Apples, Oranges and Nephites

July 12, 2015 By Philip Jenkins

Neil Rappleye is a Book of Mormon apologist. He recently did a piece about me at his blog, under the title The Goose and the Gander, and he is fully entitled to take issue with me on anything and everything. I don’t intend to respond to every criticism or comment he makes, but I am responding to this one because it raises interesting issues about methodology, and the relationship between authentic history and pseudo-history. Although I am addressing this to him personally, the same arguments apply to most of the apologist claims, particularly as they concern the Old Testament.

I have had a couple of exchanges with Neal Rappleye in the past. Then as now, he strikes me as smart and literate. I am no less struck by the puzzling disconnect between the articulate nature of what he writes, and the startling lack of sophistication of his arguments. By far his weakest spot concerns his use of far-fetched and wildly unconvincing analogies, which instantly destroy the credibility of his arguments – more on that shortly. This may all reflect the fact that Book of Mormon apologists really never engage with mainstream scholars. Virtually no mainstream academic takes his cause seriously enough to be worth arguing with, so an apologist never has an opportunity to test his/her arguments in that setting.

To over-simplify, Neal suggests that there really is remarkably little credible, concrete evidence for many aspects of the Old Testament story, so we have no better or worse grounds to accept the literal truth of that narrative than we do the Book of Mormon. There are two main rhetorical points at issue here.

1. When apologists have totally failed to supply any objective, credible evidence for any detail in the Book of Mormon, as requested repeatedly, they regularly throw up a smoke screen about an unconnected topic. So, no, the menu item here is neither goose nor gander, it’s wild goose, as in chase. Or maybe red herring is the better metaphor. Delicious, perhaps, but irrelevant.

2. The other rhetorical tactic is basically, no, he can’t produce a word of concrete evidence for the Book of Mormon, but (he claims) the same issues apply to the Bible as well! Christian claims depend just as much on faith as does the Book of Mormon! This has the rhetorical bonus of trying to divert the discussion from the Book of Mormon, where his views are completely untenable and indefensible, and off to the Bible, where the real, serious literature is immense. This art of diversion and obfuscation is a principal goal of “Ancient Book of Mormon Studies” if not its chief raison d’etre.

Let me explain why his Biblical analogy is wholly bogus.

As his central example, he takes the Biblical story of the Exodus. He cites James K. Hoffmeier, a fine and prestigious Biblical scholar, absolutely reputable, but certainly at the conservative end of the spectrum. So Hoffmeier says “that the Exodus and Wilderness narratives are central to O[ld ] T[estament ] T[heology], and that without them, the tapestry of Israel’s faith and the foundational fabric of Christianity unravels.” That’s his opinion, not mine, and not that of a sizable share of the academic profession examining the era, including a great many Christians and Jews. In my personal opinion, the argument has definitely gone against Hoffmeier’s point of view even more in recent years.

Just because Neal is a Book of Mormon fundamentalist doesn’t mean that Christians and Jews have to be fundamentalists to be authentic believers.

Neal then writes,

as Hoffmeier demonstrates with the Exodus, the strength of the case is not in “any single credible fact,” but in a myriad of subtle, circumstantial details that converge between the text and the external data. As such, there is no single data point that can satisfy a challenge like that of Jenkins for the Exodus. And things are similar for the Book of Mormon and Pre-Columbian America.

I assume he was fighting to retain a straight face when he wrote that atrocity, and especially when he used the word “similar”?

At an extreme minimum, here is what Hoffmeier could plausibly argue by way of circumstantial detail for his Exodus: We have the rock solid and well documented fact that the Pharaonic kingdom of Egypt existed. (Please don’t let’s argue about that?) We have the rock solid and well documented fact that Semitic peoples had often been in Egypt, that they had been a major part of the Hyksos coalition, and that many lived nearby under Egyptian suzerainty. We have the rock solid and well documented fact that, in the twelfth century BC, something called Israel appears in Canaan. We have the less solid fact that some of the Bible’s very oldest verses, such as the Song of Miriam, might record something like an Exodus event, but I don’t push that point. The most powerful single piece of evidence, of course, is the strong literary tradition of some kind of Egyptian connection, recorded no later than three centuries or so after the event.

Taking them altogether, might that suggest an Exodus? Maybe, but I would be careful in defining my terms. Just what do we mean by an Exodus anyway? Do we have to accept the Ten Plagues? In any case, Hoffmeier may well be right. Certainly, there is some kind of Egyptian connection or context to the founding of Israel.

Now let’s look at how exactly “similar” things are for the Book of Mormon and Pre-Columbian America:

We have no documented facts – none, not a single one – that confirm or vaguely point to the existence of any, any, peoples, nations, languages, places, or ethnicities in the New World that are described in Joseph Smith’s book. None – not now, not ever, never. Tell me again about your “myriad of subtle, circumstantial details that converge between the text and the external data”? Never mind a myriad, just give me one credible data point. Try not to giggle when you do so.

And “the text,” you say? In the context of the Book of Mormon, would that be a wholly unprovenanced document that emerged in 1830, not even in an ancient language, and which is more or less universally regarded as entirely lacking in authentic historical content? You mean that text? (“Unprovenanced” is the most charitable word I can find right now).

Go ahead, tell me that Reformed Egyptian is an authentic ancient language, and use any reputable Egyptologist you like to support that claim. I double dare you.

Also note the jaw-droppingly silly tactic here: comparing finding archaeological evidence for a single event, like the Exodus, which would have happened in a very short period of time (assuming it occurred) with seeking evidence for the supposed presence of a nation or community over a millennium. The archaeological footprint of a specific event is utterly and totally different from that of a community, nation, tribe or city over such a long period. And if the Exodus/Wilderness story is true, then it mainly involves nomadic societies, quite different from the settled cities alleged in the Book of Mormon. Is that not all too obvious to be worth spelling out? Not, obviously, to Book of Mormon apologists.

Night and day, black and white, apples and oranges.

I am delighted to see Neal reading my books. It might behoove him though to check out my 2011 book Laying Down The Sword, in which I did discuss this Exodus and Egypt issue in some detail. I argue, as do most scholars, that Israel emerged out of historic Canaan, from a variety of older ethnic groups and communities. Some might have been Egyptian derived. I don’t believe there is any hard archaeological evidence for the exodus as described in the book of Exodus, with all the miracles and stories. That is utterly different from the issue of some Semitic peoples in Egypt joining the movement to Canaan. Is there no single point of tangible material confirmation for the Exodus? OK, so no big thing.

Neal then gets into the early history of Israel, making the following cosmic leap:

This makes for a decent comparison to the Book of Mormon, because it likewise tells a story that starts with a family or small clan (smaller than that of Israel, in fact), which then grows into a large population over the course of several hundred (actually, about 1000) years. And, like the Book of Mormon in the New World, there is not a single scrap of evidence for the Israelites in Egypt or Sinai. In fact, one could aptly paraphrase Jenkins here: “Can anyone cite any single credible fact, object, site, or inscription from [Egypt or Sinai] that supports any one story found in the [books of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, or Numbers]? One sherd of pottery? One tool of bronze or iron? One carved stone? One piece of genetic data?”

