Religion without Ulterior Motive (Studies in Reformed Theology)

Religion without Ulterior Motive

Studies in Reformed Theology Editor-in-chief

Dr. E.A.J.G. Van der Borght Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam Editorial Board

dr. a. van de beek, vrije universiteit amsterdam dr. m.e. brinkman, vrije universiteit amsterdam dr. a.i.c. heron, university of stellenbosch dr. d. van keulen, leiden university dr. d.l. migliore, princeton theological seminary dr. r.j. mouw, fuller theological seminary, pasadena dr. e.g. singgih, duta wacana christian university, yogjakarta dr. c.j. wethmar, university of pretoria

VOLUME 13

Religion without Ulterior Motive Edited by

E.A.J.G. Van der Borght

LEIDEN · BOSTON 2006

This series was previously published by Uitgeverij Meinema, an imprint of Boekencentrum Uitgevers. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A C.I.P. record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISSN 1571-4799 ISBN-13 978 90 04 15509 1 ISBN-10 90 04 15509 0 © Copyright 2006 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . E.A.J.G. Van der Borght

1

Religion without Ulterior Motive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. van de Beek

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No Ulterior Motive—and Public Theology? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 D. Smit A ‘Gratuitous’ Spirituality for Active Calvinists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 R.J. Mouw Christian Faith and Christian Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 H.M. Vroom The Freedom of the Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 G. Höver, G. de Kruijf, O. O’Donovan, B. Wannenwetsch The Use, Abuse and Relevance of Religion: Some Reflections on Professor Abraham van de Beek’s Proposal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 A.P.F. Sell Christian Faith without Arguments? The Relevance of Reasons for Belief in God . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 G. van den Brink Unity and Justification: The Faithfulness of God, the Faith/fulness of Christ, and the Faith of the Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 P.F. Theron Calvin on the Kingdom of Christ. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 I.J. Hesselink Proposal for an Apostolic, Biblical, Eschatological Theology: From a Korean Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 S.G. Lee

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Discourse on Religion without Ulterior Motive: A Caribbean Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 D.J. Antwi Contextualization of African Theology and RWUM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 J. Kombo Contextual Theology without Ulterior Motives. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 M.E. Brinkman Epilogue: Religion without Ulterior Motive within the Reformed Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 E.A.J.G. Van der Borght Index of Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 Index of Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

FOREWORD

The thirteenth volume in the Studies in Reformed Theology marks a shift in the existence of the series. Begun in 1996, the series was originally published by Callenbach in Baarn (Volumes 1 and 2) and, after a short intermezzo, by Kok in Kampen (Volume 3 in 1999). Meinema, based in Zoetermeer, has been publishing the series since 2000. Since 2001 Meinema has also published three supplements to the Studies in Reformed Theology. Although the cooperation with Meinema was very good, we were aware that our English publications that contained academic theology were less fitting in the profile of this Dutch publishing house. Encouraged by the members that met during our last bi-annual international conference in Seoul 2005, the staff of the International Reformed Theological Institute has been working to improve our publication policies. Therefore, we are happy to have reached an agreement with Brill Academic Publishers. From this volume forth, they will publish the series. In the past, we used the series mainly for the publication of conference material and the supplements for monographs. We have decided to merge both and to publish three volumes each year consisting of thematic volumes with articles on current issues and in-depth monographs in the field of systematic, historical and biblical theology. We also changed our editing rules. From now on the thematic volumes and the monographs will be completely and anonymously peer reviewed before publishing, while until now we only partially lived up to these standards. Finally, the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam made it possible for us to invite Annette Mosher to join the staff. She corrects the English within the manuscripts and assists in the editing process. We have also begun enlarging the editorial board of the series. Next to the upgrading of Studies in Reformed Theology, we will also begin the Journal of Reformed Theology in 2007. A second element qualifies this volume in the Studies in Reformed Theology. It has been composed in order to mark the first decade in the existence of the International Reformed Theological Institute as a world-wide network of scholars that are involved in Reformed theology. In 1995, the organization of the first international conference in Hungary marked the formal start of the Institute. During the years before, Bram van de Beek, at that time church professor for biblical and systematic theol-

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ogy for the Nederlands Hervormde Kerk at Leiden University, had started building a network of theologians from the Reformed tradition—first in Central and Eastern Europe, later in South Africa and Indonesia and then expanding world-wide. Dr. Van de Beek was director of International Reformed Theological Institute until 2005 when he assumed the position as the dean of the theological faculty at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. To commemorate ten years of Reformed theological research within the context of the IRTI network, we decided to publish a theme volume on an issue that has always been present in the background of the conferences organized by the International Reformed Theological Institute and has grown very prominent in the theological development of Dr. Van de Beek: religion without ulterior motive. We asked some members of the network to react to the article of Bram van de Beek that was published in Hervormde Theologiese Studies in 2005. We are grateful for the favorable advice of the chairperson of the editorial staff of the journal, Prof. Dr. J. Buitendag, and for the permission from the editor, Prof. Dr. A.G. van Aarde, to publish the article in this volume. His thought provoking argumentation stimulates creative thinking. It illustrates the academic style used within the network: frank discussions stimulated by elements brought in from different perspectives and contexts in order to clarify open theological questions. We hope the content, style and quality may invite new researchers who are not aware of our Institute to contact us and to become part of our network. Among the many people who contributed to the realization of this volume, I want to name three explicitly, Dr. Martien Brinkman for his advice in conceptualizing the volume, and Dr. A. Sell and Dr. P. Theron for the extra miles they went in the editing and refereeing process. Dr. Eddy Van der Borght Editor-in-Chief of Studies in Reformed Theology

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Daniel Antwi Professor of theology and Dean of the Faculty of Theology and Leadership Development The International University of the Caribbean Kingston, Jamaica Abraham van de Beek Dean of the Faculty of Theology and professor of dogmatics Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam The Netherlands Eddy Van der Borght Assistant professor of systematic theology Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam The Netherlands Editor-in-chief Studies in Reformed Theology Gijsbert van den Brink Professor of dogmatics Theological Academic Institute Faculty of Theology Leiden University The Netherlands Martien Brinkman Professor of ecumenical theology Faculty of Theology Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam The Netherlands I. John Hesselink Professor of systematic theology emeritus Western Theological Seminary Holland, Michigan USA

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Gerd Höver Professor of moral theology University of Bonn Germany James Kombo Senior lecturer and Dean of the Faculty of Postgraduate Studies Daystar University Nairobi, Kenya Gerrit de Kruijf Professor of Christian ethics Leiden University The Netherlands Seung Goo Lee Professor of systematic theology Kukje Theological Seminary Seoul, Korea Richard Mouw President and professor of Christian philosophy Fuller Theological Seminary Pasadena, California USA Oliver O’Donovan Regius Professor of Moral and Pastoral Theology University of Oxford England Alan P.F. Sell Professor emeritus Ecumenist who publishes widely and lectures in many parts of the world

list of contributors Dirkie Smit Professor of systematic theology Stellenbosch University South Africa P.F. Theron Professor emeritus in systematic theology University of Stellenbosch South Africa Hendrik Vroom Professor of the philosophy of religion and apologetics Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam The Netherlands Bernd Wannenwetsch Assistant professor of moral theology University of Oxford England

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INTRODUCTION Eddy Van der Borght In 2002 I remember having lunch one day with Bram van de Beek when he shared with me his excitement about reading an article by Samuel Hirsch in the context of his research for his Christian theology of Israel. The Jewish author had, in other era—around the middle of the nineteenth century—expressed an opinion that resonated very strongly with Bram at the beginning of the twenty first century. Religion and theology is used for ulterior motives. It expressed what had been bothering him more and more during the last years. This theme slumbered in his contribution, “Calvinism as an Ascetic Movement,” in the volume Reformed Theology: Identity and Ecumenicity,1 and it was part of his outspoken critique of the Western culture and its religions in his inauguration lecture at the Vrije Universiteit.2 It was also behind his various contributions to conferences during the last years, and it set the tone of all his opening lectures of at least the last three bi-annual IRTI conferences on Faith and Ethnicity (Princeton–USA, 2001), on Christian Faith and Violence (Bogor–Indonesia, 2003) and on Christian Identity (Seoul–Korea, 2005). In 2004 he lectured explicitly on the theme at the Faculty of Theology at Stellenbosch University, and it was published in the Hervormde Teologiese Studies in 2005.3 In common research during the last years, it became increasingly clear that the relation of religion and other domains of life are not only complicated, but also very tricky. As it involves strong claims on people, religion can easily be used for other ends. Religion can influence people’s attitudes towards society and politics in such a way that conflicts arise or people are oppressed. This observation led to a more specific concept as a research paradigm: religion without ulterior motive. Its main hypothesis is that religion should preserve its autonomy and 1 W.M. Alston Jr. and M. Welker (eds.), Reformed Theology: Identity and Ecumenicity (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003), 205–222. 2 A. van de Beek, Ontmaskering. Christelijk geloof en cultuur (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2001). 3 A. van de Beek, “Religion without ulterior motives,” Hervormde Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 61(1&2) 2005, 517–529.

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respect the autonomy of other domains of life. This does not mean that religion should be restricted to the private domain, but reflects the distinction between God and creation: religion has to do with God and his relation to the world so that the world is only indirectly in view, while the other domains of life can also be viewed directly. Confusion of these different approaches to the world creates religious manipulation, on the one hand, and idolatry, on the other. In his 2004 lecture at Stellenbosch, Van de Beek argued how alliances can be attractive. He illustrated this with liberation theology, theocracy and pietism. In contrast, he is of the opinion that Christianity should not be instrumentalized. He finds support for this attitude among the Church Fathers and Calvin. And finally, he links it to the understanding of God who also loves us without ulterior motives. The article clearly shows some typical aspects from Van de Beek’s argumentation and style. The rejection of instrumentalization of religion is quite common, but the scope of the application is surprising: the apologetic rationalization of faith, liberation theology, theocracy and pietism. With his linking of these dominant themes within Reformed theology to religion with motives, he tries to prove how a subtle instrumentalization has settled itself into the core of theology in the Reformed tradition as well. His biblical theological approach and the references to the Church Fathers, especially Irenaeus, and to Calvin characterize his method. And finally, he links his theological insights to the clarification of the biblical understanding of God himself. His challenging statements—e.g. we cannot argue that Christian faith is better than other world views or religions, or we cannot argue that religion generates value or determines ethics, we should not make efforts to change society, we should not relate religion to ethnicity, we should not present religion as overcoming problems, etc—all ask for a response. And that is what we have been organizing in this volume in order to clarify the arguments that Bram van de Beek has brought to the table. How do we avoid instrumentalization of religion and Christian faith and theology, in particular? We invited some scholars linked to the network to react to these radical ideas and provoke formulations. We are glad that most of the researchers we asked agreed to write a contribution about the theme and were able to deliver it in on time. Unfortunately, promised contributions from Central Europe and Indonesia could not be delivered in time. The first one we offered the opportunity to react is Dr. Dirkie Smit, head of the Department of Systematic Theology at the Faculty of

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Theology Stellenbosch University and one of the driving forces behind the Beyers Naudé Centre for Public Theology. It was at this centre that Van de Beek pronounced his lecture on religion without ulterior motive in 2004. Although not phrased explicitly, it is evident that he challenges the Centre to prove that their public theological enterprise does not serve exterior causes. Smit asks whether the fact that Christians are called to love and serve God without ulterior motive implies that the contemporary theory and practice called public theology should be regarded negatively. The first section briefly recalls the characteristic New Testament pattern that the grace of the Triune God has appeared and claims believers to live as public witnesses to this message of divine grace. A second section follows the reception of this pattern in Calvin’s social humanism and Barth’s views on the humanity of God. A final section then considers four concrete implications of this tradition of reception for public theology today. Dr. Richard Mouw, president and Professor of Christian Philosophy at Fuller Theological Seminar in the USA, in a different context also feels challenged by Van de Beek’s statement on religion without ulterior motives. Is he, together with many other American theologians, to give up on the activist agenda—he who has encouraged so many Christians, especially evangelicals, to take serious the clear biblical call to engage in activities that promote justice, peace and righteousness in the larger society? He is not prepared to do that. But he sees the point, especially for Christians from the Reformed tradition, more in particular for those as he who draw heavily from Calvinist sources, especially the Kuyperian strand. In his opinion, the danger of abuse of religion can be averted by a ‘gratuitous’ cultivation of the inner life. Dr. Henk Vroom, professor of philosophy of religion and apologetics at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, also stands in the Kuyperian tradition. He agrees with the principle of a non-instrumental approach of religion advocated by Van de Beek but is at the same time convinced that more should be said about the task of the church and the individual Christian in society. Vroom tries to overcome the juxtaposition of religion and morality by the Buddha nature concept, which he links to Paul’s ideas of law, grace and freedom. He affirms that no area of existence is neutral and unaffected by religious significance, reformulating Kuyper’s adagio that that there is no area in life of which Christ does not say ‘This is mine!’ The danger of drifting to religion with ulterior motives can be avoided by upholding that other Kuyperian principle: sphere sovereignty.

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Dr. Gerrit de Kruijf, professor of Christian ethics at Leiden University, fully endorses Van de Beek’s warning against the instrumentalization of religion and calls for more sensibility and attentiveness in public debate to the non-functional character of important dimensions of life. Together with Dr. Gerd Höver, professor of moral theology at the University of Bonn, Dr. Oliver O’Donovan, Regius Professor of Moral and Pastoral Theology and Dr. Bernd Wannenwetsch, assistant professor of moral theology, both at the University of Oxford, he submitted a part of a paper, they wrote together on the family as a contribution to this volume. They draw a parallel with the recent instrumentalization of the family in the European context. Just like some Christians like to defend faith by referring to its social relevance, current European documents tend to limit the value of the family in terms of its social function, instead of recognizing its value as such, its prime importance as constitutive for our identities. Dr. Alan Sell, theologian and ecumenist, endorses Van de Beek’s warning against abuse of religion, but at the same time fears that a too disjunctive approach will darken the relevance of religion. Although God can act without ulterior motives, ours will always be mixed. Nevertheless, we are called to proclaim that the Christian Gospel is of eternal relevance, and to avoid the perils of both the godly ghetto and of ungrounded activism. Dr. Gijsbert van den Brink, teaching systematic theology at Leiden University, elaborates the relevance of reasons for belief in God. External reasons may not be sufficient ground for becoming a religious believer, but valid philosophical arguments and historical reasons might move people in the direction of faith, articulating the universal validity inherent in the Gospel. It is the proper task of dogmatics, apologetics and missiology to produce and test these arguments and reasons. Dr. Philippe Theron, professor emeritus in systematic theology at the University of Stellenbosch, refers to Jüngel’s statement “God is interesting for God’s own sake,” just as Van den Brink did before him, but his argument moves in a different direction. Theron illustrates the theme of the volume through a theological analysis of the theme of the unity of the church. He is convinced that the current labor for church unity (within the Reformed family) in South Africa is more driven by secular motives—a strategic positioning of the church among the other religions in the new multireligious South Africa—than by theological arguments. He pleads for a theological understanding of the unity of the church based on the sharing in Christ’s faith/fullness as the

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revelation of God’s faithfulness. This unity is not a superficial imitation of the unity of the Triune God but involves dying with Christ into the unity of the Trinity. This unity stands in contrast to a superficial unity informed by ulterior motives that is only formal and therefore fake. Van de Beek refers to John Calvin as a support in his argument: “…, for Calvin is deeply convinced that earthly society will never be the expression of God’s kingdom.” Dr. John Hesselink, emeritus professor of systematic theology at Western Theological Seminary in Holland, Michigan, examines this statement. He is hesitant. The Kingdomof-Christ concept used by Calvin brings with it all the benefits of the Gospel: reconciliation with God, the gift of the Spirit and a new life style in so far as Christ rules in our lives as king. But in a few instances, Calvin seems to add to this spiritual interpretation a more socio-political understanding of the concept. The kingdom of Christ finds expression in a renewal of society as well. But most important, in practice, Calvin was strongly involved in local politics, international affairs, and social and economic concerns. We have asked some scholars to give an analysis of the theme of religion with or without ulterior motive in their own context. Most of them developed the theme in a different direction. Dr. Seung Goo Lee, professor of systematic theology at Kukje Theological Seminary, begins from a short analysis of the Korean theological scene, but he is soon involved in developing some means to defend theology in general against ulterior motives. He not only fully endorses Van de Beek’s call for religion without ulterior motives, but is also convinced that the Christian religion can only be protected against this instrumentalization by a program of apostolic, biblical and eschatological theology. To avoid exterior motives triggered by an outsider perspective, an insider—apostolic—approach is a necessary protective shield. In order to avoid a distorted insider’s perspective, Lee advocates a biblical theology that is faithful to sola and tota Scriptura in sensu strictu. Finally, he pleads for an eschatological theology of the Kingdom of God that incorporates orthopraxis as a third protective element against religion without ulterior motive. In the Caribbean region, the development of an emancipation theology with its call for decolonization of received Christian religious faith and the challenge posed by a Rastafarian hermeneutical key constitute major elements of the theological enterprise. Is it possible to avoid, in such a context, religion without ulterior motive? Dr. Daniel Antwi, professor of theology in Kingston, Jamaica, is aware of the dangers, but

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sees no other way forward than to address this contextual challenge. He is convinced that a theology developed around the notion of grace will make it possible to avoid the pitfalls of instrumentalized religion. Africa has witnessed various waves of contextualization of theology since the 1970s. Dr. James Kombo, senior lecturer of systematic theology at Daystar University in Nairobi, Kenya, describes African inculturation theology, African black theology, African liberation theology and African women theology. He advocates that behind these various contextualizations are not different secondary motives to be recognized, but that in all these cases the prime motive is religious. In the last two examples, contextualization itself seems to be the proposed instrument for the purification of religion of secondary motives. But especially in the West, a suspicion exists that the contextualization enterprise is itself driven by ulterior motives. Is contextualisation possible without ulterior motives? Dr. Martien Brinkman, professor of ecumenical theology at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and successor of Bram van de Beek as director of IRTI, explores the baptismal paradigm as a valuable model for the process of dying and rising with Christ, not only of each individual believer, but also of each culture in the process of contextualization of the Gospel. More than Van de Beek he wants to give the ethical aspects of this renewal a place within the “integrity of conversion” (Bediako).

RELIGION WITHOUT ULTERIOR MOTIVE1 Abraham van de Beek No Alliances During the 1840s, there was a movement in European Judaism that argued for interaction between Judaism and contemporary culture. The notion was propagated that Jews should not stand aloof from society in their own religious and social traditions, but should participate fully in local social and cultural life. That would be better for Judaism as a living community and for the whole of society as well. Jews had an enormous amount to contribute to the well-being of all people, since they had a lot of experience in the administration of justice and in community building. This movement became very strong in Judaism. Even in 1936, Jewish author Ernst Kahler argued that (German) Jews should not oppose German politics, but should participate fully in German society, in such a way that they would be both better Germans and more motivated citizens.2 Nowadays, we hear similar voices among American Jews. In the context of the nineteenth century, such a plea for inculturation meant a plea for progress, as this concept was central in nineteenth century thought. Thus these Jews argued for religion allied to progress. It is precisely at this point that the Jewish author Samuel Hirsch opened a fierce attack. He wrote: The subordination of religion to any other factor means the denial of religion: for if the Torah is to you the Law of God how dare you place another law above it and go along with God and His Law only as long as you thereby “progress” in other respects in the same time? … “Reli-

1 Previously published as “Religion without ulterior motive” in Hervormde Theologiese Studies 61 (1&2) (2005), 517–529. With special thanks to the chairperson of the editorial staff of the journal, Prof. Dr. J. Buitendag, and for the permission from the editor, Prof. Dr. A.G. van Aarde, to publish the article in this volume. 2 E. Kähler, Israel unter den Völkern (Zürich: Humanitas, 1936), 101–162.

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abraham van de beek gion allied to progress”—do you know, dear reader, what that means? … It means sacrificing religion and morality to every man’s momentary whim.3

The core of Hirsch’s argument is that religion can never be a means to any other end than itself. Religion is an end—or rather, the end— in itself. To have any other aim in religious life is nothing less than blasphemy. Orthodox Jews are very sensitive to this risk. The dietary laws of Judaism are a good example of this notion: some people argue that these laws are good because they promote health; thus, observing the law promotes good health. Abraham Heschel’s response to this is similar to Hirsch’s. Heschel says that these laws are about religion and cannot be transferred to another domain. The moment such a transfer takes place, the laws lose their religious character. The laws do not serve any purpose, except to allow those who observe them to be servants of the Lord: “We do not search for utility in the laws, but eternity.”4 Religion is its own end, and it may not be instrumentalised to anything else. This statement seems tenable, and perhaps even self-evident, for all those who know what religion really is. But we must view the consequences of accepting this statement—and I think these logical consequences may come as a shock to many people, especially many contemporary Christians. The first consequence has to do with the rationality of faith. If religion is its own end, it means we cannot use any arguments to promote our religion. We cannot argue that Christian faith is better than other religions, for the moment we use such an argument—for instance, the argument that Christianity creates the most just society, more so than other world views or religions—then a just society is put above faith. Any such argument makes faith inferior, turning it into a second-level issue. We are Christians only because we are Christians, and not because there is a good argument for being Christians. Faith is similar to the deepest human relations. We accept our children just because they are our children and not because they have characteristics that are better than those of other children, of course our children may 3 S. Hirsch, “The authority of tradition: Religion allied to progress” in D.H. Frank, O. Leaman & C.H. Manekin, (eds) The Jewish philosophy reader (London: Routledge, 2000), 393. 4 A.J. Heschel, Gott sucht den Menschen: Eine Philosophie des Judentums (Neukirchen– Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980), 269.

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indeed have wonderful characteristics, good manners and so on, but we love them and their characteristics because they are our children; we did not choose them because they had such characteristics. Obviously, for Christians, Christianity is better than any other religion, but that statement is the consequence of their being Christians and is not the cause of the worth of Christianity. Thus the proposition that religion should be without any ulterior motive has far-reaching consequences for apology and missiology. The consequences, however, for the relation of Christian faith to other fields of life are even more striking. Few people will agree completely with an Indonesian theologian who stated: “If Christianity does not bring you progress, why should you be a Christian?” That view is the exact opposite of Hirsch’s ideas. But Hirsch digs deeper. It is not blatant opportunism that he wishes to oppose. He distrusts any tendency to use religion for other aims. You cannot use faith as an instrument in order to gain something. If you do so, religion is soon delivered to the whim of the day of any person who can use it to serve his or her own interests. In this respect, Hirsch fully agrees with another Jew, Paul. Paul opposes persons “of a corrupt mind who have been robbed of the truth and who think that godliness is a means to [financial] gain” (1 Tm 6:5). Certainly godliness is a great gain—but of a totally different kind: the gain of a life in gratitude for any gift of God. But that is a consequence, not the aim of godliness. What both Paul and Hirsch refute is an instrumentalisation of faith. And it is precisely that danger that arises in our functionalist age. We are inclined to use anything and anyone as a means to an end. That is also the case with religion. Politicians do it—as soon as a senator in the USA runs for the presidency, he becomes really ‘religious’; and if he was already religious he begins to speak openly about his conversion— he is a born-again Christian. This grandstanding may be obvious— nevertheless, it works. It can also be more subtle, as is usual (and useful) in The Netherlands. Politicians speak about the important role of churches in the development of norms and values. Not only the Christian Democrats do this, but so do conservative liberals and labour politicians. In the churches themselves, it has for a long time been customary to put the following question to theologians: “What are the ethical consequences of your position?” Hirsch’s position is a critique of both such politicians and such church members. You cannot use religion for to generate values. Nor can you use it to determine ethics. Certainly, faith has ethical

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consequences and creates high values of life; as Paul says, godliness gives great gain. But you cannot use this as an argument for the uses of religion. These consequences are not faith itself, and far less are they the aim or purpose of faith. The aim of faith is God alone—and nothing besides God. God will not give his glory to something else (Is 42:8; 48:11; 45:22–25), not even to ethics. Alliances are Attractive Nevertheless, instrumentalisation has been the dominant culture in theology during the last centuries, and especially during the second half of the twentieth century. This approach to theology is the theological equivalent of the functionalist culture of the modern West that is increasingly dominant in a globalising world. I will give three examples that are often considered as alternatives, but from this perspective all suffer from the same disease: the use of religion for other ends, especially the interests of the person who uses the argument.

Liberation theology Liberation theology is a clear example of religion with a goal. That goal is not God and his service, but political and economic liberation. The point of my critique is not that even if the groups that use a theology of this kind are successful, their society usually turns out to be either a liberal society with similar problems but different actors and powers, or an oppressive society where the winners impose their ideas on others. Instead, I would like to focus on the fact that religion is used to accomplish this political change. True religion, as conceived by Hirsch, is interested in material and social issues, but never in such a way that it makes these issues the core of religion. It must be clear that they are relative, second- or even third-level questions. This does not mean we should retreat from the world into religious mysticism. Both orthodox Judaism and Christianity are very sensitive to everything that happens in the world. They know about suffering, exploitation, persecution and corruption. They also know these facts are so deeply rooted in humankind that we cannot change them by ideologies or change our world into the utopias we strive for. It is

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precisely in our awareness of political or economic problems, without opposing them directly, that religion shows that the glory of God and our being in God belongs to a different category from any other issue. Thus New Testament authors do not discuss the issues of abolishing slavery (Eph 6:5–9; Col. 3:21–4:1; 1 Pt. 2:18–25; Phlp) or improving the position of women (Eph 5:22–24; Col. 3:18; 1 Pt. 3:1–7). They plead for just relations in slavery, but not for its abolition. Certainly, in Christ, there is no difference between a free person and a slave, male and female (Gl 3:28; Col. 3:11). However, Paul argues that women must behave according to the customs of contemporary society. In this case, he even agrees with Peter, who says that the glory of women is in simplicity of dress and behaviour and submission to their husbands. By acting in this way, they can show that they are really free and have higher interests than emancipation or a public life. Modern “enlightened” Western people cannot easily understand this priority of religion and therefore they tend to oppress Moslems who understand what religion is, just as ancient society oppressed Christians who did not fit into contemporary society at that time. They feel (and felt) uneasy with people who do not strive to gain something. Therefore they suppose that there must be something very perverted and hidden in the subculture these people belong to. Other people do not understand, and therefore they blame and persecute. Currently, the concept of liberation is dominant in mainstream contemporary Christianity. Its most comprehensive expression is the programme on Peace, Justice and Integrity of Creation of the World Council of Churches. All the energy of the world community is directed to changing the world for the better. My main problem with this is not that this approach does not help very much (it is debatable whether it has helped so far or not) and that it soaks up a lot of resources, but that it is a denial of the core of Christianity. Early Christianity did not make any effort to change society. The early Christians were a different kind of people, a new creation, and their life was hidden in God with Christ. Their opponents did not understand that. They noticed that Christians knew very well what was going on in the world—and that Christians rejected it. The early Christians criticised ancient society. But people in the ancient world did not understand why and how. There is a beautiful, explicit example that casts some light on the discussion. The Hellenistic philosopher Celsus wrote that Christians criticised society. But what alternative did they

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offer? Therefore he challenged them to participate actively in administration, in order to change things for the better. Origen, in his answer in Contra Celsum, refused the invitation, saying that the Christians have a better King to serve. If we have capacities for leadership, we will employ these in the church, and even there with circumspection, for power easily perverts.5 “Your Kingdom come” had a quite different meaning for early Christianity than it does for twentieth century mainstream Christians. It meant total submission to the will of God as King of our lives, and not an expectation of changing the world into a new society. That idea would be as alien to them as the early Christians’ idea of a community that has its dwelling place in heaven would be to modern Christians. How can you be concerned with changes in the world when this world has lost its kairos and we are living in Christ, who shares our lives? From this perspective we must also be critical of the late nineteenth century Christian emancipation movement in The Netherlands that created specific Christian political parties to promote the public influence of Christians and their ideas. Religion was seen as a means for political power, both by Catholics (under the leadership of Schaepman) and by Neo-Calvinists (with Kuyper as their leader). Even in his own time, Kuyper was reproved by theologians such as Gunning who opposed his striving for power. It is obvious that neither the World Council nor Kuyper rose or could rise to the standards of true religious life that are posited by both Hirsch and Origen. It should also be clear that this does not mean that Christian faith is not about freedom. Both the New Testament and the church fathers and Reformers, in fact, the entire Christian tradition, teach that Christ brings us to freedom. But this is principally a freedom of a different kind from secular personal or political freedom6 and, in addition, the way this freedom functions is the result of being in Christ and not an argument for faith. Paul’s statement that we should beware of wishing to gain something by faith applies fully here.

Origen in J.P. Migne, Patrologia Graeca. (Paris: Garnier, 1855), 75. A. van de Beek, “A life in freedom” in A. van Egmond & D. van Keulen (eds), Freedom (Baarn: Callenbach, 1997), 9–24. 5 6

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Theocracy Theocracy is the second example of religion with a goal. Kuyper, for example, is often reproached with aiming at political emancipation and influence, and not at a transformation of the whole of society under the Lordship of God. In short, he is accused of being merely a liberation theologian and not a theocrat! I am not sure that this critique of Kuyper is valid. When Kuyper says there is no domain in the world where Christ does not say “This is mine,” a theocracy is implied.7 The difference between Kuyper and gnesio-theocrats such as Hoedemaker (and still stronger, Van Ruler) is only that Kuyper at least distinguishes between the different spheres of life and thus defends more distance between the church, universities and the state than the theocrats advocate. The theocratic ideal implies a close relation between faith and society in all its manifestations, including culture and the state. It is an exact expression of what Hirsch calls religion allied to progress. Perhaps the theocrats do not use the word “progress,” but that is not the focus of the argument. It is the phrase “allied to.” The connection between faith and any other reality is what Hirsch sees as wrong. Theocracy makes religion dependent on the state, on culture or the shape of society. Actually, these elements of the human world become idols which obscure the true God. They stand for and promote a longing for earthly power, while early Christianity was averse to any worldly power. We can conceive of the development of national states in Europe since the sixteenth century and later in the USA as a combination of liberation theology and theocracy. Both ideologies are combined in a powerful concept of a nation that is given or even elected by God.8 Many nations and movements have made use of notions derived from this concept: we live in God’s own country; we are the Israel of the West; we are the people of Israel on a trek through the desert to the land God will give us; there is a threefold chain of God, The Netherlands and the House of Orange together; God shaped Hungary surrounded by mountains; and so on. It is an ideology that is conspicuously expressed by Classen in a 1931 RGG article on “Volk und Volkstum”: every nation has a religious base, and therefore it is absolute and 7 8

A. Kuyper, Souvereiniteit in eigen kring, 3rd ed. (Kampen: Kok, 1930), 32. A.D. Smith, Chosen people (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

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will exclude all those who are different.9 Here we see the dangerous but logical consequence of “religion allied to” a social element: it creates exclusion and consequently results in the oppression of those who are not included. This seems to be a strong argument for my position. We should not develop a theology that supports exclusivism and suppression. I agree we should not do so. But that is not my argument. For if it were my argument, ultimately it would be precisely an argument whereby faith is again submitted to an end. We must not proclaim the autonomy of faith because it prevents people from becoming oppressive, but for its own sake alone. Making people free from oppression is not an argument for faith, but the consequence of faith.

Pietism Perhaps some readers will conclude from the above argument that pietism would be the best religious attitude—aloof from participation in society and only celebrating God’s presence in personal life. That would, however, be to misunderstand the argument totally. Pietism itself is a strong example of “religion allied to …”—often “allied to progress.” That is clearly the case in modern pietism. Preachers from the USA bring their gospel to Latin America, proclaiming that if people convert to their kind of religion, they will prosper, they will have good luck and even healing in life. They call on people to become Christians in order to gain something by doing so. They are precisely the kind of preachers Paul warns Timothy against. Their message is attractive but, from the perspective of true faith, it is a lie. It is the kind of pietism we can find all over the world nowadays. It is the kind of Christianity with the effect a Korean colleague told me about. He said: “If you lay the diagram of persons attending worship over those of the stock market, they are precisely the same.” Church members obviously consider whether church-going is a good investment. Classic pietism is not quite as obvious in its desire for gain. But here too, we can find similar expressions. A church member said, “If I did not have my faith, I would not know how to overcome my sorrows and troubles.” The underlying idea is that faith serves to overcome 9 Classen, W.F., “Volk und Volkstum” in Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart V, 2 Aufl. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1931), 1630–1632.

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problems—ignoring the fact that Christian faith is often the cause of many troubles, and that it is easier to be like those who do not worry about God, as Psalm 73 says. The deepest form of pietism says “I feel such a good Christian, precisely because I do not want to gain anything from my faith. I am the true godly person. I am pious because God is enough for me.” This is religion allied to piety—the most deceptive alliance of all. It implies the justification of those who claim to be godly and the exclusion of the godless.

Christians are Good for Society In conclusion: we believe in God, only because we love and honour God, and not for any other aim or to promote any alliance. That does not mean that our faith has no impact on our life on earth. To make that clear I refer to two fields. First, if we are Christians and our dwelling is in heaven, we do not fight for our position in the world. We can be patient, helpful, and all the other characteristics of Christian life we can find in New Testament paraenesis—no hate for enemies, no divorce, no resentment by slaves. Justin Martyr has worked that out when he argues in his Apology10 that Christians are better citizens. We must be very careful here. Justin does not use his argument for apologetic ends. He does not say: you should become a Christian because that will be better for society. That is against everything that moves early Christianity. His argument is only a counter-argument against those who say that Christians are a danger to society and a perverted people. We are not, he says. We do not lie, we do not kill, we do not steal. You can trust us, precisely because we do not have worldly interests. So, if we claim that we serve the Lord only for his own sake, it follows that we live in love and compassion with other people, precisely because we do not have anything to gain from them. Second, we are not dependent on what happens in the world. We do not fear those who can kill the body. We fear God, who has the ultimate power to decide about our being. We do not fear persecution or suppression. The Letter to the Hebrews goes so far as to say that Christians 10 Justin Martyr, Apology: Introduction, texte critique, traduction, commentaire et index par Andre Wartelle (Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes, 1987), I; 17; 29; 68.

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joyfully accepted the confiscation of their property (Heb 10:34). We do not depend on possessions. We depend only on the Lord. Therefore we have no need to change the state or societal structures. On the other hand, Christians striving for martyrdom were also condemned in early Christianity. Martyrdom would also imply an alliance, as if the relation with the Lord was dependent on martyrdom. It is a subtle balance, which we can find in Romans 13. That is not a plea for theocracy. Early Christianity rejects divine claims by the government. That is precisely one of the reasons for their persecution. Paul says in Romans 13: thank God there is a government and that we can at least live in the pax Romana. Of course, this is not the kingdom of God. But God shows his grace to us by preserving us in peace. That is better than revolt and civil war—as some Jews were already discussing at that time.11 Our life in Christ is enough, and if we have a relatively peaceful life on earth, that is an additional gift of God for which we can thank Him. That is the position of early Christianity, and of the greatest authors of later church history. A good example can be found in John Calvin’s thought. We know life on earth will not be easy. That will, however, not jeopardise Christian life. For the core of it is the meditatio futurae vitae, that means our being in Christ in his life in heaven. Calvin shares the opinion of a famous Irenaeus fragment: “The most important task of a Christian is thinking of death.”12 If besides this we receive food and clothing, we must be very grateful and thank the Lord for His grace. If we have a good government we will also be grateful, and if not, we will not complain and not revolt either, for Calvin is deeply convinced that earthly society will never be the expression of God’s kingdom. The only presence of God is in Christ and therefore in the proclamation of the Word and the celebration of the sacraments that are the memory of Christ. How Calvin thinks about Christian life (and thus Christian ethics) and the state can be illustrated by two chapters of his Institutes. In III, 19 he speaks about Christian freedom as the core of Christian life. There, the core concept is humility. There he speaks in line with New Testament paraenesis, advocating endurance, patience and love. In the 11 W.C. van Unnik, “Het Jodendom in de diaspora” in J.H. Waszink, W.C. van Unnik & C. de Beus, (eds), Het oudste christendom en de antieke cultuur, I. (Haarlem: Tjeenk Willink, 1951), 552. 12 Irenaeus in Migne, PG 7, Fragment XI, 1234.

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very last chapter of the Institutes he speaks about the government. Here the core concept is not humilitas but aequitas.13 We must not translate this term as “equality,” because that word is coloured by the Enlightenment ideal of the equality of all human beings. It is better translated as “equilibrium” or “balance.”14 Calvin is very aware that all human beings are not equal. That is precisely why the government must bring balance in society. We must be grateful if we have a government that can do so. If we have an opportunity to contribute to it, we should do so.15 In that respect, Calvin disagrees with Origen. But we should not contribute to government for the cause of theocracy, but merely for the sake of earthly balance. Aequitas is needed precisely because the government is not divine. Calvin refutes kings who make absolute claims.16 An absolute monarch is inclined to want to rule as a god, not taking into account that he is a fallible, powerless human being. Precisely in order to avoid a situation where religion is allied to earthly power, we need a shared leadership by wise people. Calvin is not a democrat, for he is aware of how easily the masses can be moved by wicked leaders. Calvin always searches for balance. But even if society is not in balance, our faith is not dependent on such balance. On behalf of the people entrusted to them, lower governments can oppose higher governments—not on behalf of their own power, but willingly suffering on behalf of their people. Even then they must not act with violence, but only seek to convince the other powers of the need for change.

Conclusion That we must serve the Lord without any ulterior motive is a notion deeply rooted in Jewish, and thus Christian, religion. A noteworthy text is Hab 3:17: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce 13 A. van de Beek, “Calvinism as an ascetic movement” in W.M. Alston & M. Welker (eds), Reformed Theology: Identity and Ecumenicity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003a), 205– 222. 14 A. van de Beek, “Beyond the unfounded optimism of equity” in E. Van der Borght (ed.), Affirming and Living with Differences, Studies in Reformed Theology 12 (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2006), 147–160. 15 W. Balke, Calvijn en de doperse radicalen (Amsterdam: Ton Bolland, 1973), 59–64. 16 Calvin, Institutes IV, 20, 8.

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no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Saviour.” If we lose everything—nevertheless, we can praise the Lord. Psalm 73 shows an awareness of the seductiveness of worldly life—but ends with the confession that even if heart and flesh will fail, God will be the strength of my heart and my portion for ever. And it is good to be near Him. That is the difference between people whose reward is in this life and those whose reward is the Lord, say other psalms (e g, Ps. 17:14; 49). The logical consequence of this is that true godliness can only become clear if you lose everything without any reason. That is the test the book of Job tells us about. It is not about suffering as such, but about unjust suffering. “As surely as God lives who has denied my justice,” says Job (Job 27:2). But even in that extreme case, Job held fast to the Lord as the only judge. And he was right.17 It is the same perseverance as Jesus showed. Jesus died with the cry “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mk 15:34). And Paul says that God is “He who betrayed (eparadosen) his own Son” (Rm 8:32). Nevertheless, Jesus says: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (Lk 23:46). That is the fulfilment of ultimate godliness. It is finished. Tetelesthai (Jn 19:30). That has to do with the deepest meaning of the edei, the necessity of Christ’s suffering and death. Job did not know about what happened in heaven. He simply experienced his unjust fate. Otherwise, suffering would lose its sting. Suffering can never become an ideal. It is meant to be painful. Therefore orthodox Christianity does not promote an ideal of poverty. If poverty were to be the expression of true godliness, we could again claim and manipulate our relation to God. It is precisely the “not willed” suffering that challenges our faith to hold fast to the Lord. But we can be grateful for every day that we are not submitted to a test like that which Job had to endure. God is good to us, by not making our burden too heavy. But at the moment that a dark fate overtakes us, ultimate godliness is to endure joyfully, as Hebrews says. “Religion without ulterior motive.” That is the true godly attitude to which both Christians and Jews, and actually all truly religious people, are called. We serve the Lord for nothing, as the book of Job says (1:9). That is as far as human beings are involved. 17 A. van de Beek, Rechtvaardiger dan God: Gedachten bij het boek Job (Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1992), 90–92.

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Christian doctrine also knows that we must apply this to God’s relation to us as well. God loves us for no reason or gain. God did not elect us because of qualities in ourselves. As Deuteronomy 7:7 says: “The Lord did not set his affection on you and choose you because you were more numerous than other people, for you were the fewest of all peoples, but it was because the Lord loved you and kept the oath he swore to your forefathers.” And God does not treat us as we deserve in view of our sins, sings Psalm 103:10. God keeps to God’s promises in spite of Israel’s unfaithfulness. Even if we are faithless, God will remain faithful. God cannot disown God self (2Tm 2:12). That does not imply “cheap” grace. The case of God is not as Voltaire formulated it: “God will forgive it. That’s his job.” Only people who do not know about the depth of faithfulness can live that way, like the people criticised by Voltaire. It is the other way around: in order that the grace of God can come out, sin has to remain sin. We can never propagate sin as an ideal, just as we should not propagate poverty as an ideal. Sin is terrible. It is even more grievous to God than to us. The problem is precisely that we do not take it as seriously as God does. God is tested every day by humans, as Job was tested by God. Sinning seems to be our job—even our being. But it is exactly this being that God is faithful to—not for any reason in us. There are no ulterior motives in God’s love for us. We live in a world where people suffer, and it is precisely in that suffering that their godliness emerges. We live in a world with sin, and it is precisely in that world that God’s grace emerges. Neither suffering nor sin is ever willed. They are horrible to both God and to godly people. Christian faith confesses that precisely at this point God and human beings meet each other: at the cross of Christ, God who suffers and is cursed on behalf of us, and a human being who dies as one lost—forsaken by God, and it is exactly at that moment that He entrusts Himself to God’s hands. God’s history with His people is the history of Jesus. Sometimes we see it reflected in human stories. Again it is a Jewish story that puts us on the track. In Yad Vasjem, the museum of the Sjoa# in Jerusalem, there is a memorial for a Polish rabbi. He refused to be saved. He preferred to go to the gas chambers together with the orphan children he cared for. The godly dies together with his children. That is the deepest expression of human dignity. The holy God dies in a place of execution, together with sinners. That is the deepest expression of

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divine glory. That is the King of the Jews (Mk 15:26; Mt. 27:37; Lk 23:38; Jn 19:19). We cannot explain why it is that way. Why could God not create a perfect world? Discussions like that involve fruitless speculation. According to both Irenaeus and Calvin, we should reject that kind of curiosity. We only have to deal with one reality: the reality of this God, this creation and these people He elected to be loved to the last. We cannot understand it. If we could, we would have an explanation for God’s ultimate being. That would be a blasphemy—that God’s being would be dependent on our arguments. God is just as He is. He is who He is. He is—that is the only reason to glorify Him.

NO ULTERIOR MOTIVE—AND PUBLIC THEOLOGY?

Dirkie Smit Does the Christian faith mean that believers have to trust God without any ulterior motive except—what? Does the Christian life call believers to serve God without any ulterior motive except—what? Does the Christian hope imply that believers should wait and meditate on the future life without any ulterior interest or present involvement except— what? And what would the implications of such Christianity without ulterior motive be for what is currently often called the public church and public theology? Would this imply that all activities of being public church and all forms of public theology are betrayals of the Christian faith because they are necessarily founded on ulterior motives and serving ulterior interests?

“The Goodness and Loving-Kindness of God”? When the goodness and loving-kindness of God our Savior appeared— says the Epistle to Titus (3:4 ff.)—he saved us, solely according to his own mercy and not for any other ground, reason or motive, thereby making us heirs according to the hope of eternal life. The surprising generosity (chrestotes) and love-for-human-beings (philanthropia) of this God was alone the driving force, the motivation and foundation of this unimaginable and unexpected salvific act in history. In this pericope—Titus 3:4–7, with similar ideas and notions already in Titus 2:11–14—readers find a very familiar pattern of early Christian thought, woven together by several very basic and common features of the proclamation of the Gospel, although other New Testament authors would formulate and express the same features in many different, diverse and complex ways. The same pattern—presented with different terminology and metaphors—is to be found at the heart of almost every document from the early church and the New Testament. This is indeed the heart of the Gospel. In the specific language of Titus, some of these characteristic features would include the conviction that the nature of God was revealed

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to us in historical form, in history, in Jesus Christ (“it appeared”); that this nature of God is gracious, loving, compassionate, caring, generous, merciful (“goodness” and “loving-kindness”); that this divine attitude towards humanity made visible and known in this historical action is for-us, salvific, saving (“God our Savior”; “he saved us”); that this God is therefore knowable as the Triune God (“God our Savior”; “by the Holy Spirit”; “through Jesus Christ our Savior”); that this salvation involves both the hope of eternal life and therefore the renewal of the present lives of believers (“the renewal by the Holy Spirit”); and that this historical act of salvation by the Triune God was motivated by no ulterior motive, by nothing else that this one motive, the generosity and love-for-humanity of this God alone (“not because of any works of righteousness that we had done”). Together, these basic convictions of early Christianity weave a pattern that is very familiar, although others would express it in many diverse ways and forms. In the specific context of Titus, the aspect that this historically revealed, totally surprising and unmotivated generosity and love of the Triune God, saving people who are totally unworthy and undeserving, should lead to the renewal of the lives of believers, should become active in Christian life based on, corresponding to and reflecting this divine goodness and loving-kindness, receives special emphasis. It is actually the rhetorical point that the author wants to make through these pericopes, as theological commentators through the centuries have seen and underlined. Since 2:1 the author has already been urging the readers to teach and obviously to practice what is consistent with sound doctrine. Sound doctrine obviously leads to specific guidance for specific groups regarding their life with one another and in public, for older men (2:2), for older women (2:3), for younger women (2:4–5), for younger men (2:6), for Titus himself (2:7–8), for slaves (2:9–10). Why? For the grace of God has appeared (2:11) bringing salvation to all (2:11) and training believers to live lives in the present age that are consistent with this grace received (2:11–13) while they are waiting for the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ (2:14). After all, He gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own zealous for good deeds (2:14). Sound doctrine proclaiming this historical act of salvation calls for lives and actions ‘zealous for good deeds’—since these new people are no longer their own, they belong to their great God and Savior.

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As if these implications are not yet clear enough, the author spells out their consequences for life in society and in public even more clearly, appealing to exactly the same familiar features woven together in the same structural web of sound doctrine. The believers should be reminded to be subject to rulers and authorities (3:1), should be ready for every good work (3:1), should speak evil of no one (3:2), should avoid quarreling and show courtesy to everyone (3:2). The believers, including the author and his first reader Titus, had not been people like this and had not been acting, living and behaving like this before, but when the goodness and loving-kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved them all—not because of any ulterior motive, but according to his mercy—through the water of rebirth and the renewal by the Holy Spirit (3:5), the Spirit whom this God poured out on them so richly through Jesus Christ their Savior (3:6). Once again, the author stresses that these teachings are important, so that those who have come to believe in this God may be careful to devote themselves “to good works, to things that are excellent and profitable to everyone” (3:8)—and once again he spells out some of these in illustrative and representative examples (3:9). In his commentary on Titus, Calvin underlines several of these familiar features.1 Paul calls sound doctrine teaching that can build people up in godliness. Doctrine is sound because of its effect. Paul distinguishes two parts of doctrine. The first is that by which God’s grace in Christ is commended to us, so that we know where to look for salvation; the second that by which our life is trained to the fear of God and to innocence. We must not look for a fixed scheme in the particular duties which Paul mentions, says Calvin, since Paul is only mentioning a few examples. It remains for the church of the ages to add their own reflections and discussions on how to practice this sound doctrine in our lives and our changing societies. Paul bases his argument—says Calvin—on the “purpose” of God in redemption, “which he shows to be zeal to live a godly and upright life.” This is the purpose or motive of redemption, as Calvin explains: “He means that God’s grace should itself instruct us to lead our lives aright. Some are quick to turn the preaching of God’s mercy into an excuse for licentiousness, while carelessness keeps others from thinking 1 Calvin’s Commentaries. The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians and the Epistles to Timothy, Titus and Philemon, tr. T.A. Smail (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 368ff.

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about the renewal of their life. But the revelation of God’s grace brings with it exhortations to a godly life.”2 Salvation comes to all people—not all individuals, says Calvin, but all classes of people with their diverse ways of life, and the emphasis is especially on the fact that God’s grace has condescended even to slaves. Since God does not despise even the lowliest and most degraded of people, it would be extremely foolish, Calvin argues, should we be slow and negligent to embrace this divine goodness. Although some, however, profess religion, nothing is further from their thoughts than their duty to serve this gracious God—which is why meditation on the heavenly life becomes so important for us after our regeneration. Although he does not explicitly say that, it seems clear that “embracing this divine goodness”—in this context—involves practicing and demonstrating the same all-embracing goodness towards all people, including those regarded the lowliest and most degraded according to human standards and based on ulterior motives and considerations. Together soberliness, righteousness and godliness—according to Titus (2:11)—give a “comprehensive summary of Christian living,” says Calvin, wherein godliness is exercised in relation to God and righteousness is exercised towards other human beings, with temperance added “like a kind of seasoning to the other two.”3 Paul adds “the present life”—he comments—“since God has appointed our present life for the proving of our faith,”4 which means that “proving our faith” also becomes a motive for the Christian life. In fact, Paul “finds a basis for his exhortation” in the hope of future immortality—“and certainly if that hope is deeply settled in our minds, it cannot but lead us to devote ourselves wholly to God.”5 For Calvin, the meditation of the future life obviously does not detract from godly and righteous—exercised towards other human beings—living in the present, but precisely forms its basis. “From this we learn that our greatest incentive to increased activity and willingness in doing good should be the hope of a future resurrection.”6 2 Calvin’s Commentaries. The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians and the Epistles to Timothy, Titus and Philemon, 373. 3 In the Institutes (1559, III.6 & 7) Calvin, of course, still describes the Christian life again in terms of righteousness towards fellow human beings and godliness towards God. 4 Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 374. 5 Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 374. 6 Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 375.

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The fact that Christ “gave himself for us” is “another source of exhortation, based on the purpose or effect of Christ’s death,”7 continues Calvin. Thereby Christ purchased us for himself as his own possession, rescued from bondage and free “that we may serve God’s righteousness.”8 Christ’s grace “necessarily brings with it newness of life.”9 Paul adds to this list of particular duties a general admonition that those who thus belong to Christ “should calmly respect the order of civil government, obey the laws and submit to the magistrates.”10 Those who do not understand, appreciate and respect these important forms of human life together, “appointed for the preservation of human life,”11 Calvin regards as “the enemy of equity and justice and so devoid of all humanity.”12 There is no doubt, he says, that in adding the sentence “be ready for every good work” the author “is commending to us kindness towards our neighbours in our whole life.”13 In what follows, says Calvin, Paul “now lays down the way in which we can promote peace and friendship with all.”14 The illustrative examples and admonitions that follow no longer deal with personal duties only, but describe ways of living as believers in society, in the world, among others, and in public. They should—for example—not speak evil of anyone, “for we know that there is nothing more congenial to human nature than for every person to think less of others than of themselves, so that many are proud of God’s gift to them and despise their brethren.”15 Christians, however, should not glory over others or reproach them, however superior they may be or feel according to natural and cultural public standards. They should—for example—also avoid quarrels and altercations, but rather “be kind and gentle to all.”16 Therefore, believers should “learn to deal gently with many things and to ignore many more”17—and the author specifically adds “towards all people” “to show that we

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Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 375. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 375. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 375. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 377. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378.

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should bear even with the lowest and meanest.”18 This could become a particular challenge for public life in the light of the sound doctrine, since believers often “hold ungodly people as worth nothing and so undeserving of any forbearance and Paul wants to correct such severity, for its only source is pride.”19 They should—for example—remember that they themselves had also been foolish. Those who have a zeal for God should always begin with looking critically at themselves and their own past, so that “their severity is always mixed with compassion.”20 What happened to themselves—clearly, they heard of the grace of God that appeared—“should prompt them to think that those who are outside the Church today may tomorrow be engrafted into it, and with their faults corrected may come to share in the gifts of God which at present they lack.”21 Remembering this should therefore “incline them to sympathy, fellowfeeling,”22 since “God’s grace to them is proof that others also can be brought to salvation.”23 So we see that, Calvin concludes, “we ought to humble ourselves before God, that we may be gentle towards our brethren, (whereas) pride is always cruel and a despiser of all people.”24 Together this general admonition and such illustrative examples therefore serve to show readers that the grace of this God which appeared in history—without any ulterior motive except the unconditional divine loving-kindness—bringing salvation to all people, instructs believers to think, talk and behave in ways that correspond to this goodness towards all and everyone, in society and in public, including those in authority, those despised, those hostile and those still outside and different. In short, believers are also called to practice such unconditional loving-kindness—without ulterior motive. Why?—solely because of this God’s goodness, his “kindness, mercy and favour,”25 Calvin claims, following Titus’ familiar early Christian pattern of logic. In an interesting comment he almost qualifies Paul’s words by reminding that this loving-kindness was, of course, fully demonstrated in Jesus Christ, but that this same love and kindness of the 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 378. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 379. Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 380.

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Father had, of course, always been present and active in the world and in history so that it should therefore never be portrayed as if Christ as it were affected and even changed the Father’s mind and attitude—a false accusation often directed at his understanding of the atonement.26 It is only because God’s loving-kindness was so completely unmotivated, so without any ulterior motive except for his free act of salvation towards us, that we legitimately say that God showed his kindness to us in Jesus. According to Calvin, this is totally unmerited and therefore without ulterior motive. “God will never find in us anything worthy of his love, but He loves us because He is kind and merciful.”27 It is remarkable that Calvin translates this loving-kindness (Greek, philanthropia) with the Latin humanitas—the humanity of God. The total effect of Paul’s emphasis on the undeserving nature of this salvation is that “it is madness therefore to imagine that anyone may approach God by what are called our own ‘preparations’,”28 says Calvin. Some foolish people argue that God has regard for our future merits when God thus loves and saves us, so that God is ultimately motivated and moved by our merits rather than by his own freedom to accept, love, forgive and save, in other words, so that there is a hidden, ulterior motive at work. But Calvin rejects this as foolishness and trifling, since such an argument assumes what Paul everywhere else rejects; namely, the familiar pattern of early Christian convictions. In the sections on “love” and “life in the world” under the broader theme of “the new obedience” in his study of the outline of Pauline theology, Herman Ridderbos also makes extensive use of this familiar pattern, this web of characteristic early Christian features, woven together in many diverse ways by different communities, authors and documents.29 According to him, Pauline theology considers the life of 26

“It is usual in Scripture to say that the world was reconciled to God by Christ’s death, although we know that He was a kind Father in all ages. But because we can find no ground for our salvation except in Christ, there is good reason for saying that God the Father has shown his kindness to us in Him,” 380. For an excellent discussion, demonstrating convincingly how unfounded such popular misunderstandings of Calvin’s views of the atonement are, see B.A. Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 27 Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 381. 28 Calvin’s Commentaries. Titus, 381. 29 H. Ridderbos, Paul. An Outline of his Theology, tr. J R de Witt (Grand Rapids; Eerdmans, 1975), 293 ff., but specifically referring to Titus also elsewhere in the study. See also his commentary on Titus, De pastorale Brieven. (Kampen: J.H. Kok, 1967), especially 277 ff. for extensive descriptions how “het centrum van het christelijk geloof ”

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the church and also the participation of believers in the world under a twofold aspect. “On the one hand, in virtue of their communion with Christ believers belong to the new creation, they have been redeemed from the present aeon and have gone over into the kingdom of Christ; on the other, they are still in the flesh, and consequently with all their present mode of existence they belong to the present world. It goes without saying that this twofold relationship of the church to the world in which it lives must also determine its ethical conduct. The young Christian churches were thereby faced with all kinds of problems. These questions are on the one hand viewed from the standpoint of the liberty in Christ; on the other hand from that of sanctification.”30 The crucial question for Christian life in the world hinges therefore on the understanding of the relationship between this freedom and this holiness.31 In what he calls the “striking terminology” of Titus 3:4 ff., Ridderbos finds an “expression of what an all-embracing significance the love of God revealed in Christ and the church’s demonstration of love determined by it have in the midst of the surrounding world.”32 One could probably say that in this all-embracing unmotivated love—of God, but therefore also of the church—both freedom and holiness together are revealed. In truth, “this universality of love comes markedly to the fore notably in the Pastoral Epistles,” says Ridderbos, “and in more than one place it is linked there with the center of the Christian faith in a very foundational and impressive way.”33 The person and work of Christ is the “evidence and pattern”34 of this universal love, and similarly the church “in the manifestation of its life in the present world”35 is always to be conscious of the fact that the grace of God bringing salvation has appeared to all people. It is precisely in Jesus Christ as evidence and pattern of God’s unmerited, namely “het grote heilswerk Gods in Christus” serves as “heilshistorische motivering” for the paranaesis, rather than a general social ethics of civil morality. Salvation is indeed more than this education and formation for Christian life, but it most certainly includes this life and has major implications for the public life of Christian believers, Ridderbos repeatedly argues in many different ways, explaining Titus. 30 Ridderbos, Paul, 301. 31 Ridderbos, Paul, 301 ff. See for example also A. Weiser, Die gesellschaftliche Verantwortung der Christen nach den Pastoralbriefen. (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1994 (with literature)). 32 Ridderbos, Paul, 300. 33 Ridderbos, Paul, 300. 34 Ridderbos, Paul, 300. 35 Ridderbos, Paul, 300.

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unconditional and universal philanthropy that “the extent to which the basic motives of Paul’s gospel govern all of his preaching, even his paranaesis, comes clearly to light.”36 Jesus Christ as evidence and pattern reveals once and for all that the Gospel is not without any motive at all, but without any ulterior motive, in the same way that the existence of the church and the lives of believers could never be without any motive at all, but only without ulterior motives and without other motives—motives alien to this surprising and wonderful evidence and pattern. “The Humanity of God”? In practice, of course, this familiar pattern of early Christian convictions raises many concrete questions and it has therefore given rise to many different, often complementary but also contradictory and even conflicting, interpretations of the Christian life that are patterned after this fundamental pattern. The history of the church is the history of these diverse traditions of understanding the implications of this one Gospel of Jesus Christ in so many contexts and cultures. In their attempts to live—in freedom and holiness—only from the motives behind this evidence and pattern of the Gospel and not from any other ulterior motive, the church has almost always failed, as this history only too painfully shows. These difficulties already began in New Testament times. At least four clusters of questions have been of continuous importance. First, do believers trust God, love God, worship and serve God simply because God is God, or because God is a particular God, a specific God, and this God? If they should worship God simply because God is God, without any motive, reason or explanation, does this then justify all and any kind of religious conviction—including fanaticism and fundamentalism? And if they should worship God because God is a particular God, does this not lead to ulterior motivation—to worship as self-serving and self-interest, based on argumentation, persuasion or alien appeal? The history of the church is a history of disagreement on this question and of disagreements on the nature of God—and both the creedal tradition confessing God as Trinity, God-for-us, as well as

36

Ridderbos, Paul, 300.

