Introduction

At the center of Mark, Jesus posed this climatic question to Peter: “Who do you say that I am?” (Mark 8:29). This is a question for every generation — maybe for every believer and nonbeliever. Unlike Peter, however, believers and nonbelievers today can say, without much thought or urgency, time-honored answers: the Christian God, the savior, the promised Messiah, and, even, the God-Man.¹ But without some struggle — intellectual or existential — these titles become dry, clichéd, and powerless. For example, Peter had several faith-doubt episodes prior and after his confession that Jesus is the Messiah. And when we try to answer Jesus’ question — “who do you say that I am?” — remembering the Church’s answers throughout the centuries can aid us to rediscover the alluring beauty and life-altering truth of Jesus.

The particular drama I want to retell is how the early Church championed Jesus as the unique God-Man, which came only after centuries of debate and, sadly, exclusion and bloodshed. The first five centuries of the early Church were some of the most tumultuous times: the fall of Jerusalem, violent persecutions, the fall of Rome, and the rise of Christendom. It would be a Herculean task to survey the first five centuries of the early Church in one post. Therefore, I will approach the championing of Jesus as the God-Man through three common Christological (theology relating to Christ) heresies: (1) Arianism, (2) Docetism/Apollinarianism, and (3) Nestorianism. All three of these deal with how to properly address the divinity and humanity of Jesus.

I start with heresies not because they are intellectual problems — not less than that, of course. But because affirming and defending the mystery of Jesus’s divinity and humanity against heresies is first and foremost about worship.² The New Testament churches demonstrated the scandalous truth of attributing divinity to the crucified and risen human Jesus by their worship. Jesus is worthy of worship because he stands at the right hand of God far above — higher than the heavens — the prophets and angels. Christological heresies later came because the early Church had to reconcile the One God of Israel with Jesus Christ, an Israelite man who is worshiped as God.

Worship not only attests the bare fact of Jesus’ divinity in his humanity, but it should also demonstrate the much needed truth that Jesus is Emmanuel — “God with us.” Our worship and our articulated beliefs (theology) should constantly sharpen each other: What I can articulate about Jesus as the unique Savior should form my life, and my life should reaffirm what I profess. Thus, to address heresy is to learn how to worship Jesus properly.

Three Common Heresies

The following three heresies are snapshots of whole movements that encompass groups of people across centuries and a spectrum of theology.³ Our purpose then is not to detail point-by-point what these heresies say, but to give a general impression and its implicit threat to the proper worship of Jesus. It should be noted that these heresies, and others not listed, were first proposed by Christian bishops wanting to defend what they perceived to be orthodoxy. Often times, these intelligent Christian thinkers started with divinity and clashed with the humanity of Jesus. So, in an effort to make better sense of the Christian faith, they would compromise Jesus’ divinity (Arianism), Jesus’ humanity (Docetism/Apollinarianism), or the unity of divinity and humanity in Jesus (Nestorianism).

Arianism: How divine was Jesus?

How much theological weight can one alphabetical letter carry? In the case of Arianism, the weight of orthodoxy. The debate revolved around one iota (the English equivalent of “i”): homoousia vs. homoiousia. They roughly translate from the Greek: “of the same stuff” vs. “of like stuff.”⁴ On the one hand, Arius wanted to defend monotheism and divinity — to keep the One God holy, absolutely unique, and unadulterated by material stuff. On the other hand, he took the humanity of Jesus seriously. So, he compromised. Arius once said that there once was when the Son was not.⁵ So, before creation, God the Father created God the Son because before then “the Son was not” yet in existence.⁶ In other words, Arius denied the full divinity of Jesus. Arius argued that Jesus is not on the same level as God the Father: that Jesus is homoiousia — of like stuff — with God.⁷

If Jesus is like God, then he is not true or fully God, and anything less than God is not God. Therefore, according to Arianism, Jesus is not God. It follows, then, that Jesus merely models salvation because God did not save in Jesus. Salvation does not flow from Calvary, but its best example is found there.⁸

Athanasius and the Council of Nicea (325 AD) firmly but rightly said “No” to Arianism. Only God can save sinners who cannot save themselves, and such a salvation comes from Jesus.⁹ Therefore, Jesus must be homoousia — of same stuff — with God. He cannot be anything less than fully God.

If our worship — what we say and how we live — hints at any salvation apart from God, then our Christology might be compromised. Our salvation is not built on the foundation of our works, good morals, or impressive thoughts. It is built only on the gracious God in Jesus.

Docetism/Apollinarianism: How human was Jesus?

Strictly speaking, Docetism and Apollinarianism are related but not the same heresy.¹⁰ In reaction to Arianism — compromising Jesus’ divinity — and as a follower of Athanasius, Apollinaris, in the fourth century, argued for the full divinity of Jesus but did so by compromising his full humanity. Instead of two fully operating minds — one divine and the other human — Apollinaris suggested that Jesus had only the divine mind. From a human mind comes all forms of evil and deceit; therefore, Jesus should not have a human mind, so said Apollinaris.¹¹ Jesus is, then, like Frankenstein — a mindless body zapped to life.¹²

Docetism is an older heresy that represents a school of thought especially influenced by Gnosticism. In brief, Docetists abhorred the human body: lust, bloodshed, gluttony all originate in the human body. So, in order to protect divinity from such vile filth they also compromised Jesus’ humanity by saying it only “appeared” (doce) that he was human. Jesus is, then, like a phantom.¹³

Both heresies compromise Jesus’ humanity in order to make room for or to keep the divinity pure and holy. But this compromise also twists salvation. If only God can save, then we should also ask what God saves us from. If Jesus’ humanity is missing his mind or his entire body, then does Jesus really save us from corrupted minds and broken bodies?¹⁴ What’s more, can sinners really relate and benefit from a zombie-Jesus or phantom-Jesus?

Gregory of Nazianzen and the Council of Constantinople (381 AD) resolutely proclaimed “No” to Apollinarianism and Docetism. Gregory said that what is not assumed is not healed.¹⁵ In other words, Jesus must be fully human, with a human mind and body.¹⁶ Jesus is the locus of salvation —  minds and bodies find their restoration and new life in him.

If our worship tends to downplay humanity, then our Christology might be compromised. God embraced the fullness of humanity in Jesus: humanity is affirmed. Therefore, our worship should reflect such radical embrace in what we say and how we live. This might include the arts, embodied practices, and bodily care.

Nestorianism: How was Jesus divine and human?

Naturally, the question of the unity between Christ’s full divinity and full humanity rose after the Arian and Docetist/Apollinarian debates. Which has priority? How are the two held together in one person? And when we talk about Jesus, are we referring to God the Son or Jesus the human, or both? For instance, can we say that the immaterial God was physically born of the Virgin Mary?

Nestorius found calling Mary just theotokos (“Mother of God”) problematic. He also wanted to call her anthropotokos (“Mother of human”), but opted to call her simply Christotokos (“Mother of Christ”). This was not well-received nor accurately understood. Cyril of Alexandria thought, for instance, that Nestorius taught a “moral union” between Christ’s divinity and humanity, not a real or substantive one. This then became Nestorianism: separating the fullness of divinity and humanity in Christ’s person. But it is arguable whether Cyril’s assessment was correct and that Nestorius agreed with the core tenants of Nestorianism. This is, sadly, Nestorius’ lamentable fate: he became the spokesperson for a heresy he did not teach.¹⁷

Nevertheless, extreme Nestorianism — separating Christ’s divinity and humanity — is heretical. It dissolves the perfect union between God and human in Jesus that is necessary for our salvation.¹⁸ Sin divorced us from God, but the incarnation reconnected God and us in “the most dramatic way imaginable” — God became flesh.¹⁹ So, was the immaterial God physically born of the Virgin Mary? Did God hunger during Jesus’ fast in the desert? Did God die? Yes to all: God was born in Jesus, God hungered in Jesus, and God died in Jesus. This is different from saying God was born (full stop), God hungered (full stop), and God died (full stop) in abstraction from Jesus. Instead, the most intimate and most mysterious union between God and human in Jesus must be preserved and defended.

If our worship does not communicate the intimate union between God and humanity in and through Jesus, then our Christology might be compromised. Salvation is not an escape from earth — it is union with God through Jesus and by the Holy Spirit. God’s nearness is promised to us in trials and tribulations, pain and suffering, and even at death’s door — for God overcame all in Jesus.

Conclusion

“Who do you say that I am?” is a question of a life-time and for every generation. I do not ask this. Your pastors do not ask this. Professors of theology do not ask this. No, it is Jesus who asks us time and time again. One answer might work for one season, but every new season demands its own answer. Thankfully, the Christian faith has a rich tradition, one with many mistakes and struggles we can learn from.

Here, we covered three common Christological heresies — Arianism, Docetism/Apollinarianism, and Nestorianism — because to address heresies is to learn how to worship Jesus properly. It is not to flaunt our intellectual prowess, but to build up the Church in love — making sure that what they profess matches how they live.

Our worship must reflect that only God saves humanity through union in Jesus. How can the Church today worship and live in such a way that proclaims such glad tidings? Share your thoughts in the comments below.

For Further Reading

(Primary Sources)

• Richard A. Norris. The Christological Controversy. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1980.
• Edward R. Hardy. Christology of the Later Fathers. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1954.
• Cyril A. Richardson. Early Christian Fathers. New York: Touchstone, 1996.
• The Ante-Nicene Fathers, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers series 1 and 2. (ANF, NPNF) available as public domain: https://www.ccel.org/fathers.html

(Secondary Sources)

• Ben Quash and Michael Ward. Heresies and How to Avoid Them. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007.
• J.N.D. Kelly. Early Christian Doctrines. Revised Edition. New York: HaperOne, 1978.
• Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen. Christology: A Global Introduction. 2nd Edition. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2016.
• William C. Placher. Jesus the Savior. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001.
• Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Christ the Center. New York: Harper & Row, 1978.

(Advanced Reading)

• Richard Bauckham. Jesus and the God of Israel. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008.
• Oliver D. Crisp. Divinity and Humanity: The Incarnation Reconsidered. Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2007.
• Oliver D. Crisp. The Word Enfleshed. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2016.
• Kathryn Tanner. Christ the Key. Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2010.

About The Author

Sooho Lee is currently working on his Master of Divinity at Fuller Theological Seminary. He plans and hopes to pursue a PhD in Systematic Theology, more specifically Christology. Lee is also the curator for www.sooholee.com.

Footnotes

¹ I’m torn: On the one hand, I dislike using “man” or “mankind” as placeholder for humanity; on the other, Jesus was a man. So, for the sake of poetics and brevity (two vs three syllables), I will adopt “God-Man.”
² Indeed, this is the burden of Richard Bauckham’s ground-breaking work on early, high Christology in his Jesus and the God of Israel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008).
³ The fine details and complications will be smoothed out for an easier read. For more detailed takes, see “For Further Reads”.
⁴ I have translated ousia, commonly translated “substance,” to a more vernacular “stuff.” It is arguable whether ousia had as much weight as we or even Chalcedon put on when it was first used. Translating ousia as “stuff” also gives us a better picture why Arians wanted to defend divinity from filthy, vile “stuff” of the material world.
⁵ Athanasius paraphrased him in his “Depositions of Arius,” NPNF, 2nd series, vol. 4, p. 70.
⁶ “Father” and “Son” language are the tradition titles for the First and Second persons of the Trinity, respectively. For an introduction to gendered language, see our article, “Why is God ‘He’? Views on Gender and God.”
⁷ Michael B. Thompson, “Arianism,” Heresies and How to Avoid Them (Grand Rapids: Baker Academics, 2007), 15-19; Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Christology: A Global Introduction, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academics, 2016), 51-52.
⁸ William C. Placher, Jesus the Savior (Louisville: WJPK, 2001), 32-33.
⁹ Salvation and atonement are closely related but not always the same thing. For four popular atonement models, see our article, “How Did Jesus Really Save Us? Exploring the Top Theories of Atonement.”
¹⁰ Another related but not the same heresy is Eutychianism. In brief, Eutychianism believes that the divinity and humanity in Jesus mixed into a third thing. It was later condemned at the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD) on account of violating the purity of divinity and introducing a foreign and unrelatable thing in Jesus.
¹¹ For Apollinaris, and his contemporaries, “mind” and “soul” are different things. They do not carry the same baggage as today, where “mind” is much more comprehensive than mere intellect — as neurobiology can attest. To see modern views on the body-soul, see our article on “Solving the Body-Soul Problem”.
¹² I owe this analogy to Oliver D. Crisp in his Divinity and Humanity (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2007).
¹³ John Sweet, “Docetism,” Heresies and How to Avoid Them, 24-28.
¹⁴ Kärkkäinen, Christology, 45-46, 56.
¹⁵  Gregory of Nazianzen, NPNF, 2nd series, vol. 7, p. 440.
¹⁶ This raises the complicated problem of Jesus’ fallen or unfallen, sinless or sinful human nature. Generally, orthodoxy has affirmed that Jesus’ humanity is sinless, but the question of un/fallenness is more ambiguous. It will not be explored here.
¹⁷ Kärkkäinen, Christology, 59-60. Some scholars take a different viewpoint such as A.N. Williams. He does not suggest that Nestorius was possibly misunderstood. He thinks Nestorius taught Nestorianism. A.N. Williams, “Nestorianism,” Heresies and How to Avoid Them, 32-39.
¹⁸ Williams, “Nestorianism,” 38-39.
¹⁹ Placher, Jesus the Savior, 46-47.

Summary:

• Some early theologians, like Origen, saw the rapture as a purely spiritual event
• Rufinus viewed biblical references to a rapture as a statement about the nature of the afterlife
• Other early theologians, like Augustine and Chrysostom, did associate a physical rapture event with the Final Judgement
• Many modern depictions of the rapture in pop culture come from a theology developed by John Darby in the 19th century

What do we Mean by “Rapture”?

The Final Judgement has become a staple of Christianity’s interaction with pop culture. Whether through cinematic depictions of apocalyptic natural disasters, or literary references to the Four Horsemen, many today, whether Christian or not, have developed some sort of idea about what the last days will look like.

Chief among those ideas is some working understanding of a rapture of believers, where Christians around the world will be taken up into heaven prior to the unleashing of the cataclysmic events that most associate with the end times. Images of empty piles of clothes and cars whose drivers had suddenly disappeared have been a part of the popular understanding of the rapture for decades, and many do not question whether such an event plays out like this. But how did we get here? Where did these popular understandings of the rapture come from, and how do they compare to what the church historically taught regarding the rapture and Final Judgement?

Let’s begin by examining the origin of the term, “rapture,” itself. Like much of our modern vocabulary, the English word is derived from a Latin word used in the Latin translation of the Bible, called the Vulgate. The word in question is mentioned in 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17:

16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. (NIV)

The Latin word, rapio, is used in verse 17 when Paul says “will be caught up”, and it is from this association with being “caught up” or “carried off” that we get the word, rapture. Long before this word was ubiquitous in modern culture, however, the early church fathers wrestled with the concept of the rapture (if they didn’t necessarily call it by that word) by examining the above-mentioned verse and other scriptures relating to the end times.

A Spiritual Rapture

Origen, a 3rd century theologian and “Church Father”, looked at 1 Thessalonians 4:17 in a largely spiritual way, defining the dead and the living not based on any sort of physical condition, but on their relationship to Christ. “Those who have been perfected,” he claimed, “are alive in Christ,” while the dead in Christ were those who were still inclined to become overpowered by their human nature, and so, in his view, had not completed their union with Christ. From this perspective, Origen sees Paul’s idea of being “caught up” as a sort of spiritual resurrection. “Those whom we said to be dead have special need of the resurrection,” says Origen of this passage of Scripture.¹ So, in Origen’s view, the rapture was not so much a physical carrying off, but a spiritual resurrection, needed most by those who are furthest from Christ.

