Right, Wrong, and Necessary

It seems that many people think that in every situation of moral decision making there are two options and two only: right and wrong. By “right” I mean what one ought to do in order to be obedient to the highest moral law (whatever that may be). By “wrong” I mean what one ought not to do because it violates the highest moral law. Right and wrong. Black and white. And the only problem of ethics is figuring out what is “the right thing to do.”

Before I continue, let me say that I do not claim any originality for what I am about to say. But, then, I don’t think there is originality in philosophy, theology or ethics. Everything has been said somewhere by someone; originality is only in how it’s said (including by whom, in what manner, where and to what audience).

I believe that in some moral decision-situations there’s a third option besides “right” and “wrong”—”necessary.”

“Wait!,” I can hear someone saying. “If it’s necessary, it’s right.” That’s exactly my point—to say no. The moral category “necessary” participates in right and wrong but is not wholly either one.

I speak as a Christian from a Christian (not necessarily “the Christian”) point of view in ethics. Jesus, his character, way of life, and teachings form the highest moral law I know. Jesus said “Resist not evil” or “Resist not the evil doer” (Matthew 5:39). Therefore, it is always right to practice non-resistance toward evil. Precisely what non-resistance includes is another subject. We may not know exactly what all one can do while not resisting evil, but we know what ones can’t do while obeying Jesus’s command—use deadly force.

So, I am a pacifist somewhere along the sliding scale of pacifism. And yet many, probably most, pacifists would not count me among them.

When faced with a decision whether to use deadly force or not, I believe that, in this broken world, inhabited by monsters who rape, murder, torture and enslave children, one ought sometimes to use deadly force. But one ought not call it “right.”

Is it, then, “wrong?” Yes, according to the highest known moral law—Jesus’ teaching. On the other hand, it’s not simply wrong. Nor is it simply not right.

Someone is now asking “Isn’t this what Kierkegaard called the “teleological suspension of the ethical?” Perhaps. But what I am arguing is that it’s not a “suspension of the ethical” if we recognize “necessary” as an ethical choice alongside “right” but not identical with it.

In my taxonomy, then, “necessary” would include those moral decisions and actions which, in a given situation of tremendous evil, one must make and do even though they violate the highest known moral law. Thus, “necessary” participates in both “right” and “wrong” but is not simply one or the other.

What’s the practical implication of this distinction? There are, of course, many. But one is that when a person does what is right they can celebrate, give God all the glory, and receive congratulations (not credit) for it. God is the source of all good, so the person who does what is truly right ought always to give God all the glory.

But ought a person who has used deadly force, even if it was necessary, celebrate, give God the glory, receive congratulations? Given Jesus’ clear command, the answer must be no.

But ought a person who has used deadly force always be criticized or condemned for it? Given clear necessity, that would seem particularly problematic.

What, then, is the right response to necessary deadly force? Sorrow, regret, even repentance—trusting in God’s merciful understanding of our human condition.

In the current issue of the journal Religion in the News (15:1 [Fall, 2013]), published by The Leonard E. Greenberg Center for the Study of Religion in Public Life, editor Mark Silk refers to Basil the Great, “the fourth century Church Father who presided over a diocese in Asia Minor.” According to Silk, Basil (one of the three Cappadocian Fathers) “recognized that taking up arms might be necessary even as it remained morally problematic.” (p. 1) Silk reports Basil as saying that killing committed in the course of war should not always be classified as murders, but that persons who kill in war should be refused communion for three years “on the ground that their hands are not clean.” (p. 25)

The point here is not to agree with Basil’s recommendation; it is only to point out that the view I am expressing here seems to have been one held by at least some ancient Christian leaders. While Basil did not use the word “necessary” (so far as I can tell), his treatment of the issue seems to include the idea of an action that is neither right nor wrong but necessary.

In my opinion, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s participation in the plot to kill Hitler (as reported by Eberhard Bethge in his biography of the German theologian) was, even to his own mind, neither “right” nor “wrong” but only “necessary.” And I agree that it was at least necessary to attempt it. This is, to my way of thinking, anyway, the solution to Bonhoeffer’s expressed pacifism combined with his knowing participation in a plot to assassinate the German dictator. (I choose to believe Bethge on that score, as I have already stated here earlier.) He did not shed his pacifism; he sacrificed it on the altar of necessity in this one case.

