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Vox Day’s The Irrational Atheist

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Theodore BealeA friend recommended that I read The Irrational Atheist after I praised David Bentley Hart’s Atheist Delusions.  I’ve now finished it (technically, I started reading it and then my Kindle read the rest of it to me on a long, solo car trip to SC the other day).  It is a strange, fascinating, eclectic, hard-to-categorize work by an author who deserves all of the same adjectives.  Vox Day is Theodore Beale, a game designer, science fiction writer, musician, provocateur, and polymath who has also written on economics and, in this work, on the new atheism.

My criticism of the book is limited and primarily stylistic.  Let me go ahead and get this out of the way:  this book REALLY needed a better editor!  Some of Day’s ramblings, while fascinating, kept the book from being the tight argument it could have been and lent the book the feel of a late night stream of consciousness soap box screed by a brilliant but overly-caffeinated buddy about three hours after everybody, especially said buddy, should’ve gone to bed.  I have the sensation, after reading/hearing the book, that Day, if he could hone his thoughts a bit more succinctly, could pen an absolutely devastating verbal sniper assault on pretty much any target on which he set his sights.  Instead, what we have here is a literary sawed-off-shotgun blast.  Actually, that’s too precise.  Day writes like a blasted blunderbuss.  It is exhilaratingly chaotic, but a bit messy.

For instance, Day’s foray into the open theism of his friend and former pastor Greg Boyd is unfortunate, not because the subject isn’t interesting and not because Day might not have interesting thoughts on the matter, but rather because his excursus on that particular theological debate was really not essential to his basic argument (though he employs it in response to one of the atheist writers).  The issue of open theism is too big for an excursus, but the book, The Irrational Atheist, is too big for the treatment that open theism deserves.  It would have been better for Day just to give a brief nod to his opinion that the view of exhaustive providence assumed by the atheist to which he was responding was not, again, in Day’s opinion, the only or best option.

Some of the ramblings, like the meandering exit Day takes to discuss one of his earlier game designs, will likely feel as forced and strange to other readers as it did to me (if I may presume to assume such).  His brief, occasional, and controversial nods to issues of race and gender will likely strike some readers as unnecessarily distracting (though Day apparently traffics confidently in such provocations).  Day has a wild and intriguing mind. Perhaps the editor just gave up in sheer frustration!

Again, those are largely stylistic quibbles.  The fact is, when Day does focus, which he does for most of the book, what he does is utterly spellbinding, effective, educational, destructive, and exhilarating.  Simply put, this…was…an…AMAZING…book!  It’s certainly near the top of the list of titles critiquing the new atheism that I would recommend.

Day works through the arguments, positions, and assumptions of “the unholy trinity” of atheism:  Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens, and Richard Dawkins.  He also deals with Daniel Dennett (who, along with “the unholy trinity” usually makes up the fourth of the “four horsemen of the new atheism”) and some lesser known writers.  His critique of these men and their works is something to behold.  Quite honestly, what Vox Day does to Sam Harris’ writings is one of the most devastating deconstruction jobs I have ever seen in print, especially in his treatment of Harris’ arguments concerning the supposed tendencies toward crimes in red and blue states.  He hammers, relentlessly, the shoddy scholarship behind Harris’ premises, as well as the bizarre extremes to which Harris goes.  His treatment of the others is equally unrelenting, though Harris, in particular, seems to have earned the wrath of Day in ways the others did not.  Daniel Dennett seems to get off the easiest, though Day’s handling of Dennett is also effective.

Along the way, Day skewers the new atheists’ platitudes about religious wars, about the Inquisition, about the crusades, about the intelligence of believers vs. non-believers, about the supposed dangers of traditional sexual mores, and more.  What is so utterly fascinating is the statistical data Day employs in his arguments.  It is a refreshingly fact-based approach, though it is not without its moments of genuine literary flourish.

I would definitely recommend Vox Day’s The Irrational Atheist.  It’s strengths far outweigh its weaknesses.

Kudos to the gloriously eccentric Vox Day for this powerhouse book!

Read it!

Eric Gritsch’s Martin Luther’s Anti-Semitism: Against His Better Judgment

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Eric Gritsch’s Martin Luther’s Anti-Semitism: Against His Better Judgment will go down as the definitive treatment of Luther’s views on the Jews and the subsequent ages’ attempts to handle and explain those views.  It is a fascinating and well-done book when it is explaining Luther’s thoughts and the handling of those thoughts by Luther’s followers.  It is a hopelessly muddled book when Gritsch imposes his own views and assumptions about what Scripture itself says on the subject.  I note that Gritsch passed away last December.  This is sad to hear as he was apparently quite a prolific Luther scholar.

