Review of Death by Love: Letters From the Cross

What does the theology of the atonement have to do with someone tormented by demons and spirits? Someone struggling with lust? Someone struggling to forgive and seek reconciliation? Someone wanting blood and revenge for a justified cause? Someone crumbling under the filth and stain from acts of sin done to them in their lives? Someone seeking to justify himself from a horrendous crime previously committed? Someone unaware of his own problem of self-righteousness? Someone struggling with sickness and staring at potential death in the face? Someone aware of the debt we owe God but trying to pay it off through his own efforts? Someone struggling to know God? And hear this - a young child born in a loving Christian family and environment? What does what happened on the cross have to do with all these situations?


That’s the big question that pastor Mark Driscoll (together with theologian Gerry Breshears) addresses in one of his more recent books Death By Love: Letters From the Cross (Wheaton: Crossway, 2008). After an introductory chapter discussing the substitutionary death of Jesus, Driscoll and Breshears go on to present the multi-faceted jewel of the cross. What is unique about their presentation, however, is the way the theology is presented. The rich theological truths of Christus Victor; Jesus as our redemption; our New Covenant sacrifice; our righteousness; our justification; our propitiation; our expiation; our examplar; our ransom; our reconciliation; our revelation, and even the doctrine of the scope of the atonement are presented not in an abstract way, but embedded within a certain life situation or context. Each chapter begins with Driscoll introducing someone he had worked with in a pastoral context. This is then followed by a personal letter written to that person where one facet of the golden jewel of the cross is presented so that ‘the person and work of Jesus are made intensely practical for that person’s life’ (p.13). Driscoll and Breshears are clear in their overall aim – ‘to show that there is no such thing as Christian community or Christian ministry apart from a rigorous theology of the cross that is practically applied to the lives of real people’ (p.13).

Overall, I think Driscoll and Breshears have succeeded to a large extent. Here is theology that bites; theology that is not presented in a high-brow academic ivory-tower fashion but instead shown clearly for what theology should be – theology that speaks to real people in real circumstances of real life. Here is theology meets pastoral counselling meets evangelism meets edification – as Driscoll shows how he wisely counsels people, confronting them and challenging them where necessary, but at all times grounded in the rich truths of Scripture. Here is dramatic theology – where theological truths not just inform us, but they actually shape our posture and direct us towards a fitting participation in God’s great drama of his revelation, which by his gracious Word and Spirit he has invited us to be a part of.

I have just three points to make which I believe would contribute further to the book. Firstly, the cosmic renewal aspect of the cross (and resurrection) was not highlighted. Instead, the application of what the cross achieved seemed largely to be individualistic. While that is true, the cross and resurrection of Christ does also have a cosmic effect. It is because of the cross and resurrection that we can have assurance of the new creation. In a passing world tainted and burdened with sin, decay, environmental degradation, and pain, the new creation and the new hope made possible and promised through the cross and resurrection is surely a welcome to all. Secondly, there needs to be a stronger emphasis of the atonement as a Trinitarian work. Certain portions of the book might run the risk of almost sounding like the cross was solely the work of the Son. While Driscoll and Breshears do make mention of God Himself as the second person of the Trinity stepping up to take the penalty in our place (p.115), a stronger emphasis of this theme would have been better. And lastly, it would have been ideal if Driscoll and Breshears had concluded the book by perhaps showing how the different facets and aspects of the cross ‘hang together’ – is there a central key idea which holds the different aspects together? Driscoll and Breshears would answer an affirmative ‘yes’ - it is penal substitution (an answer I would agree with). But they seem to assume and state this truth rather than show us how it is so, and doing more of the latter would add further to the academic standing of the book.

Overall, even after consideration of the three points above, this is still an excellent book and one which I think all pastors and ministry leaders should get their hands on. Read these letters from the cross and be warmed, be encouraged in heart, and with our lips and our lives, may we break forth in praise declaring ‘O the Wondrous Cross’!

Thiselton and Green on Money

Anthony Thiselton has this interesting thing to say about money and power (the context is actually in a discussion on the hermeneutics of the doctrine of what it means to be human. Thiselton proposes that part of being created in the image of God means humanity has a capacity to take responsibility for the world, and such a responsibility will bring with being human the use of power. It is in this context that he discusses on money and wealth):

“The development of civilisation has led to the use of money as our instrument of power and of the quest for the security of the self. The biblical writings abound in warnings against the misuse of wealth. Like power itself, money may be used positively for human flourishing as a unit of exchange in place of goods, land, and property. [Quoting a certain report]… “Money is not the problem; we are the problem. It is not money that defines us theologically or spiritually, but our personal attitudes.” Our problem, especially in our times, is the risk of equating a person’s value or worth with the extent of their financial gain in the system of money.

