Louis Berkhof's The History of Christian Doctrines (published in 1937) is a great resource if one is looking for a broad overview of historical theology. As a systematic theologian, Berkhof seems to struggle at times and grows frustrated with men like Augustine who are able to present theology in the framework of a dynamic. To Berkhof this is to embrace contradiction, even if the dynamic is supported by Scripture. This demonstrates the tendency of systematicians in their endless quest for coherence to subordinate Scripture in order to maintain the integrity of the dogmatic edifice to which they are committed. This point comes to mind every time I see the book on the shelf. Recently I picked it up again and revisited Berkhof's assessment of the ante-Nicene period.
Unsurprisingly Berkhof is somewhat critical of the Early
Church or to be more specific, the Apostolic Fathers – a group he limits to
Barnabas, Hermas, Clement of Rome, Polycarp, Papias, and Ignatius, though I
believe the category should be reckoned slightly larger. Regardless, much of
what Berkhof says applies not just to the writings of these men but in many
respects characterizes much of the ante-Nicene period.
A Dutch Reformed Confessionalist, he necessarily has a
progressive view of historical theology and orthodoxy and as such views the
undeveloped even raw primitivism of their doctrines with no small hint of
disdain – or at least that's how it comes across. His summation of the section
is striking to me and is worth reviewing. I have come back to it more than once
in recent weeks and months.
Under the heading of 'Material Contents of their Teachings', in
reference to these Early Church fathers, Berkhof writes:
It is a matter of
common observation that the writings of the Apostolic Fathers contain very
little that is doctrinally important. Their teachings are generally in harmony
with the truth revealed in the Word of God, and often represented in the very
words of Scripture, but for that very reason cannot be said to increase or
deepen our insight into the truth or to shed light on the inter-relations of
the doctrinal teachings of Scripture. They testify to a common faith in God as
the Creator and Ruler of the universe and in Jesus Christ, who was active in
creation and throughout the old dispensation, and finally appeared in the
flesh. While they use the scriptural designation of God as Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit, and also speak of Christ as God and man, they do not testify to an
awareness of the implications and problems involved. The work of Christ as the
Redeemer is not always represented in the same way. Sometimes His great
significance is seen in the fact that He, by His passion and death, freed
mankind from sin and death; and sometimes in the related, but not correlated
fact that He revealed the Father and taught the new moral law. In some cases
the death of Christ is represented as procuring for men the grace of repentance
and as opening the way for a new obedience, rather than as the ground of man's
justification. This moralistic strain is, perhaps, the weakest point in the
teachings of the Apostolic Fathers. It was related to the moralism present in
the heathen world of that day and characteristic of the natural man as such,
and was bound to serve the interests of legalism. The sacraments are
represented as the means by which the blessings of salvation are communicated
to man. Baptism begets the new life and secures the forgiveness of all sins or
of past sins only (Hermas and II Clement); and the Lord's Supper is the means
of communicating to man a blessed immortality or eternal life.
The individual
Christian apprehends God in faith, which consists in true knowledge of God,
confidence in Him, and self-committal to Him. Man is said to be justified by
faith, but the relation of faith to justification, and the new life is not
clearly understood. An anti-Pauline strain of legalism becomes manifest at this
point. Faith is simply the first step in the way of life, on which the moral
development of the individual depends. But after the forgiveness of sins is
once granted in baptism and apprehended by faith, man next merits this blessing
by his good works, which become a second and independent principle alongside of
faith. Christianity is often represented as a nova lex, and love, leading on to
a new obedience, takes the leading place. Not the grace of God, but the good
works of man sometimes appear in the foreground.
The Christian is
represented as living in a Christian community, the Church, which still
rejoices in the possession of charismatic gifts, but also shows an increasing
respect for the ecclesiastical offices mentioned in the New Testament. In some instances
the bishop stands out as superior to the presbyters. A vivid sense of the
vanity and transitory character of the present world, and of the eternal glory
of the future world, is manifest in their writings. The end of all things is
thought to be very near, and the representations of the end of the present
world are derived from Old Testament prophecy. The Kingdom of God is regarded
as the supreme good and as a purely future blessing. According to some
(Barnabas, Hermas, Papias) its final form is preceded by a millennial kingdom.
But whatever attention is devoted to the millennium, there is far greater
emphasis on the coming judgment, when the people of God will receive the
rewards of heaven, and the wicked will be condemned to everlasting destruction.
(pp. 40-41, Baker Book House, Grand Rapids MI, I quote from
the thirteenth printing published in 1995.)
