A Happy (if Abstract) Trifle from the Nattering Ninny

(Warning: this post will be even more unintelligible than most HA posts if the reader does familiarize herself with Alex‘s theological skepticism post. I will be using some of his terminology.)

Although I like Alex‘s position of theological skepticism, I’m not willing to consign the theology exceeding our animal knowledge to “mere theories.” Some scientific knowledge (AA’s term) is speculative like string theory is speculative (and sheer fantasy imo). My objection is that while the doctrine of, say, assurance, does not meet the conditions for animal knowledge, it is indispensable practical knowledge. And the basis of that knowledge needs to be more secure than speculation or wishful thinking. So here is my proposal–I’m sure unoriginal–for how we might regard difficult and insoluble theological problems that exceed the limits of animal knowledge, but require more robustness than scientific knowledge.

I would call the approach synoptic. Consider: which of the first three gospels gives the most complete and accurate story of Jesus? Three different authors, three different perspectives and emphases, each omitting or including material relative to the others. Without going into the “synoptic problem,” I wish to simply point out that they equally testify to the essential arc of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus but there is much room given (how wise the apostles and Fathers here) for diverse expression, emphasis and interpretation. One telling of the story cannot exhaust or perfectly capture it; there is no panopticon for the Gospel; there are corners you cannot see around; there is excess.

I liken the competing scientific theories about predestination, assurance, the sacraments, etc., to expositions that require a synoptic account to temper or mollify the pastoral consequences that result from treating these matters with the systematicity and logic applied to our animal knowledge. I think the best representatives from all Xian traditions do temper the application of their system when dealing with flesh and blood, particular people–TMH has suggested Spurgeon as a good example of this–but if this is done on an ad hoc basis or on the sheer authority of private judgment, then other harms come into play. The synoptic approach is committed to the wisdom of multiple perspectives, and with the additional rigor gained from reasoned engagement with other traditions should come a numinous, silence-inducing awe that the Truth that lies behind these thorns and paradoxes is too wonderful and beautiful for our stuttering and lisping attempts to capture it.

I am not trying to say that the truth about these perennial problems amounts to adding the different views as if they were partial truths so that you get the whole rainbow. That’s far too neat and simplistic. The synoptic approach is a kind of principled pluralism, but it still requires commitment to a tradition, creativity and exploration in different traditions, and diligent investigation for correctives to the besetting errors of one’s own tradition. It’s messy, tentative on familiar territory, bold in new territory, inquisitive. If we treat our tradition’s theological system as a panoptic structure that gives us an unobstructed view of all the biblical data, I think we grossly overreach our cognitive powers and disfigure our ethics.

Calvinism is the preeminent example of the theological panopticon. It has much to offer theological reflection, but it is most in need of remedial perspectives.