Chapter IX

A Kantian System of Biblical Theology

 

 

      ... the sciences derive pure benefit from separation, so far as each first consti­tutes a whole by itself; and not until they are so constituted should the attempt be made to survey them in combination. Let the Biblical theologian, then, be at one with the philosopher, or let him believe himself to refute him, if only he hears him. [Kt8:10(10)]

 

1. The Biblical Theology of a Kantian Christian

       Immanuel Kant was not a biblical theologian. To portray him as such would be quite inappropriate. Throughout his many theological reflections he remains a philosopher through and through. Nevertheless, from the fact that Kant himself was not inclined to engage in biblical theology, it does not follow  that a Kantian biblical theology cannot be constructed. Indeed, doing so seems quite feasible, in light of the fact that Kant explicitly acknowledges the potential compatibility between his philosophy of religion and a properly circumspect biblical theology [see Kt8:10(10), q.a.]. Such a project could, in fact, provide a much-needed ‘pillar’ to stand alongside the abstractions of systemr-m in order to support the living faith of orthodox Christian theologians—thus enabling Christians and Kantians to see eye to eye in hopes of becoming ‘at one’.

       Just as Chapters VII-IX of KSP1 reflected the synthetic relationship between the three Critiques (with Kt7 serving as the bridge spanning the gulf between Kt1 and Kt4), so also this chapter can be regarded as an attempt to fill in the missing link between systemr-m and systemr-C—establishing a sturdier theological partnership between the philosopher and the Christian than Kant himself was ever able (or inclined) to build. In Chapter VII we examined Kant’s theology from the purely philosophical standpoint of his first ‘experiment’. In Chapter VIII we then modulated to the second experi­ment, examining his theory of Christian­ity as the universal religion. The remaining task here in Part Three is therefore to determine how far a Kantian Christian (such as I purport to be) can go in constructing an enlightened biblical theology that is consistent with both of these standpoints, as depicted in Figure IX.1. If successful, such a theology should provide an adequate basis both for ordinary Christians to come to a new and deeper understanding of their own living faith and for non-Christian philosophers to take a new look at a tradition they may have prematurely rejected as philosophically unsound.

       One of the first descriptions of Kant I ever heard was one made by a col­lege professor for whom I had much respect. After giving a general over­view

 

       

 

Figure IX.1: Systemr-m and Systemr-s as the ‘Pillars’

Supporting the Systemr-C ‘Bridge’

 

of Kant’s philosophy and its theological implications, he came out with the following bombshell: ‘No single philosopher’, he proclaimed, ‘has done more damage to the Christian religion than Immanuel Kant.’ This condemna­tion embedded itself in my memory like a steel beam being dropped from the clouds into a vat of wet cement. Fortunately, when I actually read Kant for myself several years later, the cement had not yet hardened. The present book, as the second volume of Kant’s System of Perspectives, can be regarded as an attempt to extract that beam from the collective consciousness of contemporary philosophy of religion and replace it with an interpretive structure that accords more fully with Kant’s own views.

       With this in mind, the foregoing eight chapters may be regarded to some extent as a refutation of that professor’s (quite conventional) claim.[1] For in one sense we have now completed our study of Kant’s philosophy of religion, having demonstrated that it is far from being the antimetaphysical bombshell it has often been taken to be. However, in another sense, we have not yet fully answered the questions posed in the first paragraph of I.1. This is actually just as it should be. For the ninth step in Kant’s architectonic logic (a pattern I am endeavoring to follow in the very outline of this work [see note I.21]) always requires a shift into the empirical perspective before the topic under consid­eration can be regarded as fully explained as a concrete reality in human experience. Likewise, just as the fourth stage (steps 10-12) in each of Kant’s systems always modulates from the empirical to the hypothetical perspective in order to discern the goal or purpose of the reality established in step nine, so also Part Four of this volume will present a detailed examination of many hints Kant provides to the effect that the true aim of organized religion should be to breathe life into the hypothetical goal of making religious experience possible.

       What, then, has Kant left for the biblical theologian to say? Certainly not as much or in as dogmatic a tone as many biblical theologians in the past have believed their task demands. For the limits established by Kant’s System of Perspectives require us to adopt a humble stance that is not always exemplified by biblical theologians who see themselves as expositors of God’s revealed Word. With this in mind, I shall begin with a confession. When a new acquain­tance  asks me whether or not I am a Christian, I sometimes answer ‘I hope so’ or ‘I want to be, in my heart’. Such a response is not an attempt to dodge the question, nor should it be interpreted as a sad sign of the corrupting influence of philosophy on the firmness of my religious convictions.[2] Rather, it represents the only kind of reply I believe is consistent with biblical principles: viewing ‘Christian’ as an ideal type rather than as a word describing member­ship in a particular historical faith, I express by such a reply my reluctance to claim to possess any special knowledge of the judgments of God concerning my life’s conformity to that ideal.[3] If pressed, I explain that I do participate in the activities of a local church and that I believe most of the dogmas Christians are ‘supposed’ to believe—though often with interpretations that are somewhat unconventional. In light of this confession, I hope it will not seem too pre­sump­tuous of me to adopt in this chapter the Perspective of the biblical theologian, even though I am actually more of a philosopher at heart.[4]

       The first point to be made is that the biblical theologian adopts a Perspec­tive that is clearly distinct from that of the Critical philosopher. Whereas Kant’s Copernican Perspective on religion requires us to regard morality as the core of true religion and worship as an optional ‘extra’, the Perspective typi­cally adopted by biblical writers assumes exactly the opposite order. This is, in fact, the main reason Kantian philosophy and biblical theology have been regarded by so many as irreconcilably opposed. However, once we recognize the per­spectival nature of such an opposition, as suggested by Kant’s own references to the two sides as neighboring ‘province[s]’, each with its own distinctive ‘economy’ [see Kt8:9-11(8-10)], the prospect of reconciling them be­comes far more plausible. The key difference here is that the biblical theologian is not concerned with the rational justification of worship (for this is a philo­sophical issue that requires us to adopt Kant’s Copernican Perspective), but with worship as a lived experience (thus assuming what I referred to as the ‘Empirical Perspective’ in KSP1:II.4—i.e., the ‘ordinary’, nonscientific way of viewing life adopted by a typical human being). Both are valid, each in its own context and to serve its own distinct purposes. Despite the need for philosophers to regard the speculative options posed in stage four of systemr-C as illegitimate, biblical theologians are therefore permitted to defend their legit­imacy, insofar as we concern ourselves with understanding the role of worship in our religious experience. The direct opposition between the overarching Perspective of the biblical theologian and that of the Critical philosopher does not render them incompatible, but merely calls attention to what Kant regards as a healthy ‘conflict’ [see VIII.1] that can serve to keep both philosophers and theologians from adopting unbalanced positions.[5]

       In accordance with the reversal assumed by the Perspective of the biblical theologian, we shall consider the basic elements of a biblical theology in the opposite order we would expect to see from Kant. Whereas systemr-m begins with individual evil and the struggle with good and proceeds from there to the need for a social organization that can provide the context for each person’s religious service, the biblical theologian quite rightly begins with worship and fellowship and proceeds from there to the individual’s beliefs and practices. With this in mind, I shall organize my exposition around a set of principles derived from two passages commonly regarded as among the most important teachings of Jesus: the twofold ‘greatest commandment’ (i.e., love God and love your fellow human beings) and the twofold ‘great commission’ (i.e., make disciples and teach them to obey God’s commands). The standard texts for these basic principles of biblical theology are as follows:

 

The greatest commandment [Matt.22:35-40; s.a. Mk.12:28-34; Lk.10:25-8]:

One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: ‘Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?’ Jesus replied: ‘“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.’

 

The great commission [Matt. 28:16-20]:

Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’

 

       The outline for the next two sections will be based on the four principles that can be derived from these two passages of Scripture, as shown below:

 

 

            

 

Figure IX.2: Four Cornerstones of Biblical Theology

 

Just as the greatest commandment contains within it a pair of equally important guidelines for Christian practice (to love God and others), so also the great commission sets out two basic focal points for Christian belief (making new converts and teaching them to obey God’s word). Figure IX.2 therefore depicts the four resulting ‘cornerstones’ as a 2LAR, distinguishing each principle as either individual or communal in its focus. In the second and third sections of this chapter (each itself divided into two subsections, as is the case for each chapter in Part Three, both in this volume and in KSP1), we shall proceed counterclockwise around this map. This reversal of the direction we have used for the standard maps outlining Kant’s various philosophical systems repre­sents the biblical theologian’s quite appropriate need to adopt a Perspective that is opposite to the Copernican Perspective.

       A final word is in order before I begin elaborating the basic el­ements of a Kantian biblical theology based on this outline. The next two sec­tions, unlike any others in this book, are addressed directly to Christian readers—especially to theologians, pastors, and educated lay leaders—who wish to gain a deeper or clearer understanding of how the Bible itself estab­lishes a distinct Perspec­tive that is capable of holding its own even against such a formidable opponent (i.e., partner-in-dialogue) as Kant.[6] In particular, IX.2-3 is for those who already regard the Bible as their most fundamental and reliable guide for living, yet find themselves unsure as to whether their biblical faith can be reconciled with a Kantian philosophical stance. I therefore recom­mend that non-Christian readers either skip now to IX.4, where I return to my normal practice of ad­dressing the general philosophical reader, or else read on with the under­stand­ing that by engaging in such voyeurism they run the risk of being converted.[7]

 

2. Christian Practice: The Greatest Commandment

    A. Worship and the Love of God

       How can we, as practicing Christians, formulate a biblical theology that remains rooted in our tradition (broadly conceived), yet conforms to the austere requirements set out by Kant’s philosophical System (especially systemr-m)? Perhaps the first and most important issue to tackle, before this question can be answered, is the problem of knowledge. Our tradition teaches us to affirm various truth-claims about God as if they constitute items of knowledge, with a level of certainty that justifies us in persuading others to do likewise; Kant claims, by contrast, that no religious truth can ever obtain the kind of objective certainty conveyed by the sciences. I suggest that, instead of immediately giving      up all hope of reconciling these two Perspectives, we should first explore to what extent we can follow Kant’s recommendations without giving up our core Christian beliefs. In this instance, the minimum requirement for remaining ‘Kantian’ is to be willing to ‘deny knowledge in order to make room for faith’ [Kt1:xxx]. With this in mind, let us resist the temptation to begin our theology with knowledge-claims and follow instead the Kantian conviction that practice has primacy over theory. Kant, it seems, would also want us to stipulate that religious knowledge-claims have and can only ever hope to have subjective certainty. Whether or not this is sufficient for Christian belief is a question we shall deal with in IX.3.A. For now let it suffice for us to follow Kant’s proposal, innocent enough on the face of it, that we begin with issues relating to practice rather than knowledge.

       Jesus, in the first of the two passages quoted near the end of IX.1, unam­biguously expresses the core principle for all Christian practice: in our every act and abstention our aim should be to love God. Whereas philosophical theology (at least, in Kant’s version) begins with an assessment of the value of theoreti­cal arguments for and against God’s existence, biblical theology cuts through such intellectual arguments, and focuses immediately on the heart. The fact that Kant does not do this does not make him anti-Christian; it is simply the proper result of the Perspective he adopts—philosophical rather than biblical the­ology. The question facing us, then, is: can a person consistently accept both the core Kantian agnosticism with respect to the power of theoretical argumen­ta­tion [see AIV] and the core religious challenge to love God? I believe the answer is yes. An anti-Kantian Christian opponent might argue that loving God presupposes a belief in God’s existence, which Kantian agnosticism disal­lows. But this is not fair to Kant. His negative assessment of the traditional proofs does not disallow belief in God [see IV.1-4]; it only disallows a per­son’s claim to have empirical knowledge (on a level with science) that God ex­ists.

       A biblical theology that begins with a humble affirmation of our need to love God—rather than with a proud affirmation of the truths contained in an inerrant Bible—need require nothing more than that a person be able to believe in God on the basis of a subjective conviction. And this requirement is not only consistent with Kant’s philosophical theology; it is explicitly sanctioned therein [see e.g., Kt1:857]. The effect of making love of God the starting-point of one’s theology (as Jesus himself apparently did) is to disarm all claims to a theology based on the cold calculations of confident knowledge-claims. Sadly, all too many Christian do begin their theology in the latter way, with dogmatic claims about the propositional revelation contained in the Bible. The problem with this approach is that, whereas it mimics the proof-hungry tendencies of pre-Kantian philosophical theology, it has little if any justification from within the Bible itself. It is, in fact, not a form of biblical theology at all, but a form of philosophical theology that directly conflicts with Kant’s. Loving God, by contrast, is a theme that runs like a golden thread throughout the Bible, from beginning to end. As such, it forms the proper basis for a genuinely biblical theology, a basis that nicely complements Kant’s philosophical reflections.

       Whenever we declare our love for another person, we make ourselves vul­nerable. To confess love is to risk rejection, to risk being put into an embarrass­ing situation, to be made out as the fool. When as Christians we proclaim our love for God, we should not expect the situation to be any different. If a person’s love of God could be based on theoretical proofs that God exists, or on any other empirical evidence that justifies a knowledge-claim, then the element of risk that characterizes all love would be removed; a person’s relationship with God under such conditions would be something less than pure love. An authentically biblical theology, by contrast, justifies the ‘love God’ principle by rejecting the tendency to regard it as a dogmatic command [Deut. 6:5], and placing it instead in the context of God’s own commitment to love human beings.[8] In other words, we should regard the ‘love God’ com­mand as posing a question to each human individual: are you willing to respond to God’s love by entering into a relationship?

       The theological term that best describes the practice of proclaiming our love for God, as a response to God’s initial outpouring of love to us, is worship [see e.g., Ex. 34:6-8]. In the Psalms, for example, God’s love for us is consis­tently cited as a focal point for our worship,[9] and our worship is a first indica­tion that we love God in response [Ps. 70:4]. Likewise, our response to Jesus is to be one of love [Jn. 8:42; 16:27] because he is himself both the perfect hu­man recipient of God’s love [2 Pet. 1:17] and the highest expression of divine love for us.[10] As we shall see in IX.2.B, this leads directly to the second half of the greatest commandment, that we are to let the love God has poured into our hearts through the infilling of the Holy Spirit [Rom. 5:5; 15:30] spill over into our re­lationships with each other: ‘We love [each other] because he first loved us’.[11] Jesus’ own self-sacrifice, being the ultimate expression of God’s love, is there­fore an example of how we ought to treat each other [Eph. 5:1-2].

       Worship is the true core of a biblical theology that can coexist with and even complement a Kantian philosophical theology. This may sound surprising at first, since Kant himself (i.e., Kant’s philosophical theology) treats worship as a mere by-product of genuine rational religion. What is crucial to recall here is that, by treating it in this way, Kant is not at all intending to portray worship as essentially anti-religious. Whereas it is not to be regarded as an essential feature of our thought about (our rational conception of) God and religion, because of how easily an exclusive attention to worship can eclipse the moral outworking of the religious life, Kant does allow that it can have a very impor­tant enhancing effect on other, indispensable elements of rational religion. All the biblical theologian need add to this, in order to make it accept­able for Christians, is that what is an optional extra from the philosoph­i­cal Perspective is the essential starting point from the biblical Perspective. This conflict need not be regarded as a contradiction that demands an exclusive choice; it can in­stead be regarded as a creative opposition, one wherein each side simultane­ous­ly enhances the other side’s desirability while protecting the religious person from going astray.

       Kant’s tendency to downplay the role of worship and to warn against the possibility of it standing in the way of truly rational religious practice (i.e., good life-conduct) is directed towards a misuse of worship—worship taken as in itself well-pleasing to God. The Bible itself rejects this kind of over-emphasis on a perverted form of worship, based as it is on the notion that people can please God merely by uttering words of praise and adoration.[12] Genuine wor­ship is a posture to be adopted throughout every moment of one’s life, not just as a formal part of a ‘worship service’—though church meetings should rightly begin with and be acts of worship. By taking into considera­tion the Bible’s many admonitions regarding the dangers of false worship [see note IX.12], the­ologians can promote a view of worship that will be less susceptible to misuse, while at the same time being fully compatible with Kant’s conception of what constitutes genuine religious practice. Appendix VIII demonstrates how Kant’s position leaves plenty of room for such a biblical theology of worship, by examining in detail Kant’s philosophy of prayer—something most interpreters either ignore or grossly misinterpret.

