Christian Dogmatics: An Introduction

By Gijsbert van den Brink and C. Van der Kooi

A fresh, inviting text on the content of Christian faith in our contemporary context

This one-volume systematic theology presents an accessible, orthodox overview of the Christian faith for students, teachers, pastors, and serious lay readers. Cornelis van der Kooi and Gijsbert van den Brink not only cover all the traditional themes-creation, sin, Jesus Christ, Scripture, and so on-but also relate those classical themes to contemporary developments like Pentecostalism, postfoundationalism, and evolutionary theory.

Consisting of sixteen chapters, the book is ideal for classroom use. Each chapter begins with engaging questions and a statement of learning goals and concludes with a list of recommended further reading. Written in a student-friendly tone and style and expertly translated and edited, van der Kooi and van den Brink's Christian Dogmatics splendidly displays the real, practical relevance of theology to the complexities of our world today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eerdmans
• Release date: May 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781467446594

Gijsbert van den Brink

Gijsbert van den Brink ist University Research Professor for Theology & Science and der VU Amsterdam.

Book preview

References

Preface to the English Edition

We are greatly indebted to Reinder Bruinsma, who is an experienced translator of Dutch theological literature into English, for providing a very reliable and smooth translation of this voluminous work in a relatively short time. Our American colleague Jim Bratt (Calvin College, Grand Rapids, MI), has carefully checked the flow of the English, pointed out possible sources of misunderstanding for an Anglo-Saxon audience, and proposed quite a few improvements, in both style and content. We are greatly in his debt. We also thank our former student-assistant Ruben van den Belt for providing us with references to English versions of sources we originally quoted in Dutch or German.

Since we realized that it would not make much sense to quote sources that are available only in Dutch, we substantially reduced the number of references to Dutch sources. Yet, we intentionally did not go to great lengths to remove every trace of the Dutch context within which this volume originally took shape. Especially in the case of twentieth-century Dutch theologians who have been (and in many cases still are) very influential in the Netherlands and beyond (e.g., in South Africa), and because of the scope, originality, creativity, and quality of their theological work, we decided to leave instructive references to their work unaltered, even though for now it may be available only in Dutch. Here we are thinking especially of the work of twentieth-century theologians like K. H. Miskotte, O. Noordmans, and A. A. van Ruler. It is good for an international audience to see that Dutch theology did not stop with Kuyper and Bavinck, however important the work of these two earlier giants was and still is. Finally, we decided to refer to German sources in English translation, where one was available, but we did not hesitate to quote German sources when there was no Anglophone alternative.

CORNELIS VAN DER KOOI &

GIJSBERT VAN DEN BRINK

Amsterdam, January 2016

Preface to the Original Edition

We decided to title this book Christian Dogmatics. For a number of reasons such a title may evoke questions or even be seen as a provocation. Who in their right mind would consider publishing a book with this title? Dogmatics is surrounded with so many negative associations that the word alone creates an immediate barrier. Moreover, the adjective Christian can be quite pretentious. (Do we think we can write for the entire Christian tradition?) We therefore begin with a few remarks telling why we refer to this book on dogmatics as Christian. It is true enough that we cannot possibly write for the whole Christian tradition, or even do limited justice to Christianity in all its diversity. And we admit at the outset that we write from within the context of the Reformed faith tradition. This work, however, is not intended as a dogmatics for Reformed Christians only. Dogmatics must always keep the entire faith community in mind. What Karl Barth wrote about confessions of faith (GA 3:610) applies in a derived sense to this book: we are dealing with insights that arose in specific circumstances, within a specific tradition-historical constellation, but that need to be submitted to the judgment of the entire (world) church, and not just to a part of it.

Likewise, the term dogmatics deserves a few comments. Why did we choose this word, rather than some synonym that would sound somewhat milder? The choice is meant to be evocative rather than provocative. In this dogmatics we do not think of dogma as teachings that have been imposed in an authoritarian way; rather, dogma is simply what the Christian church wants to continue to emphasize: the momentous news of God’s intervention in Jesus Christ. The church has found things that it does not want to surrender, which it regards as the basis for an unbelievable perspective in life. It is precisely this meaning, with all that it entails, that the word dogma conveys. If this is provocative with regard to secularism—which of course has also affected us—then we are just where we want to be: where the rubber hits the road.

This book is part of a long tradition. From the very first, Christian believers have attempted to describe, as clearly as they could, the content of the Christian faith—to defend it and to connect it with the general knowledge that was at their disposal. We believe it is worthwhile to continue this tradition. Not without reason, we nowadays see a lot of suspicion with regard to a focus on cohesion, completeness, or attempts to be systematic. We have lost the self-evident confidence of former generations, which presumed to possess an extensive knowledge of God. We must recognize our humanness, with all its limitations. However, this recognition does not change the content of what we have received in the sources of the Christian faith. Especially in a time in which the Christian faith tradition is under immense pressure, it is essential to keep it alive. In this book we are eager to show that we are dealing with a living tradition. We thus refer not only to classic studies but, throughout the book, to recent studies about the themes that we discuss.

A few remarks about the limitations of this book are in order. As the subtitle indicates, this volume is meant as an introduction. Dogmatics is a domain with various specializations—subdisciplines in which topics may be further refined and inspire further discussions. We often avoid such discussions, because they will be understood only at a later stage, against the backdrop of the major outlines that we will draw. We realize that these major outlines could and should be further qualified—but not in this work. As is the case in any other craft, not everything can be learned in one lesson. It helped us to ask ourselves not what all could be said but what we think a beginning theology student should, as a start, know and understand. We have done our best to stimulate the critical faculties of the reader. A decent dogmatics does not just tell people how things are but tries to show why certain choices are made and what internal problems must be addressed. Unavoidably, we must speak about problems. Where there are no problems, dogmatic reflection becomes superfluous. However, it can demand great intellectual effort, as well as provide much spiritual joy, to think as adequately as possible about such problems. At times it will suddenly give us the sense that, because of it, we have come to know God better.

