I recently received this e-mail message from a total stranger. This is why I wrote Against Calvinism–simply to show that Calvinism is not the only Christian option and to point away from it to alternatives (primarily classical Arminianism). This is not the only testimony I’ve received like this; it’s just a very recent and especially poignant and satisfying one. I have only lightly edited it.

Here is the message:

I’ll try to be brief. The first person who really discipled me was my uncle, a staunch 5 point Calvinist. I remember the very car ride where I learned of TULIP, I was 19 then (29 now). Anyway, it was the thick theological alternative that I was looking for at the time. He encouraged me to buy The Works of Jonathan Edwards. You could say I was a “piper cub” but more directly fed from Edwards perhaps himself than most.

I then went an did my undergraduate work, as well as an MA in Theological Studies. So, for years I wrestled back and forth. If I was being honest I did not really like calvinism or calvinists. Yet I desired to be a slave to the word, as one teacher phrased it. What other choice did I have?

After college I spent several years in reformed churches (my current is a Bible church with reformed leanings). During this time I experienced the full fruit of “reformed” (in the high calvinism sense) theology. It nearly brought me to spiritual ruin. For several reasons; first, a lack of clarity about the gospel. They robbed me of the simplicity of believing. I remember internal struggles where I knew I was sinful and evil, but did not have any power to create in myself regeneration or saving faith. At times I seriously wondered whether I was non-elect, somewhat like William Cowper. I wish I had clung to “whoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed (Rom 10:11).”  Second, it was a community that focused inward, on the inner circle. The lack of evangelistic zeal, confidence of salvation, focus on sin, and marks of election while always making your calling and election sure are exhausting and spiritually destructive.

I ended up sadly walking away from the faith. I tried living like a secular person. I never truly could, but I tried. You see … I was mad at God. I was angry that I did not have power to believe or cause the supposed necessary change in myself. I had faith but that was clearly never enough to reform some old sinful ways so I just got tired of waiting for God to zap me and gave up with the whole ordeal. I see now, I was not mad at God, but the god of Calvinism. I hated him.

Eventually I got back to the Bible. I missed God. One day I decided to just look up all the references of Romans 9 – 11. I was quite suprised that on every occasion the OT passage in context really had a non-calvinistic meaning. The baal reference simply says there were 7,000 that did not bow the knee therefore they were not destroyed. Jacob and Esau is clearly about nations and roles, and the hardening of Pharoahs heart has a broader evangelistic purpose of making his great name known throughout the world. The pottery & clary analogy passage seems like an obvious illusion to Jeremiah 18. I have never heard someone make the connection but I knew I could not have possibly been the only one.

Then I picked up Walls & Dongell Why I’m not a Calvinist, and then a friend introduced me to your work. I was on my way. Thank you for providing a thick alternative and for hopefully starting a trend of good scholarly Arminianism.

You have my permission to share this letter publicly if you wish. Maybe my journey can be of help to others

Review of Oliver Crisps’ Deviant Calvinism: Broadening Reformed Theology Part Four

This is Part Four of my series of review essays of Oliver Crisp’s new book Deviant Calvinism: Broadening Reformed Theology and deals with Chapter 4 : “Augustinian Universalism.” I invite those reading the book with me to agree or disagree with my interpretations of Crisp’s views and I invite others (anyone) to step in to comment on the subject matter itself (in this case “libertarian Calvinism”). But if you are not reading Crisp’s book, do not express agreement or disagreement with my interpretations of the book. Feel free to ask questions only.

This chapter especially stands out (among those read so far) as an exercise in “analytical theology”—a philosophical approach to theology that focuses on logical analysis of theological claims. I can’t not note here that Calvinists who have accused Arminians (such as I) of emphasizing logic to the detriment of exegesis ought to complain about Crisp—one of their own who barely mentions Scripture in a chapter saturated with logical analysis aimed at altering traditional Calvinism (which here he calls “traditional Augustinianism”).

In this chapter Crisp analyzes “traditional Augustinianism” which I have often referred to simply as “double predestination” or “high Calvinism.” Crisp wishes to take it all the way back to Augustine but often uses as his model the theology of Jonathan Edwards (which I have also done when criticizing the same view).

Crisp’s thesis in this chapter is (put in my own words) that there is nothing in the logic of traditional Augustinianism (and he mentions Calvin himself as an example of this theology), that requires reprobation or hell. In other words, according to Crisp, the logic of traditional Calvinism displays compatibility with necessary universalism (to say nothing of hypothetical universalism). In other words, according to Crisp, one can embrace the crucial points of traditional Calvinism, as displayed by the theologies of God’s sovereignty in salvation found in Augustine, Calvin and Edwards, and still deny that any individual human being will suffer in hell eternally. Nothing in the internal logic of that theology requires hell.

Of course, many Calvinists will call this “deviant Calvinism” (which Crisp admits) and respond that Scripture requires belief in eternal torment in hell for some human beings. Those objections are not to the point of this chapter. All Crisp seems to want to do here, in Chapter 4, is prove that universalism is logically compatible with the basic impulse of traditional Augustinian-Calvinism, God’s absolute sovereignty in salvation.

Now many people will find that uninteresting simply because they know that, over the centuries especially since Calvin, many Calvinists have leaped from double predestination to single predestination, election of all people to heaven, universalism, without abandoning belief in God’s absolute sovereignty. An excellent example with which Crisp opens this chapter is Friedrich Schleiermacher. Some will claim Karl Barth as another, non-liberal, example. (Crisp denies that what he is calling “Augustinian universalism” and Barth’s Christ-the-only-reprobate-person view are the same. He points to “structural differences.”) So what is different about Crisp’s “Augustinian universalism” which could just as well be called “Calvinist universalism?”

