Theological Bankruptcy: An Open Letter to Traditionalists [Firebrand Big Read]

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“For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it?”
Luke 14:28

Cost is a fascinating concept. On the one hand, it is a familiar and straightforward concept. We use it daily, so much so that we assume that the concept is shared and readily understood even when we do not use the word itself. When we ask a salesperson, “How much?” we take it for granted that he or she will understand what we are asking. In the realm of commerce, cost is as basic a concept as we have.

On the other hand, we sometimes deploy the concept of cost in more subtle and complex ways. This is especially true in moral discourse. When a person gets caught cheating on an exam or failing to pay her taxes, we say things like, “She learned a costly lesson,” or “That was a costly mistake.” In such instances, we deploy the concept of cost to register the steep price that someone must pay because she tried to avoid payment in the first place, whether financial or time invested, say, in studying. 

Jesus’ use of the concept of cost in Luke 14:28 reflects both our everyday use of the concept in the realm of commerce (What will it cost to build the tower?), as well as our more nuanced use in moral discourse (an implied warning about the potentially devastating long-haul cost of failing to think about the cost of things before one gets started). The funny thing about Jesus’ saying is that we can almost visualize him throwing his hands in the air and exclaiming, “Who would do such a thing?” And yet, we know that people do it all the time. People routinely make major life decisions without stopping to calculate the cost – from ill-advised business ventures to getting married or having children. 

Most people do not set out in the hopes that they will one day end up in bankruptcy. And yet, in America, hundreds of thousands of people file for bankruptcy every year. At times, people’s situations are truly tragic –the result of factors beyond their control conspiring together in a way that leads to financial ruin (e.g., global pandemics, medical emergencies, etc.). But there are also cases in which people make hasty decisions or take ill-advised risks in an effort to get ahead (e.g., the day-trader in the stock market who borrows heavily on margin). We do so for many reasons, but two stand out from the rest. First, we are drawn to shortcuts. The idea of hitting the lottery sounds better to us than the idea of spending a lifetime working, paying bills, and trying to save for retirement. Second, we are prone to moral nearsightedness. We routinely fail to see the moral consequences of shortcuts and the moral value of steady work over the long haul. 

What does this have to do with theology? In a recent article called “Disdaining the Crucifixion,” , Mark Tooley spotlighted theologian Miguel A. De La Torre’s* blog post about the crucifixion. In the post, De La Torre rejects traditional views of Christ’s atoning sacrifice on the cross. Writing under the provocative title, “What if Crucifixion Is Not Salvific?” De La Torre rejects ransom, substitutionary, and satisfaction views of Christ’s work in favor of a “moral exemplar” view that limits the significance of the cross to solidarity with the poor. 

From the standpoint of classical Christian doctrine and theology, De La Torre’s blog is theologically bankrupt. For starters, it exhibits a painfully superficial reading of classical views of the atonement. De La Torre brushes aside both Anselm and Abelard in a few sentences, invoking a “child abuse” argument that, were it not for its popularity, would be too silly to be taken seriously. For what it is worth, I have yet to see a case in which the “child abuse” argument against traditional views on the atonement actually reflects anything approximating a careful reading of, say, St. Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo. I suspect that many people who deploy the “child abuse” argument (also known as the “wrathful deity” argument) have never read more than a few paragraphs of the Cur Deus Homo, in all likelihood from a secondary source or a “theological reader.” Not surprisingly, one never finds a “child abuse” critic of Anselm grappling with the concepts of beauty, order, and goodness which are so crucial in the Cur Deus Homo. Had they bothered to do so, they might have discovered that Anselm’s vision of God and salvation has everything to do with the restoration of beauty, order, and goodness in creation – a restoration that we are invited and empowered to participate in and that speaks directly to social injustices resulting from human sin.    

But none of this is the primary motivating concern for this “open letter” to traditionalists. Rather, the motivation for this article has to do with the reactions on social media to Tooley’s article on the part of traditionalists. Most people who responded did so by declaring De La Torre an “idiot” or “heretic” or some such (both of these words were used on social media). Many who have left the United Methodist Church to join another denomination or to become independent did not miss the opportunity to say, “See, this is the future of the United Methodist Church!” 

While I understand these reactions, I cannot help wondering whether those who “piled on” the De La Torre-is-a-heretic bandwagon could actually offer a compelling defense of ransom, substitution, or satisfaction views of the atonement. How many traditionalists could, if called upon, discuss the major features of these views as developed and articulated by, say, Gregory of Nyssa or St. Anselm? To put the matter differently, how many of us have read a work like the Cur Deus Homo with considerably more care than its “child abuse” or “angry deity” critics? 

