Muller on Theology*
John M. Frame
*
Richard A. Muller, The Study of Theology: From Biblical Interpretation to
Contemporary Formulation (Foundations of Contemporary Interpretation 7;
Richard Muller is certainly one of the
most impressive scholars writing today in the fields of history of doctrine and
systematic theology. Therefore, news that he has addressed the question of
theological method properly arouses our expectations. In some respects, this
book did not disappoint me: it is learned and erudite, it provides a useful
compendium of much ancient and recent wisdom on the subject, and there is very little
in it with which I literally disagree. On the whole, however, I found the book
deeply unsatisfactory, for reasons which will appear later.
The book is important, both in its
achievements and in its shortcomings. Positively, it formulates, more concisely
and clearly than ever before, the thinking which underlies much (possibly most)
evangelical and Reformed theology in our time, a pattern of thinking which is
arguably very different from the pattern which was dominant fifty years ago.
Negatively, the book’s weaknesses reveal potentially fatal flaws in that
theological mentality and therefore hard questions that every contemporary
Reformed or evangelical theologian must ask.
But first, we must see what Muller wants
to tell us. He begins by posing the much-discussed question of the relation of
theory to practice in preparation for the ministry. As a foil, he presents the
extreme view of one unnamed recent D.Min. graduate (I will call him “Elmer,”
for I want to refer to him from time to time) who scorned all theoretical,
academic study, and who complimented his D.Min. program because it required “no
theological speculation, no ivory-tower critical thinking, no retreat from the
nitty-gritty of daily ministry” (p. vii). In contrast, Muller notes his own seven-year
experience in the pastorate, in which “everything I had learned both in
seminary and in graduate school had been of use to me in my ministry” (p.
viii). How, then, can we show that the traditional academic disciplines really
are relevant to the pastoral ministry? Or should we simply abandon those
disciplines, as Elmer would prefer?
Muller thinks we can best answer these
questions by carefully reviewing the nature of the traditional fourfold
theological curriculum: biblical, historical, systematic, and
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practical
theology. Like E. D. Hirsch, Allan Bloom, and others in the field of general
education, Muller advocates in theological education a renewed appreciation of
traditional models and content, not only to create a better-informed clergy,
but also as a means of forming character (pp. xiii-xiv).
Elmer might be rather scandalized at the
suggestion that academic theological study builds character. We will have to
follow the argument; but first more questions. Muller points out that the
traditional curriculum is also under stress in our time because of the
proliferation of subdisciplines and because of wide differences (especially
since the Enlightenment) about history, hermeneutics, and method as well as
doctrine. Those problems, too, are on his agenda.
Some potential solutions exist in recent
volumes on theology written by Gerhard Ebeling, Edward Farley, and Wolfhart
Pannenberg. Ebeling, according to Muller, sacrifices the unity of theology
because of his unwillingness to exclude options which he deems to be open
questions in the present discussion (p. 45). Farley finds the unity of theology
only in the student, and the goal of theology, not in the impartation of a
definite content, but in the “shaping of human beings under an ideal” (p. 50).
Pannenberg, however, reminds us of the importance of objective historical
content and scientific method. Muller’s response to these positions is to seek
a balance between objective study and subjective character formation, without
sacrificing the unity of the discipline (pp. 40-41, 60). We will see that his
theological method is, as we might expect from his past writings, strongly
influenced by the method of historical study. It is this kind of careful study,
he believes, that generates the best in contemporary theological formulation
and pastoral character.1
He analyzes in turn the four major
theological disciplines in order to show the path “from biblical interpretation
to contemporary formulation” (to cite his subtitle). In biblical studies (where
he considers himself only a “dabbler at best” [p. xvii]) he emphasizes the
importance of reading the text in its original setting, “to place us as readers
of the text into the milieu of its authors” (p. 68). This principle forbids us,
for example, to assume that the monogenēs of John 1:14, 18 “stands as a direct
reference” to intertrinitarian relationships, or to read “image of God” in Gen
1:27 as a reference to Christ or to human virtues (p. 66), at least in the
“basic interpretation” or “primary exegetical reading” (p. 74) of the text. It
is also wrong, he says, to read Ps 2:7 “in terms of an inter-Trinitarian
begetting or even in terms of the New Testament application of the text to
Christ
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(Heb.
1:5) if done at a primary level of interpretation” (p. 66).2 Such
interpretations would not, he says, have occurred to the original authors or
readers, and therefore they are not historically responsible. Further, such
interpretations fail to allow the Scriptures to speak for themselves, to rule
over our dogmatic formulations (p. 81).
Therefore, if we want a right
understanding of the New Testament, we must read the Old Testament “separately”
(p. 71), not as if it were “interpretatively subordinate in all its statements
to the New Testament” (p. 73). Indeed, it must be studied “critically as a
pre-Christian and, therefore, to a certain extent non-Christian body of
literature” (p. 73). Nor should the New Testament be “understood as the second
of two books that God once wrote.” Rather, it should be understood as part of
an “unbroken stream of writings extending from the Old Testament through the
so-called intertestamental period, and followed historically by an unbroken
stream of writings extending from the last book of the New Testament down to the
present” (p. 79). Muller does affirm the canonical status of our Bible,
distinct in that respect from the rest of the “unbroken stream” of writings
(pp. 81-82). But that status is justified by objective historical analysis of
the entire stream.
