Developments in the Doctrine of the Last Things
Developments in the Doctrine of the Last Things
In what follows, we shall briefly consider the New Testament foundations of eschatology before moving on to consider their more recent interpretations in academic theology. Popular theology, whether medieval or contemporary, has always been less restrained and more picturesque in its reflections on the last things, and it is worth studying it its own right. Sadly, this lies beyond the scope of this work.
The New Testament
The New Testament is saturated with the belief that something new has happened in the history of humanity in and through the life and death of Jesus Christ, and above all through his resurrection from the dead. The theme of hope predominates, even in the face of death. In view of the importance of the New Testament material to the shaping of Christian thinking on eschatology, we shall consider some of its leading themes. The two sources of outstanding importance are generally agreed to be the preaching of Jesus himself and the writings of Paul. We shall consider each of these in what follows.
The dominant theme in the preaching of Jesus is the coming of the kingdom of God. This phrase is rare in contemporary Jewish writings, and is widely regarded as one of the most distinctive aspects of the preaching of Jesus. This term, or closely related ideas, occurs some 70 times in the synoptic gospels. The use of the word “kingdom” in this context is potentially misleading. Although this English word has been used regularly since the sixteenth century to translate the Greek term basileia, the term “kingship” is more appropriate. The term “kingdom” suggests a definite geographical region which is being ruled, whereas the Greek term refers primarily to the act of ruling itself. In New Testament scholarship, the term “the kingly rule of God” has often been used to make this point clear.
The term has strongly eschatological associations in the preaching of Jesus. Although many nineteenth-century liberal writers, such as Albrecht Benjamin Ritschl (1822–89), attempted to interpret it in terms of a present set of moral values, it is clear that the term has both present and future associations. The kingdom is something which is “drawing near” (Mark 1: 15) yet which still belongs in its fullness to the future. The Lord's Prayer, which remains of central importance to individual and corporate Christian prayer and worship, includes reference to the future coming of the kingdom (Matthew 6: 10).
At the Last Supper, Jesus of Nazareth spoke to his disciples of a future occasion when they would drink wine in the kingdom of God (Mark 14: 25). The general consensus among New Testament scholars is that there is a tension between the “now” and the “not yet” in relation to the kingdom of God, similar to that envisaged by the parable of the growing mustard seed (Mark 4: 30–2). The term “inaugurated eschatology” has become widely used to refer to the relationship between the present inauguration and future fulfillment of the kingdom.
Paul's eschatology also shows a tension between the “now” and the “not yet.” This is articulated in terms of a number of key images, which may be summarized as follows:
Early Christianity and Roman Beliefs About Reunion after Death
The human longing for consolation in the face of death may be traced back to classical times. Perhaps the most distressing aspect of death is that of separation – being forcibly, and it might seem irreversibly, cut off from close friends and relatives, never to see them again. Classical mourning rites and funeral ornaments point to the sense of desolation that traditionally accompanied the death of a significant other. The Hellenistic world had become accustomed to the Hades myth, which portrayed Charon as ferrying the dead across the river Styx to the underworld for the fee of one obolos – a silver coin worth a sixth of a drachma – which was placed in the mouth of a dead person for this purpose. Once on the other side, the dead person took part in a family reunion.
This basic belief undergirds two important works of the Roman philosopher Cicero (106–43 bc), the dialogue On Old Age and, perhaps more importantly, the final section of On the Republic known as “Scipio's Dream.” In this latter work, Cicero portrays Scipio meeting prominent Roman citizens in paradise, who take advantage of the occasion to lecture him on political ethics. Yet the work takes on a new tone as Cicero describes Scipio's reunion with his father: “I now saw my dead father, Paulus, approaching, and I burst into tears. My father put his arms around me and kissed me, urging me not to weep.”
This classic scenario of a family reunion in the world to come had a significant impact on the style and subject matter of the Christian writings of the era, even if they ultimately rested on rather different theological foundations. Cyprian of Carthage (died 258), a martyr bishop of the third century, tried to encourage his fellow Christians in the face of suffering and death at times of persecution by holding before them a vision of heaven, in which they would see the martyrs and apostles, face to face. More than that – they would be reunited with those whom they loved and cherished. Heaven is here seen as the “native land” of Christians, from which they have been exiled during their time on earth. The hope of return to their native land, there to be reunited with those whom they knew and loved, was held out as a powerful consolation in times of trial and suffering.
