Categories
Spirituality Theology

This I Believe

I had to write a short “This I Believe” statement for a wonderful “Seminar on Mission” that I’m participating in at Seton Hall’s main campus.   My statement is way too theological-ish.  It was interesting, though, how many of the participants structured their statements in reference the Creed, as I did:

I believe in the God who is in His undivided essence the fullness of every perfection.  He is fully good; fully merciful; fully holy; fully just; fully beautiful; fully wise; fully love; all of these, without division, without lack, without tension or contradiction – “simple,” and complete.

I believe the God of perfection is the Triune God.  He is Father, Son, and Spirit, three persons in one essence, undivided yet distinctly personal, coinhering in each other in the perichoretic dance of eternal fellowship.

I believe in creation.  The God of perfection and Trinitarian relationality created a universe that flows from, but is distinct from, His own nature and being.  Goodness, mercy, holiness, justice, beauty, wisdom and love inhere in the fabric of the cosmos because the cosmos is the craftwork of the Divine logos.  The logic of creation is a word of blessing imbued with a Divine origin — “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (Gen. 1:31) – and a word of promise imbued with a Divine future – “So that God may be all in all” (1 Cor. 15:28).  And the adamah, the human creature, is imbued with the Divine neshemah the “breath of life,” breathed by the Divine ruach, the Spirit that “was hovering over the waters” of primeval chaos before structuring life (Gen. 1:2; 2:7).

I do not “believe” in evil, or sin, or death, though I know they threaten the creation God called “very good,” not least the adamah who can choose or not choose the good.  Evil, sin and death are nothing – no “thing” – no kind of essence or being in the ontology of the very good creation of God.  Yet evil, sin and death invade, deprive, corrupt, distort, and we of the adamah participate in its deprivations continually.

I believe in revelation, incarnation and redemption.   The God who in His essence is transcendent of creation and thus unknowable is immanent in creation in His energies, and therefore can in a manner be known.  The same God has disclosed Himself – “I am that I am” (Exodus 3:14) – and called a community of justice and redemption in Israel.  And the same God, the very Logos, who created, entered into the suffering of creation as a human peasant and took on all the power of evil, sin and death as a suffering servant executed by an imperial power.

I believe in resurrection.  The Christ who suffered and died on the cross rose again, defeating evil, sin and death.  By the power of his victory all of creation will be renewed.  The creating Logos who is also the suffering Christ who is also the victorious Christ will pronounce the final verdict by which all that could threaten the very goodness of creation will be banished forever (Rev. 20:11-15), and every tear will be wiped away from the eyes of his people (Rev. 21:4).

I believe that in this time in between times, the life of a teacher and scholar is a life in participation in grace.  It is ideally a life of participation in goodness, mercy, holiness, beauty, wisdom, justice, love, a product of the Divine energies, a breath of Divine spirit, a vehicle of redemption.

Categories
Theology

What is Justice, Part 2

Part 2 of  my series on Nicholas Wolterstorff’s Justice in Love is up on Jesus Creed.  Head on over and join in the conversation.  Below is the post.

In my first post, I highlighted some of the major themes in Wolterstorff’s recent books:  Justice:  Rights and Wrongs, and Justice in Love.  Wolterstorff seeks to ground human rights in the claim that each and every human being has worth because God loves each and every human being with the “love of attachment.”  In this post, I want to jump ahead to the final two chapters of Justice in Love to confront a fundamental issue that lurks underneath Wolterstorff’s entire project.  Those chapters are entitled “The Justice of God’s Generosity in Romans” and “What is Justification and What is Just?”

For now, what do you think of Wolterstorff’s treatment of the nature of God’s justice in Romans?  Is Luther’s treatment of Romans in On the Bondage of the Will correct, or does Luther overstate or mis-state the case?  I’m particularly interested to hear from readers who are knowledgeable about the New Perspective on Paul:  does Wolterstorff properly frame these two chapters in terms that are consistent with the NPP?

When I was a child, we used to sing the tune “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.  Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.  Jesus loves the little children of the world.”  Today we might blush a bit at the racial and colonialist undertones of this song, but we might want to affirm its basic message:  Jesus loves all the children of the world.  God loves everyone.  As children, we also memorized John 3:16 (in the King James, of course!):  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but shall have eternal life.” God loves the whole world.   Jesus died for everyone and God’s gift of life is available to everyone.  Wolterstorff’s basic notion that God loves everyone seems manifestly attested to in popular evangelical piety and in scripture.

There were no Sunday School ditties, however, referring to Paul’s dense and tangled argument in Romans 1-11.  The famous passage in Romans 9:13-22 must give us pause as we think about “justice”:

Just as it is written, “JACOB I LOVED, BUT ESAU I HATED.”

What shall we say then? There is no injustice with God, is there? May it never be! For He says to Moses, “I WILL HAVE MERCY ON WHOM I HAVE MERCY, AND I WILL HAVE COMPASSION ON WHOM I HAVE COMPASSION.” So then it does not depend on the man who wills or the man who runs, but on God who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, “FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE I RAISED YOU UP, TO DEMONSTRATE MY POWER IN YOU, AND THAT MY NAME MIGHT BE PROCLAIMED THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE EARTH.” So then He has mercy on whom He desires, and He hardens whom He desires.

You will say to me then, “Why does He still find fault? For who resists His will?” On the contrary, who are you, O man, who answers back to God? The thing molded will not say to the molder, “Why did you make me like this,” will it? Or does not the potter have a right over the clay, to make from the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for common use? What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction?