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the Trinitarian worship of the church answer this question in direct opposition to many religious, theological and spiritual positions both inside and outside this history. Second, even if God is Triune, and therefore for-us, is it then really necessary for believers to mirror this divine goodness and loving-kindness towards them in their relationships with others, or are they only receivers of this unconditional love, and not also called to practice this love themselves? Does this faith involve works; does this doctrine call for ethics; does this hope become action—or not? If the answers are no, does this not lead to passivism, even apathy and sloth—and what about James’ warnings? If the answers are yes, does this not lead to activism, even merit and self-righteousness—and what about Paul’s objections? The history of the church is also a history of conflict over these fundamental questions. Third, even if believers are indeed called to mirror this divine goodness and loving-kindness towards others, what does this concretely imply? If the admonitions of the Pauline Epistles are mere illustrations, calling for ongoing spiritual discernment through the centuries, how does the church do this? Even should this question be answered by appealing to basic notions embedded in the Gospel story and its authoritative reception and proclamation—love, peace, justice, compassion, freedom, forgiveness, acceptance, and healing—then the debates simply continue over the questions about what these basic notions may concretely mean. Again, the history of the church is a history of conflict over these fundamental questions. How do we practice love, serve peace, do justice, and proclaim freedom in concrete situations? It was in the name of these basic Gospel notions that Christians were struggling— sometimes in actual conflicts and wars—when others saw them as pursuing only ulterior motives and their own ideological interests. Finally, even if there may grow some degree of agreement on how these basic notions may translate into more practical social, economic and political ideals—freedom from slavery and oppression?, opposing racism and sexism?, overcoming violence and abuse?, furthering human dignity and perhaps even human rights?, contributing to health care?, working to eradicate poverty and misery?—then the questions remain regarding the value of these activities in the light of the meditation on the future life? If they do not serve salvation in a strict sense of the word, then why are they necessary at all? Are they not all perhaps mere forms—albeit very subtly hidden behind common civility and commonly accepted public opinion—of ulterior motives, confused with

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Christian hope and obedience? And again, the history of the church is a history of conflict over these deeply important questions—ranging from positions of belief in progress, optimism over modernity and postmodernity, and enthusiasm for all kinds of social and political ideals to positions of deep skepticism, of ascetism, social apathy and even cynical withdrawal from all forms of public involvement and service. These four kinds of questions always accompanied the church. According to H. Richard Niebuhr’s well-known typology of idealtype positions relating ‘Christ’ and ‘culture’ representative voices for these questions and their diverse answers are already to be found in the New Testament documents themselves.37 The Reformed tradition, in particular, has been deeply and very ambiguously involved in struggling with these issues. Calvin himself is known for his humanism—not only in the biographical and historical sense that he was a humanist scholar, trained in humanist traditions and applying humanist intellectual practices in his scriptural hermeneutics and rhetorical theology, though all of these are certainly also true and very important, but also in the moral and ethical sense, that he took humanity, human beings, very seriously. He did not do this because of his scholarly humanist background, but because of his specific understanding of God, of the living God and his Christ, of the identity of the Triune God, the friendly face of the Father so full of grace revealed in the Gospel of Jesus Christ and through the Holy Spirit.38 In the face of this gracious God, Calvin saw himself and other human beings as the undeserving objects of the eternal love of this wonderful God—and particularly also the seemingly most undeserving, the downcast and the downtrodden, the refugees and the homeless of Geneva, the aliens, the widows and the orphans, the sick and the suffering, and the helpless and the hopeless.39 For them, Calvin proclaimed the eternal love of this Triune God, visible and concrete in his wonderful election, providence, covenant, care and calling. For them, Calvin portrayed Jesus Christ as Mediator, as prophet, priest and king for our salvation and making us also prophets, priests and kings. For them, he taught the Holy Spirit as life-giver and sanctifier, renewing us through word and sacrament to participate through faith in a new H.R. Niebuhr, Christ and Culture (New York: Harper Collins, 2001). See, for example, the discussion of the rhetorical functions of the Institutes in S. Jones, Calvin and the Rhetoric of Piety (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995). 39 H.A. Oberman, Two Reformations (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). 37 38

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community and life. For them, he organized public social services, hospitals and medical care, schools and education.40 For them, he carried out his humanist social and economic public reconstruction, because of his knowledge of, trust in and commitment to this God.41 In his well-known studies on Calvin, André Biéler has documented and described this practical humanism of Calvinism in great detail, most of all in his impressive study on Calvin’s economic and social thought, La pensée économique et sociale de Calvin, but also in his study on Calvin’s social ethics, Calvin, prophète de l’ère industrielle and in his small study translated as The social humanism of Calvin.42 Indeed, in the words of W.A. Visser ‘t Hooft, “the humanism of Calvin is founded on the humanism of God and demands a society wherein human beings act as creatures responsible before God and responsible for their brethren.”43 It is interesting to read how Biéler paraphrases Calvin’s thought. We discover the real nature of human beings and of ourselves revealed to us in the face of God, in Jesus Christ, in the Gospel, and in Scripture. The Triune God restores this real nature within us through the regeneration by the Holy Spirit, daily engaging believers in combat, in discipline, “let us add, even in a real ascetism.”44 This spiritual discipline is “an ascetism in freedom,”45 a being freed by the dynamism of the Holy Spirit in order to meet our neighbors. Being human means living with others, for Calvin, without the neighbors we mutilate our own humanness, Calvin’s “evangelical humanism is primarily a social humanism,”46 we cannot be human in solitariness. This “natural companionship”47 is expressed in many forms and ways, but “thanks to the active presence of the living Christ”48 we find and experience it, however fragmentary, first of all in the one, catholic and universal church, 40

See, for example, E.A. McKee, Diakonia in the Classical Reformed Tradition and Today (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989). 41 See, for example, the recent declaration on Calvin’s social and economic thought, Reformed World 2005/1, 5 ff. 42 A. Bieler, La pensée économique et sociale de Calvin, Genève: Librairie de l’université, 1959 (tr. Calvin’s economic and social thought) (Geneva: WCC forthcoming 2005); Calvin, prophète de l’ère industrielle (Geneva: Labor et fides, 1964); The Social Humanism of Calvin, tr. P.T. Fuhrmann (Richmond: John Knox, 1964). 43 W.A. Visser’t Hooft, “Foreword,” The Social Humanism of Calvin, A. Bieler (Richmond: John Knox, 1964), 8. 44 Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 16. 45 Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 17. 46 Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 17. 47 Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 17. 48 Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 20.

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the renewed, regenerated community, the image—always fragmentary because of sin—of a renewed society corresponding to the purpose of God. Only then does this solidarity also become visible and concrete in many other social relationships—between man and woman, in the family, in societies, nations, states, and in the complex economic and political orders. In all these forms of social relationships, according to Calvin in the words of Biéler, the bonds can easily be torn apart—and that is why the church’s witness to the new reality of being human in Jesus Christ is so crucial for the whole fabric of public life together, in all its forms. Communion in Jesus Christ abolishes or surmounts all sociological divisions which separate human beings and destroy the harmonious life of society. In Christ there is no longer man and woman. By giving them back their humanness, Christ makes it possible that man and woman find themselves again face to face. Only the daily intervention of Christ can restore which by nature is divided. Christ eliminates man’s tendencies to consider woman as inferior. The same happens—for example—with work relations. In Christ there is no longer slave or free. Authentic Christians rise above their natural environment and meet their brethren without any kind of discrimination. The same is true with national relations. The diversity of national characters is social wealth and a resource to be cultivated. But nationalism (which extols these differences and makes them sacred and exclusive values) is a pernicious form of paganism. As nationalism violates human society, it is absolutely contrary and hostile to the Christian faith. In Christ there is no longer Jew or Greek. This means that in the bosom of the universal communion of Christians all national antagonisms are abolished. A foreigner in a local Christian community is to be welcomed there as brothers and sisters. In this connection we must recall the fierce war which Calvin waged against that perverted form of patriotism which is religious nationalism. Religious nationalism shows up each time that we set up our country as a sacred value and identify the cult of our ancestors or of our nation with Christian worship. The authenticity of a Christian church is to be tested in the light of her spiritual judgment in this matter. A church’s rejection of all foggy confusion of church and nation is a mark of her authenticity. It goes without saying that the abolition of divisions between races is a characteristic of all authentic Christian communities. The restoration of social bonds in the church includes the relation between rich and poor. The spiritual fellowship which unites the members of the body of Christ (particularly at the moment of celebrat-

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dirkie smit ing the Lord’s Supper) is necessarily accompanied by a mutual communication or exchange of services and material goods between the members of that body. If this does not happen, the spiritual fellowship (which these individuals seek) is a pure religious illusion and a dangerous deception. ‘The saints,’ Calvin says, ‘are gathered into the society of Christ on condition that they mutually exchange among themselves the gifts conferred to them by God.’ Of this imperative need a strong and typically Calvinian organization was born in Calvin’s church: the deaconship, which in Calvin’s time was the organ for redistributing the church members’ goods and services both within and outside the community.49

So, whether in personal relations, families, the world of work and labor, the political sphere, the life of nations, the reality of races, or the economic terrain—the evangelical social humanism which becomes real in Jesus Christ and through the renewing work of the Holy Spirit binds believers together to serve one another and breaks down all forms of apartheid, separateness, division and discrimination. This is the truth about both the identity and the calling of the church, however fragmented. The church is called to proclaim, embody and witness publicly and actively to this Gospel, according to Calvin. For him, the answers to these four controversial questions were therefore fairly clear. Christians worship this particular God—the Triune Father, Son and Holy Spirit, revealed to us in his divine face of mercy and loving-kindness. In his face, we also learn to know ourselves, both who we are and who we are called to be, we learn to understand and practice real humanity together. This conviction is well presented in the authoritative and informed study of Philip W. Butin, Revelation, redemption and response. Calvin’s Trinitarian understanding of the divine-human relationship, as the three-fold title and the subtitle already suggest.50 The grace of this Triune God indeed calls for reflection in the gratitude of our lives of mercy and loving-kindness towards one another and all— as the title and argument of Brian Gerrish’s instructive study Grace and Gratitude convincingly show.51 What does this gratitude exactly entail? It fans out into all the rich and complex spheres of human life together, and—precisely for that reason—the historical and contextual debates about them are so Bieler, The Social Humanism of Calvin, 20–22. P.W. Butin, Revelation, redemption and response, Calvin’s Trinitarian understanding of the divine-human relationship. (Oxford: OUP, 1995). 51 B.A. Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 49 50

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real and difficult and, at the same time, unavoidable. What will it mean—concretely, practically, in everyday reality—when Christ eliminates man’s desires to consider woman as inferior, when Christians in the world of work meet their brethren without any kind of discrimination, when nationalism is no longer hostile to the faith and strangers are welcomed, when all divisions between races are abolished, when the social bonds between rich and poor are restored, and when mutual gifts are conferred and the believers’ goods and services are redistributed both within and outside the community? These have been and should remain controversial issues, continuously raised and argued in the Christian community, for although there are no final and timeless answers to them, the authenticity of our faith hangs on the seriousness with which we see and address our own failures in these spheres of our being human together. Even when common insight or shared convictions should gradually grow, as has often been the case in the tradition following Calvin— for example, on the importance of freedom, or justice, or rights, or peace, or democracy—the practical implications would never become completely clear and the agreement on what to do under specific circumstances never total. Believers following Calvin would never be able either to align themselves enthusiastically with ulterior motives— self-interest, power, greed, nation, race, status—or to become cynically withdrawn, skeptically ascetic in a world seemingly too complex to discern together the good and acceptable and perfect will of this God of mercies. The internal debates about these practical complications always continued. In his well-known 1956-essay on “The humanity of God,” Karl Barth would again argue for the heart of this tradition, and with explicit acknowledgement of “Master Calvin”—“who in particular has given us more than wise guidance in this matter.”52 Looking back at about forty years earlier, he remembers how the deity of God then impressed itself upon many of them, over against evangelical theology which had at the time “become religionistic, anthropocentric, and in this sense humanistic.”53 With “a derisive laugh”54 they wanted to “clear away”

52 K. Barth, The humanity of God. (Richmond, VA: John Knox Press, 1960, tr. J N. Thomas), 44. 53 Barth, The humanity of God, 39. 54 Barth, The humanity of God, 43.

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everything55—in the name of the deity of God, claiming with “bold assurance that there is in the Bible only one theological interest, namely that in God; only one way, that from above downwards; only one message, namely immediate forgiveness of sins,”56 nothing else, nothing ulterior. The “problem of ethics”57 was seen as only humanity’s “sickness unto death”;58 “redemption was viewed as the abolition of creatureliness,”59 as “the swallowing of immanence by transcendence.”60 In this process, he now acknowledges, “it escaped them by quite a distance that the deity of the living God—and we certainly wanted to deal with Him—found its meaning and its power only in the context of His history and of His dialogue with humanity, and thus in His togetherness with human beings.”61 Whoever takes the living God seriously—the self-revelation of this God in the history of Jesus Christ—should see that “it is precisely God’s deity which, rightly understood, includes his humanity.”62 This is, of course, an Christological statement, says Barth, one grounded in and to be unfolded from Christology—and he wishes that Calvin “had more energetically pushed ahead on this point,”63 drawing its implications in all the doctrines, including his ethics, because then “his Geneva would not have become such a gloomy affair”!64 That is the mystery in which God meets us in the existence of Jesus Christ. He wants in His freedom actually not to be without humanity but with them and in the same freedom not against them but for them, and that apart from or even counter to what human beings deserve. He wants in fact to be humanity’s partner, his almighty and compassionate Saviour. In this divinely free volition and election, in this sovereign decision (the ancients said, in His decree), God is human. His free affirmation of humanity, His free concern for them, His free substitution for them— this is God’s humanity. We recognize it exactly at the point where we also first recognize His deity.

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 43. Barth, The humanity of God, 45. Barth, The humanity of God, 46. Barth, The humanity of God, 49. Barth, The humanity of God, 49.

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There is the father who cares for his lost son, the king who does the same for his insolvent debtor, the Samaritan who takes pity on the one who fell among robbers and in his thoroughgoing act of compassion cares for him in a fashion as unexpected as it is liberal. And this is the act of compassion to which all these parables as parables of the Kingdom of heaven refer. The very One who speaks in these parables takes to His heart the weakness and the perversity, the helplessness and the misery, of the human race surrounding Him. He does not despise human beings, but in inconceivable manner esteems them highly just as they are, takes them into His heart and sets Himself in their place. He perceives that the superior will of God, to which He wholly subordinates Himself, requires that He sacrifice Himself for the human race, and seeks His honor in doing this. In the mirror of this humanity of Jesus Christ the humanity of God enclosed in His deity reveals itself. Thus God is as He is. Thus He affirms humanity. Thus He is concerned about them. Thus He stands up for them. The God of Schleiermacher cannot show mercy. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob can and does. If Jesus Christ is the Word of Truth, the ‘mirror of the fatherly heart of God’ (Martin Luther), then Nietzsche’s statement that humanity is something that must be overcome is an impudent lie. Then the truth of God is, as Titus 3:4 says, His loving-kindness and nothing else.65

For Barth, this loving-kindness is the truth about God, and this statement regarding God’s humanity, Immanuel, “cannot but have the most far-reaching consequences”66—in a word, there can be no ulterior motive for believers and the church in addition to this truth. It has—for example—nothing to do with an optimistic view of humanity, on the contrary. Ulterior motives are not even needed to motivate these practical implications, including everyday ethics and life in public, flowing from this truth about God’s humanity. On the basis of the eternal will of God we have to think of every human being, even the oddest, most villainous or miserable, as one to whom Jesus Christ is Brother and God is Father; and we have to deal with them on this assumption. If these other persons know that already, we have to strengthen them in the knowledge. If they do not know it or no longer know it, our business is to transmit this knowledge to them. On the basis of the knowledge of the humanity of God no other attitude to any other kind of fellow

65 Barth, The humanity of God, 50–52. For helpful commentary, situating this in the broader context of Barth’s theology, see E. Busch, The Great Passion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), esp. 82 ff. 66 Barth, The humanity of God, 52.

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dirkie smit human being is possible. It is identical with the practical acknowledgement of their human rights and their human dignity. To deny it to them would be for us to renounce having Jesus Christ as Brother and God as Father.67

This calling is—for example—also not negated by the many limitations of our concreteness and particularity and the limits of our bodiliness and humanness. We should not despise ourselves or others because of these limitations and restrictions, since it is precisely in them that we may meet this God, who “does not reject the human.”68 This applies specifically to culture. In spite of all the limitations of human culture, says Barth, and “even if one were in this respect the most melancholy skeptic, one could not—in view of the humanity of God who is bestowed upon human beings who are not good or who even may be monstrous—say that culture speaks only of the evil in humanity.”69 This is—for example—also important for the way we view the church. Part of their exaggerations in the 1920s and therefore part of their guilt was that they could see the church in its historical, concrete, visible—human!—form only as a negative counterpart to the kingdom. At the time they wanted to interpret everything, “the form of the church’s doctrine, its worship, its juridical order as ‘human, all too human,’ as ‘not so important,’”70 as ulterior practices and motives. Now he has changed his mind. Rather, “in the knowledge of the humanity of God one must take seriously, affirm, and thankfully acknowledge Christendom, the Church. We must, each in their own place, take part in its life and join in its service.”71 The Church is the particular people, the congregation, or in Calvin’s term, the company, which through a bit of knowledge of the gracious God manifest in Jesus Christ is constituted, appointed, and called as His witness in the world. This knowledge is paltry indeed, but because it is established by the Holy Spirit, it is unconquerable.72

The all too human church is called through the Holy Spirit to be witnesses in the world of the humanity of God, of the goodness and loving-kindness manifested in Jesus Christ, the face of the living Triune

67 68 69 70 71 72

Barth, The humanity of God, 53. Barth, The humanity of God, 54. Barth, The humanity of God, 54. Barth, The humanity of God, 62. Barth, The humanity of God, 62. Barth, The humanity of God, 63.

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God. This is not an ulterior calling, an ulterior witness or an ulterior motive, but the very identity of the church and its very task in the world itself. This implies, for Barth, that “there is no private Christianity”73 and for this reason too “theology cannot be carried on in private lighthouses.”74 The confession that we believe in the Holy Spirit includes the confession that we believe in the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church. We believe the Church as the place where the crown of humanity, namely, our fellow-humanity, may become visible in Christocratic brotherhood. Moreover, we believe it as the place where God’s glory wills to dwell upon the earth, that is, where humanity—the humanity of God— wills to assume tangible form in time and here on earth. Here we recognize the humanity of God. Here we delight in it. Here we celebrate and witness to it. Here we glory in the Immanuel, just as He did who, as He looked to the world, would not cast away the burden of the Church but rather chose to take it upon Himself.”75

Barth concludes in moving, autobiographical tone. “One must perhaps oneself have had a part in the life of the Church during a difficult period to know that there are hours in its work, its struggle, and its suffering in which not less that everything can depend upon some human, very human, iota or dot in its decisions and also in its thinking and speaking. One will then approach more cautiously the mood in which one sees only inconsequential matters in the Church.”76 In a really living church there is perhaps nothing inconsequential at all”77— perhaps nothing inconsequential, nothing ulterior, nothing too human, nothing to be despised?

No Ulterior motive—and Public Theology? What are the possible implications of this tradition—the humanity of God according to Paul, Calvin, and Barth—for what is today commonly called the public church and public theology?

73 74 75 76 77

Barth, The humanity of God, 64. Barth, The humanity of God, 64. Barth, The humanity of God, 65. Barth, The humanity of God, 64–65. Barth, The humanity of God, 65.

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Much will depend on one’s understanding and use of these highly elusive and, in fact, controversial terms. In a helpful survey called “To tell the truth: Will the real public theology please stand up?”, Breitenberg distinguishes public theology from related notions such as civil religion, public religion, political theology and social ethics. However, he acknowledges that public theology itself is not a unitary concept—and he already focuses mainly on North American discourses and pivotal figures, such as Bellah, Marty, Hollenbach and Tracy, while excluding other discourses making the notion even more complex. Evaluations will therefore depend on the particular understanding of what public theology is—and the possibilities are overwhelming and confusing.78 It is, however, easy to understand why many criticize both the idea and the practice of public theology on the basis of—what Breitenberg calls—“Barthian” objections. They are of the opinion that public theology relies on what they consider to be “alien or corruptive sources of knowledge or insight and seeks to provide guidance to various social arenas other than the church”79 and that public theology is therefore “a functionalist or instrumentalist undertaking that puts Christianity in the service of institutions, groups, powers, ideologies, or ideals that are themselves outside of, foreign to, and often opposed to the Christian tradition.”80 In short, this Barthian objection is that the theory and practice of public theology serve ulterior motives, ulterior to the truth of the Gospel and the nature and calling of the church. Not only the history of Christian involvement in social, public, political, economic and cultural life, but indeed also recent discourses and practices in the name of public theology—and related notions—often only too glaringly and sadly illustrate the serious nature of this perennial temptation, of making the Gospel and the church serve ulterior interests and powers.81 At the same time, however, it is also clear that—standing in the tradition of Paul, Calvin and Barth—it is possible, and indeed imperative, 78 E.H. Breitenberg, Jr, “To tell the truth: will the real public theology please stand up?,” Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics, Vol. 23, No. 2, 2003, 55–96. 79 Breitenberg, 68. 80 Breitenberg, 68. 81 Breitenberg, 68ff. This approach is, of course, called Barthian in the sense of his famous claim that theological existence during the time of public crisis simply meant continuing to do theology as if nothing has happened. Already at that time, however, this claim did not mean that the theology by Barth and his colleagues was not extremely dangerous for public policies and practices, as the Nazi-supporters recognized only too well.

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to claim that Christians and the church do have a public witness and role, flowing precisely from the truth of the Gospel and the nature and calling of the church. Whether this witness and role should be called public theology in any contemporary technical sense will, of course, depend on the specific understanding of public theology. At least four aspects of such a public witness and role could, however, be defended— perhaps in the form of responses to the four questions raised earlier. First, this witness is based on the fact that Christians believe in the Triune God, the God who showed his goodness and loving-kindness in Jesus Christ, according to Calvin and Barth: God’s humanity. This is a crucial issue, often not taken seriously enough. Christianity is not merely about religion and religiosity or about spirituality and about all possible forms of transcendence and ultimate concerns—in the ways that so many portray and practice it again today. Christianity is about this God, revealed in Jesus Christ and through the Spirit. Is it, therefore, perhaps confusing to speak in general about ‘religion without ulterior motives’? Is religion perhaps too abstract, too vague and too comprehensive a category? People are religious—in very diverse ways—for many reasons and motives. Different religious traditions and communities have many different reasons for being religious. Many may, in fact, claim to serve the divine purely and without any ulterior motive in ways that only serve to immunize them from evaluation and critique and from rational debate and common-sense human engagement; in short, ways that legitimate fanaticism and destructive forms of fundamentalism. Christians do not serve a nameless, faceless divinity in blind commitment and without any motive, reason, persuasion or insight. On the contrary, they are claimed by the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the One in whom the grace and lovingkindness of the Triune God appeared. They are moved by this message, wonderfully comforted by these promises, softly persuaded by the Holy Spirit, and surprisingly made part of a new community, now belonging to Him and to one another. Is the crucial question, therefore, not whether they are ‘Christian without ulterior motives,’ whether the church is ‘church without ulterior motive’? This could never imply that Christians and the church are not called as public witnesses. On the contrary, the content of this confession itself claims them as public witnesses. The claim is implied in the nature of this God. Some argue this theologically on the basis of the first article of the creed. Kuyper’s Calvinistic worldview based on the notion of common

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grace has been one of the most influential attempts of this kind, supporting a whole variety of recent forms of public theology.82 Others argue on the basis of the third article of the creed, like Bacote’s recent study called The Spirit in Public Theology, an interesting attempt to combine the cosmic work of the Spirit with Kuyper’s common grace.83 Welker makes a strong argument for the Holy Spirit as “public person” forming the community of faith as a new public in the world, with a remarkable public presence and witness.84 Many, of course, base their public theologies more directly on the second article of the creed, while still others base their theological argument more generally on Christian faith in God. These differences in grounding public theology theologically are not irrelevant, since some of these options may in fact lend themselves more easily to forms of ideological support of ulterior causes—orders of creation; the enlightenment of the Spirit; divine callings and purposes; terrifying historical illustrations may easily be multiplied—but supporters of each position would probably also deny that their theological point of departure automatically leads to such implications. Of special interest are those who argue explicitly on the basis of the Trinitarian faith itself, like Newbigin, in his “The Trinity as public truth,” polemically claiming—for example—that “Christian doctrine, with its prime model in the doctrine of the Trinity, ought to be playing an explicit and vigorous part in the public debate that makes up the life of the public square.”85

82 See, for example, the many and influential works of Max Stackhouse, the Director of the Kuyper Center for Public Theology at Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton NJ. 83 V.E. Bacote, The Spirit in Public Theology. Appropriating the Legacy of Abraham Kuyper. (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005). 84 M. Welker, God as Spirit, tr. J E. Hoffmeyer. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), esp. 279ff. 85 L. Newbigin, “The Trinity as public truth,” in The Trinity in a Pluralistic Age, ed. K.J. Vanhoozer. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 1–8. Even Trinitarian foundations for public theology, however, may be radically diverse among themselves, as is evidenced by the fact that Newbigin—here as elsewhere—is in sharp opposition to the Trinitarian thought of K. Raiser and the so-called paradigm-shift in recent official ecumenical thought. See for this debate, G. Wainwright, Lesslie Newbigin. A theological life. (Oxford: OUP, 2002), 128–134. According to Newbigin’s own understanding, Trinitarian faith should not be contrasted with what he calls “Christocentric universalism”: “The doctrine of the Trinity was not developed in response to the human need for participatory democracy!,” “The Trinity as public truth,” 7. For him that would clearly be an illustration of using even the Trinitarian faith for ulterior motives.

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Second, Christians are called to witness publicly to their faith in this God. This faith and confession involve them. They are renewed and made part of the work of this God. Sound doctrine involves ethics. Faith involves life. Grace involves gratitude. Hope involves reckoningwith and acting-as-if. Through the centuries, and already since New Testament times, Christians have understood and described this public correspondence of the life of the church with the nature and work of the Triune God in many ways. In whichever way it is expressed, however, it is crucial that this witness involves both words and deeds. The lives of believers are renewed as part of their public confession of and witness to this gracious God. The crucial question is therefore always whether and how their lives actually correspond to the message of the Gospel, and how the life of the church is founded on and motivated by the Gospel. Many have therefore attempted to describe the public calling of church and theology in theological terms. Wolfgang Huber, the German ethicist and church leader, has pursued this task over many years, from his early study called Kirche und Öffentlichkeit to more recent work like Kirche in der Zeitenwende—his argument remains that the responses of the church to public challenges and opportunities should be rooted theologically in the characteristics of the being of the church itself.86 In similar fashion, Cynthia Moe-Lobeda recently wrote a moving study for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America called Public Church. For the Life of the World in which she unfolds the public vocation of the church in terms of five marks of baptism.87 The explicit motive of such attempts— and they could be multiplied—is precisely not to subject the church to ulterior motives, but to search for the characteristics of the public life of the church in the very nature of the Gospel itself. Third, even such attempts to describe the public role of the church theologically, in terms of the nature and calling of the church, remain controversial and disputed. Whether an appeal is made to the Word of God or the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to the meaning of baptism or the meaning of the Lord’s Supper, to the creedal characteristics of the church or to any specific doctrine, whether the call is to serve reconciliation or justice or peace or unity—all such appeals have been 86 W. Huber, Kirche und Öffentlichkeit. (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1973); Kirche in der Zeitenwende: gesellschaftliche Wandel und Erneuerung der Kirche. (Gütersloh: GTB, 1999). 87 C.D. Moe-Lobeda, Public Church. For the Life of the World. (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004).

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and still remain controversial and disputed, even within the circles of faith and the church itself. Some may always suspect that others are inspired by ulterior motives, by self-interest, by power, by ideologies and -isms. There is no way for the church to escape these positions of ambivalence and ambiguity. In fact, they do present opportunities for self-critical reflection on the real motives of those involved in these appeals for public witness. The South African experience during the apartheid years of the last century remains instructive in this regard. Church leaders in the struggle—figures such as Desmond Tutu and Beyers Naudé—were convinced that they were motivated by the Gospel of Jesus Christ, by the humanity of God, and by the very nature of being Christian in the concrete realities of the world, struggling for peace, reconciliation and justice.88 By those who believed in the ideology, theology and ecclesiology of apartheid, however, they were accused of having political motives, of being inspired by secular and atheist ideologies, and of serving ulterior political and social purposes, agendas and interests.89 When the Dutch Reformed Mission Church confessed its own faith in the Triune God and its conviction that this God calls the church to be disciples in the service of living church unity, real reconciliation and compassionate justice, many of those who believed in apartheid were convinced that this was politically inspired and the result of ulterior motives—although the church expressly claimed that “no other motives” motivated them.90 Finally, even when broad—theological—consensus should grow on the foundations for and on some of the characteristics of the Christian life in the world, then the concrete, historical and contextual interpreta-

88 See, for example, the recent volume in memory of Beyers Naudé, The legacy of Beyers Naudé, ed. L. Hansen. (Stellenbosch: African SunMedia), as well as the work of Russel Botman and Nico Koopman, respectively the founder and present director if the Beyers Naudé Center for Public Theology, Stellenbosch., e.g. “Theology and the fulfillment of social and economic rights,” in A. van der Walt (ed), Theories of economic and social justice. (Stellenbosch: Sunmedia, 2005), 128–140. 89 In his forthcoming doctoral thesis under the co-supervision of Bram van de Beek, Anti-apartheid theology in the Dutch Reformed family of Churches, Christoff Pauw analyzes the motives at work in the church struggle against apartheid. 90 See the Accompanying Letter to the Belhar Confession, G.D. Cloete & D.J. Smit (eds), A Moment of Truth. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984); also D.J. Smit, “No other motives would give us the right”—Reflections on contextuality from a Reformed perspective,” Studies in Reformed Theology 8. Christian Identity in Cross-Cultural Perspective, M.E. Brinkman & D. van Keulen (eds.) (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2003), 130–159.

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tion of specific situations would still remain controversial and disputed, even within the church. In Barth’s words, precisely in difficult periods in the life of the church, the temptation may arise to regard all forms of activity and witness as human, only too human, to see all the faults in the church’s thought, speech and actions, and to despise everything as done from ulterior motives—perhaps to withdraw in the ascestic mode of inner distance. This is indeed a temptation. The church of Jesus Christ is indeed a human church, a very human church, of failure and unfaithfulness, yet it remains the church of Christ, and precisely in such difficult times, the thought, speech and actions of the church may matter. Then, being public church and doing public theology may be called for, not because it is perfect, but because it is obedient, living witness to the goodness and loving-kindness of the living Lord, who became flesh for us and for our salvation.

A ‘GRATUITOUS’ SPIRITUALITY FOR ACTIVE CALVINISTS

Richard J. Mouw The use of religion to promote political goals is surely one of the more obvious ways in which people often subordinate religious beliefs and practices to ulterior motives. In the United States these days, many social commentators are criticizing the ways in which the ‘theocrats’ of the Religious Right are promoting ‘faith-based’ schemes for political gain. While the content of this more recent form of religious activism may be different, it has much in common with older ‘social Gospel’ programs. This is an area of theological concern that deserves careful consideration, especially for those of us who care deeply about issues of justice, peace and righteousness while also wanting to warn against using our Christian commitments to serve ulterior motives. In this essay I want to offer a few exploratory thoughts on the subject.

A Busy Eschaton? During the seventeen years that I served as a faculty member at Calvin College, I regularly taught introductory philosophy courses. In 1985 when I moved to Fuller Theological Seminary, a graduate-level school, that kind of teaching was no longer a part of my assignment. Every once in a while, though, I have occasion to look into my file of lecture notes for those introductory courses. In doing so recently, I was once again struck by the very activist view of the after-life that I set forth for my students. I would, for example, exposit at length Socrates’ view, as reported in Plato’s Phaedo, of the after-life as a state of being where the soul passively contemplates the eternal Forms; and then I would explain to my students what I took to be the biblical view. The Bible depicts the future life as a resurrected state, I would tell my students. And that means (my lecture notes tell me that I would quote several passages from the Book of Revelation at this point) that we will actively reign with Christ in that glorious Kingdom in which

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all things have been made new. To reinforce my point I would say things like this: “Heaven for us will be doing things. We will continue to solve problems and take on challenges. And we will go about our active service for God without being plagued anymore by the realities of sin.” I have to confess that these days even reading those notes about such a busy Christian after-life makes me tired. The idea of being active for all eternity is much less appealing to me now than it was in my younger days. I would even settle for a millennium or so of passively contemplating Platonic Forms! This shift in my eschatological perspective has obviously something to do with a change in my personal life situation. The theological attention given in recent years to the contours of ‘contextualization’ has focused, for the most part, on the kind of ‘macro-’ diversity associated with the variety of cultural contexts, and theologians have pretty much ignored the ‘micro-’ contexts that we pass through in our individual lives. The fact is, though, that the aging process itself produces a variety of contexts that have theological significance. We should not be surprised, then, that the sorts of eschatological expectations that attract us in our youth would differ from those that give us comfort in our later years. On the surface at least, the contrast between an activist view of the afterlife and one that features a more contemplative mode has some connection to the issues involved in thinking about the topic of religion without ulterior motives. In recent years, for example, scholars who sort out various views of heaven have taken to distinguishing between ‘anthropocentric’ and ‘theocentric’ perspectives.1 As Colleen McDannell and Bernhard Lang draw the distinction, in theocentric accounts, the souls of the dead in heaven experience a beatific union with God, even to the point where their memories of previous experiences are lost. In anthropocentric accounts, on the other hand, the sense of identity is an extension of the previous earthly existence, and the preoccupations of heaven are not unlike those that presently occupy us.2

1 Cf., e.g., Carol Zaleski, “Fear of heaven,” Christian Century, March 14, 2001, at http://www.24hourscholar.com/p/articles/mi_/m1058/is_/9_/118/ai_/71949700. 2 Colleen McDannell and Bernhard Lang, Heaven: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988).

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Those perspectives, then, that focus on intra-human relations and activities—reunion with loved ones, life in ‘the Peaceable Kingdom,’ the perfect actualization of justice for the oppressed, and so on—stand in contrast to those that focus exclusively on, say, ‘being with Jesus’ or the visio dei. One possible way of construing this distinction—which I will soon suggest is a misleading one—is by viewing the anthropocentric conceptions as involving ulterior motives, as in longing for heaven out of a desire to experience restored human relationships or to achieve the finalization of cherished political-economic goals, whereas the theocentric understandings focus exclusively on the God-glorifying realities of the heavenly state. This way of sorting out eschatological perspectives is obviously a case in point for distinctions that can be drawn in our more general understanding of the Christian life. In his groundbreaking work in biblical theology, The Elusive Presence, Samuel Terrien investigates in considerable detail what he characterizes as two distinct strands of thought in the Old Testament with regard to the proper basic mode of encountering the divine presence. The first strand employs what Terrien labels the ‘mystical eye’ which is directed towards seeing the divine Glory, as in Isaiah’s “I saw the Lord sitting on the throne, high and lofty…” The second strand employs the ‘ethical ear’ which makes much of hearing the divine Name. Thus the theology of the Glory emphasizes seeing, while the theology of the Name focuses on hearing. The parallel to the eschatological discussion is obvious. The ‘ear’ strand—which we can think of as promoting a ‘hearing-and-doing’ pattern—inevitably takes, on anthropocentric characteristics, where a proper relationship with God is spelled out in terms of various intrahuman, and intra-creaturely, ethical practices. In contrast, the ‘eye’ strand—‘seeing-and-being’—will emphasize the intrinsic value of a person sustaining a positive relationship with God. Here, however, is where we must introduce an important nuance. It is not enough simply to choose for the theocentric ‘visual’ emphasis as opposed to the anthropocentric ‘oral’ pattern. At least we will not encourage that kind of simple choice if we take seriously the formulations of the persons who make the sort of distinction I have been outlining. Having drawn his contrast between the two strands, for example, Samuel Terrien insists that an adequate theology of the divine-human encounter must encompass both the visual and the auditory. “Judaism and Christianity fulfill their respective functions,” he argues, “only to the extent that they inform the aesthetics of the mystical eye with the

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demands of the ethical ear.”3 When we do divorce eye from ear, Terrien explains, then the visual emphasis runs the risk of reinforcing a “sectarian” spirit that issues in “a static religion and a ‘closed’ morality,” whereas an exclusive hearing emphasis “tends to degenerate into a secular activism and an amorphous humanism.”4 Similarly, in discussing the differences between theocentric and anthropocentric views of heaven, Carol Zaleski insists that rather than having to choose for one or the other, “a more adequate perspective would be theocentric and anthropocentric at once.”5 To illustrate, she cites an account of heaven she found in a story from tenth-century Ireland, where the visionary “discovers that the saints who encircle the throne have acquired the power to face in all directions at once”—“a scene that captures the sociability of the beatific vision.”6 It is important to take seriously the fact that Terrien and Zaleski, both of whom make such a clear distinction between those patterns of religious devotion that focus directly on the worship of God and those that emphasize more ‘horizontal’ activities and relationships, nonetheless argue that the two dimensions need each other. Their insistence on integrating the two has relevance for the ways in which we formulate our warnings against a Christianity that is guided by ulterior motives. I think it would be wrong simply to portray, for example, my youthful enthusiasm for an activist approach to the Christian life as stemming from an undue attachment to ulterior motives. Nor does a shift to a visio dei pattern guarantee that proper safeguards against ulterior motives are firmly in place. This may be obvious to those who have thought long and hard about such matters. But the danger that our warnings against ulterior motives can be taken by some as a rejection of an active discipleship in favor of an ‘other-worldly’ piety is real enough that it is important to explore the appropriate nuances. I will focus in what follows on the ways in which social-political concerns figure into the discussion of ulterior motives. While the worries about ‘using’ religion to promote an ideological agenda are legitimate ones, I will argue, this is also an area that calls for some important qualifications—which I will also attempt to provide.

3 Samuel Terrien, The Elusive Presence: Toward a New Biblical Theology (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978), xxvii. 4 Terrien, Elusive Presence, xxvii. 5 Zaleski, “Fear of heaven.” 6 Zaleski, “Fear of heaven.”

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Religion and the Common Good In one of the best known of the Federalist Papers—in which two of the United States’ Founding Fathers debated key constitutional issues— James Madison portrayed the existence of ‘factions’ as a significant threat to the social order. A faction, in his scheme, is a group of citizens who unite in the service of “some common impulse of passion” that is “adverse to the rights of other citizens.”7 Madison identified religion as one of the faction-forming interests: “A zeal for different opinions concerning religion,” he argued, is the kind of force that has “divided mankind into parties, inflamed them with mutual animosity, and rendered them much more disposed to vex and oppress each other than to co-operate for their common good.”8 The task of government, then, as Madison saw it, was to implement measures to minimize the harm that these factional forces might otherwise cause. Jean-Jacques Rousseau had similar worries about the threat that deep religious convictions posed to societal harmony. But Rousseau also saw a way in which religion could be a part of the solution. Thus his recommendation of the formation of a “civil religion” whose “dogmas… ought to be simple, few in number, precisely fixed, and without explanation or comment.”9 The positive tenets would be “[t]he existence of a powerful, wise, and benevolent Divinity, who foresees and provides the life to come, the happiness of the just, the punishment of the wicked, the sanctity of the social contract and the laws.”10 Only one negative dogma was necessary, said Rousseau: the conviction that “intolerance” has no place in a healthy society.11 Rousseau’s optimism about the positive contribution of religion to the public order is echoed more recently in the work of Robert Bellah and his co-authors, in their much acclaimed 1985 study, Habits of the Heart. The Bellah team provides extensive evidence for the emergence of varieties of a pervasive individualism in American life, with the resultant breakdown of a shared sense of civic responsibility. As they identify possible antidotes, they give considerable attention to the positive role 7

The Federalist Papers, selected and edited by Roy P. Fairchild (Garden City: Anchor Books, 1961), 17–18. 8 Federalist Papers, 17–18. 9 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, An 18th century translation completely revised and edited by Charles Frankel (New York: Hafner Publishing Co., 1951), 124. 10 Rousseau, Social Contract, 124. 11 Rousseau, Social Contract, 124.

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of religion. For example, they argue that the idea that all human beings are “children of God,”12, can serve to reinforce a much-needed sense of societal bonding. Even more important is their fondness for the biblical insistence on “a universal obligation of love and concern for others that could be generalized beyond, and even take precedence over, actual kinship obligations.”13 It should be clear what is happening in these proposals from both Rousseau and the Bellah team. They are commending religion for its social utility, for its capacity for promoting social harmony. Furthermore, they are shaping the content of religion in a restricted way, picking and choosing those religious teachings that best fit their political agenda, while purposely excising those beliefs that do not serve the cause of social harmony. Insofar as this is the primary motivation for their positive view of religion, it is clearly unacceptable from a religious perspective shaped by the biblical message. Rousseau and the Bellah team are indeed embracing religion for ulterior motives; i.e., religious teachings are being commended simply for their usefulness in promoting non-religious goals. This way of commending religious beliefs is really no better than, say, if an athletic coach encouraged his players to be religious on the grounds that religious athletes cultivated the kind of personal habits that enhanced his team’s chances for a winning season. The examples I have just given present the social utility view of religious beliefs in a rather blatant form. But similar views seem to be at work, albeit in more subtle ways, in some theological perspectives that present themselves as explicating the unique content of the Christian faith. This occurs among Christians on both the left and the right of the political spectrum. The example I offer here is from the Christian left. In the mid-1970s in the United States a group of Christian leaders with professed sympathies for liberation theology published a manifesto entitled “The Boston Affirmations.”14 The document began with the straightforward claim linking the concerns of the biblical God with a variety of contemporary social movements: “The living God is active in current struggles to bring a Reign of Justice, Righteousness, Love,

12 Robert Bellah et al., Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1985), 114. 13 Bellah, Habits, 114. 14 The text of this document can be found at http://theologytoday.ptsem.edu/ apr1976/v33–1-criticscorner4.htm.

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and Peace.” It then goes on to give examples of such movements, including these: – In the struggles of the poor to gain a share of the world’s wealth, to become creative participants in the common economic life, and to move our world toward an economic democracy of equity and accountability. – In the transforming drive for ethnic dignity against the persistent racism of human hearts and social institutions. – In the endeavor by women to overcome sexist subordination in the church’s ministry, in society at large, and in the images that bind our minds and bodies. Other causes that are listed have to do with family life, urban life, health care, nationalism, technology, the arts and law. And then this final item: – And especially in those branches and divisions of the church where the truth is spoken in love, where transforming social commitments are nurtured and persons are brought to informed conviction, where piety is renewed and recast in concert with the heritage, and where such struggles as those here identified are seen as the action of the living God who alone is worshiped. There is nothing particularly objectionable about the causes that are lifted up in these Affirmations for special commendation. But we do have to ask about the criteria for selection. Why these concerns and not others? Most pressing in this regard is the question of why certain “branches and divisions of the church” are singled out as “especially” displaying the activity of the living God. Here the range of criteria for choosing these particular expressions of Christianity seems rather limited. Why, for example, no explicit mention of the biblically faithful preaching or of the proper observance of the church’s sacramental life or of evangelistic programs for reaching unbelievers with the message that God has sent a Savior? Fortunately, the authors do identify what they see as a common characteristic shared by all of these concerns. The writers of the Affirmations tell us that God is committed to bringing a Reign that “shatters the barriers of ethnic, class, familial, national and caste restrictions.” This in turn suggests a kind of hermeneutical principle for discerning where the Reign of God is breaking into human affairs: God’s actions can be identified wherever barriers are being shattered.

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Since the Boston Affirmations do not give us much more to work with in identifying the central characteristic of God’s Reign, we have some justification for positing ‘barrier-shattering’ as the prime candidate. And, if this is not fair to the intentions of this particular group of authors, it does seem to capture what is at stake when many Christians these days celebrate ‘inclusivity’ as the thing God cares most about. To be sure, there are clear affirmations of the inclusive, barrier-shattering character of God’s Reign in the Scriptures, such as the marvelous manifesto of Galatians 3:28: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (NRSV). The biblical proclamation of inclusivity, however, cannot be understood as an unqualified condemnation of every barrier that divides human beings. Those who have been liberated by the power of the Gospel are warned by the apostles that their acceptance of the new life in Christ will introduce new barriers into their lives. Christ himself prayed for a protective barrier that would separate his followers from that which stands against his redemptive cause: “My prayer is not that you will take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one” (John 17:13). There are barriers that serve to curb our sinful impulses, protecting us from aligning ourselves with that which means to thwart God’s purposes in the world. Christians ought not to be in the business of shattering all barriers—only those that stand in the way of righteousness. In an essay offering a critical assessment of the Boston Affirmations, Lewis Smedes observed that the authors seemed to “know where the kingdom is,”15 possessing a confidence that we can “check off the places, make a list, point to movements and struggles and say, ‘Lo, here,’ and ‘not there.’” He rightly went on to ask: But how do we really know for sure? What prevents another group of people from making another list: the kingdom of God is found today wherever decent people struggle for law and order, wherever people work to increase respect for authority, wherever people are laboring to extend American democracy?16

The Boston Affirmations are a case in point for the tendency of Christians on various points of the ideological spectrum to think that God is especially fond of the social-political program that they espouse. In 15 16

Lewis Smedes, “From Hartford to Boston,” The Reformed Journal, April 1976. Smedes, “From Hartford to Boston.”

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pointing to the deficiencies in such a perspective, I do not mean to suggest that God has no interest in social-political topics. Quite the contrary: the Scriptures make it clear that he is indeed a God of justice, peace and righteousness. The danger, however, is that we will bring our own ideological assumptions to our consideration of God’s program, reading into the divine will our own favorite causes.

A Spirituality of ‘Gratuitousness’ Since we have singled out for special criticism the authors of the Boston Affirmations, theologians who were specifically influenced by liberation theology, it will be instructive to point to a liberation theologian who provides the resources for avoiding the dangers posed by the kind of thinking found in the Boston document. In what is widely viewed as the classic text of Latin American liberation theology, A Theology of Liberation, Gustavo Gutierrez insists that the political program associated with liberation movements must draw heavily on “a spirituality of liberation.”17 Gutierrez is obviously aware of the dangers of absolutizing our own favorite political causes, and thereby being highly selective in drawing on those resources of Christianity that are useful in promoting our own pre-established goals. As a corrective to this tendency, he argues that the Christian life must be “filled with a living sense of gratuitousness. Communion with the Lord and with all men is more than anything else a gift.”18 Furthermore, he contends, prayer, as the means by which we engage in our communion with God, “is an experience of gratuitousness.”19 Properly understood, prayer is entering into God’s presence with no agenda, with no list of causes that we insist on promoting. Prayer, he says, is a “‘leisure’ action”; it is a “‘wasted’ time, [that] reminds us that the Lord is beyond the categories of useful and useless. God is not of this world.”20 In our prayerful communion with God we look forward to goals that God has set, ones that can only be fully realized when the Reign of God arrives at the end-time: “Every prophetic proclamation of total liberation is accompanied by an invita-

17 Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics and Salvation (Orbis Books: Maryknoll, NY, 1973) 206. 18 Gutierrez, Theology of Liberation, 206. 19 Gutierrez, Theology of Liberation, 206. 20 Gutierrrez, Theology of Liberation, 206.

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tion to participate in eschatological joy: ‘I will take delight in Jerusalem and rejoice in my people” (Isa. 65:19). “[O]ur joy is paschal, guaranteed by the Spirit.”21 What Gutierrez is setting forth here is a call to a religion that is without ulterior motives. In doing so he is demonstrating that one can insist on a strong activist component to the life and mission of the church— even an activism that aims at political gains—while also requiring a contemplative pattern to the Christian life. Genuine Christian activism must be formed by the kind of communion with God that enters in the divine presence with no preconceived notions about what God wants of us. It is precisely in this ‘wasting time’ posture, this seeking ‘leisure’ before the face of God, that we can learn what God desires of us in the active dimensions of our service to the Reign of God. Needless to say, this learning experience is one that requires much self-critique. The formation of moral character does not always proceed smoothly, because we are sinners who are prone to self-deception. The process must include transforming moments when we are forced to look directly at our own depravity. Often we need to be shocked into an awareness of the motives that really shape our thoughts and actions, and to respond to these revelations by pleading for the mercy that will allow us to repair our ways. All of this must happen in contexts where the basic issues of sin and grace are openly displayed in the worshipping life of a community. And unless that community explicitly attends to the need to be formed—better yet, transformed—for our lives as citizens, there is little good that can be expected of Christians vis-àvis the crucial issues of public life. But these transformative moments can also dispose us to spiritual practices that calmly set before our consciousness concerns about the structural dimensions of human existence. Here is a fine example of such a practice, in a passage where Father Henri Nouwen describes the social importance of his daily prayers: (P)rayer is the only real way to clean my heart and to create new space. I am discovering how important that inner space is. When it is there it seems that I can receive many concerns of others… I can pray for many others and feel a very intimate relationship with them. There even seems to be room for the thousands of suffering people in prisons and in the deserts of North Africa. Sometimes I feel as if my heart expands from my parents traveling in Indonesia to my friends in Los Angeles and from 21

Gutierrez, Theology of Liberation, 207.

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the Chilean prisons to the parishes in Brooklyn. Now I know that it is not I who pray but the Spirit of God who prays in me… He himself prays in me and touches the whole world with his love right here and now. At those moments all questions about “the social relevance of prayer, etc.” seem dull and very unintelligent…22

What is significant about Nouwen’s testimony here is that it describes the very sort of ‘gratuitousness’ prayer experience that Gutierrez commends. And in that posture of ‘wasted’ time coram deo it is the Spirit who brings a social justice agenda into a Christian’s consciousness by expanding the person’s awareness of intimate relationships into a more ‘systemic’ set of concerns.

Seeing and Doing The Nouwen example suggests a helpful way of integrating the two patterns identified by Samuel Terrien—patterns that I have described as hearing-and-doing versus seeing-and-being. Having spent a good part of my adult life encouraging Christians, especially North American evangelicals, to take seriously what I understand to be the clear biblical call to engage in activities that promote justice, peace and righteousness in the larger society, I am not prepared now—in spite of my more passive eschatological preferences!—simply to give up on the activist agenda. But Nouwen rightly points to the appropriate direction that must characterize our social agenda-setting: we must not bring our political agenda to our relationship with God; rather that agenda must flow out of the divine-human encounter as a ‘gratuitous’ byproduct—an epiphenomenon of a life that takes place coram deo. When we bring our own agenda into our relationship with the divine, we clearly run the risk of establishing a religion with ulterior motives. That risk is greatly reduced when we allow concerns about structural justice to flow into our consciousness only as God chooses to present them to us. The need for the church’s social witness to be under girded by a seeing-and-being pattern has been given much attention by some key American theologians in recent decades. For example, in his 1983 book, The Peaceable Kingdom, Stanley Hauerwas reported that under the

22

Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Genesee Diary (Garden City: Doubleday, 1976), 74–75.

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influence of the secular philosopher Iris Murdock, he has now come to consider “vision as the hallmark of the moral life.”23 This means, he explained, that ethics “is not primarily about rules and principles, rather it is about how the self must be transformed to see the world truthfully.”24 The proper moral vision, in turn, requires a proper state of moral being, a point that Hauerwas has made in a pithy fashion with his oft-quoted dictum that the church does not have a social ethic, it is a social ethic.25 We must “be a particular kind of people,” he insists, “if we and the world are to hear the [Christian] story truthfully.”26 A similar theme has characterized the work of the Lutheran ethicist Gilbert Meilaender, who argues, for example, that in the most fundamental sense the idea of Christian justice does not have to do with making decisions, but with a state of being, with possessing “the virtue of justice, with its steady, habitual determination to make space in life for the needs and claims of others.”27 Thus, Meilaender says, “[b]eing not doing takes center stage; for what we ought to do may depend on the sort of person we are. What duties we perceive may depend upon what virtues shape our vision of the world.”28 This vision-shaping process requires, as Ronald Thiemann—another Lutheran theologian— has put it, that local congregations function as “‘schools of public virtue,’ communities that seek to form the kind of character necessary for public life.”29 My own political understanding of appropriate active discipleship has drawn heavily from Calvinist sources, especially those of the Kuyperian strand. And while this tradition has been very strong on hearingand-doing, the need for a transformed ‘seeing’ has often been given its due, as in Kuyper’s oft-repeated insistence on the possession of a “world-and-life view.”30 Even so, the hostility to a thoroughgoing pietism—often labeled in a denigrating tone as ‘mysticism’—has meant 23 Stanley Hauerwas, The Peaceable Kingdom: A Primer in Christian Ethics (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983), xxiii. 24 Hauerwas, Peaceable Kingdom, 33. 25 Hauerwas, Peaceable Kingdom, 108. 26 Hauerwas, Peaceable Kingdom, 100; emphases mine. 27 Gilbert C. Meilaender, The Theory and Practice of Virtue (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), 5. 28 Meilaender, Theory and Practice of Virtue, 5. 29 Ronald Thiemann, Constructing Public Theology: The Church in a Pluralistic Culture (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 43. 30 See, for example, Abraham Kuyper, Lectures on Calvinism (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1931), 171.

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that Reformed calls to ‘Kingdom action’ have downplayed the need for the ‘gratuitous’ cultivation of the inner life. On this matter Martin Luther provided much wisdom. In his characterization of the calling of the Christian prince, Luther warned that a Christian political leader must be spiritually vigilant if he wants to guarantee that “his condition will be outwardly and inwardly right, pleasing to God and men.”31 And in doing so, Luther quickly adds, the prince “must anticipate a great deal of envy and suffering. As illustrious a man as this will soon feel the cross lying on his neck.”32 Luther saw, perhaps more clearly than many activist heirs of John Calvin, that public discipleship can be faithful only when sustained attention is given to the cultivation of those virtues—those inner states of being—that allow us to live with the tensions, paradoxes and complexities of Kingdom service. This spiritual formation, in turn, cannot be an ad hoc affair; it requires programs for cultivating the appropriate patterns of piety. In a much-quoted concluding paragraph of his book After Virtue, the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre expressed in apocalyptic terms his conviction that we are living in “the new dark ages”—a period that this time around, he insisted, has the barbarians already occupying the city. He called for the formation of new call local remnant communities who are committed to sustaining the moral life as they wait “for another—doubtless very different—St. Benedict.”33 MacIntyre was not yet a believer when he issued that call, but soon after the publication of his book he converted to Catholicism. The Reformed community may not seem a likely place for a new Benedictine pattern to emerge. And if one were to appear it would surely fit MacIntyre’s prescription of a “doubtless very different” form for expressing monastic ideals. A Reformed monastic-type spirituality cannot be content simply to withdraw from an active cultural engagement. Perhaps not even the eschaton will permit an exclusively seeingand-being mode of spiritual existence; I doubt that I was completely misguided in my youthful insistence on a hearing-and-doing pattern of service that stretches into eternity! But a vital Calvinism—during our 31 Martin Luther, “On Secular Authority,” in Harro Hopfl (ed), Luther and Calvin on Secular Authority; Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 41. 32 Luther, “On Secular Authority,” 41. 33 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), 244–245.

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earthly preparation for eternity—will be one that cultivates a love for spending ‘wasted’ time in the secret places of the Most High. Only such a posture of waiting on the Lord can guarantee that in our active lives we will not use our religion as a means for serving ulterior motives.

CHRISTIAN FAITH AND CHRISTIAN LIFE: RELIGION AND MORALITY

Hendrik M. Vroom There is no area of existence which is neutral and unaffected by religious significance. This link between the public and the private, the spiritual and political, which Christianity inherited from Judaism has become a central element of catholic Christianity down the centuries.

These words do not only reflect my opinion, but are, more importantly, the last sentences of Christopher Rowland’s paper on political theology: “Scripture: The New Testament.”1 In a minority situation Christians often have been more ‘sectarian,’ but in a context in which Christians had societal responsibilities they had to deliberate about how to act in a societally responsible way as Christians. The New Testament does not have a single view of a Christian attitude towards government. Paul writes to a small congregation in Rome about the sword of the government; the Book of Revelation tells of a monstrous government, led by the Beast who is opposed by the Lamb. Romans 13 was written in a different context from Revelation 13. Jesus himself escapes the Jewish authorities by telling them to give to Caesar what belongs to the emperor and to God what belongs to God—no clear advice, but an enigma that started the rabbis thinking. Rowland refers to John Milton at a time when the king was beheaded (1649). He asks his readers: whose image is this man Caesar? All are made into the image of God.2 That was the message of the creation story in a Mesopotamian context in which the King was the representative of God and other people his servants or slaves.3 Biblical texts have to be read contextually, Rowland stresses, referring to the Kairos Document that rejects the idea that

1 In: Peter Scott and William T. Cavanaugh (eds.), The Blackwell Companion to Political Theology (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), 21–34 (33). 2 Rowland, “Scripture: New Testament,” 25. 3 J. Richard Middleton, The Liberating Image. The imago dei in Genesis 1 (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2005), 147–231.

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Paul presents an absolute doctrine about the state and argues that the text must be interpreted in its context.4 As we see from the quotation from Rowland with which I started, Abraham Kuyper was right in saying that there is no area in life of which God does not say: it is mine! Abraham van de Beek shares this most basic idea of Kuyper, and that is the motivation for his stress that religion must not be subservient to any other goal. Correctly, he mentions Kuyper’s concept of sphere sovereignty—let me explain. I agree fully with both Abrahams that the church has to take care to love God and let other things follow. Although, mindful of the double commandment, love of God and neighborly love are said to be equal— equal in a radical way, much more radical than we often realize: love grounded in God’s love of us, “Love each other as I have loved you.”5 So although I fully agree with Bram van de Beek that religion is not a means to realize another aim, I feel that we must say more than he does about the Christian attitude and Christian work in the broader society and the tasks of Christians in public, societal and economic offices. First, I will discuss the relation between religion and morality, and, second, the responsibility of Christians in society at large. In my argument I will refer to some Buddhist views that might help to clarify my point.

Religion, morality, awareness, feelings In this section I will deal with the relation between faith and actions theologically, but I will start with a discussion of the relation between religion, morality, awareness and feelings, using arguments from Buddhist-Christian dialogue. The reason is that the theological discussion is so well-known that it has lost its teeth and become bloodless; and, second, that we can learn from interreligious dialogue because other religious traditions have sometimes directed their attention to areas of life that are being neglected by Christians, especially in a culture that has been influenced strongly by Enlightenment thought and rationalism. 4 C. Rowland, “Scripture: The New Testament,” 25, and “Challenge to the Church. The Theological Comment on the Political Crisis in South Africa—The Kairos Document,” Wereld en Zending 1986, 3 f. (section 2.1.). 5 John 15:12.

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Religion should not be made into the slave of morality or the custodian of societal values. However, I doubt whether we do right to simply invert that order: first religion without ulterior motive, and then morality. Logically, there are four possible ways of relating morality and religion: (a) religion first and morality as a consequence; (b) morality as the primary phenomenon and religion as its derivative; (c) religion and morality are independent human faculties in their own right— the fourth relation I will introduce in a moment. Let us first discuss this last view, because it is one way to defend ‘religion without ulterior motive’: some philosophers hold that humans have a moral a priori, traditionally the natural order, either created by God and laid into the human hearts, or given by Nature and delivered by the fertilization of the female egg by the male seed. O, wonders of Nature, who makes human beings autonomous because the nomos has been planted in their hearts by birth! Next to that moral a priori humans have a religious a priori that guarantees that they develop a taste for the infinite and a feeling of absolute dependence. In this parallelism of religion and morality both are without ulterior motive. The defenders of this sophisticated religion and some mystics would have no problem to support the view that religion has no ulterior motive, but they would have to deny the importance of Jesus announcement of the coming of the reign of God. Of course, as a moral being Jesus could speak about ethics, but his proper task was the religious one and not the moral. All three mentioned relations between religion and morality presuppose a distinction between religion and morality that is not classical in Western thought but came to the fore when Immanuel Kant made a sharp distinction between knowledge, morality, aesthetics and religion. This is not the place to discuss Kant at more length, but he helped to give ideas of thinkers before him the status of a paradigm in Western culture: knowledge is neutral; only rational, scientific knowledge can be true; and morality is universal and rational, independent of any context. He separated religion, morality, knowledge and feelings. The severe costs of this separation are that his main expression of human duty is a formal rule: “act upon a maxim that can also hold as a universal law.” That is the categorical imperative, the touchstone for each concrete goal. Even in the case that people would add that this deontological ethics would receive content by the idea that our actions must further the well-being of other people, this will not do. The hole in this basket is that people disagree about how

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life should be, what real ‘well-being’ is, what evil is, and what you should never do.6 More classical is another relation between morality and religion. In Plato the highest knowledge is the idea of the Good; mysticism and morality are identical and not just combined. Of course, Christianity has taken over too much of Platonism, but on one point the old Jewish traditions has been very close to it—the intrinsic relation between knowledge and the good. For many orthodox Jews the halachah is more important than the haggadah. Did the Hebrew verb yada not mean personal, practical knowledge? Believing God is living the covenant. It might be that religion and morality are closer to each other than that one is prior and the other secondary. Therefore, we must consider a fourth possible relation between religion and morality: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Religion is primary, morality secondary Morality is primary, religion secondary Religion and morality are independent human faculties Religion and morality are fully interwoven

Let us begin our discussion of the fourth possibility with two helpful Buddhist ideas, Buddha nature, and Masao Abe’s stress on the fact that religion is deeper than morality because it goes beyond good and evil. Buddhism largely rejects the idea of substances that would have accidental, contextual attributes. There are no unchanging beings or identities behind persons and things. The Buddha rejected the Brahmanic idea of (eternal) selves or souls (atman). The same critique applies to Plato’s ideas, like chair or horse or good. Everything is fluid; all things are part of a world-wide process in which things go as they develop. Nothing is excluded from that process—samsara. Everything has influence on everything else. Therefore it is said that all things are co-arising and interdependent—pratitya samutpada. Life and death are parts of the one existing process. The great mistake humans make is to think that they are special, have their own being and have to preserve that. So the root of ‘sin’ is the idea that you are more than you are: a being with a substance of its own. Exactly that idea of being a self makes you 6 I. Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals, Mary Gregor (ed.) (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), 17. See my A Spectrum of World Views. An Introduction into the Philosophy of Religion in a Pluralistic World, trans. Alice and Morris Greidanus (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2006), 179– 251.