As for Luther’s views, the evidence seems straightforward enough:  the younger Luther was largely tolerant of Jews.  The older Luther developed what can only be described as a tragic and wicked obsession with railing against the Jews.  In the case of Luther’s later views, the term “anti-semite” would appear applicable.  However, the question of whether Luther’s views were technically “anti-semitic” or rather “anti-Judaistic” is up for debate.  That is, Luther’s railings, while deplorable, seemed to be driven more by theology than race.  While it is true that some of the later Nazis used Luther’s terminology, it is almost certainly true that Luther did not share the race-based loathing of the Jews that Hitler did.  It is perhaps an academic point, however, since Luther eventually came to call for the expulsion of the Jews, the confiscation of their property, the burning of their synagogues, the burning of the Talmud, and harsh civil punishments against the Jews.  In his Table Talk, in answering a student’s questions about whether or not it is permissible to strike a blaspheming Jew, Luther replied that it was of course permissible, and he would run such a Jew through with the sword if he could as well.

The point about “anti-semitism” vs. “anti-Judaism” is raised merely for the sake of accuracy concerning the motivations behind Luther’s anger.  I certainly do not offer it as an excuse.  I fully recognize and bemoan the fact that the upshot of Luther’s views was a call for civil oppression of Jews.  It is a sad and deplorable fact. Roland Bainton observed that it would have been best had the Lord taken Luther home before he had the chance to write such lamentable words.  From a human perspective, this would seem to be a valid sentiment, though, of course, God’s timing in life and death is always perfect.

Gritsch’s handling of the issue of how Luther’s followers, then and now, approach these aspects of Luther’s thought is very interesting.  In general, it seems there was a widespread (intentional?) ignoring of these views until the modern era when they were more openly evaluated, discussed, and bemoaned.  Few have attempted to defend Luther’s views, though some have pointed to his old age, his health, and other such factors to try to understand why he became as obsessed as he did.  Many have pointed to Luther’s earlier tolerance and even kindness to the Jews, and this is certainly a valid thing to do, for Luther’s later screeds against the Jews are not the sum total of his thoughts on the subject, lamentable though they are.

Gritsch’s insertion of his own assumptions, inherited from the the world of leftist biblical scholarship, are quite frustrating even as they are predictable.  Gritsch outright assumes that the Bible clearly teaches the universal salvation of the Jews on the basis of the first covenants.  Furthermore, he says that no responsible scholar would find Christ in the Old Testament the way Luther did.  He presents these thoughts not with a recognition of the complicated and debated issues behind such assertions, but rather as simple, brute facts with which any reasonable person must agree.  One wishes that Gritsch would have confined himself to the historical investigation of Luther’s views without assuming such a patronizing mastery of these complex issues.

As I listened to Gritsch’s discussion of Luther’s views my heart grew heavy.  There is no excuse.  Luther really became unhinged on the issue, and it is more than regrettable.  On the question of the Jews themselves, I would only say, contra Gritsch, but in accordance with, I believe, the teachings of the New Testament, that it is right to pray for the salvation of the Jews through the shed blood and resurrection of Jesus Christ and that such a prayer rightly offered should not and, indeed, cannot legitimately lead to the obscene anti-semitism/Judaism exhibited in Luther’s later thought.

Vic Glover’s Keeping Heart on Pine Ridge

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Vic Glover’s Keeping Heart on Pine Ridge is a fascinating, moving, and often compelling look at life on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.  I bought this book in anticipation of our mission trip to Pine Ridge last Fall and have only just finished it.  It was intriguing to be able to see in my mind the locations of which Glover speaks.  Glover lives on the reservation, is himself a Lakota Indian, and is well-suited to paint the vivid picture he paints of life “on the rez.”

The book is often very funny, recounting the colorful personalities and sometimes eccentric lives that surround him.  In truth, the characters are certainly no more colorful or eccentric than we all are, but in Glover’s hands, and against the sometimes surreal backdrop of the reservation, they leap from the page and really grab the reader’s attention.  His description of rez cars and the ingenuity with which they keep these old cars together was really interesting, just as his description of road conditions on the rez was frustrating.

Humor notwithstanding, there is a deep undercurrent in Glover’s book of serious reflection on the social, political, and spiritual dynamics on the rez.  Spiritually, the Lakota are seeking to retain their heritage, and Glover’s description of the sweat lodges and “the Sun Dance” were really quite moving and very insightful.  They also reveal the seriousness with which the Lakota approach their spiritual exercises.  The book paints a picture of the rez as a deeply spiritual place.  He addresses the presence of Christianity on the rez respectfully, suggesting that the spiritual makeup of the people is fluid enough to where Christianity is not seen as an imposition.  Glover says Jesus is welcome on the rez.  Even so, the understandable hesitancy that the Native Americans feel towards the tragic history of their treatment at the hands of “Christian” men and nations is an ever-present dynamic.