Biblical theology as such considers “the
unity and larger implication” of the biblical materials and thus “joins
biblical study to the other theological disciplines” (p. 85). Over against
systematic theology, it addresses “the religion of the Bible on its own terms” (p.
86), “free from the encumbrances of later dogmatic language” (p. 92). Such
study can “point critically and constructively toward contemporary systematic
and practical theology precisely because it is constructed biblically
and historically without reference to the structures of churchly dogmatics”
(pp. 94-95).
Church history and history of doctrine
also, in Muller’s view, should be seen as in some sense independent of
dogmatics: “at least for our times, the historical investigation must precede
the doctrinal statement and in fact supply the information from which the
doctrinal statement takes its shape and on which it rests” (p. 99). His
example: It is
doctrinally
arguable to attribute the accurate preservation of the text of Scripture to
divine providence… . Historical investigation cannot, however, rest content
with the doctrinal explanation but must look to the process of the transmission
of the text and examine the techniques and procedures of the Masoretes, the
monastic calligraphers of the church, and the scholarly editors of later
centuries, and find in the actual practice of these people the historical
grounds for arguing whether or not the text has been accurately preserved.
The historian of doctrine is not to
“evaluate in any ultimate sense the rightness or wrongness of Arius’ views”
(ibid.). “A dogmatic reading of the materials that assumes the
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rightness
of Nicea on the basis of some contemporary orthodoxy will entirely miss the
full significance of the council” (p. 100). Some of the church fathers,
ignoring this rule, produced “incredibly theologically biased interpretations”
(p. 102) such as the triumphalism of Eusebius of Caesarea and Augustine’s
identification of the institutional church with the “city of
Objective history also helps us to see
the differences between biblical content and later formulations. Presbyterian
church government, says Muller, owes more to the structure of Swiss cantons
than to the New Testament, from which little of a definitive nature can be
gathered on that subject (p. 104). And the formulations of Anselm and the
Reformers concerning the atonement owe much to the doctrinal concerns of the
later church. Though substitutionary atonement is “firmly rooted in Scripture,”
there are other “equally biblical” views (“ransom from bondage to the powers of
the world,” “the free gift of reconciling love through the loving example of
Christ”). The Protestant churches adopted the penal substitutionary view
because it was “a perfect corollary of the doctrine of justification through
faith alone” (p. 107). Thus we learn how doctrines are formulated, and we learn
how to participate in the process. Character is developed as we understand and
come to join the unfinished task, as we come to understand our “roots” (pp.
107-8).
Such historical study extends to the
history of religions. Although specialists in the history of religion tend to
relativize the claims of Christianity, the discipline can perform useful
service for Christian theology. For instance, the triumph of Christianity in
the ancient world can be better understood once we understand the mystery
religions and other rivals that Christianity had to overcome (pp. 115ff.).
Systematic theology is “the broadest
usage for the contemporary task of gathering together the elements of our faith
into a coherent whole” (p. 124). It is “oriented to the question of
contemporary validity,” and therefore must consider philosophical and
apologetic issues (p. 125). Dogmatic theology is a subdivision of systematics
which is “the contemporary exposition of the great doctrines of the church” (p.
127). Again, Muller emphasizes the unilateral priority of biblical and
historical theology to systematics: the latter “is a result, not a premise of
the other disciplines” (p. 129). Nevertheless, there is a “churchly
hermeneutical circle” (p. 129) which finds “closure” in dogmatics and therefore
“returns, via the tradition, to the text and provides a set of theological
boundary-concepts for the continuing work of theology” (p. 130). Nevertheless,
we must not use a doctrinal construction as “a key” to Scripture so that “the
scriptural Word becomes stifled by a human a priori” (p. 130). In this
connection he takes to task the many “centrisms” of theology: Barth’s
Christomonism, the modernists’ use of “God is love” to the exclusion of other
divine attributes, etc.
Philosophy is useful to the work of
systematic theology. “Philosophical theology can be defined as the
philosophical discussion of topics held in common by theology and
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philosophy”
(p. 138). This discipline “in order to be true to itself, must not utilize
Scripture or churchly standards of truth: it rests on the truths of logic and
reason—and occupies the ground of what has typically been called ‘natural
theology’“ (p. 139).3 Nevertheless, philosophical theology
“so long as it stands within the circle of the theological encyclopedia, must
be a Christian discipline, no matter how philosophically determined its
contents” (p. 141). Christian without Christian “standards of truth”? Yes, in
the sense that it is limited to topics of concern to Christian theology.
Philosophy of religion is distinct from
philosophical theology, though there is overlap. Philosophical theology
“provides a logical and rational check on dogmatic formulation. Philosophy of
religion, by way of contrast, considers the nature of religion itself a focus
that it shares with the phenomenology of religion” (p. 139).4
Ethics is “the translation of the
materials of Christian teaching…into the contemporary life situation of the
community of belief, first as principles and then as enactments” (p. 147). As
such, Muller thinks, it is distinct from doctrinal theology (p. 146).
