Tag Archives: Westminster Theological Seminary

Redeemer Seminary, the Fundamentalist-Modernist Controversy, and the Parachurching of Reformed Theological Education

Bill Evans head shot

By William B. Evans

[Full Disclosure: For well over twenty years I’ve taught at a denominationally affiliated College and Seminary.]

Readers of this blog are probably aware of my interest in theological education (e.g., here and here and here). Although I’ve spent much of my professional academic career teaching undergraduates, I’ve also taught on the seminary level at a number of institutions. I have friends and acquaintances teaching at many seminaries, and I keep my ear to the ground.

The impending closure of the Redeemer Seminary in Dallas, Texas is now known to many. Responding to overtures from the Redeemer Board, Reformed Theological Seminary will, according to RTS Chancellor Ligon Duncan, implement “a two-step plan whereby Redeemer would ‘close with dignity’ and RTS would petition ATS and SACS to begin offering theological education in Dallas, while helping Redeemer and its students in all possible, prudent ways.”

Having taught systematic theology at Redeemer as an adjunct professor I’m sad for the students, whom I found to be both engaged and engaging, the faculty, and staff. According to reliable reports, all Redeemer faculty and staff will be terminated as of December 31, 2016.

Redeemer Seminary began in 2001 as the Dallas Campus of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia, and was spun off as in independent institution in 2009. The timing of that development was significant. As WTS in Philadelphia moved steadily to the right in the wake of the Peter Enns controversy (a trajectory I’ve chronicled here and here and here and here), the Redeemer faculty self-consciously sought to perpetuate what has come to be known as “Middle Westminster”—the Westminster ethos that prevailed from the second generation of faculty until the recent lurch to the right and is exemplified by the careful biblical scholarship of people like Moises Silva, Ray Dillard, and Richard Gaffin, and the generous Reformed orthodoxy of systematicians such as Sinclair B. Ferguson (who subsequently was part of the founding faculty at Redeemer). I took two degrees at WTS in the 1980s before going off to Vanderbilt for my Ph.D., so I think I have some background to speak to this.

Doubtless there are multiple backstories here—having to do with leadership, fundraising, and student-recruitment challenges at Redeemer. What I find more interesting is how this particular episode has played out within the larger scope of conservative Reformed theological education, and the way that context has been profoundly conditioned by successive iterations of what has been called the Fundamentalist-Modernist Controversy.

As those with an interest in church history are aware, the Fundamentalist-Modernist Controversy proper raged in earnest from about 1920 until 1930, with conflict especially prominent in the Northern Presbyterian and Northern Baptist churches, with the former especially important for our purposes (the best study of which is Bradley J. Longfield, The Presbyterian Controversy: Fundamentalists, Modernists, and Moderates [Oxford UP, 1991]). By 1926, conservative efforts to enforce creedal orthodoxy and biblical authority had failed and the PCUSA moved steadily in the direction of a more inclusive and diverse vision (a history ably chronicled in Lefferts Loetscher’s The Broadening Church: A Study of Theological Issues in the Presbyterian Church since 1869 [UPenn, 1954]). In 1929 Princeton Theological Seminary (until then a conservative bastion) was reorganized so as to reflect the theological diversity present in the church, and J. Gresham Machen and other conservatives promptly left Princeton to form Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia. With the formation of Westminster a template was established—when conservatives lost control of denominational educational institutions they moved on to form independent, parachurch agencies to replace them. This template would be used repeatedly in subsequent decades.

By the 1950s, similar conflicts over doctrine and Scripture were raging in the Southern Presbyterian Church (then known as the PCUS), and these debates eventually led to the formation of Reformed Theological Seminary (RTS) in Jackson, Mississippi in 1966 and the Presbyterian Church in America in 1973. RTS was even more explicitly parachurch in its organization—to this day its governing board is made up of laymen (primarily attorneys and businessmen) rather than ministers. Unencumbered by denominational constraints and enjoying both able leadership and considerable financial support, RTS has since expanded beyond its origins in Jackson to campuses in Orlando, Charlotte, Washington, DC, Atlanta, Houston, Memphis, New York City, RTS Virtual, and now Dallas. As an RTS executive said to me recently, RTS has figured out a financially viable model of professional theological education. He’s right, and RTS has been very aggressive in pursuing that model.

Fast forward to the 1970s through the 1990s as somewhat analogous conflicts emerged within the Dutch Reformed community in this country (though the ethnic character of the Christian Reformed Church meant that these debates would have a somewhat different character and result). Concerns about the denominational seminary (Calvin Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids), led to two more parachurch seminaries being formed—Mid-America Reformed Seminary (initially located in Iowa before moving to Dyer, Indiana) and Westminster Seminary in California.

Of course, there are still denominational seminaries in the conservative Reformed orbit—Covenant Theological Seminary (PCA) and Erskine Theological Seminary (ARPC) come to mind—but one fact is abundantly clear: the conservative Reformed community has in large measure outsourced theological education to parachurch agencies. For all the blather in such circles about “connectionalism,” when it comes to theological education at least, conservative Presbyterians don’t seem to have much of an ecclesiology!

It’s worth noting that conservative Lutherans and Southern Baptists don’t do things this way. There the emphasis is on church-affiliated seminaries, and those denominational schools are doing quite well.   In fact, efforts to form more moderate-liberal schools in the wake of conservative victories in the SBC (e.g., the Cooperative Baptist schools) and the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod (SEMINEX) have not been particularly successful.

The difference here is both obvious and crucial—theological conservatives in both the LCMS and the SBC were able to gain and maintain control of their seminaries, while the Presbyterians lost Princeton, and Union in Virginia, and so on, and thus felt compelled to adopt the parachurch model.

In retrospect, the Presbyterian trajectory was probably inevitable, though should be viewed as a concession to weakness and failure rather than a mark of strength. But has there been a price to be paid for this outsourcing to parachurch groups? Indeed, some (perhaps many) would say that the current system is working rather well. But I see a number of potential downsides to this Reformed parachurching of theological education.

First, decision making, especially in a context dominated by lay leadership, is going to be driven by financial, market, and other practical considerations rather than by churchly concerns. No matter the pious rhetoric of “service to the church” that one may encounter, this is the reality. Or, to phrase it somewhat differently, institutional agendas will often transcend churchly agendas.

Second, this practical bent has been accompanied by the increasing dominance of the “school-for-pastors” model and the “pastor-scholar” as a primary faculty profile (for my take on different models of seminary education, go here). After all, that’s where the market is. As I wrote in a post a number of years back:

Concurrent with this we see the rise of the “scholar-pastor” model in Presbyterian circles (i.e., a well-known and popular pastor who happens to have a Ph.D. from somewhere). A problem here is that first-rate scholarship is a full-time job, and some of these (there are, to be sure, some blessed exceptions) are not really equipped to drive the theological discussion forward. And where are such people publishing? I see lots of popular-level books but fewer and fewer volumes coming from university presses, or from traditional Evangelical academic publishers like Eerdmans, Baker, IVP, Paternoster, etc.

And this emphasis has, not surprisingly, been accompanied by a decline in Reformed intellectual leadership within the broader evangelical world. In fact, when we think of schools now setting the intellectual and theological agenda for evangelicalism we tend to think of schools like Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Gordon-Conwell, Fuller, and Southern Baptist—some of them denominationally affiliated, some not, but none of them explicitly Reformed.

And this scholarly eclipse is not perplexing. When faculty are viewed as commodities and there is often a price to be paid for even thoroughly orthodox theological creativity, we shouldn’t expect much in the way of scholarly contributions.