We regard paradise as our native land [Patriam nostram paradisum computamus]. [...] Many of our dear ones await us there, and a dense crowd of parents, brothers, children, is longing for us, already assured of their own safety, and still longing for our salvation. What gladness there will be for them and for us when we enter their presence and share their embrace!
Cyprian himself was martyred for his faith in 258, presumably consoled by precisely the ideas with which he sought to console others.
The motif is also found in the funeral eulogy of Ambrose of Milan (c.337–97) for the emperor Theodosius, who died in Milan in January 395. Theodosius had earlier had a serious altercation with Ambrose as a result of his decision in 390 to order the slaughter of 7,000 citizens of Thessalonica to avenge the murder of the Roman governor Butheric. Ambrose, having consulted with his fellow bishops, informed Theodosius that he must do severe public penance before being allowed again to receive the sacraments. Theodosius eventually stripped himself of every sign of royalty and publicly repented of his sin. In his funeral oration, Ambrose asked his listeners to imagine the scene in heaven in which Theodosius embraces his wife Flaccila and his daughter Pulcheria, before being reunited with both his father and Constantine (272–337; reigned 306–37), his predecessor as a Christian Roman emperor.
Augustine of Hippo (354–430): The Two Cities
One of the most influential reworkings of the corporate dimension of the eschatological ideas of the New Testament is that of Augustine of Hippo, found in his City of God. This work was written in a context which could easily be described as “apocalyptic” – the destruction of the great city of Rome and the collapse of the Roman empire. A central theme of the work is the relationship between two cities – the “city of God” and the “secular city” or “city of the world.” The complexities of the Christian life, especially its political aspects, stem from the dialectic between these two cities.
Believers live “in this intermediate period” separating the incarnation of Christ from his final return in glory. The church is to be seen as in exile in the “city of the world.” It is in the world, yet not of the world. There is a strong eschatological tension between the present reality, in which the church is exiled in the world and somehow obliged to maintain its distinctive ethos while surrounded by disbelief, and the future hope, in which the church will be delivered from the world and finally allowed to share in the glory of God. It will be clear that Augustine has no time for the Donatist idea of the church as a body of saints (pp. 358–60). For Augustine, the church shares in the fallen character of the world and therefore includes the pure and the impure, saints and sinners. Only at the last day will this tension finally be resolved.
Yet, alongside this corporate understanding of eschatology, Augustine shows an awareness of the individualist dimensions of the Christian hope. This is especially clear in his discussion of the tension between what human nature presently is and what it finally will be. Believers are saved, purified, and perfected – yet in hope (in spe) but not in reality (in re). Salvation is something that is inaugurated in the life of the believer but which will only find its completion at the end of history. This idea was also developed by Martin Luther (1483–1546), as noted earlier (pp. 338–9).
Augustine is thus able to offer Christians hope, as they contemplate the sinful nature of their lives and wonder how this is to be reconciled with the gospel imperatives to be holy, like God. For Augustine, believers are able to reach out in hope, beyond their present condition. This is not a spurious or invented hope but a sure and certain hope which is grounded in the resurrection of Christ.
Augustine is aware of the fact that the word “end” has two meanings. The “end” can mean “either the ceasing to be of what was, or the perfecting of what was begun.” Eternal life is to be seen as the state in which our love of God, begun in this life, is finally brought to its completion and consummation, through union with the object of that love. Eternal life is the “reward that makes perfect,” to which the Christian has looked forward throughout the life of faith.
Joachim of Fiore (c.1132–1202): The Three Ages
Augustine had proposed a relatively simple schematization of Christian history, which treated the period of the church as that era separating the coming (or “advent”) and returning (or “Second Coming”) of Christ. However, this failed to satisfy his later interpreters. Joachim of Fiore developed a more speculative approach to history with a strongly eschatological orientation loosely based upon the doctrine of the Trinity. Joachim became a monk in the Benedictine monastery of Corazzo and was elected its abbot in 1177. He did not find this position to his liking and was eventually given permission to found his own congregations in the Sila mountains.
