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 bibl