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‘thirsty’ and attached to a great many things, pleasant and useful or unpleasant and harmful, and so you become attached to love or hate, both of which are attached, and therefore harmful in the end. In Mahayana Buddhism the term Buddha nature is used for the unity of everything. As all other terms, it has had different interpretations.7 Most Buddhists will say that real reality—reality as-it-is without our projections—cannot be expressed by words because it is a co-dependent unity of everything, and words break that unity. One central Buddhist term to express the inexpressible is Buddha nature. We can figure out that it must point to the interdependent reality as we experience it if we realize ourselves to be empty of own-being and all things are fully interwoven and without own being or substance. Now the question is what the term Buddha nature refers to? Is it an ontological term? Then it would indicate the reality of all beings that we observe and in which we live. Or is it a metaphysical concept that means ultimate reality— pratitya samutpada. Now some authors hold that it is not an ontological but an ethical concept. Let us be clear, in that case Buddha nature is a religious and ethical, but not an ontological, concept. The main point for our discussion now is that in this question Western distinctions are applied to Buddhist thought or, better, Buddhist reality. It is clear that Buddha nature is not an ontological concept if ontology is about ‘something out there’—here we should not think about the divine but about other human beings and beings in general. Everything is interwoven, including ourselves and our awareness of things. Our experience is one hundred percent contextual. If two of us see the same tree, we see slightly different things and can have quite different ideas. Experience always is experience from a certain perspective. We are determined by circumstances: historical, sociological and psychological conditions. As long as we are attached and estranged, we do not perceive things as they really are because we ‘experience’ distinct identities and not the whole field of things in their interconnectedness. The real reality that lies behind our projections of it is Buddha nature. If so, does this not imply that it is an ontological idea? No, it is a field of forces—Keiji Nishitani’s expression—of which we are part.8 It refers to reality in its 7 As all central religious terms have, like incarnation, trinity, revelation, maya, etc. For a clear exposition in Zen and espec. Dogen, see Masao Abe, A Study in Dogen, Steven Heine (ed.) (Albany, State University of New York Press, 1992), 35–76. 8 Keiji Nishitani, Was ist Religion?, authorized German translation by Dora FischerBarnicol (Frankfurt a.M.: Insel Verlag, 1982), 252 [Religion and Nothingness, trans. Jan van Bragt (Berkley: University of California Press, 1982), 159].

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suchness—which we experience if and only if we do not experience it over against ourselves, but as a whole (including ourselves). Now we can return to the alternative of our learned authors, who are right that Buddha nature is not a (I would say ‘normal’) ontological term. It is ethical, they say, and they have a good point. Buddha nature refers to an awareness of reality in its suchness that is interwoven with an attitude of mahakaruma and prajna. Mahakaruna is normally translated into English as great (maha) compassion and often comfortably equated with love. That, unhappily, is simply not right. Normally love is an attachment, but mahakaruna is detached, and because it is detached it goes together with wisdom. Therefore, it is understandable to call Buddha nature ethical. Nevertheless, this also is wrong, because it can be defended that the realization of Buddha nature is beyond good and evil. I will take up this issue later on, but for now we will stick to the point that the concept Buddha nature is both ontological and ethical in a sense, and—in another sense—neither ontological nor ethical. What then is it? Let us say, it is awareness. One important point is that everything is Buddha nature, although we do not realize it. As the saying goes: it is the ground under your feet—you stand on it, but as long as your feet are on the ground you cannot see it. The experience of Buddha nature is awareness of reality as it is, the continuum of the other-of-the-self and the self, a pure experience of reality as it is. You have to wake up in order to experience suchness; if you are awake the projections that you put between yourself and reality fall away and you are just awareness of what appears within your horizon. It appears to you, and because you are no-thing (of your own) and fully aware, you ‘are’ what appears to you. By meditation and analysis this might happen to you that you lose yourself, become aware and realize non-ego.9 To be detached entails to be really open and free of feelings that disturb openness. Openness for reality as it really is requires that we master disturbing feelings and become free for ‘the other.’ And, as in many mystical texts, the difficulty is that we cannot master all disturbing feelings by mastering them. The last threshold to take is exactly the longing for union with the ultimate or real reality—an attachment that cannot be ‘mastered.’ The last step is to let things go and take them as they come. Therefore, we can say that Buddha nature is about openness for experiences and right

9

See Nishitani, Was ist Religion?, 378.

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feelings as well. It is awareness, true insight and right attitude together. From this we can understand the koan that the young student-monk could get to reflect upon: has a dog Buddha nature? The important condition is that the answer shall not be an intellectual answer but an existential one—combining all these aspects together: feelings, body language, morality, awareness and so, rightly understood, ‘ontology’ or ‘metaphysics.’ Therefore, Buddha nature is not ontology; it is not ethics; it is not feeling; it is awareness in its totality, and it combines all these aspects. The Buddhist awareness of reality differs deeply from the Western Enlightenment one; the distinctions differ because reality is not grasped on the basis of a pervasive subject-object-distinction that is based on attachment. That the (deeply religious) Buddha nature is both ontological and ethical (as well as neither ontological nor ethical) can help to open up new questions that do not arise from a—more or less—dogmatic, secularized, liberal, Western paradigm. Of course, every theological student who has passed an examination in Old Testament theology knows how the Hebrew concept of truth, êmêt, has been explained to combine reference to real reality and to trustworthiness. What somebody says is true if you can act upon it. It is sure, aman (from the same verb).10 Interestingly enough, the Sanskrit word for truth, satya, is derived from the word sat, real.11 The reality as we live it—as the philosophical phenomenological tradition understands it as well—is the real reality, and what we say is normally what should be real to life and not an ‘objective’ description of things that we can measure and weigh. Now our question about religion without ulterior motive is whether religion is more ‘primordial’—Abraham Kuyper’s term—than ethics. I think that the answer depends upon how we define ethics. In one sense, religion goes deeper than morality, in another it does not. If we take morality as a set of rules that religious people should follow—be it the Ten Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount, for Muslims the shari"ah or Buddhists the Eightfold Path—then ethics is secondary. For Muslims, the islam (trust upon and obedience to God) is primary; for Buddhists, precisely understood, obedience to the rules of the Eightfold Path is secondary to enlightenment—awakening; and 10 See J.C.C. van Dorssen, De Derivata van de Stam aman in het Hebreeuwsch van het Oude Testament (Amsterdam: Holland, 1951), 112. 11 See my Religions and the Truth, trans. Johan Rebel. (Amsterdam /Grand Rapids: Rodopi /Eerdmans, 1989), 117 f.

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Christians will say that faith is prior to following the Sermon on the Mount. In that sense, ethics is not the most important thing and is secondary to religion. However, in reality it is more complicated than this. From the religious point of view it can be said that ethics—and liberation and societal involvement—is secondary. Masao Abe is clear about it; he quotes Paul: “for the good which I would do not: but the evil which I would not, that I practice…”12 Abe explains that the way to justify your-self or make your-self into a good person leads into a dead alley. You have to stop working on your-self, developing your ego or whatever you think you are or must be, and awaken to reality as it is. Only then you can become ‘natural’ (instead of the product of your attached imaginations). ‘Naturalness’ includes that somebody acts spontaneously, without disturbing what he or she does by following their own projections instead of doing as the whole situation requires. I understand that as follows. The question “What shall I do?” refers to the will: “How do I learn to will what is good and how do I learn to do what I will?” Real awareness is experienced beyond our projections, private preferences and disturbing motivations. Awareness is equivalent with emptiness, i.e. the realization of ‘the’ non-substantiality of everything. If we are empty of self, we do not have a will of ourselves. We are no-thing but just reflect our experience. Our acts would be ‘natural’ and ‘spontaneous.’13 They would be appropriate answers to the situation. We would help, but not too much. We would interfere, but not more than needed. We would be there for our neighbor, but not to be thanked. We would ‘love’ but not in order to be loved. On the one hand, this is the closest parallel to Paul’s “it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me” that I know of, and this is in a way beyond morality.14 I would say that from a deeper perspective, this is being moral, just as “Christ who lives in me” very clearly is Romans 7:19; Masao Abe, “Kenotic God and Dynamic Sunyata” in: John B. Cobb Jr. & Christopher Ives (eds.), The Emptying God (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1991), 47. Of course, we must rethink what Paul says about the law that is good in itself but not for us who try to make ourselves good, and that Christ fulfills the Law. 13 See Abe, “Kenotic God,” 45–50; Nishitani, Was ist Religion?, 374 (“In seinem letzten ‘Grund’ ist das Selbstsein des Menschen nicht ‘menslich’,”: ultimately the own being of men is not human); Kitaro Nishida, Inquiry about the Good, trans. Masao Abe & Christopher Ives (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 27: “the activity of the will is an expression of this kind of direct experience.” 14 Galatians 2:20, Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). 12

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religious and moral. At the same time, the new given existence in Christ is ontological, a new creation. Properly understood, “being in Christ” is ontological, ethical, aesthetic and religious at once. It is a mood; it is being; it is acting; it is free. Therefore, it is true that religion has no ulterior motive, but that is not the last word. From this perspective, I am not convinced that the example of the Jewish obedience of commandments—even of meaningless mitzvah— helps us very much.15 The aim of observance is to live without ulterior motive other than that of living near to God. According to Paul’s understanding of the Law, that is good in itself but not for us. It follows that such commandments do not help us to be really open to reality—for Paul the result of living according to the law is self-righteousness; a Buddhist would say: attachment to living perfectly as you are supposed to do.16 People have to be freed from obedience in order to be free to do what is good. On the surface religion goes deeper than morality, but ultimately, on the deeper level, religion and morality come together again. The Jewish example is helpful to explain how radical faith is and what trust in God implies. However, it confirms the judgment of Paul that following commandments in order to be good is a big mistake. On the deeper level of religion and morality the ‘righteous’ person is not that better than the thief. Therefore, Christians and Buddhists and Sufis have to keep asking other people and ourselves: Why do you follow those rules? Are you open for what your hand finds to do? Beyond the law are religion, virtue, a balance of feelings, and really being moral.

Churches and Society Now indeed, I suppose that Bram van de Beek—to a great extent— agrees with what I have written so far. The next question then is how Christians shall live. His sympathetic answer is: as Christians in the first place (and not in order to be good Christians and surely not to 15

See Bram van de Beek’s paper, in the first section. See e.g. Louis Jacobs, A Jewish Theology. (New York: Behrman, 1973), 226–228; and extensively Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages I (Jerusalem: The Magnuss Press, 1979), 365–399. 16 Cf. Romans 7:4–12: “the law is holy, and the commandment is holy and just and good.” If a Jew would answer and refer to the joy of the precept—beyond doing because it has to be done—I think he too confirms that religion and morality are ultimately bound up with each other. See Urbach, The Sages I, 390.

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re-arrange the world), so in a Christian naturalness, and, when we do not realize a real faith as little as a mustard seed, allowing ourselves to be inspired by the Sermon on the Mount and parables of Christ. How is such a life? It is relatively easy to generalize but how is it for a monk? For a minister of religion? For an elder who is called to become a minister in government? Or for a Christian who becomes prime minister, as in the USA, in Germany, in Great-Britain or in the Netherlands?17 How is it for the head of a multinational and how for the teachers in primary schools? With Abraham Kuyper we could say that faith is primordial, i.e. the real root of Christian consciousness.18 In the center of our being we stand naked before God—and like Adam and Eve we tend to hide ourselves. In that situation the most important question is: who is God? 19 Christians share that reference to God with Jews and Muslims and some other monotheist believers who believe in God as the Creator of heaven and earth, but they have a special Christian answer as well: in Christ we know the heart of God. Because religion is—or more honestly: should be—central in our lives and because Christ is the image of the un-seen God—therefore, we have to re-think the life and the ways of Jesus and see what they imply for us. Those few Christians who really develop into more earnest and ‘real’ Christians will spontaneously do what is appropriate in their personal situation. But all of us have to think and re-think what is the just course of action in relation to peace, justice and the integrity of Creation—to allude to a program of the World Council of Churches that the World Alliance of Reformed Churches has supported so consciously. Bram van de Beek criticizes that program, and he is right to do so as far as that program (and other programs) has been misused as form of self-justification and faith, and church life has been defined in terms of ethical goals. The intention of the program has been to live life more freely and to challenge the objective of a society that spoils nature and impoverishes In 2006 all of them confessing Christians! I would enjoy following up this point more fully in Kuyper and the more recent discussions on the way in which religion has such a deep meaning in human existence, but that would require another article. See A. Kuyper, Encyclopaedie der Heilige Godgeleerdheid II (Kampen: Kok, 1909), sec.rev. ed., the section on “Faith” (Part 1, chapter II, section 11). 19 N.B.: not in the sense of who of five candidates is really God but as the question which characteristics the one and only God has. To really ask this question we have to forget all standard philosophical definitions of God except that God is the ground or source or Maker of all. 17 18

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our world for the next generations. The apostles expected the return of Jesus Christ very soon. In between, two thousand years have passed, and many Christians have worked hard to take care of the sick, the poor and the lonely, help poor people grow crops, educate children and help people to take care of themselves—with the example of Jesus caring for other people, and Paul collecting money in Greece for the poor congregation in Jerusalem. It does not seem right that Christians should retire to a Christian private life only. In our way of life we must take ecological and economical circumstances into consideration. Therefore, Christians have to reflect upon the consequences for Christian life of world-wide poverty, the ‘laws’ of economy, ecology, discrimination, et cetera. If the freedom of faith means being in the world but not of the world, how should we live? In the Reformed tradition the tertium usus legis has been held in esteem: follow God’s laws, not in order to make you acceptable to God but to show thankfulness and be free from attachments.20 In this way faith is not a means for something else, but a way to live out faith. As has been said: the consequences of the Gospel of the kingdom of God are not the consequences of faith but living out faith itself.21 The first signs of such reflections are visible in the Gospels and the Book of Acts. In the New Testament letters, the traditional Greek house-tables with virtues and vices are taken up. Of course, it is true that in the first centuries Christians were a small minority and many of them suffered persecution; and throughout Christian history there have been many martyrs. However, those Christians who had responsibilities in society thought about how to live out their faith in their callings. I think that Bram van de Beek is right when he says that many secularized people cannot understand why Muslims and many others think religion is the most important element in life, but that will not hinder Christians from helping to overcome problems of modern society as far as possible. Indeed, the immediate danger is that the Christian freedom becomes a new law that is lived for its own sake. At this point the question arises about how far this social responsibility is a task of the church. In relation to this question, Bram van de Beek correctly mentions Abraham Kuyper’s idea of sphere sovereignty.22 Kuyper sees every Christian for him- or herself as being 20 21 22

Cf. Heidelberg Catechism, Sunday 33 ff. See my De Schrift alleen? (Kampen: Kok, 1978), 162. See Kuyper’s Stone Lectures at Princeton Theological Seminary (1898), On Calvin-

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responsible before God. Everybody has gifts, and those gifts are given to contribute to the life of the church and the life of society. As people have different gifts, they are knowledgeable in different parts in society as well. The task of the church is to teach the truth, give witness to other people, and undertake deeds of service. The church is not responsible for society at large, but Christians are, depending on their positions. Some of us work in medical care, others in the army, in education, in government administration or business. Let the church not pretend, is Kuyper’s point, to be knowledgeable in all those complicated areas of life, but let her empower her members to do their own jobs and inspire them with Christian ideas of life. The other side of this view of the church and Christian life is his idea of the state. His view of state law is sphere sovereignty: the government should lease the responsibility for medical care, education and research, et cetera with the various boards of hospitals, farmer’s societies, schools and universities, et cetera. The government itself should stick to its governmental tasks and only be the arbiter between the various spheres if they take over responsibilities that are not their own. In practical politics this view has been important by not allowing all education and care to become dependent on the rule of economical competition and preserving society as a whole from being taken over by commerce. Kuyper’s view is close to the Catholic doctrine of subsidiarity, which says that the government is responsible for ensuring that its people experience life as good and just as circumstances permit while specific responsibilities are left to ‘lower’ levels as far as possible.23 For Kuyper, as a politician, this policy has become important to stimulate the self-organization of civil movements and private society in sports, in the media and so to stimulate a Christian-Social Movement. I should not forget to mention that the Vrije Universiteit was established in 1880 during a period when Kuyper and his friends thought that the government had undue control of theology and feared that liberal theology would prevail, both in the university studies and in the additional church theology that the government granted the church to organize. Free from the government this private university should be, and Reformed—but free from the church as well. While society needs such ‘mediating structures,’ Christians in such organizaism, 3d lecture. For Bram van de Beek’s critical approach to culture, see his Ontmaskering. Christelijk geloof en cultuur (Zoetermeer, Meinema, 2001). 23 See e.g. the encyclical Centesimus Annus, 1991, section 48.

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tions and Christian organizations can help to build such institutions according to a Christian view of the common good.24 This view can help the church to not feel responsible for all urgent, political, economic and ecological issues in the world but stick to her ‘core business.’ On this point, I agree with Bram van de Beek’s stress on the tasks of the church and the personal contribution of Christians in society. The church must be a faith community, and the synods and offices of the church shall help local churches to preach the Gospel and help people live a Christian life in order to be as readable letters of Christ as much as possible. All this implies that the church shall not try to be relevant and acceptable to society by political declarations or taking up responsibilities that can be done by other organizations. This dilemma between identity and relevance has been discussed by Jürgen Moltmann extensively already in his Der gekreuzigte Gott.25 If the church tries to make itself relevant by taking part in discussions that prevail in the public domain, but in which it has no special input, it will lose its identity. If she sticks to her own traditional forms and messages, she will lose her relevance, he says. Therefore, the church has to be herself and know which part of the message is timely and renewing. The church must never make herself subservient to another ulterior motive.26 I think that the discussion about the role of the churches in society should better be contextualized. It makes an enormous difference whether the churches are a minority or not, and with what kind of religions Christians live together—Muslim, Hindu, Confucian, Buddhist, Shinto, Traditional Religions, Secular Liberalism, or Communism. Christians in India long for a really secular state with equal rights for all religions and all inhabitants. In Nepal this is a burning issue. In Japan Christians would like Shinto to lose its official role. In many Islamic countries, Christians are oppressed or have a lower status. In many countries, mission movements have established hospitals and schools, sometimes printing firms 24

See, on these ideas, Jonathan Chaplin, “Subsidiarity and Sphere Sovereignty: Catholic and Reformed Conceptions of the Role of the State,” in: Francis P. McHugh and Samuel M. Natale (eds.), Things old and New. Catholic Social Teaching Revisited (Lanham: University Press of America, 2003), 175–202. 25 Jürgen Moltmann, Der gekreugzigten Gott (München: Kaiser Verlag, 1972 ), 12–30. 2 See the beautiful description of Moltmann’s development and involvement in societal issues, Ton van Prooijen, Limping but Blessed. Jürgen Moltmann’s Search for a Liberating Anthropology (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2004). 26 Heidelberg Catechism, Q. 91.

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and social institutions. Because circumstances vary widely, the societal tasks and possibilities of churches will vary widely as well. In the secularized parts of the world and in Western and NorthWestern Europe, it is important that the churches do not try to play an important role in political life, and leave the complicated political questions to Christians who have taken up responsibilities in political parties, government or other institutions. For the churches, the practical work in service and evangelization at grass root level is much more important, and for society it is the most impressive that churches can do. In their local and regional presence, the churches can show what faith in God without ulterior motive means.27 Real Christian faith shows the face of Christ. If a large part of the population in a country is Christian, it is reasonable that civil law will reflect Christian ethics, although minority rights have to be preserved as much as possible.28 It is not just the shari"ah that has been influential in state laws, in ‘Christian countries’ many laws have a biblical background. Nevertheless, such limited influence of Christianity in society—for better and for worse—does not take away the task of the church to fulfil her own task. The church should be as a candle in the dark and Christians in society should be more like salt. Where the standards of solidarity in society weaken and fail, it has proven to be worthwhile to have Christian organizations to help, e.g. to find places for former prisoners to live and to work, to take care of widows who are abandoned, to research and find the truth that people try to hide—as Christians have done through all centuries, for better and for worse. As a conclusion, I will repeat the quotation at the beginning of this paper. I think it is important to realize that in Christian faith religion and morality go together—if, and only if, their relationship is understood correctly—that it is natural to share the gifts of grace graciously in society and take responsibilities in civic life to help people live and Cf. Matthew 25:31–46. See Van de Beek’s warning that churches which become involved in political debates to easily identify with such economic and philosophical ideologies as, e.g., the idea of progress, Ontmaskering, 74f. 28 Here we cannot deal with the complexities of the (in)compatibilities between cultural and religious codes. See the recent Volume with studies of theologies of religions by authors from a variety of religious traditions, Jerald D. Gort–Henry Jansen–Hendrik Vroom, Religions View Religions (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2006), and, based on that Volume, my “Interreligious Relations: Incongruent Relations and Rationalities,” Studies in Interreligious Dialogue 16 (2006), 59–71. 27

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tell them about abundant life, forgiveness and reconciliation.29 “There is no area of existence which is neutral and unaffected by religious significance. This link between the public and the private, the spiritual and political, which Christianity inherited from Judaism has become a central element of … Christianity down the centuries.”

29 In the volume Fullness of Life for All. Challenges for Mission in Early 21st Century. Festschrift Jerald D. Gort, Inus Daneel et. al. (eds) (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2003), Robert Schreiter and Piet Meiring plea for an active involvement of the church in reconciliation processes, resp. “Reconciliation and Forgiveness in Twenty-First Century Mission”, 191–200, “Reconciliation in South Africa: Women’s Voices at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission”, 201–216.

THE FREEDOM OF THE FAMILY: AN ECUMENICAL CONTRIBUTION TO A EUROPEAN DEBATE Gerd Höver, Gerrit de Kruijf, Oliver O’Donovan, Bernd Wannenwetsch When in public discourse it comes to religion, it is understandable that attention is mainly paid to its social function. And it is recommendable that theologians participate in that kind of discussion. But it should remain clear, also in the public context, that for believers Christian faith is not identical with its social function. The believer does not trust in God in order to make a useful contribution to society. The believer believes because God reveals himself to him. Although Christian faith has relevance for all domains of life, its essence lies not in this relevance. Its essence consists in the experience of and the response to the love with which God comes to us. Van de Beek, then, is right in warning against the instrumentalization of Christian faith by theologians. But also in public debate we should be more sensible and attentive to the non-functional character of important dimensions of life. The family forms a good example of this. By confining the attention to its role in society, one is adding to the increasing misunderstanding of what the family essentially is—to the detriment of society. The following text is meant as analogous to Van de Beek’s argument. It is a selection of passages from a document which was written by a group of four moral theologians regarding the family in the European context. The document as a whole has recently been published.1 Because of the scope of this volume, I have focused on the basic argument of the document (Introduction, and Part I, The Family in Christian Reflection) and left out the commentaries on the European Charter of Fundamental Rights and some other documents of the European Union (Part II, The Family in the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights, and Part III, Aspirations for a European Family Policy). GGdK

1

The document as a whole will be published in the fall of 2006.

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höver, de kruijf, o’donovan, wannenwetsch Introduction

In 1994 the UN celebrated a Year of the Family, and among the more enthusiastic contributors to the discussions were the Christian churches. The lead was given by the Vatican, which has had a sense of mission to give the family a new centrality in public discourse since the 1960s, which saw both the groundbreaking discussion of the family in the Second Vatican Council and the much-publicized controversy over artificial contraception. But the churches of the Reformation were not slow to take up the theme. The Lambeth Conference of 1988 had given it extended attention and during the later nineties a series of documents emerged from national churches—Anglican, Lutheran and Reformed. There was the occasional attempt at an ecumenical comment, such as that by the Council of the German Protestant Churches and the German Catholic Bishops Conference; but, in general, there was no clear picture about how these different contributions related to one another—or of the extent to which their concerns were convergent. As the tenth anniversary of the Year of the Family approached, it seemed timely to review what had been achieved. Despite the high profile of the family in Christian social concern, it had apparently not occupied a central place in the contemporary theological debate, where other social themes—poverty and debt, for example—had predominated. It seemed possible that there was a yield to be won from our churches’ reflections for the ongoing theological interrogation of Western society. Self-evidently, such a review had to be conducted on an ecumenical basis. For a different reason it also seemed appropriate to conduct it on a European basis. The growing power and influence of Europe-wide institutions, and the consequent anxieties about marrying national habits of thought and practice with continent-wide expectations, have made our period one in which the European nations have been uncertain and questioning about their inherited instincts and identities. It has been clear for some time that the search for what Jacques Delors called “a heart and a soul” for Europe will not confine itself within conventional economic and political parameters, but will unsettle every aspect of social organization and practice. The family, as the first institution of society and the paradigm case for the relation of community to individual, has increasingly become a theme of administrative and political reflection, but in this—and the contrast with the UN in 1994 is sharp—the contribution of the Christian churches has been minimal.

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If the church was ever challenged to make a public contribution in a fluid social situation, this is surely such an occasion; yet the European churches will need to take their own initiative; they do not need to hang around while waiting for an invitation to speak. What follows are four European social-theologians’ contribution to the task: a Roman Catholic theologian from Bonn, a Reformed theologian from Leiden, an Anglican from Oxford, and a Lutheran from Erlangen presently working in Oxford. Our initiative was a private one, not under institutional mandates or constraints, and asks to be complemented by others. Starting from where their churches had got to, we became conscious of a strong convergence of understanding, yet with a marked uncertainty of approach. It was as though a set of powerful pastoral intuitions was in search of a way to articulate itself. In attempting to re-state what it was that held the churches’ viewpoints together, we found ourselves gaining a clearer perspective: we came to describe what the churches think to be at stake as ‘the freedom of the family.’ By this phrase we mean to speak of the family’s ability to live and relate according to the distinctive logic of its own life-form, which precedes its role in society and the difficulties that confront it there. With this in view we then turned to read the relevant sections of the European Charter, as amended by the European Convention and incorporated as Part II of the Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe. Finally, in counterpoint with this, we listened to the advocacy of the Council of Europe in support of a European family-policy. The two institutional European sources, the EU and the Council, do not speak with the same voice. Yet there is a common underlying trend of which they are both part, and it is with the direction of this trend that we have been forced to take issue. A generation ago such documents as the UN Charter of 1948 could describe the family as the natural nucleus of society; but in recent years it is the social function of the family that has been accentuated, e.g. in protecting the rights of children. There is a tragic irony in the route Europe is taking here: it brings to the defense of the family a style of practical reasoning that undermines the family at its heart—a style based on individual human rights. Lest we should be misunderstood on this point, we value many achievements of the human-rights movement, and wish to endorse many of the practical goals which these European bodies have set themselves in relation to the life of the family. But when a language conceived to defend the interests of the individual against corporate bullying and

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political tyranny comes to dominate the Western picture of human existence, the outlook for the subtly balanced nexus of individual and social identity, as supremely represented in the family, is bleak. (…) We can imagine someone saying that the goal of a Christian contribution on the family should be to set high ideals. It must promote a vision of the very best the family can be, the high calling set before it by God. Some churches have expressed this goal by speaking of a Leitbild, “an attractive, inspiring and life- and relation-forming model.”2 Beginning with the divine institution of marriage and its created norms, it must set family-life within the horizon and under the regiment of the Kingdom of God. This vision must be announced and advocated in the public square; it must seek and win adherents; it must gain political momentum for changes of attitude that will recover respect for the sacredness of marital and familial bonds. “Respect toward parents fills the home with light and warmth,” declares the Catholic Catechism.3 And with the articulation of norms, of course, we take no issue, nor with the New Testament’s subordination of family life to “the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). These are important points of reference for any Christian discussion. If they are made the sole points of reference, however, they can give the impression of being plucked out of the air. Before we can articulate a Christian vision of the possible good that families may become or may achieve in the redemptive purposes of God, there is a prior task, which today is an urgent one: to describe the actual good that families are. From the other end of the spectrum and equally respectably, someone may say that a Christian contribution to the family must begin where the family actually finds itself today. It must be realistic and empirical. Prominent in a much-discussed Anglican document, for example, is the claim: “one third of couples cohabit for less than a year and only 16 per cent live with their partner for more than five years.”4 But statistical snapshots taken at a certain moment in a large and changing scene leave us wondering what constructive use can be made 2 From the EKD document, Gottes Gabe und persönliche Verantwortung. Zur ethischen Orientierung für das Zusammenleben in Ehe und Familie (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1998). 3 Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2219. 4 Something to Celebrate: Valuing Families in Church and Society (London: Church House, 1995), 34.

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of them. Something is required by way of interpretation. An account of the family needs to extend at least to describing those patterns of relation, recurrent in very different forms of social development, that justify our talking about such a thing as ‘family’ at all. These patterns do not recur arbitrarily or by chance. They arise because of their intimate connection with certain goods to which human beings are constantly drawn. But a ‘good’ is not a bare fact that may be registered through the senses, as one may register, for example, a loud noise. It is a ‘reality of the world’ rather than a ‘fact within the world.’ Goods must be apprehended and—seen theologically—apprehending them is a matter for faith, hope and love. Empirical observations are interesting and important when located within such an apprehension of the good of the family; in isolation they record only a jumble of transitory phenomena. So an account of the family will be illuminating to the extent that it puts interpretative questions like ‘what for?’ and ‘why?’ to the naked statistical record, and invests it with the meaningfulness of human behavior. Here, then, is the task which a church contribution on the family must take up. It is more than reporting what is happening and more than making helpful recommendations. It implies a ‘judgment’—not a moral judgment, by which we say that something is right or wrong, but an interpretative judgment, by which we say that something is about something else, that it has a certain coherent meaning. This kind of account is sometimes called ascriptive—to distinguish it from the purely empirical (‘descriptive’) and the purely ideal (‘prescriptive’). Anyone is free to take or leave this technical term; but, with or without it, a useful account of the family will depend on the sense it can make of the actualities—including the disappointing ones—showing us why they are disappointing and how the disappointment has come about. It will not be an abstract exercise either of observation or recommendation. In what follows we have referred to the family as a ‘form of life,’ a pattern which human life appropriately and consistently takes.5 This phrase suggests a nexus of expectations and demands that confront human beings, whether or not they are anticipated or agreed to. These demands (to use German terms, sometime borrowed in English) are sittlich rather than ethisch—that is to say, they are generated by social reality rather than by immediate moral reflection. They are stumbled 5 This phrase, originally arising from some celebrated passages in Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations, now has wider currency.

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over rather than aspired to, though once discovered, they may properly be ‘moralized’ about and made the object of a considered aspiration. The family as a form of life is at once familiar and misunderstood. It is judged by moral and theological ideals, but already contains something of moral and theological significance in itself. A successful Christian account, then, postpones some explicitly moral concerns—genuinely urgent though these may be—which may threaten to drown out the delicate voice of human relational patterns. The typical marital questions which tend to preoccupy a dilemmaoriented Christian ethics, questions such as divorce and same-sex marriage, are left to wait their turn. For every marriage is linked to, and extends, an already existing web of familial relations. To place the matter in terms of biblical priorities, the fourth (in Protestant numbering, fifth) command of the Decalogue—“Honor your father and your mother…” takes precedence over the sixth (seventh): “You shall not commit adultery.” The starting-point of an ‘ascriptive’ account of the family is simply that every human being is born into a network of relations; and to this network we must attend first, listening to its consistent claims, noticing the responsibilities that people acknowledge and often rise to without consciously reflecting on them. It will resist the temptation to idealize or romanticize; it will observe the wounds that the family inflicts as well as the strength it imparts. But it will observe the family—and this is our point—as a distinct phenomenon, not to be confused with any other nor exchanged with any other. In that way it treats it as a foundational created good: a given setting within which human beings embark upon their way in life. Such an orientation, which underlies much of what our churches have wished to say, has the potential to open up a more constructive train of thought about the family than now prevail in European institutions. Not first and foremost by proposing an alternative policy, though policy implications must flow from it, but as an alternative matrix for thinking about policy. It can liberate us from the dilemmas created by individualism, teaching us not to think of subjective rights as originally warring and conflictual (so that a plurality of rights has somehow to be harmonized) but as co-ordinated in an overarching social right. It can teach us, in turn, not to view the family as another corporate bully or threatening micro-state, against which individual rights must be protected, but as a social form in which human life is properly and satisfyingly lived—‘free,’ though not autonomous.

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The Family in Christian Reflection The Family and Human Identity ‘The family’ is an amorphous term, on which it is tempting to try to impose some shape by stipulating a definition at the start. “Wherever children are born, there is the family. It is constituted by the fact of parenthood.”6 So begins one important church study; and its definiteness undoubtedly creates a focus for the discussion that follows, which is an advantage. But it also sets limits to it. The document that begins with that definition brings all its moral urgency to bear upon the tasks associated with bringing up children, on which it throws valuable light. But it fails to reflect that those who are presently neither parents nor children still have families, and that every family has dead as well as living members. The family emerges partially illuminated, some aspects highlighted, others left in shadow. The danger of talking about the family is that one can too easily include or leave out just what one likes.7 We would do better to avoid prior definitions and explore the family from its core-phenomena outwards, with an open mind as to where its limits lie. Alongside those relations that are indubitably family-relations, we may have to recognize others that are family-relations in a sense, but not unqualifiedly. There are, of course, features characteristic of families, but a list of features does not add up to a definition. We are never in a position to say: “where this is present, there is a family; where it is absent, a family does not exist.” Some central feature of family-life may be missing in a given case, without it following that there is no family. Even essential features may be present by their sensed absence. Imagine, for example, a case like that described in Julia Chan’s memorable memoir of a family’s experiences during the Cultural Revolution in China, Wild Swans: the members of her family, scattered and deprived of a common home, were united by the sense of loss associated with the memory of the home they once shared together. Even the shaky and nearly-abandoned marriage of the parents becomes the most important thing for each of them as they are forced to live apart. Here we can see how two seemingly contradictory things are true at Gottes Gabe und persönliche Verantwortung, 36. So, for example, by alluding with a too-obviously assumed confidence to “lesbian and gay families” (Something to Celebrate, 120), one does no more than evade a discussion that must, from any point of view, be of great importance. 6 7

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the same time: a home is an essential feature of a family; yet a family can exist without a common home. But we can be more precise about how these paradoxical truths belong together. The first identifies a rule, the other the exception which, proverbially, proves the rule— proves it, because it actually depends upon it. If we were to conclude from Chan’s narrative that the sharing of a family home is only one possibility for families among others, we would miss the whole drama of what her family endured—a drama based on the ability of the rule, the common home, to provide support for the exceptional case, being forced apart. Similarly, we speak of a ‘single-parent family’ and of a ‘childless family’; and the very expressions, as distinct from ‘single parent and children’ or ‘childless couple,’ remind us at the same time that there are families without two parents and a child, and that the family typically has two parents and one or more children.8 The implication of these phrases is that it is not immaterial whether father and mother and child are all present, yet that the unit retains its family structure by reference to the remembered presence of the absent (or dead) member. That the family is adaptable to pressures and crises does not mean that its form is indefinitely plastic, or that it comes in a wide range of optional varieties. The often-remarked capacity of the family to generate surrogate members, standing in for the family roles when the primary bearers are absent or defective, is another demonstration of this truth. From adoptive parents to informal ‘uncles’ and ‘aunts’ who enrich the small child’s experience of the adult world, these roles demonstrate that the family is adaptable within its characteristic shape. The family as a form of life defines the relations it generates, rather than being defined by some set of predetermined relations. From this starting point we may take up a phrase used by Pope John Paul II, that the family is the “existential horizon, that fundamental community in which the whole network of social relations is grounded.”9 This is true, John-Paul believed, “even if someone chooses to remain single.” That is to say, even adults who do not engage directly The Pontifical Council for the Family (The Family and Life in Europe, 2004) grasps something of this paradox when it declares, “the expression ‘single-parent family’ contains a contradiction in terms. A child always has two parents.” But we need not draw its conclusion that “to speak about a ‘single-parent family’ is to deny the existence of the absent parent.” On the contrary, the phrase may serve to keep the absence in view. 9 Letter to Families (1994), 2. 8

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in the continuation of the generations ‘have’ a family of which they are part. In trying to understand the good of the family we must not allow our attention to be monopolized by the benefits obviously conferred upon growing children. All human beings are its beneficiaries all the time, though in different ways and different measures at different times. The good of the family is the good of an identity. To live as a human being is to have relations—not only of a voluntary or contractual kind, which we have willed or agreed to, but non-voluntary relations that are given us as the presupposition of our willing and agreeing to other things. The family is the primary example of the non-voluntary and non-contractual nature of human society as a whole. It may be host to a variety of voluntary relations, but we belong to it without willing to belong; we make claims on its other members, and accept claims made on us by them, to which neither we nor they have agreed. Family relations are constitutive of our identities, not constructed by them. To approach the discussion of the family from the point of view of marriage, while it has an obvious logic in terms of the organization of duties, risks creating the impression that the family is a voluntary relation, as marriage certainly is. All Christian traditions agree that marriage is voluntary, though not merely contractual. Unconsenting marriage is simply not marriage. But consenting marriage is not merely an agreement struck between the couple. The term ‘covenant’ is used to highlight the point that, while couples decide to enter the state of marriage freely and without constraint, their freedom does not extend to creating the terms of marriage. Marriage is ‘instituted of God.’ The family, however, is not voluntary even in the sense that marriage is voluntary. The phrase enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights that speaks of “the right to marry and to found a family,” though correct in what it intends to say, is unfortunately expressed.10 Families are not ‘founded’ by the couples who marry. Families ‘found’ the possibility of couples’ marrying. The decision to engage further in family life than they have so far done, to form a new cell in the community that links two existing families together and carries family life forward to a new generation, must be a free and voluntary decision, and open to all who are capable of it; but it is made possible and intelligible only within

10

Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 16(1).

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the transmission of culture from one generation to another, which has preceded it and made it possible. The relations of the family form our identities as individuals in time and space. They shape our relation to time, for while no relations are instantaneous and momentary, these relations are more continuous and persistent than most. They accompany us throughout our lives and measure for us our passage from birth to death. To be somebody’s child, somebody’s brother or sister, somebody’s uncle, aunt or cousin is the way our identities are anchored chronologically. One of the famous paradoxes of the idea of earthly immortality (as in “The Makropoulos Case”) is the unthinkable damage it would do to the chronological siting of our relations, destroying our identities as such. Our familyrelations are decisive for our presence in the world from the beginning; while we can elaborate and develop them by becoming spouses and parents, or by our siblings’ or children’s becoming spouses and parents, we can never shed them. Those who were our parents when we were born are still our parents when we die, though they have probably died themselves in the meantime. My father is still my father when I am twice as old as he ever lived to be. To a lesser extent, the family is also a matrix for our relation to place. Not permanently but for significant periods of time it forms ‘households,’ where its members share a domestic space and make a ‘home’—a place that connects them to the organized spaces of the world outside it. The transition of generations within a family produces the founding of new household-cells, so that families will commonly live in more than one place and more than one household—a feature accentuated, though not originated, in late-modern social organization. Yet households are still fundamental to our capacity to be at home in the world, distinguishing the place where we belong from those to which we venture out; and though not all households are defined by family relations, family-relations provide the pattern on which other kinds of household are modeled. “Shall I be mother?” asks the person holding the teapot. The family does not create our identities; God alone does that. The patristic church rightly rejected ‘traducianism,’ the view that the human soul was inherited like the body from ancestors, in favor of ‘creationism,’ the view that each new human being was individually made by God. But the family is the first mediator of identity; it provides the structure within which the unique gift of self, which God bestows on every person, can be received. We are given our selves in and through

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God’s self, but also in and through other human selves. From beginning to end we are in relation to God and our nearest neighbors; they are, though in different senses, our origin and destination. The Family and Other Social Forms There is, then, an important sense in which the family is the primary and foundational unit of society.11 Yet these terms require care. Our theological traditions contain warnings against the attempt to totalize any one form of society, whether family, government or church, as the uniquely commanding form by which the other forms are licensed. Luther, for example, speaks of the “three estates” of household, church and polity that are “created together with mankind”; each human being participates in each one of the three; each of them is equally fundamental, none of them derived.12 A similar line of thought is followed in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1994) in its treatment of the Fourth Commandment.13 If we say that the family is the ‘first’ social form existentially, we do not mean that the others are variations of it or that they exist to serve it. Some care must also be exercised, then, in describing the church as a “universal family” or the family as a “household church.”14 Though this may helpfully draw attention to features of the one that are echoed in the other (e.g. prayer within the family, unjudging acceptance within the church), they can be misleading if they obscure differences necessary to the family’s being family and to the church’s being the church. The family, for instance, must be exclusive. It will always make a clear distinction between those who are full and permanent members by birth or adoption and those who are merely guests of the household. The church, on the other hand, must be inclusive; its membership open to “whoever believes and is baptized” (Mk. 16:11). The civil community, similarly, cannot be a family writ large, nor the family a miniature commonwealth. The civil community includes 11 The Second Vatican Council (Gaudium et Spes 52) used the term ‘foundation’; the Lambeth Conference (1988, resolution 34) spoke of it as the ‘fundamental institution.’ 12 For Luther’s doctrine see WA TR 5, 218,14ff.; WA 40 III, 222,35 f. An interesting parallel from a Reformed/Anglican source is Richard Baxter’s Christian Directory (1673), organized under the headings of “ethicks” (private duties), “economicks” (duties of the household), “politicks” and “ecclesiasticks”. 13 Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2197-2257. 14 Lambeth, 1988 §152; John Paul II, Letter to Families, 3.

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many compromises, but it must, in the end, be governed by objective practices of justice; the family faces questions of justice, but is ultimately committed to adjustment and compromise. A familial state is wide open to abuse and tyranny, while a juridical family would freeze its members’ hearts to ice. In pursuit of justice the civil community equalizes relations, makes them, for all their many differences, as nearly as possible reciprocal, so that, for example, whatever non-reciprocal rights an employer has against an employee or vice versa, it is the business of the state to ensure that the relationship is equitable, neither party accumulating inextinguishable debts to the other. But whatever occasions for reciprocity the family may generate along the way, it works on a different underlying logic: its relations are those of one generation to the next, and so inevitably non-reciprocal. The language of ‘mutual giving and submission’ addresses questions that are more ecclesial than familial; and although the Gospel requirement of mutual submission must certainly make an impact on family life, too (not only in the relation between husband and wife, but also between elder and younger), the mutuality does not conform to the logic of equitable balance, repayment, and being quits. Mutuality cannot be totalized so to set aside the necessary structural imbalances of inter-generational transmission. We do not become mothers to our mothers or children to our children. Our relation to our parents will leave us with an inextinguishable debt; and our children, in their turn, will acquire an inextinguishable debt to us. The family, then, is a form of life, but not the form of life. ‘Form of life’ is not a qualitative concept, as though to suggest that life as such is given form, or perfected to an eminent degree. A romantic way of speaking about ‘relation’ and ‘relationship’ can make it seem as though all relations are of the same order, the difference being merely that in the intimacy of the marriage and the family they are ‘more intense’ or ‘deeper.’ But family-relations are relations of a distinct kind, not merely an enhanced version of the same kind; and they are not the only kind of relation in which human beings need to engage. At certain junctures or contexts in life they necessarily take second place.

THE USE, ABUSE AND RELEVANCE OF RELIGION: SOME REFLECTIONS ON ABRAHAM VAN DE BEEK’S PROPOSAL

Alan P.F. Sell It is fashionable to speak about the relevance of Christian faith nowadays. It should be relevant for society, of interest for politics, helping people in their personal development, and so on. This article discusses the question whether religion should be relevant at all, and what the consequences will be of a denial of it.

Thus the preamble to a paper by Van de Beek entitled, “Religion without ulterior motive.” This paper is compatible with that on “Christian identity is identity in Christ”,1 which he delivered at the sixth conference of the International Reformed Theological Institute in Seoul, Korea, in July 2005. I shall refer to both papers in what follows. The possibility that religion is irrelevant may confirm atheists, agnostics and secularists in their opinion; it may comfort the ‘armchair Christian’; and it may appear to activist Christians as a huge step towards heresy. It might therefore seem that the first task is to analyze the term ‘relevance’, recognizing that to determine that something is relevant is to make a judgment for which there are good grounds (not simply good reasons). But I shall work my way towards such a discussion by commenting on Van de Beek’s papers as they stand. I shall suggest that it makes sense to speak of both the ‘use’/abuse of religion as well as of the usefulness of it, and that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is relevant in all times and all places. I wonder whether Van de Beek’s disjunctive mode of expression (for I do not think it is a question of his beliefs) tends to obscure this fact? But let us proceed step by step.

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I shall refer to this paper as CI.

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Van de Beek sets out from a remark by Samuel Hirsch, a Jewish author who, writing in 1854, declared that “The subordination of religion to any other factor means the denial of religion.”2 The context of Hirsch’s remark was the mid-nineteenth century concern with progress which turned some minds in an instrumentalist direction: those things are useful which contribute to human progress; those things which do not, are to be left on one side. Over against this, Hirsch protests that religion exclusively concerns our standing under God’s law; it is not a means to any other end. Religion is not to be judged according to its ability to blend with the prevailing climate of thought; it is not relevant only in so far as it does this. Van de Beek concurs: “You cannot use faith as an instrument in order to gain something. If you do so religion is soon delivered up to the whim of the day of any person who can use it for his or her own interest” (RWUM). He recognizes, of course, that the godly life is a blessed life, but godliness is not to be sought in order to obtain the blessings. Similarly, Van de Beek observes that faith has ethical consequences, but the desirable consequences may not be deployed as arguments to justify faith, for “The aim of faith is only God Himself—and nothing besides Him. He won’t give his glory to something else … not even to ethics” (RWUM). Hence his disquiet at what he perceives as the instrumentalism of both liberation theology and the program of the World Council of Churches entitled, Justice, Peace and the Integrity of Creation, and his adverse criticism of the view that “the main task of Christians” is “to strive for the items that [the latter] program indicates” (CI). Over against this Van de Beek sets the injunction of Irenaeus that “It is the main task for Christians to think about their death”3 (CI). He construes this to mean that we are not to strive for righteousness, for we cannot change things for the better. God alone can effect the desired changes, and the Cross is the supreme testimony to this fact (CI). Thus far Van de Beek appears to be committed to a disjunctive approach: we are to love God for his own sake; we are not to strive for righteousness. But later he writes, “We can call for justice to a 2 He quotes Hirsch from D.H. Frank, O. Leaman and C.H. Manekin, eds., The Jewish Philosophy Reader (London: Routledge, 2000), 393. 3 Irenaeus, fragment XI, MPG VII: 1233.

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corrupted regime, for we are not afraid even if they threaten us with death. … [Christians] do not try to change the world, because the world will not change for the better. They themselves have a different style of life” (CI). Is there not an ambivalence here? Why should we challenge a corrupt regime regarding justice if we have no hope that through our witness God may bring about change? We may agree that only by God’s enabling grace will change be effected. But to rest in the conviction that we should not try to change the world because it will not change for the better would be to descend into a pessimism regarding God’s ability which would cripple witness and foster the false comfort of quietism; or else it would land us in the unrealistic position of those evangelists who declare that when we (yes, they frequently speak as if they do it) have got everybody saved, all socio-political matters will be set to rights. If the former stance appears to deny the Christian obligation to be salt and light in the world, the latter seems to overlook the fact that the Bible has more to say about the faithful remnant, than about ‘packing all the sinners in.’ The ambivalence emerges again in relation to liberation theology. Van de Beek writes, “Liberation theology is a clear example of religion with a goal. That goal is not God and his service, but political and economic liberation” (RWUM). Here again, prima facie, is the disjunction: we are to serve God; we are not to seek political and economic liberation. It is undoubtedly true that some of the earlier Liberation theologians, under the dire circumstances of their socio-political contexts, did not always maintain their balance; but I should argue, and have indeed argued,4 that the most insightful among them understood very well that since God uses means, our service and witness may be used by him in liberating ways. The ambivalence enters when Van de Beek, concurring with Hirsch, qualifies the disjunction by saying that “True religion … is interested in material and social issues, but never in such a way that it makes a core issue of it [sic]. It must be clear that they are relative, second or even third level questions” (RWUM). But at least, now, they are legitimate questions: there would have been no Good Samaritan if the Samaritan, on seeing the wounded man, had said, “So sorry I cannot help you, I’m thinking about my death.” A further query concerns Van de Beek’s declaration that “We cannot use arguments for our religion … For at the very moment when 4 See Alan P.F. Sell, Enlightenment, Ecumenism, Evangel. Theological Themes and Thinkers 1550–2000 (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2005), 306–325.

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we use an argument—for instance that it creates the most just society … then a just society is put above faith. … We are Christians only because we are Christians, and not because there is a good argument to be Christians” (RWUM). A number of points need to be untangled here. First, if we cannot use arguments for our religion we shall not be able to respond to those who confront us with their doubts and difficulties about the Christian faith; and this will be more than an intellectual failure, it will be a failure in witnessing, and it will frequently be a pastoral failure too. Second, I do not see that to point to the beneficial effects of Christianity is to put the effects above faith. It is rather to show that desirable consequences flow from faith, which is what Van de Beek himself believes. Of course, not every product of religion is beneficial, for believers may be fanatical, and empirical Christianity displays a sufficiently large multitude of blemishes to keep it in repentant mood to the end of time. Nevertheless, the fruit of faith can be highly beneficial to individuals and societies. Third, we do not stand where we do as Christians because we have argued our way to faith (though through argument we may have removed some of the obstacles to faith which previously lay in our path or the path of others). Least of all is it the case that we “review God’s claims and then admit Him as we are satisfied.”5 We are Christians because we have been called by God’s free and sovereign grace. It does not follow, however, that reasoned, orderly, testimony is redundant.6

Instrumentalism The above qualifications notwithstanding, Van de Beek does well to insist that to ‘use’ religion for extraneous ends is to abuse it. God is the end of religion, and the primary task and privilege of the church is the worship of the God of all grace who, in Jesus Christ, has visited and redeemed his people, and who, by the Holy Spirit, is ever present with them to guide, guard, challenge, reprove and forgive. Of the church P.T. Forsyth said, 5

146.

P.T. Forsyth, The Principle of Authority, (1913) (London: Independent Press, 1952),

6 See further, Alan P.F. Sell, Confessing and Commending the Faith. Historic Witness and Apologetic Method (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2002).

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Her note is the supernatural note which distinguishes incarnation from immanence, redemption from evolution, the Kingdom of God from mere spiritual progress, and the Holy Spirit from mere spiritual process. She must never be opportunist at the cost of being evangelical, liberal at the cost of being positive, too broad for the Cross’s narrow way. And she must produce that impression on the whole, that impression of detachment from the world and of descent upon it.7

These words have lost none of their pertinence during the hundred years since they were first uttered: and note carefully that Forsyth speaks of both detachment and descent. Opportunist, instrumentalist—call it what you will, such attitudes have tempted the church through the ages, as a random selection of examples will amply demonstrate. Consider first, individuals. Since Shakespeare presents us with no evidence of their habitual piety, we may not unjustifiably conclude that when, in The Tempest, the stormtossed sailors cry, “All lost! To prayers! To prayers! All lost!”8 they are ‘using’ (that is, abusing) religion in an instrumentalist way: when all else fails, religion may bale us out. When television evangelists preaching a ‘gospel of success’ tell their listeners that if they ‘come to Christ’ their bank balances, their career prospects, their health (and, for all I know, their racing pigeons) will prosper, they are ‘using’/abusing religion in a very crude way and, moreover, storing up disappointment for those who, having succumbed to their enticements, subsequently discover something of the way of the Cross. If a Christian mission in an impoverished part of the world seeks to tempt individuals into the Christian faith by material benefits: “Come to our splendidly equipped hospital (much better than the Baptist one), lose your tonsils and find a Savior!” it is likewise ‘using’/abusing religion. With regard to societies at large, if an Anglican church dignitary argues, as some in England have recently been doing, that because of the parlous moral condition of society we must build more church schools, he or she is ‘using’/abusing religion, for religion becomes a tool of social engineering and, if a pupil’s registration turns upon parental church attendance, an inducement to hypocrisy is offered which, as is well known, some will accept.

7 P.T. Forsyth, Positive Preaching and the Modern Mind, (1907) (London: Independent Press, 1964), 82–83. 8 W. Shakespeare, The Tempest, I.i.

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As far as groups are concerned: whenever nations or parties have justified war in the name of religion they have ‘used’/abused religion and have sought to cover extraneous motives with a cloak of respectability. When an allegedly Christian state, as in sixteenth and seventeenth century England, sought to enforce religious conformity in order to bring about national cohesion in face of foreign enemies (something against which the English Separatists and Dissenters protested at the cost of threats, imprisonment, banishment and even death), it was ‘using’/abusing religion. When a secular state contributes towards the cost of particular pieces of the church’s social work which it would otherwise have to fund itself, this seems acceptable as payment for services rendered; but if the secular state contributes towards the cost of ministerial training, or the stipends of those who preach a gospel it repudiates in the expectation of a more morally upright, benign and easilygovernable society, it is hypocritically ‘using’/abusing religion. All of this seems undeniable, and Van de Beek has done well to draw our attention to it. But the case can be overstated. Van de Beek writes, “A church member uttered: ‘If I would not have my faith, I would not know how to overcome my sorrows and troubles.’ The underlying idea is that faith serves to overcome your problems—forgetting that Christian faith often is the cause of many troubles and that it is easier to speak like those people who do not worry about God, as Psalm 73 says” (RWUM). There can be no question that in certain circumstances the Christian faith can heap troubles upon the saints—remember, for example, the Separatists and Dissenters. But may it not be that the Professor also has momentarily forgotten something which he elsewhere grants; namely, that God can work through the testimony of believers? Hence, if a sincere Christian, not an evangelistic charlatan, makes a humble and grateful testimony to the peace which he or she has found in Christ, is it wrong if an untutored hearer whose life is in turmoil thinks, “I should like to have that peace.” May not God the Holy Spirit be prompting the thought, and may not that thought be the starting-point of a religious quest? Surely it would be callous in the extreme to say to such a person, “You only want religion because of what you can get out of it: you are ‘using’/abusing religion.” There is a great gulf between testimony to the power and solace of faith and the mistaken view that faith provides an escape hatch from the troubles of life. Extending this line of thought to society at large, and to the church’s role as yeast, may we not say that the church’s task of nurturing those who uphold such values as

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honesty, integrity, industriousness, and generosity is of great significance to society, and that this nurturing work should not be stopped simply because some may be tempted to regard societal goods as acquisitions to be obtained instrumentally via religion? Societal goods can also be understood as fruits flowing from that honoring of God which is at the heart of true religion.9 At this point, I think it is pertinent to refer to church assemblies, for they provide opportunities for activists to ‘use’/abuse religion in the furtherance of their several agenda, and to the detriment of the church’s primary obligations of worshipping God and proclaiming his Gospel. There seem to be so many ‘causes’ at the present time, yet in a sense this is nothing new. In 1876 Joseph Parker, minister of the City Temple, London, addressed the Assembly of the Congregational Union of England and Wales thus: What an amazing amount of so-called ‘business’ we have to do! We have to disestablish the Church [of England], modernize the Universities, rectify the policy of School Boards, clear the way to burial-grounds, subsidize magazines, sell hymn-books, play the hose upon [the Anglican] Convocation, and generally give everybody to understand that if we have not yet assailed them or defended them, it is not for want of will, but merely for want of time.10

But what is different nowadays is the way in which highly politicized caucuses, well versed in managerial tactics, and sometimes well-funded, can make the notion of a church assembly in which the saints, united by grace to Christ and therefore to one another, corporately seek his mind an unrealizable ideal. Instead of the earnest quest of unanimity in Christ, we have pressure groups whose members have no expectation that their minds will be changed by anything that is said; who on occasion adopt a sectarian stance which is more than willing to ‘unchurch’ those who disagree with them; who sometimes hijack the Bible so that it becomes a weapon in their hands with which they bludgeon their opponents; and whose sole objective is to drive their favored motion through. When they succeed, we may well have the situation in which what is ostensibly ‘the mind of the church’ as agreed at the assembly is in fact poles apart from that of the majority of the church’s con9 See further, David Fergusson, Church, State and Civil Society (Cambridge: CUP, 2004), 123. 10 Quoted by Albert Peel, These Hundred Years. A History of the Congregational Union of England and Wales (London: CUEW, 1931), 264.

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stituency. This is a recipe for friction, even in some cases for secession; and all because the organs of the church have been ‘used’/abused in order to score partisan points and achieve sectional goals.11

Motives, Divine and Human In the concluding paragraphs of RWUM, Van de Beek very properly reminds us that ‘users’/abusers of religion may well be disappointed. We may work and pray in the hope of a good harvest, but there may be a famine (cf. Habakkuk 3:17). The way of suffering may be inescapable, as it was for Jesus. This thought leads him to God’s saving act at the Cross. Here we see the supreme example of the way in which ‘God loves us for nothing.’ That is, he acts towards us without ulterior motive. This is certainly the case; this is the abounding generosity of grace. But although, as Van de Beek rightly says, God does not call us because of our status or prowess (he cites Deuteronomy 7:7), we have good reason to think that God acts as he does because he desires a people for his praise and service. With such a people he enters into a covenant relationship. May we not say that these are consequences or ends desired by God? But God does not ‘use’/abuse grace in order to secure the desirable consequences; his motives are never mixed. The problem is that ours are. It seems to be part of the human condition that sinners are susceptible to ulterior motives in a way that God is not. Hence the analogy between God’s actions towards us, and our human actions breaks down; for God is perfect, we are not. The doctrine of total depravity, while it does not mean that everything we do is absolutely reprehensible, does mean that nothing we do is wholly pure, for we are not God. This by no means releases us from the obligation to strive after perfection, it simply cautions us against supposing that we have already reached that happy state. To put it somewhat crudely: it is easier for God to act without ulterior motives than it is for us, for his motives are not mixed. Thus, when Van de Beek writes, “We serve the Lord for nothing, as the book 11 At an assembly held some years ago the theme for study concerned the Bible in relation to Christian witness. The theme was intended as a theological exploration that would result in more effective outreach on the ground. I was intrigued to note that some activists present did not feel that the occasion was successful because no denunciatory resolutions had issued from it. The idea of an assembly devoid of such ‘prophetic’ utterances seemed anathema to them.

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of Job says,” this can be only a counsel of perfection held before the imperfect. It is an unrealizable ideal and, from all that experience teaches us, a psychological impossibility. We might even say that a significant aspect of the Creator-creature distinction is that God can act absolutely without ulterior motives whereas we, being sinners, cannot. But all may not be lost. Suppose that, given who we are, we are sometimes tempted to ‘use’/abuse religion because of certain goods which we think may accrue from it: may not our relatively lower motive be a means whereby God brings us face to face with our need of reorientation towards himself ? For, when we remember ourselves, we know that apart from him we can do nothing, and we learn afresh that to desire the reward of faith (construed as the consequence of faith, not as a recompense for faith) without the root of faith (trust in God for his own sake) is futile. It is hardly necessary to add that the fact that sinners cannot act absolutely without ulterior motives does not legitimate the ‘use’/abuse of religion against which Van de Beek quite rightly protests, but it does go some way towards explaining it. It will by now be clear that I am in total agreement with Van de Beek that those who adopt a purely instrumentalist view of religion are grievously mistaken. Religion is not to be valued simply because of what can be got out of it. To fall into this error is to ‘use’/abuse religion. But are we necessarily bound to go to the extreme of maintaining that religion is irrelevant? Is it utterly useless? I shall attempt an answer to these questions by means of an analysis of the term ‘relevance.’