In almost every section throughout the text, we present some paragraphs in smaller type. The material in these paragraphs provides information beyond what is covered in the regular-sized text, going deeper on a particular point or providing a broader discussion. Readers may wish to read all of them or might choose to pass over certain ones if they go beyond the reader’s level of interest.

Who are the readers we want to reach? From what we just said, it is clear that we first of all have students in mind, with the intellectual equipment and skills that the present generation is expected to possess. We hope that they will get a feel for the nature, the importance, and the attractiveness of this area of study. Students in theology and in religious studies must acquire knowledge about many subjects, together with the appropriate skills. We insist that acquiring a more than average insight into the content of Christian faith must be part of this process, considering its indelible stamp on Western culture and society during the past two millennia.

At the same time, we hope that others besides theology students will profit from this book. It has been written in an accessible way (Latin and Greek, for instance, is always translated, and there is a minimal use of German), which will help students in other disciplines to learn some important things from it. We are also thinking of pastors who want to refresh their knowledge, of academics in other branches of scholarship, and of journalists who may not themselves share in the Christian faith but are nevertheless expected to write about it in a professional manner. On this last point, we often notice serious defects. At this moment in time, when our cultures largely consider Christianity a relic of the past, much terrible nonsense is said and written about what Christians allegedly believe. Critics of the faith are often content with simplistic ideas of what they think is Christian. They would do well to consult, from time to time, a contemporary book on dogmatics so that they can modify their ideas to reflect more closely what Christians actually believe. And then—last but not least—this book is for all those who are interested in theology, who themselves may have questions about their faith and want to know more about current discussions. In fact, questions about faith are common to us all.

In content, this book might perhaps best be labeled loyally orthodox. That is, we seek to connect with the teaching tradition of past centuries but simultaneously try to be open to those who claim to have a better understanding of certain issues. As a result, we will often criticize the tradition, but always with a sense of loyalty—always conscious that we have the privilege of being receivers. Not without reason, the word recipient will return time and again in this book.

Another limiting remark: we will focus mainly on the Western tradition. Although we occasionally will take a glance at Eastern Orthodoxy, we realize that we cannot touch on everything that happens in the world church. We are also very aware that many interesting and important things happen outside the traditional regions of Western theological reflection (Europe, the United States, and other Anglo-Saxon areas). However, rather than pretending that we can give an overview that includes everything, we also limit ourselves in this regard. This self-restriction may rightly be regarded as a weakness, but it also might be seen as a form of contextual theology: we focus on the Western world because it is essential to support the church in this part of the world, on the basis of the plausibility structures that are current in the West.

In this specific context everything is changing, and the faith communities move together with these changing structures. This observation leads us to a remark about the necessary broadening of the task of dogmatics. Dogmatics is a contemporary form of giving an account of our faith. Therefore, it not only deals with concepts but is connected by many different threads with religious practices and living faith communities. The Christian community not only thinks but also sings, praises, hopes, prays, and obeys; it tries to shape people’s lives and also poses questions. The primary task, when giving a contemporary account of the faith, is to phrase meaningful questions and propose plausible answers. Dogmatics will always do so in a dialogue with the tradition, with the church, and with a view of our own times. As a result, dogmatics changes and will continue to do so. We therefore hope to have future opportunities to provide updates. Anyone with advice may find us through the publisher or the Internet.

Then, just a few words on how this book may be used. This book is a complete unit, from beginning to end, which means that the sequence of topics is of great importance. Each chapter, however, has been written as a complete discussion of its topic, which allows readers to profitably study any single chapter. Inevitably, this approach has resulted in a certain amount of overlap.

Each chapter starts with a short section with the heading Making Connections. These sections may of course be skipped. They are meant to be didactic introductions that appeal to the reader’s own creativity. In this introductory section we try to establish a link between the topic of the chapter and what is happening in our present-day society and contemporary culture. This effort will hopefully make it clear that dogmatics is far from an abstract business but is connected by a thousand and one threads to everyday life. We find traces of dogmatic questions and themes in many diverse cultural expressions—in the so-called higher culture, as well as in the so-called lower culture. Discovering these threads helps us to see how certain dogmatic themes are still relevant today, and how these themes may relate to what can be said about these cultural themes from a Christian angle. Moreover, it helps us not only to concentrate on acquiring knowledge and deeper insight but also to develop something that we like to call hermeneutical competence, a wonderful phrase that refers to understanding things in such a way that we can, using all our creativity, see connections—a skill that theologians certainly need to master in their work (for example, in preparing sermons). Each chapter ends with a list of published works that will be of special use, for instance if one wants to go deeper into the material when writing a paper or a thesis. None of these lists is exhaustive. At the end of the book is a bibliography listing items that have more general reference to our topic. Throughout the text we refer to this broader list by mentioning the last name of the author, followed by an abbreviation of the title of the work (e.g., Barth, CD). Other text references mention an author’s name plus year of publication (e.g., Berkhof 1985); such citations refer to the bibliography at the end of each chapter.

In addition, a few comments now on other editorial decisions. First, in the use of various Bible versions, we have been intentionally inconsistent, even though we have mostly used the Revised Standard Version. In some cases we have modified existing translations. Second, a remark about the use of the male pronoun for God is also relevant. God is not a male person but supersedes any sexual differentiation. To help remember this point, we sometimes repeat God where one would expect the personal pronoun. Finally, where possible, we also speak of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, in an effort to remain as close as possible to the concreteness of these names.