We all know that ransom, substitution, and satisfaction are "traditional” views of what Christ has done on the cross, but do we actually know what these views are all about? Can we articulate them in a way that is not only accurate (i.e., fair to the classical authors and texts themselves), but also helps people to envision and relate to God in a way that has saving significance – not only for ourselves, but for the whole world, including those suffering from various forms of injustice? Or, like the “child abuse” and “wrathful God” critics, have we, truth be told, only read a few excerpts in a long forgotten “theological reader” that now adorns a shelf at our local used bookstore? To put the question in an intensely personal way, how long has it been since you, dear reader, have spent time reading or re-reading a work like Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo?  

These are open and frank questions. I do not intend them in a condescending manner. The fact is that, despite the furor over De La Torre’s blog, I have looked in vain for substantive and helpful responses to his criticisms of traditional views of the atonement. Perhaps this is due to the social media environment. Perhaps social media does not lend itself to such things. I am prepared to grant that this may be partially the case, but I also think we can do better. Assuming that we actually know well the traditional views of Christ’s work, surely saying a few words of loving correction would be more beneficial than name-calling. Surely we can quote a sentence or two from Scripture or from a classical theologian – the kind of sentence that makes clear what it is, precisely, we believe about God’s nature and purposes. For instance, one of the classical sources for the ransom theory of the atonement is Gregory of Nyssa’s Address on Religious Instruction. In that text, there is an incredibly powerful passage in which, having discussed and responded to criticisms concerning Christ’s suffering and death on the cross, Nyssa declares that the one thing that really befits God’s nature is “to come to the aid of those in need.” It really is a stunning moment in the treatise. Nyssa is saying that, in Christ, the truth about God’s nature and purposes is on display. Far from an angry or wrathful deity, this single sentence in Nyssa, short as it is, describes a God whose most defining attribute is love. It is not just a corrective to misreadings of the tradition like we find in De La Torre; it is also a powerful witness to the good news of the gospel – the news that God so loved the world (John 3:16).  

My ultimate concern, however, is not finally with those who have responded to Tooley’s (or De La Torre’s) post. Nor is my intent to shame anyone. Far more pressing, in my view, is whether traditionalists are even now setting ourselves up for theological bankruptcy. Just as people can suffer from terminal nearsightedness when they make decisions to take risky loans or to get married in Las Vegas, we may now be prioritizing expediency and other short-term gains over the long-term health and, frankly, success of the church’s mission in and for the world.  

In recent years, theological education has become a race to the bottom. Seminaries and divinity schools are competing to see who can offer the shortest or fastest path to a degree. Often, the first thing to go is the requirement that students learn biblical languages. For traditionalist seminaries, which presumably place a premium on the study of Holy Scripture, this is unconscionable. Nor can this move be blamed exclusively on the seminaries. Denominations themselves appear to be perfectly fine with such a development. For instance, the newly formed Global Methodist Church’s initial educational requirements for ordination do not include the study of Hebrew or Greek. Without such a requirement, it is conceivable that, a half-century from now, no member of the clergy will have a working facility with biblical languages. This would be a great tragedy, the long-haul consequences of which are inestimable. 

But the problem does not end there. The constant pressure to reduce seminary curricula to fewer and fewer hours means that there is no time for careful engagement with classic texts in theology and doctrine, texts like St. Athanasius’ On the Incarnation; St. Augustine’s City of God, Confessions, and De Trinitate; St. Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo; or Martin Luther’s Bondage of the Will. Apart from a deep knowledge of such texts, it is conceivable that we will awaken in a half-century to a church whose clergy will be woefully unprepared to respond to “child abuse” or “divine wrath” critics of traditional views on the atonement. We will be similarly ill-equipped to respond to people who advocate for “free will” rather than “free grace,” or who view ongoing sin as inevitable. 

Knowing such texts inside and out is not a matter of education for education’s sake. A thorough knowledge of the great texts in the Christian tradition makes us better prepared both to respond to critics of the faith and to present the gospel of Jesus Christ in ways that are winsome, that lead to deep healing and salvation, and that inflame our hearts with love for God and neighbor. For example, a thorough grounding in the works of St. Augustine can help us to articulate a vision of God and human nature that is inspiring, hopeful, and sustaining. In the Confessions, we discover the reason for human restlessness and sin. But we also learn about a God who made us for himself, and who is ever working to draw us back to himself. In the City of God, we are supplied with a vision of the heavenly city that helps us to remain faithful in the midst of suffering and tragedies in this life. Those who are concerned about Christian nationalism will also find help for resisting the temptation to emperor worship. In De Trinitate, we meet with a compelling vision of the Holy Spirit’s work in uniting us to Christ and to one another in Christ – a union that inflames our hearts with love for God and neighbor, addressing both the reality of sin and the consequences of sin (if any readers would like help exploring these and other works by St. Augustine, I heartily recommend Matthew Levering’s The Theology of Saint Augustine: An Introductory Guide to His Most Important Works.)  

