By Michael Cooper, Ph.D./ABD
Assistant Professor Trinity International University Deerfield, Illinois
The present discussion of postmodern theology raises a number of interesting issues, not the least of which is the issue of a contextual theological orthodoxy. The hallmark of evangelicalism has been its stance on the 16th century reformation’s watchword sola scriptura, sola gratia, sola fidei and yet postmodernity seems to threaten the very essences of evangelicalism’s reliance upon Scripture as a source of doctrine and living. However, is it possible that even as postmodernity threatens evangelicalism it could broaden it as well? This essay will address five guiding principles to ensure theological orthodoxy in a postmodern context.
Before approaching this subject one presupposition needs to be addressed. The presupposition of a high view of Scripture is assumed. This high view of Scripture is mitigated by three overarching principles of hermeneutics:
1. Since the Bible was written by human beings, it must be treated as any other human communication in determining the meaning intended by the writer.
2. Since Scripture is God-breathed and true in all its parts, the unity of its teachings must be sought, and its supernatural elements recognized and understood.
3. Since Scripture is God-breathed, it is absolute in its authority for doctrine and life. (McQuilkin 1992, 9)
Both Old and New Testaments constitute the plenary and verbal revelation of God’s economy. The Old and New Testaments comprise a unity of understanding of God’s intentions in human history. Critical analysis and interpretation of the texts must not be separated. The critical analysis of the text includes, “textual criticism, age and origin of the source, identification of authors, editors and compilers, stylistic patterns, and the like” (Barrois 1974, 8). Similarly, interpretation is defined as, “evaluating contents in relation to the historical context, at determining what the source documents meant for their contemporaries and how they were understood by later generations, at observing the evolution, the deviations, and eventually the vanishing of traditions” (Barrios 1974, 8).
With that presupposition in mind, the five principles under consideration are:
1. Criteria for Determining Orthodoxy
2. The Vincentian Canon
3. The Circle of Sensibility
4. Heresy as Boundary
5. The Hermeneutical Community
Principle One: Criteria for Determining Orthodoxy
Stephen Bevans raises the issue of criteria for determining orthodoxy when formulating contextual theologies. Utilizing the work of Schrieter, de Mosa and Wostyn, Bevans describes five checks: First, a contextual theology must have continuity with other theological formulations. This means that the validity of a contextual theology rests in its consistency with contemporary and historical theologies (Bevans 1992, 18).
Second, liturgical practices are the vehicle that moves orthodoxy to orthopraxis. If the way we worship contradicts what we believe then the contextual theology is not orthodox (Bevans 1992, 18). The opposite is also true. Third, if the way we worship demonstrates what we believe then what we believe is demonstrated by what we do. Hence, this criterion is that of Christian orthopraxis (Bevans 1992, 19).
Fourth, a contextual theology must submit itself to verification by the hermeneutical community. Bevans states, “Theology, even contextual theology, is always dialogical” (1999, 19). The fifth criterion is whether or not the contextual theology can constructively challenge other theologies. The idea here is that authenticity of a contextual theology is measured by whether or not it moves other theologies to reflect on “unthought of areas” (Bevans 1992, 19).
If there are so many divergent, and sometimes apparently conflicting interpretations, how can we be sure that our understanding of our faith is correct, that is, faithful to the Judaeo-Christian Tradition? Is it possible to recognize the one faith in the different interpretations? Does pluralism not become an ideology of adaptation when what is adapted or inculturated is considered to be correct? Should we not, perhaps, re-introduce at least some basic and universal truths, conceptually expressed and accepted as such? (Bevans 1992, 18; quoting de Mesa and Wostyn)
These five criteria represent contemporary reflection on a historical problem. While Bevans utilizes contemporary contextualizers of theology he inadvertently leaves out the fact that the church has historically practiced similar criteria for measuring orthodoxy. It is to this subject we now turn.
Principle Two: Vincentian Canon
The best attempts at formulating a biblical orthodoxy include a consensual effort to understand the “historical continuity” of orthodox theology. At this point, Vincent of Lérins’ (c. 431) conciliatory method of interpreting Scripture is advanced. Vincent, a monk who lived in a monastery off the coast of France, became known for his rule of determining orthodoxy, the Vincentian Canon. It is summarized as teneamus quod ubique, quod semper, quod ab omnibus creditum est.