This was one thought I kept having while at Pine Ridge:  how the sins of “Christian” people affect adversely the advance of the gospel today.  The Lakota are a generous and kind people, and their spirituality renders them hesitant to offend Christians, but the pain of earlier memories are alive and well on the reservation and, in ways subtle and kind to his readers, in Glover’s book as well.

His depiction of the food stuffs given to the Indians by the government is unsettling, especially as the low quality of the food is evident in the soaring obesity and diabetes rates among the Native Americans today.  Having stood outside of Lakota Nation, where those who live on the rez go to collect their food, I can envision the Lakota lining up for their food and envision the troubling scene of welfare state food distribution.  (Glover refers to the rez as a welfare state.)  Glover himself, however, speaks of the efforts to have the Native Americans plant gardens for fresh food, a project he himself participates in.

A few other things stand out.  For one, his depictions of death on the reservation are unsettling.  Be they death by gunfire or stabbing or car crash, Glover depicts the rez as a place of too-frequent tragedy.  Also, his frequent descriptions of drunkenness on the rez regrettable confirm the stereotype and the statistical evidence of a heart-breaking epidemic of alcoholism among the Native Americans.  I was also intrigued by his occasional discussion of how those on the rez view outsiders, particularly white people who attend the spiritual gatherings of the people.  Glover himself strikes me as a profoundly generous person who welcomes all, and he seems to paint a picture of real openness among many of the elders for to whoever would like to attend, say, a sweat lodge.  But there is clearly a strain of resentment among some (younger people?) who bristle at what is viewed as the intrusion of white people into the Native American sacred ceremonies.

Keeping Heart on Pine Ridge will give a person about as accurate a depiction of actual everyday life on the rez as can be had.  The writing is engaging, the stories are compelling, and the overall picture is more than memorable.  There is a note of hope in the writing.  He is neither parodying the reservation nor bemoaning it.  Glover seems to feel that life can be lived with a sense of meaning and sacredness there, and I would agree.

As a follower of Jesus Christ, the challenge of the evangelization of Native Americans is difficult indeed, given the tragic history and, in many ways, the tragic present for those on reservations.  I truly believe the Lakota need Jesus.  It is just a shame that the actions of so many of Jesus’ ostensible followers over the years have made this so difficult.  Regardless, understanding the minds and hearts of Native Americans is a good place to start, and Keeping Heart on Pine Ridge is a great tool to help in that effort.

Randy Alcorn’s Sexual Temptation: Establishing Guardrails and Winning the Battle

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Randy Alcorn tweeted a couple of days ago that his little booklet, Sexual Temptation: Establishing Guardrails and Winning the Battle, was available for free as a .pdf download.

It is, in all, just under 60 pages. As I read it yesterday, it struck me as a wonderful little primer on an important issue that I think could be read with great benefit by Sunday School classes, small groups, youth groups, etc. I think the brevity and simplicity of his approach may make this especially helpful for young people (though a few of the case studies he points to at the very beginning are quite intense, if still briefly presented).

Alcorn first offers some basic facts about sexual temptation:

  • We are targeted for sexual immorality.
  • We are vulnerable to sexual immorality.
  • We are fully responsible for our moral choices.

He then offers helpful suggestions and advice concerning cultivating our inner lives, guarding our minds, and taking precautions with the opposite sex. He warns against subtle signs of attraction and the various ways we rationalize immoral behavior. Furthermore, he gives sound advice on cultivating your marriage, on being honest with your spouse, on accountability, and on confession and repentance.

His section on counting the cost of sin was very well done. In it, he offers a partial list of the effects of being caught in sexual sin. It is a sobering list and one well worth heeding. He concludes on a positive note, encouraging the reader to victory in this vital and difficult area of life.

Again, this is quite a good little look at the issue of sexual temptation. If you know somebody who could benefit from it, by all means send them the .pdf.

Augustine Thompson’s Francis of Assisi: A New Biography

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In Francis of Assisi: A New Biography, Dominican friar Augustine Thompson has set out to offer a biography of St. Francis free of the mythological encrustations that inevitably latch onto figures of Francis’ spiritual stature.  When I first read that this was Thompson’s stated purpose, I grew very cautious.  This is not because I do not agree with a myth-free Francis.  On the contrary, I am very much in favor of such because (a) I believe we ultimately do a disservice to our heroes when we romaticize them and (b) because the undeniably historical aspects of Francis’ life are in and of themselves so astounding that they should render the desire for attractive glosses undesireable anyway (and, of course, such glosses are always inappropriate, if still understandable).  No, my concern was that Thompson’s modus operandiwould be a cover under which he would apply extreme skepticism and reductionism to the life of the beloved Francis.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Thompson is no unjust skeptic.  In fact, I believe he has produced one of the stronger Francis biographies out today.  His approach is sober but respectful.  While he does not allow sacred and beloved myths about Francis to go unchallenged, neither does he lapse into mere incredulity just because a particular instance in Francis’ life seems surprising or even unlikely.  Case in point would be Thompson’s handling of Francis’ alleged stigmata.  His approach is respectful, if cautious.  Ultimately, he finds no reason for doubting that something very odd and very physical happened to Francis, and he dismisses skeptics who dismiss the stigmata simply because they find the idea offputting.