Relevance We may set out from the dictionary definition of ‘relevance’ as being that which bears upon, or is pertinent to, the matter in hand. Clearly, the determination that something is, or is not, relevant entails a judgment, and such judgments can be mistaken. Suppose that during a severe winter, the water pipes in my house freeze and the supply of water stops. I call in my neighbor, whom I suspect is something of a handyman because I have often seen him lying underneath his car. He looks at the situation and asks, “Have you any tools?” “Oh yes,” I reply, and I go to the garden shed and return with a brace and bit, a plasterer’s trowel and a garden rake. My neighbor now wishes that he had asked for relevant tools. In this case, the irrelevance of the tools to the matter in hand is obvious. But such judgments are not always

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so straightforward. In some cases we may not be sure whether something is relevant (will work) until we have experimented with it. Hence, sophisticated scientific investigations; hence, homely attempts to see whether porridge will really seal a leaking car radiator. Again, many judgments of relevance are time-bound. A person may sincerely have believed that a particular remedy was relevant to a particular medical condition, whereas—perhaps many years later—this is shown not to have been the case. (This is why even Reformed Christians would normally prefer to swallow John Wesley’s theology than his medicinal potions). All of the judgments so far exemplified concern what may be labeled ‘relevance objectively conceived.’ That is to say, the judgments made refer to matters that are deemed to be the case, regardless of the feelings, dispositions or opinions of the judges. But sometimes people will say, “This is not relevant to me.” Here a subjective emphasis is given to the judgment, and with it the implication that what is not relevant to me may be relevant to somebody else. There are cases in which this is perfectly understandable, though often qualifications may need to be entered. Thus (on the assumption that he or she is not a family lawyer, or a civil servant in a pensions office) a young person may say “The provisions of retirement law are not relevant to me.” We should then need to supply the qualification ‘immediately relevant’; for if the young person lives long enough, the provisions will in due course be relevant to his or her situation. Again, I may say that the particular skills of an obstetrician are not relevant to male me; but if a member of my family required the attention of such a specialist, I should then need to qualify the claim by saying that such skills are not ‘directly relevant’ to me: they would certainly be indirectly relevant to me in such a case. Consider the assertion, ‘Traditional church worship is not relevant to me.’ If a young person says this, what may be meant is that the church music is old fashioned, the sermon boring, too many people wear suits … If an older person says the same thing it may be because of a considered atheist or secularist conviction, or simply because the person manages his or her life without perceiving any need to partake in church worship which may, in any case, be quite foreign to the individual concerned. Coming more directly to Christianity as such: can we justifiably judge that it is never relevant; that is always is; or that it is for some people and not for others? It would, on the face of it, seem odd to say of any religion that it has no bearing whatsoever on anything to do with the world as it is. Such a religion would be other-worldly in an

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exclusive sense; though even then it would presumably have a certain relevance to its human devotees, for it would at least constitute part of their identity. By contrast, as traditionally construed, the Christian claim is that the Gospel of God’s free and saving grace is relevant to all people in all ages in all places. It concerns their standing before God in this life and their eternal state; and it calls them into a new life of fellowship with the saints, visible and invisible, with the former of whom they are to engage in witness and service. If this is the case, we cannot say that Christianity is relevant only to some people and not to others. Of course, millions of people make a contrary judgment. Adherents of other faiths, secularists and others will, with varying degrees of politeness, deny the Christian claim. But denial is not refutation. It may, however, signal the beginning of a discussion in which the Christian will be called to give a reason for his or her hope. In claiming Christianity’s relevance in the sense described, we are necessarily implying its usefulness for certain purposes—fullness of life, for example. But we are not indulging in the instrumentalist ‘use’/abuse of religion by thinking and witnessing in this way. Properly conceived, the Gospel call is not an invitation to people to avail themselves of the fruit of faith without having the root of faith. In the light of God’s gracious approach in Christ, and of his love supremely active at the Cross, the call is to repent and believe. New life and the fruit of the Spirit are the consequences of the divinely-enabled response, not a payment or reward for an unaided human vote for God. As we live this new life in the company of the gathered saints, the implications (relevance) of the Gospel will be worked out in practice. They concern, inter alia, going on to perfection, seeking first the Kingdom of God, and heeding the prophetic challenges regarding justice and peace. Since Van de Beek would not deny any of this, I conclude that he overstates his anti-instrumentalist case in a disjunctive manner, and that a careful analysis of ‘use’, ‘abuse’ and ‘relevance’ yields a more nuanced account in which the ‘either … or’ is balanced by the ‘both … and.’ If the peril of the former is the godly ghetto, the peril of the latter is an activism ungrounded in the Gospel: We must, of course, go some way to meet the world, but when we do meet we must do more than greet … Refinement is not reform; and amelioration is not regeneration.12

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From the peril of the ghetto and the peril of ungrounded activism, good Lord deliver us. Rather, may we, by God’s grace, know the joy and the challenge of that true piety before God that first honors him, and then inevitably becomes salt and light in the world—which is just another way of honoring him.

CHRISTIAN FAITH WITHOUT ARGUMENTS? THE RELEVANCE OF REASONS FOR BELIEF IN GOD Gijsbert van den Brink Introduction The phrase ‘religion without ulterior motive’, which is explored in this volume, can be interpreted in at least three ways. First of all, according to Collins Cobuild Dictionary, if people have ulterior motives for doing something, “they do not show their motives or reasons openly but hide them, usually because they are rather selfish or dishonest.”1 Thus, a plea for ‘religion without ulterior motive’ might most naturally mean a plea for being religious without any hidden selfish or dishonest reasons. Second, the phrase ‘religion without ulterior motive’ might refer to the view that being religious should have no purpose or goal beyond the domain of religion itself. Given this interpretation, an ulterior motive is any motive external to the purely religious intention of loving, serving and honoring God. And the plea for ‘religion without ulterior motive’ is a plea to consider religion as an end in itself rather than as a means to some other end. Third, the phrase ‘religion without ulterior motive’ can be taken to suggest that there are no non-religious grounds, or arguments or reasons which someone might have for being or becoming a religious believer. On this reading, it is not so much that no consequent goals should be postulated beyond religion, but that no antecedent reasons should be given for religion. Clearly, in his seminal essay ‘Religion without ulterior motive’ Bram van de Beek does not seem to have in mind the first interpretation mentioned above.2 To have hidden selfish or dishonest motives for believing or behaving in a religious way is so much at variance with the true 1 Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary (London: Collins Publishers, 1987), s.v. ‘ulterior’. 2 A. van de Beek, “Religion without Ulterior Motive,” Hervormde Theologiese Studies 61 (2005), 517–529. Page numbers between brackets in the body of the text refer to pages of this article.

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nature and aim of religion that probably nobody has to be convinced of its impropriety. It is obvious that our religious commitment should not be inspired by such doubtful hidden motives. However, when we reject this nasty form of ‘religion with an ulterior motive’, it does not follow that we should also reject the (at first sight) morally neutral interpretations of the phrase. Therefore, both the second and the third meaning of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ play a central role in Van de Beek’s argument. As to the second interpretation, Van de Beek strongly urges that “[r]eligion is its own end, and it may not be instrumentalised to anything else” (518). He even takes Samuel Hirsch’s warning not to subordinate religion to the ideal of progress to its extreme: “Religion is an end—or rather, the end—in itself. To have any other aim in religious life is nothing less than blasphemy” (518). Indeed, this startling claim functions as the backbone of Van de Beek’s article, as is clear from the different examples of instrumentalizing religion for another goal which he discusses. If Christian faith is relevant for society, for politics, for the personal development of human beings or even for piety, then these are at best coincidental consequences following from it. In any case, such issues do not belong to its aims. The third interpretation distinguished above, however, is also conspicuous in Van de Beek’s explorations of ‘religion without ulterior motive.’ Although functioning more in the background, it is clearly reflected in the very first consequence of his view to which he draws our attention. Let me quote Van de Beek at some length here: The first consequence has to do with the rationality of faith. If religion is its own end, it means we cannot use any arguments to promote our religion. We cannot argue that Christian faith is better than other religions, for the moment we use such an argument—for instance, the argument that Christianity creates the most just society, more so than other worldviews or religions—then a just society is put above faith. Any such argument makes faith inferior, turning it into a second level issue. We are Christians only because we are Christians, and not because there is a good argument for being Christians. Faith is similar to the deepest human relations. We accept our children just because they are our children and not because they have characteristics that are better than those of other children (…); we did not choose them because they had such characteristics. Obviously, for Christians, Christianity is better than any other religion, but that statement is the consequence of their being a Christian and it is not the cause of the worth of Christianity. Thus the proposition that religion should be without any ulterior motive has far-reaching consequences for apology and missiology (518f.).

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The emphasis here it is not so much on the denial of any external goals to which Christian faith should be directed, but on the absence of appropriate arguments which could be used to recommend Christian faith, since such arguments are considered to function as ulterior motives which should be avoided. Thus, it is the third interpretation of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ which is at stake here. At the end of his paper, Van de Beek returns to this thread in his argument when he declares it a blasphemy to suggest “that God’s being would be dependent on our arguments.” For “God is just as He is. He is who He is. He is—that is the only reason to glorify Him” (528). It is this third interpretation of the claim that religion should not be inspired by any ulterior motive which I want to explore and discuss in the present contribution. Is it true that there are no proper arguments or reasons for Christian faith, or even for belief in God in general, because of the fact that such arguments or reasons would by definition distort the pure nature of the faith, subordinating it to a matter of only second level importance? Let us see to what degree this is a tenable claim.

Are There Reasons for Belief in God? The Dawkins–Ward Debate In a recent TV-series, Richard Dawkins, Professor of the Public Understanding of Science at Oxford University and a well-known defender of neo-Darwinism, made the claim that religion is the root of all evil. His utterances prompted Keith Ward, one of Britain’s foremost philosophers of religion, to some harsh criticisms. Ward especially protested against the simple binary oppositions with which Dawkins worked, such as: scientists are all reasonable individuals and religious believers are irrational persons. Interestingly, in his response Ward did not argue that, after all, believers are more rational or have better reasons than non-believers. Rather, he pointed to the fact that, however one values them, there are reasons for believing in God. And if there are reasons for believing in God, it cannot be sustained that faith is by definition “a process of non-thinking”, as Dawkins had put it, without any evidence at all. Dawkins may think that the spiritual hypothesis has been demolished by materialism. There are indeed some philosophers who think so. But, as anyone who teaches philosophy knows, there are also reasons for believing in God. Even scientists who are not avowed theists … usually accept

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gijsbert van den brink that there are good reasons for believing in a designing intelligence, even if they think there are even stronger reasons for declining that inference. There are reasons for belief in God, however, that can be intelligently believed and discussed, and to deny that is willful prejudice and intellectual dishonesty.3

In urging that there are reasons for belief in God, Ward clearly stands in a long and impressive tradition of Christian theology, starting at least with Origen and the earlier apologists. His clash with Dawkins may even remind one of Origen’s Contra Celsus, although Origen not only pointed to the availability of good reasons for becoming a Christian believer, but also specified a considerable number of them. This is not a tradition with which Van de Beek wants to line up, however. In good Barthian fashion, his sympathies lie with the atheist rather than with the religious theist. That is to say, in arguing that there are no independent reasons which should be taken into account when discussing the rationality of Christian faith, Van de Beek seems to side with Dawkins and to part company with Ward. Why do some Christians do so? Why, for one, does Van de Beek agree with Dawkins that there are no good arguments for Christian belief ? Van de Beek’s case for the third interpretation of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ is similar to his case for the second one: as soon as we have an argument or reason for belief in God (or more particularly for Christian faith), then the content of this reason is more important to us than the content of the faith. As a result, our adherence to Christianity (or, for that matter, to some other religion) becomes an instrument by means of which we want to reach the higher goal which is expressed in the reason we have. In other words, the reason becomes an ulterior motive, in the sense of a more fundamental drive and a higher goal. The example Van de Beek gives in this connection is clear enough: if its capacity to create a more just society is used as a reason or argument for embracing Christianity, then the Christian faith is subordinated to the ideal of creating a more just society. As a result, its nature becomes perverted, for it belongs to the true nature of Christian faith, as well as of religion in general, to express that which is more important to us than anything else. As Luther held, “that to

3 Keith Ward, “Faith, Hype and a Lack of Clarity”, The Tablet, January 21, 2006. The two-part TV-series The Root of All Evil? was broadcast earlier that month by the British commercial broadcaster Channel 4.

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which your heart clings and entrusts itself is … really your God.”4 So whatever lip-service we pay to God, our real god may in fact be money, power, family, or even the ideal of a perfect society. If changing society for the better is more important to us than anything else, than in fact this is our true religion. And the God of Christianity is at best served by us because and as far as we can use him for this higher purpose—but clearly in doing so we degrade him, by not letting him be God. So that is why we cannot use its capacity to improve society as a good reason or appropriate argument for Christian belief.

Philosophical Arguments Let us assume that this train of thought, as it stands, is correct. Of course, one might doubt whether the relation between truly trusting, serving and honoring God, on the one hand, and striving for a more just society, on the other, should be dealt with in such a contrasting, polarizing way. Presumably, it might be argued that striving after a more just society is part and parcel of what it means to believe in, serve and honor God. So someone who entirely devotes herself to the ideal of improving society cannot be said to deprive God of the pivotal place we owe him, or to pervert the true nature of religion. But even if that is the case, it is not clear how the inherent drive to improve society can function as an argument for Christian faith, since this drive is precisely what Christian faith (arguably among other things) consists in. And something can hardly be an argument for (part of) itself.5 So let us concede that Van de Beek is right in claiming that a reference to its alleged society-improving capacity cannot function as a good reason for endorsing the Christian faith. Then the next question is whether a similar case can be made for all possible reasons that may be adduced for belief in God. Let us distin4

Martin Luther, “Large Catechism” in: Theodore G. Tappert (ed.), The Book of Concord (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1959), 365. 5 One might object that arguments usually unpack some element which is implicit in their conclusion. But (1) this element does not yield the conclusion on its own, but needs a second, external premise to reach the conclusion; and (2) this element—as distinct from the second premise—cannot take the form of an external reason, precisely because it is implicit in what has to be demonstrated. For example, ‘Socrates is mortal’ only follows from ‘Socrates is a human being’ (a statement which is in a sense implicit in the name Socrates) if we add the external consideration that all humans are mortal.

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guish here between two important categories of arguments for (Christian) belief in God, viz. philosophical and historical ones. Presumably, when Keith Ward refers to the existence of good reasons for religious belief, he has in mind classical arguments belonging to either of these categories, rather than pragmatic reasons such as ‘religion helps us to improve society.’ As an example of the first category, I will discuss the so-called teleological argument, which today makes such an unexpected come-back in the theory of Intelligent Design. As an example of the second category, I will look at possible historical reasons for believing in the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ. Note that the first example pertains to theistic religions in general, whereas the second is more specifically related to reasons for Christianity. So we capture both tenets which we find in Van de Beek’s essay. In their summary of classical and contemporary arguments for the existence of God, Michael Peterson and his fellow-authors do not commit themselves to some version of the teleological argument, but they try to make the case for it as strong as possible. Contemporary proponents of the teleological argument grant that individual examples of means-ends ordering in the organic realm can be explained in terms of evolutionary principles. Evolution, with its auxiliary hypothesis of natural selection, functions as a broad paradigm that enables us to account for natural biological processes. However, the universe manifests certain other features that are best explained by appeal to an intelligent, purposive designer. Abandoning the argument from analogy [i.e., William Paley’s version of the teleological argument, GvdB], contemporary proponents construct a different kind of … argument, a cumulative argument based on probability.6

The authors go on to mention five teleological considerations which play a role in the contemporary debate. In the context of this paper, we need to specify only one of these, and I choose for this purpose the anthropic principle—their fourth one. This principle (also known as the ‘fine-tuning argument’) concerns the inorganic world and points to the fact that life on earth as we know it could only come about given the simultaneous instantiation of ‘a vast complex of seemingly unrelated conditions’, many of which are highly improbable on their

6 Michael Peterson et al., Reason and Religious Belief. An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, Second Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 102. Note that these lines were written before the recent ID-debates started—the authors do not involve purported ‘irreducibly complex structures’ in their considerations.

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own.7 If only one of these conditions had been only slightly different, intelligent life on earth would have been impossible. Even if all these anthropic coincidences could eventually be explained by some ‘grand unified theory’ of physical laws, it would still be astonishing that these physical laws happen to make possible intelligent life.8 So it seems reasonable to suggest that a conscious designer is the best explanation for the existence of the universe in which we live. Of course, we shortcircuit some counter-arguments here, such as that no explanation of this extraordinary fine-tuning is necessary since any possible combination of anthropic variables is equally improbable (whereas, of course, one of them has to be exemplified), or that our universe is only one out of many universes, which together form an immensely complex multiverse. The first of these counter-arguments, however, is unconvincing;9 the second is highly speculative, and as a result both of them do not alter the fact that the appeal to a conscious designer seems to be a good explanation (if not the best possible one) of the fine-tuning of the universe. However, it is not our task here to decide whether or not this particular contemporary version of the teleological argument is convincing. Instead, the crucial question in our context is whether such an argument, if convincing, can function as an independent reason for belief in God. I for one do not see why that should not be the case. First of all, if it is such a reason, it surely is an independent one; for the anthropic principle is not implied by any variety of religious belief. Believing in the fine-tuning of the universe is not part and parcel of what it means to be a theistic believer. Rather, it stems from scientific observations and calculations regarding the universe. Second, let us imagine that someone says: “I am inclined to believe in God, because of the fact that the universe in which we live is attuned to the production of life as we know it with such an enormous precision.” We may observe that such a person uses the anthropic principle as a reason for his belief in God. Now does it follow that in doing so she perverts the true religious nature of 7 The classic work here (written from a non-theistic perspective) is John D. Barrow & Frank J. Tipler, The Anthropic Cosmological Principle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986). 8 B.J. Carr & M.J. Rees, “The Anthropic Cosmological Principle and the Structure of the Physical World,” Nature 278 (1979), 605. Cf. on the anthropic principle also Cees Dekker et al., Schitterend ongeluk of sporen van ontwerp? Over toeval en doelgerichtheid in de evolutie (Kampen: Ten Have, 2005), 173–205. 9 As is argued by Richard Swinburne, The Existence of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 138; cf. Peterson et al., Reason and Religious Belief, 105.

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belief in God? Should we say that the anthropic principle is the real god in which she believes, which she trusts, serves and honors, and that she subordinates the God of religion to this principle? Does this person detract from God’s honor or transcendence, by instrumentalizing God to her own business: the veneration of the anthropic principle? To be honest, I cannot think of any sensible argument why all this should be the case. On the contrary, the most natural answer to all of these questions is ‘no.’ It is precisely the other way round. For arguably, her discovery of the anthropic principle will fill this person with deep respect and great awe for the God who devised and invented the extremely subtle balance of all those different anthropic conditions.10 It would be unperceptive to assume that in her view of life the anthropic principle stands above God, for clearly God as its inventor stands above the anthropic principle—otherwise the anthropic principle would not even induce one to start believing in God. We may safely assume that what is true in the case of the anthropic principle is also true for other teleological arguments—and even for other faith-supporting philosophical arguments in general (from St. Paul to Pannenberg). For example, why should it detract from God’s transcendence if patterns of intelligent design pointing in the direction of a purposeful God were to be found in nature?11 At least in the Christian tradition God’s transcendence has never been seen as competing with his involvement in creation, as if the more God immersed himself in his creation, the more his transcendence became diminished or polluted.

Historical Arguments Not only philosophical considerations, but also historical data are often mentioned as important arguments for belief in God, or more particularly for the Christian faith. As an example of such historical data we may refer to the reports concerning the resurrection of Jesus Christ. 10 A recent example of a scientist who confesses that the structure of the universe led him to believe in a Creator-God is P.G. Smelik; see G.D.J. Dingemans & P.G. Smelik, Deze wereld en God. Modern wereldbeeld en christelijk geloof (Kampen: Kok, 2005), 15, 245. 11 As Van de Beek argued during one of the recent academic ID-debates (Amsterdam, Free University; February 3, 2006); cf. his Toeval of schepping? Scheppingstheologie in de context van het moderne denken (Kampen: Kok, 2005), 213 (‘This is … the error of those who draw religious inferences from the idea of an intelligent designer. They ignore the essence of transcendence’).

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The apostle Paul was probably the first one who used such reports to move people—first of all the readers of his first letter to the Corinthians—to accept the Gospel and to be saved by holding firmly to it. And now I want to remind you, my brothers, of the Good News which I preached to you (…). You are saved by the gospel if you hold firmly to it—otherwise it was for nothing that you believed. I passed on to you what I received, which is of the greatest importance: that Christ died for our sins (…) and that he was raised to life three days later, as written in the Scriptures; that he appeared to Peter and then to all twelve apostles. Then he appeared to more than five hundred of his followers at once, most of whom are still alive, although some have died. Then he appeared to James, and afterward to all the apostles.12

Clearly, in this passage Paul uses the post-paschal appearances of Jesus in order to convince the Corinthians of the trustworthiness of the resurrection-reports. The historical fact that Jesus met so many people after his death and burial should function as a good argument or reason for believing that Jesus was truly raised from the dead. Now it might be objected that an accurate reading of the New Testament texts brings to light that the resurrection of Jesus is not depicted as a bare historical fact like so many others. Some would even say that this is a crude misunderstanding, resulting from a consistent neglect of the peculiarity of the New Testament resurrection stories, as well as of the specific theological meanings attached to the resurrection in the Scriptures.13 Ordinary human language is in a sense warped and distorted by the inconceivability of the new cosmic reality which came to light at Easter—an eschatological reality that cannot easily be grasped, but only hinted at in a groping way. We must be sensitive to the fact that in the New Testament the glory of the resurrected Christ subverts our familiar metaphysics, “upsets our worldviews of what is possible, shatters the ‘glamour of violence’ that blinds us, and sets in its place the splendor of the truth of God’s reconciliation and peace realized in Jesus Christ.”14 1Corinthians 15:1–7 (GNB). A fine example of a study uncovering the theological meanings of the resurrection stories (without denying their referential intentions) is Peter Selby, Look for the Living. The Corporate Nature of Resurrection Faith (London: SCM Press, 1976), esp. pp. 82–125. For a nice survey of the three main approaches toward Christ’s resurrection in recent theology (the spiritual one, the historical one, and the eschatological one), see George Hunsinger, “The Daybreak of a New Creation: Christ’s Resurrection in Recent Theology,” Scottish Journal of Theology 57 (2004), 163–181. 14 Daniel L. Migliore, Faith Seeking Understanding, Second Edition (Grand Rapids: 12 13

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True as this may be, any universal (cosmic and/or eschatological) significance the resurrection has, although going infinitely far beyond its foundation in history, does nevertheless depend upon it. As Richard Swinburne argues: “To initiate the redemption of humanity and of the natural order, [God] needs to bring to life a previously damaged body, not only a soul.”15 Spiritual readings of the resurrection, which reduce the post-paschal appearances of Jesus to something that happened in the disciples rather than to them, can hardly bear the theological weight of the resurrection’s eschatological significance. Therefore, let us imagine that someone has become convinced of the reliability of the resurrection stories—either by the ancient biblical testimony (such as the testimony we quoted from St. Paul), or by meticulous modern academic research that largely confirms their historical trustworthiness (such as the recent monographs of Richard Swinburne and Tom Wright),16 or by a combination of both. Let us further imagine that this grown conviction contributes to the fact that this person becomes a Christian. He comes to believe that the risen Jesus really is the unique Son of God, who conquered the destructive powers of sin and death and who is now King and Lord of the universe. The name of Jesus is the only name through which eschatological salvation is possible, he believes. And when asked why he thinks so, he points to the historical reliability of the resurrection reports as an important reason for his belief. So he argues on historical grounds that Christian faith is better, in the sense of more reliable and nearer to the truth, than other religions (all of which, of course, deny the resurrection of Christ and its central importance). In short, by arguing for his faith this person does everything which Van de Beek forbids. How should we respond to such a person? Should we say that he has an inappropriate, extraneous motive for becoming a Christian? Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2004), 193; Migliore is inspired here by David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2003), 349, 389. 15 Swinburne, The Resurrection of God Incarnate (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 1. 16 Swinburne, Resurrection, 214, calculates by means of Bayes’s theorem the probability that Jesus, being God Incarnate, was being raised from the dead at approximately 97 %. According to N.T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 2003), 710 we are left with the secure historical conclusion that the tomb was empty and several ‘meetings’ took place between Jesus and both his followers as well as others. “I regard this conclusion as coming in the same sort of category, of historical probability so high as to be virtually certain, as the death of Augustus in AD 14 or the fall of Jerusalem in AD 70.”

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That seems strange, for an appeal to the resurrection of Jesus Christ can hardly be considered extraneous or ulterior to the Christian faith. Is he then perhaps putting his historical argument above his faith in Christ, thus making ‘faith inferior as a second level issue’? Again, it does not look like that, since he confesses Jesus as King and Lord of the universe, rather than some historical argument concerning the resurrection reports. Should we perhaps, more subtly, consider that this man’s belief in the historical reliability of the resurrection reports is the consequence of his being a Christian rather than its source? But it seems that he is completely honest about the sources of his faith. Should we then finally rebuke him for the fact that he is a Christian because of some good argument, rather than only because he is a Christian? Again, it is not clear why we should do so. On the contrary, if there are no good reasons for becoming a Christian since any reason would amount to some dangerous ‘ulterior motive’, it is impossible to explain why someone should become a Christian at all. For arguably, any such explanation takes the form of a good reason for doing so. Therefore, if there are no good reasons for becoming a Christian, missiology is not merely altered, it is made superfluous. The parallel Van de Beek draws in this connection with the way in which parents usually accept their children—viz. just because they are their children and not because they have some characteristics that are better than those of other children—is unconvincing. For parents do not change their children for other ones, whereas Christians usually hope that other people will change their view of life in order to become followers of Christ as well. At least Christians usually try to explain why this is such a good idea. In this sense, Christians do not see their acceptance of their children as on a par with their acceptance of God (or Jesus). In short, it seems that when put to the test, the third interpretation of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ fails. Van de Beek’s criticisms against those who adduce reasons for their faith are unfair. At least we have to distinguish between pragmatic reasons (such as ‘religion is of great help in the struggle for a more just society’), on the one hand, and philosophical and historical considerations, on the other. The first ones—in so far as they do not coincide or overlap with the genuine nature and aims of religion—pervert the true nature of religion indeed. The second ones, however, do not have this effect. Rather, they help to relate religion to what non-religious people can conceive of as well (for it is also characteristic of reasons and arguments that when we do not share

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them or when we think them unconvincing, we can nevertheless in a sense grasp their point). And relating religion to more generally discernable notions is very important, not only for missionary and apologetic reasons, but also because it can preserve religious believers from collapsing into sectarianism. If a plea for ‘religion without ulterior motive’ means that religious believers should not be held more generally accountable for what they believe and do, because such an account could only be given in terms of their faith and must therefore remain completely unintelligible to outsiders, then Mohammed B. is the most exemplary and praiseworthy religious believer one can think of. As a Dutch Muslim extremist, Mohammed B. (the murderer of Theo van Gogh in 2004) summons his fellow-Muslims to kill ‘unbelievers’, simply because that is demanded by their faith, and in court he did not show himself open to consider any extra-religious reason or argument against this attitude. Clearly, it is this kind of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ that threatens not only Western society but the whole world community with acts of terrorism and other forms of religiously inspired violence. Christians, along with many Muslims and other religious people, reject such a notion of religion. This is not only because, as Van de Beek himself has consistently argued over the past years,17 they do not aim at revolutionizing society. Mohammed B. does not aim at this either, his only aim (allegedly) being to honor God. But Christians have learned that honoring God and honoring Christ as Lord goes hand in hand with being prepared to give an account to everyone who asks them the reason for the hope that is in them (1 Peter 3:15)18—and to do so with gentleness and respect. Thus, far from being ulterior to it, it belongs to the very nature of the Christian religion to give the reason(s) for faith—presumably reasons which other people, whether they agree with them or not, might understand, such as historical arguments.

See, e.g., A. van de Beek, Jesus Kyrios (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2002), 241–250; see also “Religion without ulterior motive,” sections 2.1 and 3: “… we have no need to change the state or societal structures” (524), and the appeal to John Calvin’s thinking about the government in this connection. 18 The word ‘reason’ is used here in e.g. the NIV and ESV (the Greek text having logos). According to many commentators, ‘hope’ is the main Petrine term for the Christian faith as a whole. 17

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The Word of God as the Sole Reason? Perhaps we could leave it at the rather negative conclusion that Van de Beek seriously underestimates the function of reasons and arguments in explaining, defending and spreading the Christian faith—i.e., in dogmatics, apologetics and missiology. It seems wiser, however, to extend our reflections somewhat further. Although Van de Beek is wellknown for the pleasure he has in alvinizing,19 and although as a result his pronouncements are to my mind often more radical than can be accounted for, further reflection usually brings to light that there is a point in what he says. So what point can there be in his plea for religion without ulterior motive in the sense of ‘religion without reasons’? Perhaps we can reconstruct this plea for a ‘Christian faith without reasons’ as follows. If we are Christians, this is not because we were convinced by the logical validity of philosophical arguments—either teleological or otherwise. Nor is it because the historical evidence (such as the evidence for the resurrection of Jesus) compelled us to become a Christian. Philosophical arguments and historical evidence as such can never turn one into a Christian. At best, they can bring us to certain convictions and opinions. But being a Christian does not consist in having a certain set of convictions and opinions. Strongly believing in the bodily resurrection of Christ because of the credibility of the biblical testimony, for example, does not make one a Christian. Jewish scholar Pinchas Lapide did sincerely believe that Jesus was raised from the dead, yet this did not change him into a Christian.20 Being a Christian consists in hearing, assenting to and trusting the voice of the living Christ, who personally encounters us in his Word. As Van de Beek aptly puts it elsewhere in his work: I do not believe because logic dictates that I should, but only because the appeal by Jesus has touched me in the most profound way. There is not any higher reason by which that can be judged. Thus, I do not believe because I must, but solely because Jesus addresses me. That is not merely

19 To ‘alvinize’ (the verb is derived from American philosopher Alvin Plantinga’s first name) means “to stimulate protracted discussion by making a bizarre claim”; Daniel Dennett, The Philosophical Lexicon, s.l. 19878 (cf. http://www.blackwellpublishing.com/ lexicon). 20 Pinchas Lapide, The Resurrection of Jesus. A Jewish Perspective (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1983).

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gijsbert van den brink true for me but for others as well. (…) We believe that Jesus saves us because our lives are touched.21

Personally, I recognize this point and wholeheartedly agree with it. Clearly, something more or rather something completely different than some external reason is needed for becoming and being a Christian. What is decisive is not some general argument, but the very special revelation of God which comes to us in the Word about Christ, and which, according to the Christian tradition, is brought into our hearts by the Spirit. So here we have the only reason for Christian faith: the Word of God which brings us into a personal relationship with Christ through the Spirit. Only when we personally hear his voice, Christ comes to mean everything to us as the one in whom we place our ultimate trust.22 Does this mean, however, that all other considerations which bear upon the truth or falsity of religion and the Christian faith are of no use at all? Does it mean that in apology and mission we cannot do anything else than simply testifying to this personal experience? This is indeed what Van de Beek, in line with the strong present-day postmodern proclivity, concludes from it. “This also means that we cannot have a discussion in order to prove, or even make plausible, that Jesus is God…’, he says, and ‘To others I only have to testify of it.”23 However, I do not see why this conclusion follows. The fact that God reveals himself “much clearer and more complete by his … Word” does not mean that God may not also make himself known “by the creation, preservation and governance of the whole world”— i.e., in nature and history.24 To rephrase this point in terms of our present discussion: the fact that we have become Christians because Van de Beek, Jesus Kyrios, 289f. This point is endorsed by G.G. de Kruijf, “Geloof en theologie,” in: H.J. Adriaanse (ed.), Tweestromenland (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 129; and by Henk de Roest, En de wind steekt op! (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2005), 137, 157. 22 See A. van de Beek, De adem van God. De Heilige Geest in kerk en kosmos (Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1987), 9–21, where he points to the analogy of love: “Why do you fall in love with someone? All sorts of arguments can be adduced for it: beauty, tenderness, strength, intelligence, attention, money. But these arguments do not touch the heart of the matter. (…) It is a total surrender which cannot be argued for” (12). Cf. Jesus Kyrios, 290: “We speak of Christ in the same way we speak of someone who means everything to us.” 23 Jesus Kyrios, 289, 290. 24 The reference is, of course, to the famous second article of the Belgian Confession. For a plea to rehabilitate this ‘two sources theory’, see Cornelis van der Kooi, “Scheppingstheologie vroeger en nu”, in: Cees Dekker et al. (eds.), En God beschikte een worm. Over schepping en evolutie (Kampen: Ten Have, 2006), 82–100: “I cannot emphasize suffi21

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we experience the overwhelming presence and love of Christ does not imply that apart from that experience there are no good reasons for becoming a Christian. As Wolfhart Pannenberg has pointed out, there is even a serious risk in justifying our Christian faith solely by appealing to some special revelation. In a discussion of Karl Barth’s theological orientation, Pannenberg sides with Barth in his protest against the subjection of theology to anthropology. According to Pannenberg, Barth is right that we should take our starting-point in theology in the primacy of God and his revelation. Nevertheless, “in the modern situation we cannot advance this primacy directly. If we try to do so, our attempt has from the outset the character of a mere assertion (…). The absoluteness of the assertion is then hard to distinguish from a materially different fanaticism.’ Therefore, ‘the mediation of reasoning [my italics, GvdB] is needed.”25 Pannenberg goes on to specify what such reasoning amounts to: ‘The task is this: How can theology make the primacy of God and his revelation in Jesus Christ intelligible, and validate its truth claim, in an age when all talk of God is reduced to subjectivity (…).’26 In order to avoid such an unhelpful reduction to pure subjectivity, Pannenberg’s own theological agenda consists in an attempt to connect a theology which is oriented to the primacy of God and his revelation with philosophical and historical considerations that can also be discussed and evaluated by those who do not share the experience of being addressed and touched by the Spirit of Christ. It seems to me that in setting himself this agenda Pannenberg does what theologians as theologians should do: not only testifying to their faith, but also accounting for it in more generally accessible ways. If they refuse this task, the discussion with others breaks down as soon as it becomes clear that these others do not feel themselves ‘touched in the most profound way’ by the appeal of Jesus. For how else could we respond to such a confession than by the simple and idle declaration ‘that’s a pity’? Christians of all ages have felt that something more should be said and can be said in such a situation. They pointed to some peculiar facts in nature and history, as well as to certain philosophical arguments, though not suggesting that their faith was based ciently how widely this “two sources theory” was held in Christian theology, and how strongly it mirrors the faithful experience” (85). 25 Wolfhart Pannenberg, Systematic Theology 1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 127. 26 Pannenberg, Systematic Theology 1, 128.

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upon such considerations. That would imply a betrayal of the primacy of God’s revelation to Israel and in Jesus. However, they did so because in pointing to such considerations from the perspective of faith, they hoped that ‘the penny would drop.’ That is, they attempted to evoke a feeling in their discussion partners that the Christian faith is worth seriously thinking about, because it renders an explanation of the universe and of some strange facts in history (such as the rise of a universal faith from the vicissitudes of a lonely crucified man) which might be more adequate and problem-solving than any alternatives. Arguments for the existence of God usually do not have any demonstrative force, they do not prove anything; but that does not imply that they are useless or even misleading. For surely—if they are good arguments—they may have an important evocative force. For example, if there are irreducibly complex biochemical structures, this does not prove anything but it might evoke the belief in intelligent designer. Discussions about such arguments can never replace the special revelation of God and the personal encounter with the living Christ; but why could they not function as a kind of preparation to it? By far the largest part of the Christian theological tradition believed in the possibility of such a preparatio evangelica. Why should it be excluded that the Spirit might use such discussions in order to gradually draw people into the presence of Christ? The same goes for the function which historical arguments may have. As Tom Wright concedes in connection with the resurrection stories in the New Testament, people usually are not transformed by a historical reconstruction of what happened at Easter morning, but by “preaching, witness and the Spirit.”27 This is not to say, however, that “historical knowledge about the resurrection, of a sort that can be discussed without presupposing Christian faith” is entirely irrelevant.28 Often what people believe about what actually happened is an extremely powerful element in their personal transformation. For example, many people have been convinced by critical scholars that Christ’s resurrection did not actually happen and became personally transformed by this piece of ‘historical knowledge’ in a number of ways (e.g., they dropped their faith in God).29 N.T. Wright, Resurrection of the Son of God, 26. Wright, Resurrection, 22. 29 Cf. Wright, Resurrection, 26. Wright points to the “long-range outworkings of Barth’s rejection of natural theology” as a possible explanation for the fact that it remains so difficult to get this point across. 27 28

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So despite the fact that historical considerations have only a limited significance in relation to Christian faith, they definitely have a limited significance. This significance is not that Christian faith is based upon such historical considerations.30 As with love, the ultimate origin of faith eludes us. We can only gratefully ascribe our faith to God, it is his gift. Nevertheless, historical considerations are significant, because they express the claim to universal validity which is inherent in the Christian Gospel. In his plea for a ‘religion without ulterior motive’ Van de Beek echoes a concern of Eberhard Jüngel, who argued in 1975 that we should consider God as “interesting for his own sake.” That concern did not prevent Jüngel, however, from acknowledging a moment of truth in natural theology, viz. its attempt to bring to light the universal validity of the very special event of the Word of God.31 It is this important theological task that becomes thwarted if we reduce our talk about God and Christ to subjectivity. In making this plea for maintaining a proper place of generally accessible arguments in Christian faith and theology, we also continue an emphasis that has been characteristic for the Reformed theological tradition from the very beginning. As one of Van de Beek’s pupils has recently shown, John Calvin already ascribed a legitimate role (although a limited one) to arguments and reasons in his doctrine of the knowledge of God. Although the inner testimony of the Spirit is necessary to open our eyes for the self-convincing truth (autopistia) of God’s revelation in Scripture, what Calvin called argumenta, documenta, rationes or demonstrationes function as secondary aids to confirm our faith. As such, they are not totally unimportant (let alone perverting the true character of faith). Moreover, such arguments make clear that it is possible to rebut the attacks of skeptics and unbelievers, so that in response to these attacks we need not simply content ourselves with a subjectivist appeal to some mystical and inaccessible inner activity of the Holy Spirit in our heart. We don’t need to sacrifice the intellect, but can dis30 As is well-known, this kind of ‘foundationalism’ has also become suspect from a philosophical perspective. Cf. in this connection e.g. Alvin Plantinga’s ‘Reformed epistemology,’ according to which religious belief can be ‘properly basic’ (i.e., not in need of argumentative support)—which leaves unaffected that good reasons can be (and in some specific situations should be) given for it. For a brief introduction, see Peterson et al., Reason and Religious Belief, 146–165. 31 E. Jüngel, “Gott—um seiner selbst willen interessant. Plädoyer für eine natürlichere Theologie,” in: id., Entsprechungen: Gott–Wahrheit—Mensch (München: Kaiser, 1980), 193–197; cf. in the same volume Jüngel’s essay “Das Dilemma der natürlichen Theologie und die Wahrheit ihres Problems,” 158–177.

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pute with them within their own conceptual framework. Whereas the Roman Catholic Church made too much of the arguments for faith, spiritual libertines and others neglected them completely—and Calvin intentionally steers a middle course between both extremes.32

Conclusion Although more could be said, enough has been said perhaps to justify a conclusion. Van de Beek makes some important points in his plea for a religion without ulterior motive. First of all, the true nature of religion is indeed perverted as soon as it is subordinated to some higher goal. If God is God, he is ‘interesting for his own sake.’ Second, the true nature of religion is also distorted when we think external reasons or arguments are sufficient to become a religious believer—let alone a faithful Christian. It is only the self-authenticating encounter with the living Christ in Word and Spirit which can turn one into a Christian. It does not follow from this, however, that no philosophical arguments or historical reasons can be given which might move people into the direction of faith—arguments and reasons which may at the same time express the claim to universal validity that is inherent in the Christian Gospel. Apart from dogmatics, it is the special task of apologetics and missiology to produce and test such possible arguments and reasons. Therefore, arguably the consequences Van de Beek’s view has for these disciplines are less shocking and “far-reaching” (519) than he suggests.

32 H. van den Belt, Autopistia. The Self-Convincing Authority of Scripture in Reformed Theology, chapter 2. (forthcoming).

UNITY AND JUSTIFICATION: THE FAITHFULNESS OF GOD, THE FAITH/FULNESS OF CHRIST, AND THE FAITH OF THE CHURCH

P.F. Theron

Introduction In an address to the Synod of the Evangelische Landeskirche on “Living out of righteousness: God’s Action–Human Agency,” Eberhard Jüngel1 makes the following statement: To one who really believes in God, God is interesting for God’s own sake. Everything else is superstition—regardless of whether it appears in the respectable form of devout piety or in the no less respectable form of political moralism…Whether faith or superstition reigns in our churches ought to be determined by the following question: do we speak of God and God’s righteousness for God’s own sake, or is our talk of God and of God’s righteousness merely a means to an end?

Within the general theme, ‘Religion without ulterior motive,’ this article focuses on the close connection between the unity of God, the unity of the church, and justification by faith. It is argued that justification is rooted in the tri-unity of the Trinity.2 The righteousness of God is his covenantal faithfulness revealed in the faith/fulness of Christ in which the church participates through faith as the bond and fruit of the Spirit. Church unity is a sign of the unity of the Father with his crucified Son through the Holy Spirit in all-embracing love. Unity without justification is law without love. It is merely formal and therefore fake. The unity of God’s being implies a unified soteriology, which is the foundation of church unity. His righteousness is his integrity that in Christ unites Jews and Gentiles in judgment and justification. He is not only the God of the Jews but also of Gentiles “since there is only one 1 Eberhard Jüngel, “Living out of God’s Righteousness: God’s action—human agency” in: Theological Essays 2 (Edingburgh, 1995), 244. 2 See also Markus Barth, “The Kerygma of Galatians” in: Interpretation XXI (1967), 145 footnote 51.

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God, who will justify the circumcised by faith and the uncircumcised through that same faith” (Romans 3:30).3 Unity, like justification, cannot be achieved but can only be received εκ πιστεως χριστου (through Christ’s faith/fulness, Galatians 2:16) by believing εις Χριστον (into Christ, Galatians 2:16, cf. John 3:16). Christian faith and being in Christ, are one and the same.4 Being baptized in the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit εις Χριστον (into Christ, Galatians 3:27, cf. Romans 6:3) “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one εν Χριστω (in Christ)” (Galatians 3:28). Through Christ’s cross both Jew and Gentile “have access to the Father by one Spirit” (Ephesians 2:18). Whenever we try to fabricate church unity ourselves, it is inevitably distorted. In Romans 14:23 Paul insists that “everything that does not come from faith (εκ πιστεως) is sin.” That includes eating and drinking. Most certainly it also applies to a trumped-up unity that is not εκ πιστεως but manufactured to serve a secular motive. After all, “the righteous will live by faith” (Romans 1:17, Galatians 3:11). When informed by an ulterior motive, faith is deformed and God demeaned to nothing more than a means to an end.

Ecclesiology as Theo-logy In his inaugural speech as professor at the University of Leiden, Bram van de Beek contends that unless theology is essentially concerned with the knowledge of God, it may still be logical but has patently ceased to be theo-logical.5 During subsequent years this conviction has, if anything, grown stronger.6 Clearly, this concern carries critical ecclesiological implications.

See D.A. Campbell, “The Meaning of πιστις and νομος in Paul: A linguistic and structural perspective” in: Journal of Biblical Literature, 111/1 (1992), 95 f. 4 Christof Gestrich, Christentum und Stellvertretung: religionsphilosophische Untersuchungen zum Heilsverständnis und zur Grundlegung der Theologie (Siebeck: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 415: “Christlicher Glaube und ‘Sein in Christus’ sind eins.” 5 A. van de Beek, God kennen—met God leven. Een pleidooi voor een bevindelijk-pneumatologische fundering van kerk en theologie (Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1982), 2. 6 See for instance, A. van de Beek, Rechtvaardiger dan God. Gedachten bij het Boek Job (Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1992), 89, with regard to Job’s friends who “have not spoken of me (God) what is right as my servant Job has.” (Job 42:7): “The real point, indeed, is theo-logy: God-talk…Their theo-logy was not right.” 3

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Van de Beek cautions against the perennial appeal that religion should be politically and socially relevant. He sounds a warning that in each theology of liberation, as in a theology of progress, the danger looms large that Jesus becomes merely a means to an ulterior end.7 He is apprehensive that the same fate may befall the church. In her striving after social relevancy, she may divert from her principal calling and, perhaps inadvertently, renounce her true character.8 He insists that as ‘bride of Christ’ the church should attempt to be ‘attractive’ to her Bridegroom rather than yield to the temptation to try and woo the world.9 This accords with Noordmans contention that the church is that space in which God is everything.10 As such the church is an eschatological sign that signifies the consummation of time when God will be all in all (1 Corinthians 1:28). A church that succumbs to secularized ambitions has abandoned her essential being. When she squanders her calling, she becomes (at best) useless; she has lost her saltiness and is “no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men”’ (Matthew 5:13). Paradoxically, as Vandervelde11 has pointed out, “when the church achieves secular relevance, it has become irrelevant.” This warning is germane to the issue of church unity. When the Gospel is practically reduced to a message of social and political liberation, the pursuit of church unity—and resistance against it—degenerates into a pious ploy in a political power play. ‘United we stand, divided we fall’ is a secular platitude that should not be confused with the profundity of the unity which the church proclaims. It is a far cry from the political power referred to in the motto of the old Union of South Africa that came about in 1910, i.e. ex unitate vires. In the new South Africa—where unity is readily romanticized—as in the old South Africa—where unity was easily demonized—this warning is of pertinent importance. The danger is real that, as the saying goes, the child is being kissed for the nurse’s sake. 7

A. van de Beek, Jezus Kurios. De Christologie als het hart van de theologie (Kampen: Kok, 1998), 229. 8 A. van de Beek, “Religion without ulterior motive” in: Hervormde Teologiese Studies 61 (2005), 517–529. Cf. the chapter, “Jezus: De Bevrijder,” in: Jezus Kurios, 219–232. 9 A. van de Beek, “Een aantrekkelijke kerk—maar voor wie,” Nederlands Dagblad 28 August 2004. 10 O. Noordmans, “Herschepping” in: Verzamelde Werken, Volume 2 (Kampen: Kok, 1979), 226. 11 G. Vandervelde, “Koinonia between church and world” in: Exchange 26 (1997), 32.

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Since the subject of theo-logy and, in consequence ecclesiology, is Theos, the unity of the church testifies to the unity of the work of God as an expression of the integrity of his being. Van de Beek has come to the conclusion that, more than he himself initially realized, the unity of God is a major motive in his work. This unity is the foundation of the unity of the canon, the unity of faith in Old and New Testament, and should be the basis of the unity of the church.12 In the sjema (Deuteronomy 6:4) that echoes throughout the New Testament, Israel confesses that the Lord our God is echad (one). This unity (wholeness) implies God’s faithfulness, truthfulness, and righteousness, in short, his integrity. For that reason the people of God should love the Lord with “all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” (Deuteronomy 6:4–5). The unity of God brooks no rivalry but invites the whole-hearted response from his people.13 Divisions among God’s people, which are always the result of divided loyalty, refute the unity of God, which the believers confess. The unity of the church is not meant to impress the world with a power display, but “to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me” (John 17:23). Therefore Jesus prays to his Father (John 17:11) that his followers “may be one as we are one.” As Bram van de Beek14 rightly observes: “When Paul says that he has decided to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified, then it has everything to do with the unity of God.” God’s integrity is revealed in the cross on Calvary. Therefore, Paul admonishes those in the strife-torn congregation of Corinth who claim, “‘I follow Paul’; another, ‘I follow Appolos’; another, ‘I follow Cephas’; still another, ‘I follow Christ,’” with the searching question: “Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 3:1–4). God’s Righteous One Only on two occasions, i.e. Romans 1:17 and Galatians 3:11 (“The righteous will live by faith”) does Paul explicitly refer to Habakkuk 2:4, but the latter plays a fundamental role in his theology. Hays argues 12 13 14

A. van de Beek, “De Here is één” in: Theologia Reformata 46 (2003), 198f. A. van de Beek, “De Here is één,” 197. A. van de Beek, “De Here is één,” 201.

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convincingly that the expression εκ πιστεως, that rings throughout these two letters, is used as a catchphrase to allude to this text.15 We should be careful not to conclude too hurriedly that ‘the righteous’ (singular) refers to the believers (plural) who are justified through faith in Christ. In the context of Galatians 3:11,16 the apostle emphasizes (3:16) that the “seed” mentioned in the promises to Abraham does not mean “many people” (plural) but “one person (singular), who is Christ.” The ‘many people’ are not excluded, but the promises apply to them only in Christ as is clear from Galatians 3:29: “If you belong to Christ you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promises.” That gives pause to ponder the possibility that the ‘righteous’ does not in the first place refer to ‘many people’ but only to the ‘one person, who is Christ,’ the righteous one of God. Bearing in mind that at the time of the New Testament Jews and Christians understood Habakkuk 2:4 as a prophecy of the coming Messiah, this supposition seems most feasible. Hebrews 10:38 follows some readings of the LXX when quoting Habakkuk 2:4 as “my righteous one will live by faith.” Also some variants of Romans 1:17 insert μου after δικαιος. That tallies with the fact that on several occasions in the New Testament Christ is called ‘the righteous one.’ For instance, 1 Peter 1:18: “For Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.” This is an echo of Isaiah 53:11: “By his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities.”

The Faith/fulness of Christ The expression πιστις χριστου (and its variants) occurs on seven occasions17 in the letters of Paul. Over the past decades the meaning of this phrase has been hotly disputed.18 Whereas most translations of the 15

Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ. The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11 (second edition) (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2002), 279–281. For a reinforcement of Hay’s argument see Douglas A. Campbell, “The meaning of πιστις and νομος in Paul: A linguistic and structural perspective in: Journal of Biblical Literature, 111/1 (1992), 95 f. 16 For Romans 1:17, see Douglas A. Campbell, “Romans 1:17—A crux interpretum for the πιστις χριστου debate” in: Journal of Biblical Literature 113/2 (1994), 265–285. 17 Romans 3:22, 26; Galatians 2:16 (twice), 20, 3:22; Philippians 3:9. 18 For an extensive, though not comprehensive, list of supporters of the subjective and objective genitive respectively, see Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ. The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11 (second edition) (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerd-

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Bible opt for the objective genitive, ‘faith in Christ,’ the King James Version in six of the seven instances prefers the subjective genitive, ‘faith of Christ.’ Lately the latter has found favor with a great number of exegetes. Grammar alone cannot decide the issue. Nonetheless, many consider the subjective genitive to be the more natural and obvious choice.19 It is supported by strong exegetical arguments and makes perfectly good sense. That renders the hesitancy in history in this regard all the more remarkable. The reluctance to go for the subjective genitive can only be due to theological considerations. It is noteworthy that the fathers of the first three centuries freely refer to the faith of Christ. After all, Hebrews 12:2 describes Jesus as the “forerunner” (αρχηγο|ν) and “perfecter” (τελειωτην) of our faith. When the Arians, however, claimed that since faith is a human response Christ cannot be co-eternal with the Father but must be a creature, the scales tipped in favor of the objective genitive.20 Athanasius counters the Arian argument by calling attention to a distinction in usage within the πιστις (πιστος, πιστευειν) group between faith as a human trait, and trustworthiness as a characteristic of God that can be attributed to the Son.21 He obviously agrees with the Arians that whereas faithfulness is a divine feature, faith cannot be ascribed to God. Although comprehensible within the polemical context where the attention was focused on the divinity of Christ, it was unfortunate that he did not concede that human faith could be a characteristic of the incarnate Son. This could give rise to a docetic element as far as the interpretation of πιστις Χριστου is concerned. Thomas Aquinas flatly refuses the possibility that the incarnate Christ could have faith since he is convinced that from the moment

mans, 2002), 273. For a response to J.D.G. Dunn’s complaint, 295–297. For a summary of the key arguments in favor of the subjective genitive, Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity. Paul’s Narrative Spirituality of the Cross (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2001), 110f. 19 See, for instance, G. Howard, “The faith of Christ” in Expository Times, 85 (1974), 212–215. He argues that if the expression “is taken as the divine faithfulness to the promise given to Abraham that in him all the nations of the earth will be blessed, a number of Pauline passages become clear.” (214). 20 See the excellent work by Ian G. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ in the early Christian Traditions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 200–209. 21 This corresponds with the Hebrew emunah than means ‘faithfulness’ as well as ‘faith.’ Cf. Richard N. Longenecker, “The Obedience of Christ in the Theology of the Early Church” in: Robert Banks (ed), Reconciliation and Hope (Grand Rapids: Wm. E. Eerdmans, 1974), 146.

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of conception He had a full vision of the very being of God.22 This sharp distinction between divine faithfulness and human faith fostered a split between fides quae and fides qua that haunts church and theology up to the present.23 The former focuses on Christ and his cross as the ‘objective’ content of faith that could be defined as doctrines in prepositional form; the latter tends to become the independent human dispositional component that complements the fides quae and contributes to the redemption that was only partially provided in Christ. Christ’s divinity precludes the possibility that He could also believe on our behalf. This docetic preference for the objective genitive has promoted a Pelagian and Arminian perception of faith as the human share in salvation albeit with the help of the Holy Spirit. As a result of this split between fides quae and fides qua, a wedge is driven between the ‘objective’ work of the Son and the ‘subjective’ work of the Spirit and thus the unity of the Trinity is jeopardized. In view of Augustine’s opposition to Pelagius, it is rather ironic that he is the one person among the early fathers who in De Spiritu et Littera explicitly rejects the subjective genitive interpretation.24 To a lesser extent the irony also applies to the Reformation. Although the Reformers reject any separation between fides qua and fides quae,25 Luther’s translation set the trend for modern times. In the new translation of the Afrikaans Bible (1983), human faith has in fact become the ‘foundation’ of salvation (Galatians 3:22). Consequently, we are justified “because one believes in Him” (Philippians 3:9). Sola fide no longer corresponds with sola gratia and solo Christo but militates against them. Sola fide becomes the sole human contribution with regard to justification. Small wonder we are so vulnerable against those who want to be baptized because they believe and accordingly turn the sacrament into a confession of Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 1. For a brief discussion of the development in the early Christian centuries cf. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 177–179. 24 See Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, ilf. He also mentions that Augustine was not competent in Greek. 25 Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 120, quotes from Luther’s Large Catechism: “But these leaders of the blind are unwilling to see that faith must have something to believe— something to which it may cling and upon which it may stand…These people are so foolish as to separate faith from the object of faith to which faith is attached and bound on the ground that the object is something external. Yes, it must be something external so that it can be perceived and grasped by the senses and thus brought into the heart, just as the Gospel is an external, oral proclamation. In short, whatever God effects in us, he does through such external ordinances.” 22 23

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personal faith (fides qua). The sacrament becomes a display of religious power instead of a sign of spiritual poverty. When fides qua as human act or disposition is isolated from fides quae in prepositional form, the latter is also totally distorted and ceases to be fides at all. It turns out to be merely ‘objective’ information requiring intellectual assent that must be supplemented with ‘subjective’ faith. If, furthermore, the prepositional form as such becomes the touchstone for church unity, the formal acceptance of formulated confessions becomes crucial. The confession tends to turn into an idolatrous ‘brazen image’ whether it be the Belgica or Belhar. The church as institution is transformed into a social society competing with other religious denominations for secular power. The door is opened for non-confessional forces to play a decisive role in promoting (or resisting) church unity, which is no longer ‘from faith’ but informed by an ulterior motive.

The Faithfulness of God and the Faith/fulness of Christ Apropos of Paul’s use of πιστις, Richard Hays describes his language as multivalent and metaphorical. The sense is not always the same but the different connotations are analogically related.26 A shift takes place from faith to faithfulness depending on whether the subject is the believer, Christ or God. In Romans 3:3 (cf. 1 Corinthians 1:9) πιστις plainly refers to the ‘faithfulness’ of God when Paul poses the question: “Will their (the Jews’) lack of faith (απιστια) nullify God’s faithfulness (πιστις).” From the context it is clear that God’s πιστις is synonymous with his truthfulness (αληεια, vs. 7) and righteousness (δικαιοσυνη, vs. 5.),27 which stand in stark contrast to the unrighteousness (αδικια) “of men who suppress the truth (αληεια) by their wickedness” (Romans 1:18). With the confession of God’s righteousness, his very being, i.e. his divinity as such, is at stake.28 In keeping with his rejection of the interpretation of πιστις Χριστου as ‘faith of Christ,’ Augustine also denies that the righteousness of God refers to God’s own righteousness. The latter is understood as the righteousness “with which He endows man when He justifies the 26 27 28

Hays The Faith of Jesus Christ, 297. James D. Dunn, Romans 1–8 (Dallas: Word, 1988), 133. Jüngel, “Living out of righteousness,” 243.

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ungodly.”29 Unfortunately, Luther again follows suit. This could cause an unwarranted split between Deus revelatus and Deus absconditus, and, in consequence, between Father and Son, which places the integrity of the Trinity and the truthfulness of the revelation at risk.30 In Jewish literature God’s righteousness is his covenantal faithfulness. Since Abraham’s call includes the blessing of all peoples (Genesis 12:3), God’s covenantal faithfulness does not exclude the rest of the world but anticipates a cosmic deliverance including Jews and Gentiles.31 God’s righteousness is revealed in the Gospel of Christ as the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes, albeit first for the Jew and then for the Gentile (Romans 1:16 f.). This righteousness, as covenantal faithfulness, does not rule out God’s wrath. As a matter of fact, the revelation of his righteousness (Romans 1:17) coincides with the revelation of his wrath (Romans 1:18) that “is revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of men” (Romans 1:18). Since Schleiermacher, the “cup of wrath” (cf. Jeremiah 25:15–27; Isaiah 51:17; Ezekiel 23:32–34) that caused Jesus to pray (Matthew 26:39): “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will,” has become extremely unpalatable in Protestant theology. We should heed the advice of Hans Urs von Balthasar32 to reread the courageous De ira Dei by Lactantius against the notion of God’s apathy that was prevalent among many Church Fathers at the time. Lactantius maintains that a God who only loved and did not hate evil would contradict himself and thus endanger his unity understood as integrity. Grace, according to him, cannot exist without wrath, since “it is in very wrath that grace is demonstrated.” God’s wrath should however not be confused and identified with human anger. God “is not ruled by anger but directs it according to his good pleasure.” God’s faithfulness is first and foremost the righteousness of his own divine being. “If we disown him, He will disown us; if we are faithless, He will remain faithful, for He cannot disown Himself ” (2Timothy 2:11–13). His faithfulness to his covenantal love spells danger to the unfaithful 29

Hays The Faith of Jesus Christ, l. See in this regard Jüngel, “Living out of righteousness,” 246, who calls Feuerbach to mind. 31 N.T. Wright, “Romans and the theology of Paul” in: David M. Hay and E. Elizabeth Johnson, Pauline Theology, Volume 3, 1995, 33 f. 32 Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theodrama. Theological Dramatic Theory 1V: The Action (San Francisco: Ignatius, 1994), 339. 30

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and unrighteous. “The love in God’s heart is laid bare in all its radicality, showing its absolute opposition to anything that would injure it. And it is precisely the Trinitarian form of this revelation of love in Jesus Christ that allows us to discern the necessary unity of love and anger.”33 On the God-forsaken cross as the climax of their common work of love for the salvation of the world, Father and Son are closer together than ever.34 The cross testifies simultaneously to God’s love and his wrath. In the judgment pronounced on his Son, He remains simultaneously true to Himself and humanity.35 In Christ the Mediator in whom God and humanity are united, faithfulness and faith are identical. He is the incarnation of God’s faithfulness as human faith, and at the same time his faith resides completely in his Father’s faithfulness. It is noteworthy that the majority of LXX manuscripts translate Habakkuk 2:4: “The righteous one will live by my pistis”36 (God’s faithfulness). On Calvary our lack of faith as well as our unfaithfulness is destroyed, and the faithfulness of the Father is manifested in the faith/fulness of the Son. His death is the culmination of his life of faith/fulness, which in its entirety is a sacrifice to the Father on our behalf. His faith/fulness is his obedience to death—“even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:8). Longenecker argues forcefully that Romans 3:25 refers to Jesus’ own faith and should read something like: “whom God put forward as an atoning sacrifice, through (Jesus’) faithfulness by means of his blood.”37 Gorman38 correctly concludes that “the faith or faithfulness of Jesus consists in his death. The faith of Jesus is thus the objective basis of justification.” The unity of God has been described as a “broken unity”39 that is open to his creation even if it entails carrying a cross. Hans Urs von Balthasar40 quotes P. Althaus approvingly: Here we are faced with the deepest mystery of the Trinity in its salvation-historical reality. Here, furthermore, the Trinitarian relationships in God attain their greatest Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theodrama, 341. Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theodrama, 349. 35 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4, 1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1961), par. 61, 514f. 36 Paul’s rendering of Habakkuk 2:4 in Romans 1:17 and Galatians 3:11, “The righteous will live by faith,” allows both interpretations of the LXX manuscripts, “My righteous one will live by faith” and “The righteous will live by my faithfulness.” 37 Bruce W. Longenecker, “πιστις in Romans 3.25: ‘Neglected evidence for the faithfulness of Christ?’ ” in: New Testament Studies 39 (1993), 478–480. 38 Gorman, Cruciformity, 137. 39 Noordmans, “Herschepping,” 223. 40 Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theodrama, 348. 33 34

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clarity: God is confronted with God; God is opposed by God. So the Father allows the Son to endure dereliction among sinners; the Son suffering at the Father’s hand, cries out to him. But all the while he is wholly God, not only moved by the Father’s love but also borne and enveloped by it.

