Three Grades of Presuppositional Involvement

One of the standard objections made by Reformed people to natural theology invokes ‘presuppositionalism’. Extremes may meet; and they meet here. At least some presuppositionalists think (or thought) of Karl Barth as having propounded a ‘new modernism’. Nevertheless they, every bit as much as Barth, shun natural theology on theological grounds. In my experience invoking 'presuppositionalism' is the cue for a dense fog to descend and for confusion to reign, My aim in this short post is to try to apply a little de-mister by distinguishing three kinds of presuppositionalism. I shall deliberately not attempt to pin any one of the three onto anyone. This is to prevent libel action and is, moreover, based upon the principle ‘If the cap fits then wear it’. That these three variations on the theme of ‘presuppositionalism’ are not routinely distinguished by the purveyors of ‘presuppositionalism’ is, I find, a vexing matter.

The fashionable grade

First, the fashionable and obviously true sense of ‘presupposition’. This goes as follows: we all have presuppositions, the non-Christian as well as the Christian, the Islamist, the Mormon, the secularist, and Uncle Tom Cobbly and All. Another word for ‘presupposition’ in this sense would be ‘premise’ or ’assumption’. So we start our arguments, all of them, from premises, or from assumptions, things we take for granted. An assumption may simply be that, an assumption, taken to be true for the sake of the argument. But it may also be something that the arguer holds to be true. We all have such assumptions, from the least of us unto the greatest, matters which we take to be true and which form the basis of other claims that we make. Besides, we all have agendas too. The correct and manly thing to do is to confess and acknowledge our presuppositions or assumptions, the fact that you have yours and I have mine. Then, this having been done, we may freely acknowledge that we are on a level playing field. No longer is there a suspicion of ‘objectivity’; for we come clean and out our premises out in the open air. (Bear in mind that having a presupposition in this sense is not the same thing as possessing a motive.)

There is in this sense, a level playing field. But a level playing field of what? Of relativism? Not necessarily, for one thing that is often forgotten in this litany of presuppositions is that it is possible to eliminate bias (that’s another word we may use). Not to eliminate all bias, but a good deal of it. We may, if we wish, wallow in relativism or on subjectivism. But on the other hand we may choose not to, and choose instead to do our best to eliminate bias or subjectivity by checking, testing, having second thoughts, consulting experts, by consulting the historical record, and so on, and on. I think that when presuppositionalism first reared its head in conservative, confessional, theological circles, it did so in a world that was rather naive about the fact that presuppositions have proved to be as rampant as they have. Or maybe the world has changed in the meantime. Anyhow, presuppositionalism in this sense has become prominent; a fashionable, contemporary, post-modern thing to chatter about. Presupposition = narrative = world view.

The Theological Grade

Secondly, there is what I shall call the theological sense of ‘presupposition’. Traditionally, this has gone under a differ guise, the principle that Holy Scripture is both necessary and sufficient for all matters to do with faith and life. Some nowadays shamelessly call this ‘theological foundationalism’ or ‘Christian foundationalism’ and that is indeed what it is. And, as far as the use of ‘foundationalism’ is concerned, none the worse for that. Our faith is built on the foundation of the prophets and apostles, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone. And if people wish to say that Scripture is where nowadays we find that first primitive and authentic deposit of our faith, then who are we to complain?

All clear? But just a further word, if I may. Ask yourself the question, ‘Foundational for what?’ Foundational for Christian discipleship is one thing. Is Scripture theologically foundational for that? Clearly not. A person may be a disciple while not knowing even whether there be such a thing as Holy Scripture. Remember the thief on the cross. And the hymn 'There is life for a look at the Crucified One'. Is Scripture foundational theologically? (Something that the dying thief did not have much time to practice). Yes indeed, that’s the principle of Scripture’s sufficiency coming into play again: a canon, a foundation, a supreme authority. Are there other, lesser authorities? Yes indeed. The councils, the confessions, the fathers, the puritans. But one supreme theological fountainhead and touchstone – Holy Scripture.