Thompson tells Francis’ basic biography very well.  He handles the wider political and ecclesiastical realities surrounding Francis adeptly and in a helpful manner.  I felt that Thompson really shined in his examination of the innder dynamics of the growing Franciscan movement.  Furthermore, I feel like I learned a good bit about the awkwardness surrounding Francis’ desire to be a “lesser brother” to his fellow monks.  He wanted to be subservient, but, in practice, this proved very difficult given Francis’ stature as the founder of the movement.

Thompson has presented a very human portrait of Francis, and I enjoyed it very much.  I believe he achieved his goal of historical accuracy.  However, he clearly respects his subject and never lapsed into crass dismissiveness simply because many of the events surrounding Francis’ life were remarkable.

After all, Francis was a remarkable man…though Francis, no doubt, would respond, “No, but I have a remarkable God.”

And, of course, he would be right.

Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses

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If any writer can be truly said to have taken up where Faulkner let off, it would be Cormac McCarthy.  All the Pretty Horses is but one example of why this is so.  Simply put, this is a phenomenal novel.  That does not mean it is always pleasant.  Often times its power comes in its bleakness and its shocking brutality, and this is because neither of those two attributes are arbitrary or gratuitous.

This is the story of John Grady Cole, his cousin Rawlins, and the young drifter, Blevins, who takes up with them and who inadvertently involves them in the great conflict that rests at the center of the story.  There is a love story here as well, also wrapped in tragedy.  Above all else, in my opinion, the story is about the human search for transcendence and the war that the brutalities of life wage against that search and hope.

Now, that is my opinion.  It is based not only on my own reading of this novel but also on my reading of McCarthy in general.  I believe that the tension between the seeming purposelessness of life and the human awareness of some transcendent truth or reality beyond this theatre of the absurd is one of McCarthy’s great explorations and contributions.

All the Pretty Horses fairly teems with this tension.  One can feel the struggle in the repeated conversations between John Grady and Rawlins over issues of transcendence.  Consider, for instance, their conversation about judgment.

You think there’ll be a day when the sun won’t rise?

Yeah, said John Grady.  Judgment day.

When you think that’ll be?

Whenever He decides to hold it.

Judgment day, said Rawlins.  You believe in all that?

I don’t know.  Yeah, I reckon.  You?

Rawlins put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and lit it and flipped away the match.  I dont know.  Maybe.

I knowed you was a infidel, said Blevins.

Or consider their discussion on the possibility of Heaven.

You ever think about dyin?

Yeah.  Some.  You?

Yeah.  Some.  You think there’s a heaven?

Yeah.  Don’t you?

I don’t know.  Yeah.  Maybe.  You think you can believe in heaven if you dont believe in hell?

I guess you can believe what you want to.

Rawlins nodded.  You think about all the stuff that can happen to you, he said.  There aint no end to it.

You fixin to get religion on us?

No.  Just sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off if I did.

Or consider their conversations on the possibility of providence.

You think God looks out for people? said Rawlins.

Yeah.  I guess He does.  You?

Yeah.  I do.  Way the world is.  Somebody can wake up and sneeze somewhere in Arkansas or some d— place and before you’re done there’s wars and ruination and all hell.  You dont know what’s goin to happen.  I’d say He’s just about got to.  I dont believe we’d make it a day otherwise.

John Grady nodded.

Or consider their conversation about prayer.

You ever pray?  said Rawlins.

Yeah.  Sometimes.  I guess I got kindly out of the habit.

Rawlins was quite for a long time.  Then he said:  What’s the worst think you ever done?

I dont know.  I guess if I done anything real bad I’d rather not tell it.  Why?

I dont know.  I was in the hospital cut I got to thinkin: I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t supposed to be hrere.  You ever think like that?

Yeah.  Sometimes.

The topic of God comes up even between John Grady and the kidnapped captain.

The captain nodded at the wound in his leg, still bleeding.  The whole trouserleg dark with blood.

You going to die, he said.

We’ll let God decide about that.  Let’s go.

Are you no afraid of God?

I got no reason to be afraid of God.  I’ve even got a bone or two to pick with Him.

You should be afraid of God, the captain said.  You are not the officer of the law.  You dont have no authority.

Perhaps most poignant of all is the brief but telling comment made by an old man to John Grady as John Grady is making his way back to Texas.  In the scene, the two are watching a young and newly-married bride and groom emerge from the church building.

He stood at the window of the empty cafe and watched the activities in the square and he said that it was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they’d have no heart to start at all.