Rufinus of Aquileia, a 4th century theologian, similarly attributed a spiritual significance to the idea of the rapture, although he was more apt to see it as a physical event as well. “And do not marvel that the flesh of the saints is to be changed,” wrote Rufinus, “into such a glorious condition at the resurrection as to be caught up to meet God, suspended in the clouds and borne in the air” (emphasis added).² Rufus and Origen both saw a spiritual significance to the rapture, describing it as the final step in complete union with Christ. Rufinus, however, sees this event as being a part of the final physical resurrection, where the physical bodies of believers are exchanged for a more heavenly form. In this context, though, Rufus is not speaking of the Last Judgement necessarily, but about the final fate of Christian souls. To Rufinus, this physical carrying off is not inherently tied to the Great Tribulation mentioned in Revelation, but simply represents what ultimately awaits believers in Heaven. He does not state that this carrying off will be a single event that affects all believers worldwide. Instead, the rapture to Rufus is more like a statement about the nature of the afterlife, one where physical forms are replaced by heavenly bodies and believers commune with Christ for eternity.

These two theologians, Rufinus and Origen, primarily focused on the nature of the rapture’s significance. In other words, they were concerned largely with what it would mean for believers once the rapture, as they understood it, had reached its end. Contrast that approach with the likes of John Chrysostom, who was instead far more interested in the nature of the rapture’s occurrence.

A Physical Rapture

“If He is about to descend, on what account shall we be caught up?” Chrysostom muses. “For the sake of honor. For when a king drives into a city, those who are in honor go out to meet him; but the condemned await the judge within…as He descends, we go forth to meet Him…”³

Chrysostom, a 4th century church father famed for his eloquent public speaking, answers his own question by employing an analogy about a king entering a city, and how his subjects come out to meet him before he arrives at the gates, preparing a way for his triumphant entry. This imagery conjures up more modern ideas of the rapture as seen in pop culture. Chrysostom associates being caught up (note his use of the term, like Origen and Rufinus) with the final judgement, as Christ is envisioned as a king returning to his city to judge the righteous (those “who are in honor”) and the condemned. In his telling of events, the rapture occurs before the coming of Christ, as in his analogy the citizens ride out to meet the king before he enters the city, and those who are not “in honor” remain in the city until the king comes to judge them. This certainly seems to imply that a real event, where believers are carried off from this world before Christ returns, is going to occur, according to Chrysostom. Augustine similarly implied that such a thing would happen, stating that a “resurrection shall take place in the twinkling of an eye,”⁴ bringing to mind the instantaneous disappearance of believers around the world that is often seen in cinematic depictions of the rapture.

John Darby and the Modern Rapture

Though Chrysostom and Augustine laid a rough framework that vaguely resembles modern ideas of the rapture, the credit for fleshing those ideas out and establishing a firm understanding of the rapture as a global event that precedes the Second Coming of Christ goes to John Darby. In the 19th Century, Darby championed a novel way (for the time) of reading Scripture, which was strictly literal, and focused much of his attention on the end times prophecies in the book of Revelation. It was through this interpretive perspective that Darby concretely separated the rapture and the Second Coming as two distinct events, largely based on the reading of Revelation 20:1-6

1 Then I saw an angel descending from heaven, holding in his hand the key to the abyss and a huge chain. 2 He seized the dragon—the ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan—and tied him up for a thousand years. 3 The angel then threw him into the abyss and locked and sealed it so that he could not deceive the nations until the one thousand years were finished. (After these things he must be released for a brief period of time.)

4 Then I saw thrones and seated on them were those who had been given authority to judge. I also saw the souls of those who had been beheaded because of the testimony about Jesus and because of the word of God. These had not worshiped the beast or his image and had refused to receive his mark on their forehead or hand. They came to life and reigned with Christ for a thousand years. 5 (The rest of the dead did not come to life until the thousand years were finished.) This is the first resurrection. 6 Blessed and holy is the one who takes part in the first resurrection. The second death has no power over them, but they will be priests of God and of Christ, and they will reign with him for a thousand years.

Darby saw the thousand-year reign mentioned in Revelation 20 as a literal 1,000 years, and as a distinct era of history which was to be marked at its beginning by the Second Coming. That Second Coming, however, was to be preceded by a rapture, where Christ would assemble all Christians, living and dead, with Him in heaven before returning to begin this millennial reign with them. In between these two events (the rapture and the Second Coming), all the apocalyptic events of Revelation would occur, known as the Great Tribulation.

Darby’s specific view of the rapture and Second Coming garnered the name, dispensational premillennialism, so named for Darby’s desire to divide the world’s history into distinct eras (or dispensations), and for the fact that Christ’s Second Coming would be occurring before His millennial reign (thus, premillennialism).

The Rapture in Pop Culture

This view of the rapture, dispensational premillennialism, has given rise to much of what we see in pop culture with regards to the rapture and accompanying apocalypse, due to its wealth of content which translates well into books and movies. The Left Behind series, for example (both the books and films), drew upon dispensational premillennialism’s history of literal interpretation to create a story built around the premise of the literal fulfillment of all of Revelation’s prophecies, including a global rapture event that preceded the Second Coming of Christ.

The rapture is not exclusive to premillennialist views, however, as the term, premillennial, largely denotes the timeframe of Christ’s return, not necessarily the nature of any sort of rapture event. Postmillennialism, for example, claims that Christ will return after a thousand-year period of blessedness and prosperity on earth. Amillennialism, on the other hand, views the thousand years mentioned in Revelation 20 as largely symbolic, or as a metaphor, where Christ’s reign is over a spiritual kingdom on earth, rather than a literal one.

A version of the rapture could conceivably fit into any millennial framework. Origen and Rufinus’ claim that the carrying off mentioned by Paul in 2 Thessalonians is largely a spiritual experience pairs well with the spiritual approach to scripture offered by amillennialism. Postmillennialism claims that Christ’s coming is accompanied by his judgement on the wicked (as opposed to dispensational premillennialism, which separates the two events), which seems to be what Chrysostom is implying in his understanding of the rapture, and so the two are compatible.

The version of the rapture we see in premillennialism and espoused by John Darby (which also is compatible with what Chrysostom claims) is by far the most recognized in pop culture of the three, although in terms of its acceptance within the church, there is a relatively even split amongst the millennial views. Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches for the most part reject the idea of a pre-tribulation rapture event (dispensational premillennialism view), and opt to interpret the rapture instead as Rufus and Origen did.

Denominations more apt to interpret the scriptures through a literal lens, in the way that John Darby did, are more likely to accept the idea of a global rapture event preceding Christ’s Second Coming. Thus is this view found in Protestant churches more than anywhere else. The Pentecostal denomination accepts this version of the rapture as truth, and many Southern Baptist laypeople hold this view as well, though the denomination does not officially claim it as a central tenant. Protestant denominations such as Presbyterians, Methodists, and Anglicans, to name a few, reject Darby’s view and instead hold to Origen and Rufinus’ view.

So, whether a church views the rapture as a spiritual event, or a physical one, and no matter the timeline, there is precedent in church history for such belief. While the idea that Darby championed of a global event that marks the beginning of the Great Tribulation is by far the most familiar view among those outside of the church, it is by no means the only option for Christians to adhere to regarding the rapture and Second Coming. Church fathers throughout history have examined the particular scriptures that deal with the rapio, the carrying off, and their conclusions offer up a host of ideas that any Christian would be in good company to hold.

What view have you heard about most often? Let us know in the comments.

About the Author

Will Libby holds an undergraduate degree in Philosophy of Religion from Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee, and currently works as the Director of Youth Ministries at a church in Norfolk, Virginia. He is a musician and poet, and is passionate about the relationship between theology and the arts, a subject he hopes one to study as a part of his Master’s degree pursuit.

Footnotes

¹ From Commentary on the Gospel According to John, Book 20
² From Commentary on the Apostles’ Creed, 46
³ From Homily on 1 Thessalonians, VIII
⁴ From City of God, 20.20

SUMMARY

The question of vocation–what it is, and how we should pursue it–crops up all the time in the Christian life. Though countless theologians have studied it, there are four whose perspectives are particularly helpful: Martin Luther, Karl Barth, Simone Weil, and Andrew Davison. These four thinkers, presented in chronological order, can help us order our thoughts about the topic, and bring us closer to understanding our callings as Christ-followers.

INTRODUCTION

I can still remember where I was when I first read Thomas Merton. Sitting on the floor of my freshman dorm with his essay “Things in Their Identity” in front of me, I was shaken to my core. For most, the first year of college feels like the precipice of life itself, feeding unanswerable questions about career and vocation to students who hardly know where to begin. One month into my freshman year at Wheaton College saw me already losing sleep over my major, next summer’s internship, and future career plans.

But Merton quieted all of these questions with paragraphs that fell on me like epiphanies. These sentences hit home: “No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection. On the contrary, the perfection of each created thing is… in its own individual identity with itself.” Discovering oneself in discovering the divine, removing our human-made masks of sin and contradiction, working with God to create true identity–these were concepts that I was eager to wrestle with. This thing that Merton called vocation–working together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity–was something I desperately wanted.

The term vocation has a fascinating history. Though centuries of conversation have shaped and reformed its definition,  the word originates from the Latin vocare, which means “to call, name, or invoke.” It also has roots in the Vulgate translation of Paul’s term klese, which is Greek for “call.” This is the same word that ekklessia, translated in English as “church”, comes from. In fact, for a few centuries, the term vocation was used exclusively to talk about a Christian’s calling to vocational ministry, leadership, or celibacy within the Church¹. The definition has since been broadened by many to include the entire body of Christ, whatever their careers may be. But even in its modern sense, the concept of vocation is connected to ekklessia. The church is a community made up of called individuals, united by their common pursuit of those callings.

With that in mind, the question of whether Christians are called is hard to argue. The vocation conversation has very little to do with whether vocation exists, but rather with questions like: Is there one particular career that God wants me to pursue? Have I chosen the wrong job and ignored God’s calling? What is vocation, and how do I find out what mine is? This string of questions can isolate us and keep us quiet if we let it. But in reality, wrestling with this topic is common and innately human. It is in our imago Dei nature to wonder how we can best bear God’s image in life and career. The following four thinkers have been especially helpful in bringing the topic out of the shadows, and presenting vocation as an issue that every human should think about.

MARTIN LUTHER, 1483-1546

“Faith active in love through one’s callings”: this was a catchphrase born out of the Protestant Reformation². One of the goals of the Protestant Reformation movement was to broaden the definition of vocation to include all callings. At the time, the Catholic Church taught that only monastic and ecclesial positions were vocational. Martin Luther’s doctrine of vocation arose out of a strong conviction that this teaching had no Biblical foundation.

In Luther’s opinion, there was potential for holiness in every activity from shoemaker to secluded monk. This radical, Kingdom-oriented vision of career not only challenged the Catholic Church to rethink their doctrine, but also revitalized a worldview that had been stifled by the Catholic definition of vocation. In setting monasticism and papacy apart as the only God-given callings, the Church had built dividing walls between secularism and religion. The Medieval Catholic way of thinking about vocation had caused an acute separation of church and state. To Luther, the dichotomy seemed unbiblical and less than God’s plan for all aspects of creation–especially humans, who are made in His very image–to glorify and reflect their Creator. He sought to restore dignity to the mundane and everyday jobs that the church had disregarded as non vocational.

The Reformers’ doctrine of vocation acknowledges that God is present in all of creation, and celebrates the active component of faith that is lived out ”in love through one’s callings.”² There is a challenge at the heart of this definition. To everyone feeling uncalled or misplaced, Luther writes,

“Picture before you the humblest state… See, as no one is without some commission and calling, so no one is without some kind of work… Serve God and keep His commandments; then… all time will be too short, all places too cramped, all resources of help too weak.”²

In this inclusive imagination of the world, in which no one is without a calling, dignity is given back to both the work and the workers of mundane and menial jobs. More importantly, authority is given back to God. He speaks through everyone, not just the select religious leaders and thinkers. Each job, according to Luther, is an outlet for the voice of God to speak.

This shifts the responsibility of representation off of the worker and onto the divine. Luther’s definition of vocation asks Christians to stop seeing career as a place for self-expression, and instead see it as a platform for God to be represented and made known. In this Heavenly perspective, there is relief for Christians from the expectations put on them by the modern, secular view of calling. The call to act as God’s envoy should edge out the worldly pressure to land a job that braids together one’s talents and passions perfectly. Luther’s point was simple, but demanded action: every job is vocational, and so deserves to be done faithfully.

KARL BARTH, 1886-1968

Of course, Luther’s view had its fair share of challengers. One of the most prominent critics, Karl Barth, actually belonged to the Swiss Reformed tradition. Barth lived and wrote more than 400 years after the Reformation took place, so his definition of vocation arose out of a very different cultural and political climate than Luther’s.

He argued that the Reformed church had committed a serious crime in letting work be synonymous with vocation. Barth scholar Douglas J. Schuurman writes, “Calling work–and any other mundane moral sphere–a vocation superimposes upon it a ‘superfluous’ and perhaps dangerous spiritual decoration.” Barth saw calling as more related to the doctrine of election (i.e. God calling some but not others) and the general directive found in the New Testament to take up one’s cross and follow Christ. It was the divine and special calling to Christianity that Barth termed “vocation”; any other use of the word seemed too liberal.

His definition is founded in the word’s original Greek root, which ties vocation to the Church and the Christian religion. Instead of vocation making all mundane things matter, Barth saw vocation as a reality that made the mundane not matter. The calling of a Christian is to be a Christian–no careers or qualifiers attached. Jobs should neither matter to that vocation nor interfere with it.

In his eyes, the holiness with which Luther coated every kind of work was unbiblical and non vocational. He couldn’t see the connection between mundane labor and divine direction. Actually, he describes the divine as slashing diagonally across the spheres of human life, cancelling out the significance that Luther had assigned them: “Thus the New Testament klesis has nothing to do with the divine confirmation of these spheres as such, nor with the direction to enter such a sphere, or more particularly to enter a special sphere of work.” Barth was generally unconcerned with the what as well as the how that Luther hones in on. In his own definition, he keeps the scope of vocation focused on the Church, the called and cross-bearing body of believers.

Using 1 Peter 2:9 as grounds for his argument, he says that the identity a Christian gains in baptism is the central part of his or her vocation. In baptism, believers announce and accept their place in “a chosen race and God’s own people,” whose job it is to “proclaim the mighty acts of Him who called you out of darkness and into His marvellous light.” Baptism is the definitive beginning of a Christ-follower’s vocation, and should be the theme of everything they say and do. From then on, we have the responsibility to function as a part of the body of Christ. Barth rejects Luther’s urge to go around hunting for the divine within all different kinds of callings. His definition of vocation asks us to flip Luther’s and instead, begin to see our calling as within the divine. God has selected and singled us out for Himself. Barth reminds us to live into that chosenness.

SIMONE WEIL, 1909-1943

Also writing in the 20th century, Simone Weil was a French philosopher and mystic whose reflections on God, religion, the human, and the world were ahead of her time. In fact, her writing did not gain popularity until about ten years after she died. The majority of Weil’s convictions about vocation arose from the strong and specific calling she felt on her own life to write.

In her definition of vocation, the what (the specific career or job that one works) carries weight, and matters much for any person seeking to serve God well. Weil writes, “The carrying out of a vocation differed from the actions dictated by reason or inclination. … The most beautiful life possible has always seemed to me to be one where everything is determined, either by the pressure of circumstances or by impulses such as I have just mentioned, and where there is never any room for choice.”³ In Weil’s vision of vocation, obedience and attentiveness are the human’s primary responsibilities. If they are listening well enough, long enough, God will reveal a specific calling to each of His people.

She found her calling in words and ideas, but believed that even physical labor was not menial and had the potential to be vocational. God invented and assigned both kinds of work to Adam and Eve, asking them to use their intellect for naming creatures and their hands for tending the garden. In Eden, both of these vocations were sacred. She saw work as a sacrament. Like Luther, Weil believed that every job was dignified, holy, and inhabitable by God. One’s calling—whether it be manual labor or some intellectual pursuit—has the potential to function like a sacrament: a visible sign of an invisible reality. Her vision of work was not some mundane and secular activity, but rather a sacred and God-filled practice. In whatever a person’s specific calling is, there are opportunities to treat it with Edenic sacredness and notice the hand of God moving through His people’s obedience.

