Defining our Terms
Where do the church fathers stand in relation to biblical theology? In one sense, this is an extremely easy question to answer, because if we define the âchurch fathersâ as those Christian writers who expounded the faith in the centuries when the dominant Greco-Roman culture was still pagan, then it is clear that they all believed that the Judeo-Christian Scriptures were the only acceptable source of Christian theology, and in that sense they could all be called âbiblical theologiansâ virtually without exception. The difficulty comes when we turn to consider the meaning of the term âbiblical theologyâ. If we believe that âbiblical theologyâ is the attempt to grasp Scripture in its totality, according to its own categories and inner dynamic, can the claim of the Fathers to have been âbiblical theologiansâ be allowed to stand, even if we have to make some reservations when it comes to the phrase âaccording to its own categoriesâ.
Problems with the assertion that patristic theology was simply âbiblical theologyâ inevitably arise when we try to impose modern understandings of what biblical theology is (or ought to be) on the ancient texts. Even allowing for the fact that modern interpreters are by no means always agreed about how the term âbiblical theologyâ ought to be defined,1 it is clear that there are some things which are now included in it which would not have occurred to the Fathers. Likewise, there are other things, including some of the basic presuppositions of modern theological thought, which make establishing a genuine relationship between what the Fathers thought of as âbiblical theologyâ and what we now understand by that term somewhat problematic.
Modern scholars think of âbiblical theologyâ primarily in analytical terms. They start with what they regard as the theology of Paul, or of the wisdom literature (or whatever), and then they try to situate this in relation to the rest of the canonical scriptural tradition. To take only the most familiar instance, modern scholars all believe that it is possible to discern peculiarly Pauline themes in his writings and to present a generally coherent picture of them, though by no means all of them would claim that Paulâs theology is either comprehensive or entirely consistent. They may assert that he developed his ideas over time, and even that he tailored his arguments to fit his different audiences, with the result that discrepancies can be detected when one compares different writings. Furthermore, many of them divide the Pauline corpus into âauthenticâ and âdeutero-Paulineâ writings, using theological content as one of the criteria for deciding which is which. What is true of Paul is even more true when his writings are set alongside the rest of the Bible. Broadly speaking, most modern students of biblical theology are prepared to believe that it developed over time, and that the later a document was written, the more sophisticated the theology it contains is likely to be. Loose ends and contradictions are an almost inevitable consequence of this pattern of development, so that we must not expect âbiblical theologyâ to offer us the kind of coherent picture that systematic theology demands.
The analytical principles and practices associated with this modern form of biblical theology are certainly not beyond questioning, and even when they are accepted they can lead to some surprisingly varied conclusions, but it can safely be said that the Fathers would have found them alien and unacceptable. They approached the Bible as pagans who had been converted to the Christian gospel, and Scripture presented them with a mental and spiritual universe that struck them as entirely different from what they had grown up with. Some of them were prepared to grant that certain pagan philosophers, like Plato, had discovered elements of the truthâbut this was either because those philosophers had read the Old Testament and adapted it to their own purposes or because they had stumbled upon some aspect of reality, rather like blind men in the dark, and had correctly guessed what it was they had encountered.2 What we now call ânaturalâ and âphilosophicalâ theology was acceptable to the Fathers only in so far as it was validated by Scripture itself. Passages like Psalm 19, for example (âThe heavens declare the glory of Godâ), provided a basis on which they could recognize the validity of some pagan insights. The Apostle Paulâs appeal to the philosophers of Athens in Acts 17 showed that it was sometimes possible to quote pagan authors in support of Christian beliefs. But, for the Fathers, the true locus of authority was never in doubt. Pagan testimonies were valid only to the extent that they agreed with the biblical witness, and such agreement was likely to be haphazard and partial at best.
