Theology

Bible Book of the Month: Second Epistle to the Corinthians

St. Paul’s Second Epistle to the Corinthians may without exaggeration be described as one of the richest of all the writings of the New Testament. Its pervading theme of the complete sufficiency of God’s grace in the face of trials and afflictions of every kind is one that is peculiarly appropriate for our own times. And yet it is a strangely neglected epistle. The reason for this neglect is difficult to ascertain, unless it may be that the human mind has a subconscious and quite illogical tendency to rate what is known as a second epistle as being of only secondary importance. In point of fact, there would be some justification for speaking of I Corinthians as the second epistle (and II Corinthians as the third), since it is evident from 1 Corinthians 5:9 that St. Paul had written a still earlier letter to the Corinthians which is now lost. Be that as it may, II Corinthians is certainly not inferior to I Corinthians in the splendour of its perspectives of divine truth. Its “rediscovery” today could hardly fail to be an ennobling and fortifying experience for the church of Christ.

Structure Of Epistle

The opening salutation (in which St. Paul associates the name of Timothy with his own) shows that this epistle was written not only to the church at Corinth, but to all the Christians in the province of Achaia in Southern Greece. The epistle falls into three main sections: (1) chapters 1 to 7, in which the Apostle provides an explanation of his relations with the Corinthians, a defence of his own personal integrity in these relations and an appeal to them to reciprocate the confidence and the love which he entertains towards them; (2) chapters 8 and 9, in which he exhorts the Corinthians to give liberally for the relief of the poverty-stricken Christians at Jerusalem and makes arrangements for them to have their collection in readiness when he comes to receive it and to convey it to their fellow-believers in the mother-church; (3) chapters 10 to 13, in which St. Paul vindicates his apostolic authority with a view to silencing the slanders uttered against him by certain ill-disposed persons.

Wealth Of Contents

But to summarize the structure of the epistle in this manner is to fail to give any adequate idea of the wealth of its contents. Chapters 3 to 6, for example, set before us a succession of noble themes, memorably presented. There is, to begin with, the impressive comparison of the glory of the law ministered by Moses with the surpassing and abiding glory of the new covenant ministered by Christ (3:1–4:6). This leads to the reminder that the Christian has the treasure of the knowledge of God’s glory in the frail earthen vessel of the human frame, together with the assurance that, however much the outward man may suffer and decay, the inward man is renewed day by day and that the weight of affliction borne in this brief pilgrimage is immeasurably surpassed by the eternal weight of glory which is the Christian’s inheritance (4:7–18).

St. Paul then passes on to speak of the death of the body and the intermediate state. This present mortal body is like a temporary tent, which is dissolved at death. Even though to be absent from the body (as the result of death) means a period of “nakedness” and incompletion, yet it also means, for the Christian, to be at home with Christ. And when Christ comes again all Christians, whether still in the body or not, will be clothed upon with the permanent abode of the resurrection body. Man will not enter the heavenly state as a disembodied spirit but in the full splendour of his redeemed humanity; for Christ saves the whole man, body as well as soul (5:1–10). There follows one of the great classical passages concerning God’s soverign grace in reconciling man to himself through Christ’s atoning and substitutionary death. The passage concludes with what is perhaps the most perfect brief statement in the New Testament of the theology of our redemption, namely, that “God made Christ, who knew no sin, to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in him” (5:14–21).

6:4–10 is another memorable section, admired for its beauty by Augustine, Erasmus and many others, which describes the serene and transcendent spirit of the faithful follower of Christ in the midst of trials and afflictions of every kind—“as sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things”. Could there be a more sublime paradox than that of the new man in Christ? Mention may also be made in this connection of the Apostle’s enumeration in the eleventh chapter (verses 16–33) of some of the many severe hardships and persecutions he had suffered in the course of his missionary labours. He, if anybody, knew what it meant to be “always delivered unto death for Jesus’ sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifested in our mortal flesh” (4:11).

Theme

What is the theme which pervades the whole of this remarkable epistle? It is perfectly stated in the never-to-be-forgotten words of the glorified Lord to his servant: “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my power is made perfect in weakness”; and in the Apostle’s exultant response: “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; wherefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong” (12:9–10). Alas, how little do we know of this dynamic apostolic spirit today! Human weakness and divine power have not changed; but we have allowed the comforts and securities offered by twentieth-century civilization and the complacencies of denominational allegiance to bind us to this earth, with the result that we are at home here and now, and are puzzled to think (if we ever do think about it) how it will be possible for us to be at home with the Lord hereafter (cf. 5:8).

Unity

Something must be said about the unity of II Corinthians. Many scholars in modern times have propounded the view that one or more sections of the epistle as we now have it cannot have belonged to the original document, and must therefore, as the result of some later accident or mistake, have been inserted from elsewhere. The last four chapters especially have been said to be incompatible in tone and content with the earlier chapters, and the hypothesis has been advanced that they are a part of the “painful letter” to which the Apostle refers in 2:4 and 7:8. This “painful” or “severe” letter, it is supposed, must have been written after I Corinthians, since the latter is regarded, by those who advance this hypothesis, as unfitted for such a description. 2 Corinthians 10–13, then, would be a fragment from that letter which in some way not known to us became attached to our epistle. Various other passages have also been the subject of similar conjectures.

Such theories, however, are without the support of a single shred of external evidence. No early writer, no ancient manuscript and no breath of tradition betrays any indication that II Corinthians ever existed in a form other than that in which we now possess it. And, besides, it is difficult to see why our present I Corinthians should not be the “painful letter” mentioned in 2:4 and 7:8. Consider for a moment the extremely painful matters about which St. Paul writes in that epistle: serious divisions and factions in the church at Corinth, the pride with which its members had become “puffed up,” their condonation even of a case of incest in their midst, their willingness to institute legal proceedings against one another before unbelievers, their abuse of the Lord’s Supper, the grave disorderliness of their public worship and the denial by some in their midst even of Christ’s resurrection from the dead. Tertullian was not without some justification in saying that I Corinthians was written “not with ink, but with gall” (De Pudicitia XIV).

Then, too, it must be remembered that St. Paul was writing a letter, not composing a literary essay or a logical treatise. The epistolary form is essentially spontaneous and flexible. In a letter, especially from an apostle to a church which he had founded, there is nothing either surprising or inappropriate in changes of subject matter, of style or even of mood. There is room for doctrinal instruction, ethical admonition, praise and gratitude, reproof and censure. And it must not be forgotten that it was Paul, one of the great personalities of history, who was writing, or rather dictating, this letter—Paul who lived so devotedly and felt so deeply that it was nothing unusual for him to break off from a particular theme and to embark on a profound and enriching digression. Indeed, it may be asserted that perhaps the noblest part of this epistle is an extended “digression,” namely, from 2:14 to 7:4. In 2:13 he is recounting how he traveled anxiously from Troas to Macedonia, hoping to meet Titus there with news from Corinth; but this subject is interrupted—and thank God that it is!—by a thought concerning the manner in which God causes the believer to triumph in Christ through all adversities, and it leads on to a sequence of great and glorious themes which have been an inspiration to countless saints who have suffered for Christ’s sake during the succeeding centuries.

The account of his coming to Macedonia and meeting with Titus is resumed only at 7:5. These events took place, as far as we are able to ascertain from the evidence available, in the autumn of 57 A.D., and immediately upon receiving Titus’s report on the manner in which his earlier epistle had been received St. Paul wrote II Corinthians and sent it to Corinth by the hand of Titus and two other brethren (8:16–24), intending to follow them himself after an interval (9:4, 12:14, 13:1, cf. Acts 20:2). The Pauline authorship of II Corinthians is not open to serious dispute.

Tools For Exposition

Of the commentaries which have been written on II Corinthians we shall mention only five, all of which will be of great value to the student of Holy Scripture: the Homilies of John Chrysostom (fourth century), the commentary of John Calvin (sixteenth century), and, in more recent times, those of Charles Hodge (1835, but recently republished), James Denney (1894, Expositor’s Bible), and, on the Greek text, Alfred Plummer (1915, International Critical Commentary).

PHILIP EDGECUMBE HUGHES

Books

Book Briefs: July 22, 1957

Tillich Soteriology

Systematic Theology, Vol. 2, by Paul Tillich, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1957. $4.50.

This is decidedly the most readable book that Paul Tillich has yet published, due partly to the subject matter—the fall, sin, Christ and salvation—and partly to the fact that Tillich has found helpers who thoroughly understand and appreciate his views and who have ironed out his attempts to express himself in English. Tillich came to America at the age of 47 in 1933 and in spite of twenty-five years here does not have the same mastery of English as he does of his native language.

In his explanation of the fall Tillich speaks of man as first existing as essential being in the mind of God in a state of “dreaming innocence.” He denies that there ever was any state of conscious innocence or any golden age. As man exerted himself to come into existence he sinned—expressed unbelief, exerted pride and concupiscence—became estranged or separated from God and fell. In this fall he changed from the condition of essential being to that of existential being.

Tillich claims that man-kind is responsible for the fall even though it occurred before man came into consciousness. He draws an analogy from childhood to support his point and says, “the child upon growing into maturity affirms the state of estrangement in acts of freedom which imply responsibility and guilt” (p. 44). Such an explanation however, clearly fails to answer Rheinhold Niebuhr’s implication in The Theology of Paul Tillich that responsibility cannot be predicated of a fall which did not happen in history, nor his charge that this makes sin an ontological necessity in contrast to the Biblical view which makes it an historically responsible act (pp. 219, 222).

This second volume contains a full explanation of Tillich’s exegesis of Genesis 3 and shows how he forces the biblical account of the fall into the mould of his ontological system by what we can call half-way demythologization and which he calls “deliteralization” (p. 152).

From his view of original sin and a prehistorical fall Tillich proceeds on to a description of sin. He sees it as entailing unbelief, pride and concupiscence and adds to this the idea that certain polar tensions, present but always conquered in God—namely freedom and destiny, dynamics and form, individualization and participation—are in conflict in man. In spite of all this, plus a goodly admixture of the Kierkegaardian concept of Angst, Tillich fails to express the biblical view of sin in that he overlooks that it is, as the Westminster Shorter Catechism states, “Any want of conformity unto or transgression of the law of God.” For Tillich there cannot be any law as a revelation of the character of God because eternal verities and absolute truth are excluded by his definition of God as The Infinite and The Absolute. He has accepted the same definition of God as Mansel and Hamilton (Cf. Chas. Hodge, Systematic Theology, Vol. I, pp. 346–365) and must therefore insist that the Ten Commandments, and the words, commands and deeds of Jesus are only of relative value and do not hold for us. Any absolute, even absolute truth, would make God relative (Cf. Vol. I, p. 134).

Evil receives a necessary ontological existence in Tillich insofar as God is made dynamic by Non-Being (The Courage to Be, p. 179) and becomes an unavoidable necessity for creation insofar as it occurs in the state of “dreaming innocence” in the transition of man from potentiality to actuality (p. 44).

In his ontological view Tillich maintains the creation itself fell with man—he makes no clear distinction between material being and spiritual being insofar as both partake of the power of being—and sees the creation therefore as falling with man under the curse of sin. “Creation is good in its essential character. If actualized it falls into universal estrangement” (p. 44). The doctrine of creation and fall coincide (Cf. Vol. I, p. 255). Creation, including man and the material, is good as potential essential being, but is fallen and evil as actualized existential being.

At one point Tillich drops into the complete pantheism of Hegel and Schleiermacher as he writes concerning creation that “… God is eternally creative, that through himself he creates the world and through the world himself” (p. 147).

It is to be carefully noted that in this volume, as in volume I, Tillich never speaks of Christ as one who is divine and God in his own right, but rather as one who attained the place of “the Christ,” one who becomes “the Christ” by an act of absolute surrender which was consummated in the Cross, followed by a victory which was signified in the kerygma of the resurrection. The resurrection of Christ is not physical (p. 155), nor spiritual (p. 156), nor merely psychological (p. 156) but is an ecstatic experience by the early Christians of the concrete picture of Jesus of Nazareth, in which he became united in their minds with the reality of the New Birth in such way that he had, for them, the character of a spiritual presence (p. 157).

It is regrettable that in this volume—and surely it should have appeared under his discussion of the person of Christ—there is no clear statement of what Tillich means by his term “God-Manhood.”

The references to “God-Manhood” are not listed anywhere in the index and yet the term is found in this volume on such pages as p. 124, 127, 146, 159, and 169. Carefully studied, and looked upon metaphysically, the concept means that essential being in the mind of God (and man only existed potentially there, cf. p. 33) was taken into union with the second principle in God or the Logos (a principle and not a person) and then became united with a common man, Jesus of Nazareth, to form “Jesus who is the Christ.” Tillich rejects the Virgin Birth as an historical fact in the life of Jesus (p. 160). Looked at physically the concept “God-man” means that Jesus became “Jesus who is the Christ” by surrendering everything of self and becoming absolutely transparent to the Logos or the divine.

References to the two natures of Christ are entirely missing in the index, though the subject is dwelt upon at length on pages 42 f. and 147–48. On page 147 Tillich confines the term “divine nature” to his concept of God as beyond essence and existence and denies implicitly that Christ could have such a nature in that it is “that which makes God into God.” He therefore considers that it is questionable that the term can be applied to Christ in any meaningful way.

When he comes to the doctrine of salvation Tillich insists that God is reconciled concerning sin, from eternity past, apart from the Cross of Christ. He states that “the message of Christianity is that God … is eternally reconciled” (p. 169). “He does not need to be reconciled to man, but he asks man to be reconciled to him” (p. 93). Tillich insists that Christ is only the “ultimate criterion” or norm of every healing and saving process, and that it cannot be insisted that there is no saving power apart from him Cp. 167–8). So far as Tillich’s theory of the appearance of the New Being under the conditions of existence is concerned, any other man could have been the Savior of mankind if he had completely surrendered himself and all he was to God and had become absolutely transparent to the divine.

R. ALLAN KILLEN

Sermonic Substance

God Has the Answer, by H. Orton Wiley, Beacon Hill Press. $1.50.

If more preachers waited until they reached the high plateau of spiritual maturity attained by this author before attempting to publish their sermons far less paper, printer’s ink and people’s time and money would be wasted on trivial books. Whether or not this volume of eight sermons deserves to be called a great book, the discerning reader will recognize that the spiritual vigor and godly enthusiasm of the author could only belong to one who has long walked in intimate fellowship with God.