Vocation is endlessly, eternally important to mystics, and Weil was no exception. Weil once wrote, “[Our dignity] consists in this, that in the state of perfection, which is the vocation of each one of us, we no longer live in ourselves, but Christ lives in us.”³ She saw calling as a riddling, life-long process of finding God in order to find herself. When she searched for Him and obeyed His call on her life to write, she found herself. In turn, writing helped her to better seek and find Him. This double-search of God and self is what Weil calls vocation. She reminds readers that the Christian faith is not passive, and challenges them to be active in pursuing the double-search. Vocation, for Weil, requires proactiveness and persistence. Sitting back in the knowledge that we are saved does not bring us any closer to discovering the unique purpose God wants us to accomplish on earth. Each of us must stay attentive and obedient to God’s specific, unique calling on our lives.

ANDREW DAVISON, Present

Rev. Dr. Andrew Davison thinks much more ideologically about the topic. For him, vocation is about “finding what it is that would make sense of us.”⁴ Davison currently teaches at the University of Cambridge, but before his career there, he spent several years serving as the junior chaplain at his alma mater, Merton College. It was there that he wrote “Christian Vocation in General”, his crash course on the topic. In his paper, he paints a picture of vocation that has little to do with the specific way someone earns a living. His way of thinking Christianly about it is to focus on the ways it influences personhood and identity. That kind of focus makes vocation’s crux the issue of who we are made to be, rather than what we are made to do for a career.

Simply, his definition starts with a human being’s acknowledgment of their own “creatureness.” Before understanding anything else, we must understand that we’re created beings. Genesis tells us that God breathed into the dust of the earth and brought us from nothing into something. So we are creatures who were brought into being by a greater, all-knowing, and unmade Creator. Humility and gratitude should flow from that realization; in the words of Davison, “Our first vocation is to be grateful. A large part of the religious impulse, and of our religious duty, is to be thankful to God. We are thankful for a gift that we could not possibly repay.”⁴ (Read more about theories of atonement and how to view the gift of salvation here.) Before vocation can mean anything else, it must be made a synonym for gratitude and humility.

There are two different callings in Davison’s essay that, together, point Christians toward their prospective vocations: creation’s calling and redemption’s calling. The call of creation prompts each person to first look inward at the image of God inside of them, and then to look outward at the world where God wants them to leave their unique mark. Through creation, God called us out of nothing and into something, and vocation is discovering what that something is. Davison says it beautifully: “Vocation is a discernment of charism [or talent]. We explore what it means for God to have given us the gift of the nature that we have. From that, we wonder how we could make that into a gift for our fellow human beings, for the church and for the world at large.”⁴ The call of creation is to wonder–the kind of wonder that marvels at God’s goodness in giving each of His creatures unique talents, as well as the kind that is curious about how His creatures should respond, revel in, and give back those gifts.

Redemption’s calling is the other half of Davison’s definition. Like Barth, he uses 1 Peter 2:9 as his jumping-off point. Once Christians embrace the redemption that Jesus offered on the cross, publically committing to life with Him through baptism, a new calling on their life emerges. The apostle Peter says this calling is to “declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” In the redeemed and reclaimed identity that the cross gives Christians, there are directions for how they should act; who and how they should become. Davison deemphasizes what humans do in order to reemphasize the way they should do it, echoing Paul’s words in Colossians 3:23: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart.”

Of course, the calls of creation and redemption need to be fleshed out at work, in relationships, and in the church. Vocation can take a lot of different shapes and forms depending on someone’s personality, age, and position. There are endless possibilities for how a human might accept, live into, and work out the two calls of vocation named by Davison. But discovering the what component is relatively unimportant. Like Luther, he challenges Christians to see opportunities for vocational living in every sphere of life. Davison writes, “Whatever our work may be, it should allow us to communicate God’s goodness to others, just as God communicated his goodness to the world in creation.”⁴ In other words, we fulfill our vocation when we stop obsessing over what to do, and instead focus our energy on how to do it: with excellence, gratitude, humility, and wonder.

CONCLUSION

Often, it seems like discontentment is the easiest reaction to the question of vocation–feeling like no job is a perfect fit, and interpreting those feelings to mean that vocation is either non-existent or unattainable. Though all four scholars have different approaches to defining the concept of vocation, none of them would argue that it is selective or unreachable in nature. Vocation is accessible, a call from God on every person’s life that is waiting to be lived out, no matter a person’s status or class.

Theologians debate several aspects of the topic, but the important point agreed upon by all four scholars above is that every Christian has been called; whether it is toward a specific career path, toward greater devotion to the Christian life of ministry and discipleship, or toward Luther’s vision of a general kind of acting and living in all activity, the response must be obedience. These questions of vocation are relevant to ask and answer as individuals made in God’s image. But it is perhaps even more important that the Church obey its corporate calling: regardless of what we are called to individually, we must work together to be the hands and feet and heart and mind of Christ. In Christian Vocation in General, Davison writes something that I doubt any of his fellow vocation scholars would argue with: “Our calling is nothing less than to play our part in the drama of the Church, our part in its life and purpose.”

Which view of these have you not heard before? What struck you or confused you? Share below in the comments!

Recommended Related Articles

• How Did Jesus Really Save Us? Exploring the Top Theories of Atonement
• Solving the Body-Soul Problem
• How Does the Christian Faith Relate to Our Race and Identity? James Cone and His Critics

Footnotes:
¹ Bennett, Gaymon. Technicians of Human Dignity: Bodies, Souls, and the Making of Intrinsic Worth.
² Schuurman, Douglas J. “Protestant Vocation Under Assault: Can It Be Salvaged?”
³ Dunaway, John Marson. “Toward a Weilian Philosophy of Vocation.”
⁴ Davison, Andrew. “Christian Vocation in General.”

About the Author: Delaney Young lives in Chicago. She is studying English writing at Wheaton College with a focus on creative storytelling.

How should we use gender to talk about God?

Summary:

• Three main approaches to using gender to talk about God: progressive/feminist, gender neutral, traditional masculine approach.

• Progressive/feminist argues that we need to expand our vocabulary beyond the Bible’s male-centered language of God the Father and God our Lord.

• Gender-neutral argues that we do away with pronouns that are gender-specific, and use inclusive language for God.

• Traditional view defends the idea of Scripture having the last word. If Scripture primarily says God is Father and Lord, then we should not challenge that.

The movie adaptation of William P. Young’s The Shack hit theaters in March 2016, and created quite a bit of controversy. But even before the silver screen found it, Young’s book had readers talking. Though the story is fiction, it confronts heavy, real-life things: a father whose daughter is murdered and whose faith is fading because of it.

However jarring that storyline is, it’s actually not the plot development that inspires all the heated conversations. It is Young’s depiction of God. At the story’s climax, the father meets the Trinity in a shack where his daughter died, and has a conversation with each of them. Jesus is a young Middle-eastern Jewish man; the Holy Spirit, a slender and soft-spoken Asian woman. And God the Father? She is a black woman.

Young’s portrayal of God draws from his personal spiritual encounters. He told one interviewer that during a difficult season in his marriage and career, the worship leader at his church (a black woman) visited his house to say, “I don’t care what the rest of them do, I’m committed to you and [your wife], and I’m going to be your friends through this.” (Washington Post) Her kindness and friendship became Young’s inspiration for the God of The Shack.

While many Christians would say they have seen God revealed in a friend, child, or spouse, it is an entirely different matter to portray the fullness of God as that person. But Young wanted a God to inhabit The Shack that was personal and close, nurturing and gentle. He wanted his characters to encounter the feminine and gentle aspects of God, and see God as Mother.

This position does not sit well with many. Most people are used to a God with male characteristics. And although we believe in a God who is infinite and outside of human limitations like time and space, this kind of God is really difficult to articulate. God is not human as we are; God is God; thereby meaning God does not have a gender of male or female. It is nearly impossible for language, which constantly requires us to qualify and categorize, to be comprehensive enough to fully describe God’s character. So, we often fall back on metaphors and analogies; throughout history, the majority of those have been masculine (e.g. Father, Lord, Protector, and Fortress) The way we talk and the words we use were originally created by humans who were as finite, flawed, and imperfect as we are. So when using these words to describe the Creator and catalyst of life itself, they just don’t cut it; we are literally at a loss for words. But this is the Bible’s task – to use mere words to explain a vast, indescribable God. But pronouns like he, she, and it are part of the problem.

Because of the shortfalls of language, there is an ongoing tension between the uncreated, transcendent character that we attribute to God and the words we use to make sense of Him (case in point).

The majority of the Bible refers to God as “He” and “Him”, assigning Him attributes like strength and power and authority that have been historically associated with masculinity. Especially for females, it can be alienating to worship a God that is almost always Father and King, and hardly ever Mother or Queen. A masculine God, described by an entirely male authorship, makes many Christian thinkers skeptical for good reason. Both male and female theologians have been asking for centuries, “Is it problematic that the Church and the Bible refer to God as ‘He’?”

Although the majority of the Bible refers to God in masculine terms, there are some verses that talk about God as a mother. Here’s a few examples:

• “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.” (Isaiah 66:13)
• “Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, I who took them up in my arms; but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.
• (Hosea 11:3-4)“You were unmindful of the Rock that bore you; you forgot the God who gave you birth.” (Deuteronomy 32:18)

We’ll summarize three approaches Christians have taken in the past to decide how to use gender to talk about God:

1. Thinkers like Julian of Norwich and Mary Daly use their writing to resist the male-centered language of the Bible and the masculinity that’s traditionally assigned to God.
2. Other theologians take a gender-neutral approach, seeking to replace gender-specific pronouns and names with words that highlight God’s character rather than sex.
3. Still, the majority of churches and Christian thinkers today defend the traditional Biblical portrayal of God as the Father.

A look at these three approaches to talking about God only scratches the surface: this question has been asked for centuries, and answered in lots of different ways.

APPROACH 1: CRITIQUING THE BIBLE’S TRADITIONAL MAN-CENTERED LANGUAGE

Julian of Norwich

14th century Christian mystic Julian of Norwich spent much of her writing doing just that. She was an English anchoress, a kind of hermit who withdraws from secular society in order to live an ascetic life devoted to prayer and Scripture reading. At the end of her life, she wrote Revelations of Divine Love, which is considered to be the first book in the English language written by a woman. The title is self-revealing – her book is a series of messages and visions that God sent her about His love, goodness, and character. Her style of writing makes readers feel included, allowing them to be a part of these revelations of divine love from God. Interestingly, there is not a lot of content in Revelations of Divine Love that was born in Julian’s intellect. Rather, she acts as a translator – relaying what God told her instead of expressing her own ideas or philosophies. So it is striking when she says, “Just as God is our Father, so God is also our Mother.” It is not presented as if she has thought this up herself, but as if God revealed that to her directly.

On top of that, her construction of the Trinity includes Father, Mother, and Holy Ghost, and at many different points in the book, she calls Jesus “our precious Mother.” Though she is not the first to explore the femininity of God, Julian’s writings on the topic have earned respect and recognition in Christian circles for their eloquent, poignant character. Her logic here is based in the Five Holy Wounds (the nail piercings in both feet and both hands as well as the side wound that the Bible says the Roman guards inflicted to make sure He was dead). Scholars in the Middle Ages argued that the fifth wound, which pierced Jesus’s side, reached Christ’s heart and gaped open like a womb. This tradition of Christian thought is meant to emphasize the rebirth that the cross allowed for believers; for Julian, this distinctly motherly element of Jesus’s suffering was consequential. On the cross, it was Jesus our precious Mother who labored in our place, bore our sins, and gave us new life.

Though this kind of theology might seem shockingly progressive, God as feminine was a fairly well-received concept in the Middle Ages: there are traces of it in both art and literature of the time. (source: Bledsoe, Jenny. “Feminine Images of Jesus: Later Medieval Christology and the Devaluation of the Feminine.” pg. 40)

Julian probably did not reject the Bible’s masculine portrayal of God; she never wrote anything that was forcefully feminist. But she did believe in a broader, more comprehensive envisioning of God, who is not only Father but who is also Mother. The God she revered and wrote about was transcendent, holy, and not subject to the limitations of gender. Male and female were both created in His image, which means that both masculine and feminine qualities can be reflections of God’s character.

Readers of Revelations of Divine Love do not discover just a feminine vision of God, though. Julian of Norwich specifically emphasizes the characteristics of God that are motherly. She is not saying God is intrinsically female (for that would only swing the pendulum of gender-exclusive God talk toward a different bias), but that God’s character is nurturing and tender in the particular ways that mothers often exhibit. After all, God was the One who did the programming “to His own image” (Genesis 1:27), and so has the propensity to exhibit those traits that originated in Him.

It’s admittedly tricky to talk about God as Mother, then use language like “His” and “Him” to flesh out the idea. Julian recognizes this tension and doesn’t avoid it, using both feminine and masculine pronouns to convey the content of Revelations of Divine Love. She is less interested in uniformity of language, and much more passionate about the broadening of Christian thought to see God in the entirety of who He/She is – which is, of course, beyond our comprehension, but still worth our pursuit.

Mary Daly

Mary Daly’s work was based in the same desire that Julian of Norwich had to move beyond the traditional masculine Godtalk (Godtalk is a phrase Daly uses, and it implies conversations about God’s nature specifically, as opposed to “talk of God”, which is just generally describing any mention of God.). With the publication of her second book, Beyond God the Father, Daly earned a reputation for spearheading the Christian feminist movement of the mid-20th century. While she taught at Boston College, she was known for her attempts to keep male students out of her feminist theology classes.

In Beyond God the Father, Daly famously writes, “If God is male, then male is God.” This is what she means: if the Being that we worship is assigned a sex, then that sex becomes elevated, an object of worship, something almost holy and Godlike itself. Daly calls for a transformation of the collective imagination, a completely new way of seeing and imagining and thinking about God–something that she says seldom happens in cultural and religious movements.

Overall, Daly aims to criticize and correct the male-centered language of the Bible and the traditional, male-dominated notions of God that have proceeded from it. Western culture attributes traits like strength, power, justice, and wisdom to males, and gentleness, mercy, forgiveness, and love to females. Without getting into the reasons why that often mutually exclusive dichotomy of thought is problematic on its own, we must admit that it complicates our perception of God. Daly argues that as long as we both consciously and subconsciously think of God as masculine, we will see Him as more strong than gentle; more just than merciful; and more powerful than forgiving. This is what Daly sought to drive home in her earlier writings. After the publication of Beyond God the Father, her focus changed. She began to replace the word God with phrases like “The Unfolding Verb” and “The Be-ing.” This version of God had it’s own feminist agenda. She wrote about this Verb being the embodiment of female empowerment, transcending creation as a dynamic energy that is not over and above but rather in advance. The Be-ing was always evoking a new history, and more specifically, a feminist history.

Some argue that at the end of her life, Daly’s work was backed by an agenda that had very little to do with God’s character. Many Christian thinkers and critics of Daly see this as the inevitable byproduct of ascribing to feminist theology–in the pursuit of God’s femininity, reverence for women always overshadows reverence for God. Her critics spoke about the extremeness that colored her search for the femininity of God. Though her later work focused more on feminism than God or Christianity, her early writing provides support and solidarity for women in the Church who feel estranged from God our Father.

The scholarship of both Daly and Julian of Norwich serves to expand our view of God, and challenges us to reimagine our Maker as nurturing, gentle, and kind as well as protecting, mighty, and just. At best, all of the gender-specific attributes we give God are metaphors. He is transcendent and outside of the human classifications to which we are subjected. We should use human characteristics and descriptors to broaden our understanding of God, not to put God in a box.

APPROACH 2: THE GENDER-NEUTRAL  APPROACH

In the face of controversy over how to use gender pronouns to talk about God, a small sect of Christians have begun to ask whether we should use them at all. There has been a relatively new trend in Bible translation that replaces gender-specific names with gender-neutral ones. This conversation circles around parts of the Bible that refer to God in the masculine voice, as well as passages that use the word “man” to mean human or person. In reinterpreting passages like Psalm 8:4, which asks, “What is man that thou art mindful of him?” some translators have written, “What are humans that you are mindful of them?” Though it is a small change, it is performed in an effort to be more inclusive. Some denominations are also making these switches in their service books and liturgies.

