjoys without judgment; a third, who judges without enjoyment; and one between them who judges as he enjoys and enjoys as he judges.’” 24
Reflecting on the fearfulness of love:
“To love one’s neighbor is always a risk, for whether that neighbor returns or shuns our love we will in the striving for charity reveal (to our neighbor, and to ourselves) elements of our character that will not be pleasant to have revealed…As interpreters of texts, then, we should ‘test the spirits’ (1John 4:1) present in what we read; but such testing will be nothing more or less than sin if we do not simultaneously offer up our own spirits to be tested, both by the works we read and by the righteousness of God that is our proper rule and standard.” 33
From the chapter “Love and Knowledge”:
“There is, then, a reciprocal relationship between love and knowledge: We love people because of what we know about them, to be sure, but we also come to know them more fully because we love them. Certain kinds of knowledge of people (connaitre rather than savoir)—are available only to those who love them. This is perhaps the chief lesson to be learned from attending to the passage from Much Ado About Nothing that was featured in my prelude.” 43
“Whereas Aristotle‘s aristocrats seek out friends whose strengths complement their strengths—so that they help one another grow in power and excellence—Christians share one another’s weaknesses, and seek to serve one another: thus we are told not only to ‘rejoice with those who rejoice’ but also to ‘weep with those who weep’ (Rom 12:25).” 49
From the chapter “Justice”:
“Bleak House, then, is in part an argument-through-narrative for the restoration of a comprehensive…charity as a means for achieving the demands of justice, demands that the language of justice alone cannot support…Thus the story I have been telling bears not only a historical, but a kind of allegorical relationship to contemporary literary and cultural studies: I understand much current political criticism to be fundamentally Pardigglean—the academy is full of ‘inexorable moral Policemen’ whose big ideas about justice prevent them from receiving the kind of loving attention that would enable them to be truly just in their reading—whereas my position, shameful though it may be to say in the current context, is fully Summersonian. Esther’s reply to Mrs. Pardiggle, properly considered and expanded, contributes to a theology of reading by showing how a concern for justice should be governed by the Christian commitment to charity.” 135, 137-138
April 2, 2018
Jacobs is a close reader: both of literary works and other people’s readings of literary works. And this close reading exemplifies just the kind of attentiveness to works that the hermeneutics of love requires. On the spectrum of readers that Jacobs describes, I’ve found that my lack of love comes in the form of swallowing a work whole-no questions asked rather than the more obvious form of tearing a work apart to find faults or to make it fit one’s own political agenda.
January 7, 2021
A Theology of Reading is the third book I’ve read by Alan Jacobs. The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction I found to be a bit thin and banal, but after this book, I understand why he chose the title Pleasures. Breaking Bread with the Dead, his most recent release, I found invigorating and delightful. Published about two decades after A Theology of Reading, Breaking Bread shows Jacobs’s development as a reader, expanding certain ideas he explores here.
I’ve quoted this book extensively below, so I shan’t summarize Jacobs’s arguments here. Love has had primacy in my understanding of theology for years, now, and applying it to reading as a hermeneutic immediately attracted me. Yet, from pastors and friends and academicians alike, I’ve received antagonism for building all my theological understanding on the truth that “God is love.” A pastor once told me that beginning any evangelism with the love of God, rather than his lordship (as if there were a difference), was wrong. He was part of a Calvinist strain that George Eliot critiqued (see quotation from pages 26-27 below). Inelegantly, I’ve termed this “glory-hog” theology, one that views God as rabid for his own glory, rather than a being who is love, is glorified in love, and in whom all true love is. In "glory-hog" theology, love is often viewed as a nice, cozy, but weak afterthought, not the way in which God lives, moves, and has his being. God is not like Santa in Elf who needs to be believed to get the sleigh off the ground. Neither is he like the monster in the Doctor Who episode, “The Rings of Akhaten,” who needs to be glorified to stay his wrath. As Love, God is infinitely giving, expecting nothing in return. It is this love to which he calls his people, and which Jacobs applies to the reading life.
