When Should Doctrine Divide?

This has been an issue I have wrestled with the last couple of years and appears will continue to do so in my own community.  This is from Gavin Ortland at TGC . . . 

For various reasons I’ve been thinking about how Christians should relate to each other around secondary doctrines. What partnerships and alliances are appropriate among Christians of different denominations, networks, or tribes? What kind of feelings and practices should characterize our attitude to those in the body of Christ with whom we have significant theological disagreements? What does it look like to handle—with integrity and transparency—personal differences of conviction that may arise with your church, boss, or institution?

These kinds of questions have been a significant part of my own denominational and theological journey over the last decade, and it is a practical issue that will always be with us. So I thought it might be helpful to share two convictions that have been brewing in me while I’ve struggled my way through it all.

At the broadest level I see two opposite dangers: doctrinal minimalism and doctrinal separatism.

Danger #1: Doctrinal Minimalism

The overall trajectory of our culture seems to tend toward doctrinal minimalism and doctrinal indifferentism (especially in my generation). Four hundred years ago if you took a different view on baptism, you may have gotten drowned. Today we rightly recoil at that response, but we often go to the opposite extreme and say, in effect, “Who cares?”

I can’t recall how many times, in discussing secondary doctrines, I have heard people say, “It’s not a gospel issue; it’s a secondary issue.” Of course we should distinguish between the gospel and secondary issues, but if we fail to press any further than this basic distinction, such a statement can obscure the significance of various secondary issues. I sometimes suspect what people really mean when they make this distinction is something like: “It’s a secondary issue; therefore it doesn’t really matter.” 

But doctrines can be “non-essential” and yet still important, and different doctrines have different kinds of importance. I find it helpful to think in terms of three kinds of doctrines, with a fourth category for issues on which no view is required or forbidden:

• Primary doctrines
• Secondary doctrines
• Tertiary doctrines
• adiaphora (“things indifferent”)

A fourfold schema like this is somewhat arbitrary, too (you could choose three or five or ten instead). But this way of framing issues enables you to recognize a spectrum of importance among non-gospel doctrines.

There are several reasons why we should not equate “secondary” with “indifferent,” and lump together everything in categories 2 to 4:

1. A high view of Scripture calls us to treasure all God has said. 

Imagine receiving a letter from your long-lost love. You would treasure every word; there’s nothing in it you would shrug at. So also if we hold to the inspiration and perspicuity of Scripture, we shouldn’t shrug at any of its contents. Even if we don’t see the immediate consequence of a certain passage, our love for the Lord who breathed it to us—and our reverence for it as his breathed Word—should compel diligent study and effort to understand. 

2. A respect for church history should help us respect what our predecessors fought over. 

When we visit a memorial or museum devoted to a historical event, we rightly pay respect for the sacrifices others have made. For example, when we visit the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, we remember the costliness of our current freedoms.

So with church history: If we respect the great Christian leaders of the past—from the church fathers all the way up to the modern era—we should listen carefully to why they fought so passionately over certain secondary doctrines. For instance, those who want to downplay Catholic-Protestant differences today may be somewhat jolted out of this mindset by considering the example of Anglican bishops Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley and Thomas Cranmer, who were willing to be burned at the stake for their convictions on issues like transubstantiation and the nature of the Mass.

3. Many secondary doctrines are vitally related to the gospel. 

Some doctrines picture the gospel. Some protect it. Some logically flow out of it (or into it). Rare is a doctrine that can be hermetically sealed off from the rest of the Christian faith. Thus downplaying secondary doctrines can leave the primary ones blander, quieter, and more vulnerable.

4. All truth shapes how we think and live in subtle but important ways. 

I don’t believe my understanding of divine sovereignty, for instance, is a “gospel issue” in all its nuance, and I gladly welcome as brothers and sisters in Christ those who hold to an Arminian/Wesleyan view. At the same time, my understanding of God’s sovereignty has massive implications for everyday practical Christianity. For example, it affects my prayer life profoundly. So we should not shrug off issues like this as irrelevant to the gospel.