[…] The most dramatic phenomenon of today is the explosion of credit. In moderation, drawing on credit permits the purchase of houses and the expansion of businesses. But today exponential advances of credit promote the use of wealth in the present drawn against future projections that may or may not materialise. The present is becoming increasingly mortgaged to the future, which demonstrates the link between relationality, power, and time. [All this] makes possible […] “the fantasy of a risk-free life,” as if humankind could hold old age, finitude, and mortality at bay.

Yet there is a core of continuity in the biblical traditions and Christian doctrine. Concern for the poor, the destitute, the fatherless, and the widow is overwhelming in biblical traditions and Christian doctrine. The poor are a special concern of God’s, for they live on the edge of destitution, with no economic security. “You shall not worry or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt” (Exod 22:21). “Because the poor are deported, because the needy groan, I will now rise up, says the LORD” (Ps 12:5). James writes, “Religion that is pure… is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world (Jas. 1:27). Here, once again, we see the importance of the dispositional character of belief. What people do with their pocketbook or purse exhibits in the bodily world of action what his or her faith amounts to; how it is lived out.”

Interestingly, Thiselton shares much common ground with Stephen Green, Chairman of HSBC Holdings plc., who gave a seminar yesterday on ‘Good Value: Money, Wealth and Morality in an uncertain world’. Firstly, both share a common insight to the dangers of the current economic system, especially in the area of credit. Credit, when used wrongly, leads to one developing greed; a sense that we can live the future in the present, in the now; and a mistaken idea that this economic dream could hold utopia for us – all the major tenets of consumerism (Stephen Green puts it in a different way, but nonetheless bearing the same concept). Secondly, both Thiselton and Green locate this desire for exchange between humans as a natural occurrence in human nature. Green highlights that since the earliest civilisations, humankind developed the need to exchange goods and services, and locates this urge or desire as a natural one. Thiselton expresses it more within the doctrine of what it means to be human. For him, being human, being created in the image of God means two important concepts will be expressed in our doctrinal horizon of understanding humanity – relationality and along with that, embodiment or ‘bodiliness’. We are created to relate to God and to one another, and this world, and we relate doing so in an embodied context within place, space and time. This desire for exchange between one another could be located in the exercising of power and wisdom for the flourishing of all creation, and the fact that we do so as embodied beings. Thirdly, both have rightly grounded the fault of all things not in the external economic system, but the internal heart condition that governs over the system, and expresses itself in the corrupting of the system. Interestingly, I have always had the thesis that the first mention of ‘city’ in Gen 4:17 must be located along two contexts or horizons arising from Genesis. The first is in light of the creational mandate Gen 1:28, and cities in that sense can be seen as part of a the development of this filling and subduing and ruling of the earth (the development of agriculture, music, and technology from 4:20-22 could further support this view). The second horizon is that of Gen 3 – the Fall. All this development happens in the context of the Fall, and hence we can expect almost a ‘natural corruption’ of this development (for example, we see this in modern cities today. Modern cities can be the place of vibrant culture, where we experience wonderful modern living and multitude cultures and experiences, but yet cities can be a devastating place in terms of alienating and isolating individuals from one another). In another words, as we look at economic cities, urbanisation, globalisation, we must realise these are not perfect structures or systems – they can never be and are not meant to be. Lastly, both Thiselton and Green remind us that in the midst of all these, we must hold onto hope – hope of a future which God alone will bring – and live out our lives in consistency with that hope, in this case, inwardly allowing the Spirit of God to transform our hearts and minds to contentment and wisdom and knowing truly what the (eternal) value of things are, and outwardly looking after the marginalised and oppressed where this fallen current system will naturally exclude them. In another words, how we view money and wealth and economic systems must be located within the horizons of the doctrines of man, sin, and eschatology!

Possible objections to the hermeneutics of doctrine?

In chapters 7 & 8, Thiselton considers possible objections to the thesis he has been advocating in the Hermeneutics of Doctrine – that doctrine arises out of a dispositional account of belief; it is contingent, embodied in practices of life; communal, and formative. His predicted possible objections seem to be able to be classified under the following three categories.