A Theology of Reading gave me a language to understand readings where I did not choose a hermeneutic of love. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which I read about a year ago, was a very mixed experience for me. On one hand, I loved watching Francie grow, and learning more about her world of early 20th century Brooklyn. On the other hand, my derision for her mother Katie colored my whole reading of the book. After I finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, I committed to return to it. When I do, I plan to read with a hermeneutic of love rather than letting my feelings for one character define the whole experience.
In contrast, my reading of another disliked book, The Poisonwood Bible, had more of the hermeneutic of love, though I liked it even less than my first reading of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The experience of reading Poisonwood was just not enjoyable for me. I didn’t connect with any of the characters, and the aesthetics of the novel didn’t make me enjoy the experience. However, Kingsolver’s masterful writing persisted in drawing me in, and the character of Nathan Price is embedded in my mind, though he is not a character I admire. Though the novel is not one of my literary “friends,” I still respect its wonderful craft, its important message, and its power as a story. I’d happily read it in a book group or an academic setting, though once was enough for my personal reading. Reading with love does not mean that we have to enjoy or like everything we read, but that we read charitably, with complete attention, for the sake of our neighbors. Jacobs does not mention phenomenological reading here, but it flows well with his ideas.
Currently, I’m reading Rumer Godden’s Five for Sorrow, Ten for Joy--almost done. (Thanks for the recommendation, Christine!) Because I cherished Godden’s In This House of Brede, I found it easy to being Five for Sorrow with a hermeneutics of love. One character, however, challenged my hermeneutic. Vivi is a problematic character who needs love (as all humans do), but is nearly impossible to love. This reading experience discomforts me, because it reveals my human tendency to love what is easy and spurn those who are hard to love. Yet, exploring this in the safe space of a novel is an ideal way to come to terms with my tendencies, and be more aware--and careful--of how I love people outside books. I’ll speak more of reading Five for Sorrow with love in my eventual review of it. This novel is a rewarding expedition in the hermeneutics of love.
In all, I found A Theology of Reading enriching, and will reference and return to it as I continue to develop my own ideas about reading. However, for the non-academic reader, I’d recommend Breaking Bread with the Dead for an accessible, concise practice of reading with the hermeneutics of love. A Theology of Reading is hard to find, too, and expensive in the few places it can be purchased. Heavy with philosophy, literary criticism, and theology, it’s not for every loving reader, but one doesn’t have to read this book to read with a hermeneutic of love.
“....To read lovingly because of and in the name of Jesus Christ, who is the author and guarantor of love. These are some of the purposes of this book.” (1)
[on Jesus naming love as the first and second greatest commandments] “That the one identified by the Christian Church as incarnate Love speaks these words compels our closest attention to them. To say that ‘all the law and the prophets’ ‘depend’ upon these two commandments--or this twofold commandment--is to say that the multidude of ordinances and exhortations in the Old Testament presuppose the love that Jesus enjoins. No one can meet the demands of the Law who does not achieve such love.” (9)
“...it follows that there can be no realm of distinctively human activity in which Jesus’ great twofold commandment is not operative.” (10)
“Given the uncertain cultural position of Christianity in its early centuries, this combative attitude may be comprehensible. But the hermeneutics of love requires that books and authors, however alien to the beliefs and practices of the Christian life, be understood and treated as neighbors.” (13) Jacobs brilliantly returns to this with Basil--see below.
“...the preservation of difference is absolutely central to a hermeneutics of love. I am to love my neighbor as myself, but this is a challenge precisely because the neighbor is not myself….without the preservation of difference there can be neither transmission nor harmony.” (14)
“Certainly [Augustine] is not claiming that the reader can simply assume an attitude of love and then sally boldly forth, like Don Quixote, to interpret Scripture without fear. But neither is he saying that one can read Scripture properly by attending only, or even chiefly, to the avoidance of error.” (16-17)
“The kind of pleasure we take in a well-crafted work of literary art is very like the pleasure we take in a well-cooked meal, in that it is something given to us by another person. It is a gift that we honor, and whose giver we honor, by receiving it with gratitude. It is not always appropriate, it is not always charitable, to take that which is offered to us in a spirit of pleasure and recreation and use it according to a rigid criterion of studious application.” (24) I once helped my then-boyfriend to cook a meal for someone (incidentally, a professor of biblical studies) who proceeded to critique it in detail after eating, never stopping to appreciate that he had been fed a deliciously handmade meal at no expense to himself. He was a real piece of work, but I hope his line of work refines his character!