Danger #2: Doctrinal Separatism

There is, however, a danger opposite to doctrinal minimalism. To raise this point let me share some of my own story. The last 10 years have been lonely for me denominationally. I grew up in the PCA, and am greatly indebted to that wonderful denomination for the formative experience I had in it. But I landed in favor of credobaptism after intensive study on that issue, and thus became non-ordainable in the PCA. Subsequently I came to discover that I also wasn’t an ideal fit in some Baptist circles because while I affirm credobaptism, I don’t believe we should require it for church membership or the Lord’s Supper. Thus I became unacceptable in many Baptist circles as well.

Having effectively isolated myself from 98 percent of Christendom, I then further distanced myself from the majority of remaining Free and non-denominational churches by landing outside of the premillennial camp (I’m amillennial, though I don’t emphasize it).

None of these changes was particularly emotional issues for me; I had no desire to make a formal separation. I simply studied the issues and landed somewhere theologically. I sincerely miss the PCA, and I think back on my time among PCA churches and at Covenant Seminary (a PCA institution) with gratitude and a kind of nostalgia. And I regret being separated from so-called “strict Baptists” and “premillennial-only” folks, so many of whom I profoundly admire.

But I believe we must be transparent about where our convictions land, even when it leads to missed job or funding opportunities, sad relational partings, or inconvenient transitions. Some people seem to be able to “adjust” their convictions to fit into a current or prospective context; but I’m uncomfortable with that approach. I sympathize with the struggle and pain of it; and I understand the need for tact and carefulness, particularly when one is not yet fully decided. But at the end of the day, we must be honest.

I am grateful to have landed in the CCCC, which is a smaller, conservative group of Congregational churches (Lake Avenue Church in Pasadena and Park Street Church in Boston are probably the two best-known CCCC churches). CCCC has been a good fit for me theologically, and I like being part of a specific, recognizable, Protestant denomination whose roots can be traced back throughout church history (Harold John Ockenga, Jonathan Edwards, John Owen, the Savoy Declaration, and so on).

Looking back at my denominational migration, I recognize some of the partings of ways have been unavoidable—for instance, it makes sense that you need to affirm the basics of Presbyterian ecclesiology in order to a Presbyterian minister. In some other cases, though, I’ve been concerned about the danger of doctrinal separatism.

How Do We Work with Others?

So how do we decide when to partner with other Christians? This whole area is too complicated to tackle in one article, but here are four guiding questions that may be helpful:

1. What kind of partnership or unity is in view? 

There are different kinds of gospel unity: being ordained in a particular denomination is one thing; becoming a member of a local church is another; and speaking at a conference is another. We should have lower theological criteria for looser forms of partnership. 

2. What kind of partnership or unity will best serve to advance the gospel? 

This is a hard question to answer, so we should seek the Holy Spirit’s help. Our fleshly default is to trust in our own intuition and initial impression. We must instead humbly ask the Lord to give us wisdom (James 1:5). As we do so, we should remember that the fruits of separatism—church division, aloofness from how God is at work in our city, failed opportunities to “link arms” with other ministries, and so on—are not in principle less serious than the fruits of doctrinal minimalism. Errors in both directions can clog up our gospel impact.

3. Do I naturally lean toward a separatist or minimalistic spirit? 

Most of us have a particular leaning based on our temperament, background, or context. For instance, we might be naturally careful about theological clarity, but have a blind spot to the destructiveness of disunity. In the other direction, we might be horrified at the lack of love some Christians exhibit, but naïve about the effects of doctrinal erosion. We should work hard to learn what our temptation is, and then grow in our weak area.

4. Even when I must formally divide from other Christians, is the attitude of my heart gracious, humble, and inviting toward them? 

Doctrinal separatism is first and foremost a heart issue. It is easy for a spirit of self-justification to come in with our secondary distinctives. We know this is happening when we feel superior to Christians of other tribes and groups, or when a particular Christian, church, or group unduly annoys us. Thus, in the midst of our theological disagreements, we should take special care that our hearts have nothing of contempt, condescension, or undue suspicion toward those on the other side of an issue (Matt. 18:10).