According to Joachim, universal history can be divided into three ages or eras:
What gave Joachim's views a particular urgency was the precise dating of these periods. Each age, he argued, consisted of 42 generations of 30 years each. As a result, the “age of the Son” was due to end in 1260, to be followed immediately by the radical new “age of the Spirit.” In this may be seen anticipated many of the millenarian movements of our own day.
Joachim's ideas caused consternation at the time, especially as the year 1260 approached, and ecclesiastical anxiety grew about the popular impact of his ideas. His views were condemned by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 and described as “conjectural” by Thomas Aquinas (c.1225–74). In 1255 – only five years before Joachim's new era of the Spirit was due to dawn – his prophecies were censured as completely erroneous by a papal theological commission. Yet others were more favorably disposed toward Joachim. Dislike of the highly institutional nature of the church led many to welcome Joachim's vision of a new “age of the Spirit,” and the advent of the “spiritual church” in its place.
Dante Alighieri (1265–1321): The Divine Comedy
Among those who had a high regard for Joachim we may note the Tuscan poet Dante Alighieri, who assigned him a place in paradise. Dante, based in the city of Florence, wrote the Divine Comedy in order to give poetic expression to the Christian hope and make comments on the life of both the church and city of Florence of his own day. The poem is set in the year 1300 and describes how Dante is led into the depths of the earth by the pagan Roman poet Virgil, who will act as his guide through hell and purgatory.
The work is an important representation of the medieval worldview, in which the souls of the departed were understood to pass through a series of purifying and cleansing processes before being enabled to catch a glimpse of the vision of God – the ultimate goal of the Christian life. Its importance for our purposes in this section is its vivid depiction of the spiritual geography of the last things.
The Divine Comedy takes the form of three major interconnected poems, respectively entitled Inferno (“Hell”), Purgatorio (“Purgatory”), and Paradiso (“Paradise”). The work makes substantial use of the leading themes of Christian theology and spirituality while at the same time including comment on contemporary political and social events. The poem describes a journey which takes place in Holy Week 1300 – before Dante's exile from Florence. From the substantial number of clues in the text, it can be worked out that the journey begins at nightfall on Good Friday. After entering Hell, Dante journeys downwards for an entire day, before beginning his ascent toward Purgatory. After climbing Mount Purgatory, Dante rises further until he eventually enters into the presence of God.
Throughout the journey, Dante is accompanied by guides. The first guide is Virgil, the great Roman poet who wrote the Aeneid. It is widely thought that Dante uses Virgil as a symbol of classical learning and human reason. As they draw close to the peak of Mount Purgatory, Virgil falls behind and Dante finds himself in the company of Beatrice (thought to be based on Beatrice Portinari, the idealized object of Dante's courtly love, who had died in 1290), who leads him through the outer circles of heaven. Finally, he is joined by the great medieval writer and sage Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153), who leads Dante into the presence of God.
The structure of the poem is immensely intricate, and it can be read on a number of levels. It can, for example, be read as a commentary on medieval Italian politics, particularly the intricacies of Florentine politics over the period 1300–4, or it can be seen as a poetic guide to Christian beliefs concerning the afterlife. More fundamentally, it can be read as a journey of self-discovery and spiritual enlightenment, in which the poet finally discovers and encounters his heart's desire.
Dante's portrayal of the geography of hell is especially interesting, as he conceives of hell as consisting of a group of concentric circles – the perfect shape, according to ancient geometry. The “nine circles of hell” are as follows:
Level
Name
1
Limbo
2
The Lustful
3
The Gluttonous
4
The Avaricious
5
The Wrathful
6
Heretics
7
The Violent
8
The Fraudulent
9
The Treacherous
Dante portrays himself as descending through successive levels of hell, encountering various individuals who are condemned to its different regions. One of the most interesting aspects of Dante scholarship is to work out why Dante consigns various people to different fates – often reflecting aspects of papal and Florentine politics of the period. For example, “limbo” is seen as a kind of “ante-hell,” in which no pain is experienced and which is illuminated by a “hemisphere of light” corresponding to the light of human reason. Dante populates this region with virtuous non-Christians, particularly pagan philosophers such as Aristotle (who is clearly the philosopher for Dante), Seneca, Euclid, and Virgil. Beyond this lies the second circle of hell, to which Dante consigns all those who have “made reason slave to appetite.” Dante includes Achilles, Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, and Tristan (a hero of many medieval romances) among the inhabitants of this region.
