The Hebrew-Christian view of divine revelation is unmistakably clear. It allows us to see that in unbreakable harmony God has revealed himself in history, in word, and in deed: in the history of man’s fall and prodigality, in the history of uprising and rebellion. He deals most revealingly where sin reaches its highpoint, namely, in the cross of Christ. In the cross of Christ lies concentrated the great mystery of the revelation of God. In this cross we see on the one side the end of the ways of man in deep darkness and the extremities of his estrangement, but on the other side the definitive and new beginning of the ways of God. Here is the salvation of God unveiled; when the wisdom of the wise is revealed as coming to nothing: “Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?”

Now the mystery of divine revelation is made manifest: “Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”

Now it would be a radical and hopeless mistake if men were to take this to mean that God is in the larger things of life, that he is there when men are strong and brave. No, he is there where the “foolishness” and the “weakness” of the Cross is accepted for salvation. If God has dealt definitively in the Cross and in the Resurrection of his beloved Son, then henceforth the vision of Mary, the mother of the Lord becomes reality: “He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away” (Luke 1:51–53).

That is the law of the continuance of history in the last days. It is a sobering thought that this reality of revelation is not generally reckoned with in our times. That is the greatest mistake of our age, that it lacks understanding of God’s revelation in justice and grace in the last days, now that God has spoken clearly in his Son, after he “in diverse manner spoke in time past unto the fathers by the prophets” (Heb. 1:1).

In our days much is spoken and written about the “absence” of God. Man has taken his own life in hand and goes forth on a course of fantastic discoveries. It appears as if man has become strong and great and mighty. But the great problem of our time, in the light of the Hebrew-Christian view of divine revelation, is not man’s greatness but his smallness: can he still be small before God? That is the most critical question that can be put to man.

The “absence” of God?

After Christ had instructed his young disciples, Philip posed the question: “Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us” (John 15:8). He had listened to his Master with holy desire, but he was not yet satisfied. There was still an unknown area: show us the Father!

To this question Christ gave answer with a counter-question: “Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Shew us the Father?” (John 14:9).

There is no word in the New Testament, according to our knowledge, that presses more deeply into the mystery of the revelation of God in this world than this question of Christ, “how sayest thou then?” Here the fact became obvious that for those who already have learned to know Christ there exists no separate problem—the problem of the Father—that has not yet been solved. The revelation of God in Jesus Christ, upon which the entire history in the Old and New Testaments is focused, is definitive and conclusive. Here men cannot stray, if they will only cast themselves at the feet of him who is the revelation of the Father.

Threat To Revelation

In the history of the Church and of theology, faith in divine revelation has been threatened by many dangers.

There was first the threat of the heresy which attacked the absolute revelation of God in Christ Jesus, and after long periods of violent struggle the Church gave expression to its confession in more certain terms.

In modern times the mystery of divine revelation has been brought to trial anew.

It is not accidental that almost always the great battles in the history of the Church have centered themselves on the confession of Christ and in the answer to the question: “But whom say ye that I am?” (Matt. 16:15). That is not a subordinate point in salvation, but the absolute core. Often the fierceness of the defense of the Church against modernism has been unjustly charged to intellectualism and traditionalism. But the source of this energetic defense lies deeply and principally in a decisive outlook on God’s revelation.

Naturally, the danger of intellectualism and even orthodoxism is always present with us. Men can speak about the truth of God in the same manner as the Pharisees spoke about the Law, while in their hearts they held themselves far from the Lord of the Law. So one can accept all the “truths” of the Christian faith, but in his heart be a stranger to them. But this erroneous path of intellectualism without faith, present danger that it is, may never allow us to leave the faith to be blurred out in a mystical emotion, in which we are not interested in what has happened. When Paul points to the Cross and the Resurrection, then he is not concerned with a mere intellectual acceptance of these truths, but he seeks faith and love, surrender and expectation, hope and adoration.

Just when the Church in our time feels compelled to confess the mystery of revelation over against many kinds of criticism, then we should also recall that the self-same Apostle Paul, who gloried in the Cross, also called out: “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing” (1 Cor. 13:1–2). This is a serious warning against a misunderstanding of divine revelation.

But another possibility exists. This we see in the witness of John, the apostle of love, who in the struggle of his days cried out in spirited defense: “Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist, that denieth the Father and the Son.”

Here love is tied in with indignation over the attacks on the great mystery. For John, everything hangs in the balances when that message is challenged. And the same John, at the end of his letter, warns with pressing earnestness: “Little children, keep yourselves from idols. Amen” (1 John 5:21).

Understandably, this letter, which is full of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ, ends with a warning against idols. For there only one decision: that between Jesus Christ and the idols. Other gods press themselves forward when the divine revelation of God in Christ is mistaken or denied. In the history of Israel, idols brought forth only darkness. Now people bow down no longer to idols of wood or of stone, but modern idols are also hard masters and we are still warned in the last days, “Little children: it is the last time.”

Summoning The Whole Man

If one thing is certain, it is this: our insight into the Hebrew-Christian view of divine revelation is not an intellectual game. It is, and must be, a matter of the heart. It concerns the revelation of the living God, the God who calls and who promises, who is merciful and just, and who has spoken to us through his Son.

And so completely is the entire Word of God made manifest in Christ that he once said to his disciples: “If any man serve me, him will my Father honor” (John 12:26). We can hardly fathom the reality and the riches of this Word. We can picture to ourselves that we are called to the soli Deo gloria—but here we read: “him will the Father honor”—not our worthiness but a glory of God upon him who serves the Son.

That is the secret of the future, when the full and deep significance of divine revelation in history shall be unveiled, and when the word shall sound forth: “It is done” (Rev. 21:6). Among all the redeemed on earth a longing already exists to understand more and more the mystery of the revelation of God in its breadth and its length, its depth and its height (Eph. 3:18). Only in this communion is it possible “to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge” (Eph. 3:19). This word of the Apostle Paul has been called paradoxical, but the paradox becomes known and in this knowledge is experienced as inexhaustible.

The Lamb And The Book

In all the ages of man his heart has been set on a search for the purpose of history. And always human thinking stretches itself to understand the past, the present and the future. But for many, history appears to be nothing more than “a book written within and on the back, sealed with seven seals” (Rev. 5:1). But the last book of the Bible gives the explanation of purpose through “a strong angel with a loud voice” (Rev. 5:2). “Weep not: behold, the Lion of the tribe of Juda, the Root of David, hath prevailed to open the book, and to loose the seven seals thereof.” (Rev. 5:5).

And even when the Lamb finally opens the book—for Christ Jesus is the purpose of history—there still remain depths in the revelation of God that we do not thoroughly understand. “How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” But they are and remain “the depths of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!” (Rom. 11:33).

END

G. C. Berkouwer is Professor of Systematic Theology in Free University, Amsterdam, and author of many significant books. He is one of 24 evangelical scholars contributing to the important symposium on Revelation and the Bible to be published in the latter part of this year by Baker Book House.

For the last 15 years there has been steadily developing in American Methodism a “High Church” movement. This has been connected with an earlier development in English Methodism, the principles of which were being advocated as early as 1914 by the “Wesleyan Guild of Divine Worship,” earliest representative of similar (and more developed) organizations.

A number of terms has designated the movement. Liturgical Movement is one, although this is likely to be misunderstood, as it means an emphasis not upon mere ritual but upon worship as the act of the whole congregation, and moreover it is a term used of a movement beyond the distinctive Methodist development. Sacramental Revival describes it better, although again casual readers may miss many implications of this term.

