John Franke begins by asking and answering the question, “Do you believe in truth?” He allows that the easiest thing for emergents to do is to just say yes, in order to reassure everybody. But then he gets into his explanation of why he thinks this is an odd question, and all the reasons why he has to handle such questions in the first place just float to the surface.
On the one hand, he says this:
“I thought to myself: Of course I believe in the truth. I believe in God. I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God . . .” (p. 1)
And this:
“In fact, we not only believe in it [truth], but we are passionately committed to seeking it” (p. 2)
But on the other hand, he says this:
“In order to do this, I suggest a simple thesis: the expression of biblical and orthodox Christian faith is inherently and irreducibly pluralist. The diversity of the Christian faith is not, as some approaches to church and theology might seem to suggest, a problem that needs to be overcome” (p. 7)
And . . .
“Christian plurality is a good thing, not something that needs to be struggled against and overturned” (p. 8)
Now if he is serious about the “plurality of truth,” as the subtitle of the book has it, then shouldn’t he be “passionately committed to seeking
them“? This will come up again, promise.
The whole question arises for Franke because he has confounded the object of knowledge with the knowers. One event can have multiple witnesses, and they can all grasp different aspects of what they witnessed, with some of them getting details wrong, but this does not create multiple events. This is still one event, one truth, the resurrection of Christ, and four witnesses — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The fact that we all know in part and prophesy in part is hardly an earth-shaking development in theology (1 Cor. 13:9). The fact that we see through a glass darkly is not a truth that we needed Derrida to explain to us (1 Cor. 13:12). This is as old as dirt. Ever hear about the five blind men and the elephant? The deeper lesson in that parable is not that there were five elephants.
But here is Franke anyway:
“What has prompted the question time and again has been the attempt to come to terms with what I believe to be one of the most significant challenges facing Christian theology in the contemporary setting: the sheer, existential reality of Christian plurality” (p. 3)
Get that? The plurality is in our grasp of the truth, something that can be affirmed by anyone with eyes in his head. But a plurality of witnesses has nothing whatever to do with plurality in what they see. Jesus did not multiply the loaves and fishes by getting additional people to come over and look at them.
Sometimes Franke sounds like he is right on the money.
“‘Do you believe in truth?’ Yes, I do. I believe that Jesus Christ is the revelation of God in the flesh and that, as such, he is the way, the truth and the life” (p.9)
But that “I believe” tucked away in there is not the same “I believe” that you find in the Apostles’ Creed, for example. He believes, and others believe, and the variations in all those beliefs come to be reckoned as variations within the object of their belief itself. Or objects themselves.
“I also believe that the church, as the image of God and the body of Christ, is called to bear a unique witness to Jesus in the world and that, by the will and intention of God, this witness is inherently and irreducibly plural” (p. 9).
If Franke were only saying that our
witness to the truth is inescapably plural, then that claim does not even begin to approach controversy. Who didn’t know that? But I take him as engaged in some sleight of hand. He says
truth is plural because our
witness to the truth is plural, and this means that the “truth,” such as it is, is grounded in our “faith communities,” and not in the unsearcheable counsels of God, established before eternal times. It is kind of like in Einstein, where time
is the clocks that measure it. Truth
is what our collective witness says it is, and if that witness is plural, then the truth is plural. This
is relativistic, and the only alternative approach to what Franke is saying would be to say that I could start manufacturing automobiles by having some friends come over to look at my car.
“Why is it that Christians from across time and around the world, seeking guidance and understanding concerning the mysteries of life and the hope of the gospel, have come away from their study carrels and their prayer meetings with such different conclusions on nearly every aspect of the one faith?” (p. 6)
Because men are sinners? Because we do theology selfishly? Because of the noetic effects of sin? Because we are the apprentice knowers and not the known? Because of creedal advance over centuries?
But with this set-up, Franke then engages in a couple of breath-taking moves. He points out that Christians throughout history have differed on many things, including basic things.
“The fact is that on matters as central to the faith as these, Christians simply do not agree on the answer” (p. 6, emphasis mine)
These differences spread across all the denominations of Christians — Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholics, and Protestants of all stripes. Franke considers their differences, and wonders if he could proceed on a supposition that they all share, which is that there is a right answer, and that the task of theology is to try to honestly find out which one is right, or is the closest to being right. Nope. Franke takes the one point of agreement that they have all shared, and shared for centuries, wads it up and throws it out the window.
“I believe that none of these answers is sufficient” (p. 7).
Heh. As much as he wants plurality of truth, Franke cannot get away from this inescapable rule of doing theology, which is that everybody thinks what he thinks, and believes that others who don’t think it are wrong. Why doesn’t Franke apply his “plurality of truth” moonwalk to
this question? Why doesn’t he include himself and
his thesis in this? “Some Christians say that truth is plural, like me, and others say that it is unified, like everybody else. These all resolve in the heart and mind of the triune God, blessed be He.” But that would mean that ultimate truth is
both one and many, and saying so means sounding like Rushdoony on Van Til, and there go the sexy book deals and forewords by McLaren the Rock Star.
The second breath-taking move is even better, a real show-stopper. Some might be worried that this approach would introduce a destructive pattern of “anything goes” into the life of the church, and the doing of theology.
“This claim does not mean that everything that goes on in the church is therefore allowable and appropriate as a manifestation of diversity — far from it” (p. 8)
No, no, not at all. There are certain fixed principles, certain absolutes, that cannot be altered, come wind or tide.
“Some claims and assertions about Christian belief and practice are wrong, such as those that support discrimination on the basis of race, ethnicity, and gender” (p. 8).
In a book like this one, I am usually braced for stuff, but even so . . . This sort of thing is like getting hit in the small of the back by a 250 pound linebacker for Florida State full of mayhem, traveling at a high rate of speed. But the experience is not painful, even though coach has to take me out of the game — cause I am wheezing and laughing so hard. I mean, I really did not see
that coming.
Some might be fearful that if we allow for pluralist truth on principle, this might open the door to an anything goes relativism. Not to fear. No, not at all. We still have the absolutes that we have received from the Ohio State Human Rights Task Force. That’s something we can take to the bank of true catholicity.
Two problems for Franke, one theological and the other a matter of sheer practical blinkeredness.
The thing that creates the theological problem for Franke in the first place is the astounding existential diversity that exists among professed Christians. That is the basis of his problem. And so, does this diversity not include various views, theologically grounded and existentially experienced, that impinge on issues of race, ethnicity and gender? Is he kidding? Not that I would do this or anything, but suppose I were to characterize liberation theology as a bundle of ressentiments for theological hispanitards, and the chomskeets who cheer them on. What would Franke say about that? My postulated perspective here is all part of the existential ecclesio-diversity, is it not? And no fair googling these new terms of theological discourse and saying that they are insulting. No, they may be insulting for you, but each of us walks up the mountain by a different path. Peace out, man.
Second, the astounding thing here is that Franke doesn’t see himself doing what trendy theologichoppers have been doing over and over for generations. Peter Leithart cites Albert Schweitzer’s very funny observation about the quest for the historic Jesus — this quest “repeatedly discovered, much to its surprise, a Jesus who happily confirms and conforms to its own cultural prejudices” (Leithart, 1 & 2 Kings, p. 218). As Popeye would have it, what a coinkydinx. This emergent project, however furrowed the brow, is being undertaken by risible members of the risible church.
