The Goal of Good Theology

A good, humourous but yet serious reminder from Vanhoozer as to what good theology is all about... or rather, where good theology should lead us to. A good reminder for all aspiring theologians like myself!

"Success in theology is a matter of becoming right with God.

When one stands in right relation to God, all one's other relations are made right too. Knowing ourselves forgiven by God, we are empowered to forgive others. This too is part of our "lived knowledge" of Scripture. Indeed it may be no exaggeration to say that the ultimate purpose of biblical interpretation is to achieve right relationships: with God, with others and with oneself. After all, Christian truth is in the service of Christian love. If I speak with the tongues of Reformers and of professional theologians, and I have not personal faith in Christ, my theology is nothing but the noisy beating of a snare drum. And if I have analytic powers and the gift of creating coherent conceptual systems of theology, so as to remove liberal objections, and have not personal hope in God, I am nothing. And if I give myself to resolving the debate between supra and infralapsarianism, and to defending inerrancy, and to learning the Westminster Catechism, yea, even the larger one, so as to recite it by heart backwards and forwards, and have not love, I have gained nothing.

First philosophies eventually come and go. So do trends in theological method. I cannot predict what the next generation will decide is of first priority and importance.This one thing I do know: that there is no more vital task facing Christians today than responding faithfully to Scripture as God's authoritative speech acts-not because the book is holy but because the Lord is, and because the Bible is his Word, the chief means we have of coming to know Jesus Christ. Those who interpret the Bible rightly - those who look and live along the text, following the written words to the living Word - will have rightly ordered loves and rightly ordered lives. Indeed first theology matters precisely because it is tied up with our first love. The apostle Paul leaves us in no doubt as to either his first theology or his first love: "I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Phil 3:8)"

Taken from First Theology (Nottingham: APOLLOS, 2002), 40-41

The Triune God and its implications for Theological Language

In preparation for our annual Church Camp on the Doctrine of the Trinity, I have been reading Broughton Knox’s essay ‘God in Trinity’ from D. Broughton Knox Selected Works: Volume I The Doctrine of God (Kingsford: Matthias Media, 2000). Here’s an excerpt which has an interesting connection to a question raised in my previous post - can our theological language which comes through human words and language actually refer to and describe who God is? Is theological language univocal, equivocal or merely analogical?

Knox says this:

The doctrine of the Trinity helps solve another problem which troubles modern theologians. How is it possible that human language drawn from human experience can be an adequate vehicle for describing the ineffable God? Must all language be merely analogical when it is used to describe the realities of religion? That is a very popular view. Religious language is thought to be analogical and not direct description, but if this were true it would mean we have no sure knowledge of God, for we cannot be sure how an analogy fits unless we already know the object which the analogy describes-that is, unless we already know God, we cannot know whether analogical language fits the God of whom we are speaking. In other words, this line of thought means that we have no sure knowledge of God and this is a conclusion of much modern theology.

However, the doctrine of the Trinity reminds us that human life has been created in the image of God. Human relationships reflect the image of the Trinity. It follows that human language reflecting these human relationships is a suitable vehicle to describe God's relationships within himself and with humanity, for we have been created in his image and our relationships correspond to his relationships, for they are an image of them. It follows that when God chooses human language to describe his relationships, not only within himself but especially his relationships to us, he is not using analogical language but a direct description of reality, for the language being used is language drawn from the image of that reality. It is God who is using the language (for he is inspiring the prophet), and the vehicle that he is using (human language) is adequate, indeed exact, to describe what would otherwise be beyond our powers of knowing. Because we have been created in the image of God, the revelation of God to us becomes a possibility. We may know him truly through our own human language. [...] God reveals himself to us personally in a direct and literal and not merely analogical way, and so we are able to respond in a real and true way and enter into real personal relationships with God. All this follows from the fact that God is Trinity and has created us in his image, that is to say, to be relational, so that the language which describes our relationships is an adequate vehicle when used by God himself to describe the real relationships that he has within himself and with us. In other words, religious language is not analogical but direct and univocal (p.90-91, my emphasis)

Knox has provided us an interesting and important insight. If David Clark (from the previous post) provided us a philosophical reason for the univocal nature of language when it comes to describing God, Broughton Knox here provides us a theological reason. The overall insight is valid and important. But upon deeper thought, one realises that Knox’s argument works through various intermediary steps. God, in giving us the gift of language, has allowed that human language describes human relationships (univocally). Human relationships in turn reflect (though not fully or perfectly but truely i.e. univocally) God’s relationships within Himself and with humanity, since we are created in the image of the Triune God. Hence, human language ‘which describes our relationships is an adequate vehicle when used by God himself to describe the real relationships that He has within himself and with us’ (p.91). In another words, Knox’s argument really works based on a two-stage univocity. Human language describe human relationships univocally, and human relationships represent the inter-Triune and the Triune God-mankind relationships univocally too, hence human language can refer to the Triune God univocally.

I’m wondering if Knox’s argument can be further strengthened by the truth of the incarnation. The inter-Trinitarian relationships summarised by love and other-centredness and servant-mindedness (and Knox provides in his essay biblical references to show this) sees its climax in the incarnation of the second person of the Godhead, God the Son. Jesus comes and speaks to us these daring and totally amazing words, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him. [...] Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father [...].” (John 14:6-7, 9). Jesus here is saying when we know Him and relate to Him, we are relating to the Father as well (through Jesus enabled by the Spirit). The force of Jesus’ statement here is univocal. Jesus is not saying here that knowing him is different from knowing the Father (equivocal relationship), nor is he merely saying knowing him is like knowing the Father (analogous relationship), but He is saying knowing him is equivalent to knowing the Father (univocal relationship). In another words, it is through our knowing and relating to Jesus that we are brought into relationship with the Triune God. And how do we know and relate to Jesus? We know him through his words spoken, which by virtue of the fact that he is God the Son incarnated as man, means through his words of human language. There is of course the role of the Holy Spirit in reminding the disciples and illuminating and convicting us today of what Jesus had spoken, but the point remains clear – human words and language help us to know Jesus univocally, and knowing Jesus is knowing the Triune God univocally. The incarnation of our Lord Jesus arising from the doctrine of the Trinity grounds this truth.

Features of an Evangelical Theological Method - review of To Know and Love God by David Clark

What does an evangelical theological method look like? One that is contextually aware and well-suited for the times we are in, as we sail our way through the waters of modernism into postmodernism? One that retains the best insights of theological methods influenced by modernism and yet incorporates the new insights brought about by postmodernism? This is the question that David Clark seeks to answer in his To Know And Love God: Method for Theology (Wheaton: Crossway, 2003). Clark works his way through different features or aspects of an evangelical theological method, and arrives at the following picture –

An Evangelical Theological Method should

1) Take into account what Clark calls the ‘Contextual Pole’ (the emphasis for theology to be connected to the cultural situation or other forms of human thought e.g. philosophy and reason) and the ‘Kerygmatic Pole’ (the emphasis of theology to be objectively grounded in faith and Scripture and ‘systems’). An evangelical Theological Method should hold onto both poles and work within the extremes of these two poles. The evangelical theologian should not be a ‘transformer’ – one who so emphasises the Contextual Pole that the truths of the gospel are compromised for the sake of cultural connection, nor a ‘transporter’ – one who simply transports theology straight from the bible without any regard or awareness of culture or influences from other forms of human thought. Rather, the evangelical theologian should seek to ensure that his theology is ‘contextually relevant in every mode of expression, yet shaped very fundamentally through essential connection with biblical revelation’ (p.57).

