John Wesley and the Depth of the Great Tradition
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John Wesley has always created debate. During his lifetime, the number of debates that he either instigated, jumped into, or caused would be an article, or a book, all its own. These controversies only continued after his death in 1791, even as many Methodists with their commemorative Staffordshire Wesley busts, Wedgwood Wesley teapots, and numerous framed prints of the man placed in chapels and homes on both sides of the Atlantic made him into an almost mythic figure.
In the century after his death, Methodists continued to admire Wesley, even as Methodism itself developed in ways that were not always in line with his theological vision or practice. Theologians within the tradition arose, some with interest in Wesley but many without it, such as Adam Clarke, Nathan Bangs, Richard Watson, William Burt Pope, and others. American Methodism often revered Wesley yet took its cues from Francis Asbury and later revivalists of an American variety. Even Asbury ignored Wesley at times.
As Methodism continued to grow and in certain forms took on the trappings of the Protestant Mainline, Wesley was looked to as the founder of the movement, but not necessarily as a theological contributor. His sermons and Notes Upon the New Testament remained doctrinal standards but were often overlooked. Some saw him as a heroic figure, crafting a propagandist and ahistorical narrative of a moribund Church of England out of which Wesley arose like a phoenix. Others saw him as an evangelist with no theological depth or contemporary value. Both perspectives were misplaced.
It was George Croft Cell’s work in the 1930s that is seen as a renaissance moment for authentic Wesley studies, the genesis of the work carried on by later historians and historical theologians such as Albert Outler, Frank Baker, Richard Heitzenrater, Henry Rack, Ted Campbell, Kenneth Collins, and Randy Maddox, among others. That Wesley-focused work then supported other work by historians of evangelicalism such as John Walsh, David Hempton, Reginald Ward, and Mark Noll. Theologians also benefited from this move and can easily be named such as Mildred Bangs Wynkoop, Geoffrey Wainwright, Billy Abraham, Diane Leclerc, Jason Vickers, and Thomas McCall. More names could, of course, be added. Methodism itself produced a number of scholarly works since the time of Wesley, some of them influenced by him. The holiness movement has also had its list of scholarly greats.
The focus, though, with many of those within Methodism (but certainly not all of them, particularly the historians) has been to look to Wesley and work forward. Or in certain cases, to ignore much that took place either before or after his death. This has been fine to reacquaint the people called Methodists with the riches of their early heritage. That heritage had been ignored for too long. And it is a work that needs to continue, as is evidenced by the fact that the critical edition of the Works of John Wesley is still in production. There is much to do. We are still working within the phases of Wesley studies proposed by Outler.
Recently, there has been a push to reacquaint the movement with the treasures of the century after Wesley’s death. At a recent academic gathering, one scholar suggested that we had heard enough about Wesley and that we should move on. The ghosts of nineteenth-century Methodist amnesia haunted the room. Thankfully, my dinner companion that evening is sanctified; he heard very clearly what I thought about such a suggestion.
Thoughtful work to re-engage post-Wesley Methodist theologians has been extremely beneficial, particularly from the William Burt Pope colloquia that meets in conjunction with the Wesleyan Theological Society. That work recently inspired an article by Matt O’Reilly in which he argued for its continued benefits and relevance (even if I would like to speak with O’Reilly about the difference between a historian and a historical theologian). But we haven’t heard enough from, nor learned enough about, Wesley. And unfortunately, the pipeline of Wesley studies PhD/ThDs is getting smaller.
What all of these debates about focusing on Wesley, or focusing on other Wesleyan theologians, often misses, though, is of vital importance to the Wesleyan movement itself. And this is something that the focus on Wesley should have made clear to us; Wesley’s theological vision didn’t begin nor end with himself. The argument should not be whether or not we look at Wesley or the theologians after Wesley, but rather how these figures help to connect us with the larger stream of Christian discourse that extends from Christ and the apostles, through the church fathers to the present.
No great figure within the history of the church has arisen within a vacuum. And yet, many Protestant groups tell their story, or better yet hagiography, in precisely this way. We’ve all heard the hyperbolic narratives. Christianity in Western Europe was a marketplace of superstition until Luther read Paul correctly and unleashed the Reformation era. English Christianity was nothing more than misguided and illiterate folk religion until Cranmer (with the awkward help of Henry VIII) brought prayer and order into the churches. Wesley emerged from a defunct Anglicanism, bringing hope and the message of holiness never heard before. Methodism was defunct until the emergence of Phoebe Palmer and later Phineas F. Bresee re-ignited the power of the Wesleyan message. Or no one knew the Holy Spirit, least of all experienced him, until the outburst that we call Azusa Street. Hyperbolic statements, yet statements not far off from many group origin narratives, the narratives that the laity have the misfortune to hear most.
But if we actually look at these figures, particularly Luther, Cranmer, and Wesley, what we see in their theological method is not something new, but something old. Each of these men, throughout their ministries, looked back. They weren’t necessarily creative. Luther looked to Paul, certainly, but he also looked to Augustine of Hippo and even the Medieval scholastics he so often debated. Cranmer wasn’t inspired simply by Reformation-era thought, but by the great liturgical traditions of the centuries before him, including Roman Catholic ones such as the English Sarum rite and even Spanish liturgical resources. And Wesley, if we pay attention, was immersed in the church fathers, medieval mystics, Reformation figures, and the Caroline divines.
