Christian Doctrine and the Old Testament: Theology in the Service of Biblical Exegesis by Gary A. Anderson. Baker Academic (April 2017, 220 pp).
The relationship between theology and biblical studies is fraught with misunderstanding. While maybe not always murderous in intent, their relationship often feels like what it must have been like to stand between Cain and Abel—strained and tenuous, at best. There are certainly numerous exceptions, but generally speaking, it often seems that theologians have no personal stake in the claims they are making while biblical scholars are so entrenched in their traditional reading that they miss incorporating fruitful theological insights into their exegesis. So there’s something humbling—perhaps even startling, sadly, because it’s so rare—in a serious theologian rolling up his sleeves and doing meaningful exegetical work informed by theology and the tradition, which so obviously affects not only the scholar’s career, but their personal faith as well. Gary Anderson, professor of Catholic Theology at Notre Dame, is such a scholar and Christian.
With tongue firmly planted in cheek, Anderson claims on the first page of his newly released book of essays, Christian Doctrine and the Old Testament, that he makes the “rather audacious claim” that theological doctrines actually aid the process of biblical exegesis and, when properly used, play a key role in uncovering the meaning of a text. As Robert Louis Wilken blurbs on the back, this claim, and his understanding of the historical-critical method, theology, and the history of biblical interpretation, makes Anderson a “rare creature among biblical scholars.” That sounds like quite the mouthful but, to extend the metaphor, he is a rare bird able to be identified and understood by all those who have the patience and discipline to explore, and not just by fellow expert ornithologists. Anderson writes clearly and intelligibly while also reminding the reader that serious reading of the Bible theologically is a “demanding enterprise” and reminds the nontheological reader of the benefits of “having some theological sophistication.”
In fact, the most startling and welcome aspect of this book for me was how this collection of essays read much more like extended devotionals and meditations than a scholarly précis. Throughout the book I found myself continually rediscovering the Old Testament—particularly through the eyes of the Church Fathers— and wanting to go back to the texts. There are exegetical gems which have the potential to reorient ones reading of Torah, for example: “The construction of the tabernacle is the climax of creation” (64) and “the moment of lighting the sacrificial pyre is the very apogee of the Torah” (ibid).
There are moments that may make the more conservative scholar uncomfortable like Anderson’s contention that “Paul’s turn to the figure of Adam as the prime example of a biblical sinner is not in accord with the basic thrust of the Old Testament itself” (73) and others times when all sides might feel a bit put out like in the third chapter on creation: “Though Gen. 1 does not teach creatio ex nihilo in the way early Christian theologians might have thought of it, it does not rule it out as decisively as many modern readers have assumed” (48). There is also plenty that the Protestant scholar will find exception to such as Anderson’s study of Mariology and his chapter on the biblical warrant for purgatory but he might also make the Catholic theologian uncomfortable with his usage of Barth in places. Above all, I would say that this book brought me further into the heart of God, which for reader, and I would daresay, author alike, there could be no greater hope.
There are three other subthemes at the heart of the essays—apart from the main thesis that doctrine and biblical studies belong together—that Anderson identifies for the reader:
There is no single method of reading Scripture advocated or that holds sway in the book. This is illustrated in his favorable use of Barth in the proper biblical grounding of original sin (which, provocatively, neither thinker believes is found in Genesis 3, proper) alongside chapters arguing the biblical warrant of Mariology and purgatory.
The need for biblical scholarship to make a concerted effort to properly understand what theological doctrines actually wish to affirm. One of the biggest hindrances between the exegetical grounding of Christian doctrine, Anderson writes, is the ignorance of biblical scholars actual grasp of theological doctrines.
The importance of the Old Testament, with particular influence on Jewish interpretation, as a source for Christian doctrine.
Though these themes are on display throughout the essays, it is easy to lose them in the midst of the specific material of the individual chapters. I found myself wanting more internal consistency and coherence among the essays. To that end, Anderson’s book would have been richer if he would have taken the time to write a new section on methodology or discussed in more depth the proper relationship between theology and scriptural exegesis and how they are to inform one another. We see the fruit of Anderson’s methodology but it would have been more satisfying to see behind the ways in which that fruit was picked. Nevertheless, Anderson has given readers a treat in his careful theological exposition of the scriptures.
The Crucifixion of the Warrior God Gregory A. Boyd Fortress Press, 2017. 1492 pp.