It seems to me that Crisp’s Augustinian universalism is identical with Schleiermacher’s universalism (Schleiermacher, unlike later liberal theologians, affirmed that God ordains whatever comes to pass without exception) except that Crisp’s Augustinian universalism affirms something like penal substitutionary atonement—that Christ’s death on the cross was a display of God’s justice through wrath. According to Crisp, nothing in the internal logic of Augustinian-Calvinism requires that 1) Christ died only for a restricted number of human persons, or 2) that hell is necessary for the display of God’s justice.

Crisp seems concerned, with Arminians and others, to rescue God’s reputation as good and loving from the apparent evil involved in sovereignly ordaining a certain number of persons created in God’s own image and likeness to eternal torment in hell. But he rejects Arminianism (pp. 106-107) as any option for Augustinian-Calvinists whose basic impulse is God’s absolute sovereignty—that God ordains whatever comes to pass. According to Crisp, insofar as I understand him correctly, the only logical reason for hell in traditional Augustinian-Calvinism is the manifestation of God’s glory through the display of all his attributes including justice through wrath against sin. (He does not deny that there may be other reasons for believing in hell; he is only concerned here with the internal logic of Augustinian-Calvinism.) Can one hold onto God’s absolute sovereignty, belief that God ordains all that occurs, and that God’s end or purpose in creating is to glorify himself through displaying all his attributes (Edwards) and deny restricted election and reprobation of a certain number of persons? Crisp’s answer is yes.

How? Here comes the point I have been making for a very long time—one few if any Calvinists have answered and none to my satisfaction. Crisp makes this point: The death of Jesus Christ was a sufficient display of God’s attribute of justice through wrath against sin such that hell is unnecessary—even if one believes God’s ultimate purpose in ordaining and creating, creating and ordaining, was and is his own glory and that that purpose required the full display of all his attributes. (p. 115) I made exactly that point in Arminian Theology: Myths and Realities and in Against Calvinism! (But I get no credit from Crisp.)

Here is my response to Crisp’s main line of argument in this chapter: I believe (perhaps in agreement with Crisp although his own view is left somewhat unclear) that if a person is determined to hold onto the Augustinian-Calvinist-Edwardsian view of God’s sovereignty, that God ordains all that happens without exception, exercising meticulous providence that is “fine grained” (to borrow a phrase from Paul Helm), then the only way to rescue God’s goodness is to affirm universalism. And I agree with Crisp that nothing in the internal logic of that tradition rules this out. God can be absolutely sovereign in the strongest sense imaginable and display all his attributes for his full self-glorification and save everyone through Christ’s death so long as Christ’s death is understood along the lines of penal substitution (whether under that name or not).

However, I think a better way to rescue God’s goodness and avoid the “Augustinian problem of evil” (viz., that God ordains to hell) is classical Arminianism. Why? If we stick to logical analysis it is because insofar as one’s relationship with God is sovereignly ordained by God without one’s free consent that relationship is a condition and not a real relationship. I won’t go into great detail expounding that point here because I have done it several times earlier here (and in Against Calvinism). Suffice it to say that I cannot think of any analogy where, in ordinary experience and language, we would call a relationship between mature persons “real” where its establishment or continuation was not at all mutual.

I will end with a question about evangelical politics. How will conservative evangelical Calvinists respond to Crisp? Crisp teaches systematic theology at an evangelical seminary (Fuller). Will there be (has there been and I haven’t noticed it) an angry outcry from Crisp’s fellow Augustinian-Calvinists among conservative evangelicals—similar to the outcry against open theism? If not, why not? I see a few possible reasons (but none are satisfying to me): 1) Crisp is perceived as a philosopher (almost all his references are to philosophers) and the conservative evangelical gatekeepers of orthodoxy are not interested in what philosophers say; 2) Crisp is too subtle for them to fully understand; 3) Crisp is only analyzing ideas, not affirming any unorthodox ones; 4) Fuller has been written off as a hotbed of heresy anyway (not my view); 5) So long as Crisp stays on the Reformed side of the evangelical divide he’s protected from harsh criticism; the conservative evangelical gatekeepers of orthodoxy are really only interested in attacking non-Reformed evangelicals. Perhaps all are reasons why, so far, the heresy-hunters among conservative evangelicals have not attacked Crisp (so far as I know).

Review of Oliver Crisps’ Deviant Calvinism: Broadening Reformed Theology Part Three

This is Part Three of my series of review essays of Oliver Crisp’s new book Deviant Calvinism: Broadening Reformed Theology and deals with Chapter 3 : “Libertarian Calvinism.” I invite those reading the book with me to agree or disagree with my interpretations of Crisp’s views and I invite others (anyone) to step in to comment on the subject matter itself (in this case “libertarian Calvinism”). But if you are not reading Crisp’s book, do not express agreement or disagreement with my interpretations of the book. Feel free to ask questions only.

In Chapter 2 Crisp takes up another debate among Calvinists but also one that impinges on non-Calvinist criticism of Calvinism (which at times Crisp treats as synonymous with Reformed theology). The thesis of the chapter is that the “Reformed view” (as expressed in the Westminster Confession but also in other classical Reformed confessions) does not imply “hard determinism” but leaves room for belief in free will and moral responsibility in matters unrelated to salvation: “It seems to me that in what the Confession does say, there is conceptual space, so to speak, to prescind from determinism touching all human choices and to affirm some limited version of libertarianism.” (74-75)

The argument provided for this thesis seems to me based on certain presuppositions. First, Crisp tends to define “Calvinism” and “Reformed” by written, authoritative confessional statements (such as the Westminster Confession) rather than by what most vocal Calvinists believe. That is certainly his prerogative, but it overlooks the fact that many, perhaps most, of the outspoken contemporary proponents of Calvinism are Baptists or members of other “free church” traditions. Second, Crisp works with a distinction between “hard determinism” and some other kind of determinism (presumably “soft”) that is not entirely clear to this reader. He frequently says that Reformed theology/Calvinism does not commit one to hard determinism leaving open the question whether it commits one to any kind of determinism. To me, the distinction between “hard determinism” and any other kind of determinism is unclear. Determinism is determinism. It means that for every event there is an antecedent cause that renders it certain and exhaustively explains its occurrence (whether that explanation is known or not). In human decision-making determinism, as I understand it and use the term, says that such antecedent causes are outside the deciding agent.