In the preface Dr. Wiley admits of a love for the study of Bible symbolism and of having from the beginning of his ministry cultivated the expository method of preaching. That he has gone a long way in attaining these noble objectives is quite evident. If more ministers could be prevailed upon to follow the example of this man of God far fewer church people would “be tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of doctrine.” These are not light sermons that lend themselves readily to the use of men not given to solid study. Rather—here is sermonic substance in abundance for the use of careful and conscientious students ever in search of better materials with which to enrich the spiritual diet of their flocks.

While the author indulges in the use of a few too many scholastic words and phrases common to the pedagogue and often emphasizes the view of sanctification peculiar to his own denomination these practices detract but slightly from the underlying value of the sermons. The happy combination of practical with scientific knowledge in the study and application of biblical symbolism furnishes the reader with a profusion of fresh truth for use in expository preaching and teaching. This book deserves wide distribution and study especially among ministers.

ERIC EDWIN PAULSON

True Perspective

The Typology of Scripture by Patrick Fairbairn. Zondervan, Grand Rapids, 1956.

He who deals at length with types and symbols without becoming an extremist is an exception to the rule. Patrick Fairbairn is the exception. Like the geologist who walks the Grand Canyon floor, he studies his subject at close range, but like the same scientist flying high above the Arizona wonder, he sees parts in their relationship to the whole and achieves true perspective.

There were typology students before Fairbairn’s day, and there have been many since, but his work stands out head and shoulders above that of all others. It rests upon sound interpretative principles and reasoned theological conclusions. The comparatively recent hermeneutical handbooks of Ramm and Berkhoff touch upon the Old Testament shadows which become living realities in the new dispensation, yet they no more than skim the surface. Fairbairn’s study has depth and possesses enduring qualities.

A type, says Fairbairn, necessitates a “resemblance in form or spirit” with “what answers to it under the Gospel,” but not just any similarity. The resemblance must be one designed of God “to prepare for the better things of the Gospel” (p. 46).

The author enunciates principles, analyzes individual passages and places them in the total setting of Scripture, and defends his exegesis against that of alternative interpretations. The student of Scripture who would understand the ceremonial institutions of the Old Testament or biblical prophecy, in whatever aspect, must not be a stranger to this Zondervan reprint.

BURTON L. GODDARD

World And Life View

The Basic Ideas of Calvinism, by H. Henry Meeter. Grand Rapids International, Grand Rapids. Fourth edition revised. $1.50 and $3.50.

Ordinarily, these days, you can learn a lot about a book just by noting its publisher and its friends. This book comes out of Grand Rapids. That usually means a point of view faithful to the historic reformed tradition. And this book is highly praised by such men as Louis Berkhof, H. H. Kuyper, H. J. Kuiper, J. R. Richardson and F. E. Mayer. To these, this reviewer can be expected to add very little.

Any book with a title such as this, however, needs defining, for Calvinism means many things to many people. Dr. Meeter does not set out to analyze Calvin’s own writings, nor is he interested in the pure theology of the Reformer. His interest is to present the social and political—especially the political—implications of Calvinism as it today is recognized as a world and life view. He writes much in the spirit of Dakin’s Calvinism.

This book is actually a treatise in political science. Three-fourths of it is devoted to Calvinism and culture, to the calvinistic view of the State, of civil liberty, of international law, of war. The first part lays the groundwork for the author’s principal concern by treating very briefly, but well, of Calvinism’s fundamental principle (the Sovereignty of God), its main theological points, its view of Revelation. Then, using Calvinism’s doctrine of Common Grace as a springboard, he launches into the political realm. As a matter of fact, the author confesses his disinterest in Calvinism as a religion, declaring that readers who want information along this line should turn to other authors.

If there is anything wrong with this book, it is at the point of the author’s understanding of Calvin’s doctrine of Common Grace. His view of this doctrine looms large in importance because, after all, the book is about human behavior, or the effect of Common Grace in human relations. Meeter believes that a Calvinist must view the natural man as totally depraved, with every constructive or beneficial work the result of common grace.

He understands this Common Grace as a sort of superimposed (not native) endowment which acts altogether as a restraining influence, by preventing his normal, altogether evil tendencies from dominating. This is an altogether negative approach to man’s constructive behavior which results from Meeter’s understanding of the doctrine of total depravity, an understanding which fails to take into account Calvin’s pointed references to the image of God as marred but not wholly destroyed in man. The distinction is important. Meeter’s view (that the imago dei is wholly destroyed) necessarily colors his writing. Were he altogether consistent, he would say that there can be no native love between a human father and son except by Common Grace, which acts as a restraining influence to control the parent’s natural inclination to strangle the boy.

But it is a good book.

G. AIKEN TAYLOR

New Translation

The Authentic New Testament, edited and translated from the Greek by Hugh J. Schonfield. Maps and Illustrations by J. F. Horrabin. Dennis Dobson, London, 1956. 25s.

Recent archaeological discoveries in the neighbourhood of the Dead Sea have aroused considerable interest among all who are concerned with Christian origins. Mr. Schonfield wants us to treat the documents of the New Testament with the same breathless excitement.

To enable us to do this he has produced a new translation in which, as he says in his preface, one can “approach these records as if they had recently been recovered from a cave in Palestine or from beneath the sands of Egypt” and thus “look at everything freshly and ask oneself, and try to answer, all kinds of exciting questions.”

Our translator, therefore, as an accomplished Rabbinic and Semitic scholar, has paid full attention to the essentially Jewish background to these writings and, taking into consideration the individual styles and viewpoints of the different authors, has endeavoured to give, in our own modern idiom, what he calls an “authentic New Testament,” i. e. one which should strike people today in much the same way as it struck its first readers many centuries ago. By “authentic” he does not mean to assert that his version is the only correct one, but that it does, as far as possible in a translation, give an accurate reflexion of the period in which the documents were written.

This involves the purging out of all “ecclesiastical bias” and the avoidance of all words and phrases which have, in the course of time, come to acquire a more or less stereotyped, technical meaning, a meaning which may be somewhat different from that of the original one. Thus he speaks of “immersion” not “baptism”, of “envoys” not “apostles”, of “exoneration” not “justification” and of “the community” not “the church”. This is salutary, but it is questionable whether, at this late date, such words as these can be entirely divested of the ideas and associations which have gathered around them with the growth of Christian thought and experience. This raises the whole question as to how far the Scriptures can be read without bias, and to what extent we are to be expected to project ourselves into the ideas and outlook of the latter part of the first century of our era before we can really understand them.

Mr. Schonfield speaks as a scholar and a Jew. He is concerned to show that Christianity fits closely into its Jewish environment and that there is much common ground between the two movements. This is an approach for which we may be grateful, for it represents a very different attitude to the New Testament on the part of Jewish people from that which has been in vogue all down the centuries (an attitude for which the Christian Church itself is largely to blame). We therefore welcome Mr. Schonfield’s version as an instance of the drawing together of Jews and Christians for the mutual enrichment of both parties. We are grateful too for the superb way in which this version has been set out. Chapter and verse divisions have been replaced by more intelligible paragraphing.

The individual books, each provided with a brief introduction, are rearranged with Acts following immediately after Luke’s Gospel and the Johannine literature placed together at the end, to give only two examples. The four letters or fragments of letters believed by some to lie behind our 1 and 2 Corinthians are clearly indicated here. But your reviewer is not too happy about the dating of some of the books which seems to be based on ideas of 19th century liberalism.

The translation itself however is extremely well done. It ought to fulfill the author’s earnest desire “to persuade some, no matter what their creed or convictions may be, that the New Testament is well worth reading.”

But there is more to it than that. At the close of his general introduction Mr. Schonfield quotes the words of the Christian scholar, George Sale, who, in presenting his English version of the Mohammedan scriptures, wrote: “I have endeavoured to do the original impartial justice; not having, to the best of my knowledge, represented it, in any one instance, either better or worse than it really is.” Which reminds us that the really authentic New Testament is not any “ecclesiastical” version, nor even the version of H. J. Schonfield, but that which “is written, not with ink, but with the Spirit of the Living God; not in tables of stone, but in the fleshly tables of the heart.”

L. E. H. STEPHENS-HODGE

Christian Reformed

… I Will Build My Church”, by Thea B. Van Halsema. Grand Rapids International Publications, $2.95.

It was while she was serving on the Program Committee for the Christian Reformed Centennial of this year that Mrs. Van Halsema, known already to readers for her articles for young people, became interested in preparing this volume. With her background as daughter of Dr. Clarence Bouma; her training at Grand Rapids Christian High School, Calvin College and Western Reserve University; her experience with people as a social service case worker; her interest in children as a mother of four; and her present concern for the church as the wife of one of its ministers—it is doubted that anyone could be better fitted for this task.

“… I Will Build My Church” was written to present to the young people of the Christian Reformed Church a picture of their own church and a picture of the Church of Christ as God has been building it ever since Calvary. It was written to thrill them with their past and inspire them for a greater future.

In addition to significant historical material the author presents details that provide human interest for the young reader. In a few bold strokes the historical figures become flesh and blood. Our respect for the hardy Christians who founded the church and weathered the early years is heightened with Mrs. Van Halsema’s presentation. She frankly admits failings of the church and at the same time helps those of us who are on the outside to understand such things as its exclusiveness in the past, while encouraging us with its declared purpose to reach out more to those also who are neighbors. The book concludes in this vein:

“Speak, says God to the church called Christian Reformed. Speak for me to the people of America. Go on speaking far away in Africa and the Orient, but speak now also to the neighbors whose homes are next to your own. And while you speak and work, hold fast to the truth, which is my Word.

“So I will be with you and bless you, and make you to be a blessing. Through you also I will build my church.”

Young people outside the Christian Reformed Church should read the section that deals with general church history. It would provide an excellent introduction for those to whom Augustine, Luther and Calvin are but names. The rest of the book, too, would be splendid for the young person’s general education and insight into the beliefs and history of another communion, However, some parts are necessarily pretty well peppered with dates and details which limit its appeal largely to readers within the Christian Reformed Church.

This is a fine piece of book manship, greatly enhanced by the virile and striking black and white drawings by the successful young illustrator and author, Dirk Gringhuis.

NORMA R. ELLIS

Christian Martyr

Nicholas Ridley, by Jasper Ridley. Longmans, London. 25s.

What possible interest can the life-story of an English bishop of the 16th century have for readers of CHRISTIANITY TODAY in the U. S. A.? Never were the lessons it teaches more relevant than they are today.

It is a classic illustration of the danger to the Gospel when the church departs from the Bible; of the inevitable reformation which is needed when Holy Scripture is restored; of the vital importance of ensuring that the outward expression of worship should be consistent with scriptural doctrine. Ridley’s story is well told by a descendant who betrays no enthusiasm for his ancestor though he arouses it in his readers. Ridley’s progress from being a practising Roman Catholic to that of a convinced Protestant begins with his introduction to the Bible which he seized and devoured (he learned by heart all the Epistles in Erasmus’ Greek Testament). He was led first to reject the papal supremacy, then slowly and perhaps reluctantly to accept the reformed doctrines and finally to abandon the ritual and practices associated with Roman teaching. The new teaching was given the people in the English Prayer Book and later enshrined in the Articles.

But suddenly the progress of the Reformation was arrested by the death of Edward VI and the accession of Mary. Everything went into reverse. It was not enough that the new doctrines and practices be banned and the old restored; the Reformers must denounce the new faith and declare their allegiance to the old. It was a tremendous test for Ridley and his fellows. The alternatives were, as he put it, “Turn or burn.” He decided to bum, but not before he had proved in open debate the superiority both of his scholarship over that of his enemies and of the scriptural doctrines over those of Rome. At the stake he told the people that he was more honoured at the prospect of martyrdom in Christ’s quarrel than ever he had been by his elevation to the Sees of Rochester and London, or by his selection as Bishop of Durham. Through the clumsiness of his executioners his death was far more horrible than it need have been. In his agony he cried “I cannot burn,” but as his fellow-sufferer Latimer assured him he lit a candle which by God’s grace should never be put out. It is because it is in danger of being put out today that the lessons of the book should be read, marked and learned.

T. G. MOHAN

Review of Current Religious Thought: July 22, 1957

An event of some note in the contemporary religious history of Great Britain has been the recent publication of the Report on the Relations between Anglican and Presbyterian Churches. This Report is the outcome of “Conversations” held between representatives of the Church of England, the Church of Scotland, the Episcopal Church in Scotland and the Presbyterian Church of England. Of the many interesting features of this Report, the signatories to which claim to have made “no more than an exploratory survey,” not the least remarkable is that it is unanimous. Those taking part in these conversations accepted as a presupposition “the conviction that our Lord’s will for his Church is full unity, and that such unity must involve in the end not only agreement as to the truth in Christ, but also a ministry or ministries universally recognized, freedom to interchange ministries, and fulness of sacramental communion throughout Christendom”. This we regard as wholly admirable.

Unity is seen not as a contingent feature of the church’s life, but as “of the essence of it”; whereas disunity is deplored as “a deeply damaging contradiction between message and life”. Further, the Report says that it was common ground among the delegates “that every step towards unity would be a step also towards a more powerful and persuasive evangelism.”

The Church of South India is held up as an example which shows that “unity between Episcopalians and Presbyterians is a practical possibility and not merely a dream of theorists”. But is envisaged that “modifications in the two church systems” are likely to be necessary if unity is to become a reality. Also, in moving forward to “the church that is to be”, mistakes and conflicts of the past must be forgotten.

The perusal of this Report leaves no doubt in the mind that the crucial question around which the conversations revolved was that of Episcopacy. Thus we are informed that “from the Anglican side it was clear that full intercommunion and unity could not be realized apart from Episcopacy”. Despite divergencies in the concept of what constitutes an episcopate, however, “the question of Episcopacy did not prove (as it had sometimes done in the past) an obstacle to discussion but rather a means of its movement along fresh lines”. These “fresh lines” led to the concept of presiding “Bishops-in-presbytery”, who would initially be consecrated by prayer with the laying on of hands both by Anglican bishops and by the Presbytery acting through appointed representatives. In this way, it is maintained, there would be an acceptance of the “historic episcopate” by the Presbyterian Churches and the continuity of the “Apostolic succession” would be safeguarded. The presbytery, it is declared, would still retain “its full and essential place” in the life and government of Presbyterianism, “except that a permanent Bishop-in-Presbytery would take the place of the changing Moderator” and that decisions on doctrinal and constitutional matters “might well have to require” the consent of Presbyterian bishops. In the Episcopalian Churches, on the other hand, lay persons would be solemnly “set apart” to form “an office akin to the Presbyterian eldership,” and lay people would be given “appropriate participation in the government of the church at all levels.”