Third, there is the matter of theological influence on the churches. Seminaries have a tremendous role in molding the sensibilities of the clergy, and do we really want the theology of ministers to be shaped by the well-heeled supporters of parachurch seminaries rather than by the church? The increasing dominance of literal six-day young-earth creationism (LSDYEC) within the conservative Reformed community, as I see it, has rather little to do with careful theology and exegesis and a lot to do with reaction against a secular culture and the way that reactionary impulse has been embraced by certain seminaries.

Fourth, there is the related question of market domination. We are not too far from a situation in which one particular school is dominant within the American conservative Reformed context. Is this healthy for the church? The Presbyterians of old were right, it seems to me, in establishing multiple denominational seminaries, and the cross-talk between various schools in the nineteenth-century was incredibly productive theologically (Princeton vs. Union, Princeton vs. Yale, Princeton vs. Mercersburg, Princeton vs. Danville, and so on).

The repeated references to Old Princeton in this post lead to this last point. Awhile back I noted that the comprehensive theological vision of Old Princeton is now pretty much dead. I wrote:

To be sure, elements of the Old Princeton legacy persist at a number of evangelical seminaries, but the total package—that breathtaking combination of wide-ranging scholarly attainment, healthy confessionalism, and a balanced view of the nature and authority of Scripture—is hard to find. Two prominent evangelical seminaries—Westminster and Fuller—were founded with the express intention of continuing the Old Princeton tradition, but both have moved away from it (albeit in very different ways).   Perhaps the death of the Old Princeton approach was inevitable, but I can say with confidence that the life of the church has not been enriched by its demise.

That eulogy notwithstanding, I continue to think that Old Princeton continues to provide a compelling model for theological education, and, moreover, that a denominational setting is probably the best way to achieve something analogous to Old Princeton for our own twenty-first century context. The question is whether conservative Reformed churches are willing to commit to such an endeavor.


Hyper-Inerrancy and the Sectarian Impulse


[Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by my good friend and former seminary teacher Dr. D. Clair Davis.  Dr. Davis studied under John Murray at Westminster Theological Seminary before completing his Dr.theol. under Otto Weber at the University of Göttingen in Germany.  He then taught at Wheaton College, Westminster Theological Seminary, and Redeemer Seminary in Dallas.]

“One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all.” “I believe in the holy catholic church.”  What can that possibly mean? I am a Presbyterian; I believe that when Paul wrote to the church at Ephesus he was really writing to all the churches there. But when I go to my presbytery meeting, who’s there? The churches just like us, that’s who. No Baptists, no Lutherans, no Pentecostals—yes, no Catholics either. 

I’ve personally come close to that one church thing, when I taught at Wheaton College. Presbyterian Westminster Standards are about 31K words long, but Wheaton’s doctrinal statement is about half a page, and that was enough. Most of my students didn’t believe in infant baptism, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t show them ‘covenant’ in the Bible. God makes promises and he keeps them and you can count on that, stake your life on that—that’s “covenant,” and we all welcomed and loved that kind reality. Now what does God promise us about the salvation of our children? How do you call out to God when they give it all up and leave Jesus out of their lives? With those hard questions, hard for us all, Baptists come pretty close to being on the same page we are, especially when there’s a baby’s funeral. But when you’re in a Baptist church and it’s Lord’s Supper, who can come to the Table? Those who have “biblical baptism,” that’s who—you know who you are, or aren’t.

How can we put together two parts of the salvation we have in Jesus Christ? Like justification and sanctification, forgiveness and change? Can we agree? We all want to say that Jesus brings us both, and we surely don’t want to say that sanctification is all up to us.  “Too much law” vs. “too much grace” is where the tension is, a battle that has been very vigorously carried on by both sides. What if we asked the folks who think there’s “too much law,” just to be more specific about the sins we need to fight, and how we should do it? Couldn’t we ask the folks who think there’s “too much grace” to just tell us what Jesus means to them daily? That seemed to work for me at Wheaton.

There was that sad seven-year struggle at Westminster Seminary as we tried to understand Norman Shepherd when he told us that justification was by our “obedient faith.” We just couldn’t make progress then. I’m sorry that I didn’t try to say something like this: can we agree that “to be joined to Christ” requires our obedient faith? Or “to receive Jesus as Savior and Lord” is that way too? I know we could agree on where “salvation” comes from, but why were we so weak on the aspects of it? Could that have pulled us together again, to agree that when we know Jesus, that happens “as the Holy Spirit works obedient faith in us”?

That amazing revival with Whitefield and Wesley had its center in “you must be born again.” They didn’t do much with Paul’s way of thinking but instead worked mostly with John. Would that help us too, if we looked around for a Bible book that we all agree on and begin by working with it first?

The hardest is still Calvinism and Arminianism. Whitefield and Wesley praised the Lord for opening the eyes and hearts of so many and bringing them to Jesus. But suddenly they discovered how far apart they were—or were they? Someone asked Whitefield, “do you think you’ll see Wesley in heaven?” and he answered, “I don’t think so . . . he’ll be so close to the Throne and I’ll be so far away.”  But still, who’s right? Who saves people, God himself (Calvinists), or the people as they themselves respond (Arminians)? How could we possibly understand each other on that one? I think I have a beginning. Marq, a student of mine in Dallas, told me his story: while his group was doing student evangelism in Mexico City, and no one was responding, Marq said, “we’ve just got to pray, that the Lord will open their hearts.” But the leader replied: “no way, we believe in free will.” Hearing that story really opened my eyes. I’ve been around many people who wanted to emphasize that sinners still have to make their own decisions—but I never before heard anyone say, so don’t pray for them! The precious gift God gives me from that is, all those other “free will” people I know are wise enough to have limits, never ever imagining that what they believed was, don’t infringe on people’s liberty by asking the Lord to touch their hearts.

Could we get some clarity on the Calvinist side too? If Arminians are really “implicit Calvinists,” knowing we need the Lord to do his work, could it be that Calvinists are really “implicit Arminians” too, realizing that we’re really asking people to believe? Their ongoing puzzle seems to be, how shall we say that God is sincere in calling people to himself, when he hasn’t chosen them beforehand anyway? We try hard to understand the Lord’s grand plan. In it, he chooses a people for himself and then sends his Beloved Son to call them to trust him; doesn’t that mean that election precedes faith? So that God has already made up his mind anyway before he asks people to come to him? What does “before” mean?

Some super Calvinists, those who want to get everything exactly right, say it this way: don’t even think about coming to Jesus unless you can first spot something happening in your heart that feels like you could be “elect.” That has some logic to it—but God doesn’t teach us about election that way. Look at Romans chapters 7-11. “Wretched man that I am, I do everything wrong,” that’s the life-summary of a believer under suffering and temptation. But soon after that comes: “what shall separate me from the love of Christ!” That’s the clearest place in the whole Bible where God teaches us about election, in the midst of seeing clearly how weak and sinful we are. In God’s big plan, his decision comes at the beginning; but in our lives we’re called to learn about it when we really need it. “Election” isn’t really about evangelism and what we should say then; it’s about how we can survive Satan’s attacks after we mess up again, and again. It’s not about logic; it’s about when and how we need to rejoice in God’s plan.

I think this is the answer that pulls us together, the one that helped Whitefield and Wesley keep on working together, actively evangelizing together. Don’t overdo, either of you. Don’t you dare forbid prayer for those not-yet-believers. Don’t you dare say that you need to find something amazing in you before you dare trust Jesus. I say this because of my heart’s desire for God-given revival, when we all will work together. If we’re not ready for that, when it happens again, we’re going to be so into being together that we’ll want to pay the price of dropping all the theology that keeps us apart—to our shame and regret. But if we’ve both corrected our courses before, until we’re very close to being on the same path—well Hallelujah Amen! 