In this chapter Crisp quotes from different parts of the Westminster Confession to demonstrate that it leaves room for non-determinism and even libertarian free will in matters not related to salvation. That may be; I don’t claim to be an expert on the Westminster Confession. But it seems to me there are sentences in the Confession that also incline it toward determinism. Crisp admits that one possible interpretation of the Confession is that it is internally inconsistent although he is disinclined to think so.

I have a few qualms about Crisp’s argument. First, he juxtaposes his own view of Reformed theology (as non-deterministic) with what he calls “the folk version” or “folks view” of Reformed theology. Here is his account of the “folk version”: “The reasoning usually invoked by advocates of the folk view goes something like this: According to the Reformed, God eternally ordains whatever comes to pass. Now, if God ordains whatsoever comes to pass, then I am not free at any moment to choose to act contrary to what God ordains I do at that moment. But free will requires the ability to do otherwise at the moment of choice, in which case the Reformed view must deny that I have free will.” (75) Why call this the “folk view?” I and most non-Calvinists, including many scholarly critics of Calvinism, think this is exactly what classical Reformed theology implies by “good and necessary consequences” even if it does not directly state it. Of course, everything hinges on what “free will” means—whether power of contrary choice (libertarian free will) or doing what one wants to do (compatibilism). I would argue that the vast majority of conservative, classical Reformed theologians (including Lorraine Boettner whom Crisp cites near the beginning of his chapter) also believe this “folk view” of Reformed theology. (See my chapter on Divine Determinism in Against Calvinism where I cite numerous Reformed/Calvinist theologians beginning with Calvin himself to argue that classical Calvinism does, indeed, imply what Crisp calls the “folk version” of Reformed theology).

My second qualm has to do with Crisp’s (to me) confusing language about free will. Most of that (to me) confusing language appears on and around page 77 (for those who are reading the book along with me). On these pages Crisp admits there are “a number” of Reformed theologians who advocate versions of hard determinism and its concomitant “incompatibilism”—that free will is incompatible with determinism. My own reading of the theologians he mentions, however—Boettner, Jonathan Edwards, and Francis Turretin—leads me to think they affirm compatibilism—a view of “free will” compatible with determinism. But, of course, everything hinges on what one means by “free will.” In most of the literature I have read on this subject “compatibilism” is the belief that “free will” only means ability to do what one wants to do—ability to act on one’s strongest inclinations—not “power of contrary choice.” “Incompatibilism” is usually defined as free will that is incompatible with determinism because it is “power of contrary choice.”

So, things begin to get confusing when, at the top of page 77 Crisp says “Hard determinism is a species of incompatibilism, because the hard determinist claims that determinism is incompatible with human free will.” That would be true if “free will” could only mean “power of contrary choice,” but incompatibilism, as I understand it, is belief that free will only means ability to act on one’s strongest inclinations—which at least Boettner and Edwards embraced (as do many other modern and contemporary Calvinists).

I apologize for focusing so much on one page—77—but I really struggle with what Crisp says here. What am I missing? To explain further, in mid-page Crisp argues that hard determinism, with its concomitant denial of free will (?), is “theologically untenable, even unorthodox.” “The presumption in almost all Christian theology, including Reformed theology, is that human beings do have free will (whatever that means), and that they are morally responsible for those actions that are free. That is, there is a presumption among such theologians (I think, among almost all traditional, orthodox Christian theologians) that human beings must be free in some sense in order for their actions to be morally responsible. Moral responsibility is not decoupled from freedom in this theological literature. Indeed, to decouple these two things would be regarded as a step away from orthodox Christian belief.”

The gist of that statement is true: all, or nearly all, Christians have always believed that, in order for human beings to be morally responsible they must act freely. The problem is in the “whatever that means” parenthetical qualification of “free will.” The “theological literature” Crisp refers to—Reformed theology—typically defines free will as ability to act on one’s strongest inclinations (compatibilism) even if one could not do otherwise. How that is compatible with moral responsibility is one issue between Calvinists and Arminians who, partly because of the moral responsibility issue, reject compatibilism in favor of libertarian free will (ability to do otherwise than one does).

As I said, I’m having trouble getting past page 77! It seems to be capable of being read in different ways. Is Crisp arguing that at least some Calvinists (major ones he names!) are unorthodox because they deny libertarian free will in favor of hard determinism? Or is he allowing “incompatiblism” is not inconsistent with moral responsibility? I don’t know where the failure lies. It’s either in my denseness or Crisp’s perspicuity (in this particular part of the book).

I also have a qualm about Crisp’s treatment of Jacob Arminius and “the Remonstrant party that took up his cause [after his death] at the synod [Dort].” Crisp allows that Arminius’ views were “not unorthodox” while implying that the Remonstrants at Dort were not. My own study of both Arminius and the early Remonstrants (e.g., Simon Episcopius) leads me to disagree with this common assertion. Anyone who reads the Remonstrant Confession of 1621, authored by Episcopius, will be hard pressed to find any substantial disagreement with Arminius’ own views. But at least Crisp allows that Arminius was “not unorthodox.”