What it all boils down to is this, that in return for the acceptance by Presbyterianism of Episcopacy, without which full communion would be impossible, “even if”—and this should be carefully noted—“even if otherwise agreement had been reached as to doctrine and practice,” Anglicanism would give the laity more of a say in the affairs of the church. This may be regarded by some as a rather poor quid pro quo, even when it is realized that the healing of a breach may mean one side making greater concessions than the other. The issue of unity, in a word, has been permitted to become, in the first place, an issue of order reflecting the narrow view of Episcopacy as the essential apostolic ministry which is characteristic of Anglo-Catholicism.

It must be emphasized, however, that this is not the view of historic Anglicanism, in which faith, agreement on doctrine, has always been given precedence over considerations of order. Thus, though the Church of England is an episcopal Church believing fully that the threefold ministry is agreeable to Holy Scripture, its Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion do not so much as mention Episcopacy as a necessary mark of church and ministry. The Lord’s Table was always open to members of other reformed churches. And, what is more, in the past considerable numbers of ministers with no more than Presbyterian orders were admitted to full ministry in the Church of England without being required to submit to episcopal re-ordination. The rise of Anglo-Catholicism has unfortunately obscured these facts and set up barriers between the Church of England and other Churches which had been unknown since the Reformation.

One of the most commendable aspects of the Report is that it does not fall into the trap of equating unity with uniformity. The end in view is not one single “Church of Great Britain,” but rather a “Church of England” and a “Church of Scotland,” each enjoying its own freedom of life and worship and both participating in “fullness of sacramental communion” which would involve “fully authorized interchange of communicants and mutual recognition of ministries.”

If this goal is achieved it will be a very great and notable gain. But, we must repeat, it is the truth that sets free and removes barriers, not a particular form of order which is in fact a form of uniformity. On turning to the New Testament one cannot escape the conviction that there is a simpler and better way than that proposed in this Report. If it is true, as the Report says, that the validity of Presbyterian orders is not brought into question and that theirs is a “ministry of the Word and Sacrament which has been used and blessed by the Spirit of God,” then the way is even now open for the practice of full intercommunion and mutual recognition of ministries.

It is surely time that Angelicanism returned to its historic position and “fenced” the Lord’s Table (not the Anglo-Catholic altar) against the unbeliever and the notorious evil liver, as has been the practice of historic Presbyterianism, instead of “fencing” it against nonepiscopalians. This can be done now, and not only with reference to Presbyterianism. The effect of such action would bring untold blessing to the Church, simply because it would at last be possible for those who are Christ’s, irrespective of their denominational associations, to unite at the one place where above all there should be love, faith and gratitude, and at the same time it would be a witness such that the onlooking world could not gainsay.

Cover Story

Is America Losing Her Cultural Distinctives?

“American civilization has not merely changed its inspiration and its character but its epoch as well.” Thus Andre Siegfried, one of the leading French humanists, describes the cultural revolution in the United States. For him “the epoch of the pioneer has been replaced by the epoch of the machine” (Andre Siegfried, Nations Have Souls, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1952, pp. 170–171). Siegfried has emphasized the obvious. He has brought into focus the everywhere-apparent emphasis upon material values—the trend toward “bigness”—the decline of the significance of the individual.

The Vision Of Life

Latent in his analysis is the thought that culture is not made up alone of what we see. It may also be found in what we dream. Culture, in the sense of life’s habits—one’s way of doing things from day to day—may vary greatly from land to land, from community to community, and even from family to family. But the real question to be fathomed is this, What is the vision of life that a people carry about in their heads? Do they think of themselves as playing a part in a dramatic conflict with forces unseen, or are they cogs, bars, endless belts in an ordered mechanized existence?

The distinctiveness of American culture lies in its “myth”—its vision of life. This picture of life is highly dramatic. It conceives of man as an individual, discreet, intelligent, purposive, active. He is part of the society yet separate from it. He possesses capacities that are comparable to his fellows but always manifests a singular uniqueness in their demonstration. He is limited by his companions, yet is not bound by them. He is buffeted by circumstances yet never defeated. He is the servant of nature and likewise its master. He is a “free” man and not a slave. He knows life in the sense of destiny and purpose.

Such a vision of life is unique. The source of its singularity is to be found in its inspiration. This is hardly in the presence of “free land” in America nor in the abundance of the natural resources of the region to which men came. Neither was it imbibed from the changing climate of this north temperate region. Rather, it is to be discovered in the religious symbolisms of the men and women who laid the cultural foundations of American society.

Puritan Influence

The early vision of life in America was strongly influenced by the Puritan. His “cultural myth” was biblically inspired. Living in a day when church and state placed great emphasis upon the principle of order and unity, the Puritan protested against the cultural dominance of these external forms. He raised his voice against this tendency to uniformity in life and boldly asserted that man was no longer to be cast in the time-honored mold of his culture. Man was to be a “free” personality who would rise dominant over his culture. The basis for such a vision? It was to be found in the biblical view of God’s redemptive work for man, and in the realization of the individual reality of this experience by an act of individual faith. Alan Simpson’s recent study, Puritanism in Old and New England (University of Chicago Press, 1955), has again brought to light the importance of this vision in the life of early Puritanism. From it came the dynamic which drove men to oppose the church, the crown, and every semblance of regimentation until men were made free.

The real basis of the Puritan protest has great meaning for our present predicament. What the Puritan saw was this, that man tends to project the cultural form of the present into the future by codifying it as natural law and by employing the organized forces of society to sustain it. This made man the creature of his culture, rather than the creator. It further tended to divorce him from the real source of cultural inspiration, namely, God, and to deprive every cultural form of its real meaning and intent. In opposition to this tendency the Puritan asserted again and again that God, alone, was lord of the conscience. This meant that man must be free to follow the dictates of his own conscience in matters of law and government as well as in religious practices and in ethics. It gave man a basis upon which to assert the value of the individual over against the values of the group. It is the source of the spirit of individualism in American culture. As such, it is most important to consider in approaching the cultural transition of our times.

A People Of Lip Service

America’s cultural problem today is the problem of a people who give lip service to a set of cultural distinctives—forms of expression, standards of life, visions of reality—which are cut off from their real essence. The transition has been slow and gradual. The concept of liberty, once grounded in the belief that man must he free for the worship of God in every phase of life, is now confused with a man’s right to express himself or some vague assumption that the public welfare will be advanced by a scarcity of legal limitation. The concept of equality, which founds its inspiration in the biblical view of man’s creation by an eternal God and man’s universal state of sin or rebellion against God, is now confounded with weights and measures of economic privilege or physical capacity. The concept of private property which was conceived as a gift or trust from God and, hence, subject to limited political control, is now viewed either as the sole bulwark against arbitrary political power (that is, a very poor substitute for God), or it is viewed as a mere matter of social convenience. The institution of the family, which was once looked upon as of divine ordination and, therefore, not subject to man’s tinkering, is now often accepted as a product of an evolving set of social relationships. The state, once conceived as an instrument of God’s justice is now decried as the instrument of man’s inhumanity to man.

How may we retain our cultural distinctiveness? The answer lies in our readiness to abandon our prophets of monism and our willingness to return to a view of culture which accepts the various orders of inspiration—the spiritual, the intellectual, the material—and place them in their proper relationship to one another in the reinterpretation of American life.

The Loss Of Balance

Cultural history in America exhibits an alarming tendency to lose that sense of balance in orders of values that is so essential to a healthful cultural life. Beginning with a vital cultural vision gleaned from the Bible and interpreted in the forms of the evangelical Christian tradition it soon began to lose its distinctiveness. Seventeenth century Puritanism with its wholesome balance of supernaturalism, rationalism, and observationalism, sat down to converse with its snake in the garden and lost its freedom to an incipient intellectualism. Roger Williams detected the transition in Massachusetts Bay and was driven into exile for his protests. It all came about in a manner quite common to men who desire to preserve a revolution through the deification of new forms of expression. In its effort to preserve the vision of the individual God-man relationship through a personal experience of saving faith, Puritanism created its own “golden chain of being”—the concept of “covenant”—to connect the transcendent with the imminent and thus to give order to this new vision of life. The concept of “covenant” viewed all of life on this earth as related to God through the Living Word, Jesus Christ, and through the inspired word, the Scriptures. These somewhat mystical forms had to be translated into concepts intellectually prehensible. Then followed the “federal theology,” the elaborate explanation of the meaning of the “covenant” concept. It brought to American culture a vision of life which has never been transcended. In it the individual was most important. All institutions were divinely ordained, but man had a coordinate responsibility for their projection and maintenance. He was given a sense of responsibility and a vision of destiny that linked him with the Eternal. But tragedy became imminent when the son of the Puritan began to worship this theological formulation which often smacked more of Plato in its manner of expression than of its biblical typology. The idea of “covenant” which was basically an idea of personal relationship and order, was reduced to a principle of uniformity, a law. The result was manifest in the eighteenth century preaching of New England which emphasized the rationality rather than the personal aspect of God’s dealing with men. To put it theologically, the “covenant of grace,” whereby God extended salvation to his elect, was by-passed for the “covenant of works—the rational explanation of God’s dealings with men as part of the whole order of nature. Man thereby lost his identity as a person, he became known only as part of a rationally conceived order of life. Man was no longer dominant over culture but had surrendered his spiritual and intellectual powers to its control. With the passing of the “covenant of grace” there was little justification for change.

Shift Of Sovereigns

It was against this transition in American culture that Jonathan Edwards thundered in the middle of the eighteenth century. Edwards was concerned that America should assert the supremacy of the will as over against the domination of the intellect. He was determined that the sovereignty of God should be restored to American culture in opposition to both the intellectualist and the romanticists. In spite of his valiant efforts eighteenth century rationalism in the form of Deism wrought significant alterations in the American cultural myth. God, the Creator, still remained as the author of all order and truth. But the “golden chain of being,” the mediator between God and man, was no longer Christ and the Scriptures. It was Nature, conceived in the ordered vision of Newton’s Principia. The scientific experiments of Franklin and the writings of Jefferson and his friends tended to reinforce, yes, even to deify this concept. There had been brought back into American culture the principle of uniformity under the guise of science.

It was in the light of such a vision that Jefferson stated the basic principles of the American creed. These great ideas of equality, rights, and happiness were traced to “Nature’s God,” not the God of nature. In so grounding them Jefferson laid the basis for our cultural confusion. The modern conflict with atheistic materialism has demonstrated that there can be no “scientific” justification for such concepts. Man cannot look upon them as intellectual abstractions alone; they must be accepted as divine imperatives that are essentially spiritual in nature and can be understood only in the light of a Divine Creator who is also a Divine Redeemer. This is what Jefferson left out. Since then we have been trying to shore up the foundations of our cultural forms with new types of scientifically drawn intellectual abstractions only to discover that they are insufficient.

Distinctives In Peril

From the vantage point of the mid-twentieth century it is now possible to see quite clearly what happened to American culture in the nineteenth. Transcendentalism sought to perpetuate a basis of uniformity in the cultural myth that was not dependent upon human experience. God, in Emerson’s concept of the “Over Soul,” would transcend finiteness and thus give stability to culture. But there was something lacking, the sense of tragedy, the presence of sin. The vision became optimistically rigid. There was no deviation from the path of progress in the pattern of change. This vision served to strengthen the American vision of destiny and to awaken the social conscience to the enormities of human slavery. But the dynamic of action for the reform movement which followed sprang from the vision of God and man which burst upon the American scene in the Finney revivals.

Simultaneously, another movement sought to restore the concept of grace, of needed change, in the American cultural myth. Having rejected the vision of revelational grace which moved the Puritan Jonathan Edwards, and Charles G. Finney to clamor for reform, the new prophet sought inspiration from the scientific doctrines of change which were then emerging. The evolutionary view of life—dialectical, survivalistic, or emergent—became the inspiration for the American dream. God became imminent in the very motion of matter. In fact, there was no need for any transcendent God or any absolute; all that was necessary was the ability to determine the trend of the motion. This would provide the oracle for man’s action, the vision for his dream.

It is quite obvious that this tendency to monize our cultural inspiration does violence to the basic constructs of knowledge itself. Long ago the Greeks laid it down that all knowledge deals with origins (being), behavior (becoming), and ends (telesis). Our latest cultural inspiration has been drawn from behavior, alone. We have tried to explain both origins and ends in terms of behavior. We have lost the sense of balance and completeness which comes when one recognizes that both origins and ends are to be interpreted in terms of revelational truth. This places our absolutes where they belong—in God. It saves us from the error of confusing our ideas about God with absolutes, that is, it places rational truth in its proper place—namely, as one form of understanding. Likewise, it helps us to recognize that the knowledge derived from experience is meaningful only as it demonstrates in a non-deductive manner the realities of the absolute.

The American cultural myth is a rich one because of its basic inspiration derived from the person of God. It is sound when rational truth is brought into conformity with this “heavenly vision.” It is real when it permits man to experiment and to learn more of life through the realm of experience. This balance of the spiritual, the intellectual, the experiential, is the genius of American culture. When we lose this balance and endeavor to project either the principle of order, rationality, or the principle of change, experience, as the basis of our culture, we lose the proper foundation for any sound cultural system. We then become slaves either to the “god” of our intellectual abstractions, or of our observational generalizations. We can know freedom in our culture only as a free God is posited as its base. Without this assumption America will continue to lose her cultural distinctives.

END

We Quote:

DANIEL A. POLING

Editor of “Christian Herald”

Why do we support Billy Graham and the New York Crusade? Because he speaks always for Jesus Christ, because always his message is Christ-centered, because always he preaches Jesus Christ as man’s only sufficient Savior, because always he is a proved open channel for the Holy Spirit, because always he honors the Bible as the inspired word of God, and because under his leadership the churches of our Protestant faith are united in a Crusade unequaled in the history of this vast city.… The negative critics of the Billy Graham Crusade and of mass evangelism ask the question: Did Billy Graham change London and Glasgow?… The records indicate that large numbers of the converts do stand fast. But if the final test be thus raised, what about the entire history of Christianity since St. Peter preached at Pentecost?… What about John Wesley and Dwight L. Moody and all those other humble but inspired men who went before or who have come since? Is not Christianity itself and all that is worthy in the ecumenical movement of our time, the direct result of evangelism, mass evangelism included?

S. Richey Kamm is Chairman of the Division of History and Social Science at Wheaton College in Illinois. He holds the A.B. degree from Greenville College, A.M. from University of Michigan, and Ph.D. from University of Pennsylvania, and in 1952 was awarded the LL.D. degree by Seattle Pacific College.

