Part 2: Response to The Gospel as Center, Chapter 2, “Can We Know the Truth?” by Richard D. Phillips

This chapter is, as the title indicates, about epistemology. I approached it wondering if there is such a thing as a “gospel epistemology.” That is, is there an epistemology intrinsically implied by the gospel? Haven’t equally God-fearing, Bible-believing, Jesus-loving Christians disagreed about epistemology since the beginning?

Overall, I was pleasantly surprised. Which is not to say I agreed with everything in the chapter, but it was a more humble exposition of a Christian view of truth and knowledge than I expected given the first chapter (to which I responded in Part 1 of this series).

The chapter’s author, Richard D. Phillips (a Presbyterian) argues that a Christian epistemology must avoid two extremes—modern rationalism (I think he means its positivism) and postmodern relativism. Modern rationalism asserts that the human mind is capable of grasping reality with unaided reason. Postmodern relativism asserts that there is no objective reality to grasp. At least so says Phillips. (He never quotes representative modern or postmodern philosophers to support this allegations. Most of the support he gives refers to popular clichés by college sophomores or their adult equivalents.)

Phillips recommends, even urges, what Carl F. H. Henry called “biblical presuppositionalism” as the evangelical Christian epistemology. He doesn’t call it that, but anyone familiar with Henry’s theology will recognize it. The author does mention and quote Francis Schaeffer, also a presuppositionalist.

According to Phillips, an evangelical Christian epistemology “begins by affirming that truth corresponds to reality.” (p. 29) The basis for this presupposition, he says, is that the God of the Bible exists. (Of course one can believe in the correspondence theory of truth without believing in God, but Phillips doesn’t seem to think so.) Next, following Henry closely (without mentioning him) Phillips says this evangelical Christian epistemology will begin with two other, closely related presuppositions (that Henry called Christianity’s ontological axiom and epistemological axiom): God is and God reveals himself in Scripture.

“Christians insist that there is truth, that truth corresponds to God and his created reality, and that we may know truth because God has revealed himself to us in his creation.” (p. 31)

One piece of evangelical presuppositional epistemology that Phillips does not discuss, although I’m sure he believes it, is that, according to this approach to knowledge, these presuppositions are justified as rational and not irrational because the world view they lead to is more comprehensive, consistent and has more explanatory power than any competing world view. (For a very concise exposition of biblical presuppositionalism see Carl F. H. Henry, Toward a Recovery of Christian Belief.)

Phillips then continues by expounding and defending propositional revelation  and the inspiration and authority of Scripture. He barely touches on inerrancy but clearly believes it is important. According to him, Scripture’s main purpose is to reveal true doctrines about God in order to glorify God by changing our lives. The Bible is both informative and transformative, but without the former it cannot be the latter.

For the last few pages of the chapter Phillips encourages evangelical, gospel-centered Christians to approach unbelievers with humility and love and not a triumphalist attitude of superiority. (If only some of his friends would take that advice with regard to fellow evangelicals with whom they disagree!) But the final word is that “Only the Bible can help us make sense of ourselves and God’s world.” (p. 34)

Overall, this is a good exposition of one evangelical epistemology. I have several questions about it.

First, how would Phillips and his Gospel Coalition colleagues respond to evangelical evidentialists who base the truth of Christianity not on the comprehensiveness, consistency and explanatory power of its world view but on the historical evidence for the resurrection of Jesus Christ? Presuppositionalism is deductive and rational; evidentialism (e.g., John Gerstner) is inductive and empirical. They don’t have to contradict each other; many evangelical apologists combine them. But does this chapter’s sole emphasis on presuppositionalism imply that presuppositionalism is the evangelical Christian epistemology?