A hero of traditionalist Christians, C. S. Lewis urged Christians to immerse themselves in both Holy Scripture and the great texts of Christian theology and doctrine. He believed that doing so is essential for internalizing “mere Christianity” (see his splendid introduction to St. Athanasius’ On the Incarnation). If we continue on the path that we are on, fewer and fewer clergy, let alone laity, will have a working and nuanced understanding of the most essential doctrines of the Christian faith. We will know of doctrines by name – ransom, satisfaction, substitution – but we will be ill-prepared to articulate them when critics reject them or when we are attempting to share the gospel with our neighbors. If we are to have a thorough (and useful!) knowledge of Christian doctrines, there is no substitute for immersion in Holy Scripture and classical theological texts like the ones mentioned above.  

The problem with this last claim is that such knowledge is costly. It is financially costly and it requires a considerable investment of time. We cannot acquire such knowledge on the cheap. Having said this, the most pressing reasons I hear people cite for shrinking the theological curriculum required for ordination have to do with time and money. Please do not mishear me. I am completely in favor of finding ways to lower (or even eliminate!) the financial burden of clergy education. But I do not think it is in our long-haul best interest to achieve this goal by reducing the curriculum or the amount of time and effort that it takes to complete one’s coursework.

The real question we must ask ourselves is how much we actually value theological education. Theological education is like anything that comes at a price. We naturally (often justifiably) complain when the price of some item, say, a car or a dozen eggs, goes up. Inflation is hard on us all, but it is especially hard on the poor. Christians, as much as anyone else, should be interested in making sure that the price for essential goods is truly justified. But we must also weigh the cost of lowering the price of things we deem especially important or valuable. When companies “outsource” manufacturing and production, it often results in products that are less durable and of lower quality. The price may be cheap, but it is reflected in the quality of the products themselves. As the old saying goes, price is what you pay; value is what you get.

When we really value something, we are often willing to pay a considerably higher price. We sometimes pay a premium for “hand-made” or “locally-sourced” items. We do so because we believe that we are getting something of “heirloom quality” – something of lasting value, something worth passing down to the next generation. This holds for theological education as well. It is easy to focus on the price of theological education. My contention is that we need to have a frank conversation about what we really want from theological education. Do we want the kind of cursory knowledge of the Bible and Christian doctrine contained in introductory textbooks (the kind of textbooks C. S. Lewis pans in his introduction to Athanasius’ On the Incarnation)? Or do we want a deep knowledge of Holy Scripture and classical Christian doctrine and theology – the kind of knowledge that can only be had by slow and steady immersion in primary sources? Do we want to know Holy Scripture and sacred doctrine barely enough to argue about them on social media? Or do we want to know these things in such a way that we can lovingly and graciously respond to critics and more winsomely present the good news of the gospel to the world? 

I cannot say what the price per credit hour for such knowledge should be. What I can say is that there can be no getting around the issue of cost. If we want such knowledge to be available in the future, then we must be willing to set aside considerable time and put forth considerable effort to acquire it. We cannot be held captive by expediency or the alluring myth that pearls of great price are easy to obtain. We can pay now, or we can pay later; either way, there will be a cost. It’s only a question of the kind of cost we want to pay.

Holy Scripture and sacred doctrine are gifts of the Holy Spirit to the church. They are treasures to be safeguarded and passed along with great care from generation to generation. They make us “wise unto salvation” (2 Tim. 3:15). They orient us to God. They correct, chasten, and perfect our understanding of God’s nature and purposes. Most of all, within the sacramental life of the church, they are among the ordinary channels through which the Holy Spirit conveys grace to our souls, transforming us from within and enabling us effectively to embody and to share the love of God with the world. Such things are priceless. May God help us all to value them accordingly.

*In the original post we erroneously stated that Professor De La Torre is Methodist. We apologize for the error.

Jason E. Vickers is Professor of Theology at Asbury Theological Seminary and the incoming William J. Abraham Professor of Theology and Wesleyan Studies at Baylor University's George W. Truett Seminary, Waco, TX.