The hard line grade

Then, finally there is what I shall call hard line or high road presuppositionalism. Here the key phrase is ‘Only by…’ So we hear ‘Only by presupposing the infallible or inerrant Scriptures shall we demonstrate the irrationality of all non-scriptural positions’ (or some variant of this). It’s the ‘only by’ that is of interest, along with the bold claim that is made for acting in this ‘only by’ way.

There is something very wrong here. It is not the boldness of the claim, nor the circularity of it, but the rashness of it. I invite you to listen in to this exchange.

Think of the Bible, for a moment. There it is, on the table. Er.. No, sorry, it’s on the chair. That’s what we are presupposing? Are you sure it’s the Bible on the chair? I could have sworn a few minutes ago that it was Gulliver’s Travels. No, it’s not the Travels, it’s the Bible. See! Would you open it, please? But what I’ve opened seems to be in English, all the way through. I thought that the Bible is partly Hebrew, partly Greek. Oh, it’s an English translation of the Bible. Fair enough. How do we know it’s an English translation? Accurate?

A number of things are going on in this rather roughly-constructed bit of dialogue. There is a recognition that the Holy Bible is a material object, like a table or a chair or Gulliver's Travels, though with the added complication (if it’s an English Bible) that it is a translation of the original versions of its 66 books. When we take up the Bible, come to understand some of it, come to trust its promises and to fear its threatenings, we must use our senses and our minds to help us to do this. The Bible is not a Platonic reality, even when we refer to it as the ‘Word of God’. It is not free from the vagaries and perils of sense-experience, something which has immediately descended from heaven and entered immediately into our souls. So we need to be able to trust our sense experience, and (if we are of a philosophical turn of mind) to have a reason to trust our senses, and similarly with our intellects.

But where do we get these reasons that we have to justify trusting our senses and intellect? I think that this is what bothers the hard-line presuppositionalists, and rashly leads them into vicious circularity. To their ‘Only if we presuppose the Bible…’ I think that a person may at this point reasonably retort, 'Which Bible?' It is only possible consistently to presuppose the Bible once it has been correctly identified, and its sentences and clauses in some measure understood. But to accomplish these tasks we need to trust our senses and our minds, that is, to trust them without first presupposing the Bible, but to do this in order to presuppose the Bible in all matters theological. In a word, we need an epistemology, or the rudiments of one. (Just as we need a metaphysics, though that’s a different story.)

The hard-line presuppositionalist may say; but if the Bible’s account of things is true we each of us have reliable senses and intellects in virtue of us being created in the image of God and upheld by the undeserved goodness of God despite our fallenness. Yes, indeed. But to play that card at this point is a mistake. It is to confuse the order of being with the order of knowing. It is true that reliable senses are part of the vestige of the image of God in us, but in the order of knowing, at the stage when we are identifying the Bible and readings its pages, we don’t know that yet. We know that only when we have opened our Bibles, understood them and believed what they say, and so far we have not reached that stage. We only reach that stage if we first trust our senses and our minds. Perhaps we could, by a leap of faith, believe that the book on the chair is God’s word, and we could by another leap trust our senses and intellect, read the Bible, and by a third leap of faith trust its promises and tremble at its threatenings. That would be five star fideism, to be sure. Perhaps we may do all that. But I cannot imagine that hard-line presuppositonalists would find much comfort in the fideistic briar-patch that this Herculean effort would land them in.

But if we need an epistemology, and cannot, without circularity, draw it from the Bible, where do we obtain it? How is an epistemology to be had? Maybe here we have another presupposition of the hard-line presuppositonalist. In order to get going and to be thoroughly biblical in doing so we need to be equipped with a fully biblical epistemology. For only in possessing and using a fully biblical epistemology will we be consistently biblical. Only then will the sufficiency of Scripture be accorded its due.