Firstly, is it valid to use hermeneutical theories to apply it to Christian doctrine? Afterall, isn’t doctrine more concerned with coherence while hermeneutics and biblical exegesis more characterised by the respect for particularity? Doesn’t that bring the two into tension? Not apparently, Thiselton thinks so. The alleged tension is ‘more apparent than real’, he states (p.124). He quotes Pannenberg as one who held onto the importance of coherence in his view and understanding of systematic theology, but yet had a degree of contingency within that system. Thiselton states: “On the side of systematic theology, few have placed greater emphasis upon coherence than Wolfhart Pennenberg. […] Nevertheless this does not suggest, for Pannenberg, that the truth of Christian doctrine constitutes a “finished” system. First, all truth remains provisional upon the realisation of the eschaton. […] Second, if truth is derived from the living God who acts in ongoing history, the truth of doctrine and truth of God is disclosed “‘in a contingent manner.’” (p.125, his emphasis).

Second, does a communal, contingent, hermeneutical approach exclude epistemology i.e. if doctrine has a communal and contingent nature to it, then isn’t doctrine at the end of the day without any objective truth-claims, but merely the ‘product’ of ecclesial communities in particular situations? Thiselton answers with a resounding ‘No’. Quoting Pannenberg, he states that the truth of doctrine does not rest upon “a mere consensus theory of truth,” even if ecclesial consensus plays a role in the development of doctrine. It is not that the consensus of churches creates Christian doctrine, but that (quoting Pannenberg) “conviction of the divine truth of the Christian religion [establishes] and [justifies] the continual existence of Christian churches.” (p.126). Thiselton suggests that one of the main culprits leading to such a view is the general attack of “foundationalist epistemology”, which in turn is loosely and uncritically linked with modernity, ‘as if to suggest that all who have reservations about the one also reject the other, and thence turn toward the postmodern.’ (p.127). Thisleton goes on to differentiate between what he calls “hard” foundationalism and “soft” foundationalism, shunning the former but espousing the latter (p.128-130). He concludes this issue with the following (which arises from a context where he is critically evaluating the work of Richard Heyduck):

“On one side: a hermeneutic of doctrine affirms […] community, embodiment, narrative, drama, practices, wisdom, community identity, the place of the church as an interactive community […]. On the other side: none of this could be commended or accepted if it were to entail a retreat from epistemology; a consensus or social theory of truth; and an uncritical appropriation of the postmodern as such.” (p.131)

Elsewhere, he states: “A hermeneutic of doctrine prevents doctrine from becoming only a monologic discourse; a hermeneutic of doctrine prevents hermeneutics from becoming only relativistic.” (p.136, his emphasis).

Third, if much of hermeneutics consists is contingent-based, particular and formative, if hermeneutics consist of the two poles of “explanation” and “understanding” (where the former provides a critical or “checking” dimension while the latter provides a more creative and formative dimension), then in what way can we still speak of theology and doctrine as a “science”? Here (like in the previous 2 objections highlighted above), Thiselton draws on and discusses the work of many theologians or thinkers in hermeneutics, but what I found extremely useful is his discussion on T.F. Torrance, where he highlight’s Torrance’s five criteria for a “scientific” theology (p.148-49):

(1) The first is the utter lordship of the Object. The Knowledge of God entails an epistemological inversion. The human subject must not impose upon God as our Object of thought any prior categorisation or fixed horizon that will distort our understanding by speaking before we have listened. God speaks and humankind hears. Here is an inversion between subject and object (or better subject matter) – rather than subject study subject matter, here it is the subject matter transforming the subject!

(2) The second is an acknowledgement of the personal nature of the “Object “ of theology and doctrine. This is Jesus Christ as both “Person and Word”.

(3) The third is the notion of dialogue and conversation. The word of God creates “a community of conversation” that corresponds as far as possible with the “objectivity of the Object” and God’s glory. God gives himself as Lord, but in human form “within our space and time”. This coheres well with Thiselton’s earlier point of doctrine as communal, formative and embodied.

(4) The fourth is the centrality of Jesus Christ as the self-objectification of God for us in our humanity. This is the beginning point from which theological coherence grows. In another words, coherence in doctrine depends upon relating all theology ultimately to Christ.

(5) The fifth is the continual place and function of critique and self-critique (similar to the concept of “explanation”) in theology.