Crisp argues for “libertarian Calvinism” by which he means belief that in matters not directly related to salvation human persons have libertarian free will and are not determined by God or anything outside themselves. He believes there is room for this belief in classical Calvinism. He argues that “God ordains whatever comes to pass” does not imply determinism. “Note that this libertarian Calvinism does not deny that God ordains whatsoever comes to pass. It denies that God determines or causes whatsoever comes to pass.” (87) Some human actions, he says, “are not determined by God but are foreseen and permitted by God.” (87) Of course, Calvin himself adamantly denied this, but, as Crisp mentions, Reformed theologians (even those who call themselves Calvinist) are not obligated to agree with Calvin about everything; they are only obligated to agree with the “Reformed confessions.”

Here are three propositions that Crisp seems to affirm and believes are not inconsistent with each other: a) God ordains whatsoever comes to pass; b) some human actions are free actions (that is, actions that exercise free will) for which the humans concerned are morally responsible; and 3) free will requires the ability to do otherwise. (88) He argues that “many historic Arminian theologians have been willing to affirm all three, given certain qualifications.” (88) This is true so long as “certain qualifications” include that “God ordains whatsoever comes to pass” includes “bare permission” (not efficacious permission) and a distinction between God’s antecedent and consequent wills. But I doubt that very many Calvinists will agree with “3” and there’s the rub. If I am not mistaken Crisp, at least some of the time, grants that in many decisions not pertaining to salvation human persons have libertarian free will—ability to do otherwise than they do. In other words, the three propositions do fall into conflict given the interpretations of “God ordains” and “free will” held by most Arminians and most Calvinists.

What Crisp seems to be aiming at in this chapter and with his “libertarian Calvinism” is a kind of mixture of Calvinism and Arminianism—at least as both are popular understood and normally interpreted by leading Calvinist and Arminian theologians. He grants that even sinners have free will and denies exhaustive divine determinism of all human choices (although I think he fails to come completely clear about what he believes about free will and divine ordination) while holding on to monergism—belief that if a person is saved it is because God chose him or her and saved him or her efficaciously without free cooperation.

Crisp ends Chapter 3 by arguing that his libertarian Calvinism is not a species of Arminianism (due to its monergism) and is a species of Calvinism (due to its agreement with the Westminster Confession as interpreted by Crisp and not by Jerry Walls and others who believe it implies exhaustive divine determinism).

It would be difficult to do justice to Chapter 3 without responding to it sentence-by-sentence. I obviously don’t have room for that here. Let me just say that, in my opinion, Crisp’s “libertarian Calvinism” is not consistent with the vast majority of modern and contemporary Calvinisms in the U.S., especially those influenced by Jonathan Edwards, or even Calvin himself. And I doubt it is consistent with the Westminster Confession. And it is not acceptable to Arminians because of its soteriological monergism—even if Crisp goes on to embrace some form of universalism. The issue (I repeat…) is God’s character. If God chooses certain sinners to redeem out of the mass of damned humanity and leaves others to eternal hell when he could save all because salvation is unconditional and irresistible, then God is not good as I understand “good” under the sign of the character of Jesus Christ—the most perfect revelation of God’s character possible.

Review of Oliver Crisps’ Deviant Calvinism: Broadening Reformed Theology Part One

I have invited other interested persons to join me in this series. I will post occasional (tentatively about one chapter per week) reviews and others who read the book are welcome to agree, disagree, add to, etc. I ask that those who are not reading the book with us refrain from posting comments that express agreement or disagreement; they should stick to asking questions. I will be posting about other subjects between these review posts about Crisp’s book, so if you’re not reading it—don’t go away!

So, plunging in with some thoughts about Chapter 1, “Tradition, Faith, and Doctrine.”

In this first chapter of the book Crisp does several things. He calls himself “a Reformed Catholic” and makes clear that he highly values the Great Tradition of Christian orthodoxy including the early creeds of Christendom (especially Nicea). He considers Catholics and Protestants “siblings, not enemies, related to one parent, namely, Western catholic Christendom.” (15) He also makes clear that he disagrees with Roman Catholic theology on the subject of the relationship between tradition and Scripture; he affirms sola scriptura in the sense that creeds and doctrines have only derivative authority and that Scripture alone is the “norma normans non normata—that is, the norming norm that is not normed by anything else.” (17) He uses an illustration I used in Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology—American law. Legal precedents of high courts are fallible; the Constitution is not (functionally in the system of jurisprudence). And yet, legal precedents are important guides not to be ignored. So “The point is that conciliar authority, though normative under certain conditions, is nevertheless limited in its purview by the word of God, under which it stands and by means of which it can be corrected. It has normative status, but one the warrant for which is derived from a higher norm to which all conciliar canons are subordinate, namely, Holy Scripture.” (18-19)

Overall, and in general, I do not have any disagreement with Crisp’s account of the relative authorities of Scripture and tradition. He and I might disagree on what constitutes “tradition.” He seems to think, for example, that the Anglican 39 Articles of Religion and the Westminster Confession of Faith bear some kind of doctrinal authority—that they are (I’m putting this in my own words) instruments of doctrinal accountability. I would agree that they are but only for those particular ecclesiastical bodies—Anglican and Presbyterian. Well, in any case, he treats those confessional statements as if they have for him some special authority. But he makes clear their authority, whatever it is, must stand under the authority of Scripture and are open to revision if they should turn out to be in any parts inconsistent with Scripture.

I don’t see how Crisp’s account of the authorities of Scripture and tradition really differs substantially from my own and yet certain evangelicals have attacked, almost condemned, my view as leading inevitably toward liberalism in theology. Will they attack his view, too? That is to be seen. But somehow I doubt it and that because he self-identifies as Reformed and I don’t. This whole evangelical controversy (or set of controversies) is very much tribal in nature. Much depends on what tribe one is perceived as belonging to. In my experience, a person perceived as belonging to a “safe tribe” can get away with saying the very same thing a person perceived as belonging to an “unsafe tribe” (e.g., Arminian) says who is vilified for it.