In the Catholic [universal] Church itself, every care should be taken to hold fast to what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all. This is truly and properly “Catholic,” as indicated by the force and etymology of the name itself, which comprises everything truly universal. This general rule will be truly applied if we follow the principles of universality, antiquity, and consent. We do so in regard to universality if we confess that faith alone to be true which the entire Church confesses all over the world. [We do so] in regard to antiquity if we in no way deviate from those interpretations which our ancestors and fathers have manifestly proclaimed as inviolable. [We do so] in regard to consent if, in this very antiquity, we adopt the definitions and propositions of all, or almost all, the bishops and doctors. (Vincent of Lérins, Commonitorium, Chapter 2)
Motivated by Arianism and other influences that threaten orthodoxy, Vincent set forth the idea that correct theology is that which has been believed always, everywhere and by all. Rudolf Morris suggests that, “This principle, however, does not exclude progress or doctrinal development. But it must be progress in the proper sense of the word, and not a change” (Morris 1949, 260). Vincent himself understood this progress as a maturing of doctrine within its own orbit rather than a creation of something different.
Commenting on the Vincentian Canon, Florovsky states,
These two aspects of faith [church and apostles], or rather - the two dimensions, could never be separated from each other. Universitas and antiquitas, as well as consensio, belonged together. Neither was an adequate criterion by itself. “Antiquity” as such was not yet a sufficient warrant of truth, unless a comprehensive consensus of the “ancients” could be satisfactorily demonstrated. And consensio as such was not conclusive, unless it could be traced back continuously to Apostolic origins. (1972, 74)
The similarities of the Vincentian Canon with the five criteria for determining orthodoxy are obvious. The first criterion recommended by Bevans suggests Vincent’s idea of antiquity and universality. The fourth criterion suggests the idea of consensus. Similarly, the fifth criterion suggests the idea of the progressive nature of theology as it matures. Vincent (or maybe Bevans et al.) is in good company in assuring the preservation of orthodoxy.
Like Bevans’ criteria, the application of Vicent’s canon will serve not only to give validity to an orthodox interpretation of Scripture, but also to historical continuity of the interpretation. However, understanding that there are many valid interpretations of Scripture we now turn to setting their boundaries.
Principle Three: Circle of Sensibility
Thomas Oden, an avid proponent of the Vincentian cannon, proposes that theology should not be looked at narrowly, but rather with boundaries. In fact, he believes that the rediscovery of boundaries will be the primary occupation of twenty-first century theology (Oden 1996, 13). It is in the context of boundaries where theological reflection is best conducted. Those boundaries were initially set in the first five centuries of Christian history. To understand the doctors of the church is to understand the boundaries of consensual theology that was accepted by East and West.
Defining the boundaries of consensual theology is challenging. In the early church, heresy played a significant role in determining boundaries of orthodox theology. Theological issues, when taken to extreme, molded an understanding of what is or is not correct Apostolic Tradition that was believed everywhere by all. It is here at this juncture that I propose the “circle of sensibility” as a model for determining boundaries of orthodoxy.
The “circle of sensibility” was conceptualized by Urban Holmes as a means for guiding Christian spirituality with boundaries of acceptable spiritual practice (1980, 4-5). These boundaries are relevant for this present discussion on postmodern theology. A vertical and a horizontal axis (see illustration) dissect the circle of sensibility. The vertical axis represents a scale from speculative (illumination of the mind) to affective (illumination of the heart or emotions) technique of reflection. The horizontal axis represents a scale from apophatic (emptying) to kataphatic (meditation) technique of reflection.
There are four possible extremes when theological reflection moves outside the boundary of the circle. The apophatic/speculative extreme leads to encratism; the speculative/kataphatic leads to rationalism; the kataphatic/affective leads to pietism; and the affective/apophatic leads to quietism.
“Sensibility” defines for us that sensitivity to the ambiguity of styles of prayer and the possibilities for a creative dialogue within the person and within the community as it seeks to understand the experience of God and its meaning for our world. (Holmes 1980, 5)
Principle Four: Heresy as Boundary
As previously mentioned, it was the propagation of heresies in the early church that served to give orthodoxy boundaries and guarded the Apostolic Tradition. The theological propositions advanced by the early church were not bound in Greek cultural categories, but rather in Moses, Christ, and Paul. These propositions were tested and tried against heresy by the hermeneutical community that spanned from North Africa to Persia and from Britain to Arabia.