Obviously, this is a massively difficult passage for any Christian perspective on human rights and justice.  God hates some people?  God creates some people for destruction?  In what sense can a person God creates for “common use,” a person whom God “hates,” have “human rights” – particularly rights grounded in God’s love?  For many theologians and ethicists in the Reformed traditions, Romans 1-11 demonstrates that there is, in fact, no such thing as “human rights” and no such thing as any “natural” sense of ethics or justice.

In his treatise “On the Bondage of the Will,” Martin Luther responded to Catholic theologian Desiderius Erasmus’ claim that Luther’s theology destroyed the concept of human free will.  Exactly, Luther responded:  we do not have free will because God foreknows everything, including the fact of each person’s salvation or reprobation.  This is not a problem for “justice,” Luther said, because

If [God’s] justice were such as could be adjudged just by human reckoning, it clearly would not be Divine; it would in no way differ from human justice. But inasmuch as He is the one true God, wholly incomprehensible and inaccessible to man’s understanding, it is reasonable, indeed inevitable, that His justice also should be incomprehensible; as Paul cries, saying: “O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!”

It is not a stretch to suggest that Luther’s rejection of the Catholic view of human freedom and natural justice lay at the heart of the Protestant Reformation. It also is not a stretch to suggest that this remains a fundamental dividing point not only between the Reformed and Catholic and Orthodox traditions, but also among evangelicals today.

Wolterstorff dives boldly into this historical debate.  He suggests that his “interpretation of Paul will be along the lines of ‘the new Paul’ initiated by Stendahl and Sanders.”  (JIL, p. 247).  Romans, he says, “can be seen as a meditation on the theological significance of Jesus’ actions [in showing “no partiality” to non-Jews] and Peter’s vision [in Acts 10, in which table fellowship is opened to gentiles].”  Paul’s central argument in Romans 1-11 is that God is substantively just in extending covenant blessings to the Gentiles because those blessings are extended on the same basis upon which they were made available to the Jews:   faith.

This line of thought obviously diverges significantly from Luther’s.  Wolterstorff suggests that the substantive principle of God’s justice is, indeed, discernible and is made known in the course of Paul’s argument.  For Wolterstorff, Romans 1-11 is not about the unknowability of God’s justice.  Rather, it is a theodicy in which Paul argues that God impartially offers justification to Jew and Gentile alike.

But what about Paul’s theme of election?  Wolterstorff argues that Paul is

not talking about who shares in the final redemption; he’s talking about the pattern of God’s action in history to bring about redemption.  He’s not talking about who God ultimately justifies; he’s talking about the fact that God chooses certain persons for a special role in the story line of redemption.  He’s not talking about divine strategy; he’s talking about divine tactics.  He’s not talking about who God declares justified on the great day of final judgment; he’s talking about who belongs here and now to “the children of God,” to “the children of the promise.”  (JIL, pp. 267-68).

Wolterstorff subsequently unpacks what he takes as the purpose and meaning of “faith” in relation to justification and justice.  He also tackles the nature of the atonement and its relation to justice.  These are enormous topics in themselves, so I’ll leave them for later posts.

For now, what do you think of Wolterstorff’s treatment of the nature of God’s justice in Romans?  Is Luther’s treatment of Romans in On the Bondage of the Will correct, or does Luther overstate or mis-state the case?  I’m particularly interested to hear from readers who are knowledgeable about the New Perspective on Paul:  does Wolterstorff properly frame these two chapters in terms that are consistent with the NPP?

For my part, I’m not a Biblical scholar or a Paul scholar.  I can’t (and don’t want to try to) speak with authority on how to interpret this incredibly difficult text.  Yet, I’ve read Romans 9-11 dozens of times in recent months, trying to reflect on this very issue of God’s justice.  To me, the interpretive key for Romans 9 must be Romans 11.  But I’ll refrain for the moment from offering more of my thoughts.   Who is right – Luther, or Erasmus and Wolterstorff?

Categories
Biblical Studies Theology

Reading Revelation Responsibly

Here is a video promo for an adult education class I’ll be teaching in October at my church.  Below the video clip is a blurb about the class.

Revelation is a strange and often frightening text.  Christians have struggled for almost two thousand years to understand it.  Today, it is often used to support detailed scenarios of what will happen in the “end times.”  Perhaps you’ve read novels or seen movies that take this popular approach.

While these books and movies can be entertaining, they probably don’t have very much to do with what the text of Revelation meant in its original context, or with what it might mean for us today.   We’ll explore the thought world in which the text was produced — the genre of “apocalyptic” literature, particularly among Jewish people in the first century A.D. — to gain insights about the meaning of the text to its first hearers.  Then we’ll consider how the horizons of the text relate to the horizons of our contemporary understanding and concerns.

We won’t try to produce a final or complete interpretation of the mysteries contained in this text.  Instead, we’ll come to appreciate that, like all of scripture, this text points to the glory and beauty of Jesus Christ, the hope of all creation.

Categories
Justice Religious Legal Theory Theology

What is Justice, Part 1

I’m doing a series on Jesus Creed  on Nicholas Wolterstorff’s most recent book, Justice in Love (Emory University Studies in Law and Religion).  Go over there and join the conversation!  Here’s my first post:

Introduction

Nicholas Wolterstorff is a leading Christian philosophical theologian who combines his intellectual erudition with a warm evangelical faith.  Recently he published an important two-part series of books on the theme of “Justice” — Justice: Rights and Wrongs and Justice in Love.  Although both books touch on some difficult philosophical and theological themes, they are readily accessible to anyone.  If you’re involved in justice ministries, legal or law enforcement work, government or military service, or are otherwise interested in the theme of justice, these are books you should read.