There you have it:  “the truths of life” (i.e., the reality of evil, the struggle for survival), God (i.e., the great transcendent reality Who is there if seemingly distant at times), and “or else they’d have no heart to start at all” (i.e., the struggle to reconcile these two realities).  I believe McCarthy’s novel The Road is about the exact same thing.  So is No Country for Old Men.

McCarthy is a breath-takingly good writer.  Truly.  And All the Pretty Horses is a serious and important novel.  It is what a great book should be.  It tells a great story in a masterful way struggling with fundamental issues of existence along the way.

Read it.

Garry Wills’ Font of Life: Ambrose, Augustine, & the Mystery of Baptism

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Here is a fascinating, insightful work on a particular little slice of church history.  Garry Wills’ Font of Life: Ambrose, Augustine, & the Mystery of Baptism explores the nature of 4th century baptism in Milan and in Hippo through the stories of the two figures that dominated those two cities in that time:  Ambrose and Augustine, respectively.  The book also explores the complex relationship between Ambrose and Augustine and how, over time, Augustine was driven to a more explicit appreciation for Ambrose as he, Augustine, conflicted with the Pelagians (who likewise attempted to appeal to Ambrose).

The baptismal details are utterly fascinating.  Wills demonstrates Ambrose’s almost theatrical approach to the act of baptism with persuasive detail.  This is not to say that Ambrose indulged in empty, cheap theatrics.  Rather, it is simply to say that Ambrose developed a much more exhaustive, detailed and visual pageantry around the act than Augustine would after his departure from Milan for Hippo.  To some extent, Ambrose’s approach to baptism was shaped by his battle with the Arians just as Augustine’s will be by his battles with the Donatists and Pelagians.  Augustine’s more scaled-back approach would also be influenced by the more rustic and less-sophisticated nature of Hippo itself, in contrast to Milan.

As a Baptist Christian, the details of the baptismal practices of both men challenged me in many ways.  On the one hand, the seriousness with which they approached the preparatory rites for the catechumens has caused me to think long and hard about the amount of care we take in preparing people for baptism today.  While Ambrose’s approach was more exhaustive on the front end, he also held to an inappropriate (if I dare say it) degree of progressive revelation concerning the mysteries of the faith, many of which were only revealed in more detail after the act.  Augstine’s pre-baptism activities were less detailed overall but more forthright and, in this sense, preferable to Ambrose’s.  I was also appreciative of Augustine’s freedom of thought in not tying the act of baptism so stridently to Easter and being willing to baptize whenever it was needed.  In short, there was, I think, I kind of helpful reductionism in Augustine’s approach to baptism whereby he honed the act more succintly and more strategically (a relative term, I know) than Ambrose’s more flamboyant approach.

The relationship between the two men was very interesting, as Wills demonstrates with great effect.  In fact, it is legitimate to ask whether or not there really was a “relationship” per se between Ambrose and Augustine at all.  The younger Augustine found Ambrose to be an admirable, imposing but somewhat aloof character as he prepared for his own baptism at the Milanese bishop’s hands.  One can feel the frustration in Augustine’s complaint that all he wanted was a few minutes with the bishop to ask some important questions, but also the admiration in Augustine that the bishop was so busy and so focused in handling the behemoth amount of tasks before him that he could not grant such coveted one-on-one time.  Augustine appears to have shaped some of his ecclesiastical practices in contrast to Ambrose, but there is no real hint that this is done vapidly or merely to make a point.  Again, Augustine’s circumstances and the nature of North African Christianity played their own parts here.

In the end, Augustine is driven back to an appreciation for Ambrose and employs the man’s name and writings effectively in his battle with the Pelagians.  While a skeptical reading of this may suggest that Augustine simply needed Ambrose’s name, it seems evident enough that, despite their differences, Ambrose did indeed leave a significant mark on Augustine that lasted throughout Augustine’s life.

This is a wonderful and very insightful book on a fascinating period in Christian history.  Check it out.

An Interview with Arminius Scholar Dr. Keith Stanglin

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Dr. Keith Stanglin is the Associate Professor of Scripture and Historical Theology at Austin Graduate School of Theology in Austin, TX.  He and Tom McCall are the authors of Jacob Arminius: Theologian of Grace that will be out next month from Oxford University Press.

I have become aware of Dr. Stanglin’s work on the often-misunderstood and often-neglected theologian Jacob Arminius and was thrilled when he agreed to answer a few questions.

Dr. Stanglin, let me begin with an odd question, but one I think you might appreciate:  was Arminius an “Arminian”?  (I ask this in the same sense that people often ask, “Was Calvin a Calvinist?”)