Etymologically, heresy is rooted in the idea of an assertive self-will. Being derived from the Greek hairesis, heresy is choosing oneself over tradition (Oden 1990, 74). Heresy evolved from personal theological biases and offered the occasion to help define orthodoxy. It was in the context of those heresies influenced by diverse cultural presuppositions that the early church set out to assure apostolic continuity (Oden 1996, 12-13). Therefore, the assertion can be made that the early church attempted to anchor their theology in the Apostolic Tradition and propagated orthodoxy that was contextual and transcultural by nature.
Principle Five: the Hermeneutical Community
Implicit in the Vincentian Canon and the understanding of Bevans is the responsibility of the hermeneutical community. Paul Hiebert suggests that a hermeneutical community serves as a check for personal theological biases (1994, 101). Self-theologizing, as understood by Hiebert, holds the idea of developing contextual theologies that are culturally relevant to a particular context. “Self” should not be understood as an individualistic attempt to formulate a personal theology. Rather, “self” is understood as an ethno-hermeneutical community.
Yet, there is a danger in the development of “self” or local theologies. It is easy for a local theology to give priority to the context of theology over theological content. When this is the case, we can no longer speak of an objective theology as opposed to theological pluralism (Clapsis 1993, 72-73). A universally valid theology based on absolutes is considered religio-centric in a postmodern pluralistic world.
One solution to this problem is the idea of meta-theology. Hiebert states that meta-theological truths are, “the methods by which legitimate theologies could be developed, and the processes for setting limits to theological diversity” (1994, 98). The objective of meta-theology is to give the diversity found in local theologies a center and a limit. In other words, the ethno-hermeneutical community comes under the scrutiny of the greater hermeneutical community of contemporary and historical Christianity to ensure the theological orthodoxy of a contextual theology.
Conclusion
In the emerging culture of Europe where there is a tendency toward the deconstruction of truth, theological orthodoxy must be maintained. In the evangelical tradition, theological orthodoxy has tended to be authoritarian and individualistic in nature without regard to the historical development of theology, nor its application in various cultures. Evangelicals have understood Luther’s maxim sola scriptura to mean that anything dealing with tradition must be rejected when in fact this was far from his understanding. By applying these five principles evangelicals can take a holistic approach to its theologizing. In this way, postmodernity broadens evangelicalism as it considers the historical and contemporary understanding of theological orthodoxy in the various cultural contexts of Europe.
Reference List
Barrois, George. 1974. The notion of historicity and the critical study of the Old Testament. The Greek Orthodox Theological Review 19:3-22. Bevans, Stephen. 1985. Models of contextual theology Missiology: An International Review 13, no. 2:185-202. __________. 1992. Models of contextual theology. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books. Clapsis, Emanuel. 1993. The challenge of contextual theologies. The Greek Orthodox Theological Review 38, no. 1-4:71-79. Florovsky, George. 1995. The authority of the Ancient Councils and the Tradition of the Fathers. In Eastern Orthodox Theology: A contemporary reader, ed. Daniel B. Clendenin, 115-124. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House. Hiebert, Paul. 1994. Anthropological reflections on missiological issues. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House. Holmes, Urban. 1980. A history of Christian spirituality. New York: Seabury Press. McQuilkin, Robertson. 1992. Understand and applying the Bible. Chicago: Moody Press. Morris, Rudolf E. 1949. Vincent of Lérins: The commonitories. In The Fathers of the Church, ed. Ludwig Schopp, 257-261. New York: The Fathers of the Church, Inc. Oden, Thomas C. 1993. Classical Christianity being attacked by fads. Human Events 53, no. 30:10-11. __________. 1996. Why we believe in heresy. Christianity Today 40, no. 3:12-13.
Tim Parker
‘Reading texts brings to light the close relationship of analogy and interaction between the hermeneutics of texts and the hermeneutics of self-hood and of human life.’ (A.C. Thiselton)
A reader-centered approach to Christianity is a way of looking at how we take in stories, incorporate them into our lives – that wonderful assimilation we know even from the early experience of reading between the text which we read and the ‘text’ which is our lives (autobiography), an enlargement or enrichment of self. Before appropriating the Bible as the Story par excellence, the Story by which we would live our lives, a good place to start is with the reading of works of the imagination - novels. Here we most readily see what our reading habits may be like (method) and how this has formed us as persons. I point out some of the pitfalls of what appears to be an attractive way of reading, which I call the romance of the text (Romanticism), that is, reading self-consciously - reading as wish-fulfilment or projection of self into the narrative.