Dante's Divine Comedy helped to establish medieval perceptions of hell to no small extent. It is perhaps worth noting that Dante's vision represents a very substantial (and rather speculative!) elaboration on the very little biblical material which we possess on this matter. Dante knew that eschatological speculation made for excellent reading, and enlivened his text with comments on the city and church politics of his time. The work deserves close reading, both as a work of literature and as a witness to the medieval vision of the world.
Figure 18.1 William Blake's depiction of the fifth circle of Dante's Hell. William Blake, English 1757–1827, Illustration to Dante's Divine Comedy 1824–27, The Stygian Lake, with the ireful sinners fighting, pen, ink, and watercolor over pencil, 52.7 x 37.1 cm, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia, Felton Bequest, 1920.
Source: National Gallery of Victoria.
The Enlightenment: Eschatology as Superstition
The intensely rationalist atmosphere of the Enlightenment (pp. 58–61) led to criticism of the Christian doctrine of the last things as ignorant superstition, devoid of any real basis in life. Particular criticism was directed against the idea of hell. The strongly utilitarian outlook of the later Enlightenment resulted in a growing belief that eternal punishment served no useful purpose. Ludwig Feuerbach (1804–72) argued that the idea of “heaven” or “eternal life” was simply a projection of a human longing after immortality, without any objective basis.
A more sustained critique of the Christian doctrine of hope was found in the writings of Karl Marx (1818–83; pp. 410–11). Marx argued that religion in general sought to comfort those undergoing suffering in the present by persuading them of the joy of an afterlife. By doing so, it distracted them from the task of transforming the present world so that suffering could be eliminated. In many ways, Marxism may be regarded as a secularized Christian eschatology, with “the revolution” as a secularized counterpart to “heaven.”
Related developments can be discerned within nineteenth-century liberalism (pp. 70–1). The idea of a cataclysmic end of history was set to one side in favor of a doctrine of hope which was grounded in the gradual evolution of humanity toward moral and societal perfection. The Darwinian theory of natural selection, as expressed in popular versions of the theory of evolution, seemed to point to human history, like all of human life, moving upward toward higher and more sophisticated forms. Eschatology came to be relegated to the status of a theological curiosity. The notion of the “kingdom of God,” shorn of its New Testament apocalyptic associations, was viewed (e.g., by Albrecht Ritschl) as a static realm of moral values, toward which society was steadily advancing through a process of continuous evolution.
The Twentieth Century: The Rediscovery of Eschatology
The Enlightenment approach was largely discredited by two developments. In the first place, in the closing decade of the nineteenth century Johannes Weiss (1863–1914) and Albert Schweitzer (1875–1965) rediscovered the apocalyptic character of the preaching of Jesus and argued forcefully that the “kingdom of God” was an eschatological notion (pp. 238–9). Jesus was to be seen not as the moral educator of humanity but as the proclaimer of the imminent coming of the eschatological kingdom of God. This new emphasis proved to be of decisive importance in bringing about the recovery of eschatology in the twentieth century.
It must be stressed that not all New Testament scholars have agreed with the findings of Weiss and Schweitzer. For example, the British New Testament scholar Charles H. Dodd (1884–1973) argued that Jesus's preaching of the kingdom of God was not futurist, looking forward to something which had yet to happen, but “realized” – that is, it had already happened. In his Apostolic Preaching and Its Development (1936), Dodd argued that the “last things” have actually happened in the ministry of Jesus. What the Old Testament prophets regarded as future (such as the coming of the “Day of the Lord”) has been fulfilled or realized in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Dodd pointed out how Jesus himself declared that the “kingdom of God is at hand.” The kingdom of God is not something in the distant future; it has already come upon people (Matthew 12: 28). The future does not lie ahead, in the distance – it has already happened, in the coming of Jesus.