       Putting worship and love of God at the center of our biblical theology raises a potential incompatibility between Kant and Christian­ity. Whereas Kant insists ‘[t]here are no special duties to God’,[13] Christians tend to regard the greatest commandment and the great commis­sion as among the most important of many biblical commands that define spe­cific duties to God. The key to resolving this difficulty is to recognize that love cannot literally be commanded. To ‘love’ another merely out of duty, as an obedient response to being told that we must love, would not really be loving at all. ‘Loving’ God is a farce if we view it as a duty that must be fulfilled; genuine love is a freely chosen response of the heart to the love God has first demonstrated to us. The latter is an invita­tion to join in a com­mitted relationship, not a command that must be obeyed. Our accep­tance or rejection of the offer has nothing to do with our degree of moral goodness or badness; for devotion is not a moral issue, but a personal one—a desire to be with God. Jesus’ response to the lawyer in Matthew 22 is there­fore es­sentially (perhaps intentionally) paradoxical: the ‘greatest command­ment’ is the genuinely ultimate ‘command’ that cannot actually be commanded.

       This insight raises yet another potential difficulty for the Kantian Christian. I began this section by claiming a biblical theology that begins with love is thereby consistent with Kant’s advice to give primacy to the practical over the the­o­ret­ical. But if loving God is not to be regarded as a duty to God, or a moral command to be obeyed, then in what sense can we call this ‘practical’, given the fact that Kant associates this term directly with morality? As Christians, we can respond to this by pointing out that the Bible portrays love as intimately bound up with obedience to the moral laws God does command.[14] Kant’s philosophical theology shares a significant common emphasis with the Bible in this respect: both are acutely aware of the danger of performing nonmoral actions as an excuse for not fulfilling one’s legitimate human duties. Just as Kant rejects the religious value of any nonmoral actions that fail to promote the moral core of rational religion [see VII.3.B and VIII.3.B], so also biblical writers condemn those who worship or profess to love God but do not govern justly, care about social problems, love other human beings, etc.[15] Jesus’ point in saying all other commands (duties) ‘hinge’ on the ultimate principle of love is that legalistic obedience, without love, is of no religious value. This seems quite compatible with Kant’s conviction [see VI.4] that morality must be raised to the religious level (i.e., duties must be ‘hinged’ to an awareness of God) in order for our good life-conduct to be of any ultimate significance.

       The difference between Kantian and Christian theology at this point is merely one of emphasis. For Kant, concerned as he is with the rational justification of religion, the love of God as expressed in the performance of nonmoral actions directed towards God is strictly optional: it can be justified only if it promotes moral obedience. For biblical Christians, concerned as we are with living the life of religion, a genuine love of God is indispensable, while a ratio­nal justification of our faith is strictly optional. The common denominator here is that both Perspectives agree that a genuinely religious person must seek to obey the moral law, but that such obedience on its own is not self-sufficient. Kant writes little about love because his focus is proper­ly on the rational, not on the mysterious. But he never denies that mystery has a legitimate role to play in human life, including religion. If there were a text in Kant’s writings saying something like ‘love of God is a farce and always does damage to a genuine religion’ or a biblical text saying something like ‘God has rejected you because you have not sung his praises loudly enough, read his Scripture thoroughly enough, or attended church regularly enough’, then the task of this chapter would have to be given up as hopeless. But we find no such extreme claims in either case.[16] Instead, both affirm the primacy of the practical for the religious believer, but from two different Perspectives: Kant as a rational re­quirement of the moral law; the Bible as a demonstration of our love of God. I see no reason for regarding these as mutually exclusive alternatives rather than complemen­tary Perspectives.

       To place the practice of worship and prayer [see AVIII] at the very center of our biblical theology does not require us, I believe, to deny Kant’s claim that they are rationally peripheral. Rather, it simply requires us to recognize that Kant is adopting the philosopher’s reflective Perspective in order to analyze and explain the purpose for being religious, whereas biblical writers expect us to adopt the believer’s existential Perspective in order to learn how to be religious. To treat both of these Perspectives as legitimate does require some tolerance for paradox. Logically, we would expect worship either to be the center of true religion, or to be peripheral. Yet Christians know from experience that the power to become a better person comes as a gift—a gift of grace that can be received only by those who are willing to open up a spiritual channel to hear God’s loving voice. So philosophically, Kant is right: prayer and worship can be de­structive to true religion if used as an excuse to avoid one’s responsibility for self-improvement, morality being the rational ‘core’ (or end) towards the real­ization of which such meditative disciplines ought to aim. Yet existentially, Christians are right: prayer and worship are essential elements in the central core of true religion, because without engaging in such spiritual disciplines, the voice of God cannot be heard (or at least, heard clearly) by the moral agent. By recog­nizing both of these Perspectives as valid, the Kantian Christian can treat spirituality and moral goodness as the two points that together form the central foci of true religion.

       This admittedly ‘irrational’ (or supra-rational) supplement to Kant’s sys­tem of religion provides a means of solving what is potentially one of the most difficult problems for Kant’s moral theory (and so also, for his philosophy of religion). Kant’s practical system assumes we all have direct awareness of the moral law. Yet this ‘fact’ would be denied by many people nowadays, espe­cially nonreligious individuals. Many, if not most people simply do not have a clear sense of what their conscience is telling them when facing real moral choices. The reason for this, a Kantian Christian can respond, is that most people (even many religious believers) do not treat prayer and worship serious­ly enough to allow it to open up the channel of communication that makes possi­ble a clear apprehension of the moral law. Kant sometimes writes as if thinking rationally is all that is needed in order to apprehend the moral law. But for most people, something more is needed. Kant does not seem to appreciate fully how much his early training in religious disciplines [see X.4] influenced his subsequent ability to have such easy access to this part of his rational capacity. The point is that people without a clear apprehension of the moral law need to put spiritual disciplines such as prayer and worship at the center of their religious life, so biblical theology properly begins at this point.

       The above considerations provide ample justification for concluding that, although a biblical theology (systemr-s) centered on worship (loving God) takes a starting point virtually opposite to Kant’s version of systemr-m, the two are nevertheless highly complementary. In terms of the Copernican revolution we can, in fact, see these two Perspectives on theology as mutually solving various problems for each other that could otherwise prove to be insurmountable. We can now begin to see that, far from doing away with all biblical theology, sys­temr-m serves as its philosophical foundation, much as transcendental idealism serves as the philosophical foundation for empirical realism in systemt. With this in mind, let us there­fore proceed to examine the compatibility between a Kantian outlook and the second aspect of Jesus’ core theology.

 

    B. Fellowship and the Love of Human Beings

       Luke’s version of the greatest commandment highlights the second half, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ [Lk. 10:27] by having the conversation between Jesus and the ‘expert in the law’ [10:25] continue beyond Jesus’ initial reply. When the lawyer asks ‘And who is my neighbor?’ [10:29], Jesus replies with the parable of the Good Samaritan [10:30-7]. The fact that Jesus chooses a Samaritan as the hero of the parable may suggest that he wishes to portray the ‘love God’ command not as a legalistic duty but as a free choice. (Samaritans had a different tradition regarding how and where God ought to be worshipped; if loving God were a duty whose performance could be legislated, as the Jews had tried to do, then a Samaritan could not be used as an example of genuine love.) The parable illustrates how one who genuinely loves God will break free from a narrow conception of one’s duty to other human beings, to the point of treating an alien as one would normally treat one’s neighbor or close friend [cf. Lev. 19:34]. This story provides a model of the self-sacrificial love required by the second basic component of a Kantian biblical theology.

       Helping others is important not only as a way of putting the ‘love your neighbor’ command into practice, but also as a way of showing love to God [Heb. 6:10]. When the love of God is in us, it fills us with the desire to ‘share our lives’ [1 Ths. 2:8], including our material possessions [1 Jn. 3:17], with others. Jesus himself says in John 13:35: ‘“By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”’ (The same sentiments are related in 1 John 4:7f.) Fellowship, regarded as love for all who genuinely love God (not only those who attend the same visible church), has such a high position in biblical theology because it provides empirical evidence of our love for God.

       In Christian tradition self-sacrificial love is made possible and demonstrated in its ideal form by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. ‘This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers’ [1 Jn. 3:16]. Worship at its highest is a created being’s submission to a transcendent Creator who is myste­ri­ously im­ma­nent. Regarded as the Christ, Jesus is the ideal expression of this paradoxi­cal union of the creature and the Creator, of immanence and transcen­dence, of humanity and God. The mystical oneness of all creation in Christ, the God-man, makes him the link between the two parts of the greatest command­ment. Kant, of course, was very careful not to include anything in his philo­sophical theology that could not be verified as universally valid for all rational beings, so he does not speak of Christ in such openly speculative ways. Nevertheless, we would be quite wrong to accuse Kant of being antago­nis­tic towards faith in Christ as the way to a deeper understanding of how love is to be put into prac­tice in the church (which properly calls itself the invisible ‘body of Christ’). On the contrary, we have already seen ample evidence of his deep respect towards Jesus, both as a teacher and as the embodiment of the arche­type of perfect humanity [see VII.2.B and VIII.2.B]. This evidence will be con­firmed at the end of this volume [XII.4], where we shall see Kant treating the idea of Christ, the God-man, as the highest principle of transcen­den­tal philosophy.

       For now it will suffice to note that Kant seems to have viewed Jesus not only as a ‘wise Teacher’ [Kt8:84 (78)], but as the perfect philosopher.[17] For in the chapter on the nature of architectonic towards the end of Kt1 Kant says [866-7] the genuine, ‘cosmic’ concept of philosophy (i.e., philosophy as relat­ing ‘all knowledge to the essential ends of human reason’) is ‘personified and its archetype represented in the ideal philosopher.’ The fact that Kant uses the same term here that he later uses when discussing the nature of Jesus in Book Two of Kt8 (i.e., ‘archetype’) suggests (albeit, obscurely) that he may be alluding to Jesus. Thus, he goes on to speak of ‘the teacher in the ideal’ [867], who ‘nowhere exists’, yet who sets the tasks for all other human intellectual pursuits and ‘employs [scholars in other fields] as instruments, to further the essential ends of human reason.’ Kant then argues that these ends, being ‘the whole vocation of man’, are the subject-matter of ‘moral philosophy’. When we turn to his writings on moral philosophy, we discover that Kant regards self-love as the primary threat to moral goodness [Kt4:22,36,73-5,85-6; Kt5: 401n,406-7,422], so his willingness to attribute such a high philosophical stature to Jesus, who both taught and epitomized self-giving love, should come as no surprise.

       Although Kant does not put much emphasis on love as a moral principle, he does occasionally call attention to the close connection between the categori­cal imperative and Jesus’ love command.[18] For instance, he says this ‘kernel of all laws ... presents the moral disposition in its complete perfection, ... as an ideal of holiness’ or ‘an archetype which we should strive to approach’ [Kt4: 83]. But it can be viewed in this way only as long as we see it as a com­mand (i.e., as ‘practical love’) and therefore (because inclinations cannot be com­manded) as not requir­ing ‘love to God as inclination (pathological love)’. Insofar as love of God or neighbor is viewed as a sentimental feeling or affec­tion, Kant warns, actions based on love—‘beautiful’ though they may be [82]—lose their moral worth.[19] Kant’s most extensive treatment of love as a practical principle comes in Kt6, where he defines it in terms of ‘benev­olence’ —i.e., our duty to work towards the happiness of others [393]—and carefully distinguishes it from love as a feeling.[20] He draws an interesting analogy between the forces of attraction and repulsion in nature and the forces of love and respect in the moral realm.[21] But he refers directly to the biblical command only in order to explain the ‘as yourself’ clause: ‘This does not mean that I am thereby under obligation to love myself (for this happens unavoidably ...); it means instead that lawgiving reason ... includes the whole species (and so myself as well) in its Idea of humanity’ [451].

       Only in Kt8 does Kant provide a text-based account of the correlation be­tween the biblical teachings on love and his own understanding of the moral law. Having made numerous passing references to the role of love in morality and/or religion[22]—as when, alluding to the biblical notion that joy is a fruit of love [Gal. 5:22; Phil. 2:2; Phlm. 7], he says ‘a love for the good’ is a key indi­cator of a good disposition and results in ‘a joyous frame of mind’ [Kt8:24n (19n)]—Kant devotes several pages of Book Four to an interpretation of Matthew’s Gospel. When he comes to the love command [160(148)], he inter­prets the first part to mean ‘[p]erform your duty for no motive other than un­conditional esteem for duty itself’ and the second to mean ‘further [everyone’s] welfare from good-will that is immediate and not derived from motives of self-advantage.’ Earlier he had explained that the religious equivalent of the idea of ‘love of the [moral] law’ is the ‘article of faith, “God is love”’ [146(136)]. Kant justifies this by relating it to the Trinity: God’s fatherly love approves of human beings ‘so far as they measure up to His holy law’; this moral ideal is realized in the person of the Son, who thereby becomes the recipient of God’s love; and God makes this same love available to all human beings through the Holy Spirit, whose presence in the conscience wisely requires each person to agree with ‘the condition of that approving love’ (i.e., moral goodness). Towards the end of Kt8 Kant further clarifies his position by defining godliness, or ‘love of God’ as ‘the disposition to obedience from one’s own free choice and from approval of the law’ [182(170)].

       A potential problem for anyone who wishes to accept these moral transla­tions of the love command (or something like them) while remaining faithful to the Bible’s own Perspective is that love is often regarded as an irrational force that cannot be neatly enclosed within the bounds of bare reason. Raising human love to a level above all moral duties/divine commands could therefore have the undesirable result of calling into question the supreme authority of the moral law. If, for example, loving one’s neighbor were to involve a person in doing something that breaks the moral law—as Jesus himself was accused of doing [Matt. 12:1-14; Mk. 2:23-3:6; Lk. 6:1-11; Jn. 5:1-18]—then how could a Kantian condone a biblical theology based on such a principle? Before answer­ing this question, let’s look more carefully at the biblical concept of love.

       A crucial feature of love, one that helps explain why it deserves a higher position in our biblical theology than the teaching of right doctrine, is that love brings with it understanding, not vice versa. Paul expresses this point most fully in Col. 2:2-4,8:

 

My purpose is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I tell you this so that no one may deceive you by fine-sounding arguments.... See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.

 

A theology based in this way on love is risky, in that it could be put into prac­tice in a way that would directly challenge the authority of the moral law. This possibility is made more likely by those who interpret Paul’s emphasis on faith as an utter denial of the value of good works, thus totally rejecting our duty to respect the moral law. Paul himself, however, makes it very clear in other passages [e.g., Rom. 6:1-23; s.a. Js. 2:14-26] that the priority of faith does not negate the Christian’s duty to be good, but rather enhances it all the more.

       A quite different problem is that many Christians have taken such passages in Paul’s writings to imply that all philosophy is necessarily harmful and to be avoided.[23] However, Paul’s meaning cannot properly be construed as a rejection of all philosophy, for of all biblical writers, he is surely the most philosophical in his style and cogent in his argumentation. Paul’s warnings refer only to deceptive argu­ments and boastful philosophies. In general, he is rejecting any argument or philosophy that places dogmatic adherence to doc­trines and religious traditions above the mystery of ‘knowing’ God through a loving relationship with Jesus the Christ. Ironically, the very people who refer to such passages as an excuse to ignore philosophy are often themselves guilty of doing what Paul is actually attacking: putting primary emphasis on doctrinal beliefs or conventions and as a result proudly defending their position to the extent that ‘quarrels’ [1 Cor. 1:10-16; 3:3; 2 Tim. 2:14,24] end up destroying the Christian ‘fellowship’ that Paul values so highly [1 Cor. 1:9].

       Paul’s point is not that philosophy—as the ‘love of wisdom’, or even the enjoyment of a good argument (i.e., in the form of humble, truth-seeking dialogue)—is always bad. What is often neglected by those who quote his harsh words against ‘man’s wisdom’ [1 Cor. 1:25], calling into question ‘the philosopher of this age’ [1:20], is that Paul himself admits in the same passage that, once we begin with the mystery of ‘Jesus Christ and him crucified’ [2:2], a new wisdom is imparted to us [2:7]: ‘a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began.’ Paul’s attack is not against philosophy as such, but against the proud ‘boasting’ [1:29] that places knowledge above persons. His point is therefore quite compatible with Kant’s emphasis on the primacy of practical reason. For Kant and Paul alike, philosophy is harmful only when it proudly oversteps its proper boundaries, but can be exceedingly useful once we recognize that knowing a person is a deeper and more profound human experience than knowing an abstract truth.