            If “Arminian” means a Pelagian or semi-Pelagian who believes we somehow earn salvation by making the first move toward God, then Jacob Arminius was not an Arminian.  Arminius’s rejection of Pelagianism and his affirmation of salvation by grace alone through faith alone could not be clearer in his writings.  In fact, John Calvin was more of a Calvinist than some modern theologians presume, and he was more of a Calvinist than Arminius was an Arminian.  The Arminianism of the Remonstrants (Arminius’s followers in The Netherlands) and that of the Wesleyans have continuities with Arminius, but the discontinuities are also significant.

Calvin would have been comfortable as a delegate at the Synod of Dordt, and probably as a Westminster divine, too.  But when one hears of “Arminian” doctrines of grace, predestination, perfection, atonement, sin, free will, and human reason, these accounts often owe very little to Arminius himself.

I have heard even a Reformed stalwart like R.C. Sproul bemoan the fact that seemingly nobody reads Arminius.  Why do you think so few people, especially those who profess to disagree with Arminius, actually read his works?

Most people don’t read Arminius for the same reason most people don’t sit down and read Thomas Aquinas or Karl Barth.  Arminius was a Protestant scholastic, and he wrote academic works not intended for laypeople.  Besides the academic disputations, he did not write anything for publication; his works were published posthumously.  He has no magnum opus with the appeal of John Calvin’sInstitutes.  Although he preached for fifteen years as a pastor in Amsterdam, we do not have a single transcript of a sermon.  Whoever reads Arminius must be prepared to wade through Aristotelian causality, Ramist bifurcations, and many lists.  Of course, I think the reward is worth the effort.

It could be that opponents in particular don’t read him because it’s easier to refute a caricature and tear down a straw man.  I remember hearing Reformed M.Div. students at Calvin Theological Seminary say that, once they read Arminius, they really found out he wasn’t so bad after all.  Some, in fact, were inclined to his position.

Do you believe that publishers and Arminian scholars have not done a sufficient job of making Arminius’ works available in more user-friendly and accessible formats, or is the absence of such formats attributable to a lack of market demand for such?

Luther, Calvin, and Arminius are the three most important and enduring figures of the Reformation, each lending his name to a distinct theological trajectory.  But if one compares the status of the works of Luther and Calvin with those of Arminius, the Arminians should be embarrassed.

There has never been a modern critical edition of Arminius’s works, and the editions that we have are incomplete.  Many of his works have never been translated, and many letters have never been transcribed.  The translations that do exist at present are in stilted, nineteenth-century English.  A new, readable, and accurate translation would go a long way in making Arminius accessible.  Some of us are making plans to remedy these shortcomings, but doing these transcriptions, critical editions, and translations takes time and funding.  If you know any interested donors, let me know!

Scholars have definitely dropped the ball.  Arminius has often been dismissed as an anti-Calvinist who only had one important thing to say.  Scholars are rediscovering the breadth and virtuosity of his theological system, but I can count on one hand the Arminians who are currently doing technical work on Arminius, and still have a couple of fingers left over.  There is no denomination, seminary, research or study group, or institute that bears the name of Arminius; but this is incongruous with the extent of his impact.  If the scholars, churches, and seminaries most influenced by Arminius do not promote within their own circles the importance of claiming their heritage, then the market will never demand what it doesn’t know about.

There is some demand, though, despite the neglect.  The Nichols and Nichols edition of Arminius’s works was last reprinted in 1986, and it’s still selling online for at least $70.  Never-before-published works and new translations would be a real shot in the arm.  Completing Arminius’s works and making them accessible should be one of the top priorities of a Protestant and evangelical ressourcement.

What do you think Arminius would make of the modern American Christian landscape were he dropped into our country today?

I have often thought of how historical figures would react to life today.  Remember that Arminius is closer in time and in worldview to Aquinas than he is to us.  He would be absolutely disoriented by American Christianity.  His head would spin when he learns how the Enlightenment and the modern nation state have undermined Christianity in the West and what historical criticism has done to the church’s Scripture.  Because he despised dissension among Christians, Arminius would probably be quite disappointed with the ecclesiastical fragmentation that has happened among Protestants over the last four centuries.

Once his eyes got used to the scenery, Arminius would see some positive aspects that continue his legacy.  He would appreciate the ecumenical spirit and the overall openness of churches to cooperate across denominational lines.  He would be pleased to see that, in general, Americans need not fear persecution or harassment for their beliefs.  He would feel a little satisfaction to know that many (or most?) “Reformed/Calvinist” Christians don’t really believe in unconditional predestination.  He would love the practical emphasis on good deeds and social justice that permeates American churches.

Arminius would be happy to find that we do not spend so much time fighting about doctrinal intricacies and opinions, but sad to learn of our biblical illiteracy and loss of theological grammar.  He—along with any of his contemporaries who happen to time travel with him—would wonder why mainline churches don’t seem to believe the Bible, and why evangelical churches have loud bands and sing kids songs in worship.  Arminius and his friends would be astonished at the secularization and lack of piety in the church.  But, above all, these time travelers would be alarmed to discover television and how much time we waste in front of it.