I’ve just read again Jim Packer’s Keep in Step with the Spirit. He’s good at pointing out where almost everyone else is wrong, but he also tells us what others are bringing to the banquet table, especially Pentecostals. While the rest of us are working hard just to stay alive, they’re the ones that are growing, down in South America and Africa. It won’t be long before they’ll send missionaries to us and to Europe. The biggest thing I got from Packer is that they’re learning to describe what Jesus has done—while keeping the focus on Jesus himself. That’s where they can be ahead of the rest of us. “The presence of Jesus right now beside us, by the Holy Spirit as we call out to him”—that’s what they can give us, and they are already. The biggest new piece in our Calvinist theology is discovering that “union with Christ” isn’t some vague future thing but rather the foundation of all else. So we can rejoice together, can’t we?

I know a missionary who tells me that in South America he’s a Baptist but in Africa a Pentecostal. I know another who works in Latin America. He’s immersed in the OT and thought he went there to help the Presbyterians, but when they weren’t that interested and the Pentecostals kept coming to him, he showed them Jesus in the OT. They are turning from legalism (sound familiar?) to the big gospel. 

About everything else I thought about is back in history, still keeping us apart. The Pentecostal thing is right now; this is Christ’s one church.

It’s easy to stand in front of a classroom and pontificate: “this is how we’re right and they’re wrong. What makes us special is how we’re different.” It’s a lot harder to do a seminar where everyone talks and I have to listen. What if what really makes us special is that we’re good listeners? What if we can hear God’s Word better in what others are saying, than in listening to ourselves talk? What if we want our presbytery, at least one of our presbyteries, to be all the churches within a couple miles of us?

I think the clue is what we’ve learned about Calvinists and Arminians. Just don’t exaggerate the differences or you’ll be wrong. Look at Martin Luther and his horse again: if you’re so worried that you’ll fall off the horse on the right side that you lean to the left, well you’re going to fall off on that side. Consistency is a good thing, but be careful that you don’t want to be more consistent than God’s word. Be careful that you don’t lose ability to listen, either to God or to each other.

I know finally that there will be no conversation with the Westminster Board. I know their stance is so outlandish that it’s bound to disintegrate by itself within a few years, without needing any help from me. But I believe that we outsiders have been learning, especially about listening. (When no one listens to you, that helps the learning process.) I think I know what’s in the minds of the WTS Board, something like this:

The authority of the Bible and its inerrancy is under vigorous attack. The way we have always understood it is no longer acceptable by many within our ranks, and we must do something against that terrible trend. We note that many erroneous views come from reading the OT without NT clarification. Therefore we intend to remove from the Faculty all those who speak of reading the OT by itself, regardless of whether they go on to study how the NT uses the OT text. 

I think that is the Board’s direction. I deeply honor their commitment to God’s Word and ensuring that WTS is a place where it is supported vigorously and clearly. I agree with them that this is an important need in Christ’s church today. Their procedure appears at first glance to be consistent with the Seminary’s passion for teaching and learning the Word. But is there a downside?

I believe so. Just as Calvinism is not well served by hyper-Calvinism as the wisdom of man replaces God’s revelation, so support for the inerrancy of Scripture is not well-served by a hyper-inerrancy. How can we understand the OT unless there is room for serious study of how it was originally expressed? That is especially crucial at a school with a PhD program, but it is invaluable at all levels of biblical study. 

It may be that there should be a place for a seminary to contribute its own special understanding. For many years WTS fostered the Van Til apologetic that way. But God’s people need the deeper understandings that add to our knowledge, not those that take away. Is the time for independent para-church seminaries past? When they brought us together across denominational lines that was very promising, but today they can be narrower than our own church’s understanding, evidenced by the Glenside Session’s affirmative evaluation of Doug Green’s position.

“Truth is in order to goodness” is very basic to our faith and our allegiance to Jesus Christ. When gifted godly scholars are arbitrarily removed from teaching God’s people, more is lost than their contributions. A view of defending the truth indifferent to “due diligence” in maintaining love toward each other is not the Bible’s way. When a Board believes it knows where someone is going without careful listening to him, how can that embody the gospel, can it?

This is all much bigger than the WTS Board’s actions, which I offer only as another illustration—though my heart is deeply saddened by their direction. We need to think and pray beyond all this.  When this memory of WTS is long gone, the gospel challenge of listening to each other will remain. We do and will believe in the holy catholic church, much bigger and better than partisan commitment to avoid listening to each other. We believe there is the beloved church of our Lord Jesus.

Dallas and the Dutchman: Trying to Make Sense of the “Christotelic” Controversy

Bill Evans head shot

Just when I thought I was about done with this topic I have found myself the subject of some interesting criticism on the Internet. A fellow by the name of Lane Keister, a PCA minister in South Carolina who blogs on the “Greenbaggins” site, has written a response to an earlier post of mine. In it he argues that I have “not quite described Green’s critics accurately.” He goes on to intimate that I view the WTS critics of Dr. Green as saying that “the fullness of understanding that we have in the NT” was “completely present in the OT writer’s minds,” and he characterizes this as a “straw man.”

In point of fact, I have not said this, and a more careful reading of my blog posts on the topic would likely have kept Mr. Keister from this error. I’m aware of Greg Beale’s notion of “cognitive peripheral vision,” and that the critics of Christotelic interpretation hold that at least the outlines of the NT messianic interpretations, though not necessarily all the details, were present in the minds of the OT writers. So, if we are looking for a “straw man,” I think we know where to find him.

In fact, my stated position is that sometimes the OT writers did have some sense of messianic referent, and sometimes we have no reason to think that they did. In an earlier post, I wrote:

Critics of christotelic interpretation tend to focus on the easier OT messianic texts—the protoevangelium in Genesis 3:15, the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53, the OT sacrificial system that in its provisionality pointed forward to a final and perfect sacrifice, and so forth. In such instances a reasonable case can be made that Moses or Isaiah was aware that the text pointed forward to God’s great redeemer. Indeed, proponents of christotelic interpretation recognize that sometimes the NT writers utilize straightforward literal interpretation of the OT, and I’m confident Green would affirm that the messianic prophecies of Isaiah, for example, were understood on some level to be such by the prophet. But what about texts like Matthew 2:15 and its quotation of Hosea 11:1, which in its original context retrospectively referred to the Exodus from Egypt, whereas Matthew understands it prospectively as speaking of the return of the holy family from Egypt?   Such examples can be multiplied (see the catalog in Richard Longenecker, Biblical Exegesis in the Apostolic Period [1975]), and here we must seek to do justice to the “whole counsel of God.”

I also happen to think, on the basis of Numbers 12, that Moses may be something of an exception to the principle that the OT prophets generally had a minimal or even nonexistent understanding of the messianic content of their prophecies. I wrote:

Certainly the OT does point forward to Christ and the eschatological tenor of passages like Genesis 12:1-3 and Deuteronomy 18:15, and of the psalter in general encouraged Israel to look forward with anticipation to God’s redemptive activity. But none of this tells us very much about the psychology of individual OT human writers. In fact, the description of prophetic revelation in Numbers 12:6-8 suggests that Moses was the sole exception to the general rule that prophetic language was a matter of dreams, visions, and (as the AV memorably translates it) “dark speeches.” In other words, the emphasis seems to fall here on lack of clarity and how much the OT prophets in general didn’t know.