Finally, we express our appreciation to those who have read part of the text and have provided us with comments and with additional material, and who have encouraged us in various ways. We mention, in particular, Eddy van der Borght, Henk Jan Damstra, Willem-Henri den Hartog, Gerard den Hertog, Barend Kamphuis, Margriet van der Kooi, Bram Kunz, Jan van der Linden, Eveline van Staalduine-Sulman, Henk Vreekamp, the staff of the section Dogmatics and Ecumenism of the Theological Faculty of the Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam, and all who reacted to our blog, which we regularly published during the last months of the writing process. We are very grateful to Arend Smilde and Tini van Selm for their meticulous stylistic and linguistic corrections of the text. And great thanks to the publisher, Nico de Waal, who stimulated us, enabling smooth progress during the entire process.

C. VAN DER KOOI

G. VAN DER BRINK

1Dogmatics as Disciplined Thinking about God

Definitions and Aims

AIM

In this chapter you may expect a number of things. Specifically, we intend to:

define what Christian theology is all about and where it differs from religious studies (1.1)

explain the target audience for theology (1.2)

dispel possible fears about the adjective systematic in systematic theology (1.3)

explain the relationship between systematic theology and dogmatics (1.4)

show how (un)systematic dogmatics is (1.5)

indicate how dogmatics is related to other disciplines (1.6)

provide a survey of the major tasks of dogmatics (1.7)

present a typology of concrete forms of contemporary theology (1.8)

argue that theology is, ultimately, not a scholarly discipline but a mode of existence (1.9).

This chapter will not deal with the question of the content of faith, why people believe, or what is unique to the Christian faith. We will address these questions later in the book, beginning with chapter 2.

MAKING CONNECTIONS

Take two minutes to write down a list of the associations that emerge in your mind when you hear words like dogmatics and doctrinal. Then note whether those associations are neutral, positive, or negative. What happens when you repeat this exercise with the term systematic theology?

People of faith might have their suspicions about theology and theologians. What might these be? And what do you think—what kind of help do you expect from theology?

1.1.Theology as Reflecting about Faith

We might define theology, in a preliminary way, as reflecting about God. Admittedly, theologians also think about a range of other things—for instance, about humanity, about evil, about the world and its future. But in theology our thinking about such themes happens in the context of faith in God. It then deals with the consequences of this faith for the issues that confront every human being. Thinking about faith in this broad sense provides a description of theology that will suffice for the moment.

This book is specifically about Christian theology. That is, Christian theology is reflection on the Christian faith. It presupposes that there is something like the Christian faith. This immediately raises a question, for many people nowadays argue that Christianity is so pluralistic that one cannot lump all forms of it together. Looking at what Christians believe and have believed, they are impressed by the enormous pluralism they see—and rightly so. This observation leads them to the conclusion that it is impossible to formulate a definitive core of what it means to be a Christian. It appears that, looking at Christian faith in different cultures, times, and contexts, it is impossible to detect a single common denominator. If so, there is not something like the Christian faith but only a large number of quite diverging forms and interpretations of what Christians believe. Others, however, think that the search for Christian theology is precisely the attempt to discover what may, within this great variety, justifiably claim the Christian label. They see this as the fascinating question that lies at the basis of everything: what statements and practices of faith are truly Christian? And which ones are, in the terms we use today, sub-Christian instead?

At this stage we do not yet have to answer the question of whether we can point to something like the essence of Christianity. For now, then, we formulate our definition without a definite article, leaving a number of options open: Christian theology is thinking about Christian faith.

In 1973, when H. Berkhof had to choose a title for his book on dogmatics, he consciously decided to omit the definite article. He opted for Christelijk geloof (Christian faith). In so doing, Berkhof referred to the great nineteenth-century German theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher, who called his survey of Christian dogmatics Der christliche Glaube (1821–22)—with the definite article. Later, Adolf von Harnack underlined a similar essentialism in his book Das Wesen des Christentum (The essence of Christianity, 1900). However, the discussions that followed Harnack’s book showed, at the very least, the difficulty of pinpointing the essence of Christianity or of the Christian faith. Nonetheless, theologians continue to search, perhaps not so much for the essence of Christianity as for what might be labeled genuinely Christian on the basis of its sources. John Webster is a good example of a contemporary dogmatician who is passionately engaged in this quest (see his brief theological autobiography in Marks 2002, 129–36).

It is important to understand the word reflecting in our definition in a literal way. Faith precedes, and thinking follows. It could be said that theologians pursue faith by thinking about it. This statement presupposes that they themselves are believers. Or in any case, they must be ready, willing, and able to try to step into the shoes of believers. This exact attitude is probably rare, for normally we see a theologian as someone who speaks from the inside, from the basis of faith. Thus, theology more typically is reflecting on the faith in which the theologian himself or herself participates. To use a term that has become common: one can do theology only from a participatory perspective.

We do not mean that only believers can be involved in the study of faith. Whether one does or does not believe, one can study questions and themes regarding faith in a nontheological manner. The same also applies to any non-Christian faith. In that case one opts for the so-called exterior, or nonparticipatory, perspective. That is, the observer looks at a particular religion—it may even be one’s own religion—from the outside and poses questions such as, how did we get the Bible? What do Buddhists believe about nirvana? How do Shiite and Sunni Muslims differ? Obviously, such questions may be answered without oneself being a believer. The discipline that studies this type of questions is usually referred to as religious studies. The plural here indicates that it is an umbrella term that covers various subdisciplines: religious psychology, the history of religion (or more specifically: the history of Judaism, Islam, etc.), sociology of religion, philosophy of religion, biblical studies, and so forth.

The difference between theology and religious studies is such that often the two fields are not offered at the same institution, or in any case, not as part of the same department. Educational institutions that deal with religion tend to make a definite choice between the participatory and nonparticipatory perspectives—or if they combine the two, to study them in separate programs. Theology from a particular faith perspective is usually offered at theological institutions that have been established for that purpose. Religious studies may form an independent program at a university, but nowadays it is usually placed with the humanities. A third option may be that an institution offers the opportunity for theological reflection from more than one faith perspective. This usually happens at a divinity school or department of theology, where a serious attempt is made to allow for as constructive a theological dialogue as possible between the various forms of theology without reducing or ignoring the often immense differences between them.