Second, are Phillips’ descriptions of postmodernism a straw man? Some would say so. He seems to equate “postmodernism” with popular relativism. He says that “the postmodern view rejects the reality of truth, positing an implicit (and in some cases explicit) relativism in which nothing is really and finally true.” (p. 27) Is that true? It would be helpful if he mentioned specific postmodern philosophers to support that statement. My own study of postmodernism leads me to believe postmodern philosophers are not of one mind about that. What they all agree about is that truth claims can very easily be misused to protect power and oppress the powerless. That doesn’t necessarily mean that no truth exists. And they distinguish between “truth” and “knowledge.” Phillips doesn’t seem to take critical realism into account as a middle ground between a correspondence view of truth and a non-realist view of truth. He treats all postmodernism as if it were non- or anti-realist both metaphysically and epistemologically.

A lot of my knowledge of postmodernism comes from John Caputo who I am convinced is not an anti-realist. He is suspicious of all ideologies and everything that inclines toward becoming a totalizing ideology. But he does not deny God or justice. He just doesn’t think anyone can claim to possess them.

Phillips’ treatment of postmodernism is the familiar and now tired, clichéd evangelical dismissal of all postmodernism as totally against Christianity. He says that “the postmodern unbeliever…simply denies that God exists.” (p. 31) The context indicates to me, anyway, that he thinks all postmoderns are like that. They aren’t.

Perhaps the most egregious of all over statements in the chapter is that “Clear majorities today, even among professing Christians, affirm the postmodern dogma that nothing is really, absolutely true.” (p. 27) I simply cannot believe that. My own experience of teaching (mostly) Christian students in three Christian universities is that their answers depend on the questions. On the surface they seem relativistic because that’s the stage of development they’re in. But just below the surface is a definite belief in objective right and wrong and objective reality. Most of them can’t express or explain it, but what they are is critical realists. They think absolute truth is beyond human grasp; it belongs only to God. But that doesn’t mean they deny truth. What they deny is the absoluteness of knowledge.

Overall and in general this chapter’s main claims about Christianity, truth and knowledge are mainstream evangelical. I don’t see them as tied exclusively to Calvinism. I do think you have to believe in absolute, objective truth “out there,” at least in the mind of God, to be a Christian. But I don’t think you have to believe in biblical, rational presuppositional epistemology to be an evangelical.  Perhaps the point where Phillips I differ most is about the nature of revelation. He insist it is primarily (not exclusively) propositional. Or at least that all true doctrines are either directly or indirectly revealed propositionally in Scripture. For him, I take it, “doctrine” is revealed by God. I think of “doctrines” as the Christian community’s consensus beliefs based on revelation which is not primarily propositional. There are “truths of revelation,” but doctrines are our best attempts to understand and express them and therefore always open to reconsideration and revision in light of new and better understandings of God’s revelation.

In general, I have less objection to this chapter than I thought I would have before reading it. My most serious objection is to what I think are Phillips’ caricatures of postmodernism.

Part 1 of A New Series: Responses to The Gospel as Center by Members of the Gospel Coalition

Beginning today I embark on a series of posts responding to chapters in the new book The Gospel as Center: Renewing Our Faith and Reforming Our Ministry Practices edited by D. A. Carson and Timothy Keller and published by Crossway (2012). The publisher was kind enough to send me a complimentary copy, so I will review in detail here. My plan is to respond to a chapter at a time. The book has fourteen chapters, so this will be spread out over two or three weeks (at least). I may interrupt the series with other subjects from time to time. If you want to read along with me and check my responses, order the book right away. I’ll be digging in quickly. Once you receive your copy you can go back and read my responses in the archives.

The sixteen authors seem all to be members of the Gospel Coalition and signers of its foundational documents (which can be found at the end of the book). The authors are: D. A. Carson, Timothy Keller, Richard D. Phillips, Mike Bullmore, Andrew M. Davis, Reddit Andrews III, Colin S. Smith, Bryan Chapell, Sandy Wilson, Philip Graham Ryken, Kevin DeYoung, Stephen Um, Tim Savage, Thabiti Anhyabwile, J. Ligon Duncan, and Sam Storms. I’m not familiar with all of them, so I looked them up on the internet. So far as I can discern they are all Calvinists. Most are Presbyterians; a few are Baptists; one is Evangelical Free and one is “Bible Church.”

