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PRINCETON 

SEMINARY 

BULLETIN 


VOLUME  29  I  2008 


McClure  •  Lee  •  Paris  •  O' Donovan  •  Sakenfeld  •  Stout  •  Hiller  brand 
Black  •  Partee  •  Ammon  •  Torrance  and  Torrance 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2018  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/princetonseminar2920prin 


PRINCETON 

SEMINARY 

BULLETIN 


VOLUME  2  9  2  0  0  8 


Stephen  D.  Crocco,  Editor 

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<  Mary  M.  Astarita,  Editorial  Adviser 

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PRINCETON 

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PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Iain  R.  Torrance,  President 


Board  of  Trustees 

Mary  Lee  Fitzgerald,  Chair 
George  B.  Wirth,  Vice  Chair 
Kari  Turner  McClellan,  Secretary 


Robert  M.  Adams 
Fred  R.  Anderson 
M.  Craig  Barnes 
Robert  W.  Bohl 
William  L.  Bowers 
Leslie  W.  Braksick 
Amy  Woods  Brinkley 
Martha  Z.  Carter 
Warren  D.  Chinn 
Gary  O.  Dennis 
John  H.  Donelik 
Michael  G.  Fisch 
John  T.  Galloway  Jr. 
Francisco  O.  Garcia-Treto 
Joan  1.  Gotwals 
Nancy  O.  Gray 

Trustees 

Clarence  B.  Ammons 
Stewart  B.  Clifford 
Peter  E.  B.  Erdman 
Rosemary  Hall  Evans 
Sarah  Belk  Gambrell 
David  H.  Hughes 
F.  Martin  Johnson 
Johannes  R.  Krahmer 


Heather  Sturt  Haaga 
C.  Thomas  Hilton 
Craig  A.  Huff 
Justin  M.  Johnson 
Thomas  R.  Johnson 
Todd  B.  Jones 
James  H.  Logan  Jr. 
David  M.  Mace 
Deborah  A.  McKinley 
Neal  D.  Presa 
Max  E.  Reddick 
William  P.  Robinson 
Thomas  J.  Rosser 
Virginia  J.  Thornburgh 
Paul  E.  Vawter  Jr. 


Emeriti/ae 

Young  Pai 
Earl  F.  Palmer 
William  H.  Scheide 
Arthur  F.  Sueltz 
Samuel  G.  Warr 
David  B.  Watermulder 
Jane  C.  Wright 
Ralph  M.  Wyman 


Hi 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Kenneth  G.  Appold 
Charles  L.  Bartow 
Shane  Berg 
C.  Clifton  Black  II 
John  R.  Bowlin 
Michael  A.  Brothers 
Sally  A.  Brown 
Donald  E.  Capps 
James  H.  Charlesworth 
Ellen  T.  Charry 
Stephen  D.  Crocco 
Kenda  Creasy  Dean 
James  C.  Deming 
Frederick  W.  Dobbs-Allsopp 
Nancy  J.  Duff 
Robert  C.  Dykstra 
Abigail  Rian  Evans 


Diogenes  Allen 
James  F.  Armstrong 
Richard  S.  Armstrong 
William  Brower 
Jane  Dempsey  Douglass 
Elizabeth  G.  Edwards 
Karlfried  Froelich 
Freda  A.  Gardner 


The  Faculty,  2008-2009 


Richard  K.  Fenn 

Beverly  Roberts  Gaventa 

L.  Gordon  Graham 

Nancy  Lammers  Gross 

Darrell  L.  Guder 

Geddes  W.  Hanson 

Deborah  van  Deusen  Hunsinger 

George  Hunsinger 

Jeremy  M.  Hutton 

W.  Stacy  Johnson 

James  F.  Kay 

Jacqueline  E.  Fapsley 

Cleophus  J.  EaRue 

Bo  Karen  Lee 

Eunny  Patricia  Lee 

Sang  Hyun  Lee 

Bruce  L.  McCormack 

Elsie  Anne  McKee 


Emeriti/ae 

Thomas  W.  Gillespie 
Scott  H.  Hendrix 
James  N.  Lapsley  Jr. 
Conrad  H.  Massa 
Ulrich  W.  Mauser 
Paul  W.  Meyer 
Patrick  D.  Miller 
Samuel  Hugh  Moffett 


Kathleen  E.  McVey 
Daniel  L.  Migliore 
Gordon  S.  Mikoski 
James  H.  Moorhead 
Dennis  T.  Olson 
Richard  R.  Osmer 
George  L.  Parsenios 
Yolanda  Pierce 
Luke  A.  Powery 
Paul  E.  Rorem 
Katherine  Doob  Sakenfeld 
Choon-Leong  Seow 
Mark  L.  Taylor 
Martin  Tel 

J.  Wentzel  van  Huysteen 
J.  Ross  Wagner 
Richard  Fox  Young 


Peter  J.  Paris 
Luis  N.  Rivera-Pagan 
J.  J.  M.  Roberts 
Charles  A.  Ryerson  III 
Max  L.  Stackhouse 
John  W.  Stewart 
Charles  C.  West 
E.  David  Willis 


/V 


Contents 


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Editor’s  Note 


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Lectures 


Stephen  D.  Crocco 


3  What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus:  The  Leavening 
Effect  of  Transnational  Mission  Partnerships 


Marian  McClure 


21  The  Bible  in  China:  Religion  of  God’s 
Chinese  Son 


Archie  Chi  Chung  Lee 


39  Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets:  The  Role  of 
Suffering  in  the  Quest  for  Social  Justice 

54  Reflections  on  Pluralism 


Peter  J.  Paris 
Oliver  O’ Donovan 


67  Whose  Text  Is  It? 


Katharine  Doob  Sakenfeld 


82  The  Folly  of  Secularism 


Jeffrey  L.  Stout 


Dedication  of  the  Marion  and  Wilhelm  Pauck 
Manuscript  Collection 

95  Historical  Theology  Done  in  the  Radical 

Liberal  Mode:  The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck  Hans  J.  Hillerbrand 


Essay 

107  Biblical  Theology  Revisited:  An  Internal  Debate  C.  Clifton  Black 

Book  Excerpt 

130  The  Theology  of  John  Calvin  Charles  Partee 


V 


Sermon 


162  In-Between  Places  Janice  Smith  Ammon 

History 

1 66  A  Skirmish  in  the  Early  Reception  of 

Karl  Barth  in  Scotland:  The  Exchange 
between  Thomas  F.  Torrance  and 

Brand  Blanchard  Iain  R.  and  Morag  Torrance 

1 8 1  Faculty  Publications  2007 
©  2008  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 

The  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  is  published  twice  a  year  by  Princeton  Theological 
Seminary,  Princeton,  New  Jersey. 

Each  issue  is  mailed  free  of  charge  to  all  alumni/ae  and,  by  agreement,  to  various  institu¬ 
tions.  Back  issues  are  available  online  at:  www.ptsem.edu/seminarybulletin/. 

All  correspondence  should  be  addressed  to  Stephen  D.  Crocco,  Editor,  Princeton  Seminary 
Bulletin,  P.O.  Box  821,  Princeton,  NJ  08542-0803;  email:  seminary.bulletin@ptsem.edu. 

The  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  publishes  lectures  and  sermons  by  Princeton  Theological 
Seminary  faculty  and  administrators  and  presentations  by  guests  on  the  Seminary  campus. 
Therefore,  we  do  not  accept  unsolicited  material. 

This  periodical  is  indexed  in  the  ATLA  Religion  Database,  published  by  the  American 
Theological  Library  Association,  250  S.  Wacker  Dr.,  16th  Fir.,  Chicago,  IL  60606; 
email:  atla@atla.com;  Internet:  http://www.atla/com/;  ISSN:  1937-8386; 

ISBN:  978-0-9644891-2-7. 

Cover  photo  by  Beckey  White  Newgren. 


VI 


Editor’s  Note 


-/ifter  a  long  hiatus,  the  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  is  coming  back  to  life, 
though  with  a  different  format.  Faithful  readers  will  recall  that  the  last  issue  of 
the  Bulletin  was  November  2007.  In  the  months  leading  up  to  and  following 
2007,  when  the  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  reached  its  100-year  anniversary, 
the  Seminary  did  a  lot  of  soul  searching  about  the  future  of  the  journal.  The  first 
question  on  everyone’s  mind  was  whether  the  Bulletin  should  continue.  One 
hundred  years  is  a  good  long  run,  and  nothing  lasts  forever.  The  second  question 
was,  if  it  were  to  continue,  should  it  continue  in  a  paper  format?  I  know  some 
of  you  expected  me  to  announce  that  the  Bulletin  would  become  an  exclusively 
electronic  journal.  For  now,  the  Bulletin  will  be  published  in  electronic  format, 
with  the  option  to  purchase  a  hard  copy. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  I  am  delighted  that  the  2008  issue  of  the  Bulletin — 
single  volume — is  now  being  published  electronically  and  with  a  paper  option. 
The  electronic  copy  will  be  freely  accessible.  It  will  be  prepared  in  a  PDF  format 
so  that  it  can  be  printed.  Readers  who  prefer  a  bound  journal  volume  can  order 
one  and  do  so  at  a  very  reasonable  price.  Details  for  ordering  will  be  available 
through  the  online  version.  The  2009  volume  will  soon  be  available  and  the 
2010  volume  is  under  preparation.  We  hope  that  this  electronic  edition  will 
increase  access  to  the  Bulletin,  while  the  paper  option  will  serve  readers  and 
institutions  that  prefer  a  paper  format.  Regardless  of  format,  the  quality  of  the 
materials  in  the  Bulletin  remains  high. 

Not  only  does  the  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  have  a  new  format,  it  also  has 
a  new  cover  and  schedule.  Each  year  there  will  be  one  issue  of  approximately 
200-300  pages.  The  Bulletin  will  continue  to  serve  as  the  Seminary’s  “journal 
of  record,”  with  its  primary  purpose  being  to  document  the  intellectual  life  of 
the  Seminary  by  publishing  the  lectures,  addresses,  and  sermons  delivered  on 
campus.  However,  that  purpose  is  being  broadened  to  include  occasional  special 
features  originating  a  little  farther  beyond  the  usual  Seminary  orbit. 


DOI:  10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.1 


I 


Editor ’s  Note 


This  issue,  for  example,  includes  an  excerpt  from  a  new  book  on  John  Calvin 
by  Pittsburgh  Theological  Seminary  Professor  Charles  Partee,  who  earned  his 
Ph.D.  at  Princeton  Seminary  in  1971.  Partee’s  book  is  the  fruit  of  his  lifelong 
labors  on  John  Calvin,  and  I  am  including  an  excerpt  here  to  celebrate  in  2009 
the  500th  anniversary  of  Calvin’s  birth.  This  issue  also  includes  an  address  by 
Professor  Jeffrey  Stout  of  the  Department  of  Religion  at  Princeton  University.  In 
2007,  Stout,  a  longtime  friend  of  the  Seminary,  delivered  the  presidential  address 
at  the  American  Academy  of  Religion  meeting  in  San  Diego.  An  hour  before 
Stout  gave  his  address,  and  just  down  the  hall,  in  the  San  Diego  Convention 
Center,  Professor  Katharine  Sakenfeld  gave  the  presidential  address  at  the 
Society  of  Biblical  Literature.  Delivered  together  and  now  published  together, 
these  addresses  mark  a  proud  moment  for  Princeton. 

This  issue  of  the  Bulletin  contains  the  usual  rich  fare  of  addresses,  lectures,  and 
sermons.  Two  things  deserve  special  comment.  The  first  is  the  address  by  Hans 
J.  Hillerbrand  commemorating  the  dedication  of  the  papers  of  Wilhelm  and  Mar¬ 
ion  Pauck.  Historians  and  theologians  will  recognize  the  Pauck  name.  A  leading 
Reformation  church  historian  in  the  liberal  tradition,  Pauck  spent  his  career  at 
Union  Theological  Seminary  in  New  York,  the  University  of  Chicago,  Vander¬ 
bilt  Divinity  School,  and  Stanford  University.  How  did  the  Pauck  papers  end  up 
at  Princeton  Seminary?  A  few  years  ago,  when  Marion  Pauck  was  using  our  Paul 
Lehmann  collection,  she  met  the  Special  Collections  staff  and  had  the  chance 
to  see  our  facilities  for  processing,  preserving,  and  storing  manuscript  collec¬ 
tions.  She  was  impressed  and  made  provisions  for  the  papers  to  be  transferred  to 
Princeton.  Wilhelm  and  Marion  may  be  best  known  for  their  biography  of  Paul 
Tillich.  But  as  you  might  recall,  they  published  only  volume  one  of  that  biog¬ 
raphy.  The  material  for  the  second  volume — notes,  drafts,  interviews,  etc. — is  in 
the  Pauck  papers  now  awaiting  examination  by  researchers. 

The  second  piece  deserving  special  comment  is  a  spirited  exchange  between  phi¬ 
losopher  Brand  Blanshard  and  theologian  Thomas  F.  Torrance  on  the  reception 
of  Karl  Barth  in  Scotland.  This  exchange,  from  the  early  1950s,  shows  a  high- 
level  academic  debate  cast  in  the  form  of  letters  to  the  editor  of  The  Scotsman  in 
Edinburgh.  Morag  and  Iain  Torrance  edited  the  letters. 

As  always,  I  welcome  your  responses,  concerns,  and  suggestions. 

Stephen  D.  Crocco 
Editor 


2 


Lectures 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus: 

The  Leavening  Effect  of  Transnational 
Mission  Partnerships 

by  Marian  McClure 


Dr.  Marian  McClure  gave  this  Frederick  Neumann  Memorial  Lecture  at  Princeton 
Theological  Seminary  on  February  11,  2008.  Dr.  McClure  served  as  director  of 
the  Worldwide  Ministries  Division  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  (USA)  from  1997 
through  2006.  She  holds  a  doctorate  in  political  science  from  Harvard  University 
and  has  written  for  various  publications,  including  a  foreword for 
A  History  of  Presbyterian  Missions:  1944-2004,  by  Scott  Sunquist  and  Caroline 
N.  Becker  (2008). 

^e„  he  stepped  up  to  speak  at  the  1910  World  Missionary  Conference  in 
Edinburgh,  Scotland,  nearly  1 00  years  ago,  the  man  who  would  later  become  the 
first  Anglican  bishop  from  India  looked  out  at  a  room  filled  with  1,200  delegates. 
As  he  scanned  their  faces,  Vedanayagam  Samuel  Azariah  could  not  help  but 
note  that  he  was  one  of  only  seventeen  delegates  of  color  in  Edinburgh  for  the 
historic  mission  conference  he  was  about  to  address.  Judging  from  the  speech  he 
gave,  he  must  have  been  asking  himself  how  he  could  move  the  senders  of  mis¬ 
sionaries  to  improve  the  modes  of  cooperation  with  Christians  in  each  mission 
location,  especially  in  the  context  of  colonialism.  And  he  probably  also  won¬ 
dered  how  he  could  convey  the  conviction  that  would  later  put  him  at  odds  with 
Mahatma  Gandhi — the  conviction  that  the  transnational  church  of  Jesus  Christ  is 
more  powerful  and  effective  for  good  than  is  nationalism. 

Given  this  unique  opportunity  to  communicate  with  the  influential  assembly, 
the  bishop  chose  to  deliver  a  speech  titled  “The  Problem  of  Co-operation 
between  Foreign  and  Native  Workers.”  In  his  words,  “Co-operation  is  assured 
when  the  personal,  official  and  spiritual  relationships  are  right,  and  is  hindered 
when  these  relationships  are  wrong.”  His  speech  explained  that  personal 
relationships  are  right  when  modeled  on  Jesus  being  a  friend  to  his  disciples, 

DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29.1 .3 


3 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


coming  alongside  them.  He  said  official  relationships  are  right  when  one  party 
is  neither  paymaster  nor  employer  to  the  other  and  instead  shows  joy  when  one 
party  decreases  so  that  the  other  can  increase.  And  he  said  that  spiritual  relation¬ 
ships  are  right  when  the  foreign  workers  cultivate  the  forms  of  spirituality  that 
are  natural  in  a  place,  which  in  the  case  of  India  was  mysticism.  Concluding  with 
now  famous  words,  he  said,  “You  have  given  your  goods  to  feed  the  poor.  You 
have  given  your  bodies  to  be  burned.  We  also  ask  for  love.  Give  us  friends!”' 

Almost  a  century  has  passed.  At  the  centenary  celebration,  “Edinburgh  2010,” 
speakers  will  look  out  at  a  very  different  crowd  of  delegates.  Instead  of  a  gather¬ 
ing  of  Protestants  only,  they  will  see  Protestant,  Catholic,  Orthodox,  and  Pente¬ 
costal  Christians.  Instead  of  a  small,  hand-picked  group  of  people  representing 
churches  in  the  early  stages  of  their  establishment  by  mission  efforts  from  the 
West,  speakers  will  note  that  at  least  half  the  delegates  are  from  areas  other  than 
Western  Europe  and  North  America,  and  they  will  see  people  from  churches 
founded  by  Christians  from  the  global  South. 

For  all  the  dramatic  changes  in  the  course  of  a  century,  the  importance  of  this 
topic  of  cooperation,  of  giving  friends,  of  right  relationships  in  mission,  remains 
central  for  us  and  demands  both  a  review  and  a  look  forward.  The  topic’s  rel¬ 
evance  endures  for  a  number  of  reasons. 

Theologically,  we  confess  that  in  Christ,  God  brings  all  people  and  all  creation  into 
right  relationships,  into  reconciliation.  The  Church  in  mission  serves  as  an  exemplar 
of  such  relationships.  The  sent-ness  of  the  church  into  the  whole  world  makes  the 
challenge  of  being  exemplars  of  right  relationship  extremely  dynamic  and  challeng¬ 
ing.  Change  for  all  parties  is  the  norm,  not  the  exception.  This  dynamism  is  captured 
dramatically  and  concisely  in  Jesus’s  parable  in  Matthew  13:33:  “The  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  like  yeast  that  a  woman  took  and  mixed  in  with  three  measures  of  flour 
until  all  of  it  was  leavened.”  There  is  an  inescapable  link  between  the  results  of 
God’s  reign  at  one  level,  the  level  of  the  loaf,  and  the  chemistry,  so  to  speak,  of  what 
is  in  the  individual’s  heart  and  relationships.  That  is  why  the  grand  and  cosmic  vision 
of  the  church’s  place  in  salvation  history  in  the  first  chapters  of  Ephesians  ends  with 
a  prayer  for  specific  individuals  to  be  “rooted  and  grounded”  in  the  love  of  Christ. 

The  continuing  theological  relevance  of  Bishop  Azariah’s  focus  on  relationships 
in  mission  is  joined  by  the  continuing  context  of  unequal  distribution  of  power 
and  wealth.  In  1910  colonialism  was  deeply  entrenched  and  colonial  rulers 


'  Michael  Kinnamon  and  Brian  E.  Cope,  eds.,  The  Ecumenical  Movement:  An  Anthology  of 
Key  Texts  and  Voices  (Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  1997),  327-30. 


4 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


seemed  all-powerful.  Sporadic  resistance  to  oppression  had  not  yet  become 
massive  movements  for  liberation.  The  geopolitics  of  planet  Earth  has  changed 
since  1910,  but  today  we  face  what  most  experts  agree  is  an  even  greater  mal¬ 
distribution  of  resources  and  power. 

To  speak  of  love  and  friendship  across  the  sharply  drawn  lines  of  power  and 
wealth  was  and  is  remarkable.  After  all,  friendship  is  rare  in  part  because  it  is 
undermined  by  differences  of  social  status  and  complicated  by  differences  of 
language.  And  yet.  Bishop  Azariah’s  assertion  about  right  relationships,  his 
vision  of  global  church  friendships,  assumes  the  existence  of  significant  social 
and  cultural  differences.  He  was  talking  to  people  who  had  greater  means  at  their 
disposal  and  was  telling  them  how  to  have  friendship  in  situations  of  inequal¬ 
ity.  His  view  of  how  to  be  friends  in  Jesus  is  a  concise  and  practical  summary 
of  biblical  marks  of  friendship,  with  especially  deep  echoes  in  the  Gospel  of 
John — “come  alongside,”  “build  up  even  when  that  involves  self-sacrifice,”  and 
“be  changed  by  the  other”  as  one  enters  into  the  other’s  spirituality.  ^ 

As  theologically  apt  as  it  was  for  the  bishop  to  focus  on  right  relationships  in 
transnational  mission,  and  as  visionary  as  it  was  for  him  to  call  for  such  relation¬ 
ships  to  abound  even  in  a  context  of  significant  worldly  differences,  what  strikes 
me  as  most  unusual  is  the  notion  that  his  audience  could  “give  friends.”  Note 
that  he  did  not  say  “send  friends.”  He  assumed  the  function  of  sending,  but  he 
saw  something  larger  than  that.  Perhaps  he  saw  that  there  is  little  that  is  random 
about  who  knows  whom  in  this  world.  There  are  systems  at  work  that  generate 
and  shape  the  opportunities  people  have  to  get  acquainted  and  form  bonds  of 
friendship,  and  he  was  talking  to  some  of  the  people  in  charge  of  those  systems. 

I  have  been  privileged  to  be  such  a  person.  As  I  survey  the  literature  on  mission,  I 
find  that  it  looks  closely  at  what  happens  when  people  encounter  each  other  and  the 
gospel  message  across  every  sort  of  boundary  humans  can  invent.  But  the  literature 
seems  to  give  little  attention  to  the  systems  in  place  for  generating  those  encoun¬ 
ters  and  guiding  their  content  and  longevity.  In  searching  the  titles  of  nearly  6,000 
mission-related  doctoral  dissertations,  I  found  only  two  dozen  that  contained  related 
key  words  such  as  “fiiendship,”  “partnership,”  and  “relationship”  in  the  senses  that  I 
am  exploring  them  here.  There  are,  nevertheless,  people  who  dedicate  their  voca¬ 
tional  lives  to  “giving  fiiends”  for  the  life  of  the  church,  and  I  will  describe  them  and 
the  large  structures  that  help  them  practice  their  very  influential  vocation. 


^  See  especially  John  3:28-30  and  John  15:12-17. 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


There  is  no  better  time  than  now,  in  this  era  of  globalization  and  conflict  along 
religious  or  “civilization”  lines,  to  assess  the  art  and  craft  of  giving  friends.  A 
short  list  of  what  is  at  stake  in  this  matter  of  systems  for  giving  friends  would 
include  how  millions  of  people  come  to  terms  with  the  otherness  of  fellow 
human  beings,  what  it  means  in  practice  to  act  like  one  body  as  Christians, 
how  people  receive  and  filter  news  of  world  events,  and  whether  the  fault  lines 
between  religions  and  cultures  are  reinforced  or  bridged. 


Systems  for  Giving  Friends 

Today,  there  are  three  principal  models  for  generating  the  opportunities  to  form 
transnational  Christian  fi'iendships.  These  three  models  are  so  influential  that 
they  shape  the  destinations,  purposes,  and  longevity  of  mission  involvements  of 
individuals  who  are  not  even  aware  of  them. 


The  Nomadic  Model 

Some  people,  perhaps  an  increasing  number,  place  themselves  somewhere  of 
their  own  choosing  and  pursue  their  call  to  mission.  They  do  not  wait  for  an 
agency  to  send  them  or  for  a  certain  amount  of  money  to  be  raised.  They  may 
become  tentmakers  or  entrepreneurs,  but  they  seek  to  live  the  gospel  in  one 
place,  or  in  multiple  places,  where  they  feel  the  Spirit  wishes  them  to  be.  Samuel 
Escobar  described  this  phenomenon  in  1 994  in  relation  to  the  larger  debate  about 
the  new  world  order  and  with  some  hope  that  this  pattern  of  self-placement 
would  prove  to  be  one  of  the  ways  evangelicals  would  continue  turning  away 
from  imperial  modes  of  mission.^ 

The  Mapping  Model 

This  large-scale  system  for  forming  transnational  relationships  works  by  efforts 
based  on  lists  and  maps  and  involves  a  belief  that  to  reach  unreached  people,  one 
must  find  and  pass  through  previously  unknown  doors  and  windows.  This  model 
is  mostly  associated  with  the  “frontier  mission”  movement.  Those  using  this 
system  to  mobilize  and  place  persons  in  mission,  to  cultivate  relationships,  and 
to  translate  the  Bible  follow  a  pattern  based  on  lists  of  people  in  groups  who  lack 
self-sustaining  and  self-propagating  Christian  communities.  Strategist  Luis  Bush 
coined  the  expression  “10/40  window”  to  describe  that  portion  of  the  world  map 


^  Samuel  Escobar,  “Missions’  New  World  Order,”  Christianity  Todav  38;  13  (November  14,  1994): 
48-52. 


6 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


where  most  of  the  “least  evangelized”  people  live  today  and  where  followers  of 
this  system  are  most  likely  to  concentrate  their  efforts/ 


The  Family  Model 

What  I  will  call  the  “family  model”  accepts,  for  the  most  part,  the  relationships  that 
each  denomination  has  inherited  from  its  church’s  mission  history  and  nurtures 
those  relationships  out  of  a  sense  of  familylike  relatedness  and  permanent  commit¬ 
ment.  New  and  additional  relationships  are  forged,  including  for  frontier  mission 
work,  usually  in  concert  with  members  of  the  central  family.  The  family  model  for 
transnational  church  relationships  was  embraced  with  special  conviction  by  mainline 
Protestant  denominations  during  the  decolonization  era  after  World  War  II.  Earlier 
mission  workers  sent  by  these  denominations  had  formed  relationships  and  fostered 
the  development  of  denominations,  ecumenical  ministries,  and  councils  of  churches. 

It  was  believed  that  these  relationships  could  be  both  the  source  and  the  venue  for 
what  God  wanted  to  do  with  the  parties  involved  for  many  years  to  come.  It  was 
believed — and  this  was  influenced  by  the  values  of  the  cultures  in  which  West¬ 
ern  missionaries  had  worked — that  our  relational  commitment  was  covenantal, 
including  the  traits  of  being  open-ended  and  encompassing  descendants.  At  its 
best  this  model  holds  what  Christian  ethicist  Gilbert  Meilaender  calls  the  tension 
between  philia  and  agape,  that  is,  between  preferential  relationships  and  faithful 
permanent  relationships.^  This  patient  holding  enlarges  the  “school  for  love,”  to 
borrow  one  of  Calvin’s  memorable  descriptions  of  the  church,  as  Christ’s  dis¬ 
ciples  everywhere  learn  to  be  part  of  the  ultimate  community  God  is  creating. 

Describing  the  Family  Model.  I  focus  on  the  family  model  because  it  is  the  one  I 
am  most  familiar  with,  and  it  is  the  ecosystem  of  transnational  relations  in  which 
Princeton  Seminary  mainly  lives.  Another  reason  to  fully  describe  it,  tell  some  sto¬ 
ries  about  it,  and  then  make  some  remarks  about  its  future  is  that  this  family  model 
of  transnational  church  relations  concentrates  enormous  energy  and  resources  on 
“giving  friends.”  To  understand  the  scope  and  impact  of  this  model  of  relating  is  to 
assess  one  of  the  major  responses  given  to  Bishop  Azariah  by  the  descendents  of 
the  delegates  present  at  the  mission  conference  in  Edinburgh  in  1910. 


“  According  to  the  AD  2000  and  Beyond  Movement’s  Web  site,  Luis  Bush  pinpointed  the  need 
for  a  major  focus  of  evangelism  in  the  “10/40  Window,”  a  phrase  he  coined  in  his  presentation 
at  the  Lausanne  II  Conference  in  Manila  in  July  1989  (http://www.ad2000.org/histover.htm; 
accessed  July  1,  2008). 

^  Gilbert  Meilaender,  “Friendship  and  Fidelity,”  in  From  Christ  to  the  World:  Introductory 
Readings  in  Christian  Ethics,  ed.  Wayne  G.  Boulton,  Thomas  D.  Kennedy,  and  Allen  Verhey 
(Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  1994),  269. 


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The  mainline  churches’  focus  on  long-term  partnering  relationships  in  mission 
has  roots  in  the  nineteenth  century  but  experienced  a  milestone  at  the  1947 
conference  of  the  International  Missionary  Council.  It  was  there  that  the  expres¬ 
sion  “partnership  in  obedience”  took  hold  and  distinctions  between  older  and 
younger  churches  were  successfully  challenged  on  theological  grounds.  During 
the  ensuing  geopolitical  period  of  decolonization,  the  language  and  philosophy 
of  “partnership”  and  “accompaniment”  were  elaborated  in  mission  circles.  For 
some,  partnership  is  like  a  marriage.  For  some,  accompaniment  is  more  like 
an  acceptance  that  in  God’s  providence,  we  two  are  on  the  same  road  together 
as  the  disciples  were  on  the  road  to  Emmaus.  Both  philosophies  are  within  the 
family  model  because  of  a  de  facto  and  long-term  commitment  to  a  known  set  of 
transnational  relationships.  New  relationships  are  forged  only  at  a  pace  befitting 
people  who  make  a  long-term  commitment  to  one  another. 

In  this  context  of  choosing  to  be  faithful  in  friendship  with  a  given  set  of 
churches  around  the  world,  mainline  denominations  have  developed  systems 
and  practices  that  do  a  great  deal  to  “give  friends.”  In  addition  to  literally 
sending  and  receiving  people,  giving  friends  can  also  include  mobilizing 
prayer,  correspondence,  advocacy,  study,  solidarity,  and  hospitality.  To  “give 
friends”  to  a  church  in  another  part  of  the  world  is  to  build  an  array  of  rela¬ 
tionships  that  lead  to  many  kinds  of  activities.®  The  theology  and  practice  of 
right  relationships  in  mission  are  subjected  to  trenchant  review  and  improve¬ 
ment  by  scholars  such  as  the  PC  (USA)’s  Sherron  K.  George  and  Philip  L. 
Wickeri,  and  are  the  subject  of  denominational  policy  statements  such  as 
Presbyterians  Do  Mission  in  Partner  ship. ’’ 

Area  Specialists.  A  pivotal  but  almost  wholly  unstudied  part  of  the  system  for 
giving  friends  grew  mainly  out  of  the  need  to  change  the  way  missionaries 
related  to  the  churches  that  had  become  partner  churches.  Missions  in  various 
countries  and  regions  had  had  their  own  leaders,  usually  chosen  from  among 
mission  workers,  and  their  own  practices  for  relating  to  the  “native  workers,” 
which  is  to  say,  the  Christians  in  each  place  with  whom  the  missionaries  were 
working.  To  acknowledge  the  new  status  as  a  fellow  denomination,  it  became 
important  that  leaders  of  the  church  in  each  place  relate  directly  to  the  leaders 
of  the  sister  churches  and  not  Just  through  their  missionaries.  This  development 


®  Indeed,  in  the  early  1970s,  when  it  appeared  to  many  in  the  U.S.  churches  that  the  day  of 
sending  missionaries  might  be  coming  to  an  end.  there  arose  new  forms  of  missionary'  life  that 
focused  precisely  on  transnational  befriending,  an  excellent  example  of  which  is  the  association 
called  “Bi-National  Service.” 

^  Presbyterians  Do  Mission  in  Partnership  (Louisville;  Ecumenical  Partnership,  Worldwide 
Ministries  Division,  2001). 


8 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


meant  that  denominational  headquarters  needed  regional  or  area  specialists  for 
relating  to  this  plethora  of  churches. 

Variously  termed  “area  directors,”  “regional  leaders,”  “church  relationship  spe¬ 
cialists,”  and  so  on,  these  multilingual  and  seasoned  church  statespersons  have 
in  common  that  they  advise  and  shape  most  of  the  denominational  processes 
that  turn  tens  of  millions  of  Americans  toward  specific  Christian  friends  around 
the  world  for  news,  perspectives,  and  cooperation.  The  result  has  a  significant 
impact  on  the  voice  for  advocacy  presented  by  U.S.  denominations,  the  flow  of 
people  and  resources,  and  at  the  level  of  members,  the  opportunities  for  spiritual 
transformation  as  part  of  the  leavening  action  of  God  in  the  world. 

In  my  own  partial  survey  of  Protestant  denominations  and  conventions,  I  found  five 
regional  experts  serving  the  combined  offices  of  the  Christian  Church  (Disciples  of 
Christ)  and  the  United  Church  of  Christ,  five  with  the  Mennonite  Mission  Network, 
seven  in  the  Evangelical  Lutheran  Church  in  America,  four  with  the  Reformed 
Church  in  America,  and  six  with  the  PC  (USA).  There  are  eleven  “regional  lead¬ 
ers”  serving  the  Southern  Baptist  Convention’s  International  Mission  Board  today. 
Even  in  the  denominations  that  function  like  global  churches  instead  of  national 
churches,  one  finds  specialists  in  church  relations  who  have  regional  assign¬ 
ments — seven  of  them,  in  the  case  of  the  United  Methodist  Church,  for  example.* 

In  all  cases,  the  regional  specialists  are  expected  to  help  members  of  their 
denominations  or  constituencies  relate  to  the  Christian  partners  in  each  region. 

In  addition,  most  of  these  church  offices  have  at  least  one  person  who  is  a 
partnering  consultant  to  help  the  grassroots  of  the  church  form  good  mission 
partnerships  and  promote  formal  programs  designed  to  foster  mission  partner¬ 
ship  relationships  among  the  segments  of  each  partnering  denomination. 

The  most  recent  component  developed  to  foster  partnerships  with  old  friends, 
at  least  in  the  PC  (USA),  is  called  “mission  networks.”  These  new  networks 
provide  individuals,  congregations,  and  regional  units  a  mechanism  for  com¬ 
ing  together  around  the  same  partners,  and  they  are  therefore  often  focused  on 
a  particular  country.  Because  of  the  repeated  downsizings  of  central  offices,  the 
denominational  staff  members  who  helped  form  these  networks  attempted  to 
ensure  that  long-standing  partnership  relations  would  continue  to  flourish  even  if 
the  staff  who  nurtured  them  were  no  longer  employed. 


*  The  UMC’s  decision  to  be  a  global  church  rather  than  a  national  church  affects  its  staffing 
for  regions  to  some  extent,  and  the  UMC  “Mission  Contexts  and  Relationships”  team  includes 
more  functions  than  providing  area  expertise  for  mission  collaboration. 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Indeed,  the  dedication  of  the  partnership  specialists  comes  in  part  from  their  being 
convinced  that  these  relationships  are  crucial  parts  of  what  Princeton  Seminary 
Dean  Darrell  Guder  calls  “the  continuing  conversion  of  the  church.”  It  is  signifi¬ 
cant  that  Guder’s  book  on  that  subject  cites  the  impact  of  ecumenical  work  trips 
as  one  of  his  own  early  experiences  of  a  congregation  undergoing  “conversion.”^ 

To  understand  the  scope  and  scale  of  the  impact  for  fi’iends  around  the  world 
represented  by  denominations’  retention  of  partnering  specialists,  it  would  be  a 
mistake  to  look  at  the  budgets  of  their  offices.  For  the  most  part  these  people  are 
brokers  and  persuaders,  not  grant  makers  or  deciders. A  list  of  some  of  their 
principal  functions  in  the  family  system  of  giving  friends  must  at  least  include 
the  following: 

•  Placing  mission  workers  who  are  sent.  Today,  the  majority  of  full-time  and 
long-term  mission  workers  sent  by  mainline  churches  are  seconded  at  the 
request  of  long-standing  mission  partners  or  sent  to  places  and  ministries 
agreed  upon  by  those  partners,  and  area  experts  are  active  in  these  conver¬ 
sations.  So  in  truth,  mission  workers  are  potential  new  friends  sent  by  or 
because  of  old  friends.  They  have  a  special  role  to  play  in  incarnating  the 
larger  relationship,  and  that  is  why  the  best  literature  on  friendship  in  mission 
emanates  typically  from  them.'^  But  at  the  system  level,  the  family  model’s 
impact  is  that  everyone  who  turns  to  mission  workers  for  expertise,  for  prayer 
concerns,  for  devotional  literature,  and  for  mission  interpretation  work  is 
hearing  fi-om  someone  whose  life  is  profoundly  shaped  by  a  long-standing 
member  of  a  particular  transnational  family  of  churches.  Increasingly,  mis¬ 
sion  workers  from  the  United  States  are  valued  as  much  for  being  vectors  (or 
“synapses”)  of  relationships  and  partnerships  as  for  being  professionals  in 
their  own  right,  providing  teaching,  healing,  and  other  services.'^ 


®  Darrell  L.  Guder,  The  Continuing  Conversion  of  the  Church  (Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans.  2000), 
201. 

Many  other  staff  supplement  (and  sometimes  challenge)  the  expertise  of  the  area  specialists. 
In  a  2006  survey  to  which  fifty  of  eighty-three  PC  (USA)  Worldwide  Ministries  Division  staff 
responded,  it  was  revealed  that  collectively  these  fifty  worked  in  twenty -three  languages,  had 
lived  395  years  in  countries  other  than  the  U.S.,  had  served  124.5  years  under  PC  (USA) 
mission  appointments,  and  had  worked  for  the  PC  (USA)  704.5  years. 

”  Notably,  see  Philip  L.  Wickeri,  “Friends  along  the  Way:  Spirituality,  Human  Relationships 
and  Christian  Mission,”  Theology  XCIII:752  (March/April  1990):  101-8;  and  Philip  L. 
Wickeri,  “Friends  along  the  Way:  Attachment,  Separation  and  the  Way  Forward,”  Theology 
XCII1:753  (March/April  1990):  179-90. 

Karla  Koll  uses  the  cognition-related  term  “synapse”  in  relation  to  mission  workers,  building 
on  work  by  Sharon  Erickson  Nepstad.  in  Karla  Ann  Koll.  “Struggling  for  Solidarity':  Changing 
Mission  Relationships  between  the  Presbyterian  Church  (USA)  and  Christian  Organizations  in 
Central  America  during  the  1980s,”  Ph.D.  diss.,  Princeton  Theological  Seminarv',  2003,  2. 


10 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


•  Requesting  mission  workers  to  be  received.  A  small  but  growing  function  of 
partnerships  is  to  recruit  pastors  and  new  church  development  specialists  to 
come  to  the  United  States.  Such  requests  often  are  conveyed  by  area  special¬ 
ists  to  a  denominational  partner  in  another  country,  who  then  may  actually 
select,  send,  and  even  supervise  these  missionaries  to  the  United  States. 

•  Vetting  grant  proposals.  Denominational  programs  and  women’s  organiza¬ 
tions  in  the  church  often  use  the  tool  of  grants  to  support  scholarships,  fight 
hunger,  collaborate  in  evangelism,  and  so  on,  and  this  kind  of  support  adds  up 
to  scores  of  millions  of  dollars  annually.  Typically,  regional  experts  are  given 
an  opportunity  to  comment  on  proposed  uses  of  those  dollars. 

•  Resourcing  denominational  advocacy.  Whenever  a  denomination  speaks  out 
on  an  issue  that  affects  members  of  its  transnational  family,  often  in  response 
to  a  request  originating  with  one  partner  church  friend,  an  area  expert’s  input 
is  part  of  the  process. 

•  Planning  trips  for  leaders  and  press.  When  denominational  executives,  elected 
officials,  and  church-related  journalists  travel,  their  itinerary  is  developed  by 
or  in  coordination  with  the  area  experts.  Stories  from  these  trips  are  therefore 
stories  affected  by  long-standing  friends. 

•  Shaping  Web  sites.  Web  sites  have  become  a  powerful  tool  for  people  seeking 
to  connect  in  mission  partnership.  Denominations  interested  in  giving  friends 
in  the  family  mode  have  responded  by  designing  their  sites  so  that  people  can 
easily  find  and  support  long-standing  partners. 

In  summary,  in  the  service  of  friendship  and  cooperation  with  brothers  and 
sisters  in  Christ  who  have  become  family  in  a  practical  sense,  an  intentional 
ecosystem  for  “giving  friends”  has  grown  up  in  denominations,  encompassing 
an  impressive  array  of  tools.  These  tools  move  attention,  hearts,  people,  and 
funds  toward  specific  relationships.  They  also  give  vitality  to  the  large  ecumeni¬ 
cal  family  aggregations  such  as  the  World  Alliance  of  Reformed  Churches,  the 
Lutheran  World  Federation,  and  others. 

God’s  Leavening  Work  through 
Committed  Friendships 

With  all  of  this  investment  in  long-standing  relationships,  we  must  ask  the  “so 
what?”  question.  Where  are  the  ethics  of  Christian  friendship  most  embodied 
in  transnational  relationships  and  serving  as  yeast  to  transform  the  world  in  the 
powerful  way  of  God  in  Christ? 


11 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Those  of  us  who  have  a  strong  Calvinist  streak  in  us  know  without  being  told 
that  human  depravity  has  pockmarked  these  friendships  in  a  thousand  ways. 
Mission  partnership  relationships  have  been  the  subject  of  many  critiques.  Often 
they  are  said  to  focus  too  much  on  the  projects  and  needs  of  those  with  money 
and  power  and  too  little  on  mutual  relationships  and  building  up  of  those  with 
less  money  and  power. 

But  the  persistence  of  the  family  system  of  committed  friendships  and  mission 
partnering  is  about  much  more  than  needs  and  resources  meeting  each  other  in 
some  sort  of  marketplace.  Mutual  transformation  and  world  transformation  are 
both  to  be  found  in  the  true  Christian  friendship  and  companionship  fostered 
by  this  intentional  ecosystem.  I’ve  chosen  just  a  few  illustrations  from  the  large 
number  at  hand.  A  committed  friendship  is  the  key  factor  in  each  story. 


The  Starter  Dough  Returns 

Let  me  start  with  an  example  that  shows  the  long  reach  of  the  family  model 
precisely  because  it  shows  a  largely  unintended  effect  of  that  model.  Among 
the  many  yeasting  influences  of  mission  due  to  intentionally  sustained  mission 
friendships  is  the  impact  on  how  U.S.  congregations  deal  with  migration  into 
their  communities.  Like  the  bread  called  friendship  bread,  for  which  starter 
dough  is  passed  around,  the  yeast  of  historical  mission  relationships  is  circu¬ 
lated  in  the  persons  of  migrants,  and  one  finds  congregations  welcoming  and 
sometimes  even  providing  a  “nest”  for  Christians  with  whom  they  have  learned 
to  feel  connected. 

A  recent  article  in  the  Louisville  Courier-Journal  caught  my  eye.  The  article 
describes  Crescent  Hill  Baptist  Church,  where  the  congregation  is  now  joined 
every  Sunday  by  about  100  refugees,  Karen  people  from  Myanmar  who  sought 
out  fellow  Baptists  when  they  arrived.  This  congregation  is  probably  only 
dimly  aware  that  in  distant  offices  generations  of  devoted  church  professionals 
very  intentionally  perpetuated  the  heritage  of  mission-related  friendships  that 
catalyzed  this  relationship  by  making  the  Crescent  Hill  Baptists  and  their  new 
Burmese  neighbors  feel  they  belonged  together.  Baptist  mission  communications 
have  kept  alive  the  story  of  Ann  and  Adoniram  Judson,  early  missionaries  to 
Burma,  evidence  of  which  is  the  fact  that  the  newspaper  article  cited  the  history 
of  the  Judsons. 

To  find  out  if  this  was  an  unusual  story,  I  researched  the  resettlement  of  refugees 
in  the  United  States.  Since  World  War  II,  nearly  3.5  million  refugees  have  been 
resettled  in  the  United  States  with  the  help  of  Catholic  and  Protestant  faith-based 


12 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


programs.  In  a  typical  year,  there  are  about  56,000  resettlements  of  this  kind. 

The  executive  of  one  of  Kentucky  Refugee  Ministries  estimates  that  congrega¬ 
tions  fully  sponsor  about  30  percent  of  these  refugees.  When  the  refugees  are 
Christian,  they  often  ask  for  a  congregation  that  belongs  to  the  refugee’s  defini¬ 
tion  of  a  transnational  religious  family.  Many  from  Southern  Sudan,  for  instance, 
want  Episcopalian  or  Presbyterian  help.  If  Kentucky’s  experience  is  typical,  then 
as  many  as  15,000  U.S.  congregations  are  sponsoring  a  refugee  each  year  and 
finding  the  way  eased  by  a  previously  developed  sense  of  family. 

At  the  close  of  the  article  about  the  Karen  people  at  Crescent  Hill  Baptist,  a  church 
member  is  quoted  as  saying  she  is  amazed  to  see  the  faith  of  the  Karen  despite 
the  traumas  they’ve  endured.  She  recalls  the  time  when  these  new  arrivals  led 
the  singing  of  “What  a  Friend  We  Have  in  Jesus,”  and  she  comments,  tellingly, 
“It  just  doesn’t  mean  the  same  thing  as  when  I  sing  it.”'^  Is  the  world  not  being 
leavened  when,  thanks  to  a  framework  and  tradition  of  friendships,  one  more 
person  begins  to  see  through  new  eyes  her  own  friendship  with  Jesus  Christ  and 
friendship  through  Christ  with  people  who  lead  very  different  lives?  Multiply 
this  experience  by  thousands,  and  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  reach  of  the  Family 
Model’s  world-changing  “leavening  effects.” 


Ingredients  Changing  Each  Other 

One  of  the  challenges  of  these  transnational  Christian  friendships  is  finding  the 
right  mix  of  perspectives  and  priorities.  Most  of  the  time,  it  is  best  to  give  the 
greater  weight  to  the  friends  in  whose  country  the  work  will  have  the  greater 
impact.  They  will  live  with  the  consequences  of  the  mission  cooperation.  And 
they  should  be  presumed  in  most  cases  to  have  the  greater  understanding;  that 
presumption  is  part  of  what  it  means  to  live  up  to  Bishop  Azariah’s  criteria  of 
coming  alongside,  building  up,  and  being  changed.  For  Americans  in  particular, 
given  our  culture  that  convinces  us  we  are  quick  studies  who  are  good  at  quick 
fixes,  it  is  best  to  adopt  the  spiritual  discipline  of  partnership  and  become  trans¬ 
formed  by  learning  to  respect  and  trust  people  in  other  places  regardless  of  how 
odd  their  timing  and  priorities  may  appear  to  be  to  us. 

An  example  of  this  kind  of  circumstance  can  be  found  in  the  wake  of  the 
nationalization  of  the  church-related  schools  in  Pakistan  in  1972.  Many  of 
these  church-sponsored  schools  belonged,  legally,  to  what  we  now  refer  to  as 
the  northern  stream  of  American  Presbyterians,  great  supporters  of  public  edu- 


Peter  Smith,  “Church  Opens  Hearts  to  Karen  Refugees,”  Courier- Journal,  December  31,  2007. 


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cation  and  inclined  to  see  nationalization  of  schools  as  a  sort  of  progress  for 
Pakistan.  The  public  sphere  appeared  to  be  taking  up  its  correct  responsibility 
for  education. 

But  from  the  perspective  of  our  long-standing  friends  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Pakistan,  the  nationalization  was  a  bad  development  that  had  to  be 
reversed.  For  them,  running  the  schools  themselves  provided  a  way  to  show 
the  Muslim  majority  that  Pakistani  Christians  are  good  citizens  providing  a 
service  to  the  nation.  For  them,  the  schools  were  a  place  where  Christians 
could  safely  say  their  own  prayers  instead  of  Muslim  prayers.  For  them,  the 
schools  were  a  place  where  they  were  safe  from  discrimination  in  educational 
and  employment  opportunities. 

They  fought  the  first  legal  battles  for  denationalization  on  their  own,  but  later, 
they  needed  their  U.S.  partner  to  insist  on  our  rights  to  the  school  properties 
under  a  treaty  protecting  American  properties  fi'om  confiscation.  This  request 
would  have  felt  large  and  uncomfortable  to  us  even  if  we  on  the  PC  (USA)  side 
had  perceived  our  Pakistani  partners  as  prepared  to  take  over  so  many  manage¬ 
ment  and  payroll  functions  at  once  and  even  if  we  hadn’t  seen  denationalization 
as,  possibly,  a  spark  in  the  gas-filled  chamber  of  rising  Islamic  extremism.  Only 
the  discipline  of  partnership  could  pull  us  beyond  our  concerns  to  use  our  power 
in  the  way  that  was  being  asked  of  us. 

There  were  many  factors  in  the  success  of  this  effort  to  denationalize.  But 
the  key  impact  of  the  bilateral  church-to-church  transnational  friendship 
between  the  Presbyterian  Church  (USA)  and  the  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Pakistan  is  undeniable.  One  should  not  idealize  that  relationship;  it  has  been 
troubled.  But  school  denationalization  was  a  virtually  unanimous  desire 
among  Pakistani  Christians,  and  the  PC  (USA)  cooperation  with  them  bore 
the  marks  of  accompanying,  self-risking,  and  mutual  transforming  that 
Bishop  Azariah  articulated  for  true  transnational  Christian  friendship  under 
conditions  of  stark  inequality. 

Today,  many  Christian  students  in  Pakistan  are  able  to  take  a  turn  in  lead¬ 
ing  classroom  prayers.  More  faculty  positions  are  held  by  Christians  than 
before,  perhaps  slowing  the  emigration  of  the  Christian  presence.  The 
schools  and  Forman  Christian  College  are  functioning  well  as  a  visible 
contribution  of  Pakistani  Christians  in  partnership  with  supportive  American 
Christians.  The  yeast  of  Christian  presence  and  ministry  remains  and  even 
grows  in  an  unlikely  place,  thanks  in  large  part  to  a  well-developed  system 
of  “giving  friends.” 


14 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


Keeping  the  Ingredients  Together  Long  Enough 

The  kind  of  “cooperation  between  foreign  and  native  workers”  to  which  Bishop 
Azariah  called  us  has  been  at  its  most  difficult  and  perhaps  most  Christ-like 
when  the  circumstances  have  involved  multiple  old  friends  who  are  in  con¬ 
flict  with  one  another.  One  of  the  more  striking  examples  involves  Taiwan  and 
China.  The  PC  (USA)’s  relationships  that  led  us  into  partnership  with  the  China 
Christian  Council,  in  the  People’s  Republic  of  China  (PRC),  are  very  long-lived. 
Decades  old  as  well,  but  not  quite  as  long-lived,  is  our  partnership  with  the  Pres¬ 
byterian  Church  of  Taiwan  (PCT).  These  two  partners  of  the  PC  (USA)  sharply 
disagree  with  each  other  on  the  question  of  the  political  status  of  Taiwan.  An 
important  element  of  that  tension  is  the  fact  that  Taiwanese  Presbyterians  are  not 
marginal  actors  in  the  debates  about  Taiwanese  political  status.  Officials  of  the 
PCT  have  been  in  the  forefront  of  the  human  rights  movement  in  Taiwan  and  in 
favor  of  formalizing  statehood  and  United  Nations  membership  for  Taiwan. 

The  creative  tension  in  partnership  relations  with  both  groups  is  especially 
acute  among  Christians  in  the  United  States,  where  the  power  of  the  United 
States  in  the  UN  and  as  a  security  guarantor  for  Taiwan  gives  the  statements  of 
U.S.  Christian  bodies  extra  geopolitical  significance.  The  stakes,  quite  literally, 
include  war  involving  the  United  States,  and  specialists  on  geopolitical  hot  spots 
see  this  one  as  an  imminent  threat  to  world  security.'" 

There  have  been  efforts  to  induce  the  PC  (USA)  to  “take  sides,”  but  true  friend¬ 
ship  seems  to  demand  something  else  in  this  circumstance;  it  calls  for  all  parties  to 
struggle  to  come  and  stay  alongside  one  another  and  remain  open.  Of  all  the  ways 
the  PC  (USA)  has  tried  to  be  of  service  in  this  situation,  it  is  likely  that  our  best 
way  of  serving  the  cause  of  Christ  has  been  our  stand  for  family  connectedness, 
for  giving  friends,  in  the  body  of  Christ.  Connectedness  decreases  the  polariza¬ 
tion  and  sense  of  different  belongings  that  can  lead  to  making  human  beings  into 
objects  and  targets  of  violence.  And  so  we  work  against  the  isolation  of  any  group 
by  working  for  the  multiplication  and  strengthening  of  theirs  and  our  transnational 
friendships,  reinforcing  a  common  belonging  around  the  Eucharistic  table. 

Has  transnational  Christian  friendship  prevented  war?  That  would  be  a  grandiose 
claim,  and  one  that  could  not  be  proved  even  if  true.  But  these  friendships  are 
proving  resilient  and  steadfast,  and  we  pray  they  are  serving  the  cause  of  justice 
and  peace. 


See  for  example  the  Carnegie  Endowment  for  International  Peace’s  Michael  Swaine  in 
“Trouble  in  Taiwan,”  Foreign  Affairs  83:2  (March/April  2004):  39-^9. 


15 


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Where  Do  We  Go  from  Here  Concerning  Friendship? 

Anecdotes  are  important  but  cannot  convey  the  scale  of  the  friendship  phenom¬ 
enon.  A  thorough  study  of  the  ecosystem  of  long-standing  transnational  mission 
friendships  in  the  family  model  will  reveal  that  this  truly  is  a  vast  phenomenon 
touching  virtually  every  country  on  the  globe  and  every  Christian  tradition.  It  is 
not  just  about  bilateral  relationships  between  founders  and  the  denominations 
they  founded.  Churches  throughout  the  world  are  pursuing  this  means  of  relating 
to  other  churches,  including  in  South-South  relationships. 

Next  steps,  however,  need  to  do  more  than  take  the  measurements.  There  are 
important  issues  to  explore,  many  of  which  can  be  grouped  into  these  three  clus¬ 
ters:  the  church  in  new  places,  the  church  in  places  guarded  by  another  religion, 
and  the  church  in  restricting  places. 

The  Church  In  New  Places 

By  the  1970s,  the  Family  Model’s  focus  on  deepening  the  relationships  with 
old  friends  was  allowed  to  reinforce  a  mainline  decline  in  ability  and  interest  to 
develop  new  churches  and  engage  in  “frontier  mission.”  In  the  past  fifteen  years, 
this  imbalance  has  been  significantly  redressed  in  the  PC  (USA).  There  is  much 
more  PC  (USA)  mission  and  evangelism  in  new  places  and  languages  now,  and 
we  have  managed  in  many  cases  to  pioneer  that  work  in  partnership  with  old 
friends  and  with  guidance  from  our  area  experts.  But  denominations  such  as  the 
PC  (USA)  have  not  yet  dealt  head-on  with  some  key  matters  related  to  this  new 
wave  of  mission. 

One  of  these  matters  is  the  perspective  of  our  Orthodox  brothers  and  sisters  that 
brands  many  activities  as  “proselytism.”  We  have  been  “living  into”  this  situ¬ 
ation,  as  they  say,  especially  since  the  end  of  the  cold  war  made  large  parts  of 
the  globe  more  accessible.  Dialogues  such  as  the  Reformed-Orthodox  one  that 
Princeton  Seminary’s  President  Iain  Torrance  leads  are  building  bridges.  Prin¬ 
cipled  stands  will  have  to  be  made — collectively,  one  hopes — and  those  stands 
must  be  centered  in  missiology. 

Another  matter  is  to  envision  the  day  when  the  Holy  Spirit  breathes  mightily 
on  some  of  these  frontier  endeavors  and  suddenly  large  new  Christian  move¬ 
ments  have  enormous  needs  for  Christian  formation,  leadership  develop¬ 
ment,  and  perhaps  solidarity  in  the  face  of  threats.  Will  we  repeat  the  history 
of  founding  denominations  and  related  institutions?  Also,  if  resources  are 
scarce,  will  we  have  to  ask  old  friends  to  excuse  us  while  we  turn  to  assist 
these  new  ones? 


16 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


A  third  and  final  question  related  to  frontier  mission  is  whether  mainline 
denominations  today  will  move  quickly  and  expertly  enough  to  forge  internal 
agreements  on  how  to  carry  out  frontier  evangelism  with  integrity  and  with  sup¬ 
port  from  the  pews.  Strategizing  for  this  work  has,  so  far,  been  in  the  hands  of  a 
small  number  of  busy  persons  operating  without  much  oversight. 


The  Church  in  Places  Guarded  by  Another  Religion 

Rabbi  Jonathan  Sacks,  in  his  book  The  Dignity  of  Difference:  How  to  Avoid  the 
Clash  of  Civilizations,  performed  a  service,  first  by  holding  out  the  possibility 
of  avoiding  that  clash  and  second  by  calling  on  religions  to  present,  as  he  does, 
a  theological  case  for  embracing  variety  instead  of  sameness  and  particular¬ 
ity  instead  of  universality.*^  A  related  question  must  be  posed  about  the  Family 
Model.  Even  though  it  intentionally  cuts  across  geopolitical  boundaries,  does  it 
do  so  only  to  build  up  what  Samuel  R  Huntington  called  “civilizations”  that  are 
coming  into  greater  tension  with  each  other?*® 

I  reviewed  the  list  of  178  transnational  partnerships  the  PC  (USA)’s  team  of 
area  experts  created  in  2003.  More  than  42  percent  of  these  long-term  fi’iendships 
were  with  denominations  in  the  Presbyterian  and  Reformed  tradition.  Close  to 
20  percent  were  with  councils  of  churches  and  multidenominational  seminaries 
that  sometimes  include  Orthodox,  Pentecostal,  and  Catholic  Christians.  Most 
of  the  remaining  bilateral  partnerships  were  with  Protestants,  Anglicans,  and 
united  churches,  the  latter  usually  having  built  upon  previous  Presbyterian 
mission  endeavors.  Only  one  partner  listed  had  interfaith  relations  as  its  main 
reason  for  being.  It  is  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  the  PC  (USA)  list  is 
typical  of  mainline  lists  of  partners.  For  all  the  striking  variety  of  contexts  and 
perspectives  in  the  particularity  represented  by  this  family  of  partners,  there  is 
also  a  certain  religious  sameness,  and  we  must  ask  how  that  relates  to  the  thesis 
of  clashing  civilizations. 

My  experience  mostly  points  to  the  Family  Model  being  an  important  means  by 
which  wisdom  about  and  progress  within  religious  plurality  is  shared  and  used 
as  leaven  in  the  world  church  today.  This  can  be  true  even  when  transnational 
church  friendships  are  also  helping  beleaguered  Christian  minorities  to  be  a  bit 


Jonathan  Sacks,  The  Dignity  of  Difference:  How  to  Avoid  the  Clash  of  Civilizations  (New 
York:  Continuum,  2003). 

The  title  of  the  book  by  Rabbi  Sacks  is  a  reference  to  the  title  of  the  earlier  book  by  Samuel 
P.  Huntington,  The  Clash  of  Civilizations  and  the  Remaking  of  World  Order  (New  York: 
Simon  &  Schuster,  1996). 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


safer  and  less  beleaguered.  We  could  explore  this  topic  in  relation  to  any  context 
where  one  religion  dominates,  but  because  I  already  talked  about  Pakistan,  I  will 
illustrate  using  majority-Islamic  places. 

The  joint  effort  in  Pakistan  to  denationalize  church-related  schools  had  a 
dimension  to  it  that  worried  me.  In  the  Pakistani  context,  where  the  Blas¬ 
phemy  Law,  bombings,  threats,  employment  discrimination,  efforts  to  convert 
Christian  children,  and  other  aspects  of  the  context  add  up  to  a  hostile  envi¬ 
ronment  for  Christians,  many  Christians  see  the  transnational  solidarity  of 
Muslims  as  very  prominent  and  powerful,  and  they  sometimes  feel  tempted 
by  the  thought  of  having  something  similar  for  themselves,  a  world  church 
that  would  respond  in  kind  with  strong  support.  In  such  a  context,  having  a 
friend,  and  not  just  any  friend  but  one  with  the  letters  “USA”  in  its  name, 
claiming  rights  of  school  ownership,  could,  wearing  one  set  of  lenses,  look 
like  a  step  toward  the  clash  of  civilizations.  Wearing  other  lenses — the  ones 
that  in  the  end  I  chose  to  wear — the  same  events  created  a  bridge  between 
Muslims  and  Christians  that  was  an  answer  to  audacious  prayers,  and  perhaps 
not  just  Christian  prayers,  but  also  Muslim  prayers.  Instead  of  responding  to 
each  other  as  caricatures,  people  of  both  faiths  met  and  worked  out  a  particu¬ 
lar  way  to  cooperate  for  a  common  good. 

In  another  Muslim-majority  context,  Egypt,  our  main  mission  partner,  has,  with 
our  willing  participation,  used  our  PC  (USA)  visits  as  opportunities  to  approach 
Muslim  religious  and  political  leaders  on  a  number  of  issues,  such  as  church 
building  permits  and  the  increasing  Islamic  content  of  the  education  in  Egyptian 
schools.  At  the  same  time,  PC  (USA)  representatives  have  enjoyed  and  learned 
from  the  Muslim  friends  and  colleagues  of  our  Egyptian  Christian  friends, 
getting  acquainted  with  the  particularity  of  religious  experience  in  Egypt.  And 
in  Indonesia,  the  PC  (USA)’s  Christian  partner  has  placed  one  of  our  mission 
coworkers  at  a  Muslim  university  to  teach,  an  exploration  of  a  way  to  build  a 
bridge  there. 

In  summary,  it  is  fair  to  say  that  much  of  what  U.S.  denominational  Christians 
learn  about  other  faiths  comes  through  the  particularities  of  the  lives  of  our 
long-standing  Christian  partners  in  many  different  contexts,  as  those  lives  are 
shared  with  us  through  the  many  ways  that  we  give  each  other  friends.  Mission 
in  partnership  gives  us  ways  to  learn,  to  avoid  oversimplification,  and  to 
experiment  with  bridge  building.  Increasingly,  our  challenge  is  to  do  more  to 
extend  the  leavening  effect  of  these  friendships  within  the  U.S.  context,  as  the 
PC  (USA)  did  for  several  years  by  itinerating  mixed-religion  pairs  of  speakers 
throughout  the  United  States. 


18 


What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus 


The  Church  in  Restrictive  Places 

The  third  cluster  of  concerns  arising  from  the  heritage  of  giving  friends  in  the 
Family  Model,  and  the  last  one  I  will  explore  here,  has  to  do  with  partnership  in 
the  context  of  political  restrictions.  For  all  the  attention  given  today  to  restric¬ 
tions  on  freedoms  related  to  strong  religious  establishments,  we  must  not  forget 
those  places  where  such  restrictions  come  from  secular  governments. 

The  calling  and  craft  of  giving  fnends  is  greatly  complicated  by  restricting 
contexts,  and  here  one  might  think  of  the  examples  of  Myanmar,  Cuba,  North 
Korea,  China,  and  in  earlier  days,  the  Soviet  Union.  At  the  same  time,  govern¬ 
mental  efforts  to  impose  isolation  on  churches,  restrict  the  dialogue  among  and 
outreach  activities  of  churches,  and  use  divide-and-rule  tactics  among  Christian 
groups  simply  provide  the  world  church  with  reasons  to  work  extra  hard  at 
giving  friends.  Doing  so  brings  considerable  risk  and  pain,  however,  as  efforts 
to  partner  are  cast  by  some  as  approval  of  the  regimes  themselves,  as  leaders 
of  churches  become  accused  or  suspected  of  being  collaborators,  and  as  those 
outside  of  a  country  are  forced  to  choose  from  an  artificially  limited  menu  of 
options  in  our  partnering.  Christians  living  in  these  kinds  of  restricting  political 
circumstances  have  expressed  great  gratitude  for  the  costly  efforts  at  friendship 
shown  to  them,  and  partnering  has  in  many  cases  helped  to  open  up  the  spaces 
available  to  the  churches.  One  thinks,  for  instance,  of  the  greatly  increased 
spaces  in  Cuba  and  some  very  slightly  increased  spaces  in  North  Korea  for  diac- 
onal  ministries  of  the  church  beyond  the  walls  of  worship  facilities.  That  being 
said,  this  is  another  area  where  scholarship  is  badly  needed.  Political  polemics 
have  greatly  hindered  the  world  church’s  ability  to  assess  the  true  history  of  our 
partnering  under  these  kinds  of  circumstances,  as  difficult  as  that  assessment 
would  be  even  today  in  places  such  as  Hungary,  where  many  people  still  are 
reluctant  to  talk  about  this.  Such  an  assessment  would  not  provide  us  a  clear 
guide  to  present-day  or  future  circumstances,  but  it  could  help  us  to  share  some 
common  understandings  and  vocabulary  and  reduce  the  level  of  acrimony  as  we 
discuss  the  relationships  and  dynamics  that  tend  to  develop  because  of  religion- 
restricting  regimes. 


Conclusion 

As  we  approach  the  centenary  of  Bishop  Azariah’s  appeal,  “Give  us  friends!”  it 
continues  to  serve  the  cause  of  Christ  for  the  churches  to  say  “yes”  to  his  appeal. 
A  meaningful  way  to  do  that  is  to  assess  what  we  have  done  and  learned  in  the 
past  century  and  discern  our  focus  for  the  future.  To  do  so  will  require  the  efforts 
of  students  of  mission  who  until  now  have  inadequately  studied  the  massive 


19 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Family  Model  means  of  relating,  learning,  acting  cooperatively,  and  becoming 
a  new  thing  through  God’s  grace.  To  do  so  will  require  greater  knowledge  and 
involvement  from  members  of  denominations  that  provide  the  support  for  their 
national  staff  and  programs  and  that  tend  to  take  too  much  for  granted  about  the 
health  and  conduct  of  their  transnational  connections.  To  do  so  will  require  hon¬ 
est  dialogue  among  representatives  of  denominations  who  participate  in  ecu¬ 
menical  processes  such  as  the  one  leading  up  to  Edinburgh  2010,  avoiding  facile 
criticisms  of  the  transnational  mission  relationships  of  churches  and  pointing 
instead  to  viable  ways  to  improve. 

Few  calls  so  powerfully  characterize  the  commitments  of  the  last  century  and 
the  learning  edge  of  the  present  one  as  the  appeal  of  Bishop  V.  S.  Azariah  in 
1910.  It  is  fitting  to  close  with  it  and  let  it  move  us  to  an  ever  better  response,  as 
yeast  is  moved  in  dough:  “You  have  given  your  goods  to  feed  the  poor.  You  have 
given  your  bodies  to  be  burned.  We  also  ask  for  love.  Give  us  friends!”  n 


20 


The  Bible  in  China:  Religion  of  God’s  Chinese  Son 

by  Archie  Chi  Chung  Lee 


Archie  C.  C.  Lee  is  a  Professor  of  Biblical  Studies  and  Asian  Hermeneutics 
in  the  Department  of  Cultural  and  Religious  Studies,  and  Dean  of  the  Faculty 
of  Arts  at  The  Chinese  University  of  Hong  Kong.  He  is  also  associate  editor 
of  the  Global  Bible  Commentary  (2004)  and  the  Cambridge  Dictionary  of 
Christianity  (forthcoming,  2009)  and  is  the  author  of  books  and  articles  on 
biblical  interpretation,  cross-textual  hermeneutics,  and  the  Bible  and  Chinese 
classics.  He  delivered  this  Alexander  Thompson  Lecture  on  March  3,  2008,  in 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary’s  Mackay  Campus  Center. 

1^ am  honored  to  be  invited  to  give  the  Alexander  Thompson  Lectureship, 
which  was  established  to  examine  the  Bible  and  issues  relating  to  its  inter¬ 
pretation.  There  are  two  aspects  to  the  topic  I  have  chosen.  The  first  aspect 
concerns  the  introduction  of  the  Bible  to  a  nonbiblical  land  and  its  encounter 
with  other  religions,  engaging  in,  or  in  most  cases  suppressing,  other  texts 
and  scriptures.  The  second  aspect,  and  the  more  specific  focus,  is  the  Taiping 
Bible,  produced  by  the  self-proclaimed  “God’s  second  son,”  Hong  Xiuquan 
(1814-1864). 

In  1847,  Hong  declared  himself  to  be  the  younger  brother  of  Jesus,  and  from  1853 
to  1864  he  established  in  China  the  so-called  “Taiping  Tianguo,”  the  “Heav¬ 
enly  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace.”  “God’s  Chinese  Son”  is  a  designation  given  by 
Yale  historian  Jonathan  Spence  in  his  history  God’s  Chinese  Son:  The  Taiping 
Heavenly  Kingdom  of  Hong  Xiuquan.^  The  Taiping  Kingdom  was  condemned 
by  the  imperial  power  of  the  Manchurian  Empire  as  a  rebellion,  uprising,  and 


‘  Jonathan  Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son:  The  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom  of  Hong  Xiuquan 
(London:  HarperCollins  Publishers,  1996).  Spence  has  presented  two  lectures  at  Baylor 
University  on  the  Taipings  and  is  the  author  of  The  Taiping  Vision  of  a  Christian  China, 
1836-1864  (Waco:  Markham  Press  Fund,  Baylor  University  Press,  1998). 


DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 .4 


21 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


insurrection  and  was  disowned  by  the  Christian  world  as  a  blasphemous  and 
syncretistic  religion.^ 

Because  some  fifty  books  and  pamphlets  were  published  by  the  Taiping  govern¬ 
ment,  including  many  proclamations,  declarations,  edicts,  and  poems  with  Chris¬ 
tian  themes  and  most  significantly  for  biblical  interpretation,  a  revised  version 
of  the  Bible  with  eighty -two  annotations  written  in  the  margins,  I  take  it  as  one 
of  the  historical  cases  of  the  encounter  of  the  Bible  with  a  nonbiblical  culture.^ 
Most,  if  not  all,  of  the  scholars  who  studied  the  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom 
so  far  have  neglected  the  Bible  and  undermined  its  legitimate  place  in  biblical 
interpretation  and  the  history  of  reception.  I  plan  to  expand  on  this  theme  and  to 
explore  several  issues  relating  to  the  Bible  in  Asia. 

Before  addressing  some  of  these  questions,  I  will  present  a  brief  account 
of  Hong  Xiuquan  and  his  Heavenly  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace.  Then  I  will 
review  how  Hong  dealt  with  the  biblical  canon  in  his  context.  Finally,  I 
will  closely  examine  the  appropriation  of  some  of  the  biblical  themes  and 
motifs  in  the  Chinese  religious  world  as  Hong  saw  it.  I  will  conclude  with 
deliberations  on  some  critical  issues  pertaining  to  biblical  interpretation  in 
the  Chinese  cultural  context. 

Hong  Xiuquan  and  Taiping  Tianguo 

The  Heavenly  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace  (Taiping  Tianguo),  commonly  referred 
to  as  the  Taiping  Rebellion,  was  basically  a  peasant  revolt  that  developed  in 
the  1850s  in  the  southern  provinces  of  China.  The  movement  was  aimed  at 
the  imperial  government  of  the  Manchus,  who  ruled  all  of  China  as  the  Qing 
Dynasty  (1644-1911)  from  the  capital  in  Beijing.  The  leaders  of  the  revolt, 
Hong  Xiuquan  and  his  comrades,  came  from  the  Hakka  villages  of  the  economi¬ 
cally  deprived  zones  of  southern  China.  They  created  a  Chinese  subculture  by 
transforming  the  form  and  content  of  Christianity  transplanted  by  missionaries 
and  made  efforts  to  adapt  the  Christian  faith  to  traditional  Chinese  religious 
beliefs  and  to  their  political  vision  of  building  a  heavenly  kingdom  on  earth. 
They  successfully  conquered  large  regions  of  the  southern  parts  of  China,  and 
the  military  conquest  of  the  Taiping  army  extended  as  far  as  Nanjing.  There, 


^  See  the  summaiy  on  the  religion  of  the  Taipings  in  Ssu-yu  Teng,  New  Light  on  the  History  of 
the  Taiping  Rebellion  (New  York;  Russell  &  Russell,  1966)  74—80. 

^  For  an  English  translation  of  a  selected  list  of  these  publications  see  Franz  H.  Michael 
and  Chung-li  Chang,  The  Taiping  Rebellion:  History  and  Documents,  3  vol.,  trans.  Margery 
Anneberg  et  al.  (Toky'o:  University  of  Tokyo  Press.  1966). 


22 


The  Bible  in  China 


they  took  the  city,  renamed  it  Tianjing  (the  heavenly  capital),  and  in  1853  estab¬ 
lished  a  new  regime  called  the  “Heavenly  Dynasty.” 

Sociologically  speaking,  life  in  the  poor  Hakka  community  in  Kwangxi  had  been 
harsh  and  people  constantly  struggled  just  to  survive.  The  Hakkas  were  known  as 
a  rootless  and  powerless  people  who  would  agree  to  any  religious  views  and  politi¬ 
cal  movements  that  promised  a  better  life  and  a  bright  future.  Like  many  rebellious 
movements  in  Chinese  history,  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom  was  religiously  moti¬ 
vated  and  involved  a  pragmatic  program  aimed  at  improving  the  living  conditions 
of  the  followers.  Dreams  and  visions  were  taken  seriously  as  media  to  decipher  the 
divine  will  for  the  present.  The  Chinese  government,  like  many  of  its  counterparts 
in  human  history,  was  known  for  its  intolerance  toward  heterogeneous  religious 
factions  beyond  the  officially  recognized  religious  traditions  and  institutions. 

The  government  believed,  therefore,  that  heterodoxical  religious  organizations 
and  communities  that  threatened  the  existing  order  must  be  suppressed.  Taiping 
Heavenly  Kingdom  had  gone  far  beyond  the  set  boundaries  with  its  military 
campaigns  and  its  political  agenda,  which  was  directed  toward  overthrowing  the 
Manchurian  regime  of  the  Qing  Dynasty.  The  establishment  of  the  Taiping  Heav¬ 
enly  Kingdom’s  capital  in  Nanjing  had  anticipated  the  violent  military  combat  that 
eventually  came  in  1 864  and  that  brought  the  kingdom  to  its  tragic  end,  with  the 
massacre  of  millions  of  people  and  the  devastation  of  much  land  in  China. 

In  Chinese,  the  religion  of  the  Taiping  Kingdom  is  called  Shangdijiao  (the 
religion  of  Shangdi).  Although  the  term  is  not  adopted  by  any  of  the  present- 
day  Christian  communities,  Shangdi,  the  Chinese  name  of  God,  is  still  widely 
used  by  most  of  the  ecumenical  churches.  Shangdijiao,  or  Bai  Shangdihui 
(“society  of  God  worshippers”),  was  the  religion  instituted  by  Hong  Xiuquan 
in  1843  as  a  result  of  his  desperate  disappointment  after  failing  the  civil 
examinations  for  public  office  several  times.  In  1836,  Hong  had  some  dra¬ 
matic  mystical  religious  experiences  that  took  the  form  of  a  series  of  dreams 
and  visions.  In  these  visions,  he  was  taken  to  heaven,  where  he  was  attacked 
by  the  devil  and  saved  by  God,  who  then  commissioned  him  to  return  to  the 
earth  with  the  task  of  eliminating  evil,  protecting  the  righteous,  and  establish¬ 
ing  the  Heavenly  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace. 

Although  Shangdi  is  the  name  of  the  deity  worshipped  in  ancient  China,  it  did  not 
present  any  problem  to  Hong  Xiuquan.''  The  reason  that  Hong  adopted  the  name 
Shangdi  may  go  back  to  the  first  Chinese  Christian  convert  and  evangelist  Liang  Afa 


For  a  discussion  on  the  nature  of  Shangdi  in  ancient  China,  see  “Was  There  a  High  God  Ti  in 
Shang  Religion,”  Early  China  15  (1990):  1-26. 


23 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


(1789-1855),  whose  book  Good  Words  for  the  Admonition  of  the  World  exerted  a 
tremendous  impact  on  Hong’s  understanding  of  Christianity.^  This  Shangdi  is  both 
the  Christian  God  of  the  Bible  and  the  Chinese  God  of  old.  The  name  is  found  in 
numerous  places  in  the  Chinese  classics,  especially  the  Shijing,  the  Book  of  Poetry, 
and  Shujing,  the  Book  of  Writings.  Shangdi  was  formerly  exclusively  worshipped 
by  the  emperors  and  nobles.  But  in  Daoism  and  various  local  Chinese  religions,  as 
a  means,  in  some  cases,  of  subverting  political  power,  the  name  Shangdi  was  also 
commonly  adopted  in  various  forms  to  designate  the  divine  beings  of  these  religious 
traditions.  In  the  past,  there  had  been  heated  debates  by  the  missionaries  over  the 
most  appropriate  term  in  Chinese  for  the  Christian  God.®  The  disagreement  was 
between  either  adopting  the  ancient  Chinese  term  Shangdi,  or  instead,  using  the 
generic  term  Shen.  In  the  Protestant  missionary  movement  in  China  in  the  nine¬ 
teenth  and  twentieth  centuries,  the  debate  was  known  as  “the  term  question,”  and  it 
was  also  involved  in  the  so-called  “rite  controversy”  during  the  Jesuit  Missions  to 
China  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries.^  Tianzujiao  (the  religion  of  Tianzu) 
and  Jidujiao  (the  religion  of  Christ)  have  become  the  conventional  designations  of 
the  Catholic  and  Protestant  churches,  respectively.  Hong  adopted  the  name  Shangdi 
for  God,  who  is  both  the  Christian  God  and  the  God  worshipped  by  the  Chinese 
ancestors  in  ancient  times,  the  record  of  which  can  be  found  in  the  Chinese  classics, 
especially  Shijing  and  Shujing.  Hong  saw  Shangdi  as  the  Creator  of  heaven  and 
earth  and  the  universal  Father  of  all  human  beings.  Worshipping  Shangdi  and  doing 
away  with  idols  were  taken  as  the  only  ways  to  salvation. 


Contesting  Canonicity  and  Hong’s  Appropriation  of  the  Bible 

In  narrating  the  dramatic  story  of  Hong,  Jonathan  Spence  vividly  describes  Hong’s 
assigned  role  as  a  scholar  in  his  poor  farming  family,  where  he  was  expected  to 
bring  hope  and  to  change  fate.  He  dedicated  himself  to  the  intensive  study  of  the 


^  George  Hunter  McNeur,  China ’s  First  Preacher  Liang  A-Fa:  1 789-1855  (Shanghai: 

Kwang  Hsueh  Publishing  House:  Oxford  University  Press,  1934).  In  Liang’s  book  there 
are  a  few  names  used  for  God.  Some  scholars  therefore  assume  that  Hong  takes  the  name 
Shangdi  from  Karl  Friederich  August  Gutzlaff  (1803-1851),  whose  translation  of  the  Bible 
was  the  official  text  of  the  Taipings.  On  Gutzlaff’s  Bible  and  the  Taipings,  see  Thomas  H. 
Reilly,  The  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom:  Rebellion  and  the  Blasphemy  of  Empire  (Seattle: 
University  of  Washington  Press,  2004),  67-73. 