Here are some opening questions:  Why two fat books on “justice?”  Don’t we already know what “justice” means?  What do you think comprises “justice?”  Do human beings have inherent “rights”?  Is a concept of “rights” required for a concept of “justice?”

“Justice” and “rights,” in fact, are slippery concepts.  Western liberal theories of justice and rights, after the rise of modernity, generally attempt to avoid reference to God or any other transcendent source of rights and justice.  John Rawls’ highly influential approach, for example, is rooted in social contractarian ideas.  For Rawls, “justice” requires that each individual give to others what she would desire for herself, if all individuals were ignorant of any other person’s desires.  Other theories, such as the “capacities” approach of Martha Nussbaum and Amartya Sen, conceive of “justice” as what is necessary to maximize the innate capabilities of each person in a way that supports human flourishing.  Each of these theories, and others like them, focus only on human or “natural” factors.

Christian theology, of course, must think beyond the human to the divine.  But how do notions of “justice” and “rights” fit into a Christian theistic framework?

In Roman Catholic theology, “justice” is woven into the “natural law,” which is to some degree accessible to all human beings through the exercise of natural reason.  For Thomas Aquinas, the great medieval theologian, natural law served as a précis to the fuller understanding of truth and the virtues that could be acquired only through faith.  Following Aristotle, Thomas’ ethical theory is a eudemonistic one – it posits an ideal “good life,” a life in which the vision of God is the ultimate good, and develops virtues and practices required to attain the good life.   Although Thomas considered faith necessary for a fully virtuous live, he believed ordinary human reason could grasp the basic principles of justice.

Wolterstorff argues that eudemonistic theories of ethics fail to supply a stable basis for “rights” and “justice” because they fail to offer an account of inherent human worth.  (JR&W at p. 179).  The “life-goods” of eudemonism, he says, are activities “each of us must choose … with the goal in mind of enhancing one’s own happiness.”  Wolterstorff suggests that, “[t]here is no room in this scheme for the worth of persons and human beings, and hence none for one’s right against others to their treating one a certain way on account of one’s worth.”  (JR&W at p. 179).  This argument against eudemonism is interesting because it turns the usual Protestant / Reformed argument against eudemonism on its head by suggesting that eudemonism is not “humanistic” enough.

Thomistic natural law theory – or at least a version of it – was subject to severe attack during the Protestant Reformation.  Martin Luther, in particular, famously battled with Thomist scholars of his day over the relationship between nature and grace.  This basic question of theological anthropology – to what extent, if at all, can human beings know and do good through natural reason, and what is the necessary role of God’s grace – remains a fundamental question for any Christian theory of justice.

For some strands of Protestant Christian theology, following Luther and to some extent John Calvin, the notion of “human rights” is eyed suspiciously or flatly rejected.  If God’s sovereignty is such that he “can do whatever he wants,” then human beings have no inherent “rights.”  For Reformed thinkers in this vein, the only real basis for “justice” and “rights” is God’s divine command.  The Decalogue provides us with the blueprint for God’s law, which we are bound to obey, and that law gives people obligations to each other, with corresponding rights.  For example, the command not to steal (Exodus 20:15) supports a right against other people to personal property.  But these are not “natural” rights that inhere in persons apart from God’s commands.

One problem with this kind of divine command ethic is that it raises the specter of arbitrariness.  Is theft wrong merely because God says so?  Could God then change the command and at some point declare theft to be lawful and “good?”  On the other hand, is there a standard of “good” to which even God must adhere, suggesting that there is something greater than God?  Most divine command theorists avoid this problem by noting that God Himself is the perfection of good in His being, so that His commands, which are always consistent with His own being, are neither arbitrary nor indebted to a standard above His own being.

Wolterstorff, however, argues that divine command theories fail because they rest on an analogy to human commands.  We know what a “moral command” looks like because we as human beings issue such commands to each other.  But if human beings can issue moral commands to each other, Wolterstorff says, then the standard for morality can be at least in part a human one, which does not rest on God’s commands as divine command theory requires.

Further, Wolterstorff argues that divine command theories fail because all such theories rest on an inherent moral obligation to obey God’s commands, even prior to any specific command from God (JR&W, at p. 275-76).  The reason we are morally obliged to obey God’s commands cannot itself arise from one of God’s commands, or else we become stuck in an infinite regress.  We must be morally obliged to obey God’s commands because of something inherent in the God-human relation that precedes the divine commands.

In other important strands of Reformed thought, the imago Dei, combined with a theology of “common grace” supports a concept of natural human rights.  This seems to be the approach taken by many contemporary protestants who cite Abraham Kuyper as an influence.  But it remains difficult to understand exactly what about the imago Dei grounds a universal concept of rights.  Is it a set of human capacities that arise from the imago?  If so, what about people who have not yet developed all their capacities (infants) or who have lost them (mentally incapacitated adults)?

Wolterstorff argues that “rights” and “justice” cannot derive from eudemonism, divine commands or the imago Dei alone.  Rather, he says, “human rights” flow primarily from the fact that every human being is loved by God and is thereby a “friend” of God (Wolterstorff calls this the “love of attachment”).  The imago is itself the fruit of that love:  God wishes to relate to us and he desires us to share in His creative life, which is what the imago makes possible.  The fact that God loves us and wishes to relate in friendship to us endows each one of us with inherent dignity.  We each have rights in relation to each other because each one of us is loved by God.  As Wolterstorff summarizes his position in Justice:  Rights and Wrongs:

I conclude that if God loves a human being with the love of attachment, then that love bestows great worth on that human being; other creatures, if they knew about that love, would be envious.  And I conclude that if God loves, in the mode of attachment, each and every human being equally and permanently, then natural human rights inhere in the worth bestowed on human beings by that love.  Natural human rights are what respect for that worth requires.  (JR&W, at p. 360).