First I will offer a few remarks about the team of writers and what the project looks like from the “outside.” In the first chapter the editors make much of the diversity of the Gospel Coalition’s members. Judging by this team of authors, however, there doesn’t really seem to be very much diversity—at least not compared with the diversity of the evangelical coalition since its inception in 1942. Why all Calvinists? The editors (in the first chapter) extol the fact that they do not all come from one tradition. Really? I guess they mean they are not all Presbyterians. Well, most are. But once you see that the Baptist authors pastor churches with elders, the diversity begins to become less impressive. That’s especially the case given that they are all Calvinists. Maybe one or two are dispensationalist Calvinists? Maybe some are premillennialists and the rest are amillennialists? Or maybe there’s a postmillennialist somewhere in the mix. At first blush, anyway, I’m not impressed by the diversity of this group. Why not just admit up front that, with some minor points of disagreement, they are pretty much monochrome theologically.

My question is to what extent do these editors and authors think they are really representing the “tent” (large or small) of evangelicalism? It seems we, evangelicals, are their audience. (The publisher sent me a complimentary copy of the book!) Do they think that only they, conservative Calvinists, truly represent “the gospel?” Arminians and Wesleyans, Anabaptists, Lutherans, Pentecostals don’t have the gospel? The editors (in the first chapter) claim that the gospel is not a systematic theology, but one has to wonder when all the people allowed to speak about it adhere to one. Which one, you ask? Well, I am willing to bet they are all influenced, directly or indirectly, by Charles Hodge. He seems to be the godfather of conservative Reformed evangelicalism in America. Where does that leave the rest of us who do not belong to that tradition? I would very much like to know what Carson and Keller would say about Wesleyan evangelicals, for example. Can they be members of the Gospel Coalition? Are there any? Were any invited? If not, why not?

The National Association of Evangelicals was founded in St. Louis in April, 1942. Among the founders who, presumably agreed on the gospel, were Pentecostals, Holiness people, Free Will Baptists, Reformed, Free Church and many others. It was a pretty motley crew. (And I don’t mean that in any pejorative sense!) What they agreed about, doctrinally, was pretty minimal, but they embraced each other as equally evangelical in spite of significant doctrinal differences. To the best of my knowledge, nobody stood up and said “No. This isn’t enough. Some of you there have to get out. You don’t believe the gospel.” Oh, wait. I’m wrong. That’s exactly what Carl McIntire said when the founders of NAE invited him and his American Council of Christian Churches to join. He objected to the presence of Pentecostals and wouldn’t lead his ACCC into the NAE unless Pentecostals were excluded. Fortunately, Ockenga and other NAE founders wouldn’t go along with that.

My uncle was a board member of the NAE for years. He has told me of one particular meeting where a well-known conservative Reformed apologetics writers and speaker and theologian griped about the “shallow theology” of some members and made clear he was speaking about the Pentecostals. My uncle is Pentecostal and was offended although he forgave the man. It seems that SOME folks in the NAE and within the “big tent” of American evangelicalism are forever griping about its diversity. What do they want? Sometimes I think they want to narrow the tent down to those who agree with their systematic theology and marginalize or exclude those who don’t. We Arminians have struggled with this since Augustus Toplady declared that the Wesleys were not Christians because they were not Calvinists.

Chapter 1 is “Gospel-Centered Ministry” by D. A. Carson and Timothy Keller. They say right off that “We believe that some important aspects of the historic understanding of the biblical gospel are in danger of being muddied or lost in our churches today. These include the necessity of the new birth, justification by faith alone, and atonement through propitiation and the substitutionary death of Christ.” (p. 11) Who is doing this? In this chapter, anyway, they cast these frightening statements about the sorry state of “our churches” without naming any names. I’m suspicious because in Carson’s The Gagging of God he names my late friend Stanley Grenz and says that he cannot understand how his doctrine of Scripture can be considered “evangelical.” And yet, knowing Stan as I did, I am certain, from his description of Stan’s doctrine of Scripture (as not the supreme authority for faith and practice) that he did not understand it. (I have discussed this in detail in Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology.)