®  On  the  debate  of  naming  the  Christian  God  in  Chinese,  see  Archie  C.  C.  Lee,  “Naming  God 
in  Asia:  Cross-Textual  Reading  in  Multi-Cultural  Context,”  Quest:  An  Interdisciplinary  Jour¬ 
nal  for  Asian  Christian  Scholars  3:1  (2004),  21-42. 

’  Sangkeoun  Kim,  Strange  Names  of  God:  The  Missionary  Translation  of  the  Divine  Name  and 
the  Chinese  Responses  to  Matteo  Ricci 's  Shangti  in  Late  Ming  China,  1583-1644  (New  York: 
Peter  Lang,  2005);  see  also  Linfu  Dong,  The  Search  for  God  in  Ancient  China:  James  Mellon 
Menzies,  China  Missionary  and  Archaeologist  (Ph.D.  thesis,  York  University  [Canada],  2001. 
Dissertation  Abstracts  International,  Volume  63-03). 


24 


The  Bible  in  China 


Chinese  Conflician  classics  in  order  to  acquire  a  government  office  through  public 
examinations.  Although  he  was  successful  in  the  local  examination,  he  failed 
the  provincial  ones.  In  China,  the  Conflician  classics  had  come  to  be  the  driving 
force  for  the  homogenization  of  the  vast  and  diverse  nation,  and  the  government 
exercised  its  ideological  control  over  any  heterodoxy  by  using  these  texts.  It  is 
ironic  that  in  1836,  outside  the  examination  hall,  Hong  was  handed  another  text 
with  long  sections  of  translation  and  commentary  on  Bible  passages.*  This  book, 
as  mentioned  above,  was  Good  Words  for  the  Admonition  of  the  World,  which 
includes  the  nine  Christian  tracts  written  by  Liang  Afa,  who  abandoned  Buddhism 
for  Christianity.  The  book  exerted  a  tremendous  impact  on  Hong’s  understanding 
of  Christianity  and  provided  him  with  the  key  to  interpreting  his  religious  dreams.® 

Through  the  Christian  interpretations  found  in  Liang  Afa’s  book,  Hong  dis¬ 
covered  his  role  and  mission  in  life.  The  book  consists  of  “fourteen  occasions 
including  fifty-three  verses  which  are  quoted  from  the  Old  Testament,  whereas 
there  are  forty-eight  occasions  including  twenty-one  chapters  and  seventy-eight 
verses  where  the  New  Testament  is  quoted.”'®  Hong  found  quite  a  few  of  the 
Christian  doctrines  from  the  quotations  of  the  Bible  in  Liang’s  book;  among 
them  were  the  concept  of  God  as  the  only  God,  the  Supreme  Creator,  and  a  per¬ 
sonal  deity  who  can  be  approached  for  direct  revelation.  The  book  explained  that 
human  rebellion  against  God  brought  condemnation  unless  repentance  was  made 
through  the  abandonment  of  all  idol  worship.  Only  with  the  grace  of  Jesus  the 
Savior,  who  had  been  sent  down  into  the  world  to  suffer  for  the  sins  of  mankind 
and  to  give  his  life  in  redemption,  could  there  be  hope  for  salvation  from  the 
torture  in  hell.  In  Hong’s  visions,  he  had  seen  that  Jesus  was  sent  by  God  to  the 
earth  to  eliminate  Satan  and  all  demons  in  order  to  save  the  righteous.  This  is 
very  similar  to  the  beliefs  of  most  evangelical  Christians." 

Liang  Afa’s  book  enabled  Hong  to  interpret  his  dreams  and  not  only  gave  mean¬ 
ing  to  his  religious  experiences  but  also  confirmed  the  father-son  relationship 
between  Hong  and  God  and  prescribed  a  new  mission  for  Hong’s  life  on  earth. 


*  The  year  Hong  received  the  book  has  been  debated  by  scholars,  but  1833  seems  to  be  the  earli¬ 
est  acceptable  date.  See  Luo  Ergang,  History  of  the  Taiping  Kingdom,  vol.  2  (Beijing:  Zhonghua 
Bookstore,  1991),  652,  note  1. 

®  Spence,  The  Taiping  Vision,  6-7. 

Teng,  New  Light,  76. 

"  Rudolf  G.  Wagner  gave  a  good  summary  of  the  evangelical  orientations  and  revival  traditions 
of  missionaries  of  the  time  in  Reenacting  the  Heavenly  Vision:  The  Role  of  Religion  in  the 
Taiping  Rebellion  (Berkeley:  Institute  of  East  Asian  Studies,  University  of  California,  1982), 
6-i6.  See  also  Eugene  R  Boardman,  “Christian  Influence  upon  the  Ideology  of  Taiping 
Rebellion,”  The  Far  Eastern  Quarterly,  10:2  (1951):  115-24;  and  Vincent  Y.  C.  Shih,  The 
Taiping  Ideology,  Its  Sources,  Interpretations  and  Influences  (Seattle:  University  of  Washington 
Press.  1967),  147-64. 


25 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Obviously,  the  Conflician  text  had  to  be  reappropriated  and  reframed  in  order  to 
make  sense  of  his  new  religious  existence.  To  complete  his  religious  training, 
Hong  went  to  the  Baptist  missionary  Rev.  I.  J.  Roberts  in  Guangzhou  for  three 
months  to  receive  instructions  in  Christianity  and  the  Bible.  He  then  baptized 
himself  in  a  river  with  his  friends. 

Hong  then  declared  that  all  ancient  Confucian  books  were  “demonic”  and,  based 
on  this  attitude,  formed  a  policy  of  banning  these  books  in  the  new  heavenly 
dynasty.'^  He  forbade  his  children  and  all  the  court  women  to  possess  the  classics 
and  requested  that  they  read  a  chapter  a  day  of  the  Old  Testament  and  New  Testa¬ 
ment  alternatively,  in  addition  to  reading  his  own  poems.  On  the  Sabbath,  which 
the  Taipings  designated  as  the  day  for  worship,  he  instructed  that  the  Ten  Com¬ 
mandments  should  be  read  as  well  and  declared  that  punishment  would  result  if 
anyone  was  reported  to  have  failed  in  observing  his  rules.  The  order  to  read  the 
Bible  was  also  instituted  in  the  Taiping  army,  which  had  to  recite  a  chapter  a  day 
on  rainy  days.  Biblical  verses  were  even  used  as  the  password  for  army  patrols. 

These  teachings  had  the  effect  of  placing  the  Bible  in  a  superior  position  and 
suppressing  the  Confucian  texts.  In  addition,  in  one  of  Hong’s  visions,  he  saw 
Jesus  descend  to  the  earth  and  asked  him  about  the  situation  of  Confucius  in 
heaven.  Jesus  told  Hong  that  Confucius  had  been  stripped  and  whipped  by  God 
for  the  errors  in  his  writings,  even  though  there  was  some  truth  in  his  sayings. 
Now,  Jesus  told  Hong,  Confucius  was  required  to  bow  and  be  humble  before 
God.  In  these  visions,  we  can  see  the  struggle  between  the  two  texts,  the  Bible 
and  Confucian  classics  in  the  Chinese  context.  Even  a  Confucian  scholar  such 
as  Hong  had  to  deal  with  the  two  texts  in  confrontation  and  with  their  competi¬ 
tion  for  loyalty  from  the  people.  During  his  descent,  Hong  said,  Jesus  instructed 
him  to  bum  all  Confucian  books.  He  said  he  was  told  that  because  Confucius 
had  been  regarded  as  a  good  man,  he  was  bestowed  with  blessings  in  heaven  but 
would  not  be  allowed  to  descend  to  the  earth  again.'"* 

On  the  surface,  the  confirmation  of  Confucius  being  found  in  heaven  does  not  seem 
to  be  significant,  but  put  in  the  context  of  the  missionary  movement  in  China,  it 
is  extraordinary.  Most,  if  not  all,  missionaries  including  the  Jesuits  who  came  to 
China  in  1583,  condemned  the  ancient  Chinese  sages  and  the  great  ancestors  of 
China  to  suffer  in  hell  because  they  did  not  believe  in  Jesus  and  accept  the  gospel. 


Ergang,  History  of  the  Taiping  Kingdom,  vol.  2,  678. 

“The  Confession  of  the  Young  Monarch,”  quoted  by  Jonathan  Spence  in  God’s  Chinese  Son, 
253,  note  35.  See  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  1531. 

“Sacred  Declaration  of  the  Heavenly  Brother,”  in  Luo  Ergang  and  Wang  Qing,  Taiping 
Kingdom,  vol.  2  (Guilin:  Guangxi  Normal  University  Press,  2004),  248. 


26 


The  Bible  in  China 


For  the  Chinese,  who  honor  their  ancestors  and  practice  filial  piety,  the  missionary 
condemnation  of  their  sages  and  ancestors  seemed  horrendous,  and  some  objected 
to  accepting  the  gospel  simply  because  of  this.  Hong’s  attitude  on  this  matter  was 
therefore  regarded  as  rebellious.  How  could  he  state  that  the  supreme  and  honorable 
Confucius  could  be  under  God’s  authority?  Furthermore,  how  could  he  accuse  Con¬ 
fucius  of  having  committed  errors  and  say  that  his  books  would  have  to  be  burned? 

With  respect  to  the  attitude  of  the  Taipings  toward  the  Bible,  the  single  most 
significant  incident  in  their  entire  history  is  recorded  in  the  Sacred  Declarations 
of  the  Heavenly  Father}^  The  book  states  that  God  appeared  on  July  7,  1854,  in 
the  person  of  Yang,  the  East  King,  to  proclaim  that  the  Bible  is  full  of  errors  and 
should  be  revised  before  being  printed  for  further  circulation: 

The  Heavenly  Father  sees  that  his  children  on  earth  are  so  stubborn 
and  rigid  about  the  Testaments  to  the  extent  that  they  undermine 
God’s  sacred  declaration.  Therefore  God  declares  that  there  are  errors 
in  them  that  should  be  corrected.  ...  The  Heavenly  Father  said:  “Your 
God  has  come  down  to  you  today  for  one  reason  and  one  reason 
only:  namely,  to  inform  you  that  both  the  Old  Testament  and  the  New 
Testament,  which  have  been  preserved  by  the  barbarian  nations  and 
currently  circulated,  contain  numerous  falsehoods.  . . .  You  are  to 
inform  the  North  King  and  the  Wing  King,  who  in  turn  will  tell  the 
East  King,  who  can  inform  the  Heavenly  King,  that  it  is  no  longer 
urgent  to  propagate  these  books.”'® 

This  incident  clearly  reveals  the  approach  of  the  Taipings  to  the  Bible, 
showing  that  direct  revelation  from  God  had  more  authority  than  the  written 
text  that  had  been  passed  on  from  the  West.  God  seems  to  blame  the 
missionaries  from  foreign  lands  for  the  transmission  of  the  falsehoods.  At 
the  end  of  God’s  speech  in  this  incident,  God  gives  his  final  verdict  on  the 
biblical  books: 

Those  books  are  neither  polished  in  the  literary  terms  nor  are  they  fully 
complete.  You  must  all  consult  together,  and  correct  them  so  that  they 
become  both  polished  and  complete.'"^ 


Tianfu  Shenzhi  (Sacred  Declarations  of  the  Heavenly  Father),  bound  together  with  Tianx- 
iongShenzhi  (Sacred  Declaration  of  the  Heavenly  Brother),  British  Library  15293.e.29.  It  is 
published  in  Taiping  Tianguo,  vol.  2,  322^5. 

“The  Divine  Will  of  the  Heavenly  Father”  {Tianfu  Shenzhi),  in  Ergang  and  Qing,  Taiping 
Kingdom,  vol.  2,  329-30.  The  words  of  God  in  the  quotation  are  a  modified  rendering  of 
Spence,  God's  Chinese  Son,  254. 

Ergang  and  Qing,  Taiping  Kingdom,  vol.  2,  330.  Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son,  254. 


27 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


This  declaration  confirmed  that  the  Taipings  had  the  right  and  responsibility  to  read 
the  Bible  closely  and  revise  it.  This  declaration  was  delivered  around  the  time  when 
the  British  delegation,  under  Captain  Mellersh  of  the  ship  Rattler,  visited  the  East 
King  and  presented  thirty  questions  about  the  different  aspects  of  the  life  and  beliefs 
of  the  Taipings.  In  essence,  the  questions  expressed  the  foreign  suspicion  of  the 
validity  of  the  Taipings’  doctrines  and  doubt  about  their  biblical  interpretation.  These 
Westerners  rejected  Hong’s  claims  of  his  being  God’s  second  son  and  pressed  for 
biblical  support  of  Hong’s  beliefs.'*  In  response,  Hong  found  it  necessary  to  revise 
the  Bible  according  to  his  new  understandings.  The  result  was  the  production  of  the 
imperial  edition  of  the  Old  Testament,  which  includes  the  books  of  Genesis  through 
Joshua  and  the  entire  New  Testament.'^  The  latter  was  renamed  the  Former  Testa¬ 
ment  because  the  Taipings  elevated  some  of  their  own  writings  and  called  them 
the  “True  Testament.”^®  The  True  Testament  presents  the  story  of  Hong’s  religious 
conversion  and  reveals  the  truth  about  his  repeated  ascents  to  heaven.  The  True 
Testament  represents  the  divine  act  in  the  present  time,  whereas  the  “Old  Testament” 
and  the  “Former  Testament”  contain  the  acts  of  God  in  the  past.  There  are,  accord¬ 
ing  to  Xia  Chuntao,  four  books  designated  as  the  “True  Testament”  or  the  “Taiping 
Canon”:  The  Sacred  Declaration  of  the  Heavenly  Father,  The  Sacred  Declaration 
of  the  Heavenly  Brother,  The  Gospel  Jointly  Witnessed  and  Heard  by  the  Imperial 
Eldest  and  Second  Brothers,  and  The  Taiping  Tianre  (Heavenly  Sun)F 

The  first  two  books  are  records  of  direct  divine  revelation  from  God  and  Jesus, 
who  descended  to  the  earth  thirty  and  120  times,  respectively.  The  latter  two 
recount  Hong’s  heavenly  visions,  his  mandated  mission  to  establish  the  Taiping 
Kingdom,  and  his  status  as  the  second  son  of  Shangdi,  whom  he  called  Heavenly 
Father.  In  these  books,  Hong  declares  that  Jesus  is  his  elder  brother,  whom  he  calls 
Heavenly  Elder  Brother.  The  third  book  was  written  in  1860.  The  only  surviving 
copy  is  located  in  the  British  Library  and  bears  a  written  marginal  note  that  says 
“Venerable  Record  of  the  Gospel.”  These  four  books  contain  the  revelation  that 
“Father  knows  there  are  errors  in  the  New  Testament”  and  affirm  and  legitimatize 
the  need  for  revising  the  Old  and  New  Testaments.  Hong  added  eighty-two  anno- 


Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son,  229-32. 

There  is  only  one  surviving  copy  each  of  the  imperial  edition  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
imperial  edition  of  New  Testament  in  the  British  Library:  15 1 17.e.20  and  151 17. e.  19, 
respectively.  The  New  Testament  has  the  complete  table  of  contents  of  its  twenty-seven  books 
except  for  the  Gospel  of  John,  which  is  missing. 

“  Xia  Chuntao,  The  Fall  of  the  Heavenly  Kingdom,  The  Religion  of  Taiping  Tianguo  Revisited 
(Beijing;  People’s  University  Press,  2006),  157-59. 

Ibid.,  159-66. 

The  translation  of  this  book  can  be  found  in  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  7-18. 
Wang  Qingzheng  has  a  good  summary  of  all  surviving  copies  of  the  publication  of  the  Taip¬ 
ing  Kingdom  in  overseas  libraries  in  his  Documents  and  History  of  Taiping  Tianguo  (Beijing: 
Social  Science  Documents  Publishing.  1993),  60-114. 


28 


The  Bible  in  China 


tations  to  the  imperial  edition  of  the  Bible,  six  of  which  are  in  the  Old  Testament.^^ 
Hong  explained  the  function  of  the  True  Testament  in  terms  of  the  symbolic  “nar¬ 
row  gate”  in  Luke  13:24  and  Matt  7: 13-14,  which  leads  to  eternal  blessing  but 
grants  access  to  very  few.  In  using  this  symbol,  he  revealed  his  familiarity  with  the 
concept  of  “narrow  gate”  used  in  John  Bunyan’s  book  The  Pilgrim ’s  Progress?^ 
The  True  Testament  also  provides  the  justification  for  Hong’s  revision  of  the  Bible 
and  claims  a  supreme  position  for  the  revision  over  every  other  publication  of  the 
Taipings.  The  establishment  of  the  True  Testament,  and  the  revision  of  both  the 
Old  Testament  and  the  renaming  of  the  New  Testament  as  the  Former  Testament, 
are  significant  steps  that  Hong  took  to  affirm  his  religious  and  political  authority 
independent  of  Western  Christianity.  The  possession  of  a  “Taiping  Canon”  empow¬ 
ered  the  Taiping  regime  and  strengthened  Hong’s  position  in  the  community. 

Hong  made  use  of  some  of  the  ambiguous  texts  of  the  Bible  to  drive  home  his 
religious  convictions  and  Christian  beliefs.  Mark  12:35-37  is  one  such  case.  Jesus, 
while  debating  with  the  scribes  in  the  Jerusalem  temple,  quotes  Psalm  1 10  to  cast 
doubt  on  the  idea  that  the  Messiah  is  the  descendent  of  David.  Hong  stressed  that 
Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God,  but  he  is  not  one  with  God,  neither  in  Heaven  nor  on 
earth.  As  Son  he  has  his  own  separate  existence  vis-a-vis  the  Father.  In  Stephen’s 
witness  to  the  crowd  before  his  martyrdom,  as  revealed  in  Acts  7:55-60,  Hong 
found  affirmation  of  the  existence  of  God  the  Father  and  Jesus  the  Son.  Stephen 
cried  out:  “Behold,  I  see  the  heavens  opened,  and  the  Son  of  Man  standing  at  the 
right  hand  of  God.”  Furthermore,  in  the  Gospel  of  Luke,  Hong  was  concerned 
with  the  theological  understanding  that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  God,  but  Jesus,  being 
God’s  son,  has  a  separate  existence  distinct  Ifom  God  (Luke  1:35, 4:12,  7:16, 
12:8-10;  Acts  4:24;  7:55-60).  When  commenting  on  the  healing  stories,  Hong 
repeatedly  emphasized  the  presence  and  indwelling  of  God  in  Jesus  or  the  divine 
action  mediated  through  Jesus  (Matt.  8:15,  9:29;  Mark  2:3-5,  8:3). 

Both  in  his  first  book  of  the  Old  Testament  and  in  his  New  Testament,  Hong  identi¬ 
fied  himself  as  the  light  together  with  God  and  Jesus:  “The  Father  is  light.  The  Elder 
Brother  is  light.  The  Lord  is  light”  (Gen.  1:1-5,  p.  la)^^  and  “God  is  flame;  there¬ 
fore  he  is  Holy  Light.  The  Elder  Brother  is  flame;  therefore  he  is  the  Great  Light.  I 
am  the  sun;  therefore  I  am  also  light”  (Matt.  4:15-16,  p.  5a).  Hong  claimed  his  posi¬ 
tion  in  the  divine  order  as  “God’s  Chinese  Son.”  In  his  commentaries  on  the  Bible, 


Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  224-37. 

Hong’s  possession  of  the  book  has  been  testified  to  by  Hong  Renkan,  “A  Report  by  Joseph 
Edkins,”  Western  Reports  on  the  Taiping:  A  Selection  of  Documents,  ed.  Prescott  Clarke  and 
J.  S.  Gregory  (Honolulu:  University  Press  of  Hawaii,  1982),  243. 

Translation  is  the  author’s  modification  based  on  the  text  taken  from  Michael,  The  Taiping 
Rebellion,  vol.  2,  225. 


29 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Hong  was  clearly  preoccupied  with  the  dual  issues  of  family  relationships  between 
Jesus,  himself,  and  God  the  Father,  as  well  as  the  uniqueness  of  God.  It  is  repeat¬ 
edly  emphasized  “that  Jesus  cannot  be  God,  is  not  God,  just  as  he  Hong  is  not  God, 
can  never  be,  and  will  never  claim  to  be.”^^  The  concept  of  Trinity  applies  to  three 
children:  Jesus,  Hong,  and  Yang.  The  three  are  brothers  bom  of  the  same  Father. 


Purging  of  the  Bible  according  to  Chinese  Ethical  Values 

After  Nanjing  was  conquered  and  established  as  the  capital,  the  religion  of  Shangdi 
continued  to  develop  and  Hong  began  to  eliminate  the  presence  of  Confucianism. 
Some  deep-rooted  Conftician  conceptions  persisted,  however,  and  influenced  Hong’s 
interpretation  of  the  Bible.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  minor  editorial  changes  in 
terminology  in  accordance  with  the  Taiping  systems  and  the  avoidance  of  certain 
words  exclusively  used  for  God,  Jesus,  and  Hong  as  the  Heavenly  King,  Hong’s 
editorial  changes  to  the  Bible  mainly  emphasized  ethical  values  and  family  ideals. 

The  inappropriate  behavior  of  Noah  in  his  drunkenness  (Gen.  9:21)  was  edited  to 
become  “deep  asleep,”  in  accordance  with  Taiping’s  strict  ban  on  alcohol.  The  story 
of  Noah  being  naked  in  the  tent  (Gen.  9:21)  after  being  drunk  was  edited  to  say 
only  that  he  “fell  from  his  bed.”  Verse  24,  “Noah  awoke  from  his  wine,”  was  then 


Spence,  God 's  Chinese  Son,  29 1 . 

Spence,  God!s  Chinese  Son,  292;  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  234;  Jin  Yufli, 
Historical  Sources  of  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom,  ed.  Tian  Yuqing  (Beijing:  Zhonghua  Pub¬ 
lishing  Co.,  1959),  85.  On  First  John  5:7  it  is  said  that  “there  are  three  that  bear  record  in 
heaven,  the  Father,  the  Word,  and  the  Holy  Spirit:  and  these  three  are  one.”  Hong  labors  on 
the  verse  to  bring  his  reading  of  the  different  persons  in  the  divine  family.  Shangdi  is  the  only 
supreme  God.  Jesus  is  not  to  be  confused  with  God;  lest  there  are  two  Gods  or  there  is  no  sepa¬ 
rate  existence  of  Jesus  as  the  Son  of  God.  Jesus  is  God’s  first  Son  and  Hong  is  the  brother  of 
Jesus,  hence  he  is  God’s  second  Son.  Only  here  it  is  said  clearly  that  Yang,  the  Eastern  King, 
is  also  God’s  son  and  that  Jesus,  Hong,  and  Yang  are  the  Trinity  from  before  heaven  and  earth 
existed.  The  Holy  Spirit  is  God  himself  and  God  only  issued  an  edict  to  appoint  Yang  as  the 
comforter  and  the  wind  on  earth  in  the  same  way  that  Jesus  descends  into  the  world  in  the 
West  King.  In  this  long  annotation  there  are  ambiguities  on  the  identity  of  Yang  as  the  Holy 
Spirit  and  as  the  wind.  It  is  clear  that  Hong  intends  to  challenge  the  validity  of  the  New  Testa¬ 
ment  on  the  Trinity,  especially  on  the  separate  existence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  Jesus  as  God. 
“The  Father  knew  that  the  New  Testament  contains  erroneous  records;  therefore  he  sent  down 
the  Eastern  King  as  a  witness  that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  God,  that  the  wind  is  the  Eastern  King. 
Further,  knowing  that  people  of  the  world  mistakenly  took  Christ  to  be  God,  God  sent  down 
the  Eastern  King  in  order  to  make  it  clear  that  the  Divine  Father  exists.  Thus  Christ  descends 
on  the  Western  King  to  prove  the  existence  of  the  first  son.”  There  are  misunderstandings  and 
unclear  renderings  of  the  text  in  both  of  the  two  existing  English  translations  of  the  text.  Mote 
renders  Jesus  being  the  “first  son”  into  “the  heir,”  which  though  correct  in  the  usual  sense  is 
very  unclear  in  this  context  (Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  234),  and  James  Chester 
Cheng  reads  the  word  “wind”  together  with  the  previous  sentence  to  arrive  at  “the  Holy  Ghost 
is  the  Wind  of  God”  (James  Chester  Cheng,  Chinese  Sources  for  the  Taiping  Rebellion,  1850- 
1864,  New  York:  Oxford  University  Press,  1963),  89. 


30 


The  Bible  in  China 


slightly  revised  to  read  “Noah  awoke  from  his  sleep.”  And  because  circumcision 
is  contrary  to  filial  piety  according  to  the  Confucian  concept  of  taking  good  care  of 
the  body  we  receive  from  our  parents,  it  was  regarded  as  inappropriate  behavior. 

All  the  indecent  and  obscene  passages  that  are  counter  to  traditional  ethical 
standard  and  family  ethics  were  also  eliminated.  The  passage  describing  the  for¬ 
bidden  incestuous  relationship  of  Lot  with  his  two  daughters,  in  Genesis  19,  was 
dropped  altogether  from  the  Bible.  And  the  account  of  the  sexual  act  between 
Judah  and  Tamar,  in  Genesis  38,  was  rewritten:  Judah  mistaking  Tamar,  his 
daughter-in-law,  as  a  “harlot”  became  Judah  mistaking  Tamar  to  be  a  “woman”; 
the  image  of  Tamar  cheating  Judah  into  having  sex  with  her  was  reshaped  into 
an  obedient  daughter-in-law  pleading  with  Judah  to  get  a  wife  for  his  son  Shelah; 
and  Judah  getting  Tamar  pregnant  was  rewritten  as  Judah  “got  a  wife  for  Shelah,” 
his  youngest  son,  and  “the  wife  became  pregnant  after  marriage  with  Shelah.” 

In  Hong’s  interpretation,  it  was  not  the  levirate  marriage  that  necessitated  the 
marriage  of  the  second  and  third  sons  of  Judah.  Instead,  Tamar  urges  Judah  to 
marry  off  his  second  and  third  sons  so  that  they  could  father  a  son  who  would  be 
the  stepson  of  the  first  brother.  The  Chinese  custom  of  adoption  is  enforced  to 
replace  the  Hebrew  custom  of  levirate  marriage:  “And  so  Judah  chose  Perez  to 
continue  the  elder  brother’s  line,  and  Zerah  to  be  the  son  of  Shelah” 

(Gen.  38:30).^°  Hong  himself  had  done  the  same  to  have  his  own  son  adopted  as 
Jesus’s  son.^'  Genesis  38  is  therefore  used  by  Hong  to  support  the  Chinese  con¬ 
cept  of  adoption  of  the  first  bom  of  a  younger  brother  by  the  elder  brother. 

Purging  the  Bible  of  the  indecencies  and  immorality  in  the  Old  Testament  was 
imperative  in  order  to  present  the  ancestors  of  Jesus  in  the  genealogy  of  Jesus  in 
Matthew  1  as  moral  exemplars.  The  lies  told  by  Abraham  and  Isaac  in  denying 
their  wives  were  recast  so  that  the  blame  “falls  on  either  their  wives  themselves 
or  on  other  intermediaries.”^^  Jacob’s  story  is  full  of  deceits  and  therefore  too 
immoral  to  be  redeemed  by  just  making  minor  changes,  so  Hong  rewrote  it.  In 
Genesis  25:3 1-34,  Jacob  is  presented  as  one  who  lectures  to  Esau  to  respect  his 
birthright  and  only  agrees  to  “divide”  it  with  him  in  exchange  for  the  pottage  that 
Esau  deeply  desires.  Jacob’s  deceitful  plan  in  Genesis  27  is  said  to  be  fiilly  initi¬ 
ated  by  Rebekah,  although  Jacob  had  gently  reproved  her  and  only  follows  her 


Ergang  and  Qing,  Taiping  Tianguo,  vol.  2,  9;  Spence,  God's  Chinese  Son,  256. 

See  “Odes  for  Youth”  in  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2.  163  and  Publication  of 
Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom,  vol.  1  (Nanjing:  Jiangsu  People’s  Publishing  Co.,  1979),  59. 
Ergang  and  Qing,  Taiping  Tianguo,  vol.  2,  42. 

Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son,  258. 

Ibid.,  256;  Gen.  20:2-13;  26:7-9 


31 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


plan  out  of  filial  piety.  At  the  end,  Jacob  does  not  deceive  Isaac  at  all.  His  father 
is  moved  to  bless  Jacob  because  of  his  filial  piety  in  bringing  him  savory  meat. 

The  laws  in  the  Pentateuch  also  had  to  be  altered  to  bring  them  in  line  with  the  Con- 
flician  traditions.  Exodus  22: 16-17  was  rewritten  to  have  Moses’s  laws  fall  in  line 
with  the  Taiping  rules  against  adultery,  which  was  punishable  by  death.  The  seventh 
commandment  was  properly  addressed  and  duly  observed.  In  the  following  exam¬ 
ples  of  the  original  biblical  version,  followed  by  Hong’s  version,  it  is  obvious  that 
the  revised  version  has  been  changed  to  be  readily  acceptable  in  the  Chinese  context: 

And  if  a  man  entices  a  maid  that  is  not  betrothed,  and  lies  with  her, 
he  surely  endows  her  to  be  his  wife.  If  her  father  utterly  refuses  to 
give  her  unto  him,  he  shall  pay  money  according  to  the  dowry  of 
virgin  (Exod.  22:16-17). 

And  if  a  man  entices  a  maid  that  is  not  betrothed,  and  lies  with  her, 
he  is  breaking  the  Seventh  Commandment.  If  her  father  knows  of  the 
matter,  then  he  must  hand  over  both  the  woman  and  her  seducer  to 
the  officials,  to  be  executed,  on  no  account  may  he,  knowing  what 
has  happened,  attempt  to  conceal  it  (Exod.  22:16-17). 


Hong’s  Annotations  and  the  Impact  of 
THE  Chinese  Religious  World 

In  the  last  section  I  show  how  cross-textual  reading  affects  the  selection  and 
interpretation  of  themes  and  motifs  of  both  the  Chinese  religious  world  and  the 
Bible  in  the  eighty-two  annotations  Hong  made  on  the  margins  of  the  Bible.  The 
longest  annotations  are  on  First  Epistle  of  John  5  and  Revelation  12,  containing 
419  and  321  characters,  respectively.  I  highlight  three  areas:  first,  the  portrayal 
of  Satan  and  demons;  second,  the  concept  of  God  descending  to  the  earth  with 
a  divine  mission;  and  third,  the  pursuit  of  a  utopian  ideal  of  great  peace  and  its 
fulfillment  in  the  Taiping  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace. 

According  to  Theodore  Hamberg,  the  tracts  of  Liang  Afa  shed  light  on  the  for¬ 
eign  invasions,  mass  sufferings,  and  tragic  deaths  encountered  by  the  people  of 
the  time.”  The  quotations  from  the  prophet  Isaiah  in  the  tracts  speak  out  loud 


”  Theodore  Hamberg,  '‘The  Visions  of  Hung-siu-tshuen,  and  [the]  Origin  of  the  Kwang-si  Insur¬ 
rection,”  1854.  Reprint  with  Chinese  translation  by  Jen  yu-wen  (Jian  Youwen)  (Beijing:  Yanjing 
University  Press,  1935).  Hamberg  assumes  that  Hong  read  Liang  Afa’s  Good  Words  for  the  Admo¬ 
nition  of  the  World  in  1836.  Jonathan  Spence  agrees  to  that  date  and  gives  a  narration  of  the  politi¬ 
cal  and  social  catastrophes  of  Liang  Afa’s  time  in  God's  Chinese  Son,  5 1-55. 


32 


The  Bible  in  China 


and  clear  about  the  evils  done  to  the  land.^'*  Now  that  evil,  presumably  the  work 
of  the  devil,  has  infiltrated  the  human  race,  the  slaying  of  demons  remained  the 
central  task  required  to  cleanse  the  earth.  The  annotations  emphasize  the  divine 
mission  and  mandate  from  heaven  given  to  Hong  to  “exterminate  the  demons 
and  redeem  the  righteous”  (Matt.  10:32-33).  The  parable  of  the  tares  (Matt. 
13:24-43)  and  the  parable  of  the  net  (Matt.  13:47-52)  were  interpreted  along 
this  line. 

The  search  for  the  source  of  evil  begins  in  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis  in  the 
Bible.  It  is  from  Liang  Afa  that  Hong  took  the  image  of  the  serpent  demon 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  who  embodies  the  devil  and  lures  Eve  into  taking  the 
forbidden  fruit,  which  generates  knowledge  of  devious  ways.^^  Hong  approved 
of  this  image  and  accepted  the  devil  as  having  first  appeared  as  the  serpent  in 
the  Garden  of  Eden.  Eve  was  tempted  and  believed  the  devil’s  words.  In  suc¬ 
cessive  generations,  the  serpent  deceived  all  women  who  deeply  believed  in 
the  demon’s  word,  bringing  destruction  to  all  human  lives.  The  Father  therefore 
decided  to  send  down  the  flood. God’s  plan  to  send  his  Son  to  earth  was  seen 
as  necessary  to  save  fallen  humankind  from  evil.  Liang  explained  that  this  mes¬ 
sianic  event  is  not  recorded  in  the  Chinese  classics  because  the  classics  were 
completed  before  Jesus  arrived.^’ 

The  command  that  Hong  should  kill  the  devil  and  all  the  demons  provided 
the  rationale  for  the  kingdom’s  strategic  military  and  violent  punitive  campaigns. 
The  central  message  of  the  Taiping  Kingdom  was  the  fight  against  demonic 
power,  which  manifested  itself  in  various  forms  in  the  religiocultural  and 
sociopolitical  context  of  China.  Eliminating  the  “demon”  is  a  radical  call 
without  any  compromises.^*  The  first  task  was  to  eliminate  all  idols  and 
images  of  false  gods.  Confucianism,  Daoism,  and  Buddhism  were  all 
condemned  as  false  teachings  and  idolatrous.  Confucian  scholars  worship¬ 
ping  the  gods  of  literature  were  accused  of  imploring  vanity.  They  “cling  to 
their  delusions”  and  are  “obsessed  by  their  ambitions.”*^  “The  Confucian 
examinations  are  worthless  vanities,  spreading  false  hopes,  engendering 
false  procedures. 


Isaiah  1:5-7;  28-31. 

Liang  Afa,  Good  Words  for  the  Admonition  of  the  World  (Taipei:  Taiwan  Student  Bookstore, 
1965),  chap.  1:17. 

Hong’s  annotations  on  Gen.  3:1-2  and  6:5-13. 

Liang,  Good  Words,  chap.  12:16. 

Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son,  254. 

Ibid.,  60.  Taken  from  Good  Words,  1:5-6. 

Good  Words,  65. 


33 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


In  the  long  annotation  on  Revelation  12,  the  theme  of  the  great  red  dragon  as 
the  serpent-devil  named  Demon  Yan-Luo'^^  is  highlighted  along  with  God’s 
plan  to  save  humankind  by  the  descent  of  Jesus  to  earth  and  Hong’s  birth  by  a 
woman  on  the  earth/^  In  this  annotation,  Hong  also  refers  to  two  other  annota¬ 
tions  in  the  Old  Testament.  As  part  of  God’s  plan  of  salvation,  God  sends  Hong 
as  Melchizedek  to  protect  and  bless  Abraham,  knowing  that  Jesus  will  be  bom 
from  one  of  Abraham’s  descendants.  In  the  Abraham  and  Melchizedek  story, 
“King  of  Salem”  becomes  “King  of  Heavenly  Dynasty”  (Gen.  14:18)  as  Hong 
identifies  himself  with  Melchizedek  in  the  annotations.  Hong’s  mission  on  earth 
was  to  fight  against  and  eradicate  the  devil  and  bring  peace  on  earth.  This  anno¬ 
tation  stresses  that  Hong’s  mission  was  accomplished  through  the  establishment 
of  the  Taiping  Kingdom,  the  fulfillment  of  the  scripture. 

The  prediction  of  Hong’s  descent  is  explicitly  stated  in  the  annotation  on  God’s 
covenant  after  the  flood  (Gen.  9:8-17),  with  the  heavenly  rainbow  taken  as 
the  sign.  It  curves  like  a  bow,  symbolizing  the  sun  in  the  Chinese  character, 
with  Hong  himself  as  the  shining  sun.  The  rainbow  that  appears  in  heaven  also 
“prophesies  that  God  would  send  Hong  the  Sun  to  be  the  Lord.’’'^'^  The  Chinese 
concept  of  xiafan  (meaning  “descending  to  the  earth”)  and  divine  indwelling  are 
central  ideas  used  to  understand  the  epiphany  of  God,  Jesus’s  incarnation,  and 
Hong’s  divine  mission.  The  use  of  the  term  xiafan  itself  shows  the  impact  of  the 
traditional  Chinese  religious  notion  of  “descending  to  the  profane.”  In  the  anno¬ 
tation  to  Matthew  3:16  on  the  baptism  of  Jesus,  it  is  written:  “The  Holy  Spirit  is 
God,  and  the  Elder  Brother  is  God’s  Eldest  son.  When  the  Elder  Brother  comes, 
God  also  comes.  So  it  is  that  God  and  Christ  have  now  descended  into  the  world. 
Respect  this.”'^^  In  Jesus  God  has  dwelt,  and  Jesus’s  word  is  therefore  God’s 
word,  and  Jesus’s  healing  power  is  from  God  (Matt.  8:1-4;  14-15;  9:29-30). 

The  figure  Melchizedek  in  Genesis  14:17-24  was  interpreted  by  Hong  as  “none 
other  than  me.”  Hong  made  use  of  the  Melchizedek  passage  to  indicate  that 
whatever  God  intends  to  do,  God  must  give  him  a  “premonition.”"*®  Melchizedek 


Hong  uses  the  phrase  “the  Demon  Devil  Yan  Luo  and  his  minions”  to  refer  to  the  power  of 
evil  and  its  company;  see  Spence,  God’s  Chinese  Son,  254.  “Yan  Luo”  is  the  Chinese  name  for 
the  master  of  hell,  who  controls  the  dead. 

Hong  points  out  that  a  sign  of  the  sun  was  made  and  he  was  clothed  with  the  sun,  a  symbol 
of  royalty  and  kingship  in  China. 

English  translation  in  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  236-37.  See  also  Cheng,  Chi¬ 
nese  Sources,  90-91,  and  the  Chinese  original  in  Yufii,  Historical  Sources,  86-87. 

My  modification  of  Michael’s  rendering  in  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  225. 

“Respect  this!”  is  a  standard  phrase  used  by  the  emperor  to  conclude  the  imperial  edict  that 
demands  obedience  from  his  subjects. 

The  translation  in  Michael.  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  is  “previous  allusion,”  which  is  not 
appropriate  in  the  context. 


34 


The  Bible  in  China 


is  historical  proof  of  Hong’s  descent  manifested  in  real  events.  The  notion  of 
premonition  is  further  developed  by  the  illustration  of  God  descending  in  ancient 
times  to  deliver  the  Israelites  from  Egypt  and  the  birth  of  the  Elder  Brother, 

Jesus  in  Judah,  to  save  the  world.  Hong  also  refers  to  himself  in  these  words:  “In 
the  past  when  I  descended  into  the  world  to  comfort  and  bless  Abraham,  it  was  a 
very  good  premonition.”'^’^ 

The  theme  of  fulfillment  seems  to  be  purely  Christian,  but  it  is  also  combined 
with  the  Chinese  shamanist  concept  of  signs  and  portents  to  demonstrate  the 
coming  of  a  mandated  ruler  or  savior.  Hong  claimed  to  be  the  one  predicted  by 
the  Scriptures  of  both  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  to  be  sent  by  Shangdi  and 
Jesus.  Hong  also  believed  that  Jesus  was  referring  to  him  in  Matthew  27  when 
he  talked  about  rebuilding  the  temple  in  three  days.  “Three”  refers  to  the  three 
dots  of  Hong’s  surname  in  Chinese  characters  and  “days”  indicates  the  “sun” 
(“re”  in  Chinese  has  both  the  meaning  of  “day”  and  the  “sun”).  Hong  therefore 
interpreted  “three  days”  as  having  the  metaphorical  meaning  of  “Hong  the  sun 
who  will  become  the  ruler  and  rebuild  the  destroyed  temple.” 

TTie  establishment  of  the  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom  secured  its  biblical  foun¬ 
dation  in  Hong’s  interpretation  of  the  Bible.  The  often-spoken  phrase  “Earthy 
Paradise,”  which  refers  to  the  “Heavenly  Court”  of  Nanjing,  the  capital  of  the 
kingdom,  is  understood  vis-a-vis  the  “Greater  Heaven”  awaiting  the  souls  of  God’s 
followers.  Being  an  earthly  “Little  Heaven,”  it  represents  man’s  temporal  physi¬ 
cal  existence.  Hong  justified  this  belief  through  his  interpretation  of  the  texts  of  I 
Corinthian  15:49-53  and  Acts  15:14-16.  The  divine  revelatory  status  of  Hong’s 
“Heavenly  Court”  also  was  supported  by  the  commentary  about  the  new  Jerusa¬ 
lem  in  the  Book  of  Revelation  3:12.  Hong’s  annotated  note  in  the  margin  reads: 

Now  the  Elder  Brother  is  come.  In  the  Heavenly  Court  is  the  temple 
of  the  Heavenly  Father,  Shangdi,  the  True  Deity;  there  also  is  the  Elder 
Brother  Christ’s  temple,  wherein  are  already  inscribed  the  names  of 
God  and  Christ.  The  New  Jerusalem  sent  down  from  Heaven  by  God 
the  Heavenly  Father  is  our  present  Heavenly  Capital  [Tianjing].  It  is 
fulfilled.  Respect  these  words. 

Building  the  heavenly  kingdom  on  earth  has  been  a  tradition  in  certain 
Christian  communities  and  theological  circles.  Hong  regarded  his  heavenly 


Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  225. 

Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  235,  quoted  and  modified  by  Spence,  God’s  Chinese 
Son,  295.  See  also  Yufu,  Historical  Sources,  86. 


35 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


dynasty  as  the  fulfillment  of  Jesus’s  word  in  the  gospel.  He  says  in  the  anno¬ 
tation  on  Matthew  5  that  the  “Kingdom  is  at  hand”  and  the  “Great  Paradise” 
includes  both  the  heavenly  kingdom  above  and  the  one  on  earth.  Hong  saw 
his  capital  in  Nanjing  as  the  new  Jerusalem  coming  down  from  heaven  as 
it  is  revealed  in  Revelation  21.  Furthermore,  the  songs  of  the  angels,  who 
appeared  to  the  shepherds  in  the  field  during  the  birth  of  Jesus,  are  inter¬ 
preted  as  being  fulfilled  in  the  present  (Luke  2:13-14).  “Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest  and  peace  (taiping)  upon  humanity  below”  refers  to  “the  establish¬ 
ment  of  the  Kingdom  of  Great  Peace.”  The  new  Jerusalem  seen  by  John  in 
Revelation  21  is  therefore  said  to  be  both  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  According 
to  the  annotation,  the  heavenly  capital  of  the  heavenly  dynasty  is  regarded  as 
the  new  Jerusalem  on  earth. 

Whether  Hong’s  motivation  in  setting  off  the  revolution  was  genuinely 
based  on  his  religious  experience  or  he  made  use  of  Christianity  only  for  his 
rebellious  movement  depends  on  how  committed  he  was  to  these  religious 
beliefs.  The  eighty-two  annotations  and  commentaries  Hong  wrote  in  the 
ample  margins  of  the  Bible  may  appear  to  some  as  “incoherent,  meaning¬ 
less,  ramblings,”^'  but  they  are  appropriations  shaped  by  Hong’s  claim  to  be 
God’s  younger  son  and  his  convictions  about  the  coming  of  great  peace  on 
earth.  He  believed  that  the  Old  Testament  should  be  read,  as  in  the  Christian 
tradition  of  the  missionary  movement  of  the  time,  in  the  light  of  the  New 
Testament.  The  former  contains  the  prophecies  of  not  only  the  prefiguration 
of  the  messianic  mission  of  Jesus  as  the  Christ  but  also  the  prediction  of  his 
own  descent  to  earth  to  establish  salvation  through  the  Taiping  Heavenly 
Kingdom. 


Conclusion 

The  Bible  is  a  powerful  text  that  inspires  readers  to  reach  their  own  inter¬ 
pretations  when  they  are  free  from  the  prescribed  interpretation  governed  by 
traditional  doctrines  of  the  Christian  community.  Biblical  themes,  concepts, 
motifs,  and  literary  structures  provide  the  basic  foundations  for  imagina¬ 
tion  and  enable  readers  to  engage  with  the  text  in  their  own  differ  that  ways, 
which  sometimes  seem  strange  to  the  Christian  communities  that  claim  to 


Yufti,  Historical  Sources,  87;  Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  237;  and  Cheng,  Chi¬ 
nese  Sources,  9 1 . 

Luo  is  of  the  position  that  Hong’s  political  agenda  came  first  and  religion  was  only  the  outer 
garment;  see  his  History  of  the  Taiping  Kingdom,  vol.  2,  153. 

Michael,  The  Taiping  Rebellion,  vol.  2,  234. 


36 


The  Bible  in  China 


own  the  text  and  assume  an  authoritative  reading  strategy.  In  this  case,  it 
is  the  utopian  ideals  that  captured  the  minds  and  thoughts  both  of  the  poor 
peasants  who  had  been  oppressed  by  their  corrupt  government  and  of  a 
disappointed  scholar  who  failed  the  public  examinations  that  could  have 
guaranteed  him  a  successful  and  respectable  life.  The  Heavenly  Kingdom  of 
Great  Peace  that  Hong  described  as  a  result  of  his  imaginative  reading  of  the 
Bible  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  meaningless  to  the  thousands  of  frustrated 
peasants  in  the  southern  part  of  China  at  the  time.  The  new  religion  that  Hong 
formulated  was  complex  in  its  attempts  to  integrate  Christianity,  Confu- 
cian  teachings,  indigenous  shamanistic  beliefs,  and  the  political  agenda  of 
the  Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom  on  earth.  But  as  a  result  of  its  syncretistic 
approach  and  ideological  concerns,  Hong’s  religion  was  undermined  by  con¬ 
ventional  Christianity  and  deemed  heretical. 

When  I  ponder  the  situation  and  experience  of  Jesus  and  his  disciples  in  their 
quest  for  salvation  in  the  midst  of  the  Roman  Empire,  my  mind  is  drawn  to  the 
challenging  parallels  between  Jesus  and  Hong.  Jesus  read  the  Hebrew  Bible  and 
saw  himself  as  the  Son  of  God,  fulfilling  the  text’s  promise  of  redemption  of 
the  people  of  Israel.  Most  contemporary  Jewish  communities  find  the  ways  the 
New  Testament  interprets  the  Old  Testament  to  be  offensive  and  blasphemous. 
The  new  religion  and  its  text  have  survived  to  become  the  gospel.  Perhaps  it  was 
its  political  agenda  and  massive  military  campaigns  that  eventually  drove  the 
Taiping  Heavenly  Kingdom  to  its  destruction.  The  withdrawal  of  the  colonial 
powers  and  the  abandonment  by  the  missionary  boards  facilitated  the  brutal 
suppression  of  the  short-lived  kingdom  and  the  bloody  massacre  of  not  only 
the  rebellious  Taiping  Army  but  also  innocent  citizens  in  all  the  cities  that  came 
under  the  rule  of  the  Taiping  regime.  All  things  even  remotely  linked  to  the 
Taipings  in  China  were  utterly  destroyed,  and  all  publications  were  completely 
burned.  No  wonder  the  only  copy  of  the  imperial  edition  of  the  Taiping  Bible 
that  survives  today  is  found  in  the  British  Library. 

The  Bible  does  speak  through  its  readers,  albeit  sometimes  to  our  surprise 
and  in  a  strange  voice  not  generally  recognized  by  those  who  claim  to  be  in 
possession  of  it,  defending  the  authority  of  its  interpretation  and  upholding 
the  orthodoxy  that  presumably  derives  from  it.  The  questions  are;  who  has  the 
power  to  set  criteria  for  interpretation  when  the  Bible  leaves  the  familiar  con¬ 
text  of  the  conventional  Christian  community  and  encounters  a  foreign  culture, 
with  its  plurality  of  texts  and  scriptures?  How  valid  are  the  traditions  of  the 
“mother  church”  for  the  “younger  churches”  in  the  so-called  mission  field? 
Who  should  govern  the  process  of  reading  the  Bible  in  a  new  sociopolitical 
context?  Perhaps  for  those  who  are  interested  in  canonical  criticsm,  should  the 


37 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Bible  always  be  understood  only  as  the  canon  in  the  traditions  of  the  Christian 
community,  as  has  been  proposed  by  proponents  of  canonical  criticism?^^ 

The  Bible  is  surely  an  open  text  that  invites  a  variety  of  interpretations  and 
inspires  a  plurality  of  readings  in  diverse  contexts.  Who  should  own  the  Bible 
and  therefore  possess  the  monopoly  of  the  power  to  interpret?  Many  of  us 
have,  in  one  way  or  another,  shown  our  appreciation  of  the  creativity  demon¬ 
strated  by  literature,  visual  arts,  and  music  as  they  engage  in  and  appropriate 
the  Bible.  The  great  challenge  for  us  is:  who  can  exercise  the  authority  to  keep 
the  Bible  within  the  Christian  community  and  to  not  allow  it  to  live  out  its  life 
as  a  scripture  of  another  religion  or  to  liberate  the  human  imagination  for  the 
“peoples  of  God”  in  a  new  context  in  Asia? 

Hong’s  interpretation  of  the  Bible  is  a  typical  example  of  the  encounter  between 
the  biblical  scriptures  and  the  Asian  texts  in  a  non-Christian  context  in  which 
readers  possess  numerous  religious  texts.  Even  if  the  local  texts  are  being  sup¬ 
pressed  in  principle,  they  still  exercise  some  cultural  influence  on  native  readers. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  power  of  the  biblical  text  should  not  be  undermined.  The 
basic  structure  and  motifs  in  the  Bible  do  provide  the  imagination  and  inspira¬ 
tion  for  new  readers  in  new  contexts.  H 


See  the  representative  works  of  Brevard  S.  Child,  Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament  as 
Scripture  (London:  SCM  Press,  1979)  and  Old  Testament  Theology  in  a  Canonical  Context 
(London:  SCM  Press,  1985),  as  well  as  James  A.  Sanders,  Canon  and  Community:  A  Guide  to 
Canonical  Criticism  (Philadelphia:  Fortress  Press,  1984).  James  Barr,  whom  1  regard  as  a  great 
biblical  scholar  and  for  whom  1  had  the  honor  of  being  invited  to  pay  my  respects  in  a  memo¬ 
rial  during  the  2007  San  Diego  SBL  session,  engaged  the  canonical  issues  from  a  perspective 
different  from  the  conventional  canonical  criticism  in  his  books:  The  Scope  and  Authority  of  the 
Bible  (Philadelphia:  Westminster  Press,  1980)  and  Holy  Scripture:  Canon,  Authority,  Criticism 
(Oxford:  Clarendon  Press.  1983). 


38 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets:  The  Role  of  Suffering 
in  the  Quest  for  Social  Justice 

by  Peter  J.  Paris 


Dr  Peter  J.  Paris,  Elmer  G.  Homrighausen  Professor  of  Christian  Social  Ethics 
Emeritus  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary,  gave  this  Dr.  Martin  Luther  King 
Jr.  Lecture  on  April  7,  2008,  in  Miller  Chapel.  Paris  earned  his  M.A.  and  PhD. 
degrees  at  the  University  of  Chicago,  which  honored  him  as  alumnus  of  the  year 
in  1995.  Paris  has  served  as  president  of  the  American  Academy  of  Religion, 
the  Society  of  Christian  Ethics,  and  the  Society  for  the  Study  of  Black  Religion. 
He  is  the  author  o/Black  Religious  Leaders:  Conflict  in  Unity  (1991)  awt/The 
Spirituality  of  Afi'ican  Peoples:  The  Search  for  a  Common  Moral  Discourse 
(1995). 

a  this  fortieth  anniversary  of  the  assassination  of  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.,  it 
is  altogether  right  and  proper  that  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  have  a  lecture 
in  honor  of  the  twentieth  century’s  most  respected  civic  leader.  I  have  fond 
memories  of  Professor  Mark  Taylor  devoting  much  energy  to  helping  us  develop 
the  rationale  for  such  a  lectureship.  Our  aim  was  to  have  an  annual  lecture  deliv¬ 
ered  in  April  by  a  scholar  who  would  address  King’s  legacy  from  an  academic 
perspective.  Your  invitation  to  me  to  present  this  year’s  lecture  is  a  great  honor 
for  which  I  am  most  grateful. 

Since  1986  this  nation  has  celebrated  Dr.  King’s  birthday  as  a  national  holiday,  and 
it  will  forever  be  associated  with  the  legacy  of  Congressman  John  Conyers  fi'om 
Michigan,  Congresswoman  Shirley  Chisholm,  and  Dr.  King’s  widow,  Coretta 
Scott  King.  Conyers  introduced  the  bill  for  a  national  holiday  four  days  after 
King’s  assassination.  He  and  Congresswoman  Chisholm  reintroduced  it  each 
year  afterward.  Mrs.  King  worked  tirelessly  for  fifteen  years  to  build  public  support 
for  the  bill  and  to  raise  monies  to  build  the  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.  Center  for 
Nonviolent  Social  Change  at  the  site  of  his  family  home  and  church  in  Atlanta. 


DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 .5 


39 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


By  celebrating  King’s  birth,  we  recognize  the  promise  of  a  great  soul  who  would 
contribute  much  good  to  his  nation  and  the  world  at  large.  By  commemorating 
his  assassination  we  recognize  that  the  struggle  for  racial  justice  was  a  matter  of 
life  and  death  for  all  who  had  the  courage  to  oppose  the  prevailing  customs  and 
mores  of  the  day.  Dr.  King  predicted  that  he  would  eventually  be  killed,  and  he 
lived  every  day  anticipating  it.  In  other  words,  he  was  haunted  daily  by  the  angst 
of  constant  terror.  His  home  was  bombed;  he  was  beaten,  stabbed,  insulted, 
ridiculed,  spied  upon,  abused,  threatened,  jailed  twenty-nine  times,  and  finally 
killed  in  broad  daylight. 

The  so-called  civil  rights  movement  at  mid-century  was  motivated  by  the 
Supreme  Court  decision  of  May  17,  1954,  in  Brown  v.  the  Board  of  Education, 
which  overturned  the  Plessy  v.  Ferguson  decision  of  1 896  that  had  bestowed 
constitutional  legitimacy  on  the  racial  doctrine  of  “separate  but  equal.” 

Prompted  by  the  gentle  disobedience  of  Rosa  Parks  to  give  up  her  bus  seat 
to  a  white  man.  King,  a  clergyman  of  twenty-six  years  of  age,  fresh  from 
Ph.D.  studies  in  theology,  was  called  upon  to  lay  the  theological  and  moral 
foundation  for  a  boycott  of  the  buses  in  Montgomery,  Alabama.  No  one  could 
have  predicted  that  that  boycott  would  last  for  nearly  thirteen  months.  And  none 
could  have  imagined  that  its  momentum  would  steadily  increase  and  eventually 
culminate  in  the  Civil  Rights  Act  of  1964  and  the  Voting  Rights  Act  of  1965, 
both  of  which  restored  first-class  citizenship  to  blacks  for  the  first  time  since  the 
period  of  Reconstruction. 

Along  with  others  I  view  this  notable  struggle  through  the  imagery  of  moral 
theater  in  the  streets.  With  King  as  the  major  protagonist,  the  public  drama  took 
the  form  of  nonviolent  resistance  comprising  well-dressed  students  marching; 
singing  the  so-called  spirituals  of  their  ancestors  while  updating  their  lyrics;  pray¬ 
ing  on  the  steps  of  the  state  capitols;  shouting  slogans;  waving  posters;  gathering 
in  churches  for  prayers,  testimonies,  and  preaching;  and,  most  of  all,  refusing  to 
retaliate  with  violence.  More  often  than  not,  these  nonviolent  demonstrators  were 
confronted  with  the  violence  of  the  local  and  state  police  forces,  hatemongers, 
and  the  nefarious  activities  of  clandestine  groups  such  as  the  Ku  Klux  Klan. 

Other  collateral  dramas  inspired  by  the  same  ethos  also  gained  visibility,  such 
as  the  1959  Albany  campaign,  the  1961  Freedom  Riders  campaign,  the  1962 
University  of  Mississippi  desegregation  crisis,  the  1964  freedom  summer  cam¬ 
paign,  and  the  1964  appearance  of  the  Mississippi  Freedom  Democratic  Party  at 
the  Democratic  Party’s  National  Convention  in  Atlantic  City,  where  Fannie  Lou 
Hamer,  the  youngest  of  twenty-two  children  in  a  sharecropper’s  family  who  was 
badly  beaten  by  her  Mississippi  jailers,  gained  national  visibility  by  telling  her 
story  of  suffering  and  ending  with  the  song,  “This  Little  Light  of  Mine.” 


40 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


Time  does  not  permit  a  comprehensive  analysis  of  the  phenomenon  of  street  theater 
in  the  civil  rights  movement.  Rather,  my  aim  is  to  discuss  one  dimension  of  that 
subject,  which  permeated  every  scene  of  those  street  dramas,  namely,  the  role  of 
suffering  in  the  moral  quest  for  racial  justice.  In  fact,  the  experience  of  suffering  has 
characterized  the  lives  of  African  Americans  ever  since  1619,  when  our  ancestors 
were  sold  into  slavery  for  the  first  time  in  Jamestown,  Virginia.  They  had  come  to 
this  country  not  as  hopeful  immigrants  but  as  human  cargo,  destined  to  remain  in 
the  cauldron  of  slavery  for  244  years,  followed  by  another  century  of  racial  segrega¬ 
tion  and  discrimination.  During  every  period  of  that  brutal  experience,  the  enslaved 
Afiicans  displayed  two  major  characteristics:  one  that  aimed  at  survival,  and  the 
other  that  sought  freedom  and  social  transformation. 

On  the  one  hand,  their  drive  for  survival  necessitated  what  appeared  to  be  pas¬ 
sive  endurance  of  the  incessant  misery  of  forced  labor:  an  experience  that  the 
poet  James  Weldon  Johnson  aptly  described  as  a  time  “when  hope  unborn  had 
died.”  On  the  other  hand,  their  spirit  of  resistance  involved  a  variety  of  actions 
that  included  clandestine  meetings  for  spiritual  nurture  through  music,  dance, 
and  song,  and  plotting  either  to  escape  or  to  rebel. 

Subsequent  to  the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  fall  of  Reconstruction,  this  nation 
descended  into  a  moral  quagmire,  a  condition  that  Rayford  Logan  called  the 
nadir  in  American  history.  Throughout  that  time  blacks  adapted  to  their  situa¬ 
tion  when  they  had  no  other  choice,  and  they  protested  against  it  whenever  they 
possibly  could.  Clearly,  the  civil  rights  movement  led  by  Martin  Luther  King 
Jr.,  constituted  a  unique  moment  in  the  history  of  black  resistance  because  the 
Montgomery  bus  boycott  was  the  first  sustained  direct  confrontation  blacks  had 
ever  launched  against  the  white  power  structure.  The  noted  sociologist  C.  Eric 
Lincoln  claimed  that  this  significant  action  marked  a  radical  change  in  the  his¬ 
tory  of  African  American  civil  protest  in  the  south.  Henceforth,  the  Montgomery 
bus  boycott  would  symbolize  the  death  of  the  so-called  Negro  church  as  E. 
Franklin  Frazier  had  understood  it  and  the  birth  of  the  nascent  black  church.’ 

In  the  late  1960s,  nascent  black  theologians  sought  to  give  theological  mean¬ 
ing  to  the  post-civil  rights  struggle  for  economic  and  political  power.  The 
provocative  phrase  “black  power”  emerged  during  that  period.  It  was  a  term 
that  originated  from  the  radical  rhetoric  of  King’s  rebellious  follower,  Stokely 
Carmichael.  Along  with  his  followers,  Carmichael  strongly  believed  that  radical 
thinking  and  aggressive  actions  would  persuade  growing  numbers  of  people 


’  See  C.  Eric  Lincoln,  The  Black  Church  Since  Frazier  (bound  with  Edward  Eranklin  Erazier’s 
The  Negro  Church  in  America)  (New  York:  Schocken  Books,  1974). 


41 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


that  King’s  method  of  nonviolent  resistance  had  become  obsolete.  Under  the 
influence  of  both  Marxist  and  black  nationalist  ideologies,  they  rejected  King’s 
ethics  of  love  and  reconciliation,  which  they  mistakenly  interpreted  as  passive 
acceptance  of  suffering  coupled  with  an  unnatural  love  for  their  oppressors. 
King  tried  in  vain  to  remain  in  dialogue  with  these  challengers,  as  seen  in  his 
last  book.  Where  Do  We  Go  from  Here:  Chaos  or  Community,  in  which  he 
argued  against  the  use  of  the  words  “black  power”  because  of  their  inflamma¬ 
tory  semantic  effects. 

Over  the  years  and  in  varying  ways,  the  problem  of  suffering  has  been  a  major 
theological  concern  in  the  religious  thought  of  a  wide  range  of  theological 
thinkers,  such  as  the  black  nationalist  Malcolm  X,  long-time  national  spokes¬ 
man  for  the  Honorable  Elijah  Muhammad’s  Nation  of  Islam,  commonly 
known  as  the  Black  Muslims;  the  black  liberation  theologians  James  Cone, 
Gayraud  Wilmore,  William  R.  Jones,  and  others;  the  womanist  theologians 
Delores  Williams,  Jacqueline  Grant,  JoAnne  Terrell,  et  al.;  and  white  feminist 
theologians  Judith  Plaskow,  Rita  Nakashima  Brock,  and  Susan  Thistlethwaite, 
to  mention  only  a  few. 

Rejection  of  Traditional  Atonement  Theories 

Though  very  different  from  one  another  in  many  ways,  black  liberation,  woman¬ 
ist,  and  feminist  theologians  all  shared,  both  then  and  now,  a  profound  dislike  for 
the  violence  associated  with  those  traditional  theories  of  atonement  that  offered 
theological  explanations  for  the  meaning  of  Christ’s  crucifixion.  The  following 
are  the  most  prominent  of  those  theories: 

•  Origen’s  ransom  theory  in  the  third  century,  which  was  dominant  in  the 
church’s  teaching  for  the  first  millenium  and  was  based  on  the  necessity  of 
God  paying  a  ransom  to  Satan  for  the  deliverance  of  humanity  from  the  pun¬ 
ishment  for  Adam  and  Eve’s  sin 

•  Anselm’s  satisfaction  theory  in  the  eleventh  century,  which  modified  the 
ransom  theory  by  viewing  the  payment  being  made  to  God  to  satisfy  God’s 
law  and  justice  rather  than  Satan 

•  the  Reformation’s  penal-substitution  theory  in  the  sixteenth  century,  which 
emphasized  God’s  mercy  replacing  God’s  wrath 

•  the  liberationist/feminist/womanist  theologies  that  totally  reject  all  notions  of 
violence  as  the  means  to  salvation  in  favor  of  a  moral  emphasis  on  the  life  of 
Christ  for  that  purpose. 


42 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


In  short,  one  or  other  of  the  traditional  atonement  theories  have  informed  all  the 
major  Christian  traditions.  This  is  seen  vividly  in  the  annual  liturgical  remem¬ 
brances  of  the  passion  of  Christ  leading  up  to  Easter.  Prior  to  the  black  theol¬ 
ogy  movement,  the  black  churches  seemed  to  have  uncritically  embraced  the 
atonement  tradition.  Yet  it  is  important  to  note  that  although  they  always  viewed 
the  suffering  of  Christ  as  analogous  to  theirs,  they  were  never  comfortable  with 
embracing  those  theories  that  claimed  that  God  required  the  crucifixion  as  a 
necessary  condition  for  human  salvation. 

Since  blacks  knew  from  their  own  experience  that  suffering  was  inevitable  for 
all  people  who  dared  to  oppose  the  reigning  ethos  of  racial  injustice,  they  tended 
to  understand  the  suffering  of  Jesus  similarly.  Consequently,  they  always  felt  a 
close  affinity  with  him  for  his  prophetic  criticisms  of  the  religious  and  political 
systems  of  his  day,  and  his  opposition  to  injustice,  which  resulted  in  his  crucifix¬ 
ion.  Accordingly,  the  black  church  prophetic  tradition  has  identified  itself  with 
the  life  and  ministry  of  Jesus. 

The  nascent  theologies  that  African  Americans  constructed  in  the  late  1960s  and 
beyond  critically  claimed  that  the  traditional  atonement  theories  were  morally 
and  psychologically  crippling  for  all  oppressed  peoples  and  especially  for  Afri¬ 
can  Americans  and  all  women.  Needless  to  say,  perhaps,  as  those  new  theologies 
sought  to  ground  their  understandings  of  Christ’s  life  and  mission  in  the  histori¬ 
cal  struggles  of  oppressed  peoples  for  liberation,  they  collided  headlong  with  the 
mainline  theological  traditions  of  the  Christian  churches;  traditions  that  had  been 
greatly  influenced  by  the  Hellenistic  ethos  of  the  so-called  church  fathers  whose 
theologies  virtually  abstracted  Christ  from  history  altogether.  Consequently, 
black  theologians  claimed  that  they  had  failed  to  demonstrate  the  meaning  of  the 
crucifixion  for  oppressed  peoples.^  By  doing  so  they  had  created  a  vast  divide 
between  the  cross  of  Christ  and  the  Exodus  event  that  Jesus  referenced  in  his 
mission  statement  in  the  gospel  of  Luke,  which  black  liberation  theologians  have 
always  considered  paradigmatic  for  their  own  constructive  thought: 

The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me. 

Because  he  has  anointed  me 

To  bring  good  news  to  the  poor. 

He  has  sent  me  to  proclaim  release  to  the  captives 

And  recovery  of  sight  to  the  blind. 


^  The  noted  black  theologian  Howard  Thurman’s  early  book  Jesus  and  the  Disinherited 
(Nashville:  Abingdon-Cokesbury  Press,  1949)  addressed  that  question  by  a  careful  rendering 
of  Christian  thought  among  enslaved  Africans  as  seen  in  the  so-called  Negro  spirituals. 


43 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


To  let  the  oppressed  go  free, 

To  proclaim  the  year  of  the  Lord’s  favor.  (Luke  4:18) 


King’s  Understanding  of  Suffering 

King  frequently  used  the  phrase  “redemptive  suffering,”  which  he  had  inherited 
from  the  traditional  substitution  theory  of  the  Cross.  In  my  judgment,  he  used 
traditional  atonement  language  in  order  to  set  forth  an  alternative  view  of  suffer¬ 
ing,  which  we  will  analyze  carefully. 

Condemnation  of  racial  injustice  and  strong  advocacy  for  racial  justice  was  the 
substance  of  King’s  thought  and  action.  Consequently,  I  contend  that  he  was  the 
forerunner  of  the  black  theology  movement,  which  has  never  given  him  his  due 
credit  because  of  its  blindness  to  his  true  understanding  of  suffering.  Though 
most  black  liberation  and  some  womanist  theologians  have  made  enduring  con¬ 
tributions  to  our  discourse  about  the  relation  of  Christ’s  mission  to  the  struggles 
of  African  Americans  for  racial  justice,  they  have  minimized  the  contribution 
of  King’s  thought  and  action  to  theirs.  In  doing  so  they  have  misunderstood  the 
prophetic  tradition  that  Jesus  explained  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  and  that 
King  embraced  as  the  basis  of  his  teaching  and  practice. 

It  is  important  to  note  that  neither  black  liberation  theology  nor  womanist  theol¬ 
ogy  was  at  the  vanguard  of  the  civil  rights  movement.  Rather,  they  emerged  after 
the  movement  had  completed  its  work  and  achieved  its  primary  legislative  goal 
of  first-class  citizenship  for  African  Americans.  Henceforth,  citizens  of  African 
descent  would  be  protected  by  law  and  entitled  to  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
full  citizenship,  including  that  of  democratic  dissent.  Even  the  use  of  radical  rheto¬ 
ric  by  various  black  nationalists  was  protected  by  the  accomplishments  of  the  civil 
rights  movement  and  the  extraordinary  leadership  of  Martin  Luther  King  Jr. 

For  more  than  a  decade  King’s  leadership  saturated  the  public  arena  with  his 
prophetic  diagnosis  that  racial  injustice  constituted  a  malignancy  in  the  soul 
of  America,  a  malignancy  that  he  predicted  would  eventually  destroy  the 
nation  if  it  were  not  eradicated.  The  image  of  a  diseased  nation  implied  only 
one  possible  cure,  namely,  the  eradication  of  its  cause.  Thus,  King  viewed  his 
mission  as  that  of  redeeming  and  saving  America’s  soul.  His  prophetic  wit¬ 
ness  courageously  called  upon  the  nation  to  live  up  to  its  ideals  by  expanding 
its  democracy  to  include  African  Americans  as  equal  citizens.  His  vision  of  a 
redeemed  nation  captured  the  imagination  of  a  generation  of  people  both  in  this 
country  and  around  the  world,  where  countless  other  oppressed  peoples  were 


44 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


inspired  to  challenge  the  prevailing  systems  of  injustice  that  they  experienced 
in  their  search  for  freedom  and  justice.  King’s  persuasive  rhetoric  and  coura¬ 
geous  actions  inspired  men,  women,  and  children  of  all  races  to  participate  in  an 
unusual  program  of  nonviolent  resistance  that  he  initiated,  nurtured,  and  carried 
out  faithfully  through  numerous  church  gatherings,  mass  rallies,  and  public  dem¬ 
onstrations.  Rarely  had  the  nation  ever  seen  such  countless  numbers  of  students, 
teachers,  ministers,  priests,  rabbis,  singers,  musicians,  comedians,  movie  stars, 
and  little  children  gather  in  the  churches  and  pour  out  into  the  streets  of  Albany, 
Georgia;  Birmingham;  Sehna;  and  even  Chicago  as  disciplined  nonviolent 
resisters  to  the  societal  structures  of  racial  injustice.  In  fact,  many  black  doctors, 
lawyers,  entrepreneurs,  and  others  who  did  not  march  supported  the  demonstra¬ 
tors  by  paying  bail  money  and  providing  pro  bono  defense  services  and  medical 
attention  when  needed. 

Furthermore,  all  those  who  participated  in  the  many  auxiliary  activities  of  the 
movement — such  as  lunch  counter  sit-ins,  freedom  rides,  voter  registration  cam¬ 
paigns,  and  the  desegregation  of  the  University  of  Mississippi — embraced  and 
exemplified  that  same  spirit  of  nonviolent  resistance.  Though  King  was  widely 
criticized  by  both  whites  and  blacks  for  his  method  of  nonviolence,  it  nonethe¬ 
less  characterized  all  aspects  of  the  civil  rights  movement  throughout  the  entire 
decade  of  its  existence  (1955-1965). 

In  every  campaign  much  blood  was  shed  by  the  participants.  Most  impor¬ 
tant,  however,  each  participant  was  a  willing  active  agent  in  the  resistance 
movement  and  not  a  passive  recipient  of  suffering  as  most  black  nationalists, 
including  black  theologians,  mistakenly  thought.  Because  of  the  novelty  of 
the  event,  most  whites  and  blacks  failed  to  comprehend  its  power  and  signifi¬ 
cance.  For  the  first  time  in  the  nation’s  history,  blacks  and  whites  deliberately 
chose  to  work  together  nonviolently  in  their  resistance  to  the  evil  practices  of 
racial  segregation. 

Both  observers  and  participants  alike  easily  discerned  that  the  purpose  of  the 
movement  was  to  provoke  the  mean-spirited  forces  of  racism  to  reveal  their  true 
nature  in  confronting  the  protestors  who,  in  turn,  would  take  upon  themselves 
the  resulting  pain  and  suffering  inflicted  upon  them.  Though  none  believed  that 
God  required  such  suffering,  each  knew  that  their  goal  was  fully  in  accord  with 
God’s  will.  The  suffering  inflicted  on  them  represented  the  resistance  of  evil 
forces  whenever  they  are  threatened  by  the  possibility  of  change.  The  willing¬ 
ness  of  the  resisters  to  endure  the  suffering  represented  the  divine  character  of 
love,  which  always  implies  forgiveness  and  reconciliation  as  the  foundational 
principles  of  racial  justice. 


45 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Thus,  the  protestors  willingly  offered  their  bodies  to  absorb  the  brunt  of  the 
physical  force  that  was  leveled  against  them.  As  anticipated,  their  resistance  pro¬ 
voked  the  municipal  and  state  authorities  to  attack  them  with  brutal  force.  Like 
prisoners,  blacks  had  always  been  expected  either  to  stay  in  their  place  or  risk 
the  violence  of  the  state  police,  which  was  reinforced  by  terroristic  white  citizen 
groups,  such  as  the  Ku  Klux  Klan.  Unwittingly,  various  southern  sheriffs,  such 
as  Bull  O’Connor  and  Jim  Clark,  supported  by  state  governors  and  congressional 
senators  like  George  Wallace,  Senator  James  Eastland,  and  many  others,  cooper¬ 
ated  beautifully  in  the  unfolding  drama.  Television  cameras  carried  the  images  of 
their  cruelty  into  American  living  rooms  nationwide  and  to  the  world  at  large. 

The  nonviolent  resisters  had  assumed  that  the  nation’s  conscience  would 
respond  appropriately  to  the  images  of  innocent  people  being  severely  beaten 
and  abused  as  they  asserted  their  right  to  protest  racial  injustice.  The  redemption 
of  a  nation  that  was  proud  of  its  democratic  tradition  necessitated  the  expansion 
of  that  tradition  to  include  blacks  as  full  citizens.  Alas,  that  goal  would  not  be 
realized  aside  from  the  pain  and  suffering  inflicted  on  the  protestors  by  the  rul¬ 
ing  authorities. 

Certainly,  not  all  blacks  were  willing  to  affirm  King’s  method  of  nonviolent 
resistance.  As  students  became  exposed  to  and  influenced  by  the  notions  of 
cultural  pride  that  were  implicit  in  the  black  nationalist  ideologies  they  were 
discovering,  and  as  they  began  viewing  violence  as  justifiable  in  self-defense 
according  to  the  teachings  of  Malcolm  X,  they  gradually  began  turning  away 
from  King’s  unusual  method  of  nonviolent  resistance.  Their  rejection  of  that 
method  was  intensified  each  time  they  heard  King’s  oft-repeated  teaching  that 
“unmerited  suffering  is  redemptive.”  Under  the  influence  of  black  nationalism, 
black  theologians  persisted  in  viewing  King’s  philosophy  of  nonviolent  resis¬ 
tance  as  a  legacy  of  white  slave-holding  Christianity  and,  correspondingly,  the 
habits  of  accommodating  themselves  to  racial  insult,  abuse,  and  exploitation. 

In  my  judgment,  if  he  had  lived  to  experience  it.  King  would  have  objected 
strongly  to  James  Cone’s  teaching  that  blacks  are  justified  in  fighting  for  their 
liberation  “by  any  means  possible.”  In  fact.  Cone  argued  that  King’s  method 
of  nonviolent  resistance  and  his  concern  for  the  reconciliation  of  the  races 
constituted  an  accommodation  to  a  white  value  system  that  denies  ontological 
status  to  the  liberation  of  black  people  prior  to  any  move  toward  reconciliation. 
By  contrast.  King  would  have  argued  as  he  often  did  that  his  commitment  to 
nonviolent  resistance  was  motivated  by  the  spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
which  proclaimed  an  alternative  approach  to  violence  as  the  only  way  to  break 
its  circular  effect.  Thus,  he  said; 


46 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


To  meet  hate  with  retaliatory  hate  would  do  nothing  but  intensify  the 
existence  of  evil  in  the  universe.  Hate  begets  hate;  violence  begets 
violence;  toughness  begets  a  greater  toughness.  We  must  meet  the 
forces  of  hate  with  the  power  of  love;  we  must  meet  physical  force  with 
soul  force.  ...  The  end  is  redemption  and  reconciliation.  The  aftermath 
of  nonviolence  is  the  creation  of  the  beloved  community,  while  the 
aftermath  of  violence  is  tragic  bitterness.^ 

No  one  ever  doubted  King’s  uncompromising  commitment  to  the  method  of 
nonviolent  resistance  that  he  claimed  was  regulated  by  the  biblical  principle 
of  love  as  agape.  Furthermore,  he  believed  that  those  who  practiced  nonvio¬ 
lence  habitually  would  become  nonviolent  people,  and  even  those  who  merely 
observed  its  practice  would  be  transformed  similarly  by  its  power.  He  also 
taught  that  the  final  goal  of  his  method  was  reconciliation  and  redemption, 
because  the  struggle  they  were  waging  was  not  against  people  but  against  the 
forces  of  evil  that  victimized  all  concerned,  including  the  oppressors  themselves. 

Thus,  King’s  theology  resonated  well  with  the  black  liberation  theology  of 
J.  Deotis  Roberts  as  well  as  that  of  various  womanist  theologies.  Though  Cone 
has  striven  valiantly  to  sustain  a  positive  assessment  of  King’s  integrative  the¬ 
ology,  he  has  only  been  able  to  do  so  by  holding  him  in  dialectical  tension  with 
the  thought  and  practice  of  Malcolm  X.  In  my  judgment,  the  dialectical  rela¬ 
tionship  he  sees  between  the  two  is  not  a  resolution  but  a  juxtaposition  of  two 
contraries.  Because  most  blacks  appreciate  many  of  the  teachings  of  both  King 
and  Malcolm,  and  though  they  may  have  been  influenced  in  different  ways 
by  each  of  them,  the  attempt  to  hold  them  together  in  a  dialectical  manner  is 
neither  a  theological  nor  a  moral  solution.  King’s  uncompromising  commitment 
to  nonviolence  constituted  an  irreparable  divide  between  him  and  Malcolm  and 
between  him  and  Cone. 

King’s  Diagnosis  of  Racism 

Let  no  one  suppose,  as  some  have  implied,  that  King  provided  a  weak  diagno¬ 
sis  of  the  problem  of  either  racism  or  the  suffering  it  entailed  for  blacks.  Fully 
acknowledging  the  painful  and  tragic  history  that  African  Americans  endured  for 
several  centuries,  he  called  upon  the  nation  to  eradicate  all  forms  of  racism  from 
its  midst.  In  his  Palm  Sunday  sermon  in  Washington,  D.C.,  a  few  days  before  his 
assassination,  he  said  the  following  in  the  language  of  the  day: 


^  James  M.  Washington,  A  Testament  of  Hope:  The  Essential  Writings  of  Martin  Luther  King, 
Jr.  (San  Francisco,  Harper  and  Row,  1986),  17-18. 


