This resource at PTS looks wonderful.
Category: Historical Theology
Michael Bird offers a great post about whether N.T. Wright’s views on justification are encouraging protestants to become Catholic. Bird’s summary of the varieties of difference on something even as important as the doctrine of justification is enlightening:
Part of the problem is that some folks want to reduce the debate to “Geneva” versus “Rome” as if they are the only two games in town: they are not! For a start, there is a lot of diversity among the residents of Geneva. The Westminster and Augsburg confessions disagree on what is imputed, Melanchthon and Luther disagreed on whether good works are necessary for salvation, John Calvin was also able to hold together justification and sanctification through union with Christ in a unique way, Martin Bucer held to a two-fold imputation for the impious and the pious, the Puritans weren’t exactly monolithic on justification either as a comparison of Richard Baxter and John Owen shows, I think it was George Joye (like Ambrosiaster from the Church Fathers) who saw God’s righteousness as his faithfulness rather than as a righteousness imputed from God, etc. Then look at Rome. Yes, we have Trent that was reactive and heavy-handed, and therefore, given to a theology born out of polemics. But read some modern Catholic commentators like Joseph Fitzmyer and I remain confused as to how his Romans commentary which is sooo protestantesque in places was ever granted nihil obstat. D.A. Carson tells a story of how he asked Joseph Fitzmyer what did he believe: his Romans commentary or the 1993 catechism which is solidly tridentine when it came to justification? Then there’s a guy like Scott Hahn who is a better and more consistent covenant theologian than some Presbyterians I know. Then what about the Barthians who have a more christocentric approach to the matter that is speaking a different language altogether? Hans Kung saw in Karl Barth a bridge between Protestants and Rome. Not forgetting the post-Bultmann Lutherans like Ernst Kasemann and Peter Stuhlmacher who don’t fit neatly into any precise camp with their view of justification as transformative in the sense of God both declaring and making the sinners righteous. Then go east young man with the Orthodox theologians who can integrate justification closely to their leitmotif of theosis. Now suddenly the multiple-choice theology of Geneva or Rome seems highly simplistic doesn’t it? Wright’s critique of Reformed interpretation, overstated and full of generalization I often find it!, can only cause folk to go to Rome if they are caught in this Geneva or Rome dichotomy. In other words, if you ingrain into people that Geneva (or one suburb of Geneva) and Rome (= Trent) are the only two options, once they question some of their Reformed heritage, you haven’t left them with any other option.
I personally don’t have a dog in the “New Perspective” fight. I wish I had time to study it, but I don’t. But what this highlights for me — and I’m not really sure this is exactly what Bird intended — is the limited and contextual nature of all theological speech.
Reading through Martin Luther’s classic On the Freedom of a Christian, this passage struck me:
This is a spiritual power, which rules in the midst of enemies, and is powerful in the midst of distress. And this is nothing else than that strength is made perfect in my weakness, and that I can turn all things to the profit of my salvation; so that even the cross and death are compelled to serve me and to work together for my salvation. This is a lofty and eminent dignity, a true and mighty dominion, a spiritual empire, in which there is nothing so good, nothing so bad, as not to work together for my good, if only I believe. And yet there is nothing of which I have need — for faith alone suffices for my salvation — unless that, in it, faith may exercise the power and empire of its liberty. This is the inestimable power and liberty of Christians.
In my “Intro to the Christian Tradition” class at Biblical Seminary, we’re discussing James Payton’s Light from the Christian East: An Introduction to the Orthodox Tradition. In Chapter 4, Payton describes how Eastern Orthodox Christianity historically has emphasized God’s ineffability to a greater degree than Western Christianity. As a result, Eastern Orthodox theology tends to stress “apophatic” or “negative” theology — speaking about God primarily by emphasizing what God is not like — over “cataphatic” or “positive” theology. Here was one of our classroom discussion questions and my response:
1. How do you respond to Orthodox theology’s understanding that speaking of God is “a hazardous enterprise,” and that language is unable to fully convey God’s nature? (p. 59)
This is a very helpful reminder for those of us raised in evangelical independent church traditions.