What do Carson and Keller mean by “our churches?” They can’t mean PCA or any specific denomination’s churches because the authors come from various denominations. I doubt they mean the churches pastored by or attended by these authors. Surely they don’t mean “all the churches in America.” That would, then, be something less than news. Surely they DO mean “evangelical churches.” But notice they said “our” churches. That means, then, that they do see themselves as evangelicals TOGETHER with non-Reformed evangelical Christians. In other words, so it would seem, Carson and Keller and the other writers see themselves as belonging to an NAE-like “evangelical tent” that includes non-Calvinists. Do they think that all those non-Calvinists with them under that tent are NOT gospel-centered? If so, why are they with them in that tent? If not (excuse the double negative here), why are none represented in this book? The CLEAR implication of the book, simply by virtue of all the authors being Calvinists, is that “gospel-centered” means “Calvinist” OR AT LEAST “believing in substitutionary atonement” and “justification by faith alone.” But many non-Calvinists DO believe in those things. Why are none represented in this book?

Let’s go back and look at the NAE Statement of Faith. It says nothing about justification by faith alone or propitiatory, substutionary atonement. Why not? Perhaps because some founding denominations didn’t use that language? Probably so. At the very least we can say the founders of the NAE did not consider that language essential to the gospel or else they would have included it in their Statement of Faith. The NAE Statement of Faith does speak of Christ’s “vicarious and atoning death” and salvation through “regeneration by the Holy Spirit.” If someone wants to argue that those include or necessarily imply “propitiation” and “substitutionary atonement” and “justification by faith alone,” well, let them try. But the plain fact is the language is different, so it would be wrong to claim that all evangelicals ever agreed that the gospel necessarily includes those concepts. (And any good Wesleyan theologian can explain to you why “vicarious atonement” does not necessarily mean “propitiation” and “substitutionary atonement.”)

I would very much like to know what these authors would say about the minimal Statement of Faith of the NAE. Do they reject the NAE as not representing authentic evangelical Christianity in America? When did defection from the doctrines they mention begin? Why is it worse now than before when in 1942 the NAE didn’t see fit to include those doctrines (or “inerrancy,” by the way) in its Statement of Faith?

What I see here is a subtle attempt to pack a systematic theology into the meaning of “the gospel” such that anyone who does not believe in that systematic theology is gospel-challenged at best and downright not gospel-centered at worst.

Next Carson and Keller mention that their confession begins with God rather than Scripture and they defend that. “Starting with the Scripture leads readers to the overconfidence that their exegesis of biblical texts has produced a system of perfect doctrinal truth. This can create pride and rigidity because it may not sufficiently acknowledge the fallenness of human reason.” (p. 12) I simply don’t understand their reasoning. Three comments about this ordering of their statement of the “gospel.” First, I have no problem with starting with God instead of the Bible. Second, Carl Henry would have had a problem with it. Third, Stan Grenz was harshly attacked for doing this very thing in Theology for the Community of God. It was one of the harshest criticisms of that volume from conservative Reformed critics! Now it seems okay. I think someone owes Stan an apology. Oh, it’s too late. (Please don’t think I’m imagining things. Stan and I had long, late night conversations about the unfairness of those criticisms.)

The authors of this chapter say that “The American evangelical world has been breaking apart with wildly different responses to this new cultural situation” (viz., postmodernism?). (p. 14) They claim that some evangelicals are calling for “a complete doctrinal reengineering of evangelicalism.” (p. 14) Really? Who? I wish they would be specific so we know what they are talking about. Given their earlier statement I assume they mean that anyone who denies substitutionary atonement and justification by faith alone. Who does that? Well, to be sure, some evangelicals are uncomfortable with that language and some always have been. At times Wesley was uncomfortable with “justification by faith alone” INSOFAR as it implied that justifying faith can be alone (without good works following). Right in the middle of this first chapter I’m beginning to think this is a jeremiad about how awful things are among evangelicals. But I’m not convinced. There’s lots of diversity and there are some “outliers”—people most definitely pushing the envelope on the margins—but I just don’t see a new wholesale defection from the gospel going on among people who claim the identity “evangelical.” Unless, of course, you define “the gospel” as conservative Calvinism! In that case, the defection is not new!