Critics of this approach argued that Dodd had overstated his case. For example, it was suggested that the Greek original of the statement “the kingdom of God is at hand” more probably means “the kingdom of God is nearer now than it was earlier.” In other words, the kingdom has not yet arrived, but it is closer than it was before. In some of his later writings, Dodd appears to have responded to this criticism. He began to write about the kingdom having “begun” rather than “arrived,” and of “initiation” rather than of “realization.” In other words, Dodd conceded that the “last things” in all their totality had yet to happen, even if they had begun to take place.
Three general positions are widely encountered within twentieth-century Christian discussion of the eschatology of the New Testament, as follows. It should be noted that it is the second of the three positions, here described as “inaugurated,” which commands the greatest support within New Testament scholarship.
The second development which we need to consider concerns a general collapse in confidence in human civilization as a means of bringing the kingdom of God to fulfillment. The First World War was an especially traumatic episode in this respect. The Holocaust, the development of nuclear weapons and the threat of nuclear war, and the continuing threat of the destruction of the environment through human exploitation of its resources have all raised doubts concerning the credibility of the vision of liberal humanist forms of Christianity.
But what was to be done with the idea of eschatology? One approach, which attracted considerable attention during the 1950s and early 1960s, stemmed from the Marburg New Testament scholar Rudolf Bultmann. We will consider this in what follows.
Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976): The Demythologization of Eschatology
Bultmann's controversial program of “demythologization” (pp. 114, 258) proved to be especially significant in relation to beliefs concerning the end of history. Bultmann argued that such beliefs were “myths,” which required to be interpreted existentially. The New Testament relates “stories” concerning remote and inaccessible times and places (such as “in the beginning” or “in heaven”), and involving supernatural agents or events. Bultmann declared that these stories possess an underlying existential meaning, which can be perceived and appropriated by a suitable process of interpretation.
Perhaps the most important of these is the eschatological myth of the imminent end of the world through direct divine intervention, leading to judgment and subsequent reward or retribution. This insight is of central importance to our narrative since it allows Bultmann to deal with Schweitzer's demonstration of the “thoroughgoing eschatological conditioning” of the New Testament by a comprehensive process of demythologization. For Bultmann, this “myth,” and others like it, may be reinterpreted existentially.
Thus, in the case of the eschatological myth, the recognition that history has not, in fact, come to an end does not necessarily invalidate the myth: interpreted existentially, the “myth” refers to the here and now of human existence – the fact that human beings must face the reality of their own death and are thus forced to make existential decisions. The “judgment” in question is not some future event of divine judgment, to take place at the end of the world, but the present event of our own judgment of ourselves, based upon our knowledge of what God has done in Christ.
Bultmann argues that precisely this sort of demythologizing may be found in the fourth gospel, written toward the end of the first century, when the early eschatological expectations of the Christian community were fading. “Judgment” is interpreted by Bultmann to refer to the moment of existential crisis, as human beings are confronted with the divine kerygma addressed to them. The “realized eschatology” of the fourth gospel arises through the fact that the redactor of the gospel has realized that the parousia is not some future event but one which has already taken place, in the confrontation of the believer with the kerygma:
To the “Now” of the coming of the Revealer, there corresponds exactly the “Now” of the proclamation of the word as an historical fact, the “Now” of the present, of the moment. [...] This “Now” of being addressed at a specific moment is the eschatological “Now,” because in it the decision is made between life and death. It is the hour which is coming, and, in being addressed, now is. [...] Therefore it is not true that the parousia, expected by others as an event occurring in time, is now denied or transformed by John into a process within the soul, an experience. Rather, John opens the reader's eyes: the parousia has already occurred!
Bultmann thus regards the fourth gospel as partially reinterpreting the eschatological myth in terms of its significance for human existence. Christ is not a past phenomenon but the ever-present Word of God, expressing not a general truth but a concrete proclamation addressed to us, demanding an existential decision on our part. For Bultmann, the eschatological process became an event in the history of the world, and becomes an event once more in contemporary Christian proclamation.
But such approaches failed to satisfy many critics, who felt that Bultmann had abandoned too many of the central features of the Christian doctrine of hope. For example, Bultmann's notion of eschatology is purely individualist; it is clear that the biblical notion is corporate. Another approach began to emerge within the later 1960s; it seemed to many to offer far more than Bultmann's truncated version of hope.