In his discussion of apologetics, he
recognizes with the presuppositional school that that discipline “rests on the
presupposition of faith or belief,”5 while “its actual content must be
dictated as much by the circumstances of the argument as by the content of the
message.” And as it rests on faith, it in turn influences theological
formulation (p. 151).
As we might expect, Muller’s interest in
practical theology is mainly to emphasize its theological character. While it
is not the case that theory “absolutely precedes practice” (p. 156),
nevertheless practical theology must refer back to theological truths. Unlike
secular psychology, for example, pastoral counseling must ask about the “soul”
(p. 158).
Contemporary formulations of theology,
then, must be aware of the whole sweep of history from the biblical period down
to the present. His example here is the distinction between natural and
supernatural (particularly natural and supernatural revelation). Comparative
religion shows that in many faiths God is manifested everywhere, not merely in
supernatural interventions (pp. 166-67). The progress of science also indicates
the futility of limiting God’s activity to the miraculous; for many things that
once seemed
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miraculous
can be given natural explanations (pp. 167-68). We can, nevertheless,
distinguish “between an original, generalized revelation of the divine,
grounded in the divine presence in and through all things, and a subsequent,
special and gracious revelation of the divine, specific to a single religion,
distinguishing it from all others, and understood as the completion and
fulfillment of the original revelation, in and for a particular community of
belief” (p. 169). Thus we can recognize truth in all religions without
sacrificing the distinctiveness of the Christian gospel.
The fourth and final chapter of the book
deals with “The Unity of Theological Discourse.” There is unity, first, between
“objectivity and subjectivity.” Here he points out that “theology has never
been a purely academic discipline” (p. 174). The major theologians have always
been active in the work of the church. The very looseness with which they
sometimes cite Scripture indicates that they were less interested in academic
precision than in using the text practically (pp. 176-77). Further, the
enormous difficulties involved in defining theology as a “science”6
suggests that we should pay closer attention to the “subjective side of
theology” which “arises in an individual in community” and note “that the
ongoing historical life of the community is necessary to the mediation of
objective statements of doctrine, as significant statements, to individuals”
(pp. 183-84). He emphasizes that “Theology arises and becomes significant in
this corporate context of belief and interpretation” (p. 184). This emphasis on
subjectivity need not compromise the scientific character of theology, for
science in general “has long since set aside the illusion of ‘detached
objectivity’ in scientific inquiry.” Indeed, “there is arguably a prejudgment
concerning significance in the initial identification and selection of data.”
There are no “brute facts” (p. 185).
This discussion of the interpenetration
of objectivity and subjectivity prepares us for a more extended treatment of
“hermeneutical circles.” Circularity exists between subject and object, and
between whole and part. We should come to an individual scripture passage with
an understanding of the whole, specifically of the “genre” of the book to which
it belongs (pp. 188-89). Further, we must bring to exegesis all of our
understanding of the book’s linguistic, historical, cultural, and social
context (p. 190), and the “restraints” of “source, form, redaction, rhetorical,
and canon criticism,” recognizing of course that “each of these critical
approaches supplements the others and provides some checks on them” (p. 194).
And, despite its perils, there is no way to escape an element of “personal
involvement” which influences our use of a text (p. 196).
Muller notes that although at an earlier
point, in considering the Johannine prologue, he rejected the assumption “of
the Nicene language as a presupposition to interpretation,” nevertheless, there
are historical reasons why this passage played a
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significant
role in the later trinitarian discussion, not the least “that logos-language
was crucial to the contextualization of the gospel in the second century” (p.
200). That historical development “becomes an important element in the
subsequent interpretative work of understanding the text in our present
context” (p. 201). Thus the Nicene trinitarian doctrine does after all, in some
ways, properly influence our understanding of John 1.
Thus the interpretative “whole” includes
“contextualization,” bringing the Christian message to bear upon the various
cultural situations of the present day. Contextualization has always occurred,
but in recent times it has, for historical reasons, been done with greater
self-consciousness. Again, Muller refers to “atonement theory” for examples.
The various “approaches to atonement” in the New Testament are “not to be
viewed as mutually exclusive, nor are they to be viewed as easily harmonizable
into a single theory” (p. 205). The theorizing of Irenaeus, Anselm, and others
represent contextualizations understandable in the light of their historical
situations. Contextualization is “the completion of the hermeneutical circle in
our own persons and in the context of present-day existence” (p. 211).
The book concludes with an “epilogue”
describing the beneficial effects of theological study upon human character.
Such education is “spiritually uplifting”; it inculcates “wisdom concerning
human nature,” “a way of life as well as a pattern of thought” (p. 215). The
study of theology communicates “values—values to be believed and values to be
acted upon” (p. 216). Further, study of the doctrinal materials of the church
reveals “the cultural and social relativity of the documents” which serves “to
press us toward our own statement of these corporately held values, insofar as
we recognize both the limitation of the particular cultural form and the
ultimacy of the values expressed under it” (p. 217).