The Faith/fulness of Christ and the Faith of the Church One of the exegetical arguments in favor of the interpretation of pistis Christou as subjective genitive is that whenever this expression occurs, Paul also refers unambiguously to the faith of believers by using another turn of phrase. If the former were also to refer to our faith, Paul’s phrasing would be rather uncharacteristically awkward. Galatians 2:16 is a case in point. In this verse we encounter the expression πιστις Χριστου twice, and in between Paul declares that we have put our faith (επιστευσαμεν) into (εις) Christ Jesus (cf. John 3:16). Paul uses the same preposition with regard to baptism in Galatians 3:27. “For all of you who were baptized into ( εις) Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (cf. Romans 6:3). The New Afrikaans Translation, somewhat freely but substantially correctly, translates: “For all of you who are united with Christ through baptism, have become part of Christ.” Being baptized in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the church participates in the faith/fulness of Christ and through Him shares in the unity of the Trinity. Our faith is not excluded but resides through Christ in God. “Through Him you believed into (εις) God, who raised Him from the dead and glorified Him, and so your faith and hope are into ( εις) God” (1 Peter 1:21). Being in Christ could be called the shibboleth of Paul’s theology. It is found only a few times in the rest of the New Testament but occurs on more than 80 occasions in the Pauline corpus.41 When Paul states in Galatians 3:26 that all his readers are children of God “through faith in Christ (εν χριστω)” he does not indicate Christ as the object of faith but rather as the location of our faith.42 Through faith we are in Christ the Son of God and thus are children of God sharing in the justification God has wrought in his Son. The rendition of RSV should be recommended: “For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith.”43 The connection between Christ and faith is so close that Paul 41 42 43

James Dunn, Romans 1–8, 169. Ian Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 116f. See Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 155 f. Also J.P. Versteeg, “De doop in

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can identify the coming of Christ, with the “coming of faith.”44 He declares that “the whole world is a prisoner of sin so that what was promised, being given through the faith of Christ (εκ πιστεως Ιησου χριστου), might be given to those who believe (τοις πιστευουσιν),” and continues: “Before this faith came, we were held prisoners by the law, locked up until faith should be revealed…Now that faith has come, we are no longer under the supervision of the law” (22, 25). Not our faith, but the coming of Christ’s faith has replaced the law. Faith is not the human qualification for salvation; faith is the salvation we share that has come in Christ. Outside Christ our faith is nonexistent. Christ is the ‘inclusive man’ in whom we are included. As our substitute that excludes us, Christ is our representative that includes us. The ‘forensic’ exclusion is the flipside of the ontological inclusion. We are excluded by being included and vice versa. The salvation wrought extra nos is the obverse of the church’s being in Christ. ‘True’ faith is sharing Christ’s faith through the Holy Spirit. This sharing excludes all superficial duplicating or emulating that would mean a new law. Sharing signifies a life of trust that is “first of all a life of distrust, distrust of the self or the law (or anything else, for that matter) as the basis for justification.”45 We neither believe in our faith (fides qua) nor our formulated confessions as such—both would boil down to idolatry—but the Holy Spirit convinces us through Word and sacrament to put our trust in Christ’s faith/fulness as the revelation of God’s faithfulness. “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ. And so through Him the ‘Amen’ is spoken by us to the glory of God…He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come” (2 Corinthians 2:20–22). This is not ‘cheap grace’ but the very opposite. Trusting in our faith is cheap because the believers (respectively, church) themselves remain unscathed. Sharing in Christ’s faith/fulness involves dying with Him. As Gorman observes, this crucifixion with Christ is not a supplement to faith but its self-same essence. He defines this life of “cruciform faith” as “a death, a crucifixion, so that the crucified but living Christ may live het Nieuwe Testament” in: W. van ‘t Spijker, W. Balke, K. Exalto, L. van Driel, Rondom de Doopvont (Kampen: Kok, 1983), 93 f. 44 J.P. Versteeg, “De doop in het Nieuwe Testament,” 93. 45 Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 139.

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in the crucified but living believer.”46 That corresponds with Galatians 2:20: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by the faith of the Son of God (subjective genitive), who loved me and gave himself for me.” Christ’s sacrifice for me involves my dying in Him, which at the same time is his dwelling in me through the Holy Spirit. Like cross and resurrection, this dying and dwelling form an unbreakable unity. Paul’s statement that Christ “was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification” (Romans 4:25) does not imply a split between judgment and justification, but it is “more for poetic or rhetorical effect than for theological casuistry.”47 In this dispensation, resurrection and righteousness take the form of the cross.48 Just as we await the resurrection, “we eagerly await through the Spirit the righteousness for which we hope” (Galatians 5:5). Knowing Christ and the power of his resurrection is at the same time “fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like Him in his death” (Philippians 3:10). Until the consummation of time the cross is never left behind. Paul proclaims that he dies every day (1 Corinthians 15:31). All things that could boost his confidence in the flesh he henceforth considers rubbish to “be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own…but that which is through the faith of Christ (subjective genitive), the righteousness that comes from God…” (Philippians 3:9). The eschatological hope that is already a reality in Christ’s resurrection is experienced as “groaning as in the pains of childbirth” (Romans 8:22). At the same time the pain of the present is pregnant with eschatological joy.

The Body, Justification by Faith, and Unity Sharing in Christ’s faith is the only viable foundation for the unity of the church. Through participation in Christ’s faith we are children of his faithful Father and united in faith with one another. Delivered from the supervision of the law who held us prisoners before the advent of faith (Galatians 3:23), Jews and Gentiles together are, since the comMichael J. Gorman, Cruciformity, 139. Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity, 314. See his discussion on the intimate relation between death and resurrection, as well as between humiliation and exaltation, 313– 325. 48 A. van de Beek, Jezus Kurios, 230: “In this world the Kingdom of God takes the form of the cross.” 46 47

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ing of faith, the seed of Abraham and heirs of the covenantal promise (vs. 25). Richard Hays49 calls attention to the parallelism between Galatians 3:26 and 28d: a. παντες γαρ υιοι εου εστε δια της πιστεως εν Χριστω Ιησου b. παντες γαρ υμεις εις εστε εν χριστω Ιησου In recent times, the so-called “new perspective”50 on Paul triggered a heated debate on the question whether Paul opposes ‘justification by law’ as a way to personal salvation, or as a Jewish way of safeguarding their national identity over against the Gentiles. This is another of those false alternatives that haunted Protestantism from the start.51 The fundamental difference between these two forms of self-righteousness is difficult to discern. Consequently, Wallis52 rejects the alternative of observance of the law as a system of self-attained righteousness, or as expression of a desire to embrace Jewish identity and privileges. He remarks that “given the intimate link in Judaism between salvationelection and national identity, together with the observation that ‘works of the law’ place the emphasis upon the ‘doer’ rather than upon God, it seems likely that Paul would have considered the second option a permutation of the first.” This debate ties up with the tension between individual and community. Especially when faith is not, in the first place, Christologically perceived but predominantly seen as an anthropological category, the doctrine of justification is prone to deteriorate into crass individualism53 that has cultivated ‘the introspective conscience of the West.’ The ‘one new man’ that was created in Christ and reconciled to God through the cross, was not an isolated individual, but was created ‘out of two’ i.e. Jew and Gentile (Ephesians 2:15 f.).54 Individualism, as well as its counterpart, collectivism, is judged in Christ’s cross as the revelation of God’s covenantal righteousness that leaves no room for human hubris in whatever form. Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 155. P.F. Theron, “One Bible, two Testaments” in: Eddy A.J.G. Van der Borght, Dirk van Keulen, Martien Brinkman (eds.), Faith and Ethnicity Volume 2, (Studies in Reformed Theology 7) (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2002), 54–56. 51 Eberhard Jüngel, “Living out of righteousness,” 244. 52 Ian G. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 107. 53 Markus Barth, “Jews and Gentiles: the social character of justification in Paul” in: Journal of Ecumenical Studies 5 (1968), 241. 54 Markus Barth, “Jews and Gentiles,” 259. 49 50

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The death of Christ involves the dissolution of human divisions.55 Unintentionally, Caiaphas prophesied “that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one” (John 11:51 f.). In Christ’s forsakenness on the cross all alienation has been abolished (Ephesians 2:14 f.). The fundamental division between Jews and Gentiles has been terminated and, thus, all other divisions have lost their sharp edges and become diversity. Galatians 3:26–29: “For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith (RSV), for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Crucified with Christ, we all are one. “Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:4). In Christ the “many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others” (Romans 12:5). The unity between Christ as the representative and his body as those represented is so strong that sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between the corpus crucifixum and the corpus mysticum. In 1 Corinthians 11:27 where he deals with malpractices during the Lord’s Supper, Paul has the corpus crucifixum in mind when he warns that ‘whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.” In vs. 29, however, as Wolfgang Schenk56 has convincingly demonstrated, Paul refers to the corpus mysticum: “For anyone who eats and drinks without recognizing the body (of the Lord)57 eats and drinks judgment on himself.” This is precisely what happened in this congregation. By not recognizing the poor in the corpus mysticum, the rich sinned against the corpus crucifixum.58 In the church as the body of the crucified Christ, there is no room for self-seeking separation. Worldly glory divides but Christian humility unites. Commenting on 1 Corinthians 10:16 f., Calvin writes: We shall have profited admirably in the sacrament, if the thought shall have been impressed and engraven on our minds, that none of our brethren is hurt, despised, rejected, injured, or in any way offended, without our, at the same time, hurting, Ian G. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 116 footnote 215. Wolfgang Schenk, “Zum Gebrauch von 1. Kor. 11, 29 in der Konfirmationsdebatte” in: Evangelische Theologie 21 (1961), 520–526. 57 The best manuscripts don’t have του κυριου. 58 It is a sad irony that 1Corinthians 11:29 is often used to preclude children from Holy Communion. This is precisely the sort of thing that Paul is warning against. 55 56

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p.f. theron despising, and injuring Christ; that we cannot have dissension with our brethren, without at the same time dissenting from Christ; that we cannot love Christ without loving our brethren; that the same care we take of our own body we ought to take of that of our brethren, who are members of our body; that as no part of our body suffers pain without extending to the other parts, so every evil which our brother suffers ought to excite our compassion.59

Unity and Trinity The well-known prayer of Christ for the unity of the church (John 17:11, 23) points to the intimate relation between ecclesial communion and Trinitarian communion.60 Nevertheless, Miraslov Volf 61 has good reason to complain that reconstruction of correspondences between the two “often say nothing more than the platitude that unity cannot exist without multiplicity nor multiplicity without unity, or they demand of human beings in the church the (allegedly) completely selfless love of God. The former is so vague that no-one cares to dispute it, and the latter so divine that no-one can live it.” When the main focus is on the ‘immanent’ Trinity, the method to reconstruct correspondences is itself inherently flawed. The unity of the Trinity does not refer to an abstract divine essence isolated from salvation history and formulated as “five notions, four relations, three persons, two processions, and one nature”—to which Bernard Lonergan purportedly added, “and zero comprehension,”62 but it should clearly be related to the historically revealed love of God “who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all” (Romans 8:31; cf. John 3:16). When the Trinitarian relationship between the three ‘persons’ serves as a model that should somehow be copied in ecclesial community, it often betrays a preference for a language of observation that tends to reduce the Trinity to an object that can be analyzed. In this regard, Institutes 4, 17, 38 trans. Henry Beveridge (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1962). 60 C. Michael Cunningham, “That they all may be one” in: Mid-Stream 38 (1999), 59–64. See also Michael Jinkins, “Mutuality and difference; trinity, creation and the theological ground of the church’s unity” in: Scottish Journal of Theology 56 (2003), 148– 171. 61 Miroslav Volf, After our Likeness. The Church as the Image of the Trinity (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1998), 191. 62 Catherine Mowry LaCugna, “The Trinitarian Mystery of God” in: Francis Schüssler Fiorenza, John P. Galvin, (editors), Systematic Theology. Roman Catholic Perspectives, Volume 1 (Minneapolis: 1991), 153. 59

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a scrutiny of the concept ‘person’ is often employed. But if defining human personality already presents us with enormous problems, what should one say with regard to divine personality? Should, for instance, the Trinity be understood as ‘persons in relationship’ or as ‘persons as relationships’?63 We should also guard against glib talk about ‘love’ in this connection. “That love is God’s own life and activity may, in view of the biblical proclamation of God as judge and Lord, hardly be regarded as being a general, more or less self-evident truth.”64 Since the love of God is an ontological category, we should be especially sensitive to the danger of emphasizing ethical imitation at the expense of believing participation.65 This warning is especially pertinent in view of the advice: “The dogma of the Trinity is our social program.”66 Alistair McFadyen67 fittingly comments: “Dangling a model of perfect community above the heads of fallen human beings does nothing to empower or enable us to reconstitute ourselves or our relationships; all it gives anyone with an appreciation of the brokenness of human persons, relationships and societies is a sense of guilt and hopelessness.” The unity of the church is not an autonomous effort to copy the Trinitarian communion. Following Christ is fundamentally different from a superficial imitation of Christ. It is grounded in the sacrifice of the Shepherd on behalf of the sheep. John 10:14–16: “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock one shepherd.” In this way Caiaphas’ prophecy will be fulfilled (John 11:51 f.). The unity of the flock following the (same) shepherd who Himself was “considered as a sheep to be slaughtered” (Romans 8:36), reflects the communion of Father and his crucified Son in the Holy Spirit. 63 Paul S. Fiddes, Participating in God. A pastoral doctrine of the Trinity (London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000), 50. 64 Ernst Käsemann, The Testament of Jesus. A Study of the Gospel of John in the light of chapter 17 (London: SCM, 1968), 67. 65 Cf. Fiddes, Participating in God, 29. 66 A statement by Nicholas Fedorov. See Miroslav Volf, “‘The Trinity is our social program’; The Doctrine of the Trinity and the Shape of social Engagement” in: Modern Theology 14 (1998) 404–423. 67 Alistair McFadyen, “The Trinity and human individuality” in: Theology 95 (1992), 13.

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The confession of the Trinity is rooted in soteriological convictions. It is indissolubly linked to the justification by faith in the Father through the faith/fulness of his Son proclaimed by the Holy Spirit that creates the church as communio fidelium. In Christ the incarnated Word, the church participates in Trinitarian life and thus is a sign of Trinitarian community. As Volf puts it: Through baptism “in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit”, the Spirit of God leads believers simultaneously into both Trinitarian and ecclesial communion…The correspondence…is not simply formal. Rather, it is “ontological” because it is soteriologically grounded. Jesus’ high-priestly prayer, that his disciples might become one “as you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us” (John 17:21), presupposes communion with the triune God, mediated through faith and baptism, and aims at eschatological consummation.68

The Trinitarian foundation of the unity of church is plainly attested in Ephesians 4:5–7: There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.69 ‘One’ is reiterated seven times and underscores the unity and the divine character of the salvation in Christ that encompasses Jews and Gentiles. With one Spirit corresponds one body; with one Lord, one faith and one baptism. The ‘one faith’ obviously refers to the content of faith albeit in formulated form.70 It is the faith that has come with the coming of Christ. Through his faith/fulness (δια της πιστεως αυτου) Jews and Gentiles “may approach God with freedom and confidence” (Ephesians 3:12). The faith of the believers “may be encompassed within the author’s understanding of the inclusive nature of Christ’s faith. That is to say, as with other aspects of salvation, the faith of the believers is embraced within God’s gracious provision in Christ.”71 This one salvation is imparted to Jews and Gentiles alike by the one baptism. For the one God is in Christ “the Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”

Miroslav Volf, After Our Likeness, 195. For a discussion see J.P. Versteeg, “De doop in het Nieuwe Testament,” 97–100. 70 Ernst Käsemann, The Testament of Jesus, 57. 71 Wallis, 134. For a strong case in favor of the subjective genitive in Ephesians 3:12, see Ian G. Wallis, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 128–134. 68 69

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Unity, Trinity and Theosis In John 10:34–36 Jesus, the incarnate Word of God, defends Himself against those who accuse Him of blasphemy because He, as a mere man, claims to be God (vs. 33). He quotes Psalm 82:6 adding: “If he called them ‘gods’, to whom the word of God came—and the Scripture cannot be broken—what about the one whom the Father set apart as his very own and sent into the world?” Käsemann contends that, according to John, Christian unity exists within the eternal divine Word that is spoken and received between Father and Son into which the church is drawn as communio fidelium.72 The relation between Father and Son is the prototype of true solidarity, of which the unity of the church in Christ is a reflection. One could say that Christ is the only true believer and in solidarity with Him the believers, together and individually, “participate in the divine nature” (2Peter 1:4).73 This is the background against which we should understand the ‘divinization’ that plays a pivotal role in Eastern Orthodox soteriology and which is closely related to the doctrine of justification in the West.74 Whereas the West concentrates on the eternal Word uttered in Christ crucified as God’s Word of judgment and justification, the Eastern Church focuses on the incarnation as the unification of God and man, but does not neglect the annihilation of our iniquities on the cross. ‘Divinization’ does not imply that humanity becomes superhuman, but rather that humanity is united with God through faith that has come when Christ came (Galatians 3, 23–26).75 In unity with Christ the church participates in the life of Father, Son and Holy Spirit.76 The church is the body of Christ in whom, through the one Spirit, the one Lord and the ‘one God and Father of all,’ dwell. Noordmans77 claims that in the church everything circles around God alone, Jesus alone. He maintains that the one dogma comprises four parts i. e. Käsemann, The Testament of Jesus, 69. Cf. Fiddes, Participating in God. 74 Andreas Theodorou, “Die Lehre von der Vergottung des Menschen bei den griechischen Kirchenvätern” in: Kerygma und Dogma 7 (1961), 283 footnote 1. See also 297. 75 Gestrich, Christentum und Stellvertretung, 414f. 76 Theodorou, “Die Lehre von der Vergottung des Menschen bei den griechischen Kirchenvätern,” 287. 77 O. Noordmans, “Herschepping,” in: Verzamelde Werken 2, 226f. 72 73

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Father, Son, Holy Spirit and…church! The latter, however, has no independent existence next to the Trinity. On the contrary, the church is that space in which God is everything. Consequently, there is no room available for any ulterior motive. Christ as crucified is destined to reign until God has put all his enemies, including death, under his feet (1 Corinthians 15:25 f.) “When He has done this, then the Son himself will be made subject to Him who put everything under Him, so that God may be all in all” (1 Corinthians 15:28). This victory has already been won. On the cross Christ has conquered. The cry, “It is finished” (John 19:30), is a shout of triumph. 1 Corinthians 15:28 should therefore be seen in the light of Christ’s last cry on Calvary (Luke 23:46): “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Living out of the faithfulness of the one God and Father of all, in the faith/fulness of the one Lord into whom we were baptized, as the creation of the one Spirit of Christ crucified, the church is a sign of the consummation of time when at last, Christ’s victory will be revealed and God will eventually be all in all.

Conclusions 1. To be relevant the church should not strive to impress the world but should “show that you are a letter from Christ…written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God” (2Corinthians 3:4). 2. Church unity is grounded in justification by faith through sharing Christ’s faith/fulness as the revelation of God’s faithfulness (righteousness). 3. This unity is a reflection of the unity of the Father with his crucified Son through the Holy Spirit. 4. As such it is not a superficial imitation but it involves dying with (in) Christ into the unity of the Trinity. When informed by an ulterior motive the ‘unity of faith’ is merely formal and therefore fake. Unity that is not ‘from faith’ is sin. 5. Sharing Christ’s death means sharing his glory. Church unity is a sign of the consummation of time when God will at last be all in all.

CALVIN ON THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST

I. John Hesselink

Preface When I received the invitation to write an essay on Calvin related to the theme ‘religion without ulterior motives,’ I was initially nonplussed. The first problem was the term itself, for an ulterior motive is one that is concealed intentionally in order to deceive. Church politicians may be guilty of that in order to accomplish some of their goals, but do theologians, whether conservative or liberal, set out to deceive their readers and followers with their theological programs? Are some types of religion underhanded and deceptive in their goals? Second, even if this expression is not understood in a negative sense, it seems to run counter to leading motifs in both Calvin and the Heidelberg Catechism. Calvin scholars, for example, are aware of the fact that he hated frigid and empty speculation,1 and frequently tried to show the ‘usefulness’ (utilitas) or benefit of a doctrine. For “the Spirit of God teaches those things that edify and are profitable.”2 The Heidelberg Catechism echoes Calvin’s concern for the usefulness and benefit of a doctrine. Question 45 is typical: “What benefit (was nützet uns) do we receive from the resurrection of Christ?”3 Or, “What advantage (was für Nutz) comes from acknowledging God’s creation and providence?”4 1 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. Mc Neill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960), I.4.1; I.5.9; and I.14.3, 4. 2 Inst. I.14.3. “In the reading of Scripture we ought ceaselessly to endeavor to seek out and meditate on those things which make for edification,” I.14.4. In his Geneva Catechism, Calvin often asks what is the benefit or usefulness (utilitas or fructus) of a doctrine. Cf. Qs. 29, 40 and 284 in J. Calvin, Calvin: Theological Treatises, trans. J.K.S. Reid (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1954). Even ‘the exercise of prayer is profitable’ (utilis), Inst. III.20.2. 3 Cf. Questions 28, 36, 43, and 49. The Heidelberg Catechism. trans. M. Eugene Osterhaven and Allen O. Miller, 400th Anniversary Edition (Boston: Pilgrim Press, 1963). 4 Heidelberg Catechism, Qs. 28, 36, 43, 49.

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On further reflection, and after reading A. van de Beek’s paper on “Religion without Ulterior Motive,” I came to the conclusion that what Van de Beek is opposing is religion that is a means to an end and not an end in itself, or a religion that is instrumental to some other purpose than itself. In his words, “The aim of faith is only God Himself—and nothing besides Him.”5 He is opposed to an apologetics that uses the benefits of the Christian faith as an argument for its validity. More concretely, it becomes apparent that what Van de Beek is opposed to, among other things, is political activism by the church, whether it is by liberals or liberation theologians who give political readings of Jesus’ understanding of the kingdom of God, or by the theocratic approach of neo-Calvinists like Abraham Kuyper.6 Modern forms of pietism also fall into this trap of “religion allied to progress.”7 “In conclusion,” Van de Beek states, “we believe in God because we love and honor Him, and not for any other aim or alliance.” But he quickly adds, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, “That does not mean that this has no impact on our life on earth.”8 When Van de Beek comes to Calvin in this paper, however, I begin to have some questions. Is it true that “Calvin is very much convinced that earthly society will never be the expression of God’s kingdom”? Further, that “the only presence of God is in Christ, and therefore in the proclamation of the Word and the celebration of the sacraments that are the memory of him”?9 This conservative social-political stance is highlighted in other writings of Van de Beek’s. For example, in an essay “Calvinism as an Ascetic Movement,” he quotes with favor a statement of Athanasius,

“Religion without ulterior motive,” 2. Van de Beek, “Religion,” 3. Here he also includes gnesio-theocrats like Hoedemaker and Van Ruler. Theocracy, according to Van de Beek, “makes religion dependent on state, culture or the shape of society,” ibid. In Volume 9 of ‘Studies in Reformed Theology,’ Vicissitudes of Reformed Theology in the Twentieth Century, the editors George Harinck and Dirk van Keulen state that “There are few Reformed theologians as outspoken in their antithetical position towards culture as he [Van de Beek] is,” (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2004), 9. In his chapter in this volume, “A Christianized Society according to Reformed Principles: Theological Developments in the Netherlands in the Twentieth Century,” he also refers to his mentor and predecessor in Leiden, Hendrikus Berkhof, as “a typical representative” of the social theology of the World Council of Churches, which “has a high level of optimism,” 79. 7 Van de Beek, “Religion,” 4. 8 Van de Beek, “Religion,” 4. 9 Van de Beek, “Religion,” 5. 5 6

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“God did not come to improve the world morally but to bear it.”10 Here, too, he is not only critical of Abraham Kuyper’s notion of common grace but also of Karl Barth’s ‘neo-orthodoxy’ (a label Barth rejected), even though he denied the distinction between common and particular grace. According to Van de Beek, Barth’s view is that “We are called to become who we are: a consecrated people. Consecration here … implies growth, in a positive sense.” This, too, is anathema, for with Barth as well as Kuyper “it is a matter of changing the world, which will become better. We can—with God’s help achieve something.”11 Now, according to Van de Beek, this perspective is “totally different from Calvin’s.” Really? Is it true that “With Calvin it is a matter of restraining evil and keeping the world in obedience to God. For him the kingdom of God is not realized in this world, but in future life.”12 No one would question whether the kingdom of God is fully realized in this life, but to put off any realization of the kingdom in this life to the future seems to fly in the face of several of the parables of the kingdom such as that of the mustard seed and leaven (Matt. 13:31–33). In both parables the theme is the growth of the kingdom. Perhaps I am not doing my friend justice, but these essays, in any case, have moved me to undertake for the first time a thorough study of Calvin’s understanding of the kingdom of God.13 Readers can judge for themselves to what extent John Calvin and A. van de Beek see eye to eye on this subject.

Introduction The observant reader may have noticed that I have titled this essay “Calvin on the Kingdom of Christ,” rather than “Calvin on the Kingdom of God.” Calvin uses both expressions, as well as “kingdom of 10 This essay is found in Reformed Theology. Identity and Ecumenicity, eds. Wallace M. Alston, Jr. and Michael Welker (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 218. 11 Van de Beek, “Calvinism as an Ascetic Movement” in Reformed Theology: Identity and Ecumenicity, 216. 12 Van de Beek, “Calvinism,” 216. It is ironic that on the next page Van de Beek quotes from two of my books (Calvin’s Concept of the Law and Calvin’s First Catechism) to support his position. 13 In my book Calvin’s First Catechism. A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), I have discussed briefly Calvin’s concept of the kingdom in relation to the petition in the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy kingdom come,” 134–136.

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heaven” and “heavenly kingdom,” but since he uses “kingdom of Christ” far more often than “kingdom of God,” I have opted for that version.14 Calvin often uses the two terms interchangeably, so it is difficult to determine if there is any difference in meaning. Thomas Torrance maintains that there is. He suggests that It is generally characteristic of Calvin that when he thinks of the Kingdom in terms of God’s eternal majesty and reign he speaks of it as the Regnum Dei, but when he thinks of it in terms of the incarnation, death and resurrection of Christ, and of his reigning over the world until the manifestation of the new heaven and the new earth, he speaks of it as the Regnum Christi.15

This distinction is too neat; the evidence does not support it.16 However, on occasion he seems to make a fine distinction between the two. For example, in a sermon on Ephesians 5:3–5 where the text refers to “the kingdom of Christ and of God” Calvin, after saying “there are not 14 Calvin has been influenced in many ways by Martin Bucer, whose classic is entitled De Regno Christi, Opera Latina, XV ; English translation by Wilhelm Pauck in Melanchthon and Bucer, Library of Christian Classics Vol. XIX. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1959). Bucer briefly discusses three ways of describing the kingdom: kingdom of God, kingdom of Christ, and kingdom of heaven; but he does not explain why he chooses kingdom of Christ as the title for his treatise. Pauck suggests that according to Bucer’s understanding, the “Kingdom was the expression of the Kingship of Christ. Regnum Christi meant for him the reign or rule of Christ as manifested in the life of mankind ordered according to Christ’s will as revealed in the Bible,” “Introduction,” 167. However, too much should not be made of the influence of this book because it was published in 1551, and many of Calvin’s writings antedate this work. In any case, in Bucer’s view of the kingdom the government plays a stronger role in establishing Christ’s reign than in Calvin. Cf. Karl Koch, Studium Pietatis: Martin Bucer als Ethiker (Neukirchen: Mainz, 1962), 177–186; and Martin Greschat. Martin Bucer. A Reformer and His Times. (Louisville–London: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 239–245. 15 Thomas Forsyth Torrance, Kingdom and Church. A Study in the Theology of the Reformation. (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1956), 95. The title is somewhat misleading, for this slight volume actually focuses on the eschatology of Luther, Bucer, and Calvin. 16 Werner Krusche concurs. He asks whether Calvin makes a distinction between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Christ and concludes, “Ein Vergleich ergibt als Tatbestand, dass Calvin statt Reich Christi auch Reich Gottes sagen und von einem regnum Dei et Christi sprechen kann,” Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes nach Calvin (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1957), 333. A few examples: “We know that the reign of God and of Christ, although existing in the world, not to be of it,” Comm. Daniel 7:27 (emphasis mine). “Is the kingdom of God made perfect in thee?… for if Christ’s kingdom is weak and feeble in us …,” Comm. Jer. 31:12 (emphasis mine). “Our body as well as our soul will share in the life of the kingdom of God… .” “The only way we can enter the kingdom of Christ is by Christ’s renewing us according to his own image,” Comm. 1Cor. 15:33, 50 (emphasis mine). For the Apostle says “that we shall not possess the kingdom of God and of Christ.” “Not that they are two different kingdoms…,” Sermon Eph. 5:3–5.

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two kingdoms,” proceeds to explain that “the kingdom of God is the heavenly life and our complete happiness,” but “it is also said to be the kingdom of Christ.” Why? “Because it has been purchased for us by his blood… .”17 But such distinctions are rare. It is significant that many of Calvin’s references to the kingdom in the Old Testament are to the kingdom of Christ, not to the kingdom of God.18 However, there are other questions of greater import regarding Calvin’s understanding of the kingdom of God or Christ. For example, when does the reign of Christ properly begin? And does Calvin make any distinction between kingdom and church? Calvin maintains again and again that the kingdom is spiritual, but does that mean it is otherworldly and only present in the hearts of believers? With the exception of the relation of the kingdom to the church, the answers to these questions are more complex than one might assume. Yet, apart from two older books, little attention has been paid to this important subject in recent Calvin studies.19

The Spiritual Nature of the Kingdom As noted above, Calvin frequently speaks of the spiritual nature of the kingdom of God/Christ. In some contexts this simply means that it is different from the Jewish expectation of an earthly Messianic kingdom.20 It also means that it is to be distinguished from political rule. In reference to Matthew 22:21—“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s”—Calvin comments: “To get his message across to the man on the street (ad vulgi captum sermonem) Christ is content to distin17 Sermon Eph. 5:3–5. In his commentary on this passage he simply explains that this distinction is made “because God gave it [the kingdom] to his Son that we might obtain it through him.” 18 See e.g., Comm. Habakkuk 3:13; Daniel 7:27; Sermon Micah 2:12–13; Inst. II.7.15. 19 The only major studies of the kingdom of God in Calvin’s theology of which I am aware are by Karlfried Fröhlich, Die Reichgottesidee Calvins. (Munich: Kaiser, 1922), and Gottesreich, Weltreich und Kirche bei Calvin. (Munich: Reinhardt, 1930). Since then, little attention has been paid to this subject. In the standard studies of Calvin’s theology by Wilhelm Niesel and Francois Wendel, ‘kingdom of God/Christ’ is not even listed in the index. One aspect of this subject is treated, however, in Heinrich Quistorp’s Calvins Doctrine of Last Things. (London: Lutterworth, 1955); and also in T.F. Torrance’s Kingdom and Church, and Werner Krusche, Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes nach Calvin, both cited earlier. 20 See Comm. Matt. 24:1, 3; Comm. Luke 12:13.

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guish the spiritual kingdom of God from the political order and round of current affairs.”21 Calvin makes the same point in his discussion of civil government in Book IV, Chapter 20 of the Institutes. Here, too, he makes a sharp distinction between Christ’s spiritual kingdom (regnum spirituale) and “civil jurisdiction” (civilis ordinatio) which are “completely distinct.”22 In the case of his commentary on Matthew 22:21, however, Calvin makes a further point that gives the impression that the kingdom of God/Christ is totally inner worldly and has no concrete earthly dimensions. “Keep this distinction firm,” he says, “the Lord wishes to be the sole Lawgiver for the government of souls, with no rule of worship to be sought from any other source than his Word”23 (emphasis mine). In other contexts the reformer gives the same impression. In his Geneva Catechism, for example, he defines the kingdom as “a spiritual kingdom, contained in the Word and the Spirit.”24 In his commentary on Colossians 1:16, he says that “the glory of God’s kingdom is hidden from our perception because it is spiritual and above the heavens.”25 Now if it is simply the glory of the kingdom that is hid from our eyes, that is one thing. But elsewhere he points out that from one perspective the kingdom, as such, is invisible and can only be discerned by faith.26 It is “madness” if we try to “penetrate to God and the secret places of the kingdom of heaven” apart from “the revelation of the Spirit.”27 It would seem, then, that the kingdom of God is a totally otherworldly realm that has no historical earthly manifestations.28 Such a 21 Comm. Matt. 22:21. In this case it is the disciples who cannot see beyond an earthly kingdom. 22 Calvin, Institutes, IV.20.1. Later in Section 2 he repeats that civil government “is distinct from the spiritual and inward kingdom of Christ.” Note how in these quotations and in references in the Institutes IV.20.2, “kingdom of God,” “kingdom of Christ,” and “heavenly kingdom” are coterminous. 23 Comm. Matt. 22:21. 24 In Calvin: Theological Treatises, edited and translated by J.K.S. Reid. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1954), Q. 37. 25 Comm. Col. 1:16. “The kingdom of Christ is spiritual and so is everything connected with it (ita et quaecunque ex eo pendat),” Comm. Jer. 23:6. 26 Comm. Matt. 24:2. Cf. Comm. Daniel 7:27: Christ’s kingdom “cannot be perceived by carnal eyes, nor even comprehended by the human intellect (humana mente).” 27 Institutes, II.2.20. 28 Concerning a key text in this regard—“Behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you” (Luke 17:21)—Calvin comments: Christ “means that they are quite wrong who look with their physical eyes for the kingdom of God, since it is in no way physical or earthly but the inward and spiritual renewing of the soul,” Comm. Luke 17:21.

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conclusion would be quite erroneous, however, for in other contexts it becomes clear that this spiritual kingdom also has concrete historical dimensions. Calvin hints at this when he notes that the Old Testament fathers “saw from afar the spiritual kingdom of Christ, the view of which is so near us today (cuius hodie tam propinquus est aspectus).”29 An even more explicit reference in this regard is found in Calvin’s dedication of his commentary on Acts to Prince Nicolas Radzivil of Lithuania. Calvin praises the prince for his support of the Reformation in his territory and mentions in passing, As often as things in the world seem to be turned upside down, no more suitable or firmer support can be found for strengthening consciences than, when, placing the kingdom of Christ before our eyes as we now see it, we consider what the pattern (ratio) and nature of it was, and what sort of state and condition it had in the beginning30 (emphasis mine).

Two things become evident here. The kingdom of Christ is also visible and has stages of development. One of the reasons for this is that, for the most part, Calvin identifies the kingdom with the church, which obviously has both visible and invisible dimensions. In this dedicatory epistle he indicates as much, for he lauds the prince for “those services which you did not cease to render for the fostering and increasing the church in its beginning…”31 (emphasis mine). Another function that godly princes can play is defending Christ’s kingdom, “partly by establishing external discipline and partly by lending their protection to the church against the ungodly.” Then Calvin adds an interesting comment found nowhere else, as far as I know, in his discussions of the kingdom of Christ: “But the depravity of the world causes the kingdom of Christ to be established more by the blood of martyrs than by the aid of arms.”32 Here, for all practical purposes, Calvin equates the kingdom of Christ with the church. This raises the question as to whether the visible aspects of the kingdom are to be found only in the church.

Hebrews 11:13. Dedicatory Epistle to the Second Edition of the Commentary on Acts of the Apostles, 2–3. 31 Dedicatory Epistle to the Second Edition of the Commentary on Acts of the Apostles, 2. 32 Comm. John 18:36. The kingdom is essentially peaceful, but because there are many foes, “struggles, which are necessary for the defense of the kingdom of Christ, are blessed,” Comm. 1 Corinthians 14:35. 29 30

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One of the problems with Calvin’s concept of the kingdom of God/ Christ is that he usually simply identifies the kingdom with the church. Most biblical scholars and theologians today agree that they are not the same. The kingdom is more than the church and transcends the church. When Jesus began his ministry in Galilee “proclaiming the gospel of God,” and said, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand…” (Mark 1:15), he was not referring to the church but to the reign of God that he [Jesus] was inaugurating in a new way. The kingdom of God or heaven has therefore been defined variously as “the sovereignty or realm ruled by God”;33 or more christologically as “Ubi Christus, ibi Regnum Dei” (Where Christ is, there is the kingdom).34 Calvin occasionally acknowledges the wider dimension, the ‘more,’ of the kingdom in relation to the church, but it is a muted motif.35 Generally, for him kingdom and church are interchangeable. For example, referring to 2Corinthians 5:17 he says, “If anyone desires to obtain a place in Christ, i.e., in his kingdom or his church (in regno Christi, vel in ecclesia), let him be a new creature.”36 In some cases where a biblical text refers to the church, Calvin will speak of the kingdom of Christ in his exegesis. For example, in Acts 20:14–21 the reference is to the church in Ephesus. Calvin, however, quickly slips from referring to the church to the kingdom of Christ: “What [Paul] had in mind was the upbuilding of the church, partly by reporting to the faithful that the kingdom of 33 Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible, David Noel Freedman, ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 767. More explicitly, “Scholars agree that Jesus used this image to refer to God’s heavenly and eternal rule. God’s rule on earth in the obedience of the faithful, and God’s future rule in the eschaton,” Eerdmans Dictionary, 768. 34 Cited by Howard A. Snyder in Construct. Christian Theology in the Worldwide Church, edited by William R. Barr. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 146. “Jesus is not merely the preacher of the kingdom; he is the bearer and fulfiller of it,” Vocabulary of the Bible, J.J. von Allmen, ed. (London: James Clarke Company, 1958–1966), 218–219. 35 George Eldon Ladd, in the article on “Kingdom of God” in Baker’s Dictionary of Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1960) also flatly states, “The kingdom is not the church.” In many passages in the synoptic gospels in particular “it is impossible to substitute ‘church’ for ‘kingdom’ in such passages. However, there is an inseparable relationship. The church is the fellowship of those who have accepted [Jesus’] offer of the kingdom, submitted to its rule, and entered into its blessings,” 313. 36 Comm. 2 Cor. 5:17. After a brief discussion of this issue, Krusche concludes, for Calvin, “Die Kirche des Neuen Bundes ist ‘Christi geistliches Reich,’” Das Wirken des Heiligen Geistes.., 329. Krusche might well have cited the Institutes IV.2.4: “To sum up, since the church is Christ’s kingdom… .”

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Christ had been extended…”37 (emphasis mine). Also, in discussing Acts 20:1–6, he first refers to the church and then a few lines later refers to the same entity as the kingdom of Christ.38 In discussing one of the parables of the kingdom, Calvin says that Christ “allows hypocrites a place among the faithful until he sets up perfectly his kingdom at the last day… . Yet the church will not be free from all wrinkles and spots until Christ shall have separated the sheep and the goats.”39 Here one might say that whereas the church exists here and now, the kingdom is primarily an eschatological reality. However, in other places there is no possibility of such an interpretation, i.e., the church and the kingdom of Christ are identical.40 Even so, there are cases where Calvin makes subtle distinctions and suggests that the kingdom represents a certain stage of the church. In Matthew 11:11, for example, Calvin concludes that “the kingdom of heaven” and “of God” are put for the new state of the church (pro novo ecclesiae statu capitur), as in earlier verses, because the restoration of all things was promised in the coming of Christ.41 A somewhat similar distinction is made in commenting on a phrase in the Sermon on the Mount: “The kingdom of heaven is taken here as the restoration of the church (pro ecclesiae renovatione), or the second state of the church (vel secundo Ecclesiae statu) as even then was coming to be at the preaching of the gospel.”42 I take it that the first ‘state of the church’ must have been the church of the Old Testament fathers. As we shall see later, there are also various ‘states’ or stages in the kingdom of Christ as well. Comm. Acts 20:16–17. “It is apparent that the church was saved by the wonderful power of God when it was in the midst of those stormy waves. The church at Ephesus was still young and feeble… . So we see that they were not self centered, but that they honored the kingdom of Christ by their care and devotion…,” Comm. Acts 20:1. Similarly in the exposition of Acts 13:3, the church in Antioch commissions Paul and Barnabas to be apostles to the Gentiles. Calvin comments, “But seeing that the setting up (erigere) of the kingdom of Christ among the Gentiles was a huge task… .” 39 Comm. Matt. 13:47. 40 See, e.g., Comm. Luke 17:21: “The restoration of the church which God promised, is to be sought inwardly; for he quickens his elect to heavenly newness and sets up his kingdom in them.” In the parable of the sower and the seed, the reference is to the kingdom of heaven, but in Calvin’s exposition he says, “And it is a most apt comparison when the Lord calls the church [N.B., not the kingdom] his field, for believers are his seed,” Comm. Matt. 13:24–25. 41 Comm. Matt. 11:11. 42 Comm. Matt. 5:19. 37 38

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In the above passages there were hints that for Calvin the kingdom and the church are not always identical. Sometimes there is ambiguity as to whether Calvin equates them or distinguishes them. For example, when he says, “Forgiveness of sins is for us the first entry into the church and kingdom of God,”43 the two are probably synonymous; but Calvin may be thinking of them as separate entities. In the following passage, however, it seems that Calvin is thinking of the kingdom of God as something distinct from the church. The context is one of the parables of the kingdom. For while the cares of the world bind us round, they are diversions (avocamenta) and draw us away from God’s kingdom… . But this disease is prevalent everywhere; scarcely one in a hundred puts the kingdom of God before fleeting riches or other pleasures.44

Moreover, when Calvin says that one of the purposes of the fourth commandment is that we should meditate on the kingdom of God,45 it is not likely that he is thinking only of the church. Calvin sees also in the reference to “the day of the Lord” in Acts 2:14ff. a reference to “the whole kingdom of Christ.” The prophet Joel calls it the “great day, from the time the Son of God began to be manifested in the flesh, that he might lead us into the fulfillment of his kingdom.”46 When the kingdom is viewed from an eschatological perspective, it is also clear that the kingdom transcends the church.

Stages of the Kingdom In one sense, all the godly from the beginning of time—Adam, Abel, Noah, Abraham, and the patriarchs—“without any doubt entered God’s immortal kingdom.”47 However, properly speaking, the kingdom of Christ begins with King David and the Messianic line of kings. In David’s kingdom we have “the first beginning” (primum exordium) of the kingdom of Christ, “but at length the dignity and virtue of the kingdom

43

Institutes IV.1.21. Comm. Matt. 22:2. 45 Sermon no. 193 on Deut. 33:7–8. 46 Comm. Acts 2:19. 47 Inst. II.10.7. “The fathers saw from afar the spiritual kingdom of Christ, the view of which is so near us today,” Comm. Hebrews 11:13. 44

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of David shone forth in Christ.”48 “The kingdom of Christ, which God inaugurated (auspicatus erat) in the person of David, far excels all that is reckoned glorious by the world.”49 Even so, “God exhibited in the person of David a type of the kingdom of Christ.”50 The kingdom of Judah also was “a type of the kingdom of Christ.”51 Thus David and the Davidic kingdom represent the first stage or phase of the kingdom of Christ. One might think that the next stage would be the advent of Christ, but at one point Calvin sees Christ’s reign as occurring in a special sense after David’s reign and before the ministry of Jesus. In Ezekiel 17:22 there is a prophecy of the restoration and the kingdom. Ultimately, as far as Calvin is concerned, this prophecy ‘refers to Christ’ and in the return of the people from exile the reign of Christ begins in a special way. As often as the prophets hold out the hope of liberty to the elect and the faithful, they embrace the whole of the time from the return of the people, or from the end of their exile to the end of the kingdom of Christ. When, therefore, the reign of Christ is treated, we must date its commencement from the building of the temple after the people’s return from the seventy years captivity (emphasis mine).52

Normally, however, Calvin identifies the true beginning of Christ’s kingdom with the coming of Christ himself and particularly with his ministry and preaching. However, “the time of Christ’s kingdom” can be said to have begun “when he appeared in the world, clothed in flesh, to fulfill the office of redeemer.”53 But it was only after his baptism, when Jesus undertook his public ministry, that the kingdom became a reality.54 For “Christ ushered in his kingdom by the promulgation of the 48 Comm. Daniel 7:27. “The prophets commonly spoke in such a way that they prefigured (signifier) the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ, that is, the time when Christ would be revealed to the world,” Sermon on Micah 3:11–4:2. Calvin even goes so far as to say that in the prophets, who include David, “eternal life and Christ’s kingdom are revealed in fullest splendor,” Inst. II.10.15. 49 Comm. Psalm 68:16. 50 Comm. Psalm 47:2. 51 Comm. Psalm 21:7. “The kingdom of David was a type under which the Holy Spirit depicts (depingat) for us the kingdom of Christ,” Comm. Psalm 18:43. 52 Comm. Ezekiel 17:22. Calvin then continues, “and then we must take its [the kingdom’s] boundary, not at the ascension of Christ, nor yet in the first or second centuries, but through the whole progress of his kingdom until he shall appear at the last day.” 53 Comm. John 8:56. 54 Christ had “begun to show the nature of his kingdom from the time of his baptism,” Comm. Matt. 21:1.

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gospel,”55 and yet it was only “partially (aliqua ex parte) manifested in the preaching of the gospel.”56 A further advance is made in the establishment of the kingdom by virtue of Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension: Christ in order to “fulfill the role of redemption,” through his cross became “the rightful king of Israel.”57 But it was above all by his resurrection that Christ ushered in a more complete phase of the kingdom.58 But the end is not yet in Calvin’s multiple inaugurations of the kingdom, for Christ truly (vere) inaugurated his kingdom only at his ascension into heaven. … Indeed, we see how much more abundantly he then poured out his Spirit, how much more wonderfully he advanced (promoverit) his kingdom, how much greater power he displayed both in helping his people and in scattering his enemies.59

A concomitant of the resurrection and ascension of Christ was the pouring out of the Spirit on the church.60 One of the results was many miracles. “For it was fitting that the new preaching of the gospel and the new kingdom of Christ (novum Christi regnum) should be illumined and magnified by unheard of and extraordinary miracles.”61 Calvin was a cessationist, i.e., one who believes the special gifts of the Spirit ceased with the end of the apostolic era, but he does believe that the extraordinary gifts of the Spirit that were experienced by some of the early believers “would add glory (gloriam illustrarent) to the kingdom of Christ and of the gospel.”62 The final phase of the development of the kingdom of Christ is at the consummation when “he delivers the kingdom over to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power” (1 Cor. Comm. Daniel 7:27. Comm. Matt. 19:28. 57 Comm. Matt. 27.40. 58 “As, then, Christ in rising again had inaugurated the kingdom of God, he is rightly called the beginning”: Comm. Col. 1:18. Citing Romans 6:9, 10, and the resurrection of Christ, Calvin adds, “He is therefore said to have entered the kingdom of God, so that, being alive for ever, he may endow his own also with eternal felicity,” Comm Acts 13:33. 59 Institutes II.16.14. One of the benefits imparted to our faith by Christ’s ascension is that “the Lord by his ascent to heaven opened the way into the heavenly kingdom,” Inst. II.16.16. 60 “God begins to give the kingdom to his elect people, when, by the power of his Spirit, the doctrine of the holy gospel was everywhere received in the world,” Comm. Daniel 7:27. 61 Institutes IV.19.6. 62 Comm. Acts 8:15. 55 56

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15:24). This verse and the following verses (25–28) have been a special challenge to exegetes and the source of christological controversy. In his commentary on this passage Calvin is surprisingly brief in relation to the christological issue here. He only says that “there is nothing unusual in saying that Christ is in subjection to God, as far as his human nature is concerned.”63 In the Institutes, however, he discusses the verse in five different places: first in the context of his discussion of the Trinity;64 second, in his discussion of angels;65 third, and more importantly, in his discussion of the person of the Mediator;66 fourth, in his discussion of the kingly office of Christ;67 and fifth, in a discussion of the number of sacraments.68 Later, in his commentary on 1 Corinthians, in reference to verse 27— “it is plain that he [Christ] is excepted who puts all things in subjection under him”—Calvin sees a problem, viz., how to harmonize passages about the eternity of the kingdom of Christ such as 2Peter 1:11 and Philippians 2:8 with this passage (verse 27). His resolution of this problem is lengthy and deserves to be quoted in full. “In the first place,” says Calvin, “we must observe that all power was handed over to Christ, in that he was manifested in the flesh. Such great majesty would not be appropriate for a mere man … .” Further, we must note that Christ has been appointed Lord and Supreme King so that he might be the Father’s Vicgerent (vicarius),69 so to speak, in the governing of the world. It is not the case, however, that he does all the work while the Father does nothing. (For how could that be, seeing that he is the wisdom and counsel of God, that he is of one essence with him and is therefore also God?) But the reason why Scripture bears witness to the fact that Christ now holds the sovereignty over heaven and earth in place of the Father, is that we may not think of anyone else as ruler, lord, defender, or judge of the living and the dead, but that we keep our eyes fixed on Him and Him alone. Of course we acknowledge that God is the Ruler, Comm. 1Corinthians 15:24. Institutes I.13.26. 65 Institutes I.14.5. 66 Institutes II.14.3. Citing also verse 28—that “God may be all in all”—Calvin simply comments, “For what purpose were power and lordship given to Christ, unless that by his hand the Father might govern us?” 67 Institutes II.15.5. Here, as in his discussion of the Trinity, Calvin is concerned to affirm the eternity of Christ and avoid any notion of subordinationism. 68 Institutes IV.18.20. 69 In the Institutes II.15.5, Calvin says that Christ’s sitting at the right hand of the Father “is equivalent to calling him the Father’s deputy (legatus), who has in his possession the whole power of God’s dominion.” 63 64

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i. john hesselink but His rule is actualized in the man Christ (sed in facie hominis Christi). But Christ will then hand back the Kingdom which He has received, so that we may cleave completely to God. This does not mean that He will abdicate from the Kingdom in this way, but will transfer it in some way or other (quodammodo) from His humanity to His glorious divinity, because then there will open up for us a way of approach, from which we are now kept back by our weakness. In this way, therefore, Christ will be subjected to the Father, because, when the veil has been removed, we will see God plainly, reigning in His majesty, and the humanity of Christ will no longer be in between us to hold us back from a nearer vision of God.70

The difference, then, between Christ’s reign now and after he has given up his kingdom to God is that in glory “the administration of the kingdom will not be as it is now.” Before, Christ ruled directly; now “God mediately (mediate), so to speak, wills to rule and protect the church in Christ’s person.”71

The Nature of the Kingdom We have already had many indications as to what Christ’s kingdom is like. It is spiritual and yet has earthly dimensions. It is eternal but has stages of development. It is invisible to human eyes but can be perceived by faith. It is in the world but not of the world. Yet there are several dimensions of the kingdom of Christ, as Calvin understands it, that have not been dealt with yet. One is the tranquility Comm. 1Corinthians 15:27. Calvin’s position in a sermon on Ephesians 1:19–23 is remarkably similar. The passage that causes the reformer to reflect on this issue again is Ephesians 1:21: “Jesus Christ has obtained a name which is above all names, both in heaven and earth, not only in this world but also in that which is to come” (Calvin’s translation). This “on the surface” seems to contradict Paul’s statements in 1Corinthians 15:27–8 where he says that Jesus will yield up the kingdom to God his Father. “But these two agree very well,” Calvin adds. “God, then, does not so reign by means of Jesus Christ as if he had given up his own office, and sat idle in heaven; it would be a wicked imagination to think so.” Calvin then alludes to John 5:17, which speaks of both Jesus and God working, and then concludes on a more pastoral note. “There [in John 5:17] he shows that his own ordaining to be the ruler of the world was not in order that the Father should be at repose in heaven; but it was said for our sakes in order that we should not doubt that God is near at hand to us when we seek him in faith,” Sermon on Ephesians 1:19–23. 71 Institutes II.15.5. Cf. Geneva Catechism, Q. 48: “In what sense do you see him [Christ] to be our Lord?’ Answer: ‘In that he was appointed by the Father to have us under his power, to administer the kingdom of God in heaven and on earth… .” 70

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of the kingdom. It is a kingdom of peace, but inevitably there is struggle and warfare. Christ “continues as king in spite of all the resistance which the world makes to his authority and power.” Then Calvin makes a statement that sounds contradictory. “Although Christ can only obtain a tranquil kingdom by fighting, let us not on that account be troubled, but let it be enough to satisfy us that the hand of God is always ready to be stretched forth for its preservation.” For the kingdom of Christ is “invincible” because it is “sustained by the power of God.”72 Calvin operates with a similar dialectic in regard to the humble beginnings and weakness of Christ’s kingdom, on the one hand, and its firmness and invincibility, on the other. He can speak of “the contemptible beginning of the reign of Christ”73 and its “weak and lowly beginnings,”74 but then counter that with affirmations of the eternal character of the kingdom. Despite the attacks of various enemies, the kingdom of Christ stands firm through the invincible power of God, so that, though the whole world should oppose and resist it, it will remain through all ages. We must not judge its stability from the present appearances of things, but from the promise, which assures us of its continuance and its constant increase.75

When Jesus confessed before Pilate that his kingdom was “not of this world,” Calvin sees here the basis of the stability and perpetuity of the kingdom of Christ. “For if Christ’s kingdom were earthly, it would be unstable and changeable, since the fashion of this world passes away. But since it is called heavenly, we are assured of its perpetuity.”76 This raises the question again as to how the “heavenly kingdom is manifest here on earth.” How does Christ reign from his heavenly throne? The answer, for Calvin, is by his Word and Spirit. Christ’s

72 Comm. Psalm 18:37–40. In this perpetual warfare between the powers of evil and the kingdom of Christ we are not to sit idly by, for “if we are minded to affirm Christ’s kingdom as we ought, we must wage irreconcilable war with him who is plotting its ruin,” Inst. I.14.15. 73 Comm. Ezekiel 17:22. 74 This in reference to the parable of the mustard seed, Comm. Matthew 13:31–2. 75 Comm. Isaiah 9:7. Under the type of David “there is shadowed forth the invincible character and condition of the kingdom of Christ, who trusting to, and sustained by, the power of God, overthrows and destroys his enemies … and who continues king in spite of all the resistance which the world makes to his authority and power,” Comm. Psalm 18:37–40. 76 Comm. John 18:36.

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kingdom is spiritual and hence he rules “by the sword of the Word.”77 Christ, like a king, has a royal scepter (sceptrum) by which he rules, but it is the scepter of the Word and the gospel.78 “The gospel is like a scepter by which Christ subdues all people and rules them for himself.”79 Commenting on Isaiah 14:4 Calvin says, Here we must again recall to remembrance what is the nature (qualis) of Christ’s kingdom. As he does not wear a golden crown or employ earthly armor, so he does not rule over the world by the power of arms or gain authority by gaudy and ostentatious display, or constrain people by terror and dread, but the doctrine of the gospel is his royal banner (insigne regium) which assembles believers under his dominion. Wherever, therefore, the doctrine of the gospel is preached in purity, there we are certain that Christ reigns; and where it is rejected, his government is also set aside.80

Thus, the means or instrument by which the kingdom is promulgated and spread is through the preaching of the Word. The extent of the kingdom of Christ, accordingly, is now not limited to “a tiny corner of the world” but is spread everywhere the gospel is preached and obeyed.81 The latter point is important. For “although the kingdom of God has been propagated through all parts of the earth,”82 it does not truly exist until Christ is acknowledged by faith and obeyed. For “the true order of the church exists where Jesus Christ reigns in it, where he is acknowledged as its sovereign head, where each person submits to him, and all pay him homage.”83 77 Comm. Luke 12:13. Elsewhere Calvin says that it is God, ruling in Christ, “who reigns in his church through his Word,” Sermon on Micah 4:1. 78 Comm. Psalm 45:16. In a polemical section in the Institutes, Calvin again identifies the church with the kingdom and concludes, “Since the church is Christ’s kingdom and he reigns by his Word alone, will it not be clear to any man that those are lying words [cf. Jer. 7:4] by which the kingdom of Christ is imagined to exist apart from his scepter (that is, his most holy Word),” Inst. IV.2.4. 79 Comm. Ezekiel 17:24. 80 Comm. Isaiah 11:4. “In short, Christ reigns through his doctrine,” Sermon on Micah 4:2–3. “Moreover, Christ does not rule in his church as a dreaded tyrant, who distresses his opponents with fear; but he is a shepherd who gently deals with his flock,” Comm. Micah 5:4. 81 Sermon on Micah 4:1–2. “The office of Christ was to extend God’s kingdom, then confined to a corner of Judea, into all the world …” and this he did not only by his teaching but “by the grace of his Spirit whereby he inwardly forms men’s hearts to observe the rule of righteousness,” Comm. Matt. 12:17. 82 Comm. Micah 4:1. 83 Sermon on Micah 4:2–3. “Christ is not king without subjects,” Sermon on Acts 1:1–4.

