David Congdon’s Soteriocentrism: pt. 2
Reading his book, The God Who Saves
I am reading David Congdon’s new book The God Who Saves: A Dogmatic Sketch and writing about it as I go. Continuing where I left off last time, this post covers the rest of chapter 2. The last post covered how Congdon construes theology as both science and as hermeneutics. Now I turn to his discussion of theology as praxis, soteriocentrism, and his discussion of heresy versus orthodoxy.
The third and final feature of theology as soteriocentric (we’ll look closer at that term below) is Congdon’s construal of theology as praxis as opposed to mere theory. Having already discussed theology as hermeneutics, or interpretation, Congdon insists that our interpretation of religious texts and traditions is inseparable from our posture toward others. “Interpretation,” he writes, “reaches its goal when people learn to understand and respect each other. The end of the hermeneutical process is communal praxis” (46). How so? I find this section tricky to follow, so I’ll just quote at length.
The factors involved in the relation between person A and person B are not merely local and interpersonal; they are also global and social. It is not enough to see the visible phenomenon of the stranger. We must also learn to see the invisible nexus of socioeconomic forces and neoliberal ideologies that perpetuate violent regimes of terror and suppression. Sympathy and empathy for one another means recognizing the ways we have been conscripted into this regime as agents of oppression, while the level of “pure action” means generating “counterdiscursive practices” that restore agency to those who have been marginalized and silenced by imperial power. Intercultural understanding today must therefore take the form of an emancipatory praxis — a praxis which “seeks to disrupt relationships of domination by developing new forms of internationalist understanding and communication.” In short, hermeneutics is always praxical, but praxis is also always hermeneutical (47).
That is to say (I think), your interpretation of religious texts depends on your posture toward your neighbours, defined broadly, and vice versa. This much seems true. As I mentioned last time, if we distinguish between the authorial meaning of a biblical passage — that is, what the passage meant to the author — and what the passage means for or to us today then we will inevitably bring our own meaning to the text. What we bring, in turn, will depend on our posture toward others. If we want to use a biblical text to justify an unjust status quo, then our unjust posture toward others will guide our reading of the text. A right reading — presuming that a right reading leads to justice — requires a right posture toward others. This could be put another way: You can’t love God without also loving your neighbour.
Fine, but why think that we should interpret the Bible, for instance, in light of one given political (read neighbourly) posture rather than another (such as self-interest)? Congdon doesn’t seem to be talking about how to read the texts of living authors with sympathy and care. He’s presumably talking about reading texts from a long time ago and a land far far away. The praxis is directed toward the living, yet the interpretation is directed toward the dead. Perhaps what he means is that we should interpret the dead for the sake of the living. We interpret ancient texts, less concerned with the meaning of the dead authors and more concerned with what these texts should mean for us in light of our living neighbours. Doctrine, as an interpretation of text and tradition, ought to serve the living or else it is worthless. But how shall it serve? Theology must be effective in practice, where “we can understand such effectiveness in terms of the emancipatory mission of the gospel to bring freedom to the captives and justice to the oppressed” (47). At this early stage in the book, I’m still wondering why we have such a strong emphasis on justice. I agree, largely, but I wonder what justifies this emphasis within Congdon’s own dogmatic sketch. Perhaps this will be clarified along with the Christian kerygma in what follows.
At length, I now turn to soteriocentrism, or theology as soteriology. Here Congdon weaves together the three threads discussed above (and last post). Since God is only accessible to us when God acts to save, the proper object of theology is God whilst God is saving. Simply put, theology has nothing to work with except soteriology, since we have no access apart from God’s saving deeds. As for hermeneutics or interpretation, since God is only available in the act of saving, and since this act is historical rather than timeless or eternal, then theology cannot avoid history and the interpretive challenges associated with history. A God only available in historical encounter cannot be described in terms abstracted from all historical contexts. Again, this points theology back to salvation history, including the present, as the only source material. In Congdon’s own words:
Talk of God is always talk of an act within history. And since this act always occurs to and for a particular person, talk of God is always also talk of the human subject and her historical situation. Interpretation of God’s word is always self-interpretation, since this word is a word that concerns our existence (48).
Finally, theology as praxis weaves together our interpretation and our actual lives in relation to other people. I’m still not quite clear why this should lead to loving the neighbour, on Congdon’s approach. He himself admits, that “if theology is praxis, we still have to know what norms this praxis. What grounds and funds the process of understanding the stranger?” (48). Congdon appeals to “a trinitarian theology of strangeness,” supplied by Sundermeier, but I don’t see why would should accept this theology (not that I necessarily dispute it). It’s just that if we aren’t already interested in loving our neighbours, and already have concern for the stranger, why would be interested in this theology of strangeness? (Furthermore, why should we accept a Trinitarian account of strangeness, unless we are already committed to some account of the Trinity on account of tradition or recent theological trends?) So I’m still looking for a reason to interpret religious texts in a manner shaped by love of neighbour. I think this will come out in the next chapter with Congdon’s discussion of salvation as being drawn outside of oneself. Congdon continues,
As we have argued above, theology has no access to a divine in-itself — a theological Ding an sich — apart from the human subject on whom God acts. To speak of God means to speak of God’s acting upon us — that is, to speak of ourselves as acted upon by God. In the words of Bultmann, therefore, “there is knowledge of God only as existential knowing.” (50)
I’ve already raised some concerns about discarding the notion of God apart from our experience of God, but I grant that we only have access to God on God’s terms and should focus our attention on God where God is in fact available. So I’m happy with the second half of this quote, at least.
Bottom line:
Methodologically, every theological claim and doctrinal decision has to be tested critically against the norm of God’s saving action (50).
Briefly, a word on Congdon’s treatment of orthodoxy and heresy. He suggests that these terms do more harm than good, and I’m sympathetic here. After all, heresy is always heresy relative to some definition of orthodoxy. To some people, I expect, I am a heretic. To others I’m orthodox. This is just a matter of whether other Christians “disagree to disagree” with me. Anyway, Congdon introduces orthoheterodoxy and heteroorthodoxy as “believing differently” but “in the right way” and “believing rightly” but “in a different way” (57). My initial reaction: Why not just introduce the category of being wrong without being a heretic? If we “agree to disagree” then we can think the other person wrong without calling them a heretic. This is especially possible when correct belief does not decide who is “in” and who is “out.” But perhaps my sentiment is the fruit of my concern for God as God actually is, rather than God as God appears in various contexts. In any case, Congdon is right to claim that:
the norm is not a fixed set of propositional claims but rather an event irrupting into each new situation, calling forth new modes of thinking and speaking about God. Every proposition or doctrine is thus a mode of God-talk situated within a specific historical context to which the kerygmatic norm — being the active presence of the wholly other God — is not bound (57).
God, we might say, is no respecter of tradition or orthodoxy. Even so, I fear that on Congdon’s dogmatic sketch, God isn’t a true living presence on account of God not being a person. But do we believe differently in the right way? Or is one of us wrong? Is this a semantic matter or a substantive difference? Can the kerygmatic norm decide between us on this question? Onward to chap 3.