This leads Thiselton to conclude that ‘the nature of “theological science” place “scientific” theory firmly within a hermeneutical framework that not only allows but also positively nurtures formative, transformative, embodied, and dynamic doctrine’ (p.149, emphasis his). Further on, he writes, “Truth and understanding and their frame of reference remain dynamic, temporal, embodied, contingent, and provisional as well as coherent, and grounded in God.” (p.162)

Doctrine as Temporal and Doctrine as Drama

In chapter 4 of The Hermeneutics of Doctrine , Thiselton explores the nature of doctrine as temporal and doctrine as drama (here, ‘temporal’ does not mean temporary, but rather it refers to the sense of temporality that is embedded within doctrine, i.e. the recognition that ‘God interacts with the world through actions marked by purpose, duration, periodicity, tempo, and eventfulness’ (p.64, emphasis his). In another words, meaning and truth are not “timeless” in relation to God). Thiselton states:

“Doctrines evolve often by responding to new challenges, [..] or in the context of changing languages or situations. But they also assume a living, dynamic, ongoing form, because God is the living, dynamic, ongoing God. If doctrine reflects the nature of God and derives ultimately from God, doctrine will be no less “living” and related to temporality than God, who acts in human history.

[...] The particularity, contingency, and temporality of hermeneutical inquiry remain not only appropriate but also necessary for exploring the truth-claims, meaning, and life-related dimensions of Christian doctrine. To say that doctrine is derived ultimately from God, far from suggesting that doctrine inhabits an abstract, timeless, conceptually pure domain, underlines the temporal and narrative character of its subject matter.” (p.63, emphasis his)

This sets the stage for Thiselton to go on exploring the concept of doctrine as narrative or drama. Borrowing from Ricoeur, Thiselton suggests that the coherence and continuity of narrative (or in this case, drama) depends on the three functions of expectation, attention, and memory. “Christian doctrine relates closely to memory of God’s saving acts in history; attention to God’s present action in continuity with those saving acts; and trustful expectation of an eschatological fulfilment of divine promise.” (p.65, emphasis mine) Hence, the appropriateness of the drama metaphor as a way of capturing the nature and effects of doctrine.

The following quote where Thiselton shares the similar viewpoints between himself and Vanhoozer captures the appropriateness of doctrine as drama:

“We share a common concern about the importance of doctrine and its current tragic neglect or apparent inability to inspire; a common emphasis on doctrine as practices of life, also expressed in worship; a common conviction about the foundations of the biblical writings defined in terms of canon, but also its continuity with an ongoing, developing tradition; a common belief that covenantal promise stands at the heart of divine communicative action and Christian theology, and that this grounds the currency of divine speech-action in the world; a common understanding of doctrine as formation that generates habits that generate performance; and the temporal logic of narrative embodying a coherent plot. The application of the term drama allows the dynamic and tensive nature of doctrine to remain prominently in view.” (p.77, emphasis mine)

A mouthful there... but good stuff!

Anthony Thiselton and the Hermeneutics of Doctrine

I’m beginning a couple of new postings on Anthony C. Thiselton’s The Hermeneutics of Doctrine (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans), 2007. For those of us familiar with Thiselton, he’s highly regarded in the area of hermeneutics. But in this book, he takes hermeneutical theories to cover not so much the biblical texts, but doctrine, i.e. his whole book is really about how we come to believe what we believe about our doctrine. He unpacks his proposal in the first section, discusses possible objections to it, and then proceeds in the third section of his book to apply his proposal and theory to the different key areas of Christian doctrine.

The key proposal Thiselton offers is that a dispositional account of belief stands at the heart of a hermeneutic of doctrine. He begins by suggesting in the first chapter that rather than think of doctrine as ‘solutions’ to free-floating “problems”, it is better (pace Gadamer) to understand doctrine within a ‘hermeneutical dialetic of question and answer’ (p.8), i.e. understanding the two horizons of understanding (the earlier original (‘their’) context and the present (‘our’) context), and seeing how these two horizons modify each other and merge to form a single, larger horizon (p.4). Thiselton suggests that this was how the early Christian confessions came about – they were a first-person way of expressing Christian identity and commitment called forth by specific settings or situations, in another words – it was how one nailed one’s colours to the mast. This prepares the way for the 2nd chapter where Thiselton heads into the dispositional account of belief. His central thesis is as summairsed on p.21:

“Belief, then, is action-oriented, situation-related, and embedded in the particularities and contingencies of everyday living. [...[ Action, contingency, particularity, and the public world of embodied life constitute part of the very grammar of what it is to believe. In the chapters that follow I argue that these features stand at the heart of a hermeneutic of doctrine. For hermeneutics is concerned with particularity and embodied life, as well as with a distinct dimension of coherence and with expanding horizons of understanding.” (emphasis his)

Anticipating the objection that such a thesis might lead to a behaviourist account of belief (causal mechanism akin to a conditioned reflex), Thiselton suggests the reverses is true. Rather, the dispositional account of belief he offers embodies within it the concept of habit and “training” or tradition, which enhances the moral and volitional dimension of the person/s believing by relating belief to the formation of character. In this regard, Thiselton highlights the advantage of seeing doctrine as drama in relation to training and performance, something which he discusses at greater depth in subsequent chapters.