I agree whole heartedly with their call for relevant expository preaching and for justice and ministry to the poor. Of course, the devil is in the details with that second one. I’m not sure what they mean beyond charity, if anything. Who has ever opposed charity?

On page 17 they say “The evangelical ‘tent’ is bigger and more incoherent than ever.” Really? Give some specific examples, please. And don’t mention Joel Osteen. Maybe he’s evangelical; maybe he’s not. I don’t know. But he certainly doesn’t represent any major shift in evangelicalism. There have always been evangelists among evangelicals who embarrassed us. For the most part evangelicals have always been relatively tolerant of them. Their presence has never signaled an “incoherence” of the evangelical “tent.”

On pages 19-20 the authors (Carson and Keller) discuss systematic theology and biblical theology and affirm that statements of the gospel should stick to biblical language as much as possible. I certainly don’t disagree. But then they unpack Genesis 1-2 in a way that seems to draw on a system of theology (covenant theology) that many evangelical Old Testament scholars would disagree with. For example, “the church is God’s temple” (meaning supercessionism: the church is the replacement of Israel’s temple). Okay, I don’t necessarily disagree. But is this “gospel?” Is this simple biblical exegesis? Or is this systematic theology? What does it have to do with the gospel as the good news about salvation through Jesus? Oh, but these authors are stretching “the gospel” quite far beyond what most evangelicals have thought it meant.

On page 20 they refer again to “those who have a truncated view of what the gospel is.” Who are these villainous people who “have a truncated view of what the gospel is?” People who deny the substitutionary atonement? People who deny justification by faith alone? Who are they? (Not me!) I wish they would spell out who these enemies of the gospel lurking among us are. Without names I can’t judge what to think about their vague and veiled denunciations.

The authors end this chapter with “In short, gospel-centered ministry is biblically mandated. It is the only kind of ministry that simultaneously addresses human need as God sees it, reaches out in unbroken lines to gospel-ministry in other centuries and cultures, and makes central what Jesus himself establishes as central.” (p. 21) All I can say to that (taken alone) is Amen! I agree whole heartedly. The only problem is who defines “gospel” and how. Already at the end of the first chapter I’m on my guard and concerned that these authors are going to tell me that Hodge’s systematic theology (minus stuff about the sacraments and maybe eschatology) is “the gospel.” Or at least that robust, conservative Reformed theology, Calvinism, is “the gospel.” If so, then “Houston, we have a problem.” But, I’ll go through the rest of the book willing to change my mind if something else appears. I hope it does. But the first chapter isn’t very encouraging.

So why do I find this troubling? (By “this” I mean the tendency in chapter one to decry evangelical defection from the gospel and to define the gospel as including systematic theological categories.) Well, if you don’t find it troubling, let me ask you to consider this alternative scenario. One day you receive a book in the mail from a major evangelical publisher purporting to say what “the gospel” and “gospel ministry” mean and it is edited and partly authored by two very well known evangelical theologians and right up front it says that pacifism is an essential part of the gospel and complains about the “truncated view of the gospel” by many evangelicals who no longer believe in pacifism but embrace just war theory. Would you be troubled? And yet, for much of church history, committed Christians, including many evangelicals, have thought pacifism was the right way to interpret and apply the gospel in the world. Until WW2 and even for a while afterwards many Holiness, Pentecostal and Restorationist churches, to say nothing of Anabaptists, did believe the way of Jesus Christ included pacifism. But they didn’t try to push that on all other evangelicals when the NAE was founded in 1942 and, for the most part, those who still believe in pacifism don’t go around claiming that everyone who disagrees with them has a “truncated view of what the gospel is.” That’s just one example. There could be many, many more examples of particular traditions among evangelicals who hold as very important certain doctrines but do not say everyone who disagrees is not “gospel-centered.” In fact, in the past, ONLY FUNDAMENTALISTS said such things. I will dare to say that for much of evangelical history anyone who said that the “gospel” necessarily includes things not explicitly stated in the NAE statement of faith would be considered fundamentalist. That was a major parting of the ways—when William Bell Riley in 1919 declared that premillennialism is a “fundamental of the faith” and essential to the gospel. That kind of statement was one reason for the formation of the NAE in 1942—to create a larger, broader and more inclusive tent of evangelicals that transcends without denying denominational distinctives.

