Reading Scripture, Reading the Self

Ongoing Project (edited volume)

Reading Scripture, Reading the Self

Critical Autobiographical Interpretation

Quiet Companions: What My Houseplants Taught Me About Just Existing

For me, houseplants are far more than just plants. They keep me company beside my desk, constant and unwavering. They speak to me without words, smiling and dancing in moments unnoticed. I greet them every morning and whisper goodbye at night.

Caring for them is a gentle ritual. Recently, I gathered some acorns from the oak tree in my garden and placed them in the soil so my plants might find extra companionship and support. Together, we simply exist.

My role is small—just occasional watering, watching, and loving. The rest belongs to nature, as they grow through the simple gifts of sunshine, water, and earth.

  

The Decisive Difference Between Humans and AI

The Decisive Difference Between Humans and AI

A fundamental difference between human beings and artificial intelligence lies in their modes of existence. AI depends on electricity and technological infrastructure to operate, whereas human beings are self-organizing biological organisms capable of maintaining their own living processes. We do not need an external power grid to remain alive. Our minds, too, are embodied in this ongoing biological process.

Human existence is therefore not simply a matter of processing information; it is a living, self-organizing, and environmentally embedded process. While AI operates through externally powered computation, human beings live through the continuous self-organization of a biological organism and its embodied mental activity.

This distinction raises a deeper philosophical question: Is intelligence fundamentally the processing of information, or is it an activity that emerges from being alive? AI demonstrates that sophisticated information processing can occur without biological life. Yet human intelligence is inseparable from our embodied existence as living organisms. For more, see the AI page on my blog.

The Ontological Boundary

What truly distinguishes life from death is not merely the passage of time, but the act of inhabiting the present moment.

Death seals existence into a static state—an unyielding permanence where all motion ceases, choices end, and the narrative is forever closed. It does not place us into an eternity we inhabit, but rather strips us of our capacity to change. What has been can no longer become otherwise.

Life, by contrast, is inherently unfinished and exists exclusively in the fluid realm of the "now." While the past survives as memory and the future opens as expectation, neither can be accessed except through the present. We remember in the present, hope in the present, and act in the present. Therefore, the current moment is the sole territory where consciousness, agency, and possibility reside.

To live fully is to actively participate in the dynamic friction of this unfinished existence. Memory and foresight must serve what is still possible right now. When we instead drift continuously into past regret or future anticipation, treating our lives as already settled or not yet begun, we surrender to a "pseudo-eternity"—a static state that mimics death while we are still breathing.

Living in the present is not simply a mindfulness exercise; it is the fundamental ontological boundary between being and non-being. It is the only space where a choice can still be made, the story remains open, and life asserts itself against the vast finality of death.

The Rawness of the Soul: Why Truth Needs No Eloquence

Truth is rarely dressed in beautiful language. While masters of eloquence can easily manipulate words to sound profound, polish often masks a lack of substance. If we cannot trust beautiful words, what can we trust? The answer lies in the rawness of human expression—in the utterance of a deep, uncovered soul.

This tension between elegance and authenticity is perfectly illustrated in the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:9–14). The Pharisee offers a long, well-articulated prayer of thanksgiving. He is not necessarily a hypocrite; he is a genuinely moral person who fasts, tithes, and follows the law. Yet, his polished prayer overflows with pride. In his presence at the Temple, he shows a profound lack of humility and empathy toward a tax collector who stands behind him. In contrast, the tax collector offers no eloquent preamble. He speaks only a few raw words: "God, have mercy on me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13).

The defining difference is self-awareness. Truthful words require a deep soul that sees itself clearly and stands humbly before the divine. Truth does not need a grand vocabulary; it is best expressed in concise moments of absolute vulnerability.

Long ago, the ancient Chinese sage Laozi captured this exact paradox in Chapter 81 of the Dao De Jing: “Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful.” True language transcends mere rhetoric. It is not measured by the elegance of the tongue, but by the raw honesty embedded in the spirit.

The paradox of truth

For as long as humanity inhabits the earth, Laozi’s ancient observation remains poignantly true: "Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful" (Dao De Jing 81).

The Ultimate Hermeneutic

Autobiographical biblical interpretation culminates in the most robust and engaging hermeneutic possible because it embraces the interpreter's subjectivity as an essential asset rather than a liability. The reasons for this are manifold. First, it offers methodological freedom, holistically integrating textual, historical, and contextual elements without artificial boundaries. Second, it practices epistemological honesty; recognizing that there is no reading without a reader, it demands that the interpreter critically examine their own complex identity. Third, this self-awareness fosters a deeply authentic and vulnerable engagement with scripture. Finally, autobiographical interpretation aligns with the true purpose of hermeneutics: the goal of reading is not merely to reconstruct the ancient past, but to actively explore and generate life meaning through a transformative dialogue with the text.

The Ultimate Hermeneutic: Why Reading Requires the Self

At its core, critical autobiographical interpretation is a dialogical process. It is the space where the reader’s subjectivity engages directly with the text, allowing for mutual challenge and transformation. But to say it is simply a way to read is to undersell it. I argue that autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic—the necessary culmination of the interpretive process.

Here is why interpretation is never truly finished until the self is brought to the table.

1. Methodological Integration: The Capstone of Exegesis
Autobiographical interpretation is often unfairly dismissed as pure subjectivism, a way of ignoring historical context or literary structure in favor of "what this means to me." But true critical autobiographical interpretation does exactly the opposite: it requires methodological integration.