Finally, Thiselton highlights that his thesis of a dispositional account of belief pertains to communal doctrine rather than only to individual belief. Thiselton argues ‘that “doctrine” must retain its epistemological status as necessarily embodying truth-claims that invite and indeed deserve belief, but on the other side [...] doctrine also carries with it inextricably a communal commitment and communal formation’ (p.21, emphasis his) . In another words, Thiselton is against the idea that belief in doctrine is merely what a community or body of believers ‘makes it out to be’, where in such a case, the epistemic question of whether there is really an objective truth-claim does not matter; but at the same time, Thiselton does retain the idea of the communal nature of belief in doctrine.

If I could summarise, what stands at the center of Thiselton’s proposal are the following tenets – doctrine is self-involving first-person belief utterances; it is located in action, contingency, particularity and is public; it involves disposition which (in following H. H. Price’s definition) is the reservoir of knowledge, understanding or conviction which the believer draws to perform appropriate belief utterances or habituated actions in the public domain (p.30); it involves habit and training, and finally it is communal. What an interesting proposal! More to come as we plod along in the book.

Penal Substitution in postmodernity - Thinking Deeper on PSA 5

This will be the last post for the recent series on Thinking Deeper on Penal Substitutionary Atonement, and it will summarise and review Kevin Vanhoozer’s essay ‘The Atonement in Postmodernity: Guilt, Goats and Gifts’ found in The Glory of the Atonement.

Vanhoozer begins by stating that PSA is viewed as scandalous by many postmoderns. And the scandal is often viewed as coming from three separate problems with PSA. Firstly, the methodological or “formal” problem – proponents of PSA have the tendency to reduce the many NT metaphors of speaking about the cross to one: penalty. The move is from many metaphors to one, and from the one metaphor to a single concept. Secondly, the soteriological or “material” problem – PSA seems to presuppose and operate from a divine “economy” where God distributes a particular response (in this case forgiveness) only after the appropriate payment (in this case Jesus’ death). Such an economy leads towards the direction of legitimising retaliation and retribution. In another words, the question here is – “Does God need to be placated before he can love and forgive? Is God party to an economy of retaliatory exchange?” (p.372). Thirdly, the pastoral or “political” problem – how can we preach and practice the atonement? Does PSA lead to practices that perpetuate suffering and abuse?

Drawing on key postmodern philosophers and theologians, Vanhoozer proceeds to show how postmodernity both challenges and contributes to PSA. The main thing he advocates for is that PSA in postmodernity must be seen to operate from what he calls an economy of excess rather than from the traditional view of an economy of exchange. He explores this concept under the following 3 aspects of PSA:
Guilt: justice as satisfaction or payment of debt (traditional) vs. Justice as what is in excess of the law (postmodern)
Goat: averting violence by sacrificial killing (traditional) vs. Denouncing violence by exposing the violence inherent in sacrifice (postmodern)
Gift: giving to get something back (traditional) vs. Giving without hope of return (postmodern)

Drawing on Ricoeur, Derrida, and Milbank, Vanhoozer both questions and affirms (in fact he ‘over-affirms’ by going beyond a sole or exclusive affirmation) the concept of justice as requiring some form of payment or satisfaction. Vanhoozer then turns mainly to Rene Girard’s ‘scapegoat’ mechanism to show how postmoderns see Jesus’ death not so much as a scapegoat to avert violence, but as the scapegoat that exposes the ‘scapegoat mechanism’ present in human cultures and societies – the ‘dark secret of civilisation that society and religion alike are founded on collective violence’ (p.384). However, Vanhoozer also offers some criticisms of Girard’s proposal. Lastly, Vanhoozer draws on the work of Jean-Luc Marion and Ricoeur to suggest a new viewpoint of gifts – not within the economy of exchange, but within the ‘hyper-economy of grace’ (p.396). He concludes this section with the following:
“The operative concept in postmodern theological understandings of the atonement is excess, not exchange. The death of Jesus exceeds our attempts to explain it. Postmodern treatments of the cross are thus “hyper economic.” They seek to articulate the saving significance of Jesus’ death in a way that goes beyond explanatory economies and propositional truths.” (p.396-97) (his emphasis)