This notion that “each and every human being” is loved “equally and permanently” by God obviously appears to conflict with some important passages in scripture, notably in Romans 9, particularly when read through an Augustinian / Reformed theology of Divine election.  If God “loved” Jacob and “hated” Esau (Rom. 9:13), and if God shapes vessels for different purposes, as the potter shapes the clay (Rom. 9:19-21), is it possible to say that God loves “each and every human being equally and permanently?”  Wolterstorff devotes an entire chapter to this problem in Justice in Love, which I will leave for another post.  In short, Wolterstorff interprets Romans through the lens of both Karl Barth’s theology of election and the New Perspective on Paul, and argues that Paul is not addressing the question of individual salvation and individual election that occupied the Reformers in their reading of Romans.

In sum, Wolterstorff’s central argument is that “justice” and “human rights” are substantive concepts rooted in the love of God for each and every human being.  Because we are each created to share in God’s own life and are loved by Him, we owe to each other the dignity due to creatures loved in this unique way by God, and have corresponding rights with respect to each other.

What do you think of Wolterstorff’s arguments against eudemonism, the imago Dei as a basis for rights, and divine command ethics?  Is he correct to locate inherent human dignity in God’s “love of attachment” to us?

Categories
Theology

Nominalism and Love

Peter James Causton offers a brief but brilliant article on nominalism in a symposium on Conor Cunningham’s book Darwin’s Pious Idea.  Nominalism, I think, is the scourge of modern theology both on the right and left.

He notes:

That Christianity understands ultimate reality as personal is both its greatest strength and its biggest problem. A problem because it is the source of the question of evil and a strength because it has no difficulty comprehending the existence of rationality, freedom and personality in creation. The theist has a problem of evil. The atheist has a problem of good.

It would be nice to leave the story at this – juxtaposing a nihilistic materialism to a life affirming Christianity – but the reality is far messier, and Christian theology has done much more to contribute to the current climate of nihilism than many of its adherents are willing to admit.

For just as nominalism in its modern guise undermines any conception of the rational and free person, nominalism in its medieval theological guise does as well. The utterly transcendent voluntarist God is an abyss of will. A humanity made in the image of such a God is no longer defined by its rationality or its capacity for love but by its ability to will.

Predictably enough when Ockham wrote of the image of God in humanity, it was humanity’s freedom that he focused on. This turn to the will in Christian theology entered into the stream of early modern thinking and reached its apotheosis in Nietzsche’s will to power.

Indeed it easy enough to conceive Dawkins selfish gene as a brute dumb materialized version of the will to power, for both in Dawkins and Nietzsche’s accounts morality and piety are merely masks worn by an atavistic force. Though at least in Nietzsche it is force worthy of being called life.

All comprehensive systems of thought tend to hide some kind of God within them. Some principle of reality which takes on the characteristic of being unconditioned, eternal or absolute. To reverse Marx’s dictum, systems of thought usually have mystical kernels contained in their rational shells.

The real question for the Christian theologian is what kind of God they find revealed in Jesus Christ. Is it really the voluntarist God of Ockham or the absolutely sovereign God of hyper-Calvinism?

The scandal of much Christian theology is that it privileges the power of God over the love of God. Perhaps this reflects our congenital inability as fallen creatures to take the love of god seriously – to fully realize that the love of God and power of God is really the same thing. That love is not an attribute of God, but what God is.

 

Categories
Beauty of the Christian Faith Theology

The Beauty of the Christian Faith: Introduction: The Nature of Doctrine: Protestantism

I’m working on an adult curriculum titled “The Beauty of the Christian Faith.”  It explores the basic elements of Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.  I’ll be posting excerpts as they’re done.  Here’s the sixth part of the introduction.  Prior posts can be accessed through the Beauty of the Christian Faith Page.

Doctrines:  Second Order Statements Derived from the First Order Sources of Theology

Doctrines are propositional theological statements that summarize claims to knowledge about God.  A “propositional” statement is simply a discrete statement of claimed fact, such as “water is comprised of hydrogen and oxygen atoms.”  Doctrines historically have been collected in summary statements such as creeds and confessions.

The manner in which doctrines function as theological authorities is the subject of some debate among different types of Christians.  The debate relates to the relationship between scripture and tradition and also to the nature of scripture in relation to doctrinal propositions.  The next sections discuss how this relationship is understood in Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestant traditions.  You should understand, however, that there is considerable variety even within each of these traditions.  The models discussed below are intended as broad and general illustrations of key themes and differences.

Protestantism

Protestant approaches to the nature of doctrine are quite diverse.  In general, protestants emphasize scripture as the final “norming norm” (norma normans) of theology and doctrine.  Most Protestants therefore would argue that doctrines are not in themselves basic sources of authority.  Instead, doctrines are “second order” statements because doctrinal propositions always derive from the basic sources of theology (scripture, tradition, reason and experience).

Protestants do not always agree among themselves about precisely how the first order sources of theological authority relate to second order doctrinal propositions.  Many Protestants think scripture contains or is the immediate source of some direct, propositional doctrinal statements.  For them, many doctrinal propositions are effectively irreformable because they are derived directly from scripture.  Some Protestants argue that scripture is not fundamentally propositional in nature, or that scripture can only be understood dynamically as the Holy Spirit makes its meaning clear, and that doctrinal statements therefore in principle are always reformable.

