My dear confessional Lutherans,
Let’s reconsider our identity as Lutheran Christians and the proper status of the Lutheran Confessions (e.g., the Book of Concord). There’s a tendency within certain circles to elevate the Book of Concord practically—though perhaps unconsciously—to the level of Scripture. But my identity is first in Christ, and only secondarily as a Lutheran. Lutheranism is fundamentally a faithful way of understanding, living, and worshiping as a Christian, but it does not qualify or perfect one’s Christian identity itself (cf. 1 Cor 1:12-13).
The Lutheran Confessions are, in my view, trustworthy documents written by wise and faithful pastors. The Bible, however, remains uniquely divinely inspired and infallible. Because the Confessions faithfully articulate biblical truth, they reliably convey infallible doctrine (cf. Formula of Concord, Epitome, “Summary, Rule and Norm”). Yet, as human documents, they are by definition neither inspired nor infallible themselves. This important distinction prevents us from mistakenly placing confessional documents on the same authoritative level as Scripture—even unintentionally.
Of course, this does not mean the Confessions should be casually revised, or that their stability as authoritative standards should be undermined. Lutheran subscription to the Confessions rightly involves a solemn commitment (quia subscription), acknowledging them as doctrinally sound, tested articulations of biblical truth. Thus, revisions would require clear demonstration of serious theological inadequacy or doctrinal error, not mere philosophical or conceptual refinement. What I advocate, therefore, is not a perpetual openness to arbitrary textual changes but rather a careful acknowledgment of the inherent limitations of human formulations, and a corresponding humility about their ultimate authority compared to Scripture.
My concern arises precisely because theological articulation involves philosophical and conceptual frameworks shaped by human language and history. The Scriptures themselves engage our intellect through rhetorical devices, concepts, and abstract thinking, necessitating faculties shaped not only by the Holy Spirit but by centuries of reflective engagement. Philosophy, in this sense, is a legitimate methodological servant to theology, rather than an inherently foreign or suspicious discipline. The Confessions themselves illustrate this, using philosophical concepts carefully, such as Aristotelian distinctions to clarify theological doctrines like justification, the Lord’s Supper, or the nature of Christ’s presence.
However, a subtle distinction must be clearly maintained here. Philosophy serves theology properly only when it helps clarify and faithfully articulate biblical teaching. When philosophical ideas impose assumptions foreign to Scripture or alter doctrinal content, they cease to serve and become problematic. My contention is not that philosophical reflection inherently demands revision of doctrinal formulations, but that theology necessarily employs careful philosophical reflection to deepen our understanding of biblical doctrine already faithfully articulated.
This nuanced approach avoids two problematic extremes. On one hand, it avoids the naive suspicion of philosophy that sometimes arises in confessional Lutheran circles, as though philosophical clarity is inherently suspect. On the other hand, it rejects the mistaken idea that all theological formulations, including the Confessions, inevitably require revision simply because human understanding historically evolves. Confessional Lutheranism rightly distinguishes between doctrinal truth, which is objective and stable, and conceptual or philosophical articulation, which can—and indeed must—be subject to continual interpretive refinement without necessitating textual revision unless a genuine doctrinal flaw emerges.
In short, the problem in certain confessional Lutheran contexts is not the Confessions themselves, but an attitude toward them that can risk subtly elevating them beyond their intended purpose. Treating confessional texts practically as though they were direct divine revelation, immune even from interpretive refinement, risks undermining sola Scriptura by subtly shifting the foundation of authority. This attitude is problematic precisely because the Confessions explicitly acknowledge their own subordinate role under Scripture (Formula of Concord, Epitome, Rule and Norm). Careful interpretive refinement should never be mistaken for revisionism; it is precisely interpretive fidelity that allows deeper appreciation of the richness of Lutheran doctrinal formulations.
When it comes to defending or describing these convictions (about both our Confessions and our practices), we Lutherans can be particularly bad at avoiding logical missteps. We say things in imprecise and confusing ways that may excite piety but don’t necessarily bring us closer to truth. For instance, we might anthropomorphize faith so that it seems “faith” does all the receiving or “grasping” instead of us as persons doing so. Or we speak of confession and absolution as “returning to our baptism” without explaining what that means. Or we call confession “not strictly necessary” yet “comforting” as if it were just a psychological help.