I believe that there are troublers in the house of Israel these days and they are mainly on the conservative side of the house. A few years ago a man I greatly admire, Kevin Mannoia, was elected president of the NAE. After a very short time (so I’m told by insiders) some conservative Calvinist members began to agitate for his removal. Specifically, so I’m told, he had dared to suggest that the American Baptist Churches, U.S.A. (the denomination with which I have since leaving Pentecostalism most closely associated with) should be allowed to join the NAE—so long as the denomination would affirm the Statement of Faith. That’s all that’s expected of any member denomination. Oh, except one thing—historically denominations cannot be members of both the National Council of Churches and the NAE. Kevin wanted to change that rule. The conservative Calvinists demanded his resignation and he did resign to keep the peace. Really, what is that rule except old fashioned fundamentalist separatism? It ought to be abolished. It’s a left over from evangelicalism’s fundamentalist background. I think the conservative Calvinists primarily wanted Mannoia out because he is Wesleyan-Arminian. Some of them do not think you can be authentically evangelical and be that in spite of the fact that Wesleyan-Arminians were there at the beginning—as charter members of the NAE.

I’m also concerned because the Gospel Coalition has clout with some nondenominational, nonconfessionally specific evangelical schools such as Wheaton. (One author of this book is president of Wheaton.) Does this mean someone who disagrees with anything the authors of this book say is an essential part of the gospel should not teach in those schools? I hope not, but I fear that will be the outcome. Oh, not that it will be so announced, but as an almost thirty year long veteran of evangelical higher education I know how these things work. Someone comes along and says “But the penumbra (!) of the school’s statement of faith includes such-and-such” (that it does not say) and “therefore, so-and-so should be fired” (or not hired). I’ve seen it happen many times. It has happened to me! Although I wasn’t fired, people tried. A president of an evangelical college told my president [then, not now] that I should be fired because I was open to Oneness Pentecostals being considered evangelicals IF they seemed to be moving toward full, robust trinitariansm—which IS happening among them. He told my president I was questioning the Trinity! He’s an idiot, of course, insofar as he can’t tell the difference between acknowledging someone who does not yet fully affirm the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity as an evangelical and personally questioning the Trinity. And, of course, as I’ve related here before, a leading Calvinist pastor told me he would get me fired if I did not side with him against open theism and remained “open to open theism.”

Next—Chapter 2 “Can We Know the Truth?”

Response to a Good Book about “Purgatory”

Some months ago I posted some thoughts here about purgatory. I endorsed an idea that had little resemblance to any traditional Catholic idea of purgatory, but some people are apparently so fixated on that word that its very appearance made them think I was affirming the Catholic idea of purgatory. I wasn’t. I admitted some sympathy with C. S. Lewis’ idea in The Great Divorce and other writings that perhaps there is a place after death for forgiven people where they can complete their spiritual formation. I represented it as educative rather than punitive. For me it was not part of hell or between heaven and hell but a part of paradise where people who die in Christ on account of God’s grace received by faith are brought to complete repentance and total transformation of character. In other words, it is a place for the completion of sanctification. Not because entire sanctification is a requirement for salvation (as forgiveness, reconciliation, heaven) but because it is a requirement for the full beatific vision of God. This idea of “purgatory” (which has little or nothing to do with medieval images of punishment” was expressed by Lewis in several ways. Here is what he wrote in Letters to Malcolm:

“Our souls demand Purgatory, don’t they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us “It is true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into joy”? Should we not reply “With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I’d rather be cleansed first.” “It may hurt, you  know”—“Even so, sir.”