2) Recognise the Scriptures as uniquely authoritative in authorising both theological statements and moral commands. More than that, the authority of Scripture is first and foremost grounded in the ontological truth of God and his act of speaking, rather than in the church or the community’s reception of that Word. In technical language, the ‘ontological ground of the text’s authority is not the same as the epistemic acceptance of the text’s authority’ (p.65). In authorising the theological statements and moral commands (or in moving from Scripture to Theology), Clark also denounces principlizing – where Scripture is seen to be filled with universal timeless principles which lie beneath the narrative, cultural husks the words of Scripture find themselves in, and theology is all about extracting these principles and applying them to our new context. Instead, Clark calls for a nuanced version of narrative theology, where the whole Bible itself (with its different genres and narrative account), rather than just the principles, is seen to be the thing that authorises theology for living (p.96-97)

3) Be Contextually Relevant. In this regard, Clark discourages a decode/encode way of contextualisation which he deems in essence as a form of principlizing (p.112-13) and instead encourages a dialogical model for evangelical contextualisation, where from one’s culture with its own values, beliefs, practices and dilemmas, Christians raise questions and issues; they then take these initial questions to Scripture and allow a culturally relevant theology to emerge – at all times doing this with great humility and a keen eagerness to apply their discoveries to life while recognising the supreme authority of the Word of God to question and challenge their cultural viewpoints. This dialogical process is further extended to involve the “other culture” whether it may be a culture in a distant era of time or a far off place. The whole dialogical process continues and at all times, understanding of Scripture is deepened (p.114 and 120-21).

4) Have a foundation on which evangelical theology is built. In terms of this foundation, Clark rejects ‘strong’ foundationalism (or classical foundationalism which asserts something like ‘basic beliefs must either be self-evident, incorrigible, or evident to the senses’) (p.155-56); coherentism (where a system of beliefs is valid as long as the individual beliefs are coherent when they come together) (p.156-58), or pragmatism (where a system of beliefs is valid as long as it works!) (p.159-161). Instead, Clark espouses soft foundationalism, consisting of the following tenets (p.161-62):
• A kind of belief-foundationalism, which distinguishes between basic beliefs and non-basic beliefs. Basic beliefs are warranted directly in a variety of ways, while non-basic beliefs build on basic beliefs.
• Coherence is relevant to the warranting of beliefs, but is never sufficient to ground an entire web of belief.
• Unlike classical foundationalism, basic beliefs can be warranted despite they not achieving the same standards of self-evidence or incorrigibility as demanded by classical foundationalism. This means a person is justified prima facie in accepting many ideas when the justification is less than absolutely certain. Soft foundationalism also allows for its basic beliefs to be defeated if it turns out to be so upon further inspection.

5) Recognise because there is a larger unified narrative behind the various disciplines (Biblical Theology, Systematic Theology, Historical Theology, Philosophical Theology and Practical Theology) – that of God’s self-revelation in the totality of history – a unity of the theological disciplines is achievable (p.192). A good evangelical theological method recognises the uniqueness and diversity of disciplines; understands its own discipline’s horizon, and fuses that horizon with that of the other disciplines.

6) At its best be scientia that serves sapientia. Scientia refers to knowledge that is derived from a scientific way of exploring and discovering, while sapientia is godly wisdom directed to salvation and Christian living. A good theological method recognises both and does not see the two as contradictory but rather complementary – seeing theology as a means to the end of loving God is perfectly consistent with a robust interest in objectively correct (albeit an imperfect and incomplete) biblical descriptions of the object of our love (p.217). In another words, ‘theology is a science of God that enables faithful Christian followers to know God and to find spiritual wisdom’ (p.219). To this end, Clark espouses a five step method involving both scientia and sapientia – Engagement, Discovery and Testing, Integration, and Communication (p.232-44). Clark’s summary of the process is helpful:

Theology, then, includes both truth-discerning and truth-applying functions. Theology as scientia is concerned to tease out the best possible understandings of God, his will, and his ways. This happens as theologians appropriately pursue the discovery and testing phases in order to explore successively more adequate theological ideas, models, theories, and research programmes. This requires objectivity and critical testing. [...] Theology as sapientia functions to transform believers’ lives through integration, and Christians in turn influence people and communities through communication. [...] The second and third moments in theology yield understandings that genuinely reflect the Word and the world; the fourth and fifth moments use theological truth to influence affections, decisions and characters (p.244).

7) Be open to philosophical methods of analysis involving strategies for clarifying concepts, criticising assumptions, evaluating arguments, and constructing positive viewpoints. These analytic skills are helpful, though not sufficient for good evangelical theologizing.

8) Acknowledge that some genuine knowledge of an objectively existing spiritual Reality (in this case God!) is essential to evangelical theology, and that language while not capturing that reality fully, does connect to that objective reality. Clark espouses a minimalist account of correspondence, where language does refer to mind-independent state of affairs. It is a view which Clark admits is more of ‘an affirmation of an intuition than it is the development of a theory’ (p.381), for trying to prove truth beyond the category of intuition to more basic or fundamental terms will only result into hopeless circularity. Applying this concept to religious or theological language, Clark espouses a ‘carefully crafted commitment to univocity’ (p.393), where religious language speaks univocally (a word has exactly the same meaning in two different contexts) as opposed to speaking equivocally (the way a word is used in one context is entirely different from the way it is used in another) or by analogy (where a word or term as used in two different contexts communicate different senses, but yet the different senses are somewhat meaningfully related to each other). A commitment to univocity means that when a term is used to predicate of God the way it is used of man, e.g. ‘God is loving’, the meaning of the term as applied to God and the meaning of the term as applied to man are identical, though the mode or manner of expression of the two predications of a univocal term may different completely. But in the case of analogy, the meaning of the term as applied to God and the meaning of the term as applied to man are not identical, though they are similar. Finally, Clark also encourages us to see religious language as not only having its function in referring or describing, but through Speech-Acts theory, to see that it also has other functions and does other things. Saying things about the world is one thing language does, but not the only thing it does – or even the most important thing it does. Speech-acts also forms a link between theology or theological language as scientia and sapientia. Speech-acts as a way of understanding religious language

[...] shows how the language of Scripture, worship, preaching, spiritual formation, and moral instruction is sapiential. This language is intended to do something. As such, religious utterances of this sort do something other than informing listeners about reality. But they do relate to theology as scientia. Scientia is the language intended to describe spiritual realities truly. The purposes of sapientia – worshipping the triune God, transforming Christian character, building the spiritual community called the church, and fulfilling God’s call to evangelistic and social mission – these all involve the use of linguistic utterances of various sorts. But they require the background truth of theology as scientia (p.416-17).

Overall, the biggest contribution of To Know and Love God is to provide a realistic philosophical underpinning to evangelical theological method – one that draws the best insights of both modernism and postmodernism, yet without succumbing to the blind spots and weaknesses of either. It affirms critical realism (that there is a mind-independent objective reality); a minimal account of correspondence to religious language (that language is able to refer and describe this reality); epistemic humility (we can know truly though not exhaustively or fully), and theology that is rooted in scientia for the purposes of sapientia – that we may be truly wise, having ‘passionate love for God, genuine worship of the Trinity, true community with fellow Christians, and loving service in personal evangelism and social compassion – all to the glory of God’ (p.424).