Distinctive Beliefs

The title we have used above is less commonly used, more descriptive perhaps of the actual nature of the movement. We may describe the Methodist High Churchman as one who believes in:

1. High views of the Christian Faith: the wholehearted acceptance of divine revelation given in the Holy Scriptures and witnessed to in the historic Christian creeds.

2. High views of Christian worship: the acceptance of worship as the principal business of the church and the duty of every individual, and the belief that such worship must center around the divinely given Word and sacraments.

3. High views of the Church of Christ: belief in the Church as a divine institution headed by Christ himself, and one which has a mission to the whole world.

4. High views of the ministry: belief in a divine call to the ministry, the importance of ordination, and the distinctiveness of the clerical vocation.

By whatever name, the movement stands for a distinct view of the Christian faith and is not to be confused with the aestheticism common in churches today. It is based upon a hard core of Christian doctrine.

Described by some of its supporters as a “militant attack upon humanism,” it is in fact a return to the historic faith after the inroads of secular philosophy in the present age. There is throughout the movement an emphasis upon the historic confessions of the Christian Church, especially those of an ecumenical character like the Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds.

In those circles affected by this quietly growing force is the repeatedly used phrase “Nicene Christianity.” It represents part of the insistence upon the objective quality of Christianity, and is rooted in faith in the Incarnation, the Atonement, and the Resurrection. Members of one organization connected with the movement are pledged “to submit my mind humbly to the faith of the church as set forth in the Nicene Creed.” The faith in all ages whether in the first century or the twentieth is, and must be, one in essence.

The first issue of Present Age Leaflets, “I Believe,” published by the Wesley Witness of Rochdale, England, is a good example of this conviction that Christian doctrine matters. It challenges those who “make nonsense of Christianity” by preaching “Marx, Tennyson, Wells, and Shaw … a creedless religion which is agnosticism with a veneer of ritual.”

Methodism’S Heritage

In all this, Methodism’s own particular heritage comes frequently to the front. Methodists never quite escape their founder, and those hard sayings of Wesley, so often shelved by modern Methodists, are being rediscovered by friends of the Sacramental Revival. They know, if others do not, that Wesley did not just say, “We think and let think.” He said, “As to all opinions which do not strike at the root of Christianity, we think and let think.” The preceding words make clear exactly what Wesley had in mind:

We believe, indeed, that all Scripture is given by the inspiration of God’; and herein we are distinguished from Jews, Turks, and infidels. We believe the written Word of God to be the only and sufficient rule both of Christian faith and practice; and herein we are fundamentally distinguished from those of the Romish Church. We believe Christ to be the eternal, supreme God; and herein we are distinguished from the Socinians and Arians.

The Sacramental Revival means a return to Wesley in regard to worship as well as doctrine. There can be no doubt that in worship, modern Methodism has largely departed from Wesley both in theory and in practice. Nowhere is this more evident than with regard to Holy Communion. Wesley through a long life communed about every third day and taught his followers to do the same. His “Directions Given to the Band Societies” urge members “To be at church and at the Lord’s table every week.… To observe, as days of fasting or abstinence, all Fridays in the year.” In 1784 in his letter to the American Methodists, regarding forming a separate church, Wesley said, “I also advise the elders to administer the Supper of the Lord, on every Lord’s Day.” His liturgy prepared for, and adopted by American Methodists in that year presupposes such a practice.

Not only in practice but in theory as well, a falling away from the Wesleyan ideas has occurred. The average Methodist minister or congregation is not at home with Wesleyan doctrine in regard to the sacraments. Wesley’s “Treatise on Baptism,” published 18 years after his Aldersgate experience, would be strongly opposed today by many in Methodist circles. The Methodist hymnal does not contain a single hymn on Baptism or the Lord’s Supper by the Wesley brothers. Wesley’s principal work on the Lord’s Supper is not even cited in Burtner and Chiles’ Compend of Wesley’s Theology, although this is an effort to set forth Wesley’s teaching.

Conservative Aspects

In that it seeks to return to basic principles within Methodism, the Sacramental Revival is a conservative movement. It seeks a return to the original character of the Wesleyan movement in opposition to the lowest-common-denominator revivalism that once prevailed in America and to the humanism which succeeded it.

The Sacramental Revival is conservative in that it seeks a worship rooted in biblical concepts. It magnifies the sacraments because the New Testament magnifies them. In them the drama of redemption is shown and becomes effective. The worship of the church must, in this view, center around the Gospel as an objective fact. The faith cannot be what each individual feels it is, but what Christendom has always declared it to be.

With regard to the church union, this movement also represents a distinct point of law. It believes in it, and prayer is constantly offered for that objective. But in contrast to the views sometimes held out, it does not hope for a union achieved by disregarding the basic doctrines of Christianity. Union however reached, must always be built upon the forthright acceptance of the faith revealed in the New Testament and believed by the undivided church.

The Past And The Present

The Sacramental Revival has vital relation to the past: to Wesley, to the Church of England, and to the primitive Church. It is related to modern movements: the revival of biblical theology, the liturgical movement, and the ecumenical movement. It is related to the personal spiritual needs of individuals, and is supported generally by those who have found it satisfying religiously. For these reasons it is reaching an ever-increasing number of Methodists.

The present writer is a convinced supporter of this movement. I believe in its principles. I realize that many, both inside and outside Methodism, have yet to evaluate it. But sooner or later they will do so. To the conservative that would consider the qualities of the movement, I would suggest that he keep in mind the following:

1. Its doctrinal base. Do not confuse it with externels: robes, candles, and incense are not the basic things in this movement.

2. Its unquestioned loyalty to the historic Christian faith, magnifying the Incarnation, Atonement, and Resurrection.

3. Its spiritual quality.

4. Its close connection with the thought and practice of John Wesley and other early Methodist leaders.

We Quote:

HENRY J. CADBURY

Professor, Haverford College

Whenever we review the higher criticism of past centuries, we realize how much it proceeded in accordance with changing styles or was affected by external influences. But we find it difficult to recognize and allow for similar patterns in our own day. Thus neo-orthodoxy and ecumenicity have replaced former influences, only to give place, I suppose, to other patterns of tomorrow. Even bodies of newly discovered or newly studied literature are successively exploited. The gospel of John has always proved puzzling. During the past half century one clue after another has been pressed to provide a solution; the mystery religions, apocalyptic Judaism, Mandaism, Hermeticism, have all had a turn.… Any experienced historian of criticism could have predicted that if a substantial body of new information about a contemporary Jewish or Christian movement were discovered in 1947, men would at once be found to claim therein a key to the gospel of John. Such a prediction has been enthusiastically and uncritically fulfilled since the publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls. This reminds us how hard it is to acquire perspective towards our own time.—In an article, “Some Foibles of New Testament Scholarship,” in The Journal of Bible and Religion, July, 1958.

Mrs. Lillian Turner is a church secretary in Mississippi, and a graduate of Draughan’s Business College in Jackson. She writes of a small but growing movement in American Methodism. In England its strongest organizational expression is the Methodist Sacramental Fellowship, formed 1935, and in the United States, the Order of Saint Luke, founded 1946.

The present year is the anniversary not only of the death of Mary Tudor but also of the accession of her half-sister Elizabeth I to the throne of England. This opened the way for a Protestant restoration and a somewhat permanent settlement of the religious question. Apart from the Civil War and some regrettable schisms, this settlement has indeed lasted in its main features right up to the present time, and some of its characteristics will repay our closer study.

Elements Of Strength

On the credit side, it may be noticed that a firm doctrinal Protestantism was adopted with the acceptance of a revised version of the original Forty Two Articles of Cranmer. For a time, concessions were made to Lutheran opinion in respect of the Lord’s Supper, but these were abandoned later in the reign; and the final Thirty Nine Articles commit the Church of England to a distinctively Reformed position in all the disputed issues of the time. The wording of the Articles makes it clear that the counter-propositions of Trent were flatly rejected.