So what is the proper response to someone who has done what was necessary even though it was neither right nor wrong? Immediate forgiveness but not congratulations. They might be congratulated for their courage, but not for the actual act of use deadly force.

Now, obviously, a question immediately arises: How to know when a decision and the action based on it is necessary? I do not believe there is any litmus test for it. Casuistry will not work here, so there’s no point in going down that road. We cannot say definitely when a morally wrong decision and action is necessary and therefore justified (although still not “right”). We live in a tragic world and our human condition is mired in tragedy—until the Kingdom of God comes. Moral, ethical decision making and acting necessarily includes some risk. Casuistry cannot remove all risks, ambiguity or uncertainty, hard as it might try.

I suspect the only way to go about filling in the category “necessary” is to look at case studies. I mentioned Bonhoeffer above. Another one, at least in story form (I don’t know the historical facts but the story is supposedly based on reality), is that of Christian Sam Childers as portrayed in the movie “Machine Gun Preacher” by Gerard Butler. Given a specific set of circumstances, he found he had no choice but to use deadly force to protect innocent children from a band of guerilla fighters who were slaughtering whole villages and enslaving children.

When I examine Bonhoeffer’s decision and action and Childers’ (at least as portrayed in the movie) I find myself agreeing with what they decided and the actions they took but unable to call them “right.” I call them “necessary” and hope I would have the courage to make and take them as they did and trust God for forgiveness.

Was Dietrich Bonhoeffer a Would-Be Assassin?

We’re in the middle of another Dietrich Bonhoeffer renaissance. A new wave of interest in the German theologian is being lifted by new biographies and examinations of his theology. Everyone seems to want to claim Bonhoeffer for their own causes. This was the case, of course, in the 1960s when radical theologians such as John Robinson and Harvey Cox attempted to appropriate him for secular theologies. And it has happened every few years since.

I was surprised to learn, when studying theology in Germany in the 1980s, that there, in Germany, he’s generally not considered one of the “giants” of twentieth century theology alongside Barth, Brunner, Bultmann, Tillich or even Niebuhr. There his legacy is tied to his role in the Confessing Church movement and his participation in a plot to overthrow the Hitler regime. I sometimes wonder if it weren’t for the latter, including his execution by the Nazis, and his enigmatic sayings in Letters and Papers from Prison whether he would be as well remembered and widely discussed as has been the case.

Years ago I read Eberhard Bethge’s magisterial biography of Bonhoeffer entitled Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Man of Vision, Man of Courage (1967, ET 1977). Bethge was, of course, one of Bonhoeffer’s closest friends and confidantes. He was his student and they lived together in the “underground seminary” that Bonhoeffer led for the Confessing Church movement. Eventually, Bethge moved into Bonhoeffer’s family home in Berlin and married his mentor’s niece. After the war and after Bonhoeffer’s execution Bethge took it upon himself, with the support of the Bonhoeffer family, to collect Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s papers and publish them. Throughout the 1950s through the 1970s he became the expert on Bonhoeffer. His biography is 841 pages long in English translation (not including the index).

I think it’s fairly safe to say that if it were not for Bethge, Bonhoeffer would largely be forgotten. I have trusted Bethge about Bonhoeffer implicitly, as have most others. Bethge was a scholar and member of the Bonhoeffer family and does not seem to have had any axe to grind that would cause us to consider his accounts unreliable.

A few days ago a new book arrived: Bonhoeffer the Assassin?: Challenging the Myth, Recovering His Call to Peacemaking by Mark Thiessen Nation, Anthony G. Siegrist, and Daniel P. Umbel (Foreword by Stanley Hauerwas) (BakerAcademic, 2013). The “myth” referred to in the title is that Bonhoeffer participated in a plot to assassinate Hitler. That is clearly expressed and argued (viz., that it is a myth) in Chapter 3, “Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Assassin?” (pp. 71-97). The authors’ thesis is expressed in several ways, but I find this passage especially concise: “There is no evidence that Bonhoeffer was ‘involved in the plots to kill Hitler.’ Hopefully we have also shown that there is no real evidence that Bonhoeffer himself affirmed the killing of Hitler.” (p. 93).