This part of the Church is lobbying for a transformation of imagination, much like Mary Daly was. Neutering God means avoiding gender-specific terminology. This process of rewriting the Bible’s traditional masculine language is not widely accepted by the Christian community. But it steers clear of controversy in a way that the feminist approach doesn’t: instead of delving into more gender talk, it calls for much less of it. Instead of staking its flag in the details, it asks us to remember God as the Redeemer and Creator and Lover of our souls.

This trend is understandably more popular in an academic religious context than it is in the church body. In a 1991 article entitled “God-Talk: By What Name Do We Call God?”, J. Shannon Clarkson defends the gender-neutral approach to Biblical interpretation in academia: “Advocacy for gender-neutral god-language is necessary for faithfulness to the text, not just for theological or inter-nicene debates. The Religious Studies community is not doing its job if inclusive language is not taken seriously. The uncritical acceptance of sexist language may lead to an inaccurate understanding…” (p. 123.) Clarkson sees language at the heart of faithfulness to God’s Word. This is not just a personal preference, but a mandate to see God on a much larger spectrum than most of us do.

The action item here is the eradication of pronouns from language. Doing away with pronoun usage would be a kind of quick fix for this issue of gender pronouns and their effect on our perception of God. But many see it as  an unreasonable solution, and would force a kind of irritating redundancy on theological writing that has to constantly avoid calling God anything other than “God.” Pronouns are a fact of language. Besides, opting not to use “he” or “she” or to refer to God does not answer the heart of the question that many theologians are asking. The gender-neutral approach is good at peacemaking and putting out fires, but many theologians believe that it doesn’t adequately answer the question.

APPROACH 3: MAINTAINING TRADITIONAL VIEW OF GOD AS MASCULINE

In 1988, David Pawson made a bold statement with the publication of his book, Leadership is Male. It flew off of the shelves, and was an incredibly polarizing piece of literature, with some readership praising its message and some attacking it. In one of the first chapters, he writes, “We are in danger of changing the image of God into a reflection of the sexual confusion of our secular society, a deity who has more in common with Hermaphroditus (the son of Hermes and Aphrodite in Greek mythology, who became joined in one body with the nymph Salmacis) than with Yahweh, the Father of Jesus. The biblical word for this is idolatry.” He critiques both gender inclusive and feminist approaches to understanding the God of the Bible, calling them idolatry and misperception.

Echoing his claims, a female author for Christianity Today named Katelyn Beaty released an article in 2017 that stated: “Undergirding Jesus’ teaching about God as Father is the idea that God has revealed Himself as to be such and that His revelation should be normative for us. God, in other words, calls the theological shots. If He wants to be understood primarily in masculine terms, then that is how we should speak of Him. To do otherwise, is tantamount to idolatry—fashioning God in our image, rather than receiving from Him His self-disclosure as the Father.”

These two quotes set up a good framework of the traditional view of God in the Bible and how it is defended in today’s society. Proponents often argue that if God is primarily referred to as He, Father, and King, humans do not have the wisdom or authority to translate those names as something else. They also take divine revelation very seriously. Because Christians hold that Scripture is full of divine revelation, it follows that the Biblical description and portrayal of God was given to us by God Himself. Beaty says that the feminist approach to understanding God does not allow space for divine revelation. If all attributes and names are just metaphorical, then they are merely humans taking an imaginative swing at discovering God’s nature. She writes, “In such a view, there is no room for revelation, understood as God telling us about Himself; we have only our own colorful, creative yet merely human descriptions of what we purport to be our experiences of the divine.”

There is merit in the way that these theologians value Scripture over public opinion. But critics of this view argue it fails to acknowledge the way in which culture inevitably influences religion. A predominantly patriarchal society existed during the time period in which the Bible was written and circulated, so critics argue Scripture primarily referred to God as masculine because that was the context they would best be able to understand God.

CONCLUSION

Belonging to one of these three camps of belief is not the only option. Often, theologians blend together ideas from some or all of them, forming an opinion based on tradition, Scripture and research. Regardless of whether you can say that one of these approaches perfectly describes your beliefs about the subject, it is important to discuss God’s character and examine the ways in which others have thought about it. Even though we will not always find definitive answers, discussion keeps us in the Scriptures, in prayer, and in line with Church doctrine. It holds us accountable. Exploring whether a masculine imagination of God is a problem challenges us to keep seeking and finding who God is, a process which is at the heart of the Christian life.

What are your thoughts on God and gender? Do you have a different view that isn’t represented here? Let us know in the comments!

About the Author: Delaney Young lives in Chicago. She is studying English writing at Wheaton College with a focus on creative storytelling.

Summary

• How have Christians thought about suicide over the centuries?
• We explore:
  • Personal story
  • A common misinterpretation
  • Biblical foundations for suicide discussions
  • What past theologians have to say on suicide
  • Closing personal remarks

Introduction

I had a time, and a plan. Things had gone as bad as they could, for about as long as they could. Finally, rationally (all too rationally), I had arrived at the conclusion to end my life. There was a coolness to the calculation, not like the occasional seasons of sadness I’d experienced before. This plan was made after years of having my reasons to stay alive chipped away. It was, fortunately, not the last choice I would make.

I write this now, not because I think I can answer the question as to why all people commit suicide. I certainly don’t do it for attention. I don’t know whether there is a “spiritual practice” or “mystical healing” which can free every person from suicidal tendencies.

I write this, because it was the theology and history of the church which helped me begin that journey back to a place of acceptance and peace. This is important, because it seems that this engagement of the church with people considering suicide is missing. Like most people stuck in a place where self-murder becomes a real and viable choice, I knew the emergency hotline numbers. I had gone to therapy sessions, meant to snap me out of a mental state. These lifestyle lessons would be vital for maintaining my mental equilibrium. But therapy and phone numbers were not enough to tackle my real problem. I recall walking out of a therapy session and acidly joking, “Oh good, now I know how to breathe calmly and drink tea while thinking of killing myself.” In the mix of life, work, and the long sadness, I was missing something. I was missing the church.

This writing is for those who have had similar thoughts, and a similar need to get some spiritual engagement on the subject of suicide. The church is, after all, very far from empty on this topic. It is also for Christians who would like to seriously care for those among them who struggle with the wish to end their lives. Together, and by the grace of God, perhaps we can reconnect the church, society, and ordinary people to the theology of the church, which has always preached life, at all times, and in all places.

The Problem

Let us be clear that no tradition or denomination of the Church is an advocate of suicide.[1] And yet, the Church, particularly churches with a strong sense of predestination, do not seem to see how elements of theology can create a case for suicide. The Church always calls for life; and yet our beliefs, when poorly communicated and misunderstood, can very easily be understood as a call to die.

Drawing from my own experiences, from the experiences of theologians such as St. Augustine,  and from the experiences of my friends, the basic tenets of this warped theology, not of life but of death, goes as such:

1. 1. All humanity is fallen. We can understand this as general sort of guilt which is part of being human. But we can also feel this fallenness in a very personal and intimate way. This “guilt” and “fallen-ness” I once described as a feeling both strong and as common as putting on shoes in the morning. Others have described this feeling like walking around while wearing a coat made of lead. It is a personal sense of brokenness which seems as big as the world; this is right, because it is as big as the sufferer’s view of the world. In his seminal work, “Orthodoxy,” G.K. Chesterton has this to say about suicide: “A suicide is a man who cares so little for anything outside him, that he wants to see the last of everything… spiritually, he destroys the universe.” And this is very true: a suicide is drawn into themself by some deep wound. The hurt is so intimate, a suicidal person would nearly destroy the whole universe just to be rid of it; from their spiritual and psychological viewpoint, a suicide does just that.
   2. God’s grace can take away this sin, but fallen human nature immediately adds more sins through new failures and bad habits. This makes the taking away of sin functionally meaningless. There was a very cruel experiment in the 1960’s, involving putting dogs in a room with an electric floor.  Half of the floor would be electrified, the other half not. Dogs that had been conditioned to accept the shock as a thing impossible to avoid would simply lay down on the painful floor, whereas dogs that had not been conditioned into “learned helplessness” would jump to safety. It is dangerously easy for the church to teach about sin and forgiveness in a way that conditions believers into a kind of learned helplessness. We are shocked by our sins, but having begged Christ for months, and likely years, for rescue and relief, we are still left with our sinfulness. The floor is shocking.
      The first response to this logic is, of course, that the grace of God is sufficient to cover our sins. However, when this Grace fails to cause a change in our habits, that Grace becomes functionally meaningless. “Faith without works is dead.” (James 2:14) When sinfulness is combined with habits, addictions, and predispositions, things get even worse. When a drunk turns to alcohol to deal with their own sense of unworthiness, this drunk must now deal with the double problem of their habitual unworthiness, and habitual drunkenness. The two problems feed off of each other. As the famous theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his book “The Cost of Discipleship,” said of this situation, God’s Grace becomes cheap.
   3. A life lived constantly aware of sin and with only meaningless grace is not worth living. This stage in the logic of the suicidal Christian can last for years, in fact for a full lifetime. Sometimes God helps people in such a condition with some sort of saving revelation: a mystical vision, or some bolt of true grace and theology which offers freedom as with St. Augustine.[2] However, these exceptions do not form the rule. For most, this is a period of deterioration, of loss, of the slow grinding down of all evidence that amazing Grace could come to one as wretched as me.
   4. Thus, the only method to freedom from sin, is to kill the sinner, and so the self.

This logic can reflect different ideologies and positions; for example “sin” might be replaced with an idea of “wrongness,” “imperfection,” or “incompleteness.” Overall, the vital component of this logic is a sense that we, as humans, are not enough. There is an ideal of holiness and perfection which we were meant to meet, but have failed to do so. This impurity is passed on through our actions, and is greater than the good which we produce.

The difficulty to counter this rationale, theologically, is that it is in a sense half right. We as fallen humans do live a broken life. To take the example of Anselm of Canterbury and his satisfaction theory of atonement, to turn our eyes away from God for one moment is to be guilty of an infinite failure, which can never be made up by our own actions. As people who turn our eyes away from God on a daily basis, we certainly are right to feel a sense of guilt. To borrow the phrase of Jonathan Edwards, we are “sinners in the hands of an angry God.” For those formed in the Christian tradition, this cocktail of personal guilt and the great holiness of God can be crushing.

Often the answer provided by friends and mentors to this struggle is a push towards action: follow Christ, push forward, exercise, do something (anything) productive. However, a change in our habits or routines is not enough to fix suicidal thoughts based on this deep, intimate kind of hurt. This is because the choice to end life is an extremely intimate choice. This is perhaps especially true when the decision is based on a broken theology. When lay people or even pastors say things like “I was depressed once, and came out of it. You can as well by prayer/Grace/God’s power,” it can do more harm than good. It is right to say that God’s grace can forgive sin; but when said by someone unwilling to meet us in that place of hurt, the words lose all their power. At its worst, this surface care which does not go into the deeper issues of depressions can lead to things like believers with severe mental or physical conditions refusing medication in order to rely only on supernatural, miraculous support (which is a kind of testing of God). It can also lead to church members defining spiritual health by how happy a person is, which is a very faulty and fluctuating scale.

We might think the answer is to take each person on a case-by-case basis, and to try to find out the needs and the path to recovery of each individual. It sounds correct, but anyone who really suffers with depression knows how hollow that can sound. After a celebrity suicide, the news stations broadcast the emergency suicide help hotline number. Admirable as this action can be, the effect is almost inevitably canned. These statements posture toward empathy, as a kind of covering of moral bases, and refuse to actually engage the problem.

We must engage suicide. But we must engage carefully. The Church throughout time has left some help on how to do just that, starting with the Bible.

Biblical Foundations

There are seven suicides in the Bible (taken from the NIV):

1. Hurriedly, (Abimelech) called to his armor-bearer, “Draw your sword and kill me, so that they can’t say, ‘A woman killed him.'” So his servant ran him through, and he died. (Judges 9:54).
2. Samson said, “Let me die with the Philistines!” Then he pushed with all his might, and down came the temple on the rulers and all the people in it. Thus he killed many more when he died than while he lived. (Judges 16:30).
3. But his armor-bearer was terrified and would not do it; so Saul took his own sword and fell on it. (1 Sam. 31:4).
4. When the armor-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he too fell on his sword and died with him. (1 Sam 31:5).
5. When Ahithophel saw that his advice had not been followed, he saddled his donkey and set out for his house in his hometown. He put his house in order and then hanged himself. (2 Sam. 17:23).
6. When Zimri saw that the city was taken, he went into the citadel of the royal palace and set the palace on fire around him. So he died, (1 Kings 16:18).
7. So Judas threw the money into the temple and left. Then he went away and hanged himself. (Matt. 27:5).

The traditional reading of these suicides is as a kind of judgment or punishment from God. This reading is to some degree very sound. For example, there is definitely a sense of punishment in the stories of Abimelech or Zimri. Abimelech’s death is very much taken as the death of an evil man, who has by the action of murdering his seventy brothers reaped the consequences of his own ego. His last words are tinged with a kind of misogyny which makes it hard to mourn him much. We do not cry over the death of a mass-murderer.

Things get more complex when we consider Saul or Ahitophel. Ahitophel was a counselor to Absalom, David’s son. King David was not a perfect king (anyone who has engaged in a political election knows all too well that political maneuverings are rarely a case of black and white judgements). If we understand Ahitophel’s suicide in the Bible as a kind of punishment, we have to struggle with the fact that Ahitophel’s greatest sin was backing the wrong horse, and not a moral fault. Reading closely, we see an old man, pursued by the king, his honor lost, his voice unheard. A perfect manager, he returns home, methodically puts his affairs in order, and hangs himself.

Then, take the most ambiguous of Old Testament suicides: Saul’s armor-bearer. We may say that the choice to fall upon his own sword at the sight of Saul was an act of sin. We may not say that the armour-bearer’s suicide was a kind of judgment for actions he had taken in his life. If anything, we see that his suicide was done out of a kind of love for his master, or at least fear for his master’s enemies.

To read the suicides in the Bible only as the judgement of God is too clean of an answer. It comes back to that idea that redemption can be too little and too “cheap” to cover our sin. It seems to me that despair is a much better way to think about the suicides of the Bible. Saul sees no exit but death. Samson could see no good end, but in the end of his enemies. Each act of suicide, as an act of despair, bans any chance for redemption.

We can feel this ripping away of the chance for redemption at full strength in the the only New Testament case of suicide: Judas. Could Judas have been forgiven, if he had not killed himself? With the Old Testament examples, we can see that if they had not died by their own hands, they would have died by the hands of their enemies. But the only one who might have revenge on Judas was Jesus Christ; and Jesus came to redeem all people. We are left wondering about the forgiveness of Judas, as a kind of ache. Judas’ suicide takes away from us any chance of seeing such potential reconciliation.

Church Tradition

The traditions and history of the church also speaks about suicide, and can provide some help on the way away from that fatal, final choice. For the person who is trapped in the warped theology presented above, and believe that suicide is a kind of altruistic act, the early fathers of the Church are worth listening to. This is because these early theological voices in the church do point out that this view of killing oneself is not entirely wrong. There can be something redemptive, even holy, in the conscious decision to end my life.

The right way to make that last choice, according to the fathers, was martyrdom. Tertullian, one early church father, writes to Christians in prison waiting to be executed for their faith. To encourage these soon-to-be martyrs, Tertullian cites the famous stories of Lucretia, Dido, and Cleopatra. Similarly, John Chrysostom and Ambrose of Milan both applauded Saint Pelagia, who threw herself off the roof of a house to avoid capture by Roman soldiers. The choice to end life is only a righteous choice, when it is centered not on ourself, but focused outwardly. In the ancient, pre-Christian stories of Lucretia, Dido, and Cleopatra, suicide is the protection of something virtuous like chastity.

What we find here is that suicide and martyrdom are two acts, which while looking similar, are utterly and intensely in opposition to one another. Suicidal thoughts always turn us inward upon ourselves. We grope around in the darkness of our own psyches. Others such as family and friends tell us that our view of life is distorted. They do not see that the person who has come to the brink of suicide has been lost groping in darkness for so very long, lost within darkest parts of their own shadows.  