Cover Story

RSV Appraisal: Old Testament

Months before its publication in 1952 the Revised Standard Version (RSV) was widely advertised as “the greatest Bible news in 341 years.” This decidedly ambitious claim has yet to find general acceptance. Whether the RSV will attain permanent and widespread success still remains to be seen. For good reasons many are not ready to accept it as the rightful heir of the historic Authorized Version of 1611 (AV). Although the RSV professes to be a revision of the AV, it is in reality a modern speech version.

Literary Style

The literary style of the AV has been frequently and even extravagantly praised. Men like Ruskin and William Lyon Phelps have commended it most highly. According to A. T. Robertson, the great charm and the chief merit of the AV lies in the fact that “it reproduces to a remarkable extent the spirit and language of the Bible.” That it contains expressions which are now obsolete or have changed their meaning as well as readings which are now regarded as incorrect or inferior is obvious. Many of these were removed in the American Revised Version of 1901 (ARV) and should be changed in the text or margin of copies of the AV which are published today. One of the rules adopted in 1870 to govern the revision which resulted in the ARV was “That in such necessary changes the style of the language employed in the existing version be closely followed.” This rule was not adopted for the RSV. But the hope is expressed in the Preface to the RSV that the translators have not taken undue advantage of their freedom from it.

Some changes are a matter of taste. For example, “to” instead of “unto,” “on” for “upon,” “you” for “ye” are purely a matter of English. But when the translators presume to decide just how frequently “and” may be used in a chapter or paragraph, the situation is quite different, and subjective considerations enter into the decision. The first “and” is omitted in verse 10 of Genesis 1 and retained in verse 8, where the construction is exactly the same. Its omission at Leviticus 1:1 and Numbers 1:1 destroys the connection between these books. The familiar phrase “and it came to pass” is omitted in Genesis 6:1 and frequently elsewhere. “Answered and said” is reduced to “answered” (Gen. 24:50). In Genesis 36:15–18 the word “duke” (RSV “chief”) occurs 18 times. RSV reduces it to 6 (cf. 1 Chron. 1:51–54). Such changes may make for easy reading, but they do not reproduce the biblical language and style accurately.

The Use Of “Thou”

The most important question under the head of biblical language is the use of “thou.” Both Hebrew and Greek distinguish between the singular (thou) and plural (you). The 1611 version carefully observed the distinction, not because it was Jacobean, but because it was biblical. The ARV retained it for the same reason. “Thou” is little less common in our vernacular today than it was fifty years ago. Yet probably all “modern speech” versions either eliminate the singular form entirely or compromise by using it only “in language addressed to God” or “in exalted poetic apostrophe.” This compromise in RSV encounters the most serious difficulties. In the New Testament it means that in every case where Jesus is addressed the decision must be made whether the speaker recognized his deity. Thus in Matthew 16:16, where Peter makes his great confession, RSV renders “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” That is, it declares that Peter addresses Jesus as a man, even when affirming him to be the Son of God.

In the Old Testament the same problem arises in connection with Messianic prophecy. The prophecy of Psalm 110:4 reads, “You are a priest for ever,” but it becomes in Hebrew 5:6 “Thou art a priest for ever,” which suggests that a prophecy which was not Messianic in the Old Testament becomes Messianic in the New Testament (NT). Or, if the principle of “exalted poetic apostrophe” is applied in the New Testament passage why not also in the Old Testament? We are told that the usage adopted in RSV followed “two years of debate and experiment.” The result is conclusive proof that such a compromise is both impracticable and dangerous. The only alternatives are either to follow the biblical usage or to eliminate the “thou” completely. We believe that the “thou” is too deeply embedded in the language of piety and religious devotion to be rudely displaced by the “you” of the modern colloquial. The fact that the diction of the AV differs from that of the daily newspaper is not necessarily a liability. Many regard it as a distinct asset. They enjoy the quaint and old-fashioned language of the Bible and want it changed as little as possible.

Paraphrase Not Translation

The aim of a translation is to render accurately the language of the text. A paraphrase may aim to give the meaning under a different form, but it tends to become an interpretation. “For he thought, ‘Why not, if there be peace and security in my days’ ” (2 Kings 20:19) is a loose paraphrase of “And he said, Is it not good, if peace and truth be in my days.” Does “For he thought,” etc., mean that Isaiah is not telling us what Hezekiah said but simply reading his mind for our benefit? “But he said, ‘Oh, my Lord, send, I pray, some other person’ ” (Ex. 4:13) tells us what Moses clearly wanted to say, but not what he actually said, which was, “O, my Lord, send I pray thee, by the hand of him whom thou wilt send.” It may help some readers to read “Moses’ feet” (Ex. 4:25), “Eli fell over backward” (1 Sam. 4:18), “took his stand by Amasa” (2 Sam. 20:11), “now Ahijah had clad himself” (1 Kings 11:29b)—passages where the simple pronoun of the text is somewhat ambiguous. All such explanations, if really needed, should be placed in the margin, not inserted in the text.

The AV and ARV use italics to indicate words which are inserted to clarify the meaning. RSV never uses italics. Yet it makes many interpretive additions. “After his mother’s death” (Gen. 24:67), “better than a thousand elsewhere” (Ps. 84:10), “seventy weeks of years” and “a most holy place” (Dan. 9:24), “three days’ journey in breadth” (Jonah 3:3). In these passages, “death,” “elsewhere,” “of years,” “place,” “in breadth” are all interpretive additions. But this is not indicated in any way.

Both the AV and the ARV recognized the value of the ancient versions, especially the Septuagint (LXX), for the Bible translator. But they recognized also that an important distinction is to be drawn between the divinely inspired original text and uninspired translations; and also that it is difficult to be sure of the text of these ancient versions. We are told in the Preface to the ARV: “The authorities referred to in the Old Testament are translations from the Hebrew; and though the date of these translations is more ancient than any extant manuscripts of the Hebrew Bible, yet there is no means of verifying with certainty the text of these translations; and one can never get beyond plausible conjecture in attempting to correct the Hebrew text by means of them. It is one thing to admit that the Hebrew text is probably corrupt here and there; quite another, to be sure how to rectify it.” Consequently the ARV revisers reduced to a minimum the corrections favored by the versions; and their policy was to place those they adopted or favored in the margin, not in the text.

The attitude of the RSV to the use of the versions is radically different from that of the ARV. Not only has it corrected the Hebrew text some 600 times on the basis of one or more versions, but it puts these corrections in the text with a marginal note. This note varies considerably in form. “Assyria” (Amos 3:9) has margin “Gk.:Heb. Ashdod,” although the Targum, Syriac, and Vulgate support the Hebrew. “House of Israel” (Hos. 10:15) has margin “Gk.:Heb. O Bethel,” although the Hebrew makes good sense and is supported by Syriac and Vulgate (cf. Targum). “His neighbor’s flesh” (Isa. 9:20) has margin “Tg. Compare Gk.:Heb. the flesh of his arm,” although the St. Mark Scroll, Codex B of the Septuagint, Vulgate and Syriac support the Hebrew Massoretic text.

In a number of instances the margin contains the words, “Heb. lacks.” For example, “Jehoram his brother became king in his stead” (2 Kings 1:17) has margin: “Gk. Syr.: Heb. lacks his brother.” It is quite likely that the Greek translators, preparing a version for Greek-speaking Jews and proselytes, added the words “his brother” to make it clear just who this Jehoram was; and the Syriac probably followed the Greek. But the words “Heb. lacks” assume that the Greek is right and that the Hebrew text omits something which properly belongs there. Many examples of these alleged “lacks” of the Hebrew might be cited. Such readings as “Let us go out to the field” (Gen. 4:8), and “Why have you stolen my silver cup?” (Gen. 44:4 were undoubtedly known to the ARV revisers and probably also to those of 1611. But they ignored them. RSV places them in the text and states in the margin that the Hebrew “lacks” them.

How uncertain many of these changes are is illustrated by such a rendering as “swoon away” instead of “rejoice” (Jer. 51:39), which is adopted by RSV following Moffatt and the American Translation. If we take “exult” in the sense of “become hilarious,” the state which often precedes a drunken stupor, the Hebrew text makes perfectly good sense. It is quite probable that the Greek translators simply misunderstood the meaning. The RSV margin “Heb. rejoice” suggests that the Hebrew must be wrong. “And spreading itself like a green tree in its native soil” (Ps. 37:35 ARV) is literally “like a luxuriant native (tree).” RSV following the Greek changes it to “like a cedar of Lebanon” and adds a footnote, “Gk.:Heb. obscure,” which is a strange statement for Hebrew scholars to make.

Conjectural Readings

There are more than 300 readings in the text of RSV which are described in the margin as “cn,” which is explained in the Preface as standing for “correction.” But since these changes are without support in manuscripts or versions, they are really conjectures (properly abbreviated as “cj”) and should be described as such.

Psalm 2:11 f. is a “cn” which has been frequently cited. By omitting the words “with trembling” and rearranging the consonants of the words “and rejoice” and “son,” a rendering “kiss his feet” (so American Translation) is secured. Yet if it is admitted that the Aramaic form of the word “son” (bar) is used here instead of the Hebrew form (ben), the difficulty is entirely removed (in vs. 9 the word “break” is also an Aramaic loan word). By a similar juggling of letters a rendering “kiss the hero” has also been reached. One is quite as conjectural as the other. “Rebelled against the Most High at the Red Sea” (Ps. 106:7) instead of “provoked him at the Sea, even at the Red Sea,” is not justified by simply referring to Psalm 78:17,56. “Crown” (Ps. 89:19) instead of “help” involves consonantal change and is no improvement. “Nor upsurgings of the deep” (2 Sam. 1:21) is no improvement on “nor fields of offerings,” i.e., fertile fields where first fruits might be gathered. It involves changes in the consonants of both Hebrew words and gives the words a mythological meaning. Dr. Moffatt justified the many conjectural changes that he made in his version on the ground that the Hebrew text is “often desperately corrupt.” It is only on the basis of such an assumption that many or most of the “cns” adopted in RSV can be justified; and obviously every “cn” adopted serves to strengthen the claim that the Hebrew text is corrupt.

Changes Without Marginal Note

Changes without marginal note are of two kinds. The revisers state that where the readings they have adopted make no change in the Consonantal text but simply involve the vocalization and punctuation of the Massoretic text (MT), no marginal note is given. The Massoretic pronunciation represents a reading which is both ancient and important. To ignore it completely is arbitrary, to say the least; and it is confusing to the reader who does not have all the facts before him. In Isaiah 49:17, RSV follows the St. Mark Isaiah Scroll in reading “your builders” (BoNaYiK) instead of “thy sons (BaNaYiK). In such cases a marginal note such as “MT: sons” would certainly be in order. It would indicate both the change and also to this extent the reason for it. “For they have no pangs; their bodies are sound and sleek” (Ps. 73:4) does not change the consonants, but it involves cutting the word “death” in two (making “they” and “sound”). This is favored by many critics but finds no support in the versions.

Unfortunately there are, despite the claim of the Preface, a good many passages where changes involving the Consonantal Text are made without any marginal note. A glaring example of this is, “And Moses did as the Lord commanded him” (Lev. 16:34b). The only possible rendering of the Hebrew is “And he did as the Lord commanded Moses” (AV, ARV). Since the entire ritual of the Day of Atonement was to be performed by the high priest (Aaron is mentioned six times in the chapter), the statement as it stands in the AV is perfectly clear. “The beginning of his kingdom was Babel, Erech, and Accad, all of them in the land of Shinar” (Gen. 10:10), instead of “and the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and Accad, and Calneh in the land of Shinar” (AV) has no margin. The rendering “all of them” (for Calneh) does not require a change in the consonants. But it does involve the rejection of the “and” which precedes; and it is at least questionable whether such a phrase as “all of them” would be necessary or appropriate after the mention of only three cities. It is arbitrary, to say the least, to introduce this new rendering without even a marginal note, simply because discoveries in Ugaritic indicate that such a rendering is possible. “In the land of Amaw” (Num. 22:5) replaces “of the land of the children of his people.” “His people” (ammo) could be read as Amaw. But this ignores the “sons of” which precedes. The Greek supports the AV. Some 13 manuscripts, the Samaritan Hebrew, the Syriac, and the Vulgate favor a reading “Ammon.” “Let my right hand wither” (Ps. 137:5) instead of “forget her cunning,” “cannot abide” (Ps. 49:20) for “understandeth not,” “The Lord is the strength of his people” (Ps. 28:8) instead of “The Lord is their strength,” “a pleasant vineyard” (Isa. 27:2) instead of “a vineyard of red wine,” “Summon thy might, O God” (Ps. 68:28) instead of “Thy God hath commanded thy strength,” “praised” (Eccles. 8:10) instead of “forgotten”—all involve consonantal changes. Such unindicated changes are disconcerting, to say the least.

Poetical Arrangement

In the AV the printing of each verse as a unit makes it somewhat difficult for the reader to distinguish readily between prose and poetry. The ARV made this possible by arranging prose passages in paragraphs and poetry in verses. It treated Psalms, Proverbs, Canticles, and most of Job as poetry, also the clearly poetical passages in Exodus 15, Numbers 23–24, Deuteronomy 32–33. That there is a poetic quality in many of the utterances of the prophets has long been recognized. Rhythmic parallelism is quite marked in some of their discourses. But this does not warrant the treatment of them as poetry. The RSV has “metricized” the greater part of the prophetical books. The result has been that splendidly rhythmic prose has often been changed into very poor and lame poetry. The first chapter of Isaiah, often called “the great arraignment,” is broken up in RSV and printed as a kind of blank verse. An extreme example of this appears in Matthew 4:1–11. Jesus in answering the devil quoted three Old Testament passages, two from Deuteronomy, the other from the Psalms. The two from Deuteronomy are quoted from a simple prose narrative. Yet they are treated as poetry in Matthew.

Quotation marks are a feature of most, if not all “modern speech” versions. They may sometimes be helpful, but there are two dangers connected with their use. One is that they may be unduly interpretive. In Psalms 60, verses 6 to 8 are placed in quotes as the word of the Lord. Many commentators regard them as the word of the Psalmist. In Isaiah 2:3 the quotation ends with “paths” instead of including the rest of the verse. The other reason is that quotation marks are complicated and confusing. Deuteronomy 5:1 (“Hear O Israel”) to 26:19 is all placed in quotes. Every paragraph—there are more than 100 of them—begins with a quote (“). Hence the Ten Commandments are each introduced by two quotes (“ ‘) here, while in Exodus 20:2–17 they are introduced by one “quote” (“). Deuteronomy 5:28 begins with a quote (“). In includes a quotation (‘) which begins with the words “I have heard” and extends through verse 31; and this in turn includes a quotation (“) consisting of the words “Return to your tents” (vs. 30). Such a lavish use of quotation marks tends to pile up. Cf. Jeremiah 22:9 and 29:28, which end with three quotes (” ’ ”). It is to be noted also that the revisers have been quite inconsistent. Compare Jeremiah 13:12–14 with Ezekiel 35:1–9 in RSV.