This is quoted on page 164 of a new book by evangelical philosopher Jerry Walls. The book is the third in his series on life after death. The others were on hell and heaven. This one is entitled Purgatory: The Logic of Total Transformation (Oxford, 2012). In it he advocates Protestant embrace of an idea of purgatory that, in my opinion, has little to nothing to do with popular ideas of purgatory and therefore probably should not be called that. Toward the book’s end he says of his idea of purgatory “This is not purgatory as a frightful threat, but as a gracious promise.” (175) Here is the clearest statement of his thesis:

“Critics of the doctrine [purgatory] often have a tendency, sometimes inveterately so, to depict it as a matter of salvation by works and then to reject it highhandedly in the name of grace. However, to pit purgatory against grace is to fail completely to grasp that purgatory itself is very much a matter of grace. To draw this contrast is to ignore the fact that grace is much more than forgiveness, that it is also sanctification and transformation, and finally, glorification. We need more than forgiveness and justification to purge our sinful dispositions and make us fully ready for heaven. Purgatory is nothing more than the continuation of the sanctifying grace we need, for as long as necessary to complete the job, as Lewis put it.” (p. 174)

Walls basically endorses Lewis’ idea of purgatory and argues that it is not far from, if different at all from, post-Vatican 2 Catholic ideas of purgatory. I can verify this as I have had several well-informed Catholic theologians speak to my classes over the past thirty years and all of them (with one possible exception—a very conservative priest who still said mass in Latin) affirmed to me and my students that, for them, purgatory is not punishment but spiritual therapy and that it will be welcomed by those who spend time there.

Walls’ book covers goes into great detail about the history of the doctrine of purgatory, how the Catholic doctrine developed and differs from Eastern Orthodoxy’s idea of life after death (not purgatory per se but nevertheless a kind of spiritual formation such that prayers for the dead can be efficacious for them), and reasons for the Protestant reformers’ rejections of the doctrine (largely because in that time it was being taught as the reason for buying indulgences). Walls also covers all the biblical and philosophical reasons for purgatory. He admits that there is no proof for purgatory; it is a deduction and opinion only. He does not want Protestants to make a doctrine of it; he is simply presenting it as an option. One goal is clearly to ease ecumenical relations between Catholics and Protestants.

One thing about Walls’ book that will turn off even some Protestants who may sympathize with his idea of purgatory is his extension of that into postmortem opportunity for salvation for those who never have opportunity to accept Christ in life before death—for example children. One thing I find ironic here is that all Calvinists I know believe all children who die in infancy, or before the age of accountability, are elect and go straight to paradise. Where is the biblical proof of that? That seems to me a deduction from the goodness of God, but Calvinists who believe it don’t seem to think God’s goodness requires universal atonement! To me, the same logic that applies with children applies to the atonement. Anyway, it’s ironic that Walls, an Arminian, does not assume all children who die in infancy or before the age of accountability go straight to paradise while most Calvinists do!

I say Purgatory: The Logic of Total Transformation is a good book because it is well-researched and well-written and makes some very good arguments if not compelling ones. At the end, I still don’t think purgatory is the right word for this place Walls describes and it certainly isn’t a good word for what I believe—at least not without qualifications. I think at least some great heroes of Christian faith (e.g., Luther) will have to undergo some education before entering into the fullness of heavenly bliss. Not because they aren’t forgiven but because they said, wrote or did things so absolutely antithetical to the love of Jesus Christ that they will want to repent of them. I’m thinking, for example, of Luther’s anti-semitism and of his advice to the German princes to slay the peasants mercilessly (knowing full well what that would mean). Let me bring it home. I believe that, when I die and arrive in paradise, I will want my Savior to teach me how to repent more perfectly—especially of things I was not aware, during my lifetime before death, were sinful. I also want to be corrected by God himself for my false beliefs and attitudes. It will be humbling but pleasant, possibly painful (not physically) but much appreciated.

Thanks to all of you who have offered answers to my question about Christian (trinitarian) theologians who probably will be included in a book on late 20th century and early 21st century theologians 50 years from now.