Martyrdom is the opposite of this. It is perpetually looking outward. For the true martyr, even the glory or being a martyr has been eliminated; they have something far better in their sight. They have no time to worry about finding themselves; they are too busy finding their way into the heavens. The truth is that both suicide and martyrdom are a kind of falling into an eternity: the suicide falls forever into an inner darkness, the martyr falls forever into the light of God.  

By medieval times, the church had developed this strong distinction between suicide and martyrdom. Perhaps the most vivid exploration of this is in the first part of Dante’s Divine Comedy, the Inferno.

In Inferno, souls who have ended their own lives are left, bodiless, to be cast into a forest, where they grow into trees constantly broken and harrassed by harpies. After judgement day, these souls will return for their bodies; but because it is not right for people to have back what they have thrown away, these souls will have their bodies hang from the branches of their trees. It’s important to note that this fate is not for every suicide in Dante’s conception. The Greek politician Cato, who killed himself rather than live under Julius Caesar’s rise to becoming emperor, is placed within Purgatory with all hope and promise to reach heaven eventually.

Suicide for Dante, and the medieval world in general, was seen as a kind of ultimate rejection of God. Thomas Aquinas, one of the most celebrated medieval theologians, notes that life is a quality of God, and so living (or “being”) in itself is a good. Suicide is to take the good which God gives us and say “no thanks.” Your life is valuable in itself, without you trying to earn any goodness. That goodness needs to be nurtured, and allowed to grow; but that goodness, paired with the Grace of God, can never be turned into something so evil that it deserves the end of life.

The value of every life is something that defines Christianity. It was fully explored during the medieval period, but has since been modified to fit each following period in history. For example, G.K. Chesterton, writing during the early 20th century, talks about suicide as a kind of cowardice, and a “refusal to take an interest in existence; the refusal to take the oath of loyalty to life.” Despite these differences, or maybe flowing through these alternatives, the central message of church theologians remains the same: life is valuable, blessed with the image of God (imago Dei), and only to be cast aside with the hopes of throwing our lives into something more valuable. We do not create good by destroying ourselves.

Conclusion

This reflection on suicide is very obviously imperfect. It was not designed to be perfect. It is merely, in the end, a survivor’s memoir. In it, you find my story, as well as the logic and research which helped keep me alive. It is what worked for me, on the long road back to life, full of backsliding and victories.

If you know someone who is suicidal, cultivate compassion. This does not mean to accept or excuse the inherently selfish ideas and actions of your friends and family who talk about ending their lives. It does mean doing the hard, awkward, and complex work of helping them try to find their way out of that labyrinth-like darkness.

If you are suicidal, or sometimes find yourself in that darkness, I can only offer you the truth that it can get better. I do not know your story, I do not know what you need to find freedom. But if I can offer any advice, it would be to search for what you need to start moving forward again. If it’s an answer to some theological puzzle, search deeply for the Truth. If it is some deep emotional need that is not met, make the purpose of your life the search for that Love. Do not give up. Because if you can survive that dungeon within you, you will come out so strong, and so brave. And I should be very glad to meet you, one day. Because you will have wings which can take you to places of gratitude and love not comprehensible by most. The larval stage is pretty rough though. I can also add that, those dungeons and dark places in you never really leave. You will find your way back to them at times. The dungeon and darkness is a part of you. But when you are not held captive in the dungeon, when you can go freely to and from it, you will find that even the dark places have their own inner light, and even the dungeons, as part of you, are not without their own savage beauty.

Comment below if you know someone who struggled with suicidal thoughts before.

Footnotes

[1] The only, barest exception to this ban may be in the face of severe, chronic, and life-ending illness, and the passing is assisted by a doctor or other professional. This sort of ending of life is an ethical issue, amongst churches and general society, beyond our discussion today. All other suicides are seen by the church in a significantly negative light.
[2] Here, I am mainly referring to St. Augustine’s conversion in his Confessions; however, it is worth noting that St. Augustine also wrote extensively on the topic of suicide. I would particularly recommend his City of God, in book 1, chapters 16-20.

Biography

Evan is a published poet and author living in Moscow, Russia. He holds a Masters in Theological Studies from Duke Divinity School, and a Bachelors in Theology from Whitworth University. He has worked as a youth pastor, instructor in theology and church history, and English teacher. He hopes to gain his PhD in the field of Theological Aesthetics, particularly focusing on medieval and early modern literature.

For a lot of my friends and family members, time has passed slowly over the last few weeks. So many people that I love are plastered with a somber, quiet stillness. Earlier this month, a car full of college students—who many people in my community knew through Young Life ministries—were traveling to Colorado for a Young Life volunteer work week when one of their vehicle’s tires blew out, causing a rollover. One passenger died immediately, another suffered serious injury, and a third, Blake Rodgers, entered into a self-induced coma as a result of fatal brain trauma.

That night, the community that raised and prayed for Blake throughout his life committed to flood hospital waiting rooms, host prayer vigils, cook meals, and show up for the Rodgers family in the endlessness and uncertainty of their crisis. It was both exhausting and inspiring to watch a community “show up” in so many faithful and loyal ways. While Blake slept suspended between life and death, family and friends were caught in this tide of praying then listening, begging for a miracle then surrendering to God’s plan. In some moments, it felt like all of Heaven prayed with us for Blake’s healing; but there were other inevitably lonely moments which were shadowed and empty, and my voice felt like one of the only ones left praying for a miracle, an explanation, or some morsel of peace.

After holding on with the help of life support for over a week, he passed.

And now, the conversation has changed. Now, we celebrate his passing from death to eternal life. Discussions that were grounded in God’s capacity to breathe life back into Blake’s body have evolved into discussions about Blake smiling, laughing, and walking hand in hand with His Creator. This Christian community possesses a hopeful, Heaven-oriented imagination that is trained to picture Blake as already reunited with his Maker in both body and soul; as more than just a spirit. Even in their grief, Blake’s family and friends have let the outline of their memory of him be colored with the hope and assurance of his immediate and full reunion with Jesus.

For Protestant American Evangelicals, this perspective is not uncommon. But not all Christians think about death that way. There are lots of ways to talk and think about the reality of dying. Since the church’s beginning, Christians have wrestled together with Scripture, science, and philosophy to understand God’s vision for our bodies and souls after death.

Despite how little they may be talked about within the context of Christianity, bodies are deeply important to the church’s doctrines. The concept of bodies and human form is integral to the Christian religion, and this intersection of faith with human physicalness hits home in the midst of mourning.

The question is, how should we as Christians think about what will happen to our bodies and souls after death? In other words, how do we solve the mind-body problem? The way we think about the relationship between our bodies and souls is a direct reflection of what we believe will happen to them both in and after death.

Though this conversation of what death does to our bodies and souls is not normally at the top of anybody’s list of theological questions, the death of a loved one puts it there. Witnessing another person pass from life into death jolts us into all kinds of questions.

The following 4 theories are attempts to answer those questions. They tackle the “mind-body problem,” (sometimes referred to in Christian circles as the “soul-body problem”) which is what Rene Descartes named this ongoing series of questions about what happens to our bodies and souls after death. It is appropriate to call it a “problem;” no one doctrine can pinpoint God’s design for humans in and after death perfectly. Still, a look at the different ways that theologians have tried to answer the question over the years can contribute to our own understanding of mortality, and the hope we have in eternal life. These conversations remind us that death is not the end of the story and that God has a good plan for our bodies and souls that extends past life as we know it.

HOLISTIC DUALISM

This is arguably the longest-standing and most commonly held belief in church history on the topic. Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and most Protestant traditions back this theory. Essentially, holistic dualism says that God has created body and soul as unified, though not inseparable. We are unified creatures, and our minds, bodies, and souls are integrated. But holistic dualists also believe that souls enter a disembodied intermediate state after death. This is an exception to the unity God intended for us in life and in resurrection. In that intermediate state, God takes the souls to Heaven and sustains them until the second coming, but our bodies die. When Jesus returns, souls are reintegrated with a renewed, resurrected body.

Holistic dualism is a combination of two theories, as the term suggests: holism and dualism. Though on the edge of conflicting with each other, both are essential for fleshing out the intricacies of this definition.

• Holism says that humans are created by God as integral wholes—single beings with different dimensions (e.g. body, mind, soul) that cannot be naturally separated.
• Dualism is concerned with our core personalities, sometimes called egos, souls, or spirits. These are distinguished and separate from our bodies–in God’s infinite power and omniscience, He is able to sustain our souls apart from embodiment.

Essentially, this separation exists as a temporary consequence of sin. Paul says in Romans 6:23 that death is the consequence for sin. God’s original plan for humans was an eternal Edenic existence with Him, but Adam and Eve’s sin changed that plan. It brought sin into the world. So now, our bodies must die and be separated from our souls until Jesus’s second coming. Holistic dualists say that this separation is “the wages of sin” that Paul talks about in Romans. They strike a good balance between recognizing the vision that God had for humans after death while realizing the fact that humans threw a wrench in that plan. The theory highlights God’s good intentions for embodied souls, while still recognizing the reality of sin’s consequences in their disembodied intermediate state.

Paul’s letters provide the Biblical basis for holistic dualism. In 1 Corinthians 3, he writes, “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst?” Some interpret this to mean that we have a body on earth that serves as a temple for the spiritual soul, and a different but equally real version of that body in Heaven when we are reunited with God. 2 Corinthians 5:3 says that we will have “an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands… We will not be spirits without bodies.” Life in the kingdom will be bodily, so instead of telling his readers to practice living apart from the body, Paul exhorts them to dedicate their bodies to God. And it is hard to ignore the deeply dualist language of Genesis 2:7, in which God creates man by breathing His spirit into the dust of the earth. A human’s equation is part Creator-breathed soul and part Creator-built body, two integrated but not indistinguishable components.

Of those who affirm this belief, there are two main camps:

Substance dualists, also dubbed Augustinian dualists because of the 4th century theologian who championed their cause, see the body as distinct entities that combine to form a whole person. Plato, John Calvin, and Rene Descartes also promoted substance dualism.

The other camp, in support of soul-matter dualism, holds that we are made up of substantial souls that, combined with skin and bones, constitute a human being. Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas, and the majority of the Catholic Church fall inside this subsection of holistic dualism, emphasizing that a human is not two substances but one being, made up of part soul and part matter.

It is difficult to draw lines between the beliefs of substance and soul-matter dualists. Most crucial to keep in mind is the all-encompassing umbrella statement to which all holistic dualists would nod their head in agreement: body and soul are distinct, and with God’s aid, the soul exists temporarily unembodied in death.

MONISM

The diametrically opposing view to holistic dualism is Monism. Monismus means “single” in Latin and is the word from which 18th century theologians derived the term monism to finally label a sect of Christians that had existed unnamed for centuries. While most theologians ascribe to holistic dualism, many great political philosophers believe that monism is more accurate to reality. To name a few, the famous thinkers Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, and Georg Hegel were all monists. Paul Tillich, who was a prominent theologian and existentialist thinker in the 20th century, also championed this view.

In direct contradiction to holistic dualism, this theory posits that the human is composed of one substance only. Any trace of body and soul distinctions, which are parsed out by holistic dualism, is simply acknowledged as fluctuating personalities or characteristics of the single substance. There is one reality for monists, that is, there is only one existing substance within human beings that cannot be separated into different entities. It is impossible, in this view, to distinguish between the body and the soul.

Death is powerless to change this reality, which leaves monists with many different theories about life after death. Most monists posit a theory similar to the pantheistic idea of reincarnation: that a human being, upon dying, immediately reappears in a different place and time. The reincarnation that monists believe in is the reappearance of a human that looks, sounds, and acts similarly to how they did before dying. Until Jesus returns, you and I would keep reincarnating as very similar versions of ourselves, but in different places and historical periods than where we were in the last life.

Since bodies and souls cannot separate, they go together in death, life, and everywhere in between. Believing in reincarnation upholds that singularity of body and soul that monists promote. If death takes a being’s body, it takes its soul, too. So, until Jesus returns, monists believe that our beings will continue that cycle of death and immediate reappearance. Before scoffing at a monist’s view of death and embodiment, John 2:19 warrants a re-reading. Jesus says, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” His vague answer to the Jews’ challenge of his authority lends itself to both monist and dualist perspectives. Perhaps He meant that God will sustain his spirit bodiless for three days, but it is not outrageous to consider that Jesus implied the kind of reincarnation in which monists believe.

NON-REDUCTIVE PHYSICALISTS

Within the last ten years, in an attempt to marry modern neuroscientific discoveries and ancient theological beliefs, a group of thinkers have emerged, calling themselves non-reductive physicalists. Non-reductive physicalists argue for the brain as the soul’s origin. Because of that authority they give to the brain, which is a physical, material part of the body, these theorists conclude that a disembodied intermediate state would be unrealistic. In their view, there is no way for the brain to be separated from the soul after the death since it is the soul’s origin and generator. Consequently, our bodies and souls are either immediately resurrected after death or our bodies and souls “sleep” at death, waiting for the second coming when God will awake them in recreation. Regardless of which side you land on, the body and soul are a package deal in the theory of non-reductive physicalism.

Research in neuroscience attributes progressively more autonomy to the brain with each new discovery, so they use this as reason to believe that the development of our souls and spirits mirrors that of our brains. The theory actually credits the human brain with generating personality, soul, and mind. Their anthem is the homogeneity between Scripture and science; but they do tread this middle ground lightly, admitting to the limits of science and the imperfections of their developing theory. This group of both theologians and scientists is attempting to bridge the gap that many modern thinkers point to as proof that there is no God.

EMERGENTISM

This philosophy was spearheaded by 19th and 20th century Christians, who drew much inspiration from contemporary theorists and their speculations about the soul’s evolutionary development. There are lots of similarities between emergentism and non-reductive physicalism. Both parties support that the soul gradually emerges from the physical brain during development. But emergentists would be quick to defend the part of their philosophy that affirms holistic dualism. Namely, that the soul is distinct from the body and can develop its own characteristics apart from the brain. They see the relationship between soul and body as reciprocal: soul affects the brain, just as the brain affects the soul. Basically, emergentism wants to fuse together holistic dualism and non-reductive physicalism, agreeing that brain and soul are ultimately distinct, but deeply tied and connected.

Remember: non-reductive physicalists believe that body and soul stick together after death, whether that means immediately dying or immediately resurrecting. Emergentists think about it differently. They believe that the brain is not the only reason the soul is the way it is, so the two may be able to be separated in a disembodied intermediate state (like dualists believe). But emergentists are split down the middle on the topic. Some would argue that, since they believe that soul and body are distinct, the soul has independence from the brain’s power to create, nurture, and sustain it. Then, the disembodied intermediate state would be realistic. But others argue that the soul, though not completely dependent on the brain, still would not be able to exist apart from the material body. After all, for emergentists, the brain is still a major player in the soul’s development.

Both non-reductive physicalism and emergentism are rooted in 1 Corinthians 15. Paul writes in verses 44-46, “If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. So it is written: ‘The first man Adam became a living being’; the last Adam, a life-giving spirit. The spiritual did not come first, but the natural, and after that the spiritual.” This last sentence crystallizes what both parties emphasize in their theologies: first came natural, then came spiritual. They would argue it is a fairly direct affirmation of the body’s responsibility for the soul’s evolution. Paul gives a lot of agency to the physical here, and seems to, like emergentists and physicalists, credit our brains with being a kind of control center for the soul.

CONCLUSION

To say Christian theology is born from the combination of church tradition and the study of Scripture would be the technical truth, but an oversimplification of it. None of the theories or doctrines listed above have perfectly solved the body-soul problem, and none are sufficiently able to untangle God’s good ultimate plan for His creation from the tragedy of death. As finite and mistake-prone people in pursuit of a perfect and eternally present God, we will never fully understand that mystery. Still, each serves to broaden our minds, spark curiosity and conversation, and refocus our sight on God’s riddling grandeur.

In all of these beliefs, there is a common thread of hope in life after death and confidence in God’s determination to not let death conquer His creation. Conversations about these theories will not necessarily find definite answers or across-the-board agreement, but they still important to have, even if only as reminders of that common confidence and hope woven throughout Christian traditions.