Keister also contends that I have mischaracterized the 2002 pamphlet by Sinclair Ferguson and the 1986 WTJ article by Vern Poythress as examples of exegetical method consistent with christotelic interpretation. He ignores the similarities I cited, and instead proclaims the difference to be that Ferguson and Poythress affirm the “organic unity” of the OT and NT, while advocates of christotelic interpretation see complete discontinuity between the testaments, as if “an acorn grows up to be a unicorn.” Unhappy metaphor aside, it is Keister who is mischaracterizing here. As far as I can tell, sober advocates of christotelic interpretation, such as Doug Green and Dan McCartney, affirm the “organic unity” of the testaments, but they view this as a function of the divine author’s purposes rather than what the human authors may or may not have meant. They rightly resist the effort to make the grammatical-historical meaning (with its focus on the human author’s intention) final. Responding to the charge that if NT meanings are not present in the human author’s intent for an OT text then the “authority” hangs completely on “the interpreter’s own design,” McCartney writes:

I concede that if by “the text” one means, the original grammatical-historically determinable meaning in its ancient Near Eastern setting alone, then with the exception of directly predictive prophecy this is correct. But if the context of “the text” is the whole Bible, and the whole context of God’s redemptive historical acts and purposes in the world, then “the text” does say something of it. And the authority of the passage isn’t connected entirely to something of the interpreter’s own design, but is connected to what God has revealed subsequently, and particularly to what Jesus and Paul say the Old Testament is about.

And, as I have noted here and here, Sinclair Ferguson (by way of B. B. Warfield) suggests that sometimes the OT writers were in the dark about messianic meanings, and Vern Poythress in his 1986 article notes that we can’t necessarily know what was in the minds of the OT writers. Furthermore, both use “two-readings” language to describe a grammatical-historical reading on the one hand, and a subsequent reading informed by NT fulfillment. Once again, this sounds pretty christotelic to me, notwithstanding the great gulf that Keister claims to discern. (Poythress, of course, has more recently moved in a different direction.)

Finally, Keister suggests that this two-readings view results in the “scorn of systematic theology,” and that it flows from “Kant’s bifurcation of knowledge from faith.” Simply put, this is baloney (that’s a technical theological term!), and such assertions must be a great surprise to those of us who teach systematic theology and who affirm a careful christotelic approach in keeping with the great tradition of Augustine, Hodge, and Warfield—all of whom have viewed the organic unity of Scripture as a function of divine authorship rather than human intention.

Further criticism has come from Richard Phillips in a comment attached to the Keister blog post referenced above. Phillips, with his usual confidence, describes my last post as “curious,” as “simply untrue,” and as “not a helpful or responsible take on this situation.”   Phillips goes on to repeat Keister’s canard about the OT writers having a complete understanding of the messianic references, something that I have dealt with above.

But the beginning of his comment is particularly intriguing. Here Phillips, who is a current WTS board member, asserts that “the basic document of record on the christotelic debate is Dan McCartney’s 2003 ETS paper, ‘Should we employ the hermeneutics of the New Testament Writers.’” This statement, of course, raises all kinds of troubling questions. Is this controversy about Doug Green, or about Dan McCartney? Given that Dr. Green’s articles referenced by WTS as problematic and out of step with the Westminster Confession seem to be anything but, are the alleged views of McCartney being imputed to Green?

I have referenced the McCartney article above, and (contra Phillips) a more charitable reading of it suggests that McCartney is not denying the “organic unity” of Scripture, and that he recognizes that there is direct predictive messianic prophecy which can be interpreted in grammatical-historical terms. Rather, McCartney’s focus is on those numerous NT references to OT passages as messianic where grammatical-historical interpretation does not seem to be utilized, and he wants to find ways for us to view the OT similarly today. Here it is important to note that both Keister and Phillips have a common assumption that they nowhere explicitly acknowledge—that the “organic unity” of Scripture must hinge on what the human authors knew.   Of course, this reduction of “organic unity” to the epistemological category of what the human authors knew is not at all what Hodge and Warfield meant by the term.  As I have pointed out earlier, Hodge wrote:

The organic unity of the Scriptures proves them to be the product of one mind. They were not only so united that we cannot believe one part without believing the whole; we cannot believe the New Testament without believing the Old; we cannot believe the Prophets without believing the Law; we cannot believe Christ without believing his Apostles; but besides all this they present the regular development, carried on through centuries and millenniums, of the great original promise, “The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head.” This development was conducted by some forty independent writers, many of whom understood very little of the plan they were unfolding, but each contributed his part to the progress and completion of the whole.

If the Bible be the work of one mind, that mind must be the mind of God. He only knows the beginning from the end. He only could know what the Bible reveals. No one, says the Apostle, knows the things of God but the Spirit of God. (Systematic Theology, I:166-67)

Green and McCartney, on the other hand, say that sometimes the OT writers did have some sense of messianic import (especially in the case of direct predictive prophecy) but that often they did not.

I have sought to show in these posts that Green and his careful christotelic colleagues are closer to the Reformed consensus on this issue of “what did the OT writes know.” And so questions emerge as to why WTS has gone in a different direction. Furthermore, why do some defenders of the new direction seem to think that they can ignore what their opponents actually say, and instead flourish pretentious and high-sounding phases like “organic unity of Scripture” and “Kant’s bifurcation” in an effort to discredit them.

Recently I was talking with retired WTS church historian Clair Davis about his Göttingen doctoral dissertation on the great 19th-century German OT scholar E. W. Hengstenberg. When I noted that Charles Hodge had explicitly viewed the “organic unity” of Scripture as a function of divine authorship rather than what the individual human authors knew, Davis observed that Hodge had studied with Hengstenberg, and Hengstenberg had said the same thing. So how has this evangelical scholarly consensus been overturned more recently at WTS?

Could it be, as some of us who support Dr. Green have recently surmised, that the dispensational background of some of the key players at WTS is significant here? Of course, I’m not at all saying that Professors Beale, Lillback, and Garner (all of whom have degrees from Dallas Theological Seminary) are dispensationalists. Far from it. But with dispensational literalism comes a rather narrow grammatical-historical hermeneutic, and with that a focus on the human author’s intent as decisive for interpretation that has been influential far beyond the confines of dispensationalism itself. Even when people leave dispensationalism proper they often retain that hermeneutical orientation.

Significantly, former WTS OT Professor Tremper Longman has just advanced this very argument here. Speaking of the group of Dallas Seminary graduates who came to WTS, Longman writes:

Their spiritual leader was S. Lewis Johnson of Believers Chapel. This group departed from their DTS background by rejecting dispensationalism, but they maintained a more literalist understanding of interpretation which includes a commitment to meaning found in the conscious intention of the human author.

Without question, this theology stands behind their rejection of Christotelic and affirmation of something that they call a Christomorphic reading of the New Testament use of the Old Testament.

I sense that, in drawing our attention to the Believers’ Chapel connection, Dr. Longman is on to something quite important here.  I can easily imagine how people with that grammatical-historical bias who came to WTS with its conviction that Christ is pervasively present in the OT, and who were strongly opposed to the view of the NT’s use of the OT presented in Peter Enns’ Inspiration and Incarnation, would think it necessary to say that the OT writers had those NT Christological ideas in mind.  But these imported hermeneutical ideas simply don’t sit well with the Old Princeton heritage of WTS.

I also suspect that the Van Tilian legacy, with its focus on uncovering the presuppositions that are thought to determine the position of one’s opponents, has played something of a role in this controversy as well. Some seem to assume that if one can identify an opponent with an invidious “presupposition” (e.g., “Kantianism”) then one doesn’t have to interact with what they actually say. I’ll readily grant that Cornelius Van Til was generally better than this (his treatment of Karl Barth is perhaps an unfortunate exception), and I see myself in the Neo-Calvinist tradition with a substantial debt to Van Til. But the bagatelle Van Tilianism that appears to be present in some quarters does at times lead to the subversion of meaningful dialogue and debate.  In a context in which the conservative Reformed world is growing more and more fragmented by the day, that is not a good thing.

Has WTS Changed?

Bill Evans head shot

Given the continued silence of the WTS administration and board regarding its curious judgment that OT Professor Doug Green’s understanding of the New Testament’s use of the Old is incompatible with the Westminster Confession of Faith, this may well be my last post on this topic. After all, one-way conversations are generally unproductive. In these articles (here and here and here and here) my primary focus has been on the theological issues involved. Others, of course, have also raised significant questions about the process and the culture at WTS that have resulted in Green’s “retirement,” and I share some of those concerns.