The authors of Bonhoeffer the Assassin? argue for continuity between Bonhoeffer’s pacifist theology, as expressed in writings such as The Cost of Discipleship (or just “Discipleship” depending on the edition) and his life in the Abwehr—the German military intelligence agency that was the breeding ground for some of the plots to overthrow Hitler and the Nazi regime. They furthermore argue that there is no evidence that Bonhoeffer ever actually participated in any conspiracy to kill Hitler even though his ecumenical contacts on behalf of the conspirators to overthrow Hitler (in Switzerland and Sweden) involved him indirectly in the resistance to the Hitler regime. According to them, Bonhoeffer remained a pacifist throughout his adult life and never encouraged killing anyone.

The authors admit that Bonhoeffer knew some of the plotters, even those who were conspiring to kill Hitler and others, very well and had personal conversations with them. His brother and brother-in-law were members of the conspiracy and almost certainly had few, if any, qualms about killing Hitler (after a certain point when simply overthrowing him did not seem feasible). They are right, however, to point out, as Bethge does, that Bonhoeffer’s own actual role in the Abwehr conspiracy was remote. It was confined largely to traveling to neutral countries (mentioned earlier) to meet with religious leaders (mostly British) to talk about German surrender and cessation of war should the conspiracy (either to overthrow Hitler or kill him) succeed. A few remnants of those conversations remain in letters and memories (later written).

If we are to agree with Nation, Siegrist, and Umbel, that Bonhoeffer never advocated, condoned or participated in an actual plot to kill Hitler (or anyone else), we have to question Bethge’s testimony which is clear. And the authors do question it. They suggest his memory of Bonhoeffer’s own sayings to him and to others was faulty. (pp. 92-93)

But let’s look again at Bethge’s own recorded memories in Dietrich Bonhoeffer. And let’s remember that much of the material in that biography was not first “remembered” by Bethge in 1967 when he wrote it. He had been deeply involved in Bonhoeffer scholarship for over a decade then—collecting, compiling, interviewing, reviewing, writing. So we should not picture Bethge, at age fifty-something (we don’t know exactly when he wrote the parts of the biography but only when it was published) for the first time sitting down to write about these events and conversations and striving to remember them.

The relevant section of Dietrich Bonhoeffer is “Section Two: Conspiracy” of “Part Three: Sharing Germany’s Destiny.” It comprises pages 627-702 of the 1977 Harper & Row paperback edition. Bethge there leaves no doubt that he believed Bonhoeffer at least tentatively gave up his pacifism in a “boundary situation,” namely, the extremity of having to end the war and the holocaust.

Bethge opens this section of his biography with a quotation attributed to Bonhoeffer by one of his ecumenical contacts, Bishop Bell with whom Bonhoeffer met in Sweden in 1942. According to Bell, Bonhoeffer told him that he once responded to fellow resistance members who proposed ceasing subversive activities that could result in Hitler’s death, thus making him a martyr, “If we claim to be Christians, there is no room for expediency. Hitler is the Antichrist. Therefore we must go on with our work and eliminate him whether he be successful for not.” (pp. 626-627) Bell published this quote from Bonhoeffer (Bonhoeffer quoting himself to Bell) in 1945—two to three years after the fact (assuming it happened at all). Bethge did not doubt anything except that Bonhoeffer called Hitler the “Antichrist” (p. 627) and Nation, et al., call on this doubt to cast doubt on the whole quotation. What’s interesting, though, is that Bethge wrote about Bell’s account (of what Bonhoeffer said he said to his fellow resisters) that it “contains accurate and improbable parts.” (p. 627) The only “improbable part,” according to Bethge, who knew Bonhoeffer very well throughout this whole time, is Bonhoeffer’s calling Hitler the Antichrist. He did not call Bonhoeffer’s calling for Hitler’s “elimination” into question. In fact, in effect, he called it “accurate.” After wrestling with whether Bonhoeffer would have called Hitler the Antichrist for an entire page (p. 627) Bethge concludes thus: “If that rather crude theological expression [viz., Hitler as the Antichrist] could really have encouraged his friends, Bonhoeffer might perhaps have used it verbally.”