An irritating feature of the RSV is its inconsistencies. Eitheir the Old Testament and the New Testament Committees did not consult one another sufficiently or they failed to reach an agreement on matters that concerned both testaments. Thus Isaiah 40:3 reads “A voice cries: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.”°’ This verse is quoted in all four Gospels, and in all four the words “in the wilderness” are connected with what precedes, not with what follows. The word “Gentiles” disappears from the Old Testament in RSV but appears nearly as frequently in the New Testament as in the AV. For the reader who has no way of checking them such inconsistencies are confusing. For those who have, they are irritating as indicative of carelessness and haste.

Minimizing Attitude

The most serious defect of the RSV is what may be called its minimizing attitude toward the supernatural. This appears with especial clearness in its treatment of Isaiah 7:14. That the word alma can be used and is used of a virgin (Gen. 24:43, cf. vs. 16), that the Septuagint rendered it by parthenos and that parthenos means virgin, that Matthew 1:23 used the word parthenos in quoting Isaiah’s prophecy, that the context in Matthew speaks of a virgin birth—these are facts which cannot be denied. Yet RSV renders the Isaiah passage by “young woman” (margin: “Or virgin”). This implies that Matthew read into the prophecy a meaning which was not originally there. It is of course possible, perhaps probable that alma was used at times in the broader sense of “a young woman (of marriageable age).” But to adopt such a rendering here shows a readiness to find a minimum of truth in a passage instead of a desire to claim the most its language will properly admit.

The words “and he shall sit and rule upon his throne; and he shall be a priest upon his throne” (Zech. 6:13, AV) predict the coming of the Priest-King, who is to be like unto Melchizedek (Ps. 110:4). The RSV rendering “and shall sit and rule upon his throne. And there shall be a priest by his throne” introduces a sharp distinction between the king and the priest which is not justified by the Hebrew. “Your divine throne” (Ps. 45:6) substitutes a divine throne for a divine Messiah and conflicts with the rendering of Hebrews 1:8, “Thy throne, O God.” “Whose origin is from of old, from ancient days” (Mic. 5:2) tones down the “from everlasting” of the AV. The rendering of Daniel 9:25, “Then for sixty-two weeks it shall be built again”—in fact the whole treatment of vss. 24–27—agrees with the critical theory that the Book of Daniel is Maccabean.

The writer is not one of those who regard the Authorized Version as sacrosanct. It is not infallible and where it is wrong it should be corrected. But such a revision, if it is to be entitled to the name, should be completely in the spirit of that time-honored version. It should aim to conserve its style and diction and make as few changes in it as are consistent with the accuracy and lucidity of the translation. We believe it to be imperative that conservative scholars prepare a revision of the AV that will carefully conserve all that is best in it while seeking to eliminate its occasional obscurities and errors. The AV has been for centuries a great unifying factor in the life of English-speaking Protestantism. Long may it remain so!

END

For a quarter of a century Oswald T. Allis taught Old Testament and related subjects. From 1910 to 1929 he taught at Princeton Theological Seminary, first as instructor and then as assistant professor of Semitic Philology; and from 1929 to 1936 at Westminster Theological Seminary, first as Professor of Old Testament History and Exegesis, and then as Professor of Old Testament. He is author of seven books and a member of the Version Committee of the American Bible Society.

Cover Story

RSV Appraisal: New Testament

Christianity Today July 8, 1957

The Revised Standard Version has now been with us long enough so that most people, both laymen and scholars, have formed their basic judgment of the work. Therefore the purpose of the present brief article is not so much to shed new light upon a question already exhaustively studied as to attempt to clarify some basic issues by suggesting several principles fundamental to a philosophy of translation and by offering a brief evaluation of the RSV in the light of these principles.

The Need For A Clean Bible

First, the Bible must be a revealing book. In evangelical Christianity, the Bible plays an indispensable role, for it is the divinely appointed instrument to bring men into a knowledge of truth and an experience of God. Since the English Bible is above all else a book of the layman, it must be rendered in an up-to-date, completely intelligible idiom. This principle is reinforced by the historical fact, realized only in this century, that the Greek idiom of the New Testament is the koine, the vernacular, the living language of common people.

However, a paradoxical situation has prevailed in large areas of the English-speaking church. The King James, or Authorized, Version, which has been the Bible of the people, is written in an archaic Elizabethan idiom. Such verses as “we which are alive … shall not prevent them which are asleep” (1 Thess. 4:15), “take nothing for their journey … no scrip” (Mk. 6:8), “and from thence we fetched a compass” (Acts 28:13), “we do you to wit” (2 Cor. 8:1), “I would have you … simple concerning evil” (Rom. 16:19), “his wife also being privy to it” (Acts 5:2) demand explanation to be understood in the twentieth century.

Furthermore, the form of the Bible, as well as its language, should convey to the reader a maximum degree of meaning. Few modern books would sell if every third line or so were indented as is KJV. A literary form that indicates units of thought by the use of paragraphs, sets off quotations by quotation marks, arranges poetical materials in poetic form and uses a modern system of punctuation is mandatory.

Punctuation and paragraph indention indeed involve interpretation, and the decisions of any translator or translators can be challenged at many points because of the ambiguity of the data. For instance, it is debatable whether our Lord’s discourse in John 3 ends at verse 15 or at verse 21. Nor can it be decided with finality whether the last sentence of Revelation 19:10 was spoken by the angel or is an author’s comment.

We must conclude, however, that the RSV, as far as language and form are concerned, will introduce the reader to the truth of the Word far more effectively than either of the earlier versions.

Accuracy In Translation

A second quality necessary in a translation of the Bible is accuracy. The meaning of the original language must be carefully reproduced. We cannot emphasize too strongly that a literal translation, if by literal we mean a word-for-word equivalent, is impossible. Anyone who has had any experience with a foreign language knows that every language has its idiom, which is meaningless when rendered with wooden literalness. We cite only one illustration. Many a preacher has been unhappy with the English word “bowels” of KJV (see 2 Cor. 6:12, Phil. 2:1, etc.) to express affection or compassion. KJV really embodies a mistranslation, for the Greek word physiologically denotes the organs above, not below, the diaphragm. To render this word “literally” is literally nonsense in English. The Semites may speak of the liver as a center of grief (Lam. 2:11), and the Greeks of the higher organs as a center of deep feeling; English demands a different idiom.

This problem of idiom appears in such theologically significant passages as Hebrews 1:2 “God … hath … spoken unto us by his Son” (KJV). The divergent rendering, “God … has spoken to us by a Son” (RSV), should be understood against the background of syntax rather than that of theology. The Greek literally reads, “God … has spoken to us in Son,” having neither the possessive pronoun nor the article. The translator here must deal with the problem of reproducing the anarthrous use of the article for which there is no English equivalent. If RSV undertranslates it, KJV overtranslates the idiom. Strict literalness is impossible.

The translator therefore must interpret. He must know the meaning of the original and seek its equivalent value in a different language. He must be a scholar possessing first-rate historical and philological equipment. No amount of devotion or piety can be a substitute for knowledge and technical skill, for we are dealing with historical facts which sometimes become very complex. However, when the interpretative element has been recognized, we must insist that a translation ought to be as literal as possible.

To what extent has RSV attained accuracy of translation? Numerous renditions of the new version are more literal than KJV. Any one of these, by itself, is of little importance; but taken together, they reflect the effort of the translators to produce an accurate version. “When they wanted wine” (John 2:3) is corrected to “when the wine failed.” RSV rightly reads “for the sake of your tradition” at Matthew 15:3 rather than “by your tradition.” KJV renders a single word in two ways in Matthew 23:16 and 18: “he is a debtor,” “he is guilty,” while RSV consistently translates the same word in the same way, “he is bound by his oath.” RSV literally renders Luke 10:11 “know this” instead of the paraphrastic “be ye sure of this.” “The common people” in Mark 12:37 (KJV, ASV) injects an unnecessary element of interpretation for the Greek, “the great throng,” which is faithfully reproduced in the RSV.

Furthermore, we may cite almost innumerable passages where the new version has achieved a better translation because it is more meaningful and perspicuous. This is probably its most notable feature, for many passages will suddenly come to life to the ordinary reader which have lain unnoticed before. Other passages will be seen in an entirely new light. The rudimentary credal statement in 1 Corinthians 15:3 ff. is “of first importance” (RSV), not merely of chronological priority (“first of all” KJV). Romans 7:6 is not making a contrast, as KJV suggests, between a literal and a spiritual approach to the Scriptures, but between two dispensations, a fact which the RSV makes clear. The confusing expression of KJV in Galatians 2:20 that the believer is crucified and yet lives is corrected in RSV to “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live …” The almost meaningless wording of KJV of Colossians 2:23, “not in any honour to the satisfying of the flesh” is clarified by the rendition, “they are of no value in checking the indulgence of the flesh”; and a footnote indicates that the passage is subject to a variant translation.

Theological Accuracy

An important question for evangelicals is the theological accuracy of the RSV. The charges have repeatedly been made that RSV reflects a liberal theological tendency and that the translators have misrepresented the original text in favor of lower theological positions. A critical study of RSV does not bear this out. There are verses which at first sight may seem to involve theological presuppositions of a nonevangelical character; but a thorough study will reveal that in practically every case there are objective factors which enter into the language or context of the problem so that the evidence does not look in a single direction. That a theologically inferior rendition is not due necessarily to a liberal tendency of the translator is proved by the rather surprising “maiden” in Matthew 1:23 in the early edition [1937] of the Williams’ translation published by the Moody Press.

There are in fact many passages where RSV has a higher theology than KJV. RSV rendering “on a level place” instead of the KJV’s “in the plain” (Luke 6:17) helps to solve the problem of the apparent conflict between Matthew and Luke as to the scene of the Sermon on the Mount. In the important saying of Matthew 11:27, the new wording “chooses to reveal him” sets off to better advantage than KJV’s “will reveal him” the mediatorial, revelatory work of the Son. The sense of the miraculous in our Lord’s healing ministry is heightened by such a rendering as “instantly” (Matt. 15:28) instead of the more literal “from that very hour.” A new rendering of our Lord’s prayer, “glorify thou me in thy own presence” (John 17:5) affirms more definitely than KJV that Jesus is returning to the Father.

A very commendable feature of the RSV is the tendency to capitalize “spirit.” Many passages are thus attributed to the Holy Spirit which were not clearly designated in the earlier versions (see Matt. 22:43, Rom. 7:6, 2 Cor. 3:8, Rev. 4:2). The dissatisfaction created by the equivocal rendering of ASV in 2 Timothy 3:16 has been removed by a translation which closely resembles KJV and clearly affirms the inspiration of the Scriptures.

Other renditions are disappointing. RSV, in contrast to its predecessors, punctuates Romans 9:5 so as to apply the beatitude to God the Father rather than to Christ as God. The context hardly calls for the benediction that results in the RSV. At the same time, we must be hesitant of attributing this rendition to theological presuppositions, for it is a fact that while Paul assigns to Christ the prerogatives of deity, it is not his custom to attribute to him the word “God.” In our judgment, the old rendering is preferable, but it remains possible that RSV has it correctly translated.

Profound theological implications are involved in the decision of the revisers to render hilasterion by “expiation” rather than “propitiation” in Romans 3:25. This is not to attribute the decision merely to theological preference; only those who shared the immediate labors of the committee are in a position to know to what extent this may be true. We must, however, point out that in contemporary theological literature, the word “expiation” involves a far lower view of atonement than does “propitiation.” Indeed, our very concept of God is involved. Expiation looks manward and involves the blotting out of sins and the annulment of guilt. Propitiation looks Godward and includes more than expiation—the satisfaction of God’s holiness and of his wrath against sin.

Far more is involved, however, than an arbitrary and subjective decision between two views of the atonement. Extensive technical and philological study lies behind the translation of hilasterion, particularly in the researches of C. H. Dodd. The conclusions of technical scholarship are not answered by the charge of theological liberalism, but only by scholarly research of equal competence. This we now fortunately possess in the work of Leon Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, [see the review by the writer in CHRISTIANITY TODAY, Vol. I, No. 1, (Oct. 29, 1956), p. 37] who shows that “expiation” is less than the Scriptures teach and is therefore unsatisfactory.

Perhaps the most radical departure of the new version involving theological considerations is the abandonment of the archaic “thee” and “thou” in favor of the idiom of today. Many readers have felt that the Bible has become somehow less holy and distinctive because of this change. What they fail to realize is that “thee” and “thou” was the ordinary language of everyday life when KJV was made and not a distinctive religious idiom. The decision to employ the modern idiom, we are informed in the introductory brochure, was reached only after two years of debate and experiment when it was decided that the formal mode of address should be retained only when deity was being addressed.

Are we to conclude, then, that when our Lord is not addressed in this formal terminology, it is because the translators do not look upon him as divine? This conclusion does not follow. The question which must be decided in each instance is whether men were consciously addressing Jesus as deity. We must recognize in the complexity of the messianic self-disclosure that only after the resurrection and ascension did the disciples come to a full recognition of our Lord’s deity. To put into their mouths a uniform terminology which recognizes deity from the start is to ignore the historical facts of the self-revelation of Christ and the education of the disciples. With the basic principle decided upon by the revisers, we may agree; and we note that the deity of the promised Messiah is recognized in Matthew 22:44, Hebrews 1:5–13, 5:5, 6, 7:17, 21, and that of the exalted Christ in Revelation 5:9.

The effort of the translators to carry out this principle may be illustrated in Acts 9 where Saul, who was apparently as yet unsure of the identity of the heavenly being appearing to him, says, “Who are you, Lord?” (Acts 9:5), while Ananias, who was fully aware of the Lord’s identity, says, “thy saints at Jerusalem” (Acts 9:13). The handling of these two situations reflects a nicety of judgment. When this has been said, we must record dissatisfaction with the rendering of such high Christological passages at Matthew 16:16, John 6:69. Furthermore, in the light of Thomas’s confession in John 20:28, a higher form of address might be expected in John 21, although it is of course possible that only Thomas had as yet grasped the significance of his confession. However, criticism, if any, must be directed to the revisers’ judgment, not to their theological presuppositions.

Consistency In Translation

A third important principle is derived from the fact that the vast majority of people are shut up to an English version for their knowledge of the Word of God. Therefore, a good version must provide an adequate tool for serious Bible study, and must endeavor to achieve as large a measure as possible of consistency in rendering of both important and unimportant theological words. Literary excellence may demand variety; but serious study demands consistency and accuracy.