Always Return to the Gospel

To do all this well, we need to continually direct our deepest level of emotional loyalty to Jesus himself. He is the one who died for us. He is the one to whom we will ultimately answer, and it his business that we are about in the first place.

As we refocus on our identity in Christ, he will help us toward that healthy, happy balance of valuing all his teaching while still embracing all his people.

The Church Has Always Known Theological Controversy

From Mere Orthodoxy blog . . . 

“Not again.”

That was my first thought when Eugene Peterson’s comments on gay marriage came out.

Regardless of the retraction, I knew the next few days would be ugly online. Various think-pieces (good and bad) would come, as would the tweets, the aggressive partisans, and the aggrieved bystanders in the middle, wringing their hands.

I don’t have a ton to say about Peterson himself, his comments, or the various reactions. I was frustrated initially, glad for the retraction, and saddened by the whole mess.

What struck me during this round, though, was the sense of fatigue. Maybe life online accelerates and magnifies our sense of controversy, especially since most people aren’t on Twitter. Still, it’s easy to get the feeling that we’re in a particularly stressful or conflicted moment in the church, and that this sort of thing will only become more common.

A friend of mine summed it up, asking, “Has it always felt so embattled to be in the Church?”

To which my response is, “Yes, actually. From the beginning, in fact.” It’s valuable to remember that for a moment.

It Has Always Been This Way

The New Testament is many things but, in a very real sense, it’s a record of Church conflict. Start with the Gospels. Jesus’s fights with the Pharisees and the Sadducees were matters of Scriptural interpretation and theological dispute: What is the meaning of the Sabbath and the commands? Who is the Messiah and what will the kingdom of God look like?  

In Galatians, Paul squares off with the Judaizers (and even the apostle Peter) over the shape of the New Covenant that Christ’s work had inaugurated. In the epistles to the Corinthians we find him fighting confused, hyper-spiritual and pagan libertinism. In Colossians, he is dismantling weirdo-Gnostic Syncretism. Similar points could be made in the Catholic letters and the Revelation.

In the Patristic Era, we fought over the deity of Christ, the humanity of Christ, the unity of the deity and the humanity of Christ, the deity of the Spirit, the nature of prophecy, the unity of the Old and New Testament, the nature and goodness of creation, the nature of grace and salvation, and the purity of the Church. And those are just the biggies.

Next we experienced the Great Schism between East and West and the big ball of yarn involved in that. 

Moving quickly to the Reformation era (because Protestant), the entire Western church was in an uproar on various fronts. After the initial break, we see the Magisterial Reformers fighting to retrieve and articulate the gospel and a reformed ecclesiology against Rome’s power, as well as to preserve unity amongst themselves (with greater and lesser success), while distinguishing themselves from the Enthusiasts and Radical Reformers.

Quickly thereafter, you have the regular conflicts within the communions, such as spats between the Philippists and the Gnesio-Lutherans, or on the Reformed side, the Remonstrants and the Orthodox.

Oh, and this was with the Ottoman Empire knocking on Europe’s door.

Over the next couple of centuries you can easily jump into the conflicts in the churches precipitated by Enthusiastic popular movements, Pietism, Enlightenment Rationalists, the rise of historical criticism, or the role of nationalism and the State. Jump ahead and over to the US, after various controversies surrounding both Great Awakenings, as well as the damning, ecclesial conflict over slavery, we could always spend some time covering the fights between the Fundamentalists and Modernists over Scripture, miracles, and so forth.

Each of these paragraphs are only the smallest snippets of wide-ranging, serious, theological conflict and debate that has always been a part of Church history, East and West, Protestant and Catholic, down on into today.

So, yes, it has always been this way. As the hymn has it, to look at the history of the Church is to see “her sore oppressed/ By schisms rent asunder/ By heresies distressed,” all of which leads the saints to ask, “how long?”

The answer, apparently, is “until Jesus comes back.”

Mere, Costly Fidelity

Which leaves us with the question of how to live in with the reality that theological conflict is a constant in the Church? How do we pastor, preach, teach, write, and just go about the business of being the Church in the World under such conditions?