Oh Good Lord. This is such baloney from start to finish.

Can I produce such a piece of evidence? For a particular individual, such as Abraham or Isaac or Moses, no. But for the peoples being in the right place, roughly, at the right time, obviously yes, in the wagonloads. Were there Semitic peoples across the Fertile Crescent in the third and second millennium BC? I dunno, let’s go ask the Akkadians, Amorites, Eblaites and Canaanites/Phoenicians. Let’s look for some tens of thousands of data points about this. Were the states, empires and kingdoms described in the Pentateuch there, including such casually mentioned people as the Hittites? Oh yes indeed. Were Semitic peoples living under Egyptian rule in Palestine and Syria? Yup.

Evidence from Egypt itself, you ask? How about the Amarna Letters? They clearly show the existence of Semitic nations, cities and communities in Canaan/Palestine in the couple of centuries before the Exodus, and also indicate wandering bands of more or less certainly Semitic raiders, nomads and marauders in that region and at that time. Some of those cities are named in the Conquest narrative. Let’s also look at the history of the Hyksos in Egypt from the 18th century BC onwards, not to mention all the visual and textual descriptions of Semitic peoples in Egypt and the territories under its control.

And let’s look at the consequences and aftermath of the eras examined. Suppose we are dealing with small clans, in Israel and Mormon-Land:

No sane person doubts that, whatever its origins, something called Israel existed for centuries after the twelfth century BC, with the languages and ethnic characteristics described in the Bible. That is beyond argument.

Unless he is basing himself on unquestioning faith and dogma, no competent scholar believes that, whatever its origins, something called the Nephite polity existed in the New World, with the languages and ethnic characteristics described in the Book of Mormon. That is likewise beyond argument.

Israel was, incontrovertibly, there. The Nephites, just as incontrovertibly were not, and if you think they were, please start showing evidence. I’m getting tired of pleading.

By the way, I don’t have to produce evidence specifically from Egypt or Sinai (though as I say, I easily can) because in my view, it is not essential to the story of Israel. (Hoffmeier would disagree). Neal writes “The Mernepteh [sic] Stela (ca. 1208 BC) supports the existence of Israelites in Canaan, but not that they came from Egypt.” That’s right, and it indeed proves the existence of Israel. Now show me one inscription from some other New World people to confirm the existence of any of your Book of Mormon fantasy folks, any nation, tribe, language, city or people? Take your time …. I’m sure you have a huge selection of candidates to choose from. A myriad, probably.

Night and day, black and white, apples and oranges.

Neal Rappleye also writes this:

The fact is there is no evidence to support the idea that the Israelites were ever there [in Egypt]. No pottery. No inscriptions. No tools. No cities. In fact, there is no evidence to even suggest that Israelites existed before the late 13th century BC, and by then they are already in Canaan, and most experts (e.g., William Dever, Israel Finkelstein) would argue that they were an indigenous group—not immigrants from Egypt via Sinai. Again, in Canaan, there is no single piece of evidence to support a migration from Egypt. No pottery. No inscriptions. No tools. No cities.

I actually agree with most of this, and agree that Israel emerges in Canaan in the century or so following 1250 BC. That’s the position I have taken in my writings. So what? But then look at the lunatic analogy Neal then builds on that.

Suppose that I can’t prove that Semitic peoples are in Egypt in, say the thirteenth century BC (though everybody admits that their relatives had been there recently, and there were lots of Semitic peoples a hundred miles or so to the east. Really, not far when they chose to hitch up their U-hauls). This is, says Neal, precisely comparable to not being able to prove that similar peoples are in the New World over a period of a millennium or so, where the evidence for Semitic peoples ever having been present on the entire continent at any point before the time of the Spanish Empire is zero, nada, zilch, none.

And that is a valid comparison? What “there” are you talking about?

Zero plus zero = zero

(Zero plus zero) cubed = “Ancient Book of Mormon Studies.”

Put another way. We know that the peoples, languages and ethnicities described in the Pentateuch (you left out Deuteronomy) were in the regions described, as an absolutely certain, incontrovertible, multiply documented fact. Did they rewrite their history some, and reinvent their origins? Sure.

And that’s just like the Book of Mormon isn’t it? Where we are so sure that the peoples, languages and ethnicities described were in exactly the regions of the New World portrayed, as an absolutely certain, incontrovertible, multiply documented fact! And that’s why people like you and Bill Hamblin have failed totally to produce a single smidgeon of evidence in support of their mere existence. And Bill Hamblin and his friends have been searching for decades.

In other words, the situation with the Bible and the Book of Mormon is exactly identical, except that in the Mormon case, we have no trace of evidence that any of the peoples ever existed. Hmm, some difference, don’t you think?

Night and day, black and white, apples and oranges.

Here’s another key difference. Your view is entirely and totally based on faith, dogma and alleged revelation. Mine depends on none of the above (although I would subsequently use that history as a basis for faith). And the same distinction applies to all Book of Mormon apologists.

Let me explain.

Let’s do a thought experiment. Assume for the sake of argument that we did not have the Bible as a resource. Assume that we were reconstructing the history of Palestine in the first millennium BC using entirely non-scriptural sources – from archaeology, from non-scriptural texts and inscriptions, and from the various records (mainly texts and inscriptions) of outside nations. We would see Israel emerging in the thirteenth/twelfth century BC, we would have an excellent idea of its changing social and religious institutions through the centuries, we would know its languages, and we would have plenty of writers, both contemporary and later, to fill in the names of kings, dynasties, etc. We would know a lot about its interactions with neighboring powers, not to mention the presence of Israelites in other nations and regions. We would know a huge amount about domestic architecture and social structures, modes of life, class structures, and so on.

Without using religious scriptures of any kind, then, we would have an excellent view of Israel, its languages, ethnicities, people and history. No sane person would doubt the existence of that Israel, although they might argue over details of its political history.

Now look at Mormonia. Without the Book of Mormon, would any scholar ever have speculated about a Semitic or Middle Eastern presence of any scale or nature whatever in the New World? In nineteenth century racist crank theories, yes, but not in any kind of modern scholarship. If there was no Book of Mormon, we would have not the vaguest, slightest hint of any suggestion of a Middle Eastern/Semitic presence. Without using religious scriptures of any kind, then, we would neither know about nor speculate on any kind of “Nephite” presence in the New World, its languages, ethnicities, people and history. It would not exist, because it doesn’t.

Therefore, your views depend entirely on alleged religious revelation, and that is why you are constantly scrambling to find real world confirmation. That is also why your views are irrelevant to any kind of scholarship, other than theology. What bothers me is not that you are preaching religion and revelation – heaven knows! – but that you don’t recognize or acknowledge the fact. If you believe or preach differently, you are deluding yourself.