Bethge’s chapter argues convincingly for “Bonhoeffer’s actual complicity in the plot against Hitler.” (p. 628) And by that he clearly did not mean some kind of remote knowledge of the plot. According to Bethge Bonhoeffer was remembered, after the war, as saying things like “You can rely on it, we shall overthrow Hitler!” to his ecumenical contacts and others during his trips to Switzerland and Sweden. (p. 632)

Bethge nailed down what he meant by Bonhoeffer’s complicity with a saying he remembered Bonhoeffer uttering in September, 1941 at Sakrow, where Bonhoeffer’s brother-in-law, a major player in the plot lived then. First, notice the time and place. Clearly Bethge was not merely going by (faulty) memory. Here is what he recorded Bonhoeffer as saying then and there: “That if it fell to him to carry out the deed [viz., killing Hitler], he was ready to do so, but that he must first resign, formally and officially, from his Church….” (p. 656)

Nation, et al., cast doubt on Bethge’s “decades old memory” (pp. 92-93). I find that rather cavalier given Bethge’s naming the month, year and place where the conversation took place.

Bethge left us no doubt what he thought. On page 659 he recollects from conversations with Bonhoeffer about other, non-violent resisters, that “Bonhoeffer…was already pleading the need for assassination.” This is specifically in contrast to resistance leader Helmuth von Moltke of the “Kreisau Circle” who urged non-violent resistance to Hitler. Nation, et al., make much of Moltke at the beginning of their book and hold him up as a model of non-violent resistence to Hitler. Bethge clearly thought, from personal conversations with Bonhoeffer, that Bonhoeffer thought the Krisau Circle, von Moltke, and non-violent resistance to Hitler was useless.

Bethge opened his final section (of the chapter) entitled “The ‘Boundary Situation'” thus: “Today, in more orderly times, some people are reluctant to call Bonhoeffer a ‘conspirator’, and to give primary importance to such an originally degrading term. The further we are from the events, the more we hesitate to use the term. But it seems as if all attempts to tone it down fail to see the exceptional reality that Bonhoeffer faced, and merely cover up what is shown to us here.” (p. 696) I suspect if Bethge were alive today he would say the same about Nation’s, Siegrist’s, Umbel’s, and Hauerwas’s reluctance to identify Bonhoeffer as a conspirator to kill Hitler. Nobody calls Bonhoeffer an “assassin,” so the book’s title is a bit misleading. There is no “myth” of Bonhoeffer “the assassin” (that I’m aware of). “Participating in a plot to assassinate” would be a better, more descriptive term for what many, including Bethge, believe about Bonhoeffer. But Nation, et al., also deny that.

Bethge did not use the nearly worn out phrase “teleological suspension of the ethical” (often attributed to Kierkegaard) to describe Bonhoeffer’s own sense of justification for his involvement in the conspiracy to overthrow and then to kill Hitler. However, this entire final section of the chapter amounts to that. For Bethge, Bonhoeffer found himself in a “boundary situation” where he had to act contrary to his own best ethical principles and throw himself on the mercy of God. Bethge quoted (p. 700) from a sermon of Bonhoeffer’s in which he prophecied a time “when martyrdom would be called for” but in which “this blood…will not be so innocent and clear as that of the first who testified. On our blood a great guilt would lie….” Clearly Bethge believed that Bonhoeffer foresaw a glimpse of his own fate.

My conclusion is that the authors of Bonhoeffer the Assassin? (and Foreword author Hauerwas) fail to give us a strong enough statement of Bethge’s proximity to Bonhoeffer throughout the time of his involvement in the resistance against Hitler and unjustly cast doubt on his veracity about Bonhoeffer’s role in it. Anyone who reads the book must also read Bethge’s biography of Bonhoeffer, or at least the portion of it dealing with the conspiracy, and then make up their own mind. Believing Nation, et al., will require more than doubting Bethge. And if Bethge could be wrong about this, he must not be considered a reliable witness to the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

A No Longer Preliminary (and Yet Not Final) Report on Leithart’s Defending Constantine

A while back I posted a preliminary review of Defending Constantine: The Twilight of an Empire and the Dawn of Christendom by theologian Peter Leithart (InterVarsity Press, 2010). At that point I had read only half the book—up through Chapter 8 “Nicea and After.” Then I expressed some qualms about Leithart’s argument and especially the last paragraph of Chapter 8 (p. 189). Referring to some of Constantine’s acts Leithart wrote “All these were real, and often horrific, acts of unfaithfulness. But they do not imply a structural flaw. Once the emperor has kissed the Son, should he not honor the Son’s bride?” I suggested that I feared Leithart was flirting with Christian Reconstructionism or something like it.