Well, I believe that we should hold this presupposition up to the light of day, as well. No doubt, or perhaps, there is a true and properly human epistemology, God’s epistemology for humans. If so, we don’t possess it, not at least in the way that we possess God’s way of salvation for humans. What we do possess are various alternative epistemologies, and combinations thereof. There are Stoic and Platonic and Aristotelian and Rationalist and Empiricist and….epistemologies. Part of the genius of Reformed theology, until the bug of hardline presuppositionalism and other kindred ills began to bite, was its eclectic philosophical spirit. We find this in a fountainhead such as Calvin, and more generally among the Reformed Orthodox, and Richard Muller in particular has pointed out. We find it also in today’s ‘Reformed’ epistemologists. Plantinga and Wolterstorff draw from Calvin and Thomas Reid and Roderick Chisholm and Alvin Goldman, to look no further, in order to articulate an epistemology which is (as far as I can see) consistent with Reformed theology and which provides reason for trusting our senses and intellects as we reach for that book ‘The Bible’.

There are various ways of articulating and defending our sensory and intellectual capacities in their role as gatherers of reliable information about the world around us. None of these is ‘biblical’ in any direct sense, of course. We cannot lift an epistemology off the pages of Scripture as we can lift a doctrine of justification off them. The epistemologies that have been used, in the history of Christianity, are at odds with each other, though parts of one are not necessarily at odds with parts of others. What matters is that we have reasons that support our belief in the reliability (though not the infallibility, of course) of our epistemological equipment. This will be sufficient to identify a book as the Bible, and to read and understand some, if not all, of what it contains. And then we are in business.

Charles Hodge, The Enlightenment and Natural Theology

Charles Hodge is routinely demonised because of the allegedly Enlightenment character of his theology: it is propositional, foundationalist, purely cerebral, objectivist, etc. After a careful reading – or simply a reading – of the first 17 pages of his Systematic Theology most of these claims vanish like the morning mist. And those that don’t, such as the charge of objectivism, serve to save the gospel.

This post notes another piece of evidence against the Enlightenment charge. One feature of Enlightenment thought was and is its rationalism. And one way in which that rationalism is expressed in religion is in an attitude to proving of the existence of God. Under the influence of the Enlightenment, formulating and accepting the cogency of some proof or other of God’s existence came to be regarded as a necessary condition of regarding theology as an enterprise fit for intelligent men and women. If no proofs, then no theology. One might expect Charles Hodge, seriously infected as he allegedly was by the Enlightenment virus, to have taken this line. No proofs, no theology. First it is necessary to start with the proofs. If they are cogent, proceed; if none of them is cogent, then one might as well zip up the theological bags.

But – once again – Charles Hodge fails to fit the Enlightenment stereotype, as I shall now try to show. However, to be persuaded of this fact it is necessary to engage in the unusual scholarly pursuit of reading, in this case reading some more of Hodge. Otherwise the current evangelical climate is such that there is the danger that one might simply dream up some new fantasy about him.

The First Reading

So, we shall need to read; but there is some relief. For one thing, the scholar of Charles Hodge does not have to read very far, and as we shall see he does not have to read very much. Immediately after the first 17 pages of his Systematic Theology, which his critics usually focus upon (though usually without bothering to read them), is Chapter II – Theology. Turning to page 21-6, we find Hodge discussing the nature of natural theology, and avoiding two extremes, that natural theology is useless, and that it is sufficient, for true religion. (I. 21-6) Having provided an assessment of the importance of natural theology, the meaning of ‘nature’, the scope of natural theological arguments, and so on, (21-4), Hodge appeals to Scripture to provide an argument for natural theology. (Although he had previously briefly appealed to man’s being made in the image of God. (22)) He appeals to the Psalms, to Acts 14 and 17, to Romans 1. In other words, natural theology is possible and desirable because Scripture warrants it. Scripture informs us of certain facts that the natural theologian can use in the construction of arguments for the existence of God.

Of course, this is a complete reversal of the Enlightenment ordering of things. For Hodge the warrant for natural theology is not simply that clever men have thought up these arguments, or that they ‘work’, or that they must work in order for belief in God to be rational, but that Scripture endorses them. The Enlightenment procedure is: first the proofs, then theology. Hodge’s procedure is; first Scripture, its theological teaching, and then the proofs, an aspect of that theological teaching. (Some people worry that natural theology and natural law undermine the sufficiency of Scripture. But it's clear that Charles Hodge was not worried, not at least about this).