47 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


I  must  say  this  morning  that  racial  injustice  is  still  the  black  man’s 
burden  and  the  white  man’s  shame.  . . . 

It  is  an  unhappy  truth  that  racism  is  a  way  of  life  for  the  vast  majority  of 
white  Americans,  spoken  and  unspoken,  acknowledged  and  denied,  subtle 
and  sometimes  not  so  subtle — ^the  disease  of  racism  permeates  and  poi¬ 
sons  the  body  politic.  And  I  can  see  nothing  more  urgent  than  for  America 
to  work  passionately  and  unrelentingly  to  get  rid  of  the  disease  of  racism. 

Something  must  be  done.  Everyone  must  share  in  the  guilt  as  individu¬ 
als  and  as  institutions.  The  government  must  certainly  share  the  guilt, 
individuals  must  share  the  guilt,  even  the  church  must  share  this  guilt.'' 

Furthermore,  King  provided  a  vivid  picture  of  why  blacks  should  not  be 
expected  to  pull  themselves  up  by  their  own  bootstraps,  as  European  immi¬ 
grants  once  did.  He  drew  a  sharp  difference  between  the  experience  of  African 
Americans  and  that  of  white  European  immigrants.  The  former  had  the  unique 
distinction  of  being  enslaved  for  two  and  a  half  centuries,  followed  by  the 
unwillingness  of  the  government  to  render  them  any  kind  of  material  assistance 
whatsoever.  King  described  the  situation  thusly,  which  I  quote  extensively; 

No  other  group  has  been  a  slave  on  American  soil.  ...  the  nation  made 
the  black  man’s  color  a  stigma;  but  beyond  this  they  never  stop  to  realize 
the  debt  that  they  owe  a  people  who  were  kept  in  slavery  for  244  years. 

In  1863  the  Negro  was  told  that  he  was  free  as  a  result  of  the 
Emancipation  Proclamation  being  signed  by  Abraham  Lincoln.  But 
he  was  not  given  any  land  to  make  that  freedom  meaningful.  It  was 
something  like  keeping  a  person  in  prison  for  a  number  of  years  and 
suddenly  discovering  that  that  person  is  not  guilty  of  the  crime  for 
which  he  was  convicted.  And  you  just  go  up  to  him  and  say,  “Now 
you  are  free,”  but  you  don’t  give  him  any  bus  fare  to  get  to  town. 

You  don’t  give  him  any  money  to  get  some  clothes  to  put  on  his  back 
or  to  get  on  his  feet  again  in  life. 

Every  court  of  jurisprudence  would  rise  up  against  this,  and  yet  this 
is  the  very  thing  that  our  nation  did  to  the  black  man.  It  simply  said, 
“you’re  free,”  and  it  left  him  there  penniless,  illiterate,  not  knowing 
what  to  do.  And  the  irony  of  it  all  is  that  at  the  same  time  the  nation 
failed  to  do  anything  for  the  black  man — through  an  act  of  Congress 


^  Ibid.,  270. 


48 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


it  was  giving  away  millions  of  acres  of  land  in  the  West  and  the 
Mid- West — which  meant  that  it  was  willing  to  undergird  its  white 
peasants  from  Europe  with  an  economic  floor. 

But  not  only  did  it  give  the  land,  it  built  land-grant  colleges  to  teach 
them  how  to  farm.  Not  only  that,  it  provided  county  agents  to  fur¬ 
ther  their  expertise  in  farming:  Not  only  that,  as  the  years  unfolded 
it  provided  low  interest  rates  so  that  they  could  mechanize  their 
farms.  And  to  this  day  thousands  of  these  very  persons  are  receiving 
millions  of  dollars  in  federal  subsidies  every  year  not  to  farm.  And 
these  are  so  often  the  very  people  who  tell  Negroes  that  they  must 
lift  themselves  by  their  own  bootstraps.  It’s  all  right  to  tell  a  man 
to  lift  himself  by  his  own  bootstraps,  but  it  is  a  cruel  jest  to  say  to  a 
bootless  man  that  he  ought  to  lift  himself  by  his  own  bootstraps.^ 

Like  all  struggles  for  social  justice,  the  struggle  for  civil  rights  in  this  country 
was  no  cakewalk.  During  the  decade,  approximately  forty  people  died  as  mar¬ 
tyrs  in  the  cause  of  racial  freedom  and  justice.®  Thousands  carry  the  marks  of 
physical  wounds  on  their  bodies  today.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  my  good  friend  and 
colleague.  Professor  William  B.  McClain,  who  teaches  homiletics  and  worship 
at  Wesley  Theological  Seminary  in  Washington,  D.C.,  walks  with  a  slight  limp 
because  of  a  gunshot  wound  in  his  hip  that  he  received  while  kneeling  in  prayer 
with  King  at  the  statehouse  in  his  native  Birmingham,  Alabama.  In  the  year  1963 
alone,  children  from  six  years  old  upwards,  and  their  mothers,  were  attacked 
with  fire  hoses  and  snarling  dogs.  Two  months  before  the  historic  march  on 
Washington,  D.C.,  Medgar  Evers  was  assassinated  on  the  steps  of  his  home 
by  a  sniper.  Eighteen  days  following  that  march,  four  little  girls  were  killed  at 
Sunday  school  in  the  Sixteenth  Street  Baptist  Church,  Birmingham.  On  Novem¬ 
ber  twenty-second  of  that  year.  President  John  F.  Kennedy  was  assassinated  after 
pledging  his  support  for  a  civil  rights  bill. 

Clearly,  King  had  good  reason  for  constantly  reminding  his  wife,  family,  and 
followers  that  he  did  not  expect  to  live  through  the  civil  rights  movement.  When 
President  Kennedy  was  assassinated,  King  once  again  reminded  those  around 
him  that  he  expected  a  similar  death.  Not  invited  to  the  funeral,  he  traveled  alone 
to  Washington  and  stood  on  a  side  street  weeping  as  the  cortege  moved  along  its 
way  to  the  Arlington  National  Cemetery. 


®  Ibid.,  271. 

®  The  names  of  those  martyrs  are  inscribed  on  Maya  Linn’s  Civil  Rights  Memorial  at  the 
Southern  Poverty  Law  Center  in  Montgomery,  Alabama. 


49 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


King  believed  that  much  of  the  suffering  blacks  have  endured  was  inflicted  on 
them  by  the  nation.  Few  African  Americans  have  doubted  the  accuracy  of  that 
diagnosis.  Most  important,  he  knew  as  we  all  do  that  suffering  deliberately 
caused  by  an  external  agent  is  not  only  ignoble  but  totally  void  of  any  positive 
value.  It  is  analogous  only  to  torture.  No  one  can  rightly  call  such  suffering 
redemptive  even  though  some  African  Americans  like  Phyllis  Wheatley,  the 
most  prominent  of  such  proponents,  once  interpreted  slavery  as  intended  by 
God  so  that  Africans  could  be  converted  to  Christianity  and  return  to  Africa  to 
evangelize  the  continent.  Fortunately,  such  a  divine  pragmatic  scheme  was  never 
widely  adopted  by  African  Americans. 

Nonetheless,  their  suffering  has  been  ubiquitous,  and  virtually  none  has  escaped 
its  pain.  As  a  life-threatening  phenomenon,  white  racism  unfailingly  consid¬ 
ers  every  person  of  African  descent  genetically  stained  as  an  inferior  destined 
for  unequal  treatment.  Those  who  have  spoken  against  it  in  public  have  always 
run  the  risk  of  retaliation  by  the  stakeholders  of  the  status  quo.  Those  who  try 
to  transcend  it  by  focusing  on  their  own  personal  achievements  never  succeed 
because  both  whites  and  blacks  place  them  under  the  lenses  of  perpetual  scru¬ 
tiny  and  disdain.  Those  who  blame  their  own  people  for  their  suffering  serve 
the  spirit  of  racism  best  of  all  because  they  justify  those  who  create  and  sustain 
the  problem.  These  also  repudiate  all  who  advocate  reparations  or  affirmative 
action  programs. 

Let  us  hasten  to  say,  however,  that  African  Americans  have  also  striven  to  over¬ 
come  their  suffering  through  countless  artistic  expressions,  such  as  the  blues, 
spirituals,  jazz,  and  hip-hop.  In  his  book  Race  Matters,  philosopher  of  religion 
Cornel  West  speaks  of  the  blues  as  tragicomic  hope,  an  essential  ingredient  in 
sustaining  one’s  humanity: 

The  tragicomic  is  the  ability  to  laugh  and  retain  a  sense  of  life’s  joy — to 
preserve  hope  even  while  staring  in  the  face  of  hate  and  hypocrisy — as 
against  falling  into  the  nihilism  of  paralyzing  despair.  This  tragicomic 
hope  is  expressed  in  America  most  profoundly  in  the  wrenchingly 
honest  yet  compassionate  voices  of  the  black  freedom  struggle;  most 
poignantly  in  the  painful  eloquence  of  the  blues;  and  most  exuberantly 
in  the  improvisational  virtuosity  of  jazz.’ 

King  was  nurtured  all  of  his  life  in  the  black  church’s  gospel  music.  He  loved 
to  hear  Mahalia  Jackson  and  similar  artists  sing  those  old  familiar  songs.  In 


’  Cornel  West,  Democracy  Matters  (New  York,  Penguin  Press.  2004),  16. 


50 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


fact,  while  standing  on  the  balcony  of  the  Lorraine  Hotel  just  minutes  before 
he  was  killed,  he  asked  Ben  Branch,  director  of  Operation  Breadbasket’s 
orchestra,  to  sing  at  the  service  that  night  Thomas  Dorsey’s  hymn,  “Precious 
Lord,  Take  My  Hand.” 

King  never  ceased  believing  that  even  the  worst  racist  person  had  the  capacity 
to  change  and  hence  should  be  loved  because  everyone  is  a  child  of  God.  Thus, 
Marshall  Frady  quotes  King  speaking  in  1964  to  a  group  of  people  in  Greenville, 
Mississippi,  whom  he  discerned  had  lived  their  lives  in  fear  of  white  racists: 

Mississippi  has  treated  the  Negro  as  if  he  is  a  thing  instead  of  a  person. 

But  you  must  not  allow  anybody  to  make  you  feel  you  are  not  significant 
and  you  do  not  count.  Every  Negro  here  in  Greenwood,  Mississippi, 
has  worth  and  dignity — ^because  white,  Negro,  Chinese,  Indian,  man  or 
woman  or  child,  we  are  all  the  children  of  God.  You  are  somebody.  I  want 
every  one  of  you  to  say  that  out  loud  now  to  yourself — I  am  somebody.* 

King  frequently  said  that  one  of  the  best  accomplishments  of  the  movement 
was  the  evidence  that  blacks  who  had  been  afraid  of  whites  at  one  time  now  had 
courage  and  those  who  had  viewed  themselves  as  having  no  dignity  now  had  a 
renewed  sense  of  pride.  He  believed  beyond  a  doubt  that  all  the  accomplishments 
of  the  movement  were  due  to  the  method  of  nonviolent  resistance  regulated  by 
agape  as  taught  and  lived  by  Jesus.  That  love  ethic  loves  without  counting  the 
cost.  Thus,  King  was  able  to  say  during  times  of  great  crisis  and  mourning,  like 
the  funeral  of  the  four  little  girls  in  Birmingham,  “We  must  not  lose  faith  in  our 
white  brothers.  Somehow  we  must  believe  that  the  most  misguided  among  them 
can  learn  to  respect  the  dignity  and  worth  of  all  human  personality.”® 

I  am  convinced  that  it  was  pleasing  to  God  that  King  and  his  followers  should 
resist  racial  injustice  nonviolently.  Most  important,  they  expected  and  prepared 
themselves  for  the  suffering  that  they  would  encounter  because  it  is  the  method 
that  oppressors  use  to  retaliate  against  those  who  threaten  the  benefits  and  privi¬ 
leges  they  derive  from  maintaining  the  status  quo.  Such  suffering  is  evidence  of 
the  evil.  To  retaliate  in  like  fashion  merely  perpetuates  the  brokenness  of  human 
relations.  The  resistance  of  the  police  and  other  state  officials  demonstrated  the 
unjust  violence  of  the  system  toward  the  healing  goodness  of  the  protestors. 

The  function  of  the  protestors  was  to  provoke  the  custodians  of  the  status  quo 
to  reveal  the  concealed  violence  that  controlled  the  social  system  of  racism  with 


*  Marshall  Frady,  Martin  Luther  King,  Jr.  (New  York:  Penguin,  2002),  146. 

®  Martin  Luther  King,  Jr.,  “Nonviolence  and  Racial  Justice,”  in  Washington,  A  Testament  of  Hope,  9. 


51 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


the  expectation  that  its  appearance  in  public  view  would  prompt  the  nation  to 
make  the  necessary  correctives. 

Analogously,  this  is  quite  similar  to  the  history  of  Jesus’s  prophetic  encounter 
with  the  religious  and  political  authorities  of  his  day.  His  teachings  and  practices 
of  mercy,  love,  and  justice  challenged  the  social  system  to  reveal  its  violent 
methods  in  confronting  all  such  endeavors.  The  suffering  that  ensued  in  the 
forms  of  an  unjust  trial,  physical  abuse,  public  disdain,  and  the  horrors  of  cruci¬ 
fixion  were  predictable  and  not  determined  by  God  to  appease  God’s  anger  as  a 
necessary  condition  for  divine  forgiveness. 

All  those  who  characterize  the  nonviolent  resistance  of  either  Jesus  or  King  as 
cowardice,  passivity,  or  masochistic  love  for  one’s  tormentors  fail  to  understand 
the  essential  nature  of  the  Christian  prophetic  tradition  as  exemplified  by  those 
who  are  moral  exemplars  of  authentic  Christian  ministry.  The  moral  theater  in 
which  each  was  a  primary  actor  revealed  the  tragic  dimension  of  human  exis¬ 
tence  because  their  respective  confrontations  with  oppressive  evil  forces  resulted 
in  predictable  and  inevitable  suffering:  suffering  not  required  by  God  but  the 
predictable  outcome  of  righteous  spirits  struggling  against  evil  forces.  Jesus 
expressed  that  argument  well  in  the  beatitudes  by  stating  that  all  advocates  of 
justice,  mercy,  and  peace  would  be  persecuted: 

Blessed  are  those  who  hunger  and  thirst  for  righteousness  for  they  will 
be  filled. 

Blessed  are  the  merciful  for  they  will  receive  mercy.  . . . 

Blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  will  be  called  children  of  God. 

Blessed  are  those  who  are  persecuted  for  righteousness’  sake,  for  theirs 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  (Matt.  5:  6,  7,  9,  10) 

Martin  Luther  King  Jr.  expressed  similar  viewpoints  equally  well: 

This,  in  brief,  is  the  method  of  nonviolent  resistance.  It  is  a  method  that 
challenges  all  people  struggling  for  justice  and  freedom.  God  grant  that  we 
wage  the  struggle  with  dignity  and  discipline.  May  all  who  suffer  oppres¬ 
sion  in  this  world  reject  the  self-defeating  method  of  retaliatory  violence 
and  choose  the  method  that  seeks  to  redeem.  By  using  this  method  wisely 
and  courageously  we  will  emerge  from  the  bleak  and  desolate  midnight  of 
man’s  inhumanity  to  man  into  the  bright  daybreak  of  freedom  and  justice.'® 


King,  “Nonviolence,  ”  in  Washington,  A  Testament  of  Hope,  9. 


52 


Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets 


What  We  Have  Learned  from  Martin  Luther  King  Jr. 

We  have  learned  that  the  use  of  nonviolent  resistance  in  protest  activity  is  not 
only  morally  sound  but  also  effective  because  it  can  aid  greatly  in  mobilizing 
widespread  public  support,  especially  when  suffering  is  inflicted  on  the  protestors 
by  the  law-enforcing  authorities.  Nonviolent  resistance  serves  both  a  moral  and 
political  purpose;  morally  it  causes  those  who  use  the  method  to  become  nonvio¬ 
lent  people  and  politically  it  respects  the  humanity  of  those  against  whom  it  acts. 
Tfius,  the  spirit  of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation  is  implied  by  the  method. 

We  have  also  learned  from  King  that  history  is  sometimes  made  by  those  at  the 
bottom  of  the  social-economic  pyramid,  though  not  without  struggle  and  the  suf¬ 
fering  that  attends  the  process.  Invariably  such  struggle  is  in  pursuit  of  justice, 
which,  in  turn,  invariably  provokes  anger  and  violence  from  those  whose  mate¬ 
rial  benefits  and  social  privileges  are  threatened.  Such  violence  causes  much 
suffering,  pain,  and  death.  Thus  the  process  of  social  change  is  cyclical:  the 
initiative  of  nonviolent  resistance;  violent  response  from  defenders  of  power  and 
privilege;  resultant  pain,  suffering,  and  death  by  the  resisters;  public  visibility 
of  a  formerly  concealed  problem;  moral  outrage  by  citizens  and  people  of  good 
will  everywhere;  a  corrective  by  the  public  authorities  motivated  by  sentiments 
of  citizens  and  people  of  goodwill  demanding  change. 

Clearly,  the  prophetic  witness  cannot  by  itself  win  the  battle  for  social  Justice.  It 
must  join  in  coalitions  with  others,  and  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.  was  a  master  at 
motivating  others.  The  prophetic  role  is  to  articulate  the  vision  of  the  good,  give 
public  visibility  to  social  injustice,  persuasively  proclaim  the  call  for  change, 
join  in  solidarity  with  the  victims  of  injustice,  encourage  them  in  their  nonvio¬ 
lent  resistance,  and  persuade  all  people  of  goodwill  to  join  in  the  struggle  for 
social  justice.  Such  coalitional  work  may  be  supported  by  people  of  diverse  the¬ 
ologies  and  religions,  and  even  those  who  make  no  such  profession  of  faith.  It  is 
sufficient  that  they  be  people  of  moral  virtue  who  are  able  to  discern  the  nature 
of  justice  and  be  committed  to  its  realization.  These  are  the  things  we  have 
learned  from  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.  They  should  be  taught  to  every  generation, 
and  the  teaching  should  begin  in  our  seminaries,  m 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 

by  Oliver  O’ Donovan 


Oliver  O’ Donovan  is  Professor  of  Christian  Ethics  and  Practical  Theology  at 
the  University  of  Edinburgh,  Scotland.  He  delivered  this  lecture  on  April  17, 
2008,  in  Princeton  Theological  Seminary’s  Miller  Chapel  as  the  2008 
recipient  of  the  Abraham  Kuyper  Prize  for  Excellence  in  Reformed  Theology 
and  Public  Life.  His  most  recent  book  is  Church  in  Crisis:  The  Gay  Controversy 
and  the  Anglican  Communion  (2008),  and  he  is  the  author  o/The  Ways  of 
Judgment  (2005)  and  The  Just  War  Revisited  (2003).  He  is  also  past  president 
of  the  Society  for  the  Study  of  Christian  Ethics. 

In  order  to  think  about  pluralism,  let  us  begin  with  the  tail  of  the  horse:  the 
suffix,  ism.  One  should  not  be  tediously  verbal  in  discussing  big  ideas,  for 
language  is  too  spontaneous  and  circumambulatory  to  be  a  very  detailed  guide 
to  what  we  think.  But  it  is  interesting  all  the  same  that  we  have  formed  this 
epithet  with  a  suffix  that  almost  always  denotes  a  philosophical  idiosyncrasy, 
as  in  “skepticism”  or  “deconstructivism.”  As  students  forty  years  ago,  we  would 
be  pulled  up  sharply  by  our  elders  if  we  referred  to  a  “pluralist”  society:  it  was 
a  vulgar  mistake;  the  proper  term  was  “plural.”  But  intuitively  we  thought  of 
pluralism  as  a  way  of  seeing  social  relations,  a  perspective  on  them.  It  is  not  a 
fact  that  Britain  is  a  plural/pluralist  society.  There  are  many  facts  underlying  that 
assertion,  some  of  them  startling,  but  the  proposition  interprets  fact,  it  does  not 
itself  assert  it.  How  does  it  interpret  it?  In  the  first  place,  obviously  enough,  by 
letting  the  spotlight  fall  on  social  difference  rather  than  on  conformity.  But  the 
interesting  thing  is  how  it  conceives  this  difference,  which  is  as  plurality.  What 
is  implied  in  understanding  social  difference  as  plurality? 

Pluralism  conceives  of  difference  as  a  danger.  To  raise  the  question  of  pluralism 
at  all  is  to  frame  social  reflection  with  anxiety.  Not  every  difference  would,  or 
could,  make  us  anxious.  Linguistic  difference  is  not  alarming  in  itself  (witness 
the  Swiss  example),  neither  is  class  difference  (witness  eighteenth-century  Eng¬ 
land),  nor  even  racial  difference,  as  contemporary  North  America  makes  plain. 

DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 .6 


54 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 


Not  every  difference,  then,  and  not  even  an  assemblage  of  differences  invites 
the  construction  of  “pluralism.”  Pluralism  singles  out  for  attention  something 
inherently  worrying,  which  is  a  difference  of practical  principle.  When  sectional 
cultures  in  society  act  on  contrary  assumptions  and  pursue  divergent  courses 
in  their  relations  with  each  other,  when  there  are  incompatible  modes  and 
expectations  of  public  conduct,  then  we  are  anxious.  But  this  still  fails  to  get  to 
the  bottom  of  the  anxiety. 

The  nineteenth  century  knew  of  highly  differentiated  societies  and  the  dangers 
associated  with  them.  Even  today  there  is  nowhere  in  the  Western  world  where 
we  begin  to  approach  the  diversity  of  cultural  and  religious  plurality,  with  the 
accompanying  social  fragility,  that  prevailed  in  nineteenth-century  India.  But 
if  you  asked  our  colonial  ancestors  what  the  danger  was,  they  might  talk  of 
Muslim  fanaticism,  Hindu  superstition,  Sikh  persecution  complex,  or  even 
Christian  arrogance  and  incomprehension,  for  one  may  fear  all  these  threats 
to  a  given  society,  and  a  thousand  like  them,  without  fearing  what  we  fear  in 
pluralism,  which  is  a  danger  posed  by  the  very  constitution  of  society.  In  raising 
“pluralism”  to  a  topic  of  discussion,  we  present  practical  difference  as  a 
foundational  problem,  given  in  the  very  nature  of  social  interaction. 

But  then  pluralism  anticipates  a  proposal,  or  a  family  of  proposals,  for 
coping  with  the  danger.  The  family  likeness  in  these  proposals  is  the  positing 
of  different  orders  of  practical  principles  to  govern  conduct.  If  each  one  of  us, 
or  each  community,  thinks  about  our  activity  in  such  idiosyncratic  ways  that  our 
neighbors  lack  all  practical  understanding  of  us,  it  is  necessary,  so  it  is  alleged, 
to  deploy  a  different  kind  of  thinking  to  govern  our  interactions.  And  so  there 
is  proposed  a  distinction  between  first-order  and  second-order  principles,  the 
latter  a  regime  of  practical  thinking  detached  from  all  fundamental  principles 
of  action — to  use  a  term  that  has  now  become  widespread,  a  “public  reason.” 

But  there  is  an  odd  feature  about  this  picture:  the  object  of  anxiety  and  the  pro¬ 
posal  for  coping  with  the  anxiety  are,  in  fact,  one  and  the  same:  an  “ideal  type” 
of  society,  which  is  fissile,  segmented,  held  together  by  principles  belonging  to 
none  of  its  component  parts.  The  meaning  of  this,  I  take  it,  is  that  pluralism  is 
something  rather  more  than  a  practical  anxiety  that  anticipates  a  practical 
proposal.  It  is  a  metaphysic  of  society,  at  once  a  way  of  reading  the  world  and 
a  way  of  reacting  to  it.  It  is  as  though  the  coming  of  new  cultural  demographics 
were  a  moment  of  metaphysical  disclosure,  an  underlying  reality  we  had 
overlooked  became  suddenly  clear,  and  we  are  disillusioned  by  our  simple  idea 
that  society  is  based  on  things  held  in  common.  It  has  in  view  something  more 
than  a  modification  of  practice  in  response  to  determinate  risks,  possibilities. 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


hopes,  and  fears.  It  has  in  view  a  conversion  of  disposition,  enabling  us  to  accept 
our  ontological  situation  gracefully. 

The  proposal  for  a  regime  of  “public  reason”  has  been  intensively  discussed 
over  the  past  quarter  of  a  century,  yielding  a  formidable  philosophical  literature 
of  considerable  complexity,  and  any  observation  I  make  about  it  will  inevitably 
be  overgeneral  and  probably  overfamiliar.  But  it  is  necessary  to  review  in  gen¬ 
eral  terms  the  problems  inherent  in  the  proposal  if  we  are  to  throw  light  on  the 
problems  of  the  original  anxiety  that  prompted  it,  what  I  have  called  “difference 
as  plurality.”  The  questions  commonly  put  to  public  reason  can  be  summed  up 
as:  In  what  sense  is  it  public?  and  In  what  sense  is  it  reason? 


In  What  Sense  Is  It  Public? 

The  concept  of  the  public  is  formed  as  a  polar  opposite  to  the  concept  of  the 
private.  You  cannot  have  public  without  private  or  private  without  public.  But 
the  private  is  defined  negatively,  by  privation,  as  the  very  form  of  the  word 
betrays;  that  is  to  say,  by  walling  off,  excluding,  refusing  entry.  Private  thought, 
domestic  privacy,  property,  private  associations,  and  so  on  are  those  withheld 
from  universal  access.  By  contrast,  the  public  is  the  negation  of  the  negation, 
defined  by  the  absence  of  barriers,  by  opening  up,  by  extending  communication. 
The  public  is  where  we  venture  out  from  our  different  privacies  and  discover 
what  we  have  universally  in  common.  Of  course,  public  and  private  are  not 
absolute  opposites;  they  are  the  poles  of  a  relative  scale.  A  school  may  admit 
all  children  residing  in  the  neighborhood  as  pupils  and  so  be  a  “public  school” 
while  at  the  same  time  it  excludes  from  its  premises  all  members  of  the  public 
who  are  not  either  pupils  or  staff.  This  phasing  off  between  the  more  private  and 
the  more  public  makes  social  life  possible.  It  enables  society  to  be  organic  rather 
than  mechanical,  a  living  interaction  of  living  social  identities.  Without  the  more 
secluded  private  we  could  have  no  moral  identity  to  bring  to  the  public  realm; 
without  the  more  open  public  we  could  have  no  use  for  our  moral  identities, 
no  wider  commonality  in  which  they  might  emerge  in  action  and  reaction.  But 
when  we  look  at  the  philosophers’  “public  reason”  in  the  light  of  this  thumbnail 
sketch,  we  find  an  oddity  about  it.  This  “public”  seems  to  be  constructed  by 
privation,  like  another  kind  of  private  sphere.  It  refuses  to  admit  moral  identities 
formed  behind  its  back,  in  private.  The  publicity  of  public  reason,  it  appears, 
is  less  like  the  town  square  we  imagine  lying  before  our  front  door,  more  like 
a  walled  and  barbed-wired  garrison,  bristling  with  warnings  against  entry  by 
unauthorized  personnel.  It  is  a  public  conceived  of  as  another  kind  of  privacy. 
But  whereas  the  whole  point  of  real  privacy  is  to  establish  and  protect  identities, 


56 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 


there  is,  or  so  it  is  claimed,  no  further  identity  that  these  inhibiting  public  restric¬ 
tions  are  meant  to  protect. 

It  is,  of  course,  essential  to  the  general  interplay  of  private  and  public  that 
there  be  disciplines  for  making  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other.  We  do 
not  walk  into  the  public  square  in  bedroom  slippers  nor  wear  an  overcoat  in 
the  bedroom.  Disciplines  of  public  behavior  secure  possibilities  for  moral 
identities  to  meet.  If  we  are  to  pay  attention  to  one  another,  listen  to  one 
another,  discuss  with  one  another,  we  cannot  treat  one  another  in  public  with 
the  immediacy  that  we  use  in  private.  Our  practical  principles  are  refracted 
through  our  various  roles.  A  journalist  conducting  an  interview  asks  ques¬ 
tions  a  neighbor  would  never  ask.  A  police  officer  enquiring  about  a  young 
offender’s  conduct  betrays  no  emotion  at  what  he  learns,  while  a  parent  may 
be  expected  to  betray  emotion,  and  so  on.  Most  adults  occupy  many  roles, 
public  and  private,  and  the  style  of  behavior  they  adopt  at  any  moment  varies 
with  the  role.  But  the  variations  will  be  morally  explicable,  to  themselves 
and  to  others,  within  a  second-order  account  of  how  different  roles  require 
different  interpretations  of  the  same  practical  principles. 

When  public  and  familial  responsibilities  and  duties  of  conscience  converge 
on  concrete  situations,  a  resolution  must  be  found  that  saves  the  essential 
demands  of  each.  That  means  that  the  rules  governing  public  conduct  must 
be  coherent  with  the  rules  governing  private  conduct,  allowing  our  moral 
identities  to  encompass  the  stretch  so  that  we  move  between  the  different 
spheres  of  action  without  annihilating  ourselves  in  the  process.  We  may  put 
the  point  at  issue  this  way:  human  society  requires  its  members  to  sustain 
what  Bemd  Wannenwetsch  has  happily  termed  a  “homologous  identity,” 
linking  the  performance  of  any  individual  in  public  and  the  same  indi¬ 
vidual’s  performance  in  private.  And  that  means  that  public  disciplines,  too, 
must  arise  from  within  the  same  moral  traditions  that  shape  the  identities 
that  move  among  the  practical  spheres.  Where  they  become  separated  from 
those  traditions  and  absolultized,  they  assume  the  character  not  of  disci¬ 
plines  (that  is,  aspects  of  an  acquired  wisdom)  but  of  arbitrary  prohibitions, 
what  Foucault  calls  prelevements.  In  France  today,  a  prelevement  is  what 
in  Britain  we  call  a  “direct  debit”:  the  money  leaves  the  account  before  we 
have  time  to  decide  whether  or  not  to  pay  it.  In  the  same  way,  the  imposi¬ 
tions  of  an  absolute  public  reason  must  bypass  the  moral  reasoning  of  those 
who  participate  in  it.  This  is  defended  in  the  name  of  ideological  neutrality, 
escaping  the  influence  of  any  “hegemonic”  tradition  that  might  interpret  the 
relations  of  human  beings  in  ways  that  might  be  more  native  to  some  than 
to  others.  But  this  means  it  is  devoid  of  reasons  that  could  lead  us  to  act.  So 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


what  it  presents  as  “second-order”  reasons  are,  in  fact,  not  reasons  at  all, 
because  they  do  not  derive  from,  or  connect  with,  first-order  reasons.  They 
are  simply  prelevements. 

Christian  reason  will  complain  that  this  bare,  stripped-down  conception  of 
public  reason  is  devoid,  above  all,  of  charity.  Charity  is  a  hegemonic  principle; 
that  is  to  say,  it  generates  not  only  private  but  public  forms  of  conduct,  shap¬ 
ing  a  homologous  identity  that  can  move  between  the  private  and  the  public.  If 
hegemonic  traditions  are  to  be  expelled  from  society,  charity,  a  tradition  bom 
of  the  Christian  gospel,  must  be  expelled.  And  if  all  hegemonic  traditions  are  to 
be  expelled,  why,  in  the  last  resort,  should  an  exception  be  made  for  a  humanist 
tradition  of  Aristotelian  provenance  based  on  distributive  proportion?  Unless  we 
declare  an  outright  prejudice  for  nonhegemonic  principles,  even  that  one  must 
quit  the  public  square,  leaving  the  war  of  all-against-all  as  the  only  tmly  pared- 
down,  pure,  and  presuppositionless  public  order! 

In  What  Sense  Is  it  Reason? 

That  brings  us  to  the  second  question:  to  what  extent  is  public  reason  reason¬ 
able?  We  speak  of  “practical  principles”  only  in  relation  to  trains  of  reason.  Prac¬ 
tical  principles  are  rational  dispositions,  and  like  all  rational  dispositions,  they 
are  culturally  rooted,  which  is  to  say  that  they  are  attributes  not  of  individuals 
in  isolation  but  of  whole  communities  and  their  traditions.  They  are  not  merely 
separate  strands  of  reasoning  but  community  beliefs  that  generate  a  universe  of 
reasons.  What  prompts  our  pluralist  anxiety  is  the  prospect  of  conflict  among 
such  community  traditions  of  reasoning.  September  11,  2001,  would  not  have 
been  half  as  threatening  an  event  to  the  Western  world  if  those  who  destroyed 
the  World  Trade  Center  had  not  been  acting  out  of  beliefs  they  had  been  taught. 
Our  alarm  was  focused  not  on  the  bare  fact  that  the  perpetrators  believed  in 
what  they  were  doing  but  that  they  might  have  had  reasons  for  believing  in  it, 
reasons  deeply  woven  into  traditions  of  thinking  and  acting  in  which  they  had 
been  nurtured.  Pluralism  pits  the  reasons  of  “society”  {Gesellschaft)  in  sharp 
opposition  to  the  reasons  of  “community”  (Gemeinschaft).  It  is  “foundationalist” 
in  its  account  of  reason,  conceiving  of  belief  systems  as  grounded  upon  pos¬ 
ited  axioms  and  proceeding  to  conclusions  by  deductive  inference  from  them. 
Against  communal  reason,  thus  alarmingly  conceived,  it  posits  a  social  reason, 
also  conceived  in  this  positivist  fashion,  independent  of  community  axiom. 

Our  experience  as  religious  believers  ought  to  tell  us  how  wrong  an  account 
of  reasoned  belief  this  is.  Religious  belief  does  not  produce  moral  practices 
deductively,  like  premises  that  produce  a  conclusion  in  a  syllogism.  Neither 


58 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 


does  it  simply  turn  around  in  its  own  space,  refusing  questions  posed  to  it  from 
the  world  in  which  it  lives.  And  what  we  can  say  about  religious  belief  can  also 
be  said  about  wider,  unreligious  moral  enquiries  and  convictions.  Here,  too, 
moral  thought  aspires  to  internal  coherence  and  universality.  Moral  disagreement 
does  not  arise  simply  because  individuals  and  communities  belong  to  different 
cultures.  The  difference  between  morality  and  custom  is  precisely  that  moral¬ 
ity  does  have  universal  aspirations;  it  refers  to  the  place  of  human  beings  in  the 
world,  responsive  to  the  nature  of  things  and  the  will  of  the  Creator.  Thoughtless 
people,  it  is  true,  fail  to  distinguish  their  customs  (such  as  eating  bacon  at  break¬ 
fast)  from  their  moral  obligations,  (such  as  protecting  their  children  from  danger). 
But  it  is  the  first  requirement  of  moral  consciousness,  a  requirement  as  old  as 
civilization  itself,  to  warn  us  against  such  thoughtlessness.  A  reflective  culture 
finds  its  final  justification  of  human  acts  outside  local  tradition  or  custom,  how¬ 
ever  sacred.  Moral  thought  conceives  of  action  as  representative.  When  we  act 
conscientiously,  we  act  as  humanity,  like  Adam  deciding  for  the  human  race 
as  such.  We  recognize  ourselves  in  others’  acts  and  learn  about  ourselves  from 
others’  acts.  The  good  in  any  action  I  perform  is  never  mine  in  a  private  sense; 
it  is  an  aspect  of  the  good  that  belongs  to  everybody,  the  human  good,  as  it  is 
traditionally  called,  because  it  is  the  goal  of  human  action.  We  could  perfectly 
well  broaden  that  term  and  call  it  “the  world’s  good.” 

Rational  communication  is  directed  to  “persuasion”  broadly  understood,  that 
is  to  say,  it  is  concerned  with  communicating  reasons  for  acting,  reasons  for 
believing,  and  so  on.  It  is  the  means  by  which  each  of  us  is  drawn  into  the  per¬ 
spective  of  other  human  beings  and  enabled  to  see  the  world  through  their  eyes. 
It  is  as  a  result  of  being  morally  capable  that  we  have  come  to  be  persuaded  of 
certain  things  through  this  traditioning  process.  But  our  persuasions,  though 
nurtured  within  a  tradition,  are  not  confined  within  its  community  walls.  Without 
coercive  restrictions  on  the  movement  of  argument,  juxtaposed  communities 
of  tradition  learn  from  one  another.  There  are  cross-fertilizations,  conversions, 
etc.  Alasdair  MacIntyre  understood  that  fact  better  than  most  of  those  who  have 
lightly  taken  up  his  talk  about  plural  traditions. 

What  makes  the  contemporary  account  of  reasoning  unreasonable  is  the 
failure  to  understand  or  allow  space  for  learning.  Wisdom  is  always  the 
object  of  search.  And  because  beliefs  must  engage  in  a  search  to  perfect 
themselves,  because  they  must  engage  with  the  challenges  thrown  up  by 
alternatives,  disagreements  may  disappear  as  well  as  appear.  The  unstable 
and  eclectic  character  of  our  society  does  not  make  moral  agreement  less 
likely.  Because  agreement  in  the  truth  is  what  human  beings  are  made  for,  they 
will  search  for  it  wherever  the  possibility  arises  and  we  will  encounter  new 


59 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


and  intriguing  coalitions  of  thought.  To  free  ourselves  for  the  search,  we  need 
only  liberate  ourselves  from  determinist  theories  of  society  that  think  they 
can  tell  us  in  advance  just  which  agreements  are  and  which  are  not  possible. 

The  concept  of  an  absolute  public  reason  is  therefore  incompatible  with  the 
terms  of  any  open  practical  enquiry  and  especially  with  a  Christian  one. 
Christians  may  sometimes  be  tempted  to  suppose  that  this  approach  may  be 
serviceable  to  the  confessional  and  doctrinal  character  of  their  faith.  But 
it  cannot  be  so,  for  Christian  confession  and  Christian  doctrine  understand 
themselves  correctly  only  when  they  understand  themselves  as  “faith  seeking 
understanding.”  Anselm’s  famous  phrase  perfectly  captures  the  true  posture 
of  reason.  Belief  is  itself  the  root  and  fruit  of  a  search  for  God’s  will,  and  it 
is  held  only  in  the  context  of  such  a  search.  It  may  lightly  be  assumed  that 
to  be  open  to  exploration  is  to  be  hesitant  about  one’s  convictions  and  vice 
versa,  but  that  is  actually  skepticism.  The  one  who  said,  “He  who  seeks 
finds”  also  said,  “To  him  who  has,  shall  be  given.” 

All  this  is  by  way  of  an  overgeneral  and  perhaps  overfamiliar  reflection  on  the 
proposal  for  coping  with  danger,  “public  reason.”  Now  we  return  to  that  diagno¬ 
sis  of  the  danger  that  we  named  “difference  as  plurality.” 

Society  is  founded  on  plurality.  Only  a  plurality  can  understand  and  connect 
themselves  as  socii,  “associates.”  Adam  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  was  not,  and 
could  not  be,  a  society,  because  there  was  no  associate  found  for  him.  But  what 
kind  of  entity  can  be  plural  and  therefore  in  a  position  to  enter  into  society? 
Entities  can  be  plural  if  they  can  be  numbered  alongside  one  another.  And 
entities  can  be  numbered  alongside  one  another  if  their  mode  of  being  is  as 
individual  members  of  a  kind.  We  can,  if  we  wish,  count  the  rocks  by  the 
seashore,  but  our  counting  will  be  arbitrary.  The  pounding  of  the  waves 
that  broke  the  cliff  into  so  many  chunks,  particles,  and  granules  could  quite 
as  easily  have  broken  it  into  one  or  a  trillion  chunks,  particles,  or  granules, 
more  or  less.  It  is  not  rock  we  are  counting  when  we  teach  our  child  num¬ 
bers  by  picking  up  one,  two,  or  three  of  the  more  conveniently  sized  of 
these  pieces.  Rock  is  not  constituted  in  individual  units.  But  human  persons, 
like  other  animals,  are  constituted  in  units;  they  are  essentially  particular, 
members  of  their  kind,  and  therefore  in  a  position  to  enter  society.  The  first 
association,  we  read  in  Holy  Scripture,  was  that  of  Adam  and  his  wife,  who 
was  “bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh.”  But  it  is  not  only  individual  per¬ 
sons  who  can  be  plural — human  communities  also  may  be.  An  older  theory 
of  political  constitution,  prior  to  the  emergence  of  the  individualist  contract 
theory  of  Hobbes  and  Locke,  held  that  political  society  was  formed  as  an 


60 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 


association  of  families  and  tribes.  These  units  of  human  cohabitation  could 
share  in  a  society,  and  when  they  did,  that  society  belonged  to  no  one  of 
them  more  than  to  any  other.  It  was  indifferently  common  among  them. 

Now,  the  theory  we  have  been  discussing  has  claimed  to  identify  a  new  kind 
of  entity  among  those  things  that  can  be  plural,  can  be  numbered  alongside 
one  another,  and  can  therefore  enter  into  association.  In  the  phrase  made 
famous  by  John  Rawls,  this  is  a  “comprehensive  doctrine.”  Although  Rawls 
may  have  invented  the  phrase,  he  did  not  invent  the  idea.  In  1938,  Heidegger 
was  already  arguing  that  human  knowing  was  constituted  in  modernity  by 
the  Weltbild,  “world  picture,”  and  that  this  mode  of  knowing  must  become 
a  confrontation  or  struggle  of  world  pictures.  Heidegger  did  not  conceive 
this  plurality  as  a  plurality  of  equals.  He  thought  that  the  world  picture  was 
essentially  one,  constituted  by  the  model  of  scientific  knowledge  as  “rep¬ 
resentation.”  But  he  also  thought  that  this  one  world  picture — this  repre¬ 
sentational  world  picture — could  only  establish  itself  eristically  and  so  had 
to  generate  others — the  medieval  Christian  world  picture  and  the  classical 
world  picture — even  though  such  world  pictures  had  never  existed  in  their 
own  times.  A  plurality  of  world  pictures  was  necessary  in  order  to  have  one 
dominant  world  picture.  Now  confrontation  and  struggle  are,  of  course,  also 
modes  of  association.  No  two  things  can  compete  unless  there  is  some  com¬ 
mon  thing  for  which  they  compete.  They  must  share,  at  any  rate,  a  common 
view  of  winning  or  losing.  Even  if  they  strive  to  destroy  each  other,  they 
must  share  a  common  expectation  of  how  this  destruction  may  be  effected. 

A  competition  of  worldviews,  then,  supposes  terms  indifferently  common 
to  them,  terms  that  do  not  belong  to  one  of  them  more  than  to  another.  This 
association  is  unequal  and  unstable,  but  it  is  an  association.  And  that  is  the 
logic,  it  seems  to  me,  of  the  progression  from  Heidegger  to  Rawls.  The  insta¬ 
bility  of  the  competitive  world  picture  demands  a  stable  association  of  plural 
comprehensive  doctrines,  just  as  the  belligerent  national-socialist  society 
that  formed  Heidegger’s  environment  demanded  the  bureaucratic-juridical 
rights  society  that  formed  Rawls’s. 

I  refer  to  these  hypothetical  intellectual  entities  irreverently  as  “isms,”  a 
reminder  of  the  point  from  which  we  began,  that  “pluralism,”  in  addition 
to  being  a  doctrine  about  isms,  is  also  one  of  the  kind  itself  It  is  a  reflexive 
doctrine  of  doctrines  that  insinuates  a  view  of  itself  and  its  own  status  into  its 
account  of  the  status  of  other  doctrines.  But  do  such  entities  as  isms,  possessing 
the  ontological  structure  implied  in  treating  them  as  members  of  a  kind  and  in 
association  with  one  another,  actually  exist?  Do  we  confront  here,  as  with  a  plu¬ 
rality  of  animal  kinds,  a  basic  datum  of  the  created  universe,  or,  as  with  plural 


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languages,  do  we  confront  a  fruit  of  providence  in  response  to  Babel?  Or  do  we 
confront  only  an  imagination?  Are  we  dealing  only  with  an  intellectual  fallacy, 
a  version  of  the  pathetic  fallacy,  that  has  treated  human  doctrines  and  beliefs  as 
though  they  were  concrete  things  instead  of  abstract? 

Heidegger  was  right,  at  least  about  the  modernity  of  pluralism.  Offered  as  a 
universal  description  of  all  societies,  pluralism  is  easily  rebutted.  There  are, 
or  have  been,  doctrinally  homogeneous  societies.  And  indeed  pluralism  in  this 
form  would  be  self-rebutting,  for  the  only  demonstration  it  can  have  for  its 
claim  about  the  competing  plurality  of  isms  is  to  contrast  modem  society  with 
older  homogeneous  ones.  Pluralism,  then,  can  and  does  answer  only  for  a  limited 
segment  of  the  total  social  experience  of  mankind.  It  is  part  of  that  wider 
philosophical  enterprise  that  attempts  to  account  for  how  human  existence 
as  we  know  it  today  differs  from  human  existence  in  the  past.  But  granted 
this  point,  we  see  that  pluralism  cannot  merely  posit  the  plurality  of  isms.  It 
is  obliged  to  account  for  how  plurality  has  emerged  from  homogeneity.  How 
can  the  many  isms  that  enter  into  a  competitive  association  with  one  another 
have  arisen  from  the  “pre-ism,”  the  homogeneous  unifying  doctrine  that  once 
constituted  society  in  an  age  loosely  described  as  premodem? 

More  clearly,  perhaps,  than  most  of  those  who  have  propounded  a  plurality 
of  isms,  Heidegger  recognized  that  this  question  had  to  be  answered,  that 
pluralism  could  not  be  asserted  as  though  it  were  a  fact  observed  by  journalists 
or  statisticians.  But  his  answer  to  it  is  a  shockingly  bmtal  one — a  mere  assertion 
of  historical  fiat,  a  philosophical  strong-arm  tactic.  It  is  our  fate  as  modems  to 
will  our  knowing  as  science,  by  representation.  This  form  of  knowing  is  given 
to  us,  and  the  reason  we  cannot  resist  it  is  that  our  will  demands  that  we  be  the 
subjects  of  our  knowing.  We  cannot,  he  sternly  observes,  “dawdle  about  in  the 
mere  negating  of  the  age.  The  flight  into  tradition  . . .  can  bring  about  noth¬ 
ing  in  itself  other  than  self-deception  and  blindness  in  relation  to  the  historical 
moment.”  I  think  that  there  are  reasons  why  serious  democrats  must  resist  that 
answer,  and  I  also  think  there  are  reasons  why  serious  Christians  also  must  do 
so.  Let  me,  in  conclusion,  suggest  what  these  reasons  might  be  in  both  cases. 

It  is  clear  that  many  defenders  of  pluralism  think  of  themselves  as  defending 
democratic  polity  in  so  doing.  Democratic  polity  depends  on  a  strong  notion 
of  social  equality,  a  notion  extending  much  further  than  the  mere  admission  of 
adult  citizens  to  the  polling  booth.  But  equality  cannot  be  applied  independently 
of  ontology.  The  question  underlying  every  concrete  decision  about  equality  is 
what  entities  make  a  recognizable  demand  for  equal  treatment  in  this  situation. 
(This  is  why  a  democracy  that  thinks  of  itself  as  independent  of  ontology  is 


62 


Reflections  on  Pluralism 


doomed  to  be  the  most  confused  age  there  has  ever  been,  for  it  begs  all  its  own 
questions,  seeking  to  establish  equality  without  ever  having  to  determine  what  is 
equal  to  what.  Let  us  talk,  however,  of  what  “democrats”  think,  without  commit¬ 
ting  them  to  this  wild  flight  from  ontology.)  Equality  is  upheld  within  society  by 
organs  of  government,  and  the  fundamental  organ  of  government  is  the  court. 
Democracy  must  be,  before  being  anything  else,  a  doctrine  about  the  equality  to 
be  observed  in  courts  of  law.  Courts  have  their  own  ontology.  To  be  a  subject  of 
equal  treatment  in  a  court  you  must  be  a  “legal  person,”  which  is  to  say,  capable 
of  being  party  to  a  case,  distinct  from  another  legal  person.  Courts  are  impartial 
among  legal  persons. 

But  courts  are  by  no  means  impartial  among  legal  reasons.  A  court  must 
reach  a  resolution  of  every  dispute  while  also  treating  all  legal  persons 
equally.  It  does  so  precisely  by  treating  the  arguments  unequally,  by  deciding 
that  one  set  of  arguments  is  inherently  superior  and  must  therefore  prevail. 
Reasons  enter  court  in  competition,  that  is,  in  an  unstable  association,  which 
it  is  the  court’s  business  to  terminate  by  giving  effect  to  their  inequality. 
Reasons  enter  court  in  order  to  eliminate  one  another.  The  very  practice  of 
adjudication,  then,  assumes  that  the  equal  respect  required  by  legal  persons 
cannot  also  be  extended  to  legal  reasons. 

How,  then,  do  isms  stand  before  the  equalizing  regime  of  democracy?  When 
isms  confront  one  another  in  common  life,  they  do  not  have  to  eliminate  one 
another,  and  indeed  usually  cannot  do  so.  If  they  enter  court,  they  may  do  so  in 
one  of  two  different  ways.  Either  they  appear  as  legal  reasons,  in  which  case 
they  are  in  no  different  situation  from  other  legal  reasons,  or  they  appear  as 
practical  traditions  of  some  community  that  is  a  party  in  court.  WTien  the  courts 
are  presented  with  isms  as  reasons,  they  are  bound,  as  in  any  other  case,  to 
resolve  whether  they  are,  in  terms  of  legal  coherence,  superior  reasons,  and  so 
allowed  to  stand.  But  when  a  community  defined  by  its  doctrine  and  practices 
appears  before  the  courts,  that  community  will  have  equal  standing  with  any 
other  legal  person.  The  argument  made  recently  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canter¬ 
bury  to  introduce  an  element  of  Sharia  law  into  British  law,  which  met  with 
much  controversy,  is  not  an  argument  for  doctrinal  equality.  It  is  an  argument 
for  the  legal  standing  of  communities  that  do,  in  practice,  resolve  some  of  their 
problems  in  the  light  of  their  doctrines.  Neither  in  this  case  nor  in  any  other  can 
doctrines  be  accorded  the  status  of  legal  persons,  so  the  apparatus  of  government 
adopts  a  position  of  indifference  in  respect  to  them.  And  the  fact  that  the  courts 
cannot  give  them  this  status  explains  why  it  is  in  the  courts  that  the  unfulfi liable 
promises  of  pluralism  to  provide  for  the  equal  treatment  of  all  beliefs  have  been 
most  spectacularly  disappointing. 


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In  asking  why  Christians  will  have  difficulty  accepting  pluralism,  we  must  pay 
our  respects  to  that  great  tradition  of  Christian  pluralism  derived  from  Abraham 
Kuyper,  after  whom  this  prize  and  this  lecture  are  named,  even  while  parting 
company  from  it  at  this  point.  By  taking  the  epistemic  dimension  of  original 
sin  seriously,  the  Kuyperian  theory  invites  us  to  expect  deep  social  division  at 
the  level  of  “worldview,”  which  may  have  to  be  coped  with  politically.  And  we 
should  not,  of  course,  ignore  that  advice.  But  there  are  two  important  questions 
to  be  asked.  If  it  is  accepted  that  ruptures  of  original  sin  are  a  given  in  any  Chris¬ 
tian  account  of  the  moral  situation  of  the  world,  and  not  in  the  moral  situation  of 
the  individual  alone,  how  are  we  to  justify  the  assumption  that  this  rupture  will 
normatively  take  an  ideological  form  within  society?  A  Christian  cannot  answer 
the  question  with  the  philosophical  brutality  with  which  Heidegger  answered  it: 
we  are  modems,  and  therefore  we  cannot  but  will  that  it  should  be  so!  That  strife 
and  bitterness,  the  bile  produced  by  Adam’s  apple,  have  assumed  ideological 
forms  in  modem  society  is  undeniable.  But  why  should  this  fact  be  more  than 
an  accident?  “Sin,”  as  Aristotle  said,  “is  manifold.”  And  to  identify  one  pattern 
of  human  sin  as  somehow  normative  is  paradoxical,  open  at  least  to  the  tempta¬ 
tion  of  willing  it  be  so.  Must  the  Christian  pluralist  play  the  part  of  the  serpent  in 
Eden,  proffering  the  apple  of  ideological  discord  in  order  to  bring  sin,  too,  up  to 
modem  standards? 

The  second  question  brings  me  to  back  to  the  point  I  have  been  circling  around. 
Why  is  difference  of  doctrine  to  be  constmed  in  terms  of  plurality?  More 
theologically,  we  might  ask  this:  how  is  the  reconciling  Word  of  God  thought  of 
as  working  within  the  ideological  sphere?  The  Word  of  God,  we  are  told,  mns 
swiftly.  The  Spirit-sent  message,  the  promise  of  deliverance,  the  suggestion  of 
hope,  all  encounter  us  predoctrinally  before  they  take  form  within  a  Christian 
worldview.  Must  this  not  have  the  effect  of  reconciling  ideological  differences 
and  eroding  the  boundaries  that  mark  the  separation  of  plural  worldviews? 

There  is  no  need  to  think  of  this  in  terms  of  some  big  picture  of  the  “global 
ecumenism”  kind.  The  point  is  more  modest:  in  a  world  where  the  Holy  Spirit 
is  alive,  we  may  expect  to  see  his  workings  in  moments  of  reconciliation  and 
agreement.  And  whereas  two  people  whose  differences  are  reconciled  remain 
two  people,  two  communities  whose  differences  are  reconciled  remain  two  com¬ 
munities,  it  is  not  the  case  that  two  doctrines  whose  differences  are  reconciled 
remain  two  doctrines.  That  is  because  doctrines  were  never  plural  in  the  sense 
that  people  or  communities  are  plural. 

The  complex  intermingling  of  different  beliefs  and  practices  so  typical  of  our 
culture  cannot  satisfactorily  be  thought  of  as  a  plurality  of  competitive  isms. 

How,  then,  are  we  to  conceive  it? 


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Reflections  on  Pluralism 


Let  us  take  the  case  that  forms  a  horizon,  acknowledged  or  unacknowledged, 
to  a  great  deal  of  our  discussion — ideological  terrorism.  It  dramatically 
illustrates  the  thread  of  anxiety  running  through  the  pluralist  theory,  remind¬ 
ing  us  that  disagreement  in  practical  principles  is  never  safe  but  always 
perilous.  But  it  also  illustrates  a  feature  of  all  practical  principles,  which  is 
that  they  connect  our  beliefs  into  a  chain  of  practical  reasoning.  The  Islamist 
terrorist  holds  together  a  belief  that  Allah  is  great  and  a  belief  that  innocent 
lives  may  be  intentionally  destroyed  in  pursuit  of  justified  religious  ends. 

For  myself,  I  cannot  help  being  more  sympathetic  to  the  one  belief  than  to 
the  other.  But  for  him,  they  are  mutually  implicated.  That  means  that  his 
practical  principles  are  discursive',  they  take  the  form  of  a  connected  chain 
of  reasoning  from  one  point  to  the  other.  For  the  purposes  of  analysis,  we 
may  itemize  his  separate  beliefs,  but  in  its  lived  texture  his  thought  moves 
from  one  to  the  other  to  establish  a  connection.  There  is  a  logic  to  be  pre¬ 
served  in  this  movement  between  beliefs.  Both  beliefs  are  action-guiding, 
and  the  conduct  of  his  life  seeks  a  practical  equilibrium  that  expresses  both 
equally.  There  is  also  an  order  to  be  preserved  between  them.  A  religious 
belief  commands  a  moral  belief;  the  latter  is  answerable  to  the  former,  held 
up  to  question  before  it.  And  there  is  a  universal  claim  implicit  in  his  moral 
belief.  In  asserting  the  right  and  duty  to  conduct  terrorist  operations,  he  will 
maintain  something  as  true  for  and  on  behalf  of  the  whole  world,  so  the 
validation  of  his  beliefs  is  an  intellectual  task  that  constantly  engages  him. 

Once  we  appreciate  the  discursive  character  of  moral  thought,  the  concept 
of  disagreement  itself  becomes  all  the  more  complex.  Presented  with  an 
isolated  proposition,  I  can  accept  it  or  reject  it  outright.  Presented  with  a  series 
of  propositions  woven  into  a  train  of  thought,  I  may  find  points  of  approxima¬ 
tion  and  points  of  divergence.  I  may  explore  the  logic  of  the  way  beliefs  are  held 
together,  the  implication  by  which  they  are  derived.  But  in  disagreeing  I  have 
something  more  to  offer  than  a  bare  counterproposition.  As  I  enter  into  a  kind 
of  counterpoint  to  the  train  of  reasoning  that  the  other  is  engaged  in,  I  begin  to 
accompany  him  as  I  challenge  him  and  question  him.  I  enter  the  sequence  of  his 
reasoned  propositions,  governed  by  a  logic  of  moral  thought  from  which  neither 
he  nor  I  can  be  exempt.  Two  people  may  have  different  viewpoints,  but  their 
different  viewpoints  are  not  two  as  the  people  who  hold  them  are  two.  They  are 
in  a  complex  differentiation,  with  moments  of  greater  distance  and  moments 
of  greater  proximity. 

Just  as  public  reason  cannot  accommodate  Christian  charity  or  Christian  faith, 
so  difference-as-plurality  cannot  accommodate  Christian  hope.  Christian  social 
theory  will  be  known  by  the  place  it  accords  to  mission.  Mission  is  the  work 


65 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


of  public  advocacy  of  the  gospel  in  whatever  form,  looking  for  the  coming  of 
the  kingdom  of  God,  for  the  dawning  of  that  universal  consent  to  God’s  will  in 
which  “God  shall  be  all  in  all.”  And  that  is  why  we  may  look  for  persuasion, 
conciliation,  and  agreement  in  the  interim,  too;  but  because  the  kingdom  of 
God  is  the  work  of  the  spirit  of  God,  not  our  own  work,  we  cannot  prescribe  its 
specific  dimensions  or  content  before  the  event.  It  is  therefore  an  object  of  hope, 
not  prediction.  Christian  mission  in  the  patristic  period  evoked  unexpected 
civilizational  agreements,  which  still  provide  important  points  of  reference  for 
our  own  very  different  civilization.  Responses  to  the  gospel  in  our  own  time, 
too,  may  afford  new  points  of  social  cohesion,  though  we  do  not  seek  them  for 
that  end  alone  but  as  a  sign  of  the  greater  unity  still  to  come,  n 


66 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 

by  Katharine  Doob  Sakenfeld 


Katherine  Doob  Sakenfeld,  William  Albright  Eisenberger  Professor  of  Old 
Testament  and  Director  of  PhD  Studies  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary, 
served  as  the  2007  President  of  the  Society  of  Biblical  Literature  (SBL)  and  is  the 
General  Editor  of  the  New  Interpreter’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible  (Abingdon  Press, 

5  vols.,  2007-2009).  She  delivered  this  presidential  address  at  the  SBL  annual 
meeting  on  November  1 7,  2007,  and  it  appeared  as  “Whose  Text  Is  it?  ”  in  the 
Journal  of  Biblical  Literature  127:1  ( Spring  2008):  5-18. 

It  was  exactly  twenty  years  ago  that  Professor  Elisabeth  Schiissler  Fiorenza 
gave  her  landmark  presidential  address  [to  the  Society  of  Biblical  Literature] 
titled  “The  Ethics  of  Biblical  Interpretation:  Decentering  Biblical  Scholarship.”' 
In  her  speech,  she  argued  for  the  need  for  biblical  scholarship  to  “continue  its 
descriptive-analytic  work  ...  for  understanding  of  ancient  texts  and  their  histori¬ 
cal  location”  while  also  “exploring  the  power/knowledge  relations  inscribed  in 
contemporary  biblical  discourse  and  in  the  biblical  texts  themselves.”  In  such  an 
approach,  the  work  of  those  “traditionally  absent  from  the  exegetical  enterprise 
would  not  remain  peripheral  or  non-existent  for  biblical  scholarship,”  but  “could 
become  central  to  the  scholarly  discourse  of  the  discipline.”^  My  address  to  you 
this  evening  is  intended  to  further  this  call  for  a  shift  in  our  self-understanding 
of  our  scholarly  work.  We  have  made  progress  in  the  past  twenty  years,  but 
work  remains  to  be  done. 


NOTE:  The  magazine  publisher  is  the  copyright  holder  of  this  article,  and  it  is  reproduced  with 
permission.  Further  reproduction  of  this  article  in  violation  of  the  copyright  is  prohibited.  Con¬ 
tact  the  publisher  at  http://www.sbl-site.org/  for  further  information. 

'  Elisabeth  Schiissler  Fiorenza,  “The  Ethics  of  Biblical  Interpretation:  Decentering  Biblical  Schol¬ 
arship,”  of  Biblical  Literature  107  (1988):  3-17;  reprinted  in  Harold  W.  Attridge  and 

James  C.  VanderKam,  ed.,  Presidential  Voices:  The  Society  of  Biblical  Literature  in  the  Twentieth 
Century  (Atlanta:  Society  of  Biblical  Literature,  2006),  217-31;  subsequent  references  are  to  the 
reprint  edition.  For  a  more  extensive  and  updated  treatment  of  her  perspective,  see  her  volume 
The  Power  of  the  Word:  Scripture  and  the  Rhetoric  of  Empire  (Minneapolis:  Fortress,  2007). 

^  Schiissler  Fiorenza;  “Ethics  of  Biblical  Interpretation,”  230-31. 

DOI:  10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.7 


67 


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My  particular  focus  was  provoked  in  a  session  I  attended  at  the  SBL  annual 
meeting  two  years  ago.  In  introducing  a  session  on  feminism  and  postcolonial¬ 
ism,  a  moderator  reported  that  she  had  been  asked  why  the  session  had  been 
organized  around  a  book  on  African  women’s  voices  published  a  few  years  ear¬ 
lier  (i.e.,  not  hot  off  the  press),  to  which  her  response  had  been  “because  nobody 
seems  to  be  listening.”  The  authors  experienced  their  claim  to  ownership  of  the 
text,  at  least  within  the  guild,  as  being  discounted  or  overridden.  Attempting 
to  listen  to  global  feminist  voices  within  biblical  studies  has  been  a  key  theme 
of  my  own  work,  but  developing  viable  modes  of  engagement  between  white 
Euro-Atlantic  feminists  and  global  feminism  remains  a  challenge.  That  chal¬ 
lenge,  however,  is  but  one  component  of  the  much  larger  question  of  how  we  all 
as  scholars  engage  one  another  over  a  wide  range  of  dividing  lines,  since  we  all 
claim  texts  as  our  own  through  our  acts  of  interpretation. 

I  will  first  approach  the  question  of  “Whose  text?”  and  competing  claims  to 
ownership  in  a  wide-sweeping  overview  and  then  turn  more  specifically  to 
feminist  postcolonial  interpretation  as  a  particular  example.  Before  launch¬ 
ing  into  the  overview,  let  me  note  that  I  will  use  more  “I”  language  and 
anecdotal  material  than  is  usual  for  the  presidential  address.  I  want  the  style 
of  my  speaking  to  reflect  my  perspective  that  being  more  self-consciously 
contextual,  more  public  rather  than  less  so  about  the  personal  in  our  work, 
is  critically  important  to  a  way  forward  in  any  mutual  engagement  across 
dividing  lines. 

“Whose  Text?”  in  Our  Descriptive  Analytical  Work 

The  question  “Whose  text?”  as  I  am  posing  it  has  two  principal  dimensions: 
first,  who  claims  a  particular  text  as  important;  and,  second,  how  are  competing 
interpretive  claims  to  be  negotiated  when  more  than  one  group  has  a  stake  in  the 
same  text.  I  find  it  helpful  to  remember  that  the  question,  thus  conceived,  has 
actually  been  with  us  for  a  long  time  in  our  traditional  descriptive  and  analyti¬ 
cal  research.  In  the  field  of  text  criticism,  for  example,  the  degree  of  differences 
among  manuscript  families,  as  well  as  evidence  of  intentional  scribal  emenda¬ 
tions,  has  led  to  theories  of  different  schools  or  centers  with  different  manu¬ 
script  choices.  Here  interpretive  claims  are  expressed  through  variations  in  the 
text  itself,  and  scholars  ask  what  kind  of  contextual  hermeneutical  and  identity 
claims  may  lie  behind  the  different  manuscript  traditions. 

Studies  of  canon  formation,  whether  of  the  TNK  [Tanakh,  the  Old  Testament]  or 
the  NT  [New  Testament],  are  a  second,  well-established  locus  of  exploration  of 


68 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


“Whose  text?”  The  emphasis  on  Judaisms  (plural)  of  the  Second  Temple  period 
and  beyond,  and  our  knowledge  of  the  many  extant  Christian  writings  as  well  as 
those  that  were  lost  to  us  and  not  canonized,  provide  rich  fodder  for  exploring 
ancient  ownership  claims  to  different  texts  and  competing  interpretive  claims  for 
texts  held  in  common. 

A  third  example  of  our  scholarly  historical  inquiry  into  “Whose  text?”  is  found 
in  the  recent  heightened  interest  in  the  history  of  interpretation.  Biblical  schol¬ 
ars  are  increasingly  collaborating  across  disciplines  of  history,  music,  and  art 
to  discover  more  about  the  religious-social-political-cultural  contexts  that  have 
affected  interpreters’  selection  of  and  perspective  on  texts  over  the  centuries. 

The  good  questions  that  we  have  tried  to  ask  and  answer  over  many  decades 
about  the  ancient  biblical  texts  in  their  own  compositional  contexts  are  now 
being  asked  about  subsequent  readers  and  readings. 

In  short,  the  question  “Whose  text  is  it?”  with  its  attendant  issues  of  contested 
identities  and  hermeneutics  is  scarcely  new  to  our  discipline.  But  the  question 
has  seemed  safe  so  long  as  it  applied  to  the  past  and  so  long  as  the  questions 
of  why  we  ourselves  as  scholars  choose  to  study  particular  texts  or  ask  certain 
questions  or  reach  certain  conclusions  were  not  part  of  the  discussion.  However 
heated  the  debates  about  the  ancient  world  of  the  texts  and  their  meanings  within 
that  world  of  the  past  have  been  (and  we  know  those  debates  can  be  fiery),  the 
conversations  about  our  own  places  in  relation  to  our  work  turn  out  to  be  more 
difficult. 


“Whose  Text?”  The  Current  Landscape 

Recent  discussion  of  our  own  places  in  relation  to  our  work  is  multidimensional; 
I  have  organized  it  under  five  headings,  each  of  which  represents  a  major  fault 
line  across  which  issues  of  ownership  (“Whose  text?”)  are  in  tension.  These  five 
are:  academic  methods;  religious/secular  interpretation;  Jewish  and  Christian/ 
other  readers;  sociocultural  traditions,  including  cultural,  ethnic,  gender,  eco¬ 
nomic,  and  political  dimensions;  and  “ordinary”/“expert”  readers.  This  schema 
is  obviously  porous,  and  after  commenting  on  each  of  the  five  I  will  hasten  to 
reiterate  the  inevitability  of  their  interaction. 

The  first  set  of  divisions  concerns  academic  methods.  None  of  us  would  even 
pretend  to  be  able  to  control  all  of  the  subspecialties  of  method  in  biblical  schol¬ 
arship,  even  if  we  restricted  ourselves  to  a  particular  smaller  corpus  of  the  mate¬ 
rial  such  as  pentateuchal  narrative  or  Johannine  literature.  I  include  this  category 


69 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


not  because  we  are  unwilling  to  recognize  the  expertise  of  others  but  to  raise  the 
question  of  how  we  value  that  expertise.  To  the  extent  that  hermeneutics  says 
to  textual  criticism,  “I  have  no  need  of  you,”  or  vice  versa,  a  fault  line  is  made 
visible.  To  the  extent  that  those  engaged  in  comparative  study  of  ancient  texts 
speak  of  literary  critics  as  too  lazy  to  learn  cognate  languages,  or  literary  critics 
disparage  or  ignore  possible  illumination  from  extrabiblical  sources,  a  fault  line 
is  present.  Perhaps  the  widest  fissure  in  method  lies  between  those  who  are  com¬ 
mitted  to  focusing  on  identity  hermeneutics  and  those  who  are  disinterested  in 
this  broad  approach  or  continue  to  question  its  academic  value. 


My  second  category,  the  division  between  religious  and  secular  interpretation, 
is  sometimes  also  described  as  between  confessional  and  nonconfessional  or 
between  devotional  and  academic  interpretation.^  Whatever  the  nomenclature, 
the  central  issue  is  how  (and,  for  many  people,  whether)  the  text  can  be  introduced, 
discussed,  and  interpreted  in  a  manner  that  does  not  privilege  the  perspective  of 
a  particular  religious  or  faith  tradition.  Our  Society  [the  SBL]  for  many  decades 
has  sought  to  provide  a  forum  for  such  a  nonconfessional  approach,  and  much 
of  our  work  as  a  Society  has  been  predicated  upon  the  assumption  that  we  can 
engage  in  such  work.  Here  in  the  United  States,  we  associate  this  fault  line  also 
with  the  controversies  around  teaching  the  Bible  in  our  public  (government- 
owned  and  funded)  schools.  The  SBL  is  currently  cooperating  in  efforts  to  help 
local  communities  discern  what  the  academic  study  of  the  Bible  apart  from  con¬ 
temporary  religious  claims  might  look  like  in  local  high  school  classrooms.  Yet 
we  are  aware  that  many  of  us  are  adherents  of  Judaism  or  Christianity  and  that  a 
great  many  of  the  college  undergraduate  teaching  posts  in  our  field  in  the  United 
States  exist  because  students  (mostly  Christian  in  this  case)  want  or  are  required 
by  their  church-related  institutions  to  learn  something  “academic”  about  the 
basic  document  of  the  Judeo-Christian  tradition.'*  How  this  divide  between  reli¬ 
gious  and  secular  interpretation  should  be  maintained  and  whether  that  is  even 
possible  are  matters  of  continuing  and  sometimes  heated  debate. 


^  For  confessional/nonconfessional  language,  see,  e.g.,  Philip  Davies,  Whose  Bible  Is  It 
Anyway?  2nd  ed.  (London:  T&T  Clark,  2004),  esp.  13-15,  33-35.  For  devotional/academic 
language,  see,  e.g.,  “The  Bible  and  Public  Schools,”  in  Finding  Common  Ground:  A  First 
Amendment  Guide  to  Religion  and  Public  Schools,  rev.  ed.,  ed.  C.  C.  Haynes  and  O.  Thomas 
(Nashville:  First  Amendment  Center,  2007),  121-33.  Online:  http://www.firstamendmentcen- 
ter.org/PDF/FCGchapterll.pdf  (accessed  November  11,  2007).  The  SBL  is  one  of  many  signa¬ 
tories  to  the  position  statement  on  this  topic  printed  in  this  chapter. 

See  American  Academy  of  Religion,  “AAR  Survey  of  Undergraduate  Religion  and  Theolog>- 
Programs  in  the  U.S.  and  Canada:  Further  Data  Analysis:  Summary  of  Results”  (paper  pre¬ 
sented  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  AAR,  Atlanta,  Nov.  24,  2003).  Online:  http://aar\veb.org/Pro- 
grams/Department_Services/Survey_Data/Undergraduate/dataanalysis-20040309.pdf  (accessed 
October  25,  2007). 


70 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


My  third  broad  category  takes  note  of  the  fault  line  between  those  who  acknowl¬ 
edge  biblical  texts  as  a  part  of  their  own  faith  heritage  and  those  who  study 
biblical  texts  out  of  curiosity  about  a  religious  tradition  other  than  their  own  and 
often  from  a  culture  other  than  their  own.  Here  I  have  in  mind  particularly  the 
divide  between  Jewish  and  Christian  (but  predominantly  Christian  in  terms  both 
of  numbers  and  of  cultural  influence)  interpreters  on  the  one  hand  and  readers 
from  other  cultural  and  religious  traditions  on  the  other;  I  include  the  question  of 
how  biblical  interpretation  may  be  informed  by  comparative  work  growing  out 
of  other  living  religious  traditions  and  their  texts.  What  place  do  readers  from 
other  cultural  and  religious  traditions  have  at  the  table  of  biblical  interpreta¬ 
tion?  And  what  responsibility  do  Christian  and  Jewish  biblical  scholars  have  to 
become  more  engaged  with  other  religious  texts  and  traditions?  The  matter  is 
of  theoretical  scholarly  significance  and  also  of  practical  import  here  in  North 
America  and  especially  in  a  global  perspective.  Scholars  as  diverse  as  Wayne 
Meeks  and  R.  S.  Sugirtharajah  have  identified  this  as  a  key  frontier,  urging  its 
importance  upon  Western  biblical  scholars.^  Those  of  us  who  teach  in  North 
America  and  Europe  are  challenged  to  prepare  our  students  to  engage  rather  than 
to  ignore  this  divide.  This  fault  line  points  us  in  two  directions:  it  points  back 
to  my  previous  consideration  of  the  debate  about  a  secular  or  nonconfessional 
academic  discourse;  it  also  points  ahead  to  my  fourth  category  of  sociocultural 
divides.  Religious  differences  could  be  theoretically  erased  under  the  former 
category  or  incorporated  into  the  latter;  I  have  lifted  out  religious  pluralism 
for  separate  notice  to  underscore  the  need  for  more  sustained  attention  to  other 
sacred  texts  and  to  perspectives  from  other  religious  traditions. 

My  fourth  fault  line,  then,  is  sociocultural,  which  may  include  diverse  religious 
traditions  but  in  which  I  am  focusing,  as  I  indicated  earlier,  on  the  broad  range 
of  racial-ethnic,  political,  economic,  gender,  and  cultural  differences  among 
interpreters  and  the  resulting  multifaceted  tensions  in  claims  to  “ownership”  of 
texts.  If  the  dividing  lines  internal  to  my  first  four  broad  categories  were  com¬ 
plex,  here  they  become  even  more  so,  since  each  interpreter,  whether  using  one 
academic  method  or  another,  whether  working  in  a  religious  or  a  secular  context, 
whether  working  with  his  or  her  own  faith  documents  or  other  texts,  partici¬ 
pates  in  this  whole  range  of  dimensions  of  sociocultural  experience.  The  issue 
is  not  whether  any  one  of  us  participates  but  how  that  reality  impacts  our  work. 
Among  those  who  speak  and  write  from  a  perspective  of  identity  hermeneutics. 


^  See  Wayne  A.  Meeks,  “Why  Study  the  New  Testament?”  New  Testament  Studies  5 1  (2005): 
168-69.  In  numerous  publications,  R.  S.  Sugirtharajah  has  urged  the  importance  of  comparing 
selected  biblical  themes  and  motifs  to  materials  from  Asian  religious  texts  (see,  e.g..  Postcolonial 
Reconfigurations:  An  Alternative  Way  of  Reading  the  Bible  and  Doing  Theology  [St.  Louis:  Chal¬ 
ice,  2003],  107-8). 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


fragmentation  of  perspectives  is  on  the  increase.  No  longer,  for  example,  are 
categories  such  as  Asian  voices  or  even  Southeast  Asian  voices  adequate,  but 
groups  and  individuals  from  different  subcultures  of  many  regions  are  distin¬ 
guishing  themselves.  It  is  my  own  judgment  that  such  fragmentation  is  a  positive 
sign,  even  as  it  was  a  positive  first  step  when  black  or  liberation  or  white  femi¬ 
nist  interpretations  (categories  that  we  now  recognize  as  quite  broad)  initially 
arose  some  decades  ago.  Ever  smaller  and  more  focused  groups  are  considering 
their  identity  in  relation  to  and/or  in  resistance  to  the  text,  seeking  to  make  their 
own  meaning  and  challenging  what  could  become  hegemonic  interpretations 
even  by  their  nearer  neighbors.  In  the  face  of  such  fragmentation,  however,  con¬ 
structive  mutual  engagement  becomes  even  more  difficult  to  achieve. 

The  fifth  and  last  fault  line  that  I  would  identify  is  that  between  so-called 
ordinary  and  so-called  expert  readers.  The  more  usual  discussion  of  this  fault 
line  has  identified  “expert”  readers  as  those  such  as  ourselves  (members  of  the 
SBL)  who  have  special  academic  training  in  the  guild’s  methods  of  approaching 
biblical  texts.  Depending  on  our  particular  training  we  may  rightly  be  viewed  as 
more  expert  than  ordinary  interpreters  in  our  various  technical  specializations. 
Gerald  West,  Musimbi  Kanyoro,  Hans  de  Wit,  and  others  remind  us,  however, 
that  all  readers  bring  some  sort  of  expertise  to  the  text.®  Thus,  this  divide  may 
be  better  identified  as  between  academic  and  nonacademic  readers,  recognizing 
that  even  with  such  a  label  there  will  be  a  continuum.  Nonacademic  or  ordinary 
readers  bring  their  own  life  experiences  to  the  text,  offering  expertise  often 
very  different  from  ours,  and  the  experiences  of  these  nonacademic,  sometimes 
nonliterate,  readers  may  open  up  remarkably  fresh  avenues  of  analysis.  Vincent 
Wimbush’s  important  Institute  for  Signifying  Scriptures  project  is  drawing  our 
attention  to  the  significance  of  this  approach  to  expertise  in  all  cultural  settings, 
including  North  America."^ 

As  I  indicated  at  the  outset,  these  five  categories  of  fault  lines  are  heuristic 
and  reflective  of  major  threads  of  discussion  in  recent  literature  about  the 
character  of  biblical  scholarship  for  the  twenty-first  century.  I  expect  that 
most  of  you  have  found  your  own  resonance  with  the  question  of  “Whose 


®  See,  most  recently,  Gerald  West,  ed.,  Reading  Other-Wise:  Socially  Engaged  Biblical  Schol¬ 
ars  Reading  with  Their  Local  Communities  Semeia  Studies  62  (Atlanta:  Society  of  Biblical 
Literature,  2007),  esp.  1-3;  Musimbi  R.  Kanyoro,  Introducing  Feminist  Cultural  Herme¬ 
neutics:  An  African  Perspective  (London:  Sheffield  Academic  Press.  2002);  Hans  de  Wit  et 
al.,  eds..  Through  the  Eyes  of  Another:  Intercultural  Reading  of  the  Bible  (Elkhart:  Institute 
of  Mennonite  Studies,  2004).  West  emphasizes  that  among  “ordinary’  readers”  his  particular 
interest  is  in  “the  poor,  the  working  class,  and  the  marginalized”  (p.  2),  and  de  Wit  offers  an 
extended  discussion  of  the  category  of  “ordinary  reader”  (pp.  5-19). 

’  See  the  Institute’s  Web  site  at  http://iss.cgu.edu/about/index.htm  (accessed  November  12,  2007). 