Anyway, back to the main point. Crisp’s account of the religious authority seems quite traditionally evangelical to me. I have no major objection to it or even objection worthy of discussion.

After discussing Scripture and tradition Crisp moves on to “The Role of Faith.” I find these pages somewhat murky. He distinguishes between propositional or “doxatic” faith and “fiducial” faith (or these as distinct “components of faith”) and argues that both are necessary for evangelical Christianity, including Reformed Christianity, to exist fully and at its best. I can hardly disagree with that, either. The only qualm I have is that he seems to downplay any aspect of “feeling” in “Christian experience” which is a part of “fiducial” faith (trust). In other words, he affirms that authentic Christianity includes experience of God’s grace, but he includes a footnotes (9 on p. 23): “Note that here and in what follows, ‘experience’ is not equivalent to ‘feelings’.” While I agree that “experience” is not exactly equivalent to “feelings,” in that “experience” is a larger category, I do not want to dismiss feelings as irrelevant to authentic evangelical Christian faith. To be sure feelings fluctuate, but if there are no feelings of peace, joy, comfort, conviction, aspiration, hope, God’s presence, etc., I doubt that one has truly experienced all that God has to offer in regeneration and sanctification. Maybe Crisp would agree with that, but I’m not sure. He does affirm “affections” as playing a role in evangelical faith (with both Edwards and Wesley).

Most importantly, perhaps, Crisp rightly rejects any dependence of doctrinal correctness or even revelation on experience. That is, he rejects the liberal method (Schleiermacher, et al.) of regarding doctrines as nothing more than attempts to put religious feelings (God-consciousness) into speech. He argues, rightly I believe, that revelation is partly propositional and that evangelical faith cannot do without any propositional content.

Intermingled with this discussion of experience and faith is Crisp’s somewhat surprising but at the same time gratifying inclusion of both Arminianism and Calvinism under the rubric of “evangelical”—and equally—without making one somehow “more evangelical” than the other. He agrees with David Bebbington and others that (at least the modern) evangelicalism was born out of the Great Awakenings of the 1730s and that Wesley and Edwards and their faithful followers are evangelicals in the full sense. (Which is not to say he agrees with them equally!) He rightly recognizes and acknowledges that true Arminianism, together with Calvinism, affirms that “The work of salvation is entirely a work of grace; the human decision in regeneration follows in the wake of a prior (and absolutely singular) divine act.” (27)

Most gratifying is that Crisp, writing as an evangelical Reformed theologian, acknowledges that “Although there is a real disagreement about how much the will of a fallen individual awakened or invigorated by the secret working of the Holy Spirit may be said to be active in the process of salvation, this is not the same thing as claiming that the will of a fallen individual contributes in any substantive way to salvation. It is not even clear what it would mean for ‘the will’ to contribute to salvation, other than as a euphemism for the agent contributing to her or his salvation. And no evangelical theologian, Arminian or Reformed, would countenance that.” (29) That’s what I’ve been trying to say—especially to Reformed Christians—for two decades. (Crisp does include me in a footnote, so maybe I contributed to his understanding of Arminianism, but perhaps he’s one of the few Reformed theologians who already knew this about Arminianism.)

Another point of agreement I find with Crisp (at least in this chapter) is his affirmation that “Christology cannot be an afterthought in an evangelical account of divine revelation and its relation to faith and experience. It must be foundational. For Christ, as the word of God incarnate, is divine revelation incarnate.” (35) He also affirms that “divine revelation is, in a way, guaranteed…by the Spirit.” (35-36) In other words, contrary to fundamentalists and neo-fundamentalists, Crisp seems to recognize and acknowledge a hierarchy in revelation and its authority—Christ-Spirit-Scripture—while clearly and unequivocally rejecting the liberal view that subordinate Scripture to “religious experience.”

Crisp’s understanding of tradition, faith and doctrine is not substantially different from what I have argued in various writings including here on my blog—even though I doubt he will be attacked for it by those (such as Gerald McDermott) who have attacked me—as inadvertently providing a slippery slope down to doctrinal declension. We’ll see.

Here is Crisp’s final statement (before his Conclusion to this chapter): “Scripture has a final authority that no other source of creaturely testimony does (bar Christ). It is alone in that sense. But, of course, Scripture is never alone in another sense. It is always read and understood within the community of faith in a tradition stretching back to the apostles, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.” (39)

In his Conclusion to the chapter Crisp discusses the state of evangelicalism. Here is where he and I diverge on what is possibly a minor point of perspective about evangelicalism. He seems to think evangelicalism still exist as a “coherent theological movement” even though its integrity as a movement is a cause for concern. I have given up on evangelicalism as a coherent movement. I prefer to talk about an “evangelical ethos” now that the movement is dissolved. However, perhaps surprisingly, coming from a self-avowed Reformed theologian, Crisp concludes the chapter this way: “I have argued that the two main evangelical genera that emerged from the Great Awakening, namely, Wesleyan Arminianism, and the evangelical Reformed thought of theologians like Jonathan Edwards, share enough in common concerning the notion of faith, especially faith as affective experience, for them to be considered part of one family of Christian theology that has its roots in the Reformation.” (40) I personally know (and know of) many American Calvinists who reject such an idea. They argue that Arminians and Calvinists are both historically and sociologically included in the category “evangelical,” but they deny that Arminians are theologically evangelical. Crisp seems to be saying that they are both theologically evangelical even if he happens to agree more with one than the other. This is refreshing. If all evangelical Calvinists thought and spoke this way there would be no polemic-saturated controversy, only irenic disagreement and debate (which can be very healthy).

