A Tale of Two Dogmas

Keith D. Stanglin

“Can Christianity overcome its dogmatism without losing its identity?” A former colleague of mine once posed this question to our mutual students. It is provocative; “dogma” has been a nasty word for a long time. And the assumption among many—including many Christians—is that dogmatism is something that must be overcome. Though never put in these exact words, the underlying concern or logic apparently runs something like this: “Dogmatism is obviously evil; it would be fortunate if, after ridding ourselves of dogmatism, some sense of Christian identity could be retained. Is this possible? Is dogmatism an inherent component of Christianity? Is Christianity incompatible with our primary devotion to tolerance?”

“Can Christianity overcome its dogmatism without losing its identity?” My rejoinder: Yes and no. Dogmatism is an ambiguous word. So it depends on what we mean by it.

First, there is a kind of dogmatism that is antithetical to Christianity. Dogmatism, in this sense, is a stubborn, contentious spirit that bickers over what Scripture and the greater Christian tradition would designate as inconsequential or indifferent matters of the faith. Rather than accepting healthy diversity and sincere disagreement, rather than having a civil debate, such dogmatism leaps too hastily to anathematizing. To anathematize on doctrinal grounds, especially over something not clearly defined in Scripture, is a prerogative peculiar to God. For a Christian to assert, “Not only do I know all religious truth, but I also know the eternal consequences awaiting anyone who disagrees”—this is to assume the role of God; it is a misuse of the name of the Lord, and thus a breach of the third commandment. Inasmuch as it ignores the love command and verges on the blasphemous, Christianity should overcome this dogmatism. Shedding dogmatism of this sort will not undermine the identity of Christianity, since it properly has nothing to do with it.

By way of example, take the often politically-charged and occasionally violent circumstances surrounding the ecumenical councils of the early church. Recall the marginalizing of half of the Christian world when the Council of Chalcedon (451) specified the language about Christ as “one person in two natures.” The truth expressed—the duality of Jesus Christ in perfect union—may be essential, but the terminology by which it is expressed is not. This division in the church of late antiquity, however, was based on little more than terminology, and it happened in spite of the overall agreement in doctrinal content. Because it led too quickly to anathematizing, this is the embarrassing side of the doctrinal debates, the unseemly type of dogmatism.

A second sort of dogmatism means adherence to a set of certain core beliefs. “Dogma” is simply the Greek word for “decree”; it is used five times in the New Testament. In Acts 16:4, the word refers to the decisions reached at the Jerusalem Council, decrees that were spread and received with joy (Acts 15:31; 16:5). This instance of “dogma” anticipates the proper meaning of the word in Christian usage: it strictly refers to those doctrines that have been defined and decreed, or dogmatized, by the ancient church councils. We may expand those essentials into the doctrines summed up in the ancient creeds—what C.S. Lewis called “mere Christianity.”  Let me offer an example of this salutary side of dogma: namely, the actual content of the early ecumenical councils, summed up by the Council of Chalcedon, acknowledging Jesus Christ as one person who is both truly divine and truly human. The truth expressed with this succinct formula contributed to and was itself an inspiration for Christian philosophical theology for centuries to follow. It was a remarkable achievement, and, though it reflects the controversies of the day and it is by no means an exhaustive Christology, it is still the touchstone for ecumenical Christology today.

In this sense of dogma, it could be said that every religion based on historically-conditioned divine revelation is by its very nature “dogmatic.” It is necessary to such a religion to claim that God has revealed himself to humanity through Moses, or Jesus Christ, or Muhammed, or Joseph Smith. What is revealed is an objective content that includes claims that are either true or false. That is, there are certain truths about God and the world that can be expressed, at least analogically, in propositional forms—truths by which the faith stands or falls, articles that determine one’s inclusion or exclusion in the faith community. “The Lord is our God, the Lord is one,” Jesus Christ is “truly divine and truly human,” and “There is no god but God and Muhammed is his messenger,” are examples of such central statements of belief. They convey first principles in a way that a debate about the use of leavened or unleavened bread does not.