This, then, is by way of preliminaries before a launching into a more challenging way of reading - in this case, the reading of the Bible - which requires more scrupulous ways of reading and becomes never more than a highly problematic one - of objectivity, as I point out - and to which we can never arrive at a final authoritative interpretation. The article presupposes a view of truth, language, cognition and reference, without explicitly addressing these issues. The emphasis is wholly on the intriguing narrative effect the Person of Christ has on the reader, surely a mark of his uniqueness, in which Christ himself becomes so identified with what the Scriptures are about that he embodies the very Word and Truth! That is, by our Lord incarnating himself such that He has united our very humanity, ie. human identity, to Himself vicariously. The place he occupies ‘in our stead’ is one of a unique two-fold mediation, mediating the things of God to Man and mediating the things of man to God. To read of these things is to understand both how Christ has united all things to himself at the same time as reconciling all things to Himself. To encounter this ‘Janus-like’ symbol must be the supreme moment in the reading process, as when the self is so radically called into question that we as readers do not so much read - the subjective stance - but are ‘read’ by him, He who is the True Text of our lives. For this - the transformation of the reader - the image of the Christian poster comes to mind: the footprints embedded on the sandy beach. “Where Lord were you, when I needed you?” There is only one set of footprints, for each one of us, burdened as we are, is being carried by Christ, not because of the burden we may carry at any one particular time - as I thought it meant - but because of Who he is and done for us in bearing our humanity for us.
Book reading could be said to be the affinity reflective consciousness has for other foci of consciousness, that innate curiosity of what it is to be another person - different but recognisably similar to oneself. There can be two aspects, the recognition and confirmation of prior experience, and the enlargement of that experience as through the lives of others. Such is the fun of reading, especially imaginatively, that when the bonds of identification form between the reader and character(s) in the text there is a blurring of the boundaries of consciousness of one and the other(s). This, the vicarious thrill of reading (the incorporation of the identity of another into ourselves), is the seduction of the imagination. Characters trade their intimacies and we feel we know them maybe even better than ourselves or those closest to us - even when all that is presented is only one among many selections as in a ‘slice of life’. Also story time or imaginary time do not overlap with historical time, the reader’s consciousness oblivious to the world outside the book and maybe even to that world prior to picking up the book. Reading then gives the reader a new identity without the normal constraining ties of life. (In fiction one can be a thousand different selves (and yet be oneself), as C.S.Lewis has said.) Is this magical or a sleight?
When one is feeling a sense of detachment from the world, there is disenchantment with the world of self such that any bridge between the self and the world is welcomed even if that means taking on a false identity of the imaginary or fictitious self. David Bleich has said in relation to reading: ‘Each person’s most urgent motivations are to understand himself.’ Each encounter with a textual character becomes potentially a revision or reinvention of self. (Note, there is no mention here of the proper set of relations set up by the text as between the author, text and the reader, not to mention the world the text refers to. If I were to read as Bleich suggests (that is, reading as to felt needs), then not only would all literary texts be self-conscious creations but reading them would be tantamount to self-assertion, an act of defiance against authorship even to the extent of a denial of authorship. So much for reading as a means of overcoming worldly detachment! Yet this belongs to the very romantic idea of reading or self-love.
Normally in reading one has to be aware of the subjective biases on the part of the reader: for example, the tendency to project what is not there onto the text; biases of authorship; how the meaning of text changes with historical period. But here the sort of person one wants to be is the person one becomes as there are enough character variants out there to meet with one’s set of demands. Each new text holds out the possibility of a new mirroring or partial mirroring of characters, endless variants of the theme of self, allowing the reader to overcome some of the intractable vicissitudes of life. When unsure of the story of who we are, we can easily substitute another… and another. The mind seeks out the unity of purpose and action, and what better than to acquire through reading a plotted life, the sense of interconnectedness of character and event - purposeful action - life joined up and given coherence. Even if this world of the book is an impermanent one, at least it lasts for the duration the story. When the book is finished the irrational reader faces the real desire of another book or to face reality.