Before I can properly review and engage with the ideas presented by Greg Boyd’s newest work, The Crucifixion of the Warrior God, I suppose I must first “out” myself as someone who is about as theologically opposite to Greg Boyd as is possible. His advocacy of open theism, his views on Augustine and Aquinas, and his soteriology are thoroughly distant from my own views. I think it’s important to put that out first, so that I might write this review with integrity. And while I certainly find certain claims (especially open theism) that Boyd holds as truth to be problematic because of where my theology lands in comparison to his, it is my goal in this review to engage just with the central claims that Boyd presents for this work. As we shall see, I find The Crucifixion of the Warrior God to be an ambitious work of heremeneutics that despite its brilliant methodological approach has major flaws when applying that approach to the problem it proposes to solve.
The Crucifixion of the Warrior God (CWG) is a two-volume monograph that attempts to address OT violence in light of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. For Boyd, OT violence isn’t simply an ethic problem but an epistemic one, contradicting, in his view, the very foundations of the Christian faith. In order to provide a basis for re-engaging the OT this way, Boyd proposes a Cruciform Hermeneutic, using it to re-read the OT through the lens of Christ upon the Cross. Through this, Boyd maintains, we will come to see that the narratives of God behaving violently in the OT are simply depictions masking God’s true revelation of Himself. In Volume One, Boyd presents the problem at hand, writes at length on the importance of the centrality of the Cross and then develops the Cruciform Hermeneutic. In Volume Two, he clarifies how that hermeneutic functions and then applies that hermeneutic to various OT texts and proposes new readings for them.
In order to review a work so large as CWG, I will write my review in multiple parts. This first part aims to address the whole of Volume One. The second part will address Volume Two and maybe give some overview and final thoughts. However, since as of this part of the review I have not yet finished Volume Two ,it could happen that I write a third review article or a follow-up to consider other possible solutions to the problems that Boyd reveals. My goal in this first review will be threefold: to give a sense of the quality of Boyd’s writing, point to some of the strengths of his claims and arguments, and lastly engage with some of the problems that arise from Boyd’s claims.
Quality — Meandering, Repetitive, and Quote-Reliant
Before jumping into the matters of Boyd’s claims themselves, I do have a few things to say with regards to the quality of his writing. In stark contradiction to Rob Grayson’s review (the only other review I could find during the writing of this one), I think that one of the great weaknesses of the book is its rhetorical composition. There is a goodness, as Grayson observes, in how Boyd takes great lengths to ensure that his readership understands every twist and turn of the argument, making his work accessible. But in order to accomplish this clarity, Boyd’s work manifests as long, meandering parades of paragraph-after-paragraph of mostly regurgitated information, quotes, and repetitions. Sometimes the structure of Boyd’s argument felt like reading a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with him repeating, numerous times, statements like “As I said in Vol. 1, Chp. 4,” “This will be made clear in Ch. 8,” etc. The book feels like it could have been written in a different order, and, thus, made considerably less cumbersome.
Usually poor rhetorical quality is not anything more than simply poor writing, an excusable error. However, Boyd’s work in Volume One suffers from a far more serious problem. There are times, especially in the first six chapters, in which Boyd lets his interlocutors do the majority of the rhetorical heavy-lifting. Not only is this a nuisance to the reader (at the very least, Boyd broke every rhetorical rule I was taught in graduate school), it also creates the sense that Boyd is attempting to advocate his positions through the voices of other writers. If this is intentional, then Boyd is being disingenuous in a very serious and disconcerting way. However, my sense is that he is not intentionally misrepresenting his interlocutors. Instead, one begins to feel that Boyd is not totally comfortable coming out and making his explicit claims. In the first half of Volume One, there is a hidden fear in the text as he sets his ideas behind the claims of other, more established, theologians. In fact, it isn’t really until Chapter 9 that Boyd’s own voice begins to appear in earnest in the narrative of claims he makes (and, as I will mention in the next post, Volume Two is thankfully freed from this particular impediment).
The fortunate thing, rhetorically speaking, is that his writing cleans up significantly in the last few chapters of Volume One, letting his most engaging and most interesting claims shine. All of the earlier cluttered rhetoric, piling on quotes repeating roughly the same material, gives me the sense that CWG unnecessarily complicates itself, cancelling out Boyd’s own direct ambition to make his work more accessible. The first six chapters could have easily been cut out and written more concisely as a simple introduction to his assumption that Christ on the Cross is the central biblical revelation. It is when Boyd gets into his more interesting claims — how the crucicentral revelation affects other parts of Scripture, etc. — that he begins to write in a more compelling way and ceases to retreat behind the words of other theologians. As it stands, I had the growing sense that this whole book could have been accomplished in one volume of ~400-500 pages. The writing is raw and unfinished, more like a doctoral dissertation in style than like a monograph.