Being on the pendulum of time - Reflections from Ecclesiastes 3

As a church, we are currently reading the book of Ecclesiastes, and last evening, we read chapter 3.

Chapter 3 begins with a somewhat enigmatic poem (as per the rest of the book!)
NIV Ecclesiastes 3:1
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

The above poem covers every single activity or season that one can experience in life – from the activity of life and death (v.2a); to our constructive and destructive activities (v.2b-3); to our range of emotional activities (v.4), and also our range of activities as we relate to one another (v.5-8). Furthermore, the activities are listed such that they are polar opposites – the first activity of being born and the last activity of dying are listed together, killing and healing are listed together, being silent and speaking are listed together, and so on. At first glance, it seems like this passage could just be about the appropriateness of different activities for different times – there is a right time to plant, a right time to uproot etc. - i.e. this poem could simply be read as regarding ethical appropriateness in behaviour.

But I suspect more is stake, as shown by Qoheleth’s (or ‘The Teacher’) question: “What does the worker gain from his toil?” (v.9). This question is a key question that guides our interpretation of Ecclesiastes, having appeared in the beginning of the book (1:3) and one that appears regularly throughout. This question is really the question Qoheleth seeks to answer in the book of Ecclesiastes. When paraphrased, it goes something like this – “What do we gain from all the activities listed above? From the whole enterprise of life as captured by the activities and seasons listed above?” In another words, as Qoheleth finds himself and others caught up in the activities and seasons in the enterprise of life as listed above, he asks, “What gain is there?” As how my senior pastor puts it – as we find ourselves on the pendulum of time swinging from one (polar) activity to the next - what gain is there?

Qoheleth further reinforces this question by stating his observation of the burden God has placed on men (v.10). As we ‘swing’ through the pendulum of time in all its various polar activities, we can’t help but have an inkling that there must be something larger than this – that time (and life) must surely consist of more than just the polar seasons, that there must be a bigger scheme to it, that God must have stretched out time from its beginnings to its end. Yet, it is precisely this larger scheme that we cannot fathom, and this is what leads to us experiencing the burden Qoheleth talks about (v.10-11).

Isn’t it true – Qoheleth’s observation? As we go through the enterprise of life swinging from one activity to another - as we go from one birth to another funeral; as we attend one wedding and see another divorce among our friends; as we go through moments where we can’t even have a peaceful meal on the dinner table because of young children to moments where it seems all too quiet on the dinner table now that our teenage children have their own activities and are no longer present for family meals; as we hear of a loved one recovering from a sickness only to hear of another loved one contracting a deadly illness; as we read in the papers of promised economic growth only to have in the next moment that same newspaper report of an economic slump – as we go through all these polar activities in this enterprise called life, don’t we question and yearn for something larger? But yet we discover the very next moment that we can’t fathom what this larger scheme of things is with our own autonomous understanding and wisdom. O what a burden!

How then can we or should we respond to this burden? Qoheleth imparts his wisdom with his two ‘I know’ statements (v.12 and v.14). First, recognise that since we have no control over the seasons or activities we will find ourselves involved in this pendulum of life, seize and cherish every good moment, recognising such moments are a gift from God (v.12-13). Strangely, this lesson came across to me in an interesting way. As a family, we had a chance to travel up to Malaysia for a short break together with my parents and another family. Upon coming back to Singapore, I attended consecutively in the next two Fridays two funerals, both of which involved my friends’ fathers. As I stood there reflecting at the funeral, I was thankful for the holiday we had with my parents, especially with my father, for who truly knows when he will be here or when he will be taken away? My conclusion was only God knows, and on my part, I can but respond by cherishing every moment I have to spend with my father. Second, respond with reverence fear to the one who truly holds the bigger scheme of things in his hand, the one who truly orchestrates the one forward swing of the giant pendulum of time, from beginning to end (v.14-15). He is the one who from his perspective sees things that are as already have been; and for whom future things are merely what has been before. But most importantly, he is the one who can call the past things into account. We cannot do that, bring the past back to the present, but unlike us, that is something which God can do. In another words, I think the best words to capture this dual response is recognise our creatureliness and submit to our creator, seizing and recognising every good moment from him as a gift, and at all times, revering him alone who holds the bigger scheme of things of which we find ourselves being part of.

And that leads on to v.16, where Qoheleth talks about wickedness and judgement. While some commentators see this as a separate section, I see the two sections connected. Qoheleth here presents the third alternate response we can give to this burden placed upon us – this burden of being on the pendulum of time but yet not knowing where it is heading – and that is the wrong response of wickedness. Such a response is formed out of the wrong perception of fatalism arising from having the burden placed on us. We think that being on the pendulum of time is fatalistic and deterministic, that there is nothing we can do, and hence we indulge in wickedness. But Qoheleth warns us against such a response – there is judgement by God (v.16-17). For those who are wicked and proud, who think that we are masters of our time and our destinies with no form of accounting whatsoever, Qoheleth humbles us by reminding us of his observation that at the end of the day, we are just like the animals – death awaits us both (v.18-21). We are just like the animals – mere creatures – so recognise our creatureliness and respond appropriately in this pendulum of time we find ourselves on.

'Theodramatic Triangulation' as a Theological Method

What is the nature of theology? Its subject matter? And hence, what is the befitting theological method to employ in doing theology that is appropriate to its nature? For those familiar with the works of Kevin Vanhoozer, one would anticipate his answer, “Theodrama!” In his essay ‘On the very idea of a Theological System’ (p.125-182 in Always Reforming: Explorations in Systematic Theology (ed. A.T.B. McGowan, Leicester: Apollos, 2006)), Vanhoozer considers some of the philosophical and theological difficulties with current theological methods, and provides a genuine attempt to show how theodrama could answer, albeit partially, some of the difficulties.

First, Vanhoozer draws our attention to the difficulties associated with current theological methods which rely on evidentialism and conceptual schemes. Here, he mainly interacts with the work of Donald Davidson, who attacks what he terms as one of the dogmas of empiricism, namely ‘the Kantian notion of conceptual schemes that organise and translate our raw, preconceptual sensory experiences’ (p.155). What Davidson rejects is this dualism of scheme (organising system) and content (that which awaits organisation). In his view, such a scheme-content dualism promotes scepticism (about whether we can actually get to the ‘given’ behind the scheme, or whether we are just getting the scheme itself) and relativism (where meaning and truth is only relative to a certain conceptual scheme). Hence, in Davidson’s view, conceptual schemes actually create a barrier between the subject’s mind – what is ‘in here’ – and the external world – out is ‘out there’ (p.156). Vanhoozer next mentions the work of Bruce Marshall as one who has applied Davidson’s proposal to theology. Marshall states that too much of theology has been done with what he calls an ‘epistemic dependence thesis’ – where theology becomes epistemically dependent on extra-biblical conceptual schemes in order to explain its truths of Christian doctrine (e.g. existentialism, process philosophy, Aristotelianism etc.) Rather, Marshall proposes theology should be done via the ‘epistemic independence thesis’ – where ‘theology must not interpret biblical narratives by means of some conceptual scheme but rather begin by assuming the truth of the biblical narratives as they stand’ (p.157). In another words, instead of explaining the events of the Bible in terms of some conceptual scheme, the events themselves acquire explanatory power with respect to everything else! Who falls into such a content-scheme dualism proposed by Davidson-Marshall? Vanhoozer himself states:

