“In Dedication to Professor Stanley Grenz”

The untimely death of Stanley Grenz took the world of evangelical theology, specifically, and the wider theological community by surprise. Professor Grenz was a respected and influential thinker for a variety of people, as this issue of the PTR demonstrates. From young, developing theologians to pastors to academics, Grenz’s impact was widespread, making his death that much more tragic and disheartening to the many who awaited further development of his theology. Despite a sense of incompleteness resulting from a life cut short, there is still much for which the theological world is grateful in Grenz’s far-ranging and voluminous work. As such, the staff of the PTR offers this issue in tribute to Professor Grenz.

The extent of Grenz’s reach is evidenced by our first article, “Straddling the Tasman” by Brian Harris, an Australian theologian, who utilizes Grenz’s theological method set forth specifically in Revisioning Evangelical Theology towards addressing the rapidly secularized context of Australasia, leading to an increased unity between Australia and New Zealand. Our next article, Jim Beilby’s “The Implications of Postmodernism for Theology,” takes up postmodernity, something Grenz was quite interested in, examining specifically issues related to epistemology – meta-narratives, foundationalism, and realism – and in so doing, raising questions that those theologians interested in following Grenz will undoubtedly have to address. Our third article, “Faith Seeking Understanding in a Postmodern Context,” comes from John Franke, who offers a summary of the work that he and Professor Grenz did in their widely popular book, Beyond Foundationalism, arguing that insofar as we are in a postmodern context, a nonfoundational theology offers the church its best resource for witnessing to the triune God. Finally, Bradley Onishi offers a brief article looking at the problem of the “commodification of religion” in the contemporary Western context of consumption, examining how Grenz’s theological method commends the necessary tools for a more communally based theology that shows us what it means to be truly human, over against our current individualistic, consumption based culture.

Our reflections begin with one by Roger Olson, personal friend of Professor Grenz, who reflects on Grenz’s contribution to evangelical theology, while pointing out where Grenz was heading in the future. Other reflections include a look at Grenz’s impact on the question of women and ministry by David Komline, his grounding as a Baptist theologian by Myles Werntz, and a reflection on the import of Grenz’s theology for pastors by William Mangrum. All of these reflect the way in which Grenz impacted a variety of loci.

A specific word about our introductory piece is in order. Ed Miller, professor emeritus at the University of Colorado, was a professor of Grenz’s during his undergraduate studies. His anecdotal recounting of a specific chair, previously belonging to Karl Barth, tells a story about the personal side of Professor Grenz of which many readers perhaps know nothing.

For this reason, we found it a fitting introduction to an issue of the PTR published in tribute to Professor Grenz. Along with Professor Miller, we also petitioned Professor Wolfhart Pannenberg, Grenz’s doctoral advisor at the University of Munich, in hopes that he might be able to write something on Grenz’s behalf. Professor Pannenberg graciously sent our staff a personal letter. We found it fitting to include an excerpt herein:

Indeed, if evidence from this issue of the PTR is any indication, Professor Pannenberg’s hope is well-placed, and it is our hope that this issue might aid in furthering Grenz’s already significant contribution to such a task. And so, to the late Professor Grenz, we dedicate this issue.

Erik Leafblad
General Editor

How I Took Barth’s Chair, and How Grenz Almost Took It From Me

by Ed L. Miller

It is, of course, a literal, physical Chair I’m talking about. It was the sitting Chair of the greatest theologian of the 20th century, Karl Barth (1886-1968). By “greatest” I don’t necessarily mean “the best,” but I do mean the most influential and prolific – an impressive list of publications, aside from the multi-volume, eight thousand pages of the Church Dogmatics! Barth sat in that big, wing-style, leather Chair on innumerable occasions. I’m told that the BBC once did a video interview showing Barth sitting in the Chair. It had followed Barth through a succession of Swiss parsonages and university posts in Germany until Barth settled in Switzerland as a professor of theology at the University of Basel. Eventually, the Barths took up residence in the Bruderholz area, just west of Basel, and the Chair found a permanent place in the living room.

How did I, of all people, wind up with the Barth Chair? And how did Dr. Stanley Grenz almost get it from me? The story goes like this.

I

I had received my doctorate in philosophy from the University of Southern California in 1965. On the occasion of my first sabbatical at the University of Colorado, I undertook a second doctorate, this one in theology, which I began at the University of Basel during the academic year of ’73-’74 and completed during my second sabbatical in ’80-’81. It was during the first sojourn that I was introduced to a remarkable man who, along with his wife, was studying theology. His name was Dale Brownell. At that time he was a kind and supportive sort of person, but also given to flamboyance and exaggeration. The story is told, on good evidence, that in his “streaking” days, he once ran around the block in freezing cold, naked except for cowboy boots. When properly clothed, his attire consisted, without fail, of a green suit with vest.

We advance now to my second sojourn in Basel. The Brownells were still there. One fall evening, I and my wife, Cynthia, joined the Brownells for dinner in a cozy Fischstube on the Rhine. I was already aware that when the Brownells first arrived in Basel at the end of the sixties, they had been invited (I don’t know why) to take over the care and occupation of the recently vacated Barth house until its sale. (It was, in fact, sold, and is today maintained by a foundation. Barth’s study, and an adjacent room, is just he left it, filled with books and a print of Grünewald’s Crucifixion and portraits of Mozart and Calvin positioned at equal heights.) After a year or two, the Barth house was sold, and it became necessary for the Brownells to move. According to the Brownells, Nelly Hoffman Barth sought to reward the Brownells for their care of the place during the interim. This she did by giving them a large leather sitting Chair, along with the story that she had given this Chair as a wedding present to Barth on the occasion of their wedding in 1913 – apparently, an exchange of gifts was the custom. The Chair went with the Brownells to an apartment in Basel. It stayed there for many years.

But then in the Fischstube, in the fall of ’80, the Brownells announced that they were moving again and disposing of unwanted stuff, including the Chair: Would I like the Chair? They themselves detested Barth’s theology but knew that I had Barthian inclinations. So, within a few days I and a friend (Richard Atwood, from Texas, who finished a doctorate at Basel, married a Swiss girl, took up a ministry in Switzerland, and lived happily ever after) were found trudging along, over several blocks, bearing the Chair on our shoulders, to Sommergasse 138. I faithfully occupied the Chair while reading Calvin’s Institutes and, in good Barthian fashion, smoking my pipe and a vast quantity of tobacco.

But then doubts began to creep in. As mentioned earlier, Brownell, even at the time of my first Basel sojourn, was a strange bird. But by the time of my second sojourn, his delusional states had advanced considerably. The last time I saw him he was preparing to conduct a special concert for the Hamburg Symphony Orchestra, provided that the proposed program met with his approval! I decided that a little more investigation was called for.

Markus Barth, the son of Karl Barth, was a professor of New Testament at Basel. During my first sojourn, I took a course from him and had many discussions with him about his father’s theology. During the second sojourn, the question of the Chair came up. Yes, he recalled such a Chair. Yes, he would be glad to come and look at it. “For the price of a lunch of course,” he added jovially. We met after one of his classes. We drove to Sommergasse 138. We took the elevator to the third floor. We entered my flat. And without hesitation he said: “Ja, that is the Chair!” I then made good on my pledge for lunch, over which we talked about natural theology: “The idea of ‘natural theology’ makes no more sense than ‘a horse of a cow.’”

The time came to leave Basel. Over these years we had kept our little apartment, making occasional trips to Basel and renting it out. Though in Colorado, we decided to let it go. My friend in Basel, Al Stones, was preparing to return to the States, along with a house-full of furniture, and I asked him to bring the Chair too. For a while, Stones kept the Chair in his office at Fuller Seminary and eventually took it with them to Oxnard. It sat in their garage for several years. Finally, I had it shipped to Boulder. My office at the University of Colorado, Hellems 274, became the home of the Barth Chair.

After so many years of wear and tear, it became apparent that the Chair had to be restored – the leather was hanging in shreds and you could hardly sit in it without sliding onto the floor. It cost me $1,000 to restore the Chair to its original state. But think of it: It was the Chair of the greatest theologian of the 20th century!

II

Stan Grenz was a student of mine at the University of Colorado. He wanted to become a Baptist minister. Little did I expect that he would grow into one of the leading evangelical theologians of our time.

I have a vivid recollection of Grenz the undergraduate. One incident in particular speaks volumes about Grenz’s being a little “out of it” with respect to the real world. It was toward the end of the semester and, in fact, the end of his college career. He entered my office seeking advice. He had received a notice inviting him to join an organization of some sort. It seemed to him to have something to do with Greece. I informed him that he been to elected to Phi Beta Kappa!

Grenz went on to Denver Seminary, a Baptist-oriented institution. Grenz himself was affiliated with the Baptist General Conference. I attended his ordination and (though a Lutheran) was allowed to say a few words of support. Probably the most important influence in seminary was that of Dr. Vernon Grounds, Dr. Gordon Lewis, and Dr. Bruce Demarest. In the meantime, his wife, Edna, was completing a B.A. in music. Before his graduation from seminary, Grenz had settled on the life of a professor. But where would he go for a doctorate? I myself claim some credit for what happened next.

During my first sojourn in Basel, I took a trip to Munich for the purpose of meeting with the German professor, Wolfhart Pannenberg. A good relationship was established, including plans for a visit to Boulder as part of a lecture tour. This visit to Boulder came off in good style. It included a brunch at my home, with many friends and faculty. And Grenz. Thus, I had the occasion to make the introduction: “Professor Pannenberg, this is Mr. Grenz. Mr. Grenz, this is Professor Pannenberg.” A spark was immediately struck, and we know the rest of the story. Stan and his wife, Edna, were off to Germany, he to work on his doctorate with Pannenberg, and she to work for “Meals on Wheels.” My wife and I once visited them. They occupied the back portion of a small church. They put us up in a small, unfinished area, up above someplace. We learned early in the morning that it was the belfry!