The authors of this book work at an institution that belongs to this third category. Though this type of educational institution is rare in the Netherlands, we consider its approach quite productive for the academic study of religious questions and themes, and very instructive for our students. On the one hand, no one is expected to leave one’s faith (or its absence) at the door when entering the university or to put it on a back burner. That requirement would create a very artificial situation in which believers will feel shortchanged. On the other hand, this approach precludes students from focusing only on their own tradition, unaware of what happens outside of it. One of the competencies that may be expected from theologians, as well as from religious scholars, is to constructively deal with the major differences between faith traditions in our Western culture.

It should be noted that, in the past, the picture differed somewhat further, with an educational model that, with some adaptations, still exists. Theological faculties in various Dutch universities took a religious-studies approach to the Christian faith in particular. The student took courses in, for instance, the history of the religion of Israel, New Testament exegesis, or church history of the twentieth century. These subjects were ideally taught in an impartial manner, that is, from a nonparticipatory perspective. At the same time, they provided an excellent basis for the so-called ecclesiastical courses, which were facilitated by various faith communities. In this domain such courses as dogmatics, theological ethics, and practical theology were offered—that is, disciplines that presuppose a faith perspective. In this duplex ordo (dual arrangement) the participatory and nonparticipatory perspectives are carefully linked, but without any fusion.

It is important not to overemphasize the differences between theology and religious studies, however real they may be. They need each other. Theology needs to be informed by the wealth of data, theories, and methods that are found in the field of religious studies. We will see how theology has its own mandate and methods, but without the input from the subdisciplines of religious studies, it runs the risk of becoming fuzzy, out of touch with empirical reality. Practical circumstances demand this approach too, since a large percentage of the students who choose to study the phenomenon of religion do so because of existential personal questions. As a matter of principle, however, the object of their study requires something like theological reflection as well. To give an example: We can never do full justice to the Gospel of John by a thorough study of its text-critical, exegetical, religion-historical, and theological background, without considering the main aim of the author or redactor of the book, namely, that we as readers will believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God (John 20:31). It would certainly be artificial to avoid all discussion about whether the claim of the gospel writer is justified. In practice, where one tries to follow this approach, we often see that, in a hidden way, all kinds of theological judgments play a role. Or we see an attempt to talk about the meaning, the interrelatedness, and the aim of the branches of religious studies in a nondenominational (or even interreligious) theology. The question of truth is, however, not that easily disposed of.

1.2.The Three Audiences of Theology

Much more fruitful than the endless discussion about theology versus religious studies is the approach that takes its point of departure from the question of who in fact constitutes the audience for our theological work. Well, first of all, theology is useful for every believer. All believers do well to reflect on the nature, the content, and the scope of their faith, which most of them realize. Martin Luther (1483–1546) said, All of us are theologians; that is to say: every Christian is a theologian (WA 41:11). But we may also state that, from a professional angle, both theology and religious studies must target three user groups (or fora, or publics): academia, the faith community, and society. Each of these three groups includes people who are, albeit in various ways, deeply interested in religious matters. The academic world wants to see a critical-scholarly approach to the questions that concern religions. Here a temporary inner distance from one’s own religious views will often be useful. Faith communities attach much value to an approach that does not avoid the hot issues but also wants to address the question of truth. Here it is useful not to bracket one’s own faith but rather to stake out one’s convictions. Finally, our society will benefit if representatives of various religious traditions are not so ignorant that they deal with each other by way of reflex, as strangers, and in a hostile manner. It is impossible to appreciate what you know little or nothing about, and we can effectively prevent the dangerous mechanisms of excluding and demonizing only if leaders and members of the various religions (and other worldviews) are not led by caricatures but are well informed about what characterizes those who believe differently.

Theological seminaries, institutions for religious studies, and theology departments may be expected to place different accents, but they have a responsibility toward all three of these audiences. University theologians and seminaries will primarily target their own faith community, but in doing so they should take great care not to ignore the scholarly criteria that academia and society impose on university-level education. Experts in religious studies, however, must not assume that faith is merely an object of detached academic study. They should realize that for many people it is a flesh-and-blood reality that puts its stamp on all aspects of life. Moreover, in their relationship with society, theology departments must never overlook academic standards. But they should also move beyond a mentality of simply providing the answers that their supporters are looking for.

Whatever their type of educational institution, students should be able to give a reasoned account of their faith—and look at things from different perspectives. On the one hand, they must be capable of adequately expressing what they themselves believe and why; on the other, because they have acquired the necessary scholarly distance, they must be able to put themselves in the shoes of people with different religious convictions and worldviews, enabling them to interact with integrity with those who have a belief system other than their own.

In accordance with what has just been said, the emphasis in this book is on the perspective from within; we want to think about religious matters from within the Christian faith tradition. We will do so, however, with the critical approach of every academic context, that is to say, with arguments that separate sense from nonsense, choosing between the pros and cons of various convictions and presentations of faith. Whether one may call the kind of theology we introduce here scientific in the broad sense (here note the German term Wissenschaft) is largely a matter of definition. In particular, the jury is out on the question whether theological statements are open to independent verification (see Leonhardt 2001, 70–75). But even when this statement is denied, we have sufficient parallels with scientific methodology to justify calling theology a scientific—or in any case a properly academic—discipline (see Brink 2009, 96–98, 193–209).

David Tracy (1981) speaks of the three fora of theology, and we are indebted to David Ford (1999) for the way he developed this idea in terms of the three publics of theology.