Again on the credit side, the liturgical practice readopted by the church was that of the 1552 Book of Common Prayer with its incontestable Reformed presuppositions. In keeping with the policy of Cranmer, a fixed liturgical form was maintained. This was almost inevitable at a time when so many of the available clergy could not be trusted to follow forms of their own devising, and it secured for the church many of the treasures of the past in a manner adapted to serve the edification of the present. Orderly, dignified and deeply spiritual worship was linked with evangelical truth and preaching in a happy combination which is the heart and strength of Anglicanism at its purest and best.

Third, the existing structure of ministry was retained, though with a new orientation in keeping with the new character of the church. Drastic upheaval was prevented by the continuance of ancient offices and organization. But it was made clear that the bishops and presbyters were now to be genuine preachers and pastors exercising a genuinely evangelical ministry no less than their Presbyterian counterparts elsewhere. In ecclesiastical as in liturgical order, there was no hasty discarding or evolutionizing of the past, but the time-honored structure was dedicated to the new purposes of the day.

Fruit Of The Reformers

In other words, Elizabeth brought to fruition the work already attempted by the Edwardian Reformers, and gave to the Church of England the particular impress which it still bears as a church committed to fully Protestant teaching but maintaining much of the traditional order. We thus learn from the settlement that reformation does not have to be revolution; that while changes may be necessary they need not be drastic; that the heritage of the past can be applied to the needs of the present and future; that genuinely spiritual life and vigor are possible even within the framework of that which is older and more stately and formal; and that while certain forms may be preferable to others, what really counts is the theology and spiritual power which finds expression within them.

At the same time there are certain dangers and weaknesses inherent in the settlement which also claim our attention and from which we can learn in the ordering of the church’s life and work and worship. The first is the obvious attempt at over-scrupulous uniformity which may be justifiable in the case of less qualified ministers but which can only lead to revolt and ultimate dissension in the case of others. In point of fact, even in the reign of Elizabeth herself, the ecclesiastical authorities found it impossible to enforce complete uniformity. But to try to do so in any legalistic sense is surely wrong in principle, since it stifles the free subjection of order to the test of Scripture and the constructive moving of the Spirit. Acts of uniformity were almost bound to result in nonconformity; and it is to be remembered in this connection that even today we must not confuse unity with uniformity or legitimate diversity with disunity.

Confusion Injected

Again, at two important points Elizabeth introduced confusion: first, and less seriously, by conflating the sentences used in the administration of Communion; and second, and more seriously, by an Ornaments Rubric which, on the face of it, sanctions far more of the ancient ceremonial than in 1552 book allowed or most Elizabethans were prepared to accept. It might be argued, as some argue today, that more elaborate vestments and ceremonial are not incompatible in principle with full evangelical teaching. But the fact remains that it is under cover of this rubric that Anglo-Catholicism has secured a re-entry into the Church of England and is finally planning an assault upon the Articles themselves. The retention of the old involves a serious risk if it is not brought into full conformity with the dogmatic norm and kept in clear subjection to it.

Finally, Elizabeth as a civil ruler, maintained a typically Tudor integration of her religion into her whole domestic and foreign policy. Whatever her private views—and there can be little doubt that she inclined to a form of Protestantism—she kept steadily before her the temporal welfare of her crown and kingdom, and bent her religious policy to the accomplishment of this final end. We must not be too hard on Elizabeth. She inherited a divided, discordant and defenseless country. Dependent at first upon the help of Spain against France, or France against Spain, she held out hopes of reconversion to Rome while fomenting Reformation in the Netherlands and Scotland to weaken both the French and Spanish positions. Determined to be mistress in her own house, she could not tolerate either Recusants and their incipient treachery on the one side, or Puritans and their independent attitude on the other. The settlement was a form of Protestantism which she found best adapted to the brilliant pursuit of her policies as a whole; and we may be thankful that it did not involve a much greater measure of ambiguity and compromise than was actually the case.

Religious Policy And Civic Policy

The final question remains, however, whether religious policies may rightly or even safely be integrated into civil, or if so, on what terms and in what relationship. The century which followed was vitally occupied with the same question, not only in the Stuart alliance of crown and episcopacy, but in the Puritan alliance with Parliament and the attempt of Independency to break free from all political entanglement. Up to a point there has obviously to be some integration, as even the Independents found when they set up their new order in the New World. Indeed, one of the firmest guarantees of the continued Protestantism of the Church of England is still its rootage in the constitution. But at least we may learn from Elizabeth that the crucial truth and order should not be subjugated to considerations of national policy whether at home or abroad. To do this is not only to be committed to a measure of compromise, but to check the constant work of reformation and to create tensions which can only lead to eventual, and altogether unnecessary, discord and disaster in the religious and civic life.

END

Geoffrey W. Bromiley is an Anglican clergyman, author of several books, and co-editor of a forthcoming dictionary of theology. He is currently serving on the faculty of Fuller Theological Seminary as visiting Professor of Church History.

A Thanksgiving Meditation

It is easy to capture the mood of Thanksgiving, or Harvest Festival. The autumn sun is shining warmly in a blue November sky. The Michigan maples and birches and oaks are ablaze with color. The farms have yielded another excellent harvest. The “frost is on the punkin’ and the corn is in the shock.”

Compared with other ages, or other lands, the countryside around me and the city in the distance are signs of an economy of abundance: a surplus of food, a wealth of all that factories can make, an ample provision of services, a fascinating variety of opportunities. A country church spire reminds me of even greater blessings—the gift of God’s Son, the fellowship of his people, the Bible in my own language, the daily care of a loving Father. Then, the disturbing thought: Why should I be so blessed and others be left in want and ignorance? If favors material and spiritual could be scaled somehow, and the earth’s peoples rated against the scale, I should surely be in the top five per cent.

Privilege Obligates

The mood of wonder and reverie gave way to one of burden and obligation. If privilege obligates, and this the Gospel stoutly maintains, what a heavy obligation belongs to one with so many privileges! If “from those to whom much has been given shall much be required,” then how solemn must the Day of Accounting be! How difficult to manage all these divine investments and make them all produce a fair return!

Anyone who calls himself a Christian must share the task involved in knowing the Redeemer, the task of making him known. And anyone who lives in North America or in Western Europe must regard himself as high on the scale of materially-blessed peoples. A half hour’s reflection on the million refugees in Hong Kong, or the displaced persons still in Europe’s camps, or the Arab homeless rotting away in the tent villages of the Middle East, should “drive a point” through the caked soil of self-centeredness and tap the deep wells of humble gratitude for one’s own lot. Few among us have known the desperation and humiliation of haunting garbage cans for food. Our concerns are for the next increment of an already high living standard.

Is it not strange that Christian devotional literature should have more to say on how Christians should suffer poverty than on how they should use abundance? The New Testament seems to reverse this emphasis.

In times of unemployment, depression, and the poverty that so often accompanies life’s closing years, Christians are encouraged to be patient, stouthearted, trustful, prayerful, more concerned over the “glory which shall be revealed in us” than over “the sufferings of this present time.” But what are the particular Christian virtues to be practiced in times of abundance?

Paul has a word in his letter to the Philippians that speaks to this point: “I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound” (4:12). “I know how to abound.” Blessed Paul, would that we Christians who are bowed beneath the weight of divine favor might discover thy secret this Thanksgiving season!

A Proper Response

Knowing how to abound, like most other kinds of knowledge, takes some learning. Few come by the knack of it naturally. Abundance puts a greater strain on character and consecration than poverty does. The pitfalls of even modest wealth are many and subtle.