After his doctoral work at Munich, he returned to the States where he held a teaching post at North American Baptist Seminary and, later, Carey Theological College in Vancouver. He distinguished himself as a theologian to be reckoned with. Edna was in the process of distinguishing herself as a director of choirs and eventually earning a Doctor of Worship Studies.

Stan’s death was as untimely as it was shocking. At the pinnacle of his career, he was writing, publishing, teaching, and traveling at breakneck speed. It was my privilege to have coauthored a book with him, and it was an honor that he dedicated one of his books to an old professor and friend.

I think it was about six months before he died that I saw Stan for the last time. He was in Denver to visit his mother, and he came to visit me in Boulder too. We met for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory on the Pearl St. Mall. We talked about his work. We talked about my work. We talked about Pannenberg. We talked about our families. We talked about his move to Baylor University and return to Regent. We talked about the publishing business. And we talked about the Chair.

Stan knew the story of the Chair. He also knew that I had been diagnosed with brain cancer and had gone through radiation, chemo, and three brain surgeries. A doubtful future, to say the least. It probably took a little courage for him to pose the question: “Ed, what’s going to happen to the Barth Chair when you’re gone?” I had not thought that much about it. But, yes, what a splendid idea! It would go to Grenz! But life has a funny way of giving and then taking it back. It was not I but Stan who was taken first. He died suddenly from a massive brain hemorrhage.

Someday, in the not too distant future, each of us, like an old worn out leather Chair, will finally collapse into a heap of molecules. Toward the end of his life, Marlon Brando mused: “What the hell was that all about?” Less cynical was Karl Barth, the greatest theologian of the 20th century. He once responded to a question from the audience by singing: Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

Ed L. Miller is Professor of Philosophy Emeritus at the University of Colorado, Boulder, where he is Director of the Theology Forum.

Straddling the Tasman: The Relevance of Grenz’s Revisioned Evangelical Theology in the Australasian Context

by Brian Harris

In an article published in 1992, Stanley Grenz suggests that by adopting “community” as the integrative motif for theology, “North American evangelical theology will also discover that it is being linked to insights that lie at the center of theological expressions of the gospel found in other regions of the one world we share in common.”⁽¹⁾ To what extent was Grenz correct? Do his theological method and motifs interact meaningfully with expressions of evangelicalism found outside of the North American context within which his theology was birthed? Are Grenz’s insights helpful in plotting a path for evangelicalism outside of his own setting? In this paper, I explore the helpfulness of Grenz’s approach within the context of Australasian evangelicalism, focusing particularly on evangelical theology and expression in both New Zealand and Australia.

Both New Zealanders and Australians would realize the risks inherent in discussing these two countries together. As the smaller of the two, New Zealand is particularly quick to assert the differences between Australian and Kiwi culture. In light of his long residence in Canada, Grenz likely appreciated this distinction. Canadians do not like being thought of as Americans, just as Kiwis do not appreciate being mistaken for Australians!

There are marked differences between the evangelical churches in Australia and New Zealand. Evangelicalism in New Zealand was deeply impacted by the charismatic renewal of the 1970s. This has left it significantly more exposed to what can be described as the Wesleyan Holiness trajectory of evangelicalism than in Australia, where the charismatic renewal tended more distinctly to divide Australian evangelicals into those falling within the Wesleyan Holiness stream and those within the Reformed stream.

While Grenz’s influence in Australia and New Zealand has primarily been through many books and journal articles, his personal and professional visits also made an impact. In July 1997, he was the keynote speaker at the Conference of the South Pacific Association of Bible Colleges, which was held at the Bible College of New Zealand as part of its 75th anniversary celebration. In February and March 2001, he lectured at Tabor College and Burleigh (Baptist) College. One year later, he delivered the Barrett Lectures at the Southern Cross College and was the keynote speaker for the Association of Pentecostal and Charismatic Bible Colleges of Australia. This trip also included visits to the Bible College of Queensland, the Queensland Baptist College of Ministries, and the Brisbane chapter of the Australian and New Zealand Association of Theological Schools. If it were not for his untimely death, Grenz would have again visited Australia in 2006.

Grenz most often visited colleges with either a charismatic or Pentecostal emphasis (e.g., Tabor, Southern Cross, and the Association of Pentecostal and Charismatic Bible Colleges) or a Baptist heritage (e.g., Burleigh and Queensland Baptist College of Ministries). It is within these communities in Australasia that his work has been most appreciated, and I will argue that Grenz serves as a key bridge theologian between both charismatic and Pentecostal theologians and evangelicals. Before assessing Grenz’s contribution to Australasian evangelicalism, let us endeavour to understand its context.

Setting the Scene

It is sometimes noted that while North America was settled by people seeking freedom for religion, New Zealand and Australia were settled by people seeking freedom from religion! ⁽²⁾ Though a gross overgeneralization, the embedded kernel of truth should not be ignored. On hearing the latest theory of church growth to emanate from the U.S.A., both New Zealand and Australian church leaders tend to respond with a suspicious, “…but that’s American!” When pressed, they will go on to suggest that the missional context of North America is much more sympathetic than that found in either New Zealand or Australia; therefore, the likelihood of American programs succeeding in Australasia is slight.⁽³⁾ The reason is not simply the sub-cultural elements of most of these programs, but also the receptivity of the populations. Historically, a polite but unenthusiastic embrace of the Christian faith of their British colonizers has characterized both New Zealand and Australian churches. The nominal form of Christianity adopted tended towards the ceremonial and sacramental rather than warm-hearted “convertive piety,” which Grenz saw as characteristic of evangelical faith and which has been so much more influential in the North American context.⁽⁴⁾

Though evangelicals have not been dominant players within the broader church scene in either Australia or New Zealand, their influence in recent years has grown. However, one should view this growth against a broader backdrop of declining church attendance and influence in both countries. In part, the rise of the evangelical voice has been a result of the increasingly subdued tones of other forms of Christianity.⁽⁵⁾ Overall, both countries have become increasingly secularized and the Christian voice marginalized.

Some New Zealand Images

Grenz was not averse to selecting key events as being indicative of a broader trend or paradigm shift. If Grenz can write that “[p]ostmodernism was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on July 15th, 1972, at 3:32pm” – the moment when the modernist Pruitt- Igoe housing project in was dynamited to the ground – I can be so bold as to suggest that the current state of evangelicalism in New Zealand can be understood by three key events and images that are suggestive of a broader shift.⁽⁶⁾

The first image is the music of David and Dale Garrett. This significant New Zealand contribution to the music of the charismatic renewal of the 1970s reflects the deep impact this movement made in the country. In his 1978 publication Fire in the Fireplace, Charles Hummel expressed the hope that the charismatic renewal would be stoked within the safety of the established church denominations, rather than burning uncontrolled in a plethora of newly formed and unaccountable churches. New Zealand was one of the few countries where this plea was heeded.⁽⁷⁾ While the charismatic renewal did birth new church groups, it also deeply affected already existing denominations. Its impact is still clearly evident amongst evangelicals in New Zealand today.

The second image is the epic struggle surrounding the passage of the bill to decriminalize homosexual acts between males in New Zealand in 1986. Space does not allow the telling of the tale, but for our purposes it is enough to note that the evangelical church went to extraordinary lengths to mobilize its forces to defeat this bill – and failed.⁽⁸⁾ The movement would have profited from reading Grenz’s Welcoming but not Affirming,⁽⁹⁾ but it had not then been written. Sadly, the movement settled for a response of which it now cannot be proud, leaving evangelicals unable to sway national decisions.

The third image is the 2005 arrest and imprisonment of Graham Capill for child molestation. A previous leader of the Christian Heritage Party, Capill’s face was associated with right-wing evangelical Christianity in New Zealand. His harsh tirades against what he perceived to be any breach of Christian morality saw him increasingly marginalized within the evangelical church he claimed to represent, but the public perception of Capill as a representative evangelical remained. The multi-layered tragedy of this event is hard to overestimate. It leaves an evangelical church searching for alternatives in a missional context that has significantly hardened.

The combination of these three images suggests an evangelical church characterized by warm-hearted convertive piety that views the broader social arena with growing concern and an increasing sense of powerlessness. Given the context, the risk of the church retreating into a ghetto mentality is real, though in practice the evangelical church is creative and willing to explore new options.⁽¹⁰⁾ The convertive heart of evangelicalism prevents the church from retreating from society, though church leaders are acutely aware that in the New Zealand context influence is unlikely to come from political power or social prestige.⁽¹¹⁾ The somewhat embattled status of the movement has led to an embrace of the generous orthodoxy Grenz represents. The weakened state of the church does not allow for the luxury of indulging in doctrinal hair splitting, and those who do so tend to be treated with exasperation rather than sympathy.

Strengths and weaknesses are often closely aligned. While Grenz welcomed evangelicalism’s shift “from a creed based to a spirituality- based identity,” he was clear that this “does not require the severing of intellectual from spiritual theology.”⁽¹²⁾ At times evangelicals in New Zealand appear to be willing to embrace the experiential without subjecting it to adequate theological critique.

Some Australian Images

Crossing “the ditch” to Australia reveals a somewhat different context that is more difficult to characterize. One could easily draw from the well of Australian mythology. Images of the Australian outback, the outlaw hero Ned Kelly, or the significance of Anzac day readily spring to mind. However, one suspects they do not do justice in describing the missional context of the Australian church.⁽¹³⁾ In noting the difference between essays on the religious scene written by New Zealand and Australian theologians, Emilsen and Emilsen note that “compared with the New Zealand contributions, there is a noticeable reticence about taking a broad measure of the Australian religious landscape” and go on to speak about “the reticence of Australian contributors in indulging in broad mapping.”⁽¹⁴⁾ Perhaps Australia is too immense and varied. Perhaps there is a fear of reductionism that will distort Australia into being a larrikin former convict colony. Perhaps vast distances have led to a greater geographic isolation and therefore a focus on the local rather than the national scene. The closest I can come to Australian images is to provide two alternate snapshots of evangelical faith, one from Sydney, the other from Perth.