       Paul defends in numerous passages the paradoxical notion that we must come ‘to know this love that surpasses knowledge’ [Eph. 3:19, e.a.]. At one point he prays ‘that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ’ [Phil. 1:9-11]. Likewise, he restates Isaiah 64:4 in such a way that it expresses the same insight [1 Cor. 2:9-10]: ‘However, as it is written: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him”—but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.’ And in his famous hymn to love, Paul beautifully portrays the permanence of love in relation to our limited human knowledge [1 Cor. 13:8-12], while reminding us that love will lead us to a future situation wherein ‘I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ In each passage, knowledge is treated as a gift given in response to a loving relationship, not as an abstract truth to be grasped by logical argumentation.

       In the course of discussing the issue of whether or not Christians should eat food sacrificed to idols, Paul says: ‘We know that we all possess knowl­edge. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God’ [1 Cor. 8:1-3]. Here is perhaps the clearest expression of the Bible’s consistent preference for love over knowledge. Although this passage, like some of those quoted above, refers to our love for God rather than to neighborly love, the point being made applies to both types. The reason a theology that begins with theoretical dogmas cannot regard itself as presenting an authentically biblical theology is that in this and numerous other passages the Bible itself warns that a religion based on knowledge-claims rather than on love is bound to result in a lack of neighborly love being manifested, between believers as well as between Christian and non-Christian.[24] For as Paul goes on to argue, those who carelessly apply their newfound freedom (freedom from the compulsion to follow nonmoral ‘holy laws’ in order to please God) without first giving thought to the higher importance of loving their neighbor, stand in danger of ‘becom[ing] a stumbling block to the weak’ [1 Cor. 8:9]. And to do this is to neglect what Kant calls our ‘duty to others’.

      All of this raises two questions for the Kantian Christian: Is love properly regarded as a manifestation of practical reason? and Is love indeed religion’s primary principle? If love is a feeling, then it should be more closely associated with the judicial standpoint than with the practical. For Kant there is one (and only one) feeling that belongs properly to the practical stand­point: respect for the moral law. With this in mind, an interesting study for the Kantian biblical theologian would be to compare the function of respect in sys­temp to the function of love in systemr-s [cf. note IX.21]. Just as Kant portrays respect not as itself a duty, but as our primary motivation for obeying the moral law [see Pa86], so also we might regard love not as a moral com­mand, but as the feeling that primarily motivates us to obey God and to be responsible mem­bers of the invisible church. Religion belongs properly to the judicial standpoint [see VI.2], so we can accept Kant’s moral interpretation of love as benevolence (i.e., doing good to others) without denying the equal legitimacy for religion of regarding love as a feeling of tender devotion to God and others.

       Notwithstanding the parallels between biblical love and Kantian respect, each supporting in its own way the primacy of love over knowledge,[25] we must admit that love is one of Kant’s weakest points. Though he has deep insight into the dangers of an inordinate self-love, his positive comments on what it means to love one’s neighbor are disappoint­ing­ly meager. Neverthe­less, in attempting to come up with a fuller understand­ing of love, the biblical theolo­gian need not reject Kant’s minimal notion that neighbor-love involves fulfill­ing one’s duties to others out of respect for the moral law. Here biblical theol­ogy once again need not be regarded as contra­dicting Kant’s philo­sophical theology; rather, it complements it by providing the church with a richer array of guide­lines for practicing neighborly love. Likewise, systemr-m com­ple­ments systemr-s by insuring that love not be applied in an im­moral way. This answers the second question raised above, regarding the Kantian Christian’s ability to accept the primacy of love: we can fully accept it as such for religion, provided we also accept the primacy of the moral law for morality.

       Poised in this position, biblical theologians can offer some constructive criticism to Kantian philosophical theologians: Kant’s exclusively negative treatment of self-love neglects the psychological-spiritual fact that a moderate degree of self-love can be a healthy sign of personal growth. For the second principle contained in the greatest commandment is not simply that we love others, but that we love them as we love ourselves. Kant fails to distinguish clearly between self-love as a morally corrupt attention to one’s own interests and self-love as a morally healthy appreciation for one’s own character as a recipient of God’s love. Kant does balance our duties to others with a corre­sponding set of duties to oneself; but his ever-present concern over the poten­tially detrimental effect of our inclinations prevents him from doing justice to the positive side of self-love.

       To construct a detailed theology of neighborly love would be out of place here. Instead, I shall cite just one more example of how biblical theology and Kantian theology can complement each other in carrying out such a task. Prob­ably the single most significant principle of neighborly love is the principle of not set­ting oneself up as the moral judge of one’s neighbor. In AV.2-4 I argue that Jesus’ maxim, ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged’ [Matt. 7:1], can be regarded as a transcendental condition for the possibility of moral judg­ment. Without first assuming the former, a person cannot safely apply either Kant’s categorical imperative or the ‘love God and neighbor’ command. Rather than rehearsing that argument here, I shall simply point out that it ex­emplifies the cooperation of biblical and philosophical theologies at its best. When Paul tells us in Romans 14 that we are to judge ourselves (not others) ac­cording to what the Holy Spirit, speaking through our conscience, tells us is right or wrong (not according to the traditions of our society—even the most sacred religious traditions[26]), he is giving both positive and negative instruc­tion. First, he is encouraging believers to make full use of their freedom in Christ, without allowing others to dictate inappropriately what they should and should not do. The negative side of this is that we should not expect others to believe and act exactly as we believe and act, so those with a more liberal understanding of what freedom allows must not flaunt their freedom in front of those with a stricter (or more ‘traditional’) understanding of right and wrong.

       What Kant’s philosophical theology can contribute here is a theoretical understanding of how it is possible that an issue as important as morality can be ‘left up to the individual’ in this way. First, Paul’s positive point is obviously consistent with Kant’s insistence on the autonomy of the will. In order to be moral, a choice must be genuinely self-determined, not determined by an external statute such as a law (religious or otherwise) written in a book some­where. Likewise, Paul’s negative point is clearly in line with Kant’s principle of respect for persons—i.e., for the autonomy of others. The sad fact is that precious few Christians actually live according to this biblical principle, in spite of the obvious importance it had for both Jesus and Paul. Instead, Christians tend to act as if Paul’s words apply only to issues that are not clearly discussed in the Bible. The result is that many Christians do judge others, and all too often they do so with not a small sense of self-righteousness, on the grounds that their judgments are based on ‘biblical principles’. The irony is that one such principle teaches us not to use the Bible in this unloving way [see e.g., Rom. 14:10-4]. Using Kantian theology as a complement to biblical theology can highlight this important point and support what biblical writers regarded as their core principles with reasons that are independent of the text itself.

       A proper understanding of this fundamental point in the biblical theology of neighborly love will likewise enable us to avoid a number of misconcep­tions regarding Kant’s moral theory. A good example is the notion some inter­preters have that the purpose of systemp is to provide a means for judging the rightness or wrongness of other people’s moral choices and actions. A biblical theology of neighborly love can, as is demonstrated in Appendix V, effec­tively balance this tendency with a proper recognition that the categorical im­perative is best used as a tool for increased self-awareness, rather than as a tool for telling other people what they should and should not do. Of course, there is much more to loving one’s neighbor than simply not judging and not flaunting one’s freedom to the detriment of others. My conviction is that in other areas, as diverse as being immersed in the mutual ecstasy of romantic love[27] and showing sacrificial compassion to someone unable to return the favor, Kant’s philosophical theology can also help us to see more clearly the most viable interpretations of biblical theology available to the serious, thinking Christian.

 

3. Christian Belief: Preaching and Teaching the Word

    A. Evangelism and the Gospel of the Kingdom

       Kant encapsulates the basic insight of his Copernican revolution in philosophy when he exclaims: ‘So much depends, when we wish to unite two good things, upon the order in which they are united! True enlightenment lies in this very distinction’ [Kt8:179(167)]. We saw in VII.3.B how Kant applies this insight to the distinction between a religious person’s direct and indirect service of God. The same insight can now be applied in this chapter to our attempt to construct a biblical theology that is both orthodox and yet compatible with Critical theology and religion. The ‘two good things’ in this case are the greatest commandment and the great commission—or, in Kantian terms, practical action and theoretical belief. Giving primacy to the former is such a basic premise of Kant’s System that we cannot hope to remain Kantian if we construct a biblical theology that starts with theoretical belief (i.e., doctrine).[28] This is why our biblical theology began in IX.2 with the greatest command­ment and the practical issues arising from it.

       Kant explicitly condemns any effort to base philosophical theology on theoretical arguments [e.g., Kt1:656; Kt35:(86-7)] or biblical theology on re­vealed pro­po­sitions [e.g., Kt8:164(152)] on the grounds that both are bad for religion. The trend among twentieth century fundamentalists to begin their theology with a declaration of theoretical belief in a divinely in­spired Bible, taken as God’s inerrant Word, and to build on this foundation an elaborate set of ‘right doctrines’, therefore stands in direct conflict with Kant’s Critical approach.[29] If ‘biblical’ theology is taken in this way to refer primarily to a set of theoretical beliefs derived from the Bible, rather than to the descrip­tion of a biblical way of life, then it cannot hope to be Kantian. But this does not mean Kant or Kantian biblical theologians must reject revealed theol­ogy and propositional belief altogether. On the contrary, when properly in­formed by the practical conditions of respect for the law—i.e., love of God and neighbor (via Christ, the God-man)—both the arguments [cf. IV.2-4] and re­vealed proposi­tions [cf. VIII.3.A] can find a proper place in theology. Being Kantian simply requires us to put the great commandment before the great commission.

       By the same token, a biblical theology that neglects theoretical beliefs al­to­gether would be as mistaken as one that puts them on an unrealistic pedestal. Just because the great commission, with its dual emphasis on evangelism (preaching the word) and discipleship (teaching the word), does not come first does not mean we can ignore it. Respect for the moral law is no more self-sufficient for Kantian theology than loving God and neighbor is for biblical theology. In both cases, these are necessary starting-points; but if left to their own devices, they will not reach their intended goal. For Kant, this is an effect of radical evil, rendering our autonomous choices imperfect and giving rise to the need for a theoretical belief in divine aid; for the Bible, it is due to our sinful nature, rendering our attempts to obey God hypocritical if they are not based on a loving relationship.

       This point can best be illustrated by examining the harsh words Jesus speaks against the very people who seemed to be most successful at under­standing and obeying God’s laws [Lk. 11:42]: ‘Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone.’ Here the point is that purely ‘religious’ (i.e., nonmoral) practices, performed without being grounded in love of God as expressed through a proper attention to our moral relations with other people (i.e., through ‘justice’), is inverted and thus fails to achieve its intended result. In this passage Jesus goes on to chastise ‘the experts in the law’ [11:46] for ‘load[ing] people down with burdens they can hardly carry’, yet ‘not lift[ing] one finger to help them.’ Moreover, they are condemned for ‘tak[ing] away the key to knowledge. You yourselves have not entered, and you have hindered those who were entering.’ The problem Jesus is complaining about here is not false belief or even disobedience to God’s commands, but an attempt to treat these as self-sufficient, without first using the ‘key’ of love to open up the door that makes obedience possible and right belief meaningful.

       The parallel passage in Matthew goes into even more detail. Jesus chastises both ‘teachers of the law and Pharisees’ for their hypocrisy in both evangelism and teaching [23:13,15]:

 

You shut the kingdom of heaven in men’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.... You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are.

 

Although the Pharisees and lawyers appear to be doing good on the surface, they are actually working counter to God’s true aims; they do not realize that the knowledge of how to enter God’s kingdom comes only after a person makes a commitment to love God and others. By making the simple mistake of believing that an understanding of God’s will can be obtained through study, argument, and outward obedience to the ‘text’, without first committing one’s heart to God and others in loving relationship, they end up preaching and teaching a perverted form of religion that actually leads to the opposite of its intended result. With this in mind, let us therefore take a closer look at what proper (love-informed) evangelism and preaching would look like; in IX.3.B we shall then examine teaching and right doctrine in a similar way.

       Jesus’ own method of evangelism (i.e., preaching of the ‘good news’) had two distinct elements. The first was his active ministry to the needs of the poor, the sick, and the outcast. He would go to anyone who had an unmet need, of­ten people whose trouble had been blamed on their ‘sin’ or even their parents’ sin, and meet that need in the name of God’s love, often working miracles in the process. Much of this ministry he did without a great deal of public teaching to explain his actions. Indeed, he sometimes even asked those he healed to keep his identity a secret. When he did resort to the second element in his method of evangelism, explicit preaching, he made frequent use of parables and other sayings that tended to be shrouded in mystery and paradox. He used these to awaken his listeners to the presence of God’s ‘kingdom’ among them. I have already examined in considerable detail the implications of a biblical theology of the kingdom, especially for political relationships, in Pa93. At this point it will therefore suffice merely to mention that the kingdom is for Jesus not a dogma or a creed but a spiritual reality that cuts through all earthly power-structures by ministering to each individual from within. It is available to anyone whose heart is open to God’s love, regardless of how successful they have been at obeying the religious conventions of the day. For this reason, Jesus used miracles only to meet genuine needs, never merely to show off his power to those ‘righteous’ ones who required ‘proof’. In other words, Jesus evangelized by putting into practice the greatest commandment. Having deeply experienced the love of God in his own private worship, he knew how to see others as God saw them and love them as they needed to be loved. To those such as the Pharisees who put obedience to the law above the power of love, such a proclamation of ‘good news’ was nothing short of blasphemous heresy.

       The reason paradox and mystery are such important aspects of Jesus’ preaching (and so also, of any authentic evangelism) is that they must be ex­peri­enced in order to be understood—and even then, they often surpass our cognitive ability. This point was made most forcefully by Kierkegaard, whose philosophical approach to Christianity depends much more on Kantian princi­ples than is often recognized [see Gr89]. Without straying into the details of Kierkegaard’s views, we may observe that he fleshes out the Existential Per­spective that complements, in many important ways, the Critical Perspective Kant adopted. The latter always focuses on the issue of whether the practical or theoretical standpoint has priority in dealing with any given religious issue. In IX.2.A we already exam­ined a good illustration of how the paradoxes of Christian religious experience can be compatible with Kantian theology. Although Kant relegated prayer and worship, and all other ritualistic practices, to the sidelines of any true religion, regarding them as acceptable only if they help encourage a moral disposition, we saw that Christians need not disagree with this, provided we remember that in systemr-m Kant’s ‘practical vs. theoretical’ concerns are quite distinct from the existential concerns of the worshipping religious believer. Kant is right to say moral improvement (i.e., making the most of our membership in what he calls the ‘kingdom of ends’) is central and prayer is peripheral when it comes to the question of reaching the goal of the religious life (i.e., becoming ‘well-pleasing to God’). Yet the religious believer who takes Jesus’ method of ministry as the supreme example knows that, in the existential sense so aptly portrayed by Kierkegaard, prayer and worship are central to the religious life.[30]

       A biblical theology of preaching and evangelism must focus not only on the presence of God’s kingdom in our hearts, but also on the central message of the post-Gospel New Testament: the paradoxical mystery of sacrificial love supremely exemplified by ‘Christ crucified’ [1 Cor. 1:23-4]—‘a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.’ This simple message directed to the heart, rather than some elaborate doctrinal edi­fice, was the core of all evangelism for the early church, from Peter’s first recorded sermon onwards [Acts 2:36; s.a. 1 Cor. 2:2; Gal. 2:20-1; 3:1]. Why? First and foremost it is because Jesus’ death and resurrection is the ultimate ex­pression of God’s love for us: ‘We love because he first loved us.’[31] Entering into a loving relationship with the risen Christ enables us to fulfill both sides of the greatest commandment at once. In Christ we love both God and man; for just as Jesus tells us that in seeing him we see his heavenly father [Jn. 14:10, 20-1], so also he says that in loving our neighbor we love him [Matt. 25:31-46]. Moreover, the same image of crucifixion is also used as a symbol for the believer’s duty to conquer his or her ‘sinful nature’ [Gal. 5:24-5], by dying to the ‘world’ [6:14].

       The fact that Kant does not make ‘Christ crucified’ the centerpiece of systemr-m does not make the latter incompatible with biblical theology. On the contrary, as long as the biblical theologian agrees that this message ought to encourage believers to make a concerted effort to put aside evil deeds in favor of doing good (as Kantian theology requires), and as long as the Kantian theologian agrees that the notion of God making us perfect as a result of Jesus’ self-sacrificial act (as biblical theology requires) is at least not contrary to genuine religious belief, then the two can end up working hand in hand without any irresolvable conflict. Kant’s emphasis on the need to keep one’s own heart (or ‘disposition’) in tune with moral goodness does not disal­low a person from believing in the Gospel of Christ. And the Bible’s emphasis on Jesus’ death and resurrection does not prevent a person from insisting (with Kant) that we must ‘work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling’ [Phil. 2:12]. The key to recognizing the deep congruity between the two Perspectives is the recogni­tion that love makes us perfect [1 Jn. 4:18], not vice versa.