Night and day, black and white, apples and oranges.

Neal should be ashamed to post an offering like this.

I said I respected Neal Rappleye’s intelligence and writing skills, and I seriously do. He is also fighting the last stand of “Ancient Book of Mormon” apologetics.

And what a fall was there. From Joseph Smith’s time through the mid-twentieth century, Mormons knew as a matter of faith that those ancient Semites had left huge footprints in the New World, not least in terms of the genetic origins of most or all Indians. Did not Nephites alone runs into the hundreds of thousands, or the millions? Was not Illinois in the Plains of the Nephites? (Don’t blame me for that observation, I am citing a credentialed prophet, right?) And then look what Neal Rappleye has to say, as his claim:

“Such convergence strongly suggests that the Book of Mormon is a particular version of Mesoamerican history–a version written from the perspective of a minority elite who traced their lineage to a small immigrant group from Palestine and maintained a form of Israelite religion.”

A minority elite, that never made a mark, never did much, never grew to any size or significance… just a bunch of boring stay at home Guatemalans. Why do we have that decline? Because Neal wants, of religious necessity, to believe in the Book of Mormon, but he is astute enough to know how slim-to-non-existent are the forms of evidence that can be offered to grown ups. The only way he can get around this is to postulate a story that makes no impact on the wider real world narrative, and where he has any number of possible let outs to explain the absolute lack of evidence for his cause.

Dare I say a myriad excuses?

I would say that the ”minority elite” story involves suspending a lot of the Book of Mormon narrative and assumptions, but hey, that’s his problem not mine.

It is a nice picture though. Instead of the mighty Nephite cities and civilizations dreamed of in days of yore, we have a tiny bunch of Semitic-derived transients, shouting “Look out, everyone, here comes the Gaze of Historical Research! Oh no, they’re looking for Objective Evidence! Everyone go hide behind a palm tree until they’ve gone. Thank heavens we are just a minority elite.”

That could be a great film. Does Mel Brooks do Mormon stuff?

In summary: if you want to claim truth for a single word of the Book of Mormon, then prove it. Don’t try and prove the whole thing, obviously, that’s an impossible task. But go ahead and give me one piece of credible evidence that at some point before Columbus, the New World was home to some people, who were derived from the Middle East, who were either Semitic or Semitic-derived. Show me one piece of evidence (not rooted in religious faith) for the existence of such ethnicities, nations, cultures or languages in the New World.

Particularly, show me one piece of worthwhile evidence for this thing about them keeping up some form of Israelite religion. “Good Heavens, Dr. Jones, look there – over the carvings of the severed heads, at the doorway of the jaguar temple! Isn’t that a mezuzah?” Dear Mr. Brooks, Have I got a script for you!

Does that sound like I’m making fun of you? Of course I am, but I am also asking a centrally relevant question. You have made this ludicrous assertion about Israelite religion in the New World. Produce one shred of non-faith based evidence to prove it. Extraordinary claims demand extraordinary evidence. Hilariously improbable ones demand no less.

If in fact those communities were there for over a millennium, the task should be simple. Oh heck, let me set the bar really low. Don’t bother trying to track down an individual or a name or a specific place, just show me anything suggesting the mere existence of that Middle Eastern linked community in the New World. For just one village, one family, one group.

You won’t do it, because you can’t. What you will do is spend a great many posts rambling about every other matter under the Sun, explaining why nobody can or should ask for such an outrageous thing as “evidence” (The horror! The horror!) and you’ll do so until you hope your readers stop noticing the sleight of hand and pretend the whole issue goes away. And behold, it was all a bad dream!

Am I wrong about that? Then show me.

Why I Supported Complementarianism: Lisa Weaver Swartz, Bertha Smith, and Me

September 6, 2022 By Beth Allison Barr

Did you know that the central aspect of patriarchy isn’t female subjugation?

Some of you may be surprised to hear me say that, given my focus on how patriarchy (especially Christian patriarchy) subjugates women. Don’t get me wrong. Female oppression lays at the heart of patriarchy, but it is more a consequence of patriarchy rather than the focus of patriarchy. The central aspect of patriarchy is men. Or, as sociologist Allan Johnson explained in The Gender Knot: Unraveling our Patriarchal Legacy, “a society is patriarchal to the degree that it is male-dominated, male-identified, and male-centered,” which means that “core cultural ideas about what is considered good, desirable, preferable, or normal are associated with how we think about men and masculinity.” Women are valued in patriarchal societies for how they relate to and support men. They are typically not as valued for their independence from men.

I still remember when I finally understood this. I had spoken up in my women’s history seminar that night. I don’t remember our exact words, but the conversation went something like this:

The other students in the room wanted to know why Southern Baptist women defended their own oppression. Some were puzzled; some were angry; and I was irritated. I was still a Southern Baptist, and—even though I was uncomfortable with complementarianism—I didn’t consider myself oppressed. So, I spoke up. “I don’t think Southern Baptist women consider themselves oppressed, at least not all of them” I said. Let’s just think about Dorothy Patterson. She wears a hat as a symbol of her outward submission, but it doesn’t cover the significant power she wields throughout her conservative world. She teaches (preaches?) at Baptist seminaries, in Baptist churches, and at Baptist convention; she publishes books read throughout the Baptist community; and she was supported by her husband and community to get her PhD. I doubt she considers herself oppressed.

The professor had been watching us. I can still see her sitting at the head of the table, holding one of the oranges she had brought to the class for snacks. “Let’s think about why that is,” she said. Pulling out a small knife she began to quarter the orange, waiting for us to speak.

“Maybe women don’t feel oppressed because it works for them,” someone finally said.

I don’t remember who said this. I don’t remember if these were the exact words (although they are close). I only remember how it silenced me. Indeed, it hit me like a slap to the face. Maybe some women don’t feel oppressed, even within a system that oppresses women, because it works for them? Because, even if the system is male-centered, women as supporters still feel valued and important. I knew this wasn’t the whole story. Indeed, as I have argued elsewhere, (most?) evangelical women believe in female submission because they believe it is what the Bible teaches.

(As one insightful reader of this original blogpost pointed out, so many women living within complementarianism have little choice because it is their entire church and family culture. For many women, there is not a viable alternative. This is absolutely true. For many other women, though, complementarianism is just the backdrop of their lives. It provides identity, community, and purpose. It validates choices they have made and even opens doors for leadership, jobs, writing opportunities, etc. Like any other social structure, complementarianism impacts people differently. By discussing the benefits of complementarianism for some women I am not intending to be dismissive of women’s theological beliefs nor to imply that all women benefit from it.)