Within this subjective view of the reading process there is no transaction between ‘the world’ the reader left behind and the ‘world of the book’ as it may touch upon the real world. The mind, then, has an affinity for other minds even if these ciphers in the text turn out, as in my case, to be me! Why would one feel this way, and allow this to happen? In this, the vicarious pleasures of the text, has the reader gone mad? Such reader identification and a ‘getting lost in the text’ is a comfort zone of immaturity and irrationality of emotion. Outside the ‘world of the book’ and the reader is, for example, potentially a poor real life lover. To quote: ‘Love can be either subjective and irrational, or objective and rational. In feeling love for another person, I can either experience a pleasurable emotion which he stimulates in me, or I can love him. We have, therefore to ask ourselves, is it really the other person that I love, or is it myself? Do I enjoy him, or do I enjoy myself in being with him?’ (John Mac Murray, from Reason and Emotion).
Manifestly we each lead a life, a ‘story’ without a plot, the problem generating a degree of uncertainty and anxiety - we are in the middle of a story, the conflict between autobiography and history - the outcome of which is in most respects, unknown, hidden from us. Psychoanalysis too attempts to bridge-build in the world of the hurting person. There is the wish to build a commentary of one’s life or at least to come to a satisfactory re-interpretation of one’s life that causes less pain. How useful rather than inventive (fictional?) this process of re-telling and reinterpertation is, I don’t know, but it is surely an expression of the inability to bear too much reality, a non-acceptance of life’s contingencies or ‘ups and downs’. The unwell novelist Marcel Proust fell under the ‘romance of reading’ spell too when within the confines of his bedroom he made himself feel a bit better, albeit at the expense of a sheltering of self from the real world. Here is Proust’s invitation to his subjective view of the world and the world of the book: ‘The reader may project the “text” of his own life onto the material being read’ (‘chaque lecteur est, quand il lit, le propre lecteur de soi-meme’). And: ‘This complete identification of the self with what one reads is the most total assimilation imaginable, and in a sense becomes the most satisfying relationship any reader could hope to have’ (Frye). Despite being so pleasurable, so real, reader identification remains a seduction of the imagination.
‘Literary Christs’ abound in literature as and when the reader identifies with one or more characters and lets identification or role-play (ie., the imagination) take over the mind of the reader - except of course, unlike Christianity, we are free to move back out of the text and regain our former selves. Note, such literary identification is a form of projection, subjectively determined and highly psychologised (that is, according to the felt needs at the time) by the reader. (If these habits of mind are carried over into the Biblical text we can easily slip into a way of life in imitation of Christ, but Christ is inimical to such thinking. It is difficult, impossible on simply human terms, to understand that he has given himself over to us totally.)
But for Proust there was a different ‘spin’, where literary characters are not acting on our behalf at all; rather it is we who, in bringing them to life, act for them (solipsistic idealism). ‘The world remains other, but its impenetrability or opaqueness acts as a stimulus for self-expression; literature affords an entry into the depths of experience that remain closed to physical perception.’ (Arnold Weinstein, Vision and Response in Modern Fiction, 1974; also: ‘The semantic complexity of novelistic fiction: the expansion and collapsing of Proust’s fictional universe’, Style, v 25 summer 1991).
Is it possible that such an enchantment of the imagination - reader identification - is what happens in Jewish textual relations when, for example, in the Haggadah, the Passover, the reader makes equivalence or identity with the historical characters who enliven the text? Surely without subjective relations with the text, there is no ‘we were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt’, and the historical event gets reduced to anecdote? If irrational emotion, then what does this say about God and his willingness to communicate Himself to us?
As compared to the seduction of reading self-consciously - the usurpation of the author of the text with the imaginary self - serious reading assumes an interest in the objectivity of the world. Indeed the central question becomes ‘What is Truth?’ This is a ‘hard road to travel’ given the shortcuts to understanding amidst a plethora of ‘facts’, facts only having quasi-objective status. (To enlist the help of facts can be to short-cut the process of interpretation).