It is evident that the translators of the new version have aimed at such consistency, at least in the New Testament. The single Greek expression, aionios zoe, which occurs some forty-four times in the New Testament, is rendered in KJV by the two phrases, “eternal life” and “everlasting life,” at a ratio of two to one (cf. John 3:15, 16; Acts 13:46, 48; Rom. 6:22–23). The RSV is consistent in employing a single English phrase. A similar meaningless variation between “everlasting” and “eternal” is found in KJV for the adjective aionios. Does one word convey a qualitative significance and the other only a quantitative meaning? To ask the question is to answer it.

Another even more important illustration is to be found in the RSV’s happy rendition of the word aion which refers to the entire period of human history in contrast with “the age to come” when the fullness of God’s kingdom will be realized (see Mark 10:30, Matt. 13:39–43). The KJV obscures this basic biblical structure by the rendering “world.” This confuses the student of the English Bible, for there is another word for world, kosmos, which embodies a closely related concept but suggests a different emphasis. RSV in twenty places correctly translates aion by “age.” In two other places, a footnote indicates the Greek word (Luke 16:8, Rom. 12:2). In other passages, such as Matthew 13:22, Mark 4:19, 2 Corinthians 4:4, 1 Timothy 6:17, 2 Timothy 4:10 and Titus 2:12, RSV retains “world,” apparently because the translators concluded that such was the meaning in these passages. Undeniably, sometimes aion and kosmos appear to be quite interchangeable; but in our opinion, nothing is lost, and the Bible student would be assisted by the retention of “age.”

The Greek words, hades and gehenna, involve distinct concepts which are obscured by the indiscriminate rendering “hell” in KJV (except in 1 Cor. 15:55, where hades is rendered “grave”). RSV differentiates the terms by the use of “hades” and “hell” except in Matthew 16:18 where a footnote indicates the Greek word.

In its translation of diatheke, KJV alternates between “covenant” (20 times) and “testament” (13 times). The new version consistently translates the word “covenant” except in Hebrews 9:16 where the covenant in question is a will. Here a footnote indicates the Greek word.

Many students of the English Bible will miss the word “to impute” in Romans 4:6, 8, 11, 22–24. However, this probably reflects no theological tendency but merely another instance of consistency of rendering. The same Greek word is rendered in KJV “to count” in Romans 4:3, 5 and “to reckon” in Romans 4:4, 9, 10. Since the meaning “to reckon” is closest to the Greek word, RSV consistently renders it in all of these references. The same rendering should appear in 2 Corinthians 5:19, where the RSV has “to count.”

These few illustrations, which have been deliberately chosen more or less at random to give fair samplings, adequately illustrate the measure of consistency sought and attained by the new version. Some of the illustrations cited are important for doctrinal study while others bear little doctrinal significance. The latter are all the more important in serving to demonstrate that a real effort has been made to introduce a large measure of consistency in translation. This feature will be of immeasurable aid to the student who is limited to the English Bible. There is still room for improvement, and it is to be hoped that future editions of RSV will seek an even greater measure of uniformity wherever the context permits.

Preserving The Familiar

A fourth principle introduces an element that limits the application of those already set forth. The Bible belongs to the Church and has created a tradition in English literature and in Western civilization which cannot be ignored. The King James Version is an English classic of great beauty. Furthermore, it has been the Bible of the people, and our minds are stocked with its verses and phrases. Therefore, for the sake both of beauty and practical usage, a new translation should be conservative, retaining as much of the familiar idiom as possible. Never should changes be made for the sake of change. Accuracy and clarity are mandatory, but these principles must be combined with that of the conservation of the accepted standard. Our need is not for a new version but for an adequate revision of the old that will conserve its beauty but correct its defects.

Not infrequently the translators of RSV seem to have failed to recognize this principle. A few illustrations must suffice. The first verses of John 14 are deeply ingrained in the minds of multitudes of Christians, and something seems to have been sacrificed in the new rendering. We may admit that “mansions” needs a modern equivalent, and that there are textual grounds for the structure of the second verse even though the resultant translation creates the difficulty of supposing that Jesus had previously told the disciples that He was going to prepare a place for them. Nevertheless the changes from the indicative to the imperative, from “and if I go” to “and when I go,” from “receive you unto myself” to “take you to myself” are neither required by the text nor by the meaning of the passage. “If I give away all I have” (1 Cor. 13:3, RSV) is hardly an improvement over “though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor.” The change in the order of phrases in John 3:17 is quite uncalled for. “Satisfied” in the fourth Beatitude (Matt. 5:6, RSV) does not add enough to merit the change from “filled.” Illustrations could be added endlessly.

Furthermore, desire for modernity in language ought not to be carried to the point where fundamental theological terminology is sacrificed. The avoidance of such terms as “sanctification” in favor of “consecration,” [later editions of RSV have restored “sanctification” in some places] or “predestination” in favor of “destined” (Eph. 1:5, 12) renders a disservice to the Church. Christian people should become familiar with basic theological terminology by reading the Bible itself. Therefore, so far as possible, theological terms should be consistently rendered by equivalent theological terms in English. Here the RSV is defective.

RSV frequently makes interpretative changes in the traditional language where clarity demands no change. “Those who are entering” (Matt. 23:13) does not need the addition of the word “would.” It is quite unnecessary to change Matthew 24:48, “If that evil servant shall say in his heart” to “says to himself,” especially since this idiom is elsewhere preserved (Mark 2:6, Luke 2:19, 3:15, 5:22). John 3:12, “How shall ye believe,” does not need the alteration to “How can you believe.” The change in John 15:2 from “every branch in me” to “every branch of mine” is distinct loss. “In that day you will ask me nothing” (John 16:23) is quite as significant as “you will ask me no questions.” In 1 Corinthians 2:10, the literal “deep things of God” is superior to “the depths of God,” which suggests something in the being of God rather than the depths of God’s revealed truth.

These illustrations suffice to demonstrate that RSV has an unhappy tendency to seek novelty for its own sake. The work would have been far more useful had the translators endeavored to retain as much of the language of the familiar version as possible. Nevertheless, it is this writer’s judgment that while the New Testament of the RSV is liable to serious criticism, and has not yet provided us with a completely adequate version, it is the most useful translation we possess.

END

A Canadian by birth, George Eldon Ladd holds the Th.B. degree from Gordon College, B.D. from Gordon Divinity School, and Ph.D. from Harvard University. Since 1950 he has served on the faculty of Fuller Theological Seminary. He is author of Crucial Questions About the Kingdom of God (1952) and The Blessed Hope (1956).

Cover Story

God in the Constitutional Convention

The sessions of the Constitutional Convention began May 25, and adjourned September 17, 1787, covering a period of one hundred and sixteen days. Fifty-five delegates were present at the opening of the Convention. The presiding officer was George Washington and the secretary was William Jackson. The impression that harmony prevailed is a figment of the imagination. Thirteen members left early, not to return—some because of conflicting opinions. Tempers at times flared hotly. At one stage the convention recessed to allow heated passions to cool. The final document was not adopted unanimously. Randolf, Mason and Gerry refused to sign.

The delegates to the Convention were not supermen. They came from the common walks of life. No more than twenty of the original fifty-five were credited with making any constructive contribution. If the working force could be reduced to any one man, that man would be James Madison, later called “The Father of the Constitution.”

A Disturbing Contrast

There were certain marked differences between the Continental Congress and the Constitutional Convention. One of them was the place given to prayer. Prayer was prominent in the Continental Congress. Two chaplains were appointed to open the sessions each day with prayer. In the Constitutional Convention prayer was officially absent. When the going became hard, Benjamin Franklin presented his famed resolution asking that prayer for divine guidance be offered each morning. His supporting remarks are a classic in congressional literature. He said in part:

the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, sir, in the sacred writings that “Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.”

Many writers assume that prayers were offered and that all went well thereafter. The plain fact is that this was not so. Elliott’s Debates (Vol. 5, p. 255) and a footnote to Franklin’s speech tell us that prayers were not thought necessary and the motion was lost by adjournment.

A second contrast between these two historic assemblies concerns the recognition given to the Divine Being. The Continental Congress, in its official documents, mentioned “God,” “Almighty God,” “Governor of the Universe” and the “Omnipotent” One. If we go back to the early compacts, colonial charters, the Articles of Confederation and the Declaration of Independence, we find not only frequent mention of God but repeated reference to Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Ruler of nations.

But in its official proceedings the Constitutional Convention was noticeably silent on such acknowledgments of Deity. In the Constitution as finally adopted there is no reference to God, Christ or to the law of God.

The Finished Product

The excellencies of the American Constitution are many. The final product is a masterpiece of the English language. Its preamble is one of the world’s finest sentences. The threefold task of the Convention was well done; to establish a central form of government; to preserve the individual rights of the people; and to define the powers of the states and the nation in their relation to each other.

With all of its excellencies, however, the Constitution came short of perfection. This is understandable to the degree that trust was placed in the wisdom of men rather than in the guidance of God. The fact that the Constitution has been amended twenty-one times should bear this out.

Following the adoption of the Constitution there arose two widespread objections. The first was that it made no provision for a bill of rights. This defect was remedied by the passage of the first ten amendments.

The second objection was that there was no acknowledgment of a Supreme Being. This obvious defect has never been corrected. At least forty-two of the forty-eight states have made some reference to God in their constitutions but the Federal Constitution remains silent. It is encouraging that in 1908 “In God We Trust” was made mandatory on some of our coins. These words appear also on some of our postage stamps and have now become, by act of Congress, the official motto of the United States. Without serious opposition, the words “Under God” have been added to our salute to the flag. But these gestures are only side issues as long as no recognition is made in our fundamental law by which all other laws are judged.

The late Dr. Peter Marshall, while chaplain of the United States Senate, said: “It is strange and I believe tragic that the Constitution makes no reference to God.” A fascinating article appeared in the Congressional Record of Feb. 19, 1844, about the offering of a resolution by John Quincy Adams to amend the Constitution by a recognition of “the God of this nation”; “Submission to the Lord Jesus Christ, Prince of the kings of the Earth”; and “unreserved reception of His revealed will, contained in the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments.” Space does not permit recording here his remarks supporting the resolution. The outcome was that his motion was laid on the table, though many voted in its favor.

On February 3, 1863, a three-day convention of Christian citizens met at Xenia, Ohio, for prayer and conference concerning the state of the nation. Eleven denominations were represented. The convention adopted a declaration which reads in part:

“We regard the neglect of God and His law, by omitting all acknowledgments of them in our Constitution, as the crowning sin of the nation, and slavery as one of its outgrowths. Therefore the most important step remains to amend the Constitution so as to acknowledge God and the authority of His law …” The sentiment thus expressed grew and became organized into the National Reform Association, which continues as a vigorous force, with the Christian Amendment as one of its projects. The Christian Statesman is its official organ.

A more recent organization, with a national field secretary and a central office located in Pittsburgh, is also pressing this issue. Its official organ is The Christian Patriot. The measure has been repeatedly introduced into Congress, including the present session, by various members of the House and Senate. The first section of this bill reads: “This nation devoutly recognizes the authority and law of Jesus Christ, Savior and Ruler of Nations, through whom are bestowed the blessings of Almighty God.” Section 2 safeguards against any union of church and state, and the third section is designed to protect the rights and consciences of those whose religious scruples may be affected.

No one would be so naive as to assume that the mere writing of a name into the Constitution would make the nation Christian. It is not just a pin on the lapel of Uncle Sam’s coat. An amendment to the Constitution requires for passage a two-thirds vote of both houses of Congress and ratification by three-fourths of the state legislatures. When such support as this is achieved, may we not safely conclude that Uncle Sam has become a Christian at heart?

Such recognition in our basic law would honor the God who gave our nation its being; bring our Constitution into harmony with the history and aims of the founding fathers; bring our government into line with the moral law of God; declare before the world that the United States is a Christian nation; give our ambassadors and statesmen a firm basis on which to rest their decisions; and silence the arguments of atheists and others that chaplains, Thanksgiving proclamations, inscriptions on our coins and reading of the Bible in our schools are unconstitutional.

Admittedly, the proponents of this constitutional correction are now in the minority. But it has been said of certain earnest dissenters, “They signed many minority reports which became majority actions.”

END

When CHRISTIANTY TODAY carried an article on “God and the Continental Congress” in its issue of Feb. 4 (Vol. I, No. 9), Dr. Delber H. Elliott, long interested in the Christian Amendment Movement, proposed this further article on “God and the Constitutional Convention.” A graduate of Geneva College and of Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary, where he held the chair of Homiletics for seven years, he received the D.D. degree from Geneva in 1922, and has been a member of its Board of Trustees for 30 years.

Cover Story

What Young People Need

Christianity Today July 8, 1957

The label delinquent implies a lack of something—a “falling short.” In the instance of a taxpayer it is money. What is it in the case of a juvenile?

It isn’t money. True, “the love of money is the root of all evil,” and the lack of it figures in many outbreaks of juvenile delinquency. In the case histories of delinquents, however, one also finds young people from well-to-do families. Indeed, some of the worst offenders have parents who pamper them with extravagant allowances.

Nor is it lack of home comforts. That a slum environment fosters behavior problems is a social welfare axiom. However, blighted neighborhoods have no monopoly on delinquency. In some suburban communities of high real estate values and well-kept homes authorities have more problems with refractory young people than in run-down tenement areas, as theater managers and highway patrols will testify.

It isn’t lack of physical strength. The popular notion that the delinquent is a weakling, an “underprivileged runt,” is not borne out by statistics, according to a survey of “bad boys” and “good boys” by Dr. Sheldon Glueck, Harvard criminologist. On the whole, the bad boy is likely to be physically stronger than the good boy.

It isn’t low mentality. A certain lack of intelligence obviously lies behind all criminal conduct. The frequency of delinquency, however, is not determined by a high or a low IQ. In fact, the delinquent characteristically boasts of “being smart.”

Adult Dereliction

Delinquent, teen-ager, rebel—the words have been used so freely that they have become class labels. The cases and the causes have been pinpointed with clinical exhaustiveness. They present a disturbing and complex picture in which many fingers have a hand. With the delinquency of minors go the four D’s of adult contribution: Dereliction of duty, Divorce, Drunkenness, and Debauchery.

The remedies resorted to are largely restrictive and penal measures, dictated by the immediate emergency. Long-range prevention is recognized as more effective, but it takes so long and for present purposes it’s too late. Besides there’s some uncertainty whether to start with the young chick or the mother hen. Which comes first?