Vanhoozer then proceeds in the final section of his essay to offer a constructive proposal of the atonement – God’s gift of Jesus’ Death for us. Vanhoozer suggest that the key NT word used to express the significance of Jesus’ death is the Greek word hyper, or simply “for”. He begins with Jesus’ Word at the last supper – “This is my body given for (hyper) you”, and states there are three key concepts within this statement that should not be missed – the covenant, the temple, and the Exodus. The first two, taken together, deal with the negative – Jesus’ earlier reference to his body as a temple (John 2:19-22) means that Jesus saw himself as the fulfilment of everything that Israel’s temple was and meant to be. And by saying his body is broken, Jesus is saying that he is the place where sin is dealt with, making life possible in the presence of God. As Vanhoozer himself emphasises, “The shed blood is a sign that God has proved this covenantal faithfulness precisely by undergoing the sanctions, legal and relational, for covenantal disobedience.” (p.398, his emphasis). The concept of covenantal disobedience is an important one for Vanhoozer in understanding how he sees the definition and demands of ‘justice’. Earlier in the essay he states that what we need is ‘some such phrase as “making right covenantal relationship” to catch both the objective and the subjective outcomes of Christ’s atoning work. The atonement makes things ‘right’ to be sure, but this righteousness is legal and interpersonal, objective and subjective’ (p.381, his emphasis). If the first two concepts of covenant and temple deal with the negative, then the third concept of Exodus deals with the positive. Vanhoozer suggests that Jesus’ describing of his death as ‘exodus’ (Luke 9:31) is Jesus’ way of stating the new promised land he is taking us to – the Kingdom of God which is the reign of God in our human hearts. Christ’s death makes possible God’s gift of the Holy Spirit – ‘Jesus gives his body and blood for us, and in return we receive his Spirit, the operative principle of the new covenant and of the new age’ (p.399, his emphasis). Perhaps there is no better way of summarising what is at the heart of Vanhoozer’s proposal than to quote from the man himself:
“Jesus’ death is ultimately the result of a divinely initiated reconciling act that deals with sin by forgiving it […] and by establishing a new hyper-economy of covenantal love. In this triune economy, Father, Son and Spirit give without reserve out of the abundance of their Trinitarian life and love. Perhaps this is the lesson of the atonement in postmodernity: that the triune God is excessive, so much so that God shares his overflowing love with creatures who are not God: “God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Rom 5:5).” (p.400, his emphasis)

Vanhoozer ends his essay by suggesting how such a view of atonement leads to the definition of true religion and spirituality and leads to a life of obedience and worship – “to practice the doctrine of atonement is to offer oneself back to the Creator and Redeemer, to the glory of God.” (p.402). It also helps us to see how in the atonement, there is nothing less happening than the triune God giving himself to sinners taken to the limit and beyond; and the cross as the condition and source of great covenantal blessing – “in loving his enemies (Rom 5:10), God brings his covenant partner to justice, not simply retribution.” (p.403, his emphasis) What is Vanhoozer’s overall conclusion of the place of PSA? “The economy of covenantal grace is not exhausted by the logic of penal substitution even though the latter has a legitimate place.” (p.404).

In many ways, Vanhoozer offers a fresh penetrating insight into how postmodernity challenges and even contributes to our understanding of the cross. His suggestion of viewing God’s salvation as an economy of excess rather than an economy of exchange is a welcomed one. He still has a place for retributive punishment (though for him, that should not be the only or exhaustive way of viewing the cross), but he goes beyond retributive punishment to God’s excessive self-giving love which is at the heart of the divine economy of excess he is proposing. This, for Vanhoozer, is justice (granted that Vanhoozer here is going with the postmodern definition of it). The other helpful point is Vanhoozer ‘backing up’ his whole ‘divine economy of excess’ proposal not just from the work of postmodern philosophers or theologians, but from the whole biblical concept of the covenantal relationship between God and his people. For Vanhoozer, the covenant and the whole blessings associated with it is excessive in nature – it is grace. PSA is God taking upon himself the sanctions of the covenant so that we can enjoy the blessings of it. Such a refreshing perspective is surely a welcome – at least to me!