       One of the most common criticisms of Kant’s philosophy of religion is that he presents a religion of good works that refuses ‘to regard grace as enter­ing constitutively into the moral life’ [Wa72:149]. ‘His God becomes a cosmic magistrate and policeman who sees to it that the good are given their deserts—an anthropomorphic conception, indeed, of the ultimate end of exis­tence!’ [Ha41:150]. Silber assumes this interpretation when he points out ‘a gen­uine an­timony’ [Si60:cxxxiii] that supposedly arises out of Kant’s position: ‘In order to make sense of the idea of personal responsibility, Kant argued [in systemp] that freedom is absolute. Yet by holding that man’s responsibility is absolute, he condemned man to an insufferable burden of guilt.’ The problem, according to Silber, is that divine forgiveness ‘is itself a violation of the moral law.’ He therefore concludes: ‘We cannot ignore the problem of forgiveness nor can we accept Kant’s futile resolution of it’ [cxxxiv].

       If Kant really defends such a one-sided, anthropocentric conception of God, then the antinomy of forgiveness arising out of it is obviously nothing to preach about! But such views are read into the text of Kt8 by those who fail to see the perspectival difference between systemp and systemr [but cf. VI.2]. In the former system, as we saw in IV.4 [s.a. KSP1:VIII.3.B], Kant uses a moral argument for God’s existence, whereby we must as­sume the exis­tence of a loving (and forgiving) God in order to account for the rationality of moral activity. De­spite Kant’s repeated warning that ‘reward ... has no place in God’s justice ..., but only in His love and beneficence’[32]—a claim that can be self-consistent only if understood in terms of the principle of perspective—critics such as Greene interpret Kant’s moral argument as implying the concep­tion of ‘God as a “great Paymaster”’ [Wo70:166-7] and as­sume this applies equal­ly to systemr. Wood argues against this misinterpreta­tion [169-70]:

 

Kant does not look upon moral faith as an outlook in which man is to anticipate a great ‘future re­ward’. Rather, trust in God’s goodness is described as a reverent submission to God’s will.

 

Moral faith does not consist so much of our expectation of future happiness as an acceptance of present sufferings.... [It] does not ‘explain away’ or erase our suffer­ings, but gives us the hope and courage to be content and rationally to pursue a good world in spite of them.

 

       As such, moral faith in divine forgiveness is the rational person’s alterna­tive to existential despair. It does not violate the moral law as long as it is not used in systemp as a motive for action, and as long as it is not used in systemr as a way of avoiding a change of heart. Thus Kant says in an un­pub­lished reflection [q.i. Bu08:233] that we need religion for encour­agement (i.e., systemp needs systemr) because ‘Human nature is incapable of an immediate moral purity; but when its purity is worked upon in a supernatural manner, fu­ture rewards have no longer the character of motives.’ In its proper sense, then, divine forgiveness, as Webb explains, is for Kant ‘not a work of grace, for which we have to wait ...: it precedes conversion ... So far as the change is, even to the converted man himself, inscrutable, it can be repre­sented, without detriment to morality, as due to the pardoning act of God.’[33] This view of for­giveness is far from being a ‘futile’ contradiction that leaves us wallowing in guilt, as Silber supposes [Si60:cxxxiii-cxxxiv]; rather, it frees us to believe what would otherwise be irrational, that our good deeds serve as empirical evidence of a divine gift (a change of heart), so that, even though we cannot achieve theoretical certainty or practical immunity, our burden of guilt is relieved.[34] 

       If Kant really does leave room for grace and divine forgiveness in his conception of religion, then this realization overcomes the greatest hurdle that would otherwise prevent the biblical theologian from embracing a Kantian philosophical theology. But is this rather meager space roomy enough to accommodate the robust position supported by most Christian theologians? It is one thing to affirm that some ‘inscrutable’ divine assistance is needed in order for a religious conversion to take place; but it is quite another to claim that the blood of Jesus Christ, the God-man, effected this divine act of grace once and for all at a particular point in time. Kant is usually interpreted as having little, if any, sympathy with the latter view. A thorough examination of this issue is beyond the scope of the present book, taking us as it does into the quite different area of Kant’s approach to the political history of the human race. For now let it suffice for me to report that in a preliminary overview of Kant’s treatment of this topic [Pa94b], I have given an affirmative answer.

       Kant’s insistence on the priority of systemp over systemt, with his conse­quent refusal to accept anything but moral activity (not even doc­trinal belief) as an ameliorating substitute for immorality, is surely an example of the consis­tency between Kantian and biblical theologies. The purpose of grace is not to enable people to continue living immorally (see Rom. 3:8), but to compensate on a supernatural scale for the inevitable failings in a life devoted to doing God’s will (i.e., a moral life). Kant’s ‘gospel’ (i.e., his doctrine of conversion) there­fore typifies his Critical tendency to adopt ‘a middle ground’ between two ex­tremes (humanity as both good and evil [Kt8:20(16); s.a. 39n(34n)]; salva­tion as based on both faith and good life-conduct [see 25n(20n)]), and in so doing confirms again the harmony between the Gospel message (systemr-s) and evangelism based on the purest religion of reason (systemr-m).[35]

 

    B. Doctrine and the Authority of God’s Revealed Word

       The fourth and final principle of a biblical theology that is to be compatible with a Kantian philosophical theology is presented in the great commission as the need to make disciples. This involves teaching others (and, of course, first learning oneself) to hear and obey the word of God. As we have seen, Chris­tians who base their theology on the inerrancy of the Bible typically begin rather than end with this principle, treating ‘Word of God’ as a direct synonym for ‘Bible’. Such a theological position, however, is not properly called ‘biblical theology’, inasmuch as the Bible itself provides little or no justification for pro­ceeding in this way. Most of this subsection will be devoted to the defense of four intercon­nected points that support this claim. First, the Bible never uses the phrase ‘word of God’ merely as a synonym for Scripture; rather, this phrase typically refers to a direct (spoken and/or heard) communication from God to one or more persons. Second, the Bible positively and repeatedly condemns the tendency many religious people have to focus their devotion on something external (such as a book), rather than on the spiritual reality we find within ourselves (as in a per­sonal re­lationship, such as love). Third, and contrary to what many Christians assume, the Bible treats the learning of doctrine as less basic than loving God: ignorant but genuine worshippers are regarded more highly than those who know every doctrine but fail to give their hearts to God. Finally, Christian teaching in the ultimate sense is and can only be a form of learning through the inner guidance of the Holy Spirit.

       Turning now to the first and foremost of these four points, let us examine in more detail the biblical use of the phrase ‘word of God’. In the Old Testa­ment this phrase occurs most often as a literal reference to words a prophet or some other inspired person believes God has spoken directly to them [e.g.,      1 Kgs. 12:22; 1 Chr. 17:3; cf. Lk. 3:2]; as such it is synonymous with the stan­dard and far more frequently used phrase, ‘word of the Lord’, as a reference to prophetic messages. Occasionally, ‘word of God’ is used meta­phorically to refer not to any specific words, but to God’s eternal plan for humanity [Prov. 30:5; Is. 40:8]. The New Testament picks up the latter usage, especially in connection with preaching and teaching about that plan [e.g., Lk. 5:1; 8:11; Acts 4:31; 6:2,7; Col. 1:25,28; 1 Ths. 2:13], as fulfilled in Jesus the Christ, the ‘living and enduring Word of God’ [1 Pet. 1:23; s.a. Jn. 1:1; Rev. 19:13].

       The New Testament’s most frequent use of the phrase ‘word of God’ comes in the book of Acts, where it never refers back to the Jewish Scripture or any other written word(s). Instead, it consistently refers to the preached gospel of the kingdom of Jesus, the crucified and risen Christ [see e.g., Acts 8:12-4; 10:48-11:1]. The only New Testament passage that even comes close to identifying ‘word of God’ with the Bible is Matthew 15:6 [s.a. Mk. 7:13], where Jesus uses this phrase to refer to one of the ten commandments. But here Jesus calls it God’s ‘word’ not because of its presence in Scripture, but rather because it is a command of God. The proper response to hearing God’s word is always obedience [see e.g., Lk. 11:28]. John 10:35 might appear to be another excep­tion, because ‘word of God’ and ‘Scripture’ come so close together. But the former clearly refers to prophecies, whereas the latter refers to the Bible’s claim that prophets (those who hear God’s word) are themselves ‘gods’ [cf. Ps. 82:6]—a point Jesus makes to explain how it is possible for him to call himself ‘Son of God’ without blaspheming.

       This first point relates directly to the other three. Thus, when Paul wishes to demonstrate the truth of his own preaching and teaching, he asso­ci­ates ‘word of God’ not with the external Scripture, but with the internal ‘con­science’ of each individual [2 Cor. 4:2]. Paul’s identifica­tion of God’s word as ‘the sword of the Spirit’ [Eph. 6:12] seems to be yet further evidence that it refers to personal relationship, not to the words on a printed page. The ‘sword’ in a Christian’s spiritual ‘armor’, I would maintain, represents a well-sharpened conscience, not a thorough knowledge of Scripture [cf. 2 Tim. 2:15]. As such, the ‘word of God’ is the other side of the coin of prayer [1 Tim. 4:5]. Surely this is confirmed by Hebrews 4:12: ‘For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to di­viding soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.’ The conscience-piercing of God’s word can and often does come to a person while reading Scripture, just as reciting liturgy can function as a genuine prayer of the heart. But in such cases the written word is only the vehicle, and is always in danger of hindering true spirituality if its external form becomes too im­portant.

       Here we should pause to note the obvious compatibility between the way the Bible uses the phrase ‘word of God’ and the minimum criteria Kant lays down for systemr-m. When ‘the word of God lives in [us]’, it enables us to ‘overcome the evil one’ [1 Jn. 2:14]. This necessary connection between hearing God’s word and sharpening one’s conscience is an excellent example of the kind of necessary connection Kant requires to exist between the ‘historical faith’ a person chooses and the ‘pure religious faith’ it should en­gender. Christians who wish to follow an authentic biblical theology, rather than what Jesus calls the ‘traditions of men’,[36] must therefore regard the ‘word of God’—in a strikingly Kantian fashion—as the morally-awakening presence of Jesus’ ‘voice’ in our conscience. Whereas a so-called ‘biblical’ theology that treats the words in the Bible as necessarily constituting the one revealed Word of God is not con­sistent with the stringent requirements of Kant’s philosophical theology, a genuinely biblical biblical theology obviously is.

       This is a crucial difference, for it determines—modulating now to the third point—how Christian discipleship will be carried out. All too often new Chris­tians are taught a dry set of doc­trines, the first and foremost being that the Bible, as God’s inerrant Word, must be regarded more highly than any other earthly object. Scripture reading, along with regular prayer and church atten­dance, then become defin­ing factors in what makes a person ‘good’. What this view of discipleship tends to ignore is that scriptural texts must be inter­preted in order to be understood. A biblical theology that claims to place the Bible in the highest position is therefore actually placing theologians and pas­tors in positions of highest power and authority, as the Bible’s chief inter­preters. If they do their job well, God’s word (i.e., the deep truth of God’s presence living within us) may be success­fully com­municated to individual be­lievers in this way. But a more effective (because more authentic) biblical the­ology is one that is grounded, as is the Bible itself, on trust in God’s ability to speak the word of truth, through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in each indi­vidual’s conscience. A theologian or pastor is, at best, merely a means to this end.

       What, then, is so attractive about a biblical theology that begins with the Bible, if in fact the Bible itself does not support such a view? The advantage, surely, is that theoretical belief in a divinely revealed text provides a basis of objective certainty for whatever doctrinal edifice can be constructed out of a reliable interpretation of the text. This is an advantage, at least, for anyone who regards objective certainty as superior to a merely subjective certainty. But this raises the question already mentioned in IX.2.A of whether subjective certainty is sufficient for Christian belief. Kant’s conviction is that subjective certainty is not only adequate for religious ‘knowledge’ (because it is no less certain than objective certainty, being grounded in practical rather than theoretical reason), but actually superior, inasmuch as grounding religion on objective certainty would be inappropriate. Objective certainty of religious truths, if it were possible, would transform religion into science, faith into knowledge, hope into entitlement, and (worst of all) love into legalism. Although this is not the place for a thoroughgoing demonstration, I believe the Bible adopts a Kantian (subjective) view of certainty far more consistently than its opposite.[37] 

       Jesus implicitly defends a subjectivist interpretation of religious truth when he prefaces his tirade against the Pharisees and teachers of the law, those objectivizers par excellence, with this liberating warning [Matt. 23:8-10]:

 

But you are not to be called ‘Rabbi,’ for you have only one Master and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth ‘father,’ for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. Nor are you to be called ‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Christ.”

 

The effect of heeding this mandate (as Christians so rarely do) would be to make everyone equal before God, with the Holy Spirit as the common Teacher of all who are willing to be ‘learners’ together. This (touching on the last of the four points mentioned at the outset of this subsection) would transform the usual di­vi­sion between the ‘experts’ and the ‘unlearned’ into a nonhierarchi­cal union of co-workers who see a close connection between learning and do­ing.

       Along these lines, the metaphorical contrast between the ‘milk’ and the ‘solid food’ of the gospel [1 Cor. 3:2] can be seen in a new, more authentic light: ‘milk’ is the gospel message as preached in an evangelistic setting (i.e., the initial awareness of the internal presence of God’s kingdom, as manifested in Christ Jesus);[38] ‘solid food’ is the believer’s consequent ability to learn directly from God’s word (i.e., from the voice of one’s own individual con­science, as informed by the Holy Spirit). Paul thus describes the latter’s learn­ing method as follows: ‘The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man’s judgment’ [1 Cor. 2:15]. Likewise in Hebrews, those who still ‘need milk, not solid food’ [5:12] are the ones who have not yet learned ‘the elementary truths of God’s word’ (i.e., the basic doctrines and practices of Christian faith [6:2]), whereas ‘solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distin­guish good from evil’ [5:14]. In other words, the spiritually mature are those who have learned to listen directly to the voice of God speaking through their own conscience.

       One of the most significant aspects of the Bible’s subjectivist view of religious certainty is its view of Scripture as self-negating. That is, the Bible regards itself as divine revelation only insofar as it causes the reader to look away from (or beyond) the pages of the text. I have examined the political implications of this view in Pa93 [s.e. 52-9], so at this point I shall merely add that the core of the Bible’s self-negating stance lies in its call to freedom. Christian freedom—the radical freedom Christ and Paul proclaim in the New Testament—is a Gospel of release not only from our own inner bondages (the ‘laws’) that prevent us from developing into the kinds of individuals we are meant to be, but also from the captivating influence of religious and political leaders who seek to control the minds and hearts of those in their field of influence. This Gospel is entirely compatible with Kant’s emphasis on the interiority of the moral law in each person’s heart as the key to being released from the controlling influences of anything heteronomous (whether it be our own inclinations or the legalism imposed on us by someone else).

       Whereas being taught doctrine often has the effect of drying up a person’s living faith, an approach to learning doctrine that encourages each individual to hear God’s word in his or her own conscience will, ironically, be more likely to keep a person’s faith alive. This is ironical because Kant is often regarded as a person with no concern for religious experience. Yet, by recognizing the consistency between his approach and a genuine biblical theology, we have come to the surprising realization that Kantian philosophical theology is more apt to assist us in accepting the Bible as a basis for religious experience than as a sourcebook for knowledge of God: Kant makes just such a point in Kt65:59:

 

And so, between orthodoxy which has no soul and mysticism which kills reason, there is the teaching of the Bible, a faith which our reason can develop out of it­self. This teaching is the true religious doctrine, based on the criticism of practical reason, that works with divine power on all men’s hearts.

 

As we shall see in Part Four, Kantian theology does not disallow all experience of God (as is often claimed), but merely seeks to find a middle path between doctrine-without-experience (orthodoxy) and experience-with­out-doctrine (mys­ticism). That path, Kant here tells us, can be found equally well in gen­uine biblical teaching (systemr-s) as in the teaching of Critical religion (systemr-m).