And yet, while the police increase their vigilance, judges stiffen their fines, principals tighten their rules, and parents question their miscreant children, the conviction persists that something more than halters and gendarmes and regimented pastime is needed to keep young people from straying.

Role Of Religion

The search for the answer to this need exposes a remarkable obduracy in human reasoning. In all the volumes of scientific books and the stacks of candid magazine explorations in juvenile delinquency, there is little reference to the possible importance of religion as the answer to the problem of youthful delinquency. As an example of this footnote status of religion in the study of the youth problem we have the thick, fine-print report of the congressional investigation of juvenile delinquency, which covered the nation but in 250 pages contains only two slight references to religion. One is a suggestion that the church provide more recreation for young people; the other is a negative note bearing out the statistic that for every dollar given for the work of the church ten dollars are spent on crime.

This faint regard for religion as a factor in social welfare does not necessarily imply spiritual disrespect. What it does seem to indicate is that “the notion is still very prevalent that religion is a beautiful lyrical element which hallows our Sundays and haunts our memories but does not come to life and effectuality in our everyday problems” (“American Youth in Trouble”).

“A resultful contemplation of juvenile delinquency is hard to come by without the consideration of religion as of major importance. For what is lacking in the delinquent? Not always mental competence, not always knowledge of right and wrong, not always spending money, not always opportunity for a good time, not always all the comforts of home. There are young people who have all this and yet delinquent. What is lacking?”

An old book, which from time to time reveals itself as a word of authority and an up-to-date manual on human nature, makes this statement corroborated by history: “The thoughts and imaginations of a man’s heart are evil from his youth.”

The Word of God is a pioneer in character analysis when it observes: “Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts.” Its case histories are so pertinent that a Los Angeles prosecutor in a trial of youthful rebels cited Scripture to describe the modern delinquents: “Lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection … incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God.”

It echoes the question of every thinking youth and all those concerned with the welfare of young people: “Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?”

The answer is: “By taking heed thereto according to thy Word.” This Book of Books provides youth with the stability of character to withstand the enticements of evil men who say, “Come with us,” who walk in darkness and “whose ways are crooked.” It instills in youth the discretion to resist the call of the strange woman, “Come let us take our fill of love,” whose end is “bitter wormwood” and whose house is “the way to hell.”

A Greater Lack

When a California youth authority, Jim Rayburn, was asked for the underlying reasons for juvenile delinquency, he pointed to neglect in training of children and laxness in discipline at home and in school as two major factors. But beyond it all he saw a greater lack. “The basic cause of the whole situation,” Rayburn said, “is that our young people have no knowledge of God.”

That, says this attorney at law, is the main reason for delinquency, which, in his opinion, is a serious situation, an enduring trend with prospects of getting worse, unless “something very drastic” is done about it. That something, which Rayburn considers the one answer to the problem, is this: “The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is the only solution.”

The inculcation of general moral precepts is not enough. Young people must have the empowering motivation of faith in and dedication to the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

The wayward one in Edgar Lee Master’s Spoon River Anthology found that the revulsion rising in his heart against the wiles of a black-eyed coquette was prompted by the thought of a woman of good influence, the remembrance of Emily Sparks, “in the days when she taught him in Spoon River.” And what was this teacher’s main message: “Do you remember the letter I wrote you of the beautiful love of Christ?”

Dr. Walter A. Maier, one of America’s great voices of the air, had this to say in a message on the American home: “I submit this as a very definite principle, that the first and foremost requirement in the attainment of home happiness is the sincere conviction, firmly accepted by every member of the household, that Jesus Christ is their personal Savior.

“Why is it that our nation is being inundated by a flood of juvenile crime? Why is it that there is such a rude disregard of the requirements of purity and chastity in American social circles?”

“Is all this not finally to be traced to the ugly fact that many homes, calloused and stolidly indifferent because of cold commercialism and endless pleasure seeking have found no room for the old fireplace motto, God Bless Our Home, and have crowded out the truth, Christ is the Head of This House?”

What youth needs is the spirit-guided conscience to say, “How can I do this great evil and sin against God?” and the Christian conviction to follow the principle, “Keep thyself pure.”

END

Henry Rische was for 17 years a West Coast pastor in the Lutheran church (Concordia Synod), and is presently editor of the family magazine This Day. He is a former staff correspondent for the Sacramento Bee, and is author of the book American Youth in Trouble.

Cover Story

Dare We Renew the Controversy?

Part 3: The Contemporary Restoration

Fundamentalism, despite its problems of temperament, is a theology reflective of biblical supernaturalism in the conflict against the unbelief of modernism. Therefore we particularly need to understand fundamentalism in its theological formulations. In so doing, we may clarify our personal responsibility, to divorce biblical supernaturalism from its stigma of temperament, and to know it for what it reflects in truth: the unchanging realities of special divine revelation.

Most recent literature dismisses fundamentalism in terms of temperament and ignorance. Little significance is given to the movement as biblical supernaturalism in continuing conflict with theological unbelief. A few exceptions sensed that the role of Christian doctrine was the basic issue at stake, and seem almost monumental on this account. Theodore G. Soares, for example, in Three Typical Beliefs (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1937), states the issue unabashed: “Fundamentalism is as old as the Reformation, though the name is of recent origin. The differences that have separated the Protestant sects have been peripheral; the great doctrines of the orthodoxy have been central, held by all. About half a century ago the inroads of liberalism caused the conservative elements in all the denominations to draw together.… Asserting that there could be no compromise on the unchanging fundamentals of the Christian faith, they adopted as a rallying cry the name of ‘fundamentalist.’ They claimed that they were reaffirming the faith as Luther held it, and Calvin, and Knox … and Wesley, and the great missionaries and evangelists, and most of the theologians until very recent times. And in that claim they were undoubtedly correct. The great Protestant creeds enunciated the doctrines which are now called ‘fundamentalist’ ” (pp. 37 f.).

It is hardly accurate, therefore, to depict the modernist fundamentalist controversy as rising from an attempt to freeze church doctrine “in terms which the fundamentalists chose” (Fosdick, The Living of These Years, p. 157).

This fact of doctrinal soundness in the struggle with modernism compelled men who were not fundamentalist in temperament or in affiliation to defend the movement, and to associate themselves with its championing of biblical defenses. For over against modernism’s abandonment of the miracles of Christmas and Good Friday and Easter, and of a sacred view of history and of the Bible, fundamentalism stood firmly on the side of scriptural theology and the historic Christian faith.

The Return To Doctrine

One of the remarkable turns in the theology of the recent past is that theologians who once shared the liberal viewpoint, now confess that this perspective was forged from a standpoint of secular unbelief.

Today’s increasing stress on doctrines essential to biblical Christianity coincides in many respects with the doctrinal emphases of the fundamentalist controversy. No fact of recent Protestant theology is more conspicuous than its emphasis that apart from the clear recognition of the supernaturalness, nay the deity, of Christ, only the shadows of Christianity remain.

Since 1927 Barth has championed the virgin birth of Jesus against almost a century of speculative doubt and denial by the liberal tradition, and likewise against such contemporaries as Brunner within his own neo-orthodox tradition. Barth’s comments on Brunner’s position on the virgin birth are even somewhat reminiscent of the older criticisms directed by fundamentalists against modernist denials of a generation ago: “Brunner’s denial of the Virgin birth is a bad business.… It throws an ambiguous light over the whole of his Christology.” Indeed, he echoes sympathetically the complaint of Berdyaev: “When I reached the passage in which Brunner confesses that he does not believe in Jesus Christ’s birth of the Virgin, or at least confronts it with indifference … it seemed to me as though everything had now been cancelled, as though everything else was now pointless” (The Doctrine of the Word of God, Vol. I, Part 2, p. 184).

Barth even writes: “It is no accident that … the Virgin birth is paralleled by … the miracle of the empty tomb. These two miracles belong together.… The Virgin birth at the opening and the empty tomb at the close of Jesus’ life bear witness that this life is a fact marked off from the rest of human life” (p. 182).

While Barth assuredly does not affirm all that an evangelical doctrine of atonement requires, he does speak of the sinless Christ who suffers in our stead (p. 152), bearing the wrath of God which must fall on sinful man (p. 157). Barth writes that God “takes upon Himself the sin and guilt and death of man, that laden with it all He stands surety for man” (p. 378). He writes of “the humanity of Jesus Christ … characterized by the bearing of our sins” and “abandoned to punishment, suffering and death” (p. 428). Barth acknowledges that “with the doctrine of the atonement, we come to the real centre … of dogmatics and Church proclamation” (p. 882).

The doctrine of Christ’s second coming likewise belongs to essential Christianity. In his earlier writings Barth’s eschatological teaching was leavened by an excessive contrast of historical time and eschatological time. This contrast has been modified somewhat, if not yet satisfactorily, by way of reaction to Bultmann’s consignment of the Christological events to myth and symbol. Barth now stresses that the Church exists on earth in the interval between the ascension and the second coming (pp. 692 f.).

Even with respect to Scripture as the norm of Christian doctrine, Barth has given us many statements which, as far as they go, have an evangelical ring. The Church, he tells us, is created and maintained by the Word of God, and is governed by that Word: “by the Word of God in the form of the testimony to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ set down in Scripture. To say that Jesus Christ rules the Church is to say that Holy Scripture rules the Church” (p. 693). Barth not only asserts the priority of the Scriptures over sources of divine knowledge affected by the Fall, but he says bluntly that “if the Church dared simply to abandon the sign of the Bible dominating its worship and instruction, it would be the end of Protestantism” (p. 460). Indeed, he even acknowledges that “the right doctrine of Holy Scripture” “must always be sought and found in exegesis and therefor in Holy Scripture itself” (p. 462).

Dramatic Change

The dramatic element in this theological reversal is simply this: in the first third of our century theological initiative lay with those who labeled the defenders of of these doctrines as obscurantists; today, in contrast, the prominent theological thrust defines the discard and neglect of these doctrines as violence to Christianity. A basic fundamentalist thesis has been vindicated: the intrinsic genius of Christianity demands proclamation of doctrines that fundamentalism upheld in the controversy with liberalism.

It would be overstatement to imply that in the recovery of these doctrinal emphases Barth and the neo-orthodox theologians return in all essentials to an historic evangelical exposition. That is not the case.

Perhaps G. C. Berkouwer has given the most constructive critical evangelical appraisal of Barthian theology in The Triumph of Grace in the Theology of Karl Barth (1956). Without in the least depreciating Barth’s refutation of the older modernism, Berkouwer addresses most pertinent questions to Barth’s “theology of the Word of God,” lest we uncritically assume that the Barthian plea for a Christological-Christocentric theology presents a thoroughly evangelical and biblical exposition of revealed sovereign divine grace in Christ. Philosophical categories in the Barthian exposition of creation, election, reconciliation and eschatology leave Berkouwer quite convinced that the triumphant grace motif in this neo-orthodox form compromises biblical theology and blunts the purity of the Gospel.

Neo-Orthodoxy And The Bible

Important motivational differences distinguish the neo-orthodox from the fundamentalist interest in doctrine. Neo-orthodoxy has no intention of reinstating a fixed and final theology. Indeed, it refuses even to concede that biblical theology is revealed. Doctrines, even prophetic and apostolic doctrines, are treated as devout theological reflection, not as revealed theology.

Beneath this halting return to the Bible lurks a dialectical prejudice that imparts an anti-intellectual turn to the neo-orthodox view of divine self-disclosure and hence to its definitions of revelation and inspiration. God’s revealing activity is sketched in terms of personal encounter beyond the grasp of human concepts, therefore sealing off any divine transmission of truths and words. Nowhere is the Barth-Brunner theology more disappointing than in thus exalting Schleiermacher’s objectionable definition of revelation. Indubitably neo-orthodoxy has supplemented and modified Schleiermacher’s view in numerous details. Its essential point, however, is retained, that God discloses no truths or doctrines involving himself and his purposes. Nowhere does neo-orthodoxy’s loud claim to honor the witness of Scripture fall upon stonier ground than its attempt to justify this anti-intellectual prejudice against the Bible. The evangelical exposition of inspiration has been nearer the heartbeat of the Bible when, in debating the relative merits and defects of the dictation, verbal, and concept theories, it at least held the line against anti-intellectual speculations about divine revelation and inspiration.

Contrary to conservative reliance on an authoritative Bible, the neo-orthodox doctrinal interest retains the liberal methodology. Barth still maintains the requirement, already stated in his early writings, that the Bible as such be distinguished from divine revelation (p. 463). Deference to biblical criticism compromises the religious finality of Scripture in the historic evangelical sense. To more than one interpreter Barthian dogmatics seems indeed marked for frustration in endeavoring to preserve the Bible as the witness of revelation, while at the same time restricting it as a witness to revelation. For this controlling postulate cannot survive the test of Scripture’s implications and assertions about itself. Here evangelical theology, insisting that the Divine Logos and Speech is addressed in human conceptions and words—how else could it be revelation?—is assuredly on the side of the biblical witness.

Barth indeed speaks of the “inspiringness” of the Bible, of its character as a frame wherein one is confronted by the encountering Christ. He fails, however, to acknowledge that inspiration or “inspiredness” which the New Testament ascribes to Scripture (2 Tim. 3:16), and on which evangelical theology therefore insists. The many passages in which the Old Testament prophets claim to convey the very words of God gain from Brunner the grudging admission of “a low order of revelation.” Yet nowhere does he reconcile this concession to verbal revelation with his basic theory of revelation as uncommunicable in concepts and words.

Barth, to be sure, tells us in a refreshing passage that “the biblical texts must be investigated for their own sake to the extent that the revelation which they attest does not stand or occur, and is not to be sought, behind or above them but in them.… If it is asked whether Christianity is really a book-religion, the answer is that strangely enough Christianity has always been and only been a living religion when it was not ashamed to be actually and seriously a book-religion” (pp. 494 ff.). Often his writings disclose a concern for textual and exegetical considerations that renegade liberalism had snubbed, and that even yet is lacking in some neo-orthodox theologians. Yet when Barth erpounds what Scripture teaches about its own inspiration, he reflects the prejudices of the dialectical theology. The dialectical evasion of the rational and verbal coherence of the Bible circumvents a doctrine of the inspiration of Scripture that corresponds to the witness of Scripture itself.

Barth wrongly invokes the witness of the Spirit to offset the need for stabilizing the words of Scripture as the Word of God. Nowhere does Barth really prove his case that the traditional view interposes the Bible as a “paper Pope” between Christ and the Church. Actually the modernist compromise of the authority of the Bible enabled critics to usurp the Lordship of Christ in the theological realm.