“I know how to abound,” claims Paul. “Very well, noble Paul, share with us this knowledge.” Part of his reply may be found in a word he includes in his Colossian letter. He describes there the walk of those who have “received Christ Jesus the Lord” as a progressive establishment in the faith, “abounding therein with thanksgiving” (2:7).

In other words, the proper Christian response to God for the gift of “abounding grace” is thanksgiving. And should not the same response arise for the “all things” God gives his children richly to enjoy?

What a consistent example Paul gives us of this counsel! His letters breathe a spirit of thanksgiving. In nearly every one he has a thanksgiving section in the opening paragraph. Out of his own experience he can write, “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

But what is thanksgiving? It is more than a mood, more than a sentiment. It is deeper than reminiscence. Thanksgiving is essentially a relationship between persons. Christian thanksgiving is a vertical relationship between the believer and God. It belongs to the noble family called Prayer, and it is the twin brother of Praise. It recognizes that a blessing is a gift, and then it raises its attention from the gift to the Giver. Thanksgiving is therefore always response, for the Giver of every good and perfect gift always takes the initiative.

Sensible of who the Giver is, the thankful heart regards his gifts as mercy bestowed, not as payment owed. It allows that God might have withheld his gifts, and that even now he could withdraw them for reasons he considers wise. So the thankful heart sees a witness to be borne both in the receiving of God’s gifts and in the not receiving of them. It compares what heaven sends, not with the greater abundance of the wealthy, but with the need of the poor and with the just deserts of the receiver. In this way the thankful heart learns at the same time, and under the tutelage of either wealth or poverty, both lessons—how to be abased, and how to abound. This the Apostle Paul learned throughout his life as Christ’s disciple, from the Damascus road to the prison cell in Rome.

A Prime Relationship

Thanksgiving, however, is only part of the relationship between the believer and God. And it is likely to be just as strong—no more, no less—as the other parts of this relationship. Confession and forgiveness, worship and comfort, praise and blessing—these are other parts of the same relationship. The man who is seldom at church, who is a veritable stranger to his Bible, who is out of practice in prayer, will find it hard to execute a swift change in roles and to be truly thankful, Christianly thankful, once a year!

Sadly must we admit that our national holiday called Thanksgiving is often far removed from what Paul has in mind. The press and the radio admonish us to “be thankful.” But to whom? It is all so vague.

For many of our citizens this “being thankful” will amount to little more than thinking “Are we not lucky? Yes, come to think of it, we are indeed quite lucky.” There is nothing wrong with feasting, but the child of God feels he must first go to the house of God to pay his vows of thanksgiving and sing with might and main, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” He feels impelled to recognize the Great Giver. Not to do so would be as rude as to attend a birthday celebration and neglect to congratulate the person in whose honor the celebration is held.

The Christian also knows that the ungrateful heart keeps bad company—smugness, discontent, a grasping spirit, a lack of compassion, selfishness, an absence of tenderness, an unawareness of the shortness of life and the length of eternity. But these loiterers are too familiar to need much of an introduction. From them the thankful heart turns away.

A Privileged Return

But we cannot leave the matter here. Truly, the man who “knows how to abound” as Paul did, abounds with thanksgiving. Yet is this all? If it is, the thanksgiving is counterfeit! The genuine variety accepts the obligation to share with others that which abundance brings. The vertical relationship asks to be expressed horizontally. The Christian does not just thank God he is not poor; he identifies himself with those who are poor and shares. After all, one cannot give God a sandwich, or a winter coat, except as we give them to our neighbor. Nor does God give a sandwich, or a winter coat, to our neighbor, except as he gives them through us. And who is our neighbor? Jesus answered that question once for all in the story of the Good Samaritan. To be a link in the divine process of providence and liberality—what an unspeakable privilege! Let this thought be the afterglow of Thanksgiving Day.

When you come to think of it, who is doing most of the caring for the poor in our world? Is it not the world-wide community of Christians? True, the Christians probably have more to give than some others, but not all who can give do give. It is highly suggestive that it is Christian compassion, expressed through churches, independent agencies, and even governments, which reaches out to care for Arab refugees when many of their own oil-rich fellow religionists withhold aid. Nor do we read much about Russian rubles being offered to these pitiable people.

The arm of Christian mercy is long and effective. Church World Service, CROP, Lutheran World Relief—the list could be greatly extended. The heart of Christ’s true Church is sound because it is generous. In view of Calvary, how could it be otherwise? Still, there is room for even closer imitation of Christ. For where is there giving like unto his giving?

If knowing “how to abound” includes “abounding in thanksgiving,” then it also includes “always abounding in the work of the Lord” (1 Cor. 15:58). And as we look round about our world on this Thanksgiving Day, 1958, we must agree that there is plenty of the Lord’s work to be done!

END

Harold N. Englund is Minister of Midland Reformed Church in Midland, Michigan. He is a native of California. He holds the B.A. degree from University of California, and is also a candidate for the Ph.D. degree from New College, Edinburgh.

I should like to consider a subject that I have often wished someone had explained 20 years ago when I was an undergraduate in college. I refer to the fundamental logic of the Christian faith—the theological foundations of our religion.

Surely the rudiments of Christian theology are familiar to most of us. We have all been to church, listened to sermons, uttered prayers, read the Bible, attended Sunday school. But the trouble is that a person can do all these things—and I speak from sad personal experience—without comprehending the broad framework of Christian thought, and without grasping the profound questions to which Christianity provides answers. Once you do get such a panoramic view, the subordinate ideas and details of information fit into place easily—like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle when suddenly you discover what the puzzle depicts. I was 10 years out of college before I had any grasp of theology worthy of the name, and when this happened, it was like being given a key to a whole new way of looking at human existence. If some of you are experiencing this same delayed understanding of what Christianity is about, perhaps my remarks—though coming from a religious amateur—will be of help.

The first thing we need to understand is that the biblical view of God and man differs in important respects from the prevailing assumptions in America today. The average American is not a Christian in any real sense. Christianity is, and perhaps always has been, a minority religion; most of our contemporaries worship security or technology or a system of government or a set of ethical ideals or social evolution—all of which may be valuable, but are not to be confused with the living and acting God, the majestic God of the Old and New Testaments. When you are searching for ultimate value or truth, in religion or in any other field, you cannot afford to be guided simply by majority opinion.

Need For Discernment

From earliest times the actors in the biblical drama were aware of a divine will which imposed upon them a moral demand they could not meet. They always had a troubled conscience. God’s demand for complete righteousness and obedience could not be met by gifts or sacrifices of one’s property, however costly. The offering required by God was that of righteous acts—justice, mercy and purity. Sometimes the Hebrew prophets, seeing clearly that sacrifices of animals were unable to atone for human sin, spoke as if it were a simple matter for men to offer to God “the sacrifice of righteousness.” Micah, for example says in a famous passage (6:6–8):

Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before the high God? shall I come before him with burnt-offerings, with calves of a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.

Micah was right in perceiving that this is indeed what the Lord requires, but the tragedy of human existence is that we cannot meet these requirements. How can we offer a righteousness to God which we do not possess? It is a simple fact of everyday experience that we cannot do what is right simply by trying hard. We always fall short of the mark. By our own efforts we cannot save ourselves from God’s verdict of “guilty.” The degree of righteousness we are able to attain is not good enough for God. All we can do is to offer God our regret that we have failed and our determination to do better next time.

To many modern ears this analysis of the problem of man’s relationship to God may sound quaint and strangely remote. Few people today think of offering sacrifices to God for the shameful things they do. This seems alien to the present-day way of looking at life. But modern man has not in fact extricated himself from the dilemma by changing the words and omitting references to the God who judges him. We know that we do make the wrong choices in our conduct, and as a result we are ashamed of ourselves and long to make up for our bad acts in some way.