SOURCES

“Raised a Spiritual Body: bodily resurrection according to Paul” by Margaret Pamment

“Why All the Fuss about the Body? A Medievalist’s Perspective” by Caroline Bynum

“Diseased Bodies, Defiled Souls: Corporality and Religious Difference in the Reformation” by Charles H. Parker

“The Current Body-Soul Debate: A Case for Dualistic Holism” by John W. Cooper

About the Author: Delaney Young lives in Chicago. She is studying English writing at Wheaton College with a focus on creative storytelling.

One Viewpoint: “Though defensive violence will always be ‘a sad necessity’ in the eyes of men of principle, it would be still more unfortunate if wrongdoers should dominate just men.”

– St. Augustine

Another Viewpiont: “America is a Gun”

– Brian Bilston

My coworkers and I are gathered in the office in between classes, discussing what we’ll have to teach this afternoon. One of my colleagues, Rich, jokingly asks if I can take his lesson on “discussing the news.” With a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he says “I just don’t think I can talk about school shootings again.” Another colleague, Mike, reflects on starting one class with the video of Emma Gonzales’ six minutes and twenty seconds of silence. Mike’s a big guy at six foot four. He tells me without a hint of embarrassment that he broke up in front of six students.

Gun violence, or more exactly, the domestic mass shootings not within the context of war, has become a staple topic in American conversation. But unlike the debates over human rights or the proper stewardship of the environment, there is a special kind of sting these conversations bring. I think most of us just don’t want to really sit with the kind of evil which expresses itself by kids killing kids.

One of the worst aspects of this evil is the isolation which it can bring. Maybe you feel as I do: alone, and helpless against a threat which can literally explode onto the scene anywhere, and with the only guarantee being that it will happen again. The quick fragmentation and variety of avenues that arise when discussing guns in America makes the conversation difficult. In the end, we have a network of conversations that includes (a) gun control legislation, (b) the nature, causes, and motivations of gun violence, (c) the important social and political responses, and (d) the need for citizens to both process hard objective data and cope with a sense of national grief.

Given this complex, seemingly endless web of considerations, it would be very easy to ignore the problem, to let it slip into the swamp of our day-to-day lives, at least until the next time. But this, we know is not a solution; if anything, it makes the problem worse.

One way forward is to talk, to connect, and to work together. For Christians, this is the call to be a part of the Church, the Body of Christ which not only feels, but acts. Wondering where to go to have these conversations? Here are some church traditions which might interest you:

• Peace Church Tradition
• Evangelical Tradition
• Catholic Tradition
• Mainline Protestant Tradition

Peace Church Tradition

Starting off is the peace church tradition: Quakers, Mennonites, and the Church of the Brethren are a few members of this group. Historically, these peace churches are Anabaptist, which is a family of protestant churches starting in the 16^th century which defined themselves through martyrdom in the face of persecution by other faith traditions. From this historical background, peace churches have a radical commitment to non-violence, and a sense of solidarity with the oppressed and marginalized. Both of these qualities have been represented throughout the history of this faith tradition. Both can be seen in the peace church tradition as far back as the late 16^th century, with the letters of martyr Maeyken Wens, who wrote movingly and peacefully in her letters to her family, calling for compassion and non-violence in the face of persecution. Other examples of this stance on non-violence can be seen in both World Wars: many of the conscientious objectors during both wars were generally from the peace church tradition. As for solidarity, this virtue has rarely been better exemplified in the history of the Church than during the era of slavery, when Quakers formed a strong and virtually unanimous voice for abolition.

Both of these concerns continue to play out in contemporary conversations concerning gun violence and gun control legislation. In 2013, the Church of the Brethren submitted a written testimony to the subcommittee hearing on “Proposals to Reduce Gun Violence.” Citing its “long history of peacemaking and advocating for non-violent solutions to the problems that plague our world” the testimony argues for stricter legislation, including a universal background check and stricter gun trafficking laws.[1]

However, this stance of non-violence does not necessarily mean all in the peace church tradition are in favor of strict gun control. Matthew Van Meter, writing from a Quaker perspective for the Friends Journal, presented an argument against gun control—pointing out that such legislation tends to disproportionately affect underprivileged communities, in addition to historically being racially charged.[2] Taking a somewhat middle road, the Mennonite Central Committee issued a guide which “helps to equip individuals, small groups and churches to advocate for gun violence prevention.”[3] If you find that you are interested in conversations around gun violence which focus on non-violent solutions that are counter-balanced by an appreciation of the vulnerability of the marginalized, the peace church tradition will likely be a welcoming home.

Evangelical Tradition

The Evangelical tradition has a long-held place of prominence within American political and cultural conversations. For starters, they claim roots back to landmark American theologians and religious figures such as Jonathan Edwards, Charles Finney, and Billy Graham, as well as political leaders such as George H.W. Bush. In terms of the conversation on gun violence and legislation, Evangelicals are particularly important to address, as they are the religious group most likely to own a gun, according to the Pew Research Center. This statistic is not to say that Evangelicals are not uniformly pro-gun; in fact, many Evangelicals may simultaneously be gun enthusiasts and want stricter gun legislation.

Reflecting this complexity and interest in guns, many Evangelical leaders are entirely willing to jump into conversations surrounding gun violence and gun control. David Barton, who was placed on Time’s list of “Top 25 Most Influential Evangelists” has cited biblical justification for self-defense, and ergo against strong gun regulation.[4] This is not to say that all Evangelicals are against stronger gun laws as a solution to gun violence. Rick Warren, a popular pastor and author, has shown a strong ambivalence on this subject due in part to his son who committed suicide with a gun, which has led many to speculate whether he will come out for stronger gun control laws.[5]

What you will tend to find across the board in Evangelical conversations is a strong need for textual justification on any issue, usually from either the Bible or the United States Constitution. In regards to gun violence, the Evangelical viewpoint seems to be influenced by two types of passages: (1) those that consider weapon ownership, such as Luke 11:21 and Luke 22:38; and (2) those that consider sin and human nature, such as Matthew 15:19.

This play of texts can certainly be seen in figures such as David Barton, who in his conversation on “the Glenn Beck Show” back in 2013 seemed equally as comfortable citing the Bible and the Second Amendment. However, Evangelicals also have a deep focus on the reality of sin within human nature, perhaps springing from deep connections to the Great Awakenings and subsequent revivals and revivalism theology. A sense of personal conviction of sin is important within the Evangelical community, as well as an appreciation that the rest of the world is in a broken condition.[6] This view of the world influences the concern voiced by many Evangelicals that removing guns invites the tyranny of governmental structures, and limits the freedom of the individual.[7]

If you think our conversation around gun control should be supported by Biblical and constitutional justification, and think the conversation should be tempered by a robust understanding of sin and salvation, the Evangelical tradition might be worth your time.

Catholic Tradition

Catholics, despite being the second largest religious group in America behind Evangelical Protestants, maintain a remarkable degree of uniformity within their conversations surrounding gun violence and control. This is because, for most Catholics, it is not only the Bible and personal conscience which enter into conversations on current issues and policies, but also the tradition of the church. In terms of our conversations on gun control, we can look at the tradition in terms of its historical and contemporary sources of authority, and its philosophical engagement of these issues.

The first element of the church tradition can be a little refreshing in its directness; Catholics like to be able to look up their beliefs. For example, an often cited passage for Catholics in the gun violence debates comes from the Catechism of the Catholic Church, a book introduced under the guidance of Pope John Paul II which forms a pretty comprehensive reference book for Catholic doctrine and belief. Paragraphs 2264-2265 lay out the idea that a Catholic can use lethal force in self-defense, provided that they use only the necessary amount of force.[8] Indirectly, this seems to at least condone the use of guns in the limited context of self-defense. What is more, neither the universal magisterium – a term for the most solid and agreed upon teachings of the church – nor any particular magisterium or American bishop has currently given any substantial statement on the use or restriction of firearms. The closest example provided would be a 1994 statement by the Pontifical Commission for Justice and Peace entitled “The International Arms Trade: an Ethical Reflection,” which calls for a limitation of gun trafficking, particularly to terrorist and extremist groups.[9]

Philosophically, however, the Catechism seems to reference what is called the Principle of Proportionality, which is an element of Just War Theory. On its most basic level, “Just War Theory” is an ethical concept most famously developed by the theologian Thomas Aquinas which explores when, if ever, it is right for Christians to go to war. The Principle of Proportionality is the part of that exploration which states that war can only be just if the military response of Christians is in proportion to the present threat; in other words, don’t bring an army to a knife fight. While Just War obviously deals most directly with military ethics, many Catholics use the considerations of Just War in talking about beliefs surrounding gun violence and gun control. If this more philosophical dialogue, grounded in a strong textual tradition, appeals to you, joining the Catholic conversation through meeting your local priest or catholic/catholic-friendly journals could be productive.

Mainline Protestant Tradition

The final tradition worth looking at is also the most nebulous. Mainline Protestants can very generally be defined by seven major denominations: United Methodist Church; Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; Presbyterian Church (U.S.A); Episcopal Church; American Baptist Churches USA; United Church of Christ; and Christian Church or Disciples of Christ.[10] While there are vast divergences of theological opinion between these different groups, there are some debates and qualities which either unite or define these groups. One such issue is that of free will versus the providence of God, on which the mainline protestant tradition is split, and yet this split forms a kind of “partners in arguments” relationship between the different denominations.

At first, the dialogue on gun violence may seem to have little to do with the intensely theological debate on whether and how human beings have free will under a God who is all-good, all-knowing, and all-powerful. However, the effects of this conversation on free will and what is essentially a mild deterministic view can be felt throughout mainline conversations on any issue. Presbyterian Pastor David Gibson succinctly named this divide as such:

On one level, this debate seems to represent a classic theological divide: There are those who argue that human beings should not try to supplant God’s role with their own efforts to redeem the world, and others who argue that believers have a duty to protect the God-given gift of life and human dignity.[11]

It is also worth noting that Pastor Gibson then goes on to mention a second layer, which more directly addresses the influence of contemporary culture on the Mainline Protestant positions and debates, showing the connection in the Mainline tradition of cultural awareness and this particular theological debate. Persons with a greater focus on free will may be in favor of stronger civic action, and place the blame more on institutions and structures which perpetuate gun violence; whereas individuals with a greater focus on the providence of God might instead focus on prayer and preaching to a broken world, and place blame more on flaws within human nature such as mental illness.

It is also worth noting that Mainline Protestants do not fall universally on one side or the other on the topic of gun control, although certainly all are opposed to gun violence. However, if debates on free will, predestination, and the role of the church in contemporary society interest you, the Mainline Protestant tradition could be a good place to enter in the conversation.

Which tradition intrigues you? How should Christians respond to gun violence? We’d love to hear from you in the comments below!

About the Author: Evan is a writer, teacher, and language enthusiast currently living in Moscow, Russia. He holds a Master’s in Theological Studies from Duke Divinity School, and a Bachelor of Arts in Theology, and has worked as a youth pastor, theology instructor, and haunted pub-crawl tour guide. Evan’s interests include theological aesthetics, theopoetics, Medieval theology, Patristics, and the works of Dante Alighieri.

Footnotes

[1] http://www.brethren.org/news/2013/church-of-the-brethren-testimony-on-gun-control.html

[2] https://www.friendsjournal.org/quaker-argument-gun-control/

[3] https://mcc.org/media/resources/609

[4] https://www.christianpost.com/news/david-barton-on-gun-control-citizens-have-biblical-right-to-self-defense-86978/

[5] https://religionnews.com/2013/09/18/will-rick-warren-lead-christian-movement-gun-control/

[6] http://time.com/5163376/christians-gun-control/

[7] https://news.vice.com/article/an-evangelical-minister-rob-schenck-on-why-american-evangelicals-are-wrong-about-gun-control

[8] http://www.vatican.va/archive/ENG0015/__P7Z.HTM

[9] https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/what-does-the-church-say-about-gun-control

[10] https://www.huffingtonpost.com/william-b-bradshaw/mainline-churches-past-pr_b_4087407.html

[11] https://www.pcusa.org/news/2012/7/25/gun-control-religious-issue/

How do we understand the death of Jesus? Why did Jesus have to die, and how exactly does his death result in the forgiveness of sin? In today’s article, we offer an introductory glance at a few key views on the doctrine of the atonement. 

Introduction

Throughout Church history, every doctrine has been disputed — and the doctrine of atonement is no exception. Broadly conceived, the doctrine of atonement is about God’s reconciling work in and through the person of Christ. Though the crucifixion or death of Christ is central to atonement, atonement cannot be reduced to the crucifixion. If the doctrine of atonement is just about the crucifixion, then what about the Trinity, the incarnation, Jesus’ life and ministry, the sending of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and so on? Instead, the doctrine of atonement is much more comprehensive — it offers a coherent system or story of why and how God reconciled us to him.

This doctrine is, as Kevin Vanhoozer describes, “the heart of the gospel” (Vanhoozer, “Atonement,” 176). But in the past century this central doctrine has endured “the crucible of (post)modern scrutiny.” It is beyond the scope of this article to detail the complex relationship between modernity, postmodernity, and Christianity since the Enlightenment. To provide some background, however, let it suffice to say that the crucible of (post)modern scrutiny includes questions of historicity (“did it actually happen?”), ethical value (“what is it good for?”), coherence (“does it make sense?”), and mechanism (“how did it happen?”).

Additionally, the plurality of contexts have burgeoned new insights and critiques on some tired questions and answers. For example, two “older” atonement models — penal substitution and satisfaction — have been critiqued by some feminists and liberationists for depicting a violent and abusive God (see “Excursus: Atonement Language” below for further details), and these critics offer, instead, a nonviolent atonement or a model that does not capitalize on Christ’s innocent suffering and death.^[1] Ultimately, the crucible of (post)modern scrutiny has proliferated a surplus of atonement views — some helpful and others utterly bewildering. Therefore, this article hopes to do three things: (1) briefly summarize four atonement models, (2) a short excursus on atonement language, and (3) three proposals for moving forward.

Four Atonement Models

Christus Victor

Much of contemporary atonement discussions is indebted to Gustaf Aulén and his short yet influential work: Christus Victor. Aulén surveyed the history of the doctrine of atonement and discerned three broad typologies: the classical view, or Christus Victor, of the Church Fathers, the objective view of Anselm, and the subjective view of Abelard.^[2] This article follows Aulén’s typologies with the exception of making penal substitution a separate model for, as we will see below, its unique emphasis on penal consequences.

Christus Victor as a doctrine of atonement states that Christ “fights against and triumphs over the evil powers of the world, the ‘tyrants’ under which mankind is in bondage and suffering, and in Him God reconciles the world to Himself” (Aulén, 20). In other words, God overcomes sin, death, evil, the devil, and anything else contrary to God’s will in Christ’s death and resurrection.

One of the clearest biblical references can be found in 1 Corinthians 15:54, where Paul quotes Isaiah: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” The Book of Revelations can also buttress Christus Victor, especially with its vivid description of Christ as the rider on the white horse (Rev 19:11-16). Christus Victor imagery is palpable and attractive: Christ is victorious over all evil forces — what joyous good news! What’s wanting with Christus Victor, however, is why the cross is necessary. In other words, did Jesus have to die if God could achieve victory without death? If so, then the death of Jesus seems superfluous.[3] Victory language, especially Christ as victor, is important to atonement models but by itself it is lacking.

Related to the Christus Victor model is the ransom model. The ransom model goes like this: humanity in their sin “sold themselves” to the devil, and in order to win them back God ransomed Jesus Christ to the devil in exchange for humanity. The devil in ravishing greed foolishly took the ransom, unbeknownst to him that he took God veiled in human flesh. The God-man, Jesus, then defeated the devil and took the released and ransomed captives back into God’s domain. The ransom model overlaps with Christus Victor in its language of victory over the devil and the transfer of ownership of humanity – from the devil to God.

Centuries later, however, Anselm would discredit ransom models for at least two reasons: first, humanity never belonged to the devil, thus any repayment cannot be made to the devil; second, the ransom model depicts God being deceptive, which can make God morally ambiguous. Instead, Anselm offered the satisfaction view, the next major atonement model.