Green, we will recall, is a proponent of what has been called “christotelic” interpretation. He contends that grammatical-historical interpretation is an important and necessary starting point for understanding an OT text, but we can’t stop there. After all, the NT writers sometimes interpret OT texts in ways that likely would not have occurred to Isaiah or Hosea.   Grammatical-historical interpretation asks what the text would have meant in its original historical and linguistic context to the original human author, but the Bible is also divinely inspired and our interpretation must take this divine origin and perspective into account as well. For Green, the larger meaning of the text resides in the text as it is inspired by the Holy Spirit, and this meaning is then progressively grasped by the human audience over the course of redemptive history. Here there is particular focus on the Scriptural canon as a whole as the context within which christotelic interpretation takes place. All this leads to a programmatic distinction between “first reading” and “second reading.” In the first reading we encounter the text without reference to the conclusion of the story, while in the second reading we see levels of meaning we did not see before precisely because we know how the story ends and how things fit together.

Green’s critics, however, contend that such thinking effaces the “organic connection” between the Old Testament and the New. They believe that grammatical-historical interpretation is the normative method of biblical interpretation, and that the meaning of the text resides in the human author’s intention. However, the grammatical-historical method is redefined and expanded to include divine influence on the human authors’ psychology as legitimate considerations for interpretation. Thus they conclude that the NT meanings (i.e., the OT Christological content referenced by the NT writers) must have been present in the minds of the OT writers. The OT is, as one of Green’s critics puts it, “christomorphic,” in that references to Christ are objectively present in the text of the Old Testament and were intended by the human author.

Throughout this controversy there have been persistent suggestions that WTS has changed, that approaches to OT studies formerly seen as mainstream at the school are now deemed beyond the pale of acceptability. Of course, with its storied history of professors such as the apologist Cornelius Van Til, systematician John Murray, and biblical scholars like E. J. Young, Ned Stonehouse, Meredith Kline, Ray Dillard, and Moises Silva, continuity with the past counts for something at WTS. A certain defensiveness on this point is, I think, evident in a September 2, 2014 WTS fundraising letter that focused especially on the tradition of OT studies at the school. The “carrot” for this fundraising effort is a special two-volume edition (which can be yours for a gift of $200 or more, if you act quickly!) entitled “Christ in the Old Testament” and consisting of late president Edmund Clowney’s The Unfolding Mystery: Discovering Christ in the Old Testament (representing the past) and God of Our Fathers: The Gospel According to the Patriarchs by newly appointed OT professor Iain Duguid (representing the present and future of the school). According to the letter, these volumes “demonstrate a perceptive synthesis of careful scholarship and clarity, and they provide insight into the standard of quality within Westminster’s faculty—past and present.” In light of all this, I think it is fair to ask whether WTS has in fact changed. Does this recent episode evince a significant departure from the institution’s past with regard to OT studies?

Here some broader context is useful. As far as I can tell, it is pretty much the historic majority consensus position of the church that the inspired OT writers often spoke better than they knew. For example, in an important article patristics scholar Tarmo Toom notes that for Augustine a human author’s intention is important but not decisive for determining the meaning of an OT text, and for two reasons. First, the “Scriptures as a double-authored text (i.e., a text authored by God and humans) prevent the human authorial intention from being the ultimate hermeneutical criterion.” Second, to “equate the human authorial intention with the meaning of a text would tie the meaning of the canonical texts to the past history and may eliminate the possibility of Christological interpretations of the Old Testament” (“Was Augustine an Intentionalist? Authorial Intention in Augustine’s Hermeneutics,” Studia Patristica 54 [2012], 1).

This broader consensus is reflected in the Reformed tradition. Charles Hodge, for example, was convinced that the biblical writers often “understood very little of the plan they were unfolding” (Systematic Theology, I:166), and he takes pains to note that God uses the human authors of Scripture “according to their nature” (Systematic Theology, I:157). And to make the point even more clear, Hodge adds:

The sacred writers also, doubtless, differed as to insight into the truths which they taught. The Apostle Peter intimates that the prophets searched diligently into the meaning of their own predictions. When David said God had put “all things” under the feet of men, he probably little thought that “all things” meant the whole universe. (Heb. ii 8.) And Moses, when he recorded the promise that childless Abraham was to be the father “of many nations,” little thought that it meant the whole world. (Rom. iv 13). (Systematic Theology, I:165-66)

Along the same lines, B. B. Warfield wrote: “The Old Testament may be likened to a chamber richly furnished but dimly lighted; the introduction of light brings into it nothing which was not in it before; but it brings out into clearer view much of what is in it but was only dimly or even not at all perceived before” (“The Biblical Doctrine of the Trinity,” in Works, II:141).

Much more recently, former WTS Professor of Systematic Theology Sinclair Ferguson takes a similar tack. In an illuminating pamphlet entitled Preaching Christ from the Old Testament (London: Proclamation Trust, 2002), he speaks of two ways of reading the Old Testament—one that, in the light of New Testament revelation, recognizes the Christological content present in the Old, and another that reads the Old Testament in its own historical integrity. Ferguson writes,

To read the Old Testament with the light switched off would be to deny the historical reality of our own context. On the other hand, we would be denying the historical reality of the text and its context if we were to read and preach it as though that same light had already been switched on within its own pages. Thus our task as Christian preachers must be to take account of both (p. 4).

Note that although Ferguson does not use Green’s specific language of “first and second reading,” the idea is the same.

Thus far we have discussed Reformed systematicians (Hodge and Warfield of Old Princeton and Ferguson of WTS), but what about WTS biblical scholars? A crucially important article for this issue was penned by WTS NT Professor Vern Poythress (“Divine Meaning of Scripture,” WTJ 48 [1986]: 241-79). I remember reading this article when it first came out (I was heading from WTS to grad school at Vanderbilt at the time) and finding it extraordinarily helpful. Such was the importance of this article that an abbreviated version of it was included in the WTS faculty symposium entitled Inerrancy and Hermeneutic (Baker, 1988).

Poythress begins by recognizing a range of opinion among Evangelical scholars over a key question: “Does NT use of OT texts sometimes imply that God meant more than what the human author thought of.” He notes the negative answer to this question from Walter Kaiser, positive answers from S. Lewis Johnson, J. I. Packer, and Elliott Johnson, Bruce Waltke’s emphasis on the completed “canon as the final context for interpretation,” and the approach of those such as Earle Ellis and Richard Longenecker who emphasize the NT’s appropriate of the interpretive techniques of second-temple Judaism.   Poythress then goes on to “concentrate on the problem of dual authorship” of Scripture, and he makes clear that he is concerned not merely about the NT use of the OT but even more about a theological framework for understanding Scripture in general (p. 242).

Poythress warns against views holding that the divine meaning “has little or nothing to do with the meaning of the human author” (e.g., medieval allegory) as well as the notion that the divine meaning is coextensive with the intention of the human author, in which case the divine authorship of the Bible makes no difference to the interpretive process (pp. 243-44). Here he invokes E. D. Hirsch’s distinction between “meaning” and “significance,” arguing that there are “applications” that go beyond the human author’s intention but that were intended by the divine author (pp. 245ff). Poythress also rightly recognizes that the distinction between “meaning” and “application” is fluid, and that it has to do with what is “said directly” and what is “inferred” from the larger context (p. 251).

Poythress also rightly emphasizes the continuity of the human author’s intention and the divine intention—“there is a unity of meaning and a unity of application here” (p. 259). But there is also discontinuity in that the fact of dual authorship “leaves open the question of how far a prophet understood God’s words at any particular point.” We really cannot say how much or how little the prophets understood; rather, we must deal with what is clear: “It is clear that the prophet faithfully recorded what he saw and heard. He intended that we should understand from it whatever there is to understand when we treat it as a vision from God” (p. 260).