It does not abandon historical-critical, literary, or linguistic methods; rather, it builds upon them. We still do the hard work of understanding the text's original context and structural nuances. However, autobiographical interpretation serves as the capstone. It takes the raw data uncovered by these traditional methods and bridges the gap between the ancient world and the modern reader, integrating rigorous scholarship with lived reality.

 
2. Epistemological Honesty: Abandoning the "View from Nowhere"
For a long time, the academic ideal was total objectivity—the belief that a reader could act as a blank slate, absorbing a text without any personal bias. We now know this "view from nowhere" is a myth. Every reader comes to a text with baggage: cultural background, gender, race, economic status, and personal trauma or triumph.

Autobiographical interpretation is the ultimate hermeneutic because it demands epistemological honesty. Instead of pretending our biases do not exist, we name them. By explicitly acknowledging our social location and personal experiences, we actually protect the text from hidden agendas. It is far more honest to lay our subjectivity on the table than to mask our personal interpretations as "universal, objective truth."

3. Authentic Engagement: The Text as a Dialogue Partner
If we only read a text for its historical data or literary form, we treat it like a dead artifact under a microscope. But profound texts—especially sacred, philosophical, or deeply artistic ones—are meant to be living dialogue partners.

Authentic engagement requires vulnerability. We cannot have a true dialogue if one party is hiding behind a wall of academic detachment. Autobiographical interpretation invites the reader to step out from behind the safety of "objective" analysis and risk something of themselves. The text asks questions of the reader just as the reader asks questions of the text. This mutual interrogation is where the true vitality of reading is found.

4. The True Telos of Interpretation: Information vs. Transformation
Finally, we have to ask: what is the actual goal (the telos) of reading and interpreting texts? If the goal is merely to accumulate historical trivia or master ancient languages, then traditional methods are sufficient. But if the goal of interpretation is wisdom, ethical formation, or spiritual growth, then those methods fall short on their own.

The true telos of interpretation is transformation. The reading process remains incomplete until the words on the page intersect with the flesh and blood of the reader's life. Autobiographical interpretation insists that we haven't actually finished interpreting a text until we have allowed it to challenge our assumptions, reframe our narratives, and change how we live in the world.

Life may bend, but it will never break

Life may bend, but it will never break. Life always meanders. If it moves in a perfectly straight line, something might be wrong, because life naturally faces uncertainty. It is not something unbreakable like stone; rather, it should be flexible like water.

A truly strong person understands the essence of strength, which comes from embracing one's own weakness while recognizing life's inherent resilience and hope. I believe we truly mature by learning this realization. Thus, when life bends, it is completely natural—just as streams and rivers follow winding paths. Even when bending feels like a failure, it is never a decisive end or a final defeat; it is simply part of the river flowing, part of life being lived. Ultimately, life is not about remaining unbreakable, but about learning how to flow endlessly through every up and down.

Laozi captured this truth long ago:

-Straightforwardness is like curving (Dà zhí ruò qū / 大直若屈).
-Bending becomes whole (Qū zé quán / 曲則全).
-Keeping flexibility becomes strong (Shǒu róu yuē qiáng / 守柔曰强).
-The highest excellence is like water (Shàng shàn ruò shuǐ / 上善若水).
-Weakness is the way of the Dao (Ruò zhě dào zhī yòng / 弱者道之用).

Environmental anthropology

While walking along the neighborhood paths, it occurred to me that humans are deeply embedded in nature. More specifically, local communities can be viewed as products of their immediate ecosystems. For instance, I observed that the towering pine trees in this area—reaching heights of roughly 50 feet—seem to mirror the tall stature of the local residents. Of course, this is not an absolute law. In the Korean village of my youth, the landscape was entirely different; the native pine trees grew to only a few feet in height, and the local villagers, similarly, tended to be shorter in stature. Though I am uncertain whether this exact parallel aligns with formal botanical or anthropological models, it raises a compelling philosophical question: Can we truly consider humans to be an extension of nature in this way?

 

Autobiographical Interpretation

--Yung Suk Kim

As I reflect on biblical hermeneutics, I believe autobiographical interpretation represents the culmination of the field. It encompasses all interpretive elements—the multidimensionality of texts, various analytical angles, and the reader's specific context—while maintaining a clear focus on the self's subjectivity in dialogue with these elements. Ultimately, no interpretation is possible without the reader, whose agency is grounded in the self.

Throughout my career, I have employed diverse methods, ranging from historical-critical to literary to reader-driven approaches. Yet, autobiographical interpretation remains the most engaging and comprehensive form of reading. Increasingly, I realize that critical autobiographical interpretation can be profoundly transformative, allowing people to genuinely engage with the text, themselves, and the world. This kind of reading serves as a powerful exercise in strengthening renewed identities and fostering mental well-being.

This does not mean reading the text out of context or arbitrarily. Rather, autobiographical interpretation takes all dimensions of the text seriously, whether historical, literary, or reader-engaged. Therefore, here is my working definition:

"Autobiographical biblical interpretation is a hermeneutical approach that examines scripture through the lens of the reader's lived experience and social location. It is a dialogical process in which the interpreter critically engages their own subjectivity to read the text, while simultaneously allowing the text to read, challenge, and transform their relationship to themselves, others, and the world."