Anselm and Cur Deus Homo – The Satisfaction Model

Nearly one thousand years after Christ’s birth, Anselm posed his famous question in Latin: Cur Deus homo — “Why did God become human?” Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo attempts to give a coherent and rational basis for understanding why God became human, why the God-Man (Jesus) died, and how his death benefits us. Anselm’s answer is, in short, “if only God can make this satisfaction and only a man ought to make it: it is necessary that a God-man make it” (II.6).^[4]

But what is this “satisfaction,” and why ought humanity make it? Humanity was created to enjoy life with God; this is their blessing and duty. But humanity dishonored God in their sin and thereby incurred an insurmountable debt — the debt of sin. Instead, dishonoring God might be best understood as refusing God’s gracious invitation into life with him. The language of honor and dishonor should not paint God as an egotistical Feudal Lord who is out for blood — a common critique leveled against Anselm.^[5] Dishonoring God, therefore, harms humanity — not God or his honor.

In order to restore the broken relationship, humanity has to repay the debt of sin, but two problems prevent full repayment, or satisfaction: this debt is incalculable and sin taints all attempts at satisfaction.^[6] Humanity is, therefore, in an impossible situation: humanity ought to make satisfaction but utterly cannot. Thus, God steps into the fray and does only what only God can do: make full satisfaction on behalf of man in and through the God-man, Jesus Christ. This satisfaction was super-abundant, far outweighing all debts because it was God who made the satisfaction. Jesus then received merits or “credit” for making satisfaction, but he mercifully shared it with his own kin — the rest of humanity. So, only in and through Jesus, the God-man, can humanity enjoy life with God.

It was stated above that dishonoring God does not harm or diminish God or his honor, so then what did Anselm mean when he said that God sought to uphold or keep his honor? God upholding his honor might be best understood as God upholding his character. God is good, gracious, merciful, just, loving, and so on; whatever God does must be aligned with these characteristics. For Anselm, God could have responded to humanity’s impossible situation of sin in one of two ways: just punishment or just and gracious satisfaction. So, according to Anselm, making satisfaction, therefore, upholds God’s honor more fully than punishment.^[7]

Peter Abelard and Moral Influence

A few years after Anselm and his Cur Deus Homo, Peter Abelard retorted that the satisfaction model is a distortion of the gospel. Anselm’s God is, in Abelard’s opinion, cruel and wicked: how can the death of God’s innocent son — Jesus Christ — make satisfaction or please God? This is not the loving and merciful God of the gospel, but some other blood-thirsty deity. What’s more, any sort of penalty, punishment, or satisfaction is unnecessary because God can freely forgive sin. God’s grace forgives and justifies sinners. The prime example of God’s justifying grace is in Jesus: he is perfect and sinless because God gives him the grace to be so, and the same grace is offered to the rest of humanity.

So then why the cross — why did Jesus die if free forgiveness is offered? Abelard’s answer is that the cross shows the perfection of love and God’s offer of free forgiveness. The cross demonstrates not only how much God loves humanity but also how humanity ought to love God and others. Understanding the perfection of God’s love inspires and influences humanity to love likewise. The cross is, thus, a sign of God’s gracious invitation into life with him.

Abelard’s language is less precise than Anselm. For example, what’s the difference between seeing love displayed and receiving free forgiveness? How does seeing love influence sinful people to love? Does love or grace purify humanity? Did Jesus show the perfection of human love or Godly love? Is there a difference between the two? These imprecisions are partly because Abelard did not write one tightly argued monograph on atonement like Anselm and his Cur Deus Homo. But sparing evidence of Abelard’s moral influence atonement model is found in his commentary on Romans 3:19-26, which spans only a couple pages.

Abelard is, however, more influential than one might think. One can find traces of his language of God’s love displayed on the cross and its influence on humanity in contemporary songs, such as “When I Survey the Wonderful Cross” and “Sweetly Broken.” Abelard’s atonement is particularly attractive to those who repudiate a wrathful God. But what might the moral influence model neglect? For one, God’s justice. Does free forgiveness diminish the need for justice? Is Abelard’s God just? These questions and more ask essential questions of the relationship between God and what God does for humanity.

Penal Substitution

The penal substitution model is arguably the most popular and most foundational model for evangelicals. Penal substitution can be defined as follows: Out of great love for humanity, the Father sent his Son in the person of Christ to satisfy God’s justice. The punishment and penal consequences reserved for sinful humanity were laid on Christ instead of us. The cross, thus, shows both God’s holiness and love. Or, as a short-hand, “Jesus Christ died for us because of our sins.” The foundation of the penal substitution model can be found in Reformed theologians, such as John Calvin, Herman Bavinck, and Charles Hodge. The building blocks of the penal substitution model are penal consequences, God’s holiness (or justice), total depravity, and substitution. We’ll take each in turn.

All of creation — humanity included — were created to enjoy life with God, but sin disrupted everything.^[8] After the fall, sin infiltrated all of humanity and effectively barred them from life with God. Sin prevents life with God for at least two reasons: humanity is dead in their sins, and God cannot allow sinful humanity into his presence because he is holy. The consequences of sin are death and more sin. Like a virus, sin multiplies and causes death in its host. These are penal consequences because sinning is breaking God’s law.^[9] God’s laws are holy and perfect, and they reflect who he is. Therefore, sin is a violation against God. Indeed, sinful humanity could die from God’s fiery holiness: “you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live” (Ex 33:20).

To bridge the chasm between sinner and a holy God, God’s justice needs to be a satisfied. But only perfect obedience can satisfy — another impossibility sinful humanity faces. For at least these two reasons (death in sin and God’s holiness), sinful humanity cannot save themselves, if salvation is understood as escape from sin and life with God. This is what total depravity claims. Then what or who can save sinful humanity? Christ as penal substitution, or Christ taking our place on the cross.

The penal substitution model is similar to Anselm’s satisfaction model. Indeed, Aulén does not differentiate them. But I do believe there are two important differences: for Anselm, Christ’s satisfaction is the alternative to punishment, and Christ is not a substitute — he is a superabundant gift to God. For penal substitution, however, Christ’s satisfaction is the punishment on behalf of or as a substitute for sinners.

Excursus: Atonement Language

In recent decades, atonement models — particularly satisfaction and penal substitution — have been severely critiqued for encouraging violence and subjugation of oppressed groups. One of the most common critiques is what critics call “divine child abuse”: God the Father punishing Jesus — his Son. What’s more, God the Father seems to “enjoy” his Son’s sufferings, because he is “satisfied” by it. Others point out that atonement language has been used inappropriately to subject people — notably, women and other oppressed groups — to “Christ-like self-sacrifice.” While these critiques are important for exposing sinful ways people — typically those with greater authority and power — use Christian doctrines for un-Christian agendas, a difference should be made between what a doctrine says and how a doctrine is used, or what an atonement model says and how an atonement model is used.

Is atonement an act of divine child abuse? This is a troubling accusation: if God reconciled the world to himself through child abuse, is this the kind of God we want to enjoy life with? I think not. So, how can we understand the troubling language of some atonement models? A good place to start is to ask ourselves if the language of the critique is a fair representation of what an atonement model says. The divine child abuse states that the Father abuses the Son.^[10] The implications seem that the Father not only overpowers the Son into abuse — contrary to the Son’s will — but also the Father is a separate being from the Son. But orthodox Trinitarian theology rules out any different wills amongst the three persons of the Trinity (Father, Son, and Spirit), unequal share of powers, and plurality of essence or being in the Trinity.

Thus, trinitarian satisfaction or penal substitution atonement models affirm that when the Father sends the Son to the cross, there was one divine will. In addition, when God the Father was “satisfied” with Jesus’ death, God the Son was also “satisfied,” because the Father and the Son are one God. If we remember from above, the doctrine of atonement is not limited to just the crucifixion; it involves other doctrines as well. The charge of divine child abuse works best with an implicit or explicit tri-theist (three gods) or subordinationist (the Son is lesser than the Father) framework. But if atonement models adhere to orthodox trinitarian theology (1 God, 3 persons; equality of 3 persons), then the divine child abuse might not work.

To be sure, all four models can be used inappropriately to encourage unjust violence and suffering: this is not a unique problem to satisfaction or penal substitution model, nor even atonement theology. This is the problem of how any doctrine is applied or appropriated. This is the complicated problem of theological hermeneutics (how to understand) and ethics (how to live/apply), which is way beyond the scope of this introductory article. But here are some helpful tips for your own wrestling through atonement models and their critiques:

1. Does your ethics align with the whole of scripture?
2. Does your ethics align with other doctrines, such as creation, anthropology (humanity), and ecclesiology (church)?
3. Does your ethics help people to love God and others?

If an atonement model is inappropriately used to subjugate people, then its ethics fails (1), (2), and (3).

Moving Forward

Atonement is a peculiar doctrine: as central as it is, it has no “dogmatic” or standardized form. For example, the doctrine of the incarnation and the doctrine of trinity have dogmatic form: the Incarnation holds that Jesus Christ is one person with two natures/essences; the Trinity holds that there is one God but three persons. These dogmatic forms reflect the first four ecumenical councils. Atonement, however, does not have dogmatic form, except that Jesus Christ died on the cross. Perhaps for this reason the doctrine of atonement has many models — far more than the four listed above. A question then arises: What are we supposed to do with all these models? Below are just three approaches to sort through the plethora of atonement models.

First, the “one-view” approach privileges one atonement model either as the only or as the most foundational way to understand how God reconciled creation to himself. This approach might be helpful to those who like one coherent system as an interpretative lens. One limitation is, however, that any one model cannot answer all the question and fully attest to the mosaic of scripture.

Second, the kaleidoscopic approach is popular amongst New Testament scholars, notably Joel B. Green. This approach allows all or nearly all atonement models to join the table. Every atonement model has unique emphases that other models cannot emulate. What’s more, Scripture seems to present a plurality of views, so the kaleidoscopic approach is faithful to scripture in that sense. The kaleidoscopic approach is appealing to those who enjoy different perspectives and are undeterred by tension. But a question comes to mind: Are all the models equal in value or are some more helpful or faithful to scripture than others? If not, then how does one determine that?

Finally, the “mash-up” approach is a light-kaleidoscopic approach. Instead of welcoming all or nearly all atonement models, mash-up privileges two or three models that can cohere together. Furthermore, the mash-up approach requires some adjustment to clear as many inconsistencies, contradictions, and tensions as possible. This approach is attractive to those who want the coherence of one-view but also some of the variety of kaleidoscopic. The questions that the mash-up approach needs to answer, however, are why these models instead of others, and what guides their adjustment — reason, scripture, tradition, or something else?

Another way to understand these approaches is using restaurant imagery. The one-view is like enjoying one-style of food, say German brats. The kaleidoscopic is like enjoying a buffet. Finally, the mash-up is like enjoying fusion food, say Korean-Mexican tacos.

Studying the doctrine of atonement is one of the most rewarding ventures a Christian can go through. It is a challenging endeavor that demands not only intellectual energy but also emotional, spiritual, and even physical energies. But let this short article whet your appetite to the doctrine of atonement’s richness. And as you wander through its depth, let these three anchors uphold you: reconciliation happened because Christ came, Christ died, and Christ was resurrected.

Which model or approach to the models struck you in reading this? Share in the comments below!

About the Author

Sooho Lee is currently working on his Master of Divinity at Fuller Theological Seminary. He plans and hopes to pursue a PhD in Systematic Theology, more specifically Christology. Lee is also the curator for www.sooholee.com.

For Further Reading

Peter Abelard, Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans.

Saint Anselm, Cur Deus Homo.

Gustaf Aulén, Christus Victor. London: SPCK, 1953.

James Beilby, ed. The Nature of Atonement: Four Views. Downers Grove: IVP, 2006.

Joel B. Green and Mark D. Baker, Recovering the Scandal of the Cross. 2^nd ed. Downers Grove: IVP, 2011.

Adam J. Johnson, ed. T&T Clark Companion to Atonement. New York: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017 (in particular, Katherine Sonderegger’s “Anselmian Atonement” and Oliver D. Crisp’s “Methodological Issues in Approaching the Atonement”).

Fleming Rutledge. The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017.

Thomas F. Torrance. Atonement: The Person and Work of Christ. Downers Grove: IVP, 2009.

Kevin J. Vanhoozer, “Atonement,” in Mapping Modern Theology. Grand Rapids: Baker Academics, 2012, 175-202.

Footnotes

^[1] For a recent example, see J. Denny Weaver’s The Nonviolent Atonement.

^[2] In all theological discussions, terminology, such as “atonement view” and “atonement model,” is important and should always be nuanced. For our purposes, “view” and “model” are used interchangeably.

[3] For a fascinating reinterpretation of Christus Victor as victory over death – not the devil – see Benjamin Myers, “The Patristic Atonement Model,” in Locating Atonement: Explorations in Constructive Dogmatics. Edited by Oliver D. Crisp and Fred Sanders. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015.

^[4] Note, Anselm’s usage of homo is not gendered, therefore “man” in Cur Deus Homo should be read as short-hand for “mankind” or, my preference, “humanity.” For my purposes, it is “humanity,” except when in direct reference to the unique God-man: Jesus. This is not to say “God-human” as reference to Jesus is improper or discouraged; I just prefer the terseness of “God-man.”

^[5] The critique goes something like this: the feudal system of Anselm’s time infiltrated Anselm’s theology, therefore making it un-Christian, un-biblical, and un-theological. This is, I think, an unfair critique: Anselm is much more careful with his use of “honor.”

^[6] Note, unlike the ransom model, this debt repayment is to God, not the devil.

^[7] My language here might give the impression that Anselm is a universalist. In my reading, Anselm is not. So, the reader can happily read Anselmian satisfaction being either limited atonement, as in only the elect received the merits of Christ’s satisfaction, or unlimited atonement, as in the whole of humanity received the merits of Christ’s satisfaction.

^[8] Here, I would like to brief two very different views of God’s plan for salvation:

• Supralapsarian: God elects before the Fall
• Infralapsarian: God elects after the Fall

These are polar opposites when it comes to when God elected or decides to elect, but both views can attest to the penal substitution model as the means for atonement/salvation for the elect.

^[9] “Law” is not be equated to the Old Testament Laws. In Reformed theology, “law” is more broad: God’s law is an extension of who God is. What he allows and denies in his law reflects God’s character.

^[10] Another layer of the divine child abuse critique is that the Father’s punishment of the Son is random. Or, put differently, why the gruesome cross as the means of punishment? I have limited myself to the problem of the Father-Son relation in the critique and did not touch on its randomness.

We are writing a mini-series to give high level overviews of some contemporary theologians, providing arguments for and against their positions. Part 2 discusses Gustavo Gutiérrez, an 89 year old Peruvian man.

How do you say to the poor that God loves you? Liberation Theology offers an answer.

A Summary and Explanation of Gustavo Gutiérrez, O.P., Liberation Theology

Gustavo Gutiérrez is the John Cardinal O’Hara Professor of Theology at the University of Notre Dame. In addition to being a priest, a member of the Dominican Order, and a professor of theology, Gutiérrez is widely known as “The Father of Liberation Theology.” His seminal work A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, Salvation has been a cornerstone of 20^th century theological thought.

Gutiérrez’s chief contribution to theology is his development and explanation of Liberation Theology (or more specifically, Latin American Liberation Theology). Gutiérrez’s Liberation Theology is driven largely by an attempt to answer the question: “How do you say to the poor that God loves you?” Poverty and injustice, Gutiérrez contends, “seem to embody the negation of the love of God.”[1] Liberation Theology, then, “seeks a language to speak about God, a prophetic language that affirms the link between God and the poor. Prophetic language involves not only preaching, but our deeds, what we do. To believe in Jesus Christ means to be committed to the poor.”[2] Liberation Theology is concerned chiefly with expressing the love of God to the least of these—the poor and the marginalized. This love requires action, not simply meditation and well-wishes.