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In one sense, then, Christ only rules as king where he is acknowledged as such. In a sermon, Calvin asks rhetorically, Do we want him [Christ] to be our king? Then we must accept his doctrine. We must be willing to be led as he sees fit for him to become our strength and refuge. Then we can boast that Jesus Christ is our king.84

Hence Jesus’ effective rule as king is to some extent contingent upon the human response. At the same time, Christ is active in drawing people to himself through the preaching of the gospel and the power of the Holy Spirit. He is king, whether we acknowledge his lordship or not, but “he particularly (diserte) makes himself Lord and King of heaven and earth because when he draws men into obedience by the preaching of the gospel he is establishing the throne of his kingdom upon earth.”85 Ultimately, however, Christ’s “authority was not openly displayed until he rose from the dead. Only then did he advance aloft, wearing the insignia of supreme king.”86 In the meantime, as has become apparent, Christ’s kingdom appears to exist only insofar as people are converted, or, to use Calvin’s preferred term, regenerated by the Holy Spirit. This involves a process, for it is not enough simply to confess Christ as Lord and Savior. It is true that when Christ “introduces us into his kingdom and receives us to himself ” and “we receive this gospel, we may enter into this kingdom of God.”87 But that is only the beginning. Calvin continues in this sermon to speak, in effect, of the importance of sanctification. “Although God has illumined us by his Holy Spirit, and though we desire to walk in his fear, and to know his goodness to put our confidence in it,” yet because of our weakness and our continued battle with many temptations, “we are often conquered.” We may have entered the kingdom of God, but the Christian life is “a road (une voye) upon which we must always march … . So the kingdom of God must increase more and more until we are stripped of sin.”88 Sermon on Micah 4:2–3. Comm. Matt. 28:18. 86 Comm. Matt. 28:18. 87 Sermon on Acts 1:1–4. Note how Calvin switches almost imperceptibly from “his [Christ’s] kingdom” to the “kingdom of God.” 88 Sermon on Acts 1:1–4. In this sermon, Calvin continues to speak of the constant battle with our sinfulness and how we resist Christ’s claims. Therefore, we must “renounce ourselves and all that is ours, that Jesus Christ raise his throne there, that he lead us, that we be entirely conformed to his justice (tout conformez à sa justice), and 84 85

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In this sermon on the ascension of Christ, which contains one of the lengthiest discussions of the kingdom of God/Christ, Calvin reinforces the impression that the kingdom consists primarily of individual believers, or, at best, the body of Christ, the church. He speaks occasionally of reform, but it refers most often to inner, personal reform, i.e., sanctification. This comes out clearly in this sermon. Here (in Acts 1:3) St. Luke understands the kingdom to be the spiritual government by which Jesus Christ keeps us in his obedience until he has entirely reformed us to his image (reformez à son image). … If Jesus withdrew himself from us, leaving us to go as we wish, we would be outside the kingdom of God. For the kingdom of God presupposes a reformation. … We cannot be sharers in it [the kingdom] until we are reformed.89

‘Reformed,’ as Calvin uses the word in the above quotations obviously refers to personal reform or renewal, the believer’s obedience and continual growth in conformity with the image of God. If this were the end of the matter, one could rightly conclude that Calvin’s vision of the kingdom is a rather limited one confined to Christians and the church. Fortunately, that is not the whole story. There are places—granted, not so many—where Calvin speaks of the kingdom of Christ in terms of the renewal and restoration of the world. On the one hand, he will make the familiar claim that “our Lord Jesus Christ’s kingdom does not consist in worldly might or glory, but in its doctrine.” But he follows that with a broader vision, viz., that “the world must be reformed. For if the world continues as it is, there can be no kingdom of Christ…” (emphasis mine).90 This is not an isolated reference. In his commentary on Luke 17:20— “the kingdom of God cometh not with observation” (“with signs to be observed,” NRSV)—Calvin again explains the kingdom of God here as “the inward and spiritual renewing of the soul.” But then he adds that “Christ was speaking here only of the beginnings of God’s kingdom; for that we seek only to follow him as our sovereign king,” ibid. “Accordingly, it is never enough simply to be called a Christian. Rather, we must demonstrate in truth that we are the people of God and that we want to be governed by him in the person of his only-begotten Son. Only when that happens do we truly have a king who reigns over us,” Sermon on Micah 2:12–13. 89 Sermon on Acts 1:1–4. “When Jesus Christ causes his gospel to be preached in a country, it is as if he said, ‘I wish to have dominion over you and be your king,’” Ibid. 90 Sermon on Micah 4:2–3. “By the kingdom of God understand the promised restoration (instaurationem) in Christ,” Comm. Mark 15:43 and Luke 23:51.

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we now begin to be reformed to the image of God by his Spirit, so that the complete renewal of ourselves and the whole world may follow in its own time”91 (emphasis mine). In reference to the book of Acts, Calvin says, “The beginning of the reign of Christ, and as it were, the renewal of the world, is depicted here.”92

Thy Kingdom Come Unfortunately, Calvin does not explain precisely what the ‘reform’ or the renovation of the world involves. However, in at least one place he indicates that it is probably something more than the renewal of the church and may, in fact, have to do with the renewal of society.93 In his commentary on this phrase in the Lord’s Prayer, the reformer emphasizes the role of the Word and the Spirit in the realization of the kingdom. In this prayer, says Calvin: God realizes his reign “partly [as] the effect of the word of preaching, partly of the hidden power of the Spirit.” He would govern men by his Word, but as the voice alone, without the inward influence of the Spirit, does not reach down into the heart, the two must be brought together for the establishment of God’s Kingdom. So we pray that God will show His power both in Word and in Spirit, that the whole world may willingly come over to Him… . So the sum of this supplication is that God will illuminate the heart by the light of His Word, bring our hearts to obey His righteousness by the breathing of His Spirit, and restore to order at His will, all that is lying waste upon the face of the earth.94

Comm. Luke 17:20. The risen Christ “now sits at the Father’s right hand, and his throne shall not fail to the end of the world; nay, the world shall be renovated (renovabitur), and Christ’s kingdom shall continue, though in another form, after the resurrection,” Comm. Amos 9:11. 92 Comm. Acts, Theme (Argumentem). 93 I am quite aware of the fact that one of Calvin’s great concerns was the reform of society, beginning in Geneva. However, one is hard pressed to find references to the kingdom of Christ in the standard works on this subject. Cf., for example, William Monter, Calvin’s Geneva. (New York: 1967); W. Fred Graham, The Constructive Revolutionary: John Calvin and His Socio-Economic Impact, reprint. (East Lansing: 1987); and William G. Naphy, Calvin and the Consolidation of the Genevan Reformation. (Louisville–London: 2003); and the various essays and books of Robert Kingdon. 94 Comm. Matt. 6:10. 91

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Calvin also makes clear what was only implied before, namely, that God reigns in two ways: in the renewal of the lives of believers and in the overcoming of Satan and all God’s enemies. The goal in both cases is to restore order in a confused and disordered world, for “disorder (ataxia) and confusion” are “the opposite of the kingdom of God.”95 I conclude with one of Calvin’s closing lines in his exposition of the petition, “Thy kingdom come.” “And now, as the kingdom of God is continually advancing and spreading (continuos progressus augetur) to the end of the world, we must pray every day for its coming.”96 It is difficult to know whether Calvin’s theology of the kingdom is congenial to Bram van de Beek’s understanding of ‘religion without ulterior motives.’ As I indicated at the outset, the expression itself is problematic. Calvin never argues that Christianity is superior to other religions because of the benefits it brings. He simply didn’t think along those lines. However, as this study of his view of the kingdom reveals, he did think that the kingdom of Christ brings with it all the benefits of the gospel: reconciliation with God, the gifts of the Spirit, a new life style in so far as Christ rules in our lives as king, and, one might conjecture, a better society. In theory, Calvin might appear to be as a-political and conservative in regard to the social-political realm as Bram van de Beek. Calvin’s view of the kingdom of Christ might appear to support that contention. In practice, however, Calvin went far beyond what Van de Beek would seem to condone in terms of involvement in local politics, international affairs, and social and economic concerns.

95 Comm. Matt. 6:10. On the significance of restoring order in the world see the chapter “John Calvin: Order and the Holy Spirit” in Eugene Osterhaven, The Faith of the Church. A Reformed Perspective on its Historical Development. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 162–193. 96 Comm. Matt 6:10.

AN APOSTOLIC, BIBLICAL, ESCHATOLOGICAL THEOLOGY AS A WAY OF DOING THEOLOGY WITHOUT ULTERIOR MOTIVE

Seung-Goo Lee What is needed in today’s theological context, it seems to me, is a biblical eschatological theology based on the apostolic tradition. As I see it, a (Christian) religion without ulterior motive that Abraham van de Beek suggests us to emphasize in today’s world could take the concrete form of a religion which remains faithful to the apostolic, biblical and eschatological character of authentic Christian belief. Hence, I hope this paper will help to further develop Abraham van de Beek’s theme of ‘Religion without Ulterior Motive,’ in its own way, especially in the context of the Korean religious situation today.

The Religious Situation in Korea Today When Protestant Christianity came to Korea more than one hundred and twenty years ago (1884), the Korean society was a religiously pluralistic society.1 There were many people who had a strong tendency to have a close relationship with shamans, so they visited a shaman from time to time. There were also many Buddhists. There were even some people who had accepted Roman Catholicism either intellectually or fully religiously. Against this foreign Roman Catholicism that was called the ‘Western Way’ (suh-hak) there were some people who were developing an Eastern approach to life and religion (the ‘Eastern Way,’ dong-hak) by mixing Buddhism, Confucianism and Taoism. In general, most people were living according to the Confucian social rule and the Confucian ideology, the ideology of the ruling class of the Li-dynasty (1392–1910). A typical Korean then could be identified as a Confucian as far as his/her outer life is concerned; a shamanist as far

1 For a detailed examination of this problem, see Seung-Goo Lee, “Christian Identity in the Korean Context” (forthcoming).

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as his/her inner life is concerned; a Buddhist as far as his/her ritual life is concerned, since he/she would often visit Buddhist temples and pray for his/her wishes before the statue of a Buhhda. In Korea it was quite common to see a kind of mixture of all sorts of religions. For most people mixing together the various religious elements in their consciousness and life did not matter. What was important for them was (1) to be morally good in a relativistic sense of the word, and (2) to be blessed personally and collectively as a family and a society as a whole in this life and the life after death. In this sense, we may say that Koreans were very pragmatic in their approach to religions. The early Protestant Korean Christians were, therefore, people who had seriously converted themselves from those various religions. They were very adamant to be serious Christians, since they were people who had their own religions before becoming Christians and had not found satisfaction within their heart. Those early Korean Christians were people who met the real God for the first time through the Gospel. They felt that they found the right relationship with God and the real meaning of life for the first time, even though they had been very religious in their own religions. So they totally abandoned their former outer religious ideas and outer religious rituals when they became Christians. In a religiously pluralistic situation where some people were Buddhists, some were Taoists, some were Confucians, and some were Shamanists, Korean Christians had a very vivid and self-conscious identity as people who believe in and worship only the Triune God who had revealed Himself as such in the Bible. Such an identity formed, from the very beginning, their being Christians, for they had been people who have believed and worshiped other gods before they converted to Christianity. Their former religious consciousness, however, was still influencing their consciousness, even after they have converted to Protestant Christianity. Such a process of influence was a very subtle one. It occurred within the realm of unconsciousness. Especially the influence of Confucianism is very strong and typical. So most Korean churches are still very hierarchical; the Korean Christians, unconsciously for most of them and—in some cases—very consciously, have a very Confucian outlook in their relationship with each other. The Korean church, therefore, has a task of overcoming such a Confucian outlook. It is not only the traditional religions, but also the modern naturalistic life-andworld-view, and even the post-modern perspective that are influencing the Korean Christians today. Hence we can find a ‘shamanistic Chris-

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tianity’ in some parts of our Christian population, a form of Christianity that seeks prosperity in this world and in the world beyond death through enthusiastic prayers and other religious activities; a ‘modern Christianity’ in some sections of the Korean Church, either as Christianity that has liberal theologies or an evangelical church that has adjusted itself to the modern city life and is quite comfortable with the nice neighborhood and the well-being of people; and even a ‘postmodern Christianity’ in some parts of Korean Christianity. It is not only the Korean society that is a religiously pluralistic society, but the Korean church is also pluralistic in its understanding of itself. In this way, the Korean church is now in the situation in which it should renew itself in relation to the Scriptures and to the history of the early Korean Christians. In order to solve this serious situation, let us first turn to the situation where the New Testament church begun in this world.

The Way to be Faithful to a Christian Religion without Ulterior Motive As Jesus Himself had done in his earthly ministry, and as he commissioned his disciples to preach the Gospel of the kingdom, the apostles proclaimed the ‘Gospel of the kingdom’ (Matt. 4:17, 23; 24:14; Mark 1:15; Luke 4:43; 8:1; 16:16; Acts 1:3; 8:12; 19; 8; 20:25; 28:23, 31).2 To proclaim the Gospel of the kingdom was the ultimate purpose of their lives; it was their mission as ones who were called by God. The apostles believed that only this Gospel could make each individual alive, and that it was this Gospel which gave genuine and ultimate meaning to this world as a whole. Unless one receives and believes this Gospel, there is no life, no meaning for that one; that one is then living a spiritually dead life, and he/she will experience misery in this world and will face physical death; there is no exit from such a wrathful situation. This is the reason why Jesus Christ came into this world to do his work of atonement, and this is the very reason why the apostles risked their lives to preach the good news of Jesus Christ and the kingdom that Jesus had spiritually established on earth. From this apostolic tradition came the theological task of elaborating the meaning of the 2 For emphasis of this point, see I. Howard Marshall, Acts, Tyndale New Testament Commentaries (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 57 f.: “It follows that the church can take up the message of Jesus, as recorded in the Gospels, and make it part of its own.”

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Gospel; this tradition continues and is developed until now. If a good and genuine theology in the past was a theology which drew out the rich and full significance of the Gospel of the kingdom with validity and with consistency, the same should be the case in today’s Korean context. There are many theologians who teach the full significance of the Gospel of the kingdom to today’s world and who are doing theology from such a kingdom perspective. At the same time, there are also many theologies that are somewhat different, so that many people today—even in Korea—question whether theology is really faithful to the Gospel which makes people alive, and whether theology can provide the full significance of the Gospel of the kingdom. Unfortunately, many people just enjoy contrasting the Gospel and theology (what an impossible possibility!). In the end, there even appears such strange thinking as ‘the Gospel gives life, but theology kills.’ Whose responsibility is it for such a distorted situation today? The responsibility is partly on those who tried to provide a theology that changes the form and the contents of Christianity by distorting the Gospel, and partly on those who do not teach the rich meaning of the Gospel. Hence, the questions that should be asked of the theologies in every generation and of every society are: (1) “Are we not doing theology from a perspective that is outside of Christianity by abandoning the Gospel which Christians have traditionally believed?”, (2) “Are we not distorting the Gospel and modifying Christianity itself ?” and (3) “Do we really draw out the rich meaning of the Gospel through our theology?” The first question will be raised against those who are doing theology from the post-Christian or anti-Christian perspective; the second question will be against the revisionists; and the third question against some evangelical Christians who are not really drawing out the full significance of the Gospel. Hence, my proposal is one that asks these three questions at the same time in our currently perplexed theological situation. This is a call for a theology which does not distort the Gospel either by moving away from Christianity, or in a way which revises Christianity, or in the way in which limits the meaning of the Gospel of the kingdom. To put this in a more positive manner, “How can we do theology that is really faithful to the Gospel of the kingdom of God?” or “How can we do theology that is helpful for Christian religion without ulterior motive?” As a way of responding to this question, I propose the following three (yet unitary, for they form a unit) proposals.

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A Call for an Apostolic Theology Theology that is fitting to a religion without ulterior motive, it seems to me, should be one that is faithful to the apostolic tradition. This would be a truism in the early days of Christianity. While lamenting the modern theological atmosphere that disdains theology that is faithful to the apostolic tradition, we point out that the same must be true to the 21st century situation, if sound theology in the first century was theology that was faithful to the apostolic tradition. Since we do not have other apostles in this 21st century; the apostles in the first century are the apostles for the 21st century as well. As A.F. Walls rightly points out, “[the] apostolic witness was maintained in the abiding work of the apostles and in what became normative for later ages, its written form in the NT.”3 Therefore, “no renewal of the office or of its special gifts has been called for.”4 We may easily understand this point by remembering that the office of the apostles is the foundational office that provided the foundation for the coming church. Hence, the theologies that are faithful to the Gospel which the apostles preached and taught in the first century can survive as Christian theologies even in our present situation. In this sense, the first criterion by which we can judge any theology as Christian or not will be: “Is the teaching of that theology really faithful to the apostolic teaching?” How then can we summarize the apostolic tradition? For this purpose we may use the rule of faith (regula fidei)5 that some of the church fathers used reflecting the apostles’ teaching, or the Apostles’ Creed (Credo) that was developed from the baptismal confession of the church of Rome in the 2nd century AD. Given especially that the Apostles’ 3 A.F. Walls, “Apostle” in New Bible Dictionary (Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1982), 61. He refers to the following books: J.N. Geldenhuys, Supreme Authority (1953), 100ff.; O. Cullmann, “The Tradition” in The Early Church (1956). 4 Walls, “Apostle,” 61. 5 For representative examples of the regula fidei, see Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1. 10, in The Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989) 330– 331; Tertullian, De Praesc. 13, in The Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. III (Edinburgh: T&T Clark; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 249. For good arguments for the Christian interpretation of the Scriptures on the basis of regula fidei, see Trevor Hart, “Tradition, Authority, and a Christian Approach to the Bible as Scripture” in Joel B. Green and Max Turner, Between Two Horizons: Spanning New Testament Studies & Systematic Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 187–188; Robert W. Wall, “Reading the Bible from within Our Tradition: The Rule of Faith in Theological Hermeneutics,” in Between Two Horizons, 88–91.

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Creed was, and is, one of universally received creeds, this is not a very strange or unusual suggestion. Even in the 21st century only the theological works that are compatible with such a rule of faith or that accept the apostles’ teaching can be called Christian. If such was the case in the past, then both ancient forms and modern forms of theology that do not accept the apostles’ teaching must also be understood as nonChristian or outside of Christian theology. For example, how should we think about the theology of those who say that Jesus did not think of himself as the God who came to this world and that Jesus is not the second person of the Trinity who was incarnate by taking flesh from the Virgin Mary?6 If we do not have a clear cutting edge, our theological world will be in confusion with many theologies that do not serve the church, and we will dance in the dark. Hence, our first call is the call for an apostolic theology.

A Call for a Biblical Theology So, as long as one theology has all the elements of the apostolic tradition, may we take that theology as the one we should accept and follow? In regard to this, we want to propose another criterion: that our theology should be biblical. By biblical I mean that we should be faithful to the sola scriptura and tota scriptura position in sensu strictu,7 and that we should have a realistic understanding of what the Scriptures say. For example, let us take a certain theologian’s approach to the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Contrary to those who are of the opinion that they can no longer believe in the resurrection,8 if a certain theologian takes the resurrection very seriously, then he/she can be regarded as doing theology within the bounds of Christianity; that is, he/she is doing Christian theology. If one emphasizing the importance of the resurrection, however, does not accept the resurrection narratives as they 6 See, e. g., H.M. Kuitert, Jesus: The Legacy of Christianity, trans. John Bowden (London: SCM Press, 1999), esp., 180, 275. 7 From this perspective, e.g., David Brown’s approach to the Scriptures that emphasizes the essential continuity of the Scripture and the tradition cannot be regarded as biblical in sensu strictu. Cf. Tradition and Imagination: Revelation and Change (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999); Discipleship and Imagination: Christian Tradition and Truth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), esp., 248, 389, 399. 8 See, e. g., David L. Edwards, After Death: Past Belief and Real Possibilities (London: Cassell, 1999); A.J.M. Wedderburn, Beyond Resurrection (London: SCM Press, 1999), esp. 95, 134, 145 ff., 151f.

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are in the Gospels, what should we think about his/her theology? For example, Marcus J. Borg, who finds Easter “utterly central to Christianity,” thinks that the question as to whether Jesus’s body remained in the tomb or not is irrelevant, because for Borg the resurrection involves an “entry into a new kind of existence.”9 What should we think of his theology? Can we regard his theology as ‘biblical’? And what should we think about the theology of those who argue that the original raising of Jesus was at his baptism, at which moment he became the Son of God?10 As far as one affirms the resurrection of Jesus, his/her theology is Christian theology as far as the resurrection is concerned. However, if he/she does not accept the resurrection narratives and tries to change the structure and meaning of the resurrection faith, then I doubt whether we could call that kind of theology biblical. Let us take another example. Theologies that take the return of Christ seriously would be Christian in contrast to those that do not take it seriously. How should we think about those theologies that take only a figurative meaning of the return of Christ? Let us here, for example, consider James Dunn’s understanding of the return of Christ. He emphasizes the point that “the most of biblical language related to the coming again of Christ is the language of vision.”11 Expressions like “the coming in clouds, the throne and judgement seat, and resurrection itself ” are only “metaphors” (430). He also emphasizes that “in talking of the coming again we are talking about events which transcend history, which bring history to an end as we have experienced it hitherto” (429). In relation to this point, Dunn sees a parallel or the compatibility between the story of the beginning and the story of the end. In this sense he says that Endzeit is as “Urzeit.” (429). According to Dunn, we are now accustomed to the idea that the biblical accounts of the creation are expressed by picture language and imagery. And he adds that “the myth of the beginnings of the world and of humankind is true in the way that a great poem or a great painting may be true” (430). Similarly, according to Dunn, “the language we use” in relation 9 Marcus J. Borg and N.T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions (SPCK/HarperCollins, 1999). 10 Cf. Margaret Barkker, The Risen Lord: The Jesus of History as the Christ of Faith (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997). 11 James Dunn, “We believe in One Lord Jesus Christ,” Interpretation 51 (1997), 42–56; reprinted in The Christ and The Spirit, vol. 1: Christology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 424–439. Hereafter citation from this article is from Christology and will be put in the main text in brackets (429).

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to the second coming of Christ “is an attempt to express what we cannot fully express by language, and can only begin to express when language functions as metaphor, metaphor functioning as another way of depicting reality” (430). For “in all things which transcend human experience we have no choice but to use metaphor” (431). Dunn knows very well what kind of criticisms will be raised in relation to such an assertion. So he says that “to speak of the second coming as metaphor or myth is not to deny it or to play it down but to recognize the character of the language of hope” (431). He is saying that he is faithful to the language of hope. For, according to Dunn, “to deny the language of hope its metaphorical character is to particularize and specify the terms of that hope in a way that Jesus and the biblical writers repeatedly warn us against” (431). In this way Dunn contrasts the traditional understanding of the second coming of Christ and the understanding of Jesus and biblical writers. Dunn does the same in relation to the concept of “hell.” All the biblical imagery of hell, like Dante’s portrayal in the Divine Comedy and C.S. Lewis’s portrayal in the Great Divorce, “are attempts to portray an unimaginable human future in terms drawn from the more horrific experiences of human life” (433). What Dunn demands of us is that we see the spiritual reality which transcends metaphorical language. Otherwise, we “will turn the icon into an idol.” That is, if we continually focus “our attention on the metaphor itself,” then we give “the language the devotion which belongs to our God and to his Christ alone” (433). Hence, according to Dunn, “to tie the confession (of the return of Christ) to a literal coming of Jesus in the clouds of heaven is to limit it,” and that would be “to lose sight of the deeper significance of the language, to linger on the letter and lose the Spirit” (438). It is true that Dunn does not want to abandon the language of the second coming of Christ (438 f.). He just wants to remind us that the language of our confession is a means to convey the great truth of the Christian conviction that “the Christ we encounter at the end of time will be the Christ we encounter in the Gospels” (439). For Dunn, “Christ will come again,” “but the imagery itself is not the reality,” for “the reality is far greater than the imagery” (438). What then is the far greater reality? He had already intimated that the reality is Christ’s being with us. So it is the case that Dunn abandons the literal second coming of Christ, and substitutes “the Spirit-Paraclete as the coming again of the first Paraclete” (437). Hence we get the impression that while Dunn is emphasizing that the language of the second coming is the language of vision and met-

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aphor, he makes the contents of the metaphor ambiguous. From the metaphor of the second coming, Dunn draws out the idea that (1) the future is not random and pointless; that (2) the Christ we encounter at the end of time will be the Christ we have already encountered, and that (3) the world of the future has a Christ-shape and a Christcharacter. Dunn does not give us more concrete ideas than these ambiguous descriptions of the future. We want to ask Dunn about the concrete shape of the future. He may say that to ask about concrete things in relation to the return of Christ is to demand prophecy, forgetting the spirit and sticking to the letter. It seems to me that the theology which Dunn is driving us to is somewhat different from biblical theology in the traditional sense of the word. Hence by biblical, we mean something that has concrete implications for doing theology. That is, this is a demand for theology to conform to the Scriptures not only in the subject-matter of the theology, but also even in its theological expressions. This is also a demand to be faithful to the canonical characteristic of the Scriptures in our interpretation of the Scriptures, and in the way in which we express the results of the interpretation. In this sense such a biblical theology could be understood as a canonical theology in sensu strictu.12 Our reservation with those who do theology from the so-called post-liberalistic perspective is here. It is true that those who are post-liberal are doing theology that is very different from the old liberal approach to theology. In this sense, they may be said to be more biblical than those who are faithful to historical criticism.13 However, we have to ask whether such a canonical approach is biblical enough to be called to be biblical in sensu strictu.14 12

The canonical approach in sensu restrictu is the approach that is somewhat more traditional and somewhat more faithful to the authority of the Scriptures than Robert W. Wall shows in his articles, “Reading the New Testament in Canonical Context,” in Hearing the New Testament: Strategies for Interpretation, ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 370–393; idem, “Canonical Context and Canonical Conversations,” in Between Two Horizons, 165–182. 13 Cf. B.S. Childs’ works, James A. Sanders, From Sacred Story to Sacred Text: Canon as Paradigm (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987); Stanley E. Porter and Kent D. Clarke, “Canonical-Critical Perspective and Relationship of Colossians and Ephesians,” Biblica 78 (1977), 57–86; Albert C. Outler, “The ‘Logic’ of Canon-Making and the Tasks of Canon-Criticism” in Texts and Testaments: Critical Essays on the Bible and Early Church Fathers, ed. W. Eugene March (San Antonio: Trinity University Press, 1980), 263–276; R.W.L. Moberly, The Bible, Theology, and Faith: A Study of Abraham and Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 14 For a similar criticism of the so-called post-liberal approach to theology, see Max

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Moreover, the demand to be biblical is also a demand to be moreor-less conscious of the “history of the special revelation” (historia revelationis).15 This is a demand for a richer theology. In order not to mistake the biblical expressions as timeless propositions and misunderstand the proper meaning of that expression, we have to think of the context of the specific part of the Scriptures within the whole history of revelation.16 Hence by biblical theology we mean theology that emphasizes the authorial intention of the human authors of the Scriptures,17 and at the same time thinks of the divine authorial intention,18 and interprets the Scriptures being aware of the historical progressiveness of revelation.

Turner, “Historical Criticism and Theological Hermeneutics of the New Testament” in Between Two Horizons, 44–70. See, esp., 61–67. 15 This is a description of biblical theology that combines two types of biblical theology (1 and 5 below) out of five types that Steve Motyer mentioned: (1) biblical theology apart from historical criticism (G. Vos, Wilhelm Vischer), (2) biblical theology arising out of historical criticism (Gerhard von Rad, Oscar Cullmann, G. Ernest Wright, Krister Stendahl) (3) biblical theology abstracted from history (Walter Eichdodt, Peter Stuhlmacher, Brevard Childs, Christopher Seitz) (4) biblical theology founded upon a new “history” (Francis Watson), (5) biblical theology in engagement and dialogue (John Goldingay, Walter Brugemann). Cf. Steve Motyer, “Two Testaments, One Biblical Theology,” in Between Two Horizons, 146–158. 16 For discussions on this point, see Richard Lints, The Fabric of Theology: A Prolegomenon to Evangelical Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), esp., 270f., 278, 288; Seung-Goo Lee, “Reformed Biblical Theology and Preaching,” The Church and Culture 1 (1998), 35–50; “A Theological Approach to G. Vos’ Sermons,” The Church and Culture 2 (1999), 93–129; “Biblical Theology and Systematic Theology,” The Church and Culture 5 (2000), 53–82. 17 Cf. Stephen E. Fowl, “The Role of Authorial Intention in the Theological Interpretation of Scripture,” in Between Two Horizons, 71–87. However, Fowl also asks whether the authorial intention is the intention of the text (73), and gives a negative answer to this question, and criticizes the identification of the two (77). If he is not thinking of the possibility of the sensus plenior in restricted sense, then we have to question the real intention of Fowl’s assertion. 18 Here we may see the possibility of the sensus plenior in the evangelical sense of the word. For a good discussion on the sensus plenior from an evangelical point of view, see Douglas J. Moo, “The Problem of Sensus Plenior,” in D.A. Carson and John D. Woodbridge, eds., Hermeneutics, Authority, and Canon (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1986), 179–211; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15: Word Biblical Commentary (Waco, Texas: Word Books, 1987), 28.

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A Call for An Eschatological Theology If our theology is faithful to the Scriptures, then it should be an eschatological theology that is faithful to the New Testament concept of the eschation.19 Nota bene that I speak of the New Testament concept of the eschaton, not the eschatology in general. In the Old Testament, the day of the eschaton is the day of the Lord. According to such an Old Testament concept of the eschaton, this world or this age is going toward the day of the Lord, and there will be a time in which this day of the Lord will come. Hence, within this understanding, the eschaton is in, and belongs to, the coming future. On that day the right order of things will appear, and everything will be corrected. There will be a future eschaton—that may be said to be the essence of the Old Testament concept of the eschaton. Likewise the Jewish concept of the eschaton was and still is futuristic. Then, how about our concept of the eschaton? How do we use the term ‘eschatological’? I have noticed more people use the term ‘eschatological’ in the Old Testament or Jewish sense of the word. Even in theological discussions, terms like ‘the eschaton’ or ‘the eschatological’ are used mainly in the futuristic sense. We cannot but ask whether such a usage of the term ‘eschatological’ is really faithful to the Scriptures. For, as twentieth century New Testament studies show, the situation changed in New Testament times. In the New Testament, the eschaton is no longer merely the coming future day. In the New Testament the ‘now present’ of the eschaton and ‘not yet present’ of the eschaton are clearly revealed; and the future is strongly based on the ‘now present’ of the eschaton.20 Such a New Testament understanding of the eschaton is usually called an “inaugurate

19 For a discussion on this point, see Seung-Goo Lee, “Prolegomena for an Eschatological Theology: Towards the Kingdom Theology,” The Scripture and Theology 13 (1993), 193–225; “The 21st Century and the New Paradigm of Reformed Theology,” esp., 99– 105. 20 As we all know, most of the New Testament scholars clearly point this out. If we may mention several representative, see Oscar Cullmann, Christ and Time, trans. Floyd V. Filson (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1950), 87; G.E. Ladd, The Presence of the Future (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 337. See also Seung-Goo Lee, “Herman Ridderbos on the Relationship between the Kingdom and the Church,” Korea Reformed Biblical Society 2001 Spring Conference (Feb. 12, 2001).

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eschatology”21 or a “realizing eschatology.”22 Hence, according to the teaching of the New Testament, Christians who are regenerated and have entered the kingdom of God are already living in the eschatological period that has already come; so they should live on the basis of the eschatological order of things. At the same time, they are still waiting for the consummation of the kingdom of God, and not ceasing to pray: “Thy kingdom come.” Hence, in the New Testament times to use the terms like ‘eschaton’ and ‘eschatological’ mainly in the future sense is not faithful to the teaching of the New Testament, and is not congruent with New Testament times. Rather, we should expect the eschatological era that has already come in the work of Christ to be transited to the state of glory on the basis of the already arrived eschaton. Theology that is faithful to the characteristics of the New Testament period is an eschatological theology; such an eschatological theology is a theology that recognizes the significance of the eschaton that has arrived in Christ, and draws out the implications of this coming of the eschaton.23 If we might apply our understanding of the eschaton to eschatology, we should not speak about the kingdom of God (that is, kingdom of heaven) that was brought in with the eschaton merely in the future sense. It was during Old Testament times when we thought of the coming of the kingdom only in the futuristic sense. In the New Testament 21 See, e. g., Richard J. Bauckham, “Eschatology” in New Bible Dictionary, 342; Anthony A. Hoekema, The Bible and the Future (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), Chapter 2. 22 But it cannot be termed as a ‘realized eschatology,’ since a ‘realized eschatology’ can fit with C.H. Dodd’s eschatological understanding that admits only the present aspect of the kingdom of God while dismissing the future aspect of the kingdom. 23 Among theological works that are well aware of such a New Testament concept of the eschaton, we may think of the works of G. Vos, the works of Herman Ridderbos, the works of Anthony A. Hoekema, and the works of Richard Gaffin. See also David Wells, The Person of Christ (Westchester, Ill.: Crossway Books, 1984); Adrio Koenig, The Eclipse of Christ in Eschatology: Toward a Christ-Centered Approach (London: Marshall Morgan & Scott and Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989); John Webster, “Anthropology, Eschatology and Postmodernity,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 2/1 (March, 2000), 13–28; James M. Scott, “Jesus’ Vision for the Resurrection of Israel as the Basis for a Biblical Theology of the New Testament” in Scott J. Hafemann, ed., Biblical Theology: Retrospect & Prospect (Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP, 2000), 129–143; G.K. Beale, “The Eschatological Conception of New Testament Theology” in Eschatology in Bible and Theology, ed. K.E. Brown and M.W. Elliott (Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP, 1999), 19– 52; idem, “The New Testament and New Creation” in S.J. Hafemann (ed.), Biblical Theology, 159–173. And as a strong defence for Stanley Hauerwas’ theology and his theological ethics to be based on the New Testament concept of the eschaton, see Samuel Wells, “Stanley Hauerwas’ Theological Ethics in Eschatological Perspective,” Scottish Journal of Theology, vol. 54, no. 4 (2000), 431–448, esp., 432–433.

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age, however, the kingdom of God has already broken into (biazhtai) this world through the works of Jesus Christ and is still marching in. Hence, in New Testament times, we should not speak about the kingdom of God merely in the futuristic sense. The times in which we should speak in such a way have passed. The new age has already dawned in Christ, so now we have to speak of the kingdom of heaven with a strong awareness of its presence. Here a most serious question may be raised, serious in the Korean context at least: what do we mean by ‘the Gospel of the kingdom’? What do Korean Christians think of when we hear the term ‘the Gospel of the kingdom’? And is what we think of the same as what the New Testament means by the ‘the Gospel of the kingdom,’ or something different? Do the theologies of today show and draw out the full significance of the Gospel of the kingdom in the richest sense of the word? In order to ask this question in a more dramatic way, let us consider one incident in the first century context. Luke concludes the Acts of the Apostles (or his Luke-Acts) with a scene in which Paul the apostle is proclaiming the Gospel in Rome as Paul himself anxiously expected. Luke first summarizes how Paul preached the Gospel: “And they had appointed him a day, there came many to him into his lodging; to whom he expounded and testified the kingdom of God, persuading them concerning Jesus, both out of the law of Moses, and out of the prophets, from morning till evening” (Acts 28:23). In response to Paul’s preaching of the kingdom of God, there were some who believed the things which were preached, and some who did not. So, when they did not agree among themselves, they departed. Observing such a situation Paul quotes from Isaiah and the Psalms, and declares that “the salvation of God is sent unto the Gentiles and they will hear it” (Acts 28:28). Luke then summarizes the way in which Paul preached the Gospel to the Gentiles in the following way: “Preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man forbidding him” (Acts 28:31). According to Luke’s accounts, both Paul’s teaching to the Jews and the contents of Paul’s preaching to the Gentiles are concerned with the kingdom of God.24 What then are the concrete contents of Paul’s teaching about

24 For a discussion on the identical nature of the gospel preached to the gentiles in Rome and what he had preached before, see I.H. Marshall, Acts, 427.

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the kingdom of God? Is it that if we believe in Jesus Christ, then we will go to the kingdom of heaven when we die—as some people in Korea traditionally think? Or, is it the teaching that if we sincerely believe in Jesus, then we will participate in the millennial kingdom that Jesus will establish when he comes again?25 When we closely examine the New Testament teaching of the kingdom of God, however, we cannot help but point out that such understandings are not the same as what the New Testament teaches, and is something different from the New Testament teaching. Here lies the reason why our theology should be an eschatological theology in the New Testament sense of the word. According to what Paul teaches elsewhere, those who were redeemed by believing in Jesus Christ are “having been delivered” from “the power of darkness,” and have been translated “into “the kingdom of his dear Son” (Col. 1:13, 14).26 Hence the salvation that Jesus accomplished and the Holy Spirit applied to us is the divine act by which God lets us participate in the “new creature”27 that Christ had spiritually already brought into this world (2Cor. 5:17).28 For, as Ralph Martin says well, the new creature is the “new eschatological situation come with the coming of Christ.”29 Those who are already redeemed in this world, therefore, are already in the kingdom of God enjoying righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit (Rom. 14:17).30 Douglas Moo, mentioning Schmithals’ emphasis that 25 As we can expect, those who are doing theology from the dispensational perspective tend to interpret these passages in this way. See, e. g., Stanley D. Toussaint, “Acts” in The Bible Knowledge Commentary, An Exposition of the Scriptures by Dallas Seminary Faculty, New Testament (Wheaton, Ill.: Victor Books, 1983), 430. 26 For a discussion that the reason why Paul uses the expression “the kingdom of his dear Son” rather than “the kingdom of God” is to emphasize the presence of the kingdom, see Arthur G. Patzia, Colossians, Philemon, Ephesians (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1984), 11. 27 For a good discussion on this term, see Geerhardus Vos, The Pauline Eschatology (1930: Grand Rapids: Baker, 1979). 28 For a good exegesis showing the Vosian approach see Philip E. Hughes, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1962), 202– 204. Hence the expression “in Christ” in this passage does not modify “whosoever” (τις), but “the new creature.” For a good discussion on this point, see Ralph P. Martin, 2 Corinthians, Word Biblical Commentary 40 (Waco, Texas: Word Books, 1986), 152. 29 Martin, 152. 30 John Murray correctly points out what is rejected in this passage: “When questions of food and drink become our chief concern, then it is apparent how far removed from the interests of God’s kingdom our thinking and conduct have strayed (cf. Matt. 6:31–33)” (John Murray, The Epistle to the Romans, vol. II, NICNT [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965], 193).

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these three are the eschatological gifts of the Holy Spirit,31 points out how these three are similar to what is expressed in Rom. 5:1–2 that is a kind of summary of what is taught in Rom. chapters 1–4: “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: By whom also we have access by faith into his grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.”32 This is the righteousness, peace, and joy that we enjoy and seek on the basis of what God has done for us.33 Through these characteristics we demonstrate that we are now ruled by God. The consummation is, however, still in the future, so those who live as the people of God here and now will eventually have an “incorruptible body wholly controlled by the spirit,”34 and will inherit the consummated kingdom of God (I Cor. 15:50). On that day God’s works to fill the whole world will be completed (Eph. 1:23; 4:10); gathering together

For arguments for Paul’s emphasis on the presence of the kingdom using the term “the kingdom of God,” see C.K. Barrett, The Epistle to the Romans, Harpers New Testament Commentaries (1957; Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendriksen, 1987), 264; Leon Morris, The Epistle to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 488. 31 W. Schmithals, Der Römerbrief. Ein Kommentar (Guetersloh: Mohn, 1988), cited in Douglas Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 857, n. 46. Moo is of the opinion that all these three are controlled by the Holy Spirt, as the Korean Revied version takes this sentence. For a similar view, see Morris, 489. In this point Moo and Morris are against W. Sanday and A.C. Headlam (The Epistle to the Romans, ICC [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1895]), C.E.B. Cranfield (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. ICC, n.s. [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975]) and Otto Michel (Der Brief an die Römer [Goettingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), and Matthew Black (Romans, New Century Bible Commentary [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981]) who think that only joy is related to the Spirit in this sentence. 32 Moo, 857, n. 46. 33 Cf. Morris, 489. This interpretation is against the interpretation of Calvin, Hodge, Shedd, Cranfield who emphasize the objective righteousness imputed and peace with God on the one had, and is against the interpretation of Sanday and Headam who are emphasizing human righteousness and peace by disregarding the objective aspect(392) on the other. Murray(194) and Barrett(265) also have the latter tendency, but they are not so radical as Sanday and Headlam are. For Sanday and Headlam’s liberal undersanading of the kingdom of God, see 391. 34 Archibald Robertson and Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians, 2nd Edition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914), 375. For “[our] present bodies, whether living and dead, are absolutely unfitted for the Kingdom: there must be a transformation” (376). Jeremias also says that “neither the living nor the dead can take part in the Kingdom of God—as they are” (New Testament Studies, II, 152, cited in Barrett, The First Epistle to the Corinthians [1968: Peabody, Mass. Hendrickson, 1987], 379).

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into one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth, as completed (Eph. 1:10). Hence we may say that Paul’s teaching summarized in Acts is not fundamentally different from what Paul is teaching elsewhere.35 Making this point clear, David Williams correctly summarizes Paul’s teaching at the end of Acts in the following way: “Paul spent the whole day in demonstrating from the Law of Moses and from the Prophets that Jesus was the fulfillment of the Scriptures and the Messiah who would establish the kingdom of God.”36 Howard Marshall is clearer when he explains the subject matter of Paul’s message: “The subject matter … combined the themes of the preaching of Jesus and the apostolic message about him which formed a unity: the rule of God was the rule of God’s agent, the Messiah, and it was Jesus who filled this role.”37 In this way, “[the] kingdom of God and the story of Jesus are closely connected in the preaching of the Gospel.”38 Hence, we may say with Longenecker that “in Acts the phrase ‘kingdom of God’ appears as a convenient way of summarizing the early Christian proclamation.”39 In relation to Paul’s proclamation summarized in the last verse of the Acts, F.F. Bruce quotes the following words of T.D. Bernard: Evidently on purpose are the two expressions combined in this final summary, in order to show that the preaching of the kingdom and the preaching of Christ are one: that the original proclamation has not ceased, but that in Christ Jesus the thing proclaimed is no longer a vague and future hope, but a distinct and present fact. In the conjunction of these words the progress of doctrine appears. All is founded upon the old Jewish expectation of a kingdom of God; but it is now explained how that expectation is fulfilled in the person of Jesus, and the account of its realization consists in the unfolding of the truth concerning him. The

35 Most commentators see the relation between this summary and the summary of teaching in the other parts of the Acts, especially Acts 13:16–41, 17:2 f., and 26:22 f. and Paul’s teaching in his epistles. Cf. F.F. Bruce, The Book of the Acts, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), 532, n. 43, 533; Richard N. Longennecker, “Acts,” in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, vol. 9 (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1981), 570, 572; David J. Williams, Acts, New International Biblical Commentary (Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishers, 1990), 453; and Marshall, 424. 36 Williams, Acts, 452 f. 37 Marshall, 424. 38 F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles, The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1951), 478f. 39 Cf. Longenecker, 254. In relation to this he mentioned Acts 8:12; 19:8; 20:25; 28:23, 31.

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manifestation of Christ being finished, the kingdom is already begun. Those who receive him enter into it. Having overcome the sharpness of death, he has opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers.40

This is, then, a good summary of what the New Testament taught about the kingdom of God. Those who receive the Gospel of the kingdom and become Christians should expect and await the consummation of the kingdom on the basis of the kingdom established by Jesus. There will be some who wonder why we say so much about the kingdom that has become commonplace today. However, I think that many people do not think about the theological task that is implied in our understanding of the kingdom. What then is the theological task implied in the teaching about the kingdom of God? It is to develop a theology that is faithful to the kingdom idea, the idea of a New Testament eschatological theology.41 One of the primary things one must do in relation to kingdom theology is to use exact terms that are faithful to the New Testament concepts of the eschaton and of the kingdom of God. If there are some differences between the traditional use of the term and the biblical use, then we have to point out the difference and try to use biblical terms. One of the suggestions in relation to the Western use of terms is to be more careful in their use of the language of heaven. It is true that most people in the West, unlike in Korea, will differentiate between ‘heaven’ and ‘the kingdom of heaven’ following the biblical use of the terms. So they identify heaven with paradise;42 but it is very rare to find people to identify the kingdom of heaven with paradise. However, there are some ambiguities in their use of the term ‘heaven.’ By heaven they mean the place where God and the resurrected and ascended Christ are and where our departed souls will be with Christ in the presence of God on the one hand (this would be the main use). They also sometimes mean

T.D. Bernard, The Progress of Doctrine, 5th edition, 112, cited in Bruce, The Acts, the Greek Text, 480f. 41 For a discussion on this point in Korean context, see Seung-Goo Lee, “Prolegomena for an Eschatological Theology: Toward the Kingdom of God Theology,” The Scripture and Theology, vol. 13 (1993), 193–225, reprinted in Studies in Reformed Theology (Seoul: Hana, 1999), 13–39. 42 See, e. g., Louis Berkhof, Systematic Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1949), 679: “‘Today shalt thou be with me in paradise,” Luke 23:43. And to be with Christ is also to be in heaven.’ In the light of II Cor. 12:3, 4 ‘paradise’ can only be a designation of heaven.” See also Herman Bavinck, The Last Things, trans. John Vriend (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 37. 40

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the status of glory (status gloriae), that is, the kingdom of glory (regnum gloriae), on the other hand.43 Especially in the works of those in the field of the philosophy of religion or philosophical theology we may easily find such a broad use of the language of heaven.44 We propose that our Western colleagues examine this problem from a biblical perspective. Is it not more natural to differentiate heaven as the place where our soul will be with Christ in the presence of God and the regnum gloriae as the final state of the righteous? We must carefully consider problems that might occur when we fail to remove ambiguity in relation to these terms. The ultimate reason that we should use these terms correctly lies in the importance of the formation of kingdom theology. The correct use of terms is not the aim in itself, rather, it is just a small part of the way in which we enrich our kingdom theology based on the New Testament. The ultimate demand for us is to develop and enrich an eschatological theology that is faithful to the New Testament concept of the eschaton and the kingdom of God. What then is the ultimate aim of our kingdom theology? It is to make all our activities and works of life responsive to the kingdom of God in the Holy Spirit. For where there is no ortho-praxis of the kingdom, there is no reign of God. If the ultimate purpose of our theological works is for the orthopraxis of the kingdom, then our theology should be a whole-person theology of the people of God and practical theology for the kingdom of God. The characteristics of praxis should have a kingdom perspective. Such a theology should be a theology of the church that most strongly demonstrates the kingdom of God in this world. It is not important how much we speak of the theology of the church. There are some theologies that emphasize that they are theologies of the church or theologies for the church, but destroy the true characteristics of the church; these are not theologies of the church and for the church in the real sense of the word. Hence, what is 43

For example, Berkhof speaks of heaven as the intermediate state of the believer. In some places, however, he also uses the term ‘heaven’ to refer to the eternal abode of the righteous (680, 737). However, in the end he makes a point that “Scripture gives us reasons to believe that the righteous will not only inherit heaven, but the entire new creation, Matt. 5:5; Rev. 21:1–3” (737). Here he may give us a hint to distinguish ‘heaven’ and a new heavens and a new earth. See also Bavinck, Last Things, 37. 44 See, e.g., Paul Helm, The Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust, 1989), 83–107. See, esp., 89, 90, 104; and Alister E. McGrath, A Brief History of Heaven (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002).

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important is not our words and assertions, but real service for the church which allows her to demonstrate the kingdom of God in this world.

Conclusion In this article I make a somewhat strong assertion that our theology should be an apostolic, biblical, eschatological theology in order for our religion to be a religion without ulterior motive. To some people this seems naïve, and to others too radical. Naive in the sense that they believe there is nothing new to contribute to the theological world today; radical in the sense that this assertion seems to deny the possibility of the development of theology in the sense of making it transcend the bounds of the Scripture and of the scriptural tradition. The reason this assertion is radical, therefore, lies not in the novelty of such an assertion, but in the situation where we are, in a sense, alienated from the Gospel of the kingdom of the New Testament. There are theologies that do not show at all the meaning of the Gospel of the kingdom, on the one hand, and theologies that distort the meaning of the kingdom by restricting the full significance of the kingdom, on the other. In such a context I hope to see the re-emergence of a theology that is faithful to a truly apostolic tradition. Hence, in my call for an apostolic theology, I hope to see a theology that does not disregard the contents of the Scriptures, nor distort the meaning of the Scriptures; one that honors the Scriptures in its interpretation of and attitude to wards the Scriptures. Hence, my call for biblical theology in sensu strictu. Finally, I hope to see a theology that is faithful to the New Testament message of the kingdom of God. Hence, my call for an eschatological theology—a kingdom theology. Such a challenge faces Korean theologians as well as theologians everywhere, for we currently see many distortions of the Gospel of the kingdom throughout the world. The movement of the Gospel of the kingdom, which began in the orient, came to the orient once again by the providence of God via the churches of the West. We as Koreans received the Gospel of the kingdom through Western missionaries and Western theologians and have tried to demonstrate a reality that is faithful to the Gospel of the kingdom in our own theological work and life in general. During the last century in which we received this Gospel of the kingdom, we also received other gospels, distorted Gospels of the

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kingdom through various Western theologies. In such a situation we want to say with Paul: “There is not another gospel; but there be some that trouble you, and would pervert the gospel of Christ” (Gal. 1:7). Even in the 21st century, to proclaim the Gospel of Christ faithfully and to show the rich and perfect significance of the Gospel is not something that will please all men.45 Therefore, if we are really a people who serve the kingdom of God through our theological work, we must provide the church with an apostolic, biblical and eschatological kingdom theology that is faithful and true to the entire word of God. For, in my opinion, an apostolic, biblical and eschatological theology is a right way of doing theology to the threat of religion being used for ulterior motives.

45 Cf. David F. Wells, God in the Wasteland: The Reality of Truth in a World of Fading Dreams (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 223, 224.

DISCOURSE ON RELIGION WITHOUT ULTERIOR MOTIVE: A CARIBBEAN PERSPECTIVE

Daniel J. Antwi “Religion must conceive of itself as the end in itself. It must reject any view which makes its existence a means to other ends such as morality of society or the authority of the state. It must be totalitarian in the realm of values, regarding all else as a means to its one single end—KNOWING GOD AND CLEAVING TO GOD” [A.Y. Leibowitz]

In providing a Caribbean perspective on the general theme, ‘Religion without ulterior motive,’ this essay will focus on the understanding that generally the defining moments for the practice of religious faith are within the social, cultural, historical and political contexts of religious practitioners. The extent to which religion can be used for ulterior motive in any given context is determined by the formulation and the articulation of that religious faith and the use to which that faith is placed in both public and private arenas. At her inauguration on March 30, 2006, as the first woman Prime Minister of Jamaica, Portia Simpson Miller began her inaugural speech with a public prayer in which she acknowledged the sovereignty and supremacy of God over her life and that of her people and nation. She prayed for divine guidance and wisdom, unity of purpose and moral strength, and asked that God will use her and her government as instruments of divine peace. She later solidified her religious faith by suggesting that her ministers should seriously consider the inclusion of religious people on every public board. The reaction of the people varied from agreement to caution about keeping the boundaries of religion and state clear. Some even thought she was using the Christian faith for concealed motives. Questions arise as to what is religion and what constitutes religious faith? In what context does one seek a definition of religious faith? How does one articulate one’s faith without giving the impression of using religion for an ulterior motive? The following section attempts to find some answers to some of these questions.

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daniel j. antwi Defining Religion and Religious Experience in Context

It is always a difficult and complex exercise to attempt to define religion. The reason is that religion is a collective term that is applied to such a wide range of phenomena that it may be impossible to identify a set of beliefs and practices that all religions have in common. Further, the exercise may well prove to be ambiguous because of the transcendent character of the object of religion and the dynamic nature of religious experience. In that regard, it is important to realize that definitions of religion and the exercise of religious faith in the formulations of theology are always contextual in character. There is no universal theology. Theological norms arise out of the context in which one is called to live out one’s faith. Hence, theology is not culture free. The foundations on which theological structures are built are actually not transferable from one context to another. For example, when Friedrich Schleiermacher identified “the feeling of absolute dependence”1 as the key element in the religious response to the world, he wanted to demonstrate the relevance and even the inseparability of religion to the educated among its despisers in order to show that religion has no ulterior motive. But he did so by ‘contextualizing’ the heart of the Christian faith within the German intellectual climate of his time, which was deeply determined by Enlightenment and Idealist philosophers.2 John Calvin, the father of Reformed theology, developed his theological treatises within the context of religious and social life of Geneva. Geneva had become a multinational and multicultural society, mainly as a result of refugees pouring in from France and other parts of western, central and northern Europe. Heiko Oberman emphasizes that for Calvin—a refugee himself—and undoubtedly for others, the refugee experience had theological impact. Calvin identified with the stories in the Hebrew Scriptures about the exile of the Jews and their persecution. From that perspective he understood, in the light of the widespread Christian experience of exile and persecution, that the traditional understanding that the suffering of the Jews through the ages

1 F. Schleiermacher, On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers, trans. John Oman (New York: Harper and Row, 1958), 27, 31. 2 Schleiermacher, On Religion, 71–72.

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was evidence of their responsibility for the crucifixion of Christ could no longer be accepted. This insight led Calvin to important new ways of thinking about Jewish-Christian relationships. One might hazard a guess that Calvin’s teaching on ethics regarding social and economic issues may have been derived from that context. Calvin stressed the solidarity of Christians within the body of Christ and their need to serve one another. He also accentuated the solidarity of all humanity made in the image of God. Consequently, any human being in need lays an ethical claim upon Christians to use whatever resources they have to meet that need.3 The same can be said of Karl Barth who regarded religion as a misguided human attempt to understand God that must be corrected and substituted by God’s revelation. His theological discourse was borne out of the context of reflection on liberalism and the rise of nationalsocialism. Barth drew attention to the fact that even the Christian religion is false in so far as it seeks to speak for God, rather than listening to God through Jesus Christ.4 Many definitions of religion or of the religious life incorporate the notion that they have something to do with what is perceived as ultimate or sacred and around which beliefs and practices encompassing the whole human existence are affirmed to be inviolate. Paul Tillich describes religion as “the state of being grasped by ultimate concern.”5 Religious faith is that which comes upon a person, deeply moving and taking hold of him or her in such a manner that no conditions or limitations can be placed upon its seriousness.6 This character of religion as the bearer and interpreter of what is ultimate and sacred in the light of which all other aspects of life are to be considered as preliminary has, in its theistic form, been proclaimed in the notion of ‘no other gods’ used by Christians in the struggle against fascism and authoritarian expressions of the state.

3

I am indebted to Jane Dempsey Douglass for this observation. See her article, “Calvin, Calvinism and Ecumenism,” Reformed World, vol. 55 (4), December 2005, 295– 310. 4 K. Barth, Christian Dogmatics, volume 1 part 2, trans. G.T. Thompson and H. Knight (Edinburgh: T&T Clark Limited, 1956), 280–361. 5 D. Brown, Ultimate Concern. Tillich in Dialogue (London: SCM Press, 1965), 4–5. 6 P. Tillich, Christianity and the Encounter of World Religions (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994), 3. See also his The Dynamics of Faith (New York: Harper and Row (Torch books), 1958), 10–12.

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daniel j. antwi Religion, Power and Authority: Pursuit of Self-Interest

At the heart of the question of religion without ulterior motive is the fact that religion represents, and to some extent, constitutes the center and claim to authority, obligation, and power over the life of people. Religion can be seen as a pole around which groups and movements are organized for the promotion of and adherence to certain goals, principles, values, and demands on both individual and corporate life. Now the blood goes where it should not flow. Greed and self-esteem creep into even in the most holy ideals and views, especially in the thesis that faith has no ulterior motive. Within the context of power and authority, human religiosity may be an unconscious desire not only to appease, but also to acquire the power or authority that can only be bestowed upon the one who is ultimately in control of the universe. The initial will to submit is compensatory. It can become the desire to identify with that which it is fundamental to, becoming the ‘rule agent’ or the one embodying the power to control. The will to control begins with individuality, but it soon becomes tribal and ultimately national or universal with the original leader coming to be perceived as the source of ultimate authority, and therefore the one worthy of worship or deserving total obedience. The parable of the wicked tenants in Mathew 21 provides an insight into this tendency for individuals who find themselves in positions of power and authority to arrogate to themselves the privilege to usurp the that power for self-interest. Those to whom responsibility is delegated soon arrogate to themselves the authority and power of the owner and the corresponding entitlements that include the right to receive tribute from, and control of other tenants. In the context of religion, that is an attempt to use religion for means other than acknowledging God as the Source of religious authority and to whom all are accountable. It is for the reasons cited above that presumption of altruism must always be treated with suspicion and not be allowed to acquire attributes of unassailability, infallibility, or absoluteness. Jesus’ refusal to be called “good” in Matthew 19:17 deserves more attention by students of the Gospels than is usually given to it. He made that assertion because as one who epitomizes maturity and therefore humility, he was keenly aware of the danger of laying claim to perfection in character, or infallibility, as some religious leaders may claim to be.

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Like their contemporaries in the academy, politics, philanthropy, and the military, some religious leaders of organizations appear to be predisposed to becoming arrogantly preoccupied with personal advancement in relation to the groups with which they are affiliated and the socio-political spheres of reference in general and seen in respect of material wealth. They expect to be recognized in the public square, to be deferred to, or be accorded priority of place, exemptions from the payment of dues, even exoneration in instance where they are patently guilty of offences of one kind or another. That situation is certainly pursuing religion with ulterior motive; namely, for personal gain and acquiring status. Religious founders, devotees and leaders are known to be preoccupied with the security of self in nation and among fellow devotees. Problems with issues related to the concept of divine providence are related to the common and persistent belief that the faithful are entitled to exemption from or immunity against the consequences of disaster and the concomitant suffering. The question raised by Peter in Matthew 19:27 to which Jesus spoke concerning followers of Christianity and other religions is evidence of the prevalence of what might be described as ‘theology of entitlement’—the perception that the faithful are entitled to immunity against pain, suffering and defeat, and must be rewarded afterwards. This has been an incentive for Christian use of violence, as it has been in Islam as well. The mere fact of subscribing to the faith means persons are entitled to rewards, be they material or otherwise. That is to say, when people exercise faith in God with the view to achieving status, possession and privilege and not simply and solely for knowing and cleaving to God, then religion is no longer without ulterior motive. It must be said that the purposes of God are never defeated by what turns out to be insincerity or self-serving by those who claim to be called by God and motivated by sincere desire to serve the divinely appointed ends in the way Jesus did. The Christian religion has been used also as diversion from its main objective of knowing God through Jesus and cleaving to God in order to practice religion without ulterior motive to what are often self-serving and sector-serving objectives of its opportunistic leaders and adherents. The behavior of the disciples of Christ as portrayed by the Gospel writers—Matthew 20:17–28—illustrates this clearly. The followers of Jesus had the wish to become free persons in relation to the

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impersonal power of that situation and to be personally rewarded with significant personal appointments in the new state that would emerge as a consequence of the perceived politically liberating work of the Christ to whom they met and recognized as the liberator. Fortunately, Jesus was always discerning and therefore able to identify their hidden motives and address them in a manner that was in keeping with the mission of the Kingdom to which he was committed. That mission was for the transformation of the world through the instrumentality of those referred to as his disciples or followers. Individual and sector class or ethnic political self-interests on the part of religious devotees and religious leaders is always an integral part of the religious consciousness and the character of the religious person. Needless to say, this is always concealed, denied and even deplored— especially by the more fervent—through the masking of the actual motive or intention of the person. The foregoing reflection of defining religious faith in the context of religion without ulterior motive is very crucial for the Caribbean religious context. Indeed, without proper understanding of the Caribbean context—politically, sociologically, culturally—we cannot really discuss the present religious situation meaningfully, and, consequently, arrive at any objective conclusion as to its relevance to the theme.

Defining Caribbean Religious Thought and Theology By ‘Caribbean religious thought,’ we mean the aggregate pattern of both individual and communal beliefs and social behavior in the Caribbean region that seeks for the deepest meaning in life and which thrives on a relationship with some supernatural form of existence. There are varieties of both religious experiences and expressions in the region that, in turn, reflect the historical developments that have turned the region into heterogeneous collections of communities. Kortright Davis has drawn attention to four characteristics of Caribbean religion that we must take into consideration when defining Caribbean religious thought and theology. First, religion in the Caribbean is a complex system of beliefs, values, rituals, and behavior. Second, the Caribbean personality is incurably religious, and thus relates simultaneously to a wider spectrum of religious opportunity. Third, the religious factor in Caribbean society is inextricably bound up with factors of class, race, caste, power, and

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social access. Fourth, religion in the Caribbean is essentially a carrier of culture, rather than the reverse. It encompasses a shared experience of common relationships, common responses, common resistance, and common resilience or survival, toward the goal of social, spiritual, and material fulfillment…Far from being the opiate of the masses; Caribbean religion has constantly been the bastion of Caribbean liberation7

In other words, we must recognize that people experience reality according to their social context or state of consciousness. People’s vision of God and expectations of God depend on their economic needs or status and the way they perceive their place in the scheme of things. As Ashley Smith has observed, starving people conceive of God in relation to the availability or provision of enough food. Heaven for them is a place in which there is no need for concern about food, comfort or security. Weak people think of God as their protector or defender against the strong and the aggressor. Suppressed people tend to see God as the one who enables them to shake off oppression and subdue, contain, or eliminate oppressors. Enslaved people conceive of God as the one who gives bigness eventually to those whose physical or social size puts them at a disadvantage.8

The issue here is to understand the worldview of the people, and how that worldview has shaped, and continues to shape, their institutions— especially religio-cultural ones. Who are the people of the Caribbean whose religious thoughts and theology has been shaped by their worldview? What is the worldview of the Caribbean people? The original inhabitants of the region were virtually eliminated and repopulated by Europeans, Africans, Indians and Middle Easterners. Obviously, these people brought their religions with them at the various points of their arrival. Caribbean religion, therefore, is an absorption of several ‘religions’ from the outside: African traditional religion, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, North American cultism. We are speaking about a context of religious pluralism.