Elmer must learn that his
anti-intellectualism is counterproductive in the church’s effort to proclaim
the truth relevantly and practically. Facile invocations of the supposed
absolute contrasts between “Hebrew and Greek thought” and between “heart and
head” in opposition to academic learning are untenable (p. 217). A pastor must
be “a bearer of culture,” not merely, as Elmer sought to be, a “technician or
operations manager.” Else his people will be “spiritually impoverished” (p.
219).
In book reviews, I do not usually exposit
a text in such detail, but in view of the importance of the book, and in view
of the nature of my criticisms, I wanted the reader in this case to hear
Muller, as much as possible, in his own words. Muller seeks to achieve some
very delicate balances of emphasis, which need to be heard. In view of those
delicate balances, it is indeed possible that my criticism will misread him. In
fact, I think that any critic will find this book a mine field (as well as a
treasure field!). As I read, I found that most of the criticisms that occurred
to me were answered, at least in passing, at some point in the book. I suspect
that critics who attack this book in a superficial way will often experience
backfire, the critique reflecting unfavorably upon the critic.
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With this caveat I must, nevertheless,
proceed to evaluation. I would first reiterate that in many ways this is a fine
book, and one can learn from it a great deal about the history and method of
theology. Doubtless there is much here, too, that will encourage those who are
swimming against the tide of modern culture, trying to maintain the traditional
disciplines of theological learning. However, I find the book to be confused,
or at least confusing, in three important areas represented by the following
distinctions: priority/circularity, description/normativity, and theory/practice.
1. Priority and
Circularity
I must say that until my reading reached
about p. 127, I was fully prepared to give Muller an introductory lecture on
hermeneutical circularity! Until that point, his entire emphasis is on the
unilateral priority of one discipline over another. There is the unilateral
priority of synchronic exegesis over diachronic: We must not read
intertrinitarian relationships into Psalm 2, or Christ into Gen 1:27, because
exegesis must restrict itself to what would have occurred to the original
readers. Indeed, the OT must be read as a “pre-Christian” or even
“non-Christian” text (p. 73). And there is the unilateral priority of biblical
theology to systematics: biblical theology must never be encumbered with
dogmatic language (p. 92). We must not find trinitarian distinctions in John 1,
any more than in Psalm 2. And there is the priority of historical theology to
dogmatics: church history must not proceed with doctrinal preconceptions; it
may not even evaluate the rightness or wrongness of the theological views it
describes (p. 99). Systematics is a result, not a premise, of the other
disciplines (p. 129). Even philosophical theology has a unilateral priority
over systematics in one respect: it “must not utilize Scripture or churchly
standards of truth: it rests on the truths of logic and reason” (p. 139).7
Certainly there is some truth in these statements: most theologians can supply
additional examples of exegesis distorted by the “reading in” of later dogmatic
concepts, or where truth is stifled by the imposition of a “human a priori.”
But is it not going a bit far to say that the OT must be read as a
“pre-Christian” or “non-Christian” book? Perhaps Muller understands the
connotations of these phrases differently from the way I do, but I find them
entirely inappropriate. Are we to say that the early Christians, and the early
church, misread the OT when they claimed it testified of Christ? Was Athanasius
wrong about John 1? Was Calvin wrong about substitutionary atonement? Must philosophical
theology really be religiously neutral?
These, of course, are only “preliminary
criticisms.” For we must immediately note Muller’s attempts at balance. For one
thing, the above priorities are guarded by some rather vague qualifications.
The monogenēs of John 1 does not stand “as a direct
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reference”
to intertrinitarian relationships (p. 66). Well, might it possibly stand as an indirect
reference? And what, precisely, is the difference between a direct and an
indirect reference? We suspect that this distinction is important, for through
some such distinction we may be able to account for the church’s traditional
Christological use of the text. But Muller doesn’t explain it. Similarly, Gen
1:27 does not refer to Christ or to human virtues as its “basic interpretation”
or on a “primary exegetical reading.” Well, what about nonbasic
interpretations, or secondary exegetical readings? And what are those, pray
tell? Or what about the implicit distinction between “primary” and “secondary”
“levels of interpretation” on p. 66? And, if the OT may not be
“interpretatively subordinate in all its statements to the New Testament,” may
it, perhaps, be interpretatively subordinate in some of its statements?
But of course Muller does, from about p.
127 on,8
bring the concept of a hermeneutical circle to central prominence. Indeed, he
does say that once hermeneutics issues in dogmatic formulations it “returns,
via the tradition, to the text and provides a set of theological
boundary-concepts for the continuing work of theology” (p. 130). We may, for
example, at some level in our exegesis, make use of the fact that the Johannine
prologue led to Nicea through various historical circumstances (p. 201). To use
one of Muller’s favorite terms, there is a historical “trajectory”9
linking John to Nicea.
But that is still awfully vague. Just how
is this fact to be used in exegesis, without violating Muller’s earlier
strictures? We have a fairly clear idea what is to be done at level one, but
what of level two? This is tremendously important, for preaching and
theological writing are generally not level-one enterprises. Historically (and
this begins in the NT) the church has preached Christ from OT texts and has
defended its dogmatic statements from both Testaments. Muller doesn’t seem to
want to say that this was all a mistake. But if it is not a mistake, how is it
to be justified, and how is it to be done? If Muller’s approach provides us no
way to do this, and if through that failure it in effect calls such preaching
and teaching into question, perhaps we will have to conclude that, not the
church’s practice, but Muller’s metatheology, is flawed at a fundamental level.