What is meant as patronizing criticism in fact very nicely
lays out what (in many respects) I would consider to be ideal. Despite his
tone, it makes for a stirring read. But some of Berkhof's statements must be
addressed.
In the first paragraph Berkhof is critical of the lack of
theological development found in these writings. In an earlier portion of the
chapter he refers to their want of definiteness and meagerness. Following in
the footsteps of other Scholastics and the assumptions of Confessional
Orthodoxy, the Dutch theologian assumes that the apostles gave us doctrine in
raw form and it is the task of the theologian to craft and shape this material
into something coherent – into a system. But this assumption is false – it's
clear enough that the apostolic authors of the New Testament did not approach
doctrine in this fashion, and the teachers of the early Church did not either.
Much of the New Testament is contextual and even situational.
This does not make it relativistic but allows for a dynamic to function and as
such it retains a type or degree of mystery that undoubtedly seems like sheer
ambiguity to someone like Berkhof – but is in fact necessary due to human
limitation. This is not a case of incoherence but trans-coherence and a
willingness to limit concepts and abandon the demands of comprehension, resting
instead in type of submissive apprehension. Thus said, it is granted for the
systematician and the rationalist, such a distinction in fact represents no
difference.
Consider for example the question of prayer. It does not
change the mind of God but at the same time it is said to be effectual.
Conformity with the will of God means our prayers will be correct in what they
ask – and thus are answered. That's one way of looking at it and yet when
viewed that way it's hard to see how they're efficacious, rather they are
simply echoing the Divine decree, or simply in tune with it. Pardon this
illustration and it is in no way meant to be sacrilegious – but it's as if you
tune your radio correctly and then repeat what you hear. In a larger
theological capacity, some would refer to this as thinking God's thoughts after
Him.
But on another level a case can be made that prayer is an
effectual means used in the context of the mystery of Providence – wherein it
is in fact the very tool used by God to bring about the things He wills. And
yet when viewed from this angle the discussion isn't about what God has
specifically willed (which is apart from revelation unknown), but on the prayer
of the man and its Divine answer. Elijah prayed and it didn't rain. We can say
it didn't rain because God willed it to be so and that's why Elijah prayed that
prayer, but that's inference and thus to a degree – speculation. The text
simply says Elijah prayed and it did not rain. James refers to his fervency and
his righteousness. How do we reconcile these things? We don't need to and maybe
the Early Church fathers understood that fact. It can remain an unresolved dialectic,
a mystery, a living dynamic in which two or more truths are in play and yet are
not reconcilable in space and time or experience as we would say today. This
doesn't mean God isn't sovereign or that Pelagius was correct, but it does mean
that that truth is bigger and not tied to our notions of coherence.
And lest someone misunderstand, this isn't grounds for some
kind of ecumenical appeal either – that everything everyone is saying is true
in part. On the contrary this is Biblicism, something the ecumenical strains of
both theological liberalism and modern Dominionism have little interest in. And
this is a kind of Biblicism which is actually quite rare. Many own the label
(though others use it as a disparaging epithet), and yet most who claim a rigorous
doctrine of Sola Scriptura then subject the concept to either a
Confessional-traditionalist framework, some form of Baconian or rationalist
system – or both.
We encounter these same mystery-dynamics in the Incarnation,
the Trinity, eschatology, and yes, even in soteriology and the sacraments. The
theological approach of the New Testament authors and the men who succeeded
them is fundamentally different than the project Berkhof gave his life to.
The inter-relations he seems eager to probe are the inferences
of the systematician trying to connect dots and build his grid – and for many
of them this is essential to a larger trans-theological or really
philosophical-theological project, one of a Unified Theory which is often
described as worldview. If this was how the Holy Spirit wanted us to understand
these things, He could have revealed them in such a manner. But He didn't and
we need to wrestle with that – maybe there's a reason why? I think the tale of
Church history and in particular historical theology might provide us some of
the clues – not always in what has been produced and elaborated, but in terms
of methodology and how the Church has so often succumbed to the dictates and
expectations of philosophy. The message of the New Testament is foolishness to
the world. This doesn't mean we have to deliberately embrace incoherence or
some form of non-sense or pseudo-profundity. The coherence is found in faith
and trust and the understanding that this is revelation we're dealing with –
not an 'instruction manual' or scientific text, nor is this revelation limited
by our ability to comprehend its contents. For many the criterion seems to be –
if I can't understand it, it must not be true.