7 K. Davis, Emancipation Still Comin’: Explorations in Caribbean Emancipation Theology (New York: Orbis Books, 1990), 50–52. 8 A. Smith, Emerging From Innocence: Religion, Theology And Development (Mandeville: Eureka Press, 1991), 8.

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The best way to understand the Caribbean perception of the world, according to Barry Chevaness,9 is to contrast it with the conception conveyed by European religion. Whereas in the European concept there is a material, visible world and then there is a spiritual world, preparation for which is made in this life and access is through death, in African–Caribbean religion these two worlds are really perceived as one. The world in which we live and breathe is the same world inhabited by the Spirit and the Ancestors. The result of such belief is the ‘this-worldly’ approach that contrasts remarkably with European ‘other-worldly’ approach well propounded by European religion. It is a belief that shapes an attitude to life with an expectation of fulfillments and achievement in the here and now. There is no postponement to the hereafter. Chevannes makes a very important assertion that the understanding of this view of religion in the Caribbean enables us to better appreciate the way in which past strategies adapted to forge an African–Caribbean culture—based on the will to survive at all costs, as well as to understand the current motivation to succeed in life—drives the Caribbean people, whether in the area of athletics, politics, entrepreneurship, or mothers sacrificing and staining every nerve to send their children to school.10 The logic is simple: if there is only one world then it is only in this one world that the fruits of one’s life can be seen and enjoyed. This is not to say that the Caribbean-African worldview is evidence of inability to postpone gratification. Rather, it is to affirm the fact that religious values sanction secular values such as upward social mobility, or accumulation and show of wealth. The natural outflow of this is the African–Caribbean attitude to social justice and equity. There is a certain discomfort with the belief in ‘other-worldly’ justice as compensation for ‘this-worldly’ injustice. The firm and unequivocal belief in the character of God ensures that in this life no evil goes without punishment, and no good goes without reward. In other words, ‘Just-God theology’ is fully embedded in the religious worldview of the Caribbean. One can almost conclude that, as a result of this worldview, there is a discernible attitude to work that sees no merit in work without reward. It goes without saying that when Caribbean countries 9 B. Chevannes, “Our Caribbean Reality (2)” in H. Gregory, ed. Caribbean Theology: Preparing for the Challenges Ahead (Kingston: Canoe Press, 1995), 65–71. 10 B. Chevannes, “Our Caribbean Reality,” 66.

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succeed in transforming their economies through Caribbean Common Market (CARICOM) and the Caribbean Single Market Economy (CSME) in the same way that Asia and South-East Asia have done, it will not be because they have imitated the work ethic of the latter.

The Experience of God in Caribbean Religious worldview It is beyond question to say that African–Caribbean people place greater emphasis on the experience of God as a normal part of human life, and rather less on dogma. Consequently, religion becomes both versatile and open, and not necessarily a strategic alliance in the scheme of the world that is disappearing. As Creator of the universe, God—the Supreme Being—sustains all life and governs the world. Even though God speaks and acts through the elemental forces of nature such as thunder, lightening, storms, hurricanes and earthquakes, God is paradoxically not open to being experienced, because God is beyond human reality and grip. The spirits or forces, themselves subordinate to God, interact with humans since humans are spiritual forces serving as instruments for the spirits. “This concept is expressed either in possession by the spirits, including the Holy Spirit of God, or, as among the Rastafarians, in the belief that in a profound way God is human and humans are God.”11 The central feeling about all religions is precisely located here. For if one cannot feel the spirit, even if one may not be possessed by it, then there is no point to the ritual! Consequently, African–Caribbean religious consciousness places a great value on the integrity of body, mind and spirit. Caribbean people maintain that one cannot limit the experiences of God only to the mind. That experience must also move body and spirit. The understanding of sickness, ill health and well being, which is closer to psychotherapy than to medicine, flows out of the conception of the integrity of mind, body and soul. In other words, the Caribbean religious thought and worldview is cultured in a context of wholeness. It is ironic, therefore, that many observers in the history of religious movement, especially from Europe and North America, only note the

11

B. Chevannes, “Our Caribbean Reality,” 67.

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emotional character of African-Caribbean religious worship experience and yet fail to grasp its philosophical foundation. This is certainly a factor to reckon with in the study of exponential growth of Pentecostal and Charismatic churches within the African– Caribbean region. This issue is the central research burden of Diane Austin-Broo’s work on religion and politics of moral orders in Jamaica12 Austin-Broo grapples with the question as to how Pentecostalism—a decidedly American form of Christian Revivalism—managed to achieve such a tremendous religious ascendancy among people of predominantly African descent. Her conclusion is very perceptive. Pentecostalism successfully mediates between two themes of Jamaica (Caribbean) religious life—the characteristically African sense of performance and fulfillment—and the Protestant struggle for atonement and salvation through rigorous ethical piety. This raises a whole new area of fresh understanding of hermeneutics and epistemology within the African–Caribbean religious and theological world, as a discussion of the Rastafarian reality will show. There are other ways of knowing and interpreting reality and experience, since people have continuously been thinking about God, reflecting upon God and engaging in activities that are motivated by their faith in God.

Interpreting Caribbean Religious Thought and Worldview The religious attitudes and values of the Caribbean are so deeply rooted that they also influence the behavior of those religions from Europe and America. The earliest missionaries to the Caribbean soon learned that if their sermons did not speak to the whole person through the various artistic dances of speech delivery, they soon lost their congregations!13 George Mulrain has demonstrated that visions, dreams, spirits, ecstatic dances and healings—the very issues disparaged by Western interpreters as unscientific and deemed to be suitable subjects only for psychologists and psychiatrics—have an important function in Carib12 D. Austin-Broo, Jamaica Genesis: Religion and Politics of Moral Orders (Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers, 1997), 1–13. 13 D. Bisnauth, History of Religions in the Caribbean (Kingston: Kingston Publishers Limited, 1989), 165–166.

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bean theologizing. Failure to grasp this issue may lead to the failure to grasp the cultural world and the hermeneutical needs of the Caribbean peoples.14 One needs to understand the complexity and existing plurality in the Caribbean in order to appreciate the hermeneutical and theologizing processes that have under-girded the promotion of religious faith in the region. Geographically, there is a traditional distinction between the Greater and the Lesser Antilles. The Caribbean is the region that lies between North and South America. It is an area often referred to as the ‘West Indies’—a name given to it after the mistake that the fifteenth century explorer Christopher Columbus made when he landed on one of the islands on the archipelago and thought that he had reached India. Linguistically, some four European languages; namely, French, Spanish, Dutch, and English have their individual influences which in turn have combined to produce indigenous Creole and patois languages. Religiously, one encounters Christianity and its various forms. Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, and retentions of traditional African Religions all have a place in the region. As Dale Bisnauth has aptly remarked, “the Caribbean is a laboratory of world religions.”15 Politically, because each of the European colonial powers held its territories in a strong grasp, the various inhabitants lived in mutual suspicion and ignorance of each other’s circumstances within the region.16 A history steeped in oppression and domination racially, culturally, economically, politically and ideologically has greatly affected the psyche of the people. The result is a situation of crisis of identity, insecurity about worth and ambivalence between esteeming what is Caribbean and what are European and American. Davis puts it more succinctly: That which was foreign was good, that which was local was not good. So people were alienated from each other by inducement… also…from their natural cultural endowment (race, color, language, belief system, relationships, preferences, entertainment and leisure, work schedules, family mores, personal aspirations) and from their rightful corridors of power, influence, opportunity, and social access.17

According to Willie Watty, it was within such a context that Christianity was imposed on the people without regard to their free will or indige14 G. Mulrain, “Is There a Calypso Exegesis?” in R.S. Sugirtharajah (ed.) Voices from the Margin: Interpreting the Bible in the Third World (New York: Orbis Books, 1995), 33–47. 15 W. Watty, From Shore to Shore ( Kingston: Cedar Press 1981), 12, 18. 16 K. Davis, Emancipation Still Comin’, 59. 17 K. Davis, Emancipation Still Comin’, 83.

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nous religious beliefs and practices. Christianity was seen as an integral part of European expansionism, epitomized in the audacious unilateral act of renaming a territory that had already been named by its native inhabitants.18 Specifically the imposition was done on the following principles: – It was transported in the culture of its bearers – It assumed superiority of culture and ethnicity (Western): all other cultures were devalued as pagan or heathen. – It sided with the dominant class and complied with colonial machinery in expansionist ambition and economic exploitation, the brutal system of slavery. – Missionary Christianity as a religion was seen to be Euro-centric in its theology, construction and methodology, with a close connection to Western philosophy and assumptions of theological objectivity and universality not sufficiently attuned to contextual nuances. – It produced a theology with a dichotomy between spirit and body with inner needs of the soul than with physical needs, individual salvation than with community and social liberation and emancipation, hope in life after death than with correcting the injustices and deprivation of this life.19 The effect of this process was the rendering of Christianity as a religious instrument, but completely out of touch with the religious pulse of the people. Watty remarks that the under-girding religious and ethical framework that operated in Caribbean history worked strongly for the underdevelopment of the region. To continue to operate under the same religious and ethical framework is to walk in the same paths of underdevelopment.20 The articulation of a Caribbean indigenous theologizing therefore emerged as a reaction to the theology of missionary Christianity which is perceived as a perpetuation of religion with ulterior motive. In summary, Caribbean emancipation theology emerged at the intersection of three socio-political movements; namely, black power, the struggle for independence, and the emergence of Latin American liberation theology. 18 19 20

W. Watty, From Sore to Shore (Kingston: Cedar Press, 1981), 12, 18. Idris Hamid, In Search of New Perspectives (Bridgetown: CADEC, 1971). W. Watty, From Shore to Shore, 6.

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The black power movement impacted Marcus Garvey, a Jamaican who developed and disseminated a unique Christian religion and philosophy of African nationalism and black pride, through the founding of the Universal Negro Improvement Association. Garvey’s understanding of the Christian faith, which he consistently evoked, is embedded in his Universal Negro Catechism. In that masterly document, Garvey’s description of God affirms the truth that humanity—in all its racial variety—finds its source and life in God. We are the image of God, not that God is like us. Rather, human beings in their various environments and contexts with varied gifts reflect the many sidedness and richness of the Godhead. What is damnable is that anyone should exclusively claim God in terms of his or her form and character. What is true and right, and, for Garvey, what determines religion without ulterior motive is that each and all of us—as genders, races, and persons—participate in the being of God and, therefore, have the responsibility to be as all-including as God is and to affirm our identities as given by God. As we shall see below, Garvey’s religious thoughts and worldview provided the impetus for the Rastafarian movement. In the context of the struggle for political independence, Caribbean theology represents an attempt to formulate a theological discourse that would compliment the political imaginations of the region. The major emphasis on the idea of de-colonization of theology with insistence on the fact that the Christian church must dissociate itself from colonial theology if it is to contribute to the social reconstruction in the region is a factor here. After all, as pointed out earlier, the missionary thrust was a movement of cultural imposition—a kind of ‘imperialism at prayer,’ since the missionaries made no distinction between evangelization and Westernization. Only by a radical de-colonization of received religion and theology will it be possible to bequeath a living faith that could guarantee both the survival of religion without ulterior motive and the healing of people. The emergence of the Latin American liberation theology movement provided the Caribbean religious and theological method with the opportunity to adapt a hermeneutical method because of the similarities of experience of colonization. This hermeneutical method rests on the nexus of faith and praxis where the theologian lives the faith in the context of the experiences that provides the basis for reflection.

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Gustavo Gutierrez, the leader of Latin American liberation theology, has said that the greatest refutation of a theology does not lie in intellectual argument. Rather, it lies in its practical consequences.21 The practical consequences of traditional Western theological formulations had failed to produce and promote a sense of freedom to affirm local realities, particularly the socio-cultural realities among the Third world and oppressed peoples, including the Caribbean peoples. The implication of this is the quest for a new and radical search for emancipation of theology itself. Such emancipation process will allow theology to be seen not merely as the reconstruction of religious freedom, or the freedom to define the nature of faith, but also as the freedom to put that faith to work in the struggle for historical concrete manifestations of freedom. Gutierrez suggests further that when theology becomes a liberating and prophetic force, then it will contribute to the total understanding of the word that takes place in the actions of real life. It is important to emphasize the real life context because it will reject the constellation of abstractions and intellectualisms and provide for the people of faith the main indications of what authentic liberation entails. In reality, authentic Caribbean social, cultural, historical and religious foundations provide enough impetus for the construction of a contextual theology that is authentic as far as the dynamics of faith in God and the practical outflow of that faith demonstrate the functioning of religion without ulterior motive. The real theologizing among Caribbean people is done orally, narratively, and informally. “The real theological workshops in the Caribbean are the homes, the fields, and the street corners, rather than the seminaries or the churches. In other words, while written theology struggles, oral theology flourishes.”22 Davis has summarized for us the goals of Caribbean emancipation theology. First, the economic problem of poverty must have its solution through realistic economic growth and imaginative creativity, inspired by the power of the Creator God and maintained by the ethical imperative of enlightened persistence. Second, we must eliminate the political problem of dependence by increasing levels of collective self-reliance. The example of Christ is the major empowerment here, and it is mainly through moral consistency and Christian courage that 21 G. Gutierrez and Richard Shaull, Liberation and Change (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1977), 69. 22 K. Davis, Emancipation Still Comin’, 93, 94.

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endemic dependence can be counteracted. Third, we must confront the cultural problem of alienation by deepening a sense of community and the struggle for justice. Theologically, the Caribbean experience of the Holy Spirit as the life-giving presence of God generates such a movement. Fourth, the religious problem of imitation persists as long as there is a denial of indigeneity. The need for human conscientization is matched only by the recognition that the grace of God is already at work in the Caribbean. A full response to God’s grace in the Caribbean can dispel the last vestiges of social contempt and spiritual anemia.23

Relevance of Emancipation Theology and Religion without Ulterior Motive In the light of the focus of this discourse on religion without ulterior motive, however, the foregoing understanding of Caribbean religious thought and theology needs critical appraisal. It seems the call to decolonize the theology of received Christian religion and develop contextualized religious faith must be heeded with the proviso that we do not throw away the baby with the bath water. Caribbean emancipation theologians will do more to sharpen the necessity to know God and experience God’s grace in order to be able to cleave to God and realize the call to be engaged in God’s mission agenda for the region. In that respect, Davis’ challenge in recognizing God’s grace in the Caribbean context is absolutely important. The Christian faith defines its ethos in the grace of God—that is God acting in accordance with God’s own character and being. The practical implication of the Christian religious faith is indeed our express response of overwhelming gratefulness translated into thanksgiving to God. Paul demonstrates this clearly. The mention of divine charis in our context often prompts the grateful articulation of human charis to God (Romans 6:14, 15; 2Corinthians 9:14, 15). Without the clear articulation of the grace of God in our understanding of the salvation event, the Christian religious faith is evacuated of its potency. In that case, it can be filled with ulterior motive.

23

K. Davis, Emancipation Still Comin’, 86.

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daniel j. antwi The Rastafarian Reality: Challenge of Religion without Ulterior Motive

In so far as our discourse raises issues of religious faith and the interpretation of that faith in life and thought of the people are concerned, the Rastafarian reality calls for a reflection. It is beyond question that Jamaica, as part of the Caribbean, remains a source of energy and a laboratory for exploration of fundamental issues of religio-cultural importance in human development. The Rastafarian phenomenon, as a religio-cultural movement, is a major issue here. There are those who regard Rastafarian religious practices as a violation of what they consider to be ‘Christian orthodoxy.’ Needless to say, such a perception comes close to viewing the Rastafarian phenomenon as modern day aberrations of an ancient rock on which the intense religiousity of the Caribbean people, especially Jamaica, has long and firmly stood. As Rex Nettleford has observed, the conversion of many educated middle-stratum Jamaicans to the Rastafarian faith between the 1960s and 70s has provided the movement with structure, orderliness and formality it its institutionalization process.24 The net result of this is that the movement has introduced into the formal discourse of religion and culture in the Caribbean many profound adherents who write and speak in response to arguments that appear to them to perpetuate the marginalization and trivialization of the movement as to depreciate the belief system of its religious orientation. Rastafarian believers boast of a record of spiritual, energetic discourse about racism, identity, black dignity, and equality in numerous ‘groundings’ among themselves, as well as with those who are willing to engage them in reasoned discussion Ika Tafari, a Rastafarian discussant, reminds his readers that Rastafarianism is more than religion.25 Within the context of the African–Caribbean worldview, the struggles for intellectual and psychic space in the defining, or redefining of self and the world which that self inhabits and must function in is still a struggle between Christendom and ‘heathendom’—between Europe as colonizer and African as the colonized.

24 R. Nettleford, “Discourse on Rastafarian Reality” in N.S. Murrel, W.D. Spencer and A.A. McFarlane (eds.), Chanting Down Babylon: The Rastafari Reader (Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers, 1998), 311–325. 25 Ika Tafari, “Rastafari: A Divine Reality”, Sunday Gleaner, December 10, 1995, 8C.

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Therefore, any attempt to categorize the Rastafarian reality on the religious landscape as ‘ignorant’ is a reflection of outright prejudice and, consequently, an exercise in shallow intellectual criticism. For it ignores the immense contribution of Rastafarianism to black cultural identity and values for the African descendants who have found themselves victims of white supremacy and other institutionalized methods to keep them enslaved to a foreign-based theology and self-image.

Garvey’s Christian Religious Thought and Rastafarian Hermeneutics Scholars agree that Rastafarian reality and doctrinal development has much in common with Marcus Garvey’s philosophy of ‘Emancipation from mental slavery.’ Garvey produced his Message to the People: Course of African Philosophy in 1937 in which he included lessons of God, Christ, Man the Universe, Personality, Winning the World for Kindness, and Living for Something. Garvey’s religious faith in the revelation of God in the biblical message under-girded his life-long struggle for racial identity and justice, as well as redemption of Africa. For Garvey, the Bible is a book which has to be read with discernment and discrimination from the core of its message about God, Christ and humanity. In fact, Garvey was calling for a new hermeneutic of the Bible which is based on the central tenets of the Christian faith and which provides, where necessary, a critique of the Scriptures themselves and points to the unity in diversity of the human family in justice and mutual wellbeing and peace.26 While Garvey stresses Africa’s social and political redemption through the perception of a Creator God who does not discriminate, Rastafarians include in that agenda a spiritual dimension that is often clothed in Judeo-Christian thought and African concepts. Both movements show great respect for the Bible and try to move away from biased, European-centered exegesis which, for the Rastafarians, contributes to the oppression of black people. It can be said that the Rastafarians utilize the same idea that underlines the call to de-colonize theology and develop authentic emancipation—one which is contextual in 26 P. Potter, “The Religious Thought of Marcus Garvey” in R. Lewis and Rupert Lewis, eds., Garvey: His Work and Impact (Trenton: Africa World Press Inc. 1991), 145– 163. See further, R. Lewis, “Marcus Garvey and the Early Rastafarians: Continuity and Discontinuity”, Chanting Down Babylon, 145–158.

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the Caribbean region. Hermeneutics and hermeneutical method must also be decolonized in order to achieve an understanding of the Bible as the word of God. This God—in the words of Garvey’s Catechism— is everlasting, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, infinite wisdom, goodness, truth, love, holiness, justice and mercy. Rastafarian hermeneutics, like all other advocates of hermeneutic of suspicion, is built on the perception that the Bible in not an innocent text both culturally and ideologically. It is God’s word in human language, implying human culture with its ideology, worldview, orientation, perspective, values and disvalues that are intertwined with the word of God. Hence there is the need to for critical ethical reading in terms of its stance toward other peoples and culture in the light of basic human and biblical values of love and respect for others, justice, peace, unity and so on. The value of Rasta hermeneutics lies in the fact that they bring the Bible nearer to the experience of the reader than has been done before. Rasta hermeneutics challenges any Scripture exegesis that applied the Bible to people’s lives without due regard to their historical experience or social and economic condition. The Rastafarians’ own ethnic experience, historical and cultural background, and social and economic reality are not divorced from their reading of and meditation on the Bible. The questions, issues, and challenges that surface from their social existence, which are of a most comprehensive nature, are lived through and in relation to the Scriptures. Murrell and Williams, and more recently, Noel Leo Erskine,27 have noted that when reading the Bible from where they are and seeing what is redeemable there for their own reality, they detect convergence, correspondence, and continuities between the story of the people in the Bible and their own story in Jamaica.

27 N. S, Murrell and L. Williams, “The Black Biblical Hermeneutics of Rastafari” in Chanting Down Babylon, 326–348. N.L. Erskine, From Garvey to Marley: Rastafarian Theology (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2005). Erskine argues that Bob Marley, the Jamaican Reggae star, was one of the most articulate exponents of the themes of race consciousness that provided the core of Rastafarian hermeneutic.

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Knowing God and Cleaving to God: Identity with Jah (God) and the Poor Critical for the Rastafarians in demonstrating the practice of religious faith is their connection between knowledge and salvation which comes from the knowledge of God’s identity. To know God and to respond to God with one’s whole life is to be saved. God comes to set the captive free throughout the entire earth. And all who know that God is the high Rastafarian then they too shall access to the tree of life, regardless of what nation, what nationality, what tongue they may be. According to the Rastafarians, one finds God when one looks within oneself. Since life in Babylon [that is this world, especially Jamaica and its socio-cultural and political worldview] does not allow one any space for introspection those held in captivity miss true knowledge as they fail to meet the God within. Although every person is called to know God, the poor had a decided advantage in the Rasta view, since they are forced to look into themselves and confront the basic reality of human existence and only there can God be found. Consequently, only the suffering people can know Jah, (God). The rich person has no time to know God because the rich is busy about sustaining his business. Rastafarian hermeneutics sees a limit for organized religion such as the church. The church is preoccupied with beliefs, instead of becoming active in joining God in ministries of liberation. That is to say, we need to spend more time talking about the realm of God and little less time with organized religion. The Rastafarians seem to indicate that God has taken the initiative and freely make known the divine identity in each heart. They seem to assert that knowledge of God is inborn in all people. The danger here is that the Rastafarians place the primacy on knowledge rather than salvation. In their sessions of reasoning, they seem to ask ‘what must I know?’ The Scriptures do not take this direction. The Christian Scriptures direct one to becoming and doing. The central question is who must I become? Through the grace of God in Christ one becomes a child of God. Rastafarian hermeneutic seems to focus on truth as intellectual assent rather than truth as sharing in the divine life and identity. In revelation God goes beyond sharing truths about God-self or offering information about the divine self to us, so that we may participate in the divine mission for its own sake, and not as means to introduce motive into faith.

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daniel j. antwi Conclusion

Within the context of the general theme of ‘Religion without ulterior motive,’ this essay has attempted to highlight the relevance of Caribbean emancipation theology and the Rastafarian hermeneutics in articulating the Christian religious faith in the Caribbean context. It approached this by examining the contextual articulation of definition of religion and the human tendency to use religion as a means to achieving power and authority, and thereby playing God. The seeming perception of Christianity as a religious instrument of the Eurocentric subjugation, and hence the call for decolonization and development, as seem evident in both the Caribbean theologizing process and Rastafarian hermeneutical method, stands the danger of evacuating the Christian religion of the covenant grace of God in Christ. Yet the acceptance of that element of the faith and the salvation it brings, prevents the Christian religion from being used as religion with ulterior motive. Perhaps it is prudent to consider the meaning and relevance of what James describes as “pure religion in the sight of God” (James 1:27). One can do a free translation of this phrase to read “God’s view of Religion without Ulterior Motive.”28 For James, religion that has no ulterior motive is the one that demonstrates in its praxis the sharing of God’s special concern for the marginalized. To know God means to take cognizance of the incarnational nature of God who is the object of our religious quest, and to participate in the Missio Dei without any hidden agenda. The practice of this divine religion does not mean we are to refrain from involvement in the world. Rather, it takes full part in the affairs of the world, but it does not embrace the world’s standards and ways of thinking and systems of value that do not take God’s existence and claims into account. To do otherwise is to practice ‘vain religion’—that is to say, to import motive into religious faith praxis.

28 The Greek term used here by James is threskeia. It is a word that emphasizes the formal aspects of religion and has to do with the proper procedure for worship.

CONTEXTUALIZATION OF AFRICAN THEOLOGY AND RWUM

James Kombo

The Theory of Contextualization The relationship between contextualization and African theology continues to draw reactions and counter reactions within theological circles. A closer look at the contextualization discourses in Africa seems to indicate that although the debate is primarily theological, it is not driven exclusively by religious motive. For instance, when the focus is inculturation, the place of culture in the contextualization process assumes great importance; or when the spotlight is gender, poverty, or race then liberation becomes a significant driving force. In all these there is a clear motive of letting the voice of God be heard in various ways and situations, but central as this is, it does not drown out the important contribution of developments at the situation of reception. In this paper I offer two points. (A) I argue that behind the contextualization debate in Africa, the religious motive remains fundamental, although there are other equally significant secondary motives. (B) I then expose the secondary motives by discussing the dominant contextualization paradigms in the African theological scene. The Gospel and culture have perennially, and in diverse methods and perspectives, interacted with each other throughout time and across geographic space and linguistic boundaries. And, therefore, to speak of the contextualization of African theology or simply the interaction between Gospel and culture which in Africa has been captured by such terms as ‘adaptation,’ ‘accommodation,’ ‘indigenization’ and ‘inculturation’1 is to speak a language fairly familiar to theological audi1 The word ‘inculturation’ was first encountered in item 12 in the Final Statement of the First Plenary Assembly of the Federation of Asian Catholic Bishops’ Conference which sat in Taipei during April 22–27, 1974. The Statement stated as follows: “The local church is a church incarnate in a people, a church indigenous and inculturated” (His Gospel to Our Peoples, vol. 2, 332). In the same year, 1974, the Society of Jesus at their Thirty-Second General Congregation took the initiative to cultivate the task of

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ences. While these interactions with culture define the character of the Gospel, they—in a very real sense—also underscore a proper relationship to faith as the motive for contextualization. We are aware from the records of the Gospels and Acts that the Jewish world was the first to secure the Christian faith. Through the initial efforts of the apostle Paul within the first few decades of the faith, Christianity—through the process of contextualization—found its new home in the Hellenistic world around the Mediterranean basin. It is from there that the majority of the doctrines that we have inherited were formulated through the able leadership of church dogmaticians. By the Middle Ages, the center of Christianity had shifted to the Latin West. The Latin West did not only secure the faith for centuries through a process of contextualization, but through the missionary enterprise during the missionary century.2 This region was also largely responsible for taking Christianity to the southern continents, Africa included. From this history of the movement of Christianity from one center to another, it is clear that making Christianity the religion of the situation of reception was clearly the major driving force of those behind the process of contextualization; however, we also note that in the process Christianity greatly influenced the cultures and the people’s perceptions of their environment. The Pauline churches, the Hellenistic congregations and the Latin West churches demonstrate deliberate, structured and pragmatic processes that clearly articulate the faith motive behind contextualization; namely, how the Gospel may be more deeply experienced, shared and born out of the need to obey God. We do not see a similar process repeated by mission centers in Europe and America in their reaching out to Africa. Instead, Africa received from these centers grand stories, conventional theological data or as in the Catholic context, the Magisterium. The African church regurgitated these grand stories and neglected any effort to contextualize them until the early 1970s; almost a century since Christianity became the religion of most of these places.

the inculturation of the Christian faith. Perhaps Aylward Shorter, Toward a Theology of Inculturation (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1992) provides the most comprehensive use of the term ‘inculturation.’ It must be noted that at this moment, the term ‘inculturation’ is most favored as synonym of contextualization. 2 The period generally associated with the missionary century is that which runs from 1800 to 1914. An interesting reading in this regard is K.S. Latourette, particularly volume 5 and 6 of his set entitled A History of Expansion and Christianity (The Great Century: The Americas, Australias and Africa, AD 1800–1914; and The Great Century: North Africa and Asia, AD 1800–1914).

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In fact, African mission scholars seem to believe that that the real motive of the missionaries to Africa was not essentially religious conversion but cultural imperialism.3 The Africans who embraced the Christian faith were meticulously instructed on rejecting—without critical evaluation—everything African and assimilating American and European values. Around the early 1970s, the African theological arena literally experienced a massive explosion of literature done by African Christian thinkers who underscored the contextuality of the Christian faith.4 Underpinning the concern of this plethora of literature was the twin motive: (A) that the African people themselves wanted to participate in and to define contextualization. The statement here, of course, 3 Kwame Bediako, Theology and Identity: The Impact of Culture upon Christian Thought in the Second Century and Modern Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books, 1992). 4 See, for some of the examples of contextualization literature done by the African Christian scholars themselves, Wande Abimbola. “The Place of African Traditional Religion in Contemporary Africa: The Yoruba Example” in Olupona, ed. 1991, 51– 58; Samuel O. Abogunrin, “The Modern Search of the Historical Jesus in Relation to Christianity in Africa.” Africa Theological Journal 9, (3) (1980): 18–29; K.C. Abraham, ed. Third World Theologies: Commonalities and Divergences. Papers and Reflections from the Second General Assembly of the Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians, December, 1986, Oaxtepec, Mexico (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1990); Tokunboh Adeyemo, “Towards an Evangelical African Theology” in Evangelical Review of Theology 7 (1) (1983): 147–154; J.O. Akao, “Is the Mission of the Church Still Understood in Western Terms?” in Mercy Oduyoye ed. 1986, 51–59; Abraham Akrong, “Christology From an African Perspective” in Pobee ed. 1992, 119–130; Judith Mbula Bahemuka, “The Hidden Christ in African Traditional Religion” in Mugambi and Magesa, eds. 1989, 1–16; Kwame Bediako, Theology and Identity: The Impact of Culture upon Christian Thought in the Second Century and Modern Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books, 1992); S.G.F. Brandon, ed., The Saviour God; Comparative Studies in the Concept of Salvation (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1963); Virginia M.M. Fabella and Sergio Torres, eds. The Emergent Gospel: Theology from the Underside of History—Papers from the Ecumenical Dialogue of Third World Theologians, Dar es Salaam, August 5–12, 1976 (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1978); David M. Gitari, “The Claims of Jesus in the African Context” International Review of Mission 71 (1) (1982): 12–19; A.O. Igenoza, “African Weltanschaung and Exorcism: the Quest for the Contextualization of the Kerygma.” Africa Theological Journal 14 (3) (1985): 179–193; H. Byang Kato, African Cultural Revolution and the Christian Faith (Jos: Challenge Publications, 1976); Kibicho, Samuel. “African Traditional Religion and Christianity” in A New Look at Christianity in Africa (Geneva: WSCF, 1972), 14–21; Mbogori, Johanna. 1975. “How the Bible is Used in Africa.” in Best, ed. 1975. pp. 111–118; Mbogu, Nicholas. 1991. “Christology in contemporary Africa: A prolegomenon for a theology of development” African Ecclesial Review 33 (4): 214–230; Mofokeng, Takatso. 1992. “Hermeneutical Explorations For Black Christology” in Pobee ed. 1992, pp. 85–94; Moyo, Ambrose Mavingire. 1983. “The Quest For African Christian Theology and the Problem of the Relationship Between Faith and Culture—the Hermeneutical Perspective.” Africa Theological Journal. 12 (2): 95–108; Mugambi, J.N.K. and Laurenti Magesa, eds. 1989. Jesus in African Christianity: Experimentation and Diversity in African Christology. Nairobi: Initiatives Ltd.; Muzorewa, Gwinyai H. 1985. The Origins and Development of African Theology. Maryknoll: Orbis and also 1988. “Christ As Our

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is that Africa had also embraced the story of Jesus Christ and wished to have a free hand in retelling the story. (B) That although a conversion or religious agenda primarily constituted the motive of contextualization, the demands of the situation of reception are such that other underlying factors or secondary motives which influence and direct the contextualization process must be incorporated in the discourse.

Contextualization Paradigms: The Silent Motives It is common knowledge that, in most parts of the West, church buildings are metamorphosing into warehouses, museums, supermarkets, restaurants, kindergartens, pubs, recreational centers and so on. The reverse seems to be the case in sub-Saharan Africa. Taking the capital of Kenya, Nairobi, as a case, one sees an interesting development. Here, different Christian expressions have either rented or purchased warehouses, go downs, cinema halls, recreational grounds, offices and hotels where they perform their respective religious purposes without restriction to ‘hallowed’ days. Some of the renowned Nairobi cinema halls churches and related groups currently used at designated times for religious purposes are Nairobi Cinema, Odeon Cinema, Cameo Cinema and Shan Cinema. Also in regular use are the parks and public grounds, notable ones being Uhuru Park, Jeevanjee Gardens, Kamkunji, Nyayo Stadium, City Stadium and the Moi International Sports Center. The public halls and hotels in routine use are KNUT Hall, KICC, Nairobi Polytechnic Hall, Ambassadeur Hotel and Mang Hotel. Formal theology has realized this shift of the center of gravity of the Christian faith for the last four decades. In 1976, Prof. A.F. Walls, renowned for illuminating insights into the dynamics of Christian history, wrote: “… it looks as if the bulk of Christians are going to be in Africa, Latin America, and certain parts of Asia.”5 In this scheme of things, Prof. Walls insisted, Africa is set to have particular significance. Ancestor: Christology from an African Perspective, A Review Essay.” Africa Theological Journal 17 (3); Mwoleka, Christopher. 1975. “Trinity and Community” African Ecclesial Review 17 (4, July): 203–206. reprinted in Anderson and Stransky eds, 1976, pp. 151–155. 5 “Towards understanding Africa’s Place in Christian History” in Religion in a Pluralistic Society: Essays Presented to Professor CG Baëta, ed. J.S. Pobee. (Leiden: EJ Brill, 1976):1980–1989. Prof. A.F. Walls has reiterated a similar sentiment in his two compendiums: The Missionary Movement in Christian History—Studies in the Transmission of Faith

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According to the statistics of D.B. Barret, by the turn of the century Africa had 370 million Christians.6 Whereas these statistics are significant, there is more here than mere numbers. In Africa, Christianity is not only the religion of the majority, but it also carries the clout of the status which Prof. Kwame Bediako aptly describes as that of “representative Christianity.”7 Lamin Sanneh puts it more graphically. For him, this is an “irruption of Christian forces in contemporary Africa [which] is without parallel in the history of the church.”8 The contextualization movement that began here in the 1970s and is continuing in earnest must not only be seen as a deliberate effort to entrench the religious motive of contextualization, but it must also be seen to be grappling with contextual factors indicative of the relevance of the effort. In other words, the process of contextualization we see here is driven, on the one hand, by the desire to have a deep experience of the Gospel, but, on the other hand, there is a conglomeration of separate but secondary motives which place the process in a real and living situation. These motives are responsible for the different paradigms or models of contextualization that we experience within the African theological arena: (1) The African inculturation theology (focusing on theology and the problem of cultural identity), (2) black theology (dealing with the problem of race and color), (3) liberation theology (addressing the problem of poverty and injustice), (4) African women theology (handling the problem of gender), (5) evangelical theology (seeking to refocus African Christian thought on the biblical faith) and more recently, (6) reconstruction theology (attempting to engage theology in a serious dialogue with democracy, human rights, law-making and nation building)9 (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1996) and The Cross-Cultural Process in Christian History (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2001). 6 See David B. Barret’s prediction, “AD 2000:350 Million Christians in Africa” in International Review of Mission, 59 (1970), 39–54. Barrett revised the figure of 350 million in his World Christian Encylopedia (WCE), Nairobi, 1982. He further revised his WCE statistics, publishing them in the International Bullentin of Missionary Research, January 1997 and January 1998. The figure of 370 million is a calculation by J.S. Mbiti (1999:1) based on the 1998, 1997 and the earlier statistics of Barrett. It must be noted that the world’s population of Christians is 784 million. This means that Africa today is home to 46% of the global Christian population. Other projections indicate that within the next two decades, the majority of the world’s estimated 2.6 billion Christians will be in the Southern continents. Fifty years from now, the figures will be more lopsided. 7 Kwame Bediako, “African Theology as a Challenge for Western Theology,” delivered at Utrecht, October, 2002:3. 8 Lamin Sanneh, 1989, 188. 9 James Kombo, “Contextualization as Inculturation: The Experience of the Afri-

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In the following section, we will seek to discuss the relationship between motive and the first four paradigms; namely, (1) African inculturation theology, (2) African black theology, (3) African liberation theology (4) and African women theology. The four contextual theologies are used to make two important points: (A) That behind every contextualization effort there is always the religious motive; and (B) that the difference between any two contextualization paradigms is occasioned by secondary motives derived from the situation of reception.

African Inculturation Theology African inculturation theology is a contextual theology that seeks to make the Gospel meaningful within a cultural milieu. The theology clearly has a religious agenda; namely, to make the Gospel meaningful. The question of culture, and particularly cultural oppression manifested in perceived or actual derogation of African people, becomes the secondary motive for theologizing or, and in this case, contextualization process. Some of the earliest forms of expression of this nuance of contextualization within the African mainstream Protestant churches were already visible in the 1821 in the formation of an African Independent Church (AIC) in Sierra Leone which, in fact, climaxed in the 1970s at which time the AICs claimed membership of up to 15,971,000 in 5,980 denominations10 and a growth rate of 4.33 % per year traced between 1970 and 1985.11 In the Catholic wing of the Christian faith in 1956, the early seeds of inculturation were sown by a group of nationalistic African priests in articles published in a volume entitled Des prêtres noirs s’interrogent. In these articles, one finds not only misgivings and fears about the foreignness of the institution of the church, its life and its thought, but also a strong argument for ‘adaptation.’ In the context of the adaptation discourses of the 1950s and the 1960s, there arose the use of the term ‘African theology’ first captured in a debate between Tharcisse Tshibangu and Alfred Vanneste and can Theological Situation” in Studies in Reformed Theology, eds. Martien E. Brinkman and Dirk van Keulen (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2003), 203–216. 10 David Barret, World Christian Encyclopedia (Nairobi: Oxford, 1982), 815. 11 Barret, Encyclopedia, 782.

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hosted by the Cercle théologique du Lovanium at Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of Congo in January 1960. In the debate, Tshibangu wondered whether certain aspects of African traditional religion might be useful as points of contact with Christianity and went on to posit the view that a distinctly African theology was possible. Vanneste, on the other hand, argued for the universality of Christian theology and moved on to argue that African theology was not only inconceivable, but that it was also unnecessary. Tharcisse Tshibangu’s argument would blossom in the 1960s. A number of reasons would be advanced for this. First of all, the Roman Catholic Church had just rolled out the Vatican II (1963–1965) which brought great changes in Catholic’s feelings towards other religions. In the world of academia, there was also the presence of ripples occasioned by the Negritude Movement’s research into the oral traditions of the African peoples which concluded that the African peoples, in their diversity, had the capacity to think and act within the framework of ‘African philosophy.’ Then in the context of African Protestantism, there was the thought and the eventual inauguration of the All Africa Conference of Churches (AACC) in 1963 which from 1966 at its first Consultation of African Theologians at Ibadan, Nigeria would promulgate the need for an African theology. This declaration became an important turning point in the development of African theology, as was marked the moment when both the mainline Protestants and the Catholics agreed unanimously for the first time about the possibility of African theology. That this was now a reality by the end of the 1960s could not have been captured any better than by the words of Pope Paul VI when in his address on the occasion to canonize the Ugandan martyrs in 1969 he told the Catholic bishops that they may and “must have an African Christianity.” In the 1970s the inculturation debate took an incarnation nuance. During this period, young African theologians began to do research about the African traditional religions. Though Bolaji Idowu, by publishing his book Olódùmarè: God in Yoruba Belief,12 laid this foundation as early as 1962, the majority of serious study of the African traditional religions and their significance to the Christian faith would only appear in the 1970s—with the exception of John Mbiti’s African Religions and

12

Bolaji Idowu, Olódùmarè: God in Yoruba Belief ( London: Longmans, 1962).

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Philosophy (1969).13 Some of the important monographs of that decade are John Mbiti’s The Concepts of God in Africa (1970)14 and The Prayers of African Religion (1975).15 The other significant contributions are Gabriel Setiloane’s, Modimo (1970),16 Edmund Ilogu’s Christianity and Ibo Culture (1974),17 and Joseph Omosade Awolalu, Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites (1979).18 Mudimbe would later correctly observe that these works primarily “broadened the scope of the critique of anthropology and the philosophy of mission activity.”19 Note also needs to be made that this is the general period during which the majority of the African universities were transforming their divinity schools into religious studies departments. As a result of the anthropological critiques and the obvious change of mood in the universities, the 1974 Catholic Symposium of Episcopal Conferences of Africa and Madagascar (SECAM) would reject ‘adaptation’ in favor of ‘incarnation’ while their Protestant counterpart, through the organ of the All Africa Conference of Churches (AACC), would, in the same year, launch a call for moratorium on Western missions. In the 1980s and 1990s, the theological discourses in the context of inculturation would consolidate the gains of the 1970s. The talk around this time was not whether African theology, but a constructive African theology was ready to take advantage of the African intellectual culture. This spirit is best illustrated in John Pobee’s book Towards an African Theology (1979).20 For Pobee, the preferred term is aggiornamento and skenosis. The basic thrust of what he means is summarized in the opening pages of his book: “The case for translating Christianity into authentic African categories hardly needs to be argued. That need has long been recognized in both Africa and Europe.”21 Lamin Sanneh chooses the translation concept in his book Translating the Mes-

13 John Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy (London: Heinemann Educational Books Ltd. 2nd ed. 1990, revised and expanded edition). 14 John Mbiti, Concepts Of God In Africa (London: SPCK, 1970). 15 John Mbiti, The Prayers of African Religion. (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1975). 16 Gabriel Setiloane, Image of God Among the Sotho-Tswana (Rotterdam: Balkema, 1976). 17 Edmund Ilogu, Christianity and Ibo Culture (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1974). 18 Joseph Omosade Awolalu, Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites (London: Longman, 1979). 19 V.Y. Mudimbe, The Invention of Africa: Gnosis, Philosophy, and the Order of Knowledge (Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 1988): 60, 61. 20 John S. Pobee, Toward an African Theology (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979). 21 Pobee, African Theology, 9.

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sage22 and takes it a notch higher. Kwame Bediako, who has contributed immensely to the inculturation agenda of the 1980s and the 1990s, has this as the point of departure of his book Theology and Identity.23 African Black Theology Whereas African inculturation theology and its many variations is obviously the largest form of African contextual theology, the true significance of contextual theology is demonstrated by the contribution of South Africa’s brand of black theology to the building of the nationhood of that country. The roots of black theology in South Africa dates to the middle of the 1970s in response to apartheid and is best noted in the thoughts of Beyers Naudé and Trevor Huddleston. The 1970s mark the moment when South African blacks were more specifically radicalized by Steve Biko’s 1977 launch of the black consciousness movement, whose goal was to unite blacks, coloreds and Indians— regardless of their religions against apartheid. This event—and the very repressive manner in which the South African government responded to the movement—triggered theologians—notably, Manas Buthelezi (Lutheran), Desmond Tutu (Anglican), Alan Boesak (Reformed), Frank Chikane (Pentecostal) and Albert Nolan (Roman Catholic)—to inspire their religious communities to reflect hard about the meaning of the Christian faith in the context of apartheid South Africa. For these men, as indeed for the many who chose this nuance of contextualizing the Christian message, Christianity and the Gospel had a political dimension and could only be relevant to the extent that it centered on justice, liberation, and a preferential option for the poor. The effort of Alan Boesak was to yield fruit when in 1982 the World Alliance of Reformed Churches elected Boesak as its chair, suspended the membership of the Afrikaner Reformed churches, and declared apartheid a heresy—thereby also declaring a status confessionis. Boesak’s church, the NGSK responded to the status confessionis by drafting the Belhar Confession,24 which won approval in 1986. Whereas the 22 Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message: the Missionary Impact on Culture (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1989). 23 Kwame Bediako, Theology and Identity: The Impact of Culture upon Christian Thought in the Second Century and Modern Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books, 1992). 24 The message of the Belhar Confession which is the subject of many theological outputs from South Africa is simply as follows: “because the secular gospel of apartheid

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NGSK’s response gave rise to the Belhar Confession, the Ecumenical Institute for Contextual Theology drafted the Kairos Document, which proposed “prophetic theology.”25 It is important to note that whereas Alan Boesak carried out his contextualization task in the context of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches, the others raised their voices in their capacities as secretary general of the South African Council of Churches (SACC): Desmond Tutu (1978–1985), Beyers Naude (1985– 1988) and Frank Chikane (1988 to 1995). It is the ideals of the South African black theology enshrined in the Belhar Confession and the Kairos Document that drove the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which met between February of 1996 and October 1998 under the chairmanship of Desmond Tutu and which provided the pillars upon which the nation of South Africa stands.26

fundamentally threatens the reconciliation in Christ as well as the unity of the church of Jesus Christ. The Belhar Confession affirmed the unity of the church (against the separate churches under Apartheid), the centrality of reconciliation to the gospel message, and the principles of justice and peace as basic to the nature of God.” 25 The Kairos Document criticized the “state theology” found mainly among the Afrikaners and which was developed with express purpose of defending apartheid on biblical grounds. The document also criticized the “church theology” mainly found among the English-speaking Christians which went for a cheap form of reconciliation, justice and non-violence, that did not require reconciliation to go with repentance, which did not see justice of reform as insufficient in South Africa and which did not reckon the fact that state violence makes individual non-violence impossible in South Africa. The “prophetic theology” proposed by the Kairos Document required justice against tyranny and appealed to the oppressed majority to embrace hope as opposed to supporting the powerful in their quest to bring about radical reform to an unjust system. 26 Some significant African Black theology readings include: “The Most Trusted Man in South Africa. 1988: An Interview with Beyers Naude” in Sojourners, Washington D.C. February, 14–21; Alan Boesak. 1996. Farewell to Innocence, unpublished dissertation at Kampen Theological Academy, Trevor Huddleston, Naught for your Comfort (London: Collins, 1965); Allan A. Boesak and Charles Villa–Vicencio, eds. When Prayer Makes News (Phildelphia: Westminster, 1986); Richard Elphick and Rodney Davenport, eds. Christianity in South Africa. (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), 153–154, 377–382, ch. 25; Frank Chikane, No Life of My Own (London: Catholic Institute for International Relations, 1988); Manas Buthelezi, “Creation and the Church,” Thesis, 1968; Takatso Mofokeng, “Hermeneutical Explorations For Black Christology” in Pobee ed. 1992, pp. 85–94; Peter Randall, ed. Not without Honor: Tribute to Beyers Naude (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1983); Charles Villa–Cicencio and John W. de Gruchy, eds. Resistance and Hope: South African Essays in Honour of Beyers Naude (Cape Town: David Philip and Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985); Hope and Suffering: Sermons and Speeches of the Rt Rev. Desmond Mpilo Tutu (London and Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984) and The Kairos Document: Challenge to the Church, foreword by John W. de Gruchy (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans).

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African Liberation Theology It seems as if the foundations of African liberation theology were laid at the first Pan African Conference of Third World Theologians held in Accra, Ghana in December 1977. The English papers presented at that conference were published in a book African Theology En Route.27 This title was to be translated into French at which point the title transformed into Libération ou Adaptation? La Théologie Africaine s’interroge.28 In the minds of the Francophone African theologians exemplified by Thérèse Souga: “In Accra, in December 1977, African theology opted to be a theology of liberation and not of adaptation.”29 The trend would gain momentum in the 1980s, at which time the proponents of this nuance of contextualization reached a consensus that there could be nothing as one common ‘African culture,’ and that whatever was left of the individual cultures had undergone such significant erosion to the extent that culture as such was no longer a critical factor in any theologizing process. For this group of theological thinkers, the issue for Africa was multifaceted pauperization manifested mainly in grinding poverty, political oppression, disease and ignorance. Thus African liberation theologians saw their project not only as declaring the inculturation paradigm defunct, but also as clarifying the basis of such a change as necessitated by the reality of Africa at the time. Jean-Marc Éla, for instance, came to the conclusion that if theology is to be on the cutting edge, it must not be encumbered by Africa’s past. For him, a model for theologizing must evolve which will have inbuilt capacity to expose and correct the causes of poverty, political oppression, disease and ignorance.30 The other theologians who have found this model relevant are Bénézet Bujo, Fabien Eboussi27 Kofi Appiah-Kubi and Sergio Torres. eds., African Theology En Route: Papers From the Pan African Conference of Third World Theologians, Dec. 17–23, 1977, Accra, Ghana (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1979). 28 Kofi Appiah-Kubi and Sergio Torres. eds., Libération ou Adaptation? La Théologie Africaine s’interroge: Le Colloque d’Accra. traduit par R. Arrighi (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1979) [translation of African Theology En Route]. 29 Thérésa Souga, “The Christ-Event from the Viewpoint of African Women: I: A Catholic Perspective.” in Oduyoye and Fabella, eds., 1998, 22–29, (26). 30 The following are the works of Jean-Marc Éla, which significantly contribute to this line of thinking: African Cry, trans. Robert R. Barr (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1986); My Faith As An African, trans. John Pairman Brown and Susan Perry (Maryknoll: Orbis/ London: Geoffrey Chapman; 1986); and “A Black African Perspective: An African Reading of Exodus.” in Sugirtharajah. ed. 1991: 256–266.

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Boulaga, Mercy Amba Oduyoye, Laurenti Magesa, J.N.K. Mugambi and David Gitari.31 Although Africa and the African church exist in the context depicted here, the African church has largely ignored liberation theology. Part of the reason for this has been well documented in John Mbiti’s reservation, according to which, liberation theology is unacceptable since it lacks biblical reference.32 Perhaps Bujo attempts to correct this impression by his proposal of a hybrid of liberation and inculturation nuances of theology thereby bringing a mixture that widens the definition of liberation to include physical and spiritual forms of oppression.33

African Women Theology African Women theology shares many features of African liberation theology. The theology does not seek to add a new theological treatise to those already existing, instead it sees itself as a new hermeneutics of the Christian faith and thus a new way of not only understanding Christianity as a whole, but also a new way of living the faith.34 By 31 Some relevant reading on this are David M. Gitari, “The Claims of Jesus in the African Context” International Review of Mission 71 (1) (1982): 12–19; Jesse Ndwiga Kanywa, Mugambi, From Liberation to Reconstruction: African Christian Theology After the Cold War (Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers Ltd, 1995); F. Eboussi-Boulaga, Christianity Without Fetishes: An African Critique and Recapture of Christianity, trans. Robert Barr (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1984) [translation of Christianisme sans fétiche.], and Laurenti Magesa, The Church and Liberation in Africa (Eldoret: AMECEA Gaba Publications, 1976; 1977). “The Bible and a Liberation Theology for Africa” in African Ecclesial Review 19:217–222; 1977; “Towards a theology of liberation for Tanzania” in Fasholé-Luke et. al. eds, 1978, 503–515; “Christ the Liberator and Africa Today.” in Mugambi and Magesa, eds. 1989, 79–92. Also in Schreiter, ed. 1991, 151–163; “Human Rights in the Church in Africa.” in Mugambi and Magesa, eds. 1990, 89–110; and The Prophetic Role of the Church in Tanzania Today: Symposium of Five Papers (Eldoret: AMECEA Gaba Publications; 1991). 32 John S. Mbiti, “The Biblical Basis for Present Trends in African Theology” in Appiah-Kubi and Torres eds, 1979, 83–94 (88) [reprinted from 1978b, also reprinted in Occasional Bulletin of Missionary Research 1980, 4:119–124.] See also Johanna Mbogori, “How the Bible is Used in Africa.” in Best, ed. 1975, 111–118. 33 Some of the works in which the author advances this position are Bénézet Bujo, Do We Still Need the Ten Commandments? (Nairobi, 1990); “African Morality: Individual Responsibility and Communitarian Dimension” in African Christian Morality at the Age of Inculturation (Nairobi, 1990): 95–102; “What Kind of Theology Does Africa Need? Inculturation Alone is not enough” in African Christian Morality at the Age of Inculturation (Nairobi, 1990): 119–130 and African Theology in Its Social Context (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1992). 34 Teresa Okure, “Women in the Bible: African Women’s Perspective” in Third

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embracing this nuance of contextual theology, African women theologians are convinced that they will not only affect the basic constitution of theology and forms of church life such as constitutions of churches, liturgies, catechesis, and moral options, but that they will also usher in a new universality in which women’s issues are paramount, and classical church divisions rendered irrelevant. A case in point is the Circle of Concerned African Women Theologians which provides a place from which African women, regardless of their religious communities, can explore, articulate, and advocate theologically.35 The theme of the role of women in the society and the church seems central to African women theologians. Aklé Yvette, in her article “The Religious Role of Women,” seeks to redefine the social and religious roles of women in both the secular and the sacred domain. As far as she is concerned, such a reconceptualization cannot take place except as solutions are sought in myths and rites, the practices of witchcraft and magic, as well as in the composition of the whole range of gods and cults of possession.36 The same issue of roles is discussed in Brandel-Syrier’s article “The Role of Women in African Independent Churches”—though casted differently37—and in Edet and Ekeya “Church Women of Africa: A Theological Community”38 and in Edet’s “New Roles, New Challenges for African Women.”39

World Women Doing Theology: Papers from the Intercontinental Women’s Conference, Oaxtepec, Mexico, December 1–6, 1986. eds. Virginia Fabella and Dolorita Martinez (Port Harcourt: Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians, 1997), 149– 159. 35 Nyambura J. Njoroge, “The Mission Voice: African Women Doing Theology.” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 99 (November 1997): 77–83 and Isabel Apawo Phiri, “Doing Theology in Community: The Case of African Women Theologians in the 1990s.” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 99 (November 1997): 68–76. 36 Yvette Aklé, “The Religious Role of Women.” In Popular Religion, Liberation and Contextual Theology: Papers from a Congress (January 3–7, Nijmegen, the Netherlands) Dedicated to Arnulf Camps OFM, ed. Jacques van Nieuwenhove and Berma Klein Goldewijk (Kampen: J.H. Kok, 1991), 61–69. 37 Mia Brandel-Syrier, “The Role of Women in African Independent Churches.” Missionalia 12:1 (April 1984): 13–18. 38 Rosemary Edet and Bette Ekeya, “Church Women of Africa: A Theological Community” in With Passion and Compassion: Third World Women Doing Theology: Reflections from the Women’s Commission of the Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians, ed. Virginia Fabella and Mercy Amba Oduyoye (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1998), 3–13. 39 Rosemary Edet. “New Roles, New Challenges for African Women” in Third World Women Doing Theology: Papers from the Intercontinental Women’s Conference, Oaxtepec, Mexico, December 1–6, 1986, ed. Virginia Fabella and Dolorita Martinez (Port Harcourt: Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians, 1987), 109–113.

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Then there are topical theological issues, the leading one being Christology. Amoah and Oduyoye, in the article “The Christ for African Women,” seeks to deal with what women say about Christology, and whether traditional statements of Christology take into account women’s experience.40 For these women theologians, Christology is so dominated by male chauvinism that, in its present form, it lacks any pretence to be of serious consequence to the African woman. Similar sentiments are expressed in Hinga’s “Jesus Christ and the Liberation of Women in Africa”41 and Morny’s “Christ Restores Life.”42 The area of culture also seems to be raising serious concerns for African women theologians. Birkett, though European but writes from the position of the woman in sub-Saharan Africa, sets the scene by her article, “The Inculturation of the Gospel Message from the Context of African Women Theologians,” in which she reviews the question of inculturation from the perspective of African women theologians.43 Oduyoye does the same in the article “Christian Feminism and African Culture: The ‘Hearth’ of the Matter.” In this article, Oduyoye argues that any element in African culture that is not liberating for women will not liberate all the energy required for Africa’s well-being.44 NasimiyuWasike, on the other hand, focuses on “Christianity and African Rituals.” She gives particular attention to such rituals as child-birth rites, puberty rites and widowhood rites. The critical question for her is whether Christianity has adequately addressed these rituals in view of their capacity to promote or deter women’s development and growth.45

40 Elizabeth Amoah and Mercy Amba Oduyoye, eds. “The Christ for African Women” in With Passion and Compassion: Third World Women Doing Theology: Reflections from the Women’s Commission of the Ecumenical Association of Third World Theologians (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1988) 35–46. 41 Terese Hinga, “Jesus Christ and the Liberation of Women in Africa.” In The Will to Arise: Women, Tradition, and the Church in Africa, eds. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Musimbi R.A. Kanyoro, (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1992), 183–194. 42 Mabel S. Morny, “Christ Restores Life” in Talitha, Qumi!: Proceedings of the Convocation of African Women Theologians, Trinity College, Legon-Accra, September 24-October 2, 1989, eds. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Rachel Angogo Kanyoro (Ibadan: Daystar Press, 1990), 149–154. 43 Margaret Birkett, “The Inculturation of the Gospel Message from the Context of African Women Theologians,” Feminist Theology 5 (1994): 92–105. 44 Mercy Amba Oduyoye, “Christian Feminism and African Culture: The ‘Hearth’ of the Matter” in The Future of Liberation Theology: Essays in Honor of Gustavo Gutierrez, eds. Marc H. Ellis and Otto Maduro (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1989), 441–449. 45 Anne Nasimiyu-Wasike, “Christianity and African Rituals” in Talitha, Qumi!: Proceedings of the Convocation of African Women Theologians, Trinity College, Legon-Accra, Septem-

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Offering a further critique to rituals, Oduyoye, in the article “Women and Ritual in Africa,” advances the view that it is more important to pay particular attention to women’s roles rather than their biological ones. Closely linked to the question of rituals are common cultural practices that African women theologians feel are deterrent to their progression. One such practice is polygamy.46 According to NasimiyuWasike in “Polygamy: A Feminist Critique,” polygamy is perpetuated by men for their own sexual, patriarchal, and material needs and is therefore a form of oppression against women.47

Which way for Contextualization in the context of Religion without ulterior Motive? Today, nobody doubts the contextual character of theology. At least on this one, various Christian communities are agreed. All cultures and traditions, whether African or otherwise, are bound to specific historical, social-cultural, political, and even economic and psychological context. This simply means that the time-honored and conventional information found in many Western texts can no longer be used as a basis for imposing the same on the communities of faith in the southern continents. The West may be unhappy with this reality. The truth of the matter, however, is that by applying itself to the contextuality of theology in its various paradigms, the African theological situation is stating that, along with other global faith communities, it has not only taken upon itself the task of coherently reinterpreting the conventional theological data for its own situation, but that it has also admitted the necessity of a common point of reference. There can be no better motive than this. And so by embracing these different paradigms of contextualization, the African theological situation is simultaneously affirming the authenticity and the distinctiveness of its own theological outcomes, and the ber 24-October 2, 1989, eds. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Rachel Angogo Kanyoro (Ibadan: Daystar Press, 1990), 188–192. 46 Mercy Amba Oduyoye, “Women and Ritual in Africa” in The Will to Arise: Women, Tradition, and the Church in Africa, eds. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Musimbi R.A. Kanyoro (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 9–24. 47 Anne Nasimiyu-Wasike, “Polygamy: A Feminist Critique” in The Will to Arise: Women, Tradition, and the Church in Africa, eds. Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Musimbi R.A. Kanyoro (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1992), 101–118.

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need to bring these theological outcomes into serious relationship both with themselves and with others from diverse global theological communities. This we do, not because we want recognition of other global theological communities—important as this may be, but because we are an authentic living Christian community seeking to be obedient to God whose coming in Jesus Christ has enjoined us one to another.