       As pointed out in both IX.1 and IX.2.A, the Bible is not concerned with the philosophical justification of worship (personal religious experience of God), but rather with promoting the need for people to experience worship in their daily lives. A preacher who focuses on the former issue rather than the latter is actually not ‘preaching the word’ at all, but doing philosophy. Church-goers should be encouraged to learn the benefits of viewing such issues from a genuinely philosophical Perspective, and churches would do well to sponsor such educational programs for their members; but the sermon is not the proper occasion for such teaching on a regular basis. Sermons in general and evangelistic preaching in particular ought to be focused on the heart, encourag­ing love of God and neighbor as the first and foremost priority. If this first pri­ority is given its proper place, then powerful preaching and reliable teaching will be much more likely to follow as a matter of course. This applies just as much to the concerns of Kantian theologians as it does to the concerns of fundamentalist theologians. Whereas fundamentalists are typically concerned with convincing as many people as possible to make a conscious rational deci­sion to ‘believe in Jesus’ and to join in various church activities thereafter, Kant’s concern is that preaching and teaching ought to encourage morally up­right behavior. A rightly ordered (biblical) teaching of Christian doctrine need not negate either of these concerns, but must paradoxically insist that they are subordinate to a proper emphasis on the mystery of giving one’s heart in love.

       Two of the central features of biblical Christianity that ought to play a prominent role in preaching are mystery and paradox.[39] They serve to draw attention away from head-knowledge and towards heart-knowledge. Because of his insistence that religion be rendered rational, Kant’s deep respect for paradox and mystery is not always discernible. Nevertheless, systemr-m does have its own share of paradox and mystery: a good person somehow performs evil actions; an evil person somehow becomes good again; the mutually corrupting influence of people on each other somehow becomes a mutually uplifting influence through their joint participation in the church; etc. But when it comes to the deepest and most profound Christian paradoxes, such as a dead man coming back to life, or God becoming embodied in a particular historical per­sonage, Kant treads with extreme caution. His reason kicks in and proposes a moral explanation that enables him to avoid facing the paradox head on. What we must recognize is that such a reaction is quite acceptable for a philosophical theologian, for whom reason is the proper guide. By refusing to deny the pos­sibility that both sides of the paradox are true, or that the mystery underlying the paradox con­tains some profound meaning, Kant’s version of systemr-m leaves ample room for a compatible biblical counterpart here in systemr-s.

       Surely one of the most mysterious and paradoxical doctrines in all of Christian theology is the hypostatic union of God and man in Jesus: the claim that Jesus, being God’s word manifested as ‘flesh’ [Jn. 1:14], became the Christ. I have already explained how Kant’s views on this dual nature (i.e., Jesus the man also being Christ the God) can be compatible with an orthodox Christian view [VIII.2.B]. Let us therefore pass here directly to another aspect of the paradox of the biblical Jesus: his bodily resurrection. Kant expresses some reluctance to accept this doctrine as a legiti­mate part of systemr-C [see note VIII.32]. But biblical theologians nowadays have an advantage over those who lived in Kant’s time; for contemporary sci­ence (as we shall see in great detail in KSP3 [s.a. KSP1:XI]) no longer views nature in the exclusively mechanistic way that was taken for granted in Kant’s day. With the advent of quantum physics and non-Euclidean geometries, along with other scientific revolutions, has come a new openness to and respect for the mystery that lies at the heart of the way things are. Biblical theologians can therefore interpret the doctrine of resurrection in a way that does not contravene the most advanced scientific theories. We are in a far better position to defend Paul’s claim that in the afterlife God will give us ‘spiritual bodies’ to replace the physi­cal bodies that inevitably die [1 Cor. 15:44]—a view that renders irrele­vant Kant’s concerns over the ab­surdity of carrying around ‘a certain lump of mat­ter’ to accompany us ‘through eternity’ [Kt8:128-9n(119n); cf. note VIII.32]. For the spiritual (resurrected) body need not be physical in any ordinary sense of the word. Instead, we might just as well interpret it as an enigmatic manifes­tation of a higher-dimen­sional reality [see §34 of Pa97].

       Another doctrinal issue that almost inevitably gives rise to paradox is the question of how God dispenses grace: do we choose our own eternal destiny or has God predestined each person to be either saved or condemned? When de­bating this issue, theologians typically stress one or the other of two responses found in the Bible: human beings determine their own salvation through their performance or neglect of some religious act (such as the act of believing in Jesus and/or the Gospel message); God is completely sovereign, deciding who will and will not be saved independently of any human act [cf. AVI.4]. That Kant not only encour­ages, but requires us to believe both should be good news for biblical theologians, because the Bible itself also affirms both extremes.[40] The temptation in the face of such paradoxes is always to resolve the tension by affirming only one side or the other. But the theologian who uses Kant’s system of religion as a rational guide will be encouraged to grasp the paradox, recognizing that both views must be upheld. Here, once again, we find that Kant’s position is ‘at one’ with the Bible’s—not because Kant naively assumes the Bible’s authority, but because both Kant and the writers of the Bible ultimately appeal to the same Authority.

       As a Kantian biblical theologian, therefore, I am able to confess with a clear conscience and an uncompromised intellect that the change of heart is an effect of God’s grace; yet I believe God somehow does this while preserving both my free choice and my responsibility to act in a way consistent with a good disposi­tion. As a Christian, I believe this because the Bible has informed my understanding of the nature and purposes of God’s work in the world and my experience con­firms what the Bible teaches. As a Kantian, I believe this because it is the only way I can both preserve God’s sovereignty (i.e., God’s ability to save anyone, even someone possessing no biblical knowledge what­soever) and yet conceive of the moral law being fulfilled in a human life. It is a genuinely Critical position on the issue of God’s grace, inasmuch as it prevents me from falling into the extremes of either an overbearing fanati­cism that misinterprets religious belief or worship as works that God requires or a lazy skepticism that rejects the value of religion altogether. Both extremes are per­versions that are attractive only to those with a low tolerance for paradox.

       Kant himself is far from being antagonistic to a conscientious use of Scrip­ture in working out one’s own religious self-understanding. On the con­trary, Kt8 is filled with allusions to and even direct quotations from the Bible. The fact that in most cases Kant has to stretch or even dismiss standard interpre­ta­tions of these passages in order to make them consistent with systemr-m should not cause us to neglect the possibility that in so doing his goal is to proceed in the manner that best reflects the Bible’s own prescriptions. For Kant’s use of bibli­cal texts supports all four of the points that form the basis for the aspect of bib­lical the­ology I have defended in this subsection: he refuses to identify God’s revealed word with the text of the Bible; he insists God’s word comes to us in­ternal­ly, not through external agents; he regards religious learning as a matter of the heart more than of the head; and he promotes a radical freedom that al­lows each person to learn autonomously, rather than being taught prescribed dogma.

       Recommending a biblical theology of revelation based on the living word of God within us, rather than on the literal written words of the biblical text as such, risks a significant loss in objectivity for theology. Christian theologians have traditionally regarded the chief function of revelation as being God’s way of making known divine purposes to us human beings. If these purposes are recorded in a fixed, propositional form, biblical theologians have the potential to transform theology into a body of certain knowledge compara­ble to scientific fact. This, no doubt, is what makes biblical theologies based on an inerrant Bible so popular. The problem, as we have seen, is that the Bible itself simply does not support such an approach to theology. But this also raises a question for my approach: can an internally focused view of revelation as primarily subjective do justice to the believer’s need to have confidence that a given knowledge-claim regarding God’s purposes really is what God would want, not just a figment of the believer’s own imagination or unconscious desires?

       To answer this question, we could begin by turning to Kant. The key fac­tor he would use to distinguish true and false claims to know God’s purposes is whether what the believer claims God has made known encourages moral goodness or detracts from it. Most Chris­tians would agree with this as far as it goes. A problem would arise, however, if, as in the story of Abraham, God were ever to command a person to do something that is morally wrong. Ironi­cally, the typical conservative Christian would side with Kant at this point and deny the possibility that this would happen, whereas biblical theologians who wish to remain faithful to the Bible’s own examples of what happens when God’s word is revealed and heeded would have to side with Kierkegaard, who famously regards Abraham as a ‘knight of faith’ precisely because of his willingness to break the moral law in order to obey God. This creates a dilemma that is far too complex to attempt to solve here. Instead, we can regard this as the key point where the philosophical and biblical theologians remain deadlocked in a ‘conflict’ [see VIII.1], no matter how compatible their Perspec­tives may be in other respects.

       Putting this aspect last in our sketch of a systemr-s reflects the dif­ferent Perspectives assumed by biblical and philosophical theolo­gians: for us as Christians, knowing God’s purposes is important, but only in­sofar as such knowledge arises out of our love for God and our fellow human beings. For Kant, by contrast, knowing that God’s purposes must be moral ones is the first principle of his entire philosophical theology. The irony, once again, is that many Christians—theologians and laypersons alike—actually side with Kant in treating a prior knowledge of God’s (revealed) purposes as the first and fore­most (if not sole) determining feature of genuine religion. But because they differ so widely in determin­ing how to go about identifying those purposes, any hope of a healthy dialogue is relinquished. My goal here has been to en­courage biblical theologians to risk adopting a radically different (authentically biblical) Perspective by insisting on treating such knowledge as an outcome of love rather than as a first principle. This may appear to be a de­par­ture from Kant, until we recall Kant’s view that biblical theologians ought to stand in a position of healthy conflict over against their philosophical coun­ter­parts.

 

4. A Christian Critique of Kant’s Critical Religion

       We saw in VIII.1 and IX.1 that Kant makes an important distinction between the Perspectives of the philosopher and the biblical theologian with respect to how each is to interpret the meaning of religion. The philosopher’s goal is to abstract from all empirical traditions and grasp the essential nature of ‘pure religion’, whereas the biblical theologian must acknowledge the authority of a given tradition and focus attention on the task of providing a fresh inter­pre­tation of that tradition for each new era. Chapter VII provided an account of Kant’s philosophical interpretation of pure religion. Chapter VIII then showed how Kant, as a philosopher, views the prospects of Christianity as an empirical tradition that can help make pure religion a reality in the world. In IX.2-3 I have attempted to fill in the missing link [see Fig. IX.1] by adopting the Per­spective of the biblical theologian and proposing a set of Chris­tian fundamen­tals that is compatible with Kant’s theology. The remaining task is to assess the adequacy of Kant’s Critical religion from the Christian (biblical) Perspective as outlined above.[41] Can a Kantian biblical theology satisfy ordinary (nonphilo­sophical) Christian believers? If not, what changes in Kant’s System would need to be made in order for them to assimilate and digest the legitimate aspects of Critical theology and religion while locating and confront­ing those aspects that could be destructive to a person’s faith?

       Having observed throughout Part Three the potential for Christian theology to fill in various gaps in Kantian theology, we should begin here by noting the obvious fact that biblical theologians should not merely regard themselves as laborers in the service of philosophical theologians; rather, they have a distinctive role to play in challenging the philosopher’s presupposi­tions and conclusions. I shall therefore conclude this chapter by critically assessing, as a biblical theologian, some key aspects of Kant’s philosophy of religion. Christian readers of Kt8, even those who read it again in the light of the sym­pa­thetic interpretations I have been putting forward up to now, will almost in­evitably come away with certain nagging doubts about the possibly negative effects adopting his philosophy of religion might have on their faith. Sorting out the significant doubts from the illusory ones is the task of this section.

       A potential problem, of course, is that there are almost as many different ways of understanding what a ‘Christian’ is as there are different Christians. For this reason, I shall adopt in this section a very general definition of what it means to be a Christian, as first suggested in Pa89:65:

 

A Christian is someone who: (1) has certain beliefs (e.g., about God and his creative power, about Christ and his redemptive power, and about the Spirit and its commu­nicative power); who (2) seeks to obey God (e.g., by heeding the com­mands presented in the Bible along with those ‘written on his heart’); and who (3) has some sort of immediate experience of God (e.g., in the form of a ‘conversion,’ a prayer life, or participation in religious ceremonies).

 

The biblical theology suggested in IX.2-3 is at least potentially ‘Christian’ on this definition, because it specifies appropriate beliefs, acts of obedience, and an experiential element. Whether a given reader actually judges it to be Christian will depend on which specific beliefs, actions, and experiences one regards as essential. By defining ‘Christian’ in this highly general way, leaving the specific content of what counts as ‘normal’ beliefs, actions, and experiences to be determined by each person and/or religious community, I hope to make my Christian critique of Kant applicable not only to professional theologians, but also (and perhaps even more so) to the ordinary layperson.[42] 

       One of the biggest dangers of upholding Kant’s Copernican Perspective on religion without balancing it with the biblical theologian’s Empirical Perspective is that this could lead to a misunderstanding of how religious beliefs (myths), actions (rituals), and experienced objects (symbols), actually operate.[43] From the Perspective of the theologian (as a representative of the ordinary believer), there may be no direct connection between these three and morality as such. Kant’s requirement that religious beliefs, actions, and experienced objects all be assessed in terms of their moral content is therefore highly problematic. The problem is this. Although some religious myths, rituals, and symbols may directly encourage us to do good (as shown by arrow B in Figure IX.3), they often have no direct or obvious moral content; instead, their direct effect is typi­cally on the believer’s spirit (i.e., what Kant calls the ‘disposition’ or ‘heart’),

 

 

Figure IX.3:

The Empirical Perspective on Religion and Morality

 

and this effect in turn empowers a person to behave in a morally good way (as shown by arrows A and C). So, for example, spending an hour engaged in in­tense worship might be criticized by a (short-sighted) Kantian as wasting valu­able time that could be spent doing morally good deeds. The Christian response is that if we devote all our time to doing good without ever insuring that our spirit is properly attuned, our efforts may end up back­firing—e.g., by being, at best, legally good but not morally good.

       What is difficult to grasp from an exclusively Kantian point of view, but is at the very heart of the Bible’s message, is that the primary reason for wor­ship­ping God is not to improve our moral disposition; this just happens as a side-effect (arrow C, above). When challenged to provide a philosophically sound justification of our religious beliefs and actions, we may point to this side-effect as fulfilling (what Kant calls) ‘indirect service’ of God; in this way the Kantian Perspective prevents the religious person from being lost in a form of worship that never engages with real-life problems. But if benefiting our moral life becomes the only reason we believe and act religiously, then the moral efficacy of these very beliefs and actions will paradoxically diminish. In other words, the biblical (Christian) and philosophical (Kantian) Perspectives are each more likely to succeed when they work together, in a creative tension, than when adherents of either Perspective view themselves as in no need of the other. This danger, therefore, does not represent a true incompatibility between Kantian philosophy and biblical theology. Christians and Kantians alike only stand to benefit from making room for the opposing Perspective.

       I have already demonstrated the vacuity of most common objections to Kantian theology (i.e., elsewhere in Part Three and in AVI-AVIII). The claim that his theology and philosophy of religion cannot be Christian because his God is merely a powerless philosophical ‘idea’, or because he leaves no room for pardoning grace by wrongly reducing religion to nothing but good works, or because he rejects the very possibility of miracles and divine revelation, or because prayer and worship play no part in his model of authentic religion—all these and other objections like them have been shown to be based on faulty interpretations, interpretations that for the most part ignore Kant’s principle of perspective. The attentive reader will already see quite plainly that such objec­tions can no longer be used as an excuse to cast Kant’s philosophy to one side. After pointing out a few more examples of such inadequate objections, we shall devote most of our attention in this section to a few key objections that do carry substantial weight for Christians who wish to treat Kant seriously.

       Cassirer, in his thoughtful consideration of the similarities and differences between Kant and the Apostle Paul, claims to find a significant opposition be­tween these two on the doctrinal issue of law versus grace [Ca88:47-48]. Kant, he claims, has a ‘profound disagreement with everything St. Paul stands for’ [47]: whereas Paul views law as coming by divine revelation, as causing ‘the disintegration, and indeed annihilation, of the soul’, and as producing slavery and impotence in those who rely on it, Kant portrays law as coming from ‘man’s own consciousness’, as enabling those who follow it ‘to transcend our merely natural selves’, and ‘the very instrument through which alone we can become free.’ For Paul, freedom comes through Christ alone, whereas Kant argues that it also requires our own effort [48]. Such a strict dichotomy, how­ever, is not entirely fair, because Paul and Kant are using these terms in signifi­cantly different ways. In particular, Paul’s rejection of law refers to the external law of Moses that he believes Christ transcended with the internal law of love—a law that bears close resemblance, as we saw in IX.2, to Kant’s own conception of the moral law [s.a. AV.2-4]. Clearly, there is far more agree­ment here than Cassirer’s misleading dichotomy suggests, especially if we keep in mind that the differences in emphasis between Paul and Kant are due largely to the fact that they intentionally adopt two opposing Perspectives.