These two different types of Protestant views can be illustrated as follows:

Figure 3 illustrates a model in which scripture supplies direct or nearly direct doctrinal propositions.  In this model, reason, experience and tradition mostly serve to aid in the understanding of scripture.  Reason and experience are grouped together because they are understood as related sources.

Another model for Protestant construction of doctrine is illustrated in Figure 4:

This model is labeled “Wesleyan Postliberal / Postconservative” because it reflects the pietist streams of Protestantism, particularly as led by John Wesley and by the Anabaptists before and after Wesley, and because it also reflects a contemporary effort to overcome the breach between “conservative / fundamentalist” and “liberal” theologies that erupted in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

John Wesley was a great evangelist and reformer who lived in the eighteenth century.  He emphasized personal piety, including the experience of conversion, the devotional practices of prayer and Bible reading, and abstinence from cultural practices thought to be damaging, such as consuming alcohol.  The four sources of authority we have discussed in this Module – scripture, tradition, reason and experience – are often called the “Wesleyan Quadrilateral,” because they were emphasized by Wesley in contrast to the more “intellectual” approach of the Calvinist Reformed churches.  Wesley also rejected the Cavlinist doctrine of “double predestination” – the belief that God chose in advance who will and will not be saved – and taught that salvation is available to everyone.  In fact, the differences between Calvinism and Wesleyanism continue to represent one of the major dividing points in the history of American evangelicalism.

“Anabaptist” refers to various Protestant groups that dissented from the Calvinist-Reformed churches on various matters starting in the fifteenth century, including on the nature of baptism.  Calvinists baptized infants, whereas Anabaptists held that only adults should be baptized.  Anabaptist also held that even people baptized as infants should be re-baptized as consenting adults.  “Ana-“Baptist literally means “re-“baptize.  Anabaptists emphasized personal piety, including the direct illumination of the individual conscience by the Holy Spirit.  The Anabaptists often were ferociously persecuted by Calvinists, including punishments such as burning at the stake.  Most independent Evangelical churches in North America follow Anabaptist beliefs about baptism, although such churches usually are disconnected from other typical Anabaptist teachings (most Anabaptists, for example, were and are pacifist).  Many Charismatic and Pentecostal practices also bear some relationship to the Anabaptist emphasis on direct illumination by the Holy Spirit.

Because both Wesleyans and Anabaptists focused more on personal experience than intellectual knowledge, they were less attuned the particularity of doctrinal statements.  This does not mean they ignored doctrine, but it does mean that their approach was closer to the “post-conservative / post-liberal” approach described below.

Meanwhile, Model 3, the “Protestant-Propositionalist” model, was the dominant approach in the Calvinist-Reformed and, to a certain extent, in the Lutheran-Reformed churches, until the mid-Nineteenth Century.  In the 19th Century, in connection with various philosophical, cultural, and other changes, “Liberal” theology began to challenge all notions of religious authority.  In many cases, Liberal theology eventually relegated all theological claims – including basic claims such as the divinity of Christ – to the realm of private emotional sentiment.

Some branches of Protestantism, including Fundamentalism and some varieties of Evangelicalism, clung (and still cling) ferociously to the Protestant–Propositionalist model, in an effort to avoid the specter of Liberal theology.  These theologies, however, tend to make claims that cannot be sustained about what the Bible is or how it should be interpreted.[1]  Moreover, more often than not, this approach simply produces profound, basic, and irresolvable disagreements about what doctrinal propositions the Bible actually is thought to state.[2]

In recent decades, many Protestants in both “Mainline” and “Evangelical” circles, wary of the excesses of both Liberal theology and Fundamentalism, have focused on theological methods that appreciate the divine-human nature of scripture and the contextual-historical nature of doctrinal statements, while recognizing the importance of continuity and stability.  Figure 4 is one way of thinking of this relationship.[3]

Since Figure 4 is a Protestant model, scripture is the central source of theological authority.  Reason, Tradition, and Experience are also sources of authority, which inform how scripture is read and understood, but which are also subject to scripture as a final norm.  Unlike in the Protestant-Propositionalist model, however, scripture is not here understood primarily as a direct sourcebook of doctrinal propositions.  Although scripture does contain direct doctrinal statements, the texts of scripture are for the most part not given in the form of creedal statements.  Instead, scripture is given to us in the diverse forms of narratives, stories, poems, songs, letters, visions, and so on.  Doctrinal propositions derive from scripture (along with and informed by reason, tradition, and experience), but scripture is not essentially a rational-propositional sourcebook.

This is an important point, because it helps situate doctrinal propositions as fallible, human statements.  We do not worship “doctrine” – we worship the living God.  In an effort to understand and explain what we know of God, we engage in the process of formulating doctrinal propositions from the basic sources of knowledge God has made available to us.  This perspective helps us engage the scriptures and the other sources of theological authority with greater humility.  It also encourages patience and dialogue when we disagree with each other.

This does not mean that faithful Christians are free to modify at will the essential meaning of basic doctrines that have been passed down throughout the history of the faith.  This also is a vitally important point.  A central core of Christian doctrine has stood the test of time because of its deep connection to the first order sources of Christian theology.  This is the case with the Nicene Creed, which is the doctrinal statement that forms the backbone of this class.  To depart substantially from this central core of doctrine is to think in a way that is less than fully “Christian.”  We study the Nicene Creed to explore how its propositions tie together the first-order sources of theological authority in a way that is coherent, satisfying, beautiful, and unifying.  When we recite the Creed, we proclaim publicly that its propositions express essential truth about God and the world.