One might try to find an answer in
Muller’s concept of the circular relation between “whole and part”: since the
OT is part of a larger whole, the Christian canon, we
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may
legitimately read Psalm 2 Christologically. But that is to misconstrue Muller’s
position. His concept of “whole” does not seem to be applied to the canon as a
totality. He coordinates “whole” with “genre” (pp. 188-89), and of course the
entire canon doesn’t fit into any particular genre. His “wholes” would seem to
be particular books of the Bible, or at most groups of books with common genre.
Nor does it seem that we can relate John 1 to the Nicene trinitarianism by any
kind of whole-part relation.
Or is the circularity between “object and
subject” more relevant to our question? On that basis we might say that the
interpreter, who is himself a believer in the Trinity, cannot, finally, forget
that belief when he is exegeting Psalm 2. Nor can he forget that the NT itself
reads Psalm 2 christologically. Thus he is constrained to find an
interpretation of Psalm 2 consistent with that NT usage. I would accept that
justification for Christological exegesis of the OT; but I cannot imagine that
Muller would, after all he has said against that sort of procedure. Similarly
with John 1.
What Muller seems to have in mind in the
case of John 1 (although here I am especially unsure that I am rightly
interpreting him; I am somewhat reading between the lines, expanding his
“hints”) is something like this (cf. pp. 200-201): John 1 refers only to Jesus’
filial consciousness in relation to God as Father and has no trinitarian
implication. However, the second century apologists used the logos
terminology to account for universal divine revelation, and they needed then to
make a distinction between God immanent and God transcendent, God in himself
and God in his revelation. Thus we have a God who is one, yet diverse in some
way. Since logos is identified with Christ in John 1, it was natural for
Christ’s relationship with the Father to be understood in this pattern. Thus
the text was read as teaching the Nicene trinitarian relationships. We cannot
really turn back the clock by reversing the church’s decision, so we should
simply accept the Nicene episode as part of our own history and try to build on
it.
Now certainly the church did use logos
as Muller says, and his explanation for the prominence of this text in
trinitarian theology is plausible. But was the church right? That is a
very important question. I think they were, because I disagree with Muller’s
“first level” exegesis. John 1 makes an equation between God, the creative Word
of Genesis 1, and Jesus Christ, and also distinguishes God from the Word. The
church’s trinitarian use of the passage was not only justifiable in the light
of historical circumstances; it was right. What is Muller’s verdict?
Perhaps he will feel that I am asking the wrong question, but I honestly think
my question is the most important one that can be asked at this point. Were
they right? From what I can make of Muller’s analysis, he would have to
say, respectfully, that they were wrong, though what they did was somehow
historically justifiable. Should we continue to honor their mistake simply to
avoid trying to “turn back the clock”? Muller seems to say yes. But the
Reformers became famous for correcting mistakes made by earlier theologians;
can we do less? It does seem to me that the logic of Muller’s view,
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adding
a bit of the Reformers’ zeal for truth, is that we should abandon the use of
John 1 to prove the doctrine of the Trinity, if indeed we are to maintain the
doctrine of the Trinity at all. And if I am confused, I believe it is Muller
who has confused me.
I prefer a method which is more
self-consciously circular. Certainly the possible legitimate uses10
of Psalm 2 or John 1 were not all known to the original authors, and of course
it is a useful exercise to ask how the original authors might have explained
the passages. But they were known to the divine author (about which more must
be said later). And what the human authors wrote had legitimate implications,
interpretations, applications beyond what they were able to grasp. Those
applications fully justified the uses of those texts by later biblical writers
and by the ecumenical councils. The goal of exegesis is not to find “how the
original authors would have expounded their writings,” but rather “the
applications which are justified by the texts.” When exegesis observes that
norm it is saved both from eisegesis and from triviality.
In other ways, too, Muller seems to be
unclear on the implications of hermeneutical circularity. His statement that
philosophical theology “must not utilize Scripture or churchly standards of
truth: it rests on the truths of logic and reason” (p. 139) is horrendous. I am
amazed that such an intelligent writer can pen a sentence like that while
endorsing presuppositional apologetics! The whole point of presuppositional
apologetics, a biblical point in my view, is that in all areas of life
we must “utilize Scripture and churchly standards of truth.” There are no other
legitimate standards. Nor is there any legitimate use of “logic and reason”
that is not itself subject to scriptural standards of rationality.
Indeed, this statement (together with his
general approach to “first level exegesis”) is inconsistent with his emphasis
on p. 185 that there is no “detached objectivity” or “brute facts.” But, so far
as I can tell, Muller is not even a little bit aware of the tension (to say the
least) in his book between unilateral priorities and hermeneutical circularity.
I confess I can only express bafflement.