72 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


text?”  primarily  in  one  or  two  of  the  categories,  although  the  interpenetration 
of  the  categories  should  be  apparent. 

In  the  face  of  this  complexity  it  is  a  natural  temptation  for  each  of  us  to  proceed 
with  doing  whatever  interests  us  without  worrying  much  about  these  fault  lines. 

I  say  “for  each  of  us,”  but  I  think  that  temptation,  such  as  it  is,  is  mostly  for 
those  of  us  who  find  ourselves  by  reason  of  birth  and  circumstance  in  relatively 
more  privileged  positions  as  part  of  the  white  Eurocentric  academy.  For  many 
others  in  our  midst,  however,  the  struggle  to  find  a  venue  for  their  work,  and  the 
struggle  to  have  it  taken  seriously,  is  part  and  parcel  of  their  academic  life.  It  is 
their  experience  that,  again  in  the  words  of  the  moderator  of  that  panel  two  years 
ago,  “Nobody  seems  to  be  listening.”  The  effort  to  gain  recognition  for  their 
claim  to  ownership  of  the  text  remains  an  uphill  battle. 

A  Possible  Way  Ahead 

In  acknowledgment  of  that  uphill  battle,  I  want  to  focus  now  on  possibilities  for 
recognizing  the  claim  to  ownership  of  those  who  are  not  part  of  the  privileged 
majority,  for  having  their  interpretive  voices  taken  seriously,  with  special  atten¬ 
tion  to  the  global  context  of  our  work. 

Our  society  has  taken  structural  steps  in  the  right  direction.  Subsidies  for 
bringing  international  scholars  and  specifically  international  women  scholars 
to  the  North  American  annual  meeting  are  to  be  applauded,  although  six  to 
eight  guests  among  several  thousand  attendees  hardly  form  a  critical  mass. 
Our  international  meetings  are  potentially  another  step,  insofar  as  they  do 
not  simply  export  Eurocentric  presentations  to  holiday  locations  but  rather 
enable  scholars  from  outside  the  West  to  participate  in  more  significant 
numbers.  We  have  begun  a  project  of  making  scholarly  papers  in  native  lan¬ 
guages  from  across  the  world  available  electronically  on  our  Web  site,  with 
the  selection  process  conducted  by  local  or  regional  associations  of  biblical 
scholars  in  Asia,  Africa,  and  Latin  America.  Beyond  such  structural  steps, 
what  strategies  may  be  helpful? 

In  approaching  this  question  I  recall  one  of  my  most  difficult  evenings  in  Asia. 
The  women  who  joined  me  for  conversation  had  agreed  to  be  present  as  a  cour¬ 
tesy  to  my  host,  but  they  were  nonetheless  quite  frank.  “We  are  tired  of  Western¬ 
ers  coming  to  tell  us  what  to  think,”  they  said,  and  then  added,  “we  are  equally 
tired  of  being  asked  what  we  think.  We  need  dialogue,  a  two-way  conversation.” 
On  that  we  were  agreed,  but  how  to  proceed  eluded  us.  What  might  enable  us 
to  meet,  as  Kwok  Pui-lan  eloquently  puts  it,  as  equal  subjects  for  sharing  of  our 


73 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


treasures?*  In  my  subsequent  experience,  focusing  conversation  around  a  partic¬ 
ular  text  has  proved  to  be  one  helpful  way  of  addressing  such  an  impasse.  With 
that  in  mind,  let  me  sharpen  my  question  of  “Whose  text?”  Thus  far  in  asking 
“Whose  text  is  it?”  I  have  spoken  about  “text/texts”  rather  generically.  It  is  my 
conviction,  however,  that  we  can  often  proceed  further  toward  mutual  engage¬ 
ment  if  we  focus  the  question  of  “Whose  text?”  not  on  the  Bible  as  a  whole 
(whatever  its  boundaries  in  various  religious  traditions)  but  rather  on  individual 
texts  or  on  much  smaller  bodies  of  texts  that  introduce  particular  characters  or 
political  or  sociocultural  topics. 


A  Test  Probe 

Given  this  perspective  on  the  value  of  a  focal  text,  I  turn  now  to  offering  a  brief 
postcolonial  reflection  on  a  particular  biblical  story  and  character.  As  postco¬ 
lonial  feminists  from  among  the  colonized  are  calling  for  women  like  me  (and 
men  as  well)  to  engage  their  work  and  their  approach,  I  as  a  first-world,  white 
feminist  can  perhaps  best  make  clear  my  sense  of  my  place  by  describing  myself 
as  a  “pro-postcolonial  feminist”  (on  the  analogy  of  a  “pro-woman  man”  enter¬ 
ing  into  white  feminist  biblical  interpretation).^  I  emphasize  that  I  am  making  no 
claim  to  “having  it  right”  in  what  follows.  My  goal  is  to  model  publicly  the  risk 
that  I  invite  other  first-world  interpreters  to  take:  recognizing  global  ownership 
of  biblical  texts  by  attempting  to  engage  biblical  interpretation  across  difficult 
dividing  lines. 

I  have  chosen  for  my  test  probe  Judges  4-5,  the  story  of  Deborah  and  Barak, 
Sisera  and  Jael,  chapters  that  have  received  extensive  treatment  by  numerous 
white  first-world  feminists.  Although  postcolonial  feminist  writers  have  already 
produced  an  impressive  body  of  work  on  selected  biblical  texts,  most  notably 
within  the  OT  [Old  Testament]  on  the  story  of  Rahab  and  on  the  story  of  Ruth, 
Naomi,  and  Orpah,  I  have  not  yet  uncovered  publications  from  a  specifically 
postcolonial  perspective  on  Judges  4-5.'°  It  is  possible  that  this  apparent  lacuna 


*  For  the  image  of  shared  treasures,  see  Kwok  Pui-lan,  “Discovering  the  Bible  in  the  Non- 
Biblical  World,”  in  Voices  from  the  Margin:  Interpreting  the  Bible  in  the  Third  World,  new 
ed.,  ed.  R.  S.  Sugirtharajah  (Maryknoll:  Orbis  Books,  1995),  303;  reprinted  from  Semeia  47 
(1989). 

®  See,  e.g.,  Kwok  Pui-lan,  Postcolonial  Imagination  and  Feminist  Theology  (Louisville;  West¬ 
minster  John  Knox,  2005),  127,  167;  Musa  W.  Dube,  “Toward  a  Post-Colonial  Feminist  Inter¬ 
pretation,”  in  Reading  the  Bible  as  Women:  Perspectives  from  Asia,  Africa,  and  Latin  America, 
ed.  P.  A.  Bird  et  ah,  Semeia  78  (Atlanta:  Scholars  Press,  1997),  20,  22. 

On  Ruth,  see,  e.g.,  Musa  W.  Dube,  “The  Unpublished  Letters  of  Orpah  to  Ruth.”  in  The 
Feminist  Companion  to  the  Bible,  vol.  3,  A  Feminist  Companion  to  Ruth,  ed.  Athalya  Brenner 
(Sheffield;  Sheffield  Academic  Press,  1999),  145-50;  Dube,  “Divining  Ruth  for  International 


74 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


is  not  a  reality,  since  the  sources  included  in  database  searches  are  still  limited 
largely  to  North  Atlantic  languages  and  publications  (yet  another  sign,  of  course, 
of  the  hegemonic  interpretive  context  I  am  highlighting  here)."  There  may  well 
be  publications  in  Asia,  Africa,  or  Latin  America  that  do  deal  with  Judges  4-5 
from  a  postcolonial  perspective,  and  there  may  be  various  forms  of  oral  commu¬ 
nication  to  which  access  is  even  more  difficult. 

My  choice  of  this  text  and  of  the  figure  of  Jael  in  particular  may  be  an  awk¬ 
ward  selection.  For  me  as  a  white  first-world  feminist  to  offer  any  postcolonial 
reflection  before  others  have  spoken  may  seem  out  of  place.  Yet  I  choose  this 
text  because  of  a  prior  experience  that  does  place  it  for  me  squarely  in  this 
domain,  with  the  hope  that  postcolonial  feminist  writers  will  choose  to  explore  it 
further  in  response  and  correction.  That  experience,  as  I  have  recounted  else¬ 
where,  took  place  some  years  ago  in  discussing  this  story  with  Korean  women 
church  leaders.'^  I  expressed  the  discomfort  that  I  and  many  women  peers  in 
North  America  experience  with  Jael’s  murder  of  Sisera,  to  which  the  response 
came  swiftly:  “your  place  as  a  Lf.S.  woman  is  with  Sisera’s  mother,  waiting  to 
count  the  spoils.”  In  retrospect  this  was  surely  a  postcolonial  (or  neocolonial 
economic)  reading  and  challenge,  although  none  of  us  marked  it  as  such  at  the 
time.  I  note  also,  and  not  insignificantly,  that  this  observation  was  offered  by  a 
so-called  ordinary  (i.e.,  nonacademic)  reader.  She  was  not  a  biblical  scholar;  she 
had  never,  to  my  knowledge,  studied  Hebrew.  But  she  was  certainly  an  expert  in 
relating  the  text  to  her  life  and  the  political  context  of  our  two  nations. 

With  her  response  in  mind,  let  me  explore  further  how  I  imagine  the  story  might 
be  viewed  through  a  postcolonial  lens.  My  hermeneutical  strategy,  following  a 
range  of  postcolonial  writers,  will  be  to  explore  possible  points  of  contact  between 


Relations,”  in  Other  Ways  of  Reading:  African  Women  and  the  Bible,  ed.  Musa  W.  Dube, 
Global  Perspectives  on  Biblical  Scholarship  2  (Atlanta:  Society  of  Biblical  Literature,  2001), 
179-95;  Laura  E.  Donaldson,  “The  Sign  of  Orpah:  Reading  Ruth  through  Native  Eyes,”  in  A 
Feminist  Companion  to  Ruth,  130-44;  on  Rahab,  see  Musa  W.  Dube,  Postcolonial  Feminist 
Interpretation  of  the  Bible  (St.  Louis:  Chalice,  2000),  esp.  76-80,  121-24.  Uriah  Y.  Kim  con¬ 
siders  the  significance  of  postcolonial  interpretation  for  Judges  generally  but  without  focused 
attention  on  chs.  4-5  (“Who  Is  the  Other  in  the  Book  of  Judges,”  in  Judges  and  Method: 

New  Approaches  in  Biblical  Studies,  2nd  ed.,  ed.  Gale  A.  Yee  [Minneapolis:  Eortress,  2007], 
161-82) 

"  Hans  de  Wit  observes  the  tendency  to  overlook  Spanish-language  scholarship  in  his  compari¬ 
son  of  Latin  American  and  non-Latin  American  treatments  of  Judges  4  (“Leyendo  con  Yael,” 
in  Los  caminos  inexhauribles  de  la  Palabra:  Las  relecturas  creativas  en  la  Bibliay  de  la  Biblia: 
Homenaje  de  colegas  y  discipulos  a  J.  Sever ino  Croatia,  ed.  Guillermo  Hansen  [Buenos  Aires: 
Lumen-ISEDET,  2000],  11-66). 

See  my  “Deborah,  Jael,  and  Sisera’s  Mother:  Reading  the  Scriptures  in  Cross-Cultural 
Context,”  in  Women,  Gender,  and  Christian  Community,  ed.  Jane  Dempsey  Douglass  and 
James  F.  Kay  (Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  1997),  13-22. 


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biblical  actors  and  contemporary  readers,  even  as  did  my  Korean  conversation 
partner  in  pointing  me  to  Sisera’s  mother.  This  approach  resonates,  for  instance, 
with  the  concept  of  “story  field”  as  a  locus  for  negotiating  readings  as  proposed  by 
postcolonial  interpreter  Laura  Donaldson.'^  I  choose  it  also  because  it  fits  closely 
with  the  way  in  which  many  “ordinary”  (i.e.,  nonacademic)  readers  typically 
engage  the  Bible,  thus  providing  an  important  bridge  of  contact  across  that  divide. 

1  begin  by  stepping  back  from  the  character  of  Jael  in  order  to  problematize  the 
place  of  Israel  relative  to  the  Canaanites.  To  be  sure,  these  chapters,  like  the  OT 
generally,  view  the  situation  through  Israelite  eyes.  But  the  situation  in  Judges 
is  not  exactly  the  same  as  the  picture  in  the  book  of  Joshua,  where  the  invading 
Israelites  are  taking  control  of  Canaanite  land.  In  Joshua,  the  experience  of  the 
Canaanites  provides  a  connecting  point  of  identity  for  contemporary  peoples 
whose  land  has  been  or  is  being  taken  over  by  outside  forces.  As  Robert  Alan 
Warrior,  among  others,  has  emphasized,  this  is  the  Joshua  narrative’s  portrayal 
of  Israel  and  Canaan,  regardless  of  what  happened  historically,  and  this  has  been 
the  portrayal  used  as  warrant  by  land-grabbing  colonizing  powers. The  sce¬ 
nario  in  Judges,  however,  is  potentially  more  complicated.  From  the  narrowest 
viewpoint  on  our  narrative,  it  is  now  the  Israelites  who  are  under  the  oppressive 
hand  of  the  Canaanites,  without  regard  for  how  the  Israelites  came  to  be  present. 
At  this  narrative  level,  a  contemporary  subject  people  might  read  this  story  in 
a  liberationist  mode  alongside  the  exodus  story  and  identify  with  the  Israelites 
in  their  effort  to  throw  off  an  oppressive  yoke,  even  if  those  same  readers  have 
identified  themselves  with  the  Canaanites  in  the  context  of  Joshua.'^ 

Such  an  initial  view  of  Judges  4—5  is  immediately  complicated,  however,  by  the 
theological  fi'aming  of  the  text,  since  it  is  Israel’s  deity  who  has  allowed  Israel’s 
oppression,  and  it  is  Israel’s  deity  who  will  accomplish  Israel’s  deliverance.  Does 
this  theological  stance  inevitably  make  Israel  actually  the  dominant  cultural  and 
political  power  in  the  story?  I  would  propose  that  this  is  not  necessarily  the  case;  the 
story  can  still  be  read  as  a  story  of  a  weak  Israel  rejecting  the  temptation  to  partici¬ 
pate  in  the  Canaanites’  religious-cultural  hegemony,  to  which  they  have  thus  far  suc¬ 
cumbed,  and  trying  to  stake  out  their  own  sociocultural  as  well  as  physical  space. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  know  enough  of  modem  colonial  history  to  see  how  readily 


Laura  E.  Donaldson,  Decolonizing  Feminisms:  Race,  Gender,  and  Empire-Building  (Chapel 
Hill:  University  of  North  Carolina  Press,  1992),  139. 

Robert  Alan  Warrior,  “A  Native  American  Perspective:  Canaanites,  Cowboys,  and  Indians,” 
in  Voices  from  the  Margin:  Interpreting  the  Bible  in  the  Third  World,  3rd  ed.,  ed.  R:  S.  Sug- 
irtharajah  (Maiy  knoll:  Orbis  Books,  2006),  235^1;  reprinted  from  Christianity  and  Crisis  49 
(1989). 

De  Wit  finds  examples  of  such  liberationist  readings  of  Judges  in  Latin  American  sources  (in 
(“Leyendo  con  Yael”). 


76 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


the  story  of  Judges  4-5  can  be  read  from  the  perspective  of  Israel’s  dominance,  all 
the  more  so  as  the  theological  framing  ties  the  themes  of  Judges  back  to  Joshua.  The 
image  in  Judges  is  still  one  of  recent  arrivals,  now  pictured  as  a  weaker/small  group, 
trying  to  establish  themselves  in  the  midst  of  powerful  but  despised  native 
inhabitants,  inhabitants  who  have  temporarily,  but  only  temporarily,  overrun  the 
intruding  outsiders.  In  such  a  reading,  the  colonized  are  again  the  Canaanites.  Paral¬ 
lels  are  legion  to  modem  stories  of  “setders”  who  described  themselves  as  “belea¬ 
guered,”  and  to  original  inhabitants  who  have  resented  and  resisted  their  presence. 

Thus  far  I  have  suggested  that  it  might  be  possible  for  contemporary  postcolonial 
subjects  to  identify  with  either  of  the  two  sides  in  the  conflict,  depending  on  what 
level  of  the  narrative  and  what  points  of  contact  are  selected.  The  corollary  is 
that  those  like  myself  who  live  on  the  side  of  Empire,  of  the  colonizers,  histori¬ 
cally  and/or  at  the  present  moment,  must  consider  our  own  place. On  my  first, 
narrower  level  of  reading,  we  may  find  ourselves  as  Canaanites,  as  my  Korean 
respondent  had  powerfully  pointed  out.  At  the  second  level,  however,  we  will  find 
ourselves  instead  as  Israelites,  participating  in  a  sociopolitical  and  even  religious 
community  that  imagines  itself  as  rightly  called  to  the  role  of  colonizer  even  while 
experiencing  a  temporary  setback.  I  suspect  that  for  those  of  us  who  are  a  part  of 
Empire  yet  seek  to  resist  its  impulse,  this  latter  identification  with  Israel  is  more 
difficult.  To  be  a  Canaanite  in  this  story,  for  me  to  be  Sisera’s  mother,  means  to  be 
in  the  wrong:  reading  with  the  grain  of  the  text,  the  Canaanites  are  in  the  wrong, 
and  the  connection  is  straightforward.  However,  to  identify  myself  as  an  Israelite 
in  this  story  while  maintaining  a  postcolonial  lens  requires  first  that  as  a  colonizer 
I  view  Israel’s  weak  and  overrun  position  nonetheless  as  one  of  Empire,  already  a 
difficult  mental  step  for  a  relatively  privileged  first-world  reader  to  hold  on  to,  and 
second  that  I  must  choose  whether  and  how  to  resist  that  identity  for  the  sake  of  the 
Canaanites.  As  one  who  is  immersed  in  the  Western  Judeo-Christian  faith  tradition, 
the  mental  gymnastics  of  standing  within  yet  against  ancient  Israel  as  it  seeks  to 
defeat  Jabin  and  Sisera  are  complex,  to  say  the  least. 

These  potential  connecting  points  are  subject  to  even  further  complication  if  we 
ask  after  ancient  Israel’s  own  possible  perspectives  on  the  story  and  how  Canaan 
may  have  been  a  cipher  for  imperial  powers  for  some  ancient  hearers.  If  we 


Postcolonial  scholars  have  varying  ways  of  distinguishing  between  imperialism  and  colo¬ 
nialism,  as  well  as  neocolonialism;  see,  e.g.,  Dube,  “Toward  a  Post-Colonial  Feminist  Interpre¬ 
tation,”  15;  JR.  S.  Sugirtharajah,  The  Postcolonial  Biblical  Reader  (Oxford:  Blackwell,  2006), 
16-17.  None  of  these  concepts,  of  course,  is  precisely  parallel  either  culturally  or  geopoliti- 
cally  to  the  situation  of  the  Israelites  and  Canaanites  as  portrayed  in  Joshua-Judges.  The  issues 
of  control  of  land  and  resources,  emphasis  on  cultural  distinctiveness,  and  regarding  the  other 
as  inferior  are  features  shared  by  the  biblical  narrative  and  imperial/colonial  impulses. 


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undertake  an  experiment  in  historical  imagination,  overhearing  the  story  late  in 
the  monarchy  in  the  era  of  Judah’s  King  Josiah,  we  find  Judah  as  a  small  blip  on 
the  world  scene  dominated  first  by  the  Assyrian  Empire  but  soon  by  the  rising 
Babylonians.’’  Perhaps,  as  Judah  dreams  of  some  degree  of  independence  from 
Mesopotamian  might  and  Egyptian  pressure,  we  can  imagine  the  story  of  Deborah 
and  Barak  as  a  warrant  for  Josiah’s  mysterious  decision  to  go  to  battle  against 
Pharaoh  Neco  at  Megiddo.  A  people  and  leader  who  have  recently  turned  afresh 
toward  devotion  to  YHWH,  at  least  as  the  narrator  of  2  Kings  portrays  them, 
seek  to  throw  off  a  foreign  yoke.  This  time,  however,  the  battle  ends  in  quite  the 
opposite  way  with  the  death  of  Judah’s  leader  rather  than  defeat  of  the  enemy, 
and  Judah’s  status  as  puppet  or  pawn  of  imperial  powers  remains  unchanged. 

If  we  move  ahead  in  our  imagination  into  the  Persian  era,  when  Judah  is  officially 
part  of  another  empire,  a  standing  army  is  no  more,  and  prophecy  has  taken  a  quite 
different  shape,  perhaps  the  story  becomes  colonized  Judah’s  nostalgia  for  bygone 
days,  or  perhaps  a  call  to  repentance  in  hopes  of  restoring  former  glory,  or  perhaps 
even  part  of  the  Persian  colonizer’s  strategy  for  maintaining  order — if  Judah’s 
deity  has  not  sent  another  Deborah  in  these  latter  days,  then  submission  to  Persia/ 
Canaan  must  be  the  intent  of  Judah’s  god.’*  Each  of  these  readings  equates  ancient 
empires  with  Canaan,  but  now  there  is  no  deliverance  for  the  subjugated.  Even 
if  the  story  wants  to  portray  Israel  as  the  powerful  center,  even  if  it  is  resistance 
literature  rather  than  a  tool  of  Empire,  it  is  preserved  in  a  community  that  experi¬ 
ences  its  life  as  colonized  and  without  serious  prospect  of  change.  Attention  to  his¬ 
torical  context  seems  to  make  a  pipe  dream  of  the  hope  implicit  in  an  anticolonial 
reading.  In  the  absence  of  prospects  for  change.  Empire  becomes  more  secure,  and 
the  effort  to  resist  complicity  with  Empire,  whether  from  within  or  from  without, 
becomes  correspondingly  more  difficult. 

Thus  far  my  proposed  patterns  of  reading  have  bypassed  Jael  and  the  Kenites; 

I  turn  now  to  the  question  of  Jael’s  social  location.  Jael  is  presented  to  us  in 
the  usual  rendering  as  the  wife  of  Heber  the  Kenite,  who  is  not  Israelite  yet  by 


”  For  an  important  treatment  of  Josiah  and  2  Kings  from  a  postcolonial  perspective,  see  Uriah 
Y.  Kim,  Decolonizing  Josiah:  Toward  a  Postcolonial  Reading  of  the  Deuteronomistic  History, 
Bible  in  the  Modem  World  5  (Sheffield:  Sheffield  Phoenix,  2005).  For  a  more  abbreviated 
interpretation  of  Jael,  along  with  Rahab  and  Ruth,  from  the  perspective  of  colonized  Judah,  see 
my  “Postcolonial  Perspectives  on  Premonarchic  Women,”  in  To  Break  Every  Yoke:  Essays  in 
Honor  of  Marvin  L  Chaney,  ed.  Robert  B.  Coote  and  Norman  K.  Gottwald  (Sheffield:  Shef¬ 
field  Phoenix,  2007),  192-203. 

For  an  approach  suggesting  that  some  biblical  texts  functioned  to  support  the  interest  of  the 
Persians,  see  Jon  Berquist,  “Postcolonialism  and  Imperial  Motives  for  Canonization”  Semeia 
75  ( 1 996):  1 5-36;  Berquist,  Judaism  in  Persia 's  Shadow:  A  Social  and  Historical  Approach 
(Minneapolis:  Fortress,  1995),  esp.  131-36. 


78 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


tradition  would  be  affiliated  with  Israel  as  a  descendant  of  Moses’  father-in-law. 
Yet  Heber  had  separated  himself  from  his  kinfolk,  moved  his  tent  into  Canaanite 
territory,  and  “made  peace”  with  the  king  of  the  Canaanite  forces  (4:17).  Heber 
(who  never  personally  appears  in  the  story)  is  thus  a  borderland  figure,  both 
geographically  and  ethnically,  one  who  cannot  belong  fully  to  either  side,  who 
has  eschewed  his  ties  even  to  his  own  liminal  Kenite  group,  and  who  apparently 
has  chosen  to  align  himself  with  the  seemingly  dominant  side  (Canaan)  rather 
than  with  the  kinship  side  (Israel).'^  On  this  reading  of  the  text,  we  are  told 
nothing  explicitly  about  the  ethnicity  of  Jael  or  of  her  personal  loyalties,  despite 
the  assumption  of  many  commentators  that  she  is  a  loyal  Kenite.  It  is  conceiv¬ 
able  that  Heber  had  married  outside  his  clan,  either  an  Israelite  woman  or  a 
Canaanite  woman.^° 

Some  scholars  have  argued  that  the  word  “Heber”  is  not  a  proper  name  but  a 
common  noun.^'  In  this  case  Jael  would  be  presented  to  us  clearly  as  a  Kenite, 
but  with  no  reference  to  her  marital  status.  For  my  purpose  here,  however,  the 
central  point  is  that  none  of  these  readings  suggests  that  Jael  as  a  woman  had 
any  part  in  the  decision  to  encamp  away  from  other  Kenites  or  from  Israel  or  to 
join  in  alliance  with  Canaan.  The  text  does  not  tell  us  anything  about  her  loyal¬ 
ties.  No  matter  which  ethnicity  we  presume  for  Jael,  Israel’s  victory  in  battle  and 
Sisera’s  appearance  at  her  tent  force  her  to  make  a  choice. 

Although  white  feminist  interpretations  of  Jael  are  enormously  diverse,  a  number 
tend  to  interpret  her  killing  of  Sisera  as  an  act  of  self-defense.  Themes  include 
Jael’s  defense  of  herself  against  a  male  intruder  into  women’s  private  space  (espe¬ 
cially  in  the  poem)  and  thus  against  a  threat  of  rape,  and  Jael’s  defense  of  herself 
against  being  discovered  harboring  the  enemy  (especially  in  the  prose  account), 
and  thus  against  a  threat  of  death.^^  This  “defense”  or  implicit  justification  of  Jael’s 


Baruch  Halpem  has  suggested  that  the  Kenites  may  have  been  working  for  Israel,  despite 
appearances  (“Sisera  and  Old  Lace:  The  Case  of  Deborah  and  Yael,”  in  The  First  Historians: 
The  Hebrew  Bible  and  History  [San  Francisco:  Harper  &  Row,  1988],  85-87). 

“  If  we  imagine  Jael  as  a  Canaanite,  we  might  align  her  intertextually  with  Rahab;  if  we 
imagine  her  as  Israelite,  connections  with  Judith  of  much  later  tradition  might  be  more  apt. 

For  comparison  of  these  other  characters,  see  Musa  W.  Dube,  “Rahab  Says  Hello  to  Judith:  A 
Decolonizing  Feminist  Reading,”  in  Toward  a  New  Heaven  and  a  New  Earth:  Essays  in  Honor 
of  Elisabeth  Schtissler  Fiorenza,  ed.  Fernando  Segovia  (Maryknoll:  Orbis  Books,  2003), 

54-72. 

See  Susan  Ackerman,  “What  If  Judges  Had  Been  Written  by  a  Philistine?”  Biblical  Interpre¬ 
tation  8  (2000):  37-38,  and  bibliography  there. 

For  the  former,  see  Ann  Wansbrough,  “Blessed  Be  Jael  among  Women:  For  She  Challenged 
Rape,”  in  Women  of  Courage:  Asian  Women  Reading  the  Bible,  ed.  Lee  Oo  Chung  et  al.  (Seoul: 
Asian  Women’s  Resource  Centre  for  Culture  and  Theology,  1992),  101-22;  for  the  latter,  see  Danna 
Nolan  Fewell  and  David  M.  Gunn,  “Controlling  Perspectives:  Women,  Men,  and  the  Authority  of 
Violence  in  Judges  4  &  5,”  Journal  of  the  American  Academy  of  Religion  58  (1990):  396. 


79 


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need  to  kill  Sisera  for  her  own  survival  serves  to  defuse  some  readers’  discomfort 
(even  revulsion)  with  the  tent-peg  scene,  but  it  also  can  lead  to  downplaying  the 
poem’s  explicit  celebration  of  Jael’s  action — “most  blessed  of  women  be  Jael” 
(5:24).  The  “defense”  theme  also  stands  in  contrast  to  oral  reports  of  women  from 
other  cultures  who  compare  Jael  to  women  in  their  own  traditions  who  are  cel¬ 
ebrated  for  assassination  of  enemy  leaders  in  times  of  military  crisis.^^ 

As  my  Korean  conversation  partner  suggested,  women  who  champion  the  over¬ 
throw  of  oppressors  can  identify  with  Jael.  Given  Jael’s  complex  liminal  status 
and  its  possible  permutations,  however,  I  would  covet  more  conversation  about 
Jael  with  women  reflecting  on  their  varied  positions  as  postcolonial  subjects. 
Imagining  us  gathered  around  a  table,  I  hope  we  could  consider  questions  such 
as  these:  Stepping  back  from  the  specific  circumstance  of  war  and  murder/ 
assassination,  how  might  Jael’s  liminality  illuminate  ways  in  which  you  find 
yourself  caught  between  colonizer  and  colonized  because  of  gender  structures 
in  either  or  both  cultures?  Where  does  Jael’s  lack  of  agency  in  finding  herself 
placed  between  Israel  and  Canaan  resonate  with  you  as  an  individual  or  with  the 
circumstances  of  your  community  as  colonized?  When  may  your  circumstances 
have  meant  that  you  have  found  no  home  on  either  side?  In  the  moment  of  crisis, 
does  Jael’s  action  represent  genuine  agency  or  only  forced  choice?  Does  Jael’s 
predicament  mirror  choices  you  have  been  forced  to  make,  and  what  have  been 
the  possibilities  and  costs  of  refusing  to  choose?  Is  there  reason  to  resist  iden¬ 
tifying  with  Jael  simply  because  she  takes  sides  so  quickly?  Does  her  action 
simply  reinforce  and  reinscribe  the  construction  of  “absolute,  incompatible 
contrasts”  that  postcolonial  analysis  seeks  to  dismantle?^'* 

And  what  of  myself,  or  of  other  first-world  white  feminists?  Is  our  only  place  with 
Sisera’s  mother?  I  hesitate  to  consider  any  additional  option  without  postcolonial 
conversation  partners  at  the  ready  to  correct  my  blind  spots.  I  have  asked  myself 
whether  I  dare  to  claim  any  place  with  Jael  as  a  woman  whose  tent  inevitably  lies 
between  the  camps.  I  can  interpret  my  catalogue  of  questions  about  Jael  in  a  way 
that  allows  me  to  speak  of  my  own  liminal  place  in  a  kyriarchal  world.^^  But  the 
risk  of  taking  over  (colonizing)  yet  again  a  space  that  may  better  belong  rightly  to 
my  colonized  sisters  seems  great.  So  for  now  I  ask  instead  whether  there  is  another 


I  heard  such  comparisons  from  several  groups  of  Asian  women;  Gale  A.  Yee  also  reports 
such  a  comparison  (“By  the  Hand  of  a  Woman:  The  Metaphor  of  the  Woman  Warrior  in  Judges 
4,”  Semeia  Studies  61  [1993]:  106). 

See  John  J.  Collins,  “The  Zeal  of  Phinehas:  The  Bible  and  the  Legitimation  of  Violence,” 
JBL  122  (2003):  18. 

The  term  “kyriarchy,”  coined  by  Elisabeth  Schiissler  Fiorenza,  gathers  up  the  multiple  and 
intertwined  hierarchies  of  a  world  of  Empire. 


80 


Whose  Text  Is  It? 


place  of  liminality  that  could  arise  from  committing  oneself  to  hearing  and  advo¬ 
cating  for  the  Jaels  of  the  postcolonial  world.  Might  there  be  an  unnamed  woman 
of  Israel,  or  of  Canaan,  depending  on  where  a  first-world  white  woman  places 
herself  in  the  story,  an  unnamed  woman  who  supports  Jael  in  some  small  way  by 
resisting  the  power  and  the  strategies  of  her  own  people?  Such  a  midrash  I  would 
like  to  explore  with  the  guidance  of  my  postcolonial  sisters. 

Whose  story  is  it?  Whose  text  is  it?  I  have  claimed  this  particular  text  for  myself 
in  the  hope  of  giving  it  away  and  in  the  hope  of  receiving  eventually  a  gift  from 
other  interpreters  in  a  mutual  sharing  of  treasures. 

Conclusion 

In  conclusion,  let  me  quickly  pull  the  zoom  lens  back  from  postcolonial  femi¬ 
nism  and  this  one  text  to  the  wide  angle  on  the  question  of  “Whose  text?”  with 
which  I  began.  Each  year,  as  I  greet  new  students  entering  my  institution’s  Ph.D. 
program,  I  begin  with  that  phrase  more  traditionally  used  only  at  the  conferral  of 
the  doctoral  degree,  “Welcome  to  the  company  of  scholars.”  In  those  remarks, 
my  primary  emphasis  is  on  the  word  “company.”  The  challenge  I  put  to  them, 
and  now  to  you,  is  this:  Acknowledging  our  need  for  the  gifts  and  contribu¬ 
tions  of  sister  and  brother  scholars,  let  us  not  decide  so  easily  that  the  contribu¬ 
tion  of  the  “other”  does  not  count  as  worthy  scholarship,  whether  because  we 
perceive  its  method  and  data  as  too  politically  motivated  (read  “postcolonial”) 
or  alternatively  too  old-fashioned  and  even  hegemonic  (read  “Eurocentric”  or 
“patriarchal”)  or  whether  because  we  perceive  the  work  as  nonacademic  (read 
“too  much  reporting  on  ‘ordinary’  readers”),  or  whether  because  we  reject  the 
method  as  too  vague  or  too  psychological  or  too  whatever  else  causes  any 
of  us  to  “other”  that  approach  and  its  practitioners. 

Each  text  really  does  belong  at  least  potentially  to  all  of  us  and  to  people  across 
the  world  who  may  never  know  anything  of  the  work  we  do  in  these  halls.  But 
text  by  text,  each  text  will  belong  to  different  ones  of  us  in  vastly  different  and 
sometimes  painfully  different  ways.  Given  this  reality,  let  us  not  be  content  with 
a  state  of  static  tolerance  in  which  we  simply  ignore  one  another.  Rather,  let  us 
be  on  the  move  toward  that  ethical  calling  to  become  a  company  of  scholars  who 
rejoice  in  working  with  and  learning  from  those  least  like  ourselves  and  who 
show  special  generosity  of  spirit  to  those  whose  struggle  to  be  heard  is  more  dif- 
.  ficult  than  our  own.  m 


81 


The  Folly  of  Secularism 

by  Jeffrey  L.  Stout 


Dr.  Jeffrey  L.  Stout,  Professor  of  Religion  at  Princeton  University,  delivered 
this  lecture  as  the  2007  President  of  the  American  Academy  of  Religion.  Dr. 
Stout  earned  his  PhD  in  religion  from  Princeton  University  and  has  taught 
there  since  1975.  He  is  the  author  of  Democracy  and  Tradition  (2004)  Eth¬ 
ics  After  Babel  (1989),  both  of  which  won  the  Award  for  Excellence  from  The 
American  Academy  of  Religion.  This  address  was  first  published  in  the  Journal 
of  the  American  Academy  of  Religion  (2008  76(3):533-544;  doi:  10.1093/jaarel/ 
lfn042)  and  is  reprinted  here  with  permission. 

Mny  people  who  care  about  democratic  practices  and  institutions  are  wor¬ 
ried  by  the  power  of  the  religious  right  in  the  United  States  and  the  rise  of  militant 
Islam  elsewhere.  They  fear  that  democracy  will  give  way  to  theocracy  if  these 
forces  triumph,  and  they  want  to  know  how  to  prevent  this  from  happening.  One 
increasingly  popular  answer  to  this  question  is  secularist.  It  says  that  striving  to 
minimize  the  influence  of  religion  on  politics  is  essential  to  the  defense  of  democ¬ 
racy.  My  purpose  in  this  essay  is  to  raise  doubts  about  the  wisdom  of  this  answer. 

The  ideal  of  a  democratic  republic  holds  that  political  power  is  to  be  shared  by 
the  entire  citizenry  and  that  no  one  is  to  be  denied  citizenship  simply  because 
of  his  or  her  religious  beliefs  or  lack  thereof.  Theocracy  holds  that  God’s 
representatives  on  earth  should  rule  everyone  else.  Democracy  and  theocracy 
are  therefore  at  odds.  Wherever  theocracy  catches  on,  even  among  a  sizable 
minority,  democracy  is  in  trouble.  Sooner  or  later,  theocracy  disintegrates 
into  conflict  over  who  God’s  earthly  representatives  really  are.  Each  band  of 


NOTE:  I  dedicate  these  remarks  to  Richard  Rorty  and  Mary  Douglas — two  dear  friends  who 
died  within  a  few  weeks  of  each  other  when  I  was  writing  this  address,  friends  from  whom  I 
have  learned  much  and  with  whom  I  continue  to  argue.  I  had  hoped  to  bring  Mary  Douglas  to 
San  Diego  for  a  plenary  address,  but  it  was  not  to  be.  My  remarks  aim  to  combine  Rorty’s  love 
of  democracy  with  Douglas’s  suspicion  of  secularism. 

DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 .8 


82 


The  Folly  of  Secularism 


theocrats  takes  itself  to  be  God’s  elect,  claims  for  itself  the  right  to  hold  earthly 
power  over  others,  and  declares  its  opponents  deluded  by  sin. 

American  theocrats  appear  to  have  grown  in  numbers  since  the  1970s,  and 
they  probably  played  a  significant  role  in  the  election  of  George  W.  Bush. 

The  long-term  objective  most  American  theocrats  harbor  is  a  Christian  America. 
They  seek  to  use  democratic  means  to  achieve  an  antidemocratic  end.  What  they 
ultimately  seek  is  the  dominance  of  non-Christians  by  Christians.  Everyone  who 
is  committed  to  democracy  has  a  stake  in  opposing  the  new  theocrats,  however 
many  or  few  of  them  there  might  be. 

But  not  all  religious  people  are  theocrats.  Why,  then,  should  we  take  religion  as 
such  to  pose  a  threat  to  democracy? 

Secularism  comes  in  many  forms,  but  what  they  all  have  in  common  is  the  aim 
of  minimizing  the  infiuence  of  religion  as  such.  Secularism  comes  into  focus 
only  when  we  notice  that  it  iakts,  religion,  rather  than  some  particular  religion 
or  type  of  religion,  to  be  the  problem.  If,  however,  some  forms  of  religion  are 
in  fact  committed  to  democracy  and  have  evidently  promoted  democracy  in 
the  past,  why  oppose  them?  Why  substitute  whole  for  part  and  then  oppose 
the  whole? 

Lenin  and  Mao  were  unrestricted  secularists;  they  sought  to  minimize  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  religion  on  all  aspects  of  human  life.  They  considered  religion  essentially 
irrational  and  politically  regressive,  so  they  sought  to  eradicate  it.  Their  antipa¬ 
thy  for  religion  went  hand  in  hand  with  their  reluctance  to  trust  the  masses  with 
political  power.  Democracy  will  become  justiflable,  according  to  Lenin  and  Mao, 
only  when  religious  false  consciousness  and  similarly  retrograde  tendencies  have 
been  overcome.  Until  then,  the  revolutionary  avant-garde  must  exercise  political 
authority  on  the  people’s  behalf. 

Richard  Rorty,  in  contrast,  was  a  democratic  secularist.  He  saw  democracy  not 
as  a  distant  possibility  to  be  achieved  in  a  future  classless  society  but  rather  as 
an  existing  heritage  of  reform  and  social  criticism  in  danger  of  being  lost.  This 
heritage  rests,  he  thought,  on  “the  Jeffersonian  compromise  that  the  Enlight¬ 
enment  reached  with  the  religious.”'  Religion  will  be  tolerated,  according  to 
this  compromise,  only  insofar  as  it  steers  clear  of  politics.  Mark  Lilia  refers  to 
the  outcome  of  this  compromise  as  the  Enlightenment’s  “Great  Separation”  of 


'  “Religion  as  Conversation-stopper,”  in  Richard  Rorty,  Philosophy  and  Social  Hope  (London: 
Penguin  Books,  1999),  169. 


83 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


religion  from  politics.^  The  trouble,  as  Rorty  and  Lilia  see  it,  is  that  the  Great 
Separation  is  fragile  and  under  assault.  Its  emergence  was  contingent,  not  inevi¬ 
table,  and  it  will  pass  away  if  citizens  stop  honoring  the  compromise  on  which  it 
is  based.  Without  it,  however,  there  can  be  no  democracy. 

When  Rorty  spoke  of  the  need  to  “enforce”  the  Jeffersonian  compromise  by 
keeping  religion  “private,”  he  was  not  simply  referring  to  legal  enforcement  of 
the  First  Amendment’s  establishment  clause.  Rorty  was  right  to  think  that  the 
government  has  no  business  giving  tax  dollars  to  religious  groups,  let  alone 
adopting  a  religion  on  behalf  of  the  people.  I  agree  with  him,  moreover,  that  any 
religious  organization  should  lose  its  tax-exempt  status  if  it  explicitly  endorses  a 
political  candidate  or  party.  But  the  U.S.  Constitution  does  not  say  that  religion 
must  be  a  wholly  private  matter,  and  I  see  no  evidence  that  most  religious  citi¬ 
zens  ever  agreed,  even  tacitly,  to  treat  religion  as  if  it  were. 

Rorty ’s  secularism  is  a  practical  proposal,  a  claim  about  how  democracy  can  best 
be  safeguarded,  a  claim  that  goes  well  beyond  taking  a  stand  on  the  jurispru¬ 
dence  of  the  First  Amendment.  Many  other  intellectuals  are  nowadays  endorsing 
roughly  what  Rorty  proposed.  Like  other  practical  proposals,  this  one  needs  to 
be  evaluated  pragmatically,  in  terms  of  the  acceptability  of  its  ends,  means,  and 
likely  consequences.  If  the  end  is  to  safeguard  democracy,  we  had  better  deter¬ 
mine  what  means  are  being  recommended  in  pursuit  of  that  end  and  what  the 
likely  consequences  of  adopting  those  means  will  be. 

In  Rorty ’s  address  at  the  2003  Annual  Meeting  of  the  American  Academy  of 
Religion  in  Atlanta,  he  said  that  atheists  make  better  citizens  than  do  theists.  This 
explains  why  many  of  his  writings  project  a  utopia  in  which  theists  not  only  keep 
their  religious  convictions  private  but  eventually  pass  from  the  scene  altogether. 
The  Jeffersonian  compromise  turns  out  to  be  a  stop-gap  measure.  Democracy  will 
not  be  truly  safe  until  theism  gives  up  the  ghost.  It  should  be  noted  that  this  posi¬ 
tion  almost  perfectly  mirrors  that  of  the  newtheocrats.  Neither  the  secularist  nor 
the  theocratwill  be  content  until  everyone  agrees  with  their  basic  convictions. 

Arguments  against  belief  in  God  have  been  in  circulation  fora  long  time.  Many 
people  are  unmoved  by  those  arguments  and  are  unlikely  to  be  moved  by  them 
in  the  future.  If  the  eventual  eradication  of  theism  is  part  of  the  secularist  program 
for  saving  democracy,  it  would  seem  that  something  more  than  rational  persuasion 
will  be  required.  But  what  might  that  be?  Although  Rorty  was  fond  of  quoting 


^  Mark  Lilia,  The  Stillborn  God:  Religion,  Politics,  and  the  Modern  West  (New  York:  Alfred  A. 
Knopf,  2007),  55-103. 


84 


The  Folly  of  Secularism 


Voltaire’s  dream  of  the  day  when  the  last  king  would  be  strangled  with  the 
entrails  of  the  last  priest,  I  doubt  that  he  was  actually  recommending  strangling 
George  Bush  with  the  entrails  of  Pat  Robertson. 

If  privatizing  religion  is  essential  to  safeguarding  democracy  now,  and  eradicat¬ 
ing  belief  in  God  is  essential  to  achieving  the  utopian  democracy  of  the  future, 
then  these  goals  will  have  to  be  accomplished  somehow:  if  not  by  rational  per¬ 
suasion  alone,  then  by  some  other  means.  If  secularism  confines  itself  to  rational 
persuasion  while  granting  that  this  means  it  is  unlikely  to  succeed,  the  strategy 
boils  down  to  a  mere  ought  expressing  the  secular  intellectual’s  alienation  from  a 
disturbingly  religious  present.  It  thus  implicitly  concedes  its  futility  as  a  politics, 
as  a  strategy  for  achieving  some  desirable  public  end. 

Rorty’s  argument  up  to  this  point  raises  three  questions:  (1)  If  part  of  the  long¬ 
term  objective  is  the  eradication  of  theism,  how  is  this  to  be  accomplished, 
assuming  that  most  theists  are  not  about  to  change  their  minds?  (2)  If  the  stop¬ 
gap  measure  is  to  keep  theists  from  acting  on  the  apparent  political  implications 
of  their  religious  beliefs,  how  is  that  to  be  accomplished?  (3)  If  the  Jeffersonian 
compromise  is  to  be  enforced,  what  are  the  means  of  enforcement  going  to  be 
and  how  are  they  supposed  to  be  squared  with  such  democratic  ideals  as  freedom 
of  religion  and  freedom  of  conscience? 

Rorty  offered  no  answers  to  these  questions  and  seems  to  have  been  reluctant  to 
advance  his  cause  by  using  force.  Democratic  secularists  need  to  do  their  best, 
he  thought,  to  narrate  the  history  of  the  Great  Separation  in  a  way  that  makes  the 
benefits  of  privatizing  religion  both  salient  and  attractive.  They  should  project 
a  secularist  utopia  in  which  all  good  citizens  have  overcome  the  desire  for  the 
consolations  that  theism  provides.  They  should  strengthen  their  hold  on  the 
institutions  of  higher  learning  and  convert  as  many  young  people  to  democratic 
secularism  as  possible.  But  in  the  end  they  will  have  to  admit  that  these  discur¬ 
sive  means  of  advancing  the  secularist  cause  are  likely  to  fail. 

Democracy  appears,  from  Rorty’s  point  of  view,  to  be  slipping  through  our 
fingers.  Theocrats  and  plutocrats  are  jointly  bringing  about  democracy’s  demise. 
Rorty’s  realization  that  there  may  not  be  much  that  democratic  secularists  can 
do  to  prevent  this  unfortunate  outcome  accounts  for  the  wistful  tone  of  his  later 
writings  on  religion  and  politics. 

Sam  Harris  is  a  secularist  who  seems  less  inclined  to  confine  himself  to  mere 
suasion  as  a  means  to  his  ends.  He  shares  Rorty’s  hope  that  theism  will  someday 
wither  away  but  doubts  that  it  can  in  the  meantime  be  privatized.  In  a  book  called 


85 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


The  End  of  Faith  Harris  claims  that  religious  faith  is  inherently  intolerant.^  He  is 
aware  that  religious  faith  comes  in  “moderate”  forms,  as  well  as  in  the  “extreme” 
forms  that  are  overtly  intolerant  of  everyone  who  differs  from  them  religiously.  But 
a  central  thesis  of  his  book  is  that  moderates  are  actually  undermining  democratic 
society  by  protecting  extremists  from  the  criticism  they  deserve. 

“While  all  faiths  have  been  touched,  here  and  there,  by  the  spirit  of  ecumenicalism,” 
Harris  writes,  “the  central  tenet  of  every  religious  tradition  is  that  all  others  are  mere 
repositories  of  error  or,  at  best,  dangerously  incomplete.  Intolerance  is  thus  intrinsic 
to  every  creed.”  Religious  moderates  disguise  this  fact,  often  from  themselves  as 
well  as  from  others.  They  fail  to  realize  that  their  own  moderation  is  actually  derived 
from  sources  alien  to  their  faith.  They  pretend  that  their  scriptures  do  not  contain  and 
sanction  horrors.  Their  calls  for  toleration  of  religious  faith  actually  provide  cover 
for  their  extremist  brethren.  In  a  world  where  religious  extremists  already  exercise 
considerable  political  influence  and  move  closer  every  day  to  acquiring  nuclear 
weapons,  such  toleration  becomes  an  unaffordable  luxury. 

Belief,  Harris  says,  is  never  a  merely  private  affair.  Generally  speaking,  to  believe 
a  proposition  is  to  be  disposed  to  acton  the  supposition  that  the  proposition  is  true. 
Theistic  belief,  being  inherently  intolerant,  tends  by  nature  to  express  itself  in  overtly 
intolerant  behavior  unless  commitments  arrived  at  independently  of  theistic  premises 
complicate  the  process  of  reasoning.  For  extremists,  there  are  no  such  complica¬ 
tions.  For  moderates,  the  complications  lead  not  to  a  benign  form  of  tolerance  but  a 
misplaced  tolerance  of  extremists.  It  is  only  to  be  expected  that  much  of  the  resulting 
behavior  on  the  part  of  both  extremists  and  moderates  has  implications  for  public  life. 
Therefore,  privatizing  faith  is  not  the  answer,  even  as  a  stop-gap  measure. 

The  nuclear  age,  in  other  words,  has  rendered  the  Jeffersonian  compromise 
unworkable.  The  problem  we  face,  Harris  says,  “is  not  merely  religious  extrem¬ 
ism;  rather  it  is  the  larger  set  of  cultural  and  intellectual  accommodations  we 
have  made  to  faith  itself.  Religious  moderates  are,  in  large  part,  responsible 
for  the  religious  conflict  in  our  world,  because  their  beliefs  provide  the  context 
in  which  scriptural  literalism  and  religious  violence  can  never  be  adequately 
opposed.”^  Harris  provides  no  evidence  for  his  claims  about  how  religious  mod¬ 
erates  behave  and  what  effects  their  actions  have.  One  wonders  what  his  grounds 
for  believing  these  claims  might  be. 


^  Sam  Harris,  The  End  of  Faith:  Religion,  Terror,  and  the  Future  of  Reason  (New  York; 
W.  W.  Norton  &  Company,  2005). 

Mbid.,  13. 

'  Ibid.,  45. 


86 


The  Folly  of  Secularism 


On  the  next  page  Harris  asks,  “Should  Muslims  really  be  freeXo  believe  that 
the  Creator  of  the  universe  is  concerned  about  hemlines?”®  Two  pages  later  he 
affirms  a  more  general  conclusion:  “We  have  simply  lost  the  right  to  our  myths, 
and  to  our  mythic  identities  What  is  Harris  hinting  at  here?  If  theists,  be  they 
extremists  or  not,  have  no  right  to  their  convictions,  it  seems  that  people  who 
know  better,  people  like  Harris,  will  be  within  their  rights  if  they  use  the  coer¬ 
cive  power  of  the  state  to  suppress  theism. 

What,  then,  should  secularists  do  to  acquire  the  power  they  need  to  save  civilization? 
And  once  they  have  that  power,  what  exactly  does  Harris  want  done  to  theists?  He 
does  not  answer  these  questions.  As  in  Rorty’s  case,  at  the  crucial  point  in  the  argu¬ 
ment  everything  becomes  vague.  There  is  no  strategy  being  articulated  here  at  all. 

Harris  is  aware  that  most  of  his  fellow  American  citizens  are  theists.  The  very 
thought  of  them  brings  him  to  the  brink  of  despair.  If  they  are  as  irrational  as  he 
claims  them  to  be,  they  are  not  going  to  be  persuaded  by  his  appeals  to  reason.  Ratio¬ 
nal  persuasion,  for  all  the  value  he  places  on  it,  must  therefore  not  be  the  only  thing 
his  strategy  involves.  Secularists  are  rational  but  vastly  outnumbered.  They  constitute 
a  small  island  of  sanity  in  a  vast  sea  of  unreason.  What  are  they  to  do? 

Harris’s  proposal  to  his  fellow  nonbelievers  is  to  stop  tolerating  the  faithful.  The 
pragmatic  effect  of  this  proposal  in  the  contemporary  American  context  is  clear: 
there  will  be  no  political  alliance  between  nonbelievers  and  moderate  theists. 

By  undermining  such  an  alliance,  however,  secularism  deprives  itself  of  the 
only  available  democratic  means  for  delaying  or  preventing  the  triumph  of  theocracy 
in  the  United  States.  It  also  deprives  itself  of  democratic  means  for  achieving  other 
important  democratic  objectives,  such  as  preventing  the  triumph  of  plutocracy. 

Harris  makes  clear  that  he  wants  to  prevent  the  triumph  of  theocracy.  As  we  have 
seen,  one  of  the  things  he  dislikes  about  even  the  nontheocratic  forms  of  theistic 
faith  is  their  alleged  proclivity  to  tolerate  the  intolerant.  But  the  upshot  of  his 
argument  is  that  secularists  should  be  less  tolerant.  It  is  not  clear  in  the  end  that 
democracy  is  Harris’s  preferred  alternative  to  theocracy  under  present  circum¬ 
stances.  His  hints  about  the  need  to  stop  granting  rights  to  theists  brings  him  at 
least  into  the  vicinity  of  Lenin’s  view  that  until  the  day  when  faith  gives  way  to 
reason,  an  enlightened  avant-garde  must  rule  on  the  people’s  behalf. 


®  Ibid.,  46  (italics  added). 
^  Ibid.,  48  (italics  added). 


87 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Harris  might  protest  that  I  am  reading  too  much  into  his  vague  hints.  It  is  not 
my  purpose,  however,  to  prove  that  he  actually  has  antidemocratic  ends  and 
means  in  mind.  I  am  trying  to  show  that  sincerely  democratic  secularists  face  a 
dilemma.  Either  (a)  they  are  merely  warning  us  about  the  dangers  of  allowing 
religion  into  politics,  in  which  case,  by  their  own  account,  their  arguments  are 
likely  to  fall  on  deaf  ears  and  therefore  fail  to  achieve  the  desired  objective;  or 
(b)  they  are  proposing  some  more  aggressive  strategy  for  curtailing  the  influence 
of  religion  on  politics,  in  which  case  they  owe  us  a  concrete  explanation  of  what 
that  might  be  and  how  it  is  to  be  made  consistent  with  democracy. 

Option  (a)  is  obviously  futile.  The  people  being  warned  are  highly  unlikely  to 
heed  the  warning.  But  what  about  option  (b)?  If  we’re  supposed  to  get  tough 
on  the  believers  and  this  involves  something  more  than  distancing  ourselves  fi’om 
them  symbolically,  shaming  them  with  words,  and  refusing  to  enter  into  coalitions 
with  them,  what  restrictions  are  being  proposed,  and  how  are  those  restrictions  going 
to  be  adopted  and  enforced?  Again,  an  American  secularist  must  face  the  fact  that 
most  U.S.  citizens  believe  in  God.  A  largely  theistic  majority  is  hardly  about  to  elect 
representatives  who  openly  promise  to  rescind  the  constitutional  rights  of  believers 
to  believe  and  to  act  on  their  beliefs  as  they  see  fit. 

When  Rorty  said  that  atheists  are  better  citizens  than  theists,  he  must  have  had  par¬ 
ticular  people  in  mind,  but  what  he  uttered  was  a  generalization.  When  challenged 
for  evidence,  he  said  that  for  every  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.,  there  are  a  thousand  Jerry 
Falwells.  It  is  true,  of  course,  that  no  other  Christian  leader’s  speeches  and  deeds  have 
caught  the  nation’s  imagination  and  instructed  the  nation’s  conscience  to  the  extent 
that  King’s  did.  In  that  sense,  there  was  only  one  King,  whereas  there  probably  are 
a  thousand  somewhat  influential  preachers  who  will  use  their  pulpits  and  television 
studios  tomorrow  morning  to  dismantle  some  portion  of  King’s  democratic  legacy. 

But  what  does  democratic  secularism  do  to  thwart  the  influence  of  the  most  hateful 
among  those  preachers?  As  far  as  I  can  tell,  they  are  among  the  last  people  on  earth 
who  are  going  to  privatize  their  religious  commitments,  let  alone  drop  those  com¬ 
mitments  altogether,  as  a  result  of  the  arguments  put  forward  by  secularist  intel¬ 
lectuals.  They  will  continue  believing  what  they  believe  and  acting  on  the  apparent 
political  implications  of  their  beliefs,  regardless  of  whatever  liberal  advice  they  hear 
to  change  their  ways.  If,  by  some  miracle,  laws  were  passed  to  constrain  the  hateful 
preachers  whom  secularists  love  to  hate,  and  judges  were  installed  to  uphold  those 
laws,  what  would  become  of  those  preachers?  The  most  courageous  of  them  would 
go  proudly  to  jail  as  martyr-patriots,  clutching  a  Bible  in  one  hand  and  a  copy  of  the 
Bill  of  Rights  in  the  other.  A  day  later,  their  churches  would  contain  multitudes. 


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The  Folly  of  Secularism 


So  far  I  have  been  arguing  that  democratic  secularists  are  unlikely  to  achieve 
their  objectives  by  democratic  means.  Now  I  want  to  ask  what  unintended 
consequences  are  likely  to  flow  from  pursuing  secularist  objectives.  The  flrst 
of  these  unintended  consequences  is  to  strengthen  the  hand  of  the  preachers 
who  hope  to  undo  King’s  legacy.  The  social  context  of  their  conservatism  is 
anxiety  over  immigration,  rapidly  changing  relationships  among  the  races  and 
the  sexes,  poor  economic  prospects  for  the  middle  class,  the  demise  of  the 
union  neighborhood  and  the  family  farm,  the  dislocations  caused  when  people 
move  away  from  home  to  get  work  or  a  university  education,  uneasiness  about 
the  content  of  popular  entertainment,  and  the  realization  that  isolated  individu¬ 
als  have  little  chance  of  influencing  or  contesting  the  decisions  of  bureaucratic 
elites.  Secularist  resentment  fuels  that  anxiety  rather  than  raising  it  to  self-con¬ 
sciousness.  It  presents  the  hateful  preacher  with  a  fattened  scapegoat,  primed 
for  rhetorical  sacriflce. 

As  Mary  Douglas  would  hasten  to  point  out,  secularists  too  have  a  social  location. 

They  are  employed  mainly  in  segments  of  the  economy  devoted  to  information,  educa¬ 
tion,  entertainment,  and  government.  They  live  mainly  in  places  where  organizations 
devoted  to  these  functions  are  concentrated,  which  is  to  say,  in  the  counties  colored  blue 
on  the  electoral  maps  of  2000  and  2004 — ^the  same  places  where  one  finds  most  of  the 
people  who  describe  themselves  to  pollsters  as  “spiritual  but  not  religious.” 

Now  imagine  yourself  as  a  relatively  moderate  red-county  preacher  considering 
what  sort  of  sermon  to  preach  on  Sunday  morning.  You  were  raised  to  love  your 
neighbor  but  not  to  tolerate  attacks  on  faith  and  virtue.  What  are  you  going  to 
make  of  the  claim  that  atheists  make  better  citizens  than  do  theists,  or  the  fantasy 
of  strangling  the  last  king  with  the  entrails  of  the  last  priest,  or  the  notion  that 
believers  are  essentially  irrational  and  intolerant,  or  the  idea  that  the  purpose 
of  a  liberal  education  is  to  produce  as  many  democratic  secularists  as  possible, 
or  the  dream  of  a  day  when  faith  has  passed  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  or  the 
advice  that  you  should,  in  all  fairness,  keepy’owr  religious  convictions  behind  the 
church  door  while  secularists  pursue  their  long-term  objectives? 

It  seems  to  me  that  you  will  treat  such  dicta  as  evidence  that  secularists  are  your 
avowed  enemies,  that  they  are  plotting  the  eradication  of  your  way  of  life,  that 
they  are  less  than  wholeheartedly  committed  to  democratic  practices  and  the  Bill 
of  Rights.  You  will  quote  the  textual  evidence  to  your  congregation  and  draw  the 
conclusions  that  follow  fi*om  it:  that  secularists  cannot  be  trusted  to  hold  political 
office,  to  educate  the  children  of  believers,  or  to  give  citizens  the  news.  You  will 
wonder  out  loud  whether  it  makes  sense  anymore  to  be  a  moderate. 


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Secularist  resentment  is  grist  for  the  hateful  preacher’s  mill,  and  it  pushes  religious 
moderates  into  the  arms  of  their  extremist  brethren.  It  further  polarizes  a  political 
community  in  which  polarization  is  a  primary  impediment  to  democratic  action  on 
behalf  of  the  poor  and  the  oppressed.  If  the  most  important  threat  to  democracy  in 
our  time  is  not  theocracy  but  plutocracy — not  rule  by  God’s  self-anointed  represen¬ 
tatives  on  earth  but  rule  by  the  economically  lucky — then  nonbelievers  won’t  be 
able  to  combat  that  threat  without  help  from  religious  moderates. 

Theocracy  will  triumph  in  places  like  the  United  States,  where  the  population 
is  both  religiously  diverse  and  for  the  most  part  committed  to  theism,  only  if  the 
religious  moderates  are  forced  to  move  rightward  to  find  allies.  Theocracy  will 
triumph  in  the  Islamic  world  only  if  democracy  continues  to  be  indistinguish¬ 
able  therefrom  imperial  domination,  unconstrained  capitalism,  and  secularism. A 
potential  Muslim  theocrat  can  be  defined  as  someone  who  opposes  those  forces 
and  is  looking  for  a  movement  to  join. 

At  this  point,  the  religious  right  in  the  United  States  is  not  predominantly  theo¬ 
cratic.  Its  theocratic  strand  is  miniscule  but  vocal.  The  new  theocrats  have  clout 
only  because  of  the  arithmetic  of  swing  votes  in  close  elections.  Their  numbers 
are  unlikely  to  grow  unless  believers  who  remain  committed  to  democracy 
decide  that  they  have  to  choose  between  theocracy  and  secularism.  Secularist 
rhetoric  gives  them  reason  to  think  that  they  face  that  choice.  It  has  the  ironic 
effect  of  making  theocracy  more  attractive  to  religious  moderates. 

If  I  am  right  in  holding  plutocracy  to  be  the  most  significant  contemporary 
threat  to  democracy,  then  the  pressing  question  is  howto  build  a  coali¬ 
tion  to  combat  that  threat.  The  answer,  I  submit,  is  not  to  exclude  religious 
moderates  from  the  antiplutocratic  coalition  by  telling  them  that  they  are 
essentially  incapable  of  excellent  citizenship  and  declaring  them  inherently 
intolerant.  If  a  new  coalition  is  going  to  succeed  in  breaking  the  hold  of 
billionaires  and  bosses  on  our  political  institutions,  it  will  have  to  include 
millions  of  theistic  moderates  as  well  as  a  lot  of  people  more  like  me,  who 
consider  themselves  atheists,  agnostics,  or  “spiritual  but  not  religious.” 

The  failure  to  build  such  a  coalition  in  the  years  since  1970  has  tilted  our  society 
dangerously  toward  plutocracy  and  militarism.  Many  children  of  the  religious 
right  sense  this.  They  suspect  that  their  parents  were  duped  by  the  neoliberals 
and  neocons  who  lured  them  into  the  conservative  alliance.  People  who  sincerely 
wanted  conservatism  to  be  compassionate  and  American  foreign  policy  to  be  just 
and  humble  are  wondering  who  their  true  friends  might  be  in  the  age  of  Katrina 
and  Guantanamo  Bay.  They  were  shocked  by  the  realization  that  their  leaders 


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The  Folly  of  Secularism 


were  dividers,  that  the  prosperity  that  was  supposed  to  be  trickling  down  to  the 
poor  was  actually  getting  sucked  upward  by  the  richest  of  the  rich,  and  that  the 
official  reasons  given  for  invading  Iraq  were  neither  wholly  true  nor  motivated 
by  a  desire  to  track  the  truth. 

As  a  result  of  these  disappointments,  some  sort  of  realignment  is  under  way. 
It  is  too  early  to  know  what  it  will  look  like.  But  it  is  not  too  early  to  ask 
what  it  should  look  like.  Nor  is  it  too  late  to  influence  its  formation. 

The  only  form  of  democracy  worthy  of  our  allegiance  consists  of  a  tradition  of 
reform  in  which  the  responsibilities  and  rights  of  political  and  civil  society  were 
expanded  to  include  people  who  used  to  count  for  little  or  nothing — such  people 
as  slaves,  women,  factory  laborers,  new  immigrants,  migrant  farm  hands,  the 
unemployed,  the  working  poor,  blacks.  Catholics,  and  Jews.  The  aspirations  and 
ideals  articulated  in  the  great  democratic  reform  movements  of  the  past  add  up 
to  something  that  can  be  distinguished  from  the  characteristic  ills  of  the  modem 
era.  Those  movements  accomplished  something.  One  shudders  to  think  what  our 
society  would  be  like  if  they  had  failed.  How,  then,  were  they  set  in  motion,  and 
how  did  they  attain  their  central  aims? 

Abolitionism  was  born  in  the  revival  tents  of  the  Second  Great  Awakening. 
There  was  formed  a  coalition  that  included  secular  intellectuals  such  as  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  religious  moderates  such  as  Theodore  Parker,  and  people 
labeled  religious  extremists  such  as  David  Walker  and  William  Lloyd  Gar¬ 
rison.  Lincoln  admitted  that  he  belonged  to  no  church,  but  the  evangelicals 
of  his  day  made  him  their  candidate  anyway.  Why?  Because  they  considered 
slavery  a  horrendous  evil,  a  violation  of  sacred  value,  and  they  understood 
that  Lincoln  did  too.  There  were  millions  of  religious  people  on  both  sides 
of  the  slavery  question.  Many  of  them  considered  their  religious  convictions 
relevant  to  their  political  conclusions  and  behaved  accordingly.  This  should 
surprise  no  one. 

The  struggle  for  women’s  suffrage  was  another  product  of  the  Second  Great 
Awakening.  The  labor  movement  was  rooted  in  the  Social  Gospel.  During 
the  civil  rights  movement,  there  was  only  one  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.,  but 
there  were  thousands  of  ministers  mobilizing  their  churches  in  support  of 
civil  rights.  Black  Muslims  played  a  role,  and  so  did  liberal  Jews.  Count¬ 
less  churches  ran  citizenship  classes.  Secular  organizers  such  as  Ella  Baker 
went  door  to  door — without  holding  their  noses  in  the  presence  of  believers. 
James  Baldwin  was  our  Emerson.  Baker  and  Baldwin  were  secular, 
not  secularist. 


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One  wonders  what  the  Great  Separation  comes  to  in  light  of  this  history.  There 
is  not  a  word  about  such  movements  in  Lilia’s  The  Stillborn  God,  which  focuses 
only  on  the  likes  of  Hobbes,  Hume,  Kant,  Hegel,  Rosenzweig,  and  Barth.  Lilia 
eloquently  describes  the  emergence  of  “a  new  approach  to  politics  focused 
exclusively  on  human  nature  and  human  needs.”  This  approach,  he  says, 
“remains  the  most  distinctive  feature  of  the  modem  West  today.”*  But  the  story 
he  tells  turns  out  to  be  all  about  intellectuals,  not  about  the  societies  on  which 
those  intellectuals  were  reflecting. 

Perhaps  a  Great  Separation  of  religion  and  politics  did  occur  in  the  minds  of 
the  northern  European  intelligensia.  No  doubt  secularist  political  theory  has 
had  an  influence  on  the  political  life  of  some  societies,  including  our  own.  Yet 
I  see  little  evidence  of  its  influence  in  the  history  of  democratic  reform  in  the 
United  States  since  the  middle-third  of  the  nineteenth  century.  As  for  Harris’s 
claims  about  the  reluctance  of  religious  moderates  and  their  secular  allies  to 
criticize  religious  extremists,  I  wonder  what  he  might  make  of  Emerson’s  “Self- 
Reliance,”  Stanton’s  The  Woman’s  Bible,  Rauschenbusch’s  Christianity  and 
the  Social  Crisis,  Baldwin’s  The  Fire  Next  Time,  or  hundreds  of  lesser-known 
works  expressing  similar  sentiments. 

It  is  daunting  but  inspiring  to  contemplate  the  degree  of  cooperation  among 
religious  and  secular  individuals  and  groups  that  made  possible  each  of  the  great 
American  reform  movements.  I  do  not  mean  to  suggest,  however,  that  Ameri¬ 
can  democratic  striving  is  unique.  The  South  African  triumph  over  apartheid 
had  much  the  same  structure.  Would  Nelson  Mandela  have  been  well  advised  to 
adopt  a  secularist  stance?  Doing  so  would  have  cost  him  the  support  of  the  South 
African  Council  of  Churches  and  the  World  Alliance  of  Reformed  Churches, 
whose  spokespersons  were  Desmond  Tutu  and  Allan  Boesak,  respectively. 

The  Polish  triumph  over  Soviet  oppression  was  founded  on  a  similarly  inclu¬ 
sive  coalition.  One  of  its  principal  architects  was  a  secular  intellectual  named 
Adam  Michnik,  who  read  King  as  a  young  man,  was  a  key  figure  in  the  Worker’s 
Defense  Committee,  and  in  1979  published  The  Church  and  the  Left,  which 
criticized  secularism  as  a  dead  end  for  Poland.^ 

What  these  examples  suggest,  it  seems  to  me,  is  that  democratic  reform  may  indeed 
be  achievable  by  democratic  means  in  places  where  the  majority  of  the  citizens 


®  Lilia,  The  Stillborn  God,  58. 

®  Adam  Michnik,  The  Church  and  the  Left,  ed.  David  Ost  (Chicago:  Universiw  of  Chicago  Press. 
1993). 


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The  Folly  of  Secularism 


are  religiously  active  //citizens  are  prepared  to  build  coalitions  of  the  right  sort.  If 
major  reform  is  going  to  happen  again  in  the  United  States,  it  will  probably  happen 
in  roughly  the  same  way  that  it  has  happened  before.  It  will  not  happen  because 
of  secularism  but  in  spite  of  it.  And  it  had  better  happen,  because  if  it  does  not,  our 
political  life  will  cease  to  be  democratic  in  anything  but  name. 

Does  democratic  reform  remain  possible  in  our  day?  In  a  plenary  address  delivered 
at  the  2007  annual  meeting  of  our  academy  in  San  Diego,  Nicholas  Wolterstorfif 
reflected  on  how  justice  came  to  be  a  central  theme  of  his  academic  work.  (This 
piece  is  included  in  the  Journal  of  the  American  Academy  of  Religion  [2008  76:3]). 
Wolterstorfif  is  a  theologically  conservative  philosopher  of  religion;  he  practices  our 
trade.  He  was  also  one  of  Boesak’s  American  allies  in  the  struggle  against  apartheid 
and  thus  part  of  a  vast  international  network  of  activists  who  jointly  increased  the  cost 
of  maintaining  the  institutions  of  white  supremacy  in  South  Afiica  in  the  1980s.  It  was 
not  long  ago  that  South  Afiica  seemed  headed  toward  a  bloody  revolution,  but  in  fact 
apartheid  was  overcome  there  largely  by  nonviolent  means.  Today,  of  course.  South 
Afiica  faces  the  woes  of  a  new  era,  including  the  ravages  of  AIDS  and  the  devastation 
caused  by  the  economic  policies  of  the  World  Bank  and  the  International  Monetary 
Fund.  Those  woes  are  depressing  not  only  because  of  the  number  of  people  and 
degree  of  suffering  the  woes  involve  but  also  because  of  the  patterns  of  complicity 
that  come  into  view  when  we  reflect  on  the  uses  of  American  power  abroad.  But  this 
only  shows  that  there  are  new  forms  of  injustice  to  oppose.  It  does  not  show  that  new 
democratic  coalitions,  if  we  manage  to  build  them,  will  fail  to  make  a  difference. 

Two  other  plenary  sessions  at  the  2007  aimual  meeting  are  equally  relevant  to 
the  question  of  whether  democratic  reform  remains  possible.  In  one  of  them,  the 
journalist  Tavis  Smiley  reflected  on  the  Covenant  with  Black  America.  Cornel  West, 
Eddie  Glaude,  and  Emilie  Townes  responded.  In  the  other  session,  Ernesto  Cortes, 
the  most  successful  broad-based  organizer  in  the  United  States,  described  his  work 
with  churches,  synagogues,  labor  unions,  and  schools  throughout  the  southwestern 
United  States.  Smiley  and  Cortes  are  both  engaged  in  constructing  nonpartisan  dem¬ 
ocratic  coalitions  and  in  reviving  practices  of  accountability.  They  have  had  much 
success  in  encouraging  religious  citizens  to  take  responsibility  for  the  condition  of 
the  poor  in  their  midst.  In  the  work  of  such  figures,  it  seems  to  me,  one  can  discern 
some  grounds  for  hope  that  democratic  reform  remains  possible  here.  Cortes,  in 
particular,  can  point  to  many  concrete  victories,  many  examples  of  ordinary  people 
achieving  democratic  ends  by  democratic  means  against  great  odds. 

Only  time  will  tell  whether  these  efforts  will  eventually  produce  changes  as  fun¬ 
damental  as  the  abolition  of  slavery  or  the  enfranchisement  of  women.  No  such 
change  seems  likely  in  advance.  That  is  why  hope  is  a  central  political  virtue. 


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It  should  be  clear  by  now  that  I  do  not  share  the  theological  convictions  of  a 
Wolterstorff,  a  Smiley,  or  a  Cortes.  But  who  among  us  surpasses  them  in  the 
excellences  of  citizenship?  Not  I.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  advise  them  to  keep  their 
religious  convictions  to  themselves.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  dream  of  a  future  in 
which  they  and  others  like  them  have  passed  from  the  scene,  m 


94 


Dedication  of  the 
Marion  and  Wilhelm 
Pauck  Manuscript 
Collection 


Historical  Theology  Done  in  the  Radical  Liberal  Mode: 
The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 

by  Hans  J.  Hillerbrand 


Dr.  Hans  J.  Hillerbrand,  Professor  of  Religion  and  History  at  Duke  University, 
spoke  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  on  May  23,  2008,  to  mark  the 
opening  of  the  Marion  and  Wilhelm  Pauck  Manuscript  Collection  to  the  pub¬ 
lic.  Dr  Hillerbrand  has  written  numerous  books  and  articles  on  the  Reforma¬ 
tion  and  the  history  of  modern  Christianity  and  served  as  editor-in-chief  of  the 
Oxford  Encyclopedia  of  the  Reformation.  His  most  recent  book  is  The  Division 
of  Christendom:  Christianity  in  the  16th  Centary  (2007).  Wilhelm  Pauck  was 
a  German-American  historian  and  theologian.  He  taught  at  Chicago 
Theological  Seminary,  the  University  of  Chicago,  Union  Theological  Seminary, 
and  Vanderbilt  University,  and  was  professor  emeritus  at  Stanford  University. 

He  died  on  September  3,  1981. 

1^  first  encountered  Wilhelm  Pauck  light-years  ago,  in  1953,  when  I  was 
a  German  undergraduate  exchange  student  at  Goshen  College — the  sole 
Lutheran  at  the  Mennonite  College — and  had  great  aspirations  not  in  church 
history  but  in  the  diplomatic  service.  It  was  the  heyday  of  the  new  way  of 
looking  at  the  long-despised  Anabaptists  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Harold  S. 
Bender  of  Goshen  College,  then  dean  of  Anabaptist  historians,  had  convened 
a  conference  with  Wilhelm  Pauck  as  the  main  speaker.  I  do  not  recall  his 
topic,  but  I  do  remember  vividly  that  when  the  conference  was  to  begin,  with 

DOI:  1 0.3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 .9 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Wilhelm  Pauck,  University  of  Chicago,  1937 


Wilhelm  Pauck,  ca.  1954.  (Photograph  by  Blackstone  Studios.) 


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The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 


his  lecture  first  on  the  agenda,  Pauck  was  nowhere  in  sight.  After  an  interval 
of  embarrassed  waiting,  Harold  Bender  took  the  lectern  and  began  to  read 
his  paper.  Some  thirty  minutes  later,  the  door  to  the  assembly  hall  in  the 
main  building  on  the  Goshen  College  campus  opened,  and  Wilhelm 
Pauck  stormed  in.  Harold  Bender  dutifully  finished  the  sentence  or 
paragraph  he  was  reading  and,  after  a  brief  introduction,  turned  the 
microphone  over  to  Pauck,  whose  opening  words  were:  “I  am  sorry  I’m 
late.  I  won’t  tell  you  how  it  happened.”  Needless  to  say,  I  was  baffled, 
but  I  suspect  that  Pauck  had  forgotten  the  time  difference  between  Chicago 
and  Goshen. 

In  the  three  decades  that  followed,  Wilhelm  Pauck  and  I  stayed  in  touch, 
both  indirectly  and  directly.  Most  encounters  were  indirect,  facilitated  by  his 
students  and  colleagues.  They  claimed  a  rich  reservoir  of  Pauck  stories,  all 
terribly  funny  and  all  irreverent,  if  nothing  else  proof  positive  of  the  impact 
Pauck  made  as  teacher.  Thus  I  learned  that  one  should  never  sit  in  the  front 
row  in  his  courses  because  Pauck  would  animatedly  position  himself  in  front 
of  you  and  lecture  only  to  you,  periodically  stabbing  his  index  finger  and 
showering  you  with  saliva.  And  that  Pauck  urged  a  female  graduate  student  to 
attend  a  meeting  of  the  American  Society  of  Church  History  at  Union,  warn¬ 
ing  her  “when  you  walk  into  the  room  you  will  only  see  old  men.  Don’t  let 
that  discourage  you,  but  I  fear  that  is  not  going  to  change.”  Glen  Stassen,  now 
a  distinguished  ethicist  at  Fuller  Theological  Seminary,  told  me  that  when  he 
was  a  Duke  doctoral  student  in  the  1960s,  Pauck’s  introductory  church  history 
lecture  at  Union  Seminary  was  the  most  brilliant  way  to  learn  the  relevance  of 
the  Christian  past.  Because  I  myself  have  always  had  students  in  my  church 
history  course  who  showed  no  interest  in  the  Christian  past,  not  to  mention  its 
contemporary  relevance,  I  felt  challenged.  Not  familiar  with  Pauck’s  lecture, 
however,  I  was  handicapped,  but  I  did  some  reflecting  and  for  the  past  forty 
years  my  introductory  lecture  in  church  history  has  featured  chopsticks,  a 
spoon,  and  an  excursion  into  the  British  habit  of  driving  on  the  left  side  of  the 
road.  1  am  not  sure  Pauck  would  have  entirely  approved,  but  nonetheless,  his 
spirit  has  hovered  over  my  pontifi cations. 

Later  I  realized  that  the  fountain  of  this  rich  lore  was  fi*equently  none  other 
than  Pauck  himself,  such  as  when  he  demonstrated  how  he  dealt  with  a  ter¬ 
ribly  shy  first-year  Chicago  Divinity  School  student  who  appeared  in  his  office 
and  requested  permission  to  write  the  term  paper  for  the  introductory  church 
history  course  in  Latin.  Imitating  both  the  student  and  his  own  response,  Pauck 
eventually  revealed  that  the  student  was  none  other  than  George  H.  Williams, 
later  the  prolific  church  historian  at  Harvard. 