Could part of the story of why some women support complementarianism also be because it works in their favor? Because it rewards women who play by the rules?*

In her brilliant and forthcoming book, Stained Glass Ceilings: How Evangelicals Do Gender and Practice Power, Lisa Weaver Swartz argues that women’s empowerment within evangelical institutions “is available to the degree that [women] are willing and able to cooperate with the constraints of an institution whose identity is built around male-centered stories,” (212). Women who play by the rules are more successful. As Swartz writes, “the most successful church women adapt. They learn to display just the right amount of femininity in public, navigate the demands of the second shift, and resist developing structural critiques or feminist consciousness.” In exchange for limited agency, they gain “legitimacy and voice,” (189, 221-222). Patriarchy does not center women; but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t value women. Plus, when evangelical women’s voices support and enhance the voices of men, they are more likely to be heard. You will have to wait till Swartz’s book releases at the end of this month for the rest of her argument, but believe me when I say she helped me understand part of the answer to that question asked in my graduate seminar—why do Southern Baptist women support a structure that subordinates them?*

Because it works for them is at least some of the answer for some women. Maybe not consciously for most women; certainly not for every woman; but both evidence and experience suggest it is true for some women. Complementarianism provides a space created by and for women that is supported by men. As Swartz shows so well, it gives women community, acceptance, assistance, education, identity, and legitimacy. If they stay within the predefined boundaries (i.e., not wielding authority over men nor resisting male authority), complementarianism even supports women in ministry. Complementarianism, like all patriarchal structures, does not center women. But, because it needs women, it values women who help keep it going.

(Just so you know, Swartz also helped me understand the lack of empowerment for women within so many egalitarian structures. As I wrote in my endorsement, “In a brilliant and compelling narrative, Lisa Weaver Swartz shows how patriarchy persists and adapts even in spaces supportive of women in ministry. Her research explains why women defend complementarianism as well as why the gender-blindness of egalitarianism fails. Regardless of your theology, you should read this book. I promise it will help you better understand the plight of evangelical women.”)

But what about the women who don’t play by the rules? The women who don’t fit the complementarian narrative. Well, they have a harder time. Historically speaking, they are also less likely to be remembered. Swartz writes how evangelical institutions “erase” non-conformists from collective memory, retelling or just forgetting the stories of those who “do not align” (63).

Take, for example, Bertha Smith. She isn’t discussed by Lisa Weaver Swartz, but she fits the description of what happens to the stories of non-conformists within evangelical institutions. Just last week a friend asked me if I had heard of her. The question surprised me. I put down my grilled pimento cheese and provolone sandwich (I promise it is good). The clock was ticking on our conversation. We had approximately 40 more minutes before my friend needed to be back in his classroom.

“The name sounds familiar, but I’m not sure.” I answered honestly. “Who is she?”

Olive Bertha Smith was a Southern Baptist woman who preached. Indeed, the reason my friend (a pastor) had known her name was because she had preached at his church. But, like me, most of his congregants didn’t remember who she was. Growing up in the post-conservative resurgence Southern Baptist world, I knew the name of lots of famous Baptists, like William Carey, B.H. Carroll, Billy Graham, Adrian Rogers, Oswald Chambers, Martin Luther King, Jr., John Bunyan, W.A. Criswell, Charles Stanley, and (although I hate to admit it) Jerry Falwell. But, aside from Annie Armstrong and Lottie Moon (the namesakes of the two major Baptist missionary offerings), most of the names I knew were men. I had never heard of a woman preaching in the Baptist world.

Which meant I’d never heard of Bertha Smith.

I’d never heard of how she felt called by God to ministry, graduating in 1916 from the Woman’s Missionary Union Training School in Louisville, KY. I never heard how she became a Southern Baptist Missionary in China in 1917, serving in the Shantung Province and becoming a part of the great revival there alongside Baylor alumna C.L. Culpepper. I didn’t know that she was imprisoned by the Japanese during WWII, expelled from China by the Communists, and appointed the first Southern Baptist missionary to Taiwan, serving there until she retired at the age of 70.

I also didn’t know that she preached the Sunday morning service at “hundreds of Southern Baptist Convention churches during her lifetime,” especially between 1958 and the early 1980s. Indeed, you can find both audio and video of Bertha Smith’s sermons on the internet today. Just check out these posted by Greater Cleveland County Baptist Association, or here on sermonindex.net. I didn’t know that Bertha Smith influenced Baptist leaders like Charles Stanley and Adrian Rogers, urging both to run for president of the Southern Baptist Convention, and that she even preached at Adrian Rogers church. How ironic one of the men responsible for the Conservative Resurgence, which pushed women out of the Baptist pulpit, was influenced to take leadership because of a woman who had preached from his pulpit!

Bertha Smith was an international missionary, prayer warrior, and preacher. Yet when Daniel Akin preached a sermon in honor of her at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, guess which of her ministries he did not emphasize? Entitled “Bertha Smith: A Soul-Winning Missionary and Woman of Prayer, Revival and the Victorious Christian Life,” he intersperses portions of her life with scripture and quotes from male preachers, including complementarians like Tim Keller, Tom Schreiner, and John Piper. He describes her ministry as one of sacrifice, prayer, and “personal witness.” He emphasizes that she, as a woman on the mission field often did “the work which men do not go to do.” He quotes her description of the mission (church?) she built in China: “Miss Smith Baptist Mission,” which she wrote on a sign and placed on a bamboo fence. People began to come, she wrote, and—“in addition to the Sunday services, we had Bible classes Tuesday and Thursday evenings.” She was an evangelist and a prayer warrior, but he doesn’t describe her as a preacher. He also doesn’t mention that she spent more than 20 years at the end of her life preaching from the pulpit in Baptist churches and teaching Baptist pastors like Charles Stanley and Adrian Rogers.

I still have a lot to learn about Bertha Smith, including reading her memoir and digging in to the historical records from her life. But I can tell you that Bertha Smith–no matter how her life is framed–taught adult men, preached Sunday morning services from behind the pulpit, and exercised authority over male leaders in the Southern Baptist world. Wade Burleson is right to be angry about Al Mohler’s amnesia over women preaching. As he writes to Mohler, “You are as old as I am, and you probably listened to Miss Bertha teach us the Word of God in a church, or from a Southern Baptist Convention platform.”

When I learned about Bertha Smith last week, I couldn’t help but think about that question asked in my graduate seminar, especially in light of Lisa Weaver Swartz’s forthcoming book. While I can’t speak for all complementarian women, I can speak from my experience as a complementarian for more than twenty-five years (1990-2016), and I can speak from the evidence of history. So, why did I as a woman support complementarianism for so long?

Because I believed it was true.

Because, as Lisa Weaver Swartz has found in her research, it gave me identity and purpose.

And–because women like Bertha Smith had either been omitted from my education or recast to “align” with the values of my complementarian world–I didn’t remember anything different.

*Citations for Lisa Weaver Swartz are from the page proofs. I will update as soon as I receive the published book.

Why I Love Advent

December 8, 2021 By Andrea L. Turpin

I love Advent. It is the season in the church calendar that I have observed the longest, which is to say for many years before I joined a liturgical church. For the unfamiliar, the weeks starting four Sundays before Christmas have historically been set apart as a time to contemplate and prepare for not only the commemoration of Jesus’s first coming in Bethlehem, but also his future second coming at the end of this age—and the ways that Christ comes in ever greater measure to us today by Word, Sacrament, and Spirit.

