Evangelicalism as Platonism: A Response to Enns
Peter Enns is surely right when he says that “defining ‘Evangelicalism’ in America is like trying to hit a moving target.” His initial observation has been echoed by others (e.g., Bacote and Wilson), and the very shape of the conversation thus far underscores the point. Proposals that lean on Bebbington’s quadrilateral (see Yong: “Biblicism, crucicentrism, activism, and conversionism”), while not without merit in light of Evangelicalism’s origin in the 20th century, seem strained by present sociological realities (as noted by Smidt, Franke, and Wilson). Thus, Enns wonders, “whether Evangelicalism as it has been understood can genuinely enter into a broader dialogue and accept its role as one voice among many while also retaining its traditional Evangelical identity.” As Enns no doubt knows, the likelihood of success in this undertaking depends, in part, on the nature of Evangelicalism’s traditionally understood identity – one that is presently, to some extent, in “crisis”.
By way of response to some of the challenges Enns’s remarks raise, I’d like to propose a way of thinking about Evangelical identity that captures the spirit of its actual history, explains its present sociological tensions, and provides a blueprint (admittedly unsatisfying) for moving forward with a “genuinely broader dialogue.”
Like Enns, I think it is a mistake to think of Evangelicalism itself as “the standard against which other traditions should be judged.” But this is not because Evangelicalism is a “relatively recent, culturally conditioned, expression of Christianity.” (Though, “traditionally understood”, it is.) Rather, it is because Evangelicalism is perhaps better construed as an impulse or a posture concretely embodied in the individual lives and communities who so identify. My suggestion is that this Evangelical impulse is helpfully understood as a kind of tacit Platonism.
To see this, consider the difference between an Evangelical and a Catholic reading of Peter’s confession of Christ in Matthew 16:16, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” For the Catholic, the “rock” on which Christ builds the church is not merely Peter’s confession. It is also the apostle himself, together with the communion of his visible successors. Thus, for the Catholic, the form of the gospel itself is immanently embodied in the organismal life of the church of Rome. If I’m right about this, Catholics have what amounts to an Aristotelian understanding of the relationship between the gospel (immanent form) and the visible church (matter).
Evangelicals don’t. By contrast, Evangelicals take the “rock” upon which Christ builds the church to be the Platonic form of the Gospel itself; it is that-to-which Peter’s confession points. But by virtue of its transcendent nature, it is never reducible to nor identical with any visible human institution.
If I’m right to construe the Evangelical impulse as a kind of tacit Platonism, then on the one hand, Enns is right to say that it’s simply “one attempt to express faithfulness to God.” Yet, on the other hand, the impulse itself, in the history of Christianity, is arguably much deeper than the 20th century “American historical context.” For the impulse to disentangle something of the essence of the Platonic form of the Gospel itself from its particular manifestation in concrete historic churches is arguably rooted in the Reformation, if not Scripture itself. (Hence, it’s not a category mistake for Catholics to speak of a diversity of protestants as “Evangelicals” in, for instance, the “Evangelicals and Catholics Together” effort.)
This way of understanding the nature of Evangelical identity affords a unifying principle for the present sociological diversity. The tension arising “within the ranks” to “re-engage issues thought long settle and indisputable” is merely the manifestation of the dialogical process that is itself intrinsic to the pursuit of any transcendent Form. Socrates, after all, spent his entire career arguing.
We should not be surprised to find, as Enns points out, that “many have grown dissatisfied with Evangelicalism’s effectiveness to provide a coherent spiritual path.” Pursuing a Platonic ideal by means of arduous dialectic is not for the epistemologically faint of heart. The “restless” may give up the quest for any number of reasons: a preference for shadows rather than substance, a conviction that the long-sought Form is to be found in a particular institution (e.g., Rome), or a lack of epistemological intestinal fortitude that the Platonic project requires.
Strikingly, Enns frames his critical question about the future of Evangelicalism in gastronomic terms: “is it within Evangelicalism’s constitution to assess its own identity in what seems like such a dramatic fashion?” (emphasis mine). If my suggestion is right, the answer is plain. Those with a deep Evangelical impulse (Platonically understood) will. Those without it won’t.