I have no grand solution. I do think there are a few things to keep in mind.

First, theological indifferentism isn’t an option here. I’m all for broadmindedness and having a proper sense of differently-tiered importance of various doctrines. Still, in general, decisions eventually must be made. And on indifferentism about gender and sexuality, Jake, I think, has summed up the problem:

Because the particular issue at stake here (sexuality) is central to human existence, you can’t really afford to pretend the issue isn’t important. Either it is okay to be in a same-sex relationship or it is not. Either way, your answer to that question will have enormous spiritual and existential ramifications. Because it fails to recognize this fact, indifferentism of this sort ends up doing real damage to many people.  

In any case, you can’t avoid it forever—the question will come find you.

Second, it’s important to recognize fidelity to the gospel has always been a personally costly, confusing, and tenuous thing. Looking at the debates in Church history, you realize that’s rarely been a straightforward story of black hats and hats. We think of it that way in retrospect, and sometimes it was, but often it was more muddled for those in the middle of it.

Many of the names we associate with heresies (Arius, Nestorius) were known in their congregations as respected, godly churchmen, while some of the Church’s heroes were known as ruffians and brawlers (Athanasius, Cyril, Luther). Preserving the truth of the Scriptures may end up leaving you in the company of “saints” who “give you the willies”,  against opponents who have all of your personal sympathy.

We find ironic turns, as well. Apollinarianism, the heresy that denied Jesus Christ’s human nature had a human mind, takes its name from Apollinaris of Laodicea. Apollinaris was devoted to the Scriptures and a stalwart defender of Nicaea against the Arians. It seems he pushed so hard for for the deity of Christ, though, that he ended up butchering his humanity. A hero in one conflict may become a heretic in the next.

Even worse, often the disputes were between former friends, beloved students and teachers. One of the great Cappadocian Fathers, Basil of Caesaria, had the unpleasant task of defending the deity of the Holy Spirit against the attacks of his former teacher and mentor, Eustathius of Sebaste. The man who mentored him in his own personal spirituality ended up turning against both orthodoxy and Basil, leaving his student the task of challenging someone who had been a spiritual father to him. Many of us will see that day in our own ministries.

There isn’t a clear lesson here except that our fidelity to Biblical and historic orthodoxy needs to be rooted beyond the names of admirable but fallible human heroes. History is messy. Church history seems messier.

Maybe that’s why Paul is so forceful with the Galatians, telling them that even if he himself or an angel came preaching a different gospel, a divine curse should befall them (Gal. 1:8). At first that strikes you as a bit of hyperbole—and in the moment it sort of is. But given Paul’s wise self-knowledge, his tendency to leave off judgement of his own works before God’s judgment (1 Cor. 4:1-6), it seems more like he wanted to prepare his people against the possibility he could walk away as he had seen others do in his own ministry. For Paul, his people’s commitment to the gospel, to Christ, had to be rooted deeper in their souls than their attachment to him.

The encouragement, I suppose, is that we’ve been here before. We have not, to my knowledge, entered into some new eschatological end time inaugurated by the 1970s, the Clinton years, Obergefell, Trump, or Caitlyn Jenner’s Time cover. God and his purposes for the Church are the same as they have always been.

As the same hymn has it:

The Church shall never perish!
Her dear Lord, to defend,
To guide, sustain, and cherish,
Is with her to the end.
Though there be those that hate her.
False sons within her pale,
Against both foe and traitor
She ever shall prevail.

The call, then, is to recognize this, put our hands to plough, and pray to the Lord he will preserve us as we work to serve her. Even in times such as these—same as they’ve always been.

Posted by Derek Rishmawy

Derek Rishmawy is a systematic theology PhD student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He contributes to Christ and Pop Culture, Christianity Today, and writes at his own blog, Reformedish. He also co-hosts Mere Fidelity. You can follow him on Twitter @dzrishmawy.

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T.S. ELIOT’S DEFINITION OF HERESY AND THE VALUE OF HERETICS

More thoughts on heresy, this one on seeing the good in the wrong by Derek Rishmawy . . . 