A key component of Gutiérrez’s thought is his assertion that following Jesus necessarily requires a “preferential option for the poor.” In his own words,

“The free and demanding love of God is expressed in the commandment of Jesus to “Love one another as I have loved you” (Jn 13:34). This implies a universal love that excludes no one, and at the same time a priority for the least ones of history, the oppressed and the insignificant.”[3]

To be a follower of Jesus is necessarily to love others, and especially those who are oppressed and marginalized.

In seeking to side with the poor, Gutiérrez’s Liberation Theology engages with historical, social, political, and economic factors that have caused the current crisis of poverty. This requires a consideration of the systematic structures and issues that continue to promote and enable the rise of poverty. However, both the overarching and systematic, and the immediate and personal, must be kept in view. Gutiérrez states that “It is good to specify that the preferential option for the poor, if it aims at the promotion of justice, equally implies friendship with the poor and among the poor.”[4] Loving and caring for the poor is more than (but includes) fighting against systems of oppression. Loving and caring for the poor requires friendship.

Gutiérrez’s Liberation Theology moves beyond the frequently esoteric world of theology and challenges people to be disciples of Jesus by obeying His command to love others—especially the poor.

A Criticism of (Latin American) Liberation Theology

Whereas in our last article on contemporary theology where we considered several different critiques, here only one critique will be considered. This is for two reasons: (1) the critique discussed here is one of the most common critiques of Liberation Theology, and (2) because it comes from within the Roman Catholic church itself (Gutiérrez is Catholic). Liberation Theology, particular in its Latin American form (the form we’ve discussed in this article), found major critics within the walls of the church. The Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, the group within Roman Catholicism that is concerned with defending the doctrines of Catholic faith, issued an article (“Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation’”, henceforth ICATL) that refutes Liberation Theology. Notably, ICATL was overseen by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, who later became Pope Benedict XVI.

ICATL’s critique focuses upon Liberation Theology’s dependence upon Marxism. ICATL argues that fundamental to Marxist thought are ideas “which are not compatible with the Christian conception of humanity and society.”[5] Specifically, Marxism begins from a standpoint of atheism. Thus, for Christians to utilize an atheistic worldview as a means to interpret society “is to involve oneself in terrible contradictions.”[6]

The key issue set forth in ICATL is the problem of ‘marxist analysis.’[7] – the usage of Marxism to understand and describe society. ICATL argues that a central tenet of Marxism, which is then adopted by Liberation Theology, is understanding society through the lens of class struggle: that is to say, to see society as a struggle between different social classes, the wealthy vs. the poor. Moreover, the distinctions in social class pervade every aspect of reality—“religious, ethical, cultural, and institutional.”[8] ICATL relates that according to Marxist philosophy, the only way to move forward in this struggle is through violence.[9]

ICATL states that this view is problematic because it makes love of neighbor—a key teaching of Jesus and a central tenet of Christian belief—something to be done in the future, after the poor have risen up in revolution and overthrown the rich. Love of neighbor becomes a futuristic ideal, rather than an immediate action.[10]

Moreover, ICATL contends viewing the world through the lens of class lends itself to a divisive understanding of the world, and it leads to reading Scripture in a reductionist manner, such that liberation is the sole message and focus of the biblical text.[11] This leads, ICATL argues, to reading the biblical text in a way that “misunderstand[s] the person of Our Lord Jesus Christ… and thus the specific character of the salvation he gave us, that is above all liberation from sin, which is the source of all evils.”[12] Ultimately, then, a key problem with Liberation Theology is that it fails to properly understand the salvific work of Jesus Christ, because it focuses on social revolution and liberation, rather than freedom from sin.

In summary, ICATL concludes that Liberation Theology—as a result of it’s Marxist social analysis—gives “[a]n exclusively political interpretation… to the death of Christ. In this way, its value for salvation and the whole economy of redemption is denied.”[13] By viewing Christ’s death as a political statement about liberation from oppression, Liberation Theology, according to ICATL, fails to understand that Christ’s death is ultimately significant because it frees humanity from sin.

Conclusion

Liberation Theology raises a question worth considering: “How do you say to the poor that God loves you?” At the same time, any answer offered must be carefully scrutinized.

Regardless of how one feels about Gutiérrez and Liberation Theology, his work and its significance cannot be understated. Gutiérrez and Liberation Theology have shaped and influenced theological dialogue since the twentieth-century. That being said, Gutiérrez has continued to think and write since the initial publication of his A Theology of Liberation. Thus, it would be best to read deeper into the depths of Gutiérrez’s writing before forming a final opinion on the subject of Liberation Theology. For those interested in diving deeper into Liberation Theology, we recommend you check out some recommendations below.

What are your initial thoughts about Gutiérrez and Liberation Theology? Leave a comment below!

Recommendations for Further Reading:

Works of Gustavo Gutiérrez

• “The Option for the Poor Arises from Faith in Christ,” Theological Studies, 70 (2009), pp. 317-326
• “Gustavo Gutierrez: with the poor,” Christianity and Crisis, 47 no 5 (Apr 6, 1987), pp. 113-115
• “Notes for a Theology of Liberation,” Theological Studies, 31 no 2 (Jun 1970), pp. 243-261
• A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation

Critics of Gustavo Gutiérrez and/or Liberation Theology

• “Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation,” Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (1984), <http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_19840806_theology-liberation_en.html>.
• “The Case Against Liberation Theology,” The New York Times, Oct. 21, 1984, <https://www.nytimes.com/1984/10/21/magazine/the-case-against-liberation-theology.html?pagewanted=all>. Accessed March 13, 2018.
• “The Errors of Liberation Theology,” First Things, July 27, 2015, <https://www.firstthings.com/web-exclusives/2015/07/the-errors-of-liberation-theology>. Accessed March 13, 2018.

Footnotes:

[1] “Gustavo Gutierrez: with the poor,” Christianity and Crisis, 47 no 5 (Apr 6, 1987), p. 113.

[2] Ibid.

[3] “The Option for the Poor Arises from Faith in Christ,” Theological Studies, 70 (2009), p. 319. Emphasis mine.

[4] Ibid, 325.

[5] ICATL., Section 7.8.

[6] ICATL., Section 7.9.

[7] ICATL, esp. Section 7. <http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_19840806_theology-liberation_en.html>

[8] ICATL, Section 8.8

[9] ICATL, Section 8.6.

[10] Ibid., Section 9, esp. 9.7.

[11] Ibid., Section 10.5.

[12] Ibid., Section 10.7.

[13] Ibid., Section 10.12.

We are starting a mini-series to give high level overviews of some contemporary theologians, providing arguments for and against their positions. Part 1 discusses James H. Cone, an 81 year old Black man.

A Summary and Explanation of Black Liberation Theology

How does the Christian faith relate to our race and identity? How does faith relate to the oppressed? How does faith relate to our historical and political context? These are the types of questions James Cone answers in his writing.

James H. Cone is the Bill & Judith Moyers Distinguished Professor of Systematic Theology at Union Theological Seminary, and winner of the 2018 Grawemeyer Award in Religion (one of the highest accolades in the world of theology). Well-known as the founder of Black Liberation Theology, Cone’s seminal work, A Black Theology of Liberation, came out in 1970. He has continued to write on and foster dialogue concerning the intersection of race and Christian theology for over four decades.

Cone’s Black Liberation Theology primarily arises out of a consideration of context and experience. Whereas much of White theology has begun from philosophical propositions and ideas—which only occasionally leads to pragmatic applications—Black Liberation Theology begins with the pragmatic; Black Liberation Theology begins with the experience of oppression, suffering, and persecution, of Black people.

Cone’s work focuses on Black liberation in light of Scripture—that is, the liberation of Blacks from the place of oppression in which they have been placed, historically, by Whites. And this liberation from oppression extends to all areas where oppression occurs: economics, socio-political, institutional, etc.

Although on the surface Cone may at times appear to be more social or political than religious and theological, make no mistake: Cone’s arguments are deeply theological—taking shape in light of a reading of the Bible that centers upon God’s liberation of the oppressed.

Cone argues that race issues and the Gospel are intimately intertwined. Cone sees God’s liberation of the oppressed as a central and primary theme throughout the whole Bible. Cone cites the Exodus of the Israelites—who were slaves in Egypt—and the cries of the prophets, as testimony that God is angered by and concerned with the poor and oppressed. In his own words, “to speak of the God of Christianity is to speak of him who has defined himself according to the liberation of the oppressed.”[1]

Cone contends, based on historical, social, and economic analysis, as well as personal context and experience, that Black people are the poor and the oppressed, and thus those with whom God sides. Drawing upon the life of Jesus, Cone says that:

“Jesus is pictured as the Oppressed One who views his own person and work as an identification with the humiliated condition of the poor. The poor were at the heart of his mission: “The last shall be first and the first last” (Matt. 20:16). That is why he was always kind to traitors, adulterers and sinners and why the Samaritan came out on top in the parable.”[2]

Because Jesus identifies with the “humiliated condition of the poor,” and Black people are, in Cone’s analysis, the humiliated poor, Jesus identifies with Black people. Moreover, because God is the God of liberation, God desires the liberation of Black people from their place of oppression (and this means all forms of oppression; e.g. economic, social, institutional, etc.).

Despite the term “Black Theology,” Cone’s contentions profoundly affect White people—for they are the oppressors from whom Black people need liberation. It is important to note here that this is not simply a demonization of White people. Rather, Cone insightfully points to the historical relations between Blacks and Whites to justify his contentions: the colonialism of Europeans, the atrocities of slavery, and the brutality enacted upon Blacks by Whites.

Furthermore, it is important to understand that Cone does not contend that White people are beyond salvation. Rather, discussing the interconnectedness of the Cross and the Lynching Tree, Cone states that:

“The cross can also redeem white lynchers and their descendants too but not without profound cost, not without the revelation of the wrath and justice of God, which executes divine judgment, with the demand for repentance and reparation, as a presupposition of divine mercy and forgiveness. Most whites want mercy and forgiveness but not justice and reparations; they want reconciliation without liberation, the resurrection without the cross.”[3]

These are strong words. And for some, they may be difficult to hear. But Cone’s provoking and insightful theology demands serious thought. Cone argues that redemption and reconciliation require confronting the reality and difficulties of racism (both historical and current), and repenting as well as making reparation. It is not so simple as to say “all is forgiven, all is well, let’s carry on.”

Criticisms of Black Liberation Theology

As with all new and significant developments in a field of study, Cone is not without his critics. We have highlighted a few of them below.

Criticism 1

One critique levied against Cone’s thought is his starting place: the experience of oppression. H. Wayne House comments that a key problem with Cone’s thought is that starting with human experience is too narrow. Instead, the starting point should be the question “Who is Christ?” Once this question has been answered, House says, it is then possible to explore “where [Christ] is in man’s existence and problems, and how Christ will provide the help man so desperately needs.”[4] Thus, House argues, the problem with Black Liberation Theology lies in making human experience the starting point of theology, rather than the person, life, and work of Jesus the Christ.

Criticism 2

Rev. James Ellis III mentions that no group has a monopoly on oppression, and thus he is concerned that Cone’s theology “can quite easily transform into an us versus them theological boxing match, with blacks being us and whites being them.”[5] Ellis worries that Cone’s theology places too much emphasis on being black, and that this emphasis excludes other people and communities that also partake in being oppressed—in short, Cone’s theology does not provide enough space for non-Blacks and non-oppressors. Moreover, Ellis contends that Cone’s thought seems to ignore, or at least fails to address, that even within the black community there are those who are oppressors.[6]

Criticism 3

Frederick Sontag raises questions about whether Cone even succeeds on his own terms to articulate a Black Theology—or if instead, Cone has offered a “Coconut Theology,” i.e. one that appears to be black on the outside, but is truly built upon white theological norms. Sontag points to Cone’s European philosophical sources, and in particular Cone’s use of Marx, to raise suspicions about the truly ‘black’ nature of Cone’s theology. Additionally, Sontag questions if Cone has not overly simplified black religious experience, failing to account for the diversity of experiences had in the black community.[7]

Criticism 4

Dr. Anthony Bradley contends that Black Liberation Theology is problematic on two fronts: First, it promotes victimhood, and second, it promotes Marxism. To the first point, Bradley draws upon the work of John McWhorter to argue that Black Liberation Theology promotes victimhood—namely, it makes ‘being a victim’ the central component of one’s identity. This is problematic, because “reducing black identity to ‘victimhood’ distorts the reality of true progress.”[8] Bradley signals Barack Obama’s presidency as one such indicator of true progress.

With regard to the promotion of Marxism, Bradley cites multiple comments and pieces by James Cone as well as Cornel West to show the interconnectedness of Black Liberation Theology and Marxism. Bradley suggests that Marxism actually furthers oppression. This is because it encourages Black people to depend on the government to provide for them, rather than seeking upward mobility for themselves. Thus, for Bradley, Black Liberation Theology serves to hinder, rather than help, Black people in America.[9]

Conclusion

A deeper understanding of Black Liberation Theology and its critics requires far more space than we have here. If you’re interested in learning more, then we’d encourage you to dive in to the plethora of works on the subject. We would not do justice to Cone, Black Liberation Theology, or their critics, by writing a back and forth of both side’s arguments, so we’ll leave it to you to dig in deeper.

Cone’s work has greatly influenced the field of theology, and should spur each of us to pursue—not just think about—redemption and reconciliation, particularly in light of race and its continuous effect on the world. That being said, Cone’s work has its critics, and the points they raise are worthy of weighty consideration as well.

It’s worth remembering Cone has written far and wide on a host of subjects. Doctoral dissertations could be written on him and his works. Hence, this article only attempts to briefly overview some key aspects of his theology, as well as some of the criticisms raised in response to his thought.

What are your initial thoughts about Cone? Leave a comment below!

Recommendations for Further Reading:

Works of James Cone

• A Black Theology of Liberation
• “Black Theology and Black Liberation,” Christian Century, Sept. 16, 1970, pp. 1084-1088.
• The Cross and the Lynching Tree
• “Strange Fruit: The Cross and the Lynching Tree,” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa, 148 (March 2014) pp. 7-17.
• “Theology’s Great Sin: Silence in the Face of White Supremacy,” Black Theology: An International Journal, 2.2 (2004), pp. 139-152

Critiques of James Cone and/or Black Liberation Theology

• “Coconut Theology: Is James Cone the ‘Uncle Tom’ of Black Theology?” in The Journal of Religious Thought, Vol. 36, Issue 2, Fall 1979/Winter 1980, pp. 5-12.
• “The Marxist Roots of Black Liberation Theology,” Acton Institute, April 2, 2008. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018. <https://acton.org/pub/commentary/2008/04/02/marxist-roots-black-liberation-theology>
• “An Investigation of Black Liberation Theology,” March 9, 2007. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018. <https://www.monergism.com/thethreshold/sdg/blackliberation.html>
• “A Critique of Cone’s Black Liberation Theology,” June 9, 2011. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018 <http://day1.org/3145-faith_seeking_understanding_a_critique_of_cones_black_liberation_theology>

About the Author:

Gareth Leake graduated with a Master of Theological Studies from Emory University. His research focused upon fourth-century Trinitarian theology.

Footnotes

[1] “Black Theology and Black Liberation,” in Christian Century, Sept. 16, 1970, p. 1086.

[2] “Black Theology and Black Liberation,” in Christian Century, Sept. 16, 1970, p. 1086.

[3] “Strange Fruit: The Cross and the Lynching Tree,” in Journal of Theology for Southern Africa, 148 (March 2014), p. 15.

[4] “An Investigation of Black Liberation Theology,” March 9, 2007. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018. <https://www.monergism.com/thethreshold/sdg/blackliberation.html>

[5] “A Critique of Cone’s Black Liberation Theology,” June 9, 2011. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018 <http://day1.org/3145-faith_seeking_understanding_a_critique_of_cones_black_liberation_theology>

[6] Ibid.

[7] “Coconut Theology: Is James Cone the ‘Uncle Tom’ of Black Theology?” in The Journal of Religious Thought, Vol. 36 Issue 2, Fall 1979/Winter 1980, pp. 5-12.

[8] “The Marxist Roots of Black Liberation Theology,” Acton Institute, April 2, 2008. Accessed Feb. 1, 2018. <https://acton.org/pub/commentary/2008/04/02/marxist-roots-black-liberation-theology>

[9] Ibid.