Modern readers often place the question of historicity in the foreground. Did these events actually happen? If so, exactly how did they happen? Entire books are sometimes accepted or rejected on the basis of how confidently those questions can be answered. The Book of Job has long been debated because some regard it as a literary composition rather than the biography of a historical man. The Book of Tobit faces similar criticism, though more readily because its deuterocanonical status places it outside the canon of many Christians. The same questions surround many extracanonical writings, such as the expanded Acts of the Apostles. Although these texts profoundly shaped later Christian tradition and the stories told about the saints, they are generally neglected as scripture because they were not included in the biblical canon.
In recent decades, scholarly discussion of an ancient concept has become more prevalent: that of "sacred fiction," the idea that a work may be inspired or spiritually authoritative without being a literal historical record. I find the category useful, not because I am prepared to label particular books as fiction, but because it shifts the conversation toward a more productive question. In many cases, the available evidence does not justify certainty about whether a text should be understood as literal history, theological narrative, or something in between. I prefer to acknowledge that uncertainty rather than pretend to possess greater confidence than the evidence permits.
Yet the category of sacred fiction serves an important purpose because it reminds us that the value of scripture does not stand or fall with its historical form. Even if every book of the biblical canon were shown to be an exact historical record, that would not be its greatest contribution. Scripture was not preserved merely to inform us about the past, but to transform us in the present. Its ultimate purpose is not the accumulation of historical knowledge, but the formation of faithful people by shaping our character, deepening our understanding of God, and teaching us how to live. Historical knowledge may support those aims, but it is not the end for which scripture was given.
This perspective also frees us to approach many ancient religious writings with greater humility. Instead of asking only, "Did this happen?" we may also ask, "What truth is this attempting to communicate?" That question remains worthwhile whether the account is literal history, stylized history, parable, visionary literature, or some combination that cannot now be distinguished with certainty. A text should not be dismissed simply because its literary form is uncertain if it continues to illuminate enduring truths about God, humanity, and the spiritual life. Certainty is valuable when we can honestly attain it, but the absence of certainty does not prevent us from learning. Seekers should not discard potentially valuable sources simply because they cannot resolve every historical question surrounding them.
Jesus frequently taught through parables. If our response to hearing the Parable of the Prodigal Son is to ask what the young man's name was, where he lived, or what independent evidence corroborates the account, then we have entirely missed Christ's purpose. Whether the story recounts a historical individual or presents a deliberately constructed example becomes secondary to the truth it was intended to reveal. We would be like someone who, when the Master points toward the horizon, becomes fascinated with His finger instead of looking where He directs our attention.
This principle extends beyond the parables of Jesus. Whether we are reading canonical Scripture, deuterocanonical books, extracanonical Christian literature, Jewish traditions, or the sacred writings of other peoples, the first question should not always be, "Can I prove this happened exactly as written?" Sometimes the wiser questions are these: "What enduring truth does this account seek to preserve? What principles is this writing intended to grant us greater access to?" These questions do not require us to abandon historical inquiry. They simply recognize that spiritual instruction and historical reporting are related but distinct purposes, and that the former is often accessible even when the latter remains uncertain.
The task of the seeker may therefore require a shift in the way sacred literature is perceived and approached. Rather than seeing it primarily as a record of the past, it should also be understood as a tool through which God continues to work in the present. Viewed in this way, the purpose of sacred writings is not merely to preserve the memory of God's dealings with others, but to increase our ability to recognize His dealings with us. We read them best when we do so with the awareness that God is no less present with us than He was with those whose experiences they record or those whom He inspired to record them, and that His ability to use a text for that purpose is not as limited as we may initially presume.
If God can make use of both good and bad events to test and challenge mankind, then He can also work through texts regardless of whether we label them canonical, deuterocanonical, extracanonical, historical, parabolic, or even entirely outside of our religious tradition. From this viewpoint, our interest in ancient texts is not primarily archaeological, but devotional and revelatory. We therefore may avoid being caught up asking which books deserve the label “Holy Scripture,” a question that often encourages us to draw boundaries before we have fully considered what God may yet teach through a text. Such judgments have the ability to alienate others more than to invite mutual growth through inquiry. We may instead focus on broader and more practical questions that invite us to adopt a posture of humble attentiveness rather than premature certainty. Rather than asking, "Does this text merit my attention?"—thereby narrowing the well from which we may draw benefit. The better questions are these: "Through which writings is God still teaching attentive seekers?" and, "What is He teaching me right now?"
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