As such, it leans into themes like waiting and longing (for the nine months of pregnancy, for the day and hour that we know not, for spiritual breakthrough). It stares present darkness and evil straight in the face but also actively kindles hope in God’s deliverance. Grittier fare than candy canes and gingerbread men. I love these as much as the next person, and they can be aids to rejoicing in hope, but by themselves they don’t satisfy.

Maybe my love of Advent came from being American: in the United States, we functionally celebrate Christmas during all of December and I’m the sort of person who seeks meaning in practices. So I started learning more about how the church has historically thought about the time leading up to Christmas. And maybe it’s because, as a single person, 100% festive communal celebration all the time just didn’t jibe with my experience. I was drawn to the more solitary, quiet, introspective aspects of the season. The small but brilliant lights in the darkness.

Episcopal priest Fleming Rutledge presents an excellent brief history of how Christians, particularly in the West, came to think about the weeks before Christmas in the introduction to her sermon collection Advent: The Once & Future Coming of Jesus Christ. Her passion for revitalizing the church’s commemoration of the season has earned her the appellation “St. Fleming of Advent” (xviii). Here she is on Advent’s historical evolution:

The origins and development of the Advent season are less well understood than we might wish. There were varying emphases and customs in differing parts of Christendom in the fourth and fifth centuries, leaving us with a mixed picture that continues today. It has been tempting for local churches in recent times to seize upon notions of Advent observance in the early centuries to support the idea that it has always been essentially a season of preparation for Christmas. However, there is evidence to show that as late as the fourth century, a December season of penitence and fasting had no clear relationship to Christmas, at least not in Rome. By the seventh century, however, the Advent-Christmas connection was well-established, and Advent has been observed as a penitential season, not unlike Lent, in preparation for Christmas up until the every recent past….[B]y the medieval period the essentially eschatological nature of the Advent season was fully established. Martin Luther, in particular, was remarkably attuned to the apocalyptic Advent language….In the medieval period, the Scripture readings for Advent were well established, and they were oriented only secondarily to the birth (first coming) of Christ; the primary emphasis was his second coming on the final day of the Lord. (3-5)

Though she serves in the mainline Episcopal church, Rutledge draws heavily from traditionalist Lutheran theology to critique and reform her own tradition. She praises how the Episcopal church has guarded and maintained historic Advent observance. But she fears it too often devolves into mere exhortations to be better and do better—about genuinely good things such as alleviating poverty, fighting racism, and showing hospitality. But without also preaching that Christ promises to redeem and empower us now and bring complete justice and righteousness in the end, exhortations result in either despair that we can’t do enough or smugness that we are doing more than others (27). So she elaborates:

Whereas Roman Catholic preachers [in the early modern period] continued to exhort those attending Mass to double up on their penitential practices during advent, Lutheran preachers focused on proclamation of the undeserved grace of God—evangelistic sermons rather than hortatory ones….Related to the second coming, which Jesus repeatedly says will come by God’s decision at an hour we do not expect, is the Advent emphasis on the agency of God, as contrasted with the “works” of human beings. An exclusive emphasis on Advent as a season of preparation risks putting human endeavor in the spotlight for all four weeks of the season. All the Advent preparation in the world would not be enough unless God were favorably disposed to us in the first place…[hence] the theme of watching and waiting.” (4-5)

*Advent Wreath By Jonathunder – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12311700*

As I conducted my own research into the history of the Christian calendar over the last few years, I came to the conclusion not that it is the only way to observe time and grow in faith, but rather that it is a wise one, the product of Christians in many times and places reflecting on how to live into the breadth of Christ’s work during his life on earth and his continuing work in the church.

In the West, the church year starts with Advent—commemorating both the conclusion of this world in the second coming, and the beginning of the Christian narrative in the first—and proceeds through Christmas, Epiphany (the coming of Jesus made public, and continuing through his ministry), Lent (a penitential season focused on his preparation for crucifixion for our sins), his death on Good Friday, his resurrection on Easter, Ascension into heaven, and the pouring out of the Holy Spirit on the church at Pentecost. Then follows “ordinary time,” when the narrative continues through the second half of the year as the church, the Body of Christ on earth today, goes about its daily work of evangelism, discipleship, mercy, and justice.

As Rutledge notes, the process of coming up with the calendar was messy and uneven and hence it is not celebrated in exactly the same way across all liturgical traditions, not to mention in every church within the same tradition! And that’s OK. If it were otherwise, we might be tempted to make it yet another human way to God rather than, like Christ, a gift through which we are invited to encounter God. The historical consensus that I find so life-giving is the pattern of fasting and feasting, and the opportunity to regularly lean into different aspects of the Christian life that our finitude requires experiencing in sequence.

And what makes Advent distinct from Lent—both “fasting” seasons before “feasting” seasons—is the emphasis not so much on personal repentance, though that is more than appropriate at any time. It’s the crying out with the psalmist, “How long, O Lord?” Confronting our disappointment, disillusion, frustration, even despair. And, like the psalmist, working through to “But I trust in your unfailing love.”

This has been quite the couple of years, in American society and in the American church. Injustices surrounding race and sexual abuse, an actual domestic political rebellion, and a global pandemic have been a lot to bear on their own, and for some more than others. Adding additional weight to this burden have been the fractures within churches along how best to respond. How long, O Lord, indeed.

So for those looking to lean into Advent, here are a few of my favorite things: Anglican priest Tish Harrison Warren’s recent book Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep exegetes a traditional Anglican nighttime prayer as a guide to processing the reality of the darkness and difficulty of this life from the standpoint of faith and hope in Christ.

Also, for many years I have loved a pair of “Christmas” albums by Over The Rhine: Snow Angels and Blood Oranges in the Snow. They call this music “Reality Christmas” but I realized this year that they are, in reality, “Advent” albums. The song “White Horse” from Snow Angels perfectly captures the connection between the first and second advents and the spirit of longing. It makes me cry, every time. How’s that for an endorsement of Christmas music?

But I’m crying because it is achingly beautiful. And it is cultivating that space for God’s beauty to break in that is the opportunity into which we are invited each December.

Of Bill Hamblin, History and the Book of Mormon

July 18, 2015 By Philip Jenkins

I have been engaged in a debate of sorts with Bill Hamblin on the historicity of the Book of Mormon, over at his blog, Enigmatic Mirror. (For the uninitiated, he is a prominent figure in “Ancient Book of Mormon Studies”). He is a trooper about posting my stuff on his site, which I appreciate.

Meanwhile, this posting of mine builds on recent debates. I think this present response is important because it gets to the heart of all the discussions we have been having here recently, and to any and all of my requests for concrete, specific evidence. I don’t for a second think his latest comments answer these problems, nor do they even address them directly. I was amused to see how far he is trying to divert the debate from any topic at all that might touch on any embarrassing discussions of the Book of Mormon!