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My  direct  relationship  with  Wilhelm  Pauck  paralleled  these  indirect  encoun¬ 
ters,  with  me  taking  the  role  of  a  junior  scholar  while  he  served  as  a  revered 
mentor.  I  increasingly  appreciated  Pauck’s  erudition — his  rich  knowledge  of 
all  periods  of  church  history  and  its  primary  and  secondary  literature,  and, 
indeed,  his  vast  background  in  art,  literature,  and  culture.  After  I  had  given  a 
paper  on  Menno  Simons  at  a  Washington  meeting  of  the  American  Society  of 
Church  History,  he  informed  me  that  my  interpretation  of  Menno  was  correct 
and  my  style  of  presentation  was  “mature.”  I  must  have  been  thirty-one  at 
the  time.  He  also  warned  me,  during  a  long  walk  at  the  Luther  Congress  in 
Jarvenpoo,  Finland,  in  1960,  not  to  write  a  history  of  the  Reformation  as  a 
junior  scholar — a  warning  I  promptly  ignored,  though  I  hoped  to  assuage 
him  by  dedicating  the  book  I  eventually  wrote  to  him.  All  the  same,  on  that 
Finnish  summer  day  I  probably  was  more  baffled  by  the  sight  of  the  cr^me 
de  la  creme  of  Luther  scholars  nude  in  a  Finnish  sauna  than  by  his  advice. 
Later,  he  scolded  me  for  writing  in  an  essay  that  Dietrich  Bonhoeffer  was 
“confused”  during  his  1939  stay  in  this  country.  In  all  of  these  encounters,  it 
was  clear  who  was  the  student  and  who  the  mentor.  At  the  same  time,  he  was 
unfailingly  poignant  in  his  criticism  and  uncommonly  generous  in  his  praise. 

I  offer  these  recollections — including  the  cryptic  reference  to  chopsticks  as 
a  tool  to  introduce  church  history — in  the  interest  of  full  disclosure.  I  do  not 
speak  as  an  outsider,  in  other  words,  but  as  someone  who  knew  and  admired  the 
church  historian  Wilhelm  Pauck.  My  admiration,  and  the  dedication  of  one  of 
my  books,  derived  from  my  own  growing  sense  that  my  trajectory  as  teacher  and 
scholar  was  not  unlike  his,  not  the  least  because  of  our  shared  German  heritage, 
our  ambivalence  about  it,  and  our  mutual  interest  in  focusing  on  the  big  picture 
in  the  story  of  the  church. 

When  Wilhelm  Pauck  arrived  at  the  Chicago  Theological  Seminary  in  1925  as  a 
twenty-four-year-old  visiting  postdoc  from  Germany,  the  theological  revolution 
triggered  by  the  second  edition  of  Karl  Barth’s  Romans  commentary  was  just  getting 
under  way  in  Europe.  Few  in  this  country  had  then  heard  of  Bartli,  who  had  received 
his  first  academic  appointment  in  1921  in  Gottingen,  where  Pauck  encountered  him. 
This  was  Pauck’s  fleeting  exposure  to  nascent  dialectic  theology,  and  the  record 
shows  that  he  was  not  impressed,  which — given  the  fact  that  he  had  already  been 
exposed  to  the  thought  of  Adolf  von  Hamack  and  Ernst  Troeltsch — should  not  come 
as  a  startling  surprise.  A  comparison  with  Dietrich  Bonhoeffer,  Pauck’s  junior  by  five 
years  is  instructive,  for  when  Bonhoeffer  came  to  study  in  Berlin  in  the  mid- 1920s 
(Pauck  was  already  in  the  United  States),  neoorthodoxy  had  become  a  successful 
insurgency  and  had  taken  the  younger  generation  of  students  and  theologians  by 


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storm.  Tellingly,  a  Berlin  observer  noted  that  the  lectures  of  that  liberal  idol  Adolf 
von  Hamack  were  hardly  attended  by  students  but  mainly  by  elderly  matrons  of 
Berlin  society. 

Nonetheless,  it  speaks  for  Pauck’s  keen  awareness  of  the  emerging  theological 
turn  that  his  second  book  was  his  193 1  Karl  Barth:  Prophet  of  a  New 
Christianity?  Pauck’s  book,  more  than  anything  else,  introduced  Barth  (and 
what  came  to  be  called  neoorthodox  theology)  to  North  American  Protestant¬ 
ism.  H.  Richard  Niebuhr’s  review  aptly  noted  Pauck’s  “admirable  exposition” 
and  called  attention  to  the  question  mark  at  the  end  of  the  title.  Comments  such 
as  “intolerable  skeleton-dace”  tellingly  conveyed  Pauck’s  view  of  the  Swiss 
theologian.  Pauck  collegially  sent  Barth  a  copy  of  the  book,  itself  an  act  of 
considerable  self-assurance.  This  triggered  an  exchange  of  letters  between  the 
two,  marked  by  Barth’s  equally  self-assured,  not  to  say  aggressive,  rebuttal  of 
Pauck’s  book,  including  Pauck’s  supposedly  blasphemous  use  of  the  biblical 
term  “prophet”  in  the  title.  Pauck  thereupon  apprised  Barth  of  the  several  uses 
of  the  word  in  the  English  language,  which  prompted  Barth  to  acknowledge  his 
cursory  competence  in  the  English  language. 

Pauck’s  book  thus  intimated  that,  to  use  a  well-worn  phrase  of  dialectic 
theology,  zwischen  den  Zeiten  (Between  the  Times),  his  was  a  theological 
understanding  that  sided  neither  with  the  Lutheran  confessionalists,  such  as 
Werner  Elert  or  Paul  Althaus,  nor  with  the  new  neoorthodoxy  of  Thumey- 
sen,  Gogarthen,  or  Brunner.  Pauck’s  theological  understanding  remained 
grounded  in  the  Historicist  school,  even  though,  at  least  in  Germany,  it  was 
falling  more  and  more  into  disrepute.  The  fact  that  he  turned  so  late  in  his 
active  scholarly  life  to  two  “historical  theologians” — Troeltsch  and  Hamack, 
who  had  so  profoundly  influenced  him — and  that,  together  with  the  indis¬ 
pensable  support  of  Marion  Pauck,  he  undertook  to  focus  on  Paul  Tillich 
reveals  the  line  of  continuity  so  important  to  understanding  his  approach  to 
the  past.  It  was  never  nontheological  or  antitheological. 

Pauck’s  move  to  the  United  States  meant  that  he  was  not  swept  up  in  the 
Barthian  neoorthodox  revolution  that  was  initially  confined  to  academic 
circles — leaving  the  people  in  the  pews  and  even  pastors  altogether 
unaware — but  eventually  had  an  important  impact  on  Protestant  theologiz¬ 
ing  in  Germany.  Pauck  found  a  more  hospitable  climate  in  this  country  than 
he  would  have  experienced  in  Germany.  His  move  to  the  United  States  also 
spared  him  from  involvement  in  the  German  church  struggle  after  the  Nazis 
took  power  in  1933. 


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Pauck  was  a  historical  theologian,  which  was  how  he  described  Hamack  and 
Troeltsch.  On  occasion  he  dabbled,  so  to  speak,  in  narrowly  historical  topics, 
but  he  was  not  as  comfortable  with  institutional  history  as  he  was  with  ideas, 
theological  issues,  and  topics.  Moreover,  he  always  saw  ideas  and  develop¬ 
ments  on  a  grand  scale  and  with  refreshing  self-confidence.  After  all,  who 
would  have  the  nerve  (or  courage)  to  offer  an  assessment  of  Karl  Barth’s 
Church  Dogmatics  in  eight  pages,  devoting  a  portion  of  those  pages  to  an 
anecdote  about  the  young  Barth  spending  one  day  in  a  bam  to  write  his  “col¬ 
lected  works.” 

The  “big”  topics  engaged  Pauck’s  attention — Luther  and  Melanchthon, 
Luther  and  the  Reformation,  the  nature  of  Protestantism,  Protestantism  and 
democracy,  the  outlook  for  religion.  There  are  no  narrow  monographs  here, 
on  such  topics  as  “Luther’s  understanding  of  the  doctrine  of  the  church  in  his 
first  Psalms  lectures.”  Instead,  Pauck’s  discussions  had  broad  contours,  and 
he  used  broad  brushstrokes.  And  no  matter  what  the  topic,  he  made  a  vigor¬ 
ous  plea  for  commitment  to  the  historical-critical  method  of  understanding 
the  Christian  past  and  presented  a  vigorous  partisanship  for  what  he  called 
radical  liberal  theology. 

It  is  now  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  since  we  lost  Wilhelm  Pauck,  since  we 
last  heard  his  wise  comments,  were  last  exposed  to  his  erudition,  or  indeed, 
last  heard  the  stories  that  he  punctuated  with  his  infectious  laughter — stories 
that  he  seemed  to  enjoy  even  more  than  his  listeners  did.  Wilhelm  Pauck 
exuded  the  conviction  that  what  he  was  teaching  was  of  fundamental  impor¬ 
tance  to  understanding  the  history  of  Christian  self-consciousness  and  thus 
the  Christian  faith.  In  his  1936  presidential  address  for  the  American  Society 
of  Church  History,  when  he  was  thirty-five,  he  tackled  the  topic  “The  Nature 
of  Protestantism,”  and  his  essay  is  clearly  a  theological  confession  rather 
than  a  historical  analysis.  After  acknowledging  the  threat  of  the  totalitarian 
state  to  Protestantism,  he  pointedly  challenged  Protestants  to  “avoid  a 
resuscitation  of  antiquated  theological  and  ecclesiastical  heteronomies  as 
well  as  reliance  upon  secular  autonomies.” 

His  distinguished  contemporaries — John  T.  McNeill,  Ray  Petry,  Shirley 
Jackson  Case,  Harold  Bender,  Matthew  Spinka,  Harold  Grimm,  and  Roland 
Bainton — are  also  long  gone,  and  the  ranks  of  the  next  generation  of  church 
and  Reformation  scholars — Jaroslav  Pelikan,  Robert  Handy,  Cyril  Richardson, 
Heiko  Oberman,  Lewis  Spitz,  Robert  Kingdon,  Brian  Gerrish,  Jane  Dempsey 
Douglass,  and  Hans  Hillerbrand — are  thinning. 


WO 


The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 


It  thus  should  not  be  at  all  surprising  that  Reformation  scholarship  is  not  what 
it  used  to  be:  a  new  cohort  of  scholars  has  come  to  occupy  center  stage.  Changes 
in  methodology  and  perspective,  already  in  the  making  in  the  1970s,  have  become 
commonplace.  The  dominance  of  the  theological  perspective  of  the  Reformation, 
prevalent  in  the  heyday  of  neoorthodoxy,  has  been  challenged,  and  most  work  on  the 
Reformation,  certainly  in  this  country,  has  recently  come  from  scholars  employing 
the  categories  of  social  history  in  order  to  understand  the  religious  phenomena  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  We  now  have  new  names  and  new  head  turners. 

Wilhelm  Pauck  did  not  witness  this  development,  but  if  he  had,  I  am  sure  he 
would  have  made  some  trenchant  observations.  He  would  have  pointed  to  his 
essay  on  the  ministry  in  the  time  of  the  Reformation  to  convey  that  the  kinds 
of  questions  recently  raised  by  social  historians  were  not  at  all  new  to  him.  He 
would  have  pointed  to  his  editorship  of  the  Library  of  Christian  Classics  volume 
on  Luther’s  Romans  commentary  and  Martin  Bucer’s  De  Regno  Christi  as  proof 
positive  of  his  expertise  in  Reformation  thought.  With  that  twinkle  in  his  eyes — 
and  his  inimitable  German  accent — he  would  have  informed  us  of  the  difference 
between  a  historical  theologian  and  a  confessionally  bound  historical  theologian. 
In  fact,  he  would  have  reminded  us  of  Hamack’s  famous  dictum — which  was  at 
once  his  own  motto  as  a  scholar — that  “we  must  overcome  history  with  history.” 
In  other  words,  the  past  must  be  creatively  appropriated — neither  rejected  nor 
embraced  wholesale.  And  the  ambition  and  exuberance  of  the  young  have  con¬ 
tinued  to  challenge  the  maturity  and  wisdom  of  the  old,  as  each  older  generation 
is  challenged  by  the  younger,  with  the  younger  inescapably  winning  out.  Martin 
Luther  put  it  quite  simply:  “the  young  must  come  and  take  over  for  us.” 

Of  course,  once  you  think  about  it,  there  always  is  a  pivotal  connection  between 
one  generation  and  the  next.  The  point  of  departure  for  the  new  is  the  consensus 
of  the  old.  The  older  and  the  younger  generations  of  scholars,  the  young  and 
the  old,  are  intimately  conjoined.  The  windows  in  the  north  transept  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  of  Chartres  depict  the  New  Testament  apostles  standing  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  Old  Testament  prophets,  visually  revealing  the  complex  and  inextricable 
connection  of  generations.  Physiologically,  this  posture  cannot  last  long,  but 
still,  what  a  splendid  way  to  depict  the  relationship  of  one  generation  of  scholars 
to  the  next!  Thus,  a  whole  generation  of  Reformation  and  church  historians  has 
stood  on  the  shoulders  of  Wilhelm  Pauck — Jaroslav  Pelikan,  George  Williams, 
Klaus  Penzel,  Bill  Clebsch,  David  Lotz,  Lewis  Spitz.  Some  of  these  scholars 
gave  us  new  scholarly  insights,  while  others  labored  in  the  vineyard  of  “teach¬ 
ing.”  But  none  of  them,  none  of  us,  would  be  what  and  who  we  are  were  it  not 
for  our  dependence  on  the  generation  that  has  gone  before. 


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There  is  yet  another  point,  which  tells  us  something  about  the  transition  of 
generations.  Given  Wilhelm  Pauck’s  eminence  in  his  time,  the  dearth  of  mono¬ 
graphs  during  his  active  career  must  come  as  a  surprise.  By  the  time  of  his 
retirement,  he  had  published  his  study  of  Bucer’s  De  Regno  Christi  and  his 
assessment  of  Karl  Barth,  plus  a  number  of  articles.  Yet  he  exerted  enormous 
influence  and  was  universally  respected;  he  was  a  former  president  of  the  ASCH, 
and  a  member  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences. 

How  different  from  today,  when  we  tend  to  measure  scholarship  quantitatively, 
like  a  grade  school  counting  exercise,  making  two  books  being  better  than  one, 
three  books  better  than  two.  The  days  when  tenure  decisions  were  made  by 
deans  only  in  brief  conversation  with  the  deity  are  long  passed.  There  are,  of 
course,  colleagues  who  do  not  have  an  unpublished  thought  (I  resist  the  tempta¬ 
tion  to  name  my  favorite  example).  The  German  Reformation  scholar  Rudolf 
Stupperich  was  explicit  about  his  determination  to  publish  1,000  journal  articles 
in  his  lifetime.  Because  it  is  said  that  all  theory  is  autobiography,  it  will  not 
surprise  you  that  I  bewail  the  old  days. 

Wilhelm  Pauck’s  time  was  a  different  day  and  age,  when  scholars  tended  to  pub¬ 
lish  if  they  had  something  to  say,  as  opposed  to  today,  when  tenure  or  promotion 
committees  force  their  hand.  Pauck  did  not  easily  put  pen  to  paper,  and  cogent 
reasons  have  been  given.  Yet  the  point  is  not  so  much  what  might  be  advanced 
by  way  of  explanation  as  it  is  that  his  wisdom  and  expertise  were  recognized 
even  though  he  did  not  publish  much,  a  striking  characteristic  that  incidentally 
also  applies  to  his  contemporary  Roland  H.  Bainton  at  Yale.  Profound  ideas  and 
stories  are  not  necessarily  confined  to  the  printed  page.  This  is,  of  course,  where 
Marion  Pauck  comes  in,  for  Pauck’s  mature  and  insightful  publications  of  the 
1960s  and  1970s  surely  show  how  her  professionalism  as  a  former  editor  of  the 
Oxford  University  Press  facilitated  the  transfer  of  Pauck’s  erudition  onto  the 
printed  page. 

I  fear  that  unless  my  musings  take  on  the  format  of  a  funeral  oration,  I  must  turn 
to  the  occasion  that  has  brought  us  together:  the  past,  to  be  sure,  but  even  more 
so  the  present  and  the  future.  For  the  Marion  and  Wilhelm  Pauck  Manuscript 
Collection  here  at  Princeton  is  meant,  above  all,  to  preserve  a  part  of  the  past 
for  the  present  and  the  future.  Both  the  occasion  and  our  presence  signify  the 
meaning  of  the  past  and  of  memory. 

What  once  was  can  well  be  ignored,  or  neglected — Henry  Ford  famously 
said,  after  all,  that  history  is  bunk — but  it  does  reach  into  each  present.  It  is 
the  past  that  established  for  us  that  we  should  use  knife  and  fork  to  eat,  and 


102 


The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 


not  chopsticks,  even  as  the  past  determined  our  driving  on  the  right  side  of  the 
road.  Sometimes  this  past  can  be  challenged,  as,  for  example,  when  new  tastes 
develop  in  popular  music,  but  sometimes  it  cannot.  Change  or  petrification,  then, 
carries  the  day. 

The  appropriation  of  the  past  is  often  an  ambiguous  and  complex  assignment. 

Both  the  actors  of  history  and  the  reporters  of  history  can  be  moved  as  much  by 
the  desire  for  power,  for  recognition,  or  for  rationalization  as  by  lofty  ideals  or  the 
claim  of  only  recording  “w/e  es  eigentlich  geweserT  (how  it  really  was).  Indeed, 
in  recent  times  we  have  been  reminded  that  the  straightforward  memory  of  what 
once  was  is  more  complicated  than  meets  the  eye.  We  have  autobiographies  that 
have  been  shown  to  be  works  of  fiction  and  we  have  candidates  for  political  office 
whose  stump  speeches  offer  different  accounts  of  events  than  do  their  autobiogra¬ 
phies.  Even  if  we  had  Martin  Luther’s  autobiography,  the  dispute  over  the  nailing 
of  the  ninety-five  theses  to  the  church  doors  in  Wittenberg  would  hardly  be  settled. 

The  appropriation  of  memory  is  the  lifeblood  of  the  historian,  for  it  is  memory 
that  turns  a  past  into  a  present.  After  all,  memory  allows  us  to  recall  what  we 
had  for  dinner  last  night,  even  as  it  allows  Monarch  butterflies  to  find  their  way 
to  Mexico.  Memory  allows  relationships,  connections,  causalities,  although 
with  increasing  age,  some  memory — such  as  last  Sunday’s  sermon  or  the  plot 
of  last  week’s  movie — fades. 

Libraries  and  archives  are  depositories  of  memory.  They  would  be  empty 
edifices,  empty  shelves,  if  decades,  centuries,  even  millennia  ago  someone  had 
not  decided  that  this  book,  that  parchment,  or  that  codex  held  ideas  and  memo¬ 
ries  worthy  of  being  passed  on.  As  easy  as  this  sounds,  in  practice  it  has  been 
neither  easy  nor  simple,  for  there  are  not  only  the  preservers  of  memory  but 
also  those  who  wish  to  distort  or  even  destroy  it.  Often,  one  fears,  the  destroyers 
make  as  much  impact  as  the  preservers.  Sometimes  memory  is  destroyed 
carelessly.  When  wars  and  conquest  ravish  the  countryside,  libraries  and  books 
go  up  in  flames.  When  efficiency  experts  appear  for  solutions  of  space  pressures 
or  personnel  costs  in  libraries,  books  are  not  ordered.  John  Calvin’s  sermons 
were  sold  as  scrap  paper  two  hundred  years  ago,  when  space  became  scarce  in 
Geneva,  and  some  of  the  Nag  Hammadi  treasures  were  used  as  kindling,  while 
the  autograph  of  Bach’s  St.  Matthew  Passion  had  to  be  rescued  from  a  Leipzig 
merchant  who  wanted  to  use  it  to  wrap  cheese. 

And  so  today,  we  do  not  have  the  writings  of  Marcion  or  Celsus  because  the 
imperial  church  detested  their  memory,  and  we  have  less  than  a  handful  of 
copies  of  Michael  Servetus’s  Restitution  because  reformers  and  inquisitors 


103 


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joined  in  their  determination  to  obliterate  the  book  and  its  ideas  from  human 
memory.  Book  burning  is  a  favorite  pastime  of  both  the  establishment  and  its 
critics,  and  when  books  are  burned  and  slowly  turn  into  ashes,  memory  is  gone 
as  well.  Of  course,  memory  may  also  be  destroyed  by  simply  ignoring  that 
which  has  gone  before,  such  as  when  reading  lists  for  humanities  courses  seem 
to  suggest  that  the  printing  press  is  only  a  few  years  old.  The  destroyers  of 
ideas  destroy  memory. 

Each  book,  each  letter  or  memo,  is  a  mosaic  stone  to  tell  a  story  and  thereby — 
when  added  to  many  others — to  create  memory.  We  all  have  walked  down 
narrow  aisles  between  two  stacks,  books  to  our  left  and  books  to  our  right,  with 
the  colors  and  sizes  of  the  books  flowing  into  one  another  as  do  hues  in  a  water- 
color.  We  have  marveled  at  the  tediously  lengthy  book  and  the  strangely  brief 
book,  and  our  imagination  has  taken  us  to  a  lifetime  devoted  to  “the”  book  or  a 
rush  to  publish  to  secure  tenure.  In  each  case,  the  book  on  the  shelf  has  told  us 
how  the  author  wished  to  record  insights,  facts,  concerns. 

And  we,  the  readers,  are  the  last  Judgment,  so  to  speak,  since  in  retrieving  the 
book,  we  retrieve  memory  and  adjudicate  signiflcance.  Libraries  do  an  exit 
poll  each  time  a  book  is  checked  out.  In  the  olden  days,  the  book  on  the  shelf 
had  a  little  card  that  told  when  and  by  whom  it  had  been  checked  out.  In  some 
instances,  this  showed  it  never  happened,  meaning  memory  was  lost  and  with  it, 
the  author’s  determination,  persistence,  and  sacrifice. 

Collections  are  a  special  form  of  such  preservation  of  memory.  They  harbor 
personalized  memory:  intimate,  blunt,  personal,  formalistic,  artificial,  or 
distorted.  They  also  tell  stories.  I  recently  came  across  a  piece  of  paper  on 
the  attic  floor  of  our  house  after  one  of  our  grandchildren  had  received  per¬ 
mission  to  look  for  “treasures”  and  had  left  the  attic  in  a  state  of  advanced 
chaos.  Picking  it  up,  I  saw  that  it  was  a  memo  from  1968,  addressed  to  me 
and  written  by  my  then  dean.  I  do  not  recall  the  facts  behind  the  memo 
(sometimes  the  loss  of  memory  is  a  blessing),  but  evidently  I  had  requested 
a  travel  subsidy  to  read  a  paper  at  the  San  Francisco  meeting  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Society  of  Church  History;  in  those  days  there  were  no  institutional 
travel  subsidies  to  conferences  even  when  reading  a  paper.  I  was  already  a 
full  professor.  “What  were  you  thinking  when  you  agreed  to  give  a  paper  in 
San  Francisco?”  the  memo  began.  “The  next  time  you  had  better  inquire  of 
your  travel  agent  as  to  cost  of  travel  ...  I  have  no  funds  for  such  behavior.  ... 
As  an  exception,  I  will  authorize  $50.”  I  suggest  that  this  innocuous  memo 
tells  more  about  the  culture  of  the  Duke  Divinity  School  at  the  time  than  the 
dean’s  annual  reports  to  the  Duke  University  administration. 


104 


The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 


Libraries  and  collections  thus  are  also  the  depositories  of  human  folly,  along 
with  insight  and  wisdom.  The  reformer  Huldrych  Zwingli’s  notebook  in  the 
Zurich  archives  tells  us  about  the  chronic  mistakes  he  made  when  he  conjugated 
Greek  verbs.  A  scholar’s  find  of  Zwingli’s  letter  confessing  to  an  affair  with  a 
barber’s  daughter  in  Einsiedeln  is  a  testimony  of  affirming  memory  even  when 
painful.  The  baptismal  records  of  Johann  Sebastian  Bach’s  children  tell  us  of  the 
parents’  mourning  over  their  infants  who  lived  but  a  few  days.  The  transcripts 
of  Luther’s  pontifications  across  the  dinner  table  demonstrate  that  even  then 
students  did  not  always  get  it. 

The  memory  of  Wilhelm  Pauck,  expressed  in  his  papers,  and  also  Marion 
Pauck’s  memories  have  now  found  a  depository  here  at  Princeton  Theo¬ 
logical  Seminary.  On  the  face  of  things,  Princeton  Seminary,  citadel  of  the 
Calvinist-Reformed  tradition,  seems  a  dubious  choice  for  the  papers  of  a 
man  nurtured  on  the  mother’s  milk  of  Luther  and  the  Lutheran  tradition,  not 
to  mention  on  liberal  theology.  After  all,  the  rich  library  of  this  Seminary 
houses  the  American  Presbyterian  Collection,  the  Karl  Barth  Collection,  and 
the  Abraham  Kuyper  Collection.  It  is  now  also  committed  to  bringing  out  a 
digital  edition  of  Barth’s  Church  Dogmatics,  about  which  Pauck  observed, 
back  in  1931,  that  it  revealed  an  “unintelligible  complexity  of  thought.” 

I  imagine  him  chuckling  and  saying,  in  paraphrase  of  Galileo’s  famous 
utterance,  “it  IS  unintelligible.”  But  it  is  worthwhile  to  recall  that  his  first 
monograph  was  on  that  ecumenist  of  the  Reformation  Martin  Bucer  and  on 
his  program  for  a  Christian  commonwealth,  De  Regno  Christi.  Judging  from 
his  essay  on  “the  prospects  for  ecumenical  theology  today,”  he  would  have 
approved — sharing  a  Calvin  anecdote  that  none  of  us  had  ever  heard. 

The  Marion  and  Wilhelm  Pauck  manuscript  collection  will  open  a  window  of 
memory  to  a  most  exciting  time  in  the  history  of  American  church  historical 
scholarship  and  American  Protestantism.  The  collection  invites  us  to  awareness 
of  Wilhehn  Pauck’s  role  and  stature  as  an  individual  and  as  a  scholar.  But  as  we 
celebrate  memory  and  the  past,  we  must  also  reflect  on  the  present.  Even  more 
importantly,  even  as  we  celebrate  Wilhelm  Pauck’s  memory,  we  must  be  aware 
there  surely  is  a  new  Wilhelm  Pauck  somewhere,  young,  energetic,  insightful, 
gifted,  and  ready  to  make  her  mark,  even  as  Wilhelm  made  his  mark — because 
the  story  and  the  memory  continue. 

Over  200  years  ago,  a  stone  mason  working  in  the  cemetery  of  the  memorial 
church  of  Jamestown,  Virginia,  chiseled  a  couple  of  sentences  onto  the  tomb¬ 
stone  of  a  Virginia  gentleman  by  the  name  of  John  Amber.  He  wrote:  “He  was 
early  distinguished  by  his  love  of  letters  and  well  knew  how  to  adorn  a  manly 


105 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


sense  with  all  the  eloquence  of  language.  To  the  extensive  knowledge  of  man 
and  things  he  joined  the  noblest  sense  of  liberty,  and  in  his  own  example  held  up 
to  the  world  the  most  striking  picture  of  the  amiableness  of  religion.” 

It  is  almost  as  if  our  anonymous  stonemason  had  known  Wilhelm  Pauck — and  to 
these  strangely  timeless  words  there  is  thus  really  nothing  that  can  be  added.  ■ 


106 


Essay 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited:  An  Internal  Debate 

by  C.  Clifton  Black 


Dr.  C.  Clifton  Black  is  Princeton  Theological  Seminary’s  Otto  A.  Piper 
Professor  of  Biblical  Theology.  His  most  recent  book  is  The  Eighth  Day  of 
Creation:  An  Anthology  of  Christian  Scripture  (2008). 


The  author  is  grateful  to  the  editor  and  readers  of  the  Princeton  Seminary 
Bulletin  for  indulging  this  essay’s  unconventional  presentation.^  Its  style 
accurately  reflects  a  conversation,  at  times  heated,  within  the  essayist  himself, 
a  debate  that  ends  in  these  pages  without  complete  resolution.  This  peculiar 
approach  further  attacks  the  preponderance  of  contemporary  theological 
literature  at  its  most  impoverished  point:  its  sense  of  humor.  Good  Friday, 
the  liturgical  year ’s  most  sober  observance,  is  forever  followed  by  joyous 
resurrection  on  Easter.  Of  all  disciplines,  therefore,  Christian  theology 
addresses  issues  in  deadly  earnest  with  what  should  be  the  lightest,  most 
mirthful  touch.  Theologians  take  their  subject  matter  with  utmost  seriousness; 
by  now,  however,  we  scribes  and  Pharisees  should  have  learned  not  to  take 
ourselves  seriously  at  all.  At  the  last  is  God’s  laugh.^ 

l^^^Poody  Allen  :  “The  curtain  rises  on  a  vast  primitive  wasteland,  not  unlike 
certain  parts  of  New  Jersey.”^ 

Bold-Faced  Black:  So  it’s  come  to  this.  You’re  talking  to  yourself  in  public. 
Even  worse:  in  print. 


'  My  sincere  thanks  extend  to  fellow  members  in  residence  at  Princeton’s  Center  of  Theological 
Inquiry,  to  whom  an  earlier  draft  was  presented  on  January  30,  2008. 

^  See  “Basie  Christian  Existence  as  ‘a  Laugh,’  ”  in  Daniel  W.  Hardy  and  David  F.  Ford,  Praising 
and  Knowing  God  (Philadelphia:  Westminster,  1985),  71-73. 

^  Woody  Allen,  “A  Guide  to  Some  of  the  Lesser  Ballets,”  in  Woody  Allen,  Without  Feathers 
(New  York:  Random  House,  1975),  16. 


□01:10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.10 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Bald-Faced  Black:  There  are  worse  things  than  schizophrenia.  It  beats  dining 
alone. 


BFB:  You  call  this  doggerel  an  essay? 

BFB:  No.  That  would  be  an  insult  to  the  entire  canine  world.  This  I  call  a  “work 
in  progress.” 


Offering  something  this  cockamamie  will  render  you  ridiculous  before 
your  readers. 

If  by  now  my  readers  haven’t  figured  me  out,  what  they  make  of  this  article 
will  neither  add  to  nor  subtract  from  their  estimate.  Besides,  the  venerable 
Q  &  A/videtur-sed  contra  style  served  St.  Thomas  rather  well. 

In  your  dreams:  If  you  thought  half  as  lucidly  as  Aquinas,  you  ’d  stick  your 
quill  back  in  your  goose.  LePs  get  down  to  cases:  You  claim  to  have  “revisited 
biblical  theology.  ”  What  has  your  revisit  taught  you  to  this  point? 

I’ve  learned  that  in  academic  scholarship,  precious  little  of  it  is  either  “bibli¬ 
cal”  or  “theological.”  G.  L.  Bauer  (1705-1806)  disjoined  Old  Testament  the¬ 
ology  from  New  Testament  theology  more  than  two  centuries  ago."* *  Since  then 
a  mere  handful — among  others,  Paul  Minear  (1906-2007),^  Brevard  Childs 
(1923-2007),*  Paul  Hanson  (1939-),^  and  Walter  Moberly  (1952-)® — have 
encompassed  both  testaments.  Most  sincerely  do  we  thank  them. 


My  most  jarring  discovery,  or  confirmation  of  a  hunch,  is  that  some  among 
even  those  who  have  attempted  biblical  theology — a  coherent,  comprehensive 
description  and  assessment  of  religious  views  expressed  in  both  testaments — are 
not  actually  doing  theology,  at  least  not  in  the  first  instance.  Usually  they  are 
executing  historical  reconstructions  of  what,  as  William  Wrede  memorably  said 
over  a  century  ago,  was  “believed,  thought,  taught,  hoped,  required,  and  striven 
for”  in  ancient  Israel,  earliest  Judaism,  and  the  earliest  era  of  Christianity.  ^ 


^  Georg  Lorenz  Bauer,  Theologie  des  Alien  Testaments,  oder,  Abriss  der  religidsen  Begriffe  der 
alien  Hebrai'er  (Leipzig:  Weygand,  1796). 

*  Paul  S.  Minear.  Eyes  of  Faith:  A  Study  in  the  Biblical  Point  of  View  (Philadelphia:  Westminster,  1946). 

*  Brevard  S.  Childs,  Biblical  Theology  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments:  Theological  Reflection 
on  the  Christian  Bible  (Minneapolis:  Fortress,  1993). 

’  Paul  D.  Hanson,  The  People  Called:  The  Growth  of  Community  in  the  Bible  (San  Francisco: 
Harper  &  Row,  1986). 

®  R.  W.  L.  Moberly,  The  Bible,  Theology,  and  Faith:  A  Study  of  Abraham  and  Jesus, 

Cambridge  Studies  in  Christian  Doctrine  (Cambridge:  Cambridge  University  Press,  2000). 

^  William  Wrede,  “The  Task  and  Methods  of  ‘New  Testament  Theology,’  ’’  in  The  Nature  of 
New  Testament  Theology,  ed.  and  trans.  Robert  Morgan  (London:  SCM,  1973),  84  (italicized 
in  the  original). 


108 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


Do  you  agree  with  that  grouchy  buzzard  Wrede? 

No,  not  for  the  most  part.  Wrede’s  answer  triumphed — and  that’s  no  solution  for 
us.  It  is,  instead,  part  of  our  problem. 

Wrede  (1859-1906)  rent  asunder  the  conceptual  marriage  that  Johann  Philipp 
Gabler  (1753-1826)  had  attempted  to  broker  in  1787.'°  For  Wrede,  German 
liberal  theology’s  “method  of  doctrinal  concepts” — grouping  thoughts  expressed 
by  the  New  Testament  in  alignment  with  dogmatic  topics — betrays  “scientific 
criticism”  and  provokes  caricature  of  New  Testament  writers  as  systematicians 
in  the  modem  sense.  That  method’s  default  setting  on  canonical  documents  is 
likewise  misguided:  a  document’s  canonization  makes  no  difference  for  either 
the  Protestant  theologian  or  historical  investigator.  New  Testament  theology  is, 
or  should  be,  the  attempt  to  understand  the  development  of  primitive  Christian 
religion  in  its  historical  situation:  the  earliest  Christians’  beliefs  and  aspirations, 
not  how  their  literary  artifacts  may  be  plundered  for  our  reconstmctions  of 
“faith,”  “hope,”  or  whatever.  Wrede  believed  that  the  responsible  procedure  is  to 
begin  with  Jesus  as  he  was  increasingly  “dogmatized”  by  early  Christian  adher¬ 
ents,  then  move  to  the  primitive  church  (of  which  “we  should  have  to  know 
more  than  we  in  fact  do  know”),  Paul  (“the  creator  of  a  Christian  theology”), 
Gentile  Christianity,  John  (who  “made  the  picture  of  Jesus’  life  entirely  into  a 
mirror  of  his  own  ideas”),  and  Ignatius  (who  typifies  and  embodies  “personal 
Christianity  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  century”)."  “New  Testament  Theol¬ 
ogy”  is,  for  Wrede,  a  double  misnomer.  First,  none  of  its  subject  matter  was  bom 
canonical.  Second,  it  is  less  with  theology  than  with  religion  that  we  should  be 
concerned,  specifically  “the  history  of  early  Christian  religion  and  theology.”'^ 
Wrede  conceptually  disjoined  what  Gabler  had  only  differentiated:  religion 
and  theology. 

You  conclude,  then,  that  Wrede  was  altogether  wrong? 

No.  He  got  some  things  right.  First,  hindsight  teaches  us  that  there  is  genuine 
gain  to  be  attained  by  interpreting  loaded  terms  in  both  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
within  a  conceptual  fi’amework  larger  than  the  canon.  No  fair-minded  exegete  fails 
to  learn  important  nuances  of,  say,  sedek  (“rightness,”  “justice”  [Hebrew]) 
or pistis  (“bust,”  “faith”  [Greek])  by  consulting  Botterweck  and  Ringgren’s  Theolo- 
gisches  Worterbuch  zum  Alien  Testament  (1973-1995)  or  Kittel  and  Friedrich’s 


'°  Johann  Philipp  Gabler,  “On  the  Proper  Distinction  between  Biblical  and  Dogmatic  Theology 
and  the  Specific  Objectives  of  Each,”  in  J.  Sandys-Wunsch  and  L.  Eldredge,  “J.  P.  Gabler  and  the 
Distinction  Between  Biblical  and  Dogmatic  Theology,”  Scottish  Journal  of  Theology  33  (1980): 
133-58. 

"  Wrede,  “The  Task  and  Methods,”  104,  106,  113,  and  89. 

'^Ibid.,  116. 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Theologisches  Worterbuch  zum  Neuen  Testament  (\933 -14),  encyclopedias  that 
expand  our  intellectual  horizons  into  the  ancient  Near  East  and  Mediterranean 
antiquity. Second,  Wrede’s  impulse  to  differentiate  modem  dogmatic  catego¬ 
ries  from  less  systematized,  ancient  formulations  was  sound  in  two  respects. 
First,  the  prophets  and  the  apostles  functioned  at  least  as  preachers,  at  most 
what  we  would  call  practical  theologians,  rather  than  as  systematicians. 

Like  Gabler  before  him,  Wrede  asserted  that  theology  is  a  dimension 
of  religious  experience  though  not  coterminous  with  and  therefore  inter¬ 
changeable  with  it.  Second,  even  if  he  himself  did  not  frame  the  matter  theo¬ 
logically,  Wrede’s  proposal  creates  space  for  biblical  authors  to  stand  apart 
from  modem  readers,  the  better  to  critique,  rather  than  to  mirror  or  otherwise 
to  confirm,  their  theological  assumptions.  From  the  beginning,  that  is  one  of 
the  capital  things  historical  criticism  has  claimed  as  a  positive  contribution 
for  the  church. 

Then  why  do  you  consider  that  Wrede  contributed  to  the  problem,  not  to  its 
solution? 

Because  Wrede’s  understanding  of  history  and,  therefore,  of  historical 
criticism  was  naive;  his  take  on  constructive  theology  was  at  best  indifferent, 
at  worst  hostile;  and  his  position  has  prevailed  in  biblical  scholarship  to  the 
church’s  detriment. 

Wrede  writes  as  though  historical  research  were  neutral,  to  protect  biblical 
interpretation  from  its  practitioners’  “religious  commitments.”  We  didn’t  have 
to  wait  for  postmodernism  to  expose  the  illusion  of  objectivity.  Another  great 
modernist,  Adolf  Schlatter  (1852-1938),  spotted  this  in  1909:  “a  historical 
sketch  can  only  take  shape  in  the  mind  of  a  historian,  and  ...  in  this  process  the 
historian  himself,  with  all  his  intellectual  furniture,  is  involved.  If  this  fact  is 
lost  sight  of,  then  it  is  no  longer  science  in  which  we  are  involved,  but  crazy 
illusions.” Schlatter  put  his  (historian’s!)  finger  on  an  even  deeper  problem 
with  Wrede’s  position:  “As  soon  as  the  historian  sets  aside  or  brackets  the 
question  of  faith,  he  is  making  his  concern  with  the  New  Testament  and  his 
presentation  of  it  into  a  radical  and  total  polemic  against  it.”'^  In  effect, 
Schlatter  turned  Wrede’s  fundamental  critique  against  himself:  if  the  New 


G.  Johannes  Botterweck  and  Helmer  Ringgren,  Theologisches  Worterbuch  zumAlten 
Testament  (Stuttgart:  W.  Kohlhammer,  1970);  Gerhard  Kittel,  Otto  Bauemfeind,  and  Gerhard 
Friedrich,  Theologisches  Worterbuch  zum  Neuen  Testament  {StMtXgari-.  W.  Kohlhammer,  1932). 

Adolf  Schlatter,  ‘The  Theology  of  the  New  Testament  and  Dogmatics,”  in  The  Nature  of 
New  Testament  Theology,  125-26. 

Ihid.,  122. 


no 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


Testament’s  authors  had  been  illegitimately  “modernized”  into  dogmaticians, 
then  neither  should  they  be  modernized  as  Troeltschian  historians.  All  biblical 
authors,  without  exception,  wrote  “from  faith  for  faith” — as  no  responsible 
historical  critic  in  2009  would  deny. 

Furthermore,  for  Wrede,  the  historian  as  such  is  not  competent  to  serve  today’s 
church,  whenever  “today”  might  be.  Unlike  Gabler,  Wrede  is  indifferent  to 
modem  dogmatics;  “Like  every  other  real  science.  New  Testament  theology  has 
its  goal  simply  in  itself,  and  is  totally  indifferent  to  all  dogma  and  systematic 
theology.  How  the  systematic  theologian  gets  on  with  its  results  and  deals  with 
them — that  is  his  own  affair.”'^ 

And  why  Wrede  so  persuaded? 

Because,  as  a  dutiful  child  of  the  Enlightenment,  he  assumed  that  “historical 
facts”  and  “religious  values”  could  and  should  be  cleanly  separated.  In  his  own 
words:  “Could  dogmatics  teach  New  Testament  theology  to  see  the  facts  cor¬ 
rectly?  At  most  it  could  color  them.  Could  it  correct  the  facts  that  were  found?  To 
correct  facts  is  absurd.  Could  it  legitimize  them?  Facts  need  no  legitimation.”^'^ 

At  best  this  overreaches  what  historians,  so  operating,  can  retrieve;  at  worst  it’s 
nonsense.  Whether  we  speak  of  Habakkuk  or  Paul,  “The  righteous  shall  live  by 
faith”  is  not  a  “fact”  like  the  mathematical  idea  described  by  the  Pythagorean 
theorem.  As  a  matter  of  fact — or,  if  you  prefer,  common  sense — dogmatics, 
pace  Wrede,  might  very  well  help  biblical  exegetes  to  understand  the  theological 
claims  made  in  that  literature.  Whilst  anxious  Lutherans  might  rejoice  to  sing  his 
chorus,  “Facts  need  no  legitimation” — that  is,  the  truth  of  the  gospel  depends 
on  no  historical  criticism — Wrede’s  magisterial  dictum  obscures  rather  than 
clarifies  the  task  of  New  Testament  theology. 

Hold  on.  You  just  said  that  Wrede,  like  Gabler,  differentiated  “religion”  from 
“theology.  ” 

He  did — and  then  immediately  confused  the  issue  by  asserting  that  what  New 
Testament  theologians  should  really  be  studying  is  “early  Christian  history 
of  religion.”^^  Those  two  disciplines  are  kindred  but  not  identical.  Put  it  this 
way;  the  historian  of  ancient  Israel  or  of  earliest  Christianity  may  or  may  not 
be  able  to  verify  that  Habakkuk  and  Paul  made  the  claim  “The  righteous  shall 


Wrede,  “The  Task  and  Methods,”  69.  In  the  original  these  two  sentences  appear  in  reverse 
order. 

Ibid.,  69-70. 

Ibid.,  1 16  (my  emphasis). 


Ill 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


live  by  faith.”  The  historian  of  religious  ideas  may  be  able  to  fill  in  enough 
gaps  to  render  terms  such  as  “righteousness”  and  “faith”  more  intelligible  in 
semantic  settings  remote  from  our  own.  It  takes  someone  other  than  a  histo¬ 
rian,  however,  to  explain  what  is  intended  by  that  claim.  To  be  precise,  it  takes 
a  theologian — not  merely  a  phenomenologist  of  religion,  of  its  adherents,  and 
of  their  ideas. 

Then  why  did  Wrede^s  position,  not  Schlatter’s,  carry  the  day  in  biblical 
interpretation? 

Schlatter’s  views  conceded  too  little  to  the  historical-critical  Zeitgeist,  and 
his  own  historical  reconstructions  were  suspect  because  of  their  consistent 
alignment  with  conservative  Christianity.  For  hard-nosed  historical  critics, 
the  game  was  up  the  moment  Schlatter  claimed  that  even  historians  hold 
religious  values,  transmitted  through  “the  large  communities  in  which  we 
live  and  on  which  we  depend.”'^  Wrede’s  project,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
immediately  appropriable  by  religionsgeschichtlich  scholars  such  as 
Hermann  Gunkel  (1862-1932)  and  Wilhelm  Bousset  (1854-1920)  and 
their  form-critical  progeny,  such  as  Martin  Noth  (1902-1968)  and  Rudolf 
Bultmann  (1884-1976).  These,  in  turn,  begat  contemporary  social- 
scientific  criticism,  from  Gerstenberger  and  Theissen,  et  al.,  most  of 
whom  would  rather  check  all  religious  claims  at  the  door  before  getting 
on  with  their  work.^° 

Well,  what’s  wrong  with  that? 

In  itself,  nothing.  Scholars  are  free  to  study  whatever  they  like,  however  their 
hearts  so  move  them.  The  best  of  their  work  is  insightful  and  incisive;  the  rest, 
pedestrian  and  usually  harmless.  But  not  everything  scholars  want  to  do,  and 
how  they  want  to  do  it,  is  profitable  for  the  church  and  the  world  in  which  it 
serves.  “All  things  are  lawful;  but  not  all  things  build  up”  (1  Cor.  6:12).  More¬ 
over,  scholars  are  not  free  to  dictate  to  biblical  theologians  what  they  will  do 
and  how  they  will  do  it. 

Watch  it.  Your  rhetoric  is  simmering  to  a  boil. 

Is  it?  Here’s  what  one  of  the  most  talented  of  those  social-scientific  exegetes, 
Wayne  Meeks,  declared  three  years  ago  in  his  presidential  address  to  Studiorum 
Novi  Test  amend  Societas: 


Schlatter,  “The  Theology  of  the  New  Testament,”  152. 

Erhard  Gerstenberger,  Theologien  im  Alien  Testament:  Pluralitdt  und  Synkretismus  alttesta- 
mentlichen  Gottesglaubens  (Stuttgart:  Kohlhammer,  2001);  Gerd  Theissen,  Die  Religion  der 
ersten  Christen:  eine  Theorie  des  Urchristentums  (Giitersloh:  Kaiser/Giitersloher,  2000). 


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Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


We  should  start  by  erasing  from  our  vocabulary  the  terms  “bibli¬ 
cal  theology”  and,  even  more  urgently,  “New  Testament  theology.” 
Whatever  positive  contributions  these  concepts  may  have  made  in 
the  conversation  since  Gabler,  we  have  come  to  a  time  when  they 
can  only  blinker  our  understanding.  First,  the  notion  “biblical  theol¬ 
ogy,”  despite  all  the  qualifications  we  have  learned  to  make  regard¬ 
ing  it,  in  practice  tends  always  to  smuggle  in  a  cognitivist  model 
of  religion  ...  privileging  doctrine  at  the  expense  of  life.  Second, 
“biblical  theology”  implicitly  claims  textual  and  historical  warrants 
for  propositions  that  in  truth  arise  only  out  of  continuing  transac¬ 
tions  between  text  and  reader  through  many  times  and  places,  and 
it  invites  our  complicity  as  historians  in  this  masking  of  the  source 
of  authority.  Whenever  we  hear  the  phrase,  “The  Bible  clearly 
teaches,”  in  contemporary  debates,  we  may  be  sure  that  this  covert 
relocation  of  the  warrant  is  taking  place.  Third,  “biblical  theology” 
has  functioned  ideologically  in  the  attempt  to  secure  our  own  posi¬ 
tions  in  the  theological  hierarchy,  as  the  teachers  of  the  teachers  of 
the  church.  We  have  not  done  very  well  in  that  role,  and  we  should 
give  it  up.^’ 

Professor  Meeks  is  as  entitled  to  his  scholarly  preferences  as  anyone,  but  his 
reasons  for  denying  even  an  option  for  biblical  theology  in  our  day  are  remark¬ 
able  rubbish  for  an  analyst  otherwise  so  discerning.  Yes,  there’s  a  necessarily 
cognitive  dimension  in  biblical  theology,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  Chris¬ 
tian  religion  has  a  cognitive  or  theological  component  embedded  within  its  life, 
not  “at  the  expense  o/life”:  “Always  be  prepared  to  make  a  defense  to  anyone 
who  calls  you  to  account  for  the  hope  that  is  in  you”  (1  Pet.  3:15b).  Christianity 
is  not  thereby  reduced  to  cognitivism — an  obscurantist  reductionism  that 
Meeks  himself  is  smuggling  in.  (Since  few  methods  of  current  historical 
exegesis  are  more  cognitivist  than  social-scientific  criticism,  thick  with 
Geertzian  description,  Meeks,  its  expert  practitioner,  should  beware  of  the 
pot’s  calling  the  kettle  black.)  Second,  I’ve  no  idea  who  in  Meeks’s  hearing  is 
pompously  thumping  “The  Bible  clearly  teaches,”  but  it’s  a  safe  bet  they  do 
not  teach  at  Yale  or  at  Princeton.  Third,  some  biblical  scholars  indeed  rec¬ 
ognize  as  their  vocation  “teaching  the  church’s  teachers”;  I  can  honestly  say 
that  none  I  know  makes  such  a  claim  to  shore  up  their  credibility  in  some 
imagined  theological  hierarchy.  In  most  of  the  schools  represented  by  the 
S.N.T.S.  (Society  for  New  Testament  Studies),  that  idea  is  laughably 


Wayne  A.  Meeks,  “Why  Study  the  New  Testament?”  New  Testament  Studies  51  (2005): 
167-68. 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


incredible.  Finally,  “not  doing  very  well”  in  a  historically  recognized 
role — biblical  theology  has,  after  all,  a  longer  lineage  than  historical 
criticism — is  no  reason  “to  give  it  up.”  It  may  well  be  a  reason  to  do  it  better. 
Studying  scripture  in  the  Ivy  League  is  like  learning  about  women  at  the 
Mayo  Clinic. 

Cheap  shots  aside,  I’m  glad  you  got  those  small  potatoes  off  your  chest. 

I  feel  better  for  it.  Cogito  ergo  spud:  I  think,  therefore  I  yam. 

Spare  us,  please.  May  we  return  to  Wrede’s  triumph  over  Schlatter? 

Well,  I  never  said  that  it  was  unmitigated. 

Where’s  the  evidence  that  Schlatter’s  confessional  approach  to  biblical 
theology  bore  fruit? 

Two  heavyweights  come  to  mind:  Bultmann  and  Karl  Barth  (1886-1968).^^ 
Bultmann’s  Theology  of  the  New  Testament  (1951  and  1955)  is  universally 
acknowledged  as  the  twentieth  century’s  most  important  experiment  in  New 
Testament  theology.  Though  remembered  for  many  things,  his  own  self- 
assessment  of  that  attempt  is  sometimes  forgotten:  “The  presentation  of  New 
Testament  theology  offered  in  this  book  stands,  on  the  one  hand,  within  the 
tradition  of  the  historical-critical  and  the  history-of-religion  schools  and 
seeks,  on  the  other  hand,  to  avoid  their  mistake,  which  consists  of  the  tear¬ 
ing  apart  of  the  act  of  thinking  from  the  act  of  living  and  hence  of  a  failure 
to  recognize  the  intent  of  theological  utterances.”-'*  The  one  hand  takes  from 
Wrede:  “a  ...  really  historical  grasp  and  reflection  that  is  truly  history  of 
religion.”  The  other  hand  receives  from  Schlatter:  “There  is  no  need  to 
associate  the  concept  of  ‘theology’  with  an  artificial  separation  of  thought 
and  existence.”^®  In  short,  Bultmann  tried  to  hybridize  Wrede  and  Schlat¬ 
ter’s  equally  stubborn,  seemingly  contradictory  positions.  That’s  what  makes 
his  Theology  so  fascinating  and,  possibly,  influential:  no  matter  which  set 
of  modernist  assumptions  the  reader  adopted,  in  Bultmann  one  might  find  a 
home — up  to  a  point. 


For  further  comparison  of  Bultmann  and  Barth’s  respective  projects,  see  my  forthcoming 
article,  “Theology,  New  Testament,”  in  The  New  Interpreter ’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  vol.  5, 
ed.  Katharine  Doob  Sakenfeld  (Nashville:  Abingdon,  2009). 

Rudolf  Karl  Bultmann,  Theology  of  the  New  Testament,  2  vols.,  trans.  Kendrick  Grobel 
(New  York;  Scribner,  1951,  1955).  Originally  published  as  Theologie  des  Neuen  Testaments 
(Tubingen:  Mohr,  1953). 

Bultmann,  Theology  of  the  New  Testament,  2,  250-51. 

Ibid.,  2,251. 

Ibid.,  2,  246. 


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Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


I  know  where  you  ’re  hedging — up  to  the  point  that  the  reader  accepts 
Bultmann ’s  assumption  that  the  ‘‘heroes”  of  New  Testament  theology,  Paul 
and  John,  could  be  existentially  demythologized. 

Well,  yes.  Another  problem  is  Bultmann’s  less  than  auspicious  view  of  the  Old 
Testament:  “[F]aith  requires  the  backward  glance  into  Old  Testament  history  as  a 
history  of  failure,  and  so  of  promise,  in  order  to  know  that  the  situation  of  the  justified 
man  arises  only  on  the  basis  of  this  miscarriage.”^’  The  Old  Testament  as  an  abortion, 
the  New  as  faith’s  pregnancy  carried  to  full  term:  somewhere  Marcion  smiles. 

Why  on  earth  bring  Barth  into  the  picture?  He’s  not  a  New  Testament 
theologian  as  such,  much  less  a  biblical  specialist. 

So  what?  Who  invited  Derrida  or  Levinas  to  the  Mad  Hatter’s  tea  party?  Barth 
belongs  here.  In  his  second  Romerbrief  preface  (1921)  he  acknowledged 
“feel[ing  himjself  most  closely  related  to  Schlatter.”’*  Where  Barth  really  cut 
loose,  however,  was  in  his  Church  Dogmatics^  There  he  broke  with  Enlight¬ 
enment  epistemology  by  regarding  all  humans  as  living  nowhere  other  than 
within  a  God-centered  history,  the  sphere  of  God’s  self-communicative  action. 

Are  you  claiming  such  a  view  basic  to  the  theological  perspectives  adopted  in 
the  Old  and  New  Testaments? 

I’d  say  that  it  is  conceptually  closer  to  the  Bible’s  own  witness  than  Bultmann’s 
call  to  a  decision  for  authentic  human  existence.  As  theories  go,  that’s  only  mar¬ 
ginally  better  than  Mark  Russell’s  hypothesis  that  Saturn’s  rings  are  composed 
entirely  of  lost  airline  baggage.  Remember,  too,  that  Barth’s  aspiration  was 
nothing  but  Nachdenken:  a  faithful  listening  to  the  biblical  narratives  in  both 
testaments,  “after-pondering”  their  testimonies  to  God  as  “the  One  who  loves 
in  freedom”  and  then  thinking  through  all  the  implications  of  God’s  self¬ 
revelation  for  the  church’s  faith  and  life. 

Time  out.  Do  you  realize  you ’ve  spent  eight  pages  on  a  history  of  biblical 
interpretation?  This  essay  is  as  boring  as  Fred  Allen’s  hamlet  in  Maine: 

“the  town  so  dull  that  when  the  tide  went  out  it  refused  to  come  back. 


”  Rudolf  Karl  Bultmann,  “Prophecy  and  Fulfillment,”  in  Essays  on  Old  Testament  Hermeneu¬ 
tics,  ed.  Claus  Westermarm;  trans.  James  Luther  Mays  and  James  C.  G.  Greig  (Richmond:  John 
Knox,  1964),  75. 

’*  Karl  Barth,  The  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  trans.  E.  C.  Hoskyns  (Oxford:  Oxford  University 
Press,  1933),  7. 

Karl  Barth,  Die  kirchliche  Dogmatik,  14  vols.  (Zurich:  Theologischer,  1932-70);  English 
translation  G.  T.  Thomson  and  Geoffi'ey  W.  Bromiley,  et  al.;  ed.  Geoffrey  W.  Bromiley  and 
Thomas  F.  Torrance  (Edinburgh:  T&T  Clark,  1936-77). 

Fred  Allen,  “The  Cape  Codder,”  in  Fred  Allen ’s  Letters,  ed.  John  J.  McCarthy  (New  York: 
Doubleday,  1965). 


115 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


What  do  you  expect?  I  was  trained  as  a  historian.  Old  habits  die  hard. 

Besides,  why  else  study  history  than  to  recognize  your  mistakes  when  you 
make  them  again? 

Do  any  of  these  natterings  move  us  to  a  positive  point  you  *d  care  to  register? 

I  think  so,  though  its  simplicity  is  terribly  embarrassing. 

You’re  beyond  embarrassment,  flirting  with  professional  humiliation. 

Why  stop  now? 

I  think  it  boils  down  to  this:  if  biblical  theology  has  a  productive  future  in  our 
day,  then  biblical  scholars  are  going  to  have  to  be  trained  to  think  not  only 
historically  but  theologically,  from  stem  to  stem,  with  all  that  implies  both  philo¬ 
sophically  and  confessionally. 

Wait,  wait.  Are  you  suggesting  that  all  biblical  scholars  must  be  required  to 
study  theology? 

No.  Only  those  who  care  about  the  church,  its  faith,  and  its  theology.  For 
those  with  such  a  vocation,  historical  and  systematic  theology  will  have  to 
be  as  much  a  part  of  their  curriculum  as  Hellenistic  Greek  and  papyrology. 
Arguably  more  so,  for  in  every  era  theology  is  as  informed  by  its  own  dis¬ 
cipline  and  philosophical  assumptions  as  is  historical  investigation  and  the 
tools  of  its  trade. 

Are  you  giving  up  on  historical  criticism? 

Of  course  not.  Historical  thinking  is  inescapable  for  the  contemporary  church, 
the  academy,  and  the  larger  world  in  which  they  all  live.  Were  it  not  so,  there 
would  be  no  cable  History  Channel,  and  The  Da  Vinci  Code  moonshine,  tricked 
out  as  suppressed  history,  could  never  have  purchased  Dan  Brown  a  villa  on  the 
Adriatic.  First-rate  historical  investigation,  like  first-rate  philosophical  inquiry, 
still  has  its  place.  What  I’m  saying,  at  least,  is  that  Gotthold  Lessing  was  right 
but  needn’t  have  feared  his  conclusions.  To  paraphrase:  the  truth  about  God 
and  ourselves,  to  which  scripture  bears  witness,  is  not  directly  accessible  by  or 
contingent  upon  historical  inquiry.  But  unless  we  are  hell-bent  to  view  it  as  such, 
there  is  no  “ugly  ditch”  between  the  “accidental  tmths  of  history”  and  the  “nec¬ 
essary  truths  of  reason” — only  different  intellectual  procedures  properly  suited 
to  different  objectives.^' 


Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing,  "On  the  Proof  of  the  Spirit  and  of  Power”  (1777),  in  Lessing’s 
Theological  Writings,  ed.  and  trans.  Henr>'  Chadwick  (London:  Adam  &  Charles  Black,  1956), 


18. 


116 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


You  said  that  was  the  least  you ’d  claim  about  history  and  its  investigation, 
mtat’s  the  most? 

That  Barth — though  certainly  not  he  alone — got  it  right.  From  the  view  of  faith 
and  of  theology  that  attempts  to  interpret  faith,  history  does  not  belong  to  us. 

We  just  live  there.  History  is  a  realm  of  the  created  order,  and  creation  belongs 
to  God.  And  so  do  we,  along  with  everything  that  we  do.  Regarded  sub  specie 
aeternitatis,  “All  history  is  the  history  of  grace.”^^ 

That’s  a  theological  claim  about  history  that  historical  inquiry  cannot  verify. 
That’s  right.  Now  you’re  catching  on. 

/  have  here  a  list  that  you ’ve  compiled:  “Six  Suggestions  for  Remapping 
Biblical  Theology.  ”  Our  readers  would  appreciate  your  commenting  on  them, 
beginning  with: 

Thesis  #1:  For  theologically  invested  biblical  interpreters,  let  a  mora¬ 
torium  be  declared  on  New  Testament  theology  as  generally  practiced 
for  the  past  two  centuries.  Let  us  instead  reconsider  biblical  theology  of 
both  testaments  as  a  scriptural  theology,  a  discipline  both  normative  and 
descriptive. 

My  impression  is  that  New  Testament  theology  as  practiced  in  the  modem 
era  may  be  wheezing  to  the  end  of  its  current  usefulness.  During  the  past 
decade  alone  we  have  received  massive  “New  Testament  theologies”  from 
the  Continent,  stmctured  as  historical-genetic  reconstructions,^^  system¬ 
atic-conceptual  surveys,^"  or  some  procedural  combination  thereof.^^  The 
historical-genetic  accounts  plow  Wrede’s  well-worn  furrows.  The  systematic- 
conceptual  analyses  carry  us  not  far  beyond  Bultmann,  occasionally  flirting 
with  the  sort  of  “method  of  doctrinal  concepts” — historically  cast,  to  be 
sure — that  Wrede  excoriated  in  nineteenth-century  liberal  Protestantism.  If 
we  are  to  progress,  rather  than  merely  to  rehearse,  a  fresh  approach 
is  invited. 

A  second  observation:  if  New  Testament  theology  is  to  nourish  the  church  again, 
it  must  take  the  Old  Testament  more  seriously  than  it  lately  has. 


Nicholas  Lash,  “How  Do  We  Know  Where  We  Are?”  in  Nicholas  Lash,  Theology  on  the 
Way  to  Emmaus  (London:  SCM,  1986),  67. 

Georg  Strecker,  Theologie  des  Neuen  Testaments  (Berlin  and  New  York:  de  Gruyter,  1996). 
Fran9ois  Vouga,  Une  Theologie  du  Nouveau  Testament  (Geneva:  Labor  et  Fides,  2001). 
Ferdinand  Hahn,  Theologie  des  Neuen  Testaments,  2  vols.  (Tubingen:  Mohr/Siebeck, 

2002);  Ulrich  Wilckens.  Theologie  des  Neuen  Testaments  (Neukirchen-Vluyn:  Neukirchener, 
2002-2005). 


117 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Don  V  tell  me.  We  must  lay  sacrifice  at  the  altar  o/Intertextualitat. 

No,  the  reasons  are  much  deeper  than  clamoring  to  be  au  courant.  The  New 
Testament’s  authors  themselves  found  it  practically  impossible  to  think  theo¬ 
logically  apart  from  the  Old  Testament,  as  C.  H.  Dodd  taught  us  many  decades 
ago.^^  Their  basic  concepts  were  not  original  with  Christianity  but  derivative 
from  the  synagogue’s  Bible. 

You  are  essentially  propounding  Childs ’s  canonical  approach.  Correct? 
There’s  an  obvious  overlap.  Death  may  have  prevented  Childs  from  going  as 
far  as  he  might  have — a  possibility  that  will  surprise  biblical  scholars  who 
think  he’d  already  gone  much  too  far.  But  that’s  for  another  debate. 

For  an  unabashedly  theological  approach  to  scripture,  Childs  deserves  our 
thanks,  even  though  some  problems  attended  his  project.  Especially  in  the 
1970s  and  ’80s,  it  proved  hard  for  him  to  breathe  freely  under  the  historical- 
critical  mantle,  even  when  on  his  own  terms  its  magisterium  was  no  longer 
apt  for  his  endeavor.  This,  in  turn,  made  him  fair  if  frustrating  game  for  critics 
who  chastised  him  for  inadequate  clarity  about  the  canon  itself:  Whose  canon? 
The  Septuagintal?  The  Masoretic?  Roman  Catholic?  Eastern  Orthodox? 

The  Protestant?  All  overlap  but  none  is  identical  to  the  others.  Yet  in  the  last 
decade  of  his  vast  publications,  Childs  was  commendably  moving  beyond 
sola  scriptura:  the  Bible  as  the  single  canonical  guide  for  Christian  thought 
and  practice.^’ 

Isn ’t  it? 

Certainly  not.  An  unfortunate  hangover  of  the  Reformation  is  an  implied 
delimitation  of  “canon”  to  a  body  of  literature  regarded  as  scriptural.^*  Yet 
there  are  many  canonical,  or  regulative,  resources  and  practices  that  overlap 
but  are  not  equivalent  to  the  Christian  Bible:  the  church’s  liturgy  and  sacra¬ 
ments,  orders  of  ministry  (lay  and  ordained),  art  and  music,  and  many  other 
traditional  distillates.*^  Sola  scriptura  is  nowhere  claimed  within  the  Bible', 


C.  H.  Dodd,  According  to  the  Scriptures:  The  Substructure  of  New  Testament  Theology 
(New  York:  Scribner,  1953). 

See,  for  instance,  Brevard  S.  Childs,  “Toward  Recovering  Theological  Exegesis,”  Pro 
Ecclesia  6  (1997):  16-26.  Dennis  T.  Olson,  “Seeking  ‘The  Inexpressible  Texture  of  Thy 
Word’:  A  Practical  Guide  to  Brevard  Childs’  Canonical  Approach  to  Theological  Exegesis,” 
The  Princeton  Theological  Review  14  (2008):  53-68,  offers  a  splendid  conspectus  of  Childs’s 
comprehensive  process  of  exegesis. 

**  See  David  Brown,  Trinity  and  Imagination:  Revelation  and  Change  (Oxford:  Oxford 
University  Press,  1999). 

Thus,  William  J.  Abraham,  Canon  and  Criterion  in  Christian  Theology:  From  the  Fathers 
to  Feminism  (Oxford  and  New  York:  Clarendon/Oxford  University  Press,  1998). 


118 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


it  is  itself  a  hermeneutical  principle  arising  from  a  particular  construal  of 
tradition.  A  truly  “canonical  approach  to  scripture”  would  invite  this  entire 
range  of  canonical  resources  and  practices  to  bear  on  interpretation  of  the 
church’s  scripture. 

You  say  “biblical  theology”  should  be  reconsidered  as  “Christian  scriptural 
theology.”  What’s  the  difference? 

The  Christian  “Bible,”  consisting  of  Testaments  Old  and  New,  is  a  neutral 
designation,  like  TANAK,  the  Qur’an,  or  the  Upanishads.  One  can  study  any 
of  those  books  without  regarding  them  as  scriptural.  In  a  secular  university’s 
department  of  religious  studies  it  is  appropriate  for  Christians  to  read  the 
Qur’an,  for  Muslims  to  read  the  Vedas,  for  Hindus  to  read  the  Hebrew  Bible, 
for  Jews  to  read  the  New  Testament,  for  agnostics  to  read  any  or  all  of  them, 
without  prior  conversion  to  the  religious  body  for  whom  each  of  those  works 
occupies  a  central  place.  In  today’s  religiously  suspicious  and  volatile  world, 
it  would  be  a  very  good  thing  if  more  of  that  happened.  That  experience  would 
be  even  richer  if  students  were  led  into  those  books  by,  respectively,  imams 
and  satgurus  and  rabbis  and  priests:  well-trained  “native  speakers”  of  their 
religions  who  could  help  sympathetic  outsiders  to  appreciate  the  nuances  and 
subtleties  muffled  on  the  printed  page,  obscured  even  more  when  translated. 

For  Christians,  however,  the  Bible  in  two  testaments  occupies  a  place 
different  from  the  primary  writings  of  other  religious  bodies.  Simply  put, 
for  Christians,  that  Bible  is  scriptural:  it  reveals  to  them  a  particular  God, 
whose  life  elicits  from  theirs  peculiar  responsibilities  within  and  beyond 
the  church.  Wrede  was  wrong:  Christians  should  not  be  required  to  sacrifice 
either  their  confession  or  their  intellect  when  studying  those  works  that  for 
them  are  scriptural.  And  while  Gerhard  Ebeling  (1912-2001)  correctly 
diagnosed  the  internal  contradictions  within  eighteenth-century  biblical 
theology — its  ambivalence  toward  dogmatics  and  its  predisposition  to  iden¬ 
tify  the  Bible’s  internal  Mitte — I  am  suggesting  responses,  if  not  solutions,  to 
both  intellectual  contretemps.'*® 

That  seems  to  lead  us  to  Thesis  #2:  “Scriptural  theology”  interprets  the 
Christian  Bible  as  scripture.  That  is  to  say,  the  endeavor  acknowledges  the 
sacramental  character  of  the  church’s  charter  documents.  As  with  baptism 
and  the  Eucharist,  scripture  is  a  homely  place  where  God  has  promised  to 
meet  us,  to  reveal  himself  to  us,  and  to  sanctify  us. 


Gerhard  Ebeling,  Wort  und  Glaube  (Tubingen:  Mohr  [Siebeck]),  1960;  English  translation 
James  W.  Leitch,  Word  and  Faith  (London:  SCM,  1963). 


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Consonant  with  orthodox  doctrines  related  to  the  Incarnation,  it  is  important 
to  recognize  both  the  truly  human  and  truly  divine  character  of  scripture. 
Water  may  be  subjected  to  spectroscopic  analysis.  Bread  may  be  broken  down 
into  its  chemical  elements.  Biblical  literature  may  be  considered  historico- 
critically.  Routine  gatherings  of  religious  adherents  may  themselves  be 
studied  social-scientifically.  Provided  that  the  mode  of  investigation  suits  the 
analytical  aim,  each  of  these  has  its  proper  place.  None  of  them,  however, 
is  adequate  as  a  theological  account  of  what  happens  when  the  worshipping 
church  receives  the  gifts  of  Sacrament  and  of  Word.  The  Triune  God,  self- 
communicated  to  us  as  Father-Son-Holy  Spirit,  has  pledged  regularly  to  meet 
and  to  support  the  church  in  special  ways  through  divinely  selected,  ordinary 
media:  water,  bread,  wine,  texts. 

And  what  of  sanctification? 

Through  God’s  freely  chosen  means,  humanity  matures  in  its  knowledge,  rever¬ 
ence,  and  love  of  God  above  all  things,  to  the  end  that  God  may  better  adapt 
the  church  to  participate  in  his  consummate  redemption  of  the  world  through 
Jesus  Christ. 

Thesis  #3:  The  practice  of  “scriptural  theology”  assumes  the  same 
subliminal,  proto-Trinitarian  pattern  that  sets  the  agenda  for  articulation 
and  continued  development  of  all  dimensions  of  the  church’s  life,  trust, 
and  practice. 

Why  stipulate  this? 

If  not,  then  other,  less  orthodox  assumptions  will  quickly  move  in  to  occupy 
its  place. 

Orthodox  twenty-first-century  Christians  stand  in  the  same  position  as  those  in 
the  first:  for  them  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  identify  Israel’s  God  without  refer¬ 
ence  to  Jesus  any  more  than  they  can  identify  Jesus  without  reference  to  Israel’s 
God.  The  theological  explanation  of  that  epistemic  reality  is  that  the  one  Spirit 
through  whom  God  the  Father  relates  to  God  the  Son,  and  vice-versa,  is  the 
same  Spirit  through  whom  the  Father  relates  through  the  Son  to  the  Body  of 
Christ,  the  church — and  the  self-same  Spirit  through  whom  the  church  relates 
through  the  Son  to  the  Father.  That  Trinitarian  hermeneutic  integrates,  silently  or 
expressly,  every  practice  of  the  church — including  scriptural  interpretation — that 
actualizes  humanity’s  created  destiny  to  live  in  full  communion  with  the  God 
whose  will  is  love."*' 


I  explore  such  a  Trinitarian  hermeneutic  in  “Trinity  and  Exegesis,”  forthcoming  in  Pro 
Ecclesia. 


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Do  you  really  intend  to  foist  Nicea  and  Chalcedon  onto  the  Book  of 
Psalms? 

No,  if  by  your  question-begging  “foist”  you’re  implying  an  equalization  of 
claims  in  the  Psalms  with  the  resolutions  of  patristic  Trinitarian  debate.  1 
suggest  only  several  simple  things.  First:  without  the  Psalms  a  good  deal  of 
the  New  Testament’s  theology  and  its  subsequent  creedal  formulations  could 
never  have  been  articulated.  In  this  respect  Robert  Jenson  is  surely  right: 

“The  Hebrew  Scriptures  [are]  the  Root  of  Trinitarianism.”''^  Thus  there  is 
consanguinity  between  the  hermeneutic  here  suggested  and  the  texts  being 
interpreted — a  deeper  affinity  than  the  Bible’s  mere  historicality,  assumed 
by  historical  criticism.  Second:  the  Psalms  may — for  Christians,  should — be 
read  in  the  light  o/God-inspired,  scripturally  consonant,  ecclesially  recog¬ 
nized  traditional  distillates.  It  happens  all  the  time:  every  Sunday  in  most 
churches  and,  in  a  materially  different  though  formally  similar  way,  every 
Saturday  in  most  synagogues.  Within  the  church  catholic  it  has  been  so  from 
the  start,  as  David  Yeago  has  persuasively  demonstrated."*^  All  I  ask  is  that 
we  be  clear  and  honest  about  what  most  of  the  church’s  teachers  and  preach¬ 
ers  are  already  and  quite  properly  doing;  to  do  it  more  acutely,  more  joyfully, 
and  without  embarrassment;  and  to  honor  it  with  privilege  over  the  ephemeral 
prestige  of  anecclesial  biblical  scholarship  and  its  covert  worship  of  what 
John  Webster  perceptively  nails  as  “the  sublimity  of  reason.”"*"*  To  paraphrase 
Oscar  Wilde  on  Henry  James’s  fiction:  some  exegetes  produce  commentaries 
as  if  it  were  a  painful  duty. 

You  sound  like  a  true  child  of  Schlatter. 

At  heart  I  am,  though  ironically  closer  to  Wrede  at  the  point  of  many  strictly 
historical  judgmentsd^  But  Schlatter  got  one  very  important  thing  right: 
biblical  scholars  whose  vocation  entails  service  within  the  church  cannot  be 
mandated  to  divest  themselves  of  “the  truth  of  the  gospel”  for  the  sake  of  a 
specious  historical  neutrality.  That,  truly,  would  amount  to  “the  rending  of  the 
act  of  thinking  from  the  act  of  living.”"*®  That  Bultmann  learned  from 


"*^  Robert  W.  Jenson,  “Second  Locus:  The  Triune  God,”  in  Christian  Dogmatics,  ed. 

Carl  E.  Braaten  and  Robert  W.  Jenson  (Philadelphia:  Fortress,  1984),  102-5. 

"*^  David  S.  Yeago,  “The  New  Testament  and  the  Nicene  Dogma:  A  Contribution  to  the 
Recovery  of  Theological  Exegesis,”  Pro  Ecclesia  3  (1994):  152-64. 

John  Webster,  Holy  Scripture:  A  Dogmatic  Sketch,  Current  Issues  in  Theology  (Cambridge: 
Cambridge  University  Press,  2003),  104. 

"'®  William  Wrede,  Das  Messiasgeheimnis  in  den  Evangelien  (Gottingen:  Vandenhoeck 
&  Ruprecht.  1901).  Although  Wrede  was  mistaken  to  reduce  all  divine  mystery  in  the  gospels 
to  a  narrow  “Messianic  secret,”  subsequent  redaction  criticism  has  proved  correct  his  more 
fundamental  historical  assessment  of  the  Evangelists’  theological  proclivities. 

‘’®  Bultmann,  Theology  of  the  New  Testament,  2,  246-51. 


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Schlatter,  even  if  much  of  his  own  career  as  New  Testament  exegete  towed 
Wrede’s  religionsgeschichtlich  line. 

Beyond  its  severance  from  the  Old  Testament,  the  problem  with  Bultmann’s 
Theology  is  that,  in  an  attempt  to  render  the  New  Testament  accessible  to  mod¬ 
em  thinking,  it  was  beguiled,  at  points  distorted,  by  Martin  Heidegger’s  existen¬ 
tialism,  which  was  canonical  nowhere  except  maybe  within  a  few  square  miles 
of  Marburg.'^’ 

What  philosophical  orientation  would  you  substitute  in  its  place? 

None,  as  such.  That  was  David  Friedrich  Strauss’s  solution,  and  it  won’t 
wash."**  Mind  you,  every  Christian  era  has  been  carried  by  philosophical 
winds  in  its  day,  whether  Stoicism  (the  New  Testament  period).  Neopla¬ 
tonism  (Augustine  and  Maximus  Confessor),  Aristotelianism  (Aquinas  and 
Luther),  and  today’s  modernist  and  postmodernist  options.  That  is  a  part 
of  the  Christian  interpreter’s  own  historical  contingency.  Some  current 
philosophical  options  (those,  say,  of  Gadamer"^  and  Ricoeur^°)  seem  to  me 
more  compatible  with  the  church’s  gospel  than  others  (Rorty^'  and,  in  his 
more  rambunctious  moments,  Derrida^^).  But  philosophy,  like  history  and 
even  like  theology,  are  finally  ancilla  of  the  gospel,  not  a  substitute  for  it 
(1  Cor  2:1-16).  For  Strauss,  orthodoxy  was  an  overbearing  monster  to  be 
fled  or  slain.  Perhaps  for  some,  in  that  context,  it  had  become  such.  In  our 
rather  different  day,  Trinitarian  dogma  may  be  pure  oxygen  for  a  suffocating 
church.  To  state  the  issue  contrariwise:  if  classical  resources  of  Trinitarian 
and  incarnational  faith  no  longer  hold  epistemic  purchase  in  a  world  riddled 
with  dangerously  misplaced  trusts  and  murderous  self-deception,  then 
Christian  theologians  might  as  well  pack  it  in  and  drop  what  they  must 
concede  as  a  charade.” 

Thesis  #4:  “Scriptural  theology”  is  not  a  method.  More  accurately,  it  is  a 
penitent,  self-critically  Christian  attitude  or  approach  to  biblical  exegesis. 


Martin  Heidegger,  Sein  und  Zeit  (Halle:  Niemeyer,  1927). 

David  Friedrich  Strauss,  Das  Leben  Jesu,  2  vols.  (Tubingen;  Osiander,  1838-9). 

Hans-Georg  Gadamer,  Wahrheit  und  Methode:  Grundzuldge  einer  philosophischen 
Hermeneutik  (YiihingQn:  Mohr,  1960). 

Paul  Ricouer,  Interpretation  Theory:  Discourse  and  the  Surplus  of  Meaning  (Fort  Worth: 
Texas  Christian  University  Press,  1976). 

”  Richard  Rorty,  Objectivity,  Relativism,  and  Truth  (Cambridge:  Cambridge  University  Press, 
1991). 

Jacques  Derrida.  De  la  grammatologie  (Paris:  Les  Editions  de  Minuit.  1967). 

For  a  scrupulous  examination  of  the  epistemological  purchase  of  Trinitarian  thought,  consult 
Bruce  D.  Marshall,  Trinity  and  Truth,  Cambridge  Studies  in  Christian  Doctrine  (Cambridge: 
Cambridge  University  Press,  2000). 