There is, moreover, an important distinction between doctrinal formulation (which remains stable unless error emerges) and pastoral or practical applications of doctrine, which necessarily adapt to changing contexts. We rightly retain stable doctrinal standards precisely because they anchor the church’s teaching against arbitrary or reactionary theological shifts. Pastoral and interpretive adaptations must respect doctrinal formulations rather than alter them.
This distinction between refinement (interpretive clarity) and revision (textual change) can be seen in historical examples such as the ecumenical creeds. The Nicene Creed underwent revision only when significant doctrinal clarification became necessary—such as explicitly addressing Arian heresy—rather than simply because of deeper philosophical or theological reflection. Similarly, our Lutheran Confessions would require revision only if an actual doctrinal flaw were conclusively identified. Short of that, their stability remains a necessary and legitimate feature of confessional Lutheran identity.
In response to possible objections:
If someone argues the Confessions should remain untouched simply because of their faithfulness to Scripture, the proper response is nuanced: the issue is not their faithfulness (which I affirm) but the subtle distinction between human formulation and divine revelation. Faithful formulations remain stable precisely because they clearly articulate biblical truth; they require no revision unless genuine doctrinal error is found.
If someone worries doctrinal instability will follow any openness to refinement, we must remember that interpretive refinement (philosophical and theological reflection) and textual revision (changing confessional formulations) are distinct. Stability is preserved precisely by maintaining doctrinal formulations as authoritative, subject to clarification and interpretive depth, not arbitrary textual change.
Thus, the Lutheran Confessions rightly stand as authoritative doctrinal standards precisely because their authority derives from their tested fidelity to Scripture. Yet their authority remains subordinate and derived rather than absolute and intrinsic. Recognizing this distinction protects confessional Lutheranism both from fundamentalist Biblicism and arbitrary traditionalism, allowing legitimate philosophical and theological reflection without sacrificing doctrinal stability or undermining sola Scriptura.
This balanced approach also addresses my original concern: the subtle confusion among Lutherans today about the nature of confessional authority, the legitimate role of philosophy, and the necessary distinction between doctrinal formulation and interpretive refinement. Confessional stability need not become rigidity; philosophical reflection need not become revisionism; interpretive refinement need not threaten doctrinal fidelity.
Ultimately, the Confessions remain trustworthy and invaluable guides to Lutheran Christian living, worship, and doctrine precisely because they are faithful human articulations carefully tested by Scripture. They require neither arbitrary revision nor rigid defensiveness, but rather an honest and thoughtful engagement in light of Scripture alone.
All of this culminates in a pervasive and deeply ingrained aversion, in confessional Lutheran circles, to what is far too broadly termed “philosophy.” The word itself is often spoken with suspicion, as though it represents a threat to the purity of theological discourse. Yet, we do philosophy whenever we discuss anything at all; even the distinctions we make in theology are conceptual clarifications. Yes, theologians can wander astray, but that doesn’t invalidate the entire exercise of rational thought. Ultimately, our fallenness is unbelief, which taints reason. Yet redeemed reason is still a gift of God (1 Cor 2:14, Romans 12:2). We don’t cast reason aside; we submit it to Christ.
Thus, we see how an unintended contradiction permeates certain pockets of Lutheran thought: we revere our Confessions but risk turning them into the very final authority they sought to uphold in Scripture; we encourage prayer but do so cautiously to avoid substituting subjective impressions for the Word; and we warn against “philosophy” but freely use it to shore up certain doctrinal positions. Rather than excising any of these insights, we would do well to recognize their legitimate tensions and treat them as cues for deeper reflection and careful articulation. After all, our overarching goal is faithfulness to Christ in Word and Sacrament, nurtured by prayer, guided by trustworthy teachers, and informed by reason that is ever being renewed and submitted to the authority of God’s Word.