“Not only card-carrying empiricists, but a host of others as well: virtually all post-Kantian philosophers; most postmodernists; modern theologians searching for the right –ism; postliberal theologians who believe we are trapped within incommensurable cultural-linguistic frameworks. Charles Hodge’s approach seems to be another clear example of one who trades on the scheme-content dichotomy by distinguishing the facts (propositions) of the Bible and the laws and theorems (systems) that theologians devise to account for their relation.” (p.156)

Second, having posed the difficulties with the scheme-content dichotomy way of doing theology, Vanhoozer proposes what could be the way forward. He states, “The question before us is whether the subject-object dichotomy is the best way to account for how understanding takes place. This brings us back to Davidson; specifically, to his suggestion that understanding others is a three dimensional affair, a matter of ‘triangulation’.” (p.160) The problem of the subject-object dichotomy is that it either leaves the subject with the contents of his or her own mind only, or it leaves the community with their own conceptual scheme or cultural-linguistic framework only. In both cases, the problem is determining ‘how we can know a scheme is true to the content if we can never get outside our scheme to see the content as it is in itself’ (p.160). Rather, understanding requires three sorts of knowledge: of our own minds, of other minds and of the world. We know what our own words and concepts mean only by triangulating with other language users about our shared world. Triangulation hence coordinates beliefs, words and actions; and understanding arises when two speakers coordinate their beliefs and practices with the world through communicative interaction, through language. Indeed, communicative interaction is the key in triangulation.

Third, having suggested triangulation as a better way of accounting for understanding rather than the subject-object dichotomy, Vanhoozer moves on to take the conceptual step from the notion of general to ‘special’ (in this case theological) triangulation and proposes his main thesis – the best systematic is a matter of theodramatic triangulation with an authoritative script (p.164). He moves to this thesis via various steps. First, the nature or subject matter of theology is theodramatic in nature – it involves God doing and saying things in the world to and for others. Vanhoozer states:

“The Christian gospel is something God both says and does. It is not a philosophy, a system of morality nor an expression of human subjectivity, but a theodrama: God’s words and deeds on the world stage with and for us, especially with respect to creation and redemption as these are summed up in Jesus Christ. […] The theodrama begins with God bespeaking creation. The plot accelerates with God’s promise to Abraham: “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you… and by you all families of the earth shall be blessed’ (Gen 12:2-3). It continues with God making good on his promissio thanks to the missio (sending) of Son and Spirit.” (p.164-65)

And not only is the nature of theology theodramatic in that it involves God saying and doing things, it also involves us humans having speaking and acting parts too. We not only make sense of what God has done but also of what we are to do in order to participate rightly in the action. As Vanhoozer states, “Theology is a human endeavour (the drama of human knowing) that prays to be caught up in a prior divine endeavour (the drama of God making himself known).” (p.165)

Second, theodrama involves triangulation. It is itself an instance of triune triangulation. The way God reveals himself is best not described in terms of the subject-object dichotomy (God is not the ‘object’ of human experience or investigation), but rather communicative interaction. God makes Himself known by what He says and does to us on the world stage. Consider the incarnation as the supreme example of God’s communicative interaction seen in triangulation: ‘the Word speaking words, acting and suffering with and for others, in the world’ (p.165). Theodramatic understanding also requires triangulation, because in understanding, we constantly relate the three sides of ‘what God does in Christ, the Scriptures that present Christ, and the Word-and-Spirit-guided practices of the church, the body of Christ’. Another way of putting it, theodramatic understanding involves triangulating between divine and human action and speech with reality made new in Christ, so that the church today can participate fittingly in the ongoing drama of redemption. Theodramatic triangulation hence involves Word (or Scripture), church and world.

Third, while theodrama involves triangulation, epistemic priority is given to ‘what God says in and through the biblical text’ – it has the privileged place in the triangle. And the Bible has epistemic primacy not because it acts as an epistemic foundation (either a ‘storehouse of facts’ or a deposit of propositional revelation), but because of ‘its nature as the church’s authoritative script, the normative specification for interpreting what God is saying and doing in creation, in the history of Israel, and in Jesus Christ’ (p.168). In another words, the doctrine of Scripture is correctly grasped when viewed not separate but closely related to the events it recounts, displays and enjoins. The Bible is the means and medium of God’s communicative interaction with the church – He speaks ‘in and through’ the Scriptures. And as He speaks ‘in and through’ the Scriptures, two levels of triangulation occurs. The first (Triangulation I) is at the formation of the canon, resulting from the Spirit’s triangulation of language, belief practices and reality – the Spirit leads the human authors into communicative interaction with the mighty acts of God and a true understanding of these acts and the reality it has brought about. The second (Triangulation II) is where the Spirit continues to be active in the contemporary church’s attempt at theological triangulation – the Spirit ministers the truth of the reality brought about by Christ through the inspired biblical discourse to the church in the world today. But Triangulation II is dependent on Triangulation I or (another way of putting it) - canonical triangulation is the norm for ecclesial triangulation. As Vanhoozer states, “While both Scripture and the church’s interpretation are components in the triune economy of communicative action, only the biblical discourse carries epistemic primacy.” (p.172)

Vanhoozer has provided in the essay a genuine attempt to explore the nature of theology and hence the best way of doing theology. Out of his works that I have interacted with so far, he has also provided his most rigorous defence of theodrama as a theological prolegomena in this essay, going all the way down to analytical philosophy in terms of the way language and understanding works and its epistemic implications. While his overall argument is clear, I still have one remaining outstanding question – what is the place Vanhoozer allows for conceptual schemes in his theodramatic triangulation proposal? If he goes all the way with the Davidson-Marshall proposal, then I really do not see how theodramatic triangulation involving communicative interaction can work, because such communicative interaction and exchange also takes place via conceptual schemes (This is also the question I have for Bruce Marshall – how exactly does one allow the ‘narrative emplotment’ of the events in the bible to provide explanatory power to everything without resorting to some form of conceptual scheme? And here is where I confess I will have to read more of Davidson and Marshall). How do we have communicative interaction and understand that communicative interaction without some prior conceptual scheme of sin, salvation, hope, eschatology etc.? If it is the pure distinct subject-object scheme-content dichotomy way of doing theology (where the conceptual scheme stands unbendable and unchangeable to categorise the content) that Vanhoozer is objecting against, then I can understand his polemic and concur that indeed, triangulation involving communicative interaction is a better way of doing theology that is closer to its nature. But if it means a total disregard of conceptual schemes at all, then I really have difficulty seeing how theodrama triangulation works in practice. But there are hints that it is more of the first objection that Vanhoozer is concerned with. Firstly, he states his reservation regarding Davidson’s holism and his way of going beyond realism (p.156 fn. 135). Secondly, he states the purpose of doctrine within theodrama triangulation as ‘direction for the church’s fitting participation in the ongoing drama of redemption as normatively specified in Scripture’. Doctrine, under this definition, must surely involve conceptual schemes and propositional statements, though not being totally exhausted by them. Thirdly, Vanhoozer states in a footnote that ‘his own preference is for a modest, chastened, ‘fallibillist’ foundationalism in which one employs basic beliefs on a provisional basis. We begin not with indubitable foundations but with load-bearing frameworks that from time to time may need adjusting and repair’ (p.152 fn. 125). I would like to think that Vanhoozer’s comment extends to the place of conceptual schemes in theodramatic triangulation discourse – we employ these conceptual schemes on a provisional basis, and as we undergo triangular communicative interaction at all times holding onto the primacy of Scripture – we allow these conceptual schemes to be challenged and changed.