2. Description and
Normativity
David Hume taught that you cannot deduce
“ought” from “is.” Now in a Christian epistemology the matter is not quite that
simple. The very fact of God’s existence is a normative (as well as a
descriptive) fact. The fact that God commands something implies that those
addressed are obliged to carry out that command. The reason is that God, simply
because he is God, is worthy of all obedience. And since God reveals himself in
creation as well as Scripture, one may gain normative (Rom 1:32) as well as
descriptive data from the creation.
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That having been said, it is nevertheless
important for the theologian to account for the normative force of his
teachings. It certainly cannot be assumed, for example, that a description of
various historic events or views will yield normative conclusions. We cannot
decide our theology by counting noses among the Puritans, or the Reformers, or
the nineteenth-century American Presbyterians, or among some other favored
group. Nor can we assume that because some view has been endorsed by a church
council or has otherwise gained a following among Christians we have an
obligation to agree with it. Sola scriptura means that the only ultimate
norm for theology is the teaching of Scripture. Other norms must justify
themselves by their faithfulness to the inspired Word.
Theologians like Muller who put a heavy
emphasis on historical method run the risk of jumping from description to norm
without adequate justification. When reading G. C. Berkouwer I have often found
myself lost among the citations and historical comparisons, wondering exactly
what he is recommending as normative content and why. We have already seen this
problem in Muller, for the question of circularity in theological method is
ultimately the question of authority, of norm. The ultimate presupposition of
the Christian interpreter, as he enters the hermeneutical circle, is the
presupposition of God’s revealed norms. But if that presupposition is compromised
by supposed norms that are not themselves given by divine revelation—Muller’s
“logic and reason” for instance—then the relation of description to norm
becomes confused. As we have seen, for example, Muller refuses or neglects to
ask the important normative question, whether the early church was right
in its trinitarian exegesis.
Muller seems at least to assimilate the
whole work of theology to a historical-descriptive model. His “first level”
exegesis is essentially a work of historical investigation. Studying the NT is
a study of that “unbroken stream of writings extending from the Old Testament
through the so-called intertestamental period, and followed historically by an
unbroken stream of writings down to the present” (p. 79). It requires study of
the culture of the times, the different religious groupings that competed with
Christianity, the various tendencies in the early church, and so on. This study
essentially continues the “historical model introduced in our discussion of the
Old Testament” (p. 79).
Now Muller does not ignore the fact that
the canon is unique and authoritative. This is one example of the “delicate
balance” of the book. He notes that “these historical issues and the problems
they raise for interpretation stand in a constant tension with the doctrinally
and dogmatically precise canon of the New Testament in which we have the
closest and clearest witness to Jesus Christ as Savior and Redeemer” (p. 81).
But how is this “tension” to be resolved? The answer seems to be through reiteration
of the historical model. It is “historical understanding” which, though it does
not “give us the canon of the New Testament,” nevertheless “does offer a basis
for grasping first historically and then theologically the significance of the
canon” (p. 82). Remember his principle that “Without
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historical
and critical understanding, the tendency to overlook differences of approach
[among the Synoptics] and to find a theological common denominator—typical of
later orthodox dogmatics—becomes all too easily the norm for interpretation,
and the New Testament can no longer critique our theology” (ibid.).
Historical study is the “first level” of
exegesis, and everything else (I assume, without consideration of the
hermeneutical circle, for Muller tends to emphasize unilateral priority in such
contexts) must be based on that. So we begin by a historiography which is
religiously neutral (this is not his term, but I do not see how we can
avoid using it as the clearest way to characterize his view), not based on
Christian presuppositions. On that basis, we establish the significance of the
canon. Then we can make theological use of it. But why should we assume that
this objective, neutral historiography is normative? Why should that be the
bedrock upon which we must build our exegesis and theology, indeed upon which
Scripture itself as canon, is built?
Muller does affirm the unique authority
of Scripture. I state this point with some vagueness, as he does. Whether he
would affirm “inerrancy” in some sense, I do not know. He tends to take the
issue of biblical authority rather casually—far too much so in view of its
intrinsic importance and in view of the present theological climate. He says
rather flippantly concerning the New Testament, “nor can it be understood as
the second of two books that God once wrote” (p. 79). I will assume in charity
that addition of the word “merely” to this sentence would better reflect his
thought.11
In response to Farley, who rejects the
traditional fourfold curriculum on the ground that it presupposes biblical
inspiration, Muller says, “we do not have to invoke classic orthodox doctrines
like the inspiration, infallibility, and divine authority of Scripture at this
point: in the context of the question, such doctrines do not amount to proofs
in any case” (p. 97). Rather, all we need is to point out that the books of the
canon have a “qualitatively different effect” on the Christian community than
do noncanonical documents. Well, maybe so. But should not something more be
said, lest the reader gain the impression that these doctrines are entirely
inconsequential?
He does invoke the Scripture principle of
the Reformation—without notable enthusiasm (pp. 131, 172; but cf. p. vii)—and
he does, as we have seen, present his history-oriented methodology as a means
of allowing Scripture (so interpreted) to “rule” our theology. On the other
hand, he recommends source, form, redaction, rhetorical, and
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canon
criticism (p. 194) without any critique of how these disciplines are commonly
practiced today. His discussions of Farley, Ebeling, and Pannenberg, too,
reflect no sense at all of Kuyperian “antithesis.” He never even hints in the
direction of the great gulf which Machen and Van Til found between the orthodox
Reformed faith and the dominant forces in modern theology. He makes it plain
that, although he may differ with modern theologians in this or that detail or
emphasis, he is essentially playing the same game that they are.