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It  is,  specifically,  a  theological  context  within  which  interpretation  occurs, 
potentially  embracing  a  variety  of  methods  that  collectively  endeavor  to 
describe  and  to  assess  the  Bible’s  intracanonical  interpretations  of  God’s 
relationship  to  humanity  and  the  world,  especially  as  that  engagement  is 
revealed  in  Jesus  Christ. 

Would  you  care  to  make  all  that  even  more  opaque? 

Well,  I  hold  no  brief  for  adoption  of  a  particular  method  or  cluster  of  methods. 
I’ve  been  eclectic,  or  confused,  all  my  life.  Choose  the  simplest  exegetical  tool 
that,  in  your  judgment,  is  most  responsive  to  the  questions  raised  by  the  text 
in  fi-ont  of  you.  Only  remember  that  if  you  operate  as  a  scriptural  theologian, 
your  ultimate  responsibility  is  to  expose  scripture’s  express  or  tacit  gospel  for 
the  church’s  edification — which  is  not  the  same  as  sanctioning  everything  the 
church  may  say  and  do. 

Say  more. 

Lenny  Bruce:  “Every  day  people  are  straying  away  from  the  church  and  going 
back  to  God.”^'^ 

Say  still  more,  less  epigrammatically. 

Like  sacramental  theology,  scriptural  theology  stands  in  dialectical  tension  with 
the  real-world  worshipping  community  with  whom  it  is  perpetually  conversant. 
When  that  community — in  sich  realiserende  Auslosung — strays  from  the  gospel 
or  rejects  its  gift  and  its  demand  from  a  God  who  inspires  love  and  requires  obe¬ 
dience,  then  scriptural  theology’s  task  is  to  call  the  church  to  account.  Whether  it 
is  a  church  or  a  bridge  being  constructed,  the  crew  must  assess  stress  factors  and 
when  necessary,  discard  substandard  materials.  That  is  why  scriptural  interpreta¬ 
tion  within  the  church  should  renounce  sin,  the  devil,  and  all  his  works,  even 
as  do  baptisands  and  communicants.  This,  moreover,  is  why  scriptural  theology 
must  never  be  neoplatonically  reified  in  isolation  from  true-to-life  injustices 
to  creation’s  welfare,  human  being,  morality,  and  intellect.  If  Almighty  God 
deemed  it  fitting  to  dwell  fully  within  history  in  all  its  social  and  historical 
contingencies  for  the  benefit  of  their  redemption,  then  our  interpretive  practices 
can  do  no  less.  Thus,  we  return  to  the  proper  role  of  historical  study  within 
biblical  and  all  theological  scholarship:  to  quote  Rowan  Williams,  “[Christian 
language]  grows  out  of  a  particular  set  of  communal  and  individual  histories, 
and  its  images  and  idioms  are  fundamentally  shaped  by  this  fact.”^^ 


Precise  source  unknown. 

Rowan  Williams,  “The  Discipline  of  Scripture,”  in  Rowan  Williams,  On  Christian  Theology, 
Challenges  in  Contemporary  Theology  (Oxford:  Blackwell,  2000),  49. 


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What  about  **the  Bible’s  intracanonical  interpretations”? 

Here  I  use  the  adjective  “canonical”  in  its  customary  sense,  referring  to  that 
literature  held  by  the  church  as  regulative.  The  compound  “intra-”  acknowledges 
the  reality  that  Christian  scripture  comprises  a  choir  of  voices,  harmonious  and 
discordant,  in  ongoing  conversation  not  just  with  the  church,  but  also  amongst 
one  another.  The  same  conditions  obtain  within  scripture  as  within  the  church, 
Christ’s  many-membered  body,  as  with  the  Triune  God:  being  is  always  rela¬ 
tional,  because  relationship  is  eternally  rooted  in  God’s  being.  Accordingly, 
scriptural  theology  regards  the  Bible’s  polyphony  as  a  gift  to  be  celebrated 
and  a  mystery  to  confound,  not  a  mess  to  be  pureed.^^ 

But  how  does  the  church,  or  the  scriptural  theologian  in  the  church ’s  service, 
arbitrate  those  disparate  voices  in  cases  where  a  practical  decision  must  be 
reached? 

A  small  but  necessary  clarification:  the  scriptural  theologian’s  service  is  first  to 
God’s  gospel,  which  has  called  the  church  into  being  but  is  never  a  substitute  for  it. 

Another  caveat:  not  every  disagreement  within  scripture  is  of  equal  weight,  all 
touching  on  God’s  salvation.  Premodem  interpreters  were  clearer  about  that 
than  we  often  given  them  credit  for.  St.  Thomas:  “Nothing  is  contained  under 
the  spiritual  sense  that  is  necessary  for  faith  that  scripture  does  not  hand  down 
openly  elsewhere  throvL^  the  literal  sense”  (Summa  Theologiae  la.  1.10).  The 
emphasis  is  mine,  because,  when  used  with  brilliance,  adverbs  are  important. 

Pace  Luther  and  other  worthies,  by  now  we  should  know  there’s  no  center  within 
scripture  itself  As  Frances  Young  observes,  “Scripture  does  not  offer  its  own  key 
to  its  own  interpretation.”^’  If  there  exists  a  point  of  concentration,  invariably  the 
interpreter  brings  it  to  the  Bible:  the  Lutheran  “canon  within  the  canon,”  Eichrodt’s 
“covenant,”^*  Bultmann’s  anthropocentricism,  Cullmann’s  Heilsgeschichte.^^ 

So  which  of  these  is  correct? 

While  each  throws  some  light,  none  is  satisfying;  nor  is  it  for  a  single  interpreter 
to  decide  die  Mitte. 


Andrew  Louth,  Discerning  the  Mystery:  An  Essay  on  the  Nature  of  Theology  (Oxford: 
Clarendon,  1983). 

Frances  Young.  The  Art  of  Performance:  Towards  a  Theology  of  Holy  Scripture  (London: 
Darton,  Longman  and  Todd,  1990),  61. 

Walther  Eichrodt.  Theologie  des  Alten  Testaments,  3  vols.  (Berlin:  Evangelische 
Verlagsanstalt,  1948). 

Oscar  Cullmann,  Heil  als  Geschichte:  heilsgeschichtliche  Existenz  im  Neuen  Testament 
(Tubingen:  Mohr,  1965). 


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Who  decides?  And  by  what  criteria? 

That’s  what  Thesis  #5  intends  to  address. 

Thesis  #5;  In  practical  cases  of  theological  dispute  within  scripture, 
the  supreme  court  of  interpretive  appeal  is  the  regula  fidei  of  the  church 
catholic. 

The  “rule  of  faith” — a  traditional  distillate  of  scripture  itself,  comprising  the 
pith  of  classical  creeds  and  their  sacramental  implications — has  survived 
for  two  millennia  and  may  be  the  only  thing  that  yet  holds  together  a  frac¬ 
tious  Christianity.  It  is  the  property  of  neither  Christian  fundamentalism  nor 
liberalism,  those  intellectual  twins  separated  at  birth.  It  belongs  to  no  sect 
or  denomination,  no  individual  or  party.  The  canon  of  faith  is  a  birthright 
bequeathed  to  all  Christians  at  their  baptism,  the  fortification  of  all  in  the 
Eucharist.  In  the  face  of  real  doctrinal  differences,  the  rule  of  faith  may  be 
the  only  comprehensive,  delimiting  ecclesial  consensus  on  what  constitutes 
the  church’s  true  self. 

What  constitutes  “the  rule  of  faith”? 

We  might  put  that  question  to  our  ecclesially  minded  readers,  if  they’re  still 
awake.  For  now,  taking  our  lead  fi'om  Irenaeus:  the  truth  of  God’s  gospel,  the 
divine  economy  revealed  and  given  to  the  church  by  God,  is  that  God  eternally 
operates  through  “two  hands,”  the  Son  and  the  Spirit,  to  relate  himself  to  the 
church  for  the  saving  redemption  of  the  world  (Adversus  Haereses  4.20.1). 
Please  note  the  consistency:  the  church’s  hermeneutical  regula  fidei,  like  scrip¬ 
ture  itself,  bears  a  proto-Trinitarian  structure. 

/  detect  little  sympathy  in  this  position,  lately  reclaimed  in  some  postmodern 
projects,  for  the  Renaissance  ideal  of  an  individual  genius  standing  against 
tradition. 

You’re  right.  The  only  “genius” — the  Enlightenment’s  facile  term,  not  mine — 
who  was  and  remains  in  position  to  assail  human  tradition,  religious  and 
otherwise,  is  Jesus  Christ  (Mark  7:1-23).  If  Christ  is  none  other  than  what  the 
church’s  creed  professes,  then  in  him  inheres,  to  say  the  least,  considerable 
advantage  over  the  rest  of  us.  Yet  the  performance  of  scriptural  theology  via 
regula  fidei  does  not — hey,  presto! — banish  all  historical  ambiguities.  If 
anything,  it  is  more  likely  to  reveal  faithful  interpreters’  vulnerability  and  the 
gospel’s  tensile  strength. 


See  Ebeling,  Word  and  Faith,  162-90. 


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Thesis  #6:  The  genuine  aim  of  scriptural  theology — in  line  with  the 
patristic  and  monastic  tradition,  and  more  recently  with  such  interpreters 
as  Barth  and  Bonhoeffer — is  to  assist  the  church  in  perceiving  and  then 
activating,  at  the  Spirit’s  behest  and  with  more  faithful  acuity,  God’s 
self-presentation  in  scripture  through  the  indispensable  lens  of  the  gospel 
of  Christ. 

Here  what  I’m  driving  at — rather,  find  myself  being  driven  to — is  akin  to 
what  Barth  and  especially  Dietrich  Bonhoeffer  (1906-1945)  described  as 
Vergegenwdrtigung:  the  gospel’s  “making  itself  present”  in,  before,  and  in 
confrontation  with  what  a  yet-unredeemed  world  regards  as  truth. Unlike 
Barth,  I  am  amused  but  unperturbed  by  the  “almost  indefinable  odour,”  as 
he  wrote  Bonhoeffer,  “of  a  monastic  ethos  and  pathos  ...  [that]  disturbs 
me.”“  To  sharpen  a  point  with  which  I  think  Bonhoeffer  would  have  agreed; 
this  Vergegenwdrtigung  happens  in  the  Old  Testament  as  well  as  the  New 
because  the  Triune  God  underwrites  all  of  scripture,  which  the  attentive 
church  takes  as  its  doctrinal  reference  point.  In  line  with  the  church’s  regula 
fidei,  I,  beside  Bonhoeffer,  disavow  the  benighted  attempt  of  a  would-be 
autonomous  interpreter  who,  by  dint  of  self-delusion,  would  judge  scrip¬ 
ture  before  the  tribunal  of  modernity’s  reason  or  postmodernity’s  solipsism. 
"'That  ‘making  present’  of  the  Christian  message  leads  directly  into  pagan¬ 
ism. I  part  with  Bonhoeffer  at  a  few  points.  “Wherever  Christ  comes  to 
speech  in  the  word  of  the  New  Testament,”  he  asserts,  “there  is  ‘making 
present. ’”®‘'  I  would  prefer  to  say  that  genuine  Vergegenwdrtigung  occurs 
when  the  Triune  God  expresses  himself  to  the  receptive  church  in  word  and 
in  sacrament.  Whereas  Bonhoeffer  claims,  “God  is  with  us  today  only  as 
long  as  we  are  there  ...  taken  back  to  the  holy  history  of  God  on  earth,”^^ 

I  would  rather  say  that  God  is  always  with  us,  whether  or  not  we  are  there 
with  God.  The  self-actualization  of  God’s  own  presence  does  not  depend  on 


Dietrich  Bonhoeffer,  “Vergegnwartigung  neutestamentlicher  Texte”  (1935),  in  Dietrich 
Bonhoeffer,  Gesammelte  Schriften,  vol.  3:  Theologie-Gemeinde:  Vorlesungen,  Briefe, 
Gesprdche,  ed.  Eberhard  Bethge  (Munich:  Kaiser,  1960),  303-24. 

Letter  of  Barth  to  Bonhoeffer  (Bergli,  Oberrieden,  October  14,  1936)  in  The  Way  to  Free¬ 
dom:  Letters,  Lectures  and  Notes  1935-1939 from  the  Collected  Works  of  Dietrich  Bonhoeffer, 
vol.  2,  ed.  and  trans.  Edwin  H.  Robertson  and  John  Bowden  (London:  Collins,  1966),  121. 

Bonhoeffer,  “VergegnwMigung  neutestamentlicher  Texte,”  305  ("Diese  Vergegnwartigung 
der  christlichen  Botschaft  fiihrt  direkt  ins  Heidentum”  [emphasis  in  original]). 

^  Ibid.,  307  (“Wo  Christus  im  Wort  des  Neuen  Testaments  zu  Worte  kommt,  dort  is 
Vergegnwartigung”). 

Dietrich  Bonhoeffer,  Life  Together  (Dietrich  Bonhoeffer  Works  5;  ed.  Gerhard  Ludwig 
Muller,  Albrecht  SchOnherr,  and  Geffrey  B.  Kelly;  trans.  Daniel  W.  Bloesch;  Minneapolis: 
fortress,  1996),  62.  In  fairness  to  Bonhoeffer,  we  should  note  that  the  context  of  this  and 
kindred  claims  is  often  in  refutation  of  the  claim  that  God  supported  Nationalsozialismus 
(see,  e.g.,  “Vergegnwartigung  neutestamentlicher  Texte,”  313). 


126 


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our  being  attentive  to  God.  Through  Spirit,  sacrament,  and  word,  God  has 
promised  never  to  abandon  the  church  to  its  own  pitiful  resources.  It  is  the 
church  that  too  routinely  absents  itself  from  God. 

Your  counterpoint — “What  a  yet-unredeemed  world  regards  as  truth  ” — sounds 
like  a  straw  man. 

I  quote  a  senior  adviser  to  President  Bush,  twenty  months  after  the  United 
States’  invasion  of  Iraq  (2003): 

[Our  critics  live]  in  what  we  [in  the  White  House]  call  the  reality- 
based  community  . . .  those  who  believe  that  solutions  emerge  from 
your  judicious  study  of  discernible  reality.  That’s  not  the  way  the 
world  works  anymore.  We’re  an  empire  now,  and  when  we  act,  we 
create  our  own  reality.  And  while  you’re  studying  that  reality — 
judiciously,  as  you  will — we’ll  act  again,  creating  other  new  reali¬ 
ties,  which  you  can  study  too,  and  that’s  how  things  will  sort  out. 

We’re  history’s  actors  ...  and  you,  all  of  you,  will  be  left  to 
just  study  what  we  do.^® 

No.  “The  earth  is  the  Lord’s  and  the  fullness  thereof”  (Ps.  24:1).  Only  a 
messianic  American  Calvinist  and  his  equally  self-deluded  retinue  would  claim 
“creation  of  our  own  reality”  and  a  laissez-faire  imperialism  to  force  it  upon  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  ones  left  to  study  what  they  have  done  may  be  grateful 
only  that  they  are  not  among  those  of  all  nations  who  lost  their  lives  to  an 
illusion  so  bloody. 

Thus  spake  the  prophet  Adlai  Stevenson:  “Your  public  servants  serve  you 
right.  Might  we  test  your  theses?  What  might  a  “scripturally  theological” 
interpretation  of  John  8:31-59  look  like? 

Speaking  of  vulnerability,  thank  you  for  selecting  such  an  amenable  text. 

A  pudding’s  proof  lies  in  its  less  digestible  portions. 

A  quick-and-dirty  account  would  touch  at  least  on  the  following. 

Most  important,  this  text  epitomizes  what  is  true  for  all  scripture — on  it  we 
must  patiently  ruminate.  We  dare  not  nibble  and  spit  it  out  any  more  than  we 
receive  the  Lord’s  Supper  at  a  salad  bar.  Scriptural  theology  depends  on  an 


Ron  Suskind,  “Without  a  Doubt:  Faith,  Certainty,  and  the  Presidency  of  George  W.  Bush,” 
The  New  York  Times  Magazine  (October  17,  2004):  51. 

Adlai  Stevenson,  “The  Mike  Wallace  Interview,”  June  1,  1958.  ©  Mike  Wallace. 


127 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


attitude  toward  exegesis  that  proceeds  from  and  returns  to  prayer,  expressed 
in  the  classical  tradition  of  lectio  divina.^^ 

This  text  also  points  up  in  the  sharpest  possible  way  what  is  at  stake  in  scrip¬ 
tural  theology  as  presented  here:  either  scripture  such  as  John  8  is  little  more 
than  an  embarrassment  and  travesty  for  contemporary  sensibilities,  or  it  is  truly 
God’s  salvation  extra  nos,  “from  outside  ourselves.”  The  effective  proof  of  the 
latter  is  that  not  a  single  contributor  to  the  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  would 
have  the  gall  to  present  his  or  her  peers  a  statement  as  polemical  as  what  we 
find  here — nor,  in  all  likelihood,  would  this  journal’s  editor  allow  it. 

In  addition,  the  Jesus  we  encounter  in  John’s  Gospel  is  the  Christ  of  the  Holy  Catho¬ 
lic  Church’s  confession:  the  one  and  only  Son  who  was  with  God  from  the  begin¬ 
ning  (1:1-3),  who  comes  down  from  above  (3:3 1;  8:23),  reveals  the  Father  who  sent 
him  (14:8-11),  saves  those  bom  from  above  who  believe  in  him  (3:1-17),  sends  the 
Spirit  who  is  one  with  the  Father  and  the  Son  (16: 12-25)  to  counsel  those  who  tmst 
in  him  (14:14-17, 25-31)  and  to  confront  those  who  do  not  (16:7-11;  cf.  3:18-21). 
Johannine  theology  authorizes  the  Great  Church’s  ecumenical  confession.  While 
John  does  not  articulate  the  Nicene-Chalcedonian  Creed,  the  deep  stmcture  of  the 
Fourth  Gospel’s  theology  is  proto-Trinitarian.  The  same  could  arguably  be  said  of 
1  Corinthians  8:6,  Philippians  2:5-11,  and  Colossians  1:15-20,  which,  in  turn, 
appear  to  be  quasi-creedal  and  hymnic  expressions  of  early  Christian  rumination  on 
such  texts  as  Deuteronomy  4:35-39  and  6:4,  Malachi  2:10,  and  Isaiah  45:21-24. 

Lastly,  by  Jesus’s  own  testimony,  “Salvation  is  of  the  Jews”  (John  4:22).  Interpret¬ 
ers  who  fully  recognize  themselves  as  “Abraham’s  offspring  [an  heir],  according  to 
[the]  promise”  embedded  in  the  gospel’s  divine  economy  (see  Gal.  3:29) —  inter¬ 
preters,  in  short,  who  embrace  the  merciful  gift  of  inclusion  among  God’s  people 
Israel  (see  Eph.  2:11-22;  1  Pet.  2:9-10) — will  recognize  in  John  8  “the  Jews”  not 
as  an  “other”  to  be  tormented  but  their  own  race,  in  the  Spirit  if  not  in  the  flesh. 
Within  John  8  are  authentic  children  of  Abraham  (w.  39b -40),  “the  Jews  who  have 
believed  in”  Jesus  (v.  3 1),  as  well  as  Jews  in  whom  his  word  finds  no  place  (v.  37), 
who  think  Jesus  a  bastard  (v.  41)  and  mean  to  kill  him  (w.  37, 40).  That  division 
within  Israel  is  akin  to  congregants  at  Nazareth  who  aim  to  murder  Jesus  when  he 
reminds  them  of  scripture  that  offends  their  sensibilities  (Luke  4:23-30).  Jemsalem 
has  always  done  away  with  its  prophets  (Matt  23:29-39;  see  2  Chron.  24:20-22). 
The  historical  fact  that  John  8  has  been  suborned  to  justify  Christian  persecution 


Mariano  Magrassi,  Bibbia  e  preghiera:  La  lectio  divina  (Milan:  Editrice  Angora,  1990); 
English  translation  Praying  the  Bible:  An  Introduction  to  Lectio  Divina,  trans.  Edward 
Hagman  (Collegeville:  Liturgical,  1998). 


128 


Biblical  Theology  Revisited 


of  Jews — siblings’  murder  of  siblings — is  an  indictment  of  such  Christians’  own 
parentage.  By  their  murder  they  have  proved  themselves  to  be  children  of  the  devil: 
a  murderer  and  liar  through  and  through  (John  8:44).  To  paraphrase  Walt  Kelly’s 
Pogo:  We  have  met  the  Jews,  and  they  is  us.  And  if  that  seems  to  some  an  exegeti- 
cal  sleight  of  hand,  then  they  might  reread  1  John  3:1 1-18,  which  reasons  similarly 
about  hateful,  murderous  fraud  within  the  church. 

How  does  this  interpretation  of  John  8  differ  from  that  of  conventional 
historical  criticism? 

Naturally  there  are  intersections,  even  as  premodem  exegetes  insisted  on  inter¬ 
sections  of  readings  literal  and  spiritual.  Reasonably  sound  historical  imagina¬ 
tions,  such  as  Lou  Martyn’s,®^  have  helped  us  clarify  things  we  might  easily  have 
forgotten,  such  as  Christianity’s  origin  in  Judaism  and,  before  those  ways  parted, 
the  gospel’s  promise  of  “a  fall  and  rising  for  many  in  Israel”  (Luke  2:34).  Give 
Stevie  Smith  (1902-1971)  full  marks  for  candor:  “If  I  had  been  the  Virgin  Mary, 
I  would  have  said  ‘No.’” 

Still,  many  historical  critics,  apart  from  Martyn’s  intention,  have  by  now  so  deep- 
frozen  the  Fourth  Gospel  in  its  alleged  original  setting — a  hostile  controversy 
between  Jewish  Christianity  and  proto-rabbinic  Judaism — that  thawing  the  text  for 
the  church’s  preaching  and  teaching  has  proved  extraordinarily  difficult.  Exhibit 
A  is  the  Revised  Common  Lectionary  (1992),  which  expurgates  eveiything  in 
John  5,  7-8,  save  twelve  verses  (5:1-9,  7:37-39)  designated  as  “alternative  texts.” 
However  well-intentioned,  such  a  bowdlerized  Bible — protecting  Christians  from 
their  own  scripture— always  misguides,  leaving  the  church  a  patsy  for  its  own 
darkest  temptations  to  hubris,  triumphalism,  and  all  other  “sinful  desires  of  the 
flesh.”  Disregard  of  John  8:3 1-59  is  a  case  in  point— all  the  more  dangerous  when 
the  consensus  results  of  historical  criticism  are  claimed  to  sanction  that  dismissal. 

My,  all  these  words  you  \e  spent  Reading  them  is  like  staring  at  a  cow  for  an  hour. 
My  readers  join  with  me  in  thanks  for  your  questions,  while  waiting  for  the  first 
shoe  to  drop. 

Pm  sure  they  7/  agree  this  paper  fills  a  much-needed  gap. 

Every  professional  exegete  has  a  theological  essay  in  him.  That’s  the  best  place 
for  it. 


CURTAIN^ 


J.  Louis  Martyn,  History  and  Theology  in  the  Fourth  Gospel,  3rd  ed.  (Louisville:  Westminster 
John  Knox,  2003). 


129 


Book  Excerpt 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 

by  Charles  Partee 


Charles  Partee  is  PC.  Rossin  Professor  of  Church  History  at  Pittsburgh 
Theological  Seminary.  He  earned  his  doctorate  in  theology,  with  a  concentra¬ 
tion  in  the  history  of  doctrine,  from  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  under  Prof. 
Edward  Dowey.  His  dissertation,  supervised  by  Dowey,  was  published  in  1977 
as  Calvin  and  Classical  Philosophy.  He  also  wrote  Adventure  in  Africa:  The 
Story  of  Don  McClure  (1990)  and  cowrote,  with  Andrew  Purves,  Encountering 
God:  Christian  Faith  in  Turbulent  Times  (2000).  This  article  is  abstracted  from 
The  Theology  of  John  Calvin,  published  by  Westminster  John  Knox  Press  (Lou¬ 
isville,  Kentucky,  2008),  and  reprinted  with  permission  from  the  author. 

Introduction  to  Book  II  of  the  Institutes  of  the  Christian 
Religion'.  God  the  Redeemer 

II  involves  two  of  the  most  important  and  interlocking  and  ineffable 
Christian  doctrines:  Trinity  and  Christology.  Trinitarian  doctrine  combines  the 
concept  of  one  substance  (or  essence)  and  three  persons,  claiming  a  unity  that 
is  tri-unity.  This  relation  addresses  the  mystery  of  God  in  terms  of  the  proper 
unity  of  essence  (6|J,oouaia,  Ttepi^cbpriOK;)  {consubstantialitas,  or  coessenti- 
alitas)  and  also  the  proper  distinction  of  persons  (olKOVO|Tta,  IbtOTiotriat;;) 


NOTE:  References  in  parentheses  are  to  the  book,  chapter,  and  paragraph  in  the  Institutes  of 
the  Christian  Religion,  2  volumes,  in  the  Library  of  Christian  Classics  edition  (LCC),  edited  by 
John  T.  McNeill  and  translated  by  Ford  Lewis  Battles  (Philadelphia:  Westminster  Press,  1960). 
Citations  of  Calvin’s  biblical  commentaries  are  by  book,  chapter,  and  verse  in  the  latest  available 
English  translation.  For  the  Old  Testament:  Commentaries  of  John  Calvin,  various  translators,  46 
vols.  (Edinburgh:  The  Calvin  Translation  Society,  1843-55).  For  the  New  Testament:  Calvin’s 
New  Testament  Commentaries  edited  by  David  W.  Torrance  and  Thomas  F.  Torrance,  various 
translators,  12  vols.  (Grand  Rapids:  Wm  B.  Eerdmans,  1959-72).  When  no  English  translation 
was  available,  reference  is  made  lo  loannais  Calvani  opera  quae  supersunt  omnia  (CO),  edited 
by  G.  Baum,  E,  Cunitz,  and  E.  Reuss,  59  vols.  (Brunsvigae:  C.  A.  Schwetschke,  1863-1900). 

Throughout  this  excerpt,  the  titles  of  Calvin Cs  commentaries  are  cited  in  abbreviated  form  in 
parentheses,  e.g..  Com.  Jn.  refers  to  Commentary  on  John. 


DOI:  1 0,3754/1 937-8386.2008.29. 1 . 1 1 


130 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


{persona,  or  dis-crimen).  Christological  doctrine  combines  the  concept  of  one 
person  and  two  complete  natures — a  real  unity  in  real  duality.  The  debate  led 
through  the  heresies  of  the  Ebionites,  the  Gnostics,  Origen,  the  Monarchians, 
the  Adoptionists,  Arius,  Apollinaris,  Nestorius,  and  Eutyches  until  the  orthodox 
formula  adopted  at  the  Council  of  Nicaea  (325),  which  was  supplemented  at 
the  Council  of  Chalcedon  (451).  This  formulation  is  not  an  explanation  but  a 
confession.  Its  lasting  purpose  is  not  to  satisfy  the  mind,  but  to  protect  the  heart 
of  the  central  mystery  that  in  Jesus  Christ  God  was  reconciling  the  world  to 
himself  (2  Cor.  5:19).‘ 

The  knowledge  of  God  the  Redeemer  is  the  main  subject  of  the  Institutes  Book 
II.  Calvin’s  exposition  begins  with  a  reflection  on  the  fact  of  sin  fi-om  which 
much  of  the  caricature  of  Calvin  and  Calvinism  derive.  Major  topics  thereafter 
include  the  gospel  and  the  law,  the  one  person  and  two  natures  of  Christ,  and  the 
work  of  Christ  discussed  in  three  offices:  prophet,  king,  and  priest.  Following 
Calvin’s  exposition  of  the  person  and  work  of  Christ  is  the  best  place  to  consider 
the  issues  of  mysticism  and  deification  in  Calvin,  followed  by  the  narrative  of 
faith  using  the  Apostles’  Creed  as  an  outline. 

That  the  fact  of  sin  forms  no  part  of  the  actual  knowledge  of  the  Redeemer  is 
obvious.  Sin  is  the  reality  from  which  human  beings  require  redemption,  but  the 
reality  of  the  Mediator  is  not  exhausted  in  the  work  of  the  Redeemer.  In  a  his¬ 
torical  sense,  sin  is  preliminary  to  redemption,  but  in  a  theological  sense,  sin  is  a 
foreign  body.  The  fact  that  Calvin  begins  his  exposition  of  God  the  Redeemer  by 
discussing  human  sin  in  five  chapters  is  noteworthy.  Among  theologians,  the  fall 
is  most  often  treated  as  the  human  distortion  of  divine  creation  rather  than  as  a 
prologue  to  divine  redemption.  Traditionally  the  fall  is  assigned  meaning,  even  if 
negative  meaning,  as  the  occasion  that  brings  redemption.  Calvin  does  not  make 
these  common  connections. 

Among  the  sections  contributing  directly  to  the  knowledge  of  God  the  Redeemer, 
Calvin  teaches  that  the  gospel  precedes  the  law,  asserting  that  God’s  grace 
is  extended  to  human  beings  before  they  are  instructed  how  to  behave.  This 


'  Three  post-Calvin  revolutions  continue  to  influence  modem  culture  in  powerful  ways.  The 
historical  revolution  raises  fundamental  questions  about  the  nature  and  proper  authority  of  the 
Bible.  The  social  revolution  raises  fundamental  questions  about  sexual  nature  and  proper  roles 
and  proper  language  for  men  and  women.  The  christological  revolution  raises  fundamental 
questions  about  the  nature(s)  and  role(s)  of  Jesus  Christ.  Essentially  this  revolution  is  an  attack 
on  the  adequacy  of  the  Chalcedonian  formulation.  Barth  recognizes  this  formulation  as  confes¬ 
sional.  “The  statement  that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  One  who  is  of  divine  and  human  essence  dates  to 
unite  that  which  by  definition  cannot  be  united”  {Church  Dogmatics  4.2.61).  For  a  discussion 
of  the  hypostatic  union,  see  CD  4.2.60-69. 


131 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


conviction  reverses  the  central  Lutheran  view  that  law  precedes  grace.  Second, 
while  Calvin  explains  the  orthodox  view  of  Jesus  Christ  as  one  person  in  two 
complete  natures,  he  places  a  distinctive  emphasis  on  the  humanity  of  Christ. 
Third,  with  the  three  offices,  Calvin  offers  a  dynamic  and  ffinctional  account  of 
the  work  of  Christ  in  connection  with  the  previous  section,  which  was  focused 
on  the  person  of  Christ.  As  prophet,  Christ  brings  an  end  to  all  prophesies  by  his 
perfect  teaching;  as  king,  Christ  rules  over  death,  the  devil,  and  the  world;  and 
as  priest,  Christ  reconciles  us  to  God  by  his  holy  obedience.  In  the  fourth  section 
Calvin  explains  atonement  within  the  narrative  of  the  Apostles’  Creed. 

Calvin  insists  that  the  created  order  was  such  “that  the  frame  of  the  universe 
should  be  the  school  in  which  we  were  to  learn  piety,  and  from  it  pass  over  to 
eternal  life  and  felicity.”  However,  “after  the  fall  of  the  first  man  no  knowledge 
of  God  apart  from  the  mediator  has  had  power  unto  salvation”  (II. 6.1).  There¬ 
fore,  God  is  comprehended  in  Christ  alone  (II. 6.4)  until  such  time  as  we  shall 
see  God  as  he  is  (II.  14.3). 

Early  in  Book  I  Calvin  asserted  that  the  knowledge  of  God  is  twofold:  the  Lord 
who  shows  himself  as  Creator  is  also  seen  as  Redeemer  in  the  face  of  Christ 
(1.2.1).  In  Book  II,  following  the  description  of  sin,  Calvin  turns  to  the  second 
fold  dealing  with  what  God  has  done  for  us  in  Jesus  Christ.  This  exposition  of 
the  knowledge  of  God  the  Redeemer  also  begins  the  exposition  of  ourselves  as 
redeemed,  to  which  the  remainder  of  the  Institutes  is  devoted.  Calvin’s  “anthro¬ 
pology”  thus  includes  a  threefold  knowledge  of  ourselves:  as  created,  as  cor¬ 
rupted,  and  as  redeemed.  Importantly,  the  knowledge  of  our  corruption  is  treated 
existentially  but  is  denied  ontological  reality. 

A  Personal  Note 

For  many  years  I  thought  Calvin’s  exposition  of  Christ  was  one  among  many 
doctrines  rather  than  the  basic  conviction  on  which  his  entire  theology  rests. 
With  nodding  acceptance  I  had  read  past  statements  like  we  know  God  clearly 
in  the  person  of  Christ.^  That  Jesus  was  more  than  the  mightiest  of  the  proph¬ 
ets  (Mark  1:7)  had  been  affirmed  from  childhood,  as  was  some  kind  of  vague 
notion  of  two  natures  later  located  more  technically  in  the  fundamental 


^  The  complete  citation  reads,  “For  how  can  any  mortal  man  ascend  to  the  height  of  God  unless 
he  is  raised  on  high  by  his  hand?  God  in  Christ  descended  to  the  lowliness  of  men  to  stretch 
out  his  hand  to  them. . . .  Whoever  aspires  to  know  God  without  beginning  at  Christ  must  wan¬ 
der  in  a  labyrinth  . . .  because  eveiy  one  is  deprived  of  all  right  knowledge  of  God  who  leaves 
Christ  [but]  whoever  directs  his  mind  and  all  his  senses  to  Christ  will  be  led  straight  to  the 
Father.  We  clearly  behold  God  in  the  person  of  Christ”  (Com.  Jn.  8. 19). 


132 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


mystery  of  hypostatic  union  {unio  hypostatica).  The  text  that  finally  exploded 
in  my  mind  was  Calvin’s  declaration  that  “Christ  was  the  true  Jehovah” 
(1.13.9).  He  continues: 

Moreover,  if  apart  from  God  there  is  no  salvation,  no  righteousness,  no 
life,  yet  Christ  contains  all  these  in  himself,  God  is  certainly  revealed. 

And  let  no  one  object  to  me  that  life  and  salvation  have  been  infused 
with  Christ  by  God  for  Christ  is  not  said  to  have  received  salvation, 
but  to  be  salvation  itself.  . . .  The  name  of  Christ  is  invoked  for  salva¬ 
tion;  therefore  it  follows  that  he  is  Jehovah.  . . .  And  to  have  it  more 
plainly  understood  that  “the  whole  fullness  of  divinity  dwells  bodily” 
in  Christ  [Col.  2:9],  the  apostle  confesses  that  he  introduced  no  other 
doctrine  among  the  Corinthians  than  knowledge  of  him,  and  that  he  has 
preached  nothing  but  this  [1  Cor.  2:2].  (1.13.13) 

1  had  read  these  statements  a  number  of  times,  but  1  remember  vividly  the  first 
time  1  felt  the  full  force  of  their  stupendous  claim.  In  spite  of  what  1  under¬ 
stood  and  accepted  as  the  orthodox  view  of  Trinity  and  Incarnation,  1  real¬ 
ized  that  1  still  maintained  some  kind  of  vestigial  subordination  of  the  Son 
to  the  Father.  As  a  response  to  these  passages  in  Calvin,  1  spent  considerable 
time  reflecting  on  whether  my  own  theology  allowed  me  to  make  so  brief 
and  bold  a  declaration  as  “Christ  is  Jehovah.”  1  decided  that  the  confession 
“Jesus  Christ  is  Lord”  (Phil.  2:11;  1  Cor  12:3)  (which  1  did  accept)  was  in 
fact  equivalent  to  “Jesus  Christ  is  Jehovah”  (which  1  now  accept).  1  concluded 
that  1  agreed  with  Calvin  in  believing  “God  is  comprehended  in  Christ  alone” 
(11.6.4),  meaning  God  is  like  Christ,  not  that  Christ  is  like  God.  Perhaps  the 
simplest  and  clearest  evidence  of  identification  is  prayer  addressed  to  Christ 
which  is  only  appropriately  directed  to  God  (1.13.13).  Calvin  is  not  being 
hyperbolic  when  he  interprets  the  phrase,  “They  shall  look  to  me  whom  they 
have  pierced”  to  demonstrate  that  the  essence  of  the  Father  and  the  Son  is 
the  same.  This  denies  the  blasphemy  that  the  Father  is  the  only  true  God  and 
Christ  is  some  kind  of  God,  too.  The  Father  and  the  Son  are  one  and  the  same 
God  (Com.  Zech.  12:10). 

This  conclusion  is  neither  obvious  nor  easy.  Even  so  careful  a  scholar  as  J. 

K.  S.  Reid,  while  recognizing  Calvin’s  Christocentrism,  still  maintains  that 
his  theology  contains  a  “comprehensive  principle.”  He  writes,  “It  is  wrong  to 
represent  Calvin  as  exalting  the  sovereignty  of  God  at  the  expense  of  a  real 
interest  in  Jesus  Christ.  The  comprehensive  principle  of  his  theology  is,  of 
course,  God’s  sovereignty;  but  when  one  asks  concerning  the  content  of  which 
this  is  the  framework,  he  is  led  by  Calvin  straight  to  Christ.  Calvin’s  theology 


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is  theocentric  in  no  sense  that  precludes  Christocentricity.”^  Reid  is  certainly 
correct  that  no  intellectual  principle  can  replace  Christ  in  Calvin’s  theology,  but 
interpreting  Calvin  through  a  comprehensively  abstract  intellectual  principle  like 
the  sovereignty  of  God  runs  the  great  risk  of  substituting  the  abstract  principle 
for  the  concrete  person  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord. 

The  Christian  faith  begins  in  God’s  presence  with  us  (Matt.  1:23).  God  is 
revealed  in  and  as  Jesus  Christ  (2  Cor.  5:19).  That  is,  God  is  fully  revealed  in 
Christ  (Col.  1:19).  Thus,  Calvin  writes,  “Christ  is  the  one  and  only  foundation 
of  the  Church”  (Com.  1  Cor.  3:11,  cf.  IV.2.1),  “hence  all  thinking  about  God 
without  Christ  is  a  vast  abyss  which  immediately  swallows  up  all  our  thoughts” 
(Com.  1  Pet.  1:20).  Emil  Brunner  makes  this  confession: 

The  Christian  Faith  is  not  other  than  (nichts  anderes  als)  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ.  Therefore  the  whole  of  Christian  theology  is  not  other  than 
{nichts  anderes  als)  the  explication  of  faith  in  Christ.  Hence  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ  is  not  simply  part  of  this  faith,  and  Jesus  Christ  is  not  one  “sub¬ 
ject”  among  other  subjects  in  the  Christian  Creed.  The  doctrine  of  God, 
of  His  Nature  and  of  His  Will,  of  the  Creation  and  the  Divine  govern¬ 
ment  of  the  world,  of  man  as  created  in  the  Image  of  God  and  as  sinner, 
of  the  Old  Covenant  as  promise  and  the  preparation  for  the  New — all 
these  doctrines  are  various  moments  in  the  one  faith  in  Jesus  Christ.'^ 

Such  statements  on  the  centrality  of  Jesus  Christ  are  not  to  be  understood  as 
expressions  of  an  essential  tenet,  not  even  as  the  most  essential  tenet.  Confess¬ 
ing  Jesus  Christ  as  Lord  is  not  the  first  item  on  a  list  of  essential  beliefs.  Rather, 
God’s  revelation  in  Jesus  Christ  is  the  foundational  reality  of  essential  faith. 


^  Reid,  Authority  of  Scripture,  52.  [John  K.  S.  Reid,  The  Authority  of  the  Scripture:  A  Study 
of  the  Reformation  and  Post-Reformation  Understanding  of  the  Bible  (New  York:  Harper  and 
Brothers,  1957).] 

“  Emil  Brunner,  The  Christian  Doctrine  of  Creation  and  Redemption,  trans.  Olive  Wyon 
(Philadelphia:  Westminster  Press,  1952),  2:239.  The  same  point  is  made  by  Thomas  F.  Tor¬ 
rance.  “In  Jesus  Christ  we  meet  the  very  embodiment  of  the  majestic  Sovereignty  of  God 
breaking  into  the  world  to  claim  it  for  himself,  the  coming  of  Immanuel  (bxuay),  God  himself 
to  be  with  us  and  one  of  us,  and  specifically  Yeshua  (yitt^’),  meaning  Yahweh-Savior,  for,  ‘he 
shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins.’  He  is  the  Lord  Jesus,  the  divine  Savior  of  mankind,  [who 
is  not]  a  kind  of ‘double’  for  God  in  his  absence,  but  the  incarnate  presence  of  Yahweh,  the 
Lord  God  himself.  . . .  We  come  to  know  Christ  today  as  the  Lord  and  Savior  in  the  same  way 
as  the  disciples  and  their  converts  came  to  know  him  at  the  very  beginning,  when  they  called 
upon  Jesus  to  save  them  from  their  sins,  worshipped  him,  and  prayed  to  him,  and  glorified  him, 
as  Jesous  Kyrios  (Ifjoout;  icuptoi;)  thereby  accepting  the  designation  of  him  as  Yahweh,  the  very 
name  God  had  given  himself  in  his  unique  revelation  to  Israel  when  he  delivered  them  redemp- 
tively  out  of  their  bondage  in  Egypt”  (Thomas  F.  Torrance,  The  Christian  Doctrine  of  God, 

One  Being  Three  Persons  [Edinburgh:  T  &  T  Clark,  1996],  51). 


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He  is  the  basis  for,  the  ground  of,  and  the  truth  from  which  all  essential  tenets 
derive.  In  the  human  realm,  fact  and  interpretation  cannot  be  entirely  separated, 
though  they  are  not  the  same.  Similarly,  in  theology  Christ  and  Christology  are 
not  the  same.  Reality  properly  precedes  all  interpretations  of  it.  While  there  is  no 
knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ  that  is  not  christological,  Jesus  Christ  is  never  exactly 
identical  with  our  doctrines  concerning  him.  Even  christological  doctrine  is 
required  to  bow  the  knee  before  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ. 

The  confession  “Jesus  Christ  is  Lord”  is  at  once  the  most  fundamental,  most  far- 
reaching,  and  most  remarkable  of  Christian  claims.^  Ultimately  the  coalescence 
of  its  historical,  ontological,  epistemological,  and  behavioral  components  seems 
to  be  a  miracle — at  least  the  conviction  of  its  truth  remains  mysterious.  In  short, 
the  church’s  one  foundation  is  Jesus  Christ  her  Lord.  Christians  worship  God 
revealed  in,  through,  and  as  Jesus  Christ.  This  is  the  basic  truth  from  which  all 
doctrines,  including  the  so-called  essential  tenets,  derive.  Essential  tenets  protect 
the  church’s  confession  of  her  one  Lord,  but  they  cannot  replace  the  founda¬ 
tional  encounter  with  him  which  occurs  in  experience  and  issues  in  service. 

With  the  exposition  of  Christology,  the  general,  and  generally  unthreatening, 
discussion  of  God’s  being  and  works  moves  to  the  specific,  and  specifically 
demanding,  question  of  God’s  relation  to  Jesus  of  Nazareth.®  Attempting  to 
understand  the  experience  that  “in  Christ  was  God  reconciling  the  world  to 


^  The  scorn  the  great  historian  Edward  Gibbon  pours  on  the  conviction  of  Christ’s  Lordship 
in  his  impressively  rolling  prose  is  nonetheless  savage  for  being  lofty.  According  to  Gibbon, 
“The  theologian  may  indulge  the  pleasing  task  of  describing  Religion  as  she  descended  fi'om 
Heaven,  arrayed  in  her  native  purity.  A  more  melancholy  duty  is  imposed  on  the  historian.  He 
must  discover  the  inevitable  mixture  of  error  and  corruption  which  she  contracted  in  a  long 
residence  upon  earth,  among  a  weak  and  degenerate  race  of  beings.”  Included  in  the  results  a 
historian  must  recognize  that  Christian  divines  in  rejecting  the  observance  of  the  Mosaic  law 
pronounced  “with  the  utmost  caution  and  tenderness  a  sentence  of  condemnation  so  repugnant 
to  the  inclination  and  prejudices  of  the  believing  Jews.”  In  reviewing  the  history  of  christo¬ 
logical  reflection.  Gibbon  deals  chiefly  with  the  Gnostics  and  the  Ebionites,  expressing  some 
sympathy  for  the  latter.  “The  unfortunate  Ebionites,  rejected  from  one  religion  as  apostates  and 
from  the  other  as  heretics  . . .  insensibly  melted  away  either  into  the  church  or  the  synagogue” 
(Edward  Gibbon.  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  vol.  1  (Chicago:  William  Benton. 
1952),  chap.  15:  179,  182,  183). 

®  In  the  relative  context  of  the  world’s  religions,  the  absolute  claim,  “I  am  the  way,  and  the 
truth,  and  the  life”  (John  14:6)  must  be  faced.  If  Christ  is  Lord,  he  is  more  than  Kant’s  example 
or  Hegel’s  symbol.  In  his  address  of  July  15,  1838,  delivered  before  the  senior  class  at  Harvard 
Divinity  School  (from  which  he  had  earlier  graduated),  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  The  Spiritual 
Emerson:  Essential  Writings,  ed.  David  M.  Robinson  (Boston:  Beacon  Press,  2003),  com¬ 
plained  that  “the  first  defect  of  historical  Christianity”  is  its  exaggeration  of  the  personal.  “It 
has  dwelt,  it  dwells,  with  noxious  exaggeration  about  the  person  of  Jesus”  (71,  emphasis  in 
original).  On  a  different  subject,  “Threnody,”  Emerson’s  attempt  to  console  himself  on  the 
death  of  his  son,  “the  deep-eyed  boy,”  demonstrates  the  thinness  of  hope  in  transcendental 
philosophy  and  is  one  of  the  saddest  poems  I  know. 


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himself’  (2  Cor.  5:19)  led  to  the  development  of  the  doctrine  of  incarnation, 
which  has  both  natural  and  supernatural  components.  As  John  E.  Smith  writes, 
“No  one,  I  believe,  will  deny  that  this  doctrine  is  a  legitimate  and  absolutely 
essential  part  of  Christian  theology.”  Moreover,  apart  from  traditional  biblical 
or  devotional  language,  a  restatement  of  the  doctrine  looks  something  like  this: 
“There  is  an  event  or  series  of  events  within  recorded  human  history  which  we 
describe  as  the  appearance  of  the  Christ,  and  this  event  is  both  a  legitimate  part 
of  the  historical  process  and  a  unique  revelation  of  the  meaning  (in  the  sense  of 
divine  purpose)  of  that  process  as  a  whole.”  Smith  observes  that  the  definition 
contains  words  like  “event,”  “unique,”  and  “history,”  which  have  both  ordi¬ 
nary,  commonsense  meanings  as  well  as  more  carefully  reflective  ones.  In  other 
words,  “We  do  not  and  cannot  learn,  for  example,  the  meaning  of  a  concept  like 
‘unique’  from  the  Bible  alone  without  recourse  to  an  analysis  of  our  general 
human  experience.”’^  Granting  the  importance  of  ordinary,  commonsense  mean¬ 
ings,  there  are  also  confessions  of  faith  that  go  beyond  ordinary  common  sense. 
According  to  Calvin,  Paul  calls  Christ,  “‘the  image  of  the  invisible  God,’  mean¬ 
ing  by  this,  that  it  is  through  him  alone  that  God,  who  is  otherwise  invisible  is 
manifested  to  us .  . .  The  word  ‘image’  is  not  used  of  his  essence,  but .  . .  Christ 
is  the  image  of  God  because  he  makes  God  in  a  manner  visible  to  us.”  This  is  a 
powerful  weapon  against  the  Arians.  “The  sum  is,  that  God  in  himself,  that  is  in 
his  naked  majesty,  is  invisible;  and  that  not  only  to  the  physical  eyes,  but  also 
to  human  understanding;  and  that  he  is  revealed  to  us  in  Christ  alone,  where 
we  may  behold  him  as  in  a  mirror.  For  in  Christ  he  shows  us  his  righteousness, 
goodness,  wisdom,  power,  in  short,  his  entire  self  We  must,  therefore,  take  care 
not  to  seek  him  elsewhere;  for  outside  Christ  everything  that  claims  to  represent 
God  will  be  an  idol”  (Com.  Col.  1:15).  Any  “supposed  knowledge  of  God  out¬ 
side  Christ  will  be  a  deadly  abyss”  (Com.  Jn.  6:46).* * 


’  John  E.  Smith,  Reason  and  God:  Encounters  of  Philosophy  with  Religion  (New  Haven,  CT: 
Yale  University  Press,  1961),  153,  154. 

*  Paul  van  Buren’s  Basel  dissertion  written  under  Karl  Barth,  Christ  in  Our  Place:  The 
Substitutionary  Character  of  Calvin 's  Doctrine  of  Reconciliation  (Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans, 
1957),  was  a  helpful  contribution  to  Calvin  studies.  The  main  focus  is  the  atonement  inter¬ 
preted  by  the  substitutionary  theme  of  Christ  in  our  place.  His  emphasis  on  Christ  as  substitute 
is  one-sided  and  the  remarks  on  the  “penal  substitutionary”  doctrine  (142)  inadequate.  Addi¬ 
tionally,  the  Christian  narrative  is  set  in  motion  more  by  the  bad  news  of  human  sin  than  the 
good  news  of  God’s  grace.  Moreover,  in  eschewing  careful  engagement  with  other  scholars, 
van  Buren  needlessly  deprives  himself  of  challenges  from  other  minds.  Nevertheless,  the 
exposition  in  part  1  of  the  incarnation  as  Christ’s  union  with  us  and  part  3  of  incorporation  as 
our  union  with  Christ  is  sound.  As  is  the  following  testimony  of  the  foreword:  “This  study  in 
Calvin  has  strengthened  my  conviction  that  as  Christ  is  the  center  of  our  faith,  so  Christology 
is  the  determining  center  of  all  theology.”  The  most  far-reaching  and  disturbing  question  reads, 
“Is  the  work  of  Christ  to  be  understood  as  having  gained  the  reality  of  salvation,  or  only  as 
having  opened  up  its  possibility!''  (32,  emphasis  in  original).  In  response,  van  Buren  sets  aside 
Calvin’s  doctrine  of  predestination  and  concludes,  “Christ’s  w'ork,  in  itself,  remains  for  Calvin 


136 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


A.  Sin:  How  Total  Is  Depravity? 

In  the  popular  mind  Calvin  and  Calvinism  are  associated  with  predestination  and 
total  depravity.  For  that  reason,  any  proper  understanding  must  address  the  ques¬ 
tion  in  some  detail:  “Just  how  total  is  depravity  and  what  does  it  mean?”  The 
correct  and  short  answer  is  that  Calvin’s  “doctrine  of  total  depravity”  is  neither 
total  nor  a  doctrine.  The  crucial  distinction  is  that  by  “total”  Calvin  means  totally 
susceptible  to  sinfulness  but  not  totally  situated  in  sin.  In  addition  and  equally 
surprising,  sin  is  declared  to  be  accidental.  Calvin  believes  in  free  will,  although 
he  prefers  not  to  use  the  term.  Moreover,  while  original  sin  is  affirmed,  actual 
sin  is  also  emphasized.  Calvin’s  teaching  about  sin  is  here  examined  under  four 
headings.  First,  by  following  our  noses  we  take  a  quick  sniff  at  the  T.U.L.I.P.  and 
the  question  of  total  depravity.  Second,  Calvin  offers  the  remarkable  insistence 
that  sin  is  adventitious.  Third,  Calvin’s  view  of  the  freedom  and  bondage  of  the 
will  is  briefly  examined.  Fourth,  the  role  of  original  and  actual  sin  is  considered. 


1 .  Total  and  Partial  Depravity 

John  Calvin’s  doctrine  of  sin  is  often  regarded  as  so  severe  that  “Calvinism” 
can  be  used  as  a  synonym  for  the  gloomiest  possible  evaluation  of  the  human 
condition  and  its  most  dreary  prospects.  Robinson  writes  both  correctly  and 
ironically,  “We  speak  as  though  John  Calvin  invented  the  Fall  of  Man,  when  that 
was  an  article  of  faith  universal  in  Christian  culture.”^  Based  on  the  conviction 
that  Calvin  taught  the  total  depravity  of  all  human  beings,  this  view  of  sin  is 
represented  by  the  framework  of  the  famous  (or  infamous)  acrostic  T.U.L.I.P.,  a 
device  used  by  both  friend  and  foe  as  a  faithful  summary  of  Calvin’s  theology. 
For  example,  Gary  Scott  Smith  writes,  “For  the  purposes  of  this  study,  we  will 
define  a  Calvinist  as  one  who  adheres  to  the  theology  of  John  Calvin  primarily 
as  set  forth  in  his  Institutes  of  the  Christian  ReligionC  At  this  point  Smith  and  I 
are  on  the  same  page,  but  then  he  turns  over  a  new  leaf:  “This  theology  is  popu¬ 
larly  summarized  in  five  points  often  referred  to  by  the  acronym  TULIP — Total 
depravity.  Unconditional  election.  Limited  (or  definite)  atonement.  Irresistible 
grace,  and  Perseverance  of  the  saints.”  Smith  recognizes,  “These  points  were  not 
formulated  by  Calvin  but  by  the  Synod  of  Dort  in  1619  about  fifty  years  after  his 
death,  in  response  to  the  challenges  of  Jacob  Arminius  to  his  teachings.”  Never- 


an  unfilled  possibility”  (143).  The  former  is  impossible;  the  latter  is  implausible.  Not  long  after 
his  Calvin  book,  van  Buren  wrote  The  Secular  Meaning  of  the  Gospel  (New  York:  Macmillan, 
1963),  which  associated  him  with  the  death-of-God  theology  of  the  1960s.  See  Charles  N. 

Bent,  The  Death-of-God  Movement  (New  York:  Paulist  Press,  1967). 

^  Marilyime  Robinson,  The  Death  of  Adam:  Essays  on  Modern  Thought  (New  York:  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  1998),  151. 


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theless,  Smith  accepts  this  popular  summary  as  an  accurate  and  adequate  sum¬ 
mary. Even  those  who  argue  that  TULIP  is  useful  are  not  likely  to  insist  that  so 
short  a  summary  is  an  adequate  reflection  of  the  range  and  nuance  of  Calvin’s 
theology.  Moreover,  those  who  think  the  acronym  is  accurate  must  admit  that  the 
interpretive  importance  of  order  and  context  does  not  and  cannot  come  to  full 
bloom  in  this  TULIP." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  TULIP  summary  commends  itself  for  several  reasons. 
First,  many  people  already  know  and  accept  it.  Second,  as  a  mnemonic  device 
it  is  clever  and  easy  to  remember.  Third,  an  important  synod  in  the  Netherlands 
produced  the  five  Canons  of  Dort  which,  by  a  slight  rearrangement  of  sequence, 
can  be  made  to  assert  each  of  the  points  of  TULIP.  Fourth,  tulips  today  remind 
us  of  Holland  although  they  were  introduced  into  Europe  by  the  Turks.  Fifth, 


Gary  Scott  Smith,  The  Seeds  of  Secularism:  Calvinism,  Culture,  and  Pluralism  in  America, 
1870-1915  (Grand  Rapids:  Christian  University  Press,  1985),  4.  Obviously  the  TULIP  mne¬ 
monic  was  created  by  an  English-speaking  person. 

''  Among  the  more  interesting  expositions  of  TULIP  Calvinism  is  Richard  J.  Mouw’s  Calvin¬ 
ism  in  the  Las  Vegas  Airport  (Grand  Rapids:  Zondervan,  2004).  The  opening  chapter  entitled 
“Hardcore  TULIP”  describes  a  scene  in  the  movie  Hardcore,  set  in  the  Las  Vegas  airport, 
where  George  C.  Scott,  playing  an  agonized  Calvinist  named  Jake  Van  Dorn,  explains  the  the¬ 
ology  of  TULIP  to  a  teenage  prostitute  named  Niki,  played  by  Season  Hubley.  While  Mouw 
defends  each  of  the  doctrines  represented  by  TULIP,  he  admits  “that,  when  stated  bluntly, 
they  have  a  harsh  feel  about  them.  To  articulate  them  ‘with  gentleness  and  respeet’  takes  some 
effort”  (14).  He  is  especially  hesitant  about  limited  atonement.  Not  so  Paul  Helm,  “The  Logic 
of  Limited  Atonement,”  in  Scottish  Bulletin  of  Evangelical  Theology  3,  no.  2  (Autumn  1985): 
47-54,  who,  defending  logic  and  reason,  sees  doctrine  as  argument,  not  confession.  See  also 
Jonathan  H.  Rainbow,  The  Will  of  God  and  the  Cross:  An  Historical  and  Theological  Study 
of  John  Calvin ’s  Doctrine  of  Limited  Redemption  (Allison  Park,  PA:  Pickwick  Publications, 
1990).  Gentle  respect  leads  Mouw  to  keep  his  powder  dry  with  the  Heidelberg  Catechism 
rather  than  firing  away  with  the  Canons  of  Dort.  The  movie  Hardcore  was  written  and  directed 
by  Paul  Schrader,  a  graduate  of  Calvin  College,  where  Richard  Mouw  taught  for  seventeen 
years.  Schrader  also  wrote  Taxi  Driver  and  both  wrote  and  directed  American  Gigolo.  Another 
well-known  Calvin  College  alumnus  who  satirized  his  Calvinistic  background  was  the  great 
humorist  Peter  De  Vries.  See  his  “TULIP”  in  No,  But  1  Saw  the  Movie  (Boston:  Little,  Brown  & 
Company,  1946),  1-16.  His  Rev.  Andrew  Mackerel  claims,  “[The  Dutch  Calvinists]  were  hair- 
splitters  the  like  of  which  an  ordinary  human  being  in  our  time  is  totally  unlikely  to  hear.  ‘One 
Dutchman,  a  Christian;  two  Dutchmen,  a  congregation;  three  Dutchmen,  heresy’”  {The  Mack¬ 
erel  Plaza  [Boston:  Little,  Brown  and  Company,  1958],  31).  Growing  up  among  Dutch  Calvin¬ 
ists  Reverend  Mackerel  moves  away  from  that  background  to  become  pastor  of  the  “People’s 
Liberal”  church,  and  his  story  begins  with  an  angry  telephone  call  to  the  zoning  board  objecting 
to  a  newly  installed  sign  which  he  can  see  from  his  study  window.The  sign  read,  “Jesus  Saves.” 
In  contrast,  in  the  profoundly  moving  The  Blood  of  the  Lamb  (New  York:  Penguin  Books, 

1961  [1985]),  written  as  his  only  daughter,  Emily,  died  of  leukemia,  De  Vries  wrote,  “I  came  to 
understand  a  few  things  about  what  people  believe.  What  people  believe  is  a  measure  of  what 
they  suffer”  (25).  See  also  Roderick  Jellema,  Peter  De  Vries:  A  Critical  Essay  (Grand  Rapids: 
Wm.  B.  Eerdmans,  1966).  Cruelly  jesting  at  the  reality  of  pain.  Lord  Byron  writes,  “As  I  suffer 
from  the  shocks  /  Of  illness,  I  grow  much  more  orthodox”  {Don  Juan,  Canto  11,5). 

As  an  exotic  footnote,  this  information  on  the  tulip  is  provided  by  Lord  Kinross.  Sultan 
Ahmed’s 

Seraglio  during  the  winter  was  regaled  with  helva  fetes,  social  gatherings  in  which 


138 


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Dutch  Calvinists  accept  the  Canons  of  Dort,  indicating  the  existence  of  a  living 
community  more  disposed  to  affirm  than  to  deny — or  even  to  question — the 
validity  of  the  TULIP  acrostic.'^ 

That  TULIP  represents  the  Calvinistic  theology  of  the  Synod  of  Dort  can 
scarcely  be  doubted.  Additionally,  if  one  assumes  that  the  historical  development 
of  Calvinism  was  in  the  main  an  enhancement  of  Calvin’s  theology,  rather  than  a 
distortion  of  it,  there  is  no  need  to  review  the  adequacy  of  the  Canons  of  Dort  or 
the  later  Westminster  Confession  as  faithful  expressions  of  Calvinistic  theology. 
Furthermore,  since  a  goodly  number  of  the  godly  people  interested  in  Calvin’s 
theology  (and  thus  in  this  book)  are  also  loyal  to  either  Dort  or  Westminster  or 
both,  some  tiptoeing  around  the  TULIP  might  be  appropriate. 

While  crucial  to  the  history  of  Calvinism,  a  detailed  analysis  of  the  Synod  of 
Dort  (1618)  or  the  Assembly  at  Westminster  (1644)  is  clearly  outside  the  scope 
of  a  study  of  the  Institutes  of  Calvin  (1560).  The  extremely  important  ques¬ 
tion  whether,  and  in  what  ways,  later  Calvinism  improved  or  distorted  Calvin’s 
theology  is  addressed  in  the  introduction  and  need  not  be  treated  here.  The 


philosophical  symposia,  together  with  poetry  recitals,  dancing,  Chinese  shadow 
plays,  and  prayers  were  accompanied  by  the  distribution  of  sweets,  otherwise  helva. 

But  when  the  winter  was  over  there  was  now  introduced  for  the  Sultan’s  delecta¬ 
tion  a  spring  fete  which  developed  largely  into  a  festival  of  tulips.  Ahmed  had  a 
great  love  for  flowers — for  the  rose,  the  carnation  (which  his  moustache  was  said 
to  resemble),  the  lilac,  the  jasmine.  But  it  was  eventually  the  tulip  that  captured 
his  fancy  above  all  the  rest.  Its  name  in  Turkish  was  lale,  held  to  have  a  sacred 
significance  from  its  resemblance  to  “Allah,”  and  the  reign  of  Ahmed  III  became 
known  to  posterity  as  Lale  Devri,  or  the  Reign  of  the  Tulip.  The  tulip  was  a  wild 
flower  of  the  Asiatic  steppes  which  had  strewn  the  path  of  the  Turks  throughout  their 
centuries  of  westward  migration.  It  was  Busbecq,  the  Austrian  imperial  ambassador 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  who  as  a  keen  botanist  first  introduced  the  tulip  to  the  West, 
taking  tulip  bulbs  back  to  Flanders  on  his  journey  home.  Its  European  name  was 
derived  from  the  nickname  the  Turks  gave  it:  tulbend,  or  “turban”  in  the  Persian 
language.  Not  long  afterward  the  tulip  was  imported  by  European  merchants  and 
propagated  in  large  quantities  in  Holland,  where  in  time  some  twelve  hundred  vari¬ 
eties  of  it  were  known.  This  gave  rise  in  the  seventeenth  century  to  a  craze  of  tulipo- 
mania  among  the  Ottoman  elite,  in  the  course  of  which  fortunes  were  made  and  lost 
from  rare  tulip  bulbs,  and  the  tulip  became  knovm  as  ‘ihe  gold  of  Europe.” 

From  Lord  Kinross,  The  Ottoman  Centuries:  The  Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Turkish  Empire  (Lon¬ 
don:  Jonathan  Cape,  1977),  378-79.  Jack  Goody,  The  Culture  of  Flowers  (Cambridge:  Cam¬ 
bridge  University  Press,  1993),  188-89,  under  the  title  “tulipomania,”  deals  with  commercial 
and  theological  aspects  of  flowers. 

R.  B.  Kuiper,  As  to  Being  Reformed  (Grand  Rapids:  Wm.  B.  Eerdmans,  1926).  In  his  chapter 
on  “Christianity  and  Calvinism”  Kuiper  claims  the  five  points  of  Calvinism  were  sponsored 
by  the  Genevan  Reformer.  He  concludes,  “Calvinism  is  the  most  nearly  perfect  interpretation 
of  Christianity.  In  the  final  analysis,  Calvinism  and  Christianity  are  practically  synonymous. 

It  follows  that  he  who  departs  from  Calvinism  is  taking  a  step  away  from  Christianity. . . .  Eor 
in  the  last  instance  the  fundamentals  of  Calvinism  are  also  the  fundamentals  of  the  Christian 
religion”  (88,  91). 


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present  purpose  only  requires  the  observation  with  which  both  sides  would 
agree.  Calvin’s  theology  does  not  start  with  total  depravity.  Since  Calvin  locates 
his  discussion  of  sin  at  the  beginning  of  Book  II,  clearly  he  does  not  begin  the 
Institutes  with  it. 

Calvin  can,  and  certainly  does,  paint  his  portrait  of  human  beings  in  the  dark¬ 
est  colors,  giving  some  credence  to  the  emphasis  on  the  power  of  the  vice  grip. 
For  example,  he  writes,  “I  have  said  that  all  parts  of  the  soul  were  possessed  by 
sin  after  Adam  deserted  the  fountain  of  righteousness.”  Again  the  soul’s  ''entire 
nature  is  opposed  to  supernatural  grace.”  Yet  again,  no  part  of  mankind  “is 
immune  from  sin  and  all  that  proceeds  from  him  is  to  be  imputed  to  sin”  (11.1.9, 
emphases  added).  On  the  other  hand,  Calvin  also  says,  “We  grant  that  God’s 
image  was  not  totally  annihilated  and  destroyed  in  [Adam],  yet  it  was  so  cor¬ 
rupted  that  whatever  remains  is  frightful  deformity”  (1.15.4). 

As  usual  Thomas  Aquinas  has  an  elegant  solution  to  the  issue  of  total  and  par¬ 
tial  depravity.  The  fall  destroyed  the  supernatural  virtues;  faith,  hope,  and  love, 
which  are  restored  by  God’s  grace  alone.  The  natural  virtues:  wisdom,  courage, 
moderation,  and  justice  were  seriously  damaged,  but  not  totally  destroyed.  They 
remain  as  essential  natural  components  of  human  being.  By  the  exercise  of  free 
will,  the  natural  virtues  can,  and  should,  be  improved.  Carlos  Eire  reads  Calvin 
in  a  Thomistic  direction.  Sinful  humanity’s  “natural  gifts  have  been  corrupted 
and  his  spiritual  gifts  have  been  completely  taken  away.”  Calvin’s  remarks  lend 
some  plausibility  to  this  understanding.  For  example,  Calvin  says  sin  destroyed 
the  supernatural  gifts  of  faith  and  love  and  damaged  the  natural  gifts,  which 
means  “something  of  understanding  and  judgment  remains  as  a  residue  along 
with  the  will.”  The  fall  did  not  totally  wipe  out  reason,  nor  did  the  will  perish 
(II.2.12).  The  remaining  residue  includes  vestiges  of  truth,  equity,  and  order. 
However,  when  Calvin  is  describing  the  fall  directly  rather  than  defending  God’s 
mercy  to  the  fallen  creature,  he  carefully  avoids  placing  even  relatively  sound 
capacities  in  the  natural  human  apart  from  God’s  special  grace.  In  other  words, 
for  Calvin,  unlike  Thomas,  grace  does  not  perfect  created  nature  but  restores 
fallen  nature.  The  proper  resolution  of  this  dilemma  is  not  a  doctrine  of  operating 
and  cooperating  grace  as  in  Thomas  {ST,  1.2. 1 1  Iff.).  Rather,  by  total  depravity 
Calvin  means  totally  susceptible  to  sin  but  he  says,  “I  grant  that  not  all  these 
wicked  traits  appear  in  every  man”;  therefore  he  continues,  “Yet  one  cannot  deny 
that  [all  these  wicked  traits  lurk]  in  the  breast  of  each”  (II.3.2). 


Carlos  M.  N.  Eire,  War  against  the  Idols:  The  Reformation  of  Worship  from  Erasmus  to  Cal¬ 
vin  (Cambridge:  Cambridge  University  Press,  1986),  203. 


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2.  Sin:  A  Fact  without  Meaning 

Remarkably,  for  Calvin  sin  is  defined  as  an  accident.  Sin  “is  an  adventitious 
quality  which  comes  upon  man  rather  than  a  substantial  property  which  has  been 
implanted  fi'om  the  beginning”  (11. 1.1 1).  This  definition  owes  something  to  Aris¬ 
totle’s  distinction  between  reality  and  actuality  (substance)  on  the  one  hand  and 
contingency  and  possibility  (accident)  on  the  other. Sin  is  a  fact  for  Calvin,  but 
an  inexplicable  fact.  Since  sin  is  defined  as  an  accident,  it  cannot  become  a  sub¬ 
stantial  doctrine.  Human  depravity  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  central  dogma  in  John 
Calvin’s  Calvinism.  Sin  has  devastating  consequences,  but  no  positive  meaning. 

The  threefold  outline  of  much  popular  theology  assigns  an  important  meaning 
to  sin.  That  is,  (1)  God  created  everything  good,  but  (2)  man  and  woman  abused 
the  good  gift  of  free  will,  thereby  falling  into  sin.'^  (3)  In  response  to  sin  God 
sent  Jesus  Christ  to  redeem  the  world.  According  to  this  scheme,  sin  is  the  pivotal 
event  between  creation  and  redemption  that  both  requires  and  explains  the  incar¬ 
nation.  Calvin  takes  the  fact  of  sin  with  absolute  seriousness,  but  sin  as  accident 
does  not  have  meaning.  The  popular  three-step  theology  which  moves  from  God’s 
creation  to  sin’s  destruction  to  Christ’s  restoration  understands  human  sin  as  a 
logically  necessary  part  of  salvation  history.  In  contrast,  Calvin’s  five  small  chap¬ 
ters  on  sin  are  not  essential  to  the  relation  between  Creator  and  Mediator.  Rather 
the  discussion  of  sin  is  inserted  between  the  knowledge  of  the  Creator  (Book  1) 
and  Redeemer  (Book  11).  For  Calvin  sin  is  a  terrible  reality,  but  it  is  not  a  major 
division  of  his  theology.  Calvin  should  be  understood  as  a  theologian  of  God’s 
grace,  not  of  human  sin. 

The  setting  of  Calvin’s  main  account  of  sin  is  not  as  a  pivotal  discussion  between 
creation  and  redemption,  but  rather  a  bracketed  discussion  between  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  God  the  Creator  and  the  knowledge  of  God  the  Redeemer.  The  fact  of 
sin  affects  both  kinds  of  knowledge,  but  sin  is  not  part  of  either.  Sin  is  treated  as 
a  strange  or  foreign  object  in  the  body  of  Calvin’s  theology,  having  no  necessary 
connection  to  Creator  or  Mediator  although  the  Mediator  is  the  Redeemer. 

If  sin  were  meaning-full  it  would  not  be  sin.  The  presence  of  sin  and  evil  in  a 
world  created  by  an  omnipotent,  omniscient,  and  loving  God  is  incomprehensi¬ 
ble.''^  Calvin  refuses  to  give  sin  an  ontological  grounding  or  justification.  “[The 


This  distinction  is  employed  often  against  Pighius  in  The  Bondage  and  Liberation  of  the  Will 
[by  John  Calvin].  Human  corruption  is  accidental,  not  substantial  (Book  II,  263). 

Usually  not  addressed  is  the  difficulty  of  a  physical  transmission  of  a  moral  failure  or  the 
legitimacy  of  guilt  transferred  to  a  person  for  actions  occurring  centuries  before. 

In  a  chapter  entitled  “The  Riddle  of  Sin,”  G.  C.  Berkouwer  agrees.  He  writes,  “Sin,  for  the 
Christian,  is  unreasonable,  idiotic,  and  incomprehensible  in  the  light  of  God’s  love  as  now 


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orthodox  faith]  does  not  admit  that  any  evil  nature  exists  in  the  whole  universe. 
For  the  depravity  and  malice  both  of  man  and  of  the  devil,  or  the  sins  that  arise 
therefrom,  do  not  spring  from  nature,  but  rather  from  the  corruption  of  nature” 
(1.14.3).  Calvin  passionately  refuses  to  make  the  logical  inference  from  God’s 
omnipotence  to  God’s  responsibility  for  sin.  Without  being  able  to  challenge 
the  premises,  he  denies  the  conclusion  insisting  that  it  is  impious  to  think  of  the 
sovereign  God  as  the  author  of  evil,  but  he  cannot  claim  it  is  illogical.  In  some 
sense,  then,  Calvin’s  view  of  sin  is  both  accidental  and  unreasonable.  Calvin 
insists  that  “all  things  take  place  by  God’s  determination”  (III.23.6),  meaning 
that  “God  foreknew  what  end  man  was  to  have  before  he  created  him,  and  con¬ 
sequently  foreknew  because  he  so  ordained  by  his  decree”  (III.23.7).  “Accord¬ 
ingly,  man  falls  as  God’s  providence  ordains,  but  he  falls  by  his  own  fault” 
(III.23.8).  Calvin  can  criticize  the  unbridled  use  of  reason  in  theology  (II.2.18) 
and  asserts  the  will  of  God  as  the  final  standard  (III.22.1 1).  However,  most  of 
the  time  he  assumes  that  God  has  “reasons”  even  if  we  do  not  know  what  they 
are.  “It  would  be  claiming  too  much  for  ourselves  not  to  concede  to  God  that  he 
may  have  reasons  for  his  plan  that  are  hidden  from  us”  (II.  1 1 .14).  In  connection 
with  the  reality  of  sin,  Calvin  simply  refuses  to  carry  his  reflection  to  its  logi¬ 
cal  conclusion.  Sin  is  a  fact,  but  it  is  an  accidental  fact,  which  means  it  has  no 
ultimate  meaning.'®  Additionally,  while  Calvin  takes  sin  with  utmost  seriousness. 


revealedP  “Sin  itself,  in  its  source  and  cause,  can  never  be  explained.”  “One  can  only  affirm 
that  there  is  no  reason  and  no  sensible  motive  for  man’s  sin.  . .  .  One  cannot  find  sense  in  the 
senseless  and  meaning  in  the  meaningless”  (G.  C.  Berkouwer,  Sin  [Grand  Rapids:  Wm.  B. 
Eerdmans,  1971],  144,  131,  134).  Utilizing  Gabriel  Marcel’s  distinction  between  “problem” 
and  “mystery,”  George  Dennis  O’Brien  suggests  the  problem  of  the  justification  of  suffering 
cannot  properly  be  raised  because  of  the  primacy  of  the  mystery  of  “the  existential  relation  of 
God  and  man”  which  “cannot  be  avoided  or  transcended”  and  blocks  “any  literal  meaning  to 
the  qualitative  characteristics  of  power  and  goodness  which  are  used  to  generate  the  dilemma 
[of  justification].”  O’Brien  declares,  “The  final  answer  is  what  God  is  in  Christ”  (emphasis  in 
original)  (George  Dennis  O’Brien,  “Prologomena  to  a  Dissolution  to  the  Problem  of  Suffer¬ 
ing,”  Harvard  Theological  Review  57,  no.  4  [October  1964]:  322,  316,  323).  1  take  the  term 
“existential  relation”  to  be  equivalent  to  “union  with  Christ.”  For  a  more  recent  theological/ 
philosophical  reflection  on  Christology,  sin,  and  horrendous  evils  as  a  distinct  category,  see 
Marilyn  McCord  Adams,  Horrendous  Evils  and  the  Goodness  of  God  (Ithaca,  NY:  Cornell 
University  Press,  1999),  and  Christ  and  Horrors:  The  Coherence  of  Christology  (Cambridge: 
Cambridge  University  Press,  2006). 

Among  the  famous  cries  of  the  heart  is  Dorigen’s  agonized  question  concerning  evil  and 
God’s  providence  in  “The  Franklin’s  Tale”  of  Chaucer’s  Canterbury  Tales.  As  she  waits 
anxiously  for  the  return  of  her  seagoing  husband,  Arveragus,  whom  she  loved  more  than  her 
own  life,  Dorigen  cannot  understand  why  a  loving,  perfect,  and  omniscient  God  would  allow 
“grisly,  fiendish,  black  rocks”  in  his  world  on  which  have  perished  “a  hundred  thousand  bod¬ 
ies  of  mankind.”  To  her  mind  those  rocks  do  not  benefit  man,  nor  bird,  nor  beast.  Among  other 
similar  outcries  that  immediately  come  to  mind  are  Ivan’s  challenge  to  Alyosha  in  the  chapter 
“Rebellion”  of  The  Brothers  Karamazov.  See  also  Nicholas  Wolterstorff,  Lament  for  a  Son 
(Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  1987);  and  chap.  10,  “The  Accident  of  Sin,”  in  Andrew  Purves  and 
Charles  Partee,  Encountering  God:  Christian  Faith  in  Turbulent  Times  (Louisville,  KY:  West¬ 
minster  John  Knox  Press,  2000). 


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the  victory  over  sin  is  absolute.  In  that  context,  his  teaching  of  “total  depravity” 
properly  understood  can  be  considered  a  cheerful  doctrine. 


3.  Freedom  and  Bondage  of  Will 

In  the  sixteenth  century  among  early  Protestants,  bondage  of  the  will  to  sin 
was  considered  a  liberating  doctrine.  Any  kind  of  confidence  in  human  fi'ee 
will  led  to  questions  about  its  proper  exercise  and  immediately  to  uncertainty 
and  therefore  anxiety  about  one’s  salvation.  Assurance  of  faith  meant  under¬ 
standing  redemption  can  only  be  found  in  God’s  grace  and  not  at  all  in  human 
merit.  Sin  did  not  totally  deprive  human  beings  of  will  but  of  soundness  of  will 
(II. 3. 5).  Since  the  fall  of  Adam  all  are  alienated  from  God  by  sin.  “I  readily 
allow  that  a  certain  remnant  of  life  remains  in  man’s  soul.  For  understanding 
and  judgment  and  will  and  all  the  senses  are  so  many  parts  of  life.  But  since 
there  is  no  part  which  aspires  to  the  heavenly  life,  it  is  not  surprising  if  the 
whole  man  is  accounted  dead  so  far  as  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  concerned” 
(Com.  Jn.  5.25).  God’s  grace  is  not  extended  on  the  basis  of  our  merit.  On 
the  contrary,  “The  first  part  of  a  good  work  is  will;  the  other,  a  strong  effort 
to  accomplish  it;  the  author  of  both  is  God”  (II. 3. 9).  Freedom  can  be  an 
intolerable  burden,  as  famously  argued  by  the  Grand  Inquisitor  in  Fyodor 
Dostoevsky’s  The  Brothers  Karamazov.  When  the  notion  of  freely  choos¬ 
ing  and  faithfully  following  God’s  way  becomes  a  Ifightening  responsibility, 
the  proclamation  that  God’s  grace  rescues  men  and  women  from  an  impos¬ 
sible  situation  is  comforting  good  news.  The  issue,  of  course,  is  the  relation 
between  divine  sovereignty  and  human  freedom.  Two  perils  must  be  avoided. 

If  divine  sovereignty  is  overemphasized,  the  result  is  complete  resignation.  If 
human  freedom  is  overemphasized,  the  result  is  brazen  confidence  or  abject 
fear.  Calvin’s  astounding  conclusion  is  that  we  should  accept  our  freedom  but 
not  boast  of  it.  He  observes  that  some  theologians  teach  there  is  no  freedom  to 
choose  between  good  and  evil,  but  we  are  free  to  act  wickedly.  Others  “teach 
that  man,  despoiled  of  the  powers  of  free  will,  takes  refuge  in  grace  alone. 