Putting the question aside, all in all, Vanhoozer’s conclusion in this essay captures well his firm conviction why theodramatic triangulation produces a theological method more befitting to its nature and subject matter:

“The way forward is clear: theology must focus not on producing theoretical systems of knowledge but on cultivating disciples who learn and embody practical wisdom. And the best way to do that is to approach the bible not as a knowing subject, but as one who walks the way of Jesus Christ with others, triangulating our position by attending to the Spirit speaking in the Scriptures, to the church’s great performances of the past, and to the church’s situation today.” (p.182)

History and Hermeneutics

What is the relationship between history and theology? How does our understanding of history suffer in not having a theological account of history? And vice versa, how does our theology suffer when we go about carrying out our theology ahistorically? These are the questions that Murray Rae, theology lecturer at University of Otago, seeks to answer in his History and Hermeneutics (London: T&T Clark, 2005).

Rae begins in the 1st two chapters by covering the overview of the history and current status of the relationship between theology and history as it is in the areas of historiography and theology. He summarises the thoughts and contributions of Descartes, Spinoza, Hermann Reimarus, G.E. Lessing, Hegel, D.F. Strauss, Ernst Troeltsch and the Jesus Seminar under the field of historiography, and the thoughts of contributions of Martin Kahler, Rudolf Bultmann, Karl Barth, Ernst Kasemann, Oscar Cullmann, Wolfhart Pannenberg, Hans Frei, and N.T. Wright under the field of theology. His conclusion is that largely, there has been a divorce between historical and theological study, and that this divorce takes two forms –

“The first seeks to protect theology from the alleged vagaries of history, while the second seeks to protect history from the allegedly ephemeral and speculative claims of theology. Both strategies are premised on the conviction that history and divine action are mutually exclusive categories and that it is improper, therefore, at least in academic circles, to speak of God’s participation in the unfolding nexus of historical life.” (p.4).

The divorce is seen especially in biblical studies, where in the first form, the Christian faith is sought to be set free from the historical narratives of the Christian faith such that its essence is not dependent on the truth or falsity of the New Testament’s historical claims (e.g. Bultmann and his account of resurrection). The second form is the reverse where history is sought to be set free from faith such that the Gospels must be purged of their dogmatic content in order to lay bare the truth of who Jesus really was (e.g. the Jesus Seminar). Rae suggests that even those who attempt to bring historiography and theology together in their prolegomena risk establishing one on the other, and hence in that way actually rendering them asunder (e.g. N.T. Wright who privileges and founds his study of historiography-theology in the fields of ‘autonomous’ historical enquiry alone; or Hans Frei who commits the ‘opposite’ error in not extending far enough the results of his historiography-theology study to give critical attention to ‘what history is’, even reworking the concept of history if necessary).

That is the task Murray Rae undertakes in chapter 3 – to give a theological account of history. And to begin to do so, Rae turns to the Bible, for “the Bible is a theological account of history. It is an account that is shaped by the conviction that all that takes place does so within the context of God’s providential care [and may I add, God’s involvement] for the created order” (p.49). While the tradition of Western historiography which privileges a secular account of history and dispense with any divine involvement of God may lead one to think that Rae’s starting point is ill-founded, Rae is right in stating that there is no a priori basis upon which to decide whether God has or has not acted. Rather, we should reckon with the conviction of Israel that ‘its own history as a people is inaugurated by God and is shaped throughout by God’s action’ and not just simply dismiss this claim in advance! (p.50).

With the above working assumption in place, Rae turns to consider the opening move of creation ex nihilo and its implications for our understanding of history. Here, he refers to the work of Colin Gunton and states three implications: Firstly, that the world was brought forth by God ‘out of nothing’ implies that God creates with some purpose in mind and that the world is invested with a telos. History, then, can be understood as the ‘space and time opened up for the world to become what it is intended to be’ (p.51). Secondly, the idea of creation out of nothing means the world is fully God’s world. A Manichean view where history is seen as a struggle between opposing forces is thus ruled out, and instead history is ‘confessed to have an overall coherence under the creative, providential and redemptive care of God’ (p.51). Thirdly, the creation of the world should be seen as the act of the Triune God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and ‘because God is already, ‘in advance’ of creation, a communion of persons existing in loving relations, it becomes possible to say that he does not need the world, and so is able to will the existence of something else simply for its own sake’ (p52 quoting Gunton). The further implication flowing from this truth is that human action is given value in its own right and is not simply the necessary unfolding of God’s own being. History and human responsibility go hand in hand, and conversely this means that human action requires some notion of the purpose of history as a whole to evaluate it ethically. But human action does not negate God’s sovereignty. That creation is a triune act enables us to speak of God’s continuing action in the world via His son becoming incarnate in the midst of history and His Spirit poured out on all flesh. At the same time, God’s sovereignty also does not negate human action – human agency in history is directed toward the fulfilment of the divine purpose. Rae states it well:

“We have observed […] the biblical conviction that God enlists human participation in the working out of his purpose. Again, it is in Jesus Christ that such participation reaches its fulfilment – his human life of obedience to God, his death, his resurrection and his ascension, is the series of events that truly make history. It is through Christ that God restores the world to its true purpose. By sending then his Holy Spirit, who bestows gifts and fruits for truly human life, Christ ensures that our own human action may become, under the impact and empowerment of that Spirit, a like participation in God’s purpose.” (p.54)

God himself is bringing creation to its goal, and that lays the foundation to our theological understanding of history where history is seen as the time and space opened up for creation to be what God intended to be. It is the action of God that gives history its purpose and directs it towards its goal. The actions of God are seen in the divine promise given (Gen 12:1-3) and climaxed in the incarnation and resurrection of Christ, and it is from Christ that history defines its meaning and telos. Rae again on this:

“The resurrection of Jesus from the dead is God’s vindication of this man and his history as the means through which participation in his coming kingdom is opened up. We may say therefore that through the death and resurrection of Christ God’s action makes history. It is through the series of events that make up the life of Jesus of Nazareth that creation’s destiny is secured and its meaning revealed. [... It is] the event in the midst of history that secures the fulfilment of God’s promise and brings creation to its goal.” (p.61)

And that’s what Murray Rae goes on to do in chapter 4 – to look further into the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Against the common thinking in historiography that belief in the resurrection renders the evidence of the Gospels problematic one way or another, Rae advocates the opposite: “The resurrection is that which enables us to see the history of Jesus aright.” (p.67) But yet Rae concedes that ‘seeing’ the resurrection is not possible within the prevailing canons of historical-critical enquiry, not because the resurrection is not an historical event, but because historians have construed history as a causal series from which God is excluded. Instead, seeing the resurrection is only possible by faith – under the impact of the reality of the risen Christ himself. In another words, ‘seeing’ the resurrection is only possible by grace, and is dependent upon the self-disclosure of the risen Christ himself (Rae himself provides an insightful exegesis of Luke 24 in p.80-84 to substantiate his point). But seen in light of that reality, the resurrection is seen as a definitive event – it is the decisive clue in understanding who Jesus is. Taking the lead from Pannenberg, Rae contends the resurrection not just reveals what is true of Jesus anyway, but the resurrection itself is constitutive of Jesus as the Messiah – constitutive of Jesus as the one in and through whom God brings about his new creation. “Only the Easter event determines what the meaning was of the pre-Easter history of Jesus and who he was in relation to God.” (p.76 quoting Pannenberg). More than that, the resurrection is also transformative and eschatological – transformative in the sense that resurrection bursts the bounds of the present order and transforms our understanding of history itself. And eschatological in the sense that right now in the midst of history, there is a foretaste of what is to come. And not only foretaste, but an actual participation in that reality and making of history.