He then distinguishes three contexts within which Scripture is to be read: (a) the grammatical-historical context of the human author, (b) the canonical context to that point in time, and (c) the completed canon (p. 267). But again Poythress emphasizes continuity, insisting that the interpretations arising from these contexts are complementary rather than contradictory. Poythress writes:

The difference between these three approaches is quite like the difference between reading one chapter of a book and reading the whole of the book. After taking into account the whole of the book, we understand the one chapter as well as the whole book more deeply (p. 269).

Psalm 22 with its NT application to the passion of Christ is then used as an example. Poythress rightly recognizes that the description of suffering and abandonment reflects the psalmist’s own experience of difficulty, but viewed in its broader canonical context we see the rationale for messianic application (pp. 269-71). Poythress explains this further:

In scholarly research, we may begin with approach (a) as a control. For Psalm 22, we focus narrowly on the original historical context, and what is known within that context. We do grammatical-historical exegesis as the foundation for all later systematizing reflection. We try to avoid simply “reading in” our total knowledge of Scripture, or else we lose the opportunity for the Bible to criticize our views. As a second, later step, we relate Psalm 22 to earlier canonical books and finally to the NT. Whatever we find at this stage must harmonize with the results of approach (a). But we come to “extra” insights and deeper understanding as we relate Psalm 22 to the NT. These extra things are not “in” Psalm 22 in itself. They are not somehow mystically hidden in the psalm, so that someone with some esoteric key to interpretation could have come up with them jut by reading the psalm in isolation from the rest of the Bible. Psalm 22 in itself gives us only what we get from approach (a). The extra things arise from the relations that Psalm 22 has with earlier canonical books (approach (b)), with the NT, and with the events of Christ’s death. These relations, established by God, provide the basis for our proceeding another stage forward in understanding (pp. 272-73).

The article closes with some well-formed thoughts about the limits of grammatical-historical exegesis. Poythress rightly contends that “the NT authors do not aim merely at grammatical-historical exegesis of the OT,” and that while grammatical-historical interpretation is essential, it is not sufficient precisely because of the divine authorship of Scripture (pp. 276-79).

At this point we must note carefully what we have seen here. According to Poythress in this article, we cannot be dogmatic about what the OT human authors may have known. He insists that the historical situation of the OT authors must be respected and that grammatical-historical exegesis serves as an important control on hermeneutical excesses, that progressive character of revelation must be recognized, and that there is a “distinction between the intention of the human author and divine intention” (p. 276). He also recognizes the limits of grammatical-historical interpretation for our more complete understanding of the text today. Finally, these considerations issue in the recognition of two types of reading—one in its original human context and the second in light of the larger canonical context in which the conclusion of the story is known. All of this, as far as I can tell, is quite consistent with what Doug Green has written on the topic. In fact, we might as well say that Dr. Poythress here presents a nuanced and careful christotelic approach!

Needless to say, I was both surprised and disappointed by a more recent article written by Poythress on this same topic (“The Presence of God Qualifying Our Notions of Grammatical-Historical Interpretation: Genesis 3:15 As a Test Case,” JETS 50/1 (March 2007): 87-103). This article is less focused than the first, and we immediately sense that something is bothering Dr. Poythress. That something, it turns out, is “evangelical scholars in dialogue with the historical-critical tradition” who are “tempted to compromise” on the issue of divine authorship. Here, significantly, he mentions some Christological heresies as analogies for these mistaken views (p. 92). The rest of the article consists largely of an effort to expand the definition of “grammatical-historical interpretation” to include supernatural divine influence on the human authors such that they had some inkling of the Christological meanings that are later unpacked in the NT. Here the argument veers in a speculative direction as Poythress writes:

The human authors of Scripture are in one respect ordinary human beings. But in another respect they are not ordinary. They operate under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Since the Holy Spirit is God, he exercises more extraordinary capabilities than do the demons. What are human minds capable of, when under the extraordinary influence of the Holy Spirit? We really do not know. And it is this kind of mind that God employs in writing the Scripture. How do we control what is or is not possible? We cannot. Rather, as scholars, we simply pretend that ancient human authors were pedestrian, that they can hardly do a thing that goes beyond what our petty version of rationality could potentially explain. Is the worship of Reason alive and well among evangelical scholars, when they attempt to calculate the limits of thought in what they read? (p. 97)

Dr. Poythress is a good scholar and a Christian gentlemen, and I do not wish to be unkind. But, especially in contrast to the rigor and excellence of his earlier article, the thrust of this one is little more than schwärmerisch special pleading, and the obvious question emerges: why did Dr. Poythress change his mind? In the absence of one of those “How My Mind Has Changed” articles in the Christian Century we should probably reserve some judgment as to details, but both the content and temporal context of Poythress’s 2007 article point to the Peter Enns controversy that was raging at WTS at that time as the catalyst. Enns, in his Inspiration and Incarnation (Baker, 2005), had argued on the basis of a supposed incarnational analogy or model that the Bible is a human as well as divine document, and that because it is human it evinces “messiness,” “problems,” and irreconcilable theological diversity. Enns also contends that the NT writers persistently engage in “eisegesis” and “subversion” of OT texts.

Let me say at this point that I share some of Poythress’s concern. Having really tried to understand Enns’ position, I sense that he views the meaning of the text as its human historical meaning without remainder, and thus NT Christological interpretations of OT texts are inevitably seen as imposed on the text—hence the language of “subversion” and “eisegesis.” Moreover, it is not in the least surprising that the powers-that-be at WTS heard this rhetoric of radical discontinuity as a rejection of the “organic unity” of the OT and the NT. And they were probably right! But, and this point is crucial, I simply do not hear Doug Green using this language of subversion and radical discontinuity. Rather, his point is more that the canonical or “second” reading supplements the first and is ultimately consistent with the first (though there are obviously big surprises and unanticipated developments).

All this illustrates the dangers of doing theology by reaction. Here we will recall Luther’s famous Tabletalk quip about how people often behave like a drunken peasant trying to ride a horse and falling off on one side and then the other. But the excesses of Pete Enns (whom, incidentally, I happen to like despite our significant disagreements) do not justify imbalance in the opposite direction.  Nor do they justify administrative pogroms directed against those within the institution who may agree with Enns on certain points but disagree with him at others.

In short, WTS has indeed changed, and rather dramatically. As we have seen, careful and considered christotelic approaches that respect the organic unity of Scripture have been characteristic of the Princeton-Westminster tradition, while the recent opposing “christomorphic” position has apparently been quickly formulated in an ad hoc way to address the challenge posed by Enns’ Inspiration and Incarnation. In short, an understandable but ultimately indefensible reaction has led the institution into a theological cul de sac from which there is no easy or dignified exit, and the collateral damage has been substantial. Furthermore, this will lead to both the marginalization of WTS and, I fear, to the further balkanization of the conservative Reformed community.

In closing, as a WTS alumnus I’m now haunted by the question of whether this unfortunate episode could have been averted. In retrospect, I wonder if Poythress’s 1986 article, with its nuance and balance, could have served as a useful basis for productive institutional dialogue and eventual consensus? I guess we will never know.

Thoroughly Uncontroversial: Sinclair Ferguson on Christotelic Interpretation

Bill Evans head shot

Regular readers of TheEcclesialCalvinist blog are no doubt aware of the recent involuntary “retirement” of Westminster Theological Seminary Professor of Old Testament Dr. Douglas Green. Those still unfamiliar with this controversy can find my analysis here and here

A colleague in ministry recently alerted me to a pamphlet written by my friend and former seminary professor Dr. Sinclair Ferguson, entitled Preaching Christ from the Old Testament (London: Proclamation Trust, 2002). Brief but meaty, it wrestles with the hermeneutical challenge of preaching Christ from the Old Testament while also doing justice to the historical integrity of the Old Testament texts. For those who may wish to read the entire work, this fine pamphlet is available free of charge from the Charles Simeon Trust here.

