The Reality of Confessions, Statements, and Creeds
Christians throughout their history have determined that it is necessary to articulate the faith. Whether we call these articulations “creeds,” or “confessions,” or “statements” is somewhat beside the point—as every effort of this sort shares a basic family resemblance: the desire to articulate something important or essential or pressing about what we as Christians believe. I, as a Baptist, was taught that we have “no creed but the Bible.” This has a kind of bravado and swagger about it, but is it really true? Is it the case that Baptists—if we are consistent—have “no creed but the Bible”? I have come to reject this understanding. Indeed, even the Anabaptist Schleitheim Confession (1527 A.D.) is, well, a confession (and yes, I know it is a big debate to trace the relationship, or lack of a relationship, between the Anabaptists and contemporary Baptists). It is a summary of Christian belief—whether we call it a confession, a statement, or a creed.
The purpose of this article is to ask a basic question: Is Nicaea enough? Or more importantly: Is the Nicene Creed (381 A.D.) adequate as a summary of Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry? The more one reflects on this question (as I see it) the more complex one sees that such a question is. If one is asking whether all Christians should affirm the Nicene Creed, the answer should be a hearty “yes” (though Calvin’s reservations about the exact way to understand the source of the Son’s deity is a legitimate reservation with which I have sympathy). But if one comes from a different angle and asks if the Nicene Creed is optimal or sufficient for meaningful Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry, then a different answer might emerge. In short, if one asks the latter kind of question, it may very well be the case that the Nicene Creed in fact is not enough.
So perhaps there are two questions one should think through:
- Is the Nicene Creed adequate as a summary of Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry?
- Should all Christians be able to affirm the Nicene Creed?
I will suggest that we answer “no” to the first question and “yes” to the second question. I take it as a matter of course that all Christians should answer “yes” to the second question—we will not linger much more on that question here. But we will linger on the first question in this article.
Why the Draw to the Nicene Creed as Enough?
On the first question, we might ask why would one be inclined to think that Nicaea might be enough for Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry? One might be the understandable impulse or desire for unity. There is a right and proper yearning, on my view, for Christian unity. Most of like to be liked, and would not—generally—seek to live a life of tension, friction, disharmony, and disagreement. If we are honest, most of us probably think along the following lines: “It would be nice to live a life where we get along with all or most persons, and where our lives are not marked by combat, fighting, debating, and constant disagreement.” We know from Scripture that a day is coming where there will be a blessed and joyous unity. Indeed, we know that in the future the wolf will lie down with lamb (Isa. 11:6). But we also know that it is a mark of unfaithfulness and unbelief to say, “peace, peace” when there is no peace.
But it is a mistake—a serious one—to yearn in the wrong way, or to yearn for unity without grasping where one is in history. Political commentator and theorist Eric Voegelin warned against “immanentizing the eschaton.”[1] Voegelin meant by this terminology that it is a perennial temptation to try and force the blessed future eschatological state into the present by the use of force (Voegelin was particularly concerned with what develops, and had developed in the 20th century, of using centralized political power to “usher” in the eschaton). Perhaps, analogically, it is also mistaken to so wish for peace and unity that one fails to have the courage to live in our age of antithesis, where there is an animus which exists between the things of the evil one and the things of God (e.g., Gen. 3:15). That is, we live in the period of the already-not yet, where the future state of unity and peace has not arrived. It is not wise, prudent, or faithful to fail to know our place in God’s economy. Thus, we should both (1) seek unity where we can, but we should also (2) know that we shall not find perfect unity in the present time.
1. One can find this theme in Eric Voegelin’s magisterial five-volume Order and History (first published with Louisiana State University Press from 1956 through 1987) , or Voegelin’s own summary of his thought in the much shorter, New Science of Politics (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1952).
It is perhaps also the case that to think that the Nicene Creed is enough is perhaps rooted in a desire to return to an age where the universal Church seemed—at least in broad outline—to be a united church with a common theology. But this is only somewhat the case. In the fourth century, Nicene trinitarianism “won” in 325 A.D. at Nicaea (and again in 381 A.D. at Constantinople). But Athanasius, the leading proponent of Nicene Trinitarianism in the fourth century, was forced out (banished) from his teaching/bishop position some five times over seventeen total years in the course of his ministry. In short: the church was only “united” to a certain degree.