Sin, or whatever you want to call it, has not been eliminated by our cultural and scientific progress since Old Testament times. Just look at the front page of any metropolitan newspaper. You can call violations of right conduct delinquency or crime or psychological maladjustment or anti-social behavior—in most instances the appropriate theological term would be sin, the breaking of God’s law. Then too, selfishness, infidelity, vanity, self-righteousness, hardness of heart, are written all over the morning newspaper and are as truly sin as the more spectacular crimes. The existence of sin, though an unpopular notion today, is a most obvious fact in the Christian faith.

New Testament religion begins at the same point at which the Old Testament arrives, namely, the recognition that no matter how hard we try to satisfy God’s demand for righteousness, it is not within our power. According to the New Testament, God himself offers on man’s behalf the sacrifice which man is unable and unworthy to offer. This is the meaning of the Cross. Christ, who is genuine God and genuine man, fulfills in our behalf the holy law before which we have stood condemned. Because he is God he can do what we cannot do; in his life on earth he met completely the moral standards of God. If we have faith in Jesus Christ, God accepts Christ’s righteousness as if it were ours; or, to state it in another way, we participate in the righteousness of Christ by faith in him. If we believe in him, he shares his righteousness with us, and we can offer it to God in place of our own unrighteousness. This is the very heart of the Gospel, the Good News. In theological language, it is the doctrine of justification by faith. Unless you understand this point, Christianity is meaningless.

Power Of Faith

Faith in Christ has the power which all our own efforts could not have to save us. This is what we mean when we say that Christ is our Saviour. The clearest statement of the doctrine is probably to be found in chapter five of Paul’s letter to the Christians at Rome. It was God’s action, the free gift of his love, not something that we ourselves had achieved, which accomplished our salvation. Salvation is our reconciliation to God—the doing away of the consequences of sin.

Bear in mind that these things were accomplished through historic events. Jesus Christ actually lived in a particular geographical area in a particular period of time. He was actually crucified during the administration of Pontius Pilate, was buried in a specific tomb, rose from the dead on a particular day, and was seen again by a considerable number of men and women who knew him personally. These events are the very stuff of Christianity. These are the facts upon which our faith is based. Christianity is not primarily a body of philosophical abstractions or a code of rules. It is essentially an historical religion. If you study the great statements of Christian belief, such as the Apostles’ Creed, you will find that they are in large part a chronicling of events that happened in history.

The Christian’S Response

The response of the Christian, when he understands the full meaning of this redemption and the bounty of God’s grace in offering it, is a profound and transforming thankfulness to God for his invaluable gift. And so the real motive for Christian conduct is not a stoic submission to a stern law of duty, but the grateful response of a love that is awakened in our hearts by the freely offered love of God. That which we could not earn has been given to us. The driving power of Christian ethics is gratitude to God for his gift of Christ. The law which we were unable to keep through our own efforts, and which had caused in us a corrosive sense of guilt, is now a source of joy. It becomes a means for us to express our gratitude. We still cannot keep it perfectly, of course, but there is now no condemnation to them who are in Christ Jesus, as Paul says. Obedience is no longer the duty of slaves; it is now the privilege of sons. Our behavior comes closer to God’s purposes for us.

For people who will face realistically the moral dilemma of mankind, of you and me here and now, this is indeed good news. It is the good news that swept across the world in the early days of the Christian Church, and that changed timid and vacillating men into militant evangelists and unflinching martyrs in the face of persecution by the strongest police-state history had known. It is good news to a harassed world today.

The matter has been stated succinctly in a time-honored prayer known as the General Thanksgiving: Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we, thine unworthy servants, do give thee most humble and hearty thanks for all thy goodness and loving-kindness to us, and to all men; we bless thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all, for thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. And, we beseech thee, give us that due sense of all thy mercies, that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful; and that we show forth thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to thy service, and by walking before thee in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory, world without end. Amen.

END

Manning M. Pattillo is Associate Director of Lilly Endowment, Inc. His professional career has been spent in higher education as a teacher, consultant, staff member of an accrediting agency, and now as officer of a philanthropic foundation. He holds the Ph.D. degree from the University of Chicago. His address was given in the chapel of Goshen College, Indiana.

(Part II will appear in the next issue)

What is called the “modern” and the “critical” study of the gospels began in earnest about 170 years ago. Through a series of fortunate circumstances the writer has sometimes been led—sometimes impelled—to examine in detail for himself nearly the entire course of development of “critical” or “scientific” gospel study. A thirteen years’ investigation of this little known field yields a very different impression of it than the books and the popularizers give us. Real acquaintance with such work leads also to a markedly different evaluation of it than the current one.

The results of such study would normally find embodiment in monographs, and be put on a library shelf to collect dust. But in the present case the results have an unusual practical value for the Church and for its ministers. We will say no more of this, but will allow the reader to judge of this matter for himself.

Of all the views today regarded as “assured,” “established,” “scientifically validated,” and so forth, probably none has achieved wider acceptance among conservatives and liberals, fundamentalists and modernists, alike, than the Mark-hypothesis. We mean, the view that Mark (in some form) is the earliest gospel, and was used (copied) by the authors (compilers) of Matthew and Luke.

This view I once cordially embraced, quite without at first noticing that it involved several serious consequences. These may be mentioned briefly in passing. Accepting the Mark-hypothesis means: 1. you have exchanged three witnesses for one; 2. Matthew and Luke have become later compilations of questionable character; 3. your one independent witness has no resurrection appearance (because it is so widely considered to end at 16:8); 4. neither does it mention the supernatural virgin birth, or numerous other matters, which would be regarded by many as true history, were only Matthew and Luke authentic works by accredited witnesses both of what they alone contain and of what they share in common with Mark.

This view (to continue, then), so widely received, and which most ministers have accepted because it does seem to leave them with a very solid, though contracted, foundation for faith, I have come to question. My reasons for doing so follow.

In August, 1945, on vacation, I was comparing Matthew, Mark, and Luke in Greek. I was underlining the three texts with solid and broken lines in three colors, red, blue, and green. This was done for the purpose of making the relations, all the different kinds of agreements and differences, stand out clearly before the eye. Then a moment came in which I realized that so many thousands of details were involved that no one could keep them in mind. I perceived at the same time that it was almost as hard to unravel and interpret my elaborate underlinings as it was to insert them. And lastly, I saw that the method was no good. The relations were more complicated even than the very complicated system I was using for isolating them to the eye. Some words had to be doubly underlined; others could not be underscored at all. There and then the method was abandoned and a new one devised.

Tedious Investigation

The essence of the new method was to devote a separate line to every agreement and to every difference, and to compare only two gospels with each other at one time. Only two colors were used. If an agreement, or an item of disagreement, extended to only one word in length, it still ought to have a separate line in the new synopsis. The method being devised, I prepared Matthew and Mark for copying out, by marking every difference in red. On reaching home I found a stationer able to supply large sheets of paper (13 × 14) with fifty lines to the page. These were very suitable for the new kind of “synopsis.” Then, each day, one or two pages were prepared. The work done, it had to be recopied, and rearranged. It had to be twice checked against the printed texts—all words being counted as a precaution against omissions.

Now, when I had done this work and studied it, two things had become sure. The first was that nothing—absolutely nothing—had appeared which could be fairly interpreted to mean that Mark was earlier than Matthew, or that Mark had been the source of materials contained in Matthew.