The Second Reading

Let’s move on, to Chapter 1 of Part I of Systematic Theology. Here Hodge has a fairly lengthy discussion of the innateness of the knowledge of God. (So, more page turning, I’m afraid.) Scripture teaches us of that there is a natural knowledge of God, which is well-nigh universal, and innate. (Hodge obviously has Rom.1 in mind, though while reference to this passage is made (I. 195) it is not made central to the discussion). While Hodge uses words such as ‘intuition’, he clearly has in view what Calvin earlier called the universal sensus divinitatis, spoiled by the Fall, but not eradicated by it.

According to Hodge our minds possess various intuitions - of sense, of the intellect, of the moral sense, and (what is particularly of interest here, of course) of God. Such knowledge is both universal, and necessary; that is, it is not simply a matter of fact that all people have a sense of God, but that such a sense is part of the constitution of human beings. This is the ‘general sense of a Being on whom we are dependent, and to whom we are responsible…. This sense of dependence and accountability to a being higher than themselves exists in the minds of all men’ (195). This may, through the benefit of special revelation, and careful reflection, be refined to ‘the Christian sense’ of the word ‘God’, as in the ‘sublime idea’ that ‘God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth’. (I. 194) Hodge then expands on the idea of the universality and especially the necessity of this belief. He is particularly emphatic on the point that such a belief is not the result of a process of reasoning, though such processes can confirm and develop it, or the result of tradition. The belief as it stands is thus highly dispositional in character, a disposition which can be developed and fostered by the study of Scripture, and also by proofs for the existence of God.

Hodge makes a number of points here: that the knowledge of God is a matter of the understanding, not of the reason; that proofs of God have as their aim to show what the being of God is – ‘that He is a personal Being, self-conscious, intelligent, moral. All this may lie inclosed in the primary intuition, but it needs to be brought out and established’. (202) He concludes the discussion by asserting that the various proofs of the existence of God complement each other and so are intended to have a cumulative effect, one argument proving one aspect of God’s character, another argument a further aspect, and so on.

So, what does all this show? I shall conclude by underlining three points.

First, that Hodge endorses the ‘common proofs’ of God’s existence and believes that they have real value. Its benefits are to be understood as expansions, clarifications, and articulations of a prior common, necessary, human intuition, an innate understanding that there is a God to whom we are responsible, an intuition to which Scripture testifies, in Romans 1 and elsewhere. Second, our belief in the existence of God does not therefore depend on the success of such proofs, but such proofs as are cogent arise out of this prior intuition. As Michael Sudduth has shown in his recent book, (The Reformed Objection to Natural Theology, (Ashgate, 2009)), Hodge is here part of a Reformed tradition going back through such as Turretin to Calvin and others. So, finally, Hodge has no objection to natural theology as such, though he does object to the rationalistic strategy for using such theology as developed by the Enlightenment.

The Living Past

Donald Macleod, the author of a number of well-used theological works, such as The Person of Christ and Behold Your God is of course the Principal of the Free Church College in Edinburgh. He is a remarkable preacher and teacher, someone who teaches as he preaches and preaches as he teaches, and who does both with authority and passion. I don’t recall this book of his, The Living Past (Acair, Stornoway, 2006), being noticed, though it has already been reprinted. I would have not known about it except that Donald himself mentioned once that he was writing it, and then kindly sent me a copy.

The book takes the form of a series of twenty-eight letters from Donald to a Canadian lady who is seeking information about her own mother’s background and education as a native of the Isle of Lewis , where Donald himself was born and grew up. The daughter was a native of Uig, but Donald was born in Ross and for the first five years lived in Laxdale, spending his holidays back in Ross. (One of the striking features of the culture of Lewis is that the topography of the Isle differs markedly from place to place, but for a child growing up in the 40’s and 50’s places five miles away were utterly remote.) She and Donald met on the steamer returning from the mainland, she a student in Aberdeen, he in Edinburgh. They had previously been students at the Nicholson Institute. There are a number of unusual literary features about the letters, which I’ll leave for any reader to discover. If you are unfamiliar with the Western Isles then it’d be useful to get hold of a map, to discover where Stornoway, Laxdale, Uig, Ross and other places that figure here are in relation to each other.