“For it is the Spirit who unites us with Christ and enables our life now to be a participation in the making of history. The history that we now live matters because if lived in the power of the Spirit, or not, it is gathered, or not, into that final consummation of all things that is the kingdom of God.” (p.79).

At this point, the discerning reader may realise that Rae’s theological account of history is circular – it requires one to be under the ‘reconstrued’ reality of history brought about through the resurrection event before one can appreciate the theological account of history! In another words, a theological account of history requires faith! And this is the premise that Rae goes on to defend in the next two chapters – to defend his prolegomena of the theological account of history given by him. In chapter 5, he challenges the common view in historiography that telling the truth about history is merely a reporting of what would have been apparent to the naked eye, and instead advances ‘an account of ‘seeing’ that has less to do with ocular perception and more to do with comprehending what has taken place’ (p.86 his emphasis). Rae contends that all interpretation of history require historical judgements, and that all historical judgements are selective, approximate and provisional in nature, and are conditioned by one’s background beliefs about the way the world is constituted. In another words, the perception of historical reality is ultimately a hermeneutical activity. Belief helps us to see. And because the resurrection does nothing less than call our existing worldviews into challenge by presenting a new conception of history and God’s involvement in our world, we will never see the resurrection rightly unless God first enables us to. By our natural selves and on our own, we will be kept from recognising the risen Christ because that reality is one which contradicts our entire natural conception of how the world is constituted. “What is required is conversion, a new way of seeing that takes its starting place from the reconfiguration of things brought about through the incarnation, and through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.” (p.103) In chapter 6, Rae confronts the widespread contemporary prejudice in theology and biblical studies against the reliability of testimony and the authority of tradition, suggesting that such prejudice originates from rationalism. Instead, he rehabilitates and infuses confidence back into an epistemology derived from testimony and tradition, suggesting that the testimony itself is the fruit of sustained critical reflection on the meaning and implications of Jesus of Nazareth, while the passing on of the testimony through tradition in turn validates the authority of the testimony (p.130).

In the final chapter, Rae discusses the topic ‘The Ecclesial Reading of Scripture’. While seeming to stand apart from the rest of the argument of the book thus far, my guess is that Rae includes this chapter as a means of rounding up his argument – if a theological account of history depends on Scripture, which in turn is influenced by how we read Scripture within the realm of faith against the backdrop of testimony and tradition, then the community of faith will be the primary and normative locus for the interpretation of the Bible. Rae begins by discussing the concept of ‘meaning of the text’, advocating neither a determinate meaning (the form of interpretation which sees only a single meaning inherent in the text) nor an indeterminate or anti-determinate meaning (the form of interpretation which seeks to deconstruct established interpretive certainties in the name of the excluded ‘other’), but instead going for a definition of meaning where meaning is not reducible to a property of the text independent of its relation to context, but rather arises out of that text’s relationship to the context, and more rightly so contexts which the text finds itself speaking in. Because the people receiving the word ultimately is one community – the church, be it the Jew or the Gentile, there is only one common community as the receiver of the word. But this community spreads across time and space, and hence arises for the multiple level of contexts the text speaks in, all of which are integrated and interdependent in some way (p.131-134). In another words, Rae’s definition of meaning is dependent upon the text’s relation to its context or circumstance. While this leads some to wonder if there are any limits and controls to Rae’s definition of ‘meaning’, and how we can know if a reading is legitimate or not, Rae answers his own question by stating that any meaning in order to be legitimate has to be answerable and accountable to the ‘role played by the text in question within the book from which it is taken, within the collection of books that is the canon, within the community that has bound these books into its Bible, and within the worldwide community that is constituted precisely by the acceptance of and participation in the biblical story of God’s dealings with his people’ (p.135). In another words, the legitimacy of the meaning of a text is determined by its relation to the divine economy – the singular reality that constitutes the unity of the Bible! This is why readings of the bible which justify apartheid or national socialist readings are erroneous – they cannot conform and are irresponsible to the divine economy. This is also the controlling factor that distinguishes Rae’s definition from the anti-determinate definitions – such anti-determinate readings have no such control! But Rae is realistic – he recognises that such a definition does not serve as a method to avoid errant readings, but rather for identifying them when they occur. Ultimately, the different contexts should really be seen as different levels of an ever-broadening context showing the unfolding story of the relation between God and his world. Rae states:

“In the end, God defines himself through this story, and supremely so through the incarnation of his Word. It is in the event of incarnation worked out through the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus of Nazareth that the meaning of the story, and thus of the diverse partial telling of the story, is once and for all disclosed. […] The meaning of the text is thus a matter of the role it plays in this story of the God who goes his way among his people and who, through His Word and Spirit, gathers all things and successively embraces countless ‘others’ into reconciled communion with himself. This is the overarching context in which the meaning of the text is to be discerned.” (p.139-140)

This is why ecclesial reading of Scripture is normative, rather than just one among many options. For it is in the community of the church that we are not just the readers of the text, but we are actually participating in the reality of which these texts are speaking about! This is why the church is privileged in our reading and interpretation, not because we are any smarter or more enabled in our own resources, but because we the church exists and does all our reading of Scripture ‘predicated upon the grace and faithfulness of God’ (p.150).

Overall, Rae’s History and Hermeneutics is a book worth reading, and one which commends much to reflect upon. Though it is relatively brief (about 160 pages), it is packed with ideas and discussion on prolegomena, the concept of historiography, doctrines of creation, Christology, eschatology, and hermeneutics, all held together by the truth of this God who has created the world and who continues to be involved in providential care of it, and whose involvement reaches its climax in the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus, and the pouring out of His Spirit which genuinely grounds the authenticity of human action under the sovereignty of God, and opens our eyes as the church to see this reality as the world heads towards God’s intended purpose for it. This is what gives history and existence meaning.

Scripture informing Jesus?

We are familiar and affirmative of the relationship between Jesus and Scripture as one where Jesus fulfils Scripture (Matt 5:17). Jesus is the one whom Scripture’s characters, images, and promises point. As Telford Work in Living and Active: Scripture in the Economy of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 168, states, “[Jesus] makes Scripture intelligible. With Jesus’ arrival, the tables are turned and the man becomes the new context for the biblical text.”

But Work suggests that the relationship is more than just one-way. In as much as Jesus fulfils Scripture, Scripture also informs Jesus. The ‘biblical Word is instrumental to the incarnation of the logos. Canonical Scripture plays an indispensable part in Jesus’ human formation’ (p.168). Here’s an extended quote from Work which highlights his point:

“Obedience names Jesus’ respect for the will of the Father (John 6:38-40). Jesus’ obedience takes concrete shape as obedience to Scripture. As a child of the covenant, he humbly accepts God’s total claim on his life. As the creator of Israel becomes a son of Israel, so the creator and content of Israel’s Scripture grows up obedient to Scripture (Luke 2:41-52; John 6:38). In Jesus’ life Scripture acts as the revealer of God’s will for humanity and for the Son of Man. It commands Jesus’ obedience and so defines his mission. The Tanakh reveals the Father’s will for Jesus’ career like no other institution in Jesus’ world.