In some circles, I think our ways of speaking about God have become “scholastic.” We are very keen to make logical arguments brimming with “evidence that demands a verdict.” Our in-house arguments tend to focus on the precise meanings of terms in carefully drafted “Statements of Faith.” These arguments and Statements may have a place, but it’s helpful to remember that they don’t really begin to grasp or contain God. I believe God is concerned with our fidelity to Him, and that this involves the transformation of our minds and the ability to “teach sound doctrine.” However, God is so far beyond our ability to articulate who He is that I think we dishonor Him when we make doctrinal precision the sine qua non of the Christian life. In fact, I agree with John Franke’s book “Manifold Witness” that some degree of difference in doctrinal articulation is part of God’s design for the Church. This need not be disturbing when begin to realize that God truly is ineffable.
It’s also helpful to remember that we cannot fully explain God’s ways. Often, we display enormous confidence in our own ability to discern exactly what God is doing in the world. Perhaps we assume automatically that AIDS, or genocide, or a financial crisis or natural disaster, is a clear message from God about someone else’s sin. Perhaps we assume equally quickly that our own “success” is evidence of God’s blessing. It’s true, of course, that God does discipline and punish sin and that we do experience His blessing as we follow Him. Yet, it’s helpful to remember that our primary posture must be one of humble, kneeling humility and gratitude. In fact, one of the blessings of faith, I think, is the ability to leave such tangles in God’s hands. If His love, justice and grace ultimately are beyond us, it is not for us to circumscribe how and when He must act with regard to others. It is for us simply to seek to be faithful with what He has given to us.
The Wall Street Journal recently featured essays by Richard Dawkins and comparative religion scholar Karen Armstrong titled “Man vs. God: Two Prominent Thinkers Debate Evolution, Science and the Role of Religion.” Dawkins’ contribution was his usual blend of scientism and utter misapprehension of theology. Armstrong’s supposed defense of theism was even worse. According to Armstrong,
The fossil record reveals a natural history of pain, death and racial extinction, so if there was a divine plan, it was cruel, callously prodigal and wasteful. Human beings were not the pinnacle of a purposeful creation; like everything else, they evolved by trial and error and God had no direct hand in their making.
Armstrong goes on to conclude that religion nevertheless is valuable because it makes us feel nice.
What a shame that the Journal didn’t find space for the many contemporary — and ancient — thinkers who have endeavored to take both science and faith seriously. It seems that neither Dawkins nor Armstrong realize that the problem of evil was not invented by contemporary science. Great Jewish and Christian minds have wrestled with it for millennia. Contemporary theologians continue this tradition and extend it to our amazing knowledge of natural history.
For example, consider Christoph Cardinal Schonborn’s Cathechetial lecture on “Suffering in a World Guided by God.” As Schonborn notes,
St. Augustine wrestled intensely with this question: “I inquired into the origin of evil but found no solution” (Confessions, VII, 7). After long searching and after making various detours and false starts he found the One who alone has conquered evil, sin, and death (cf. 385).
The ultimate end point of any Christian discussion of evil is the cross. Armstrong simply ignores this long tradition in Christian thought.
Worse yet, Armstrong distorts the Christian understanding of “creation” by converting “natural evil” into a kind of genocide. Consider Amrstrong’s anthropmorphic and loaded term “racial extinction” as a description for the replacement of species in natural history. Are we to hold that the insectoid predecessors of today’s mosquitos perished in a holocaust?
Finally, Armstrong naively buys into the claim that only a “perfect” creation could have been made by God. Unfortunately, this kind of argument is often promoted by well-meaning Christians who lack sufficient grounding in either the natural sciences or historical theology. Cardinal Schonborn handily dispels this kind of misconception in his cathechetical instruction:
I notice again and again how widespread a certain deep-rooted misunderstanding is: if God has created this world, He can only have created it as perfect. Any defect that is noticed seems to speak against an “intelligent creator” and His intelligent plan. The chaos in the genetic code is an example of this. One likes to say that no reasonable engineer would construct a machine in this way. A classic example of this argumentation is the human eye. Naive believer in creation that I am, I would say that it is an incomprehensible wonder which makes us marvel at the Creator. Not at all, say the experts in evolution: no oculist would construct the lens, the reflection, etc. as we find it in the present human eye. Before I go in to the underlying misunderstanding let me offer one retort. It may be that the human eye could be put together better. But it is thanks to this construction that we can become oculists, engineers, and the like, indeed that we can all experience of marvel of seeing (unless the defect of blindness hinders us). And further: in spite of all our splendid technical prowess, no one is capable of constructing a functioning, living human eye.