However, a few questions and thoughts remain. Firstly, there is another important aspect of Jesus’ understanding of his own death. Besides seeing himself within a covenantal framework, Jesus also saw himself very much in the role of the suffering servant of Israel (for a good work on this idea, refer to Peter Bolt’s The Cross From a Distance). Of course, the role of the suffering servant (even as spelt in Isaiah) is never divorced from the larger covenantal framework the whole relationship Israel had with God is based in, but it remains to be shown more explicitly how these two concepts tie in together in Jesus’ understanding of his death. Secondly, while Vanhoozer has explained the concept of justice (both restorative and retributive) by the concept of covenant, one questions if the concept of covenant or covenantal love can totally exhaust this idea. From Romans 1-2, the Apostle Paul explains God’s wrath against the world and mankind, but it would be difficult to explain that within a covenantal framework (unless one goes with the concept of covenant of works with Adam etc. which I personally find it hard to substantiate from the Scriptures). In another words, the deeper metaphysical questions of the nature of God’s justice still needs to be explained and explored as we explore PSA, and while the concept of covenant complements it and is part of the explanation, it does not exhaust it. This leads to the third and final point – while Vanhoozer admits that PSA has a legitimate place in ‘the economy of covenantal grace’, can we go a step further to explore what place it has and how central is that place? Perhaps postmoderns will accuse such a step of stripping the ‘otherness’ of the atonement and trying to totalise the atonement with a theory; nevertheless we must ask, with the full revelation of God revealed in salvation history, can we see how the different aspects of the one atonement might be brought out, without either diluting their diversity or compromising on the overall unity? Such an attempts calls for nothing less than a combination of biblical theology and systematic theology

The ontological significance of penal substitution - thinking deeper on PSA 4

Bruce McCormack has an interesting essay ‘The Ontological Presuppositions of Barth’s Doctrine of the Atonement’ in The Glory of the Atonement. He states that we must not separate the work of Christ from the person of Christ in our systematic theology considerations. A response to the challenges facing PSA today hence requires us to integrate PSA not only ‘into a well-ordered Christology, but into a well-ordered doctrine of the Trinity as well’ (p.348). And here is where he suggests Barth offers a great deal of help.

McCormack begins by exploring the importance of the Chalcedonian formula for understanding the person and work of Christ – the two natures (human and divine) coming together in the one person of our Lord Jesus Christ. The two natures ‘ “come together into a single person and a single subsistent being” and that, as such, “he is not parted or divided into two persons, but is one and the same only-begotten Son, God, Word, Lord Jesus Christ.”’ In another words, the unity of divine and human in Jesus is expressed in the singularity or one-ness of the person, in whom are found two distinct natures (p.349-50). In another words, it is not God in a human, but God as a human. The Chalcedonian formula is both helpful and crucial in understanding the unity of human and divine in Christ.

However, McCormack suggests that it still leaves some “unattended issues”. In the traditional Chalcedonian thinking, the Logos is thought of as the ruling principle of Christ’s human nature. This leaves open the suggestion that ‘the human nature is reduced to the status of a passive instrument in the hands of the Logos; it is the object upon which the Logos acts’ (p.352). It also leaves open the question ‘who is the Logos?’ Merely a human being? That’s an answer which we would label under “liberal” theology and one which is excluded by the Chalcedonian formula. The Logos simpliciter (the eternal logos)? Such an answer is not excluded by the Chalcedonian formula and is an answer that would promote the idea mentioned above of the Logos as the operative agent and the human nature as merely an object through which the Logos acts. Or should the Logos be thought of as the God-human in his divine-human unity? McCormack suggests that in our outworking of the Chalcedonian formula, we have more often than not headed towards the second option. And he suggests the reason why we head down this path is because of our concept of “divine immutability” – It was unthinkable for the ancients that God could suffer and die. Hence we
“[abstract] the Logos from his human nature in order, by turns, now to make of the human nature something to be acted upon by the Logos and now to make of that nature a subject in its own right in order to seal the Logos off hermeneutically from all that befalls that human nature from without. In both cases, the Logos is abstracted from the human nature he assumed, and the Chalcedonian formula is read in terms of the second [possibility] rather than the third.” (p.355) (my emphasis)

McCormack further suggests that the reason why we hold on to this concept of “divine immutability” is because of our “substantialism” – our “substance” way of thinking of God’s “essence”. In such a way of thinking, “substance” is what it is that makes for the self-identical element in “persons” and it is complete in itself. In another words, when we define the essence of God in terms of his substance, we
“[…] make the essence of God to be complete apart from, and prior to, all of his decisions and acts. At most, what God does (whether in eternity or in time) manifests, or gives expression to, what he is, but what God does in no sense constitutive of what God is.” (p.357) (his emphasis)

McCormack advocates that pursuing this line of thinking to its very end means that it will become impossible to understand the human nature of Jesus Christ as the human nature of the eternal logos. Any attribution of anything “human” to the Logos would set aside the “immutalibility” of the Logos. Our understanding of the Chalcedonian formula would hence always vacillate between Apollinarianism (where the human nature is purely passive and is acted upon by the Logos) or Nestorianism (where the human nature is fully operative and where the Logos is ‘sealed off’ from its effects)!