At  another  time  they  provide,  or  seem  to  provide,  him  with  his  own  armor” 

(II. 2. 9).  Calvin  thinks  the  danger  of  all  discussion  of  free  will  leads  to  celebrat¬ 
ing  human  achievement  and  robbing  divine  honor. 

According  to  Calvin,  pride  was  the  beginning  of  all  evils  and  disobedience  was 
the  beginning  of  the  fall.  In  this  section  of  the  Institutes,  Calvin  contrasts  pride 
with  humility.  The  great  danger  of  a  discussion  of  free  will  is  that  it  fosters 
pride.  In  contrast,  “The  foundation  of  our  philosophy  is  humility  ...  so  if  you 
ask  me  concerning  the  precepts  of  the  Christian  religion,  first,  second,  third,  and 


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always  I  would  answer,  ‘Humility’”  (II.2.1 1).'®  Bondage  of  will  in  Calvin  does 
not  obviate  responsibility  and  accountability:  “Obviously,  man’s  ruin  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  man  alone;  for  he,  having  acquired  righteousness  by  God’s  kindness, 
has  by  his  own  folly  sunk  into  vanity”  (11.1.10).^° 

The  topic  of  free  will  was  famously  and  historically  addressed  by  Augustine  and 
Pelagius  in  the  fifth  century.  During  the  Reformation  Martin  Luther  responded  to 
Erasmus  with  a  powerful  attack  entitled  Bondage  of  the  Will  (1524).  Until  then 
many  thought  Erasmus  was  supportive  of  Luther’s  challenges  to  Rome.  By  some 
Erasmus  was  thought  to  lay  the  egg  that  Luther  hatched.  Erasmus  came  out  of 
his  shell  and  cracked  the  egg  by  writing  The  Freedom  of  the  Will  in  order  to 
distance  himself  from  the  Lutheran  movement.  In  his  teaching  on  total  depravity 
and  bondage  of  the  will  Calvin  is  essentially  following  Augustine  and  Luther 
and  not  creating  a  so-called  Calvinistic  doctrine.  At  the  end  of  the  Reformation 
period  the  issue  returned  in  the  Arminian  controversy,  which  led  in  the  next  cen¬ 
tury  to  the  charge  that  John  Wesley  was  “Arminian.”  John  Calvin’s  absolutely 
pessimistic  view  of  total  depravity  was  taken  to  deny  the  possibility  of  human 
perfection  in  this  life,  while  John  Wesley’s  resolutely  optimistic  view  was  taken 
to  encourage  Christian  perfection  in  this  life.  It  is  not  really  clear  whether  Wes¬ 
ley  thought  of  Christian  perfection  as  a  possession  or  a  process.  But,  whatever 
the  degree  of  expectation,  it  was  a  hope. 


The  Greek  idea  of  hubris  includes  the  intoxication  of  mind  found  in  those  most  certain  it 
does  not  apply  to  them. 

“  In  a  power&l  contemporary  vindication  of  Calvin’s  position,  Robinson  writes,  “the  belief 
that  we  are  all  siimers  gives  us  excellent  grounds  for  forgiveness  and  self-forgiveness,  and  is 
kindlier  than  any  expectation  that  we  might  be  saints,  even  while  it  affirms  the  standards  all 
of  us  fail  to  attain.”  Modernity  has  replaced  this  vision  “with  an  unsystematic,  uncritical  and 
in  fact  unconscious  perfectionism,  which  may  have  taken  root  among  us  while  Stalinism  still 
seemed  full  of  promise,  and  to  have  been  refreshed  by  the  palmy  days  of  National  Socialism 
in  Germany,  by  Castro  and  by  Mao  .  . .  Gross  error  survives  every  attempt  at  perfection  and 
flourishes.  No  Calvinist  could  be  surprised.  No  reader  of  history  could  be  surprised”  (Robin¬ 
son,  Death  of  Adam,  156). 

On  Arminianism,  see  Herbert  Darling  Foster,  “Liberal  Calvinism:  The  Remonstrants  at  the 
Synod  of  Dort  in  Harvard  Theological  Review  16,  no.  1  (January  1923):  1-37. 

Benjamin  B.  Warfield  wrote  a  thousand  pages  attacking  perfectionism  and  defending  the 
Reformers’  “miserable-sinner  Christianity.”  According  to  Warfield,  the  Roman  Catholics, 
Arminians,  Wesleyans,  Quakers,  and  others  join  in  this  assault  on  the  Reformers’  doctrine  of 
sin  and  grace  (Benjamin  Breckinridge  Warfield.  Perfectionism,  2  vols.  [New  York:  Oxford 
University  Press,  1931-32]).  In  1958  Samuel  G.  Craig  edited  and  shortened  Warfield’s  work 
(Grand  Rapids:  Baker  Book  House),  adding  a  summary  talk  to  students  entitled  “Entire 
Sanctification.”  Warfield  believed  in  entire  sanctification  but  not  that  it  could  occur  in  this 
life.  Although  despising  Wesleyanism,  Albrecht  Ritschl  championed  Christian  perfection  {Die 
christliche  Vollkommenheit).  English  translation  in  Bibliotheca  Savra  35:140  (October  1878), 
656-80.  As  a  boy  I  always  wondered  whether  I  was  totally  depraved  as  my  father  suspected  or 
on  the  way  to  perfection  as  my  mother  hoped. 


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Calvin’s  most  important  practical,  as  opposed  to  theoretical,  discussion  of  the 
behaviors  expected  of  Christian  life  is  found  in  his  exposition  of  sanctification 
and  justification  in  Book  III.  The  general  conclusion  is  that  sanctification  is 
a  lifelong  process  and  cannot  be  completed  on  this  earth.  However,  in  this 
“Wesleyan  moment”  of  Calvin’s  theology  he  suggests  the  possibility  of  a 
perfection  before  death.  Citing  Augustine,  Calvin  writes,  “The  grace  of  persisting 
in  good  ...  is  given  to  us  in  order  that  we  may  will,  and  by  will  may  overcome 
concupiscence. . . .  The  original  freedom  was  to  be  able  not  to  sin;  but  ours 
is  much  greater,  not  to  be  able  to  sin.”  This  is  not  “a  perfection  to  come  after 
immortality,”  but  connected  with  human  will  and  God’s  grace.  “Surely  the  will 
of  the  saints  is  so  much  aroused  by  the  Holy  Spirit  that  they  are  able  because  they 
so  will,  and  that  they  will  because  God  brings  it  about  that  they  so  will”  (II. 3. 13). 
In  this  discussion  Calvin  seems  to  suggest  (against  the  I  [Irresistible  grace]  of 
T.U.L.I.P.)  that  grace  is  resistible!  Grace  is  “offered  by  the  Lord,  which  by 
anyone’s  free  choice  may  be  accepted  or  rejected.”  However,  Calvin  continues, 

“It  is  [God’s]  grace  which  forms  both  choice  and  will  in  the  heart,  so  that 
whatever  good  works  then  follow  are  the  fiiiit  and  effect  of  grace.”  In  Calvin’s 
theology,  good  works  come  not  by  our  choice  or  by  our  nature,  but  by  God’s 
grace  (II.5.8). 

In  summary,  because  the  idea  of  even  restricted  freedom  produces  a  foolish 
assurance,  Calvin  says  that  to  designate  our  wicked  acts  as  “freedom  of  the  will” 
is  to  label  a  slight  thing  with  a  proud  name  {superbus  titulus)  (II.2.7).  The  notion 
of  freedom  of  the  will  is  always  in  danger  of  robbing  God  of  his  honor.  Calvin 
admits  it  is  possible  to  speak  of  freedom  of  will  without  misunderstanding,  but 
he  prefers  not  to  use  the  idea  (II.2.8). 

4.  Original  and  Actual  Sin 

The  primary  purpose  of  Calvin’s  doctrine  of  original  sin  is  to  reaffirm  the 
bondage  of  the  will.  The  purpose  of  the  doctrine  of  the  unfree  will  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  demonstrate  that  human  beings  can  recover  what  they  have  lost 
by  sin  only  through  God’s  grace  revealed  in  Jesus  Christ.  Calvin  refers  to  his 
earlier  affirmation  that  nearly  all  wisdom  consists  of  the  knowledge  of  God  and 
ourselves  (1. 1 . 1 )  in  order  to  point  out  the  knowledge  of  ourselves  has  a  two-part 
dialectic.  First,  we  must  consider  our  original  nature  and  the  natural  excellence 
which  comes  from  God’s  creation  and  involves  the  purpose  of  our  creation  and 
the  good  gifts  bestowed  on  us.  This  reflection  leads  to  meditation  on  divine 
worship  and  the  future  life.  Second,  we  must  also  recognize  our  fallen  nature 
and  the  misery  of  our  condition,  which  should  bring  us  humility  and  shame.  In 
this  connection  Calvin  cites  the  classical  recommendation  to  “know  thyself,” 


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which  too  often  leads  to  pride  since  the  philosophers  contemplate  only  our  best 
qualities.  Philosophers  are  aware  of  human  evil,  but  they  “hold  as  certain  that 
virtues  and  vices  are  in  our  power  [thus]  we  seem  to  do  what  we  do,  and  to  shun 
what  we  shun,  by  free  ehoice.”  Some  of  these  philosophers  even  accept  life  as 
a  gift  of  the  gods,  but  regard  the  way  humans  live  as  their  responsibility.  “This 
is  the  sum  of  the  opinion  of  all  philosophers:  reason  which  abides  in  human 
understanding  is  a  sufficient  guide  for  right  conduct;  the  will,  being  subject  to  it, 
is  indeed  incited  by  the  senses  to  evil  things;  but  since  the  will  has  free  choice, 
it  cannot  be  hindered  from  following  reason  as  its  leader  in  all  things”  (II.2.3). 

According  to  Calvin,  the  philosophers  “locate  the  will  midway  between  reason 
and  sense”  (II.2.2).  Reason  is  defined  as  the  guide  for  a  good  life,  while  sense  is 
a  lower  impulse  that  leads  to  error  and  baseness.  The  will  is  free  to  follow  either 
the  reason  or  the  appetites.  The  philosophers  are  aware  that  living  according 
to  reason  is  not  easy,  but  they  insist  it  is  possible.  Right  reason  leads  to  right 
conduct  if  the  will  follows,  but  the  will  is  too  often  tempted  toward  evil  by 
the  senses.  Nevertheless  the  will  can  freely  choose  to  follow  reason.  Free  will 
entails  that  both  virtue  and  vice  are  within  our  power.  In  contrast  to  the  philoso¬ 
phers,  theologians  recognize  that  the  original  state  no  longer  obtains  because  sin 
has  damaged  both  reason  and  will,  but  theologians  have  been  misled  not  only 
by  their  desire  to  receive  the  approval  of  philosophers  but  also  by  their  fear  that 
asserting  an  unfree  will  would  lead  to  slothfuhiess.  Calvin  objects  that  too  many 
theologians  agree  with  or  waffle  in  the  house  of  the  philosophers.  In  fact,  “all  the 
ancients,  except  Augustine,  so  differ,  waver  or  speak  confusedly  on  [free  will], 
that  almost  nothing  certain  can  be  derived  from  their  writings”  (II. 2. 4). 

Calvin  thinks  “blind  self-love  is  innate  in  all  mortals”  (II.  1.2),  and  for  that  rea¬ 
son,  “There  is,  indeed,  nothing  that  man’s  nature  seeks  more  eagerly  than  to  be 
flattered”  (II.  1.2).  Nevertheless,  “Since  in  the  person  of  the  first  man  we  have  fallen 
from  our  original  condition,  [we  must  remember]  that  primal  worthiness  cannot 
come  to  mind  without  the  sorry  spectacle  of  our  foulness  and  dishonor  presenting 
itself  by  way  of  contrast”  (II.  1.1).  Calvin  recognizes  that  the  ancient  doctors  taught 
obscurely  about  original  sin  (II.  1.5),  and  there  was  much  debate  surrounding  the 
doctrine.  “For  all  to  be  made  guilty  by  the  guilt  of  one”  is  not  easy  to  accept.  Nev¬ 
ertheless  Adam’s  sin  caused  his  own  death,  consigned  all  people  to  ruin,  and  even 
“perverted  the  whole  order  of  nature”  (II.  1.5).  Some  modem  theologians  disagree 
with  Calvin  about  the  extension  of  sinfulness  to  nonhuman  nature.  Calvin  thinks 
the  disobedience  of  Adam  led  not  simply  to  the  min  of  the  human  race  but  means 
that  all  creatures  are  subject  to  cormption  (Rom.  8)  because  “they  are  bearing  part 
of  the  punishment  deserved  by  man,  for  whose  use  they  were  created”  (II.  1.5). 


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Calvin  offers  this  definition:  “Original  sin,  therefore,  seems  to  be  a  hereditary 
depravity  and  corruption  of  our  nature,  diffused  into  all  parts  of  the  soul,  which 
first  makes  us  liable  to  God’s  wrath,  then  also  brings  forth  in  us  those  works  which 
Scripture  calls  ‘works  of  the  flesh’  [Gal.  5: 19]”  (II.  1 .8).  Due  to  original  sin,  human 
nature  cannot  be  extolled  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  us  satisfied  with  ourselves  and 
forgetful  that  in  God  we  “may  recover  those  things  which  we  have  utterly  and 
completely  lost”  (1.1.1).  “Here,  then,  is  the  course  that  we  must  follow  if  we  are 
to  avoid  crashing  upon  these  rocks:  when  man  has  been  taught  that  no  good  thing 
remains  in  his  power,  and  that  he  is  hedged  about  on  all  sides  by  most  miserable 
necessity,  in  spite  of  this  he  should  nevertheless  be  instructed  to  aspire  to  a  good 
of  which  he  is  empty,  to  a  fi-eedom  of  which  he  has  been  deprived”  (II.2.1).  At  this 
point  Calvin  once  again  pushes  beyond  the  limits  of  logic  by  declaring  both  that 
no  good  thing  remains  in  our  power  and  that  we  should  aspire  to  a  good  which  is 
not  present  with  a  fi'eedom  which  we  do  not  possess.  Such  assertions  without 
obvious  rational  coherence  may  be  called  paradoxical  or  contradictory.  In  either 
case,  as  affirmations  they  are  integral  parts  of  Calvin’s  theology.  This  situation 
applies  most  dramatically  in  the  relation  between  completed  justification  and  con¬ 
tinuing  sanctification,  defined  as  twin  graces,  as  we  shall  discuss  in  Book  III. 

Dealing  with  Adam’s  fall  in  the  exposition  of  predestination  and  addressing  the 
relation  of  God’s  decree  and  God’s  permission,  Calvin  confesses  with  Augustine 
that  “the  will  of  God  is  the  necessity  of  things.”  This  means  “the  first  man  fell 
because  the  Lord  had  judged  it  to  be  expedient;  why  he  so  judged  is  hidden  from 
us.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  he  so  judged  because  he  saw  that  thereby  the  glory  of  his 
name  is  duly  revealed.”  The  human  race  falls  as  God’s  providence  ordains  but 
falls  by  their  own  fault.  According  to  Calvin  we  are  wasting  our  time  and  God’s 
patience  in  seeking  the  cause  of  God’s  decree  when  we  should  contemplate 
our  corruption.  On  this  question,  “The  craving  to  know  [is]  a  kind  of  madness” 
(III.23.8).  Calvin  is  aware  that  this  answer  does  not  satisfy  the  impious  who  still 
“growl  and  mutter.”  Nevertheless,  Calvin  continues  to  insist  that  the  calamities 
decreed  for  some  are  the  results  of  their  faults  (III.23.9). 


In  his  classic  The  New  England  Mind:  The  Seventeenth  Century  (Cambridge:  Harvard 
University  Press,  1954  [1939]),  367,  Perry  Miller  sees  both  American  “Arminianism”  and 
“Antinomianism”  as  a  reaction  against  Calvin’s  perceived  ethical  absolutism,  which  “seemed 
to  these  critics  devoid  of  any  grounds  for  moral  obligation;  what  duties  could  be  exacted  from 
ordinary  men  when  everything  depended  upon  a  mysterious  decree  of  election.”  By  1600, 
American  divines  felt  obligated  to  answer  the  question,  “If  I  am  not  elected,  I  can  do  nothing 
and  why  should  I  try?”  Miller  observes  that  “Calvin  himself  had  simply  brushed  aside  such 
frivolous  cavils,  magisterially  declaring,  ‘“Man,  being  taught  that  he  has  nothing  good  left  in 
his  possession,  and  being  surrounded  on  every  side  with  the  most  miserable  necessity,  should 
nevertheless,  be  instructed  to  aspire  to  the  good  of  which  he  is  destitute.’” 


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Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Without  doubt  Calvin  teaches  a  strong  doctrine  of  original  sin.  However,  he  also 
sounds  a  cautionary  note — perhaps  especially  useful  for  preachers  and  pastors. 
We  are  not  to  understand  that  human  beings  are  guiltless  and  do  not  deserve  the 
curse  that  falls  upon  them.  It  is  true  that  Adam’s  sin  infected  all  of  us,  but  we  are 
all  sick  in  ourselves.  There  is  considerable  danger  that  a  too-forceful  presen¬ 
tation  of  original  sin  will  allow  Adam  and  Eve  to  be  blamed  for  the  original 
sin  in  a  way  that  excuses  all  others  from  their  actual  sin.  The  delicate  balance 
between  justification  and  sanctification,  bondage  and  freedom  of  the  will, 
also  applies  to  original  and  actual  sin.  Calvin  suggests  that  contemplating  the 
doctrine  of  original  sin  so  overwhelms  us  that  we  are  forced  to  throw  ourselves 
entirely  upon  the  mercy  of  God.  However,  Calvin  also  insists  that  we  “are 
guilty  not  of  another’s  fault  but  of  our  own”  (II.  1.8).  This  comment  indicates 
that  humans  cannot  blame  only  Adam  and  Eve  for  original  sin.  Everyone  must 
accept  personal  responsibility  for  actual  sin. 

The  main  issue  for  Calvin  is  how  Christ’s  righteousness  and  life  are  restored 
to  us.  Those  who  deny  original  sin  think  our  actual  sin  has  not  been  transmit¬ 
ted  from  Adam  but  occurs  only  in  imitation  of  Adam.  If  that  were  true,  Christ’s 
righteousness  would  be  ours  by  imitation,  not  communication.  Calvin  exclaims, 
“who  can  bear  such  sacrilege!”  The  proper  relationship  is  this:  “Adam,  implicat¬ 
ing  us  in  his  ruin,  destroyed  us  with  himself;  but  Christ  restores  us  to  salvation 
by  his  grace”  (II.  1.6).  Calvin  recognizes  the  depth  of  sin,  but  he  does  not  rejoice 
in  it,  as  some  of  his  critics  suggest.  His  major  point  is  not  human  depravity  but 
divine  grace. 


B.  The  Gospel  and  the  Law 

After  five  chapters  on  sin,  Calvin  turns  in  the  next  six  to  gospel  and  law. 
Educated  as  a  lawyer,  Calvin  has  an  insider’s  appreciation  of  the  crucial  role 
of  law  in  human  society,  especially  with  regard  to  equity  and  order,  both 
extremely  high  values  for  him.  However,  Niesel  rightly  claims,  “If  with  the 
usual  prejudices  about  the  legalism  of  Calvin  we  come  to  his  writings  and 
really  read  them,  it  is  just  here  [in  Book  II]  that  we  shall  find  what  a  lot  we 
have  to  unlearn.”^'*  The  main  and  specific  point  Calvin  makes  in  this  section 
of  the  Institutes  is  that  grace  takes  precedence  over  law.  The  first  caution  to 
readers  is  to  resist  the  temptation  to  focus  on  the  topic  of  gospel  and  law  to 
the  neglect  of  their  basis,  unity,  and  purpose,  which  is  the  knowledge  of  God 


Wilhelm  Niesel,  The  Theology  of  Calvin,  1st  ed.,  trans.  Harold  Knight  (Philadelphia;  West¬ 
minster  Press,  1956),  92. 


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The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


the  Redeemer.  Christ  alone  is  the  end  of  the  law  and  prophets  (Com.  Mt. 

17:3).  Every  doctrine  of  the  law,  every  command,  every  promise  points  to 
Christ  (Com.  Rom.  10:4).  The  gospel  does  not  supplant  the  law  but  ratifies  it 
(II. 9.4).  The  law  guides  our  life  like  a  candle,  but  Christ  is  the  sun  of  righ¬ 
teousness  dispelling  the  darkness  (Com.  Dan.  9:25;  Com.  Mai.  4:2).  This 
discussion  of  gospel  and  law  is  most  emphatically  part  of  Calvin’s  Christol- 
ogy.  The  focus  is  not  on  Scripture  itself  but  the  role  of  the  gracious  gospel 
and  the  gracious  law  in  the  revelation  of  the  Mediator  and  Redeemer.  The 
second  caution  requires  the  recognition  that  the  subject  of  gospel  and  law  is 
not  equivalent  to  New  and  Old  Testaments.  Calvin  finds  gospel  in  the  Old 
Testament  and  law  in  the  New  Testament. The  third  caution  points  out  that 
the  central  dynamic  between  gospel  and  law  in  Calvin’s  theology  does  not 
allow  an  analysis  of  law  even  relatively  separate  from  grace  using  categories 
like  eternal,  divine,  natural,  and  positive  law  in  the  way  Thomas  Aquinas 
does.^®  Niesel  and  Wendel  each  treat  this  subject  in  two  chapters.  The  first 
deals  with  the  law  of  God,  the  second  with  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  but 
dual  analysis  obscures  the  christological  unity  of  Calvin’s  exposition.  Moses 
and  the  prophets  are,  he  thinks,  true  teachers  because  “the  law  is  nothing  but  a 
preparation  for  the  Gospel”  (Com.  Jn.  10:8). 

The  central  theological  point  of  these  chapters  is  that  God’s  grace  is  the  result  of 
God’s  love  and  is  extended  to  humanity  before  instruction  in  behavior  is  given.^’^ 
Even  more  important  is  Calvin’s  focus  on  Jesus  Christ  as  the  promise  of  the 
law  and  the  fulfillment  of  the  gospel.  Martin  Luther  wote,  “Nearly  the  entire 
Scripture  and  the  knowledge  of  all  theology  depends  upon  the  correct  under¬ 
standing  of  law  and  gospel.”  However,  Luther  emphasizes  more  strongly  than 
Calvin  both  the  sequence  of  law  to  gospel  and  the  role  of  law  as  demand  rather 
than  promise.  In  early  editions  Calvin  began  this  part  of  the  Institutes  with  the 
Old  Testament,  observing  the  historical  pattern  of  treating  the  Old  and  then  the 


On  the  unity  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  see  Hans  Heinrich  Wolf,  Die  Einheit  des 
Bun-des:  des  Verhdltnis  von  Alien  und  Neuen  Testament  bei  Calvin  (Neukirchen:  Kr.  Moers, 
1958).  Whenever  the  word  “covenant”  appears,  Calvin  affirms  that  we  should  think  “grace” 
(Com.  Is.  55:3). 

See  Karl  Barth.  “Gospel  and  Law,”  in  God,  Grace  and  Gospel,  trans.  James  Stratheam 
McNab  (London:  Oliver  and  Boyd,  1959),  1-27.  Also,  John  T.  McNeill,  “Natural  Law  in 
the  Teaching  of  the  Reformers,”  Journal  of  Religion,  26  (1946):  168-82.  Gessert  asserts  that 
Calvin’s  real  mentors  are  the  Hebrew  prophets,  not  the  statesmen  of  Greece  and  Rome.  While 
Calvin  occasionally  implies  one  of  Thomas’s  four  kinds  of  law,  his  primary  concern  is  the 
divine  law  (Robert  A.  Gessert,  “The  Integrity  of  Faith:  An  Inquiry  into  the  Meaning  of  Law  in 
the  Thought  of  John  Calvin,”  in  Scottish  Journal  of  Theology  13  [1960],  247-61). 

See  1.  John  Hesselink,  “Law  and  Gospel  or  Gospel  and  Law?  Calvin’s  Understanding  of  the 
Relationship,”  in  Calviniana:  Ideas  and  Influence  of  Jean  Calvin,  ed.  Robert  V.  Schnucker 
(Ann  Arbor,  MI:  Sixteenth-Century  Essays  and  Studies,  1988),  13-32. 

Weimarer  Ausgabe  of  Luther 's  Works,  7:505. 


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New  Testament.  In  the  final  edition,  he  changed  the  order  fi-om  historical  to  the¬ 
ological  to  emphasize  more  strongly  the  common  witness  of  law  and  gospel  to 
Christ.  Historically  the  law  precedes  and  prepares  for  the  gospel,  but  the  gracious 
law  is  God’s  promise  of  salvation  and  the  gracious  gospel  is  God’s  fulfillment  of 
that  promise.  In  his  earlier  writings  Calvin  followed  Luther’s  emphasis  on  and 
order  of  “law  before  gospel,”  but  later,  Calvin  teaches  that  grace  precedes  law. 
This  sequence  contains  another  flashpoint  for  Calvin  interpretation.  By  careful 
scholars  Calvin’s  so-called  legalism  was  never  considered  graceless.  The  law  and 
the  gospel  are  both  grace-full  but  in  different  ways.  The  issue  remains  priority 
and  emphasis,  which  is  distorted  in  the  Westminster  Confession’s  distinction 
between  the  covenant  of  works  and  the  covenant  of  grace  as  discussed  in  the 
section  on  Calvin  and  the  Calvinists.  The  role  of  law  in  the  covenant  of  works  is 
a  post-Calvin  topic. 

In  Book  I  Calvin  discussed  the  knowledge  of  God  the  Creator,  but  because  of 
sin  this  knowledge  is  useless  without  the  gift  of  faith  “setting  forth  for  us  God 
our  Father  in  Christ”  (II. 6.1).  In  Book  II  Calvin  declares  his  purpose  is  not 
yet  to  discuss  faith  in  Christ  in  detail  (II. 6. 1.4).  God  calls  us  to  faith  in  Christ 
because  “we  cannot  by  contemplating  the  universe  infer  that  [God]  is  Father.” 
After  “the  fall  of  the  first  man  no  knowledge  of  God  apart  from  the  Mediator 
has  had  power  unto  salvation.”  According  to  Calvin,  the  electing  grace  of  God 
revealed  in  the  Old  Covenant  “taught  believers  to  seek  salvation  nowhere  else 
than  in  the  atonement  that  Christ  alone  carries  out”  (II. 6.2).  The  new  covenant  is 
a  confirmation  of  the  old  covenant  (Com.  Mt.  5:17).  Since  Christ  is  the  central 
content  of  both  the  Old  and  New  Covenants,  Calvin  devotes  an  entire  chapter 
(II.  10)  to  explaining,  “The  covenant  made  with  all  the  patriarchs  is  so  much 
like  ours  in  substance  and  reality  that  the  two  are  actually  one  and  the  same.  Yet 
they  differ  in  the  mode  of  dispensation”  (II.  10.2).  The  difference  between  the 
two  covenants  is  discussed  in  II.  11,  but  the  conclusion  is,  “The  Old  Testament 
fathers  (1)  had  Christ  as  pledge  of  their  covenant,  and  (2)  put  in  him  all  trust  of 
future  blessedness”  (11.10.23). 

On  this  Christocentric  focus  David  Puckett  writes,  “[Calvin]  believed  Chris¬ 
tian  exegetes,  in  their  eagerness  to  relate  the  Old  Testament  to  Christian 
doctrine,  were  often  guilty  of  twisting  the  text  to  an  unnatural  interpretation.” 
Nevertheless  while  Calvin  was  concerned  to  respect  the  literary  and  historical 
context  of  the  Old  Testament,  “He  insists  that  Christ  is  the  true  substance  of 
the  Old  Testament.”  Calvin  admits  the  christological  center  was  not  clearly 


David  L.  Puckett,  John  Calvin ’s  Exegesis  of  the  Old  Testament  (Louisville,  KY:  Westminster 
John  Knox  Press,  1995),  6,  140-41. 


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The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


taught  in  Moses.  Still  in  the  messianic  lineage  of  David  it  was  clearly  evident 
that  God  willed  to  be  propitious  to  the  human  race  through  the  Mediator. 

Citing  Habakkuk  3:13;  2  Kings  8:19;  Isaiah  7:14;  55:3^;  Ezekiel  34:23-25; 
37:24,  26;  Hosea  1:11;  3:5;  Micah  2:13;  Amos  9:11;  Zechariah  9:9;  and  Psalm 
28:8-9  Calvin  states,  “Here  I  am  gathering  a  few  passages  of  many  because 
I  merely  want  to  remind  my  readers  that  the  hope  of  all  the  godly  has  ever 
reposed  in  Christ  alone”  (II. 6. 3).  Scripture  teaches  that  faith  in  God  is  faith 
in  Christ.  “Believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  me”  (John  14:1).  Calvin  comments 
that  faith  properly  mounts  up  from  Christ  to  the  Father,  but  “although  faith 
rests  in  God,  it  will  gradually  disappear  unless  he  who  retains  it  in  perfect 
firmness  intercedes  as  Mediator.”  God  is  the  object  of  faith  but  “unless  God 
confronts  us  in  Christ  we  cannot  come  to  know  that  we  are  saved.”  In  compar¬ 
ison  with  the  immensity  of  God’s  glory,  human  beings  are  like  grubs  crawling 
on  earth,  which  means  that  “apart  from  Christ  the  saving  knowledge  of  God 
does  not  stand”  (II. 6.4). 

Having  emphasized  the  primacy  and  priority  of  God’s  grace  revealed  in 
Jesus  Christ,  Calvin  turns  to  the  role  of  law.  As  Calvin  reads  the  Old  Testa¬ 
ment,  the  law  was  added  some  four  hundred  years  later  to  the  covenant  made 
by  God  with  Abraham.  The  purpose  of  this  addition  was  not  “to  lead  the 
chosen  people  away  from  Christ;  but  rather  to  hold  their  minds  in  readiness 
until  his  coming”  (II.7.1).  According  to  the  apostle,  Christ  is  the  end  of  the 
law  unto  salvation  to  every  believer  (Rom.  10:4)  which  means  that  even  the 
ceremonial  laws,  vain  exercises  in  themselves,  and  now  “abrogated  not  in 
effect  but  only  in  use”  (II.7.16),  were  designed  to  lift  the  minds  of  the  Jewish 
people  to  Christ. 

Turning  from  the  law’s  purpose  to  its  effects,  Calvin  suggests  that  the  moral 
law  would  produce  eternal  salvation  if  it  could  be  completely  observed 
(II. 7. 3).  In  this  line  Calvin  veers  closest  to  the  Westminster  Confession’s 
concept  of  a  once-valid-but-now-rejected  covenant  of  works.  However, 
Calvin’s  comment  is  directed  to  the  gracious  purpose  of  the  law  in  the  con¬ 
text  of  his  insistence  that  the  teaching  of  the  moral  law,  which  includes  the 
Decalogue  and  Jesus’  summary,  by  being  so  far  above  human  capacity  makes 
its  fulfillment  impossible.  Calvin  defines  “impossible”  as  “what  has  never  been 
and  what  God’s  ordination  and  decree  prevents  from  ever  being”  (II. 7. 4). 
Calvin  returns  to  the  praise  of  the  gracious  law  in  describing  the  Christian 
life  in  Book  III.  “The  law  of  God  contains  in  itself  that  newness  by  which  his 
image  can  be  restored  in  us  [but]  our  slowness  needs  many  goads  and  helps” 
(III.6.1).  Again,  “The  law  of  the  Lord  provides  the  finest  and  best  disposed 
method  of  ordering  a  man’s  life”  (III.7.1). 


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Calvin  insists  that  while  the  law  cannot  be  perfectly  obeyed,  it  serves  three  func¬ 
tions:  punitive,  protective,  and  pedagogical.  The  first  function  of  the  law  is  to 
punish  sinners.  The  second  function  is  to  protect  society.  The  third  and  principal 
function  of  law  is  to  teach  believers  how  to  live.^°  This  subject  is  continued  in 
the  discussion  of  sanctification — the  doctrine  of  the  holy  life  in  Book  III  (3-10). 

The  first  use  of  the  law  is  to  warn,  inform,  convict,  condemn,  and  finally  to 
destroy  sinners.  For  believers  this  punitive  function  of  the  law  produces  a  misery 
that  teaches  humility.  Through  this  use  of  the  law,  believers  come  to  recognize 
“they  are  not  fit  to  receive  Christ’s  grace  unless  they  first  be  emptied”  (II.7.1 1). 
Second,  the  law  restrains  evil  people  from  enacting  with  their  hands  what  their 
minds  have  conceived.  The  dread  of  the  law’s  punishment  does  not  change  the 
hearts  of  these  evildoers,  but  restraining  them  is  necessary  for  public  tranquil¬ 
ity.  Because  of  the  folly  of  the  fiesh,  believers  too  need  the  restraining  function 
of  the  law.  “For  all  who  have  at  any  time  groped  about  in  ignorance  of  God  will 
admit  that  it  happened  to  them  in  such  a  way  that  the  bridle  of  the  law  restrained 
them  in  some  fear  and  reverence  toward  God  until,  regenerated  by  the  Spirit, 
they  began  wholeheartedly  to  love  him”  (II. 7. 11).  The  third  use  of  the  law  is 
pedagogical.  That  is,  the  law  teaches  believers  what  the  will  of  God  is  and 
encourages  them  to  follow  it.  Among  sinners  the  law  threatens  and  condemns, 
but  among  saints  the  law  guides  by  its  precepts  and  comforts  by  its  promise  of 
grace.  The  law  guides  the  faithful  toward  salvation  (Com.  Ps.  19:7).  Strangely, 
Wendel  looks  askance  at  this  exposition  of  God’s  gracious  law  guiding  believ¬ 
ers.  Unaccountably  he  writes,  “It  is  here  that  the  author  of  the  Institutes  has  laid 
himself  the  most  widely  open  to  the  reproach  of  legalism  so  often  laid  against 
him.”^'  On  the  contrary,  John  Hesselink  in  his  thorough  study  insists,  “For 
Calvin,  as  we  have  seen,  the  law  is  a  dynamic  entity  primarily  expressive  of  the 
gracious  will  of  God  for  the  benefit  of  his  people.”  Hesselink  focuses  primarily 
on  the  third  use  of  the  law  but  provides  a  fine  discussion  of  natural  law  and  con¬ 
science.^^  In  addition,  he  affirms  the  centrality  of  Christ  in  the  covenant  of  grace 


Luther  clearly  explicated  two  uses  of  the  law,  but  Calvin  and  Melanchthon  employed  three. 
Gerhard  Ebeling’s  “On  the  Doctrine  of  the  Triplex  Usus  Legis  in  the  Theology  of  the  Reforma¬ 
tion,”  in  Word  and  Faith,  trans.  James  W.  Leitch  (Philadelphia:  Fortress  Press,  1963),  62-78, 
deals  only  with  Luther  and  Melanchthon. 

Fran9ois  Wendel,  Calvin:  The  Origins  and  Development  of  His  Religious  Thought,  trans. 
Philip  Mairet  (New  York:  Ha^er  and  Row,  1963),  200. 

In  her  chap.  4  Susan  Schreiner  also  treats  natural  law  and  conscience  in  connection  with 
the  vestiges  of  the  image  of  God  remaining  after  the  fall  and  their  role  in  society.  Especially 
valuable  is  the  historical  review  of  natural  law  and  the  conclusion,  “Calvin  was  not  interested 
in  natural  law  in  and  of  itself  He  did  not  develop  a  ‘theology  of  natural  law’  but  rather,  used 
the  principle  of  natural  law  as  an  extension  of  his  doctrine  of  providence”  {The  Theatre  of  His 
Glory:  Nature  and  the  Natural  Order  in  the  Thought  of  John  Calvin  [Durham,  NC:  Labyrinth 
Press,  1991],  94). 


152 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


and  denies  the  so-called  covenant  of  works.  “There  is,  moreover,  ultimately  only 
one  covenant  and  that  covenant  is  the  covenant  of  grace.  In  this  regard,  there  is 
an  important  difference  between  Calvin  and  later  Reformed  theology  which  also 
taught  a  covenant  of  works.”” 

One  of  the  most  warmly  debated  topics  in  theology  generally  and  in  Calvin 
studies  particularly  is  the  doctrine  of  natural  law.”  The  subject  is  framed  in  large 
measure  by  the  Stoic  confidence  in  nature  as  guide.  Another  part  of  the  problem 
in  Calvin  is  discerning  the  precise  meaning  and  distinction  between  created  and 
fallen  nature.  Calvin  equates  the  natural  law  and  the  moral  law  when  he  asserts, 
“The  Lord  has  provided  us  with  a  written  law  to  give  us  a  clearer  witness  of 
what  was  too  obscure  in  the  natural  law”  (II. 8.2).  Since  the  inward  or  natural 
law  is  the  same  as  the  moral  law,  Calvin  devotes  one  of  his  longest  expositions 
to  the  Ten  Commandments.  The  goal  of  the  law  is  to  mold  human  life  to  outward 
honesty  and  to  inward  righteousness  (II.8.6).  “Whatever  he  requires  of  us  ...  we 
must  obey  out  of  natural  obligation.  But  what  we  cannot  do  is  our  own  fault.  If 
our  lust  in  which  sin  reigns  so  holds  us  bound  that  we  are  not  free  to  obey  our 


”  I.  John  Hesselink,  Calvin ’s  Concept  of  the  Law  (Allison  Park,  PA:  Pickwick  Publications, 
1992),  277,  88.  Hesselink  concludes  his  study  by  quoting  Calvin  to  the  effect  that  we  must 
set  reason  aside  and  submit  to  the  Holy  Spirit  in  order  to  hear  Christ  living  and  reigning  in 
us  (III.7.1).  This  summary  includes  the  correct  observation,  “The  law  is  not  the  gospel,  but 
it  serves  the  gospel;  it  is  an  indispensible  part  of  the  gospel.”  And  this  puzzling  one:  “In  a 
sense,  [the  law]  is  prior  to  and  more  comprehensive  than  the  gospel,  for  it  was  the  mode  of 
God’s  relationship  to  humanity  prior  to  and  apart  from  sin”  (285).  In  two  overlapping  essays, 
“Calvin’s  Doctrine  of  the  Covenant  of  Grace,”  Reformed  Review  15,  no.  4  (May  1962):  1-12, 
and  “The  Covenant  of  Grace  in  Calvin’s  Teaching,”  In  Calvin  Theological  Journal  2,  no.  2 
(November  1967):  133-61,  Anthony  A.  Hoekema  agrees  with  Hesselink  that  Calvin  does  not 
teaeh  the  covenant  of  works  directly  but  thinks  “the  spiritual  truths  underlying  this  doctrine 
are  found  in  Calvin.”  Disagreeing  with  Perry  Miller’s  conclusions  about  the  covenant  of  grace 
in  Calvin  and  Calvinism,  Hoekema  insists  “Calvin  was  as  much  concerned  about  the  respon¬ 
sibility  of  man  as  about  the  sovereignty  of  God”  (134).  Hoekema  judges  that  the  covenant  is 
unilateral  in  origin  but  bilateral  in  fulfillment.  “The  covenant  of  grace  has  its  origin  wholly  in 
the  undeserved  grace  of  God,  but,  when  once  established,  that  covenant  imposes  mutual  obli¬ 
gations  on  both  God  and  man”  (140).  This  affirmation  of  “mutual  obligations”  and  the  view  of 
God’s  promises  as  conditional  undervalues  the  reality  of  union  with  Christ,  the  unconditional 
gift  of  grace,  and  the  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  Christian  life. 

In  his  classic  survey  of  political  theory  George  H.  Sabine  devotes  three  chapters  to  natural 
law  but  does  not  discuss  the  subject  in  connection  with  the  early  Protestant  Reformers.  Hugo 
Grotius  gave  this  definition  of  natural  law:  “The  law  of  nature  is  a  dictate  of  right  reason, 
which  points  out  that  an  act,  according  as  it  is  or  is  not  in  conformity  with  rational  nature,  has 
in  it  a  quality  of  moral  baseness  or  moral  necessity;  and  that  in  consequence,  such  an  act  is 
either  forbidden  or  enjoined  by  the  author  of  nature,  God”  (George  H.  Sabine,  A  History  of 
Political  Theory,  3rd  ed.  [New  York:  Holt,  Rinehart  and  Winston,  1961],  424).  Even  though 
Grotius  himself  appeals  to  God,  in  the  seventeenth  century  naturalism  and  rationalism  begin 
to  detach  from  theology.  See  the  excursus  for  remarks  on  “right  reason.”  See  also  Kai  Nielsen, 
“The  Myth  of  Natural  Law,”  Law  and  Philosophy,  ed.  Sidney  Hook  (New  York:  New  York 
University  Press,  1964),  122-43. 


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Father,  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  claim  necessity  as  a  defense,  for  the 
evil  of  that  necessity  is  both  within  us  and  to  be  imputed  to  us”  (II. 8.2). 

Josef  Bohatec’s  magisterial  study  Calvin  und  das  Recht  was  published  in  1934 
as  Adolf  Hitler  was  coming  to  power  in  Germany.^^  Additionally,  Karl  Barth 
and  Emil  Brunner  were  debating  the  broad  topic  of  natural  theology  and  the 
narrower  topic  of  natural  law  within  it,  as  previously  discussed.  Among  the 
conclusions  now  to  be  drawn  is  that  the  political  situation  in  the  Third  Reich  and 
the  theological  responses  to  it  overrode  the  clear  evidence  of  Calvin’s  text.  For 
example,  Arthur  Cochrane  expresses  his  allegiance  to  Barth’s  view  of  natural 
law^®  but  admits  the  force  of  McNeill’s  criticism  to  this  effect:  “The  assumption 
of  some  contemporary  theologians  that  natural  law  has  no  place  in  the  company 
of  Reformation  theology  cannot  be  allowed  to  govern  historical  inquiry  or  to 
lead  us  to  ignore,  minimize,  or  evacuate  of  reality,  the  positive  utterances  on 
natural  law  scattered  through  the  works  of  the  Reformers.” 

Returning  to  the  topic  a  couple  of  years  after  Cochrane,  David  Little  offers  both 
an  unsatisfactory  compliment  and  analysis.  Calvin  is  praised  for  not  overdoing 
his  natural  law  theory  but  also  for  not  rejecting  or  neglecting  the  idea  altogether. 
Little’s  interest  appears  to  be  not  so  much  in  Calvin  as  on  prospects  for  natural 
law  theory  among  Christians,  which  he  thinks  will  require  (1)  empirical  general¬ 
izations  about  human  nature  applied  cross-culturally  and  historically,  (2)  move¬ 
ment  from  these  generalizations  to  behavioral  prescriptions,  (3)  an  understanding 
of  the  moral  reliability  of  human  nature  corrupted  by  sin,  and  (4)  a  relation 
between  natural  moral  obligation  and  Christian  moral  obligation.^® 

Following  his  exposition  of  the  three  uses  of  the  law,  Calvin  discusses  its  two 
results.  He  declares,  “In  our  discussion  of  the  knowledge  of  ourselves  we 
have  set  forth  this  chief  point:  that  empty  of  all  opinion  of  our  own  virtue,  and 
shorn  of  all  assurance  of  our  own  righteousness  ...  we  may  learn  [(!)]  genuine 
humility  and  [(2)]  self-abasement.  Both  of  these  the  Lord  accomplishes  in  his 
law”  (11.8.1).  Calvin’s  strong  conviction  about  the  need  for  humility  before  God 
and  his  abhorrence  of  pride  is  clear,  but  this  summary  of  the  law  in  two  results 


Josef  Bohatec,  Calvin  und  das  Recht  (Feudigen;  Buchdruckereri  u.  Verlagsanstalt.  1934). 
Arthur  C.  Cochrane,  “Natural  Law  in  the  Teachings  of  John  Calvin,”  Church-State  Relatons 
in  Ecumenical  Perspective,  ed.  Elwyn  A.  Smith  (Louvain:  Duquesne  University  Press,  1966), 
180. 

”  McNeill,  “Natural  Law,”  168. 

David  Little,  “Calvin  and  the  Prospects  for  a  Christian  Theory  of  Natural  Law,”  in  Norm  and 
Context  in  Christian  Ethics  ed.  Gene  H.  Outka  and  Paul  Ramsey  (New  York:  Charles  Scrib¬ 
ner’s  Sons,  1968),  175-97. 


154 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


appears  to  be  only  one.  That  is,  humility  and  self-abasement  seem  to  be  two 
names  for  the  same  virtue. 

In  the  final  edition  of  the  Institutes,  Calvin  added  a  chapter  affirming  again  that 
while  Christ  was  known  to  the  Jews  under  the  Law,  he  was  clearly  revealed  only 
in  the  gospel  (II. 9).  This  chapter  emphasizes  further  the  role  of  both  law  and 
gospel  in  pointing  to  Christ.  Calvin  also  expresses  a  wide  hope  for  God’s  ancient 
chosen  people.  John’s  statement,  ‘“No  one  has  ever  seen  God;  the  only  begotten 
Son,  who  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  has  made  him  known’  [John  1:18]  does 
not  exclude  the  pious  who  died  before  Christ  from  the  fellowship  of  the  under¬ 
standing  and  light  that  shine  in  the  person  of  Christ”  (II.9.1).  Calvin  declares 
that  “the  word  ‘gospel,’  taken  in  the  broad  sense,  includes  those  testimonies  of 
his  mercy  and  fatherly  favor  which  God  gave  to  the  patriarchs  of  old”  (II.9.2). 

The  chief  and  often-neglected  subject  of  Calvin’s  discussion  of  law  and  gospel 
in  Book  II  is  Jesus  Christ.  The  point  Calvin  makes  is  that  Christ  is  the  content  of 
both  law  and  gospel  but  in  different  ways.  Christ  is  revealed  as  promise  in  the 
law  and  as  fulfillment  in  the  gospel.  However,  even  in  Christ’s  fulfillment  there 
remains  a  promise.  While  Christ  has  entirely  accomplished  our  salvation,  “the 
enjoyment  thereof  ever  lies  hidden  under  the  guardianship  of  hope,  until,  having 
put  off  corruptible  flesh,  we  be  transfigured  in  the  glory  of  him  who  goes  before 
us”  (II.9.3).  On  this  “already”  and  “not  yet,”  Calvin  comments,  “These  two 
things  agree  rather  well  with  each  other:  we  possess  in  Christ  all  that  pertains 
to  the  perfection  of  heavenly  life,  and  yet  faith  is  the  vision  of  good  things  not 
seen”  (II.9.3). 


C.  The  Person  of  Christ 

The  full  title  of  Book  II  is  “The  Knowledge  of  God  the  Redeemer  in  Christ,  First 
Disclosed  to  the  Fathers  under  the  Law  and  Then  to  us  in  the  Gospel.”  After 
the  bracketed  five  chapters  on  sin,  Calvin  begins  his  Christology  proper  with 
an  explication  of  the  revelation  of  Christ  in  the  gospel  and  the  law,  as  we  have 
just  seen.  In  the  present  section  Calvin  expounds  the  doctrine  of  Christ  with  the 
more  traditional  topics  of  the  person  (11.12-13)  and  work  (11.14)  of  Christ.  In 
the  former  Calvin  affirms  the  orthodox  Chalcedonian  doctrine  that  Christ  is  one 
person  in  two  natures.  In  the  second  Calvin  explains  the  three  offices  of  Christ: 
the  prophetic,  the  kingly,  and  the  priestly.  These  two  sections  represent  the  usual 
distinction  between  the  person  and  work  of  Christ.  The  former  is  a  more  static 
reflection  on  Christ’s  being — who  Christ  is.  The  latter  is  a  more  dynamic  reflec¬ 
tion  on  Christ’s  ministry — what  Christ  accomplishes.  This  distinction  is  only 
for  convenience  in  teaching.  As  Jansen  observes,  “Christian  theology  must  ever 


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insist  that  Jesus’  person  and  work  interpret  each  other  in  indissoluble  unity.” 

The  interpretative  problem  is  that  the  orthodox  formula  of  “one  person  and  two 
natures”  is  an  intractable  mystery,  and  as  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  Christ’s 
personal  being  can  be  explained  with  precision,  so  it  is  impossible  to  think  his 
personal  action  can  be  explained  adequately  within  human  categories.  This  mys¬ 
tery  leads  to  reflection  on  Calvin’s  doctrine  of  accommodation  usually  consid¬ 
ered  in  connection  with  Scripture,  but  even  more  pertinent  to  Christology. 

In  the  introduction  to  his  recent  book  on  Calvin’s  Christology,  Stephen  Edmond¬ 
son  necessarily  notes  and  predictably  claims  that  all  previous  studies  of  this  topic 
are  incomplete.'*®  He  then  declares,  “For  Calvin,  Christ’s  person  and  office  are 
two  sides  of  the  same  coin,  so  that,  just  as  we  must  understand  Christ’s  person 
functionally,  so,  too,  must  we  understand  his  office  personally.  That  is  what  it 
means  to  say  that  Christ  is  the  Mediator:  it  is  to  tie  person  and  office  inextricably 
together.”'**  Nevertheless,  Edmondson  in  making  a  distinction  between  the  sub¬ 
stantial  self  and  the  functional  self  tilts  toward  emphasizing  work  over  person, 
asserting,  “The  central  pattern  of  Calvin’s  Christology  [is]  that  Christ  mediates 
the  covenant  in  history  through  the  threefold  office  of  priest,  king  and  prophet.” 
His  interpretation  insists  the  office  of  mediator  is  the  center  of  Calvin’s  Christol¬ 
ogy  because  Calvin  privileges  Christ’s  work  over  his  person.'*^  Being  mediator 
seems  a  function  of  the  person  rather  than  a  function  attached  to  a  person.  The 
key  to  understanding  is  that  things  “which  apply  to  the  office  of  the  mediator  are 
not  spoken  simply  either  of  the  divine  nature  or  of  the  human.”  Nevertheless, 
Christ’s  mediatorial  functions  requiring  his  human  nature  were  exerted  before 
the  incarnation  (II.  14.3).  Commenting  on  Hosea  12:4,  Calvin  writes,  “Christ, 
the  eternal  wisdom  of  God,  did  put  on  the  character  of  a  mediator,  before  he  put 
on  our  flesh.  He  was  therefore  then  a  mediator  and  in  that  capacity  he  was  also 
an  angel.  He  was  at  the  same  time  Jehovah,  who  is  now  God  manifested  in  the 
flesh”  (see  also  Com.  Zech.  1:18).  Calvin  believes  Christ’s  divinity  was  silent 


”  John  Jansen,  Calvin ’s  Doctrine  of  the  Work  of  Christ  (London:  J.  Clark,  1956),  13. 

Stephen  Edmondson,  Calvin 's  Christology  (Cambridge:  Cambridge  University  Press,  2004),  3. 

Ibid. 

Ibid.,  41.  Jill  Raitt,  “Calvin’s  Use  of  Persona,”  in  Calvinus  Ecclesiae  Genevensis  Custos, 
ed.  Wilhelm  H.  Neuser  (New  York:  Verlag  Peter  Lang,  1984),  employs  three  broad  categories: 
person  as  office,  person  as  “somebody,”  and  person  in  reference  to  Trinity.  Nevertheless,  she 
asserts  their  inaccuracy  because  Calvin  never  used  the  word  “person”  to  refer  to  a  static  mode 
of  being.  “Rather  than  begin  with  ontology  and  proceed  to  derived  activity,  Calvin  preferred  to 
begin  with  activity  and  proceed  to  the  relations  such  activity  indicated”  (286). 

Edmondson  writes,  “I  take  as  the  center  of  Calvin’s  Christology  his  repeated  titular  defini¬ 
tion  in  the  1559  Institutes  of  Christ  as  the  Mediator  and  articulate  the  form  and  content  of 
Calvin’s  teaching  around  this  central  focus. ...  A  variety  of  implications  are  entailed  by  Cal¬ 
vin’s  choice  of  this  central  moniker  for  Christ  [including  that  for]  Calvin,  a  focus  on  Christ  as 
Mediator  makes  the  doctrine  of  Christ’s  office  in  its  relation  to  Christ’s  w'ork  the  fundamental 
organizing  principle  in  his  Christology”  {Calvin 's  Christology,  5). 


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“whenever  it  was  the  business  of  the  human  nature  to  act  alone  in  its  own  terms 
in  fulfillment  of  the  office  of  mediator”  (Com.  Mt.  24:36).  Moreover,  Jesus’ 
growth  in  wisdom  and  God’s  favor  refers  to  his  human  nature  (Com.  Lk.  2:40)  as 
does  his  manifestation  in  the  form  of  a  servant  (Com.  Phil.  2:7).  In  this  emphasis 
Calvin  follows  Augustine  and  Thomas  (5'nil.26.2),  who  assert  that  Christ  is 
mediator  as  he  is  a  human  being.  Augustine  declares  that  God  having  become  a 
partaker  of  our  humanity  affords  us  access  to  participation  in  his  divinity  {City  of 
God  9\\5). 

Edmondson’s  emphasis  on  the  work  of  the  Mediator  raises  two  immediate  ques¬ 
tions.  First,  does  the  strong  focus  on  the  role  of  Mediator,  which  is  presumably 
prior  to  sin,  lead  inevitably  to  some  diminution  of  the  role  of  Redeemer,  which  is 
responsive  to  sin?  After  all.  Redeemer  is  the  term  employed  in  the  title  of  Book 
II.  Second,  and  of  potentially  surpassing  seriousness,  to  privilege  Christ’s  work 
over  his  person  can  lead  to  an  instrumental  Christology  in  which  Christ’s  work 
of  salvation  replaces  his  person  as  mediator  and  savior.  This  dangerous  view  was 
held  by  Friedrich  Schleiermacher  in  the  nineteenth  century  and  John  Hick  in  the 
twentieth.  Surely  union  in  Christ  is  not  to  be  understood  as  union  with  Christ’s 
work.  In  any  case,  Calvin  exposits  person  before  work.  Edmondson  affirms 
person  this  way:  “Though  our  primary  interest  may  be  in  what  Christ  has  done 
for  us,  we  cannot  properly  conceive  of  this  activity  if  we  do  not  also  understand 
who  Christ  is.”"^  At  the  same  time  he  insists,  “[Calvin’s]  Christology  turns  not 
on  questions  of  who  Jesus  was,  but  rather  around  the  axes  of  what  Christ  has 
done  to  save.”"*^  A  more  felicitous  expression  of  the  relation  between  person  and 
work  and  the  roles  of  Mediator  and  Redeemer  is  offered  by  David  Willis,  who 
asserts  Calvin  uses  the  word  “Mediator”  in  a  twofold  sense,  identifying  “the 
Redeeming  Mediator  in  the  flesh  with  the  Mediator  who  is  the  Eternal  Son  of 
God.”**®  In  other  words,  God  the  Mediator  is  apprehended  in  God  the  Redeemer 
(1.2.1).  The  person-and-work  sequence  need  not  be  crucial  for  interpretation, 
but  it  can  be.  For  example,  in  his  1927  book.  The  Mediator  f  Emil  Brunner 
employed  the  more  traditional  pattern  of  treating  person,  then  work.  In  volume  2 
of  his  1949  Dogmatics,  Brunner  treats  first  the  work  of  Christ  and  then  his  per¬ 
son."®  Beginning  with  the  work  of  Christ  can  improperly  focus  on  the  benefits  of 


Ibid.,  88. 

« Ibid.,  42. 

Willis,  Calvin ’s  Catholic  Christology,  The  Function  of  the  So-called  Extra  Calvinisticum  in 
Calvin 's  Theology  (Leiden:  E.  J.  Brill,  1966),  99. 

Emil  Brunner,  The  Mediator:  A  Study  of  the  Central  Doctrine  of  the  Christian  Faith,  trans¬ 
lated  by  Olive  Wyon  (New  York;  The  Macmillan  Company,  1934). 

Emil  Brunner,  The  Christian  Doctrine  of  Creation  and  Redemption,  trans.  Olive  Wyon  (Phil¬ 
adelphia:  Westminster  Press,  1952). 


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Christ  to  the  neglect  of  his  person,  indicating  interest  selfishly  concentrated  on 
what  Christ  does  for  us  without  properly  reverent  attention  to  Christ  in  himself/^ 

The  Protestant  Reformers  did  not  set  out  to  reform  the  doctrine  of  Christ  as 
such;  they  reaffirmed  the  christological  decisions  of  the  patristic  period.  Wendel 
is  correct  that  “[Calvin]  adopts  in  full  the  dogma  of  the  two  natures  of  Christ  and 
the  current  explanations  of  the  relation  between  the  two  natures.”  The  doctrine 
of  “Scripture  alone”  did  not  imply  the  rejection  of  the  historical  development 
of  doctrine  (the  Trinity,  the  two  natures  of  Christ,  etc.)  because  the  Reformers 
believed  that  these  developments  faithfully  served  the  truth  of  Scripture.  In  this 
essential  way  the  Reformers  accepted  “tradition.”  The  topics  cannot  be  finally 
separated,  but  the  primary  focus  of  the  Protestant  Reformation  was  soteriologi- 
cal  rather  than  christological.  The  question  was  not  “Who  is  Jesus  Christ?” 
because  this  question  was  regarded  as  correctly  answered  in  the  patristic  period. 
The  question  was,  “How  does  he  save  us?” 

Calvin  affirms  Jesus  Christ  is  both  fully  God,  fully  a  man,  and  entirely  one  per¬ 
son.  Each  of  these  assertions  is  an  ineffable  mystery  but  altogether  a  necessary 
confession  of  the  Lordship  of  Christ.  In  explanation  of  this  confession  Calvin 
rejects  the  overemphasis  of  Christ’s  divinity  expounded  by  Andreas  Osiander 
(discussed  in  the  section  on  justification)  as  well  as  the  overemphasis  on  Christ’s 
humanity  of  Francesco  Stancaro.  “Stancarism,”  as  Joseph  Tylenda  points  out, 
“was  neither  a  system  of  theology  nor  a  new  confession  of  faith,  but  a  single 
idea.”  Accepting  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit  as  “the  only  one  and  true  God, 
of  one  essence,  of  one  will  and  of  one  operation,”  Stancaro  concluded  that  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  true  God  and  true  man,  is  mediator  according  to  his  humanity 
alone.  To  the  contrary  Calvin  insisted  Christ  is  the  Son  of  God  in  respect  to  both 
natures  and  therefore  mediator  in  both  natures.^' 

Although  he  affirms  traditional  Chalcedonian  orthodoxy,  Calvin’s  exposi¬ 
tion  of  the  person  and  natures  of  Christ  is  probably  the  most  difficult  part  of 
the  Institutes  to  understand  and  evaluate  in  terms  of  the  text  itself  because  so 
much  depends  on  Calvin’s  emphases,  which,  in  turn,  involve  what  he  does  not 
say  and  in  relation  to  views  he  does  not  discuss.  In  other  words,  understanding 
what  Calvin  is  affirming  requires  knowing  what  he  is  tacitly  denying.  The  three 


See  Barth’s  note  criticizing  Melanchthon  on  the  benefits  of  Christ  {CD  1.1.28,  259). 

“  Wendel,  Calvin,  the  Origins  and  Development,  215. 

See  the  two  articles  by  Joseph  Tylenda.  “Christ  the  Mediator:  Calvin  versus  Stancaro,”  Cal¬ 
vin  Theological  Journal  8,  no.  1  (April  1973):  5;  and  “The  Controversy  on  Christ  the  Media¬ 
tor:  Calvin’s  Second  Reply  to  Stancaro,”  Calvin  Theological  Journal  8,  no.  2  (November 
1973):  137. 


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most  notable  features  of  Calvin’s  Christology  are  first  the  brevity  of  his  discus¬ 
sion  of  the  Trinity,  including  the  doctrine  of  incarnation.  The  second  is  Calvin’s 
emphasis  on  the  continuing  integrity  of  Christ’s  human  nature.  The  third  is  the 
problem  of  accommodation.  While  Calvin  affirms  the  orthodox  one-person- 
in-two-natures  formulation  of  Chalcedon,  his  emphasis  on  the  humanity  of 
Christ  is  remarkable.  A  crucial  part  of  this  doctrine  of  the  humanity  of  Christ 
is  expounded  in  Book  IV  in  the  chapter  on  the  Eucharist.  The  result  is  that 
although  both  Luther  and  Calvin  affirmed  the  orthodox  doctrine,  their  different 
emphases  led  to  fierce  controversies  over  Christology. 

These  disagreements  became  obvious  when  Joachim  Westphal  attacked  the 
Zurich  Consensus,  which  Calvin  and  Bullinger  had  worked  out.  Calvin  replied 
to  Westphal  in  three  treatises  and  then  gave  up  continuation  of  the  debate  as 
unprofitable.  According  to  Wendel,  “Calvin  and  Westphal  helped  to  envenom 
the  controversy  by  the  way  they  conducted  it  [but  it  was  their]  enthusiastic  and 
often  blundering  allies  who  gave  the  lamentable  quarrel  its  vast  extension  and  its 
irresoluble  character.”  The  lasting  result  of  the  debate  appears  in  Article  VIII 
of  the  Lutheran  Formula  of  Concord  (1577),  which  mentions  the  Eucharistic 
controversy  between  “the  sincere  theologians  of  the  Augsburg  Confession  and 
the  Calvinists,  who  had,  moreover,  perturbed  other  theologians.”  This  contro¬ 
versy  extends  to  the  person  of  Christ  and  differing  positions  on  the  subtleties 
of  the  communication  of  attributes,  which  involves  the  proper  understanding  of 
the  relation  between  Christ’s  human  and  divine  natures.  The  Concordia  charges 
Calvinists  with  a  defective  view  of  the  hypostatic  union,  teaching  “the  combina¬ 
tion  that  takes  place  when  two  boards  are  glued  together,  where  neither  confers 
any  thing  on  the  other  nor  receives  any  thing  from  the  other.”  According  to  the 
Lutherans,  the  proper  union  and  communion  of  the  two  natures  can  be  illustrated 
by  the  similitude  of  a  blade  glowing  in  a  fire.  Such  a  knife  will  both  cut  and 
bum.  According  to  Calvin  there  is  an  irreducible  duality  between  Christ’s  divin¬ 
ity  and  humanity.  Thus,  “We  hold  that  Christ,  as  he  is  God  and  man,  consists 
of  two  natures  united  but  not  mingled”  (11.14.4).  Again,  Calvin  writes,  “For  we 
affirm  his  divinity  so  joined  and  united  with  his  humanity  that  each  retains  its 
distinctive  nature  unimpaired,  and  yet  these  two  natures  constitute  one  Christ” 
(11.14.1).  Rejecting  both  the  metaphors  of  the  two  boards  and  the  fiery  blade, 
Calvin  substitutes  our  two  eyes.  Our  left  and  right  eyes  are  each  real  and  each 
visionary,  but  they  are  not  the  same.  Nevertheless,  almost  always  they  bring  to 
us  a  single  sight  (Sermon  on  I  Tim.  3:16;  CO  53:326).^^ 


Wendel,  Calvin,  The  Origins  and  Development,  104. 

The  christological  debate  between  Lutherans  and  Calvinists  continues  today.  The  subjects  of 
“ubiquity”  and  “local  presence”  are  more  fully  considered  in  Book  IV  as  part  of  the  Supper  Strife. 


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In  sum,  Lutheran  theology  sees  an  unacceptable  duality  in  Calvinistic  Chris- 
tology;  Calvinistic  theology  sees  an  unacceptable  unity  in  Lutheran  Christology.^"’ 
Since  acceptable  Christology  maintains  the  unity  of  person  and  the  duality  of 
natures,  the  fine  tuning  of  the  distinctions  is  more  confessional  than  analytic. 
Edmondson  asserts,  “The  communicatio  idiomatum,  in  other  words,  is  a  means 
to  express  Christ’s  unity,  not  to  explain  it.”^^  In  his  fine  study  of  this  doctrine, 
Willis  writes  that  Calvin’s  discussion  of  the  communication  of  attributes  indi¬ 
cates  “Calvin’s  awe  before  the  mystery  and  his  distaste  for  speculation  set  limits 
to  his  inquiry  into  what,  in  retrospect,  may  be  called  the  ontological  foundation 
of  the  Incarnation.”  Willis  concludes,  “For  Calvin,  the  communicatio  idiomatum 
is  primarily  a  hermeneutical  tool  to  keep  in  balance  the  varied  Scriptural  witness 
to  the  One  Person,  but  it  rests  upon  and  presupposes  the  hypostatic  union.” 

The  present  reflection  on  Calvin’s  view  of  the  person  of  Christ  is  treated  under 
three  headings:  (a)  the  Eternal  and  Incarnate  Son,  (b)  the  One  Person  and  Two 
Natures,  and  (c)  the  Body  and  the  Head.  However,  before  proceeding,  a  note  on 
language  is  necessary. 

Prior  to  the  widespread  adoption  of  inclusive  language,  the  phrase  “fully  God 
and  fully  man”  was  the  traditional  expression  of  christological  doctrine.  It 
was  then  assumed  that  the  term  “man”  did  not  exclude  women.  This  view  has 
recently  changed.^"^  However,  the  older  language  had  a  theological  advantage 
in  that  the  word  “man”  is  usefully  ambiguous  referring  both  (1)  to  mankind  in 
general  (or  humankind  as  some  now  prefer)  and  (2)  to  a  specific  human  being. 
The  newer  language  affirming  Jesus  Christ  as  fully  divine  and  fully  human  (or 
God-human)  can  be  theologically  confusing,  if  not  heretical.  Concerning  the 
manhood,  Jesus  Christ  is,  of  course,  to  be  understood  in  full  identity  with  gen¬ 
eral  humanity,  but  he  was  also  a  single  and  real  person.  Replacing  “man”  with 
the  term  “human,”  whatever  its  contemporary  linguistic  comfort  value  to  some 


In  discussing  this  mystery  Joseph  N.  Tylenda,  “Calvin’s  Understanding  of  the  Communica¬ 
tion  of  Properties,”  Westminster  TheologicalJournal  (Fall  1975),  concludes,  “For  Calvin, 
an  attribute  of  one  nature  is  assigned  to  the  person  of  Christ,  though  designated  by  his  other 
nature;  for  Luther  the  attribute  of  one  nature  is  granted  to  the  other  nature”  (64-65,  emphasis 
added). 

Edmondson,  Calvin ’s  Christology,  216.  Edmondson  offers  a  helpful  short  summary'  of  this 
doctrine  (214)  which  is  the  subject  of  Willis’s  important  study. 

Willis,  Calvin ’s  Catholic  Christology,  67. 

See  Brian  Wren,  What  Language  Shall  I  Borrow?  God-Talk  in  Worship:  A  Male  Response 
to  Feminist  Theology  (New  York:  Crossroad.  1989).  I  learned  a  great  deal  about  my  own 
unexamined  assumptions  from  Ursula  K.  LeGuin,  The  Left  Hand  of  Darkness  (New  York:  Ace 
Books,  1969).  Her  Gethenians  do  not  see  each  other  as  male  or  female.  They  may  choose  to  be 
either  and  during  their  lifetime  both.  When  the  mother  of  several  children  may  be  the  father  of 
several  more,  my  comfortable  categories  collapse. 


160 


The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 


and  awkwardness  to  others,  is  theologically  inferior  because  it  does  not  prevent 
a  purely  symbolic  or  idealistic  understanding  of  Christ’s  humanity.  In  other 
words,  in  the  new  linguistic  situation  the  humanity  of  Christ  can  be  understood 
as  pointing  to  an  ideal  example  rather  than  a  real  individual. 

Concerning  the  Godhead,  the  orthodox  view  insists  Jesus  Christ  is  not  divine 
in  the  adjectival  sense  that  he  is  like  God,  rather  in  the  substantial  sense  he  is 
the  same  as  God  or  equal  to  God.  Even  the  noun  phrase  “the  divinity  of  Christ” 
can  be  understood  to  refer  to  Christ’s  likeness  to  God  rather  than  his  equality 
with  God  (Phil.  2:6).  A  more  accurate  term  is  the  Deity  of  Christ,  but  to  declare 
either  Jesus  Christ  is  fully  deity  and  fully  human  in  one  person  or  fully  deity  and 
fully  a  human  in  one  person  is  still  stilted  for  some  and  can  be  misleading.  For 
some  English  speakers  the  noun  “deity”  is  not  yet  clearly  parallel  to  the  adjec¬ 
tive  “human,”  although  “human”  is  now  used  often  as  a  noun  replacing  “man,” 
and  will  doubtless  in  time,  if  not  already,  connote  both  humanity  in  general  and 
a  single  human  being.  The  point  is  the  orthodox  formula  confesses  the  full  Deity 
of  Jesus  Christ  and  the  full  humanity  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  latter  meaning  that  he 
was  a  single  real  human  being  and  that  he  represented  all  human  beings  when  he 
took  the  sins  of  the  world  upon  himself,  n 


161 


Sermon 


In-Between  Places 

by  Janice  Smith  Ammon 


Genesis  28:10-17 


Janice  Smith  Ammon  is  the  Bryant  M.  Kirkland  Minister  of  the  Chapel  of  the 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary.  She  preached  this  sermon  on  February  1, 

2008,  in  Miller  Chapel.  Following  the  sermon,  the  congregation  was  led  by 
Martin  Tel,  C.  F  Seabrook  Director  of  Music,  Princeton  Theological  Seminary, 
in  the  singing  of  the  hymn  “Sometimes  a  Light  Surprises,  ”  which  is  reprinted 
below. 

I  first  met  my  husband,  Greg,  now  sixteen  years  ago,  there  was  only 
one  trip  that  he  asked  we  take.  And  that  was  a  trip  to  Wyoming,  to  Yellowstone 
National  Park,  in  the  wintertime.  For  you  see,  Greg  worked  at  Yellowstone  Park 
one  summer  many  years  before  we  met,  and  he  always  wanted  to  go  back  in 
the  winter  season.  Matter  of  fact,  we  talked  about  this  trip  for  many  years,  until 
December  of  200 1 .  The  week  after  Christmas,  we  traveled  with  our  dear  friends 
to  Wyoming.  We  then  spent  three  glorious  days,  traveling  with  a  guide,  over  250 
miles  through  Yellowstone  National  Park  on  snowmobiles!  Perhaps  some  of  you 
did  not  expect  this  side  of  your  Minister  of  the  Chapel! 

Now,  let  me  say  that  before  we  went  on  our  trip,  I  was  certain  that  Yellowstone 
Park  would  be  beautiful.  For  I  had  seen  photographs,  and  I  had  heard  others 
speak  of  the  magnificent  scenery.  But  what  I  did  not  expect  was  that  not  only  was 
Yellowstone  Park  beautiful,  but,  somehow,  I  found  it  to  be  sacred — to  be  holy. 

It’s  hard  for  me  to  even  capture  this  in  words,  but  as  we  rode  over  the  glorious 
mountains  and  through  never-ending  stretches  of  meadows — covered  with  snow, 
scattered  with  bison  and  coyotes  and  eagles — I  felt  the  deep,  profound  presence 
of  our  Creator  God  in  an  unexpected  way.  I  will  even  confess  to  you  that  as  we 
rode  along,  I  often  found  myself  singing  hymns  out  loud — “For  the  Beauty  of  the 

DOI:  10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.12 


162 


In-Between  Places 


Earth,”  “Great  Is  Thy  Faithfulness,”  “How  Great  Thou  Art.”  (A  good  thing  about 
snowmobiles  for  my  traveling  companions  is  that  you  can  indeed  sing  at  the  top  of 
your  lungs  without  being  heard!) 

Have  you  ever  had  an  experience  like  this?  An  experience  of  a  place  becoming 
a  sacred  place?  An  experience  of  a  place  becoming  a  holy  place?  For  that  is 
what  happened  to  me  in  Yellowstone.  And  that  is  what  happened  to  Jacob  in 
our  scripture  passage  for  this  morning.  For  here,  Jacob  encounters  God  at  an 
unexpected  time,  at  an  unexpected  place  in  his  life.  At  this  point  in  our  story, 
Jacob  was  not  exactly  a  model  of  faith  like  his  forebears,  Abraham  and  Isaac. 
Actually,  the  words  that  commentators  use  to  describe  him  are  words  such  as 
schemer,  scoundrel,  liar,  and  cheat,  especially  when  it  comes  to  his  older  twin 
brother,  Esau,  whom  he  had  just  tricked  out  of  his  birthright. 

So  this  is  the  Jacob  we  encounter  in  our  scripture  passage  for  this  morning,  a 
man  on  the  run  from  the  wrath  of  his  own  brother,  who  is  out  to  kill  him.  There 
had  been  little  time  to  plan.  Jacob  departed  in  haste  to  save  his  hide.  And  as  we 
read  in  our  passage,  “He  came  to  a  certain  place  and  stayed  there  for  the  night.” 
It  was  not  any  particular  place.  It  just  happened  to  be  where  Jacob  was  when 
the  sun  went  down.  An  in-between  place.  Walter  Brueggemann  calls  it  a  “non¬ 
place.”  It  is  here — in  this  in-between  place,  in  this  non-place — that  Jacob  stops, 
takes  a  stone,  and  puts  it  under  his  head  to  sleep  for  the  night. 

It  is  fascinating  to  me  that  the  writer  of  Genesis  tells  us  that  he  puts  a  stone 
under  his  head  for  the  night.  It  is  fascinating  and  revealing.  For  have  you  ever 
been  camping  and  tried  to  sleep  on  a  stone?  Or,  perhaps  even  more  familiar, 
have  you  ever  tried  to  sleep  at  night  with  a  stone  in  your  soul?  I  imagine,  that 
night,  Jacob  felt  the  weight  of  a  lot  of  stones  in  his  soul — fear,  jealousy,  remorse, 
resentment,  alienation,  isolation.  Stones  in  his  soul. 

What  are  the  stones  in  your  soul  these  days?  What  weighs  you  down?  What 
keeps  you  up  at  night  or  what  wakes  you  up  early  in  the  morning?  Is  it  prepar¬ 
ing  for  new  classes?  Sending  out  dossiers?  Sending  in  applications?  Waiting 
for  interviews?  Or  perhaps  a  relationship  is  strained.  Your  heart  is  broken.  Your 
heart  is  lonely.  Do  you  yearn  for  loved  ones  who  live  far  away?  Are  there  loved 
ones  who  are  ill?  Or  loved  ones  you  have  lost?  Are  there  financial  pressures? 

Is  it  the  turmoil  in  so  many  of  our  neighborhoods,  in  our  country,  and  around 
our  globe?  Stones  in  our  souls.  Well,  friends,  the  good  news  is  that  like  Jacob, 
when  we  are  in  the  most  difficult  places — when  the  weight  of  life  feels  the 
most  unbearable — when  seminary  begins  to  feel  like  an  in-between  place,  an 


163 


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uncertain  place — it  is  then  that  we  often  find  that  God  breaks  in  with  promises 
and  hope. 

Indeed,  God  breaks  into  Jacob’s  life  at  this  unexpected  time,  in  this  in-between 
place,  with  a  dream.  A  dream  where  the  Lord,  the  God  of  Abraham  and  Isaac, 
comes  and  stands  right  beside  Jacob  and  promises  land  and  offspring.  More  than 
that,  God  promises  to  be  with  Jacob  wherever  he  goes.  God  promises  to  keep 
him  and  bring  him  back  to  this  land. 

When  Jacob  awoke  from  his  dream,  he  took  the  stone  that  was  under  his  head, 
turned  it  up  on  its  end  as  a  pillar,  and  poured  oil  on  it.  Through  God’s  transforming 
presence,  God  can  take  the  stones  in  our  souls  and  transform  them  into  something 
holy  and  whole — even  at  unexpected  times  and  in  in-between  places  of  our  lives. 

You  know,  there  was  something  else  holy  that  happened  while  I  was  in  Yellow¬ 
stone  Park  that  winter.  And  actually,  I  did  not  even  realize  it  until  after  I  returned 
home.  A  week  or  so  after  we  were  back,  I  said  to  my  husband,  “My  spirit  feels 
so  much  lighter.”  If  you  recall,  the  fall  season  of  2001  brought  much  sadness 
and  sorrow  as  we  dealt  with  September  11,  2001,  and  its  aftermath,  especially 
in  Manhattan,  where  we  were  living  and  where  I  was  serving  at  the  time.  Many 
of  us  lost  loved  ones,  colleagues,  and  friends  that  day.  Many  of  us  saw  horrific 
events  unfold  before  our  eyes.  Many  of  us  lost  our  feeling  of  safety  and  security. 
And  as  I  led  funerals  and  services  and  prayers  over  the  next  months,  I  had 
gathered  more  stones  in  my  soul  than  I  ever  realized. 

But  there  was  something  about  being  in  Yellowstone.  It  was  so  big.  It  was  so 
vast.  It  was  a  place  where  I  could  leave  behind  some  of  the  September  stones 
of  my  soul.  As  my  wise  husband  put  it,  “You  could  leave  them  at  the  altar  of 
Yellowstone.”  You  know,  what  was  so  amazing  to  me  about  this  was  that  it  was 
something  that  just  happened.  It  was  not  intentional  on  my  part — perhaps  like 
Jacob’s  dream — though  I  should  have  been  suspicious  when  I  found  myself 
singing  “For  the  Beauty  of  the  Earth,”  “Great  Is  Thy  Faithfulness,”  “Flow  Great 
Thou  Art.”  Surely  the  Lord  was  in  this  place  and  I  did  not  know  it. 

May  we,  like  Jacob,  be  able  to  say  this  in  all  the  places  and  in  all  the  in-between 
places  of  our  lives.  Amen! 


Sometimes  a  Light  Surprises 

Known  to  biographers  as  “mad  Cowper,”  William  Cowper  (1731-1800)  is 
now  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest  early  Romantic  poets.  Cowper  suffered 


164 


In-Between  Places 


from  severe  bouts  of  depression  and  spent  long  periods  in  asylum.  His  best- 
known  hymn,  “God  Moves  in  a  Mysterious  Way,”  demonstrated  well  the 
somber  and  foreboding  tone  of  many  of  his  texts.  This  text  suggests  that  the 
ability  to  sing  a  song  is  truly  a  gift  from  God.  The  singing  of  a  song  is  often 
a  first  sign  of  healing  and  hope.  —  Martin  Tel,  C.  F.  Seabrook  Director  of 
Music,  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  n 


William  Cowper,  1779 


Sometimes  a  Light  Surprises 

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165 


History 


A  Skirmish  in  the  Early  Reception  of  Karl  Barth 
in  Scotland:  The  Exchange  between  Thomas  F.  Torrance 
and  Brand  Blanshard 

edited  by  Iain  R.  and  Morag  Torrance 


Thomas  F  Torrance  served  for  twenty-seven  years  as  Professor  of  Christian 
Dogmatics  at  New  College  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  A  student  of  Karl 
Barth  when  he  attended  the  University  of  Basel,  he  was  especially  known 
for  his  work  on  theological  method  and  the  relationship  between  theology 
and  science.  He  was  Moderator  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland  from  1976  to  1977  and  was  awarded  the  Templeton  Prize  in  1978. 