Rather there is the need for the in-depth scientific account of the religious quest, the rational inquiry into meaning and truth. If Life itself is a Great Story Book the meaning is hidden from us, unless objectified for us and made communicable or intelligible. Like life, consciousness itself has a storied-like existence in that we like to tell and receive stories, fictional mythic and in this case True Myth (cf. C.S.Lewis). The objective nature of our understanding or reading of Life is highlighted by Him who is the Author, the Subject or Master of the Scriptural set of narratives. Is this really so? That is to say, do we have in the Scriptures an authoritative form of address which can be wholly relied upon - ie., his objectivity?
The character of Christ has a unique self-consistency - given his unusual origins - and his wholly reflexive nature. Unlike the fragmentation of our narratives, his life seems like a seamless purposeful whole and possesses a high degree of self-knowledge - but given his unique self-identity maybe this is not surprising. By reflexivity is meant the consistency of will and action, knowing and being, inner and outer, in that (I quote) “we see a man making his own destiny, conscious all the time of the shape and meaning of life. We feel all the other characters in the Gospels are actors in a play the action of which Jesus grasps, but of which the other characters are at best, only vaguely aware and at worst ignorant. Jesus does more than grasp what is going on, the whole of history is reinterpreted in his Name, setting the seal on interpretations. The whole vast story which began with the creation of the world is turned inside out: instead of Jesus being reduced to a cipher by his self-denial, all that has gone before is turned into an expression of his being… ‘all might be fulfilled’… the secret pattern of history at last made manifest” (G. Josipovici, The Book of God, Yale Univ. Press). Alternatively: Christ rewrites the Scriptures in his own name, by reading himself into them. It is Christ alone whose prerogative it is to read himself into the story so that the Scriptures becomes an expression of his Being.
In this ‘book of life’, Jesus calls to account the reader in all his relations. Such is the inquiry-like nature of Christian belief that we come under the objectivity of Him who questions us. There is none of the attempt at creative self-transcendence as in the romantic version of reading. As Word He remains Subject over us, and spells out an experience of life against which our experiences are to be interpreted, not the other way round - His life is plotted unlike ours. As with any text, but rather more pressing here, we are made to ask personal questions: Who is this person? What are we to make of him? Such is his wholly reflexive nature - the Son is wholly reflexive of the actions of the Father who sent Him - so we listen then wonder: ‘To whom do we belong? Where do we come from and to where are we headed? And so gradually for the reader, as the nature of His Self-identity and Authority becomes clearer: For what things and to whom are we answerable for the things of life? - ie. the counterpart to: ‘Who are we?’ And as before, there are not only the vicarious (the experience of another as oneself) pleasures: the notion of the mind of the reader entering another - or should I have said the other entering the mind of the reader? - at any rate, the impermanent matter of reader identification - there is something else as well.
There is also the vicarious and substitutionary work of the person of Christ - that is to say, by bearing our humanity he has in effect gone before us in all that we would experience (hence he is the Master of our experience). This is a much more holistic vision of Christ - the union of man and God in his incarnate life - than that offered by the role-model version or the simplicity of the expression, ‘Do as you would be done by’, quite without objective reference. Surprisingly perhaps His Reality does not become a reality for us without personal acknowledgment, for such is the personal nature of what is offered to us. Love would not be love if we took it for granted, and as with human love there has to be recognition of the matter from both sides. But unlike the reading of a storybook, say, there is none of the let-down when the last page has been turned and the book closed.
All the above can only happen if we undo the tendency to read the text, to let the text ‘read us’, to relinquish control. This then is the opposite of ‘subjective reading’ and the romantic view of the text as mentioned earlier. If Christ acts in our place, the One who mediates a new reality, a new humanity, then this is the highpoint of the reading experience. As Mediator he allows us to share in himself - Real Friendship - so taking us out of our tragic inner dialogues, the narcissistic self.
This is the essence of True Religion, to understand as far as possible all the things of this world as they are brought to our consciousness, as indeed they have been bound together, and as Christ has united all things to himself. To attend to the ‘book of nature’ and the ‘Book of God’ and not to let religion become separated from life - that we would truly know that in him ‘we live and move and have our being’. Otherwise religious practice, in becoming divorced from religious reflection, becomes increasingly irrelevant. In eagerness to witness to a sceptical world is there not in some modern forms of spirituality too much emphasis on signs and wonders at the expense of our humanity (see Martyn Percy: Words, Wonders, Power)?