The first image is Sydney itself, where two rival forms of evangelicalism compete.⁽¹⁵⁾ Sydney Anglicanism represents the first form. Globally, the Anglican Communion tends to be diverse and inclusive. The Sydney diocese is a notable exception; it is strongly evangelical in character and almost uniformly so. The majority of its clergy have trained at Moore Theological College, known for its commitment to a Reformed and Calvinist expression of the evangelical faith. The evangelicalism of Sydney Anglicanism clearly distinguishes between who is in and who is out, and convertive piety undoubtedly lies at the heart of the movement. Soon after his election as Sydney’s archbishop, Peter Jensen committed the diocese to a ten-year mission project with a goal to see 10% of the region’s population in Bible-based churches within 10 years through multiplying Bible-based Christian fellowships and churches.⁽¹⁶⁾

Hillsong represents the second form of Sydney evangelicalism. With around 19,000 worshippers each weekend, it sits on the Pentecostal edge of evangelicalism. It is contemporary, enthusiastic, and undoubtedly successful. While Sydney Anglicanism remains close to the biblical text, Hillsong’s success lies in its understanding of culture and its successful marketing. As with Sydney Anglicanism, convertive piety lies at the heart of the movement. Beyond that, differences become striking and Sydney Anglicans are quick to point out the doctrinal shortcomings of Hillsong. The divisiveness of this context is one Grenz understood well.

The second image is Perth’s annual “Church Together” service, which successfully draws together around 200 of Perth’s churches for an evening that includes contemporary worship and listening to an evangelistic speaker and then finishes with a youth-focused praise party. It is a remarkable display of unity and succeeds in straddling the many divisions within evangelicalism (and beyond) – albeit only for an evening!

Both images seem to be valid representations of Australian evangelicalism, which at its best is inclusive and under-girded by a generous orthodoxy. However, it can quickly swing to an ethos where suspicions run rampant and “guilt by association” inhibits the exploration of alternatives.

Grenz’s Relevance in the Australasian Context

We now come to our key questions: What relevance does Grenz’s understanding of a revisioned evangelicalism have in this context? Is his contribution limited to North America, or does it impact Australasia as well?

In Revisioning Evangelical Theology, Grenz explores seven areas of evangelicalism in need of revisioning if the movement is to be relevant in the transition to postmodernity. First, evangelical identity ought to be understood experientially and not limited to matters of doctrine. Second, spirituality is to be understood holistically rather than simply doctrinally. Third, the theological task must not be restricted to the formulation of acceptable theological propositions. Instead, “from their vantage point within the Christian tradition, theologians seek to assist the church in bringing the affirmation of faith, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ into the contemporary context.”⁽¹⁷⁾ Theology is contextual and flows from within the community of faith and for the community of faith. Fourth, the three key sources for theology are scripture, tradition, and culture. These should be conversation partners; a foundationalist frame must not underpin all others. Fifth, while evangelicals have rightly stressed the inspiration of scripture, there is a need to explore and emphasize our belief in the illumination of scripture. The scriptures are pneumatologically mediated and should be communally received and interpreted. Sixth, the theological integrative motif often adopted by evangelicals (i.e., the Kingdom of God) must be given more substantial content, and Grenz suggests the motif of community meets this need. Seventh, evangelicals have tended to neglect ecclesiology, and this defect should be corrected.

The impetus for Grenz’s revisioning is an awareness that the missional context of the church in the West is rapidly changing. Rather than lamenting the rise of postmodernism, Grenz seeks to engage it constructively, and this positive tone of missional engagement meets with a ready reception in the Australasian context. While there are pockets of reserve and caution, the reactionary backlash that Grenz encountered in such works as Reclaiming the Center is largely absent.⁽¹⁸⁾

In outlining Grenz’s contribution to the Australasian discussion, several points spring to the fore. I have limited myself to ten, hoping they will be sufficiently representative to provide an understanding of the value of Grenz’s work in the Australasian scene.

First, Grenz’s willingness to engage culture as a significant source for theology is helpful. Though we could debate if Grenz really sees culture as a source or a resource for theology, his awareness that theological context is influenced by cultural context is a needed correction to the naïve assumption that theology is timeless and culture-free. The missional possibilities of theology engaging culture are quickly grasped in the Australasian setting. Stuart Devenish has argued for the need for the resuscitation or “repristination” of the Christian message in Australia.⁽¹⁹⁾ Devenish worries that “the spiritual ‘responsiveness’ of the average Australian is not matched by the missional ‘readiness’ of the churches” and argues for a revisualization of the Christian gospel that is possible as a result of the rising tide of spiritual reenchantment with postmodernity.⁽²⁰⁾ Like Grenz, Devenish sees the missional opportunities in the shift from the modern to the postmodern condition.

Second, the focus on pneumatology in Grenz’s doctrine of scripture is particularly helpful in the Australasian context. In New Zealand, where the charismatic renewal has left a deep interest and openness to the work of the Spirit, Grenz helps to articulate beliefs towards which New Zealand theologians are groping. In Australia, where pneumatology is a more divisive issue, Grenz points to a possible path forward. It is not insignificant that the majority of Grenz’s Australian commitments were in settings just as readily described as “charismatic” or “Pentecostal” as they would have been “evangelical.” One could argue that the charismatic movement in Australasia is in search of a theology to describe and validate its experiences, and Grenz’s relevance to this search should not be underestimated.⁽²¹⁾ Though Grenz’s emphasis on the role of both the Spirit and the community in mediating the meaning of scripture has proved controversial in the North American context (and meets with modest reserve in some Australian centers), the dominant Australasian awareness is of the fruitful possibilities this approach opens.⁽²²⁾

Third, Grenz’s use of community as an integrative motif for theology resonates deeply in the Australasian heart. “Mateship” is both a strong Australian and New Zealand value, and while the isolation of both countries has led to a certain rugged individualism and self-reliance, it has also led to an appreciation and valuing of the neighbor. In recent years, urbanization has led to an increased sense of isolation and disconnection. A statistic that bothers New Zealanders and Australians is that of the suicide rate. While media reports are often conflicting, a consistent theme is that the rate is significantly higher than in other parts of the Western world.⁽²³⁾ At this point, we should heed Grenz and Franke’s warning that “[t]heology…and not sociology…must emerge as our ultimate basis for speaking of the church as a community.”⁽²⁴⁾ While the impetus for embracing the motif of community is ultimately theological, the fact that it strikes a longing within the Australasian heart is especially helpful.

Fourth, the relationship Grenz draws between the motif of community and the Trinity is important. His emphasis on relationality within the Trinity and its implication for Christian community is one that is appreciated and increasingly explored within the Australasian context.

Fifth, Grenz’s stress on the role of the Spirit in the creation and guidance of the Christian community is to be welcomed in the Australasian context. The emphasis on the Spirit opens up the possibility of dynamic interaction rather than of static boundarydrawing. This can also be linked to Grenz’s understanding of the role of the Spirit in illuminating the tradition of the church; this illumination is communally received. A revisioned understanding of the church’s tradition can plot a path beyond the impasse of denominational divides and artificially imposed boundaries.

Sixth, Grenz’s use of both tradition and culture as sources for theology is refreshing. In his critique of evangelicalism, Mark Strom, the current Principal of the Bible College of New Zealand, writes that “evangelicalism works largely by maintaining the myth that it is not a cultural, historical and social phenomenon: ‘We simply believe the truth.’”⁽²⁵⁾ Clearly, this trite fable concerns Strom. Grenz’s willingness to adopt both culture and tradition as sources for evangelical theology is as a move towards greater honesty and transparency in theological method, which gives it greater integrity and credibility.

Seventh, Grenz’s gentle dissatisfaction with the state of evangelical theology opens doors in the Australasian context. Alan Jamieson’s study of “Churchless faith” has been influential in New Zealand and beyond.⁽²⁶⁾ Concerned by the exodus of people from evangelical, charismatic and Pentecostal churches in New Zealand, Jamieson suggests that a reason for their departure is their dissatisfaction with an environment where questioning and independent thought is discouraged. Linking this to James Fowler’s stages of faith development, Jamieson suggests that the environment created corresponds to Fowler’s “Stage Three” faith or the “Synthetic-Conventional” stage.⁽²⁷⁾ Grenz’s more open-ended approach to evangelical faith is useful here. Rather than the tight boundaries often associated with evangelicalism, Grenz proposes that “the evangelical movement functions more like a centered set than a bounded set.”⁽²⁸⁾ In practice, this assessment of evangelical theology might be optimistic, but if indicative of a desired trajectory, it would allow for a broadening of the range of evangelical experience and belief. Observers of the New Zealand scene suggest this is important for the future of the movement in the country.⁽²⁹⁾

Eighth, while some would feel that Grenz’s conclusions on homosexuality in Welcoming but Not Affirming are too cautious, the tone and style of writing has been noted. This is especially helpful in the New Zealand context where the press have dismissed evangelicals as being homophobic and where political activism by evangelicals has largely been unhelpful.⁽³⁰⁾ It is also indicative of an appropriate tone to adopt in other ethical debates.

Ninth, Grenz and Bell’s Betrayal of Trust provides helpful guidelines on dealing with and avoiding sexual abuse.⁽³¹⁾ The book’s 1995 publication date is commendable. It reflects an early response to an issue that evangelicals initially tried to avoid, and it is to Grenz’s credit that he tackled the topic promptly. It also reflects Grenz’s willingness to engage the issues of the day. Evangelicals in Australasia have been affected by many incidents of sexual abuse, and a police clearance is now required for all working with children in churches in Australasia. The church’s credibility has been compromised, and the missional task has consequently been made more difficult. Grenz’s work serves as a helpful resource in this setting.

Tenth, Grenz’s plea that evangelicals develop a more adequate ecclesiology is pertinent in Australasia. It is interesting that even Sydney Anglicanism has a very flexible understanding of ecclesiology and is content to define its mission for the next decade as being the planting of bible-based churches.⁽³²⁾ Other than being bible-based, the desired ecclesiology is unclear.