Now I have read the entire book. Let me say first that I’m glad I invested in it and read it. I like to read books with which I disagree. Karl Barth said that a person who knew only his own side of an argument knew little of that. I find that too few people are willing to do the hard work of reading books and articles (or listening to talk show programs!) with which they disagree. Only through encounter with the “other” can we come to understand our own beliefs and grow—possibly into change. That is why I am so dismayed by and often very critical of Calvinist theologians; my experience is that they have usually not even read any serious Arminian theology. Their entire “knowledge” of Arminian theology often comes from other Calvinist sources. That’s a travesty—especially when they go on to vilify Arminianism while misunderstanding it.

Leithart challenges me. And I have learned much from reading this book. I recommend it highly, but I urge caution. Read it critically. For example, I think Leithart takes Eusebius’s accounts of Constantine uncritically. He acknowledges occasionally that Eusebius may have exaggerated and that he may have been under an imperial spell. But, overall, I judge, he too easily buys into Eusebius’s portrait of Constantine as a sincere Christian and savior of the Christians.

Also, throughout the book Leithart continually refers to “the church”—meaning (at least when referring to ancient Christianity and empire) the Catholic church—to the exclusion of minority churches which he routinely treats as false forms of Christianity (e.g., Montanism and Donatism). I think he too uncritically accepts the myth of a unified “church of the bishops” as counted by the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches without acknowledging (perhaps even to himself) that this was often structured via sanction by imperial power (beginning with Constantine).

I think most readers will see that Leithart has done a great deal of research. My main concern, as I think other readers’ should be, is not with the “facts” so much as with the picture he paints with them—that is, his interpretation of the facts from his own overall narrative of history and especially church history. He accuses Yoder of being wrongly biased by such a narrative, but, in my opinion, his is just as determinative and less convincing.

However, having said that, I don’t think piles and piles of facts prove either narrative correct to the exclusion of the other one. Yoder’s (who is Leithart’s foil throughout the book) and Leithart’s  are both perspectives that can be supported but not proven with historical facts. Leithart thinks the historical facts disprove Yoder’s, an argument with which I strongly disagree. But I don’t think bare facts can disprove Leithart’s, either.

One thing I must say about Leithart’s rhetoric is that I think it is unnecessarily harsh with regard to Yoder. In spite of some compliments, he frequently treats Yoder as some kind of Anabaptist nincompoop who ignorantly plays fast and loose with facts and, for the most part, simply doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he talks about Constantine and earlier and later church and state matters. For example, Leithart dismisses Yoder’s argument that, for the most part, pre-Constantinian Christianity was pacifist as absolutely unsupported by facts. What Leithart proves is that there were exceptions and that some lay Christians did participate in the military and wars, but I don’t think Yoder would dispute that. And some of Leithart’s evidence is, in my opinion, unconvincing. He quotes Origen and other early church fathers, for example, as praising the empire and its peace-keeping power and as expressing prayer to God for the empire. That’s not inconsistent with pacifism. There is and always has been a type of Christian pacifism that believes God gives the sword (violent power) to the state but not to Christians. A Christian pacifist can be very glad the Allies won World War 2 without believing Christians are called to take up arms violently.

I think Leithart simply does not grasp the Yoderian/Anabaptist/Hauerwas/Boyd (etc.) perspective on Christianity. He frequently ridicules Yoder for saying that Christianity experienced a “fall” with Constantine. (He admits that Yoder says the fall was gradual and not sudden; it was already beginning before Constantine and got worse after him.) He treats Constantine as a true Christian in spite of his “often horrific acts of unfaithfulness.” (For example, Constantine had his wife and son killed. Leithart tries to excuse these murders as possibly justified acts of capital punishment for incest and/or treason, but few historians are as lenient as that.) Yoder, et al., simply have a higher standard for true Christianity than Leithart. For them (and for me), it’s quite a stretch to think of Constantine as a true, sincere Christian even if he did favor Christianity and Christians and put a stop to persecutions of Christians (he persecuted Jews and “heretics,” though) and pagan sacrifices. Constantine kept the title “Pontifex Maximus” which was the traditional title of Roman emperors signifying their headship of the imperial pagan religion. And he was by all accounts, vain, power hungry, ambitious to a fault, militant and too willing to compromise with real heresy (viz., Arianism or semi-Arianism) something Leithart plays down.