[quoting a review by Marian Evans/George Eliot of a book by John Cumming, a Calvinist preacher] “Dr. Cumming’s theory, as we have seen, is that actions are good or evil according as they are prompted or not prompted by an exclusive reference to the ‘glory of God.’ God, then, in Dr. Cumming’s perception, is a being who has no pleasure in the exercise of love and truthfulness and justice, considered as effecting the well-being of his creatures; He has satisfaction in us only in so far as we exhaust our motives and dispositions of all relation to our fellow-beings, and replace sympathy with men by anxiety for the ‘glory of God.’” (26-27)
[on Bonhoeffer] “[L]et us simply note here that [this passage] marks a kind of inversion of Marian Evans’s argument in her critique of Dr. Cumming: For her, the love of God has a purely instrumental function, and is to be measured by its usefulness in prompting the love of other people (love of whatever kind), whereas for Bonhoeffer, our love of God, and our recognition fo God’s love for us, is the one essential form of love: Only it liberates us to love others ever more fully and passionately.” (30)
“But if our love is only preferential--if we select some books as the proper and worthy recipients of our love, while excluding others from the charmed circle, as is always the case with Aristotelian forms of love--it fails to achieve genuine Christian charity. Charity demands that we extend the gift of love to all books, and receive the gift of love when it is offered to us….there is no single form that either the giving or the receiving takes, and moreover there is no inconsistency in having certain favorite books while seeking to love all other books in the way appropriate to them….We may indeed use books--it is right and proper that we do so--but we must use them in the way that Augustine counsels, which is to say, a way that recognizes their value as parts of God’s world and that therefore loves them in an ordinate matter.” (32-33)
“...we will not read all books with full sympathy, with a sense of kinship, with an awareness of expanded understanding, with the conviction that this book teaches me what I need to know and could not have learned from another book. In short, not all the books we read will become our friends. But if we consider that we owe a debt of loving and constant attentiveness (or faithfulness) to all the books we read--whether they be friends, foes, or neighbors--we provide for ourselves what Bonheffer calls the cantus firmus, the ground over which variations can be elaborated and developed.” (67)
“Surely such honesty and humility are necessary in a reader who would love God and her neighbor through the act of reading.” (75)
“For no one can practice hermeneutical charity who is unwilling to receive a poem, a story--a work--as a gift.” (81)
“A healthy suspicion, bounded by a commitment to the love of my neighbor, is more properly called discernment: not the discernment of Nietzsche’s serpent, which can only suspect and therefore is not discernment at all--since its conclusions are preestablished--but the discernment that is prepared to find blessings and cultivate friendships; in short, to receive gifts. There are enormous risks involved in such an enterprise, precisely the risks that Nietzsche was at the utmost point to avoid.” (88)
“The hopeless [or primarily suspicious] interpreter, in the lassitude of despair, can neither receive nor offer gifts...he or she has nothing left to love, and in the end lacks even the consolations of interpretation itself.” (90)
[on Jane Tompkins’s engagement with Buffalo Bill] “Tompkins’s charity consists in the wholeness of her attention, her refusal to sacrifice attention to one truth so that another may be privileged. Her own judgment is not so decisive, it is complex and ambivalent, and this is appropriate to the difficulty of the task at hand.” (118) Jacobs frequently quotes Iris Murdoch as a guide: “Coherence is not necessarily good, and one must question its cost. Better sometimes to remain confused.” (1, and elsewhere)
“Basil readily acknowledges that everything one can learn from pagan literature one can learn still better from Scripture; but why not take every opportunity to grow in wisdom and virtue? The problem is to learn how to do so….It is precisely less “scrupulous” and more equitable reading of the pagan writers that releases them for our use, gives them a role in our school of virtue. By reading them according to the charitable spirit rather than the harsh and inflexible letter, we make them our own….Basil’s model provides a powerfully liberating alternative, in which even seriously wrong-headed books can provide some nourishment.” (142) Jacobs examines this extensively in Breaking Bread with the Dead.