Here is where Barth comes in, McCormack states. Barth advocates two inter-related things. Firstly, Barth replaces divine immutability which has been controlled by “substantialistic ontology” with what McCormack terms “historicized ontology” – who God is (his essence) is constituted by his sovereign and free act of self-determination in the incarnation. Secondly and inter-related, this self-determinaton is not one that happened improtu or unplanned, but is one that happened in eternity, i.e. it is an eternal decision. Pulling the two together, this means
“[…] that the being of God in eternity is a being-in-act; a “being” that is realised in the act of self determination for incarnation, and so forth. There is no state, no mode of being or existence above and prior to this eternal act of self-determination as substantialistic thinking would lead us to believe. God’s being in eternity is a being-in-act. And when, in time, he does that which he determined for himself in eternity, no change is brought about in him on an ontological level.” (p.359) (my emphasis)

All this means that for Barth, the second person of the Trinity is ‘not and never was the Logos simpliciter’. “The second person of the Trinity has- already in eternity – a name, and his name is Jesus Christ.” (p.360).

The implication of McCormack’s thought means that we can now truly think of the subject of our redemption not as a mere human being (option 1), nor as the Logos simpliciter (option 2), but really as ‘the Logos as human means’ (option 3). This means that whatever happens to the God-human in and through his human nature happens to the God-human in his divine-human unity, which means that whatever we think of as a human experience is taken up into the divine life and happens to the Logos as human. The implication for PSA is that we must not conceive of PSA as an action of God directed toward an innocent human being, nor even as an action of God the Father toward an “eternal Son” (conceived of as the Logos simpliciter, in abstraction from the human nature he assumed). But rather, PSA is an ‘event between the eternal Father and the Logos as human’ (p.364). The significance is this: PSA is where
“the human experience of “the penalty of death” that humans have merited through their sinfulness is taken into the very life of God himself. [...] The triune God pours his wrath out upon himself in and through the human nature that he has made his own in his second mode of his being – that is the ontological significance of penal substitution. The triune God takes this human experience into his own life [...] and in doing so, he vanquishes its power over us. That [...] is the meaning of penal substitution when seen against the background of a well-ordered Christology and a well-ordered doctrine of the Trinity.” (p.364).

I have two comments of McCormack’s proposal. The first is that McCormack has provided us a thorough-going and well detailed exploration into the Chalcedonian formula and its application to PSA, and in doing so, has highlighted the deeper ‘inconsistencies’ in the Formula when pressed to its upmost degree. And that is, as much as the Chalcedonian Formula tries to state the unity of the two natures in the one person, the refusal (due to our “substantialistic” way of thinking) to allow human experiences to be taken up into the person of the Logos (thought of as the Logos simpliciter) means that we will either reduce the human nature to a totally passive role in that it is merely an object acted upon or we will elevate the human nature such that it is totally operative and ‘seal’ off the Logos Simpliciter from any human experiences. This leads to the inconsistency. McCormack ‘s proposal allows for human experiences to be taken up into the divine life through the Logos as the God-man in its God-man unity. The implication for PSA is that there is so much more weight now when we say what happens in PSA is that ‘God Himself enters into his own wrath’ and that ‘God Himself steps in and bears our sin’. In fact, I am wondering if McCormack’s proposal might serve a solution to the logical difficulty posed by Oliver Crisp (see previous post) about whether Jesus in any way could have borne our guilt and our sin itself (though he definitely bears the penalty of our sin). If, taking Barth’s thoughts one step further, Jesus the God-man is both the object as well as the subject of election, if Jesus is both the elected one in that He is both the condemned one (reprobate one) and the one who experiences salvation as the true representative of humanity, then would that provide a way to explain how our guilt and sin is actually borne by Jesus, because our humanity is understood in light of this crucial eternal decision of God to become man for us? However, I am well aware of the consequences of such thinking, which in turn leads me to my second comment of McCormack’s proposal, and that is McCormack does not trace out the full implications of Barth’s thinking in this essay. And if McCormack did so, then we would inevitably end up with the bigger question (and one of the criticisms of Barth’s theology) of universalism (See Garry Williams ‘Karl Barth and the doctrine of the atonement’ in Engaging with Barth (Nottingham: APOLLOS; 2008), esp.262-270 for a fuller engagement). The question is whether we can go ‘part of the way’ with Barth’s thesis, or whether logic and consistency would have us go all the way – a question reserved for another time another place.