Is This the Best of All Possible Worlds? What I Would Think If I Were a Calvinist

Most Calvinists I know believe in meticulous providence. Some have claimed here recently that a Calvinist does not have to believe in meticulous providence (that God plans, ordains and governs all that happens without exception). However, as I have shown in Against Calvinism with many quotes from and references to leading Calvinist theologians, traditional, “garden variety” Calvinism does include it. Here I am only talking about Calvinism that does include belief in meticulous providence—what I call divine determinism. (Again, I explain that concept in detail in Against Calvinism. It simply means belief that every event has an explanatory cause and that God is the ultimate cause of whatever happens even if he works through secondary causes in many cases.)

Recently I posted an essay here in which I talked about my penchant for seeing the logical outcome of everything. The moment I read or hear an idea I automatically, without even trying, think of where it leads logically. And I think that’s good. We should not believe in ideas whose good and necessary consequences are unbelievable or objectionable (to ourselves). In other words, if idea A leads inexorably, by dint of logic, to idea B and idea B is something I do not believe in, I ought not to believe in A either.

As I mentioned then, one of my seminary professors warned me about this penchant. He said “Roger, you shouldn’t push everything to its logical conclusion.” I was surprised at him then and I still disagree. It’s one sound way of testing ideas as to their validity. Of course, it’s not always easy to tell whether idea A leads to idea B as its good and necessary consequence. That’s something philosophers and theologians talk about all the time. And these arguments are much debated. Just because someone else thinks my idea A, a belief I hold, leads necessarily to idea B, a belief I don’t hold, doesn’t mean I agree. The “chain” of logic is not always as clear as people claim.

However, the point I want to make here is that I believe divine determinism and meticulous providence, idea “A” that God plans, ordains and governs everything without exception, leads inexorably by dint of logic to idea “B” which is that this is the best of all possible worlds. In other words, if I were a Calvinist of that type, one who believes (with Calvin and Jonathan Edwards) that God plans, ordains and governs everything without exception, I would have to believe this is the best of all possible worlds. I cannot see any escape from it escape illogic.

Now, just to turn aside red herrings in the inevitably ensuing discussion, let me say that I am not claiming that God must create the best of all possible worlds. I’m well aware of the philosophical debate about that among Christian philosophers. I side with those who say God is not obligated by anything, including his own nature and character, to create the best of all possible worlds. And I’m not claiming that a Calvinist must believe God does that. That’s a different question.

The one and only issue I’m raising here is whether a God who is perfectly good, omnipotent, and all-determining would plan, ordain and govern anything less or other than the best possible world. I cannot imagine that he would.

And yet, strangely to me, most Calvinists I have asked about this (and the few I’ve read who discuss it) have been reluctant to affirm that this is the best of all possible worlds. Let me give an example.

Some years ago I taught a course in Christian apologetics in which I used a textbook by an evangelical Calvinist theologian and philosopher. I’m not going to name the author or the book here because that’s not pertinent and I don’t want to send people to him pestering him about this. You’ll just have to take my word for what I am going to say he wrote. In the book’s chapter on God’s sovereignty and the problem of evil the evangelical apologist, who teaches at a leading evangelical university, raised the question of whether this is, as philosopher Leibniz claimed, the best of all possible worlds. His answer was (paraphrasing): No, but it’s the best world on the way to the best of all possible worlds. In other words, he explained, the future eschatological kingdom of God will be the best of all possible worlds, but the one we are living in now is the best world on the way to that best of all possible worlds. Even my undergraduate students raised questions about that—that I could not answer because I ageed with them: that that’s illogical.

If this world is the best world on the way to the best of all possible worlds, then it is, for now, in the interim, the best possible world. There is a better one coming, according to this view, but on the way to that better one this is the best one leading up to it, setting the stage for it. How is that different from saying this is now the best of all possible worlds? I simply don’t get it. Neither did my students.

I take it that even Leibniz thought there was a better world coming, so when he argued that this is the best of all possible worlds he meant “for now.” Saying this is the best world leading up to the best of all possible worlds is the same as saying this is the best of all possible worlds—right now.

Back to my main point: If I believed that God plans, ordains and governs everything without exception I would believe this is the best of all possible worlds—for now.

I simply don’t understand why people who believe God plans, ordains and governs everything don’t also believe that this is the best of all possible worlds. I think they should.

I can only attribute that they often don’t to either 1) lack of logic in their thinking, or 2) fear of having to explain how this is the best of all possible worlds in light of the Holocaust and events like it.

I agree with the theologian who said that no theology is worthy of belief that cannot be stated at the gates of Auschwitz.

It takes real guts to say that God planned, ordained and governed the Holocaust. I admire and respect those Calvinists (and other divine determinists) who do it—for their logical rigor and courage. And I’ve read a few who do say it. But most imply it with their doctrine of God’s providence. (Again, I refer doubters to my book Against Calvinism where I quote Calvin and later Calvinist theologians.)

So, my mind runs to the idea that this is the best of all possible ideas and I put it under the microscope of Scripture, tradition, reason and experience. The problem that immediately jumps up is that if this is the best of all possible worlds then nothing can really be irreducibly evil. If this is the best of all possible worlds then I must say even of the Holocaust “It is a necessary part of the greater good.” Then I cannot consider it truly evil. I would have to redefine “evil” far away from what I and most people mean by that term. I would do my best to stop feeling or expressing any outrage about anything and simply Stoically consider it “for the best.” (I’m not claiming that’s what the ancient Stoics said; I’m simply using the term in its popular meaning. I have to say these things to ward off comments that try to correct me over trivia—as is common and annoying.)