He  died  on  December  2,  2007.  Brand  Blanshard,  an  American  philosopher  of 
the  rationalist  school,  was  influenced  by  British  idealism  and  known  for  his 
defense  of  reason  and  for  the  quality  of  his  writings.  He  received  his  doctor¬ 
ate  from  Harvard  University  and  taught  at  Swarthmore  University  and  at 
Yale  University,  where  he  served  for  many  years  as  chairman  of  the  Depart¬ 
ment  of  Philosophy. 

lain  R.  Torrance,  the  son  of  Thomas  F.  Torrance,  is  President  and  Professor  of 
Patristics  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  and  previously  served  as  Dean 
of  the  Faculty  of  Arts  and  Divinity  at  Aberdeen  University.  He  has  been 
coeditor  of  The  Scottish  Journal  of  Theology  since  1982  and  coedited,  with 
Bryan  Spinks,  To  Glorify  God:  Essays  on  Modem  Reform  Liturgy  (1999) 
and  the  Oxford  Handbook  of  Systematic  Theology  (2007)  with  John  Webster 
and  Kathryn  Tanner.  Morag  Torrance,  President  Torrance ’s  wife,  was  for¬ 
merly  manager  of  the  information  technology  training  unit  at  the  University 
of  Aberdeen.  A  graduate  of  St.  Andrews  in  French  and  psychology,  she  held 
tenured  positions  in  computing  administration  at  the  universities  of  Edinburgh 
and  Aberdeen. 

Xe  name  of  Brand  Blanshard  may  not  be  as  familiar  today  as  it  once  was. 
Blanshard  was  one  of  the  greatest  American  philosophers  of  the  first  half  of  the 
twentieth  century.  Bom  in  Fredericksburg,  Ohio,  in  August  1892,  Blanshard 
was  the  son  of  a  Congregational  minister.  He  studied  first  at  the  University  of 

001:10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.13 


166 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


Michigan  and  then  won  a  Rhodes  Scholarship  to  study  at  Oxford,  where  he  was 
taught  by  H.  W.  B.  Joseph  and  met  F.  H.  Bradley  and  T.  S.  Eliot.  He  gained 
a  doctorate  at  Harvard  and  taught  at  Swarthmore  College  from  1925  to  1944 
and  then  at  Yale  until  he  retired  in  1961.  He  died  in  1987.  Blanshard  is  often 
regarded  as  the  last  of  the  great  “absolute  idealists,”  and  his  study  The  Nature 
of  Thought'^  was  recommended  to  the  second-year  class  in  logic  and  meta¬ 
physics  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh  in  the  1960s  when  the  set  text  was 
F.  H.  Bradley’s  The  Principles  of  Logic.  In  1952,  Blanshard  delivered  the 
Gifford  Lectures  at  the  University  of  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland. 

The  Scottish  daily  newspaper  The  Scotsman  reported  on  the  Gifford  Lectures 
and  ran  a  short  article  noting  that  Blanshard  had  indulged  in  a  swipe  against  Karl 
Barth.  This  was  too  much  for  Thomas  F.  Torrance,  then  Professor  of  Christian 
Dogmatics  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  to  swallow  without  a  response.  A 
theological  argument  followed,  which  The  Scotsman  was  kind  enough  to  pub¬ 
lish  in  full,  day  after  day,  throughout  April  1952.^ 

The  following  is  the  initial  report  of  Brand  Blanshard’s  comments  and  then  the 
exchange  of  letters. 

Professor  Blanshard:  Gifford  Lectures  at  St.  Andrews  University. 

Report  in  The  Scotsman,  April  9,  1952. 

“Theology  in  Crisis” 

Professor  Blanshard  resumes 
Gifford  Lectures 

Professor  Brand  Blanshard,  Yale  University,  resumed  his  series  of  Gifford 
Lectures  at  St.  Andrews  University  last  night  with  a  statement  and  criticism  of 
the  new  “theology  of  crisis.”  The  leaders  of  the  movement  are  the  theologians, 
Karl  Barth  and  Emil  Brunner,  both  of  whom  have  themselves  delivered  Gifford 
lectures  in  recent  years,  Barth  at  Aberdeen  and  Brunner  at  St.  Andrews. 

The  new  Theology,  Professor  Blanshard  said,  owed  its  attractiveness  to  its  very 
bold  strategy.  Faith  was  not  to  be  achieved  by  thought  or  any  other  sort  of  effort 
on  our  part;  it  was  the  result  of  a  “divine  encounter,”  a  one-way  transaction  in 
which  God  Himself  descended  into  the  human  spirit. 


'  Brand  Blanshard,  The  Nature  of  Thought,  2  vols.  (London:  Allen  &  Unwin,  1939). 

^  In  a  letter  dated  December  10,  1991,  The  Scotsman  granted  me  permission  to  reprint  the 
letters  in  the  context  of  an  article.  My  father’s  death,  on  December  2,  2007,  prompted  me 
finally  to  do  this,  and  I  am  grateful  to  my  wife  Morag  (who  always  got  on  excellently 
with  my  father,  one  direct  person  to  another),  who  did  most  of  the  work. 


167 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Because  they  were  so  sure  that  faith  was  beyond  the  reach  of  reason,  Barth  and 
Brunner  accepted  undisturbed  the  results  of  scientific  criticism.  They  could 
admit  that  the  Scripture  was  full  of  errors,  and  that  in  the  long  struggle  of 
theology  with  science,  science  had  been  generally  right.  They  could  hold  this 
because  they  believed  that  faith  provided  an  insight  of  its  own,  different  from 
that  of  reason,  and  above  it.  Unfortunately,  when  we  tried  to  learn  from  them 
what  it  was  that  the  insight  disclosed,  we  got  most  unsatisfying  answers.  Barth 
and  Brunner,  like  their  master,  Kierkegaard,  reveled  in  paradoxes.  Indeed,  they 
represented  God  as  being  so  completely  “other”  that  He  almost  disappeared; 
we  were  supposed  to  believe  things  about  Him  that,  by  our  standards,  were 
self-contradictory  and  ascribe  actions  to  Him  that  our  moral  sense  could  only 
regard  as  evil. 

Professor  Blanshard  considered  that  this  attempt  to  save  religious  faith  by  mak¬ 
ing  it  irrational  was  disastrous.  The  probable  effect  upon  thoughtful  men  of  ask¬ 
ing  that  they  believe  the  incredible  would  be  the  repudiation  of  faith  altogether. 

If  revelation  occurred,  it  must  come  through  our  human  faculties  and  share  the 
strength  and  weakness  of  these  faculties. 

“The  Theology  of  Karl  Barth.”  Correspondence  between  Professor 
T.  F.  Torrance  of  Edinburgh  and  Professor  Brand  Blanshard,  Gifford 
Lecturer  in  St.  Andrews  University. 

Torrance — letter  dated  April  11,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 
Edinburgh,  April  14,  page  4. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 

New  College,  University  of  Edinburgh, 

April  11,  1952 

Sir, — I  have  read  with  astonishment  the  account  in  your  columns  of  the 
recent  Gifford  Lecture  in  St.  Andrews,  in  which  Professor  Brand  Blanshard 
is  reported  as  describing  the  theology  of  Karl  Barth  and  Emil  Brunner  as  the 
“theology  of  crisis”  and  criticising  it  as  “this  attempt  to  save  religious  faith  by 
making  it  irrational.”  It  seems  difficult  to  believe  that  a  philosopher  as  great  as 
Professor  Blanshard  should  still  perpetrate  this  antiquated  blunder  and  be  so 
plainly  unaware  of  the  writings  of  these  Swiss  theologians. 

A  more  rational  and  responsible  evaluation  has  recently  been  given  by  the 
Roman  Catholic  theologian,  Hans  Urs  von  Balthasar,  who  regards  Karl  Barth 


168 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


as  the  greatest  protagonist  of  the  Protestant  Church  and  who  pleads  with  the 
Roman  Church  to  take  their  measure  of  him  in  the  most  serious  way. 

In  his  recent  work,  “Karl  Barth,  Deutung  und  Darstellung  seiner  Theologie,” 
von  Balthasar  takes  careful  account  of  the  development  of  Barth’s  theology, 
which  falls  into  three  main  stages;  1.  The  early  period  reaching  its  climax  with 
the  first  edition  of  his  “Romans”  in  1918  when  he  was  still  under  the  influence 
of  the  idealist  philosophy:  2.  the  nineteen-twenties,  which  saw  a  thorough 
revision  of  his  “Romans”  and  the  first  volume  of  his  projected  “Dogmatics,” 
when  Barth  had  come  under  the  influence  of  Kierkegaard  and  his  theology 
became  dialectical  and  realist:  3.  at  the  end  of  that  decade,  however,  came 
the  really  decisive  change  when,  in  his  study  of  Anselm,  Barth  swept  aside 
the  language  of  Kierkegaard  and  existentialism  and  emerged,  as  he  said, 
out  of  his  egg-shells. 

Ever  since  then  the  theology  of  Barth  has  been  the  theology  of  analogy  in  which 
Christology  plays  the  dominant  role.  It  is  more  than  thirty  years  ago  since  that 
important  change  took  place,  and  all  the  enormous  volumes  of  his  “Kirchliche 
Dogmatik”  have  been  published  since  then.  These  are  the  volumes  in  which 
Barth  has  taken  issue  in  the  most  massive  way  with  the  theology  of  Rome,  and 
fi'om  which  von  Balthasar  has  admittedly  learned  so  much.  It  is  a  pitiful  tragedy, 
however,  that  the  American  philosopher  has  not  apparently  peered  beyond  the 
egg-shells  of  the  young  Swiss  thinker! 

One  would  like  to  recommend  Professor  Blanshard  at  least  to  read  Karl 
Barth’s  study  of  Anselm,  “Tides  Quaerens  Intellectum,”  published  in  1931. 

In  that  little  volume  we  are  given  a  clear  account  of  Professor  Barth’s  teach¬ 
ing  about  the  relation  between  faith  and  reason  which  informs  the  whole  of 
his  dogmatic  theology.  There  Barth  holds  to  the  basic  point  that  reason  is 
unconditionally  bound  to  its  object  and  determined  by  it,  and  that  the  nature 
of  the  object  must  prescribe  the  specific  mode  of  the  activity  of  reason.  Faith 
is  this  reason  directed  to  the  knowledge  of  God,  and  involves  a  rational 
apprehension  which  answers  appropriately  to  the  object  given.  Here  the 
object  is  unique  and  incomparable.  What  is  expected  of  theology,  therefore, 
is  that  it  should  exhibit  the  kind  of  rationality  which  corresponds  with  this 
unique  object  of  thought.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  rational  objectivity  which  char¬ 
acterises  faith,  and  which  utterly  repudiates  that  salto  mortale,  the  sacrifice 
of  the  intellect. 

That  the  Gifford  lecturer  should  attribute  to  Karl  Barth  a  view  which  all  his 
writings  for  thirty  years  have  resolutely  opposed  is  particularly  surprising 


169 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


to-day  when  Barth  stands  out  in  Europe  as  the  great  protagonist  against 
irrationalism,  and  against  existentialism  which,  particularly  in  the  hands 
of  a  new  school  of  interpreters,  headed  by  Professor  Rudolf  Bultmann,  of 
Marburg,  is  producing  a  radical  reinterpretation  of  the  Bible  that  we  can 
only  regard  as  a  menace  to  the  Christian  Gospel. — I  am  etc.  (Professor) 

T.  F.  Torrance 

Blanshard — letter  dated  April  14,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April  16,  page  6. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 

The  University  of  St.  Andrews, 

April  14,  1952 

Sir, — Professor  Torrance  has  expressed  “astonishment”  that  in  one  of  my  Gifford 
lectures  at  St.  Andrews  I  should  have  described  the  theology  of  Karl  Barth  and 
Emil  Brunner  as  an  irrationalist  theology.  Flis  astonishment  can  hardly  be 
greater  than  mine  when  I  find  this  description  denied. 

The  best  way,  of  course,  is  to  go  to  the  writings  of  these  men  and  read  their 
own  words.  Let  me  cite  a  few  of  them.  First  a  few  from  various  books  by 
Brunner;  “Revealed  knowledge  is  poles  apart  from  rational  knowledge.  These 
two  forms  of  knowledge  are  as  far  apart  as  heaven  is  from  hell.”  “Biblical 
and  natural  theology  will  never  agree:  they  are  bitterly  and  fundamentally 
opposed.”  (“Revelation  and  Reason.”  16,  65.)  “The  theological  problem  as 
well  as  the  Church  problem  is  this  —  to  deliver  modem  man  and  the  mod¬ 
ernised  Church  from  the  illegitimate  self-sufficiency  of  reason  .  .  .”  (“The 
Word  and  the  World.”  126.)  “Of  the  truth  of  God  it  must  ever  be  said,  since 
it  is  God’s  truth,  that  it  is  foolishness  unto  human  reason.”  “This  pride,  this 
claim  of  reason  to  be  the  court  of  last  appeal,  the  superior  judge  of  truth, 
constitutes  sin:  it  is  the  heart  of  sin.”  (“Theology  of  Crisis.”  43.)  Inciden¬ 
tally,  Professor  Torrance  expresses  surprise  that  I  should  have  referred  to  this 
school  as  “the  theology  of  crisis”;  the  phrase  is  Bmnner’s  own  description, 
and  the  title  of  one  of  his  books.  Such  expressions  as  the  above  could  be  mul¬ 
tiplied  many  times  from  Brunner’s  writings. 

Barth  is,  if  anything,  more  extreme  than  Brunner.  He  began  his  Gifford 
lectures  by  repudiating  the  very  possibility  of  a  rational  knowledge  of  God 
through  natural  theology.  “I  certainly  see — with  astonishment — that  such 
a  science  as  Lord  Gifford  has  in  mind  does  exist,  but  I  do  not  see  how  it  is 


170 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


possible  for  it  to  exist.  I  am  convinced  that  so  far  as  it  has  existed,  and  still 
exists,  it  owes  its  existence  to  a  radical  error  ...  it  cannot  really  be  the  busi¬ 
ness  of  a  Reformed  theologian  to  raise  so  much  as  his  little  finger  to  support 
this  undertaking  in  any  positive  way”  (5-6.)  Again,  “It  is  forced  down  my 
throat  that  the  Dogmatic  theologian  is  under  the  obligation  to  ‘justify’  himself 
in  his  utterances  before  philosophy.  To  that  my  answer  is  likewise  ‘No.’ ... 
Dogmatics  runs  counter  to  every  philosophy,  no  matter  what  form  it  may  have 
assumed _ our  activities  of  thinking  and  speaking  ...  cannot  possibly  coin¬ 

cide  with  the  truth  of  God  ...”  (“Credo,”  185-86).  Professor  Torrance  will 
recall  that  Barth’s  famous  break  with  Brunner  was  largely  on  the  ground  that 
Brunner  had  shown  a  weakness  for  natural  theology,  while  he,  Barth,  thought 
it  should  be  treated  with  contempt  and  scorn.  “If  you  really  reject  natural  the¬ 
ology,  you  don’t  stand  and  stare  at  the  snake  while  you  let  it  stare  you  down 
in  return,  hypnotise  you,  and  then  bite  you:  when  you  see  it,  you  take  a  stick  to  it 
and  kill  it.”  (“Nein!  Antwart  an  Brunner,'"’  13;  my  translation.) 

If  statements  like  this  do  not  justify  calling  a  man  an  anti-rationalist,  it  is  hard  to 
conceive  what  would.  Professor  Torrance  suggests  that  Barth’s  anti-rationalism 
belongs  to  an  earlier  stage  that  he  has  long  out-grown,  and  refers  to  a  work  of 
1931  as  giving  his  mature  opinion.  But  every  quotation  I  have  made  from  him  is 
subsequent  to  that  date. 

When  Professor  Torrance  describes  Barth  as  a  defender  of  reason,  he  can  only 
be  using  “reason”  with  a  special  meaning  and  a  very  different  meaning  from 
that  of  the  philosophers.  He  thinks  it  enough  if  he  shows  that  faith  for  Barth 
“involves  a  rational  apprehension  which  answers  approximately  to  the  object 
given.”  But  what  if  “the  object  given” — namely,  God — is  taken  as  “the  abso¬ 
lutely  other,”  which  defies  all  the  categories  of  natural  reason?  To  “answer 
appropriately”  to  such  an  object,  reason,  as  we  know  it,  must  simply  die  and 
be  bom  again  as  something  else.  If  one  claims  to  believe  in  reason,  it  should 
surely  mean  the  reason  used  in  commonsense  and  science,  for  example,  the 
science  of  natural  theology.  Barth  maintains  that  God  stands  over  against  such 
reason  as  utterly  and  hopelessly  impenetrable.  That,  to  me  and,  I  think,  to 
most  philosophers,  is  what  irrationalism  means. — I  am  etc.  Brand  Blanshard 

Greenfield — letter  dated  April  16,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April  18,  page  4. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 

34  Warrender  Park  Terrace,  Edinburgh. 

April  16,  1952 


171 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Sir, — -Kingsley  asked  on  a  memorable  occasion,  “What,  then,  does  Father 
Newman  mean?”  The  answer  was  the  “Apologia.”  Barth’s  reply  to  such  a 
question  would  certainly  lack  that  clarity  which  we  associate  with  the  great 
cardinal,  and  therefore  it  is  not  perhaps  surprising  that  Professor  Blanshard 
and  Professor  Torrance  should  have  understood  him  differently.  They  are  not 
alone  in  that. 

To  the  uninstructed,  however,  it  may  seem  that  the  professors  are  arguing  at 
cross  purposes.  Professor  Blanshard  appears  to  accuse  Barth  and  his  school  of 
“irrationalism”;  but  by  “irrationalism”  he  means  only  that  Barth  denies  that 
a  knowledge  of  God  can  be  obtained  by  the  reason  used  “in  commonsense 
and  science.” 

But  if  in  this  sense  Barth  is  “irrational”  he  stands  in  good  company.  I  can  think 
at  the  moment  of  no  considerable  theologian  who  believed  that  the  whole  truth 
of  God  could  be  reached  by  reason.  Even  the  English  deists  accepted  revela¬ 
tion,  and  the  distinction  which  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  draws  between  natural  and 
revealed  religion  is  well  known.  Barth  stands  in  the  succession  of  all  theolo¬ 
gians,  Reformed  and  Roman,  in  his  assertion  that  salvation  is  of  faith. 

It  is  true  that  Barth  in  denying  that  there  is  any  place  for  “natural  religion”  goes 
further  than  many  theologians.  Yet  the  comparative  sterility  of  Gifford  lecture¬ 
ships,  of  which  complaint  was  recently  made  in  your  correspondence,  seems  to 
show  that  “commonsense”  helps  us  little  towards  our  knowledge  of  God.  Indeed, 
all  the  work  of  the  very  distinguished  thinkers  who  have  lectured  under  this 
foundation  amounts  to  nothing  more  than  a  prolegomenon  to  Christian  theology. 

We  may  go  further  and  say  that  even  the  scientist  and  the  philosopher,  no  less 
than  the  poet  or  the  artist,  are  “irrational.”  As  has  been  often  pointed  out,  most  of 
the  greatest  discoveries  have  been  due  to  a  saltus  fidei. 

It  appears  to  all  come  down  to  a  use  of  terms,  and  the  question  would  rather 
appear  to  be,  “Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God?” — I  am  etc.  (Rev.)  David 
W.  Greenfield 

Torrance — letter  dated  April  18,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April,  19,  page  6. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 

New  College,  University  of  Edinburgh 

April  18,  1952 


172 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


Sir, — I  should  like  to  thank  Professor  Blanshard  for  taking  the  trouble,  in  the 
midst  of  his  Gifford  Lectures,  to  reply  to  my  letter. 

It  is  clear  that  his  charge  of  antirationalism  against  the  theology  of  Karl  Barth 
involves  a  particular  view  of  reason,  but  he  cannot  claim  that  it  is  a  view  gener¬ 
ally  accepted  by  philosophers  to-day,  by  Professor  MacKinnon  or  Professor 
Ryle,  for  example.  There  are,  however,  three  distinct  if  inseparable  issues  which 
should  be  laid  bare. 

1.  A  philosophical  issue  between  an  idealist  view  of  reason,  and  a  realist 
and  critical  view.  Philosophically,  Karl  Barth  stands  within  the  European 
tradition  of  critical  philosophy,  of  which  his  brother  Heinrich  Barth, 
Professor  of  Metaphysics  in  the  University  of  Basel,  is  perhaps  the  most 
distinguished  representative  on  the  Continent.  With  him  Karl  Barth  is  in 
profound  agreement. 

But  to  come  to  this  university.  Professor  John  Macmurray,  like  Heinrich 
and  Karl  Barth,  is  concerned  to  point  philosophy  and  theology  away  from 
a  substantival  to  a  functional  view  of  reason,  and  when  he  says  that  “rea¬ 
son  is  the  capacity  to  behave  in  terms  of  the  nature  of  the  object,  that  is  to 
say,  to  behave  objectively,”  he  is  using  language  almost  identical  with  that 
of  Karl  Barth — and  no  one  would  surely  wish  to  call  Professor  Macmurray 
an  anti-rationalist! 

Against  this  view  Professor  Blanshard  appears  to  think  of  reason  as  behav¬ 
ing  in  terms  of  its  own  nature,  in  terms  of  the  categories  of  its  own  under¬ 
standing.  It  is  against  that  autonomous,  self-sufficient  reason,  reason  turned 
in  upon  itself,  that  the  citations  from  Professor  Emil  Brunner  given  by  Pro¬ 
fessor  Blanshard  are  directed.  That  is,  they  are  directed  not  against  reason 
as  such,  but  against  a  diseased  “rationalism.”  Professor  Karl  Barth  prefers  to 
call  this  “heresy”  (in  the  literal  Greek  sense  of  the  word)  as  the  self-willed 
reason  that  chooses  to  go  its  own  way  and  refuses  to  be  determined  by  its 
object.  Far  from  being  anti-rational,  this  is  to  champion  reason  against  an 
irrational  subjectivism. 

No  doubt  it  is  true,  as  Mr.  Greenfield  points  out  today,  that  Professor 
Blanshard  and  I  are  arguing  at  cross  purposes,  to  a  certain  extent  at  any  rate, 
though  the  very  citations  Professor  Blanshard  has  made  from  both  Barth  and 
Brunner  and  the  use  he  makes  of  them  indicate  a  very  superficial  and  indeed 
a  mistaken  reading  of  these  theologians. 


173 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


2.  A  scientific  issue.  It  is  surely  an  elementary  principle  of  science  that  the 
nature  of  the  object  must  prescribe  the  specific  mode  of  the  activity  of  reason, 
and  that  reason  must  answer  appropriately  to  the  object  given.  It  would  be 
utterly  un-scientific  and  irrational,  for  example,  to  transpose  into  the  study 

of  living  organisms  the  specific  mode  of  rational  activity  that  obtains  in  the 
study  of  physics  and  the  particular  categories  that  arise  in  that  connection. 
That  is  why  Karl  Barth  insists  that  the  theologian  must  pursue  his  theological 
science  without  seeking  to  justify  his  undertaking  before  the  bar  of  natural 
science  or  philosophy  or  the  so-called  natural  reason  for  it  would  be  quite 
unscientific  and  irrational  in  theological  science,  where  we  are  concerned 
with  God  as  the  object  of  knowledge,  for  reason  to  behave  either  in  terms 
of  its  own  nature  or  in  terms  of  some  other  object  alien  to  that  particular 
field  of  study. 

What  theology  demands,  therefore,  declares  Karl  Barth,  is  a  ruthless  scien¬ 
tific  criticism  of  the  activity  of  reason  and  of  the  reasoner  himself  to  ensure 
that  here  in  theological  science  he  is  behaving  rationally,  that  is,  that  here 
his  reason  is  conforming  properly  and  obediently  to  the  object  given.  All 
science,  be  it  theology  or  physics,  is  characterised  by  humility  and  a 
readiness  for  the  most  ruthless  self-criticism.  That  is  precisely  why  Barth 
is  so  critical  of  rational  activity  in  theology,  in  order  to  be  as  rational  and 
responsible  as  possible. 

It  is  because  Karl  Barth  has  carried  this  ruthless,  scientific  criticism 
throughout  the  whole  of  his  “Kirchliche  Dogmatik”  that  scientists  in  other 
fields  are  showing  such  increasing  interest  in  and  understanding  of  his 
work,  not  least  those  in  the  natural  sciences — see  the  letter  by  an  American 
physicist  from  the  University  of  Minnesota  published  in  the  “Kirchenblatt” 
(Basel),  March  27. 

3.  A  religious  issue.  The  great  difference  between  theological  and  natural  sci¬ 
ence  concerns  the  difference  in  the  nature  of  the  object.  The  object  of  theo¬ 
logical  knowledge  is  God  infinite  and  eternal,  “always  Subject.”  As  Barth 
puts  it,  not  “the  absolutely  other”  (a  notion  which  Barth  cast  away  many 
years  ago),  but  the  living  God  who  gives  Himself  to  us  and  reveals  Himself 
in  Jesus  Christ,  and  summons  us  to  obedient  conformity  to  Him.  In  Christian 
theology,  therefore,  reason  is  summoned  to  behave  in  terms  of  Jesus  Christ, 
or  as  the  New  Testament  puts  it,  to  conform  to  His  image  in  love. 

Here  the  ruthless  criticism,  mentioned  above,  is  spoken  of  as  self-denial 

and  taking  up  of  the  Cross,  and  that  ruthless  criticism  is  directed  toward  the 


174 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


theologian  and  his  rational  activity  to  insure  that  he  behaves  consciously  in 
terms  of  the  nature  of  the  object,  i.e.,  that  he  is  obedient  to  the  living  Christ. 

It  is  here,  of  course,  that  the  Christian  doctrine  of  sin  enters  in,  for  sin  is  self- 
will,  the  attempt  of  reason  to  behave  in  terms  of  itself  and  its  own  norms  instead 
of  behaving  in  terms  of  the  love  of  Christ.  It  is  understandable  that  the  autono¬ 
mous  reason  should  here  be  “offended”  at  the  Cross,  and  that  the  preaching  of 
the  Cross  should  be  “foolishness”  to  him. 

If  that  is  the  real  reason  why  Professor  Blanshard  calls  Karl  Barth’s  view  of 
reason  anti-rationalism,  then  it  is  clear  that  the  real  issue  does  not  lie  between 
Blanshard  and  Barth,  but  between  Blanshard  and  the  Christian  Gospel.  But  even 
apart  from  this  offence  at  the  Cross  which  makes  foolish  the  wisdom  of  this 
world,  as  St.  Paul  puts  it,  surely  it  would  be  a  highly  unscientific  and  irrational 
way  for  reason  to  behave  if  when  directed  to  know  the  living  God  it  refused  to 
answer  appropriately  to  His  Self-revelation,  but  insisted  instead  that  God  must 
conform  to  the  categories  that  reason  had  acquired  elsewhere  in  “commonsense 
and  science.” — I  am  etc.  Thomas  F.  Torrance 

Blanshard — letter  dated  April  20,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April  22,  page  6. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 
University  of  St.  Andrews 
April  20,  1952 

Sir, — Professor  Torrance’s  courteous  letter  of  April  19  suggests  that  the  issue 
between  us  over  the  “theology  of  crisis”  is  a  very  complex  one.  It  seems  to  me 
quite  simple. 

The  question  is  whether  Brunner  and  Barth  are  to  be  called  anti-rationalists. 

I  hold  that  they  are,  on  the  ground  that  both  have  over  and  over  again,  and  in  the 
most  explicit  terms,  denied  that  the  standards  of  natural  reason,  the  reason  used 
by  scientists  and  philosophers,  are  valid  for  the  knowledge  of  God.  Professor 
Torrance  agrees  that  they  deny  this,  but  thinks  this  insufficient  to  justify  the  name 
of  anti-rationalist.  They  really  believe  in  reason,  he  says,  if  only  we  take  “reason” 
broadly  enough.  What  is  the  broader  meaning  he  proposes?  It  is  conformity  to  the 
object.  Since  Barth  and  Brunner  believe  that  the  mind  can  in  some  sense  conform 
to  God,  they  may  be  said  to  believe  in  a  rational  knowledge  of  Him. 

Now  with  all  respect  to  an  able  theologian,  I  think  this  is  juggling  with  words. 
That  Brunner  and  Barth  do  believe  in  such  conformity  I  agree.  But  whether  it 


175 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


should  be  called  rational  or  not  depends  on  the  nature  of  the  object  conformed  to. 
If  that  object  requires  that,  to  conform  to  it,  we  must  accept  both  sides  of  a  con¬ 
tradiction,  to  call  such  conformity  “rational  knowledge”  seems  to  me  perverse. 
And  yet  that  is  precisely  what  conformity  does  require  by  those  authors’  explicit 
admission.  Brunner  says  that  at  some  points  the  teaching  he  accepts,  “regarded 
purely  from  the  theological  and  intellectual  point  of  view,  is  an  irreconcilable 
contradiction.”  And  Barth  insists  that  our  thinking  “cannot  possibly  coincide 
with  the  truth  of  God.”  Now  to  describe  as  “rational”  a  kind  of  knowledge 
that  to  our  natural  reason  is  not  only  unintelligible  but  self-contradictory,  is 
to  empty  the  word  of  all  its  normal  meaning.  The  reason  whose  competence 
Barth  and  Brunner  are  here  denying  is  not  reason  in  some  technical  sense,  the 
reason,  for  example,  of  certain  schools  of  philosophy;  it  is  the  reason  every 
man  does  and  must  use  if  he  is  to  think  coherently  at  all. 

Furthermore,  if  mere  conformity  to  an  object  is  enough  to  make  our  response  to 
it  rational,  we  should  have  to  rewrite  the  theory  of  knowledge.  We  should  have  to 
include  as  rational  knowledge  the  ineffable  rapport  of  the  mystic,  the  Buddhists’s 
absorption  in  Nirvana,  the  musician’s  response  to  an  aria,  and,  I  suppose,  the 
child’s  response  to  a  command.  Even  Schopenhauer’s  irrationalism,  since  it  pro¬ 
vided  for  an  adjustment  to  the  irrational  Will  would,  so  far,  be  a  form  of  rational¬ 
ism.  This  is  stretching  a  meaning  beyond  the  breaking  point. 

And  what  is  to  be  gained  by  so  stretching  it?  You  will  never  convince  the  philoso¬ 
pher  by  these  verbal  conjurings  that  Barth  and  Brunner  really  believe  in  reason 
as  he  does  and  you  are  likely  to  lose  the  support  of  others.  The  new  theology  has 
made  its  way  largely  because  of  its  boldness  in  repudiating  reason  openly.  Instead 
of  trying  to  meet  philosophy  and  science  on  their  own  grounds,  as  liberal  theology 
did,  it  has  sought  to  turn  the  tables  on  them  by  rejecting  the  authority  of  their  ratio¬ 
nal  standards  in  the  field  of  religion.  This  was  a  courageous  move  which,  whether 
sound  or  not,  did  give  some  hope  of  keeping  the  rationalists  at  bay.  But  to  offer  the 
Barth-Brunner  theology  to  philosophers  as  a  rational  account  of  things  is  to  invite 
them  to  swarm  down  on  you  like  devouring  locusts.  And  Professor  Torrance  will 
agree  with  me  that  they  may  be  a  dreadful  pest. — I  am  &c.  Brand  Blanshard 

Torrance — letter  dated  April  22,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April  23,  1952,  page  6. 

Theology  of  Karl  Barth 

New  College,  University  of  Edinburgh 

April  22,  1952 


176 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


Sir. — It  is  increasingly  clear  from  Professor  Blanshard’s  good-natured  replies 
to  my  criticisms  that  the  issue  between  us  is  not  a  simple  one,  as  he  maintains, 
but  involves  the  whole  philosophical  debate  of  modem  times,  particularly  since 
Wilhelm  Dilthey,  about  the  relation  between  knowing  and  being,  thinking  and 
acting,  logic  and  history. 

Professor  Blanshard  still  maintains  apparently  the  old  idealist  view  of  a  natural 
reason  which  exists  independently  of  the  objectively  given  world  and  which 
bears  within  itself  the  condition  of  understanding  the  tmth  (and  naively  assumes 
that  every  other  philosopher  agrees  with  him!),  but  this  is  the  very  view  which 
has  been  subjected  to  such  devastating  criticism  by  modem  metaphysics  and 
science  (as  well  as  by  theologians  like  Barth  and  Bmnner)  on  the  ground  that  it 
fails  utterly  to  meet  critical  metaphysics  and  science  on  their  own  grounds. 

The  very  fact  that  my  criticisms  appear  to  him  only  like  a  “juggling  with  words” 
shows  that  Professor  Blanshard  sits  so  securely  in  his  idealist  parlour  that  real 
argument  with  him  is  hardly  possible,  except  on  his  own  idealist  presupposi¬ 
tions.  Otherwise  one  can  only  call  in  question  his  whole  philosophy.  That,  of 
course,  is  not  possible  to  do  here,  even  if  it  be  in  the  columns  of  a  daily  newspa¬ 
per  of  the  dignity  and  culture  of  The  Scotsman,  but  there  are  several  points  that 
require  further  clarification. 

Long  ago,  in  Edinburgh  University,  David  Hume,  in  his  “Dialogues  Concern¬ 
ing  Natural  Religion,”  taught  us  to  observe  the  distinction  between  ectypal 
and  archetypal  analogy  when  he  protested  against  projecting  into  theology  the 
ectypal  analogies  drawn  from  the  world  of  nature  as  though  they  were  arche¬ 
typal.  That  is  precisely  the  protest  that  Karl  Barth  has  raised  in  the  whole  field  of 
natural  theology.  For  him  the  objective  revelation  of  God  in  the  historical  Christ 
is  archetypal  and  governs  all  our  theological  analogies,  though  ectypal  analogies 
may  be  drawn  from  the  world  of  nature  to  articulate  faith  but  not  to  constmct  it. 

A  volume  of  Hume’s  “Dialogues”  was  first  thmst  into  my  hands  when  I  was  a 
student  by  Professor  Norman  Kemp  Smith  with  the  remark  that  it  would  destroy 
a  lot  of  bad  theology!  If  only  David  Hume  could  be  resurrected  and  brought 
back  as  a  Gifford  Lecturer! 

Further,  what  does  Professor  Blanshard  mean  by  “mere  conformity  to  an  object”? 
In  his  discussion  of  Anselm’s  “faith  seeking  to  understand  the  Truth,”  Karl  Barth 
points  out  that  the  rationality  of  faith  involves  a  three-fold  ratio,  in  the  rational 
experience  of  faith,  in  the  rational  conformity  of  faith  to  its  object,  and  in  the  ratio 
of  the  Truth  itself  which  is  fundamental.  That  is  the  view  which  Barth  took  over 


177 


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from  Anselm  and  it  needs  no  commentary  to  bring  out  the  radical  misinterpreta¬ 
tion  of  Barth’s  teaching  here  shown  by  Professor  Blanshard’s  letters. 

The  great  difficulty  about  theological  knowledge  is  its  bi-polar  character:  that 
knowledge  of  God  must  be  expressed  in  terms  of  what  it  is  not.  That  bi-polar 
character  is  nowhere  more  evident  than  in  the  Christian  doctrine  of  the  Incar¬ 
nation,  and  of  the  knowledge  of  God  not  as  He  is  in  Himself  but  in  the  form 
of  Man,  in  Jesus  Christ  who  is  both  God  and  Man.  It  was  because  they  were 
anxious  to  face  that  fact  honestly  (to  behave  consciously  in  terms  of  the  nature 
of  the  object!)  that  Barth  and  Brunner  became  dialectical  theologians. 

That  did  not  mean  that  “they  accepted  both  sides  of  a  contradiction,”  as  Professor 
Blanshard  mistakenly  assumes,  but  that  they  recognised  the  importance  and  depth 
of  paradox  in  the  human  expression  of  the  truth  and  that  they  were  prepared  to  say 
“yes”  and  “no”  at  crucial  points  of  an  issue  where  a  scholastic  distinction  would 
falsify  the  truth  and  where  a  logical  synthesis  would  only  force  an  abortive  unity 
against  the  facts.  As  theologians  neither  was  content  to  remain  “dialectical,”  and 
it  is  many  years  now  since  that  stage  was  left  behind.  Brunner  moved  back  in  a 
scholastic  direction  in  the  drawing  of  distinctions,  but  for  Barth  progress  has  been 
different.  His  massive  mind  has  refused  to  allow  the  distinctions  of  expression 
to  have  the  same  depth,  and  depth  in  being,  that  they  are  allowed  with  Brunner, 
for  they  do  not  correspond  to  distinctions  in  reality — e.g.,  the  distinction  between 
revelation  in  creation  and  revelation  through  the  Word.  Accordingly  Karl  Barth 
has  sought  to  evolve  a  new  method  of  theological  exposition  in  which,  while  seek¬ 
ing  out  in  Anselmian  fashion  the  full  rationality  of  faith  in  obedience  to  the  Truth, 
he  tries  to  formulate  and  communicate  it  as  a  whole.  That  is  why  the  “Kirchliche 
Dogmatik”  has  become  so  enormous  in  bulk. 

Throughout  all  this  rational  theological  activity  Barth  is  acutely  aware  of 
what  Professor  Dorothy  Emmet  has  called  the  “analogical  relation  to  the 
Transcendent” — the  fact  that  the  nature  of  God  is  such  that  He  always  tran¬ 
scends  the  concepts  and  analogies  in  terms  of  which  we  seek  to  articulate  our 
faith  in  Him.  That  is  what  Anselm  called  humilis  sapientia,  which  he  opposed  to 
the  insipiens  superbia  of  the  reason  which  has  never  learned  to  wonder. — I  am 
&c.  Thomas  F.  Torrance 

Blanshard — letter  dated  April  22,  1952.  Published  in  The  Scotsman, 

April  30,  page  6. 

Theology  of  Crisis 

University  of  St.  Andrews,  April  28,  1952 


178 


A  Skirmish:  Torrance  and  Blanshard 


Sir, — In  several  long  letters  published  in  your  columns,  Professor  Torrance 
has  taken  me  to  task  for  calling  the  theologians  Brunner  and  Barth  irrational- 
ists.  I  offered  in  reply  a  series  of  passages  from  their  own  writings  in  which  it 
was  maintained:  (1)  that  our  natural  reason  does  and  must  break  down  when 
it  seeks  a  knowledge  of  God,  and  (2)  that  God  is  so  different  from  the  world 
that  His  nature  is  bound  to  present  itself  to  our  reason  as  “foolishness”  and 
even  self-contradiction.  To  my  mind  these  statements  were  conclusive.  For 
what  could  irrationalism  mean  if  not  that  the  real  is,  to  our  reason,  unintelli¬ 
gible  and  incoherent?  And  yet  Professor  Torrance  holds  that  “Barth  stands 
out  in  Europe  as  the  great  protagonist  against  irrationalism.” 

What  is  his  ground  for  this  view?  This:  that  if  we  redefine  reason  to  mean  con¬ 
formity  with  an  object,  we  can  make  Barth  out  to  be  a  kind  of  rationalist,  even 
if  such  conformity  means  the  abandonment  of  the  laws  and  standards  of  natural 
reason.  To  this  my  answer  is  that  such  conformity  is  merely  meaningless:  it  is 
not  reason,  but  the  suicide  of  reason.  A  kind  of  knowledge  which  soars  so  high 
as  to  have  left  mere  logic  behind  has  simply  evaporated  as  knowledge. 

Professor  Torrance  tries  to  convey  the  idea  of  what  such  knowledge  might 
be  by  references  to  “archetypal  and  ectypal  analogies,”  “three-fold  ratios,” 
and  the  distinction  between  humilis  sapientia  and  insipiens  superbia  which 
suggest  that  he  is  trying  to  cross  from  reason  to  non-rational  knowledge  by 
a  bridge  of  degrees.  But  listen  to  Brunner  himself  on  all  this  (I  take  Brunner 
rather  that  Barth  because  he  puts  the  position  far  more  clearly):  revelation, 
he  says,  is  “what  no  man  can  know,  what  is  in  no  kind  of  continuity  with  our 
human  ideas,  no,  not  even  with  the  best  and  highest  we  possess;”  it  is  “the 
end  of  all  objectivity  ...  or,  rationalism;”  it  is  “something  which  is  distin¬ 
guished  not  gradually  or  quantitatively,  but  qualitatively,  from  anything 
which  man  can  know  ...”  (“The  Word  and  the  World.”  45,  75,  17.)  Could 
there  be  a  flatter  denial  of  the  interpretation  Professor  Torrance  is  offering 
for  the  theology  of  crisis? 

When  I  suggest  that  the  issue  is  simple  and  clean-cut,  he  replies  that  it 
“involves  the  whole  philosophical  debate  of  modem  times,”  and  invokes 
a  series  of  impressive  names  running  from  St.  Anselm’s  day  to  our  own.  I 
should  be  appalled  at  the  prospect  of  embroiling  myself  with  this  galaxy  of 
saints  and  sages.  And  surely  it  is  un-necessary.  My  argument  is  one  that  any 
reader  of  this  journal  can  understand  and  judge,  whether  he  has  ever  heard 
of  St.  Anselm  or  not.  It  is  this:  Whoever  says  that  reality  does  and  must  flout 
our  reason  is  an  irrationalist;  Barth  and  Bmnner  plainly  say  this;  therefore 
they  are  irrationalists. 


179 


Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin 


Professor  Torrance  thinks  it  dogmatic  to  hold  that  the  real  must  conform  to  the 
standards  of  our  reason;  he  suggests  that  if  I  say  this,  it  is  because  I  am  an  ideal¬ 
ist,  and  everyone  knows  that  idealism  is  dated;  Now  he  is  much  surer  that  I  am 
an  idealist  than  I  am;  it  is  a  name  I  never  claim  for  myself,  however  much  I  owe 
to  this  great  school.  And  if  he  is  suggesting  that  the  rationality  of  the  real,  in  the 
sense  of  its  self-consistency,  is  a  doctrine  peculiar  to  Idealists,  I  am  nonplussed 
again;  for  the  doctrine  is  held  as  firmly  by  the  arch-enemy  of  idealism,  [G.  E.] 
Moore,  as  it  was  by  Bradley  himself;  indeed  it  is  held  by  all  philosophic  schools 
except  that  of  skepticism. 

This  is  significant.  It  suggests  where  Barth  and  Brunner  really  stand.  Their  theol¬ 
ogy,  like  that  of  Newman  and  Pascal,  is  built  on  despair  of  human  reason.  They 
hope  by  renouncing  reason  to  save  religion.  It  is  a  bad  exchange.  If  you  do  not 
accept  both,  you  will  end  with  neither. — I  am  &c.  Brand  Blanshard 

[This  correspondence  is  closed. — Ed.]  m 


180 


Faculty  Publications 
2007 


Diogenes  Allen 

Philosophy  for  Understanding  Theology,  2nd  ed.  With  Eric  Springsted. 
Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007. 

Shane  Berg 

“An  Elite  Group  Within  the  Yahad:  Revisiting  IQS  8-9.”  In  Qumran  Studies: 
New  Approaches,  New  Questions,  B.  A.  Strawn  and  M.  T.  Davis,  editors. 
Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  161-77. 

C.  Clifton  Black 

Anatomy  of  the  New  Testament:  A  Guide  to  Its  Structure  and  Meaning,  6th  rev. 
ed.  With  Robert  A.  Spivey  and  D.  Moody  Smith.  Upper  Saddle  River: 
Pearson  Prentice  Hall,  2007. 

“Does  Suffering  Possess  Educational  Value  in  Mark’s  Gospel?”  In  Character 
Ethics  and  the  New  Testament:  Moral  Dimensions  of  Scripture,  Robert  L. 
Brawley,  editor.  Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007.  Pp.  3-17. 
“Piper,  Otto  Alfred  Wilhelm  (1891-1982).”  In  Dictionary  of  Major  Biblical 
Interpreters,  Donald  K.  McKim,  editor.  Downers  Grove:  IVP  Academic/ 
Inter  Varsity,  2007.  Pp.  835-40. 

“In  Memoriam:  Paul  S.  Minear.”  Horizons  in  Biblical  Theology  29  (2007): 
57-60. 

The  Catholic  Biblical  Quarterly,  Associate  Editor 
Donald  Capps 

Losers,  Loners,  and  Rebels:  The  Spiritual  Struggles  of  Boys.  With  Robert  C. 

Dykstra  and  Allen  Hugh  Cole  Jr.  Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007. 
“Did  King  James  Have  Homosexual  Tendencies?”  With  Nathan  Steven  Carlin. 
In  Text  and  Community:  Essays  in  Memory  of  Bruce  M.  Metzger,  vol.  2, 
New  Testament  Monographs  20,  J.  Harold  Ellens,  editor.  Sheffield, 
England:  Sheffield  Phoenix,  2007.  Pp.  201-43. 

DOI:  10.3754/1937-8386.2008.29.1.14 


181 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


“Preface.”  In  Special  Visions:  Poems  by  and for  Pastoral  Caregivers,  Orlo  C. 

Strunk  Jr.,  editor.  New  York:  iUniverse,  2007.  Pp.  xi-xii. 

“Augustine’s  Confessions'.  Self-reproach  and  the  Melancholy  Self.”  Pastoral 
Psychology  55  (2007):  571-91. 

“Augustine’s  Confessions'.  The  Story  of  a  Divided  Self  and  the  Process  of  Its 
Unification.”  Pastoral  Psychology  55  (2007):  551-69. 

“The  Homosexual  Tendencies  of  King  James:  Should  This  Matter  to  Bible  Readers 
Today?”  With  Nathan  Steven  Carlin.  Pastoral  Psychology  55  (2007):  667-99. 
“Humor  and  the  Rebellious  Spirit  of  the  Early  Adolescent  Boy.”  Pastoral 
Psychology  55  (2007):  411-30. 

“The  Making  of  the  Reliably  Religious  Boy.”  Pastoral  Psychology  55  (2007): 
253-70. 

“Mental  Illness  Publications  in  Major  Pastoral  Care  Journals  from  1950  to  2003.” 

With  Nathan  Steven  Carlin.  Pastoral  Psychology  55  (2007):  593-617. 
“Mother,  Melancholia,  and  Art  in  Erik  H.  Erikson’s  Toys  and  Reasons.''  Journal 
of  Religion  and  Health  46  (2007):  369-83. 

“Mother,  Melancholia,  and  Play  in  Erik  H.  Erikson’s  Childhood  and  Society." 

Journal  of  Religion  and  Health  46  (2007):  591-606. 

“Shame  and  the  Solitary  Way.”  Pastoral  Psychology  56  (2007):  3-8. 

James  H.  Charlesworth 

“Abraham’s  Children:  Is  There  a  Future  for  Jews,  Christians,  and  Muslims?” 

In  From  Biblical  Criticism  to  Biblical  Faith:  Essay  in  Honor  of  Lee  Martin 
McDonald,  W.  H.  Brackney  and  C.  A.  Evans,  editors.  Macon:  Mercer  University 
Press,  2007.  Pp.  315-40. 

“Can  We  Discern  the  Composition  Date  of  the  Parables  of  Enoch?”  In  Enoch  and 
the  Messiah  Son  of  Man:  Revisiting  the  Book  of  Parables,  G.  Boccaccini  et  al., 
editors.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  450-68. 

‘“God  Made  Him  Powerful  in  the  Holy  Spirit’:  Psalms  of  Solomon  17.37.”  In  The 
Psalms  of  Solomon:  A  Critical  Edition  of  the  Greek  Text,  Jewish  and  Christian 
Texts  in  Contexts  and  Related  Studies,  vol.  1,  by  Robert  B.  Wright.  New  York: 
T&T  Clark,  2007.  Pp.  vii-viii. 

“Introducing  David  Flusser’s  Jesus.”  In  The  Sage  from  Galilee:  Rediscovering 
Jesus'  Genius,  by  David  Flusser  with  R.  Steven  Notley.  Grand  Rapids: 

Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  xiv-xvi. 

“The  Naming  of  the  Son  of  Man,  the  Light,  the  Son  of  God:  How  the  Parables  of 
Enoch  May  Have  Influenced  the  Odes  of  Solomon."  In  "J  Sowed  Fruits  into 
Hearts"  (Odes  Sol.  17:13):  Festschrift  for  Professor  Michael  Lattke,  Early 
Christian  Studies  12,  P.  Allen,  M.  Franzmann,  and  R.  Strelan,  editors.  Strathfield, 
NSW:  St.  Pauls  Publication  &  Centre  for  Early  Christian  Studies.  Pp.  3 1-43. 


182 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


“Return  to  the  Sources  in  Twenty-first-century  Methodist  Ecclesiology:  John 

Wesley’s  Ecclesiology  in  the  Light  of  New  Insights  into  the  New  Testament  and 
Its  Environment.”  In  Orthodox  and  Wesleyan  Ecclesiology,  S.  T.  Kimbrough  Jr., 
editor.  Crestwood:  St.  Vladimir’s  Seminary  Press,  2007.  Pp.  65-85. 

“The  Rotas-Sator  Square.”  In  Text  and  Community:  Essay  in  Memory  of  Bruce  M. 
Metzger,  vol.  1,  New  Testament  Monographs  19,  J.  Harold  Ellens,  editor. 
Sheffield,  England:  Sheffield  Phoenix,  2007.  Pp.  151-67. 

“Bruce  Manning  Metzger  (1914-2007).”  Henoch  29:2  (2007):  424. 

“Dead  Sea  Scrolls:  How  They  Changed  My  Life.”  Biblical  Archaeology  Review 
(September/October  2007):  60-63. 

“Memorial  Minute:  Bruce  Manning  Metzger,  February  9,  1914,  to  February  13, 

2001 7'  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  2%\  \  (2007):  99—107. 

Review  of  Emanual:  Studies  in  Hebrew  Bible,  Septuagint,  and  Dead  Sea  Scrolls  in 
Honor  of  Emanuel  Tov.  Supplements  to  Vetus  Testamentum  94,  S.  M.  Paul,  R.  A. 
Kraft,  L.  H.  Schiffinan,  and  W.  W.  Fields,  with  E.  Ben-David,  editors.  Princeton 
Seminary  Bulletin  28:2  (2007):  231—33. 

Review  of  La  Fete  de  VEnvoye:  La  Section  Johannique  de  la  fete  des  Tentes  (Jean 
7,  1-10,  21)  et  la  christologi.  Etudes  Bibliques,  n.s.  No.  49,  by  Luc  Devillers. 
Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  28:2  (2007):  226-28. 

Review  of  The  Messiah  in  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  Stanley  E.  Porter,  editor. 

Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  28:2  (2007):  228-31. 

Review  of  Scribal  Practices  and  Approaches  Reflected  in  the  Texts  Found  in  the 
Judean  Desert,  by  E.  Tov.  Catholic  Biblical  Quarterly  69  (2007):  134-37. 

Stephen  D.  Crocco 
Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin,  Editor. 

Kenda  Creasy  Dean 

Youth,  Religion  and  Globalization:  New  Research  in  Practical  Theology, 
International  Practical  Theology,  vol.  3,  Richard  R.  Osmer  and  Kenda 
Creasy  Dean,  editors.  Zurich:  LIT  Verlag,  2006/7. 

“The  Ambiguities  of  ‘Growing  up  Global’:  Sowing  Hope  in  an  Ambivalent 
Age,”  with  Tony  Jones;  and  “God  Versus  Glitz:  Globalization,  Youth  and 
the  Church  in  the  United  States.”  In  Youth,  Religion  and  Globalization: 

New>  Research  in  Practical  Theology,  International  Practical  Theology, 
vol.  3,  Richard  R.  Osmer  and  Kenda  Creasy  Dean,  editors.  Zurich:  LIT 
Verlag,  2006/7.  Pp.  251-72;  87-128. 

“Preface,”  with  Ron  Foster.  In  The  God-Hungry  Imagination:  The  Art  of 
Storytelling  for  Postmodern  Youth  Ministry,  by  Sarah  Arthur.  Nashville: 
Upper  Room,  2007.  Pp.  11-13. 


183 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


“Transformational  Youth  Ministry:  A  Roundtable  Discussion.”  Network 
Magazine  (Fall  2007):  n.p. 

Contributor  to  Means  of  Grace  in  the  Wesleyan  Tradition,  DVD,  produced  by 
Mark  V.  Purushotham.  Nashville:  Discipleship  Resources,  2007. 

Review  of  Branded:  Adolescents  Converting  from  Consumer  Faith,  by 
K.  Turpin,  Theology  Today  64  (Fall  2007):  403-6. 

Theology  and  Youth  Ministry  Book  Series  (Abingdon  Press  and  the  Princeton 
Theological  Seminary  Institute  for  Youth  Ministry),  General  Editor 

F.  W.  Dobbs-Allsopp 

“Hymns,  OT.”  In  The  New  Interpreter ’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  vol.  2:  D-H, 
Katherine  Doob  Sakenfeld,  editor.  Nashville:  Abingdon,  2007. 

“(More)  Thoughts  on  Performatives.”  Zeitschrift fYr  AlthebrSistik  17-20 
(2004-7):  36-81. 

Robert  C.  Dykstra 

Losers,  Loners,  and  Rebels:  The  Spiritual  Struggles  of  Boys.  With  Allan  Hugh 
Cole  Jr.  and  Donald  Capps.  Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007. 

Abigail  Rian  Evans 

“Dying  Well.”  In  Health,  Christian  Reflection:  A  Series  in  Faith  and  Ethics,  vol.  23. 

Waco:  The  Center  for  Christian  Ethics  at  Baylor  University,  2007.  Pp.  35-43. 
Endorsement  of  The  Toxic  Congregation,  by  G.  Lloyd  Rediger.  Nashville: 
Abingdon,  2007.  Inside  cover. 

Beverly  Roberts  Gaventa 

Our  Mother  Saint  Paul.  Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007. 

“Interpreting  the  Death  of  Jesus  Apocalyptically:  Reconsidering  Romans  8:32.” 
In  Jesus  and  Paul  Reconnected:  Fresh  Pathways  into  an  Old  Debate,  Todd 
Still,  editor.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  125-45. 

“To  Glorify  God  and  Enjoy  God  Forever:  A  Place  for  Joy  in  Reformed 

Readings  of  Scripture.”  In  Reformed  Theology:  Identity  and  Ecumenicity  II: 
Biblical  Interpretation  in  the  Reformed  Tradition,  Michael  Welker  and  Wal¬ 
lace  M.  Alston  Jr.,  editors.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  107-15. 
“Take  and  Read:  New  Testament.”  Christian  Century  127  (2007):  34-35. 

Gordon  Graham 

The  Re-Enchantment  of  the  World:  Art  versus  Religion.  Oxford  and  New  York: 
Oxford  University  Press,  2007. 


184 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


“Music  and  Electro-sonic  Art.”  In  Philosophers  on  Music:  Experience,  Meaning, 
and  Work,  Kathleen  Stock,  editor.  Oxford  and  New  York:  Oxford  University 
Press,  2007.  Pp.  209-25. 

“Sin  and  Salvation.”  In  Routledge  Companion  to  the  Philosophy  of  Religion, 

Paul  Copan  and  Chad  Meister,  editors.  London  and  New  York:  Routledge, 
2007. 

“The  Ambition  of  Scottish  Philosophy.”  The  Monist  90:2  (April  2007):  154-69. 

Journal  of  Scottish  Philosophy  Volume  5,  Editor 

Darrell  Guder 

Exhibition  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  to  the  World.  Louisville:  Witherspoon 
Press,  2007. 

Mission  i  et pluralisk  samfund — hvorfor  og  hvordan?  Frederiksberg: 
Folkekirkens  Mission,  2007. 

“The  Challenge  of  Evangelization  in  America:  Theological  Ambiguities.”  In 
Antioch  Agenda:  Essays  on  the  Restorative  Church  in  Honor  of  Orlando 
E.  Costas,  Daniel  Jeyaraj  et  al.,  editors.  New  Delhi:  Indian  Society  for  the 
Promotion  of  Christian  Knowledge,  2007.  Pp.  163-75. 

“The  Missio  Dei:  A  Mission  Theology  after  Christendom.”  In  News  of  Boundless 
Riches:  Interrogating,  Comparing,  and  Reconstructing  Mission  in  a  Global 
Era,  vol.  1,  Max  L.  Stackhouse  and  Lalsangkima  Pachuau,  editors.  Delhi: 
Indian  Society  for  Promoting  Christian  Knowledge  (ISPCK),  2007.  Pp.  3-25. 

“Missional  Existence  Today,”  by  Michael  Welker,  translated  by  Darrell  L. 

Guder.  In  News  of  Boundless  Riches:  Interrogating,  Comparing,  and 
Reconstructing  Mission  in  a  Global  Era,  vol.  1,  Max  L.  Stackhouse  and 
Lalsangkima  Pachuau,  editors.  Delhi:  Indian  Society  for  Promoting  Christian 
Knowledge  (ISPCK),  2007.  Pp.  45-59. 

“Walking  Worthily:  Missional  Leadership  After  Christendom.”  Princeton  Semi¬ 
nary  Bulletin  2%:1)  (2007):  251-91. 

Review  of  Evangelicals,  Ecumenicals,  and  Anabaptist  Missiologies  in  Conver¬ 
sation,  James  R.  Krabill,  Walter  Savatsky,  and  Charles  E.  Van  Enden,  editors. 
Mission  Focus:  Annual  Review  14  (2007):  23 1-32. 

Scott  H.  Hendrix 

“Martin  Luther,  Reformer.”  In  Cambridge  History  of  Christianity.  Reform  and 
Expansion  1500-1660,  vol.  6,  R.  Po-chia  Hsia,  editor.  Cambridge,  England, 
and  New  York:  Cambridge  University  Press,  2007.  Pp.  3-19. 

Review  of  Als  Frieden  m'glich  war:  450  Jahre  Augsburger  Religionsfrieden, 

Carl  A.  Hoffmann,  Markus  Johanns,  Annette  Kranz,  Christof  Trepesch,  and 
Oliver  Zeidler,  editors.  Lutheran  Quarterly  21:4  (2007):  485-86. 


185 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


Review  of  Luther  Handbuch,  Albrecht  Beutel,  editor.  Luther jahr buck  74  (2007): 
199-201. 

Deborah  van  Deusen  Hunsinger 

“Respecting  Ourselves  as  Christian  Therapists.”  Edification:  Journal  of  the 
Society  for  Christian  Psychology  1 :2  (2007):  29-31. 

Jeremy  M.  Hutton 

“Archer,”  “Azekah,”  and  “Cuneiform;”  and  “Hebrew  Language,”  with  Aaron  D. 
Rubin.  In  The  New  Interpreter’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  vol.  1,  Katharine 
Doob  Sakenfeld,  editor.  Nashville:  Abingdon,  2007.  Pp.  248;  361;  810;  and 
768-78. 

“Isaiah  5 1 :9-l  1  and  the  Rhetorical  Appropriation  and  Subversion  of  Hostile 
Theologies.”  Journal  of  Biblical  Literature  126  (2007):  271-303. 

Review  of  Ancient  Place  Names  in  the  Holy  Land,  by  Yoel  Elitzur.  Maarav  14 
(2007):  77-97. 

William  Stacy  Johnson 

“The  ‘Reality’  of  Faith:  Critical  Remarks  on  Section  63  of  Die  Kirchliche 
Dogmatik.  In  The  Reality  of  Faith  in  Theology:  Studies  on  Karl  Barth, 
Princeton-Kampen  Consultation  2005,  Bruce  McCormack  and  Gerrit  Neven, 
editors.  Bern:  Peter  Lang,  2007.  Pp.  205-20. 

“Empire  and  Order:  The  Gospel  and  Same-Gender  Relationships.”  Biblical 
Theology  Bulletin  37:4  (Winter  2007):  161-73. 

“King’s  Refusal  and  Ours.”  In  Perspectives:  An  Online  Publication  of  the  Office 
of  the  General  Assembly,  Presbyterian  Church  (USA)  (February  2007),  http:// 
www.pcusa.org/oga/perspectives/feb07/kings-refusal.pdf  (accessed  August 
12,  2008). 

Review  of  God  V5.  the  Gavel:  Religion  and  the  Rule  of  Law,  by  Marci  A. 
Hamilton.  Journal  of  Law  and  Religion  22:1  (2006-07):  287—90. 

James  F.  Kay 

Preaching  and  Theology.  St.  Louis:  Chalice,  2007. 

“Belles  Lettres.”  Theology  Today  64  (2007):  1-4. 

Theology  Today,  Editor 

Jacqueline  Lapsley 

Character  Ethics  and  the  Old  Testament:  Moral  Dimensions  of  Scripture, 
Jacqueline  Lapsley  and  M.  Daniel  Carroll  R.,  editors.  Louisville: 

Westminster  John  Knox,  2007. 


186 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


“Alternative  Worlds;  Reading  the  Bible  as  Scripture.”  In  Engaging  Biblical 
Authority:  Perspectives  on  the  Bible  as  Scripture,  William  R  Brown, 
editor.  Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007.  Pp.  90-97. 

“Ezekiel  through  the  Spectacles  of  Faith.”  In  Reformed  Theology:  Identity  and 
Ecumenicity  II:  Biblical  Interpretation  in  the  Reformed  Tradition,  Viichsitl  Welker 
and  Wallace  M.  Alston  Jr.,  editors.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  146-56. 

“A  Feeling  for  God:  Emotions  and  Moral  Formation  in  Ezekiel.”  In  Character 
Ethics  and  the  Old  Testament:  Appropriating  Scripture  for  Moral  Life, 
Jacqueline  E.  Lapsley  and  M.  Daniel  Carroll  R.,  editors.  Louisville:  West¬ 
minster  John  Knox,  2007. 

Review  of  Ezekiel,  by  Margaret  S.  Odell.  Theology  Today  63:4  (January  2007): 
504-9. 

James  N.  Lapsley 

“Charles  Ives  and  the  Reformed  Tradition:  A  Musical  Pilgrimage.”  Theology 
Today  64:3  (2007):  305-21. 

Elsie  A.  McKee 

“The  Character  and  Significance  of  John  Calvin’s  Teaching  on  Social  and  Eco¬ 
nomic  Issues.”  In  John  Calvin  Rediscovered:  The  Impact  of  His  Social  and 
Economic  Thought,  Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Studies  in  Reformed 
Theology  and  History,  Edouard  Dommen  and  James  Bratt,  editors. 

Louisville:  Westminster  John  Knox,  2007.  Pp.  3-24. 

“The  Emergence  of  Lay  Theologies.”  In  Reformation  Christianity:  A  People’s 
History  of  Christianity  vol.  5,  Peter  Matheson,  editor.  Minneapolis:  Fortress, 
2007.  Pp.  212-31. 

“A  Lay  Voice  in  Sixteenth-Century  ‘Ecumenics’:  Katharina  Schiitz  Zell  in 
Dialogue  with  Johannes  Brenz,  Conrad  Pellican,  and  Caspar  Schwenckfeld.” 

Adaptations  of  Calvinism  in  Reformation  Europe:  Essays  in  Honour  of 
Brian  G.  Armstrong,  Mack  P.  Holt,  editor.  Aldershot,  England:  Ashgate, 
2007.  Pp.  81-110. 

“Teaching  Katharina  Schiitz  Zell  (1498-1562).”  In  Teaching  Other  Voices: 
Women  and  Religion  in  Early  Modern  Europe,  Margaret  King  and  Albert 
Rabil,  editors.  Chicago:  University  of  Chicago  Press,  2007.  Pp.  137-53. 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Studies  in  Reformed  Theology  and  History, 
Series  Editor 

Patrick  D.  Miller 

“Old  Testament  Exegesis  in  the  Reformed  Perspective:  The  Case  of  the  Com¬ 
mandments.”  In  Reformed  Theology:  Identity  and  Ecumenicity  II:  Biblical 


187 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


Interpretation  in  the  Reformed  Tradition,  Michael  Welker  and  Wallace  M. 
Alston  Jr.,  editors.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  217-29. 

“  ‘Deinem  Namen  die  Ehre’  Die  Psalmen  und  die  Theologie  des  Alten  Testa¬ 
ments.”  Evangelische  Theologie  67  (2007):  32-42. 

Dennis  Olson 

“Between  Humility  and  Authority:  The  Interplay  of  the  Judge-Prophet  Laws 
(Deut.  16:18-17:13)  and  the  Judge-Prophet  Narratives  of  Moses.”  In  Char¬ 
acter  Ethics  and  the  Old  Testament:  Appropriating  Scripture  for  Moral 
Life,  Jacqueline  Lapsley  and  M.  Daniel  Carroll  R.,  editors.  Louisville: 
Westminster  John  Knox,  2007.  Pp.  51-61. 

“Balaam,”  “Census,”  “Dathan,”  “Enrollment,”  and  “Moses.”  In  The  New  Inter¬ 
preter  ’s  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  Katharine  Doob  Sakenfeld,  editor. 

Nashville:  Abingdon,  2006-2008. 

Richard  Osmer 

Youth,  Religion  and  Globalization:  New  Research  in  Practical  Theology,  Inter¬ 
national  Practical  Theology,  vol.  3,  Richard  R.  Osmer  and  Kenda  Creasy 
Dean,  editors.  Zurich:  LIT  Verlag  GmbH  &  Co.,  2006/7. 

Luke  A.  Powery 

“Where  the  Spirit  May  Be  Blowing:  The  Future  of  African  American  Homiletics.” 
Homiletix  E-Forum:  An  Electronic  Journal  of  the  Academy  of  Homiletics 
(September  2007),  http://info.wlu.ca/wwwsem/ah/pdfvisitors/homiletixfalL2007/ 
homiletix_fall2007_Powery.htm  (accessed  September  2, 2008). 

“Death  Threat.”  Princeton  Seminary  Bulletin  28:3  (2007):  244-50. 

Review  of  Pastoral  Ministry  according  to  Paul:  A  Biblical  Vision,  by  James  W. 
Thompson.  Toronto  Journal  of  Theology  22:2  (2007):  231-33. 

Luis  N.  Riverx-PagAn 

God,  in  Your  Grace.  ...  :  Official  Report  of  the  Ninth  Assembly  of  the  World 
Council  of  Churches.  Luis  N.  Rivera-Pagan,  editor.  Geneva:  WCC 
Publications,  2007. 

“Eine  Polyzentrische  Weltchristenheit  -  Einfuhrung  in  Verlauf  und  Thematik 
der  Vollversammlung.”  In  In  deiner  Gnade,  Gott,  verwandle  die  Welt.  Porto 
Alegre  2006,  Neunte  Vollversammlung  des  Okumenischen  Rates  der  Kirchen, 
Klaus  Wilkens,  editor.  Frankfurt  am  Main:  Verlag  Otto  Lembeck,  2007. 

Pp.  13-53. 

“Entre  elegias  y  herejias.”  In  Bajar  de  la  Cruz  a  los  Pobres:  Cristologla  de  la 
Liberacion,  Jose  Maria  Vigil,  editor.  Comision  Teoldgica  Intemacional  de  la 


188 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


Asociacion  Ecumenica  de  Te61ogos/as  del  Tercer  Mundo.  Mdxico;  Ediciones 
Dabar,  2007.  Pp.  199-203.  Translated  as  “Entre  elegias  e  heresias.”  In  Descer 
da  cruz  os  pobres:  Cristologia  da  Libertagao,  Josd  Marla  Vigil,  editor.  Sao 
Paulo:  Paulinas,  2007.  Pp.  244-49.  Translated  as  “Tra  elegie  ed  eresie.”  In 
Deporre  i  Poveri  dalla  Croce:  Cristologia  Della  Liberazione,  Jose  Maria  Vigil, 
editor.  Commissione  Teologica  Intemazionale  della  Associazione  Ecumenica  di 
Teologi/ghe  del  Terzo  Mondo.  Roma:  ADISTA,  2007.  Pp.  207-11.  Trans¬ 
lated  as  “Between  Elegies  and  Heresies.”  In  Getting  the  Poor  Down  from  the 
Cross:  Christology  of  Liberation.  International  Theological  Commission  of 
the  Ecumenical  Association  of  Third  World  Theologians,  2007.  Pp.  215-19. 

“Pastoral  Theology  in  a  Post-colonial  Context:  Some  Observations  from  the 
Caribbean.”  Perspectivas  (Hispanic  Theological  Initiative,  Princeton)  (Fall 
2007):  11-37. 

“Laberintos  y  desencuentros  de  la  fragmentada  identidad  cultural  mexicana.” 
Pasos  131  (Departamento  Ecumenico  de  Investigaciones,  San  Jose,  Costa 
Rica),  segunda  epoca  (mayo-junio  2007):  1-9;  Signos  de  Vida  (Consejo 
Latinoamericano  de  Iglesias,  Quito,  Ecuador)  44  (junio  de  2007):  20-27. 

Paul  Rorem 

“Dionysius  the  Areopagite.”  In  The  History  of  Christianity,  by  Jonathan  Hill. 
Oxford:  Lion,  2007.  P.  103. 

Lutheran  Quarterly  and  Lutheran  Quarterly  Books,  Editor 

Katherlne  Doob  Sakenfeld 

The  New  Interpreter's  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  vol.  2:  D-H  and  vol.  3:  I-Ma, 
Katherine  Doob  Sakenfeld,  editor.  Nashville:  Abingdon,  2007. 

“Postcolonial  Perspectives  on  Premonarchic  Women.”  In  To  Break  Every  Yoke: 
Essays  in  Honor  of  Marvin  L.  Chaney,  Robert  B.  Coote  and  Norman 
K.  Gottwald,  editors.  Sheffield:  Sheffield  Phoenix,  2007.  Pp.  188-99. 

Review  of  Hagar,  Sarah,  and  Their  Children:  Jewish,  Christian,  and  Muslim 
Perspectives,  Phyllis  Trible  and  Letty  M.  Russell,  editors.  Theology  Today 
63:4  (2007):  502-4. 

Max  L.  Stackhouse 

Globalization  and  Grace:  God  and  Globalization,  vol.  4,  with  forward  by  Justo 
Gonzdlez.  New  York:  Continuum  International,  2007. 

NeM>s  of  Boundless  Riches:  Interrogating,  Comparing,  and  Reconstructing  Mission 
in  a  Global  Era,  2  vols.,  with  introduction  by  Max  L.  Stackhouse.  Max  L. 
Stackhouse  and  Lalsangkima  Pachuau,  editors.  Delhi:  ISPCK  with  UTC  & 
CTI,  2007. 


189 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


What  is  Public  Theology?:  Selected  Essays  with  Responses  and  Comments  by 
Korean  Scholars  (sponsored  by  the  New  Institute  for  Christian  Ethics).  Sang 
Hoon  Lee  et  al.,  editors  and  translators.  Seoul:  Sunhaksa,  2007. 

“Civil  Religion,  Political  Theology,  and  Public  Theology.”  In  The  Christian  in  Pub¬ 
lic:  Aims,  Methodologies,  and  Issues  in  Public  Theology.  Beyers  Naude  Centre 
Series  on  Public  Theology,  vol.  3,  L.  Hansen,  editor.  (Revised  and  expanded 
from  2004  version).  Stellenbosch:  Sun,  2007.  Pp.  79-96. 

“Eschatology  and  Ethics.”  In  The  Oxford  Handbook  of  Eschatology,  Jerry  L.  Walls, 
editor.  New  York:  Oxford  University  Press,  2007.  Pp.  548-62. 

“Globalization  and  Christian  Ethics.”  In  The  Globalization  of  Ethics:  Religious  and 
Secular  Perspectives,  William  M.  Sullivan  and  Will  Kymlicka,  editors.  New 
York:  Cambridge  University  Press,  2007.  Pp.  53-74. 

“Globalization  and  Missions”  and  “Human  Rights  and  Missions.”  In  The 

Encyclopedia  of  Missions  and  Missionaries.  New  York:  Routledge  On  Line 
and  E-Books,  2007. 

“A  Preface.”  In  Public  Theology  and  Globalization:  A  Study  in  Max  L.  Stackhouse ’s 
Christian  Ethics,  by  Zhibin  Xie  (in  Chinese).  Beijing:  CIP,  2007.  Pp.  II-I4. 

“The  Sources  of  Human  Rights  Ideas:  A  Christian  Perspective.”  In  Christianity  and 
Human  Rights:  Influences  &  Issues,  Frances  Adeney  and  Arvind  Sharma,  editors. 
Albany:  State  University  of  New  York  Press,  2007.  Pp.  41-54. 

“The  Tasks  of  Theological  Ethics.”  In  Interweaving  Methodology  and 
Praxis:  Exploring  Disciplinary  Options  in  Today’s  World,  I.  J.  Mohan 
Razu  and  John  Indukuri,  editors.  Bangalore:  BTESSC/SATRI,  2007. 

Pp.  47-62. 

“The  Christian  Ethic  of  Love:  A  Dialogical  Response.”  In  “Two  Responses  to  ‘On 
a  Paradox  in  Christian  Love’  by  Professor  Liu,”  The  Journal  of  Religious  Ethics 
35:4  (December,  2007):  700-11. 

“On  ‘Public  Theology’:  An  Interview.”  Ministry  and  Theology,  vol.  1 1  (November 
2007)  (in  Korean):  42-51. 

“Reflections  on  How  and  Why  We  Go  Public.”  International  Journal  of  Public 
Theology  1:3^  (2007):  421-30. 

“Religion,  Public  Life  and  Globalization.”  Social  Sciences  Abroad  (Beijing,  Acad¬ 
emy  of  Social  Science)  2nd  issue  (2007):  73-77. 

“Signs  of  Hope  for  the  World  of  Business.”  Comment  Magazine  (Canada), 
(October  12,  2007),  http://www.wrf.ca/comment/authors2.cfm?ID=138 
(accessed  September  2,  2008). 

“Social  Graces:  Christianity  and  Globalization.”  Review  of  Faith  &  International 
Affairs,  5:3  (Fall  2007):  41-49. 

“A  Tribute  to  CISRS.”  Religion  and  Society  (Bangalore,  India)  52:2  (2007): 
35-42. 


190 


Faculty  Publications  2007 


Iain  Torrance 

The  Oxford  Handbook  of  Systematic  Theology,  Iain  Torrance,  John  Webster,  and 
Kathryn  Tanner,  editors.  New  York;  Oxford  University  Press,  2007. 

“A  Long  Tradition  of  Engagement:  A  Tribute  to  Trinity  College,  Glasgow,  on  Its 
150th  Anniversary.”  In  The  God  of  Love  and  Human  Dignity:  Festschrift  for 
George  Newlands,  Paul  Middleton,  editor.  London:  T&T  Clark/Continuum, 
2007.  Pp.  5-18. 

“Peacemaking  and  Humanitarian  Intervention:  The  Contribution  of  the 
Reformed  Tradition  to  the  Morality  of  Conflict  after  the  Cold  War.”  In 
Reformed  Theology:  Identity  and  Ecumenicity  IT.  Biblical  Interpretation  in 
the  Reformed  Tradition,  Michael  Welker  and  William  M.  Alston  Jr.,  editors. 
Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  419-29. 

“The  Torture  Argument.”  The  Journal  of  the  Royal  Army  Chaplains  Department, 
vol.  46,  2007:31-35. 

Scottish  Journal  of  Theology,  Editor  (with  Bryan  Spinks). 

J.  Wentzel  van  Huyssteen 

Ashgate  Science  and  Religion  Series:  Reconstructing  a  Christian  Theology  of 
Nature:  Down  to  Earth,  by  Arma  Case- Winters.  J.  Wentzel  van  Huyssteen 
and  Roger  Trigg,  series  editors.  Aldershot:  Ashgate,  2007. 

“Building  Effective  Bridges  to  Culture;  God  and  Redemption  in  the  Work  of 
Richard  Wagner.”  In  The  God  of  Love  and  Human  Dignity:  Festschrift  for 
George  Newlands,  Paul  Middleton,  editor.  London:  T&T  Clark/Continuum, 
2007.  Pp.  85-106. 

“A  Reply  to  My  Critics;  A  Response  to  Six  Presentations  at  the  Aimual  Confer¬ 
ence  of  the  Highlands  Institute  on  American  Religious  and  Philosophical 
Thought  (HIARPT)  on  Alone  in  the  World?  Human  Uniqueness  in  Science 
and  Theology:  The  Gifford  Lectures,  by  J.  Wentzel  van  Huyssteen.”  Ameri¬ 
can  Journal  of  Theology  and  Philosophy  28:3  (2007). 

Ross  Wagner 

“Working  Out  Salvation:  Community  and  Holiness  in  Philippians.”  In  Holiness 
and  Ecclesiology  in  the  New  Testament,  Kent  E.  Brower  and  Andy  Johnson, 
editors.  Grand  Rapids:  Eerdmans,  2007.  Pp.  257-74. 

“Identifying  ‘Updated’  Prophecies  in  OG  Isaiah:  Isaiah  8:11-16  as  a  Test  Case.” 
Journal  of  Biblical  Literature  126  (2007):  251-69. 

Resources  for  Biblical  Studies  (New  Testament),  Society  of  Biblical 
Literature,  Editor 


191 


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Made  in  the  USA 
Charleston,  SC 
28  February  2012 


PRINCETON  SEMINARY  BULLETIN 

A  record  of  Christian  thinking  at  Princeton  Theological  Seminary 


Editor’s  Note 

What  Friends  We  Have  in  Jesus:  The  Leavening  Effect  of 
Transnational  Mission  Partnerships 
The  Bible  in  China:  Religion  of  God’s  Chinese  Son 
Moral  Theater  in  the  Streets:  The  Role  of  Suffering 
in  the  Quest  for  Social  Justice 
Reflections  on  Pluralism 
Whose  Text  Is  It? 

The  Folly  of  Secularism 
Historical  Theology  Done  in  the  Radical 
Liberal  Mode:  The  Story  of  Wilhelm  Pauck 
Biblical  Theology  Revisited: 

An  Internal  Debate 
The  Theology  of  John  Calvin 
In-Between  Places 

Karl  Barth  in  Scotland:  The  Exchange  between 
Thomas  F.  Torrance  and  Brand  Blanshard 
Faculty  Publications  2007 


Crocco 

McClure 

Lee 

Paris 
O’ Donovan 
Sakenfeld 
Stout 

Hillerbrand 

Black 

Partee 

Ammon 

Torrance  and  Torrance 


PRINCETON 
Theological  Seminary 


SB 


9  78 


9780964489 


0964  489127 


27 


90000