But the real issue of this book is not Constantine as a person. The real issue of the book is political theology and especially the phenomenon of “Constantinianism.” The real issue of the book is Yoder’s pacifist and anti-power political theology, the “politics of Jesus.” Leithart can barely disguise his disdain, his total contempt for Yoder’s vision of Christianity in relation to states and governments and worldly political power.

I suggest readers begin reading Defending Constantine at the end. The real point of the book is found in Chapter 14: “Rome Baptized.” Read it first and then you’ll understand much of what he does with Constantine and Yoder earlier in the book, throughout most of the book. Chapter 14 contains at least strong hints of Leithart’s own political theology and it is almost opposite of Yoder’s (and Hauerwas’s and Boyd’s and other Anabaptists and quasi-Anabaptists).

In Chapter 14 Leithart expresses agreement with some of Yoder’s beliefs. He agrees, for example, that Jesus taught a social ethic and Christians do not need to, and should not, reach outside “evangelical Christian politics” for social-political norms. He says “If a Christian political theology cannot justify war, coercive punishment and judgment evangelically, it cannot justify them convincingly.” (p. 333) That’s where agreement begins and ends. Yoder says it cannot; Leithart says it can.

I begin to get nervous when Leithart says “I do not find Yoder’s claims that Jesus was a pacifist convincing.” (p. 333) Really? So, Leithart takes up the Sermon on the Mount issue. What did Jesus mean by those sayings? Well, first, we have to know that Leithart insists on interpreting the Sermon on the Mount in light of the Old Testament which, he tells us, reveals that “From the beginning, this Creator [Yahweh] made men to participate in and prosecute his wars. His goal in history is to train hands to fight.” (p. 333) According to Leithart, “We [God’s people] are priests and kings by his blood, anointed for priestly and royal service by baptism, baptized into armor, baptized for battle.” (p. 335) He qualifies this by saying that “our weapons are not fleshly but Spiritual,” (p. 335) but he goes on to argue that our weapons are also fleshly: “if the Lord lets Christians wield the most powerful of spiritual weapons, does he not expect us to be able to handle lesser weapons? If he has handed us a broadsword, does he not assume we know how to use a penknife?” (p. 336)

Then Leithart discusses the Sermon on the Mount weakly (in my opinion). He says that “the Old Testament remains normative for Christians” (p. 335) and “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth: so goes the pattern of biblical justice.” (p. 334) I don’t see that he really engages seriously with the Sermon on the Mount at all. I don’t think it would be unfair to say he sets it aside. Nowhere (that I could find) does he discuss “Resist not evil” (Matthew 5:39) or other absolutistic commands of Jesus.

Leithart argues (at the very end of the book) that what happened with Constantine was the empire welcomed the church into itself and allowed itself to be baptized by it. It wasn’t a sudden or full conversion; it was an “infant baptism” and, like all infant baptisms, it was only a beginning. Nevertheless, it’s clear that he does not see any real structural problem with the “Christianization of the Roman Empire” under Constantine. He admits very real problems later, but he doesn’t see them as endemic to the Constantinian relationship between church (and he means Roman Catholic) and empire.

Leithart suggest some specific things the Christian church should say to rulers in the “city of man” indwelt by the “Eucharistic city” of the church. (pp. 338-339) Few would disagree with them. According to him, “The ruler would get an earful of the politics of Jesus.” (p. 339) There the author speaks as if the role of the church would be speak truth to power. Who would disagree with that? Yoder certainly wouldn’t! So what’s different in Leithart’s politics of Jesus? Well, apparently, he believes in some kind of special relationship between church and empire such as was attempted by Constantine even if it never quite worked out the way it should have. Here’s a clue: “Through Constantine, Rome was baptized into a world without animal sacrifice and officially recognized the true sacrificial city, the one community that does offer a foretaste of the final kingdom. Christian Rome was in its infancy, but that was hardly surprising. All baptisms are infant baptisms.” (p. 341)

Leithart disagrees most vigorously with Yoder about the “Christianization of Rome.” He believes it was Christianized even if imperfectly.