But let us come to the heart of the matter: must God, when He creates, create a perfect world free of any defect? Do we face this alterative: either there is a perfect creation or else there is a world that is the product of sheer chance? When God creates does He have to create a world that is already completely finished, a world in which everything possesses from the beginning its perfect form, its unchangeable state of actuality?
But what if creation involves a beginning that is followed by a process of becoming and that finally reaches an endpoint? In this case the Creator who “in the beginning made” the world has set it in motion along a path on which it is still moving towards a goal that is not yet reached. In such a world there would have to be constant becoming, which would also involve a constant passing away. For nothing material that comes to be and develops is able to last; it always passes away. It necessarily follows that in a world of becoming there is perishing, destruction, and death. The Catechism puts it like this: “With infinite power God could always create something better. But with infinite wisdom and goodness God freely willed to create a world ‘in a state of journeying’ towards its ultimate perfection. In God’s plan this process of becoming involves the appearance of certain beings and the disappearance of others, the existence of the more perfect alongside the less perfect, both constructive and destructive forces of nature. With physical good there exists also physical evil as long as creation has not reached perfection (310).”
The problem of evil, including the problem of “natural evil,” is no small problem for theology. Christians need to acknowledge this, rather than trying to invent alternative “scientific” theories in which all natural evil somehow is entirely a very recent and immediate result of human sin. Yet, like many “problems” in theology, the question of natural evil has spurred beautiful reflection about God’s providence, the ultimate purposes of creation, the meaning of the cross of Christ, and redemption. The very least people such as Armstrong could do is to engage with this deep tradition.
“A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none; a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to every one.”
— Martin Luther, “The Freedom of a Christian”
For those interested in the similarities and differences between the Puritans and other Reformed-Calvinist groups in colonial and antebellum America, take a look at James Bratt’s essay, “The Prism of Calvin’s Political Legacy in the United States,” in the current issue of Perspectives: A Journal of Reformed Thought. I think Bratt does a good job of laying out the Puritan vision and comparing it to the Dutch and Scots Reformed in the North and the Southern Presbyterians. As Bratt notes, the Puritan churches “were state-supported to the exclusion of all others with the aim of thoroughly reforming not only church but also state and society.” I think there are obvious echoes of this, albeit in a different political and historical context, in Kuyper’s thought. During colonial times, Bratt notes, the Dutch reformed were mostly a sectarian lot, but along with German, Irish and Scots Presbyterians, they founded Princeton University and established what we now call the Old Princeton tradition, which of course deeply informs contemporary American Evangelicalism. It was the Southern antebellum Presbyterians who had a public ideology closest to the “withdraw from the public sphere” versions of contemporary fundamentalism, but for different reasons: they had to try to preserve the integrity of the Church without challenging the institution of slavery.
An excellent essay in CT by Alister McGrath on what Augustine might have made of Darwin. (HT: BioLogos blog)
This is a fascinating video. I think all Christians should have to take church history course. It fleshes so many things out and puts so many things into perspective.
Categories
Anselm: Cur Deus Homo
Cur Deus Homo was written by St. Anselm of Canterbury, a philosopher and theologian who lived in the eleventh century. It is a rational defense of the necessity of Christ’s incarnation for human salvation.[1]This document is historically significant because it is one of the most complete early expositions of the “satisfaction / substitutionary” theory of the atonement, which has been the principal model of the atonement in the Western (both Roman Catholic and Reformed) theological tradition. This view of the atonement was regarded by Anselm, and by the Western Church, as superior to Patristic “ransom” theories that viewed Christ’s death as a payment to the Devil to free man from sin.
The text is structured as a fictional philosophical dialogue between Anselm and Boso, a monk in Normandy.[2] In Book One, Anselm explains why God could not have offered salvation to humanity other than through Christ. Boso notes that if God is all-powerful, God should have been able to save man simply by fiat.[3] Boso raises the further objection that the Divine, being transcendent and impassible, cannot become a finite human being.[4] In addition, Boso suggests, even if God could have a “son” it would be unjust for God to punish that individual for all the sins of humanity.[5] All of these were common pagan objections to the incarnation dating from the time of Augustine and earlier.[6]
Anselm responds to the problem of divine impassibility with reference to Chalcedonian Christology.Christ’s suffering was incurred “in the feebleness of the human constitution which he assumed,” not in the “majesty” of his divine nature.[7] On the charge of injustice, Anselm notes that Christ suffered of his own will, not under Divine compulsion.