The whole historicity issue necessarily involves issues of methodology. Throughout, Hamblin has grounded himself in what I regard as bizarre assertions that history and archaeology are not empirical disciplines. Following from that, he denies the concept of objective evidence, a phrase he usually (and scornfully) puts in quotes. He does not believe we can speak of objective evidence of the past: we cannot seek it, will not find it, and it is futile to attempt to do so. Although his approach is clearly and heavily post-modern in tone, he rejects that label. Fair enough on that last point, if that is what he thinks, but in that case, where is he coming from?

Reading one latest post, I may have the answer. As I read it, either he does not know the conventional meaning of the word empirical, or else he is using it in an arbitrary and idiosyncratic way that has no relationship to common usage. His view is this: as you cannot experiment on the past, or observe it directly at first hand, therefore neither history or archaeology can be empirical. QED, right? And by the same token, he says, there is no such thing as objective evidence of the past.

But don’t follow what I say on the subject, check it out for yourself. Please read what Hamblin wrote in that post, then look up any number of dictionary definitions of empirical and see if you can find one that meets his usage. In reality – in all standard usage – empirical means primarily using observation, which need not be of the actual first hand events. The word actually comes from a Greek original meaning “From Experience,” ie as opposed to just theorizing. Observation does not necessarily involve experiment, and in most cases, it does not.

In my view, his post indicates a fundamental misunderstanding of historical and archaeological methodologies. No wonder he is getting stuff wrong.

Let me elaborate.

Dr. Hamblin is obviously and undeniably correct in saying that the past does not presently exist. He is also right to say that “our only capacity to interact with the past is inherently indirect. We interact with the Past by studying the evidence left by past people–texts, inscriptions, art, artifacts, monuments, tools, tombs, etc. We can understand the past only by studying those things, which were made or done in the Past, but which still exist in the present.” No less obviously, “data from the Past needs to be interpreted precisely because the Past no longer exists.” Amen and amen. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

It is flagrantly wrong, though, for him to conclude that “Hence, the study of history is not empirical–that is, we cannot directly observe with our senses or experiment on the Past. History is a non-empirical discipline.” This is false, and a non-sequitur. From his subsequent remarks in his earlier post, about “This is not objective,” I understand him to take the same wildly incorrect approach to archaeology.

By the way, I think his most recent material about “observing the present in the past” versus observing the past is casuistical hair splitting in the extreme, and would make sense to virtually no historians or archaeologists. Where on earth does he get this stuff from?

Let me define my terms. I am taking these definitions from general dictionaries, and they seem adequate for the purposes of discussion:

“Objective evidence is data that shows or proves that something exists or is true. Objective evidence can be collected by performing observations, measurements, tests, or using other suitable methods.”

Alternatively, objective evidence is “Information based on facts that can be proved through analysis, measurement, observation, and other such means of research.”

“Empirical evidence is information acquired by observation or experimentation. This data is recorded and analyzed by scientists and is a central process as part of the scientific method.”

Empirical means “based on, concerned with, or verifiable by observation or experience rather than theory or pure logic.”

Will he accept those?

True, the past does not currently exist. As he rightly says, though, it has left traces that do – in the form of archaeological remains, documents, inscriptions, pottery, buildings, metalwork, whatever – and those traces, those data, can be subjected to empirical research. They can be observed, collected and analyzed, commonly through quantitative techniques. Any such research is empirical, and that is what archaeologists do every day. Look at any archaeological article in any mainstream journal, and this is what you see. Accompanying that process of observation and data collection are such standard scientific techniques as the formation and testing of hypotheses.

I suppose history need not be empirical in each and every instance, but most of it assuredly is. Any historical study that involves quantification of any kind is of necessity empirical. It means collecting and presenting data in a way that they can be tested and replicated by other scholars. That is empirical study. Other forms of history, using qualitative data, are also empirical.

This is not a matter of opinion, of “Well, Jenkins has his view and his definitions, and I have mine.” I can cite any reputable dictionary or science textbook for these definitions, he can cite none to support his view. Please show me some other scholar asserting that History is a non-empirical discipline?

If you want to see such verification and testing at work in the discipline of History strictly defined, then observe the national scandal involving Michael Bellesisles, who made far-reaching claims about the possession and use of firearms in early American history. His claims, which were heavily quantitative and (apparently) empirical in nature, were examined and debunked by other scholars, and his whole argument was shown to be false. Bellesisles presented what he claimed to be objective evidence, and other scholars showed that it wasn’t. The scientific process worked beautifully.

Obviously, most examples of testing and falsification are nothing like as thoroughgoing and traumatic, and subsequent researchers merely modify and adapt the claims in light of further research. But testing is indeed what they do.

I assume Dr. Hamblin is not arguing that because data need interpretation, therefore they cannot be objective? But equally, when I observe something at first hand, I must necessarily be exercising my interpretive skills to see and understand what is going on around me. Or perhaps he is saying that nothing whatever is objective, whether we see it first hand or not? If so, then we are indeed wandering into the deepest swamps of post-Modernism.

Let me give another example, which does not bear directly on the Book of Mormon. It is by Tim Beach, with several co-authors, and it is entitled “Ancient Maya impacts on the Earth’s surface: An Early Anthropocene analog?” Quaternary Science Reviews 124 (2015): 1-30. I note that one of the co-authors, Richard Terry, is BYU faculty. If Hamblin cannot access the article, I will be happy to send a copy.

This fine article describes how the Maya transformed the landscapes in which they lived, with a major focus on the Classic Maya. “Highlights” of the findings include the following: “The Ancient Maya left a richly variegated landscape of the Early Anthropocene. … Ancient erosion truncated soils and buried sinks, leaving golden spikes in strata …. They left positive impacts or landesque capital such in terraces and wetland fields. … They lived through pluvials and droughts, perhaps exacerbating Late Classic drought. …. They left myriad adaptive features such as reservoirs and useful species still extant.”

I am not qualified to assess the detailed methodologies used here, but the article seems to me thoroughly convincing, indeed revelatory, and it is a significant contribution to the archaeological literature. It also has enormous implications for future historians studying the ancient Maya. The scholars observe the surviving traces of the past in order to reconstruct that past, and they do so richly. They are telling us about how people lived and worked, how they organized themselves, and how they reshaped their world. What could be more fundamental historical questions?

This study is one of a couple of thousand I could offer to show modern scholars using objective evidence, and clearly empirical evidence, to be assessed through empirical techniques in order to form a picture of the past – in this case, the past of more than a millennium ago.

With that in mind, let us return to Hamblin’s statement:

“Hence, the study of history is not empirical–that is, we cannot directly observe with our senses or experiment on the Past. History is a non-empirical discipline.”

So, does he think the “Ancient Maya impacts on the Earth’s surface” article is empirical or not? If not, why not? Or does he believe the authors constructed a time machine to go and observe the ancient Maya directly at first hand, in 1000AD? Research via TARDIS?