1.3.Systematic Theology

Above we defined theology as reflecting about faith in God. Such a definition is rather rudimentary. We may define theology a little more precisely as the attempt of thinking believers to clarify the nature and content of their faith. Etymologically, theology has to do with a logos about theos. The Greek word logos has been extremely important in the Christian tradition, and we will regularly encounter it in what follows. Briefly put, it means an intellectually responsible discourse, a rational explanation. We are dealing with theology when such an explanatory discourse has God as its object. To underline the rational and ordered character of theology, we often refer to systematic theology.

We may well ask ourselves whether that expression does not suffer from an internal contradiction. Is it possible to speak in a rational, systematically ordered way about things that far surpass our human understanding? For if there is one thing that we can say about God, it is that God represents the mystery under, behind, and above all the visible reality that surrounds us. His reality cannot be charted systematically in the same manner in which we would describe the operation of molecules and atoms. Do we not at the very most catch only some glimpses of the divine secret behind our reality? And besides, even if God is more than such a glimpse for us, we cannot simply locate that experience in a system. On the contrary, such an experience will often question some of our convictions and relativize them. It is said that Thomas Aquinas (1224–74), one of the greatest thinkers of all times, after a mystical experience in December 1273, declared that he considered all his theological writing as a bushel of straw. After this experience he never again touched systematic theology, and his daunting Summa theologiae remained unfinished.

It does not take a Bible scholar to discover from reading the Bible that the faith of Jews and Christians is indeed less a matter of rational reflection and more one of experiences, visions, and emotions, calling and obedience, bewilderment and amazement, sin and grace, trust and worship. If so, why does faith need that rational, systematic reflection? We should not too readily dismiss this question. By approaching the mysteries of faith in a systematic manner, we may even destroy our faith with our arguments. Rational thinking about faith may even be a way to keep God at a distance and to evade the appeal that God directs to us. The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813–55) ridiculed theology professors who behave like a kind of merchant in theological concepts, while, in spite of all their learning, they have hardly understood what the Christian faith, what concrete discipleship of Christ, means. And the British author C. S. Lewis (1898–1963) said that there will be theologians at the bottom of hell who were more interested in their ideas about God than in God himself. Do not these prospects make all detached, rational, and systematic discourse about God rather risky?

Indeed, we face a risk that theologians, in particular, must be aware of. However, this does not imply that we should therefore give up all systematic theology or harbor a constant suspicion toward it. It does mean that we must constantly consider two things.

1. Good theology has its source in faith. In this connection we do not speak of having faith as having certain cognitive convictions about God (e.g., that God exists), but as living in a relationship with God, rooted in the appeal of the gospel of Jesus Christ to conversion and dedication. As we will see later in this book, Jesus of Nazareth challenged people to put God and God’s kingdom first in their lives. Responding to that appeal means from then on living coram Deo (in the presence of God). Just as a pilot who approaches an airport follows the instructions of the air traffic controller in the tower, Christians will adjust their lives to the signals God has given them in Jesus Christ. They do so, trusting that their lives will thus reach their destination. Their faith impacts their way of life, their priorities, and the things they hold to be true. In this connection theology has a serving, mediating, and, at times, critical role. When Christian theology is detached from this context of the believer’s life of faith, it can easily become a noncommittal and external kind of brainteaser. Understandably, its focus on the abstract will mostly create aversion. The history of theology has plenty of examples of system-building that, in retrospect, do not cease to amaze us, for they became completely detached from the concrete life of faith. For this reason, through the ages, theologians have recognized their task in a motto that we first encounter with Augustine of Hippo (354–430), one that was later expanded, in particular, by Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109): fides quaerens intellectum (faith seeking understanding). To this day many theologians have been inspired in their work by this motto. Faith is their point of departure and their source of inspiration. This faith, however, is in search of understanding. It seeks to grasp what is involved and to act accordingly. This perspective leads to an ongoing quest toward an ever-deeper understanding and an ever-more-adequate active response. Theological reflection aims—nothing more and nothing less—to provide useful assistance in this search. It is a form of loving God with our mind. Theology as reflecting on the faith thus always presupposes a restrained passion for God and God’s kingdom that is part and parcel of the life of faith of the believer.

Nowadays we may be more alert than previously to ensure that faith and theology remain connected; a yearning for abstract speculations must be avoided. Remarkably enough, this change is partly due to philosophical influences. Witness the influential thinking of Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889–1951), who maintained that faith is a mode of life rather than (primarily) a system of truth claims. We might also point to Emmanuel Levinas (1906–95), who powerfully argued that the litmus test of all religion is found in ethics—in how we react to the appeal of others toward us. We do not need to accept all of the ideas of these philosophers and their followers if we want to do justice to some of their valuable insights.

For a rather recent dogmatic proposal inspired by the motif of fides quaerens intellectum, see Migliore, FSU.

2. When in our theology we use words such as rational and systematic in connection with thinking about faith, we do nothing that is in fact alien to the notion of faith—as long as we understand these words in the right way. Often they refer to a cold, detached, and businesslike approach, which does not sit well with the warmth and passion associated with faith. But we may also give them a different connotation, which is needed to clarify what theology is all about.

Suppose you read an Agatha Christie thriller. Gradually, you suspect more and more that one of the persons in the plot could be responsible for the gruesome death of the sympathetic victim in chapter 1. Numerous indications point in that direction, and eventually you are quite sure about your suspicions. But then suddenly something happens in the next-to-last chapter. The person you suspected of having committed the murder appears to have had nothing to do with the crime and has in fact acted in good faith. The last chapter makes clear what really happened: someone who throughout the book seemed totally innocent was in fact the cowardly perpetrator of the crime.

What happened as you read this thriller? Either consciously or subconsciously, you were constantly trying to determine how the various events described fit together. What is the significance of this or that seemingly unimportant event? Does this strange, rather flippant statement have any significance? Is it possible that someone who proceeds so slyly and with so much violence as Mr. X is, after all, trustworthy and stands in the clear? There are many incidents that fit into the overall picture and that reinforce the cohesion that you have established as you kept reading. However, in a good thriller, at a certain point things take—in a somewhat credible manner—a totally unexpected turn that forces you to revise your expectations in order to understand what is really going on.