Jürgen Moltmann (Born 1926): The Theology of Hope
In 1964, the German Protestant theologian Jürgen Moltmann published his Theology of Hope, which created a considerable impact. In this work, Moltmann drew on the insights of Ernst Bloch's (1885–1977) remarkable work The Principle of Hope (1938–47), which set out a neo-Marxist analysis of human experience, based on the belief that all human culture is moved by a passionate hope for the future that transcends all the alienation of the present. Bloch saw himself as standing in direct line to the biblical idea of revolutionary apocalyptic hope. Where Bultmann sought to make eschatology acceptable through demythologization, Bloch defended it by pointing to the vigorous social critique and prophetic vision of social transformation which accompanied the ideas in their original scriptural contexts. Both in Europe and North America, the 1960s saw the outburst of optimism concerning the future of humanity. Everything seemed so hopeful.
Against this background of a secular vision of hope, often grounded in a Marxist ideology, Moltmann argued for the need for the rediscovery of the corporate Christian conception of hope as a central motivating factor in the life and thought of the individual and the church. Eschatology needed to be rescued from its position as “a harmless little chapter at the conclusion of a Christian dogmatics” (Karl Barth) and given pride of place. Moltmann argued that eschatology is of central importance to Christian thinking.
Moltmann's attitude of orientation toward the future, defined and informed by the promises of God, is summarized in slogans such as spes quaerens intellectum (“hope seeking understanding”) and spero, ut intellegam (“I hope, in order that I may understand”). Each of these phrases represents a significant modification of the viewpoint of Anselm of Canterbury (c.1033–1109), who emphasized the importance of faith; Anselm's view was summarized in the slogans fides quaerens intellectum (“faith seeking understanding”) and credo, ut intellegam (“I believe, in order that I may understand”; see p. 34). For Moltmann, Christian theology provides a vision of hope through the transforming work of God, which stands in sharp contrast to secular ideas of hope and social transformation.
If it is hope that maintains and upholds faith and keeps it moving on, if it is hope that draws the believer into the life of love, then it will also be hope that is the mobilizing and driving force of faith's thinking, of its knowledge of and reflections on human nature, history, and society. Faith hopes in order to know what it believes. Hence all its knowledge will be an anticipatory, fragmentary knowledge forming a prelude to the promised future, and as such is committed to hope. [...] The Christian hope is directed towards a novum ultimum, towards a new creation of all things by the God of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It thereby opens a future outlook that embraces all things, including also death, and into this it can and must also take the limited hopes of a renewal of life, stimulating them, relativizing them, giving them direction.
For Moltmann, the “hope” in question is not individual, existential, or private; it is the public hope of the whole of the creation, as it awaits the renewing work of the “God of hope.” It is therefore imperative that Christianity rediscovers its eschatology and realizes its enormous importance to a world which is longing for hope, and seeking that hope outside the Christian tradition. Only by rediscovering its own theology of hope can the church hope to gain a hearing in a secular culture.
Helmut Thielicke (1908–86): Ethics and Eschatology
One of the most important modern discussions of the theological importance of eschatology stems from the German Lutheran writer Helmut Thielicke. In his major work Theological Ethics (1958–64), Thielicke set out to explore the theological foundations of Christian ethics. Underlying Thielicke's approach to ethics is his dissatisfaction with the classical Lutheran approach to ethics, which speaks of “two kingdoms” or “two realms” of ethics.
Thielicke argues that this approach failed to take eschatology seriously. Throughout the three volumes of his work, he emphasizes “the eschatological character of Christian ethics.” By this he means that Christian ethics must take seriously the New Testament affirmation that the believer and the church exist in a tension between the present age (Thielicke uses the term “aeon”) and the age to come. Both are simultaneously present to the believer, and Christian ethics must recognize the tension between the reality of the present age and the hope of the future age. These two aeons “run concurrently”; both are present to faith. The present age is passing away; the future age is only dawning, and has yet to break in fully. However, its future presence must already have an impact on Christian ethical thinking.
Ethics has its place therefore precisely in the field of tension between the old and the new aeons, not in the old alone, nor in the new alone. [...] The problem of ethics lies in the fact that the two aeons run concurrently during the “last time” – that is, the time between the Ascension and the Last Day. [...] This means that in the strict sense the problem of ethics is a theological problem. For it is posed by the interrelation of the two aeons.