Nevertheless, we recognize that even great doctrinal documents such as the Nicene Creed are second order statements.  Our purpose is not merely to study and recite historical words.  Our purpose is to participate more deeply in the living faith the Creed proclaims.  In the next Module, we will begin to explore the contours of that living faith through the articles of the Creed.

 


[1] An example of this is the effort in some circles to read the ancient texts of the Bible as modern “scientific” documents.

[2] An example of this are the deep disagreements between Calvinist and Dispensational conservative evangelicals, about matters as basic as the nature of human free will, Divine predestination, and the economy of salvation.

[3] Many contemporary Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox theologians would adopt a similar model, somewhat in contrast to the more “traditional” models in Figures 1 and 2, but perhaps with a different relationship between scripture and the other sources of authority.

Categories
Beauty of the Christian Faith Theology

The Beauty of the Christian Faith: Introduction: The Nature of Doctrine: Catholicism and Orthodoxy

I’m working on an adult curriculum titled “The Beauty of the Christian Faith.”  It explores the basic elements of Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.  I’ll be posting excerpts as they’re done.  Here’s the seventh part of the introduction.  Prior posts can be accessed through the Beauty of the Christian Faith Page.

Doctrines:  Second Order Statements Derived from the First Order Sources of Theology

Doctrines are propositional theological statements that summarize claims to knowledge about God.  A “propositional” statement is simply a discrete statement of claimed fact, such as “water is comprised of hydrogen and oxygen atoms.”  Doctrines historically have been collected in summary statements such as creeds and confessions.

The manner in which doctrines function as theological authorities is the subject of some debate among different types of Christians.  The debate relates to the relationship between scripture and tradition and also to the nature of scripture in relation to doctrinal propositions.  The next sections discuss how this relationship is understood in Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestant traditions.  You should understand, however, that there is considerable variety even within each of these traditions.  The models discussed below are intended as broad and general illustrations of key themes and differences.

Roman Catholicism

In general, Catholic Christians understand the teaching authority (“Magesterium”) of the Roman Church to provide the final interpretation of scripture, often in the form of doctrinal propositions stated by official Church councils or in documents issued or authorized by the Pope.  Certain doctrinal propositions are part of sacred Tradition and, having been stated with the necessary authority, are irreformable.  We can illustrate this relationship as follows:
As the key on the left indicates, scripture is understood in light of experience and reason and is authoritatively interpreted through the Magesterium (Tradition) in the form of doctrine.  In a sense, doctrine in Catholic theology represents the point at which scripture, experience, reason, and tradition converge.

Eastern Orthodoxy

Eastern Orthodox Christians do not make sharp distinctions between scripture, tradition, reason and experience.  Many Orthodox theologians speak of all these sources together simply as “the Tradition.”  This does not mean that Orthodox thought simply equates reason and experience with scripture.  For the Orthodox, scripture remains uniquely inspired by God.  But Orthodoxy pictures scripture like the spinal cord of a living organism.  The organism is an indivisible whole, which functions because its constituent parts work synergistically together.  For the Orthodox, it would make as much sense to separate scripture from the life and experience of the Church as it would to cut the spinal cord out of a person.  This relationship can be illustrated as follows:

 


[1] This does not mean that the Eastern Orthodox churches exhibit a centralized structure under a single teaching authority, as is the case with the Roman Catholic Church.  There are a number of different denominations that would fall under the banner “Eastern Orthodox,” and in general, within these denominations local churches are accountable to regional Bishops, but not to any central over-Bishop or Pope.

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Beauty of the Christian Faith Theology

The Beauty of the Christian Faith: Introduction: Sources: Experience

I’m working on an adult curriculum titled “The Beauty of the Christian Faith.”  It explores the basic elements of Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.  I’ll be posting excerpts as they’re done.  Here’s the fifth part of the introduction.  Prior posts can be accessed through the Beauty of the Christian Faith Page.

Introduction

The sources of Christian theology are scripture, tradition, reason, and experience.  Every variety of Christian theology draws on each of these sources.  One of the first decisions we must make when thinking theologically is how to understand the nature of, and relationship between, these sources.

Experience

“Experience” is lived, relational knowledge.  For Christian theology, “experience” includes our encounter with Jesus Christ; the movement of the Holy Spirit in individual persons, in the Church, and in history; and the forms, practices, words, images and sensations in and through which we have known God.

Christianity is not an “idea.”  Rather, Christian faith is at heart a relationship with the living God.  In scripture, authentic knowledge of God is often compared to intimate sensual experience:  sexual love, a boisterous feast, sweet perfume, resounding music, cool water, warm bread, fragrant wine.  “Taste and see that the LORD is good,” says Psalm 34.

“Experience” is connected to the “practices” of Christian faith.  “Practices” are ways of doing things that have developed and become standardized over time.  Piano players, for example, are taught to use a certain sequence of fingers in order to play the notes of a given scale.  The practice of using this particular sequence of fingers has become the standard way to play a scale because, over time, it has proven an effective means of reaching and producing all the notes in the scale.

Christians have always engaged in two central practices:  baptism and the regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper or Eucharist.[1]  Both of these are tactile ways of entering into the reality of the presence of Christ and of the common experience of the Church throughout history.  In baptism, we quite literally “see” God’s goodness as the old life of slavery to sin is washed away and we are raised clean and new, a member of a people sealed with grace; and in the Lord’s Supper or Eucharist, we quite literally “taste” the provision of Christ’s body and blood in the yeasty tang of the bread and the sharp tannins and round fruits of the wine.