For me, the more crucial question is whether those who genuinely possess the Platonic Evangelical impulse recognize and accept the dialectical reality upon which the pursuit of the true form of the Gospel depends. That some self-professed Evangelicals might not is evident in at least two important ways. First, as Enns correctly points out, some “do not easily tolerate calls for critical self-assessment and theological adjustment.” Undoubtedly, this is one of the contributing factors to the “pilgrimages” away from Evangelicalism to which Enns alludes. Second, rather than merely resisting critique, others may resist the logical demands of the dialectical process itself (i.e., the very grounds on which criticism is possible). For the latter, the cultivation of mood – one characterized principally by the avoidance of divisiveness and contention – takes precedence over the exacting nature of truth.
Of course, the recognition and acceptance of dialectic as a way forward for Evangelicalism does not, by itself, necessitate a lack of charity in engagement. That is why I’m grateful both for the space this forum provides for (admittedly wild!) ideas such as these to be tested and for the hospitable spirit with which the conversation has already begun. May it continue to be so!
What is one to do if he finds himself an Aristotelian among evangelicals?
What is one to do if he finds himself an Aristotelian among evangelicals?
What is one to do if he finds himself an Aristotelian among evangelicals?
This "Platonism" of the "invisible church" is historically a late development of the reformed and anabaptist sides of the Reformation. Anglicans and Lutherans remained largely "Aristotelian" by your terms, although they obviously had their "Platonists." Life in the religious pluralism of the new world too meant Anabaptists, Lutheran and Calvinists intermixing even if they came here to avoid being forced to do it. For lack of number or their kids' marriage choices, it helped to ease up on the idea they belonged to the one true church.
…And yet I have never known a serious non-denominational or confessional Protestant Evangelical who did not speak as if their local congregation was the embodiment of The Truth and the assembly of The Saved in stark contrast to those outside, at least up to the point when they left or were asked to leave.
This "Platonism" of the "invisible church" is historically a late development of the reformed and anabaptist sides of the Reformation. Anglicans and Lutherans remained largely "Aristotelian" by your terms, although they obviously had their "Platonists." Life in the religious pluralism of the new world too meant Anabaptists, Lutheran and Calvinists intermixing even if they came here to avoid being forced to do it. For lack of number or their kids' marriage choices, it helped to ease up on the idea they belonged to the one true church.
…And yet I have never known a serious non-denominational or confessional Protestant Evangelical who did not speak as if their local congregation was the embodiment of The Truth and the assembly of The Saved in stark contrast to those outside, at least up to the point when they left or were asked to leave.
This "Platonism" of the "invisible church" is historically a late development of the reformed and anabaptist sides of the Reformation. Anglicans and Lutherans remained largely "Aristotelian" by your terms, although they obviously had their "Platonists." Life in the religious pluralism of the new world too meant Anabaptists, Lutheran and Calvinists intermixing even if they came here to avoid being forced to do it. For lack of number or their kids' marriage choices, it helped to ease up on the idea they belonged to the one true church.
…And yet I have never known a serious non-denominational or confessional Protestant Evangelical who did not speak as if their local congregation was the embodiment of The Truth and the assembly of The Saved in stark contrast to those outside, at least up to the point when they left or were asked to leave.
I have been helped in framing this discussion of Platonic and Aristotelian strains in theology by Nancy Pearcey's 2010 book Saving Leonardo, which I just finished reading. She strongly recommends a both/and approach rather than an either/or approach. Borrowing from Francis Schaeffer's "two stories," she argues cogently that only a Christian worldview among all worldviews can bridge the idealist / realist gap. Chapter 9 on Film is worth the price of the book, although the book is mostly about Art. How J. S. Bach's music is converting Japanese folks to Christ is in her Epilogue, a nice summary of this First Things article.
I have been helped in framing this discussion of Platonic and Aristotelian strains in theology by Nancy Pearcey's 2010 book Saving Leonardo, which I just finished reading. She strongly recommends a both/and approach rather than an either/or approach. Borrowing from Francis Schaeffer's "two stories," she argues cogently that only a Christian worldview among all worldviews can bridge the idealist / realist gap. Chapter 9 on Film is worth the price of the book, although the book is mostly about Art. How J. S. Bach's music is converting Japanese folks to Christ is in her Epilogue, a nice summary of this First Things article.
I have been helped in framing this discussion of Platonic and Aristotelian strains in theology by Nancy Pearcey's 2010 book Saving Leonardo, which I just finished reading. She strongly recommends a both/and approach rather than an either/or approach. Borrowing from Francis Schaeffer's "two stories," she argues cogently that only a Christian worldview among all worldviews can bridge the idealist / realist gap. Chapter 9 on Film is worth the price of the book, although the book is mostly about Art. How J. S. Bach's music is converting Japanese folks to Christ is in her Epilogue, a nice summary of this First Things article.