[...] Jesus is not only the antitype of the Old Testament’s predictions and pointers. [Tanakh] does not simply map out a course that leads others to him. The Tanakh discloses Jesus’ significance to others because it firsts discloses Christ to himself. In the Tanakh, the written Word encounters the incarnate Word. Jesus listens to the voice of the Father, and hears – himself.

Did Jesus know at some point in his itinerant ministry that he was Israel’s Messiah? [...] If Jesus’ self-awareness was an effect of his anointed prophethood [...] and not merely of his status as incarnate Word, then it was also in large part a function of Jesus’ relationship with Scripture. N. T. Wright traces likely indications of Jesus’ messianic self-awareness in the Gospels, and concludes that Jesus’ baptism is as likely an inauguration of messianic consciousness as any. And at the center of Wright’s speculations is the fact that if Jesus became aware of his own messiahship, he did so on the basis of the Tanakh’s descriptions of his messianic anointing. If the earthly Jesus knew he was Messiah, he knew it from his own exposure to Scripture.” (p.170-171)

Food for thought there by Work. Regardless of whether one agrees or not, one effect of Work’s proposal is that it serves to reinforce the doctrine of Scripture (here, Old Testament Scripture) as God’s Word. If Scripture is central in informing Jesus’ awareness and understanding of his messiahship, then the view that Scripture is merely a ‘witness’ to the Word incarnate is too weak a view to substantiate how Jesus viewed Old Testament Scripture. Rather, what we seem to have is as Work puts it ‘the written Word encountering the Incarnate Word”. As how Work states it further in his book, “Scripture is Jesus’ heritage, his horizon, his formation, his practice, his authority, his instrument, his medium, his teaching, his crisis and vindication, his witness, his confession, his community, and his glory. The Bible is the very language of the Messiah.” (p.212)

Robert Jenson and 5 perspectival points on reading Scripture

In his essay ‘Scripture’s Authority in the Church’ in The Art of Reading Scripture (ed. Ellen Davis & Richard Hays; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 27-37, theologian Robert Jenson offers 5 perspectival points for reading Scripture. I shall try to summarise them:

1) The church needs to remember that our attitude and approach to the Bible will be very different from that of the world. It is only the church that gathers together to hear what is said in the Bible and submit herself under its authority. Jenson states, “What Christians call the Bible, or Scripture, exists as a single entity because – and only because – the church gathered these documents for her specific purpose: to aid in preserving her peculiar message, to aid in maintaining across time, from the apostles to the End, the self-identity of her message that the God of Israel has raised his servant Jesus from the dead.” (p.27) Therefore, the church needs to be blatant and unabashed in reading Scripture for the church’s purpose and within the context of Christian faith and practice - a reading guided by church doctrine (p.28)

2) We need to recognise the narrative unity that is present in the Bible. The gospel is a message about an event – the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus – and so itself has the form of a narrative. In another words, what is present in Scripture as a unified whole is narrative unity, and the church should read Scripture recognising ‘the single plotted succession of events, stretching from creation to consummation, plotted around exodus and resurrection’ (p.29). This means that ‘in the church any passage of Scripture is to be read for its contribution to the telling of Scripture’s whole story’ (p.29).

3) Not only is there a narrative in Scripture, it is an over-arching narrative. “Scripture’s story is not a part of some larger narrative; it is itself the larger narrative of which all other true narratives are parts.” (p.34). As Jenson highlights, this means that ‘not only is Scripture within the church, but we, the church, are within Scripture – that is, our common life is located inside the story Scripture tells.” (p.30). This in turn means that certain ways of construing scriptural authority is not right. We must not think of Scripture as an information base for some entity outside the story – be it God or classical religious experiences or theological history of Israel or the primal church – since we are living in that story, there is no position from which such a ‘third-party outside view’ can be conducted. This also means that we must not think that before we can apply the Scripture passage to us, we first have to grasp it insofar as it is not about ourselves. While a proposition of Paul or the story of Samson happens in its community, we stand on the same line of continuity as the common community of interpretation. Positively, Jenson advocates a playwright analogy of understanding Scriptural authority. He suggests: “Scripture is authoritative for us, as characters in the story that it tells, somewhat as the existing transcript of an unfinished play is determinative of what can be true and right for its characters in the part that remains to be written.” (p.32). Sounds Vanhoozer-ish at this point? But there are differences. Jenson suggests that the third act is not written, but ‘when he does, he will do it as the same author who wrote the first two’ (p.32). I believe Vanhoozer would not agree with this or he would put it in a different way – the Script is complete, the final act is penned down and the whole drama is awaiting its final end and conclusion, though the performance is still going on and heading towards that direction. But both Jenson and Vanhoozer agree on this – The grand story told in Scripture is not only the story of the characters created by the author but is also the story of the author as a character in his own play. The story is also fundamentally God’s story. The end state of this hermeneutical perspective – “Scripture is not a set of clues from which to figure out God, for the story it tells is itself the truth of God.” (p.33)


4) Since we now live the story Scripture tells, Scripture does not merely inform us, but when we read Scripture in the church, Scripture addresses us. And the voice that addresses us is the Word of God, the Logos, the second identity of the Trinity. Jenson goes on to suggest, rather interestingly, therefore that the voice that speaks in the Old Testament is that of the pre-existent Christ, just as the New Testament is the voice of his continuing prophetic activity. Jenson gives the example of Isaiah – when the prophet describes the servant as a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief”, it is really Christ’s own testimony to his own character, given by the mouth of his prophet. Hence, we should not be afraid to ‘find Jesus in the Old Testament’. I have to admit this is a somewhat controversial point, but one that is definitely food for thought.

5) In the light of all this, the best way to experience the authority of Scripture is to see how Scripture is privileged in the life of the church – privileged in such a way as to fundamentally shape its life. As Jenson wittily says, “To experience the authority of Scripture, this is the chief thing to do: Hang out with Scripture, on a particular corner, the corner where there is a little crowd gathered around someone telling about the resurrection.” (p.36)

The necessary circularity of a theological account of Scripture

Here's Westmont College professor of religious studies Telford Work on why a theological account of the Doctrine of Scripture will necessarily be circular:

"Protestant systematic theology has traditionally placed the topics of revelation and Scripture first in its order of reflection. This arrangement has much to commend it. It solidly grounds the rest of systematic theology, and stresses the sheer divine initiative in any human knowledge and love of God. But it tends to leave the character and work of Scripture behind, undeveloped, as the theology moves on. By contrast, an economic Trinitarian theology of Scripture continually revisits bibliology in light of every other locus of theology. A systematic, Trinitarian doctrine of Scripture is necessarily circular: all the categories that decribe it also emerge from it. This circularity liberates the doctrine of Scripture from its prolegomenal ghetto and appreciates the Bible as reaching into the very plan of God and the very heart of the Christian life. Every further uncovering of the mystery of God's economy of salvation - Christology, Trinity, soteriology, eschatology, ecclesiology - is a new warrant and occasion to make another hermeneutical circuit, and develop a fuller account of Scripture, with which the Church can evaluate and shape its biblical practices."