The letters he writes to Jacqueline Quessaud provide Donald with the opportunity to describe many features of his early years and upbringing, his schooling, the character and ways of Gaelic-speaking and Gaelic-influenced evangelicalism, (the evangelcialism dated from 1820, through the labours of a layman, John Macleod), of how it decayed and has now largely been supplanted. Just as much a source of his concern is the marginalisation of Gaelic, and especially of Gaelic identity as expressed in its history and traditions, by the very English character of his education, especially in history. It may not be too much to say Donald would describe this process as an act of ‘colonialisation by the English’. As far as I can see he writes everything he touches without bitterness, but with great fondness, with affection for his roots and his folk, and with considerable humour. He says that his childhood on the Isle defined him, but is now lost beyond recovery. At one point he reckons that he has had a childhood, and an old age, but not much in-between.

Radicalism, the true radicalism of roots, is very much a theme; the radicalism of semper reformanda of the Reformation against tradition and legalism, of which he gives many curious and some amusing examples in this supposed uniquely Reformed church. Holding on to these traditions come what may have precipitated a legalistic attitude and a mere traditionalism, as in the multiplication of all sorts of meetings. And he links this also with the radicalism of appreciating the true Gaelic culture. But he is clear-eyed and unsentimental.

Interspersed are observations of a general nature, such as this

Having spent my strength insisting on the primacy of doctrine and judging other communions and other Christians merely by their creed (or the lack of it), I learned that the highest orthodoxy could co-exist with undiluted wickedness, and, conversely, that a Christ-like attitude could be found among all shades of theological opinion. It became my fixed view that humility without orthodoxy was infinitely more biblical than orthodoxy without humility, (although lack of orthodoxy is not in itself a guarantee of humility. Heresy has its own orthodoxy, and can often be as arrogant and intolerant as the most rigid bigotry).

As you would expect, he writes also with considerable knowledge of the history and of the people of his childhood, and with insight and skill and humour. About The Clearnings, and emigration, and sheep . About, depopulation, the sea, food, the changing landscape, dying and mourning, ‘wakes’ and ‘bundling’, the regulative principle and Christmas, communion seasons, children, their parents, and the church. He provides a vivid description of what it was like to live in a ‘black house’. He writes about education, its standards and values, its harshness, the beatings, the cold. Sometimes there are passages of great detail, about neighbours, and precenters, and various ministers, but equally often he offers sharp general observations.

There are moving, vivid passages

In the days before motorcars people had no option but to walk; and very often they walked in company. Going to church on Sunday morning, for example, was almost like a pilgrimage. People spilled out of every house to join the procession. My maternal grandfather’s house in Habost (Ness) had its gable-end on the very edge of the road. When we were on holiday there we used to go upstairs to watch. The road would be black with people……I can still hear the clip-clop of hundreds of feet striding along on the way to church. These were lively, animated walks, the old women often arm in arm, teasing, sharing and questioning. No doubt the whole of human life was there; gossip, malevolent and benign. But there would also have been such religious and theological discussion as would have graced the table of any seminary.

On a number of things Donald seeks to put the record straight. Was the Isle of Lewis a sort of Presbyterian theocracy? By no means. Ministers had very little influence on education, for example. Were the ministers all-powerful in the churches? By no means. He points to a strong streak of anti-clericalism in the church culture, and speculates as to why this might be. Were those who aspired to participate in Communion services actively discouraged from doing so? Not usually, and he has interesting remarks on the ‘fencing’ of the table. Originally, fencing meant establishing, maintaining. Only later did it come to connote ‘defending’, and only then were there active attempts by somw ministers to discourage participation. Was the introspection of these people due to an over-emphasis on the decrees (a claim routinely made by the late T.F. and J.B. Torrance, and by others)? Not at all, this author claims, they were concerned a not about whether they were elect, but whether they had the marks of saving grace. The two matters are connected, but by no means the same.

These letters meander, and their author more than once apologises to his correspondent for this, but he meanders on. Much of the charm of the book lies in this formlessness. I found it an engrossing read. I’ve mentioned a few of the many things that engaged me, but it would not surprise me at all if other readers were taken with some of the many other things.