Both the pursuance and rightful goals of the study of the Arts and the sciences derive ultimately from his Reason or Love (cf. Stephen Prickett, Introduction to Oxford Paperback Bible, Oxford Univ. Press). To put it more formally, Christ inspires us to know and act rationally in accordance with the way in which he makes known the rational order He has rationally ordered. True religion is the ultimate expression of the working out of reason. This is a most challenging task for any expression of a unitary view of things, especially in the fragmentary world we live in - which can only ‘colour’ our thoughts - will be hard to state and live. But it is a ‘dream’ or rather reality, already lived by Christ, which we cannot fail to be whole-hearted about and inspired. A new way of life has entered the world. Being conscious of it is another matter.
One of the central difficulties that we face in devising a postmodernized theology is the need we have to assert an overarching metanarrative. I came across the problem in Robert Webber’s book Ancient-Future Faith and found his approach unsatisfactory:
This commitment to the Christian metanarrative will not be received well by postmoderns, who believe in the relativity of all narratives…. Evangelicals take the universal character of the Christian metanarrative as an essential aspect of the framework of Christian faith? (104).
Webber’s response to the problem of the authoritative metanarrative is to fall back on the traditional approach of reaffirming the intrinsic and absolute truth of the Christian story of creation-fall-redemption-consummation. I don’t think that this is an invalid response, but I wonder if there aren’t more subtle and more useful ways of addressing the problem. One alternative, for example, would be to differentiate between the historical narrative and the ‘mythical’ narrative, between history and super-history. This is not an easy distinction to draw: it is not always clear what is history and what is myth, and the relation between the two is a primary cause of confusion.
The historical narrative is an empirical account of what actually happened. I don’t think we can equate this narrative directly with the factual content of the Bible. It is a narrative that exists only provisionally, as the evolving and elusive product of the process of historical investigation. It also exists along a spectrum of trust and suspicion. We may think that the Bible is a reliable source of information about the history of ancient Israel and the emergence of the church, or we may seriously doubt that it provides us with any accurate information at all; the assumption is, nevertheless, that we are looking for observable historical events, no different in kind from any other historical events. But this is relatively unimportant. Allowing for all the empirical uncertainties, the historical narrative is that part of the total biblical story that believers and unbelievers might in principle be expected to agree on.
The ‘mythical’ narrative has been woven into and around the historical narrative. It is in this narrative that the claim to universality is asserted: the Word became flesh, God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, and so on. It is largely, perhaps entirely, at this level that God enters into the story. It is at this level that historical events become acts of redemption or judgment. That a Jewish religious leader called Jesus was crucified by the Romans around AD 30 is more or less accepted now as a fact of history. That this death was a sacrifice or a victory over the powers of darkness is a fact of myth. It is an interpretation on the basis of a position of faith, and we can go a long way towards explaining how that interpretation arose.
The mythical narrative is both a reinterpretation and an extension of history. In the first place, it is, like metaphor, a redescription of circumstances and events as they may in principle be perceived and described by all people. If the departure of the people of Israel from Egypt can be constructed as an historical narrative, it can also be redescribed, from the perspective of faith in the God of patriarchs, as an event of redemptive significance. A psychologist taking notes on the day of Pentecost might describe the ecstatic experience of the disciples in terms of a thorough-going empiricism, but on the basis of certain biblical and christological presuppositions, the observable events can be redescribed ‘mythically’ as an outpouring of the Spirit of God. Mythical discourse, however, can also be used to extend history, either by describing heavenly events that are not directly mirrored in historical circumstances (eg. the debate between Satan and God in Job 1:6-12), or by projecting the narrative into the future as prophecy or apocalyptic.
What I think might be useful about this distinction is that the historical narrative, although fundamental to Christian faith, makes no intrinsic claim to be universal or normative. At this level we are bound to acknowledge the particularity of the story about Israel and Jesus-and for that matter, the inglorious particularity of the story of the church. There is no reason why this story should not be retold, explored, and affirmed in a postmodern context as one religious story among. It then becomes necessary to be much more candid and self-conscious about the truth status of the mythical narrative that Christians superimpose on the historical. We are forced to bring our presuppositions into the open and take moral and intellectual responsibility for how we see things. The truthfulness of the mythical narrative, therefore, is to be found not in the text but in the perception of faith that discovers the power of the reinterpretation.