Strengths — The Cruciform Hermeneutic is a Marvelous Exegetical Tool
What accounts for Boyd’s hesitance to put his cards on the table? I wonder if he’s hesitant because he wants his thesis to be received well. Maybe he’s aware that some of the claims he makes later in the book are radical. And maybe, to be sure, the fact that he must frame his rhetoric in this defensive manner is symptomatic of how the broader evangelical community treats new ideas (i.e. poorly).
Yet the first part of Boyd’s thesis is not actually so radical as all his defensive stances makes it seem. (Maybe that’s another reason I don’t think he needs the first six chapters?)
At its core, the Cruciform Hermeneutic is a pretty normal understanding of how one ought to read the Scriptures, although we don’t often think so clearly about it as Boyd does. In summation, he claims that we ought to read the Scriptures as God-breathed manifestations of revelation pertaining first and foremost to Jesus Christ who was crucified and raised from the dead. Except for a few outliers, most major streams of theology view the Scriptures with this precise central theme in mind, and, thus, it is no surprise that Boyd is able to leverage such a diversity of theologians for the sake of this claim.
In fact, I think the chief of Boyd’s successes in Volume One is the manner in which he convinces the reader in Part Three (the last three chapters) that all good Christian hermeneutics treat certain parts of the text as literal (i.e. Jesus really did die on a Cross) and certain parts as figurative (i.e. Jesus does not actually expect us to pluck out our eyes). In one of his strongest moments in Volume One, Boyd wagers that most of us are already doing something like what he calls the “Reinterpretation Solution” with the OT, we just don’t know it.
If we follow the logic of that claim then we can begin to see how Boyd aims to use it for the purposes of establishing his Cruciform Hermeneutic. He provides us with a useful tool and metric for reading the Scriptures, helpful guidelines with which to judge what ought to be read literally and what ought to be read figuratively, all focusing on the exaltation of Christ on the Cross. All this is incredibly insightful, helpful, and orthodox.
So, what is it about his thesis that is radical enough for him to spend the majority of the first half of Volume One defending himself from all possible angles and all possible critics? Surely, if the Cruciform Hermeneutic is simply a matter of reading the OT (and the rest of Scripture as well) with the revelation of Jesus on the Cross as our guiding interpretative framework, then what Boyd suggests ought not be so problematic!
Problems — Uncritical Manifestations of Boyd’s Presuppositions
Of course, Boyd’s goal is not just to establish a Cruciform Hermeneutic, but to use that hermeneutic to solve what he sees as one of Christianity’s greatest age-old problems: Why does God behave so violently in the OT? Boyd’s specific engagements with the OT occurs in the bulk of Volume Two, which I will engage in my next post.
For Volume One, it is simply enough to question the question itself. In Chapter 7, Boyd addresses OT violence head-on, describing every violent event he can find. He even adds a hypothetical story from the perspective of the Canaanites as the Israelite army comes in to kill. The straightforwardness of presenting biblical texts with forthright honesty is, of course, valuable. But what Boyd never presents us with at any juncture is either A) a framework for determining which texts are and are not problematic, in light of the Cross; or B) a definition for how Boyd proposes to understand “violence” (and, thus, as he describes Jesus, “nonviolence”). The lack of these terms is a serious blow to Boyd’s entire argument.
The problem here is simply that for all his hard work in defending against a wide variety of criticisms, Boyd has not taken the time to critically assess his own a priori assumptions. In the Introduction, he takes for granted that Jesus’ revelation of God is “agape-centered, other-oriented, self-sacrificial” without putting flesh on what those terms really mean. These terms are fascinating, intriguing, and radical claims on their own, but Boyd assumes that his readership is already on-board with the content of those words. Likewise, he doesn’t seem able to abide the arguments that, as an example, Augustine has proposed with regards to God being both “agape-centered” and the “God of war” that the OT describes him as. There could be an interesting discussion engaging with Augustine here, but when Boyd brings it up, he dismisses Augustine out-of-hand with far too much ease. This is yet another example of the weakness of Boyd’s rhetoric: he spends very little time refuting the more substantial arguments against his case, and a lot more time defending and shoring up the more self-evident points for his case.