Such a result, naturally, plunged me into a searching inquiry. What reasons did the books give for the opinion they maintained that Mark was earliest? I found a great variety of different answers, but none of really persuasive force, especially in view of the total absence of both external and internal evidence. Perhaps the best way available for expressing my own view will be to use the words of another, and even of one who remained unshaken in his support of the Mark-hypothesis. I once had an opportunity to present my work before six professors of theology. In the course of the presentation I propounded a little challenge I had worked out. I asked them whether any one could show me “a single, unequivocal piece of internal evidence—even if it were only a straw in the wind capable of showing which way the wind was blowing—that made it look as if something in Matthew had been copied from Mark.” Then, turning to one man, whom I had asked this question some months before, I asked pointedly whether he now knew anything of the sort—anything indicating that Mark was earlier. He answered: “I know that I wouldn’t give any of the reasons they give in the books!” With thanks to him who framed it, I may willingly adopt his answer as my own.

The challenge just mentioned—namely, asking for a single item of unequivocal evidence in favor of Mark’s priority—has been used numbers of times. Always the result has been no answer—no attempt even to answer. The challenge might be thought bold, but really was not. After all, I had twice copied out in isolation every comparable item, every word of Matthew and Mark into a synopsis. In addition, everything had been carefully studied preparing for the work, and twice again reviewed checking the finished products. I had put every agreement and every difference in a place of its own on a separate line for independent examination and study. Four several times (and more) I had thoroughly search every comparable item (thousands of them) for evidence in favor of the Mark-hypothesis. Nothing had appeared. What remained, except only to say so?

The Rise Of Doubts

One never knows what the future holds, but someday, perhaps it may be possible to publish the synopsis. If so, I doubt not but that with every available item of data isolated to a glance for separate examination, many readers will be equally clear in their minds on this point, and equally willing to assert with me the total absence of internal evidence for the theory that Mark is our earliest gospel.

As much as I might like to discuss some of the reasons given by the books, it is not possible to attempt to deal with them in the present short article. There are many different arguments. Each one needs to be clarified and carefully explained before it can be fairly answered. Particular arguments selected for refutation would probably not be the ones a reader would most desire to have answered. The best, and only valuable way, probably, would be to establish a kind of “Beatrice Fairfax” department, through which ad hoc advisements might be made available to readers on request. It is, however, with great reluctance that I forego such a discussion. The history of the reasons given, arguments used, and accompanying circumstances which brought about the triumphant roaring of the Mark lion is to me a most fascinating subject.

To resume then the main thread of the discussion, there was, I mentioned, a second thing of which I became very sure. It was this: that I at least was forced both to question and to reject the most important single assumption underlying over 150 years of gospel study. That basic assumption, which nearly everyone seemed to regard as unquestionable, is usually called “direct literary dependence.” In plain language this means “word-for-word copying.” The assumption, indeed, was as every one knows, a vital part (viz., the foundation) of the theory that Mark is our earliest gospel. Mark is held to have been the primary source utilized by those who compiled Matthew and Luke.

Weighing The Agreements

My principal reason for questioning, and rejecting, so basic an assumption lay in the fact that my synopsis had isolated all the differences and all the agreements for repeated examination. Especially was I able to examine and weigh all the exact agreements. The quantity and quality of these must ever be the only solid, indeed, the only possible foundation for a theory of direct literary dependence (i.e., of copying). These exact agreements seemed in no way capable, in my judgment, of convincing any fair-minded critic of direct literary dependence. The facts are as follows: 1. Matthew and Mark, when put in parallel columns, agree exactly at 1,877 places; 2. exact agreements vary in length from places one word only in length to one place 29 words long; 3. the average length of all places in exact agreement is 2.43 words; 4. the number of places where Matthew and Mark are found agreeing for ten words, or more, in succession is 38 (just barely over 2.0% of the 1,877 places showing exact agreements). I have discussed these agreements at considerable length in a privately published set of worksheets, as well as fantastic claims “that 90% of Mark is transcribed in Matthew,” and so forth. Here limitations of space require that my result be simply stated without elucidation. And therefore, thus far, the principal reason for my personal secession from the camp of the advocates of direct literary dependence.

There was a second reason for it, however, and one which, if I judge correctly, will prove to candid minds fully as weighty, if not more so, than any considerations hitherto presented, or the elucidation of them, which has not been presented. It happened, quite by accident, as I was putting the synopsis of Matthew and Mark into shape, that I discovered the existence of an amazingly similar batch of phenomena elsewhere. And I cannot find that anyone else has ever thought of bringing the phenomena I refer to into comparison with what the gospels show. I mean, what is found in certain texts of the Greek Old Testament (Septuagint). I stumbled on the two texts of Judges (designated A and B) which Rahlfs prints, one above the other, in his manual edition of the Septuagint.

Once discovered, it was the work of but a few hours, with the whole range of gospel phenomena clearly in mind, to ascertain that the phenomena (both the agreements and differences) presented by the two divergent Greek texts of Judges were so astonishingly like those shown in the comparison of Matthew and Mark, that they must be carefully elicited, isolated, and studied for any light they might have to throw on a developing critique of the dominant critical opinions in reference to the gospels.

The study was no sooner conceived than its execution began. At once an added incentive to complete it appeared. A quick look-around had shown that Oesterley and Robinson, Grabe, Lagarde, Moore, and Budde had maintained that the manuscripts A and B, the two oldest Greek texts of Judges, represented two independent translations from Hebrew. Theirs seemed to be (and, I think is) the dominant scholarly view. The meaning of this will be obvious. Here we have, on the one hand, a dominant critical view of the gospels based on an unquestioned assumption that one specific collection of exact agreements in Greek proved direct, Greek-on-Greek literary dependence. The matter of a specific language is an important point to watch. In plain parlance it may be put this way.

Scholars claimed that a body of exact agreements in Greek proved that two of our first three gospels were written in Greek by compilers, who copied their materials from a source (Mark) written in Greek. But, on the other hand, we have another group of scholars claiming that a larger quantity (as it proved, and also of longer average length) of exact agreements in Greek offered no obstacle to their view that two texts were independently made translations from Hebrew originals. That is, they held that the exact agreements in Greek were due to chance.

The contrast then, briefly, was this. “So much exact agreement in two Greek texts proves copying from a Greek document,” said the New Testament scholars. “Twice as much as you have,” reply the Old Testament scholars, “would still not prove any such thing”! The matter assuredly called for careful investigation.

Text Of Judges

I therefore set to work on a synopsis of the A and B texts of Judges. The parallel layout in this case was exactly the same as that used for the gospels. A separate line (or group of lines) was devoted to every individual exact agreement, as well as to every disagreement. It thus proved feasible to institute a full scale comparison of the A and B texts of Judges with the Matthew and Mark texts of the gospels. The result was illuminating. So similar were the two sets of materials that the validity of the assumption of copying in Greek seemed completely impugned. Still, careful analysis made it clear that the two sets of data were sufficiently different so as not to compel any one to think that both gospels had used a common Hebrew (Aramaic) source. The outcome was that I have been led not merely to question, but to reject as a non-sequitur the very view which nearly all New Testament scholars are quite prone to receive as the alpha and the omega of any respectable criticism.

This result was later confirmed when it became possible to devote an entire doctoral thesis to an attempt to determine the relation of the texts of Judges in codices A and B to each other. Above two and one-half years were spent in an effort to learn whether the two texts of Judges arose from copying in Greek (two recensions from an earlier Greek text); or, whether they ultimately went back to two independently executed translations from Hebrew originals, and so had their Greek agreements by chance. The result of a thorough investigation was entirely in favor of the view of the Old Testament scholars. It appeared very clear that the extensive exact agreements in Greek might easily have been, and probably in fact were, a fortuitous result of independent attempts to translate into Greek two very nearly identical Hebrew texts. The conclusion reached powerfully confirmed the decisions to question and to reject the most basic tenet of New Testament criticism.