Is he confusing archaeology with ethnography?

To the contrary, then, history and archaeology are indeed empirical disciplines, and can be used to test claims about the past, such as those implied by the Book of Mormon. Claims can and must be made, and then tested.

If it is scholarship, it is neither subjective nor impressionistic. If it is subjective and impressionistic, it is not scholarship. And at no point does a volume of subjective and impressionistic ideas, no matter how abundant, suddenly transmute to become objective fact. The plural of anecdote is not data.

And as I have urged in the past, I am still waiting for Dr. Hamblin to produce the slightest single piece of plausible or credible evidence – yes, that’s objective evidence – to confirm any single story, fact or statement about the New World found in the Book of Mormon. As yet, he has offered nothing that comes close to qualifying.

As to his question about New Testament study, some of that scholarship is empirical, some not. That is in no sense an analogy to the Book of Mormon stuff, where the whole goal has to be to establish, via empirical history and archaeology, whether any of those peoples or societies ever existed. Nobody but nobody doubts that the Jewish world existed in roughly the form described in the New Testament, nor that the Roman Empire existed much as it did. Nobody is publishing breathless articles finally proving that cities like Antioch and Capernaum actually existed, and suggesting that we might someday be able to reconstruct their locations! Or that we might find the names of New Testament figures actually confirmed in external sources! Um, we know all that.

In that context, we are absolutely agreed on the foundations of history. Hence, this is not an analogy worth pursuing. He is raising it only for purposes of obfuscation.

Just on a side-note, Dr. Hamblin has a disciple named Neal Rappleye, who wrote supporting his position. Neal likewise rejected my “objective evidence” argument, but he did so by confusing my stance with the issue of objectivity in research, an utterly different matter. Of course we have to be aware of subjective feelings and ideological prejudices in any kind of research, and that concern is the basis of the school known as post-processual archaeology. But that is totally distinct from the question of whether objective evidence exists as a basis for examination and empirical research. That’s pretty fundamental.

It’s hard to debate any issue when the other side is so confused about basic definitions and terms. Should I really have to explain such critical issues?

But it does raise an interesting thought. If the apologists are so fundamentally in error about core issues of methodology, does that explain why they get into such total absurdities?

JUST AS AN UPDATE.

Bill Hamblin has a new post at

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/enigmaticmirror/2015/07/17/hamblin-33-moving-the-goal-posts/

in which he accuses me of not accepting the “evidence” he has offered for the Book of Mormon. Here is my reply:

Oh my. I actually asked for credible and plausible evidence, which did not begin to apply (for instance) to your offerings concerning the alleged entrada of the 370s, the supposed king-name Akish, the homonyms, etc. In each case, I pointed out why your explanations were silly and or groundless, and that you should be embarrassed to proffer such weak evidence.

And let’s look at those shall we?

*You WITHDREW Akish yourself when you were told that the name could not have sounded like that – yet here it is?

You write,

I asked if a BOM king name appeared in Maya texts would you accept it as “objective evidence.” You said you would. I provided the evidence. You immediately changed the rules and demanded a different type king name. The fact that the name, date, and royal function of Akish in the BOM matches the name, date and function of U-Kix in the Maya tradition means nothing–mere coincidence.

Then in the SAME POST you write this,

NOTE: My friend Mark Wright, a professional Maya scholar and linguist, just informed me that recent phonetic interpretations of the glyph traditionally rendered as “kix/kish” below are now thought to read “kokan.” If the new interpretation is correct, then this argument is rendered moot.

ie, it can’t be Akish in the first place. Consistency, anyone? Or mere professorial absent-mindedness?

Even if Mr. Akish had been there, I also explained at length why there is no conceivable way it could be the same one as in the Mayan lists. What on earth are you talking about? Did you even read my thorough demolition of your claim?

*And you freely admitted that your homonyms were all so speculative. – yet here it is? By the way, “Random Choice Homophyny” would be a great name for a progressive rock band.

*I have already trashed the Nahom claim beyond repair. Read my NAHOM FOLLIES piece again, if you like. I’m also writing something new at greater length on this.

In each case, therefore, he presented evidence, which I shot down, needing little time or effort to show why the suggestions were ludicrously weak. That is, I analyzed his evidence, and showed why it was utterly wanting. Yet somehow, he presents this as me cynically “moving goalposts.” That’s an interesting rhetorical technique….

Just to show how thoroughly and specifically I have answered Dr. Hamblin’s alleged evidence on each point, please check out some or all of the following:

http://www.personal.psu.edu/faculty/j/p/jpj1/akish.htm

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/enigmaticmirror/2015/07/17/jenkins-20-its-all-coincidence/

and pretty much anything else from our “debate”. Is that “moving goalposts”? Or rather just picking up garbage littering the field?

So that Rule of One thing is still applying. Good luck.

Oh yes, and he also asks this:

Do you, to be consistent, reject the historicity of Abraham, since he is first mentioned in surviving texts in the Bible a good thousand years after he lived, and there is no contemporary evidence of his existence? Do you think your colleagues at Baylor are cranky pseudo-scholars if they accept the historicity of Abraham?

The question speaks volumes for your approach. Nothing in the story of Abraham as we have it in Genesis is impossible or implausible, according to what we know of the time and place. Abraham follows a style of life that is very well known from documents and archaeological remains from that period. He comes from a known city, travels to a known kingdom, and mixes with known peoples and tribes in known places and cities. By “known” I mean confirmed from contemporary documentary and archaeological sources. Whether he did exist is another issue, on which scholars will disagree. If they do make that case, they are certainly not cranky pseudo-scholars.

Now compare any of the Book of Mormon characters: Nothing in their story is possible or plausible, according to what we know of the time and place. They follow a style of life that is utterly unknown from New World documents and archaeological remains from that period, and in many crucial respects, contrasts sharply with what we do know. On no occasion do they come from a known city, travel to a known kingdom, or mix with known peoples and tribes in known places and cities. By “known” I mean confirmed from contemporary documentary and archaeological sources. Therefore, people who claim that those peoples did exist are, indeed, to use your phrase, cranky pseudo-scholars.

Let’s be absolutely consistent in applying the same criteria of evidence in both cases, as you rightly insist. And the lesson we learn about the relative historical value of the Bible and the Book of Mormon is that they are, to coin a phrase, apples and oranges.

And while it is not for me to teach you your job, if I was a Book of Mormon apologist, I would be very cautious indeed about even invoking the name of Abraham, because it raises so many intriguing questions about the Book of Abraham, and what that actually suggests about Joseph Smith’s highly – shall we say – individual techniques of translating ancient documents.