       Another interesting but deceptive criticism comes from Sokol, who points out that ‘the traditional theist ... believes that God created man to serve His own purposes’ [So86:435]. This means that, ‘for the theist ..., it is false that you are an end in yourself simpliciter, for with respect to God and His pur­poses, it seems more than likely that you are a means to some further, higher end.’ This astute observation may well express the best position for a biblical theologian to adopt. Yet we would be mistaken to think this contradicts Kant’s view of human persons as ends in themselves. For Kant, as a philosopher, is rightly concerned with the way humans view each other, while Sokol’s ‘theist’ is adopting a position appropriate for the biblical theologian, concerned with the way God views human beings. The two can complement each other quite nicely, as long as we take the principle of perspective into consideration. The same can be said for Sokol’s next point: ‘From the religious point of view man’s dignity is enhanced if it derives from nothing other than the dignity of God himself.’ From the philosopher’s purely human perspective, dignity comes from the presence in us of freedom and the moral law. Provided the biblical theologian does not deny this fact,[44] Kant would welcome Sokol’s view as properly raising moral dignity to a higher plane, that of the religious.

       A more common criticism of Kant’s theology is that it shows Kant to be ‘a Pelagian in the end’ [Gg93:7]. A Pelagian is someone who believes human beings are capable of taking at least the first steps towards salvation without the assistance of divine grace—a view that was condemned as heresy by several popes and church councils during the first half of the fifth century, thanks in large part to St. Augustine’s vigorous attacks against it. Kant admittedly comes very close to defending a Pelagian view.[45] However, a careful look at his doctrine of the archetype in Book Two of Kt8 reveals that he avoids it. The archetype is an unmerited gift of divine grace that must be present in a human being before any conversion from evil to good can begin. This is why ‘man’s moral growth of necessity begins not in the improvement of his practices but rather in the transforming of his cast of mind and in the grounding of a charac­ter’ [Kt8:48(43), e.a.]. Kant says the motive force acting in ‘the deeps of the heart’ is ‘inscrutable’ [51(46)], so that human effort on its own cannot produce the change of heart. As we have seen [see e.g., note IX.40], his position is one of divine-human coopera­tion, wherein we must believe God has taken the first steps and will complete the work in the end, but we must act as if everything is up to us. No, Kant is not a Pelagian; but he is a thorn in the flesh of any theologian who denies that any human effort is ever needed for salvation.

       Green denounces ‘Kant’s Christian apologetic’ as a form of ‘theological accommodationism’ [Gg93:15]—i.e., an attempt to translate the Bible’s essen­tial message ‘into the modern idiom.’ This criticism again has an element of truth in it, inasmuch as Kant intentionally adopts the philosopher’s Perspective. But ‘the modern idiom’ of Kant’s day was surely the Enlightenment; and as we saw in VIII.4, Kant’s Critical religion goes significantly against that movement. How then could he also be accommodating it? A better view is that he tries to clarify the purest, timeless truths of the Bible—the ones that are true quite apart from any historical tradition. This is actually the opposite of the type of accommodation Green describes. He claims all such attempts ‘distort the very Christian message they seek to save.... [I]ntending to save the patient by exising a cancer, they set about removing the heart.’ This may well be true of attempts at cultural accommodation; but such damage is precisely what Kant sets out to avoid. If my explanation of this Christian ‘heart’ in IX.2-3 is correct, then Kant’s surgical skills are far better than Green suggests. As usual, Green’s assessment is not based on any argument or evidence. He merely states that any project ‘like Kant’s’ is futile because it ‘seek[s] to translate the essential content of the gospel into other terms’ [15], just as ‘a teacher trying to teach students Chinese by offering them texts in translation.’ Yet this is a false comparison. What Kant does is just what any good language teacher does: he presents both sets of texts, showing their direct correlations, so that anyone familiar with only one ‘language’ can readily learn to communicate in the other as well. Contrary to Green’s assumption, Kant is not trying to destroy the ‘particular configuration of symbolic elements’ that makes Christianity unique; rather, his goal is to enhance and deepen its meaning.

       What Bulgakov says about philosophy in general, that ‘the history of philosophy may be depicted and interpreted as religious here­siology’ [q.i. Ak91:76], is an especially apt description of the influence Kantian philosophy has had on Christian theology. Up to now, Kant has been adopted by liberal theologians time and again in their attempts to cast off the philosophical naïveté of conservatism. To a certain extent, any attempt to put dogma in its proper place is bound to be regarded by the dogmatic traditionalists as the root of all heresy. But Kant’s aim, as I have been arguing, is far more subtle. The time has come for open-minded conservative theologians to step forward and boldly take hold of the challenge Kant has presented them: resisting the temptation to dismiss new insights as ‘heretical’, to engage in a creative dialogue with Critically-minded philosophical theologians who would enjoy a good ‘conflict’ over biblical principles.[46]

       One area where such a conflict might prove fruitful is over the issue of how God will judge us in the afterlife. MacKinnon [Ma90a:351] characterizes Kant’s view of eternal reward and punishment as a ‘highly sophisticated ... myth of ultimate vindication.... The element of sheer receptivity thought pivotal to the life of faith is lacking.’ As he freely admits, ‘Kant certainly displays an affirmative attitude towards the idea of divine assistance’ [354]. Yet this is not enough for any biblical theologian who believes grace must be wholly independent of human agency [cf. note IX.40]. Without taking sides on this issue, let me simply point out that from Kant’s Perspective, hope in benefiting from an arbitrary dispensation of God’s favor seems not only irrational but morally dangerous, just as Kant’s view seems overly cold and calculating from where the biblical theologian stands. My point is that the truth may lie more in the tension between these two positions than in either position on its own.

       With this example in mind, let us now examine a few of the more acute criticisms a biblical theologian might level against Kant’s position, even on the sympathet­ic, nonreductionist interpretation I have been pro­moting. In so do­ing we shall follow the threefold definition of Chris­tian­ity quoted near the be­gin­ning of this section and summarized at the top of Figure IX.3. At that point we already cleared up the most significant (apparent) inadequacy relating to the second part of the definition, obedient action. Concerning this second aspect of being a Christian, Kant is subject to little if any decisive criticism. The standard objec­tion, that Kant supports a theology of ‘salvation by works’, we have al­ready seen to be incorrect [see AVI.4]. Any Christian who be­lieves God cares at all how we act in this earthly life would have to agree that Kant’s heart is in the right place at this point in his theology. Far from denying that we need grace, systemr is based on the assumption that we do need it—due to the corrupting influence of radical evil. That Christians are quite ca­pable of fash­ioning a biblical theology that presents no insuperable conflicts with the moral aspect of Kantian theology has been shown in IX.2-3. For the remainder of this section I shall therefore point out two genuine problems, relat­ing to belief and experience. In each case the inadequacy will provide us with a new challenge to bring to Kant’s text as we approach Part Four.

       In the realm of belief, the major stumbling-block for most Christians who consider Kant’s theology is his Christology. He never clearly expresses an un­ambigu­ous commitment to the necessity of Jesus’ death and resurrection for redemption, nor does he openly confess his trust (if any) in Jesus as Savior and Lord. Most believers would say such commitment and trust constitutes the sine qua non of being a Christian in the first place. Kant’s conviction that God exists and has many of the same characteristics orthodox Christians would associate with God the Father seems unproblematic by comparison. Even a belief in the Holy Spirit (which many Christians virtually ignore anyway) does not appear to be so severely lacking in Kant, especially since his view of the human conscience as God’s way of communicating the moral law to us can easily be interpreted as making room for a Critical Pneumatology.

       Kant’s weakness in the area of Christology is closely related to what is probably the most legitimate of the frequently raised objections to Kant’s phi­los­ophy of religion: that it relegates history in general and any historical mani­festa­tion of God in particular to the periphery of religion [but see note VIII.32]. For all but the most liberal Christian theol­ogians, the Christ-event is worth believing only because it originally took place at a specific time and place and continues to be a radically historical event when­ever it is repeated in the life of Christian believers. Where­as Kant always bases his conception of hope on moral-practical reason­ing, the biblical theologian bases Christian hope on an historical person: Jesus Christ as revealed in Scrip­ture. The direct result of Kant’s attempt to ground hope out­side of history is, as McCarthy (quoting Noack) points out, that ‘the Christo­logical centerpiece of Christian theology thus disappears’.[47] This objection is valid if Christ is truly not central for Kant. As a rational sys­tem, nothing historical can be central to systemr-m. The ques­tion is: can a person who accepts Kant’s philosophical theology also re­gard the histori­cal Jesus as central? I believe Kant’s answer would be a re­sounding ‘yes!’—though if he himself had such a belief, he admittedly kept it private.

       Could it be that Kant’s meager Christology is more a result of his exceedingly high view of Jesus than of a view that is merely dismissive? Having already discussed Kant’s view of Jesus’ nature at some length [see VII.2.B and VIII.2.B], I shall not attempt to develop my interpretation further at this point. Suffice it to say that any serious Christian would have been far more comfortable with Kant if he had been less evasive on this crucial point. Although this must be admitted as a genuine inadequacy in Kant’s theology, I believe Christian philosophers should take it as a challenge rather than as an excuse to discard Kant’s System altogether. The challenge is to supply what Kant left undone: a clear and unambiguous Kantian Christology. Doing this is beyond our present scope; nevertheless, I shall argue in XII.4 that the symbol of Christ, the God-man, was, in fact, at the very heart of Kant’s concern in the work that was to be the ultimate expression of his philosophical System [i.e., Kt9], where Christ is regarded as the ‘highest idea’ and ‘end’ of his entire philosophical System. In this (admittedly sketchy) way, Kant does at least provide us with a way forward even in Christology.

       Kant’s reluctance to commit himself publicly on the issue of personal faith in Christ may be partially explained by recalling his recommendation that reli­gious believers should not profess (e.g., in reciting a creed) anything they are not certain of [Kt8:167-90(175-8)], since thoughtless recitation can do more damage than good to a genuine religious disposition. Kant may have reasoned that, in view of the obviously speculative status of the traditional Christian claims about Jesus, he ought to heed his own advice by remaining silent. Kant’s concern, to curtail the tendency many religious believers have (à la Pascal) to confess too much ‘just to be safe’, is well placed. However, he has gone too far if he really demands certainty before a believer expresses support for a given dogma. The very word ‘creed’ means belief, not knowledge. So instead of remaining silent in the corporate expression of creeds, skeptical believers would be better off speaking them freely as an expression of one’s hypothetical belief. Thus, for example, when I proclaim with my fellow church members that ‘... he arose on the third day ...’, I am not claiming to know this as a sci­entifically verifiable fact, but am expressing a heart-felt conviction that some­thing real happened to Jesus that caused him to live after his body had died. Clergy would do well to learn from Kant not to impose specific beliefs on new believers before they are ready; but Kant admittedly went too far in the other direction in his effort to prevent creeds from being treated too lightly.

       Throughout Part Three, and especially in this and the previous chapter, I have argued that Kant’s basic treatment of the relative importance of theory and practice in one’s religious life is essentially consistent with a Christian outlook on life. Both Kant and the Bible consistently stress that doctrine and church traditions are made to serve the individual—i.e., to help us become better (more godly, or ‘Christ-like’) persons—not vice versa. To reverse this order of prior­ity and treat the former as ends in themselves, relegating moral improvement to the sidelines, would be to pervert the message of Christianity, just as Kant so forcefully argued. The belief-oriented deficiencies in Kant’s theology are there­fore less cause for concern than is his relative silence on issues relating to religious experience. Worship, prayer, and church ritual are exceptions. But these he places into an ‘optional’ category [see AVII.4] that seems unacceptable to anyone for whom such religious activities have themselves proved to be, as suggested above, the motive power that makes possible the moral improvement that is the true end of religion.

       This charge, that Kant almost totally ignores the role of religious experi­ence, is probably the weightiest objection a Christian could raise against him.[48] As we saw in IX.2.A, an open-hearted attitude of love to God is the key to a powerful, spiritually-attuned biblical theology. Kant’s philosophy appears to leave a gaping hole here, giving us (at best) only meager hints concerning how such open-heartedness is to be achieved. His theory of the archetype of perfect humanity (step four of systemr-m), for example, can be interpreted as implying that each person has a ‘God-shaped hole’ in his or her heart; but Kant makes no effort to enlighten us as to how this hole should be filled. What we must understand is that (contrary to conventional wisdom) this does not make systemr-m wrong, but merely incomplete. The point is that Chris­tians who wish to adopt a biblical theology consistent with Kant’s System, as exemplified in this chapter, have nothing to fear from embracing Kantian philosophy. On the contrary, Kant himself expresses the hope that theologians would come to recognize that the gaps in his philosophy of religion are there for them to fill in, so that the philosopher and theologian might be ‘at one’ [Kt8:10(10)].

       The various passing comments Kant makes about fanaticism in general and mysticism in particular leave us with the distinct impression that he does not regard a sense of personal communion with God as a necessary component of genuine religion. Yet biblical theology leads us, as shown in IX.2.A, to the very opposite conclusion: that the most intimate possible communion, love, is the very starting point of genuine religion and ought therefore to be adopted as the guiding principle of all our actions. Likewise, an openness to miracles as evidence of God’s power to influence human affairs is repeatedly affirmed throughout the Bible (though not without clear warnings against depending on miracles [e.g., Matt. 12:39; 16:4; Jn. 4:48]), yet significantly downplayed by Kant [see AVII.2]. Examining more closely Kant’s actual view of religious experience will therefore be one of our primary tasks in Part Four.

       This suggests that many critics give this objection more weight than it deserves. In Mc86:69, for instance, McCarthy calls Kt8 ‘an unfinished philo­sophical theory of religion’ on the grounds that ‘Kant omits discussion of religious experience’. He goes on to argue [95n] that ‘Kant’s ... facile assertion that human nature has no faculty for intuiting or communing with the divine is contested ... by claims to self-validating mystical experience.’ Later he adds: ‘Experience of a personal God as the Holy seems absent altogether’ [99]; ‘Kant is no forerunner of Rudolph Otto....’[49] The absence of a genuine discussion of religious experience is a serious shortcoming in Kant’s philosophy of religion.’ What McCarthy fails to consider is that Kant may not intend Kt8 to be a complete ‘philosophy of religion’ as we now know it. Kt8 is concerned mainly with the nature and purpose of organized religion, and mystical theology is traditionally kept utterly distinct from ecclesiology. Nevertheless, the point is well taken that Kant’s argument would have been stronger if he had included, especially in the second and fourth stages of systemr-m, a clearer account of how individuals experience conversion and service of God. While it may be incontestable that Kant’s ‘failure to discuss religious experience is a serious flaw’ [104], the harshness of McCarthy’s critique hides the fact that the makings of a theory are there in Kant’s texts, waiting to be reconstructed. I shall take up precisely this task in Part Four [s.a. AVIII], in the hope of ascer­taining whether or not Kant allows a legitimate place for such experience. On this crucial issue the theological viability of Kant’s entire edifice stands or falls.

       Fortunately, not all theologians regard Kant as totally insensitive to issues relating to religious experi­ence. In Ma90a:353 MacKinnon discusses the effect on Herbert Farmer’s theology of ‘the sustained influence of Kant’s insistence on the most intimate response of the subject ... It is in the secret places of the heart that the seat not only of morality, but of an authentic religious response, is to be found, and this response must be the subject’s own.’ That is, it must be a personal religious experience, as opposed to a mere intellectual belief in a set of learned theoretical dogmas. Walsh makes a similar observation: ‘People some­times complain that Kant thought you could have religion without religious experi­ence ... But ... for him, the step from being in a moral to being in a religious frame of mind was a very short one.’[50] Walsh goes on to compare Kant to Wittgenstein [Wa63a:280] in the sense that both philosophers ‘tried to find a meaning for religious concepts on the basis of the immediate experience of moral obliga­tion.’ Unfortunately, Walsh does not provide any systematic justification for these suggestive hints.

       Another recent exception to the general tendency to ignore or misinterpret the role of religious experience in Kant’s System comes in the writings of Davidovich: ‘The Kantian philosophy of religion’, she affirms [Da93b:307; s.a. xvii], can be interpreted ‘so that religious experience is essentially the highest possible insight of reason.’ She calls attention to the close relationship between Kant and two of the most influential thinkers in twentieth century theology: Rudolph Otto and Paul Tillich [s.a. Le89:110]. Davidovich argues that all three support a ‘constructivist’ view of theology, whereby the theologian’s task is not merely to read off the meaning of a religious scripture, but to construct a ‘symbolic language’ that can express ‘religious consciousness’ in a fresh way [Da93b:xii-xiv]. When viewed from the standpoint of Kt7, Kant’s own con­struction can be regarded, she maintains, as ‘a contemplative conception of re­ligion’ [xi] that unifies ‘all the constructions of reason’ [xvii]. For in Kt7 Kant concludes ‘that the unity of reason is established in a moment of contemplative thought about a moral designer of the universe’ [xiv]. Davidovich sees this as a ‘new interpreta­tion’ of religion on Kant’s part and laments that Kant fails ‘to expand his suggestive conception’ in Kt8 and other later writings [xv]. Treating the highest good as the supreme unifying principle [49; cf. note XII.56], she mistakenly interprets ‘Kant’s official discussion of religion’ in Kt8 as if it adopts the same standpoint as Kt4. Although many commentators have assumed such an identification, I have repeatedly argued [s.e. VI.2] that Kant himself did not.