Which view of these exact agreements, then, is right? or, which is most nearly so? It is not possible to go further into the matter at present. Enough has been said, however, to make it abundantly plain why the writer was led on to investigate carefully the entire history of “modern” “critical” study of the gospels. The questions raised were so basic, that should it prove feasible to establish their validity, no one could foresee what the result might prove to be for the future of scientific study of the gospels. Moreover, a way seemed clearly to be opening up, and that a genuinely scholarly and scientific way, whereby the gospels might be reinstated as authentic compositions of Matthew (the publican), Mark (Peter’s interpreter), and Luke (Paul’s companion); reliable, primary, historical sources; three independently attested accounts of Jesus’ words and deeds. In pursuing studies of the actual history of criticism I discovered that the scholarly writers involved had a much saner doubt of the value of their work and of its sureness, than do they of another generation, who build the tombs of the scholars.

The article to follow this will give a comprehensive picture of the development of critical gospel study. I may warn the reader, also. This work obtains two opposite reactions. Some (and they churchmen!) are revulsed because they think it an attempt to set back the clock. Others welcome it. To them it seems rather to be a clearing away of debris: finding a “treasure hid in a field.”

END

John H. Ludlum, Jr, is Minister of the Community Church on Hudson Avenue, Englewood, N. J. He holds the B.A. from Rutgers University, the B.D. from New Brunswick Theological Seminary, and the Ph. D. from Yale University (Department of Near Eastern Languages and Literatures). His doctoral studies included Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, as well as the Literature and Criticism of the Old and New Testaments.

Because the Christian religion stresses the importance of reason, not simply will and emotion, it has a stake in the arena of culture generally and in the realm of education specifically.

For Christianity exalts God as Lord of the minds of men, and under God seeks the spiritual and intelligible integration of all of life’s experiences.

Christianity And Reason

The greatness of the Hebrew-Christian religion rests partly on its insistence that the Living God is rational and moral, and that the Logos is identical with absolute deity; its insistence that the created universe is expressive of reason and responsive to reason; that the dignity of man above the animals consists in participation in the Divine image, enabling man to think God’s thoughts after him and to walk in his ways; that the Holy Spirit uses truth as a means to illumine and to convict man the sinner; and that God’s special revelation addressed to sinners and climaxed historically at Mount Calvary, also includes concepts and phrases identified as the Word of God written;—all this partially mirrors the glory of biblical religion. Doubtless some religions degrade reason, but Christianity supports the intellectual integration of life and experience.

The importance of reason is therefore an inescapable, enduring Christian emphasis. Only in times of reaction or of recrudescence has Christian theology neglected it. Ever since the Scottish philosopher Hume turned modern intellectual currents into a skeptical channel, and the German philosopher Kant proposed his additionally complicating epistemological remedy, the doubt over human reason’s adequacy to comprehend the spiritual world has vexed the headwaters of Protestant theology like a phantom. For almost two centuries, Western philosophy has increasingly dabbled in non-rational experience, finally yielding to Kierkegaard, Darwin, Nietzsche, Freud, and Dewey. This speculative irrationalism largely scorned Kant’s a priori foundation of knowledge and denied the “ontological significance of reason,” to borrow philosophical language. In other words, modern philosophy deserted the historic Christian belief that reason pervades the world of reality; it denied rational relationships between a rational Creator, man, and the universe. By the turn of the century, this bias had seeped to the intellectual classes.

After World War I, non-rationality in human experience overpowered the general social consciousness. This revolt of speculative philosophy against reason gained quick fortification from certain schools of theology—from the “relational predicament” into which Schleiermacher and Ritschl, and Protestant liberalism quite generally, betrayed the theology of revelation by excluding any objective metaphysical knowledge of God. In his attempt to rescue theology from such abuse, Karl Barth made only limited progress. The Harvard scholar, Crane Brinton, in his history of Western thought, Ideas and Men, shows concern over anti-intellectualism as “one of the characteristic manifestations of the spirit of our age.” Gordon H. Clark’s survey of the history of Western philosophy, Thales to Dewey, devotes 65 pages, one-eighth of the volume, to “Contemporary Irrationalism,” his term for the predominant mood of European and Anglo-Saxon post-Hegelianism.

Because of this drift in modern thought and because of the nature of the Christian religion, evangelical theologians today have good cause to resist the growing revolt against reason. Christianity must repudiate rationalism that exalts the authority of human speculation and conceals an Infinite Mind that corrects the limited knowledge of creatures. The believing Church has always been swift to repudiate pantheism, which regards the human mind as a fragment of the Divine Mind. In this century it has resisted neo-Hegelian personalism as well, which, while it distinguishes the Infinite Self from finite selves, nonetheless detaches man from any necessary dependence upon special Divine revelation for reliable knowledge of God. In one important respect, however, the post-Hegelian reaction from rationalism to anti-intellectualism can learn even from Hegel. While the great German idealist perversely misrepresented Christianity on many points, he was formally nearer the truth than many of his modern critics by insisting that man is divinely intended not only to love God but to know him. Hegel’s The Philosophy of History has scorching words for the doctrine that God is to be obeyed rather than known. This is what he says:

In direct contravention of what is commanded in holy Scripture as the highest duty—that we should not merely love, but know God—the prevalent dogma involves the denial of what is there said; viz., that it is the Spirit (der Geist) that leads into Truth, knows all things, penetrates even into the deep things of the Godhead. While the Divine Being is thus placed beyond our knowledge, and outside the limit of all human things, we have the convenient license of wandering as far as we list, in the direction of our own fancies. We are freed from the obligation to refer our knowledge to the Divine and True. On the other hand, the vanity and egotism which characterize it find, in this false position, ample justification; and the pious modesty which puts far from it the knowledge of God can well estimate how much furtherance thereby accrues to its own wayward and vain strivings. I have been unwilling to leave out of sight the connection between our thesis—that Reason governs and has governed the World—and the question of the possibility of a knowledge of God, chiefly that I might not lose the opportunity of mentioning the imputation against Philosophy of being shy of noticing religious truths, or of having occasion to be so; in which is insinuated the suspicion that it has anything but a clear conscience in the presence of these truths. So far from this being the case, the fact is, that in recent times Philosophy has been obliged to defend the domain of religion against the attacks of several theological systems. In the Christian religion God has revealed Himself—that is, he has given us to understand what He is; so that He is no longer a concealed or secret existence. And this possibility of knowing Him, thus afforded us, renders such knowledge a duty. God wishes no narrow-hearted souls or empty heads for his children; but those whose spirit is of itself indeed poor, but rich in the knowledge of Him; and who regard this knowledge of God as the only valuable possession (The Philosophy of History, translated from the German by J. Sibree. New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1900, pp. 14 f.).

Some may misconstrue this use of Hegel as a revival of nineteenth century liberalism superimposed on evangelical apologetics. They recognize his grossly antibiblical teaching that our spirits are but parts of the Absolute coming to consciousness in our own contemplation. But those who summarily dismiss all of Hegel on this account will cut themselves off from Aquinas and Augustine, from Luther and Calvin, indeed from the best theological heritage of Christianity as well. For the Great Tradition insists that a rational, moral Spirit governs creation and has fashioned man for obedience in knowledge; that ultimately truth is one, and that philosophy and theology dare not be confined to separate compartments of the human mind; and that all life, history, and culture are measured by the Infinite God, find their meaning only in relation to him, and derive their ennoblement only through the resources resident in him.