Though it does not use the term “christotelic,” the pamphlet in question presents, it seems to me, the substance of an approach that has recently become unnecessarily controversial in the case of Dr. Green. First, Ferguson recognizes, with B. B. Warfield, that there are meanings present in the Old Testament that were not necessarily apparent in that earlier context. In a passage from Warfield cited (but not quoted) by Ferguson, the Old Princetonian says, “The Old Testament may be likened to a chamber richly furnished but dimly lighted; the introduction of light brings into it nothing which was not in it before; but it brings out into clearer view much of what is in it but was only dimly or even not at all perceived before” (Warfield, “The Biblical Doctrine of the Trinity,” in Works, II:141).

Second, though he does not use Green’s exact terminology of “first and second reading,” Ferguson speaks of two ways of reading the Old Testament—one that, in the light of New Testament revelation, recognizes the Christological content present in the Old, and another that reads the Old Testament in its own historical integrity. Ferguson writes, “To read the Old Testament with the light switched off would be to deny the historical reality of our own context. On the other hand, we would be denying the historical reality of the text and its context if we were to read and preach it as though that same light had already been switched on within its own pages. Thus our task as Christian preachers must be to take account of both” (p. 4).

For example, Ferguson rightly recognizes that in Hosea 11:1 the prophet was speaking retrospectively of the Exodus of Israel from Egypt and not about the later return of the holy family from Egypt. Nevertheless, in the light of the Christ event we can see, with Matthew the Evangelist, the divine Exodus pattern of activity present in both the Old Testament and in the life of Christ. Ferguson writes:

An interesting illustration of this is the use of Hosea 11:1 in Matthew 2:15: ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son’. These words, Matthew says, are fulfilled in Christ. But isn’t this either an esoteric or naïve approach to reading the Bible? Hosea is talking about the historic event of the people of God coming out of Egypt in the Exodus, not about Jesus going to and returning from Egypt in his infancy. So what is going on in Matthew’s mind? Is he saying Hosea 11:1 is fulfilled in Jesus just as Isaiah 53 is? Yes. But not in the same sense. Rather Matthew, writing in the light of the incarnation, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, recognises that the divine pattern in the Exodus (delivered from Egypt, led through the wilderness, given the covenant bond and kingdom-code) constitutes a pattern to be used in the experience of the true Israelite, Jesus Christ. In doing this Matthew provides us with a key to reading and expounding the entire Exodus narrative in a Christo-centric way, and indeed his own narrative against a background that enriches our understanding of Jesus’ identity and ministry (p. 12).

I will also say that all this is quite consistent with what I was taught at Westminster Theological Seminary back in the mid-1980s, that it is rather clearly rooted in the best of the Reformed tradition, and that it should be thoroughly uncontroversial.

Statement of Support for Dr. Douglas Green Released

Bill Evans head shot

The following statement of support for Dr. Douglas Green (whose picture is immediately below this paragraph), along with a list of signatories and an addendum regarding the decision of the New Life Presbyterian Church Session, was sent yesterday to representatives of the Board of Trustees, administration, and faculty of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia.  The complete document is available here.

For those who have not been following the story of the recent forced “retirement” of Dr. Green from WTS, I have provided some analysis of the issues involved here and here.


The list of names on the document as of this posting is incomplete because more individuals have signed in the meantime, and a final list of signers will be published in a few weeks.  Gentle readers of TheEcclesialCalvinist who wish to add their names to the document may contact Dr. Sam Logan (samueltlogan@aol.com).

July 30, 2014 

To the Evangelical and Reformed Christian Community –

We, the undersigned, wish to affirm the following:

1) We are aware of the “retirement” of Dr. Douglas Green from his position on the faculty of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia.

2) We are aware that two articles written by Dr. Green were cited by Westminster Theological Seminary on the seminary’s website on June 6, 2014, as the cause of that retirement and that those two articles are the following: “‘The Lord is Christ’s Shepherd’: Psalm 23 as Messianic Prophecy,” in Eyes to See, Ears to Hear: Essays in Honor of J. Alan Groves (eds. P. Enns, D. J. Green, and M. B. Kelly; 2010), 33 – 46; and “How to Read Old Testament Narratives” (online essay).

3) We have read these two articles carefully.

4) We find nothing in these articles which is, in any way, inconsistent with the Westminster Standards (The Confession of Faith, The Larger Catechism, and the Shorter Catechism) as we understand those Standards.

5) We find nothing in these articles which is inconsistent, in any way, with the hermeneutical and exegetical tradition at Westminster Theological Seminary as we understand that tradition.  

6) We believe that Dr. Douglas Green consistently upholds the authority and integrity of the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments both in his teaching and in his life. 


How Much Did the OT Writers Know? (2): The Spectre of Bibliological Eutychianism

Bill Evans head shot

The controversy regarding the forced “retirement” of Westminster Theological Seminary Old Testament Professor Doug Green continues unabated. After an initial flurry of posts in the blogosphere (e.g., here and here and here), the debate has, interestingly enough, become a battle of former WTS professors. Retired church historian D. Clair Davis has waded in here and here and here, and retired NT professor/systematician Richard B. Gaffin, Jr. was pressed into service by the institution here.

As I noted in my initial post on the subject, there is actually a remarkable level of agreement between the two parties in this debate.

Both groups agree that the Bible is inspired by God and that it is fully reliable. Both agree that the divine author of Scripture, the Holy Spirit, intended and inspired all the messianic prophecies of the OT. Both agree that biblical interpretation must be informed and conditioned by redemptive history. Finally, both agree that grammatical-historical interpretation as it is often practiced is a product of modernity and that its exclusion of God is a great problem. That’s pretty significant!

The sticking point here has to do with the psychology of the OT writers. When they wrote passages interpreted by the NT as references to Christ, did they consciously have these Christological meanings in view? The advocates of “christotelic” interpretation argue that at least some such Christological content was extrapolated by NT writers in light of the Christ event. Their critics contend that this threatens the authority of Scripture, destroys the “organic unity” of the OT and NT, and stands in tension with the Westminster Standards.

While this debate probably strikes some as odd and even a waste of time (as far as I can tell, deployment of the substance of “christotelic” method, if not the name, is common among Evangelical biblical scholars), it is at least worthwhile to examine the biblical and confessional arguments of the critics. Then we will look briefly at a standard Reformed systematic theology and how the author dealt with this question.

The confessional materials can be treated quickly. Often cited are WCF 7.5-6, 8.6, 11.6, and WLC QQ. 33-35. Here the unity of the covenant of grace in the OT and NT is emphasized, and the administration of the covenant of grace “under the law” (i.e., in the OT) is said to involve “promises, prophesies, sacrifices, circumcision, the paschal lamb, and other types and ordinances . . . all fore-signifying Christ to come, which were for that time sufficient and efficacious, through the operation of the Spirit, to instruct and build up the elect in faith in the promised Messiah.” As far as I can tell, these confessional materials affirm what no one in this discussion denies. Certainly the OT does point forward to Christ and the eschatological tenor of passages like Genesis 12:1-3 and Deuteronomy 18:15, and of the psalter in general encouraged Israel to look forward with anticipation to God’s redemptive activity. But none of this tells us very much about the psychology of individual OT human writers. In fact, the description of prophetic revelation in Numbers 12:6-8 suggests that Moses was the sole exception to the general rule that prophetic language was a matter of dreams, visions, and (as the AV memorably translates it) “dark speeches.” In other words, the emphasis seems to fall here on lack of clarity and how much the OT prophets in general didn’t know.

