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.