You are not a Baptist, but do you have any thoughts or perspectives on the current controversies surrounding Calvinism within the Southern Baptist Convention? 

Both Calvinism and Arminianism are present in Anglo-American Baptist history.  What I find interesting about the SBC is that many non-Calvinists do not want to self-identify as Arminians, and many non-Arminians do not want to self-identify as Calvinists.  Efforts to transcend the categories of these debates are generally well-intentioned but usually not well-informed.  I have my doubts whether Arminianism is accurately understood.  Most so-called “Calminians” are probably unwitting Arminians.

Can both groups get along in the same denomination and congregation?  They have in many places for a long time.  The practical similarities between Calvinism and Arminianism—especially their milder forms—make close ecclesial fellowship and cooperation possible.  Both groups will evangelize; both will admonish Christians to repent of sin; both will acknowledge God’s grace and love in their lives. On the theological level, however, there are significant differences in the doctrine of God and the extent of his salvific intent.  Baptists will simply have to ignore these differences or agree to disagree.

I would add that, of the two, Arminianism seems to cohere better with believer’s baptism than does Reformed theology.  Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin understood this point in their polemic against the Anabaptists, and the Anabaptists understood this well in their affirmation of free will in salvation and their voluntary submission to baptism and membership in the church.  This is not to say that Reformed theology and believer’s baptism are absolutely incompatible, or that Arminius couldn’t be a paedobaptist (which he was!).  There just seems to be more tension with those combinations.  Like his Reformed predecessors, Arminius opposed Anabaptism; unlike his predecessors, he did not oppose their doctrine of free choice.

Where would you direct a modern reader to go if he or she wanted to begin studying Arminius and his thought?

The Declaration of Sentiments is the best place to start.  And skip his introductory account about attempts to have his hearing.  In the main body, Arminius addressed the principal controversies of his day one year before he died.  It represents his mature thought on these issues, though it is by no means his whole theology.  He directed this speech to laymen, so it is less burdened than other writings by scholastic categories, and therefore more accessible to beginners.

What do you see as Arminius’ greatest strengths and weaknesses?

Tenacious perseverance was one of his strengths.  He could pursue a theological question with unbridled energy and with little concern for whether his contemporaries would approve of the outcome. Arminius comes across as someone who was not easily intimidated.  He was on a faculty filled with the strictest “Calvinists” in the land.  He was well aware that his words and deeds were always being scrutinized.  When he died at about 50 years of age, his sympathizers all seemed to realize that they lost someone irreplaceable.  He had the right balance of humility and confidence.  Arminius promoted Christian piety and practiced what he preached.  He was a dedicated minister and family man, a popular teacher, and an indefatigable polemicist.  He could see through the arguments of his opponents and communicate his ideas effectively.  And it helps that he was, as his theological opponents also acknowledged, wicked smart.

It’s hard to say what Arminius’s weaknesses were.  In some ways, we don’t know enough about his personal life to note any vices.  His opponents accused him of teaching things in private that he wouldn’t say in public.  He denied such charges, though he readily admitted that he didn’t always say everything he privately believed.  In so doing, he was merely being prudent with his words, something that most pastors and theologians have found to be a good practice.  Otherwise, I think that most “weaknesses” we could come up with would simply show that he was a child of his age.

Why do you believe the legacy of Arminius is worth safeguarding today?

            Arminius’s legacy includes an emphasis on Christian unity and toleration within limits, the priority of Scripture above confessional documents, and the role of good works in the Christian life.  These issues are still important in the church today.

Above all, he dealt with the relationship between God and humanity, and this is where he made a lasting contribution in the history of theology.  The doctrines of God, humanity, and their mutual relationship are fraught with notorious difficulties.  Arminius articulated a system that resolves most of those difficulties in a historically orthodox, balanced, and coherent way.  The questions related to these doctrines are also perennial issues in the church.  When the church wrestles with God’s love, foreknowledge, grace, human freedom, sin, providence, predestination, sanctification, and assurance, but fails to consult older brothers such as Arminius, we do ourselves a great disservice.

 

Danny Akin’s Five Who Changed the World

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Danny Akin’s Five Who Changed the World was distributed for free at the Southern Baptist Convention Annual Meeting in Indianapolis last month.  They are apparently for sell somewhere, though I’ve yet to figure out where.  Akin’s personal website has a link that takes you to a blank page.  This is a shame, and I hope to figure out where to get these soon, because this is a fantastic and moving look at five great missionaries that will inspire and, I honestly believe, change you.

Originally delivered as five sermons at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, these missionary portraits are delivered to the reader (and, I’m sure, the original audience) with conviction, passion, and an obvious desire to see the readers moved to action by this inspiring accounts.  Akin looks at William Carey, Adoniram Judson, Lottie Moon, Bill Wallace of China, and Jim Elliot.