“For Basil, it is this framework of faithful obedience to the Gospel witness that liberates the reader to read more generously, according to the spirit rather than the letter. Absent such faithful obedience, such reading would exemplify license rather than liberty, antinomianism rather than the freedom of Christian charity.” (144)
“Charitable readers do not calculate the likelihood of reward for their loving attention, but their commitment to hope is a kind of calculation, a wager on the graciousness of God and on the imago dei present in the writers of books.” (148)
“Love, like the Cross--but then Love is the Cross, and the Cross is Love--can be nothing but foolishness in the eyes of this world, and we laugh at foolishness….because laughter is the natural human response to incongruity….What could be more incongruous than the conjunction of love and interpretation?” (151)
I’ve quoted this book extensively below, so I shan’t summarize Jacobs’s arguments here. Love has had primacy in my understanding of theology for years, now, and applying it to reading as a hermeneutic immediately attracted me. Yet, from pastors and friends and academicians alike, I’ve received antagonism for building all my theological understanding on the truth that “God is love.” A pastor once told me that beginning any evangelism with the love of God, rather than his lordship (as if there were a difference), was wrong. He was part of a Calvinist strain that George Eliot critiqued (see quotation from pages 26-27 below). Inelegantly, I’ve termed this “glory-hog” theology, one that views God as rabid for his own glory, rather than a being who is love, is glorified in love, and in whom all true love is. In "glory-hog" theology, love is often viewed as a nice, cozy, but weak afterthought, not the way in which God lives, moves, and has his being. God is not like Santa in Elf who needs to be believed to get the sleigh off the ground. Neither is he like the monster in the Doctor Who episode, “The Rings of Akhaten,” who needs to be glorified to stay his wrath. As Love, God is infinitely giving, expecting nothing in return. It is this love to which he calls his people, and which Jacobs applies to the reading life.
A Theology of Reading gave me a language to understand readings where I did not choose a hermeneutic of love. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which I read about a year ago, was a very mixed experience for me. On one hand, I loved watching Francie grow, and learning more about her world of early 20th century Brooklyn. On the other hand, my derision for her mother Katie colored my whole reading of the book. After I finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, I committed to return to it. When I do, I plan to read with a hermeneutic of love rather than letting my feelings for one character define the whole experience.
In contrast, my reading of another disliked book, The Poisonwood Bible, had more of the hermeneutic of love, though I liked it even less than my first reading of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The experience of reading Poisonwood was just not enjoyable for me. I didn’t connect with any of the characters, and the aesthetics of the novel didn’t make me enjoy the experience. However, Kingsolver’s masterful writing persisted in drawing me in, and the character of Nathan Price is embedded in my mind, though he is not a character I admire. Though the novel is not one of my literary “friends,” I still respect its wonderful craft, its important message, and its power as a story. I’d happily read it in a book group or an academic setting, though once was enough for my personal reading. Reading with love does not mean that we have to enjoy or like everything we read, but that we read charitably, with complete attention, for the sake of our neighbors. Jacobs does not mention phenomenological reading here, but it flows well with his ideas.
Currently, I’m reading Rumer Godden’s Five for Sorrow, Ten for Joy--almost done. (Thanks for the recommendation, Christine!) Because I cherished Godden’s In This House of Brede, I found it easy to being Five for Sorrow with a hermeneutics of love. One character, however, challenged my hermeneutic. Vivi is a problematic character who needs love (as all humans do), but is nearly impossible to love. This reading experience discomforts me, because it reveals my human tendency to love what is easy and spurn those who are hard to love. Yet, exploring this in the safe space of a novel is an ideal way to come to terms with my tendencies, and be more aware--and careful--of how I love people outside books. I’ll speak more of reading Five for Sorrow with love in my eventual review of it. This novel is a rewarding expedition in the hermeneutics of love.