Here’s the key to Leithart’s political theology. It’s the last paragraph of the book. He argues (leading up to it) that the problem with Yoder is that he thinks since the Roman Empire’s “Christianity” was infantile, it was apostate. (I doubt Yoder would describe it as “infantile.”) Leithart argues for a “middle time” between not Christian and fully Christian and situates Constantinian Rome and, one can only assume, the ideal state, in that situation. Read this carefully: “What can we expect in this middle time? Not much, Yoder thinks. He says that the project of Christianizing the state is doomed. The time when that could happen has long ago passed away. [Actually, I doubt Yoder thought that; he thought the Christianizing of the state is eschatological.] If he is right, we are facing nothing short of apocalypse. I believe that here too Yoder is wrong, and that we can escape apocalypse. But this can only happen on certain conditions: only through reevangelization, only through a revival of a purified Constantinianism, only by the formation of a Christically centered politics, only through fresh public confession that Jesus’ city is the model city, his blood the only expiating blood, his sacrifice the sacrifice that ends sacrifice. An apocalypse can be averted only if modern civilization, like Rome, humbles itself and is willing to come forward to be baptized.” (p. 342)

Am I wrong to interpret that final statement through the lens of the statement of faith of the institution where Leithart teaches which affirms postmillennialism? I don’t think so. In my opinion, the statement taken alone, without that lens, implies postmillennial hopes if not confident expectations.

On the penultimate pages of the book Leithart lays out a stringent criticism, even condemnation, of modern nation states including democracies because they are post-Christian. (pp. 340-341) “We might say that modern nations are post-Christian; they benefit from the new covenant privilege of handling the sword and the fire but refuse to listen to Jesus when he tells them how to avoid cutting or burning themselves.” (p. 341) Yoder would no doubt ask if it is even possible for a nation state to be Christian short of the eschaton. I agree. Apparently Leithart dreams of a re-Christianizing of nations, perhaps the U.S., along Constantinian lines. What troubles me is the Constantinianism implied there. While Constantine did not make the Catholic Church the official church of the Roman Empire (Theodosius did that later, following the trajectory Constantine set in motion), he did favor the Catholic Church, interfered in church matters including theological disputes, exiled bishops who disagreed with him, persecuted Christian “schismatics and heretics,” and viewed himself, before baptism, as an authority over the church. Leithart disputes that, but I don’t see how he can. In some places he admits behavior that demonstrates it and in other places he denies that’s what it was. I think he’s inconsistent on that score.

What I ask Leithart is whether it is even conceivable that a nation state “listen to Jesus”—especially if one does not ignore Jesus’ strongest sayings in the Sermon on the Mount (as Leithart does). That is, before Jesus arrives as Lord in his parousia.

Leithart accuses Yoder of interpreting historical facts through a preconceived theological lens—the Anabaptist one. I am sure Yoder would accuse Leithart of interpreting historical facts and possibilities through a preconceived theological lens—a postmillennial and qualified Christian Reconstructionist one. (Here I am not using that term pejoratively even though I disagree with all forms of it.)

What Leithart needs to do now is publish a follow up volume telling us exactly what his envisioned Christianized nation would look like. Which form of Christianity would have the rulers’ ears? What precisely would be the relation between church and state? The only historical example I can think of, trying to be as generous as possible, is England and the Church of England. Would he want the monarch or president to be governor of the church? Would he want a constitutional requirement that the president or ruler belong to a Christian tradition-community? You see, there is no such thing as simply “listening to Jesus” pure and simple. A Christianized government would “listen to Jesus” as spoken by the human leaders of some denomination. Which one? What would happen to dissenters, “schismatics,” “heretics?”

These are all legitimate questions and they are not the only legitimate questions that must be raised to Leithart and anyone who argues for a re-Christianization of nation-state. What would be the historical model? Well, if I read Defending Constantine rightly at all, Leithart’s model is Constantine and the early fourth century Roman Empire. I find that truly frightening. Almost certainly had I lived there and then, I would have been one persecuted by the emperor and his favored bishops—just as Athanasius was. But I would probably be persecuted by Athanasius as well. Very specifically, what I would like to know is, what would Leithart advise the “Christianized” government to do about those who refuse to baptize infants? Those who ordain women to ministry? Those who “re-baptize” Christians baptized as infants because they don’t consider those “baptisms” legitimate? (This is analogous to the Donatists who refused to recognize Catholic baptisms and ordinations as valid when they were performed by lapsed priests. Constantine tried to force Donatists to re-unite with the Catholic Church under pain of severe persecution.)