For Thielicke, approaches to ethics which were based purely on secular criteria (such as Kantianism) would inevitably be judged to be deficient from a Christian perspective, on account of their failure to appreciate the eschatology of ethics. While it is probably fair to argue that it remains unclear exactly how Thielicke's emphasis on eschatology affects practical ethical decision-making, it is clear that his analysis has reminded ethicists and theologians alike of the importance of this once-neglected aspect of the Christian faith.
Dispensationalism: The Structures of Eschatology
Dispensationalism is a movement which achieved considerable influence in twentieth-century North American evangelicalism, particularly during the period 1920–70. The term takes its name from its understanding of a series of “dispensations” in the history of salvation. The origins of the movement lie in England with John Nelson Darby (1800–82). However, the movement became of particular significance in the United States under the influence of Cyrus Ingerson Scofield (1843–1921), whose Scofield Reference Bible (1909) became a milestone in dispensationalist thought.
The most distinctive feature of dispensationalism is its periodization of history. Scofield divided the history of salvation into seven periods or “dispensations,” each of which represents a distinct covenant between God and God's people. These are:
While other schemes of dispensations have been put forward within dispensationalism, Scofield's is widely regarded as the most influential.
One of classic dispensationalism's most significant features is its interpretation of the term “Israel.” For dispensationalists such as Scofield and Charles C. Ryrie (1925–2016), the term “Israel” always designates the earthly Jewish people, and never represents the Christian church. Israel and the church are two totally distinct entities, each with its own history and destiny. “Israel” refers to an earthly people whose hope focuses on an earthly kingdom; “the church” refers to a heavenly people whose destiny lies beyond this world.
Dispensationalists have thus had a particular interest in the modern history of the nation of Israel (founded in 1948), seeing in this development the fulfillment of dispensationalist understandings of the Old Testament. It should be noted that more recent dispensationalist writers have tended to soften this distinction between Israel and the church.
Two central and characteristic notions within dispensationalism are those of “the rapture” and “the tribulation.” The former concerns the believer's expectation of being “caught up in the clouds” to meet Christ at the time of his return (1 Thessalonians 4: 15–17). The latter is grounded in the prophetic visions of the book of Daniel (9: 24–7) and is understood as a seven-year period of divine judgment upon the world. Dispensationalist writers remain divided as to whether “the rapture” is to be understood as “pre-tribulational” (in which believers are enabled to escape the pain of “the tribulation”) or “post-tribulational” (in which believers must endure “the tribulation,” in the assurance that they will subsequently be united with Christ).
Spe Salvi: Benedict XVI (Born 1927) on the Christian Hope
In late 2007, Pope Benedict XVI issued his encyclical Spe salvi, which took its title from Paul's declaration that “in hope we are saved” (Romans 8: 24). (In the Vulgate Latin translation, this reads spe salvi facti sumus.) The document represents one of the most important statements on the Christian hope in recent times, offering both a cultural engagement with secular notions of hope and a restatement of the characteristically Christian approach to the matter.
After a substantial engagement with the idea of hope as found in the New Testament, the encyclical engages secular visions of hope, such as those found in Marxism. Hope was transferred from God to humanity, from the hereafter to the present, from the kingdom of God to the socialist revolution. Yet this secular vision of hope now lies in ruins, confounded by the fact that human nature remains the same. “Theodor W. Adorno formulated the problem of faith in progress quite drastically: he said that progress, seen accurately, is progress from the sling to the atom bomb. [...] The ambiguity of progress becomes evident. Without doubt, it offers new possibilities for good, but it also opens up appalling possibilities for evil.”
Figure 18.2 Pope Benedict XVI (born 1927).
Source: © Alessandro di Meo / ANSA / epa / Corbis.
In the face of this cultural disillusionment with secular visions of progress, Spe salvi offers a restatement of the Christian vision of hope. The document is notable, not for its statement of any new ideas but for its contextualization of traditional eschatological themes. Two of these may be noted: first, the reassertion of the Christian hope as a realistic claim in the light of the failings of the secular vision and, second, the reaffirmation of the importance of hope in the face of human suffering.