A Shortcoming or Two

An area of disappointment in Grenz’s theology from an Australasian perspective is the relative lack of serious ecological engagement. The earlier Grenz had indicated this would be a part of his agenda, but the later Grenz failed to produce. Thus, in a 1985 article Grenz had written that a “holistic theology also deals with the earth. It decries humanity’s rape of creation….”⁽³³⁾ Interestingly, Davis validly cites Grenz’s Theology for the Community of God as an example of the scant attention evangelical theologians pay to ecological concerns.⁽³⁴⁾ Perhaps Grenz’s choice of community as his integrating motif leads to this oversight. It is a criticism Australian theologian Frank Rees echoes in his examination of Grenz’s The Social God and the Relational Self. Rees writes, “[T]he inherently relational character of humans is limited to human relationships only, without consideration of how profoundly our life and well-being is interdependent with that of the rest of the cosmos.”⁽³⁵⁾ If the older Grenz had heeded his younger voice, perhaps this critique could have been avoided. It is one that bites deeply in the Australasian conscious, especially in New Zealand where ecological issues rank high on the national agenda.⁽³⁶⁾

One could also argue that there is little engagement with the issue of global injustice and the inequitable distribution of the world’s wealth. Again, the younger Grenz indicated this would be a focus for his theology. In his 1985 article “A Theology for the Future,” Grenz suggested the growing gap between rich and poor, the increasing greed of wealthy countries, and the rapid population growth in poorer countries as well as the nuclear proliferation were key issues a theology for the future would have to address.⁽³⁷⁾ There is no special focus on this in his later work. Located as they are in wealthy countries, the evangelical churches in New Zealand and Australia have also allowed the issue of global justice to slip down the agenda, and it is a pity that Grenz was not able to have a more prophetic voice in this regard.⁽³⁸⁾

In highlighting these two shortcomings, I think I speak with an Australasian voice. While North American critics of his theology question if Grenz domesticates the gospel, compromises the notion of truth, or capitulates to postmodernity, the Australasian voice pragmatically asks whether Grenz has plotted a clear enough path. “How then should we live?” is seen as the more pertinent question in this part of the globe.⁽³⁹⁾

A Concluding Affirmation

It would be churlish to end on a note of criticism. The relevance of Grenz’s theological method for the Australasian context is clear. Though I have limited myself to ten points of appreciation, they were selected from a far larger list. Though there are distinct differences between evangelicalism in New Zealand and Australia, the ethos of Grenz’s approach helps to straddle the Tasman. The weakened state of Christianity in both countries has fuelled a strong commitment to mission, and Grenz’s engagement with a changed context helps illuminate a path ahead. If Grenz was a pietist with a Ph.D., his commitment to the integration of that spectrum is exemplary.⁽⁴⁰⁾ Australasian evangelicals join others in celebrating Grenz’s fruitful life, while at the same time lamenting that it was a life too short.

Brian Harris is the Principal of the Baptist Theological College of Western Australia and is currently working on a Ph.D. through Auckland University entitled “Revisioning Evangelical Theology: An Exploration and Evaluation of the Theological Method of Stanley J. Grenz.” He can be contacted at brian@btc.wa.edu.au.

1 Stanley J. Grenz, “‘Community’ as a Theological Motif for the Western Church in an Era of Globalization,” Crux 28, no. 3 (1992): 18.
2 This thesis is strongly rejected by some. Col Stringer argues that Australia has a strong Christian heritage, and rather than portraying it as a settlement of convicts, he suggests it should be seen as the “South Land of the Holy Spirit.” However, Stringer’s reading of Australian history is highly selective and tends to read Australian history outside of the context of the overarching “Christendom” model that undergirded Britain’s program of colonization. See Col Stringer, Discovering Australia’s Christian Heritage (Robina: Col Stringer Ministries, 1999).
3 An interesting exception has been the successful “40 Days of Purpose” campaign.
4 Bentley, Blombery, and Hughes write, “For the purposes of this book, nominalism is defined as identification with a Christian denomination in surveys or census, and church attendance less than once a month. Defined this way, most Australians are nominal. See Peter Bentley, Tricia Blombery, and Philip Hughes, Faith without the Church? Nominalism in Australian Christianity (Wollstonecraft: Christian Research Association, 1992), 1. For Grenz’s enthusiastic adoption of Dayton’s characterization of evangelicalism, see his Revisioning Evangelical Theology: A Fresh Agenda for the Twenty First Century (Downers Grove: IVP, 1993), 23.
5 Following Darryl Hart, it could be argued that this evangelical voice is simply what was conservative Protestant orthodoxy before 1950. We attach to evangelicalism what was earlier attributed to mainstream Protestantism. See Darryl G. Hart, Deconstructing Evangelicalism: Conservative Protestantism in the Age of Billy Graham (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004).
6 Stanley J. Grenz, A Primer on Postmodernism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 11.
7 Charles E. Hummel, Fire in the Fireplace: Contemporary Charismatic Renewal (Downers Grove: IVP, 1978).
8 For a full discussion, see Laurie Guy, Worlds in Collision: The Gay Debate in New Zealand 1960-1984 (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2003).
9 Stanley J. Grenz, Welcoming but Not Affirming: An Evangelical Response to Homosexuality (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998).
10 Given its size, New Zealand is a remarkably active contributor to discussions on the emerging church. Some very impressive resources have resulted. For one example, see Steve Taylor, The Out of Bounds Church: Learning to Create a Community of Faith in a Culture of Change (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005).
11 Some might argue that this portrayal of the public image of evangelicals is too gloomy and might point to the moderate success of New Zealand’s Maxim Institute in shaping public opinion. Though not officially a Christian research institute, Maxim is staffed by evangelical Christians. Strong lobbying by the Institute in 2003 saw the Prostitution Reform Bill come within one vote of defeat. However, in 2005 the New Zealand press revealed that Maxim reports and articles were guilty of serious plagiarism. This has compromised its public image.
12 Stanley J. Grenz, Revisioning Evangelical Theology: A Fresh Agenda for the Twenty First Century (Downers Grove: IVP, 1993), 37, 57.
13 Anzac day, when the sacrifices made by both Australian and New Zealand soldiers are remembered, opens a range of potential missional images. An excellent study of some of the possibilities is to be found in Steve Taylor, “Scars on the Australasian Heart: Anzac Day as a Contextual Atonement Image,” New Zealand Journal of Baptist Research 6 (2001): 48-74.
14 Susan Emilsen and William W. Emilsen, “Introduction: Mapping the Landscape,” in Mapping the Landscape: Essays in Australian and New Zealand Christianity, eds. Susan Emilsen and William W. Emilsen (New York: Peter Lang, 2000), 4.
15 Suggesting only two factions is reductionist. Many groups would claim that they represent an alternate, middle ground position. However, for our purpose this contrast highlights the differences.
16 For an uncritical discussion of the mission strategy, see Robert Forsyth, “Evangelism and Ministry: The ‘10 Per Cent Mission’ in the City of Sydney,” Transformation 21, no. 1 (2004): 36-40.
17 Grenz, Revisioning Evangelical Theology, 83.
18 Millard J. Erickson, Paul Kjoss Helseth, and Justin Taylor, eds., Reclaiming the Center: Confronting Evangelical Accommodation in Postmodern Times (Wheaton: Crossway, 2004).
19 Stuart Devenish, “Repristination: The Recovery of the Gospel in Post-Secular Australia,” in Text and Task: Scripture and Mission, ed. Michael Parsons (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2005), 187-203.
20 Ibid, 200.
21 See, e.g., Cross’s fruitful engagement with Grenz’s thought in Terry L. Cross, “A Proposal to Break the Ice: What Can Pentecostal Theology Offer Evangelical Theology?” Journal of Pentecostal Theology 10, no. 2 (2002): 44-73.
22 Don Carson’s dismissive rejection of Grenz’s approach to scripture is often quoted: “I cannot see how Grenz’s approach to Scripture can be called ‘evangelical’ in any useful sense.” [D. A. Carson, The Gagging of God: Christianity Confronts Pluralism (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), 481.]
23 A 1996 report tabled in the New Zealand parliament by Deborah Morris, Bill English, and Tau Henare quotes a New Zealand figure of 26.9 suicides per 100,000 of population, as opposed to American and Canadian figures of around 12-13 per 100,000.
24 Stanley J. Grenz and John R. Franke, Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 227.
25 Mark Strom, Breaking the Silence: The Abusiveness of Evangelicalism (Sydney: Robert Menzies College, 1993), 5.
26 Alan Jamieson, A Churchless Faith: Faith Journeys Beyond Evangelical, Pentecostal and Charismatic Churches (Wellington: Philip Garside Publishing, 2000).
27 James W. Fowler, Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1981), 151-73.
28 Stanley J. Grenz, “Die Begrenzte Gemeinschaft (‘the Boundaried People’) and the Character of Evangelical Theology,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 45 (2002): 312.
29 See, e.g., Brett Knowles, “Is the Future of Western Christianity a Pentecostal One? A Conversation with Harvey Cox,” in The Future of Christianity: Historical, Sociological, Political and Theological Perspectives from New Zealand, eds. John Stenhouse and Brett Knowles (Adelaide: ATF Press, 2004), 39-59.
30 See Laurie Guy, Worlds in Collision: The Gay Debate in New Zealand 1960-1984 (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2003).
31 Stanley J. Grenz and Roy D. Bell, Betrayal of Trust: Sexual Misconduct in the Pastorate (Downers Grove: IVP, 1995).
32 See Robert Forsyth, “Evangelism and Ministry,” 36-40.
33 Stanley J. Grenz, “A Theology for the Future,” American Baptist Quarterly 4 (1985): 266.
34 John Jefferson Davis, “Ecological ‘Blind Spots’ in the Structure and Content of Recent Systematic Theologies,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 43 (2000): 283-84.
35 Frank Rees, “Trinity and Church: Contributions from the Free Church Tradition,” Pacifica 17 (2004): 260.
36 One could argue that New Zealand’s willingness to sign the Kyoto Protocol and Australia’s refusal to do so are indicative of a Trans-Tasman divide.
37 Grenz, “A Theology for the Future,” 257-67.
38 The missional importance of active social engagement is seen in both New Zealand and Australia. Australian Baptist pastor Tim Costello is one of the most recognized faces in Australia, largely as a result of his work amongst the poor and his leadership of the Australian branch of World Vision.
39 Contrast these concerns with those raised in Erickson, Helseth, and Taylor, eds., Reclaiming the Center.
40 Stanley J. Grenz, “Concerns of a Pietist with a Ph.D.,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 37, no. 2 (2002): 58-76.
 