Christ And The Scriptures

There is a further consequence of deserting the high view of inspiration. Scripture itself loses the right to delineate the essential elements of the person and work of Jesus Christ. Although neo-orthodoxy calls for a revival of biblical theology, its formulation of Christian doctrine stresses whatever allegedly agrees with the revelation of the person of Christ. And evangelical theology must show enthusiasm for the Christocentric phrasing of revealed theology. But in neo-orthodoxy this principle operates critically and selectively in evaluating the data of Scripture. Scripture thereby no longer serves to refract what coheres with Christ’s person. Consequently, subjective factors constantly threaten the construction of Christian doctrine. This is seen in Brunner’s indifference to the doctrine of the virgin birth, despite Barth’s assertion that “the narratives of the Virgin birth were admitted to share in the gospel witness because of a certain inward, essential rightness and importance in their connection with the person of Jesus Christ” (p. 176). It is seen also in Brunner’s indifference to the empty tomb in relation to faith in Christ’s resurrection, whereas Barth notes that “its most illuminating moment” according to Mark’s Gospel “consists in the inconceivable fact of an empty sepulchre” (p. 114 f.), and that this outward sign guards against reducing resurrection from an event to a speculative idea (p. 179).

Barth’s speculative premises about divine self-revelation not only shape his departure from the historic view of Scripture, but determine also his general attenuation of evangelical doctrines, including his bias against the exposition of propitiation in the doctrine of atonement. Whenever convenient, neo-orthodoxy does not hesitate to shift its appeal from the nature of Christ to the witness of Scripture. But because the evangelical principle of the organic unity of the Bible is compromised, the dialectical approach accomplishes only a limited return to biblical theology and provides only a relative opposition to liberal theology. A crucial illustration is the hesitancy of dialectical theologians to maintain the full identity of Jesus of Nazareth with the Christ; the historical Jesus is for them a witness to the Christ. Here the detachment of the Christological from the scriptural principle actually threatens the central faith of the New Testament, namely, that Jesus of Nazareth is the zenith of divine self-revelation.

Immanence And Transcendence

Nonetheless, the new theology properly rejects the liberal doctrine of extreme immanence, to which the central Christian concepts had been conformed or had been deleted. The neo-orthodox statement of divine transcendence, however, appears reactionary. Whereas this new formulation of transcendence readmits some traditional and biblical fundamentals (e.g., the virgin birth, the bodily resurrection), it excludes others (e.g., propitiatory atonement) through its stress on God in his self-revelation as being always “subject, never object.” An exaggerated doctrine of divine transcendence is as harmful to the fortunes of biblical theology as an excessive doctrine of divine immanence. Twentieth-century theology incorporates this vulnerable approach to Scripture with speculative preconceptions of either divine transcendence or immanence. By imposing this procedure on biblical data, some elements of scriptural theology are accepted, others rejected. Actually, the limits of transcendence and immanence are fixed by all, not merely by some, Bible events and doctrines. It is this totality which guards against speculative distortions. Genuinely biblical theology views the divinely inspired Scriptures as the font from which, and from which alone, a trustworthy and adequate statement can be derived of those important and essential elements whose inward connection with the person of Christ must be maintained. Only the preservation of the total scriptural revelation justifies a theology’s claim to be biblical.

Divine-Human Encounter

Neo-orthodox theology has enlivened present theological discussion with a new, and rather wholesome, sensitivity to divine confrontation. The Christianity of the twentieth century had quite obscured the God who continually encounters and confronts man. Modernism had exchanged the divine initiative in special revelation for the human quest for God. Fundamentalism had stressed Christian experience in terms of doctrinal assent and outward social restraints, appended of course to an initial experience of rebirth whose vitality was to be renewed in periodic crises of spiritual surrender. Ritualistic churches dulled the edge of divine-human encounter through their recital of good news in a form which often struck modern men as monotonous and impotent. Twentieth-century man was face to face with death at every moment; if Christianity was to retain its relevance for him, it must somehow preserve him each moment face to face with life, with the ultimate, with God. The contemporary approximation of the New Testament emphasis on spiritual immediacy as preserved by the religion of the Mediator is therefore a gain. We who minister to this tensed generation dare not neglect the continual unveiling of God in Christ encountering every lost soul in creation, preservation, conscience, judgment, and the call to repentance and faith. Nor dare we neglect the sway of the confronting Christ over our own souls, framed by creation and refashioned by redemption primarily for a life of personal fellowship in his service. The disregard of this dimension of Christianity has doubtless done more to provoke the rise of modern religious cults than any other factor.

Sign Of Weakness

At the same time, the incessant neo-orthodox laboring of the theme of confrontation and encounter betrays a weakness. This neo-orthodox travail follows from the failure to adequately correlate the dynamics of present Christian experience with New Testament revelation. The fundamentalist confidence in a specially inspired communication of the knowledge of God and his purposes is sound. Scripture is not reducible to exalted religious insight; it is a literature of theological conviction uniquely shaped within an orbit of special divine revelation and inspiration. Nay, it is more; it is the normative and authoritative statement by which Christian faith and doctrine must be tested.

Task Of Christian Philosophy

A fresh exploration of the interrelations of revelation and reason (in view of man’s possession of the image of God created and sullied, and renewed in redemption) is one of the present imperatives. The historic Augustinian-Calvinistic conception of the relation of revelation and reason holds magnificent relevance for a generation reaching for a transcendent God, while yet concerned for the rational integration of all life’s experiences. Modernism’s surrender to the secularization of science, of education, and of cultural pursuits generally resulted directly from separating these spheres from the claims of revelation.

The way theology defines the relation of revelation and reason will color its comprehension of Christianity and culture, Christianity and science, Christianity and philosophy, no less than the exposition of Christian doctrine and apologetics. If divine revelation stands in essential contrast to human reason, or if it impinges only dialectically upon the human mind, so that divine revelation cannot be grasped in concepts and words, then a Christian philosophy is a vain hope. It is part of the glory of evangelical theology that it rises above the modern contrast between God-truth and world-truth which divides human reason and precludes the intellectual integration of experience.

The recovery of interest in special divine revelation is one of the gracious providences of our century. It comes significantly at a time when the world must contend with the tactical initiatives of Communism and of irreligion. Protestant modernism deflected Western Christianity’s theological interest from biblical revelation to natural theology.

This retrograde idealistic philosophy only briefly resisted a further decline to humanism. Evangelicals once reveled in the divine oracles; the modernists now asked whether God exists. Modernism’s surrender of biblical revelation finally enmeshed American Christianity in the loss of the self-revealed God; in the noncommunist world, as well as the communist, naturalism surged to ascendancy. Now that special revelation is Once again recognized as integral to Hebrew-Christian redemptive religion, it becomes a duty of evangelical theology to conserve this gain, and to shield it from speculative misunderstanding.

The message of divine creation and redemption comprehends both the individual life in its private growth and the redeemed man in all his social and cultural life. The awareness of biblical revelation as relevant to the whole of life grants contemporary civilization the living prospect of a rationally satisfying explanation of human aspirations and problems.

TO BE CONTINUED

This is the third of four abridgments of lectures on “Evangelical Responsibility in Contemporary Theology” delivered by Editor Carl F. H. Henry during the centennial observance of the Christian Reformed Church in America. The series will be concluded in the next issue.

Ideas

Dung and Scum

Some of our present day politicians have accustomed us to the unedifying practice of unmeasured and unrestrained public abuse. Such elegant and descriptive terms as “stinking skunk,” “lousy rat,” “yelping hyena” and “fascist beast” are choice and characteristic examples. The result, of course, is the degradation of our public life. “It must distress all who are concerned with the preservation of ordinary decencies and customary civilities,” writes the Dean of Melbourne, Dr. S. Barton Babbage, “that the language of Parliament should so often be the language of the gutter, and that vituperation and abuse should so often be regarded as a substitute for reasoned argument and debate.” The observation is relevant far beyond its British concern.

Today refutation is no part of controversy and discussion. It is no longer necessary to prove how a man is wrong: it is sufficient to explain why he is wrong. This is a game which Freudians and Marxians delight to play. For example, the Freudian will tell you that your thoughts are “psychologically tainted.” The Marxist will tell you that your thoughts are “ideologically tainted,” and that you only think freedom a good thing because you are one of the bourgeoisie (C. S. Lewis, “Bulverism” in the Socratic Digest, June 1944, p. 16). In this game you assume that your opponent is wrong—without further discussion—and then you distract his attention by explaining why he is wrong. You do not examine your opponent’s matter; you examine his motives; you substitute abuse for argument.

There is an amusing description of this process in an article by C. S. Lewis.

In the last fifteen years I have found this vice so common that I have had to invent a name for it. I call it Bulverism. Some day I am going to write the biography of the imaginary inventor, Ezekiel Bulver, whose destiny was determined at the age of five when he heard his mother say to his father—who had been maintaining that two sides of a triangle were together greater than the third—‘Oh you say that because you are a man.’ ‘At that moment,’ E. Bulver assures us, ‘there flashed across my opening mind the great truth that refutation is no necessary part of argument. Assume that your opponent is wrong, and then explain his error, and the world will be at your feet. Attempt to prove that he is wrong, or (worse still) try to find out whether he is wrong or right, and the national dynamism of our age will thrust you to the wall.’ That is how Bulver became one of the makers of the Twentieth Century (ibid., p. 17).

It is the Russians who have carried this practice of defamation to the greatest lengths. In the new Soviet Textbook of Law the victims of purges are no longer called “Social Defaulters”: they are described by such emotion-laden words as “mad dogs, rats, vermin, hyenas, dung and scum” (Arthur Koestler, The Yogi and the Commissar and Other Essays, London, 1945, p. 173). The consequences are at once apparent: if you regard your enemies as wild animals, then you will have no compunction about destroying them; for we shoot mad dogs. It is not surprising that, in Russia, with such a philosophy, the practice of “liquidation” has become a science.

Arthur Koestler has written a vivid autobiographical novel entitled, Scum of the Earth. It describes the inhuman brutalities which he experienced as the unhappy inmate of a French concentration camp. He says that those who today survive “wear the old school tie in the shape of some scar on the body, or an ulcer in the stomach, or at least a solid anxiety neurosis” (ibid., p. 85). The victims, who were drawn from many nationalities, were treated as “the scum of the earth”—in the strangely contemporary phrase of the Apostle, as “the filth of the world and the offscourings of all things” (1 Cor. 4:13). Koestler describes the daily indignities and the sadistic brutalities. Many were beaten and battered to death, so that there was a mounting daily toll of suffering and suicide. The camp cemetery, Koestler says, probably contains “the most cosmopolitan collection of skulls since the mass graves of the Crusades” (ibid., p. 93).

Peter the Great subscribed to the view that men are “dung and scum.” He was reproached for the prodigal waste of human life in the construction of St. Petersburg. He made the laconic reply: “We must break eggs to make an omelette” (Quoted, A. T. Pierson, Godly Self-Control, Barkingside, N. D., p. 37). The question is whether men are simply eggs to be broken, irrespective of whether or not a man is a “bad egg” or a “decent egg.” For Peter the Great men were “expendable material”; manure to fertilize the ground for the future.

Today we are beginning to see that everything depends upon our conception of man. Is he simply a tool, a thing, a cog in a machine? Or is he a creature made in the image of God? Is he simply an object or is he an active subject? J. S. Whale, in a series of memorable lectures before the undergraduates of the University of Cambridge, once said:

What is the truth about the nature and the end of man? This is the ultimate question behind the vast debate, the desperate struggle, of our time. Ideologies—to use the ugly modern jargon—are realy anthropologies; they are answers to that question which man has not ceased to ask every since he began asking questions at all; namely, what is Man? (Christian Doctrine, Cambridge, 1941, p. 35).

And J. A. Mackay, president of Princeton Theological Seminary, has said the same thing: “The titanic struggle now raging in the world may be regarded as at bottom a conflict between opposing views of man and his status in the universe” (Heritage and Destiny, London, 1945, p. 38).

The Christian conception of man is based on two simple and fundamental propositions: that man is created by God and redeemed by Christ.

In the first place, Christians believe that each man bears upon him the impress of God’s handiwork. After the conversion of the Emperor Constantine legislation was passed abolishing the branding of criminals and debtors on the face, since it is the image of divine beauty. Each man, so Christians affirm, is to be reverenced and respected as the creation of God.

It was this fact which moved the early Christians to utter their impassioned protest against the universal practice of infanticide—the heartless exposure of unwanted children on the mountainsides to be mauled and devoured by wild beasts. It was Adolf Deissmann who discovered on a piece of papyrus a letter by an Egyptian laborer addressed to his wife. She was expecting a baby, and this is what he wrote: “If it is a boy, let it live; if it is a girl, cast it out” (Light from the Ancient East, London, 1927, p. 168). Within three hundred years the Christians had swept this evil from the world—and orphanages and hospitals showed a more excellent way.

In the second place the Christian faith affirms that, for the world’s redemption, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16a). Our attitude to each man is necessarily conditioned by the costly and sacrificial nature of God’s love for us. “If God so loved us,” the Apostle says, “we ought also to love one another” (1 John 4:11).

In the year 1554 the scholar Muretas lay desperately ill. The surgeons proposed to operate. They were not primarily concerned with the success of the operation, but rather with the nature of the operation, which, in any case, was more like an experiment in vivisection. They were interested in the nature of his symptoms prior to death. Not knowing that he was a scholar, nor that he spoke Latin, the one said to the other: “Fiat experimentum in corpore vili” (“Let the experiment be tried on this vile body”). “Vilem animan appellas,” came a voice from the bed, “pro qua Christus non dedignatus est mori?” (“Dost thou call that soul vile for which Christ was content to die?”) (T. R. Glover, Jesus in the Experience of Man, New York, 1921, p. 222). The rebuke was timely and it was just.

The question is: what is our attitude to those we dislike, or with whom we disagree? Do we say, with a contemptuous lift of the head, a sneer of the lips, “dung and scum”; or, do we say, in the immortal words of John Bradford, when he saw criminals being led to execution: “There, but for the grace of God, go I” (D. N. B., in loc.)?

It is easy to admire those richly endowed with natural gifts; it is not so easy to like, let alone to love, the physically handicapped, the socially maladjusted, the mentally retarded. The Christian, at any rate, is bound to see the life of man in the light of God, and to say, with the Apostle Paul, “the love of Christ constraineth us” (2 Cor. 5:14). He dare not say, “dung and scum”; he must say, “a brother for whose sake Christ died” (1 Cor. 8:11).

A realization of man’s true nature and high destiny will save us from cynicism, and nerve us for service.

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