A number of biblical passages are cited as well, and, because some of the current discussions have an air of proof-texting, it is worthwhile to examine them individually.

In Luke 24:44-45 the resurrected Jesus speaks in comprehensive terms about how “everything written about me in the law of Moses and the prophets and the psalms must be fulfilled.” This content to be found in the threefold division of the Hebrew canon is then further specified in vv. 46-47 as “that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be preached in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.” Three things are to be noted here. First, this passage tells us next to nothing about the psychology of the individual OT writers. Second, we certainly don’t find this content presented in so many words in the OT, though we can, with the benefit of hindsight, begin to put the pieces together. Finally, as far as I can tell this passage asserts what no one in the present discussion denies.

1 Peter 1:10-12 speaks of how the “prophets who prophesied of the grace that was to be yours searched and inquired about this salvation; they inquired what person or time was indicated by the Spirit of Christ within them when predicting the sufferings of Christ and the subsequent glory.” Of course, we can well imagine the prophet Isaiah pondering the wonderful messianic prophecies he was privileged to receive, but note the emphasis here on what such prophets didn’t know. They “searched” and “inquired.” Once again, this passage doesn’t tell us all that much about the detailed content of the prophetic psychology.

More interesting are three passages from the Gospel of John that seem to refer to prophetic intentionality. In fact, this emphasis seems to be a distinctive of the Gospel of John, and I hope that some technical scholars of the Johannine literature can shed more light on this phenomenon.

In John 5:46 Jesus tells the Jews, “If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote of me.” The tendency among the commentators I consulted is to view this as a reference to the Mosaic corpus in general and to how it prefigures Christ, rather than to a specific passage. Once again, this doesn’t tell us very much about the specific content of the prophetic psychology.

In John 8:56 Jesus says, “Your father Abraham rejoiced that he was to see my day; he saw it and was glad.” Admittedly, the meaning of this is not immediately obvious. After summarizing a range of interpretations both Jewish and Christian, D. A. Carson writes:

Whatever the allusion, it is unlikely that Jesus’ opponents took umbrage because they heard him ascribing powers of foresight to the patriarch Abraham. It is altogether likely that some of them, at least, believed that Abraham knew in advance of the messianic age. The point of tension arose because of the way Jesus phrases this: not ‘Your father Abraham rejoiced to see the messianic age’, but ‘Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day’. The ‘day’ or the ‘day of the Lord’ becomes Jesus’ day. Even if ‘to see my day’ does not mean some prophetic vision of the literal fulfillment of prophecy in Jesus and his ministry, but some vision, however vague, of the promise inherent in the binding of Isaac or (better) of the covenant promising that in him all the nations of the earth would be blessed (Gn. 12:1ff et al.—hence NIV’s addition of ‘at the thought of’), the fact remains that Jesus identifies the ultimate fulfillment of all Abraham’s hopes and joys with his own person and work (Gospel According to John, 357).

Thus, on close examination this passage too doesn’t necessarily tell us much about the specific content of OT prophetic psychology.

Finally, in John 12:41, after alluding to Isaiah’s call narrative, and specifically to the ministry of futility described in Isaiah 6:10, John tells us that “Isaiah said this because he saw his [Jesus] glory and spoke of him.” Not surprisingly, some commentators connect this reference to “glory” to the throne-room vision in Isaiah 6:1-4. Thus, D. A. Carson again writes:

What is remarkable, on this rendering of the passage, is the statement that Isaiah saw Jesus’ glory. This may be no more than the conclusion of a chain of Christian reasoning: if the Son, the Word, was with God in the beginning, and was God, and if he was God’s agent of creation, and the perfect revelation of God to humankind, then it stands to reason that in these Old Testament passages where God is said to reveal himself rather spectacularly to someone, it must have been through the agency of his Son, his Word, however imperfectly the point was spelled out at the time. Therefore Isaiah said these words because (a stronger reading than ‘when’, AV) he saw Jesus’ glory (Gospel According to John, 449-50).

Actually, Carson’s interpretation here sounds rather “christotelic”! But the larger point to be made here is that this passage as well does not tell us much of anything about the content of the prophetic psychology. Thus we see that the passages typically cited against christotelic interpretation either don’t carry the freight that the critics desire or they emphasize what the OT writers didn’t know.

Not surprisingly, this biblical emphasis on what the OT writers didn’t know carries over into the Reformed dogmatic tradition. Louis Berkhof, for example, emphasizes that “the prophets sometimes failed to understand the message which they brought to the people” (Introductory Volume to Systematic Theology, 148). But the most extensive discussion of this issue that I have found is in Charles Hodge’s Systematic Theology, where a number of points relevant to this larger discussion are made.

First, Hodge insists that the “organic unity” (his term) of the OT and the NT is a function of the divine authorship of Scripture rather than the individual human authors.  He writes:

The organic unity of the Scriptures proves them to be the product of one mind. They were not only so united that we cannot believe one part without believing the whole; we cannot believe the New Testament without believing the Old; we cannot believe the Prophets without believing the Law; we cannot believe Christ without believing his Apostles; but besides all this they present the regular development, carried on through centuries and millenniums, of the great original promise, “The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head.” This development was conducted by some forty independent writers, many of whom understood very little of the plan they were unfolding, but each contributed his part to the progress and completion of the whole.

If the Bible be the work of one mind, that mind must be the mind of God. He only knows the beginning from the end. He only could know what the Bible reveals. No one, says the Apostle, knows the things of God but the Spirit of God. (Systematic Theology, I:166-67)

Second, Hodge insists that God respected the humanity of the human authors of Scripture by using them “according to their nature.” This is consistent with a hallmark of the Reformed tradition—respect for the integrity of humanity. For example, the humanity of Christ retains its finitude and human qualities. As Bruce McCormack has rightly pointed out, according to the weight of the Reformed tradition the humanity of Christ was sanctified by the Holy Spirit, not ontologically transformed by its incarnational union with the Logos. Thus Hodge writes:

The sacred writers were not machines. Their self-consciousness was not suspended; nor were their intellectual powers superseded. Holy men spoke as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. It was men, not machines; not unconscious instruments, but living, thinking, willing minds, whom the Spirit used as his organs. Moreover, as inspiration did not involve the suspension or suppression of the human faculties, so neither did it interfere with the free exercise of the distinctive mental characteristics of the individual. . . . All this is involved in the fact that God uses his instruments according to their nature. (Systematic Theology, I:157)

Finally, Hodge notes that the human writers of the OT were often quite limited in their understanding. He writes,

The sacred writers also, doubtless, differed as to insight into the truths which they taught. The Apostle Peter intimates that the prophets searched diligently into the meaning of their own predictions. When David said God had put “all things” under the feet of men, he probably little thought that “all things” meant the whole universe. (Heb. ii 8.) And Moses, when he recorded the promise that childless Abraham was to be the father “of many nations,” little thought that it meant the whole world. (Rom. iv 13). (Systematic Theology, I:165-66)

I will readily admit that in other contexts I have learned much from some of the critics of christotelic interpretation. Those familiar with my own research program know that to be the case.   I will also readily concede that there may have been excesses among those identified with christotelic interpretation that I would not endorse. That being said, I am not convinced by the biblical and confessional arguments of the critics. The insistence that the OT writers must have had NT Christological meanings in mind when they wrote smacks of bibliological Eutychianism (Eutyches, we will recall, was a fifth-century figure who spoke of Christ as having one divine-human nature, and argued that the humanity was so elevated by its union with the Logos that it was no longer like ours; of course, the incarnational analogy is inexact when applied to Scripture, but it helpfully illustrates key issues of emphasis and balance). By staking their case on a curious and speculative argument about what must have been in the minds of the biblical writers, they have not only placed themselves at odds with a significant portion of the Reformed tradition, but they have also painted themselves into a corner from which there is no easy exit.