When we call theology a systematic activity, we mean exactly the following: just like the reader of a thriller, the theologian tries to determine how the things of God, humanity, and the world fit together—how these things make sense. In actual fact, all of us think this way all the time; it is part of what it means to be a human being. Spontaneously, all the time, we are looking for links and relationships, and we draw conclusions from everything we experience. We do so by thinking properly. We would find it quite difficult to do otherwise for any length of time. The specific characteristic of systematic theologians is that they do so (1) by conscious reflection and (2) from the perspective of faith in God. The first aspect they share with other -ologists; the second, with other believers. Together with all who believe, they insist that our existence and the world in which we live find their ultimate meaning in God. While most believers consciously reflect from time to time on the contours of this meaning—with the realization that human thought always has its limitations—theologians try to do so in as ordered a manner as possible. For instance, they try, as systematically as possible, to think though the dilemma of how God can be almighty and unlimited in love and yet allow so much evil and suffering in the world. Sometimes they feel they have found an answer, but often they must reconsider their solution when faced with experiences in everyday reality. In this way theology is always rooted in our own time and circumstances.

In summary, the rational exercise of systematic theology is certainly not unnatural or only a matter of dry theory. It does require the ability to look at facts from an objectivizing distance. It is also true that this effort may go very wrong, as we see in the scholastic-intellectualistic character of some works on dogmatics. But judging from the best representatives of this discipline—and such a standard ought to be the basis for our judgment of this branch of theology—systematic theology is as natural as making sense of life, and just as fascinating as thinking about the plot of a good thriller. Our faith will therefore not be obscured by our systematic thinking but will be clarified by it—which is the aim of systematic theology.

Berkhof gives a beautiful commentary on how systematic reflection on God and God’s salvation may be integrated with faith and love for God (1985, 13–15). The comparison with reading a book with a plot is further explored by Higton (CD, 6–27). The word systematic is also employed in other disciplines to refer to a subdiscipline (systematic botany, systematic pedagogy, systematic philosophy), but there the adjective seems to be somewhat less current than in theology. In theology, systematic theology is often regarded as a separate discipline, next to other disciplines, in particular biblical theology and historical theology (or history of theology).

1.4.Dogmatics

How does the process of systematic-theological thought relate to the discipline of dogmatics? There appears to be some confusion regarding this point, which has to do with the term dogmatics having a significant image problem. In our daily speech it often has a negative connotation, being associated with inflexibility and abstraction. The same applies even more so to words like dogmatist or dogmatic. A dogmatist is usually seen as a rather inflexible person with a limited view of things; his or her attitude is often labeled dogmatic. The underlying term dogma (i.e., doctrine) also suffers from an inflation of meaning. In our postmodern era dogmas are not much appreciated. Most people regard a dogma as something you cannot understand but must simply believe because the church (or some other institution) tells you so and is not willing to reconsider its traditional position.

In fact, the church has only a few dogmas in the sense of officially formulated statements regarding our faith that are meant to be considered infallible. In the early church the christological and the Trinitarian dogmas were developed concerning the nature and person of Jesus Christ and the Trinity. Later, the Roman Catholic Church on its own promulgated a number of dogmas (in 1215 the doctrine of transubstantiation; in the sixteenth century the dogmas about Scripture and tradition, grace and free will, the sacraments and the sacrifice of the Mass; in the nineteenth century about the so-called immaculate conception of Mary [1854] and the infallibility of the pope [1870]; in 1950 about the ascension of Mary). However, dogmatics deals with far more than these dogmas: it tries to describe all major elements of the Christian faith in a coherent manner. In general, dogmatics focuses on the major content (or, to use a classical term, the teachings) of our faith. (Some books on dogmatics do not even mention the dogma of the ascension of Mary.) The term dogmatics may therefore be somewhat confusing, since dogmatics deals only in a limited way with dogmas.

Because of these issues some people prefer to use the term systematic theology instead. But apart from this phrase failing to excite most people, it has a problem of its own. Systematic theology is more than just dogmatics. At the very least, theological ethics should also be included, which is thinking about the right kind of action (or, more broadly, the good life) from the perspective of faith. In addition, another branch of systematic-theological reflection has recently attained an independent status, namely (theological) hermeneutics. This subdiscipline gives central place not so much to correct doctrine or to the good life but to the question of an adequate transferal of meaning. It deals with questions such as, How, in our Western context, which has been subject to much change, can we understand and translate the message of the Christian faith in such a way that it will retain its power to convince? How might the answer be different in, say, the context of South Korea? To what extent were authoritative doctrinal texts impacted by the social, political, and cultural circumstances in which they originated, with all the individual and corporate interests that played a role in this process? Against this background, what may be said about their abiding meaning and relevance for today? Must we, for instance, still say that Jesus is one in essence with the Father, or might we today express what was at stake in the distant past in another, perhaps better, way?

There is no doubt that in practice dogmatics, ethics, and hermeneutics constantly need and presuppose each other. There is much to be said for keeping them together. Prominent Christian theologians—like Augustine, Aquinas, John Calvin (1509–64), and Karl Barth (1886–1968)—have consistently incorporated hermeneutics and ethics in their surveys of dogmatics. This inclusion has helped to clarify, for example, the point that dogmatics has real consequences for human activities, and that these concrete actions could not remain un-Christianized but had to be thought through and corrected from a gospel perspective. Likewise, hermeneutics cannot be simply detached from dogmatics, for what is the use of having truths that no longer appear to be relevant? And vice versa: What do we do with all kinds of insights that may appeal to us and are relevant but may not be true?