Akin depends heavily on the standard biographies of each of these, which is fine.  His goal here isn’t original historical research.  His goal is to pass on the stories of five great champions of the gospel and to remind us of the high cost that many have paid to take the good news to the world.  He obviously is wanting to shake us out of our own complacency, and he does so with genuine conviction and in a non-manipulative way.  In other words, Akin’s agenda is clear and it is correct.  We desparately need to hear these great stories again.

My wife and I were frequently and deeply touched by these biographies.  The essay on Lottie Moon was particularly moving and Akin chose well from her letters.  In short, Roni and I have been moved to have sincere conversations about our own failure in the area of following the Great Commission and I believe we will be much more sensitive to this crucial need today and in the days to come.

Daniel Turner’s A Modest Plea for Free Communion at the Lord’s Table; Particularly Between the Baptists and the Paedobaptists. In a Letter to a Friend

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Daniel Turner of Abignon, England, wrote A Modest Plea for Free Communion at the Lord’s Table; Particularly Between the Baptists and the Paedobaptists. In a Letter to a Friend. under the pseudonym “Candidus” in 1772.  He did so in conjunction with John Collett Ryland of Northampton who released essentially the same document (with some minor changes) under the pseudonym “Pacificus.”  (A nice summary of this particular skirmish in the controversy surrounding the question of open and close(d) communion can be read here.)  Turner’s little book has been reproduced in this print edition of the “Eighteenth Century Collections Online” “Religion and Philosophy” series.  It is a nice little facsimile addition to anybody’s library who is interested in such things.  It can also be read online, for free, here.

I am drawing attention to this work because it is a helpful summary of the “open communion” position (i.e., defined as allowing all who are believers in Christ to come to the Lord’s Table, regardless of their mode of baptism) Turner’s writing has a surprisingly modern feel to it, and I suspect that any who would read it would do so with profit.  (The only adjustment you would likely have to make, by the way, is making sure that you do not mistake the older English “s” for an “f” ((minus the crossbar)) since the latter is how they communicated the former ((except, apparently, when they used “ss” which appears, roughly, as “fs”)), but it’s an easy enough adjustment to make.)

Turner writes, he says, because he has heard “that I, and the Church under my care, have been severely censured by several of our stricter brethren of the Baptist denomination, for admitting Poedobaptists to commune with us at the Lord’s Table” (3).  He then gives his reasons for allowing infant-baptized believers to come to the table.  These reasons include:  because all who are saved “must have an equalright to ALL the privileges of the Gospel,” because he doesn’t feel that they have a “sufficient warrant” to exclude these believers, that excluding such believers from “the means of his grace” makes them “guilty of invading the prerogative of Christ,” because Jesus accepts infant-baptized Christians “at his table,” because if Jesus overlooks their mistake on baptism, so can we, because “we are expressly commanded to receive the weak in faith,” and because showing charity to those with whom we differ may go a long way towards building unity and opening doors of conversation.

Turner then moves on to answer some objections to their practice.  He upholds “the right of private judgment” and the need not to disobey conscience in interpreting scripture.  Problematically, in my opinion, he write thus:

“If my Poedobaptist brother is satisfied in his own mind, that he is rightly baptised, he is so tohimself, and, while the answer of a good conscience attends it, God will, and does own him in it, to all the ends designed by it, so that while he considers it as laying him under the same obligations to holiness in heart and life as I consider my baptism to do me, why should he not commune with me at the table of our common Lord?”

Obviously, this opens Turner up to the charge of subjectivizing truth itself, which he anticipates in the next objection, which he expresses in these terms:  “that the allowing of this free and open Communion, is the way to beget a cold indifference to the cause of truth, and by degrees entirely ruin it.”  To this, Turner argues that such an assertion is merely theoretical, that this destroying of truth itself has not been witnessed in churches that practice open communion and that, on the contrary, showing charity to differing interpretations tends to earn the truth itself a greater hearing, not a lesser respect.

I remain concerned, however, about this particular train of thought.  I think Turner is at his best arguing for charity and pointing out the lack of a command excluding infant-baptized believers.  To suggest, however, that if a person is baptized in their own mind, they are indeed baptized, opens a Pandora’s box for the kind of grotesque relativizing of truth we see in our own age.  Let me quickly add, however, that I think this is simply a weak argument, or one that he did not flesh out enough, not that Turner himself was a relativist.  It is clear enough that he believed in truth and that he was, in fact, a Baptist by conviction.  Again, this is simply not his best argument.

Finally, Turner draws an interesting parallel between the Baptists and paedobpatists and the Jewish-Gentile conflicts of the first century.  He argues that Jews and Gentiles who came to know Christ had to learn to love one another and honor one another within the same church, even with their differences.  So too, he says, those who differ on baptism must do the same.

This is a helpful and interesting work on a topic that remains relevant to this day.  I would encourage you to read it.