This is one of the things that I personally found aggravating throughout CWG. Boyd holds long-form arguments in order to support certain claims that he could just hand to us as simple propositions (i.e. Christ’s Cross as a centralizing biblical revelation), but then neglects to engage with the propositions that he does hand to us that are not actually that simple to surpass (i.e. Boyd’s presupposed definitions of love). Rather than linger on the Augustinian question of whether or not Love could or could not engage in Violence of any kind, or even rather than admit that the discussion therein is more complicated that it appears, Boyd makes an interpretative leap and then assumes what is implied by his Cruciform Hermeneutic. If one of the strongest points of Volume One is how useful the Cruciform Hermeneutic is as an exegetical tool, then easily the weakest matter is how Boyd attempts to apply that Cruciform Hermeneutic, premising his reading of the OT upon his own presuppositions of how that hermeneutic views Love, Violence, and the like.
In so doing, I am afraid that Boyd begins his engagements with the OT from a thoroughly modern standpoint, in which “Violence” and “Nonviolence” are terms decided upon by Western secular society, not Christ, even though Boyd would surely assert that he prefers the latter. As a result, from very early on in the text I am continually concerned that what we are receiving is not an actual re-reading of the OT through the proposed Cruciform Hermeneutic, but, instead, a re-reading through the modernist presuppositions of Greg Boyd. It is Boyd’s definitions of “Violence” and “Nonviolence” that articulate his concerns in Chapter 7, and it is his definitions, not necessarily Christ’s, that constitute the hermeneutic he intends to deploy in Volume Two. As I shall discuss in the next part of my review, Boyd’s failure to address these presuppositions results in a touch-and-go exegesis of the OT, with some readings revealing brilliant insights and others leading to nonsensical conclusions.
I would like to thank Fortress Press for sending me a review copy of this work. As with all these reviews, I was not required to write a good review, and all the opinions expressed within are my own.
Though I have not yet had the chance to read Rod Dreher’s book The Benedict Option, it sounds like it is a thoughtful work on how Christians should handle themselves in a society that would elect, say, a Donald J. Trump to run the country. It has been getting a good deal of attention—I count no less than 15 recent articles or reviews of it from Real Clear Religion in the last two months. Scot McKnight has a fine summary on its major proposals today on his blog. I was struck by this: The forces of dissolution from popular culture are too great for individuals or families to resist on their own. We need to embed ourselves in stable communities of faith.
I’m all in on that. McKnight says that the practices Dreher attaches to his Benedict Option mainly stem for the Catholic Virtue Ethics tradition. Again, I’m all in on that. Here’s a couple that resonated with me in particular taken directly from McKnight’s blog:
Order. If a defining characteristic of the modern world is disorder, then the most fundamental act of resistance is to establish order. If we don’t have internal order, we will be controlled by our human passions and by the powerful outside forces who are in greater control of directing liquid modernity’s deep currents.
This means the discovery of the order, the logos, that God has written into the nature of Creation and seeking to live in harmony with it. … To order the world rightly as Christians requires regarding all things as pointing to Christ. …
2. Work. This is how we must approach our jobs: as opportunities to glorify God. More deeply, Benedictines view their work as an expression of love and stewardship of the community and as a way of reordering the natural world in harmon with God’s will. For the Christian, work has sacramental value. 61
3. Hospitality. According to the Rule, we must never turn away someone who needs our love. A church or other Benedict Option community must be open to the world, to share the bounty of God’s love with those who lack it. 72
There’s a big new book on evangelicalism coming out on Tuesday that I wish I had time to stop life for and read right away, but which I hope to get to soon. It’s titled The Evangelicals: The Struggle to Shape America and it’s written by Francis FitzGerald, published by Simon & Schuster. The thing is a monster, clocking in at 740 pp.
It was featured on the front page of the NYT Book Review this Sunday with the arresting image of Billy Graham shown above. Click here to read the review. Alan Wolf, a former director of the Bosi Center for Religion and Public Life at Boston College reviewed the new book and said that it’s a “page turner” which for long works of nonfiction is high praise, apparently. “We have long needed a fair-minded overview of this vitally important religious sensibility, and Fitzgerald has now provided it,” he says. He’s pretty derisive of evangelical history and of evangelicals’ mission to shape statecraft. One gets the sense that he would be more than happy if the book served as a bookend to the movement’s demise. One major question dominates the work, Wolf says. “Why should the faithful try to shape America at all?”
Understanding evangelicalism is a must if one wants to have any comprehension of Christianity and the current political scene in America. Hence, the importance of this new work.