Or perhaps the desire to think that the Nicene Creed is enough is rooted in the conviction that once one has got the Trinity and the deity of the Son and Spirit figured out, that is enough. That is, cannot the Christian church simply rally around a simple confession that there is one God, and that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are each fully divine persons? Certainly, a Christian should confess no less than this, but is there any good reason to think that such a confession is enough?
John Henry Newman and James Orr
Perhaps we might find help in the 1901 work, The Progress of Dogma, by Scottish divine James Orr. But to understand James Orr’s work we must briefly recall the work of John Henry Newman. Orr wrote his volume just over ten years after the death of John Henry Newman (1801–1890). Newman was a prominent thinker during his era and has had significant impact on (especially) Roman Catholic thought since his time. He converted from Calvinism to Anglo-Catholicism, and eventually to Roman Catholicism. Among other contributions, he is known for a creative way of thinking about the development of doctrine over time. Rome, in general and until the time of Newman, tended to want to say that the Roman Catholic dogmatic system could more or less be found in the earliest instantiations of the Christian church. Newman offered a different understanding, which has alleviated Rome of the burden of having to find Rome’s theology in the earliest history of the church. In short, Newman argued that the development of doctrine can be thought of as analogous to how a seed grows into a tree. Over time, the tree grows, certain parts are pruned, and other parts are encouraged in their growth. It might seem difficult to recognize that the tree comes from such a small seed, but if you could go back and observe, one would be able to discern a real, organic connection between the seed and the full-grown tree. Partially in response to Newman, James Orr offered his own understanding of how doctrine (or dogma) grows or changes over time.
Orr creatively suggested that the Christian church—as we look back through time—has tended to take on, or work through, a certain doctrine during one era, then another doctrine in the following era, then another doctrine in the following era, etc. That is, there is only so much time and mental energy to work on a particular doctrine at a given time. So, the Christian church at first—in the first and second century—seemed to take the time to work out its understanding of religious authority, seen in the forming of the New Testament canon in the first and second centuries. Then, in the third and fourth centuries, the church devoted itself to working out key elements of the doctrine of the Trinity (especially the Son’s relationship to the Father, and then the person of the Holy Spirit). Then, in the fourth and fifth centuries the church devoted itself to working through the person of Christ (culminating in Chalcedon in 451 A.D.), as well as working through the doctrine of God’s grace (as seen in the debates between Augustine and the Augustinians against Pelagius and the Pelagians). Orr’s work may not be the final word, but it at least provides one way of thinking through how and why the church has seemed to focus on certain doctrines at certain points in its development. Nick Needham has suggested that Orr may have been unduly influenced by a too-optimistic view of the church’s growth and progress throughout history.[2] But, Orr can help an Evangelical to think through how it is perfectly reasonable for the Christian church to improve or develop in its doctrinal understanding over time. And Orr can help us see that one need not see the Nicene Creed as either a golden era or as the high point of doctrinal development. Rather, we might expect to see the church grow in its understanding and its construal and articulation of Christian truth. But, we need not see the church’s growth in doctrinal understanding framed as a kind of linear progress in a more or less unbroken improvement over time. But Orr differed from Newman in that Orr—as a Protestant—did not feel the theological pressure to organically link all later official Catholic teaching to the earlies Christian movement (the New Testament).
2. Nick Needham, “The Tragic Enigma of John Henry Newman,” in CRN Journal (Spring 2001), 15.
A Biblical Perspective on the Development of Doctrine and Creeds
Perhaps a more biblical perspective on the development of doctrine would say something like the following. In the history of Israel, we see success at times and serious failure at other times. This same kind of jagged history of success and failure is something we might expect to see in the rest of history. Thus, in 1 Kings 3–10 we see significant success in Israel under Solomon’s wise leadership. We witness Solomon’s wisdom, the growth of Solomon’s kingdom, Solomon’s building of the temple, the queen of Sheba’s visit to Solomon, and a recounting of Solomon’s wealth at the end of chapter 10. But then 1 Kings 11 begins with recounting Solomon’s fall, and in 11:9 we read: “And the LORD was angry with Solomon because his heart had turned away from the LORD . . .”. And as we read the history of Israel we see that the Northern Kingdom (Israel) falls to Assyria in 722 B.C., and that the Southern Kingdom (Judah) falls to Babylon in 586 B.C. In short, we see blessed success and tragic failure—at times in the very same narratives.