Other vital Christian practices include prayer, scripture reading, meditation, fasting, and corporate worship.[2]  In prayer, we bring our requests to God and we seek and wait for His wisdom.  Scripture reading is the practice of reading the text of the Bible in order to hear what God wishes to say to each  of us personally through the text (in some churches this is called lectio divina).  When we mediate, we focus intentionally on a particular portion of scripture or a scriptural thought or image.  Fasting involves voluntarily forgoing something we desire for a defined period of time.  Prayer, meditation, and fasting are intertwined because they are often practiced together.  Corporate worship is the practice of joining together with other Christians in a designated place and time for communal song, prayer, scripture reading, and partaking in the Lord’s Supper or Eucharist, with an orientation towards exalting God for who He is and remembering what He has done for us.

When we participate in these practices, we learn about God through experience.  Often, this sort of knowledge cannot adequately be expressed in rational logic or even in words.  A person who has lived with God for many years often possesses insights that escape quantification.  To return to our analogy of music, it is like a pianist who can perform a Mozart sonata with exquisite beauty and nuance because she has lived with the music in a way that transcends technical study.  Good theology is thinking about God that has been lived and experienced.



[1] This is not a full list of all the “sacraments” in every Christian tradition, but these two sacraments are common to all Christian traditions and are recognized by all Christians to be central.

[2] Similarly, these are not the only devotional practices in every tradition, but they are common to all traditions.

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Beauty of the Christian Faith Historical Theology Theology

The Beauty of the Christian Faith: Introduction: Sources: Reason

I’m working on an adult curriculum titled “The Beauty of the Christian Faith.”  It explores the basic elements of Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.  I’ll be posting excerpts as they’re done.  Here’s the fourth part of the introduction.  Prior posts can be accessed through the Beauty of the Christian Faith Page.

Introduction

The sources of Christian theology are scripture, tradition, reason, and experience.  Every variety of Christian theology draws on each of these sources.  One of the first decisions we must make when thinking theologically is how to understand the nature of, and relationship between, these sources.

Reason

“Reason” is the application of the tools of the intellect, including language, observation, logic, and rational argument, to the available data.

The relationship between “faith” and “reason” is a rich and sometimes contentious area of reflection in the Christian tradition.  Christians have always been aware of the limitations of human reason.  Some of these limitations are “natural” – humans cannot know and understand everything that God knows and understands, precisely because we are human creatures and not God.  Some of these limitations are the result of sin.  Because of sin, apart from God’s grace humans tend to ignore and distort many basic truths.[1]  Nevertheless, Christians have always agreed that theology must be informed by human reason.

Perhaps the most profound statement of this relationship comes from the 11th Century theologian St. Anslem:  “faith seeks understanding” (“fides quaerens intellectum”).  Right “understanding” – the correct application of reason – presupposes faith.  This is true even for a person of no religious faith at all.  In order to believe that reason is a reliable process, we must at least assume that the universe we observe is in some sense real, orderly and predictable.  If the observed universe were an illusion brought about by a feverish dream or a malicious demon, for example, or if the laws of nature were radically different in the past than they are today, there would be no basis upon which to believe that our beliefs about things like cause and effect are true – we could not make any inferences from our observations of the world.  But there is no way to prove for certain that the observed universe is not a grand deception with a false history – for if it were a grand deception, we would be deceived in our attempts at any such proof!

This problem is called “Descartes’ Demon,” after Renee Descartes, a brilliant 17th Century mathematician and philosopher.   Descartes sought an indubitable foundation for rational knowledge.  As he reflected on this problem, he realized that, at the very least, he must really exist – or else he could not reflect on the problem of his own existence!  The fact of his own existence, he believed, was beyond doubt, because to doubt that fact is to presume a “self” capable of doubt.  This led him to make his famous statement that “I think therefore I am” (“Cogito ergo sum”).  Descartes believed that from this sure foundation of self-knowledge, using observation and reason, he could establish many other facts for certain.

Most contemporary philosophers recognize that, even if the Cogito is correct, it fails to provide the sort of firm foundation Descartes sought.  Perhaps self-consciousness is itself an illusion.  Perhaps what appears to be “conscious” thought is really an epiphenomenal delusion based in entirely mechanistic biological processes.  Some modern neuroscientists believe precisely this about the human mind.[2]  And even if self-consciousness cannot reasonably be doubted, the “self” might be deceived about what kind of “self” it is, and about what exactly it is capable of perceiving and what kind of mental tools it can apply to those apparent perceptions.

In fact, over a thousand years before Descartes, St. Augustine made a similar observation about self-knowledge and the certainty of one’s own existence.  Augustine, however, was more attuned to human fallibility than Descartes.  When Augustine peered into his own soul, he saw an enormous capacity for rebelliousness and self-deception, along with a yearning for God.  Augustine therefore understood self-knowledge as a springboard to faith in God.[3]

This exercise shows that everyone must employ “faith” as a basis for reason.  Even people who claim to believe nothing but that which can be rationally “proven” must rely on assumptions that cannot be proven about their own minds, their own perceptions, and the universe we inhabit.  “Rationalism” is self-defeating.

It is tempting at this point to discount reason entirely in favor of faith.  Some Christians and other religious people take this approach, at least in some areas of their lives.  For example, some Christians continue to follow certain “health and wealth” preachers even when those preachers are exposed as cheats and frauds.[4]  This is the opposite error to “rationalism”:  “fideism.”