It is hard to sort all of this out, amid
Muller’s careful balancing of motifs. But the sum of it seems to be something
like this: Yes, Scripture is uniquely normative, but that really does not make
much difference to the concrete work of theology. Scriptural authority is our
dogmatic confession, but we must not allow it to interfere with the purely
historical work of theological understanding and formulation. That norm must,
in any case, be discovered and justified by neutral, objective history.
Therefore that neutral historical method is our actual working norm.
If indeed this is his view, and I find
nothing in the book to contradict it, then I must say that I think it seriously
wrong. “Neutral, objective history” is a totally illegitimate notion within the
context of a Christian epistemology. Thus it certainly is not the basis of
biblical authority. Scripture is authoritative because it is inspired by God.
On p. 186, he mentions inspiration as the source of biblical authority, but
characteristically rather shrugs it off:
The
reason that Scripture is authoritative—apart from our traditional doctrinal
statements concerning its divine inspiration and its authority as a doctrinal
norm—is that its contents are mirrored in the life of the church and that, in
this historical process of reflection, the believing community has gradually
identified as canon the books that rightly guide and reflect its faith while
setting aside those books that fail to reflect its faith adequately.
That
seems to be his regular stance toward matters of biblical inspiration and
authority: yes, fine; but other things are more important for theological
method. Nowhere in the book does he suggest that the inspiration of Scripture,
its uniquely divine authorship, has any implications at all for the work of theology.
Again, I am appalled. The inspiration of
Scripture is not an incidental matter, nor is it a mere confessional datum that
we can set aside in the practical work of theological formulation. If indeed we
have a divinely inspired Bible, then that is a fact of overwhelming importance
for theology as for every other area of life. It is more important than any
other fact which Muller brings to bear upon the work of theology. That fact
implies that we cannot exegete Scripture in the same way we exegete other texts
(even when the general rules of exegesis have been reformed by the Word). Not
only the intention of the human author, but (especially!) the intention of the
divine author must
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guide
our interpretation.12 And our concepts of history,
culture, logic, reason, and critical thought must all be reconsidered in the
light of scriptural teachings. With sadness, I must say that there is not a
trace of this emphasis in Muller’s book.
And as to his use of Ebeling and others,
let me say that I can sympathize with evangelical theologians who do not want
to be marginalized, who do not want to be stigmatized as “fundamentalists” and
therefore excluded from the mainstream of modern theological discussion. In
charity, I will credit them with the motive of wanting to be “salt and light,”
not of coveting “academic respectability” for its own sake. Nor do I think that
we have to disagree with every sentence Ebeling (e.g.) writes. On the other
hand, although the lines seem fuzzier today than when Machen and Van Til wrote,
their critique is far from irrelevant to the theologians of the 1990s. There is
still an enormous difference between theologians who submit their reasoning to
the Word of God and so-called theologians (however prominent) who do the
reverse. It may be that to bear the offense of the cross today, Bible-believing
theologians will have to accept marginalization as part of the (relatively
small in our day) cost of discipleship. I do hope not. But at least, this is
not the time to confuse readers about the nature of our stance. Those who are
confused or confusing about this matter will not be salt and light, but will
have to accept partial responsibility for the continued drift of modern thought
away from biblical norms.
3. Theory and Practice
As I read the book, I tried to put myself
in Elmer’s shoes. Would Elmer have been persuaded, or helped, by Muller’s
argument? Of course, Muller portrays Elmer as being rather oafish; perhaps the
real Elmer was unteachable. But he was at least intelligent enough to earn a
D.Min. degree at a school that had Richard Muller on the faculty, so he cannot
have been brain dead. And in any case, I know of others who are intelligent
enough, and who have some knowledge of culture and historical theology, who
nevertheless echo Elmer’s sentiments.
There is a real problem today as to the
applicability of the “traditional fourfold curriculum” to the pastorate, and we
must not brush that problem aside as mere anti-intellectual laziness. We can,
of course, understand why Muller himself, in his seven-year pastoral
experience, found his studies so useful. He is a very gifted scholar and
communicator. He has the eyes to see the present relevance of historical
events, and the words to teach that relevance vividly to others. And he
ministers in a denomination which
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has
traditionally cultivated a large appreciation for gifts of that sort. But there
are others, not necessarily stupid or culturally ignorant, who have had very
different experiences.
There is a lot of Elmer in me. Muller
would probably recognize me as a “bearer of culture,” from my general education
at Princeton and Yale and my very traditional theological studies at
Westminster Seminary in
Muller tends to deplore the modern
emphasis on “technique” at the expense of classical learning. My view is that
both are valuable for pastors. Therefore, hard choices have to be made.
Ideally, I have often thought, a seminary degree should require four or even
five years. But the economics of the situation will not permit that. So how do
we seek balance? I do not get much help from Muller in answering that question.