All Christians have—ultimately—an “optimistic” eschatology. We know that “the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea” (Isa. 11:9), and that “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD as the waters cover the sea” (Hab. 2:14). We may disagree about the details, but all Christians know—at least in the broad contours—how this story ends. God wins. But between now and the end of all things we are certainly not promised a smooth journey to the ultimately victorious ending of all things.
Thus, in church history we should expect and anticipate God’s ultimate victory over all evil. But we should also anticipate that the path from our own present to the ultimate end will likely be rocky, full of ups and downs, full of beautiful doctrinal construals and affirmations, but also full of bizarre and perverse doctrinal collapse and heresy. For this reason, we should anticipate and labor towards continual and repeated efforts to articulate the Christian faith as clearly and persuasively as we can.
Also, while we should probably not expect a linear and continual improvement of the church’s doctrinal understanding, we should anticipate that God will continue to break forth fresh things from His Word. But James Orr probably did get right that the Church will over time work out its understanding more and more. Two crucial and beautiful developments since Nicaea should be immediately apparent to the Evangelical.
Augustine and the Grace of God
First, Augustine’s articulation of the grace of God in salvation would seem to be—to many of us—a proper working out of implicit and explicit biblical truths. Augustine’s theology of grace was of coursed worked out in a particular time amidst particular circumstances: the late fourth and early fifth centuries, often in response to Pelagius and the Pelagians. Should at least some meaningful understanding of the grace of God be a part of basic Christian confession of faith? Should Pelagianism be considered within the bounds of Christian orthodoxy? A good case can be made that Augustine’s articulation of grace—in conflict with Pelagius and the Pelagians—was a good and proper articulation of what is implicit and explicit in the Bible, and as such that an articulation of the grace of God should be found in any confession or statement or creed which serves as a good summary of Christian belief.
The Reformation and Justification by Faith
Second, the doctrine of justification of faith as articulated during the time of the Protestant Reformation is of course well past the time of Nicaea—by some 1200 years. The Protestant has historically believed that the Reformers were not first and foremost innovators (as Jacopo Sadoleto labelled the Protestants in his 1539 letter to the Genevans). Rather, Protestants have historically believed that the Reformers were recovering a fundamentally biblical insight: sinners are declared righteous by God (the one who justifies), on the basis of Christ’s finished work (the ground of justification), and through the instrument of faith alone (the means of justification). The Reformers simultaneously (1) recovered a biblical insight and (2) sharpened a key biblical insight in the midst of conflict and debate. The Reformation’s recovery of the doctrine of justification by faith alone is either a good and right expression of Christian truth, or it is a real mistake. Protestants continue to rightly believe that the New Testament doctrine of justification became muddled and confused over time. The Reformation was a helpful recovery, and not a departure from apostolic Christianity. No appeal to the Nicene Creed will settle that question, as important and wonderful as the Nicene Creed is.
Conclusion
Christians can look back with awe and gratitude to how God has led Christians to clarify and articulate the faith throughout its history. Christians can simultaneously (1) affirm past creedal wisdom like the Nicene Creed, as well as (2) gratefully recognize that God has continued to lead His church into truth and wisdom throughout her history—we took note of Augustine’s articulation of grace and the Reformation’s recovery and articulation of justification by faith alone. The biblical Christian will be simultaneously looking backward and forward. The biblical Christian will give thanks for past wisdom and will be looking forward to what is required in his or her own day.
We should also expect that the church will grow in its understanding over time, and this growth in understanding will almost assuredly lead to the need of articulating and expressing its doctrinal beliefs again and again. And we should also not be surprised if God in his grace leads the church to more and more clearly explain and express its understanding of Christian truth. And we should not be surprised if at times, under God’s gracious hand, the Church recovers certain truths that have become somewhat confused or muddled or even lost over the centuries. And neither should we be surprised if God in his mercy allows Christians to sharpen truths over time, and even draw out new and wondrous things from our old, old Canon.