In all, I found A Theology of Reading enriching, and will reference and return to it as I continue to develop my own ideas about reading. However, for the non-academic reader, I’d recommend Breaking Bread with the Dead for an accessible, concise practice of reading with the hermeneutics of love. A Theology of Reading is hard to find, too, and expensive in the few places it can be purchased. Heavy with philosophy, literary criticism, and theology, it’s not for every loving reader, but one doesn’t have to read this book to read with a hermeneutic of love.
“....To read lovingly because of and in the name of Jesus Christ, who is the author and guarantor of love. These are some of the purposes of this book.” (1)
[on Jesus naming love as the first and second greatest commandments] “That the one identified by the Christian Church as incarnate Love speaks these words compels our closest attention to them. To say that ‘all the law and the prophets’ ‘depend’ upon these two commandments--or this twofold commandment--is to say that the multidude of ordinances and exhortations in the Old Testament presuppose the love that Jesus enjoins. No one can meet the demands of the Law who does not achieve such love.” (9)
“...it follows that there can be no realm of distinctively human activity in which Jesus’ great twofold commandment is not operative.” (10)
“Given the uncertain cultural position of Christianity in its early centuries, this combative attitude may be comprehensible. But the hermeneutics of love requires that books and authors, however alien to the beliefs and practices of the Christian life, be understood and treated as neighbors.” (13) Jacobs brilliantly returns to this with Basil--see below.
“...the preservation of difference is absolutely central to a hermeneutics of love. I am to love my neighbor as myself, but this is a challenge precisely because the neighbor is not myself….without the preservation of difference there can be neither transmission nor harmony.” (14)
“Certainly [Augustine] is not claiming that the reader can simply assume an attitude of love and then sally boldly forth, like Don Quixote, to interpret Scripture without fear. But neither is he saying that one can read Scripture properly by attending only, or even chiefly, to the avoidance of error.” (16-17)
“The kind of pleasure we take in a well-crafted work of literary art is very like the pleasure we take in a well-cooked meal, in that it is something given to us by another person. It is a gift that we honor, and whose giver we honor, by receiving it with gratitude. It is not always appropriate, it is not always charitable, to take that which is offered to us in a spirit of pleasure and recreation and use it according to a rigid criterion of studious application.” (24) I once helped my then-boyfriend to cook a meal for someone (incidentally, a professor of biblical studies) who proceeded to critique it in detail after eating, never stopping to appreciate that he had been fed a deliciously handmade meal at no expense to himself. He was a real piece of work, but I hope his line of work refines his character!
[quoting a review by Marian Evans/George Eliot of a book by John Cumming, a Calvinist preacher] “Dr. Cumming’s theory, as we have seen, is that actions are good or evil according as they are prompted or not prompted by an exclusive reference to the ‘glory of God.’ God, then, in Dr. Cumming’s perception, is a being who has no pleasure in the exercise of love and truthfulness and justice, considered as effecting the well-being of his creatures; He has satisfaction in us only in so far as we exhaust our motives and dispositions of all relation to our fellow-beings, and replace sympathy with men by anxiety for the ‘glory of God.’” (26-27)
[on Bonhoeffer] “[L]et us simply note here that [this passage] marks a kind of inversion of Marian Evans’s argument in her critique of Dr. Cumming: For her, the love of God has a purely instrumental function, and is to be measured by its usefulness in prompting the love of other people (love of whatever kind), whereas for Bonhoeffer, our love of God, and our recognition fo God’s love for us, is the one essential form of love: Only it liberates us to love others ever more fully and passionately.” (30)
“But if our love is only preferential--if we select some books as the proper and worthy recipients of our love, while excluding others from the charmed circle, as is always the case with Aristotelian forms of love--it fails to achieve genuine Christian charity. Charity demands that we extend the gift of love to all books, and receive the gift of love when it is offered to us….there is no single form that either the giving or the receiving takes, and moreover there is no inconsistency in having certain favorite books while seeking to love all other books in the way appropriate to them….We may indeed use books--it is right and proper that we do so--but we must use them in the way that Augustine counsels, which is to say, a way that recognizes their value as parts of God’s world and that therefore loves them in an ordinate matter.” (32-33)