CONTEXTUAL THEOLOGY WITHOUT ULTERIOR MOTIVES

Martien E. Brinkman

The Contextual, Remembered Jesus It is not simple to write about contextual theology in relation to the theme of this volume: religion without ulterior motives. In current contextual theology the strength of this form of theology is, after all, correctly seen in its embeddedness in and contribution to an existing culture. Of course, this does not imply an uncritical adoption of that culture, but a form of adaptation will certainly always be discussed. Otherwise, there is only a hostile confrontation. So, the point of issue is always the role which religion can play in a certain culture. Is that the same as the ‘instrumentalization’ that Bram van de Beek is blaming liberation theology for in his article “Religion without Ulterior Motive”? That will be the main question to be answered in this contribution: What is the role of the context in contextual theology? 1 The question of the extent that the Gospel can be embedded in an existing culture is greatly complicated by the fact that we cannot begin from a cultureless starting point or from a cultureless Gospel. There was never a ‘pure Gospel.’ The New Testament itself is an example of contextual theology. It is not conceivable without the cultural attire of the Jewish, Greek and Roman culture of the beginning of our era. So, in a certain sense, the only thing we can do is to compare two kinds of contextual theology. Everything we know about Jesus, we know from contemporaries who were deeply impressed by him and, hence, reported about his impact upon them. Later on, they wrote down their memories and transmitted them to the next generations. And again later on, the early church gathered these scriptural sources and finally accepted quite a number of them as the New Testament canon after an extended 1 The first pages of this contribution refer to our ‘Introduction’ in a monograph on the ‘Non-Western Jesus’ to be published in the spring of 2007.

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process of selection that lasted more than two centuries. A final word about the criteria for selection has never been spoken. Until now, the discussion continues within Christianity about the exact number and the faithfulness of the transmitted sources. Therefore, the Jesus we know from the New Testament is the remembered Jesus, remembered by contemporaries and later generations of Christians.2 All the names given to Jesus in the New Testament—rabbi, prophet, royal Messiah, king of the Jews, Christ, healer, exorcist, son of God, son of man, high priest, Savior, Word, light of the world, Truth, etc.— were well-known religious names in Palestine. All of them have a Jewish or Greek background. The creative application of existing religious names, therefore, already forms the basis of the New Testament imagery about Jesus. With the help of these names, his audience, and later on his readers, could give him ‘his place’ in their lives.3 Already in Jesus’ lifetime some of these names were contested. The names of Messiah and son of God were especially objects of vehement disputes (Mt. 16:13–20, John 4:1–41). Often the names were applied in such a manner that their meaning underwent a considerable transformation.4 Many theologians recognize the role of influences from ‘abroad’ in the transmission of the Gospel, but deny the ongoing character of this process of inculturation. In their eyes, it was a unique event that was guided by the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit guided this process of inculturation only once. That process is definitely fixed in the Bible. We do not share that opinion. The inculturation of the Gospel cannot be limited to one period in church history. That would be arbitrary. After the decisions of the early church about the content of the New Testament, the church continued to make important decisions at the councils of Nicea (325) and Chalcedon (451). Historically, these councils were as important as the decisions about the content of the New Testament. Often it is admitted that the first doctrines of the early church were also guided by the Holy Spirit. So, the work of the Holy Spirit in the church did not stop after the decisions about the New Testament canon. It may have been extended to the councils of Nicea and Chal-

2 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered (Christianity in the Making, Vol. I) (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 130–132 and 881–893. 3 K.H. Ohlig, Fundamentalchristologie. Im Spannungsfeld von Christentum und Kultur (München: Kosel, 1986), 620–621. 4 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 653–654.

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cedon as well. That extension, however, confronts us immediately with the question: Did the Holy Spirit stop its guiding role in church history at any time? This is a more urgent question when we admit that these councils were definitely not spiritual climaxes in the decision making processes of the early church! Especially at Chalcedon, there was a lot of ‘power play’ from the side of Pope Leo I and Emperor Marcian. Ulterior motives (!) played an important role.5 Many theologians are yet reluctant to extend the work of the Spirit to the whole of church history. They are inclined to make some exceptions for certain periods in church history and grant these periods a special position. Orthodox theologians are especially inclined to treat the main councils of the first seven centuries preferentially. They regard them as the constitutive councils of the ‘undivided’ church. And hence, they earn a special position: unique acts of the early church. Orthodox theologians are fully aware of the great impact of the Greek context upon the early Christian doctrines. They consider that impact, however, not to be a drawback, but rather a benefit.6 In the end, the opposite approach of most Protestant theologians leads remarkably to the same position. They also do not express a critical attitude over against the role of culture in the early transmission process of the Gospel. They do not sanctify—as the Orthodox do—a certain period of church history, but deny the role of the context, in this case of Greek culture. They stress the impact of the New Testament witness so strongly that they actually play down the role of (Greek) culture. The early Christian doctrines derive their value, according to these Protestant theologians, not from their historically constitutive character, but from their authentically biblical character. So, the New Testament defied the Greek context. It was more in spite of than due to Greek culture that the Gospel could pursue its influence. Both approaches do not ask the question of whether or not the Greek culture, embodied in the early Christian doctrines as well as in the New Testament itself, could have played a constraining role with regard to 5 A. Grillmeier, Jesus der Christus im Glauben der Kirche. Von der Apostolischen Zeit bis zum Konzil von Chalcedon (451), Vol. I. (Freiburg: Herder, [1979] 2004—paperb. ed. of the 3th. pr.of 1990), 753–754 and Vol. II/1, 107–220 and J.N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines (London: A. & C. Black, [1958] 1980, 5th pr.), 338–343. 6 Cf. S.S. Harakas, “Must God remain Greek?” The Ecumenical Review 43 (1991) 194– 199.

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the proclamation of the Gospel. In contrast to these two approaches we would plea for a more critical attitude. It is also necessary to account for the role of culture in the New Testament. We have to critically analyze the role of culture in the manner that the New Testament authors wrote down their memories of Jesus. And, of course, the same holds true for the church fathers as well. From the very beginning of the proclamation of the Gospel, we have to underscore that the Gospel is a ‘strange’ Gospel. We have to emphasize its ‘over against’ character. ‘Over against’ every culture—the Greek culture as well. Hence, we have not only to inquire what has been transmitted, but also what has been lost by the cultural constraints of the New Testament and early church era. The then ‘translator’ might have been also a ‘traitor,’ as the French proverb ‘traduire est trahir’ taught us. No culture can be the pure bearer of the Gospel. Ulterior motives always play their role. Therefore, each culture can also be a hindrance for the proclamation of the Gospel. So, the inculturation of the Gospel in the Greek-Hellenistic culture might have been a straitjacket as well—a straitjacket that has hidden some aspects of the Gospel or at least minimalized their importance. A renowned scholar as Alois Grillmeier, author of five extensive volumes on the enduring meaning of the council of Chalcedon, places this point as an open question high on his list of topics to be dealt with in every current evaluation of Chalcedon.7

Suggestions for definitions The above-mentioned issue is also of great importance for the evaluation of the role of the cultural context in topical contextual theologies. Again, the critical question about its impact has to be asked. It concerns the question about ulterior, external motives. In every culture the question must be asked anew about what the death and resurrection of Jesus concretely mean for that culture. In this contribution we approach this question from the position that the continuity and discontinuity that is spoken about in Christian baptism supplies the outstanding pattern from which we can speak about the characteristics of the Christian faith in the midst of a number of various contexts. In this regard, we fully agree with

7

A. Grillmeier, Jesus der Christus im Glauben der Kirche, Vol. II/1, 11–12.

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Bram van de Beek’s emphasis on the meaning of baptism as the main characteristic of Christian life.8 In the elaboration of the impact of baptismal renewal in our topical life, the differences between us will be exposed. Before we further develop our own position, we must first consider a few definitions. We shall consider a three-part definition of religion. By religion we understand the existentially experienced focus on an, our empirical existence transcending, (whether or not personally understood) force field (1) that influences thought and action (2), and through which communal symbols, rituals and myths receive meaning (3). This definition of religion is not exclusively Christian. It offers a framework wherein the world religions can specifically be placed.9 In the case of Christianity, the personal character of the relation to God will be underscored. From this definition, it is clear that religion will always have a cultural form of expression. This brings us to our definition of culture as well. By culture, we understand a broad system of meaning, norms and values with which people can give sense to their existence in a particular form in a particular time. A culture is, therefore, always bound to a time and place and contains all aspects of the human existence.10 In fact, we handle this idea of culture as a synonym for understanding context. When we now place the question of the character of religious motives in relation to the modern notion of contextual theology, it involves the question of how we can judge the transition of the Gospel from one context—for example, the Western context—to another context—for example, a non-Western context. It thus involves the search for criteria for the transition of the one inculturation into the other. That brings us to a third definition. Under a religious inculturation process we understand the transfer of one particular, culturally formed religious concept and value pattern to another culture with its own religious concept and value pattern.

8

A. van de Beek, Hier beneden is het niet. Christelijke toekomstverwachting (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2005), 53–63. 9 There is no point in mentioning literature with regard to definitions of religion. There are too many. In the definition mentioned above, we intend to integrate the existential, cognitive, ethical, communal and symbolic aspects of religion. To its core belongs the concentration on an our empirical existence transcending (personal) power. 10 Again, there is no use mentioning the many definitions of culture. In our definition, we intend to integrate the existential, cognitive, ethical, communal and symbolic aspects of culture. We use a broad definition in which culture encompasses not only the world of art and science, but also the world of politics and economics.

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martien e. brinkman The Meaning of Baptism

To cut every reproach of quietism off in advance, we begin our exposition of the meaning of Christian baptism with a consideration of the ‘activist’ aspect of baptism. The consideration shall by itself—so we hope to show—lead to a plea for an even stronger honoring of the receptive and receiving aspect of baptism. Like Bram van de Beek, we are inclined to stress the renewal character of baptism. However, more than he does, we plead for a concept of baptism in which the ethical aspects are not considered in competition to the honor dedicated to God alone, the Gloria dei, but as integral part of that honor. Ethical aspects are not additional aspects with regard to the love of God, but the most authentic way to express this love. Our wedding text in 1972 was IJohn 3:17 and 18 where John mentions the example of a person who has enough money in order to live; sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him. Then John asks: “How can it be said that the divine love dwells in him?” And then he continues, saying: “My children, love must not be a matter of words or talk; it must be genuine, and show itself in action.” Time and again Matthew also makes clear what Soli Dei Gloria means: “Anything you did for one of my brothers here, however humble, you did for me” (25:40). Of course, Van de Beek knows these Bible quotations as well. In his article, he repeatedly indicates that faith has ethical consequences, and that it is interested in material and social issues. It sounds, however, like an admission. In his text, these admissions are often immediately followed by admonitions not to make the ethical aspects the core of our faith. Although Van de Beek’s warnings not to ‘instrumentalize’ religion are impressive, convincing and highly needed, we are yet afraid that he runs the risk of suffering the opposite pitfall; namely, of a sterile faith. What would be his main arguments to avoid such a pitfall? I am sure he too will insist that our faith has to be salt to the world (Matt. 5:13). That is an allusion to an active societal role of the believers. Is it not also true that Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, not only is blessing passive aspects of Christian life, but active (showing mercy, making peace) as well (Matthew 5:1–10)? When Jesus speaks in this section about those who suffer “for my sake,” it is clear that he equates this sake with “the cause of right” (10–11). In order to overcome the artificial contrast between the passive and active aspects of Christian

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life, we shall plea for a more balanced approach of the theology of baptism in the remainder of this contribution.11 Baptism as the God-given possibility for a change of life is preeminently “the sacramental bond of unity” among Christians, to quote No. 22 of the Decree on Ecumenism of Vatican II.12 More than anything else, it is this reliance on the gift of the renewal of life that creates solidarity among the faithful. Through baptism Christians are buried and resurrected in Christ. Thus in Paul’s time, it apparently relativized social differences and therefore, to this day in the history of Christianity, it is still a powerful stimulus for social action that overcomes discrimination. In this way the term ‘resurrection,’ which occurs frequently in the liturgy of baptism, can also literally imply resurrection to new life. That is why the well-known Lima text of the World Council of Churches on baptism, Eucharist and ministry states in the chapter on baptism: By baptism, Christians are immersed in the liberating death of Christ where their sins are buried, where the “old Adam” is crucified with Christ, and where the power of sin is broken. Thus those baptized are no longer slaves to sin, but free. Fully identified with the death of Christ, they are buried with him and are raised here and now to a new life in the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, confident that they will also ultimately be one with him in a resurrection like his (Rom. 6:3–11; Col. 2:13, 3:1; Eph. 2:5–6).13

The last clause of this quotation (“confident that they …”) shows that the Christian idea of renewal of life not only indirectly refers to the first aporia concerning the Stoic view of freedom—i.e. the question of how spiritual freedom relates to actual freedom—but also seeks to provide an answer to the second aporia, i.e. the question of how the inevitability of death relates to the human experience of freedom. By connecting the death and resurrection of a believer so emphatically with ‘dying and rising with Christ’ through baptism and by linking the experience of freedom with exactly this experience of identification, death and resurrection are experienced in the present, from which his own future 11 This theology of baptism is broader developed in chapter 3 (“The Reborn Person”) of our The Tragedy of Human Freedom. The Failure and Promise of the Christian Concept of Freedom in Western Culture (Currents of Encounter, Vol. 20) (Amsterdam–New York: Rodopi, 2003), 61–83. 12 Cf. N.P. Tanner (ed.), Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, II: Trent to Vatican II (London: Sheed and Ward, 1990), 919 (‘Decree on Ecumenism’, 908–920). 13 Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry (Faith and Order Paper No. 111) (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1982), 2 (B-3).

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death can be placed in another, less threatening perspective. Death may then be spoken about in the past tense even during one’s lifetime: “when we were dead” (Ephesians 2:5). On the basis of this connection, one may even defy death: “Death, where is your victory? Death, where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55), and the confident expectation may be uttered that “neither death nor life, no angel, no prince, nothing that exists, nothing still to come, not any power, or height or depth, nor any created thing, can ever come between us and the love of God made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39). It is obvious that here Paul, in a certain sense, is “playing with the different literal and metaphorical meanings of the term death. It would, however, be a mistake to spell out all these meanings and to disconnect them, because it is just Paul’s intention to show their interconnectedness.”14 By so emphatically making the ritual of baptism symbolize a decisive turning point in a human life—a real rebirth (John 3:1–8)—an unprecedented latitude is created for freedom with regard to our collective and individual past, and a perspective of another future is offered. In this way the ritual of baptism shows that only that person to whom this latitude, vis-à-vis his own past and future, is granted is truly free. If our past is fixed, we shall have to carry it like a millstone around our neck as long as we live, and that is the end of our freedom. If our future is fixed, that is also the end of our freedom, and all that is left to us is to follow the course of life that was set by others. In baptism it becomes clear to what extent past and future are connected to each other. Not until our past has been cleansed does our real future open. The process which this opening creates is death, i.e. death to sin. Thus the essence of the whole history of salvation in Christ, and therefore also that of the Christian, lies hidden in a nutshell in baptism.

The Impact of Baptism The far-reaching social consequences of this approach to baptism have received far too little consideration up to now. Usually baptism is viewed as merely an initiation through which one becomes a member of a church. In the case of adult baptism, it is more clearly a mark in the life of the baptized person, but even then the meaning of baptism 14 J.D.G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (London: T&T Clark, [1998] 2003), 102–127.

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is mainly sought in the personal experience of conversion, which is not linked any further to the person’s experience of freedom. That is a missed opportunity, because the social consequences of such an experience of baptism—i.e. as an experience of freedom—could be major. The churches are primarily themselves to blame for the comparative lack of reflection about the important role which baptism could play in our psychological and social experience of baptism. They have themselves limited baptism to a ‘rite of passage’ without any further necessary consequences, in spite of the fact that the theology of baptism itself encompasses far broader perspectives as is evident from many magnificent baptismal prayers and hymns that often date from the time of the early church. Especially in the so-called established churches, where infant baptism means little more than a sort of registration of birth, there is a drastic reduction of the meaning of baptism. The Christian education about baptism must be more strongly focused on a new way of life—a new lifestyle—not only in the case of adult baptism, but in the case of infant baptism as well. Without this education the church itself is the first which undermines its own message of rebirth. The separation between a so-called baptism through water and baptism through the Spirit, which took shape early in the tradition of the church and which found expression in two separate rituals, i.e. baptism through water and unction and/or laying on of hands (sometimes called confirmation), has left many less fortunate traces here. It creates the impression that the real change of life comes later and not with baptism, and that the Spirit is not active in the baptismal event. Baptism and renewal of life through the Spirit seem to have become two separate events. As opposed to the rather shallow practice of baptism which resulted from that separation, the Lima text speaks about the “new life” of the baptized as “sign of the Kingdom”; about “a new ethical orientation under the guidance of the Holy Spirit” and about “ethical implications which not only call for personal sanctification, but also motivate Christians to strive for the realization of the will of God in all realms of life (Rom. 6:9 ff., Gal. 3:27–28; IPeter 2:21–4:6).”15 Let us briefly illustrate with just two examples how (literally) pioneering—not only on an individual level, but also in broader social con-

15

Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, 2–4 (B-7; B-4 and B-10).

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texts—it can be if the possibility of change as a result of the liberating effect of baptism is seriously taken into consideration. Until the present day it is considered usual in international relations to remember old offenses for years, if not for centuries. It is only very rarely that a ‘break’ from the past is affected. And often that can only be done through an explicit gesture such as a ritual that sometimes even looks somewhat like a baptismal ritual. That was, for example, the case when, during an official state visit to Poland in the context of his ‘East policy’ in the 1970s, the German Chancellor Brandt knelt down at the grave of the unknown soldier in Warsaw (Poland). Through that gesture of mortification—mortification (penance) is traditionally the most important, indispensable mental attitude for baptism—Brandt consciously raised the relationship between Germany and Poland to a different level from that of the usual do ut des (‘I give so that you may give’). In so doing, Brandt correctly performed a ‘new’ act in the New Testament sense of the word kainos, which means: “not previously present” or “unknown.”16 The work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission under the leadership of Bishop Tutu in South Africa can be regarded as a similar, impressive attempt at breaking the pull of the (sinful) past.17 Usually, however, the political métier is the exact opposite of what is indicated as the essence of baptism in the New Testament: the creation of new relations between reborn, renewed people. The biblical concept of freedom pre-eminently finds expression in the expectation of this newness. After all, without the possibility of something new there can be no form of freedom. Then there is only bondage to what is old and long since fixed. It is especially that fixation on what has historically developed that is broken time and again at decisive moments in the Bible. Thus we hear the prophet Isaiah exclaim: “No need to recall the past, no need to think about what was done before. See, I am doing W. Bauer, Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament (Berlin: A. Töpelmann, [1958] 1963 5th pr.), 778–779. In the case of infant baptism, it would not be wise to postpone not only the element of renewal, but also the element of mortification. In the liturgy of baptism, in every administration of baptism, all the attendants are called to penance and renewal. So, it is also always a communal experience. 17 Cf. P. Meiring, Chronicle of the Truth Commission: A Journey Through the Past and Present—Into the Future of South Africa (Johannesburg: Cape Diem Books, 1999). For a description of the basic assumptions of this truth commission about the way in which the Netherlands deals with its wars and colonial past, see R. Dorsman et al., Truth and Reconciliation in South Africa and the Netherlands (SIM Special No. 23) (Utrecht: SIM 1999). 16

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a new deed, even now it comes to light; can you not see it?” (Isaiah 43:18–19). And hence, time and again Jesus is saying: “You have learnt how it was said to our ancestors: … But I say this to you: …” (Matt. 5:17–48). Without this belief in the possibility of change in the social and cultural order in which people live, the prophetic vision of the Messianic reign and the New Testament proclamation of the kingdom of God are unthinkable.

Baptism and the Kingdom of God However much debate there may have been about the priority of the present (the ‘already’) or the future (the ‘not yet’) of the New Testament references to the kingdom, in both cases those references exert a strong relativization of any tendency to make an absolute of what exists. For in both cases, the expectation is that either in the present or in the future a great deal is going to change. The kingdom of God is always something different from any social utopia to be realized by us. Whether we understand the coming kingdom as already present, still future or apocalyptic, it is never something that can simply be constructed by us. Although in the 1970s utopia and kingdom sometimes threatened to come dangerously close, in the 1980s the realization of a certain distance began to glimmer through again. In the 1990s there was even a tendency in the reflection on the kingdom of God to push any moment of completion into the background. This, however, appeared to be an overreaction to a previous overemphasis on the historical dimension of the kingdom of God in the theology of the 1970s. By placing the expectation of this kingdom within the perspective of a theology of baptism, from the very beginning the New Testament removed any reckless aspect from this expectation and thus gave it its much-needed breathing space. Hence, humility is one of the most central characteristics of those who expect the kingdom of God, as Jesus tells his audience when asked how they could ever inherit this kingdom themselves (Matt. 25:31–46). This humility also has a social dimension. That social dimension has to do with the way in which they mortify themselves not only before God but also before one another. It is only out of this solidarity in humility that baptism can be spoken about in the words of the Lima text as a “sign of the kingdom”:

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martien e. brinkman Baptism initiates the reality of the new life given in the midst of the present world. It gives participation in the community of the Holy Spirit. It is a sign of the Kingdom of God and of the life of the world to come. Through the gifts of faith, hope and love, baptism has a dynamic which embraces the whole of life.18

Because of the central place which penance has traditionally occupied in the ritual of baptism, any confusion with all those social utopias which, especially in the twentieth century, have left such a trail of corpses behind them is precluded. Any Promethean tint is alien to good baptismal theology, however, much theology, especially in the 1970s when it was in the grip of socialist ideals, sometimes barely managed to resist the appeal of this myth. Rather, in baptism Christianity expresses the awareness that one is not in the world without a sinful past and therefore one is not without sinful ancestry either. We are never a tabula rasa. Although such a sense of realism does not diminish the desire for another, better world, it does remove any naiveté that we might have about it. It makes us realize that that evil does not always only lurk in others, but also in ourselves. Over the past few decades some philosophers such as e.g. Leszek Kolakowski have not tired of pointing out to Christians the humanizing effect of the doctrine of (original) sin, so wrongly maligned by so many Christians.19 In former times Christians were often blamed for their assumed pessimistic image of humankind. The Calvinists were especially referred to because of question 8 of Sunday 3 of their Heidelberg Catechism.20 This critique was sometimes so vehement, that unfortunately Christians themselves were even inclined to accept its legitimate character and to drop their emphasis on this doctrine. That turns out to be a big mistake. Several topical philosophers are convinced of the fact that it is more realistic to entertain a pessimistic than an optimistic image of humanBaptism, Eucharist, Ministry, 3 (B-7). Cf. L. Kolakowski, “‘Is de duivel te redden?’: een marxistische benadering,” Toekomst van de religie: Religie van de toekomst?(Utrecht–Brugge: Emmaüs-Desclée de Brouwer, 1972), 100–110. See also, H. Achterhuis, De erfenis van de utopie (Amsterdam: Ambo, 1998), 107. 20 For the text of the Heidelberg Catechism, see Ph. Schaff (ed), The Creeds of Christendom, Vol. III. (Grand Rapids: Baker, [1877] 1966), 307–355, esp. 310 (question 8): “But are we so far depraved that we are wholly unapt to any good, and prone to all evil?” Answer: “Yes, unless we are born again by the Spirit of God.” Who would, after Auschwitz and many other examples of genocide in the last century, be prepared to give another answer than the authors of this catechism? 18 19

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kind, and that a more optimistic approach only can be justified when a society knows how to deal with sinners. In this regard, it cannot be stressed enough that the radical break with the past implied in baptism is a totally different one from that what was propagated in many, sometimes ‘realized’ utopias. The break with the past in e.g. the French, Russian or Chinese (Cultural) Revolution had nothing to do with the confession of guilt regarding the individual past with which this break traditionally goes hand in hand in the Christian liturgy of baptism. The latter is a repentant acceptance of one’s own life history and the former always a form of settling scores with the sinful past of others. The doctrine of original sin, however, can have a twofold salutary effect. It keeps us both from overconfidence and despair. It prevents us from being utopian about human dreams of a perfect society and from falling into despair over the evident moral failures of individuals and societies.21 Besides the radical way in which Christian people profess to have broken with their own past through baptism, they are also thoroughly aware of the fact that baptized people are not saints. The references to the simul iustus ac peccator and the phenomenon of penance, understood as a continuous existential return to one’s own baptismal experience of submersion and resurrection, bear witness to this. This sense of realism does not need to have a fatalistic effect. The history of two thousand years of Christianity shows that its greatest social influence has not been in stimulating forms of social utopias, secularized or not, but in building up the care of the sick, the elderly and the poor, the development of agriculture, and the founding of schools and universities. All these activities would not have been possible without the expectation of the ‘new’ and without the notion of another world. It is obvious that currently all these activities are no longer typical Christian activities. It is a challenge to articulate what currently is the main Christian moral responsibility. One of the main theses of our contribution is that Van de Beek’s article is a challenging effort to it, but his approach could be more intrinsically connected with the core of the theology of baptism.

21

K. Ward, Religion and Human Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 185.

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martien e. brinkman Baptism and Justification

The willingness to take up new things is anchored in the theology of baptism. Therefore, it makes sense to search for new ways in which the essence of that theology can be expressed. The core of the theology of baptism is expressed in the duality of repentance and rebirth. At first the words repentance and rebirth appear to mainly refer to human decisions, and thus to fit closely with what is the general view of baptism, i.e. that people, parents or candidates for baptism decide to have their children baptized or to be baptized. Then the whole emphasis is usually on that human decision. However, the words repentance and rebirth clearly express more. They presuppose that one turns and converts to something that one has not created by oneself and, in turn, that one becomes a different, reborn person through a power that comes from elsewhere. Just as humans do not produce their own birth, they do not effect their own rebirth. They are themselves actively and totally involved, but it is a process that is initiated elsewhere, “from above,” as Jesus says in his conversation with Nicodemus (John 3:3). Because of baptism’s character as a gift, this sacrament—together with the Lord’s Supper—has been viewed as one of the most expressive symbolizations of the essence of the doctrine of justification. After all, the core of the doctrine of justification—forgiveness given sola gratia—is also the core of the theology of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. However, in these two sacraments, it also becomes clear that this divine gift of grace requires a human answer. That is why the Lima text discusses baptism’s character as “both God’s gift and our human response.”22 In this context, it is significant that Berkouwer, who frequently uses the notion ‘correlation’ for this dual character of gift and answer, describes the scope of that notion most accurately in his studies on justification and on the sacraments. On this correlation he notes: The correlation between faith and promise, faith and justification does not become a divine monologue in which man is a mere telephone through which God addresses Himself …. The mystery of the correlation is apparent, however, only when it really embraces the reality of human existence. The miracle of grace occurs in the act or attitude of faith, the faith that is roused by the Holy Spirit. With this sola gratia is not spurned; it is verified.23 Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, 3 (B-8). G.C. Berkouwer, Faith and Justification (Studies in Dogmatics) (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1963, 2nd pr.), 178–179. 22 23

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In this connection it may not even be such a bad idea to speak of the religious attitude in mind here in terms of a talent for faith. After all, this word expresses, on the one hand, the gift-character of faith— talent as aptitude, gift, charisma—but, on the other hand, also refers to one’s own active participation: a talent must also be developed. Having or not having a certain talent is often spoken about with a degree of equanimity and indolence. Biblically speaking, however, that is an unjustifiable attitude. In the first place, because we often do not know what hidden talents we have. We do not yet know who we shall be. Often we do not discover our talents until we are somewhat advanced in age. And, in the second place, the biblical call to make the most of one’s talents applies to this as well: that is, contribute actively to what we have freely received (Matthew 25:14–30). Inculturation: Between Confirmation and Negation What holds true in regard to the individual believer also holds true for the process of inculturation as a whole. In the question of the relationship of continuity and discontinuity in baptism, we can also involve the inculturation event. In 1989 the General Council of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches made the following statement regarding this relation: “The Gospel must not be used to promote a ‘levelling-out’ of culture, everything the same everywhere.”24 The report acknowledges that the Gospel illuminates every culture, that it holds every culture, as it were, up against the light of the proclamation of Christ. But the report also acknowledges that, up to a point, every culture illuminates our understanding of the Gospel: “Different cultures can perceive in the Gospel that which other cultures had failed to perceive.”25 In fact, we refer here to a double process of transformation. On the entering site, the Gospel, and the receiving site, the culture, something happens. The Gospel changes the receiving culture, but the receiving culture also adds something to the Gospel. From the moment that Jesus was called Lord (kyrios) the concept of lordship changed, but the image of Jesus changed as well. The same holds true for what is currently hap24 Seoul 1989. Proceedings of the 22nd general Council, Seoul, August 15–26, 1989 (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1990), 178. 25 Seoul 1989, 178.

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pening in, for example, Africa when Christians call Jesus their ancestor, healer, chief, king, etc. It changes their ideas of an ancestor, healer, chief and king, but it changes Jesus also. During the whole history of Christian doctrine we can observe these kinds of changes in such a process of double transformation. It will be clear that this phenomenon concerns the relation of continuity and discontinuity as well. Instead of speaking about continuity and discontinuity, we could also speak about Incarnation and Cross and Resurrection. Incarnation implies that God wants to live with us (John. 1:14). That means that God wants to take on a cultural vestment. Where Incarnation stands for the given of that cultural vestment, Cross and Resurrection stand for the nature of that vestment. Cross and Resurrection are models for the death and resurrection with Christ—an event that is symbolized in the baptismal ritual. We die to our old Adam and rise as reborn people with Christ, our second Adam. Only the one who is prepared to lose himself is prepared to find himself, says Jesus (Mark 8:35; John 12:24). It is expected of faith that this experience is not only made at the time of baptism, but at every moment of one’s life. Thus, baptism always refers to a critical purifying process—a catharsis. While Incarnation stands for affirmation, Cross and Resurrection stand for self-loss and for finding oneself through losing oneself. Incarnation cannot be discussed without speaking about Cross and Resurrection. Indwelling (Incarnation) finds nothing without a change on the entering and receiving site and change (Cross and Resurrection) does not find a place without solidarity (affirmation). Outside of this moment of interaction, no culture can unveil something about Jesus. In this process of double transformation, however, account must be taken of new and creative syntheses. Presently, the center of gravity of Christendom has moved to the southern hemisphere. That is due to a lively and creative cultural application process. The process of inculturation is also often named contextualization. That is especially believed about the social-political dimension of this process. What will this process yield? What can be expected from the new inculturation of the meaning of Jesus in nonWestern cultures? Church growth? Sometimes that appears to be the undertone of many explanations of Western as well as non-Western theologians about the inculturation of the Gospel in the non-Western world. If Christianity had adapted more to Asian culture, for example, then it would have had many more roots in Asia….is the tenor of many arguments.

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The plausibility of that argument cannot always be exhibited. In Japan a unique Japanese theology developed in the 1950s (after the Second World War), but the theology did not practice a collective power. Only one percent of the Japanese population is Christian. In Korea Christian theology has a strong Western character, especially in large churches, and after the Second World War more than 25 percent of the population became Christian. Obviously other factors played a part in that. If church growth is not the direct response of a successful inculturation and therefore cannot be the direct goal, then what is? A better form of Christianity? Another Asia, Africa and Latin America? Can we see any indication of it? The Congolese, Roman Catholic theologian Metena M"nteba cast this question in an article with the beautiful title, “Inculturation in the “Third Church”: a Godly Pentecost or a Revenge of the Culture?” By the ‘Third Church,’ he meant the African church following out from the original Oriental church (the ‘First Church’) and mainly formed by the Western church as the ‘Second Church.’ Is this formation of a real African church to be seen as a legitimate result of Pentecost or should the old African cultures now seize this as their chance to take the strange interloper in hand as the ‘revenge of the culture’? Has—as M"nteba asks—the Western inculturation of the meaning of Jesus made the West more Christian in the sense of the West being more social and peaceful (during the last 2000 years)? Has it drastically changed the Western culture?26 This has been a vehement debate concerning the all or nothing Christian character of the Western culture that has raged in Europe and North America for decades. Should the Western culture thank the Enlightenment that it was wrestled out of the grip of the church and Christendom or is the Enlightenment a fruit of Christianity?27 That is an endless discussion that often degenerates into a trivial question of whether we can bring the desires and burdens of our cultural achievements in connection to Christianity. 26 M. M"nteba, “De inculturatie in de ‘Derde Kerk’: een goddelijk Pinksteren of de wraak van de culturen?”, Concilium 28 (1992) 1, 114–128. 27 Cf. for this debate, among others, K. Löwith, Weltgeschichte und Heilsgeschichte. Die theologische Voraussetzungen der Geschichtsphilosophie (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, [1953] 1973 6th pr.); H. Blumenberg, Säkularisierung als Selbstbehauptung. Erweiterte und überarbeitete Neuausgabe von ‘Legitimität der Neuzeit’, I–II (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, [1966] 1983, 2nd pr.), 141–266 (‘Theologischer Absolutismus und humane Selbstbehauptung’) and W. Pannenberg, Christentum in einer säkularisierten Welt (Freiburg: Herder, 1988).

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In any case, that debate makes it clear that the fruit of the inculturation of the Gospel in the West is disputed. In view of this one occasion of a bad example, can we cherish higher expectations in respect to other continents? Modesty appears necessary here, a modesty that has to do with the question of how far the function of religion has to do with the improvement of the world. One could also argue the other side: Governments must improve the world and religions must show people on the verge of despair or hope in reference to their own deeds. More significantly, it appears the reason that we, along with M"nteba, do not only concentrate on the question of examples of an Africanizing or Asianizing of Christianity in respect to new inculturations, but on the question about the existential experience of the Gospel in Africa and Asia. It has to do with the place that Cross and Resurrection can take in an individual’s life and in the community as a whole. From Jesus’ own lifestyle it appears, perhaps too painfully, that a life that is determined by Cross and Resurrection is not measured by success or failure. Therefore, the two-in-one of affirmation (Incarnation) and negation (Cross and Resurrection) has much to do with Revelation: with the surprising disclosure of what is, so far, the unknown and unprepared. It might be that our affirmations then turn out to be strongly criticized and that our denials be overruled by God’s affirmations. Thus, every form of contextualization of the Gospel shall always be characterized through the same mental attitude that also characterizes the individual worshipper during baptism. Such a mindset frees us from every form of convulsiveness that leads to an over-rating or under-rating of the current, extensive process of contextualization of the Gospel. Whenever the simul justus et peccator may also become heard here, we shall not recall the past, but we are also not ashamed of the conviction that some unmistakable time and place bound forms of inculturation cannot be damaged by time and also apply to other contexts. Against both extremes—a renewing and conservative impulse— is the abasement that baptism calls us to, the most adequate attitude. Only this attitude can give an adequate answer to the question we placed on the first page of this contribution. The role which the context can play in contextual theology is exactly the same role which our personal integrity plays in baptism. Although we die and rise with Christ, our personal integrity is not destroyed. Or—in a theologically better formulation—just because we die and rise with Christ, our personal

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integrity is saved by God. Hence, the Presbyterian, Ghanaian theologian Kwame Bediako speaks of “integrity in conversion.”28 Applied to the role of the context in contextual theology, it means that only when a context, as it were, is prepared to die and rise with Christ, it can play its illuminating role in the proclamation of the Gospel.

28 K. Bediako, Theology & Identity. The Impact of Culture upon Christian Thought in the Second Century and in Modern Africa (Oxford: Regnum Books, 1992), 4.

EPILOGUE RELIGION WITHOUT ULTERIOR MOTIVE WITHIN THE REFORMED TRADITION Eddy Van der Borght In this article, I offer some results from the discussion triggered by the challenging lecture of Bram van de Beek on religion without ulterior motive. 1. The first conclusion must be that all contributors to the volume condemn the abuse of religion. All recognize the potential danger of religion. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, almost everyone— religious or non-religious—is convinced of the power of religion for good and for bad. Religion can be used for the wrong motives. The awareness of the potential for abuse of religion has risen dramatically in the West since 9/11. We all seem to agree that the abuse of religion should be averted, and condemnation of the abuse of religion is almost universal. 2. Van de Beek’s plea for religion without ulterior motives is not just another voice raised in the choir that rejects abuse of religion. Some authors prove their awareness that Van de Beek is, in reality, raising another topic by disagreeing with him. So, what is really at stake? What is Van de Beek referring to when he condemns religion without ulterior motives? One of the contributors, Gijsbert van den Brink, makes use of a dictionary to discover the various aspects of the meaning of the expression ‘without ulterior motive.’ In relation to the phrase ‘ulterior motive,’ he differentiates between religion that makes use of hidden agendas, religion that is used for external goals, and religion that is based on external grounds. Van den Brink proves how the second and third understanding of ‘without ulterior motive’ are implied in Van de Beek’s argumentation. This last interpretation is especially radical. No alliance also means the refusal of external grounds. As a consequence, Van de Beek also rejects a Christian theology that is driven by apologetic or missiological motives. Every instrumentalization, even for a good cause, is rejected as fundamentally wrong.

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Van de Beek is inspired by Samuel Hirsch’s discourse. His discussion of ‘religion without ulterior motive’ goes much deeper than a warning against the instrumentalization of religion for bad causes. Hirsch and Van de Beek are more radical: religion should not be allied to any cause, not even a good cause, such as liberation, emancipation, transformation of society, health or prosperity. The only solid motivation is to be found in religion itself: the service of the one true God. To keep this motivation pure, every alliance should be refused. Van de Beek is not just another voice warning against instrumentalization of religion. He is much more radical. True religion seeks no alliances. This must be our second conclusion. Religion without ulterior motive is religion without any alliance. The ethicists Höver, De Kruijf, O’Donovan and Wannenwetsch make an analogy with what occurs in the European discussion about the family. The value of the family has become dependent on its function in society. They plead for more sensibility and attention to the nonfunctional character of important dimensions in life. Religion is such a dimension that should be treated primarily in a non-functional way. For Van de Beek, the growing instrumentalization of religion in Christian theology is the theological equivalent of a functionalist culture. So the fundamental question that Van de Beek places on the table of Christian theology is whether the functionalist era demands Christians to be attentive to potential abuse of religion or whether—in order to keep their motivation pure—Christians have to reject each and every attempt to instrumentalize religion and have to refuse any offer for an alliance. 3. The condemnation of the instrumentalization of religion for the wrong motives is a recurrent theme in the Scriptures and in the history of the church. The prophets in the Old Testament warned the kings not to abuse religion, and the priests not to let themselves be used by political powers. Jesus himself was very critical of the religious praxis of his own time and the ulterior motives being used by the religious leaders. The first crisis of the early church about the question of how many aspects of the Jewish tradition that converts from a Gentile background were expected to assume constituted an issue directly related to ulterior motives. During the history of the church in every new context and period, the question had to be asked over and over. Are our teachings and praxis, and our policies not being driven by external motives and no longer linked to God himself ? Are we really free, or do the

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alliances that we make in life constitute a danger for our integrity and identity? Numerous renewal programs in church history were driven by the intention to free both church and theology from unhealthy alliances that threatened the identity of the church. The Reformation in the 16th century was also an attempt to free the church from such life threatening abuses of religion. The central instrument was a fundamental renewal of the theological interpretation of the Gospel to free it from external motivation (good deed theology). Van de Beek refers to this: God loves us for no reason or gain. God did not elect us for qualities in ourselves. There are no ulterior motives in God’s love. But have the Scriptures rejected every instrumentalization of religion? Did the church fathers refuse any alliance? Was the Reformation, more particularly the Reformation in Geneva under the guidance of Calvin, an activity motivated by the purification of the Catholic religion of wrong alliances or of any alliance? The radical understanding of religion without ulterior motives challenges us to reconsider tradition. Two cases are possible. One situation occurs when this reconsideration leads to a different interpretation. A good example is the theology of Calvin. It is a case of rejection of any instrumentalization or only of wrong alliances? Van de Beek recalls Calvin’s moderate expectancy of the earthly politics—aequitas—meaning ‘balance’ and not ‘equality.’ The core of Christian life should be the meditatio futurae vitae. Our dwelling place is in heaven, and we should not focus on this world. The extraCalvinistum is no longer limited to the liturgy of the Eucharist, but becomes a basic Christian attitude. Religion without alliance is only possible when lifting our heads to heaven and it leads to a fundamentally ascetic way of life. Was Calvin driven by zeal to reform the church and society of any ulterior motive or only of wrong motives? John Hesselink examined Calvin’s understanding of the kingdom of God. He is very cautious. The concept seems to refer in most cases to the reformation of the church, but sometimes it also refers to the reformation of society. The response of Dirkie Smit is ultimately based on the interpretation of tradition as well. Scripture—with special reference to the letter to Titus—and the Reformed tradition—with special reference to Calvin’s social humanism and Barth’s view on the humanity of God— reveal the patterns of the grace of the Triune God that has appeared and claims believers to publicly live this message of divine grace. Both Van de Beek and Smit refer to Calvin in support of their point of view and it is clear that they have a different understanding of his theology. Is the aim of the mediation of the future life the permanent reflection

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on our life in Christ in heaven or is its ultimate aim our godly and righteous living in the present? A second case is a different appreciation of an author according to his understanding of religion without ulterior motives. An example is the way that Abraham Kuyper’s theology is evaluated. For Van de Beek, Kuyper is in the final analyses a theocrat that is not free from religion with ulterior motives. For Vroom and Mouw, Kuyper offers sufficient protection against the wrong use of religion through his concept of sphere sovereignty. 4. Is religion without alliances überhaupt possible? Yes, says Van de Beek, referring to the theology of Calvin. If we stop trying to prove the relevance of religion for society and instead concentrate on serving God for his own sake in a fundamentally ascetic attitude in life, then we use religion in the correct non-functional way. No, says Alan Sell, who fears that this movement will lead from ungrounded activism to the godly ghetto. Indeed, God loves us for no ulterior reason, but we humans will always have mixed motives. God is perfect—we are not. We are susceptible to ulterior motives in a way that God is not. For this reason, Sell distinguishes between an instrumentalist abuse of religion and a relevant use of religion. The relevance of Christianity is not to be confused with the subjective experience of usefulness for certain purposes. It will often have to be expressed in the mode of hope. The issue that Sell is raising is symptomatic for a reaction regularly voiced in relation to Van de Beek’s theology. Henk Vroom, although agreeing with Van de Beek’s rejection of making religion subservient to other motives, also feels uncomfortable with the complete rejection of ethical motives as relevant for religion. Is the call for a non-allied, detached religion synonymous with a call for isolation, retreat and ghettoization? Van de Beek’s theological enterprise—not least in initiating the International Reformed Theological Institute—has been proof of his interest in living theology that is challenged by actual issues. Because this is recognized, a tendency can be discerned to understand his radical language about religion without ulterior motive as merely a style figure: overstatements in the context of a disjunctive approach (Sell) or ‘alvinization’ (Van den Brink). For Van de Beek, much more seems at stake. His radical language is not meant to be a hyperbolic style instrument to deepen the discussion or to attract attention. On the contrary, it is the expression of his fundamental belief that theology is too much focused on societal relevance and, as consequence, has become strongly ideologized. He

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is convinced that precisely religion without alliance is the best guarantee for relevant religion. The challenge of this type of radical theology without alliance is to prove its viability as a living theology that does not retreat into the ghetto. 5. Christian theologians in the West regularly express suspicion that the contextualization agenda is an example of the use of religion for ulterior motives. They fear that the adaptation to various cultural contexts may lead to the loss of the identity of Christian faith. It is remarkable that Van de Beek does not refer to contextualization as an example of religion with ulterior motives. During the nineties, he was one of the initiators of the Moluccan Theological Council that encouraged Moluccan theologians to work on a more authentic expression of their Christian faith that links to their Moluccan background. We invited some authors to give an assessment of the use of religion in the region of the world where they are living and working as theologians. Seung Goo Lee’s description of the theological situation in Korea appears similar to the situation in the West, maybe even more polarized between ‘liberals’ and ‘non-liberals.’ Dan Antwi gives some attention to the abuse of religion in the Caribbean region beginning with biblical theological reflections. But the main element of his discourse is a plea for contextualization of Christian religion. The same move is made by James Kombo with his description of four ways of contextualization of Christian theology on the African continent. For these theologians from the South, non-contextualized theology is theology with ulterior motives. Both suggest that a theology that places grace in the center is the best guarantee against the abuse of religion. Martien Brinkman explores the theme of contextualization on a more general level. His solution is the use of the baptism paradigm for cultures and not only for individuals. Cultures also have to be baptized in order to avoid religion with alliances. The various contributions to the volume prove how important the theme of religion without alliance is for theology. It challenges theologians to reflect on their deepest motives and encourages them to give account of their goals and grounds. We hope you have been challenged to take part in the global discussion on this issue, and we look forward to receiving your reaction.

INDEX OF NAMES Abe, Masao, 64, 65, 68 Adriaanse, H.J., 114n Allmen, J.-J. von, 146n Althaus, P., 128 Antwi, D.J., 179 Athanasius, 124 Augustine, 125, 126 Austin-Broo, D., 188 Bacote, 22 Balke, W., 130 Balthasar, H.U. von, 127, 128 Banks, R., 124 Barrow, J.D., 107n Barth, K., 35ff., 115, 116n, 128, 141, 181 Barth, M., 119, 132 Bauer, W., 224 Bediako, K., 233 Beek, A. van de, 62, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 89–92, 94, 96–97, 99, 101– 106, 108n, 110–114, 117, 118, 120, 121, 122, 131, 140–141, 158, 215, 218, 220, 227 Bellah, R., 51, 52 Belt, H. van den, 118n Benedict, 59 Berkhof, H., 140n Berkouwer, G.C., 228 Beveridge, H., 134 Bieler, 32ff. Bisnauth, D., 189 Blumenberg, H., 231 Breitenberg, 40 Brink, G. van den, 101 Brown, D., 181 Bucer, M., 142n Butin, 34 Calvin, J., 16, 17, 20, 23ff., 31ff., 59, 117, 118, 133, 139–158 passim, 180, 181, 237 Campbell, D.A., 121, 123 Carr, B.J., 107n

Chaplin, Jonathan, 73, Chevannes, B., 186 Columbus, C., 189 Cunningham, C.M., 134 David, King, 148–149 Davis, K., 184, 185, 189, 192–193 Dawkins, R., 103, 104 Dekker, C., 107n, 114n Dennett, D., 113n Dingemans, G.D.J., 108n Dorsman, R., 224 Dorssen, J.C.C. van, 67 Douglass, J.D., 181 Driel, L. van, 130 Dunn, J.D.G., 124, 126, 129, 165–167, 216 Erskine, N.L., 196 Exalto, K., 130 Fedorov, N., 135 Fergusson, D., 95 Fiddes, P.S., 135, 137 Fiorenza, F.S., 134 Forsyth, P.T., 92, 93, 99 Frank, D.H., 90 Fröhlich, K., 143n Galvin, J.P., 134 Garvey, M.M., 197, 198 Gerrish, 34 Gestrich, C., 121, 137 Gogh, T. van, 112 Gorman, M.J., 124, 128, 130, 131 Graham, W.F., 157n Greschat, M., 142n Grillmeier, A., 218 Gutierrez, G., 55, 56, 192 Hamid, I., 190 Harakas, S.S., 217 Hart, D.B., 110n Hauerwas, S., 57 Hay, D.M., 127 Hays, R.B., 122, 123, 125, 126, 127, 129, 132

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Heidelberg Catechism, 226 Heschel, A., 8 Hesselink, I.J., 141n Hirsch, S., 7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 90, 91, 102, 235, 236 Howard, G., 124 Huber, 43 Hunsinger, G.N., 109n Irenaeus, 16, 20, 90 Japan, 231 Jinkins, M., 134 John Paul II, 84 Johnson, E.E., 127 Jüngel, E., 117, 119, 126, 127, 132 Justinus Martyr, 15 Kahler, E., 7 Kant, Immanuel, 63, 64 Käsemann, E., 135, 136, 137 Kelly, J.N.D., 217 Kingdon, R., 157n Koch, K., 142n Kolakowski, L., 226 Kooi, C. van der, 114n Kruijf, G.G. de, 114n Krusche, W., 142n, 146n Kuyper, A., 12, 13, 41ff., 58, 62, 67, 70, 71, 72, 140n, 141, 238 Lactantius, 127 LaCugna, C.M., 134 Ladd, G.E., 146n Lang, B., 48 Lapide, P., 113 Leaman, O., 90 Leo I, 217 Lewis, R., 195 Lonergan, B., 134 Longenecker, B.W., 128 Longenecker, R.N., 124 Löwith, K., 231 Luther, M., 59, 104, 105n, 125, 127 M"nteba, M., 231, 232 MacIntyre, A., 59 Madison, J., 51 Manekin, C.H., 90 Marley, B., 196 McDannell, C., 48

McFadyen, A., 135 Meilaender, G., 58 Meiring, P., 224 Middleton, Richard, 61 Migliore, D.L., 109n Miller, P.S., 179 Moe-Lobeda, 43 Mohammed, B., 112 Moltmann, Jürgen, 73 Monter, W., 157n Mulrain, G., 188 Murdock, I., 58 Murrell, N.S., 196 Naphy, W.G., 157n Naudé, 44 Nettleford, R., 194 Newbigin, 42ff. Nicodemus, 228 Niebuhr, 31 Niesel, W., 143n Nishida, Kitaro, 68 Nishtitani, Keiji, 65, 68 Noordmans, O., 121, 128, 137 Nouwen, H.J.M., 56, 57 Oberrman, H., 180 Ohlig, K.H., 216 Origen, 12, 17, 104 Osterhaven, M.E., 158 Paley, W., 106 Pannenberg, W., 108, 115 Parker, J., 95 Pauck, W., 192n Paul, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 18, 61, 62, 68, 69, 71 Peel, A., 95 Pelagius, 125 Peterson, M., 106, 107n Plantinga, A., 113n, 117n Plato, 47 Potter, P., 195 Quistorp, H., 143n Radzivil, Prince Nicolas, 145 Rees, M.J., 107n Ridderbos, 27ff. Roest, H.P. de, 114n Rousseau, J.-J., 51, 52 Rowland, Christopher, 61, 62

index of names Schaff, Ph., 226 Schenk, W., 133 Schleiermacher, F., 180 Selby, P., 109n Sell, A.P.F., 91, 92, 93 Shakespeare, W., 93 Smedes, L., 54 Smelik, P.G., 108n Smith, A.D., 13 Snyder, H.A., 146n Spijker, W. van’t, 130 St. Paul, 108–110 Swinburne, R., 107n, 110 Tafari, I., 194 Tappert, T.G., 105n Terrien, S., 49, 50 Theodorou, A., 137 Theron, P.F., 132 Thiemann, R., 58

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Thomas Aquinas, 124 Tillich, P., 181 Tipler, F.J., 107n Torrance, T.F., 142 Tutu, D., 44, 224 Vandervelde, G., 121 Versteeg, J.P., 129, 130, 136 Visser ’t Hooft, W.A., 32 Volf, M., 134, 135, 136 Vos, G., 168, 170, 172 Wallis, I.G., 124, 125, 129, 132, 133, 136 Ward, K., 103, 104, 106, 227 Watty, W., 189 Wendel, F., 143n Wesley, J., 98 Williams, L., 196 Wright, N.T., 110, 116, 127 Zaleski, C., 50

INDEX OF SUBJECTS accommodation, 199 activism, 47, 48, 50, 56, 57 adaptation, 199, 204, 206, 209, 215 aequitas, 16, 17 Africa, 199, 200, 200n, 201, 201n, 202, 202n, 203, 203n, 205, 206, 209, 210, 211n, 212, 230–232 African inculturation theology, 203, 204–207 African Independent Church (AIC), 204 African intellectual culture, 206 African mainstream Protestant churches, 204 African philosophy, 205 African theology, 199–214 African women theology, 203, 204, 210–213 America, 200 anthropic principle 106–108 apartheid, 207, 208n apology/apologetics 102, 112–114, 118 apostles’ creed, 163 apostolic, 159, 161, 163, 164, 174, 177, 178 arguments for Christian faith, 101–118 for the existence of God, 101–108 ascriptive approach, 81 Asia, 202, 230–232 assimilating, 201 atman, 64 attachment, 65, 66, 67, 69, 71 Authoritarian, 181 Authority, 181 awareness, 62, 65, 66, 67, 68 baptism, 218, 220–230, 232 barriers, 53, 54 Belhar Confession, 207, 207n, 208, 208n

biblical, 159, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 170, 175, 176, 177, 178 Black Consciousness Movement, 207 black theology, 203, 204, 207–208, 208n Boston Affirmations, 52, 53 Buddha nature, 64, 65, 66, 67 Buddhism, Mahayana, 64, 65 Buddhist, 62, 64, 65, 67, 69, 73 Calvinists, 226 Chalcedon, 216–218 character, 56 Charis, 193 childless family, 83 Christ ascension of, 156 as king, 153–155 Jesus, body of, 181, 183–184 christian life, 155 Christianity, 200, 203, 205, 206, 207, 210, 212 confucian, 160 imposition of, 189–190 modernistic, 160–161 of missionary, 190 post-modernistic, 161 shamanistic, 160 Christology, 212 church, 87 and kingdom, 143–148 Circle of Concerned African Women Theologians, The, 211 civil community, 87 commandment, 62, 67, 69 Congregational Union of England and Wales, 95 conjunction, 90–92 Conscientization, 193 Contextual, contextualizing, contextualization, 180, 199–214 contextualization of religion, 239 Control, 181

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conversion, 223, 233 correlation, 228 created, 82, 86 cross, 230, 232 of Christ, 19 cultural imperialism, 201 cultural milieu, 204 culture, 199, 200, 204, 206, 209, 212, 213 definition of, 219 death, 218, 221, 222 disjunction, 90–92 divinization (Theosis), 137 dogmaticians, 200 duty, 63, 69 ego (self), 64, 66, 68 Emancipation theology, 190, 192– 193 Enlightenment, 231 Eschatological, 169, 170, 172, 173, 175, 176, 177, 178 eschatology, 47, 48 ethical, 219, 220, 223 ethics, 9, 63, 67, 68, 74 Europe, 200, 201, 206 evangelical theology, 203 evil, 226 faith, 61, 62, 63, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 73, 74, 200, 200n, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 207, 213 of the believers, 124, 129–130 of Christ, 119, 123–126, 129–131 faithfulness of Christ, 119, 123–126, 129–131 of God, 137 feelings, 62, 63, 66, 67, 69 fides qua(e), 125, 126 forgiveness, 228 form of life, 81 foundational, 82, 87 freedom, 221–224 functionalist age, 9 gender, 199, 203 Geneva Catechism, 139n, 144, 152n ghetto, 238, 239 gift, 221, 229 gloria Deis 220

God character of, 186 description of, 191 expectations of, 185 experience of, 187 image of, 181 listening to, 181 speak for, 181 God’s grace, 19 Gospel, 199, 200, 203, 204, 207, 207n, 208n gospel of the kingdom, 161, 162, 171, 175, 177 gratuitousness, 55 guilt, 227 haggadah, 64 halachah, 64 hearing, 49 heaven, 47, 48, 166, 174, 175, 176 Heidelberg Catechism, 139 Hellenistic, 200 heresy, 207 Hermeneutical method, 198 Hermeneutics, 31, 163n, 168n, 188, 195, 196, 197, 198, 210 historia revelationis, 168 Rastafarian, 196–197 value of, 196 Holy Spirit, 216, 217, 223 home, 83, 86 humanity of God, 35ff. humility, 225 identity, 85, 86 image of God, 61 imperative – categorical, 63 inaugurate eschatology, 169 incarnation, 205, 206, 230 inculturation, 199, 199n, 200n, 204, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 212 definition of, 219 indigenization, 199 individual human rights, 79 individualism, 51 Infallibility, 181 instrumentalization, 215 of religion, 8, 9, 10, 235, 236 instrumentalism, 92–6

index of subjects integrity, 232, 233 Intelligent Design, 106, 108 Interpreting, 188 justification, 119–120, 125, 128–132, 136–138, 228 Kairos Document, 61, 70, 208, 208n Kingdom consummation of, 150–152 mission of the, 184 nature of, 152–157 of Christ, 140–158 passim of God, 140–158, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 223, 225, 226 of heaven, 170, 171, 172, 175 spiritual nature of, 143–145 stability of, 153 stages of, 148–152 theology, 169, 175, 176, 177, 178 Korea, 231 Latin America, 202, 231 Latin West, 200 law, 63, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74 Liberating, liberation, 184, 209, 210, 211n liberation theology, 10, 11, 12, 42, 55, 91, 190–192, 203, 204, 209–210, 215 Lima text, 221, 223, 225, 228 Lord’s Prayer (“Thy kingdom come”), 157–158 Supper, 228 loving-kindness, 21ff. Magisterium, 200 mahakaruna, 66 Marcian, 217 marriage, 85 meditatio futurae vitae, 16, 237 Mediterranean, 200 metamorphosing, 202 Missio Dei, 198 mission/missiology, 102, 111–114, 118 mission centers, 200 missionary century, 200, 200n missionary enterprise, 200

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morality, 61, 62, 63, 64, 67, 68, 69, 74 moratorium, 206 mortification, 224 motives, 96–97 mystic(s), 63, 64, 66 mysticism, 58 nature, 63, 70 Negritude Movement, 205 new creature, 172 Nicea, 216 no alliances, 236 non-functional, 236 non-reciprocal, 88 non-voluntary and non-contractual, 85 non-Western, 230 obedience, 67, 69 ontology / ical, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69 Organizations leaders of, 183 original sin, 226, 227 Orthodox theologians, 217 Pauline churches, 200 penance, 224, 226, 227 Pentecost, 231 Pentecostal, 188 Philanthropy, 183 pietism, 14, 15 polygamy, 213 poverty, 199, 203, 209 Power black, 190–191 corridors of, 189 embodying the, 181 prajna, 66 pratitya samutpada, 64, 65 prayer, 55, 56, 57 preaching of the Word, 154 preparatio evangelica, 116 Protestant theologians, 217 public Theology, 40ff. quietism, 220 race, 199, 203 Rastafarian Reality, 185–186 rationality of faith, 8, 9

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reasons for belief in God, 101–108 for Christian faith, 101–118 rebirth, 222, 223, 228 reconsidering tradition, 237 reconstruction theology, 203 regnum gloriae, 176 regular fidei, 163 Reign of God, 63 relationship, 88 relevance, 89, 97–100 of religion, 238 Religion abuse of, 235, 238 allied to progress, 7, 8 boundaries of, 179 character of, 181 Defining, 180–181 definition of, 219 inseparability of, 180 traditional African, 189 Religious attitudes of the, 188 beliefs of the, 190 conversion, 201 experiences and expressions, 184 faith, 179, 180, 189 founders, 183 leaders, 182–183 motive, 199, 203, 204 values, 186 remembered Jesus, 216 repentance, 228 Representative Christianity, 203 resurrection, 218, 221, 227, 230, 232 of Jesus, 106, 108–111, 113, 116 revelation, 114–117, 232 Revivalism, 188 revolution, 227 Rewards, 183 righteousness, 122, 126–127, 131–132, 138

samsara, 64 sanctification, 223 seeing, 49 Sermon on the Mount, 67, 68, 70 shari"ah, 67, 74 single parent family, 83 sola gratia, 228 Southern continents, 200, 203n, 213 sphere sovereignty, 62,71, 72,73 Status confessionis, 207 Stoic, 221 tabula rasa, 226 teleological argument, 106–108, 113 theocracy, 13, 14, 16 Theological structures, treaties, norms, 180 Theologizing, 190, 192, 189, 198 Theology Caribbean, 191 de-colonization of, 191, 198 emancipation of, 192 of entitlement, 183 Threskeia, 198 transformation (double), 229, 230 trinity, 119, 125, 127–129, 134–138, 151 truth, 67, 72, 74 ultimate, 65, 66, 68, 69 unity of God, 119, 122, 128 of the Church, 122, 131, 134, 135, 137 of the Trinity, 119, 125, 129, 134, 138 usefulness (utilitas) of doctrine, 139 utopia, 225–227 Vatican II, 221 Violence use of, 183 Western, 221, 230, 231 World Council of Churches, 11, 12, 90