The Implications of Postmodernism for Theology:
On Meta-narratives, Foundationalism, and Realism⁽¹⁾

by Jim Beilby

It takes an uncommon measure of courage to argue that an organization to which one belongs must change. Because it is very rare that there is universal agreement on what (and how much) needs to change, even the least conservative members of such organizations are tempted to “shoot the messenger.” Such was the plight of Stanley Grenz.⁽²⁾ Stan was a self-avowed and unabashed evangelical who tirelessly yet graciously argued that evangelical theology has been held hostage by a debilitating commitment to modernist philosophical assumptions. To the chagrin of many evangelicals (and the delight of some), Stan sought to re-vision evangelical theological method in terms of the ‘chastened rationality’ of postmodernity,⁽³⁾ the primary characteristics of which are the demise of foundationalist epistemologies and the transition from a realist to a constructionist view of truth and the world.⁽⁴⁾

In this essay, I am less interested in whether postmodernism is compatible with evangelical theology and more interested in a pair of logically prior questions. If one accepts Grenz’s argument that a turn away from modernism is necessary for the long-term health of Christian theology, what exactly (or even approximately) about modernism must go? And what are the implications of the rejection of modernism for theological method? Admittedly, these are not small, uncontroversial questions. Lest the reader recoil in horror at the prospect of an attempt to address these labyrinthine issues in anything less than 400 pages, let me acknowledge the self-imposed limitations on this essay. While I will provide a general answer to the first question, I will be able to do very little to defend or even flesh out my answer. And while the primary focus of this essay is on the second question, I cannot pretend to discuss all of the implications of postmodernism for theological method. Instead I shall consider whether Grenz is right in claiming that postmodernism entails the demise of foundationalism and realism.

Despite the fact that most who embrace the postmodern turn have dismissed foundationalism and realism as denizens of the modernist graveyard, I will suggest that this stance is not necessary. I will argue that it is possible to agree with the postmodern critique of modernist epistemologies but disagree with what many suggest are the implications of postmodernism for knowledge in general and theological method specifically. Consequently, the stance I will sketch in this essay could be understood either as a critique of postmodernists who too quickly dismiss notions like foundationalism and realism or a critique of certain analytic philosophers who, in their desire to defend foundationalism and realism, too quickly dismiss what is correct about the postmodern turn.

But what is postmodernism? Up until now, I have been flippant in my use of the term. I have been using the term as if there was clear agreement on what it signified, and that must be remedied. The difficulty of defining postmodernism has been much discussed. It is less than clear what the “post” intends to signify and, even if it is clear, there is no agreement on what aspect (or aspects) of modernism are being rejected. Further, there is no agreement on the function of whatever it is that is labeled “postmodern.” Is it a worldview (an “ism” or something similar), a mood, a social condition, a trajectory of human discourse, or a judicious blend of all of these?

While there is no agreed upon definition, neither is “postmodernism” an infinitely fluid concept. It does not, for example, encompass Descartes cogito ergo sum and the quest for certainty that motivated it and neither does it — if it is to be taken seriously — entail utter nihilism. (For if it did, what would be the point in asserting the meaningfulness of postmodern attitudes, conditions, assertions, and/or critiques?) Like Justice Potter Stewart, who reportedly said about obscenity, “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it,” there is a distinctive and recognizable flavor to the entrapments of postmodernity. In this sense, postmodernism is similar to many of the conceptual labels used in academic circles. As Dan Stiver points out, “we use terms like analytic philosophy, existentialism, phenomenology, structuralism, process philosophy, and pragmatism with meaning but also with awareness that it is notoriously difficult to come up with demarcation criteria that will tell us in any and every case who is and who is not in the pertinent group. Postmodernism is that type of term.”⁽⁵⁾ Grenz and Franke rightly make the further observation that the difficulty in defining postmodernism “is exacerbated by the fact that in many respects postmodern thought is in its early stages.”⁽⁶⁾

But what is this “recognizable flavor” that allows the term “postmodern” to be used with meaning? For those attempting to answer this question, Lyotard’s description of postmodernism is a common starting point. “Simplifying to the extreme,” he says, “I define postmodernism as an incredulity toward meta-narratives.”⁽⁷⁾ This statement has caused Christians much consternation. Since it is difficult to describe Christianity in a way that minimizes the all-encompassing nature of its claims, it is commonly thought that Christianity must, to be postmodern, either mitigate the scope of its claims, or to be orthodox, reject postmodernism.

I think that this is a false either/or and is based on an erroneous understanding of the term “meta-narrative.” In his book Overcoming Ontotheology, Merold Westphal makes a distinction between a meta-narrative and a “mega-narrative.”⁽⁸⁾ A mega-narrative is a narrative that has the broadest possible scope; it addresses everything in history from creation to the eschaton and has implications for just about every philosophically interesting debate ever conceived of by humans. Christianity is undoubtedly a mega-narrative. A meta-narrative, on the other hand, is not defined by the scope of its claims, but by its being a second order discourse. This second order discourse is independent, universally available, and passes judgment on the viability of first order claims. By Westphal’s lights, therefore, Lyotard’s suspicion of meta-narratives is a suspicion of the possibility of an externally imposed, universally applicable legitimation discourse. Such a legitimation discourse functions to prove (or disprove) accounts of reality and does so from a principally neutral perspective. The paradigmatic example of a meta-narrative in the Christian context is natural theology — an enterprise designed “to provide rational justification for theism using only those sources of information accessible to all inquirers, namely the data of empirical experience and the dictates of human reason.”⁽⁹⁾

This understanding of meta-narratives raises many questions. But let us set aside the exegetical question: Is this how Lyotard should be understood? This reading of Lyotard’s “incredulity toward meta-narratives” is admittedly controversial.⁽¹⁰⁾ Some see in Lyotard a more radical critique of human intellectual activity than that just sketched. But rather than diving into the murky depths of Lyotardian exegesis, I want to focus on a more fruitful theological question: Should orthodox Christians be incredulous of meta-narratives like natural theology?

To my mind, that depends on whether the rejection of metanarratives is understood as a critique of the scope of reason or a critique of the validity of reason. If we understand the postmodern critique as a critique of the validity of human reason, logic, and philosophical analysis, then I’m monumentally unsympathetic. Such a claim seems simply false; there are certainly appropriate uses of reason and logic.

Moreover, the critique itself is the product of reason and therefore is self-defeating. (I realize that the ‘self-referential argument” has been terribly overused in critiques of postmodernism. Nevertheless, this is a place where the argument is appropriately employed.)

Understood as a critique of the scope of human reason, however, I share Westphal’s incredulity toward meta-narratives (and maybe Lyotard’s, depending on how he is to be understood). It seems undeniable that there are aspects of reality that lie outside the bounds of logic and reason — my love for my children, the metaphysics behind the incarnation, and belief in the existence of other minds, to name just a few. I don’t mean to say that these things are contrary to reason, but merely that they are beyond it. One of the things that lie outside the bounds of reason is the ability to, in any meaningful sense of the word, prove our starting points — the essential philosophical and theological assumptions of our worldview. Consequently, if natural theology is understood as proving the truthfulness of the Christian worldview without reference to Scriptural or mystical revelations, it cannot get the job done. Of course, this does not mean that we cannot argue for our starting points, and neither does it mean that our arguments will never be effective.

There are many uses for natural theology, including bolstering pre-existing faith, moving agnostics closer to commitment, and undercutting atheological arguments.⁽¹¹⁾ My claim is merely that effectiveness of philosophical argumentation, in general, and natural theology, specifically, is limited. Such arguments are only effective when other more important conditions are present, and they function better as explanations of why we believe as we do than universally accessible demonstrations of the truth of our belief system as a whole.

While I don’t claim that the understanding of postmodernity just sketched is the only possible understanding, I nonetheless propose to discuss the implications of postmodernity thus understood. While I endorse a rejection of meta-narratives (in the sense detailed above), I do not concur with what many take to be the implications of such a rejection for the justification of theistic beliefs and the nature of Christian truth claims.

Foundationalism and Justification⁽¹²⁾

One of the issues perpetually at the center of debates between the defenders and the detractors of postmodernism is foundationalism.⁽¹³⁾ Sadly, this debate has produced a great deal of heat, but very little light. While the list of objections to foundationalism is long and distinguished, two features are invariably the focus of postmodern disapprobation. These are, in the words of Nancey Murphy, “the assumption that knowledge systems must include a class of beliefs that are somehow immune from challenge,” and “the assumption that all reasoning within the system proceeds in one direction only.”⁽¹⁴⁾

Strong foundationalism (or, to use Alvin Plantinga’s term, Classical Foundationalism) is clearly an exemplar of Murphy’s first feature. Classical Foundationalism restricts the class of basic beliefs to those that are self-evident, evident to the senses, or incorrigible.⁽¹⁵⁾ The goal of such a restriction is to build one’s epistemic foundation on beliefs which enjoy maximal epistemic warrant, beliefs which approach apodictic certainty.

The self-referential problems with Classical Foundationalism, however, are well known. Consequently, in Plantinga’s words (and with his help) “Classical Foundationalism has retreated into the obscurity which it so richly deserves.”⁽¹⁶⁾

Very few academics have stood to defend Classical Foundationalism.⁽¹⁷⁾ However, Classical Foundationalism does not exhaust the foundationalist alternative. Modest or broad foundationalism does not require that the foundations of one’s noetic structure enjoy epistemic immunity.⁽¹⁸⁾ While this fact is often acknowledged, it is sad how often it is subsequently ignored.⁽¹⁹⁾ The result is a straw man argument in which all species of foundationalism are saddled with the flaws inherent in only one version. Consequently, the first feature Murphy finds objectionable about foundationalism is not even necessary to foundationalism!