“...we will not read all books with full sympathy, with a sense of kinship, with an awareness of expanded understanding, with the conviction that this book teaches me what I need to know and could not have learned from another book. In short, not all the books we read will become our friends. But if we consider that we owe a debt of loving and constant attentiveness (or faithfulness) to all the books we read--whether they be friends, foes, or neighbors--we provide for ourselves what Bonheffer calls the cantus firmus, the ground over which variations can be elaborated and developed.” (67)
“Surely such honesty and humility are necessary in a reader who would love God and her neighbor through the act of reading.” (75)
“For no one can practice hermeneutical charity who is unwilling to receive a poem, a story--a work--as a gift.” (81)
“A healthy suspicion, bounded by a commitment to the love of my neighbor, is more properly called discernment: not the discernment of Nietzsche’s serpent, which can only suspect and therefore is not discernment at all--since its conclusions are preestablished--but the discernment that is prepared to find blessings and cultivate friendships; in short, to receive gifts. There are enormous risks involved in such an enterprise, precisely the risks that Nietzsche was at the utmost point to avoid.” (88)
“The hopeless [or primarily suspicious] interpreter, in the lassitude of despair, can neither receive nor offer gifts...he or she has nothing left to love, and in the end lacks even the consolations of interpretation itself.” (90)
[on Jane Tompkins’s engagement with Buffalo Bill] “Tompkins’s charity consists in the wholeness of her attention, her refusal to sacrifice attention to one truth so that another may be privileged. Her own judgment is not so decisive, it is complex and ambivalent, and this is appropriate to the difficulty of the task at hand.” (118) Jacobs frequently quotes Iris Murdoch as a guide: “Coherence is not necessarily good, and one must question its cost. Better sometimes to remain confused.” (1, and elsewhere)
“Basil readily acknowledges that everything one can learn from pagan literature one can learn still better from Scripture; but why not take every opportunity to grow in wisdom and virtue? The problem is to learn how to do so….It is precisely less “scrupulous” and more equitable reading of the pagan writers that releases them for our use, gives them a role in our school of virtue. By reading them according to the charitable spirit rather than the harsh and inflexible letter, we make them our own….Basil’s model provides a powerfully liberating alternative, in which even seriously wrong-headed books can provide some nourishment.” (142) Jacobs examines this extensively in Breaking Bread with the Dead.
“For Basil, it is this framework of faithful obedience to the Gospel witness that liberates the reader to read more generously, according to the spirit rather than the letter. Absent such faithful obedience, such reading would exemplify license rather than liberty, antinomianism rather than the freedom of Christian charity.” (144)
“Charitable readers do not calculate the likelihood of reward for their loving attention, but their commitment to hope is a kind of calculation, a wager on the graciousness of God and on the imago dei present in the writers of books.” (148)
“Love, like the Cross--but then Love is the Cross, and the Cross is Love--can be nothing but foolishness in the eyes of this world, and we laugh at foolishness….because laughter is the natural human response to incongruity….What could be more incongruous than the conjunction of love and interpretation?” (151)
Want to read
November 20, 2018The principle of charity seems related.
May 16, 2024
incredible
October 8, 2021
Overall I most definitely agree with the book, though not world changing, it did surreptitiously make firmer the foundation of my hermeneutic. I think his main idea can be summarized in one statement: when reading care enough about (or love) the person to seek to understand really what they are trying to say. This idea of hermeneutics is one I fully agree with. The purpose of hermeneutical interpretation is to understand what the person is trying to say, the author's intent. And like he seeks to explain to uphold true justice and truth one must carry a degree of love. He hacks away the insidious idea that all writing is malleable and open to self-creating interpretation as well shows the wonderful bond between love and truth that is inherit in each.