Wesley scholars have pointed to this reality for decades. And a cursory reading of Wesley himself makes this plain. Sometimes, Wesley is explicit about this. In one of the clearest instances of this, he says that Methodism is “the religion of the Bible,” “the religion of the primitive church,” “the religion of the Church of England.” And under the claim about the primitive, or early, church he writes that the Wesleyan vision “is clearly expressed even in the small remains of Clemens Romanus, Ignatius, and Polycarp. It is seen more at large in the writings of Tertullian, Origen, Clemens Alexandrinus, and Cyprian. And even in the fourth century it was found in the works of Chrysostom, Basil, Ephrem Syrus, and Macarius.” To this he finally adds, “It would be easy to produce a cloud of witnesses testifying the same thing, were not this a point which no one will contest who has the least acquaintance with Christian antiquity” (“On Laying the Foundations of the New Chapel”).
There have been attempts within the tradition to embrace this wider view. Thomas Oden, Methodist scholar, spent considerable time engaging the church fathers, particularly as general editor of the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture series, but also in his own systematic theology, Classic Christianity. Abraham’s work was also noteworthy in this respect, particularly his Canonical Theism. Wainwright was even more explicit in terms of this engagement. His incomparable systematic theology, Doxology, is not only bathed in both the church fathers and the Wesley brothers but is organized in a much older fashion according to the life of the church, its liturgy, rather than the dictates of early modern continental Protestantism. Wainwright’s Doxology is not only Wesleyan in content, but also in form.
But for some reason, that reality hasn’t been heard and there is a general tendency within Wesleyan circles to point back to Wesley himself and stop there. Or to ignore him. Or to argue that we need to look at the century following. To do any of this, though, isn’t truly Wesleyan.
Part of the problem with looking just at Wesley’s theology apart from this great tradition is that it’s incomplete. Yet it is incomplete by design. It is not incomplete because it refused to mimic continental Protestant systematic theology. That assertion is as tired and worn now as it was when it first reared its head over a century ago. Wesley’s theology is incomplete by design because Wesley relied on the foundations of the Church of England, including its Prayer Book, its Articles, its Ordinal, and the substantive work of Anglican theologians over the centuries linking it to the historic church. It is also incomplete (on its own) because, like the other High Church Anglicans of his time, he relied on the early church, and on Scripture. He was not afraid to address theological issues that needed to be addressed while standing firmly on the foundation already laid. This is why, for example, we see very little about the general resurrection in Wesley’s writings, nor does he see the need to systematically address the Incarnation.
The problem—and Wesley is partially to blame for this—is that the movement of renewal that he founded became a distinct and separate movement in the decades leading up to his death and even more so following it. And that separation left the Wesleyan movement without the foundation that Wesley himself stood so firmly upon. I have often said that I didn’t truly understand Wesley until I was immersed in a community shaped and formed by the liturgy of the Prayer Book, and I still believe it. Something so basic to Wesley’s theology as grace is given definition in the Prayer Book, the same definition that Wesley himself taught. But being detached from something that for Wesley and his formation was so commonplace has given rise to a detached understanding of some of his most basic working concepts.
Wesley was wedded to the historic tradition of the church. He lived and breathed it even when he challenged it. When he challenged it, he was working within it. Yet this reality has not been communicated to his heirs. But it’s in his writings if we look for it. Over and over again, Wesley cites figures from throughout church history. Even his citation of the Psalms is noteworthy in this respect. He used the Authorized Version for almost every scriptural citation, but he almost always cited the Coverdale translation of the Psalms because that was the translation used in the Prayer Book, and therefore what he engaged almost every day of his life. It’s a minor point, but one that speaks to a larger issue.
All of this is why a truly Wesleyan theological education, and therefore faculty, should include the exploration of Wesley certainly, but in concert with both Patristics and Reformation studies at minimum. The study of his Anglican context, including the Prayer Book, should be a basic expectation if we are to understand the man. It is within Wesley’s historical context, and the historical influences that fueled his thought, that he becomes an even more dynamic figure, more grounded in the larger stream of Christian thought, and even more radical. But how do we do this, particularly when Wesleyan seminaries are cutting back on their history faculty or not replacing those who retire? Thankfully, there are brilliant volumes from early church scholars such as Robert Louis Wilken’s The Spirit of Early Christian Thought and J. Warren Smith’s recently published Early Christian Theology: A History, but more is needed.
It’s not that we should stop looking to, studying, and even debating Wesley. But we should take on the broader view of his theological method as it was grounded in the Great Tradition. He should be a gateway to the breadth and depth of the Christian tradition itself, a guide to maneuver through the debates and the contributions of Christian thought. With all of the advances in Wesley studies—and even the debates about it—what the movement hasn’t learned from him yet is how to approach Scripture, theology, history, and the treasures of the Christian past.
Arguments that we shouldn’t focus on Wesley or that all the work in Wesley studies has been done already are misguided and unhelpful. We should focus on him and learn from him how to engage the tradition that he did. We don’t have to always agree with him on every point. His brother certainly didn’t! Nor should the Wesleyan movement imagine that the historic narrative of Christian witness is limited to the eighteenth century, the nineteenth, or any particular century.
Wesley can be that guide to the broader narrative, a narrative that is desperately needed in our contemporary context. We have so much more to offer, a richer tapestry with the depth necessary to meet the challenges of our time. Only then will a truly Wesleyan approach emerge.
Ryan N. Danker is the director of the John Wesley Institute, Washington, DC and a member of the Firebrand lead team.