T.S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets that I don’t read–at least not his poetry. When reading Scruton I found out he had a lecture series involving the notion of heresy, so of course I was intrigued.  It took some digging to track them down though, because they had been suppressed by Eliot himself due to some unfortunately anti-Semitic content. In any case, I found them and tracked down his definition of heresy and heretics:

Furthermore, the essential of any important heresy is not simply that it is wrong: it is that it is partly right. It is characteristic of the more interesting heretics, in the context in which I use the term, that they have an exceptionally acute perception, or profound insight, of some part of the truth; an insight more important often than the inferences of those who are aware of more but less acutely aware of anything. So far as we are able to redress the balance, effect the compensation, ourselves, we may find such authors of the greatest value. If we value them as they value themselves we shall go astray. And in the present state of affairs, with the low degree of education to be expected of public and of reviewers, we are more likely to go wrong than right; we must remember too, that an heresy is apt to have a seductive simplicity, to make a direct and persuasive appeal to intellect and emotions, and to be altogether more plausible than the truth.

-Eliot, T. S., 1888-1965. After Strange Gods : A Primer of Modern Heresy; London : Faber and Faber.

In other words, heretics are usually never totally wrong. In fact, they often-times grasp a vital truth more profoundly than others, but let it distort their thought when it becomes a focal point dominating all other truths. For that reason, sometimes interacting intellectually with heretics, or distorting teachers, is helpful–albeit in a negative way. One thinks of the way that Calvin’s interactions with Osiander on the issue of union with Christ which forced him to clarify his own thought on the matter. This doesn’t excuse heresy or mean we shouldn’t strive to avoid it and cling to the truth any less. It does mean that sometimes it’s good to try and understand what motivates it in order that our orthodoxy might be all the stronger. If I can understand the repugnancy of the absolutist dogmatism that drives some towards relativism, I can learn to present truth in a more gracious and understanding manner. If I can understand what would motivate a panentheistic denial of transcendence, I can know better how to communicate the beauty of a God whose transcendence is the ground for his immanence.

In other words, in the sovereignty of God even heretics can teach us something about the truth.

Soli Deo Gloria

The Lure of Heresy

Never has there been such interest in the idea of heresy. Ancient heresies, seen by earlier generations as obscure and dangerous ideas, have now been sprinkled with stardust. The lure of the religious forbidden never seems to have been so strong. As Geoffrey Chaucer shrewdly observed back in the fourteenth century: ‘Forbid us something, and that thing we desire’. For many religious alienated individuals, heresies are now to be seen as bold and brave statements of spiritual freedom, to be valued rather than avoided. Heresies are the plucky losers in past battles for orthodoxy, defeated by the brute power of the religious establishment. And since history is written by the winners, heresies have unfairly lost out, their spiritual and intellectual virtues stifled by their enemies. The rehabilitation of heretical ideas is now sees as a necessary correction of past injustices, allowing the rebirth of suppressed versions of Christianity more attuned to contemporary culture than traditional orthodoxy. Heresy has become fashionable.” Alister McGrath, Heresy: A History of Defending the Truth (HarperOne, 2009), p. 1 

Heresy Is Atrractive

There’s something attractive about every heresy. Otherwise, no one would had bothered with it in the first place. People didn’t come up with the ideas that eventually came to be labeled as heresies because they were bored and wanted to rile the “powers that be.” No, heresy comes from an earnest attempt to answer life’s most difficult questions. Although the answers heresy offers were eventually found to be inadequate and/or unacceptable, that doesn’t change the fact that they were honest attempts at good theology – attempts that many people found compelling for some reason. ~ Marc Cortez

Getting the Big Picture of the Bible Protects One From Heresy

Every heresy is due to an overemphasize upon some truth, without allowing other truths to qualify and balance it. Biblical induction is the only safe way to begin theology, moving, that is, form a wide variety of particular texts to general conclusions. But it presupposes a thorough knowledge of the diverse particularities of Scripture. It is in this way that the grand themes of Scripture emerge. Only then are we ready for a more deductive approach, as we view each part in the light of the whole. John Stott, Between Two Worlds, p. 183