Lutheranism, if it is to avoid the pitfalls of restorationism and arbitrary traditionalism, must acknowledge its philosophical roots. The principle of believing only what is “simply and plainly” taught in the Bible, apart from reason as shaped by historical and cultural development, inevitably runs into the problem of historical contingency. The claim to a purely “plain” reading assumes a fixed, unmediated access to biblical truth, disregarding the way human understanding is shaped by language, history, and conceptual frameworks that have changed over time. Restorationist movements, seeking to bypass history and recover an imagined pristine Christianity, fail to recognize that they must make an arbitrary decision about which historical moment constitutes the “pure” church whether the first-century Jerusalem community, Pauline Christianity among the Gentiles, or some later tradition deemed untainted by theological development. In doing so, they freeze interpretation within a particular moment, denying their own historical dependence.
This approach ultimately leads either to fundamentalism, which rejects the historical process of doctrinal development, or to relativism, where any interpretation is as valid as another. A truly historical faith, however, does not pretend to stand outside history but acknowledges that theological understanding is always engaged in an ongoing reception and reformulation of divine revelation. The Lutheran approach, at its best, avoids both restorationist primitivism and static traditionalism by embracing norma normans (Scripture) and norma normata (confessional interpretation), recognizing the church’s historical engagement with the Word rather than attempting to escape it.
Far from rejecting philosophy, Lutheran theology has always been shaped by philosophical categories whether from Augustine, the medieval scholastics, or the Aristotelian-Thomistic framework that Melanchthon and Chemnitz engaged with. It does not treat reason as an enemy but rather places it in service of theology. This is why it maintains a dialectical relationship with reason: it affirms that reason, rightly used, serves to clarify and defend the faith (as seen in Lutheran scholasticism), while also recognizing its limits, particularly in matters of divine mystery. The Lutheran Confessions themselves demonstrate this engagement, employing philosophical distinctions to articulate doctrines such as justification, the distinction between law and gospel, and the real presence in the Eucharist. To deny these philosophical underpinnings would be to fall into a naive Biblicism that strips Lutheranism of its historical and theological depth. Unlike restorationist movements that claim to read Scripture in a purely “plain” manner, Lutheranism acknowledges that every act of reading is mediated by concepts, language, and historical development. Thus, it is not simply a return to “pure biblical Christianity,” as some might claim, but rather a confessional tradition that consciously stands in continuity with both the biblical witness and the theological-philosophical reflection that has shaped Christian doctrine over time. Without this recognition, Lutheran theology would undermine itself, losing the coherence and depth that distinguish it from both fundamentalist Biblicism and the arbitrary traditionalism it rightly critiques.
Here’s the bottom line: The Lutheran Confessions are human documents. They’re trustworthy, but they aren’t Scripture. That means they could contain errors, and even if they don’t, the way they articulate truth is still bound by historical language and frameworks that aren’t beyond refinement. The issue isn’t whether anyone’s found a glaring mistake—it’s that the Confessions, by their nature, can’t be treated as untouchable. Theology deepens, and rigidly freezing our formulations in time prevents us from engaging that process honestly. The real problem in certain confessional Lutheran circles isn’t the Confessions themselves but the way they’re treated—practically speaking, they’re elevated to the level of Scripture, and that leads to a suspicious, reactionary stance toward philosophy and broader theological engagement. Now, if you say, "But if we revise them, we open the door to doctrinal chaos!"—that’s just a slippery slope argument based on fear, not reason. If you say, "But no one’s demonstrated an error in them!"—that misses the point. They’re not inerrant, so the question isn’t whether errors have been proven, but whether we can assume they’re permanently immune to refinement. And if you try to counter with, "But their authority comes from their faithfulness to Scripture!"—sure, but that doesn’t mean their faithfulness should be assumed to be beyond question forever. Confessional Lutherans want to claim they're all about sola Scriptura, but the moment you suggest any real engagement beyond just repeating the Confessions as if they were divinely revealed, the defenses go up. That kind of rigidity isn’t faithfulness; it’s just fear of change masquerading as theological confidence.
The Confessions are the products of human reasoning (guided by Scripture, but still human) or they aren’t; they are—and they are therefore subject to human reasoning. If you are fuming at this point but still reading, please carefully consider this important point. It is idolatry to deny that the Confessions are purely human products. Period. There is only one Word of God. Period.