Slow Church: A Report from the Trenches

June 11, 2014 By David Swartz

As an admirer of the Englewood Review of Books, I have been anticipating the release of Slow Church. Now that it’s in my hands, I’m happy to report that it doesn’t disappoint. I am thoroughly convinced by the book’s critique and vision. I’ll leave the close outlining of the book’s contents—on ethics, ecology, and economy—to others who have already done so. Instead, I want to offer a report on the book’s potential audience from my small corner of the world: a small Wesleyan liberal arts college in central Kentucky. Based on my interaction with students here, I expect that many will be compelled by its vision.

Each year I teach a course on World Civilizations. Together students and I trace the rise of the supremacy of the market (capitalism); of technology and gears of production (industrialization); of the organization of society on the basis of efficiency and calculation, not morality, emotion, custom, or tradition (rationalization); of the absolute sovereignty of nations within their borders (nation-state), and of the strong belief in progress. It’s the story of modernity.

My students find much to like about modern development. In the case of industrialization, they note the abundance of food (even oranges in wintertime!). But they also articulate some of the downsides—Cheese Whiz, Twinkies, pollution, global warming, stunning levels of wealth inequality—and are surprised at the length and magnitude of the list. Modernity has not come through on all it has promised. My students, many of them from Appalachia, know these realities all too well.

At the end of the course, we talk about alternatives to excesses of modernity. We discuss the virtues of gardening, reading from books with actual pages, sitting on front porches in the evening and visiting with neighbors, fasting from social media, and so on. Essentially, this is the vision of Chris Smith and John Pattison’s Slow Church.

Then, in a kind of culminating experience, I try to give them a taste of what we’re talking about. Here’s the assignment:

Rationale: We live in a hyperactive industrialized world of automobiles, vacuum cleaners, combines, smartphones, water treatment plants, and flashy megachurches. YouTube and Facebook, iPhones and SMS have taken up hours in the day once spent in reflection, reading, and story-telling on the front porch. TV, texting, multi-tasking, and iPhone apps have fostered, and we can barely Sit. Still. At All. Premodern humans experienced life very differently. They worked hard physically. They spent time in meditation. This assignment is predicated on the notion that silence and reflection can be virtues, that we have lost something valuable in this age of overabundant information and entertainment. In the Spiritual Disciplines Handbook, Adele Ahlberg Calhoun writes, “Silence is a time to rest in God. Lean into God, trusting that being with him in silence will loosen your rootedness in the world and plant you by streams of living water. It can form your life even if it doesn’t solve your life.”

Instructions: Your assignment is to be silent for 90 minutes. Put away your computer and smartphone. Do not watch television. Leave the presence of other people. Just be still by yourself. You may walk or hike in nature for part of the 90 minutes, but be sure to sit on a bench or lay down on the grass for some of the time.

Paper: Write a one- to two-page paper reflecting on your experience and putting it in historical perspective. What does it feel like to be silent, to be without the pings of a smartphone? How is our lifestyle now different than in premodern times?

It’s a modest assignment than gets immodest reactions. One young man balked completely, told me that social media was his total existence, and spent his two pages justifying his refusal to be still and contemplative for 90 minutes. But a good half of my students wax nostalgic for a time they’ve never really known. They exult on how refreshed they feel and pledge to integrate slowness into their daily routine. I have no way of knowing how many are just sucking up or how many actually follow through. But it seems like I’m hitting a nerve.

On the last day of class, we recite some Neil Postman together. “Loving Resistance Fighters” are people who “pay no attention to a poll unless they know what questions were asked and why; who refuse to accept efficiency as the pre-eminent goal of human relations; who have freed themselves from the belief in the magical power of numbers, do not regard calculation as an adequate substitute for judgment, or precision as synonymous for truth; who are, at least suspicious of the idea of progress, and who do not confuse information with understanding; who take seriously the meaning of family loyalty and honor, and who, when they ‘reach out and touch someone,’ they expect that person to be in the same room; who take the great narratives of religion seriously and who do not believe that science is the only system of thought capable of producing truth; who admire technological ingenuity but do not think it represents the highest possible form of human achievement” (Technopoly, 183-84).

I’ve noticed more raised jaws, intense eyes, and fervent voices than I expected. I have hope.

Read more about Slow Church and its authors at the Patheos Book Club

TEACHING TRUTH WITH FICTION

July 6, 2012 By Philip Jenkins

Not for the first time, a conversation with Tommy Kidd has set me thinking.

Whenever I teach a course on virtually any topic, I use non-textbook materials including memoirs, autobiographies, and/or fiction as a basis for discussion. (See for instance a course I taught for many years at Penn State on Modern Christianity, with the accompanying discussion guides). Fiction is particularly valuable for these purposes, as entertaining material is more memorable than anything dry and academic, and it’s useful for students to have characters and events as a basis on which to support broader ideas. It also gets them into handling primary sources.

But here’s a thought. Imagine you wanted to teach a course on Evangelical Christianity, past or present, what novels or similar texts might you use? One problem of course is that for many years, evangelicals had real doubts about the whole world of novels, which they associated with frivolity and immorality, and that’s why there is no evangelical Jane Austen. On the other hand, Puritans like John Bunyan have a good claim to have invented the English novel as a genre – Pilgrim’s Progress, or The Life and Death of Mr. Badman. They were after all fundamentally interested in exploring the inner landscapes of the mind and soul. But for later years, the pickings are scarcer. I love for instance to use Lewis’s Screwtape Letters as a teaching tool, but what else leaps to mind? I’m not necessarily referring to books that happen to be authored by evangelicals, unless they centrally address those distinctive religious themes.

In particular, what American books illustrate evangelical approaches or mindsets at first hand in a way that we can only draw out with difficulty from sober textbooks? Well, there’s Charles Sheldon’s In His Steps, but what else? And what is accessible to a modern readership?

In fairness, novels about evangelicals (or Puritans) abound, but commonly, they work from the assumption that evangelicalism is a problem to be solved, as the characters liberate themselves by moving forward into doubt, skepticism, or sexual liberation. That doesn’t mean that the books in question are useless for teaching about evangelicalism, but they have to be used carefully. To take an obvious example, Sinclair Lewis’s Elmer Gantry (1927) is a goldmine of social, cultural and religious history for the era of Aimee Semple McPherson and J. Frank Norris (Only a small proportion of this material found its way into the classic 1960 Burt Lancaster film). Having said that, the book’s overall picture of the American religious scene is extremely hostile, much like Hawthorne’s earlier accounts of New England Puritanism.

In the modern period, Jeanette Winterson’s Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit (1985) actually has some great material about growing up in a British Pentecostal family – from which a restless young lesbian must at all costs escape. I like Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead (2004) as a novel, but does it really reflect any kind of evangelical world plausibly, however many Calvin quotes get thrown in along the way?

And don’t get me started on the problem of finding novels for courses on new and rising churches in the Global South. (Ideas anyone?)

A final thought. I honestly wonder how many courses on Evangelical Christianity, or on Pentecostalism, are taught as free-standing units in secular universities? It would be useful to collect sample syllabuses online as a guide to other people thinking of mounting similar ventures at their own institutions. I plead ignorance: has anyone done this?