Now the only problem I have is a seeming implication that wafts throughout the work that reading charitably means to not really condemn but only to extol. Now obviously this can be taken too far in either way, but I think his leaning seems to be more toward the non-condemnation. Or the sort of the view that my friend showed when he said that, in the defense of the Guardians of the Galaxy II, that it presented a really good picture of adoption. This might be true statement but it is not a suitable defense why it should be watched. Now this might be mostly tangential as the book is about reading lovingly and not wisely, but how we present our interpretation, the emphasis of judgment, is important. I can condemn such books as Pale Fire (the poem and the masterful wordsmithing excluded) as pretentious, lascivious, pettifoggerical slog, but yet agree with his insight of Kinbote-ic reading and its danger. Or maybe I just love denouncement too much.
All in all good stuff.
Now the only problem I have is a seeming implication that wafts throughout the work that reading charitably means to not really condemn but only to extol. Now obviously this can be taken too far in either way, but I think his leaning seems to be more toward the non-condemnation. Or the sort of the view that my friend showed when he said that, in the defense of the Guardians of the Galaxy II, that it presented a really good picture of adoption. This might be true statement but it is not a suitable defense why it should be watched. Now this might be mostly tangential as the book is about reading lovingly and not wisely, but how we present our interpretation, the emphasis of judgment, is important. I can condemn such books as Pale Fire (the poem and the masterful wordsmithing excluded) as pretentious, lascivious, pettifoggerical slog, but yet agree with his insight of Kinbote-ic reading and its danger. Or maybe I just love denouncement too much.
All in all good stuff.
May 27, 2025
My rating reflects my enjoyment of the book more than its quality. I love the primary thesis of the book, which calls for a hermeneutic guided by Christian charity. It deeply echoes Augustine and is such a needed idea in our day and age. The ideas are great, and I really wanted to love this book.
The problem is that I am clearly unqualified to read it. Reading this book felt like accidentally wandering into a graduate class in philosophy halfway through the semester and being forced to take a mid-term. The book references so many philosophers and literary critics in passing. I was familiar with almost none of them, and it made the book quite a chore.
The general idea of this book is wonderful, and I applaud it. To fully understand it, I think I would need to read it at least five more times. Those who are more trained and familiar with philosophy and literary criticism will find this a lot easier to read than I did.
The problem is that I am clearly unqualified to read it. Reading this book felt like accidentally wandering into a graduate class in philosophy halfway through the semester and being forced to take a mid-term. The book references so many philosophers and literary critics in passing. I was familiar with almost none of them, and it made the book quite a chore.
The general idea of this book is wonderful, and I applaud it. To fully understand it, I think I would need to read it at least five more times. Those who are more trained and familiar with philosophy and literary criticism will find this a lot easier to read than I did.
June 8, 2018
Alan Jacobs' offering on Reading as charity is startlingly refreshing, historically and Theologically well rounded. He covers much ground, clearly laying out it's thesis alongside it's alternatives past and present before placing a number of authors beside one another; looked at through the lens of Christian Charity, in its proper yet infrequent form.
A charitable reading is meant to be a deep quasi-personal conversation between writer and reader, he suggests, one which respects difference and loves justly without falling into the trappings of modern and postmodern notions of 'justice' or accepting the arbitrary pretence of community nor certain sarkic privileges. (Think A. Rich here).
This is all good but would not be tenable without the sturdy legs of a solid ecclesiology; thankfully Jacobs provides that and makes one think and rethink about how we are viewing the world, which is often falling short of the Christian vision. In this respect he has a Church consciousness, which is depressingly rare- I've come across it in Florovsky, James KA Smith, Schmemann and a few others- and this is impressed through an understanding of the two great commands to Love God and others as yourself. His earthly Chrsitianity viz this central motif is my favourite point if the book.
From this Theological vantage point he critiques everyone from Kierkegaard to feminist pretenders, focusing heavily on Friedrich Nietzche and affirming the good in Dickens, Milbank and beautifully Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Although not uncritically so.