This inevitable characteristic of the Christian faith has not stopped some from trying to overcome this kind of dogma while retaining Christian identity. Various Christian movements have been trying to de-emphasize these distinctive core doctrines since the Enlightenment. Different theologies that correlate Christian faith and contemporary values have been proposed to try to placate Christianity’s cultured despisers. Friedrich Schleiermacher relegated the scandalous doctrine of the Trinity to an appendix in his systematic theology. Rudolf Bultmann reduced the resurrection of Christ to the rise of faith in the disciples. John Hick would speak of the incarnation as mere myth and metaphor. These theologies reflect an effort to confine Christian faith within the bounds of Enlightenment reason alone, and they are, in essence, more or less sophisticated attempts to discard distinctive Christian dogma and yet remain Christian. This effort contains the seeds of its own destruction. Its unfortunate fruit is still evident today—especially in the decline of Protestant Christianity in the West, whose institutions at times seem embarrassed by dogma and the notion of truth.

The harvest we have reaped is a sentimental, creedless Christianity: “Let us be nice and do good things.” Christian Smith famously described the Christianity of most Americans as “Moralistic Therapeutic Deism.” That is, God wants me to feel good and do good, but he will not (or cannot) do an awful lot to help me. When this faith is prevalent, and with such an allergy to dogma (classically defined), the church has nothing distinct to offer the world, and, ultimately, has little reason for being nice and doing good things for very long.

In short, the very dogma that makes Christianity distinctive is the source of its identity. This dogma tells of the one God who is infinite beauty, love, goodness, and communion; who enjoys both difference and participation; who, out of sheer and free grace, created; who emptied himself and united himself to creation; who became human, so that humanity might become like God; who died to kill death; who created us for eternal fellowship with him. This is not a dogma for Christianity to overcome, but rather to examine, teach, disseminate, and celebrate—with joy, as the earliest Christians received the dogma from Jerusalem (Acts 15:31). Without this kind of dogma, there is no Christian identity, no Christianity.

The more interesting question is whether this story can be embraced and communicated to others without the first kind of dogmatism, by means of a rhetoric of non-violence and hospitality. Based on the ministry of Jesus himself, who was the perfect embodiment of both grace and truth, the obvious answer is, “Yes.” The Christian dogma is a story of peace. At the heart of the story is eternal, loving communion, a love that revels in differences and, in its holy transcendence, invites our participation. This is a story that illumines our understanding, touches our hearts, grounds our moral judgments, and persuades by finally making sense of our deepest aesthetic longings.

In other words, Christian dogma does not entail unpleasant dogmatism. In fact, the former positively excludes the latter. Instead, Christian dogma entails uncompromising, self-sacrificial love toward every human being. Only by the gospel am I obliged to show love to my neighbors and obliged to tell them why—because, in so doing, I am serving my Master, and in so doing I am serving a person made in the image of God, someone who was created to be a participant in the divine nature.

In sum, two points are worth reiterating. First, it is necessary for Christians to distinguish between the core and the peripheral matters of the faith, favoring the core without neglecting what flows from it. In this regard, Jesus spoke of the greatest commands and the weightier matters of the law (Mt. 22:37–40; 23:23). Likewise, the apostle Paul prayed that God would grant the Philippians the ability to discern the things that really matter (Phil. 1:9–10). Such discernment cannot happen without obedience to Scripture, regard for the Christian tradition, attention to reason and experience, participation in prayer, and faithful leadership. Making this distinction between the core and the periphery is no small task—this is why Paul requests divine help—but it is a necessary category.

Second, once the necessary dogma has been identified, as Paul says elsewhere, we must speak this truth in love (Eph. 4:15). As Peter Meiderlin put it: “In essential matters, unity; in non-essential matters, liberty; in both, charity.” John Stackhouse, Jr., describes this attitude as “conviction without hubris.” And my riposte to the original question: Christians should hold fast to dogma without the dogmatism!

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