       Davidovich’s interpretation demonstrates that the tide is turning in Kant-studies.[51] The time is now ripe to bring to full awareness the deep significance of religious experience for Kant’s Critical System. That systemr-m leaves something to be desired in its treatment of the experiential dimension of religion seems beyond doubt. But this does not necessarily mean Kant himself failed to appreciate this dimension. What actually was Kant’s own personal attitude towards religious experience? Did he have good reasons for downplaying its role in Kt8? And did he ever provide clues as to how this deeper dimension of religion as a love affair with God might be grafted onto his ‘official’ view of religion as a purely moral affair? By investigating such questions in detail, Part Four of this study will provide ample evidence that Kant’s Critical religion actually delves far deeper into the true heart of religious experience than is normally recognized.

 

  [1].  My intent to refute his claim was first announced in Pa89.

  [2].  Actually, I developed this habit long before I began my formal study of Kant. Like most of the content of this chapter, I drew it from my prior understanding of what the Bible itself demands, and only later came to appreciate the consistency of that demand with Kant’s System.

  [3].  That such reluctance is consistent with biblical teaching is suggested by numerous passages, such as: ‘“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”’ [Is. 55:8-9; s.a. 1 Sam. 16:7; Matt. 25:31-46; etc.].

  [4].  Although the nature of my books and articles make me a philosopher de facto, my higher education (one degree in Religious Studies and one in Theology) makes me a theologian de juris.

  [5].  See Kt65:22-4. In Ha96 Hare likewise tries to show that, although Kt8 consists largely of Kant’s attempts to translate Christian doctrines into their equivalents for practical reason, ‘Kant does not mean us to conclude that we should believe in the doctrines only in their translated form’ [35]. Indeed, Hare is ‘convinced that [Kant] continued to believe in the central doctrines he was brought up with’ [38]. Yet he concludes that ‘Kant’s project fails at certain key points’ [35]. This conclu­sion is due more to Hare’s own lack of an adequately perspectival interpretation [see note VIII.4] than to inadequa­cies in Kant’s own position. For a detailed summary of and response to Ha96, see Pa00b.

  [6].  I hope some day, should God grant me a sufficiently long life, to publish a more thorough and detailed elaboration of biblical theology than the one sketched here in IX.2-3, tentatively under the title: A Philosopher’s Commentary on the Bible.

                  Kant accepts the ordinary Christian’s view that Christianity is to a large extent a tradition that is founded on a book, the Bible [Kt8:106-7(97-8)]. For this reason, even though many modern liberal theologians treat the Bible as nothing but an ordinary book, to be analyzed with the same tools used to analyze any other historical or literary documents, we can safely treat it as the sole authoritative source for constructing a biblical theology, without needing to worry that such a usage might conflict with Kant’s Critical religion. In the next two sections I shall therefore treat the Bible more in the way the ordinary Christian treats it than in the way biblical scholars often treat it. In so doing I recognize that I shall inevitably run into numerous hermeneutical difficulties, most of which cannot be resolved in any definitive way at this point. Exegetical questions, especially those relating to the text’s original language, authorship, historical background, authenticity of Jesus’ reported words, etc., will not be raised. Such questions, though highly relevant to a proper theological analysis of any given text, are often so complex as to be virtually unmanageable in the context of a Christian’s attempt to respond from within the tradition to a philosophical critique. Hence, the biblical text will be taken at ‘face value’, even though the best way to do this is, admittedly, never a matter of universal agreement among Christians.

  [7].  I intend this comment not facetiously, but in all seriousness. Objections to religious faith are typically based on misconceptions or caricatures of what a particular religion or religious belief is actually like. While the convinced unbeliever will not find it difficult to find confirmations of such objections in most churches, this is no basis for rejecting the validity of an entire tradition. A tradition ought to be accepted or rejected on the basis of its highest exemplars, not on the basis of its worst perver­sions. Readers who already know that nothing will convince them to believe therefore might as well skip IX.2-3. These sections are intended for those who wish to understand Christianity from within; readers without religious commitments should read them only if they are willing to suspend their unbelief temporarily, hypothetically adopting a Christian Perspective.

  [8].  Deut. 7:9,12; s.a. 23:5; 1 Kgs. 8:23; 10:9; 2 Chr. 6:14; 9:8; Neh. 1:5; Joel 2:13; Zeph. 3:17; 1 Jn. 3:1.

  [9].  See Ps. 48:9; 52:8-9; 59:17; 66:20; 69:13; 86:15; 98:3f; 136:1-26; 144:1-2.

[10].    See Jn. 3:16; 16:27; Rom. 5:8; 8:39; Gal. 2:20; Eph. 2:4-5; 3:17-9; 2 Ths. 2:16; Tit. 3:4-6.

[11].    1 Jn. 4:19; s.a. 4:7-5:3 and 1 Ths. 4:9; 1 Pet. 2:17.

[12].    The most obvious passage is Isaiah 29:13, later quoted by Jesus [Matt. 15:7-9; Mk. 7:6-8]. A similar caution regarding nonverbal worship (i.e., sacrificial offerings) comes in Hosea 6:6, which Jesus quotes on more than one occasion [see Matt. 9:13 and 12:7]. Numerous other passages also warn against various misuses of worship [see e.g., Col. 2:16-23 and Heb. 10:1-2]. The tradition that portrays Satan as having originally been the worship leader in heaven (based on a symbolic interpretation of passages such as Ez. 26:13) is not without significance here. For false worship or a false dependence on worship—paying lip service to God without actually doing God’s will [see e.g., Matt. 21:28-31]—is the pseudo-religious fruit, if not the root, of all evil.

[13].    Kt8:154n(142n). Having no duties to God does not mean we can simply ignore God. Rather, it means the attention we give God must not be based on an attempt to ‘repay’ our debt [Re84:51]: ‘Our relationship with God cannot be squared away, like a social obligation waiting to be satisfied.’ In Kt6:486-91 Kant clarifies that religious duties to God (if any) lie beyond the bounds of reason.

[14].    Perhaps the most straightforward example comes in John 14:15, where Jesus says: ‘If you love me, you will obey what I command.’ See also Deut. 10:12; 11:1,13,22; 13:3-4; 19:9; 30:6,8,16; Josh. 22:5; Neh. 1:5; 9:32; Dan. 9:4; Hos. 12:6; Jn. 21:15-7; 2 Cor. 13:11; 1 Jn. 3:10; 5:3.

[15].    See e.g., Ez. 33:12-6,31; Am. 5:21-4; Mic. 6:6-8; Matt. 25:31-46; and 1 Jn. 4:7-21.

[16].    Admittedly, the Bible’s innumerable exhortations to worship God do typically promise blessings to those who comply and warn that those who worship false gods will be punished [see e.g., Deut. 8:19; 11:16; 30:17-8; 1 Kgs. 9:6-7]. However, whenever a reason is given for such punish­ments, it is always that evil practices result from false worship [e.g., Ex. 23:24,33; 34:14-6], including such moral atrocities as child sacrifice [Deut. 12:31]. Worship is encouraged because it leads directly to good life-conduct: the first commandment leads to the other nine. Thus, for example, Jehu is praised in 2 Kings 10:27-31 for putting a stop to Baal worship, yet he is still punished because he does not turn away from the sins that had arisen out of that worship. This illustrates the point I wish to make here: that we must inter­pret the Bible’s exhorta­tions to worship in light of its clear (Kantian!) warnings against regarding mere worship as pleasing to God.

[17].    Similarly, McCarthy [Mc86:82n] says ‘for Kant Jesus is a superphilosopher rather than a god.’ But the ‘rather than’ here is very misleading. Kant’s position is that reason does not justify us in regarding Jesus as God, but it does not prevent us from doing so either. As Kantian Christians we are therefore permitted to view Jesus as both God and the perfect human philosopher, provided we distinguish carefully between the Perspectives appropriate to these two conclusions.

[18].    See Kt4:82-6; Kt5:399; Kt6:450-2. A student once told Kant [Be63:x]: ‘If Jesus could have heard your lectures on ethics, I think He would have said, “That is what I meant by the love of God.”’ Likewise, Paton defends Kant as having expressed, at least implicitly, the core meaning of the Christian doc­trine of ‘agape’ love [Pa67:196]: ‘Kant is very much nearer to that original doctrine than is com­monly supposed.’ Elsewhere [57n] Paton paraphrases the view Kant later develops in Kt31:388: ‘the nature of love is necessary to make up for the imperfection of human nature and ... without the assistance of this motive we could not in fact count very much on the motive of duty. Perhaps Kant was mellowing with old age.’ Perhaps. Or perhaps by 1794 the standpoint he was elaborating had shifted from the practical to the judicial. Thus he views ‘love as the free reception of the will of an­other person into one’s own maxims’ [82]. That this definition goes beyond purely moral concerns becomes clear when we contrast it with Kant’s earlier definition (from the late 1770s [Kt35:(36)]): ‘To love God is to do as He commands with a willing heart.’ And ‘we love God’, he later adds [(97)], ‘only for His goodwill towards us.’ From the practical standpoint, the important thing about loving God is that it encourages us to do our duty; from the judicial (religious) standpoint, the impor­tant thing is that our willing heart makes the experience wonderful.

[19].    After discussing this passage in Wh90:61-2, White calls Kant’s account of love ‘frankly silly’ [64]. He prefers the (very similar) account in Kt6:450, where Kant interprets neighbor-love as ‘the duty to make others’ ends my own (provided only that these are not immoral).’ In order to distance Christian love from Kant’s interpretation in Kt4, White claims that in 1 Corinthians 13 Paul ‘is clearly describing love in such terms that it does not lie in Man’s power whether he loves or not’ [Wh90:66]. But I disagree. Paul’s whole aim is to encourage us to do just that, to ‘put on love’ [Col. 3:14]! White’s key point [71] is that ‘we have to do what Luther did and dethrone the concept of merit from the centre of our moral thinking.’ He obviously thinks Kant failed to do this. Yet Kant specifically refers to the inappropriateness of attaching the concept of merit to moral actions in precisely those passages that warn against a sentimental interpretation of the love command [see Kt4:85,159]. Kant’s counter-claim would be that Luther went too far, throwing out the ‘baby’ of worthiness to receive God’s grace with the proverbial ‘bathwater’ of our inevitable lack of moral merit [cf. AVI.4]. Kant’s position, by contrast, strikes a healthy balance: striving to obey the love command does not enable us to earn our way to heaven; but it does make us worthy to receive a divine gift to supplement what we are unable to do ourselves.

[20].    Kt6:401-2,448-52. When Kant says love as a feeling is ‘beautiful’ [e.g., Kt4:82], he is not speaking facetiously. On the contrary, he is associating this form of love with the judicial standpoint. Thus, as Paton says, Kant believes ‘actions which spring from such motives’ as love can have ‘a certain aesthetic value. It is, he says, very beautiful to do good to men out of love and sympathy’ [Pa67:54]. Kant aptly describes this judicial standpoint on love when he contrasts ‘human love’ with ‘sexual love’ in Kt35:(163): ‘Human love is good will, affection, promoting the happiness of others and finding joy in their happiness.’ Later he adds [(192)]: ‘Love is good-will from inclina­tion.’ Insofar as it synthesizes the moral and judicial standpoints, love drives us close to the very heart of Kant’s System. Whether love could actually supersede respect for duty as a motive for action is an issue that could give rise to considerable debate between philosophical and biblical theologians [see e.g., IX.3.B]. Kant comes down firmly on the side of respect when he claims that, if nobody ever performed acts of love but everyone was careful always to respect other people’s rights, then ‘there would be no [man-made] misery in the world’ [Kt35:(194-5)]; if, on the other hand, everyone always acted out of love, nobody would care about rights, with the result that inclination would rule over reason ‘and men would not trouble to earn but would rely on the charity of their fellows.’ A thorough critique of this interesting yet shortsighted conclusion is beyond the scope of this volume, though I plan to include a fuller treatment of Kant’s views on love in KSP4. For now, let it suffice to say that Kant has inappropriately conflated ‘inclination’ and ‘feeling’.

[21].    ‘The principle of mutual love admonishes men constantly to come closer to one another; that of the respect they owe one another, to keep themselves at a distance from one another’ [Kt6:449]. They can ‘exist separately’ [447], yet ‘they are basically always united by the law into one duty, only in such a way that now one duty and now the other is the subject’s principle, with the other joined to it as an accessory.’ The same tension applies to our relation to God [488]. As Kant says in Kt31:337-8: ‘without respect there is no true love.’ (S.a. Kt16:183-4 on ‘love and lovelessness’.)

[22].    References to self-love are especially frequent in Kt8’s Book One [see 26-7(22),30(26),36(31-2), 42(37),45(41),48(44)], for ‘self-love ... is the very source of evil’ [45(41)]. Love as a positive principle is mentioned and/or discussed at Kt8:6-7n(6-7n),24n(19n),45-6n(41n),60(54),64(58), 65n(58n),94(86),110n(101n),120(110),145-7(136-7),160-1(148),182(170),200(188).

[23].    In addition to the above-quoted passage [Col. 2:2-4,8], Christians who wish to deny the value of taking philosophy seriously commonly cite: 1 Cor. 1:18-30, 2 Tim. 2:23; and Tit. 3:9.

[24].    As suggested above [IX.2.A], the same is true about a person’s desire to worship or love God: if one’s heart is not set on love, then all one’s efforts are ‘in vain’ [Matt. 15:8-9; Mk. 7:6-7].

[25].    Perhaps the only fundamental difference between Paul’s theology and Kant’s on this issue is the type of knowledge they see as emerging from a loving/moral disposition; and this is a difference that can be explained easily enough by their respective emphasis on biblical and philosophical theology. Whereas Paul and other biblical writers see love as giving rise to a mysterious hidden knowledge, Kant’s interest would be to pass from practical obedience to open (scientific) knowl­edge. Once again, these two Perspectives should be viewed not as mutually exclusive, but as complementing each other in a way that (if well received) can only be of benefit to both sides.

[26].    That in Romans 14 Paul selects as his two examples of morally ‘borderline’ cases the princi­ples of keeping the Sabbath Day holy and of not eating meat sacrificed to idols is not without signi­ficance, for these were two of the most important religious laws in the Jewish tradition of his day. That they are of almost no significance to most Christians nowadays makes them poor illustrations for the point Paul was trying to make, which is that we ought to let each individual decide before God how and to what extent each religious law relates to them. Issues that would be similarly con­troversial today might be the ordination of women and homosexual marriage.

[27].    Green regards Kierkegaard’s Either/Or as a ‘transcendental deduction’ of romantic love [Gr93: 91]. In particular Judge Williams’ treatment of ‘first love’ as ‘an absolute awakening, an absolute intuiting’ is the development of a Kantian tradition [q.i. 93,95]. Thus, for example, Kierkegaard defends the validity of marriage by pointing out that ‘duty is precisely the divine nourishment love needs’ [q.i. 100]: ‘Because they feel they ought to do so, the lovers know that they can preserve their love.’

[28].    With this in mind the criticism Wood raises in Wo89 against Kant’s conception of moral faith (amounting to the charge that practical faith is immoral because it is not theoretically justifi­able) is easily shown to be nothing more than a fundamental rejection of Kant’s basic assumptions [see AIV.3]. Wood accuses Christians of involving themselves in ‘a het­erono­mous state’ whenever they ‘take pleasure in believing’ that their ability to accept Christian doctrines without any convincing epistemic justification is due to ‘God’s grace’ [431]. He thinks God would not put people in such a morally ‘degrading’ situation [431n], but would rather ‘produce belief in them autonomously by providing them with clear and rationally convincing evidence for what he wants them to believe.’ What Wood fails to consider is that some or even all of this evidence might be moral evidence, not evidence that would provide theoretical proof of God’s existence or nature. In the end Wood’s emphasis on the primacy of the theoretical amounts to the confession: ‘I am not a Kantian!’