Surprisingly, neither is the second of Murphy’s criteria. The foundationalist need not conceive of epistemological justification in exclusively linear and uni-directional terms. It is perfectly possible for a foundationalist to envision the superstructure of derived beliefs as an intricate, holistic web. As such, the common metaphor for nonfoundationalism, the spider web, is available to the foundationalist. Imagine a web in a window frame. The threads which tie the web to the frame are basic beliefs, but the strength and shape of the web is not determined solely by the basic “threads” but by the interconnectedness of the “derived threads” in the middle.

Moreover, on some versions of modest foundationalism, basic beliefs can receive some (although not all) of their epistemic support from derived beliefs. Consider a very simple noetic structure of subject S, composed of two beliefs, A and B. A and B possess a good deal of immediate, non-doxastic warrant for S, but not enough to be considered knowledge. S, however, notices that A and B are mutually supporting and on that basis gains significant additional confidence in A and B individually. Because A and B are mutually supporting, they each transfer some of their immediate warrant to the other and in so doing increase the warrant of the other enough to be considered knowledge.⁽²⁰⁾ This model of justification remains foundationalist because not all the epistemic support for A and B comes from other beliefs; some of it comes from a non-doxastic source.⁽²¹⁾

While the rejection of meta-narratives entails the rejection of Classical Foundationalism, it is, I submit, compatible with the modest, holistic foundationalism I have just sketched. Still there is another less commonly acknowledged source of the postmodern allergic reaction to foundationalism. I submit that what offends postmodern sensibilities is not primarily the notion of a non-doxastic basing relationship, but the common linkage of ‘foundationalisms’ with another meta-epistemological position called internalism. I do not intend to lay all the blame on internalism; for some the notion of an epistemic foundation is intrinsically problematic. But the role of internalism in the postmodern critique of ‘modernist epistemologies’ has been largely overlooked and is, I believe, significant.

Very generally speaking, internalism stipulates that the features that justify a belief for a person must be internal to that person, in the sense of being part of that person’s reflective awareness. Internalism, therefore, embraces what might be called a “positive internalist constraint” on justification. According to the internalist, for any given belief p, p is justified for person S if and only if S is both aware that p is justified for them and aware of the features — reasons, evidences, or causal relations — that are sufficient to justify p.⁽²²⁾

The incompatibility of internalism and the postmodern approach to meta-narratives can be clearly seen in the following quote by stalwart internalist, Richard Fumerton: “The demands of philosophically relevant justification are stronger than the demands of ordinary concepts of justification precisely because the philosopher is interested in the concept the satisfaction of which removes a kind of philosophical curiosity that prompts the raising of philosophical questions about justification in the first place.”⁽²³⁾ Fumerton’s requirement that the subject not only be justified, but that they know that they are, is precisely the sort of second order legitimation discourse that is incompatible with a healthy suspicion of meta-narratives. The problem, therefore, is less the mere idea of epistemic foundations than it is the distinctively internalist definition of what constitutes “philosophically relevant justification.”

Thus far, my discussion of the implications of an incredulous stance toward meta-narratives has focused on epistemological matters. Despite the fact that I think it is possible to be incredulous of meta-narratives and remain an attenuated foundationalist, it is in the field of epistemology that I find the postmodern critique most telling. When we are talking about metaphysics, however, my sympathies for the postmodern critique wane significantly. Many have suggested that postmodernism necessitates an end to the binary opposition inherent in logic. Others deny essentialism and the existence of universals. Still others find the idea of a proposition deeply problematic. Admittedly, simplistic either/or answers that misuse binary logic are wholly problematic. And there is a tendency among analytic philosophers to propositionalize reality into “sentencelong discourse”⁽²⁴⁾ and in so doing filter out or ignore imagination, poetry, and rhetoric — vehicles of meaning not easily propositionalized.

But these are critiques of the mis-use of these ideas, not their use; they are warnings, not prohibitions. It is possible to maintain an incredulity toward meta-narratives and utilize the Law of Non-contradiction. But while each of these issues is theologically important, the most crucial metaphysical issue for theological method is the realism/nonrealism debate. Happily, it is no purpose of this essay to resolve the realism/nonrealism debate, only to seek to understand the relationship between postmodernism (or at least one account of postmodernism) and realism. Our question is this: Is Grenz right that the chastened rationality of postmodernism entails a rejection of realism?

Unfortunately, there are few terms that are used in as many disparate ways as “realism.” One prominent usage comes from the medieval debate over the objective reality of universals. In this debate realism is pitted against nominalism. Another usage arises from the problem of the mind-independence of the external world in which realism stands in contrast to idealism. The realism/nonrealism debate that is most salient when considering the nature and implications of postmodernism, however, is different than both of these. The realism/nonrealism debate that I shall be concerned with in this essay stems from Kant’s Copernican Revolution, according to which anything that we can have knowledge of owes its basic structure to the categories we use and the linguistic conventions or conceptual schemes we employ rather than the way it is “in itself.”⁽²⁵⁾

In a recent essay, Merold Westphal offers a definition of realism that properly highlights both a metaphysical aspect and an epistemological aspect.

(1) The real is and is what it is independent of our knowing of it. (2) We can know ‘the real’ as it is in its independence and our knowledge can correspond to it by perfectly mirroring it without reshaping it.⁽²⁶⁾

The metaphysical portion of his definition is uncontentious, save for idealists, solipsists, and naive sophomore philosophy majors. Grenz and Franke also embrace realism in the first sense when they admit that “there is, of course, a certain undeniable givenness to the universe apart from the human linguistic-constructive task.”⁽²⁷⁾ Even the “Father of Postmodern Deconstructionism,” Jacques Derrida accepts the metaphysical aspect of realism. When charged by John Searle with metaphysical nonrealism, Derrida clarifies that his (in)famous declaration “There is nothing outside the text” (Il n’y a pas de hors-texte) does not mean that there is no external world outside texts, but that his main point is primarily epistemological⁽²⁸⁾ — everything exists in some cultural or linguistic context and that we have no access to the world apart from these.⁽²⁹⁾ And Richard Rorty affirms that “The world is out there, but descriptions of the world are not. Only descriptions of the world can be true or false. The world on its own — unaided by the describing activities of human beings — cannot.”⁽³⁰⁾

The epistemological portion of Westphal’s definition, however, is problematic because it sets up realism as a straw man. It does not capture realism simplicter, but naive realism, and consequently, I cannot imagine that many — not even the aforementioned sophomores — would come to its defense. It is one thing to say that there is an external world independent of our knowledge of it, and quite another to say that our beliefs mirror it perfectly. Even our beliefs about middle sized objects like computer monitors and koala bears are rarely, if ever, perfect representations of reality and there are a host of obvious reasons why our religious beliefs never perfectly mirror the objects or subjects they identify. We simply do not have God’s perspective on reality. But does the acknowledgment that we lack a “God’s-eye perspective” entail nonrealism? Not at all. Realism does not require that one’s knowledge of reality be perfect, only that knowledge of reality is possible. It is perfectly possible for a realist to acknowledge that all our descriptions of reality are linguistically mediated but deny that reality is linguistically constituted or constructed.

Consider the following example: “There are fifty peaks over 14,000 feet in Colorado.”⁽³¹⁾ What seems to be a straight-forward descriptive sentence is significantly problematized when one considers the definition of “peak.” How much drop in elevation is necessary before two adjacent points of higher elevation are considered different peaks rather than parts of the same peak? Because it seems difficult to hold that the criteria used to distinguish one peak from another is not arbitrary, wouldn’t Rorty be correct in saying that a particular section of a mountain was a peak “if our peers let us get away with saying it was?”⁽³²⁾ Sure. But none of this suggests even slyly that reality is linguistically constituted, only that our description of reality must be indexed to a particular set of definitions about the terms we use to describe it. Just as the descriptive adequacy of the statement “I’m hungry” must be indexed to a particular time and person (for me, that’s right before lunch), the descriptive adequacy of statements concerning the peaks of Colorado must be indexed to a particular (even if arbitrary) account of what constitutes a “peak” (as well as an account of “fifty”, “14,000 feet” and “Colorado”). In other words, even if our interpretive and definitional frameworks play a role in how the world appears, it is still the world that appears to us, not some reality-divorced realm of mere appearances.⁽³³⁾

Granted, language is an imperfect tool to describe reality, just as human beings are imperfect users of language. The result is that there will often be translational imperfections and/or infelicities (Derrida’s différance) in our language. But this does not mean that our linguistic conventions never correspond to reality, only that they do not necessarily do so and, when they do so, we will not be able to prove our referential success to a skeptic. Nevertheless, an incredulity toward meta-narratives is perfectly compatible with the assertion that we can know aspects of reality, even if imperfectly. Of course, the “know” in “we can know aspects of reality” would have to be devoid of positive internalist constraints; we do not know the extent to which any given belief of ours corresponds to reality. But my point is that granting that our control beliefs and definitions affect our accounts of reality does not entail that our accounts of reality are completely of our own construction. This understanding of realism is commonly labeled “critical realism,” but since seemingly everybody vies for that label, I prefer the term “minimalist realism.” What makes this brand of realism “minimalist” is that no single conceptual scheme, set of categories, or philosophical method is accorded the privilege of being our sole epistemic access to what there is.⁽³⁴⁾ What makes this minimalist approach “realist” is that referential success is the goal and the possibility of referential success is acknowledged.