Again, finally, if I cannot accept that this is the best of all possible worlds, and with it the belief that even the Holocaust was “for the best,” then I cannot logically accept that God plans, ordains and governs everything in the sense that Calvin clearly meant it as did Edwards and as do most spokesmen for “the new Calvinism” today.

Should a Theologian’s Life Affect How We Regard His/Her Theology?

Over the decades of studying and teaching about not only the theologies of Christian theologians past and present but also their biographies I’ve run into a common question. How should we relate their lives to their theologies? To be specific, if there’s something negative in their life story, should that affect how we value their intellectual contributions?

An example that stands out is Paul Tillich. After he died his widow Hannah wrote a scurrilous expose of his sex life. There were rumors before. Reinhold Niebuhr was widely reported to have cut off his friendship with Tillich due to his observations of Tillich’s treatment of women students at Union Theological Seminary. On the other hand, even after Hannah’s expose (if that’s what it was) some friends of Paul’s refused to believe her reports of his philandering. Wolfhart Pannenberg, who taught with Tillich at the University of Chicago and knew him and Hannah well, told me he did not believe those reports and considered Hannah just bitter and angry because Paul was so intensely dedicated to his work. Still, most Tillich biographers think there is truth to Hannah’s story. But even she admitted they had an “open marriage,” so one has to wonder why she was so angry. By her own account they were (especially in their younger days in Germany) pretty “liberated” sexually.

I usually don’t get into that when lecturing on Tillich. I try to stick to his theology and those parts of his biography that directly relate to it—such as his experiences in World War I. By his own account (he wrote two autobiographies) burying his friends was a life and faith altering experience. He suffered at least one nervous breakdown and was hospitalized. I don’t think his faith was ever the same afterwards. I tell students that I think Tillich’s theology is a good example of what happens when a theologian loses his orthodox Christian faith but goes on being a theologian rather than switching to, say, philosophy (as Ernst Troeltsch did).

But students often already know a little about Tillich’s sexual adventures (or misadventures) and ask about it. So I explain what Hannah said very briefly, without graphic details, and encourage students not to dwell on that but to try to understand his theology for itself—but in the light of his own account of how the horrors of World War 1 affected his faith.

Recently I had a very interesting discussion with a scholar of John Howard Yoder’s life and theology. Recently some people who knew Yoder and some Yoder scholars have begun to make quite public allegations about some sexual misdeeds that he admitted to. Some of them apparently involved women who felt he manipulated them sexually. Among Mennonites and Yoder fans this is blowing up into a major controversy. What actually happened and, if the worst did happen, how should it affect our understanding and evaluation of Yoder’s theology? Can his theology stand alone, apart from his biography, or must that part of his life (whatever exactly happened) color study of his theology? I have personally met and talked with one woman Mennonite scholar who cannot read Yoder because of the scandal.

According to the researcher I talked with there’s more to the story than most people know. He and others will bring it to light—not to satisfy curiosity but to shed light on the controversy. What really happened? To what did Yoder himself confess? What was the outcome of the disciplinary process his Mennonite group imposed on him?

But the big lingering question for me, as an admirer of Yoder’s theology (even though I’m not a “Yoderian”) is whether I should try to set all that aside when reading Yoder and just focus on his ideas?

The sad fact is that many, many great heroes of Christian history and theology had sides to their personal lives that we cannot be proud of. To what extent should those affect how we regard their theological contributions and contributions to church reform and renewal? Luther, of course, drank a lot of beer and advised others to do so as well. (His letter to a young friend named Jerome includes advice to drink much beer when the devil tells him not to!) He advised the German nobles to slaughter the rebelling peasants without mercy. He condoned Philip of Hesse’s bigamy. Toward the end of his life he fell into anti-Semitism and wrote essays against the Jews that were resurrected and used by the Nazis. John Knox, the reformer of Scotland, married a teenage girl when he was fifty. Ulrich Zwingli condoned the torture and drowning of Anabaptists—some of them his own former students. John Calvin condoned the execution of Servetus and publicly took responsibility for it. John Wesley couldn’t live with his wife; their marriage was, by all accounts, deeply troubled. Kierkegaard was not only eccentric but went out of his way to offend people including cutting off relations with his close relatives (including his brother who tried to have a good relationship with him). And he broke his engagement to his fiancée without explanation—a terrible faux pas at that time. Jonathan Edwards owned slaves.

All those things are well known. We tend to excuse those men as “children of their own times.” And yet, we tend not to excuse Catholics who did similar things. If you are a Protestant hero you’re forgiven, but not if you were a Catholic pope, bishop or theologian.

I will not name names, but I happen to know of recent well-known theologians who were alcoholics. Some of them were evangelicals. I once knew two students of a very famous evangelical New Testament scholar who told me he often came to class drunk. A very well known Lutheran theologian is an alcoholic who often misses classes and conference sessions where his presence is announced because he is drunk. (I was present at a weekend conference where he was the keynote speaker and he only showed up briefly. After that his absence was obvious. One man who knew him well told me he was in his hotel room too drunk to get out of bed.) A famous Baptist New Testament scholar whose name everyone would recognize died an alcoholic of liver disease. A well-known and influential seminary dean was caught with pornography on his office computer. There was a brief brouhaha about it but people forgave him and he stepped down but remained on the faculty. His books are widely read and studied without people thinking about that episode in his life. It doesn’t have anything to do with his scholarship.

If we were to discount the value of every theologian whose life was in some way scandalous our library shelves would be much less burdened down. And perhaps our theological thinking poorer. And I didn’t even mention all the German theologians and biblical scholars who supported National Socialism!

Having said all that, I have to add this. If those German theologians allowed their pro-Nazi sympathies to infect their writings we would all, I suspect, decline to use them in our courses. So, to the extent that a theologian allowed his infidelities, racial prejudices, wrong political views, to affect his scholarship, I believe we must inevitably either 1) discard his scholarship, or 2) use it but highlight those areas where the scandalous parts of his life affected it.