Christian theology is neither rationalistic nor fideistic.  “Reason” is an important source of Christian theology because we are informed by faith commitments about God, ourselves, and creation.  These include that:  God exists; God is the creator of all things; God is a reasonable being; God created humans in His image, with a capacity for observation and reason; creation bears the characteristics of order and intelligibility because creation proceeds from and depends upon God’s will; and God is not a deceiver and is the author of Truth.  We might summarize it this way:  “all Truth is God’s Truth.”  Faith and reason are not at odds; they are in fact necessary to each other.

 

 



[1] The precise manner in which sin distorts human reason is a subject of intense debate across different Christian traditions.  Christians in the Catholic and Orthodox traditions tend to hold a “higher” view of human reason, even though affected by sin, than Christians in the Protestant traditions.  Among Protestants, Calvinist-Reformed Christians tend to hold a “lower” view of human reason than those informed by the Arminian-Wesleyan-Pietist streams of the faith.  We will explore these differences in more detail in the module on “Humanity as Creation.”

[2] This claim, however, is self-defeating.  How could a neurobiological machine with no true consciousness “believe” anything?

[3] Augustine’s reflections on this process are contained in his Confessions – a classic of Christian spirituality and of Western literature.

[4] The point here is not to suggest that God never miraculously heals or miraculously provides for people today.  We have many reasons to believe God sometimes acts today in ways we must call “miraculous.”  Moreover, God is always the source of every good thing we receive.  Nevertheless, it is sadly the case that there are many false “health and wealth” preachers seeking their own gain, who prey on gullible, desperate, and poor people throughout the world.

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Beauty of the Christian Faith Historical Theology Theology

The Beauty of the Christian Faith: Introduction: Sources: Tradition

I’m working on an adult curriculum titled “The Beauty of the Christian Faith.”  It explores the basic elements of Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.  I’ll be posting excerpts as they’re done.  Here’s the third part of the introduction.  Prior posts can be accessed through the Beauty of the Christian Faith Page.

Introduction

The sources of Christian theology are scripture, tradition, reason, and experience.  Every variety of Christian theology draws on each of these sources.  One of the first decisions we must make when thinking theologically is how to understand the nature of, and relationship between, these sources.

Tradition

Tradition is the historical teaching, reflection, and worship of the Christian Church.

For Catholic, Orthodox, and some protestant Christians, some documents produced by Church leaders throughout history are given special status.  At various times, Church leaders met in “councils” to deal with controversial questions.  When these councils included Bishops from both the Eastern and Western parts of the Church and were convened by a sovereign political authority (an Emperor), they were called “ecumenical” councils (“ecumenical” means “worldwide”).

During its first few hundred years, the Church faced vital and difficult questions about the nature of God and Christ.  How do the Father, Son and Holy Spirit comprise one God?  Was Christ fully God?  Was he also fully human?  These questions went to the heart of the Christian story.  In a series of ecumenical councils, the Church hammered out statements and definitions relating to these questions.  These included the First Council of Nicea in A.D. 325, which led to the creation of the Nicene Creed – the basic text for our study in this class.

After this period, differences between the Eastern and Western branches of the Church became more pronounced and difficult.  There were numerous reasons for these differences, which included genuine theological debate as well as geography, culture, politics, and even war.[1]  By 1054 A.D., the Eastern and Western branches of the Church had definitively split, with the Western branch adhering to the central authority of the Bishop of Rome – the Pope.  There were numerous other councils held after this split both in the East and in the West, which the Catholic and Orthodox Churches respectively continue to take as authoritative.  However, there were no further ecumenical councils that produced any statement, such as the Nicene Creed, that would win broad acceptance in all branches of the Church.

As mentioned in the section on “Scripture,” the Reformation of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries represents another significant break in the broad stream of Church history.  The Eastern churches had split with the West over the primacy of the Pope and other matters, but the Eastern Churches continued to understand themselves as existing under the authority of the line of Bishops (including the Bishop of Rome) extending directly from the Apostles.  The Reformation became something far more radical:  for many (but not all) of the heirs of the Reformation, it led to the complete rejection of the kind of authority historically given to the Bishops by both the Western (Catholic) and Eastern churches.  The rejection or redefinition of “apostolic succession” perhaps is the most significant legacy (for good or ill, depending on your perspective) of the Reformation.

Scholars of the Reformation today debate whether the Reformation’s key early figures – people such as Martin Luther and John Calvin – really intended the massive schism their movement produced.  Luther, for example, at first hoped for more subtle changes within the Roman church, and some scholars today suggest that he hoped for reconciliation with Rome well into his later life.  In any event, these “Magesterial” Reformers did not reject “tradition” out of hand.  To the contrary, they accorded high status particularly to the early history of the Church, including the ecumenical councils.  They believed that their movement was entirely consistent with the teachings of those early ecumenical councils.

In addition to documents from official Church councils, “tradition” includes the Church’s historical reflection and worship.  Christianity produced many of the most brilliant minds in the history of Western civilization.  Writers such as Irenaeus of Lyon, Maximus the Confessor, Gregory of Nyssa, Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, Karl Barth, and many others, have left us with a rich legacy of theological literature.  Christianity also produced beautiful art, architecture, liturgies, music, poetry, and mystical writings.  All of these resources are part of our “tradition.”



[1] The city of Constantinople, the historic seat of the Eastern churches, was sacked and pillaged by Crusaders under the authority of the Pope in 1203 A.D.  The attack on Constantinople was not part of the Crusaders’ original mission and may not have been intended by the Pope, but it nevertheless sealed the split between East and West.