Alan is a fine scholar and balances his claims throughout, placing his suggestions in a play-full context, inviting us to try our hand at the Christian game.
Under the terms of the book- as A Theology of Reading- I view it as an effective proclamation and charitably written with the medium performing at least some of his message.
A charitable reading is meant to be a deep quasi-personal conversation between writer and reader, he suggests, one which respects difference and loves justly without falling into the trappings of modern and postmodern notions of 'justice' or accepting the arbitrary pretence of community nor certain sarkic privileges. (Think A. Rich here).
This is all good but would not be tenable without the sturdy legs of a solid ecclesiology; thankfully Jacobs provides that and makes one think and rethink about how we are viewing the world, which is often falling short of the Christian vision. In this respect he has a Church consciousness, which is depressingly rare- I've come across it in Florovsky, James KA Smith, Schmemann and a few others- and this is impressed through an understanding of the two great commands to Love God and others as yourself. His earthly Chrsitianity viz this central motif is my favourite point if the book.
From this Theological vantage point he critiques everyone from Kierkegaard to feminist pretenders, focusing heavily on Friedrich Nietzche and affirming the good in Dickens, Milbank and beautifully Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Although not uncritically so.
Alan is a fine scholar and balances his claims throughout, placing his suggestions in a play-full context, inviting us to try our hand at the Christian game.
Under the terms of the book- as A Theology of Reading- I view it as an effective proclamation and charitably written with the medium performing at least some of his message.
January 9, 2019
This book started so well, including a gorgeous close reading of a scene I work with in my own research, but I am so disappointed by where it ended up. I was expecting some sort of "how should our faith affect our attitudes and practices of reading?" and his initial statements of reading with love and justice were such good ideas and so beautifully expressed, that when his book became a disavowal of all forms of cultural criticism it felt like the rug was ripped out from under me. Portraying critics who use a cultural lens in their readings as Dickens' stereotyped Mrs. Jellyby while characterizing his own reading practices as the angelic Esther Summerson seems to express neither love nor justice, it just seems mean. For a book professing the "Hermeneutics of Love" I expected better.
December 17, 2019
I am rereading this.
I doubt many people have read this book, yet it is one of the most important, to me, that I have ever read. I am reading it again as I intend to engage with ideas in all of my literature classes this fall. I wish that all Christian readers would think about what it means to read literature with love.
I doubt many people have read this book, yet it is one of the most important, to me, that I have ever read. I am reading it again as I intend to engage with ideas in all of my literature classes this fall. I wish that all Christian readers would think about what it means to read literature with love.
Read
June 9, 2025“Charitable readers do not calculate the likelihood of reward for their loving attention, but their commitment to hope is a kind of calculation, a wager on the graciousness of God and on the imago dei present in the writers of books.”
April 15, 2018
A really, really well-read guy encouraging Christian readers (and only Christian readers) to read more attentively and with an open-mind; calls it "charitable reading."
September 7, 2008
Everything I read by Jacobs makes me more envious of his ability-- his thought, his talent at writing, his overwhelming knowledge. I probably should stop reading him to prevent more of the sin of covetousness on my part. But it's not going to happen right now. This book is going back on the pile for an immediate re-read...
February 11, 2013
Jacobs' notion of reading is that we ought to "love" our books as friends and interpret them charitably. Heavy focus on Michael Bahktin and Simone Veil. I really enjoyed this book and have used it for my thesis on charitable interpretation of images.
August 17, 2017
How can we begin to give books their due attention by reading charitably and lovingly? What might this look like? What does pagan literature have to offer to the Christian? These and many other questions are taken up by Jacobs in this deeply thought-provoking, scholarly, and largely theoretical work. He draws on many other sources, scholars, and a few classics to articulate his points throughout. I found these snippets interesting in and of themselves. One line stood out to me from the chapter of Justice: "Perhaps the most important point of all is that to read in this way is an act of charity to the works one reads and to oneself--an act of charity that includes and supersedes justice" (p. 142). What a peculiar but necessary subject!!
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