Christianity seeks to conform human reason and all its achievements to Jesus Christ the Creator, Redeemer and Judge. For this reason it has a permanent interest in and validity for education and culture. It summons all of personal and social life to Christ’s lordship.

Today’s investment in the spirit and service of secularism means staggering depreciation of human well-being and happiness with each passing year. Deflection of culture and civilization from Christian enthusiasm and from the sense of Christian obligation conceals and virtually nullifies the social claim of Christ and his Kingdom in our day. Because it is unaware of Christ’s primacy, the world of learning and science follows an unpredictable course in relation to duty and justice and love. Its esprit de corps today is assuredly not the Spirit of the Living God. Neither the higher nor lower levels of education must be allowed to fall unprotested to secular leaders and interpreters of life.

Penetrating Secular Options

In the United States, Christians have usually tried to keep some hold on higher education and have largely ignored primary and secondary education, although this situation now shows some change. In a secular climate, Christian ideals and virtues do not flourish; rather, they are in a defensive fight for sheer survival. To neglect pressing the claim of Christ upon the secular community brings swift and costly reprisal for such disregard: the non-Christian ideals and concepts of the world will soon infect the members of our churches. Areas of “supposed truth” will be Christless. Nature without creation, providence, and miracle; history without prophecy and fulfillment, without the centrality of the Cross; man without conscience, soul, and redemption; life without present salvation and future immortality: this is the penalty and price of Christian neglect.

If, however, Christianity relates itself properly to the entire range of thought and action, if it aggressively penetrates secular alternatives as a revealed world-life view, Christianity will further true learning and fullness of life. Christ then becomes the source and goal of the noblest and broadest culture.

If ultimate reality is not irrational and ineffable, but is Logos; if ultimate reality is not impersonal, but is the Lord; if ultimate reality is not indifferent, but is Love; if it is in Christ Jesus that “all things consist,” if all things are “of him, and through him, and unto him,” if the Cross is the central idea to which creation relates, if the Lamb of God was “slain from the foundation of the world,” if Jesus Christ is indeed “the way, the truth and the life,” if the Holy Spirit is to “guide us into all truth,” if there is “no other name given among men whereby we must be saved,” if the Church of Jesus Christ is “the pillar and ground of truth,” then it is dangerous to spawn a civilization that seeks truth without Christ. To apply genius and power for extending the orbit of worldly knowledge without reference to its axis of revelation in the Son of God is vain. To shut out the illumination of God’s disclosure of himself in Christ, not simply from the world of religion, but also of philosophy, of science, of literature and art, is blindness indeed. Truth in every realm is a commentary on the reality of life brought from darkness to light by the Creator-Redeemer God; it reflects the wise and holy Lord of the universe in relationship to his creatures; and it refracts the greatness and glory of Jesus Christ who ever remains the living head of the Church.

Either Christianity interprets the culture of the world or that culture yields to the compulsion of false gods. Dare we lament the tragic deterioration of a sense of accountability to the Christian revelation in literature and art, the theater and the stage, law and medicine, philosophy and science, as well as in theology itself? Have we not neglected compelling elaboration of the relevant principles by which Christianity interprets these movements of civilization and thought? If moral earnestness and devotion to truth are to saturate and characterize our modern world, then science and scholarship must unite with spirituality and service to God. In a word, we must live, move, and have our modern being in both Christianity and culture at one and the same time, in one and the same life breath. Christ alone is able to blend and bind culture and conscience, civilization and Christianity, society and spirit. He is the head of the corner, the chief cornerstone, the one immovable foundation. He is the whole Truth; whatever ignores him, therefore, is part-truth and part-lie, or actually, not the truth at all.

Convinced of the reality of Christ’s redemption for and in life, evangelical forces must challenge and storm the high places of culture and learning. If through indifference and carelessness of Christ’s followers, skepticism, agnosticism and rationalism overtake the realms of learning, the Christian Church can claim no excuse for this default. Guilt and shame are the only recompense for deposing the name of Christ from the totality of learning. Christ Jesus is the center of nature, history, man, and all the spheres of study. The Church silent in this message is no longer the Church; she tears the crown of glory from her Redeemer’s brow, and substitutes another crown of thorns. To measure the wisdom of this world demands intellectual eminence and precision. At the same time, the vitality of spiritual humility must diffuse the reverence and love and power of God into the vast arena of modern thought and action. Evangelical forces must covet the forefront of intellectual progress for the recognition and service of Jesus Christ.

This Christian challenge to bring culture under the superintendence of God holds promise of staggering benefits to all mankind among the nations of our world.

Education, together with evangelism is the fulcrum in the tottering imbalances of modern society. To secure personal recognition of Jesus Christ as Saviour and God in private life, and beyond this to engage in the task of social rescue and redemption, is the prescribed task of evangelism. Only education, however, that interprets Divine revelation in its bearing upon human personality and social energy in relation to God and neighbor can disclose the eternal as well as far-reaching temporal import of every thought, word and deed. Education bears the responsibility for study, investigation, research and teaching in all the sciences.

The Christian University

A crucial key for unlocking and releasing this Christian contribution to social order is the Christian university, or at least a graduate school of advanced Christian studies. To confront conflicting social forces with a view to intelligibly integrating man’s total experiences requires knowledge of modern culture’s weaknesses. The Christian academic world must exhibit these alongside the ennobling features of redemptive revelation, and must demonstrate and inspire confidence and dedication in developing Christian solutions. As a cultural force, education moves downward from above no less than upward from below. The prevailing standards and quality of culture are fixed primarily at the professional level. Wherever spiritual forces have neglected higher education, no matter how superior numerically they may have been, they have almost invariably exerted less influence than smaller groups with a vision and program in the world of thought. What remarkable social forces would be loosed in our century if devout faculties, cognizant that the Logos, the source and fountain of all truth, is none other than Jesus Christ the Word made flesh for our salvation, piloted the University of Moscow, the University of Berlin, the Sorbonne, Cambridge and Oxford, Harvard and Columbia, Chicago and California, to mention but a few. If the influence of a great Christian university could permeate educational enterprise throughout the world, if every realm of learning could face with sobriety the supremacy of Jesus Christ, who can predict what great blessing even one nation—may it yet be America—could bring to the world, and to the cause of truth.

When the Church invites multitudes into the abundant life, when it identifies its highest academic concerns with the training of the ministry, but in both pulpit and pew evades and defers major encounters and resolution in the world of speculation, the Church only postpones the inevitable agony of intellectual conflict within its own ranks. In the schools, colleges and universities which it creates and inspires, the Church must find exhibition of a comprehensive Christian world-life view to launch beyond broken fragments of sermonic interpretation to the complete intellectual integration of life and experience. The Church with its message must permeate the whole of life.

The first area where Christians must make headway is in the sphere of learning. The Christian integration of all thought and life is still the great and transcendent priority for coordinated social effort; without it, Christian youth remains poorly equipped for the onslaughts of unbelief. That modern Western culture in the nineteenth century took its leadership from speculative idealism, and in the twentieth century from the naturalism of Charles Darwin, John Dewey and the successors of Karl Marx, emphasizes the far greater threat to the Christian Church of academic sterility than of rationalism in the presence of alien philosophies. Academic cretinism augurs not only a pietistic structure of anti-intellectualism but a stunted expression of the broader implications of revealed religion. “Before the builder there must be the plan; but before the plan there must be the vision.” How clear is our vision of the need for an academically respectable and effective impact on world culture? This vision is the key to either success or failure in planning and building the unshakable foundation of Jesus Christ into the tottering shells of secular learning.

END

An address by Editor Carl F. H. Henry given this year at Goshen College, Indiana, in conjunction with a faculty discussion on the relationship of Christianity to the liberal arts.