(Telford Work, Living and Active: Scripture in the Economy of Salvation, 9)

Moving Beyond the Bible to Theology

I know the very title of this post might discomfort some: “What do you mean by ‘moving beyond’ the Bible? Are we supposed to ever move beyond the Bible?” But this is really the title of a book I’ve just finished reading – Four Views on Moving Beyond the Bible to Theology (ed. Gary Meadors; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009). In this book, a power packed cast of writers provide their different understandings of how they move from the Bible to theology or how they take the words or message of the Bible and apply it to modern day contexts and situations which the writers of Scripture never had to contend with - the most popular situations as presented in the book being the issue of abolition of slaves, women teaching, and (as presented by one contributor) transsexuality.


The first contributor is Walter Kaiser with the Principalising model, where Kasier states that we in fact don’t have to move beyond Scripture in the sense of taking the words of Scripture off on some trajectory to enable it to meet our present day contexts and situations. Rather, Scripture itself already has to full capacity to address these issues. What is needed, rather is to move through what he calls the ‘Ladder of Abstraction’ to sieve out and state ‘the general principle that embodies what is seen in the specificity, culture, and times of the text’ and then to ‘apply (that principle) to our day in corresponding specifics that elaborate on the same general principle’ (p.50). In a somewhat convoluted essay, the second contributor Daniel M. Doriani presents his Redemptive-Historical model, which seems like the standard grammatical-historical method, except that a much greater weight and attention is given to the location of the passage within salvation history. In another words, it is biblical theology resulting in a stronger Christocentric focus. So far so good, except that at this point Doriani introduces other factors such as allowing narrative to have its say in directing us in theology and ethics (p.87); casuistry (p.100), and asking ‘questions the Bible endorses’ (p.102), which really serve to confuse rather than illuminate his presentation. Third up is Kevin Vanhoozer, who presents his (curtains up and to no surprise) Drama of Redemption model. In this model, Christian living is seen as a fitting participation in God’s Theodrama, which He has graciously invited us to be part of. The Bible, in this case, serves as the script for a fitting participation, but yet a fitting participation is not just merely performing out the Script as it is, but rather it requires improvisation – which involves knowing how a portion of the Script fits in with the wider whole (what Vanhoozer calls ‘canon sense’: “To read with canon sense [...] is to read figurally or typologically, which is to say with the conviction that there is an underlying theodramatic consistency and coherence that underlies and unifies the whole.” (p.180)); and to see and learn from the previous performances of other saints and to understand the context ones is in (what Vanhoozer calls ‘catholic sensibility’ p.181). In another words, a faithful performance is when one performs or inhabits not so much the ‘world behind the text’ or even ‘the world of the text’, but rather ‘the world in front of the text’ or ‘the world implied by the text’. In another words, a fitting performance is when one cultivates theodramatic vision – when we ‘move beyond the script and become faithful performances of the world it implies by cultivating minds nurtured on the canon’, when our minds, hearts and imagination are trained and disciplined to think, desire, see – and then do – reality as it is in Jesus Christ’ (p.170). It is hence not surprising that doctrine, for Vanhoozer is largely formative – to so shape our thinking and imagination that we become people who habitually make good theodramtic judgements as to who God is, what He is doing, and hence what we must do in response (p.178). The final contributor is William Webb, who presents his Redemptive-Movement model, which is mainly concerned to find the ‘trajectory or logical extension of the Bible’s (or passage’s) redemptive spirit that carries Christians to an ultimate ethic’ (p.217). Due to this model’s frequent association with other more ‘out there’ hermeneutical theories which involve launching the meaning of the passage off on a trajectory which often ends up where the reader’s whims and fancies lead them to, Webb has to spend a proportionate time responding to the misconceptions and defending his model. Webb does not deny the NT as final and definitive revelation, but ‘understanding the NT as final and definitive revelation does not automatically mean that the NT contains the final realisation of social ethics in all of its concrete particulars’ (p.246). In another words, I think it is the ethical application of the passage that Webb allows for a trajectory to an ‘ultimate ethic’, one which may or may not be seen within the pages of the Bible itself. What makes this book worth it’s price is an additional three reflections from Mark Strauss, Al Wolters (who provides an interesting argument for general revelation which together with special revelation helps us to move ‘beyond the bible’ in these contentious issues p.317-19), and Chris Wright (who suggests that a further perspective that needs to be taken into account is that of a missional hermeneutics – since Scripture is about mission or since Scripture is to be read with a missional hermeneutic, then the direction and paradigm in which we go beyond Scripture in thinking through issues must also have a missional direction).

I conclude with three comments. Firstly, it is comforting and encouraging to know that all four writers are thoroughly convinced of the nature and authority of Scripture. While they may be convicted to varying degrees over the sufficiency and perspicuity of Scripture , all four writers recognise the need to submit oneself to the Word of God. Perhaps the deeper question discussed here is not Is Scripture authoritative but rather How is Scripture authoritative? Secondly, the answer to the How question varies, but each polarity is not without its own difficulties. For example, Kaiser’s principlising model states that there is no need to move beyond Scripture – Scripture contains (timeless?) principles that are more than sufficient to answer any situation in any context (he shows this by considering women leadership, euthanasia, abortion, stem cell research, slave abolition etc.), but the deeper question that remains (as pointed out by the other contributors) is whose principles? i.e. what is there to guide me to ensure that I draw out the right principle, or what is there to prevent two people from drawing out contrary principles? Kaiser would answer, “Solid exegesis!”, but the exegesis of certain passages can be tricky at times and not as simplistic as Kaiser makes it out to be (for e.g. his exegesis of 1 Tim 2:12 to justify his egalitarian position). As David Clark (To know and love God) puts it, “principlizing obscures the fact that any articulation of the allegedly transcultural principles still reflects the culture of the translators.” There is no such thing as propositions free from cultural bias or worldview (p.276). On the other polarity, someone like Webb faces the same criticism. How do we determine the ‘ultimate ethic’ of the text? Webb would answer, “By the redemptive spirit of the text!”, but whose spirit? Isn’t it of the reader at the end of the day? Or the Holy Spirit? Either way, Webb (as Strauss points out) runs the risk of being unable to provide a definite answer by labelling “meaning” as ‘something not part of the human author’s communicative intent as expressed through speech-acts (p.290). Even Vanhoozer cannot escape this difficulty. What is the measure by which we use to define faithful performance? What is the measure of faithful improvisation? (Questions asked by Wolters p.316) Though I think Vanhoozer provides us a hint of his answer in his essay - It is the rule of love, the way of wisdom. A faithful performance, a fitting improvisation is one which corresponds to the dramatis personae himself – God as revealed in Jesus – full of love, full of wisdom. As Vanhoozer himself states, “The way forward is the way of wisdom – to walk in such a manner that one corresponds in one’s whole being-in-act to God’s prior-in-act. The wise disciple is the one who discerns, deliberates, and does the truth, goodness, and beauty that is the love of God in Jesus Christ.” (p.186). My third and final comment is this book is really a mistitle. I was expecting to learn how one can move beyond the Bible to Theology, thinking doctrine and systematic theology. But that does not seem to be the main emphasis here. Instead, a more accurate title should be ‘Moving Beyond the Bible to Ethics’.