[29].    MacKinnon reports, by contrast, that Kant’s categorical imperative taught many British theolo­gians in the past century ‘the need for the devout to submit their aspirations to judgement at the bar of a common humanity—lest indeed they failed to see the Son of Man in the least of his brethren’ [Ma90a:361]. Kantian ‘evangelism’, that is, taught them the value of sacrificial love.

[30].    As should be obvious by now, I see Kant’s System as presenting a profoundly Christian basis for a religious way of life. If, however, some readers find themselves unable to accept my arguments and conclusions as legitimate interpretations of Kant (as I believe they are), I would ask that they read my work (throughout this series on Kant’s System of Perspectives, but especially here in this chapter) as a means of developing my own views on religion, using Kant’s notoriously elastic philosophy as a vehicle. See KSP1:24n for a similar disclaimer.

[31].    1 Jn. 4:19. This point is made in so many passages that it would be pointless to attempt to list them all. Perhaps more important is to draw attention to something that is stated or implied in many of these passages and is fully compatible with Kant’s theology, yet tends to be neglected by many Bible-thumping Christians. It is that Jesus’ perfect, human-divine nature was not something meta­physically unique that was in him from the beginning, making him fundamentally unlike any other human being. Rather, as the language of Hebrews implies over and over, Jesus himself went through a process, much as we must do: Jesus became God’s son [1:5], ‘he learned obedience’ [5:8], he was ‘made perfect’, and ‘became the source of eternal salvation’ [5:9; s.a. 7:28]. Along the same lines, Acts 2:36 says God ‘made this Jesus’ into the ‘Lord and Christ’ by choosing to raise him from the dead [4:10]—something Jesus, as a human being, would have been powerless to do on his own. Thus Jesus is portrayed as the rejected ‘stone’ that ‘has become the capstone’ [4:11]. Such passages are compatible with Kant’s theology in that they portray Jesus as going through a process of transformation just as we must do—a necessary condition, Kant argues, for treating Jesus as a example to imitate. Significantly, Hebrews uses much the same terminology when des­cribing the transformation of those who believe: we no longer need to depend on obedience to the Mosaic law [7:19], because Jesus ‘has made perfect forever those who are being made holy’ [10:14]; even the heroes of the Jewish faith are ‘made perfect’ by participating in Jesus’ loving sacrifice [11:40; 12:23-4]; together ‘we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken’ [12:28], a kingdom that is to be characterized first and foremost by ‘loving each other as brothers’ [13:1].

[32].    Kt6:489; s.a. Kt8:161-2(149-50); Kt64:258n(195n). The perspectival element in this warning is clearly evident in Kt35:(107): ‘But since we know that God is good and benevolent, may we not expect that He will forgive our vices if we pray fervently to Him and implore His forgiveness? No. A benevolent judge is unthinkable. A judge must be just; a ruler can be benevolent.... But in view of man’s moral infirmity, is there to be no help for him? Assuredly there is. He can place his hope in a benevolent ruler.’ For a fuller discussion of the three standpoints from which Kant believes we can view God’s nature, see V.4.

[33].    We26:114-5. Kant does find a place for an element of passivity in grace, as when he accounts for ‘the incomprehensible moral disposition in us’ in terms of ‘a stimulus to good produced in us by God ..., and so, as grace.... And grace can and should become more powerful than sin ..., if only we let it act in us’ [Kt65:43, e.a.]. However, he is careful to add that such transcendental passivity does not justify empirical passivity: ‘we ourselves must work at developing that moral disposition’ even though it ‘does point to a divine source that reason can never reach ...’. The same point is put succinctly in Kt35:(83): ‘The divine will is the motive to action, not the ground of it.’ Likewise, in Kt8:201(189) he insists that ‘piety (a passive respect for the law of God)’ must be combined with ‘virtue (the application of one’s own powers in discharging the duty which one respects)’ in order to give rise to ‘godliness (true religious disposition)’.

[34].    Along these lines Webb says in We26:112-3 that ‘as regards divine grace, ... we ... cannot take it into account either theoretically or practically.’ But he later adds [122]: ‘From the empirical point of view the imputation to us of this new humanity is always a matter of grace.’ Gibbs’s com­plaint, that ‘[w]e cannot give ourselves forgiveness’ [Gi89:333], misses the point: Kant is not saying we forgive ourselves; he is saying we give ourselves reason for believing we are forgiven!

[35].    Even without appealing to the principle of perspective, McCarthy observes that ‘Kant’s under­standing [of how ‘wayward man’ can become good] ... occasionally seems to approach tra­di­tional Christian church teaching’ [Mc86:55]. By taking Kant’s principle fully into consideration, we have now come to recognize such ‘occasional’ tendencies (appearing as they do on nearly every page of Kt8) as a necessary and intentional function of systemr-m’s attempt to pave the way for a healthy dialogue between philosophical and biblical theologians.

[36].    Mk. 7:7-9. This includes any version of what is often called ‘Christian tradition’. For, as I have argued in an unpublished conference paper that does not appeal to Kant (entitled ‘How Is “Christian Tradition” Logically Possible?’), the only authentically Christian ‘tradition’ would be one that paradoxically negates the legitimacy of all tradition-bound religion.

[37].    This is the basis of the Bible’s call to humility. We are encouraged, to cite but one of myriad possible examples, to remember that our ways are not God’s ways [Is. 55:8]. Whereas we prefer absolute certainty and knowledge before action, God demands the risk of action before knowledge.

[38].    That the core of this basic ‘milk’ teaching is love, as I have argued in IX.2, is suggested by 1 Peter 2:1-2: ‘Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind. Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk ...’—the milk of love being the antithesis of the foregoing unloving sentiments.

[39].    For a more wide-ranging discussion of the role of paradox and mystery in philosophy, see Part Four of Pa00a, especially Lecture 28.

[40].    Any passage that states, or seems to state, that all we need to do is believe in order to be saved could be cited in support of the first response: see e.g., Jn. 6:28-9; Acts 15:11; 16:31; Rom. 3:22; 4:24; 10:9; 1 Tim. 1:16. Other passages clearly require more, such as love and obedience [e.g., 1 Jn. 3:23-4] or other forms of good life-conduct [e.g., Js. 2:14-25]. A sampling of verses that seem to support the second response is as follows: Deut. 7:6; Ps. 33:12; Acts 22:18; Rom. 8:29-30; Eph. 1:4-12; 1 Ths. 1:4; 2 Ths. 2:13; 1 Pet. 1:2; 2:9. The wealth of textual evidence for both views suggests that in this case, by insisting on ‘cooperation’ over against ‘the asymmetry of the Lutheran con­cept of grace’ [Ga96:79], Kant actually sticks closer to the Bible than Luther does!

[41].    I stress the last three words in order to acknowledge that on some interpretations Christian the­ology would have far more basic—indeed, irreconcilable—objections to Kant’s System. In par­ticu­lar, the so-called ‘fundamentalist’ approach to theology (whether Christian or otherwise) is so incompatible with Kantian philosophy as to render any attempt at fruitful dialogue virtually pointless. Fundamentalists would object to Kant’s approach at nearly every turn, from his view of morality as transcendentally prior to religion to his claim that theology can have no theoretical foundation. This section should therefore not be construed as an attempt to critique Kant on the basis of every type of Christian theology, but only in terms of the moderate type presented in IX.2-3. My conviction is that the latter is a more authentic representation of the Bible’s actual content.

[42].    For many professional theologians my comments in this section may seem somewhat naive. For my primary focus now is on the religion of the biblical theologians and philosophers, not on their theological arguments as such. As pointed out in VIII.4, many theologians (some­times called ‘liberals’) have already given up much more of the traditional faith than Kant asks us to give up, while others (sometimes called ‘conservatives’) are not willing even to enter into serious dialogue with the likes of Kant, to say nothing of attempting to assimilate something of Kant’s way of thinking into their own theology. Yet his median point of view is, I maintain, closer than either of these extremes to the faith many thinking Christians adopt. Moreover, it would be even more common were ordinary believers not so easily led into more extreme ways of thinking by a (religiously inauthentic) desire for the supposed security of theoretical knowledge.

[43].    The words ‘myth’, ‘ritual’, and ‘symbol’ correspond directly to the three aspects of the formal definition of ‘Christian’ quoted above from Pa89. I am using them here in their special theological sense, whereby they delineate not false or negative expressions, but beliefs, actions, and experi­enced objects (respectively) with a deep and mysterious meaning. Further discussion of this positive sense of ‘myth’ and ‘symbol’ can be found in Pa00a, especially Lectures 3 and 31.

[44].    Sokol himself appears to deny this at times, thereby risking the total breakdown of any dia­logue with philosophical theologians. He criticizes Kant’s moral philosophy on the ba­sis of an undefined dichotomy between the ‘theist’ and the ‘secular humanist’ [So86:424], whereby Kant is assumed  to fit solely into the latter category. As I have argued throughout this book [s.e., IV.4], however, Kant is very much a theist. Neglecting the principle of perspective, Sokol adopts an overly ex­treme version of the biblical theologian’s Perspective [432]: ‘divine laws can be binding even if they are not autonomously imposed for ... even if they lack pure moral force, their divine force more than makes up for it.’ He argues that God has the power to ‘impose universal laws bind­ing of their own accord’ [430], even if some of them are not moral. Kant’s argument, of course, is that this is impossible, if God is a moral God, because such legislation could only be external and therefore could not be genuinely universal. The only genuinely universal legislation must be inter­nal and therefore moral. Sokol claims, by contrast, that for the true theist [432] ‘there need not be any such thing as moral obligation! All human obligations can reduce to the religious.’ Whether they are au­tonomous (internal) or heteronomous (external) doesn’t matter, provided they are ‘mandated by God.’ But this leaves us with no ability to judge between the moral and the immoral, between hear­ing God properly and misunderstanding God’s command. Sokol does claim that human motivation to be good can and ought to be ‘simultaneously both moral and religious’ [433]; what he fails to see is that Kant, who is not the anti-theist Sokol takes him to be, would actually agree with him on this point. The closest he comes to a position that could be compatible with Kant’s is when he says [434] ‘it may just be God’s intent that we impose His moral laws upon ourselves au­tonomously.’

[45].    As Rossi puts it [Ro93:59], ‘the Pelagian view [is] that grace is not necessary either to enable persons to move out of sin or to lead a moral life: human effort, unaided by divine or “supernatural” help, is sufficient in each case.’ He thinks that, although Kant clearly acknowledges the need for divine assistance in Kt8, this marks a significant change from his previous position [Ro93:64]: ‘Kant’s accounts of moral life prior to Religion have a distinct “Pelagian” cast to them: each of us must—and so each of us can—overcome evil entirely by individual effort, unaided by any of the “outside” assistance which theology calls grace.’ What Rossi does not recognize is that Kt8’s position represents not a change of mind but a change of perspective. In his moral writings, Kant’s aim is to identify what constitutes moral goodness; he does not commit himself one way or the other on the issue of how real evil affects our ability to fulfill the moral ideal. Perhaps the closest Kant comes to being a Pelagian in Kt8 is in his view of the afterlife as an opportunity for human beings, freed from the restrictions of space and time, to experience indefinite moral progress.

                  Scharf claims Kant’s earlier, more ‘positive anthropology’, from Kt26, is more suitable than the approach in Kt8 itself for pursuing ‘his stated aim, ... religion within the limits of reason alone’ [Sc93:72]. Kant’s ‘original’ position was that ‘humans are basically good but not (yet) perfect because they have to cultivate ... their moral inclination’ [73]. We have no need for God’s salvation on this model: ‘one can do without interventionist notions of grace, atonement, and forgiveness.’ This position, based on ‘moral evolution’ [73], is ‘Pelagian’ and ‘more conducive to [Kant’s] Enlightenment-philosophical project’ than the ‘Augustinian’ views of Kt8 [Sc93:74]. ‘Logically, this [new position in Kt8] ought to be the death stroke to Kant’s ethical system. Not only has it become questionable whether humans can succeed in doing the good, but they cannot even will the good. This is the meaning of radical human evil’ [82]. All of this changes, however, once we adopt the interpretation of Kt8’s aim defended in VI.2, expressed in terms of pursuing religion within the bounds of bare reason. Kant is not saying we ‘cannot’, but that we ‘do not’ become good apart from the boost religion gives to our moral impulse. Thus, Scharf’s point about Kant’s ethical theory ‘dying’ is ironically apt, since systemr must adopt an entirely new standpoint from that of systemp. The death of the ethical is not a contradiction; it is only an indication that we are now in the realm of religion. This enables us to regard Kt8 as Kant’s mature attempt to account for both sides of the dilemma at hand: radical evil reflects the truth behind the Augustinian posi­tion, while Kant’s theory of the evolution of the church in Book Three preserves the truth behind the Pelagian position. In this way, as we have already noted in VIII.4, Kant’s position turns out not to be a naive defense of the ‘Enlightenment’ project, but a critique of the movement’s biases.

[46].    Firestone expresses this challenge as follows in an early draft of Fi00: ‘So long as the transcenden­tal philosopher persists in Kantianizing the Evangel, the Christian theologian rightly responds by evangelizing the Kantian.’ S.a. note VIII.4.

[47].    Mc86:70-1; s.a. Mc82:199 and Ga96:v. Galbraith echoes the same view in Ga96:162: ‘the centrepiece of Christian theology and its experience of God disappears in Kant’s theology.’ What she actually demonstrates, however, is only that this is the standard interpretation of Kant. What actually lies at the center of Kant’s System remains undetermined [but see XII.4].

                  Galbraith is a good example of a theologian who charges Kant with a neglect of Christianity’s radical historicity [Ga96:161]: Kant failed to realize that Jesus’ teaching ‘cannot ... be divorced from the fact that his whole life was one lived consciously in the divine presence and in total re­sponse to divine purpose.’ Therefore, she argues, ‘[a]ny Christian who believes that it is through the life and death of Jesus that humankind has been redeemed and brought into communion with God, must entertain a theology radically different from that of Kant.’ True Christianity, she claims, must be based on a belief in the historical Jesus; yet ‘true religion for Kant amounts to a way of life’ [171]. My contention here has been that, armed with the principle of perspective, the philosophi­cally-minded Christian theologian is free to adopt both stand­points.

[48].    As Greene puts it in Gr34:lxxvi: ‘The crux of the matter is obviously Kant’s inability to recognize a distinctive religious experience, which is akin to that moral experience which he himself describes in such detail, yet is not identical to it.’ Likewise, McCarthy judges Kt8 to be ‘themati­cally incomplete’ [Mc82:198] because Kant ‘refuses serious consideration of religious experience.’

[49].    That McCarthy mentions Otto here is not accidental. In Ot50 Otto constructs his philosophy of religion with the expressed purpose of filling the gap of religious experience left by Kant. For a discussion of Otto’s views, see note XII.30 [s.a. Da93b:149-220 and Pa00a:241-5].

[50].    Wa63a:279. Taking worship as the most typical form of religious experience, Rossi disagrees with such a claim. He rightly points out [Ro89:381] that ‘a grasp of the truth of where we stand in rela­tion to God is at the core of worship’. But he then claims: ‘Yet Kant’s account of respect for the moral law ... does not move us to offer allegiance to the source of the moral law within us.’ But as I shall demonstrate in Part Four [s.e. XII.2], this is precisely Kant’s intent. Of course, the biblical theologian is far better equipped to fulfill this task using biblical insights. Again, Rossi rightly sees that ‘a readiness to acknowledge the truth of our creaturely finitude ... invites us to rely on a power, that both is and is not our own’. Yet he thinks ‘Kant’s account of respect’ only ‘catches a glimmer’ of what is possible here. ‘Kant ... is reluctant ... to let respect for the inner presence of the moral law lead to the praise of God.’ Kant is indeed cautious of the tendency religious people have to allow the latter to displace the former. But as long as these are kept in proper relation, he sees praise and worship as quite appropriate responses, even helpful ‘clothing’ for a true religious faith [see AVII.4].

[51].    Another good example is the work of Hare [see notes VIII.4 and IX.5], who claims in Ha96:35 ‘that Christians should find Kant compelling and helpful.’ After noting the opposite tendency, ‘especially in America’, where ‘Christians who know about Kant tend to think of him as the major philosophical source of the rot that has led to the decline of Christianity in the West in the last two hundred years’, Hare announces his own goal ‘of seeing how close Kant is to the Christian tradition he grew up in.’

 

Back to the Table of Contents for this book.

Back to the listing of Steve Palmquist's published books.

Back to Steve Palmquist's home page

Send comments to the author: StevePq@hkbu.edu.hk