Therefore, dogmatics, ethics, and hermeneutics cannot be separated from each other. Together they determine the playing field of systematic theology. This conclusion, however, also implies that dogmatics is not the only phenomenon that may claim the epithet systematic theology. The two terms are not simply interchangeable. In this book we have therefore chosen to avoid the dilemma by freely using the much-maligned term dogmatics. This has become the classic label for the field into which this book will induct the reader. And we have the impression that, in spite of the problems referred to, most people have a correct intuitive sense of what is at stake with regard to dogmatics. As we proceed, we will keep dogmatics and hermeneutics close together. The process of giving hermeneutics an independent status has not yet progressed to the point that we can already treat it that way. The situation with regard to ethics is different. For decades, ethics has been a more or less distinctive discipline that demands its own approach and expertise. Yet, however regrettable it may be in the light of all these points, we will have to move on without taking time to further discuss ethics per se. With our apologies to ethicists, we will use the term theology somewhat loosely for this composite of dogmatics with hermeneutics.

In the previous paragraphs we spoke about theological ethics and theological hermeneutics because there are also philosophical variants of these two disciplines. With regard to dogmatics, as early as a century ago A. Kuyper (1898, 166–70) made a vigorous plea for this label. Some argue for replacing it with systematic theology. Indeed, in the Anglo-Saxon context systematic theology is usually considered identical with dogmatics. But as we already indicated, we will stick with the more precise term dogmatics and will consider it an honorable name. We hope that it will soon be clear from this book that dogmatics is not tied to a rigid traditionalism or an uncritical faith, but that, in fact, in dogmatics all questions may be posed and be the object of reflection. Barth (CD I/1:1) defined dogmatics as the scholarly self-examination of the Christian church with regard to the content of its characteristic discourse about God; furthermore, as a theological discipline dogmatics is the scientific self-examination of the Christian Church with respect to the content of its distinctive talk about God. Under the heading No Fear of Dogmas! Sauter (2003, 21–27) provides a valuable discussion of the various shades of meaning and misunderstandings that surround terms such as dogma and dogmatics. For contemporary introductions to Christian-theological ethics, see O’Donovan 1986 and Verhey 2002, and for recent surveys of theological hermeneutics, Jensen 2007 and Thiselton 2009. A useful reader containing twenty classical texts from modern theological hermeneutics is Sarisky 2015.

1.5.The (Non-)Methodical Character of Dogmatics

Remarkably enough, dogmatics has no firmly established method. This deficiency has always made its status rather ambiguous. How can we adequately measure its results if we cannot provide a more or less objective description of how theology must be practiced? Indeed, no unambiguous criteria can be given. A dogmatic concept gains its power to convict by the degree to which it provides insight into complex problems. However, what some persons may perceive as convincing may not be regarded so by others. This observation is true, however, not just for theology but also for history and the other humanities. In these fields the role of human creativity happens to be more extensive than in the harder sciences, and creativity flourishes best when there are only a few rules that tell us how to proceed. Remarkably enough, we see how, in actual practice, an intersubjective consensus develops to a major degree about the difference between good and not so good theology. Friend and foe, for instance, agree that Karl Barth was one of the greatest theologians of the twentieth century. This judgment is based on more than just his enormous productivity (not all practitioners of this field who have written profusely are prominent theologians, although many important theologians have left us a large oeuvre). It has to do with quality. Anyone with any expertise in this area who studies Barth’s theology will sense that, whether or not one finds his arguments convincing, positions are here taken on the basis of a vast knowledge about things in theology and culture that really matter. And those positions are subsequently worked out and defended in numerous detailed analyses.

To repeat: such evaluations do not arise on the basis of a more or less generally accepted method, for, as we mentioned above, such a method does not exist. On the one hand, we can speak of a more hermeneutical approach to dogmatics, and on the other hand, of a more analytic approach. The former approach takes its point of departure from certain authoritative texts and statements in order to discover their core meaning. These may be biblical statements (God is love), confessional formulas (the church is catholic), classical doctrinal conclusions (the works of the Trinity present themselves as indivisible), or complete books (Calvin’s Institutes). The authority of such texts and statements is presupposed; in classical books we move straightaway within a given tradition that is considered meaningful. However, this move does not end all discussion but rather is its beginning. For it is essential to properly interpret those texts, statements, and their connecting links. This correct approach must also be distinguished from interpretations that are incorrect (i.e., wrong, irrelevant, and without value). In the end we must formulate their essence in our own words.

The analytic approach is less interpretive and more argumentative. It seeks first of all to carefully define and correlate important concepts. For example: how do we define all-powerful, and what do we mean when we apply this term to God? In this approach in particular, it is important that dogmatic statements are consistent (not contradictory) and coherent (all elements fitting together); and it must be shown how all kinds of possible objections may be answered. It often happens that the various options are so arranged that we move from the very problematic proposal of author A to the slightly less problematic proposition of theologian B, and finally arrive ourselves at the most satisfactory conclusion. So, whereas the hermeneutical approach gives full emphasis to the issue of meaning, the analytic approach wants to ensure that the question of truth is not lost sight of.

For further elaboration of this difference between the hermeneutical and the analytic approaches, see Sauter and Stock 1976, 21–30. For an attempt to give both the hermeneutical and the analytic criteria a place in systematic theology, see Brümmer 2006, 453–70. Notice, however, that Brümmer himself gives far more weight to the analytic aspect, which illustrates how difficult it is to integrate the two approaches, although it should be mentioned that, in his later works, Brümmer does try to do justice to the hermeneutical aspect. In any case, it is inadvisable to play one aspect off against the other (as personally involved versus cold, biased versus proper thinking). Theologians with a hermeneutical predilection should learn to explicitly deal with the issue of truth, while analytic theologians may learn from their hermeneutical colleagues to first of all thoroughly acquaint themselves with the tradition. The most creative theologians succeed in moving from more hermeneutical to more analytic considerations, ensuring that both aspects fit together. The work of Wolfhart Pannenberg serves as a magnificent example of this balance.