In response, Boso questions the voluntariness of Christ’s suffering, given that Christ is portrayed in scripture as perfectly obedient to God’s will “even unto death.”[8] Anselm responds that true “obedience” is not compelled, but freely offered. Further, Anselm says, God did not specifically command Christ’s death.[9] Rather, Christ was put to death by an act of human will by people who could not tolerate Christ’s lifestyle of holy obedience to God’s moral commands.[10] Yet, God was willing to allow this terrible act – to allow the Son to choose obedience unto death – because through this obedience humanity could be saved.[11]
The discourse then moves to a discussion of the nature of sin and why Christ’s death was necessary to account for human sin.[12] Sin, Anselm asserts, is an assertion of autonomy from God that impinges on God’s honor. This creates a debt owed by the sinner: “everyone who sins ought to pay back the honor of which he has robbed God; and this is the satisfaction which every sinner owes to God.”[13]
Moreover, the dishonor to God resulting from sin creates an injustice that requires punishment. If God is just, He must punish sin. God’s justice, then, answers the earlier question why God cannot simply excuse sin by a mere act of will.[14] It is a question of God’s dignity and character, not of his power. In this way, Anselm brilliantly turns on its head the pagan Divine-dignity argument against the incarnation.
Anselm continues the thread of his argument to explain why satisfaction for human sin must be made only by a human.[15] Here, Anselm turns to a discussion of the creation and fall of angels and men.God planned to create a “reasonable and complete number” of rational beings who would enjoy eternal happiness in the contemplation of God.[16] Even if no angel had ever fallen, God left room for the creation of some number of men to perfect the number of those rational beings who would contemplate God forever.The original purpose of man was to multiply until the number was perfected. Thus, humanity was originally created in a holy state in which it was require to persevere until the number of rational beings was completed.[17] However, both angels and men sinned, and therefore the perfection God desired for creation cannot be attained without some remedy for sin.
But why is it that, if man sinned, man cannot remedy his own sin? Anselm argues that the duty of honor men owe to God is complete and continual.[18] The execution of an ongoing duty cannot constitute payment for a past failure to exercise that duty.[19] Moreover, the debt of sin is so great that man is not capable of making payment on top of the duties already owed to God. When Boso suggests otherwise, Anselm famously states, “[y]ou have not as yet estimated the great burden of sin.”[20]
Nevertheless, Anselm argues, God could not simply leave man to his punishment, because God made man for happiness in the contemplation of God, and therefore God’s purpose would have been frustrated by man’s sin.[21] Yet, human beings are not able to pay the penalty for their own sin. Thus, Anselm explains, God became incarnate in Christ, the God-man, to pay the penalty on man’s behalf.[22]
But why did God have to become man? Anselm shows why a man of “Adam’s race” must make atonement. Humanity fell in Adam and therefore must be reinstated by a man of Adam’s race.[23] At the same time, human limitations preclude a mere human from making atonement. A person who can make a perfect payment for sin must be perfect. Yet, how was Christ perfect if he took on human limitations, including the imperfection of death?
Anselm responds that death is not an essential attribute of human nature in its uncorrupted stated.[24] Whereas death is a punishment for sin for ordinary men, for the God-man death is merely a possibility, one which he chooses to endure.[25] Moreover, the virtue inherent in this sacrifice – a voluntary choice made on behalf of all of the race of men – is so powerful that it “is extended even to those far remote in place or time.”[26]
How is this virtue extended? Christ’s sacrifice merits the reward of the restoration of fellowship with God by providing the price of the dishonor done to God by man’s sin. Yet Christ himself, being the perfect God-man, “needs nothing . . . no gift or release.”[27] This reward would go to waste if Christ did not transfer it to someone else.[28] The Son is free to give this reward as a gift to whomever he wishes. It is graciously given by Christ to man.
Discussion
Anselm’s discussion of the incarnation and the atonement is rich, analytically sharp, and to me almost lyrical in some places. Contrary to the arguments of many contemporary critics of the satisfaction theory of the atonement, Anselm’s treatment does not make God appear bloodthirsty or vicious. Indeed, I think Anselm amply demonstrates why anything less than “satisfaction” of the grave dishonor done by the sinful assertion of human autonomy fails the test of justice.