Spe salvi sets out the Christian hope as a principle which enables human beings to cope with the ambiguities of existence by reaffirming the loving presence of God in life's shadows. It provides a reliable and secure framework within which believing humanity can exist and trust, relying on the unconditional love and commitment of the God who became incarnate in Christ, thus demonstrating that faithfulness and commitment by actions, not merely words. The redeemed life is shaped by faith in “a God who is not a remote ‘first cause' of the world” but who entered into history as a pledge of commitment. The “great, true hope which holds firm in spite of all disappointments can only be God – God who has loved us and who continues to love us to the end, until all is accomplished.”
The encyclical also addresses the issue of human suffering. Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) accused Christianity of encouraging a mentality which gloried in suffering. Spe salvi takes a more positive approach, noting that the Christian faith has had “the particular merit” of bringing forth within humanity a “new and deeper capacity for these kinds of suffering” that are decisive for our humanity. God suffers for us and with us, an idea that the encyclical refers to as con-solatio (“suffering alongside”).
The Christian faith has shown us that truth, justice and love are not simply ideals, but enormously weighty realities. It has shown us that God – Truth and Love in person – desired to suffer for us and with us. Bernard of Clairvaux coined the marvellous expression: Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis – God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with. [...] Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God's compassionate love.
The encyclical can thus be seen as a reaffirmation of some very traditional Christian ideas, adapted for a post-Enlightenment world. Some, such as Jürgen Moltmann, have expressed concern that the encyclical fails to extend hope beyond the sphere of the church. Moltmann criticized the omission of reference to “the salvation of a groaning creation and the hope of a new earth where justice dwells.” While there is undoubtedly some merit in such criticisms, Spe salvi represents an important contemporary restatement of the Christian hope.
N. T. Wright (Born 1948) on (not) Going to Heaven
Part of the task of Christian theology is to constantly re-examine its tradition to ensure it has not taken wrong turnings – for example, through a misreading of some biblical passages. In his Surprised by Hope (2008), the New Testament scholar N. T. Wright set out his understanding of the nature of the Christian hope and raised questions about whether traditional concepts of heaven were adequately grounded in the New Testament. Wright's views are important in their own right while at the same time illustrating the dynamic process of exploration and reception of the theological “deposit” of the past, which is so characteristic of Christian theology. His approach also makes it clear why Christian theology needs to remain in constant dialogue with New Testament scholarship rather than treating this as independent of, and possibly irrelevant to, its themes.
In an essay of 2003, Wright argued that the traditional use of the word “heaven” to denote the “ultimate goal of the redeemed” was, despite its popularity, “severely misleading” and did not “do justice to the Christian hope.” A traditional way of conceiving the Christian hope had become the lens by which Christians read the New Testament. When that lens was set to one side, another way of understanding the New Testament's vision of hope could be seen. Its main goal was not about “going to heaven when you die” but about being “bodily raised into the transformed, glorious likeness of Jesus Christ.”
These ideas were developed further in his Surprised by Hope. The core New Testament notion of “resurrection” did not refer to life after death but rather to “new bodily life after whatever sort of life after death there might be.” Wright noted, for example, that the gospel accounts of the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth are not framed in terms of the hope of “life after death” but rather with reference to Christ being the “world's true Lord.” The gospel writers do not tell us that Jesus returned to heaven so that we could follow him there. Instead, they tell us that “Jesus is in heaven, ruling the world, and he will one day return to make that rule complete.” And Christians are called on to take a role in bringing about that renewal of creation:
What [Jesus] was promising for that future, and doing in that present, was not about saving souls for a disembodied eternity but rescuing people from the corruption and decay of the way the world presently is so they could enjoy, already in the present, that renewal of creation which is God's ultimate purpose – and so they could thus become colleagues and partners in that larger project.
For Wright, the Christian hope does not primarily concern what happens to Christians after death but rather affirms the new role they have in God's renewal of the world:
“God's kingdom” in the preaching of Jesus refers not to postmortem destiny, not to our escape from this world into another one, but to God's sovereign rule coming “on earth as it is in heaven.” The roots of this misunderstanding go very deep, not least into the residual Platonism that has infected whole swathes of Christian thinking.