However, to the extent that the theologian’s scandalous actions did not affect his theology (or biblical scholarship) I see no reason to make much of them. They should probably be mentioned in a biography but there’s no need to reject his whole theology because of them. When I read Tillich, for example, I try to bracket out what I (think) I know about his sex life and garner whatever value I can from them. For example, his expositions of “heteronomy,” “autonomy” and “theonomy” I find very valuable. Likewise his explorations of the tensions in human existence are brilliant. When I get to his doctrine of salvation as “accepting that you are accepted” I sometimes wonder if he was motivated to avoid the subject of guilt. But I still find what he said interesting even if I disagree and suspect somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind and heart he tended to reduce sin to tragedy for personal reasons. But I don’t like psychologizing theologians’ ideas. For that reason I have never read Young Man Luther. I don’t want Erik Erickson’s speculations about Luther’s relationship with his father to infect my interpretation of his theology.

According to Ralph Abernathy, a close friend of Martin Luther King’s and another leader in the civil rights movement, King had extra-marital affairs during his marriage. I have no idea if that is true, but if anyone would know (other than the women) it would be Abernathy. I would like to think, though, that it’s not true. But even if I were to become convinced of it, it would not affect how I regard the truth and power of King’s ideas and his movement and legacy.

Recently I re-read Jonathan Edwards “Dissertation on the End for Which God Created the World.” And I watched and listened to John Piper’s address about why the evangelical church needs Edwards’ “God-entranced vision” today. (It’s on Youtube.)

Some people would be surprised to hear that I agree ALMOST entirely with Edwards and Piper about this subject. First, yes, I agree, whole heartedly, that everything, without exception, is created for God’s glory and that everything’s chief end (purpose) is God’s glory. Edwards’ and Piper’s “God-entranced vision” is needed by evangelicals (and others) today…with a few important qualifications. (The devil is always in the details.)

The Westminster Shorter Catechism says that “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” I say “amen” to that. We do not exist for ourselves; nothing exists for itself. Everything was created for God’s glory and exists to glorify him. As Edwards acknowledges, there are subordinate “ends” (purposes) for things, but the chief end, purpose, of whatever exists, has being, is God’s glory.

I sympathize with Piper’s (and others’) concerns about contemporary evangelical Christianity in America. We have fallen into various forms of human-centeredness. “Moralistic, therapeutic deism” is one of them. Another is worship and preaching that focuses on creation and human “success in life” (happiness, fulfillment, prosperity, etc.). I do not recognize much that is called “evangelical” as that.

So what is my problem with Edwards’ and Piper’s vision (they are basically the same) of this “God entranced vision?” They and I part ways over some very important details.

First, INSOFAR as they imply that sin and evil and hell are “designed, foreordained and governed” by God for his glory I demur. These are PERMITTED reluctantly by God and he uses them to glorify himself. How so? Because God’s glory is his love. Even Edwards seemed to acknowledge this in The Nature of True Virtue by defining “true virtue” as “benevolence toward being.” Love does not coerce others into loving oneself. Sin, evil and hell are permitted by God as part of his consequent will, not “designed, foreordained and governed” by God as part of his antecedent will. But they still exist to glorify God–not because God planned them for his self-glory but because their existence is the result of his love for creatures which glorifies him. A God who permits creatures to resist him is more glorious than one who meticulously controls every thought and intention and decision and action of every creature.

How does hell glorify God? Not by being NECESSARY for the display of God’s justice in wrath (Edwards) but by being God’s painful refuge for those who reject him.

(For you Edwards experts out there…yes, I know Edwards also said that God “permitted” sin and evil to enter his creation, but he clearly MEANT “efficacious permission.” He clearly meant that the fall and all its consequences were planned by God and rendered certain by God according to a great plan and scheme to glorify himself by displaying his justice through wrath.)

Second, INSOFAR as they (Edwards, Piper and their ilk) imply that POWER takes precedence over LOVE in God’s glory, I demur. God’s glory IS his love–first his innertrinitarian love between Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and second his love flowing out from the Trinity toward creatures. God is glorious BECAUSE he is perfectly loving as well as perfectly powerful. BUT, since love is his essence, he can restrict his power (but not his love).

To be sure, Edwards believed in God’s love, but he MEANT God’s self-love and then, secondarily, his love for the elect. Piper tries to rescue God’s love even for the non-elect by saying he gives them “temporal blessings” on their way to hell. That’s absurd, of course. It is the same as saying he give them a little bit heaven to go to hell in. Wesley said that is such as “love” as makes the blood run cold. I agree.

My point is that, in my view, anyway, while Edwards and Piper are correct to emphasize God’s glory as the chief end, purpose, of everything, they are wrong to empty God’s glory of meaningful love and focus it on power. Power without love is not glorious.

Church father Irenaeus is famous for saying that “the glory of God is man fully alive.” So, yes, everything in creation exists for God’s glory, but God’s glory is not narcissistic. It is his perfect benevolence and ability to display it and give it to creatures.

As my friend Austin Fischer says in his wonderful book Young, Restless, No Longer Reformed (Wipf & Stock) “Love is not a cog in the glory machine.” But in our opinion, Edwards and Piper make it just that. Rather, as Scripture itself testifies, “God is love.” God IS love. That is God’s glory.

So, let me say again, loudly this time: TRUE ARMINIANS ALSO BELIEVE GOD’S GLORY IS THE CHIEF END OF EVERYTHING. But we disagree with Edwards and Piper about the NATURE of God’s glory. Yes, it is his beauty and perfection, but his beauty and perfection are his perfect love, his benevolence toward being–his own and creatures’.