Anselm’s argument is somewhat weakened for me, however, by his conceptual debt to Platonic thought-forms. I personally find aesthetic arguments attractive, but Anselm uses the Platonic notion of perfection to prove too much in regard to the need for the atonement to enable completion of the number of the elect. This is particularly so, I think, in his discussion of the number of fallen angels in relation to the number of elect humans. This is the kind of thing for which scholastic theology earned its “angels on the head of a pin” reputation.
I also am not sure what to make of Anselm’s views on the incarnation vis-a-vis Divine impassibility.I find some of Jurgen Moltmann’s views about God’s relationship to the creation and the purpose of the atonement interesting in this regard. Moltmann argues that God truly suffers along with the creation as it evolves, and that the atonement demonstrates the cruciform character of God’s relationship with the entire creation. In some ways, Moltmann’s approach offers a more compelling theodicy than Anselm’s, because our understanding of the natural world has moved far beyond the static categories of Plato and Aristotle. At the same time, Moltmann has been justly criticized for having views of the trinity and the incarnation that border on, if not transgress into, the territory of heresy in minimizing the unity of the Godhead and the transcendence of the Father. I also would repeat Anselm’s great dictum to Motlmann and his admirers: “[y]ou have not as yet estimated the great burden of sin.” However we decouple it from Plato, the substitutionary aspect of the atonement seems to me necessary and central.
[1] Anselm claims his work “proves, by absolute reasons” and “by plain reasoning” that no one can be saved without Christ and that the incarnation was necessary for human salvation. See Cur Deus Homo, Preface.
[2] Some people argue, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, that Anselm’s use of Boso as a rhetorical foil prefigures Bozo the Clown. See “The First Bozo Probably Wasn’t a Clown,” New York Times, August 16, 1991, available at http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9D0CEFDE1339F935A2575BC0A967958260.
[3] Cur Deus Homo, Book One, Ch. VI.
[4] Id., Book One, Ch. VIII.
[5] Id.
[6] See, e.g., Augustine’s responses to similar objections in City of God and Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho.
[7] Cur Deus Homo, Book One, Ch. VI. As noted in my conclusion, one wonders whether Anselm would have done better to question the Platonic presupposition about Divine impassibility.
[8] Id., Chapter IX.
[9] Id.
[10] Anselm argues that “God did not, therefore, compel Christ to die; but he suffered death of his own will, not yielding up his life as an act of obedience, but on account of his obedience in maintaining holiness; for he held out so firmly in this obedience that he met death on account of it.” Id.
[11] Id., Chapter IX – X. Curiously, Anselm seems to depart in the course of this argument from his prior affirmation of Divine impassibility. See, e.g., Ch. X, stating “it is proper to say that [the Father] wished the Son to endure death so piously and for so great an object, though he was not pleased with [the Son’s] suffering.” If the Father is impassible, one wonders how he apparently felt compassion or empathy for the Son’s suffering.
[12] Id., Chapter XI – XII.
[13] Id., Chapter XI.
[14] Id. See also Chapter XV: “satisfaction or punishment must needs follow every sin.”
[15] Id., Chapter XVI.
[16] Id. This discussion, which seems quite strange to modern ears, draws on Platonic notions of perfection. For a discussion of Anselm’s reliance on Platonic thought forms, see “Anselm of Cantebury,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/anselm/.
[17] Id., Chapter XVIII.
[18] Id., Chapter XX.
[19] Anselm says, “[w]hen you render anything to God which you owe him, irrespective of your past sin, you should not reckon this as the debt which you owe for sin.” Id.
[20] Id., Chapter XXI.
[21] Id., Chapter XXV.
[22] Anselm says “[if] it be necessary, therefore, as it appears, that the heavenly kingdom be made up of men, and this cannot be effected unless the aforesaid satisfaction be made, which not but God can make and none but man ought to make, it is necessary for the God-man to make it.” Cur Deus Homo, Book Two, Chapter VI.
[23] Id., Chapter VIII (stating “if the race of Adam be reinstated by any being not of the same race, it will not be restored to that dignity which it would have had, had not Adam sinned, and so will not be completely restored; and besides, God will seem to have failed of his purpose, both of which suppositions are incongruous. . . .”).
[24] Id., Chapter XI (stating “neither corruption nor incorruption belongs essentially to human nature, for neither makes nor destroys a man. . . .”).
[25] As Anselm notes, it was in a sense not possible for Christ to make a different choice, but this is because of his holy and loving character, not because of any external compulsion. See Id., Chapter XVIII(a).
[26] Id., Chapter XVI.
[27] Id., Chapter XIX.
[28] Id.