As far as the influence of Hellenistic philosophy was concerned, the notion that a coherent, Christian theological system could be built up using only the evidence of nature and reason was anathema to the Fathers. It is not that they were unaware of the possibility of doing thisâthey knew only too well that someone could take a philosophical idea, find it in some biblical text, and erect an entire system on that slender basis. This was actually being done in the late first and early second century by a number of teachers whom we collectively refer to as âgnosticsâ. The first person to attempt a refutation of their methods was Irenaeus of Lyon (d. 202), who attacked their heresies (as he understood them) by claiming that the Bible was the only source of truth, that it spoke primarily of the Christian God and that it could be read and interpreted only according to a ârule of faithâ which outlined its fundamental teachings.3
It is not too much to say that it was Scripture, even Scripture alone, which set their theological agenda, and it is noticeable that their apologetic was often strongest precisely at those points where Scripture clashed with what the average pagan believed.4 For example, almost all of the major church fathers wrote commentaries on the creation narrative in Genesis, because they understood that the Christian doctrine of creation was antithetical to what most ancient philosophers taught about the origin and nature of matter.5 It must be admitted that this sometimes led them to make assertions which most modern theologians, including very conservative ones, prefer to avoid or reject. Augustine, for instance, was quite prepared to argue that the world had been created relatively recently, and in the space of six daysâparticularly in the face of the standard pagan belief that matter was eternal. Almost no one would now follow him in this but it ought to be recognized that, however much it was stated and believed, it was not really fundamental to the Fathersâ doctrine of creation. Much more important was their belief that created matter was good, not evil (as the majority of pagans believed), and hereâwhere it really mattersâthe modern reader is more inclined to go along with them.6 On a different level, the Fathers were forced by the evidence of Scripture to work out a theology in which traditional Jewish monotheism could be held in tandemâand in tensionâwith the assertion that the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit were all equally God. The Trinitarian theology which resulted flew in the face of everything that the Fathers had inherited from their Jewish and pagan backgrounds, and its emergence can only be explained as the result of accepting that the New Testament texts are the uniquely authoritative source of truth. The so-called Athanasian Creed, written sometime in the early sixth century, sums up their position quite succinctly:
Just as we are compelled by the Christian Verity (i.e., the New Testament) to affirm that the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are all fully God and Lord, so are we forbidden by the Catholic Religion (i.e., the Hebrew and the Christian Verityâthe two Testamentsâtaken together) to say that they are three gods or three lords.7
In these few words, we have what may be the earliest conscious statement of what might be called a form of biblical theologyâas long as that term is understood to mean the systematic exposition of the teaching of the canonical Scriptures. What the Fathers did not do, and (in fairness to them) could hardly have been expected to do, was to differentiate between the study of the Bible as a historical document and the systematic reflection on its contents which we now think of as âtheologyâ. Of course, the Fathers were aware that the Bible had been written by a number of different people over a long period of time, and it was a fundamental part of their belief that the New Testament was a fuller revelation of God than the Old. But they did not understand these things in the same way that most modern interpreters do. Without in any way rejecting the truth of the historical narrative, the Fathers believed that it was necessary to see in it the eternal purpose of God at work, a purpose which was unchanging because it was rooted in his own eternal being.8 The main difference between ancient and modern approaches to âbiblical theologyâ is that the ancients thought that the Bible was an objective revelation from (and of) the eternal, unchanging God. Most modern commentators, on the other hand, think more in terms of an essentially subjective spiritual insight or inspiration occurring to the authors of Scripture and so deriving authority from their experience, not from the God of whom they speak.
To the ancients, the God who spoke to Abraham was the same being who later spoke to Moses, David and the Christian apostles. They saw themselves in direct continuity with pre-Christian Israel, and they criticized the Jews of their own time for having rejected their heritage, which pointed to Christ. Nevertheless, the all-but-unanimous testimony of the Fathers is that God still has a purpose for his ancient chosen people, who will one day return to the faith and confess Christ. Thus Theodoret of Cyrrhus, who represents the Antiochene (more literal) tradition of ancient biblical interpretation says, when commenting on Romans 11:25:
Paul insists that only a part of Israel has been hardened, for in fact many of them believe. He thus encourages them not to despair that others will be saved as well. After the Gentiles accepted the gospel, the Jews would believe, when the great Elijah would come to them and bring them the doctrine of faith. The Lord himself said as much: âElijah will come and restore all thingsâ (Mt. 17:11; Mk. 9:12).9
Commenting on the same text, from the rival Alexandrian (or more allegorical) school of thought, Cyril of Alexandria had this to say:
Although it was rejected, Israel will also be saved eventually, a hope which Paul confirms by quoting this text of Scripture. For indeed, Israel will be saved in its own time and will be called at the end, after the calling of the Gent...