For a good way to apply this ‘minimalist realism’ to theological method, I recommend Kevin Vanhoozer’s “Canonical Linguistic” approach in which he develops a cartographic metaphor for religious knowledge. Doing theology is a matter of following maps.⁽³⁵⁾ While the purpose of the map is to describe reality, the adequacy of a map is not purely ontological — “Does it perfectly mirror the real?” — it is also pragmatic — “Does it effectively guide the journey?”⁽³⁶⁾ We must avoid ontological reductionism. The Christian worldview or system of theology never exists for its own purpose, but for the purpose of salvation, life transformation, and reconciliation. But neither is ontology irrelevant to the task of following maps and, therefore, pragmatic concerns cannot be the sole epistemic desideratum. A map can only provide its life-guiding pragmatic benefit if it effectively guides the journey; it needs to be the map to the right location.

In his modeling of theological doctrines as a map, Vanhoozer strikes the right balance between two competing intellectual virtues that reside at the center of the dialogue over postmodernism — humility and conviction. Postmodernism is a call for the intellectual virtue of humility. This call merges with deep and powerful currents in the Christian tradition. Our createdness and fallen-ness impress upon us the contingent and partial nature of our knowledge of even the most apparently obvious beliefs and all the more so with respect to beliefs that so easily become self-serving and idolatrous. But (as with most intellectual virtues) unbridled humility is not a virtue, but a vice. To avoid becoming a vice, humility must be balanced by another intellectual virtue: conviction. Conviction requires taking a stance on what is the case, not merely on what it is useful to think is the case. Emphasizing the role of conviction does not, however, sneak a meta-narrative in the back door. Conviction does not require “knowing that you know,” only believing that your “maps” of reality are both generally adequate and aimed at the right destination.

While the heralds of the postmodern turn excel at pointing out many epistemological excesses inherent in modernism, I find their discussion of conviction relatively sparse.⁽³⁷⁾ It is not that I disagree with their call for humility, rather, it is, only half of what needs to be said. Sure, it is the first thing that needs to be said, and it needs to be said quite loudly and repeatedly in certain intellectual circles, but ending there is as dangerous as turning a deaf ear to death throes of naive realism, classical foundationalism, and Cartesian certainty.⁽³⁸⁾

Jim Beilby is Associate Professor of Systematic Theology at Bethel University in St. Paul, MN

1 This essay is offered in honor of Stan Grenz, a scholar whose myriad academic achievements, as impressive as they are, pale in comparison to his kind, gracious,and gentle spirit.
2 Among Grenz’s voluminous corpus, see especially A Primer on Postmodernism (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996); Revisioning Evangelical Theology (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993); and (with John Franke) Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001).
3 The term “chastened rationality” was a favorite of Grenz’s and appeared in many of his works. See especially “Articulating the Christian Belief Mosaic: Theological Method After the Demise of Foundationalism” in Evangelical Futures: A Conversation on Theological Method, ed. John G. Stackhouse (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000), 108; Beyond Foundationalism, 22-23; and Renewing the Center: Evangelical Theology in a Post-Theological Era (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000), 169.
4 Grenz, “Articulating the Christian Belief Mosaic,” 108-109.
5 Dan Stiver, “The Uneasy Alliance Between Evangelicalism and Postmodernism: A Reply to Anthony Thiselton,” in The Challenge of Postmodernism: An Evangelical Engagement, ed. David Dockery (Wheaton, IL: Bridge Point, 1995), 242.
6 Grenz and Franke, Beyond Foundationalism, 21.
7 Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), xxiv.
8 Merold Westphal, Overcoming Ontotheology: Toward a Postmodern Christian Faith (New York: Fordham University Press, 2001), xiii.
9 James F. Sennett and Douglas Groothuis, “Introduction: Hume’s Legacy and Natural Theology,” in In Defense of Natural Theology: A Post-Humean Assessment, eds. James F. Sennett and Douglas Groothuis (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2005), 10.
10 See for example, John D. Caputo, “Methodological Postmodernism: On Merold Westphal’s Overcoming Onto-Theology,” Faith and Philosophy 22/3 (July 2005), 284-196 and, in the same issue, Justin Thacker, “Lyotard and the Christian Meta-narrative: A Rejoinder to Smith and Westphal,” 297-315.
11 See Alvin Plantinga, “Rationality and Public Evidence: A Reply to Swinburne,” Religious Studies 37 (2001), 217.
12 For the purpose of simplicity, I will ignore the (rather significant) differences between justification and warrant. As far as I can see, doing so does not affect the substance of my argument.
13 My argument in this section bears some affinities to that of J. Wentzel van Huyssteen in his “Is the Postmodernist always a Postfoundationalist? Nancey Murphey’s Lakatosian Model for Theology” in Essays in Postfoundationalist Theology (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 73-90.
14 Nancey Muphey, Beyond Liberalism and Fundamentalism: How Modern and Postmodern Philosophy Set the Theological Agenda (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity, 1996), 13.
15 See Alvin Plantinga’s discussion in “Reason and Belief in God,” in Faith and Rationality, eds. Alvin Plantinga and Nicholas Wolterstorff (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983), 55-59.
16 Alvin Plantinga, “Advice to Christian Philosophers,” Faith and Philosophy 1/3 (July 1984), 258.
17 Notable counter-examples can be found in Resurrecting Old-Fashioned Foundationalism, ed. Michael DePaul (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001).
18 See, for example, Plantinga, “Reason and Belief in God,” 82-83; Warranted Christian Belief (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 344.
19 For example, in The Character of Theology: A Postconservative Evangelical Approach (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2005), 26-27, John Franke alludes to the distinction between types of foundationalisms in referring to a particular form of foundationalism as ‘strong’ or ‘classical,’ but then goes on to say that foundationalism is “philosophically indefensible,” that it is “in dramatic retreat,” and refers to “the rejection of the foundationalist approach to knowledge” as a central tenet of postmodernism. In each of these sweeping and unequivocal indictments, there is no acknowledgment of the fact that there are different species of foundationalism. Franke does something very similar in “Christian Faith and Postmodern Theory: Theology and the Nonfoundationalist Turn,” in Christianity and the Postmodern Turn, ed. Myron B. Penner (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2005), 108-110.
20 Keith De Rose, “Are Christian Beliefs Properly Basic?” unpublished, 3; cited with permission.
21 Note that the traditional objection to coherentism, that warrant cannot be circular, does not affect this example, because there is no circle. A is partially based on B and B partially on A, and therefore, none of the warrant for A originated with A and passed through B. See De Rose, 4.
22 For a more thorough discussion of internalism and its counterpart, externalism, see my Epistemology as Theology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), chapter 5; see especially, 145-158.
23 Richard Fumerton, “Replies to Pollock and Plantinga,” in Resurrecting Old-Fashioned Foundationalism, 69; italics mine.
24 A phrase used by Kevin Vanhoozer in “What Systematic Theology has to Say to Analytic Philosophy (and to Postmoderns) About Postmodernity” (Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Evangelical Philosophical Society, Valley Forge, PA, November 18, 2005), 4.
25 William Alston, A Sensible Metaphysical Realism (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 2001), 8.
26 Merold Westphal, “Of Stories and Languages,” in Christianity and the Postmodern Turn, 231.
27 Grenz and Franke, Beyond Foundationalism, 53.
28 Jacques Derrida, Limited, Inc., trans. Samuel Weber and Jeffrey Mehlman (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1988), 136. Derrida would, however, likely prefer the term ‘hermeneutical’ to ‘epistemological.’
29 Myron B. Penner, “Cartesian Anxiety, Truth, and Victimization: A Response to J. P. Moreland,” unpublished, 6; cited with permission.
30 Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (Cambridge University Press, 1989), 5.
31 An example offered by Alston in A Sensible Metaphysical Realism, 12.
32 While the phrase “Truth is what our peers let us get away with saying,” is commonly attributed to Rorty, one rarely finds an accompanying citation. What Rorty actually says is “The aim of all such [realist] explanations is to make truth something more than what Dewey called: ‘Warranted assertability’: more than what our peers will, ceteris paribus, let us get away with saying” in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 175-176.
33 Frank B. Farrell, Subjectivity, Realism, and Postmodernism: The Recovery of the World in Recent Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) 127; cited in Vanhoozer, “What Systematic Theology has to Say to Analytic Philosophy (and to Postmoderns) About Postmodernity,” 3.
34 Vanhoozer, “What Systematic Theology has to Say to Analytic Philosophy (and to Postmoderns) about Postmodernity,” 3.
35 Kevin Vanhoozer, “Pilgrim’s Digress: Christian Thinking on and about the Post/Modern Way,” in Christianity and the Postmodern Turn, 88-89; The Drama of Doctrine: A Canonical Linguistic Approach to Christian Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2005), 294-297.
36 As Westphal points out. See his “Of Stories and Languages,” 238.
37 A notable exception is Paul Ricoeur. He postulates the possibility of a second naïveté which arises from the marriage of a hermeneutics of suspicion with a hermeneutics of trust. See his The Symbolism of Evil (Boston: Beacon Press, 1967), 351-357.
38 An earlier draft of this paper was presented as part of a panel discussion held at the Evangelical Philosophical Society annual meeting in November, 2005. I benefited greatly from the interaction with my co-panelists, Merold Westphal, Kevin Vanhoozer, and Doug Geivett, and with the moderator, Myron Penner.

Faith Seeking Understanding in a Postmodern Context:
Stanley Grenz and Nonfoundational Theology

by John R. Franke

On numerous occasions when Stanley Grenz was asked something like, “What was it that got you interested in postmodernity?” he replied that it started in general as he became aware of the different ways in which his son was looking at the world, and in particular through watching Star Trek: The Next Generation together with him and talking about it. Doubtless Stan was aware of the academic discussions of postmodern thought, but he always, at least in my presence (and I must have heard him answer this question at least a dozen times), pointed to his relationship with his son as the starting point for his own more focused exploration of postmodernity. Stan was always interested in what people were thinking about, where culture might be headed and the ways in which these matters were important for the business of theology.