I agree with those who have said it’s hard to predict because we live in a time when there are no theological “giants” comparable to Barth or Tillich. That’s what make this so difficult.

Recently I wrote about 19th century Christian (trinitarian) theologians. (This is not yet published.) What criteria did I use? Well, I didn’t exactly have a formal list of criteria, but I had some informal ones that are more noticeable looking back on the project than they were during the selection process. I’m not saying these are the right criteria, but I think they are the ones (more or less) that will be used 50-100 years from now (in academic and semi-academic books on what we call our contemporary theologians).

1) Broad, lasting influence on other theologians and popularizers;

2) Prolific writing widely read (usually in more than one language);

3) Originality and creativity (not just in inventing new ideas but in bridging divides);

4) Engagement with culture (not necessarily accommodation to it);

Usually such theologians were the subjects of many books about their theological contributions. Usually they were read and discussed by theologians and theologically-minded pastors and lay people outside their own denominations or traditions. Usually they received a lot of reaction both positive and negative.

So, about whom did I write? (I began by writing about some philosophers who stimulated theological creativity and reaction such as Descartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, Reid, and Hegel. Kierkegaard could be considered both a philosopher and theologian.) Here are the 19th century theologians I selected: Schleiermacher, Bushnell, Hodge, Ritschl, Dorner, Troeltsch, Blondel and Tyrrell, Harnack and Rauschenbusch.

These 19th century (up to WW1) theologians stand out over a century later as THE giants of that era. Were there others? Yes, but they have been largely eclipsed by these. I could have written about Warfield, but I think I covered his contribution by writing about Hodge on whose shoulders he stood. I could have written about several American liberal theologians, but Bushnell is remembered (e.g., by Gary Dorrien) as THE 19th century American liberal theologian par excellence. (I actually treat him as a mediating theologian.) There is no “stand out” Catholic theologian in the 19th century except Newman and Blondel and I decided to write about the Catholic modernists because of their originality and influence on 20th century Catholic theology (for better or worse).

A perplexing question is this: Who would have been identified by a theological cartographer as the “mountain peaks” of 19th century theology THEN–say, around mid-19th century? I suspect there wouldn’t have been any consensus other than Schleiermacher and maybe Bushnell (in America). What caused these other theologians (e.g., Dorner) to be remembered? In his case, I suspect it is his influence on Barth and the fact that Claude Welch liked him.

When I write about today’s living theologians (or recently deceased) and have to narrow it down to, say four or five, who will they be? It’s a risk because even 25 years later some of them may be forgotten. There are no obvious theological giants stalking the land. (N. T. Wright comes about as close as one can get due to his prolific writing and broad influence but he’s not a systematic/constructive theologian per se; he’s a biblical scholar.)

The name I hear everywhere from almost everybody (whether conservative or liberal or postmodern or nothing) is Hauerwas. Why? Well, I think Time magazine naming him the “best” theologian has something to do with it. Also, he’s an iconoclast; we like iconoclasts. Also, he’s difficult to categorize and we no longer like neat categories. And, he’s prolific, broadly influential and arguably original and creative (at least in the sense of combining Barth and Yoder which is not easy!). Also, he spawned so many doctoral students!

But let’s put Hauerwas up against someone like him (in many ways) 50 years ago. Ever hear of Langdon Gilkey? Fifty years ago he was all the rage. Not only was he prolific, supervised more dissertations in theology than anyone else, and broadly influential, he was a hippy. (He looked kind of like Willy Nelson wore beads and a pony tail, etc.–even into old age.) Hands down, for about twenty years or so, he was considered America’s “best” theologian (even if Time magazine didn’t say so). Yet, now, 50 years after his peak, who even remembers him? Will it be like that for Hauerwas? Will he be remembered and talked about 50 years from now? WILL ANYONE?

Those are my thoughts and questions. Thanks for you suggestions–especially those of you who offered reasons. If you have any thoughts about what I’ve written here please feel free to comment.

Fifty years from now, which contemporary (late 20th century, early 21st century) Christian (trinitarian) theologians will someone include in a book about modern/postmodern theology? Why?