Fearfulness about this opening up the floodgates to liberals and relativists is what I expect from a lot of confessional Lutherans. But I think I’ve said enough in this perhaps overly long article about how sinful and illogical it is to approach theology with paranoia. The mere possibility of revision is logically distinct from any actual necessity or urgency for revision. Acknowledging the theoretical openness of human formulations to correction does not automatically lead to doctrinal chaos or relativism. That only happens if Christians lose trust in Scripture itself and replace it with human formulations.
I want to re-emphasize a few technical points.
First, we now read the Confessions with faculties that have been shaped by centuries of theological reflection and conceptual refinement. Crucially, whenever a text—apart from God's living Word—is read by people with different conceptual frameworks, they may grasp its core ideas but will almost certainly misunderstand aspects that could not be perfectly or precisely recorded by imperfect writers. This is one reason the Bible stands apart as an exception. Over time, this reality means that the Confessions, though faithful in their essential core, may contain minor imperfections that become apparent only as our understanding of both Scripture and the Confessions deepens. These imperfections do not render them untrustworthy, but if we allow ourselves to see them for what they are—human works rather than divinely inspired Scripture—we can recognize where they might require clarification.
Second, regardless of whether one identifies errors or refinements in the Confessions, the attitude toward them itself can risk becoming idolatrous. They are not the Word of God. If we place them beyond all refinement, we elevate them in a way that blurs the distinction between divine revelation and human articulation. To insist that the Confessions must remain completely untouched—even at the level of conceptual articulation—suggests an implicit trust in a historical document that exceeds its intended function as a witness to Scripture. This is a theological danger, not because the Confessions are unfaithful, but because the authority of Scripture alone must remain absolute.
Third, there are specific ways in which the Confessions assume theological positions rather than explicitly deriving them from exegesis. This is especially evident in their treatment of the immortality of the soul, which is expressed with inherited philosophical and theological frameworks that shaped Lutheran thought at the time.
In response to common objections:
If someone argues that the Confessions should remain untouched because they are faithful to Scripture, ask: Do you deny that theological formulation is ever subject to refinement? If so, what do you do with the theological clarifications that have already occurred?
If someone fears doctrinal instability, ask: Is your faith in the power of God’s Word to preserve truth, or in keeping theological documents untouched for safety? If the latter, have you not shifted your foundation of authority away from the Bible itself?
The Confessions are invaluable guides, but they must remain what they were always meant to be—faithful reflections of biblical truth, not immutable decrees. To deny the possibility of refinement is not an act of theological faithfulness but of historical rigidity, one that risks mistaking a human articulation for divine revelation.
Finally (and I mean it), I should close by clarifying that “refinement” and “revision” need not be treated as mutually exclusive or competing categories. That’s probably tempting to do in a response to what I’ve laid-out in this essay—that is, to explain to me that theological refinement and so on continues, whereas I’d need to prove an example of a necessary revision.
But when confessional Lutherans engage in ongoing theological reflection, they are indeed refining and interpreting what the Confessions teach—and, in principle—that same process could reveal an oversight or an unintended implication in the Confessions that might warrant a textual adjustment. That’s not the same as constantly rewriting them for minor updates; rather, it’s an openness to possible correction, as opposed to treating the Confessions as if they were infallible and permanently beyond amendment.
Likewise, when we consider the ecumenical creeds, it’s instructive that even the Nicene Creed was revised in its early centuries—expanded at the Council of Constantinople in 381, and in the West later influenced by the filioque clause. The reason we don’t see continual changes to the Nicene Creed isn’t because the Church decreed that no revisions are ever allowed, but because once the Creed effectively addressed core Christological and Trinitarian controversies, no further correction was necessary on those central points. In the same way, if we regard the Nicene formulations as clear and without doctrinal error, there’s simply no need to revise them. The core issue isn’t that a creed or confession must be revised, but rather that if we discovered a serious flaw, we wouldn’t be forbidden from making corrections. Remaining open to that possibility affirms that Scripture alone is truly infallible.
NB: If you are going to respond to the above, I trust it will not be a series of assertions but a demonstration of where I’ve gone wrong in my reasoning.