In addition, there have always been very influential irregular theologians who were not very methodical. Their work tends to be more aphoristic, more meditative, and—in the true sense of the word—more pious in nature. In the English-speaking world we might think of P. T. Forsyth (1848–1921). In the Dutch context we may point to O. Noordmans (1871–1956) and W. Barnard (1920–2010) as good examples of this category.

1.6.Dogmatics and Some Related Disciplines

It is probably more fruitful to take a look at how dogmatics relates to other disciplines than to focus too long on the question of method. In general, one might say that dogmatics has a creative and constructive relationship with three other disciplines: biblical theology, the history of theology, and contemporary philosophy. The dogmatician must have an adequate training in those fields. However, a person can hope to be an expert in only one of these domains if he or she is involved with it full time. Therefore, the dogmatician must be content with a general familiarity with the other fields. At most, one can become a specialist in only one of these areas, usually the area that one has specialized in from the beginning. If one wants to become an all-around theologian, in most cases it is best to specialize in one of the constituent areas rather than in dogmatics itself. We will now take a closer look at how dogmatics intersects with each of these domains.

In doing so, we touch upon the so-called theological encyclopedia, that is, the systematic relationship between the areas that together form theology. We would—following the gist of an influential book by Friedrich Schleiermacher—make a plea to consider areas like biblical scholarship and church history as full-fledged theological disciplines. Schleiermacher compared theology with a tree. He saw the roots as faith (true piety), the trunk as the study of the Bible and of church history, the branches of systematic theology as forms of relating our faith to the present, and the foliage as the place where the tree flows into practical theology (see Schleiermacher 1990). By way of analogy, we would also regard these areas not as independent entities that aim to increase our knowledge but as related disciplines each inspired by the search of faith. Each, in its own distinct way, contributes to our insight into the relationship of dependency between God and humanity, or, to state it in a less typically Schleiermacherian way, to the reflection and clarification of what the Christian faith is about.

Christian faith is, first of all, nourished by the Bible. Like other Christians, the dogmatician regularly interacts with the Bible. The dogmatician knows that the Bible is somehow normative for what may be called Christian faith. Not in a simplistic way (with an equal vote for each individual Bible text), but normative nonetheless. For we are faced with a testimony that through the ages has been accepted as authoritative, because the church has realized that in the Bible we listen to the first witnesses of God’s revelation. We notice, time and again, that also more liberal Christians, who do not want to make high claims about the authority of the Bible, nonetheless like to refer to it. The Bible seems to have a certain authority, irrespective of what theoretical arguments are given. For that reason the Bible will play a crucial role in any presentation of Christian dogmatics. As a professional theologian, the dogmatician will have to explain how he or she uses the Bible when dealing with the findings of biblical scholarship. It does not suffice to simply listen to the sound of certain individual texts as definitive proof for a certain point.

This method of the so-called dicta probantia (proof texts) has often been dominant in Christian dogmatics, in particular in its more scholastic phases. Even in the dogmatic works of someone like Herman Bavinck (1854–1921; see Bavinck, RD), long strings of Bible texts are given that are supposed to provide biblical proof for a certain idea—with minimal attention, however, to the specific color, context, and weight of each of these texts. In this methodology the Bible becomes a repository of isolated statements that all have a certain doctrinal content, but it fails to do justice to the differences in literary genre, to the unique intent of various narrative units, and to the specific biblical-theological patterns of (parts or collections of) Bible books. It stands to reason that, as a result, the appeal to Scripture in this type of dogmatics has become discredited. But there are other ways to proceed. For the use of Scripture in contemporary dogmatics, see Sauter 2003, 211–27; see also chapter 13.

One must be able to grasp the tendencies, developments, and discoveries in the areas of exegesis, the history of the religion of Israel up to the Hellenistic period, and biblical theology. Often one will have to rely on general surveys, but that step in itself will help to avoid the impetuous running after certain temporary fashions. Yet, it requires a great deal of knowledge and intuition to determine what is of abiding significance and to avoid arbitrary approaches. Nowadays, dogmatic scholars will especially have to form an opinion about the enormous plurality and internal contradictions that biblical scholars identify in the Bible. Where exactly is the unity, or at least the common theme, in this huge diversity?

Moreover, it is clear that, after the closure of the canon, the study of its content and significance has always continued. The Bible has passed through a long process of tradition and interpretation and was not dropped in its original form into our world of faith. We find this notion in so-called fundamentalist circles rather frequently, but it is naive. More moderate evangelical Christians often tend to go in that direction too, but they are more willing to be corrected when they realize that they are not the first people to read the Bible. There is a centuries-long tradition of theological reflection on the message of the Bible. The German theologian Gerhard Ebeling (1912–2001) maintained that the history of the church is, in fact, the history of the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures. This wording is certainly pushing the point too far, but dogmaticians cannot do otherwise than to position themselves somewhere in the history of Bible interpretation. For that reason they must pay due attention to the history of the church and of theology. Dogmaticians do not know everything and must therefore be in constant dialogue with those who have preceded us in the study and interpretation of the Christian faith.

This requirement seems to be even more important in theology than, for instance, in the natural sciences. The voices from the past still play a major role in the reflection on how to adequately express our faith. The statement of G. K. Chesterton applies to theology as well as to the humanities more broadly: Tradition is democracy extended through time. We can now only smile when we think of the scientific ideas of Aristotle (384–322 BCE), but his philosophical ideas must still be taken very seriously, not just for historical value but because of their enormous influence. Even today they offer valuable insights, although other philosophers operate within other frameworks. The same is true also of such theological giants as Augustine, Luther, and Calvin. It is difficult to imagine that there will ever be a moment when we can simply say, Well, they belong