He is so busy fighting for the maintenance of classical learning that he does
not bother to wrestle with the hard questions of curriculum design. He is like
a congressman fighting for the needs of his own district who has no time—or
heart—for considering the overall national welfare.
Nor will I try to answer those questions
here. But surely here as in every other perplexity we need to seek God’s
wisdom. What does the Bible say about the nature of training for the pastorate?
Scripture does, after all, have much to say about wisdom, the knowledge of God,
revelation, and the office of pastor-teacher. My own view is that while
Scripture values the special gifts of intellectuals like Isaiah, Luke, and
Paul, it does not require such gifts of all teaching elders. The biblical
qualifications for elders are mainly ethical and spiritual, with some emphasis
on ability to teach. Certainly the latter requires some “head knowledge.” But
the heavy emphasis of Muller on being a “bearer of culture” seems oddly out of
sync with the NT.13
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In my view, the church ought to encourage
a “learned ministry” up to a point. But there is danger here. Was the
Presbyterian Church correct, in the early nineteenth century, to insist upon an
educated ministry, thereby in effect conceding the frontier to the Methodists
and Baptists (not to mention others including secularists)? Should the churches
of the third world be denied pastors from among their own people, until some of
their number complete a university education? Consideration of such questions,
along with the biblical data noted earlier, shows, I think, that however
desirable a cultured ministry may be (especially in some situations), that goal
must in general be secondary to others. There are people without Muller’s kind
of learning (or at least without a great deal of it) who are nevertheless
biblically qualified for the pastorate.
Certainly, hard, careful academic study
can build character (though it does not always do this). But any kind of
disciplined activity can build character (even the mastery of techniques). And
it would be slanderous to claim that no one can have a good pastoral character
without the experience of classical learning. Even if there are character
traits that can be acquired only through classical learning, is it
self-evident that these particular traits are required for the Christian
ministry? So the “character building” standard does not automatically answer
the hard curricular question.
Again, Muller’s approach greatly
disappoints me. He does not even touch upon the question of biblical
qualifications for eldership, nor upon the biblical doctrines of knowledge and
wisdom. He comes across as a cultural conservative, nostalgic for the good old
days, recalling (I imagine) the time when ministers could sit around smoking
pipes and discussing Chaucer, Aristotle, or Duns Scotus, reassuring their
people that they had a certain intellectual depth which overshadowed any mere
technical incompetence. Some people do find that an appealing scene. But such
cultural conservatism is a frail reed. As we have seen in Muller’s case, it easily
makes common cause with cultural and theological liberalism; for academic
scholarly types, even those of conservative temperament, tend to want to follow
all the latest intellectual trends. Whatever happened to the Calvinist semper
reformanda, the passion to reform all of life under the Word of God? How
can that be reconciled with a merely conservative defense of the status quo?
And people like Elmer, who, however
uncultured they may be, have a passion for the care of souls, will not find the
arguments of such conservatism very weighty. What ought to move Elmer
(note how we keep returning to the issue of normativity) is a biblical analysis
of covenant wisdom and a theological exposition of how God uses extraordinary
intellectual and spiritual gifts.14
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I wish I did not have to be so negative
about this book. I approached it with very positive anticipations. But
reluctantly I have come to see it, for all its wealth of information, balance,
and general cogency, as part of the problem rather than part of the solution.
Some initial readers of this review article have suggested that my positive
comments on the book sound rather hollow in the light of my severe criticisms;
but those positive comments are quite sincere. This is an erudite and
informative book, and, point by point, there is little that I can literally
disagree with. I have quoted the few statements which are very disagreeable to
me. But even where I have criticized Muller, I find some value in the points he
is trying to make. Certainly, for example, we should not naively read OT
concepts as if they were NT concepts, or NT teachings as if they were identical
to the statements of the later creeds. On all of that, Muller is right. There
are both continuities and discontinuities through the history of redemption,
and these must be sorted out. But Muller’s book is less than the sum of its
parts. He overstates the discontinuities and then brings in the continuities
(too little, too late) without intelligibly relating them to what he has said
before.
Similarly, he is right that classical
learning can develop character. But he presents this point without any
reasonable sense of proportion, so that the reader will tend to write off this
potentially valuable point as the expression of hidebound intellectualism.
Thus the faults of the book are largely
(but not entirely) faults of omission and emphasis. I usually discount
criticism based on omission and emphasis, since no author can be expected to
say and emphasize everything relevant to his subject. But there are always some
things that must be said and said loudly, lest the entire picture be falsified.
Omitting the vast implications of biblical inspiration in a book dealing with
theological method of all things is no small error.15
I hope that readers will also learn some
broader lessons from this encounter with Muller. (1) There are dangers in
traditionalism as well as in liberalism; and many of those dangers are the same
in both cases. (2) “History,” unless carefully defined in the light of
Scripture, is not a suitable master-model for theological method. (3) We should
overcome
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objections
to “techniques” that are based mainly on snobbish or traditionalist prejudices.16
One great theological challenge of our time is to bring the new ecclesiastical
techniques captive to Christ’s word.