He was raised in a pietistic and evangelical Baptist home that shaped his outlook on the Christian experience and theology. After studying philosophy at the University of Colorado and theology at Denver Seminary, he traveled to the University of Munich to earn his doctorate under Wolfhart Pannenberg, before returning to North America to take up the task of teaching theology after a brief stint as a Baptist pastor. In the process of teaching theology, Stan became convinced that the standard evangelical paradigms that he had been taught, and which be believed had served a previous generation well, needed to be rethought in the context of the changing cultural environment in North America. From the perspective of his pietist heritage this did not entail an abandonment of his evangelical commitments. Rather, it simply marked a concern to rethink the intellectual theological framework that was formed around the experience of a living faith in Jesus Christ.

He first articulated the basic shape of his thinking in a brief volume entitled Revisioning Evangelical Theology that addressed the challenges for evangelical theology as it faced a cultural transition from modernity to postmodernity.⁽¹⁾ This transition was displayed for Stan as he watched Star Trek: The Next Generation with his son and reflected on the ways in which it differed from the original Star Trek series he remembered from his late teenage years.⁽²⁾ While Revisioning Evangelical Theology sparked a fair amount of interest and discussion, it was also clear that it was only a preliminary sketch of some particularly important questions, as well as a precursor to a more fully delineated proposal for theological method in an intellectual context increasingly shaped by postmodern concerns.

This work of fuller delineation took on book form in Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context, which sought to develop and extend the themes Stan had set forth in his earlier work.⁽³⁾ The story of how I came to share that work with Stan is told briefly in the preface of Beyond Foundationalism and does not need to be repeated here. Let me simply add that Stan’s willingness to work with a younger thinker on such a project was but one example of his extraordinary professional generosity, another side of his work that is less well known but which was an integral part of his vision for the practice of doing theology. This article will offer a brief summary of the work Stan and I did together in Beyond Foundationalism as a tribute to the visionary theological legacy of my mentor and friend, whose forays into postmodern thought provide a compelling example of a vibrant, committed Christian faith seeking intellectual and spiritual understanding in the context of a changing culture.

In order to appreciate the engagement between theology and the postmodern context it is important to realize that a precise understanding of postmodernity is notoriously difficult to pin down. Despite the fact that there is no consensus concerning the meaning of the term, it has become almost commonplace to refer to the contemporary cultural situation as postmodern. The lack of clarity about the term has been magnified by the vast array of interpreters who have attempted to comprehend and appropriate postmodern thought. In the context of this lack of clarity about the postmodern phenomenon, the term has come to signify widely divergent hopes and concerns among those who are attempting to address the emerging cultural and intellectual shift implied by the term.

Yet, in spite of the numerous manifestations of the postmodern condition and the divergent opinions and struggles concern- ing the portrayal of postmodernity in various domains and situations, Steven Best and Douglas Kellner maintain, “that there is a shared discourse of the postmodern, common perspectives, and defining features that coalesce into an emergent postmodern paradigm.”⁽⁴⁾ However, since this new postmodern paradigm is emerging, but neither mature nor regnant, it continues to be hotly contested by both those who desire to embrace it for particular purposes as well as those who find reason to oppose it. Best and Kellner suggest that the representations of this emerging paradigm that take shape in the context of intellectual, social, and cultural activity constitute “a borderland between the modern and something new for which the term ‘postmodern’ has been coined.”⁽⁵⁾

In order to understand the nature of this shared discourse it will be helpful to understand postmodernity as a label that identifies an ongoing paradigm shift in Western culture. Almost without exception, those who are engaged in the pursuit of this paradigm shift use the term postmodern. This engagement generally involves the vigorous critique of the modern paradigm and some general and tentative suggestions concerning the shape of an alternative. This observation enables us to suggest a basic, minimalist understanding of postmodernism as referring primarily to the rejection of the central features of modernity, such as its quest for certain, objective and universal knowledge, along with its dualism and its assumption of the inherent goodness of knowledge. It is this critical agenda, rather than any proposed constructive paradigm to replace the modern vision, that unites postmodern thinkers. Nancey Murphy employs the term postmodern to describe emerging patterns of thought and to “indicate their radical break from the thought patterns of Enlightened modernity.”⁽⁶⁾ In short, postmodern thought is discourse in the aftermath of modernity.

This broad construal of postmodern thought as a critique and rejection of modernity leads to a central dimension of postmodern theory. At the heart of the postmodern ethos is the attempt to rethink the nature of rationality in the wake of the modern project. This rethinking has resulted not in irrationality, as is often claimed by less informed opponents of postmodern thought, but rather in numerous redescriptions and proposals concerning appropriate construals of rationality and knowledge after modernity. In spite of their variety, these attempts can be broadly classified as producing a chastened rationality that is more inherently self-critical than the constructions of rationality common in the thought-forms of modernity. One of the focal points of this chastened rationality is the rejection of epistemological foundationalism and the adoption of a nonfoundationalist and contextual approach to the theological enterprise.

In the modern era, the pursuit of knowledge was deeply influenced by Enlightenment foundationalism. In its broadest sense, foundationalism is merely the acknowledgment that not all beliefs are of equal significance in the structure of knowledge. Some beliefs are more “basic” or “foundational” and serve to give support to other beliefs that are derived from them. Understood in this way, nearly every thinker is in some sense a foundationalist, rendering such a description unhelpful in grasping the range of opinion in epistemological theory found among contemporary thinkers. However, in philosophical circles foundationalism refers to a much stronger epistemological stance than is entailed in this general observation about how beliefs intersect. At the heart of the foundationalist agenda is the desire to overcome the uncertainty generated by the tendency of fallible human beings to error and the inevitable disagreements and controversies that follow. Foundationalists are convinced that the only way to solve this problem is to find some means of grounding the entire edifice of human knowledge on invincible certainty.

This quest for complete epistemological certitude, often termed “strong” or “classical” foundationalism, has its philosophical beginnings in the thought of the philosopher René Descartes. Descartes sought to reconstruct the nature of knowledge by rejecting traditional medieval or “premodern” notions of authority and replacing them with the modern conception of indubitable beliefs that are accessible to all individuals. This conception of knowledge became the dominant assumption of intellectual pursuit in the modern era. In terms of a philosophical conception of knowledge, foundationalism is a theory concerned with the justification of knowledge. It maintains that beliefs must be justified by their relationship to other beliefs and that the chain of justifications that results from this procedure must not be circular or endless, but must have a terminus in foundational beliefs that are immune from criticism and cannot be called into question. The goal to be attained through the identification of indubitable foundations is a universal knowledge that transcends time and context. In keeping with this pursuit, the ideals of human knowledge since Descartes have tended to focus on the universal, the general, and the theoretical rather than on the local, the particular, and the practical.

In spite of the hegemony of this approach to knowledge, Nancey Murphy notes that it is “only recently that philosophers have labeled the modern foundationalist theory of knowledge as such.”⁽⁷⁾ This means that while this approach to knowledge has been widely influential in intellectual thought, it has been assumed by modern thinkers rather than explicitly advocated and defended. In light of this Murphy suggests two criteria in the identification of foundationalism: “first, the assumption that knowledge systems must include a class of beliefs that are somehow immune from challenge; and second, the assumption that all reasoning within the system proceeds in one direction only– from that set of special, indubitable beliefs to others, but not the reverse.”⁽⁸⁾ The goal of this foundationalist agenda is the discovery of an approach to knowledge that will provide rational human beings with indubitable certainty regarding the truthfulness of their beliefs. The Enlightenment epistemological foundation consists of a set of incontestable beliefs or unassailable first principles on the basis of which the pursuit of knowledge can proceed. These basic beliefs must be universal, objective, and discernable to any rational person apart from their particular situation, experience, and/or context.

In the postmodern context, however, classic foundationalism is in dramatic retreat, as its assertions about the objectivity, certainty, and universality of knowledge have come under fierce criticism. J. Wentzel van Huyssteen writes: “Whatever notion of postmodernity we eventually opt for, all postmodern thinkers see the modernist quest for certainty, and the accompanying program of laying foundations for our knowledge, as a dream for the impossible, a contemporary version of the quest for the Holy Grail.”⁽⁹⁾ The heart of the postmodern quest for a chastened rationality lies in the rejection of the foundationalist approach to knowledge.

A nonfoundationalist approach to knowledge does not demand that knowledge systems must include a class of beliefs that are immune from criticism; rather all beliefs are subject to critical scrutiny. It also maintains that reasoning within the system proceeds not in one direction only, but rather moves conversationally in multiple directions. This suggests a metaphorical shift in our understanding of the structure of knowledge from that of a building with a sure foundation to something like a web of interrelated, interdependent beliefs. Further, the ideals of human knowledge in nonfoundational and contextual approaches place emphasis on the local, the particular, and the practical rather than on the universal, the general, and the theoretical.

Nonfoundational theology also brings with it an inherent commitment to contextuality that requires the opening of theological conversation to the voices of persons and communities who have generally been excluded from the discourse of Anglo- American theology. It maintains without reservation that no single human perspective, be it that of an individual or a particular community or theological tradition, is adequate to do full justice to the truth of God’s revelation in Christ. Richard Mouw points to this issue as one of his own motivations for reflecting seriously about postmodern themes: “As many Christians from other parts of the world challenge our ‘North Atlantic’ theologies, they too ask us to think critically about our own cultural location, as well as about how we have sometimes blurred the boundaries between what is essential to the Christian message and the doctrine and frameworks we have borrowed from various Western philosophical traditions.”⁽¹⁰⁾ The adoption of a nonfoundationalist approach to theology mandates a critical awareness of the role of culture and social location in the process of theological interpretation and construction. From the perspective of the ecumenically orthodox Christian tradition, nonfoundational theology seeks to nurture an open and flexible theology that is in keeping with the local and contextual character of human knowledge while remaining thoroughly and distinctly Christian.

From a Christian perspective, nonfoundational theology involves the interplay of three sources: Scripture, culture, and tradition. While the Christian tradition has been characterized by its commitment to the authority of the Bible, much debate has been engendered in the church as to the precise way in which its authority ought to be construed. This leads us to consider how the Bible ought to function in theology by pursuing the assertion that Scripture is theology’s “norming norm.”