It’s all well and good to envision and call for a re-Christianized nation state and to bemoan the secularization of modern nation states. But it’s another thing to provide a viable alternative that doesn’t take us back to state churches, persecutions of dissenters, treating non-Christians (or non-members of the favored flavor of Christianity) as second class citizens, etc.

Also, I agree with Yoder that Jesus was a pacifist. (By that I mean he did not use or sanction the use of deadly force.) But I also agree with Leithart that we cannot always be pacifists in this world. But I agree with Niebuhr that deadly force is always a sin and God is merciful and understands our predicament and forgives (when deadly force becomes a necessary evil). Leithart seems to see deadly force as something other than at best a necessary evil; he seems to see it as a Christian calling. That troubles me very much.

None of this is to imply that I’m finished with Leithart. If I can, I intend to read Defending Constantine again. I have yet to discuss the second half with my reading partner; he may convince me to change my mind about some of my conclusions. I remain open to correction from Leithart and/or his defenders. Where am I wrong? Why shouldn’t I be concerned? I hope Leithart writes the sequel I suggested above—to clarify and elaborate and explain.

In the meantime I have to consider Leithart, however tentatively and qualifiedly, a Christian Reconstructionist. I find that alarming. Perhaps that’s because of my Anabaptist sympathies, but I prefer to think it’s because I think power always corrupts and that before Jesus returns there is no possibility of an empire or nation state that is truly Christian. That’s not what Jesus envisioned.

Conversion stories in recent fiction and film

I’m usually reading or listening to three novels at the same time. By “at the same time” I mean concurrently, of course, not literally temporally. And, believe it or not, I occasionally watch a movie. In fact, movie-watching at home has become more frequent as television entertainment has become increasingly bland, boring or offensive.

Maybe it’s divine providence or just coincidence, but recently I’ve read (or listened to) some outstanding novels and seen some interesting movies that include conversions. And by “conversions” I’m not talking about vans. I mean realistic (or at least attempted realistic) accounts or depictions of personal transformations involving the gospel of Jesus Christ and faith and repentance.

So, I thought I’d share my thoughts about them here. It’s a nice break from the usual heavy theological discussions.

First, let me mention one that so disgusted me I had to stop watching it. I rented it thinking it would include some good gospel, spiritual music. I was mistaken. The movie is “Joyful Noise” starring Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton. (Kris Kristofferson makes a couple of cameo appearances.) I know, I know…some of you are asking yourselves “Why in the world would Roger Olson be watching a movie starring QF and DP? Well, as I said, I was expecting some gospel choir music. I like gospel music.

I was horribly disappointed. The depictions of church services were inauthentic. But worse, the “gospel choirs” sang mostly popular music. Some of it included a phrase or two that could possibly be interpreted as a nod toward gospel, but for the most part they were secular. The few that did seem to be attempts to include gospel were unfamiliar ditties whose lyrics were so shallow as to be meaningless.

Well, needless to say, I can’t recommend “Joyful Noise” unless you’re seriously in the mood to be nauseated.

Second, turning to something better, I watched “Machine Gun Preacher” starring Gerard Butler. Without endorsing the violence, I have to say…wow. A powerful movie. Maybe not exactly great in terms of production values or acting. (I had the sense that many of the “actors” were amateurs.) But emotionally powerful. And a great story of conversion relatively authentically depicted. Of course, Christians (and others) who incline toward pacifism (as I do) will recoil at the scenes of violence, but the violence depicted was not gratuitous; it reflects reality (sad to say). There is one scene where a pacifist confronts the “machine gun preacher” about his use of violence to protect the victims of brutality in Southern Sudan. She makes a good point that the movie brushes off. However, the movie does make one wonder what a Christian ought to do when put into such as situation—where children are being kidnapped and forced to participate in massacres and where children themselves are being massacred. According to the movie (at the end), the Lord’s Resistance Army has been responsible for over 400,000 murders and countless child kidnappings. Why is the West (Europe and North America) allowing this to continue? Wouldn’t we intervene militarily if our “national interests” were somehow at stake? I suspect we would.

Having grown up Pentecostal, I was moved by the depictions of Pentecostal worship and of conversions. That authenticity is rare in movie-dom. Only Robert Duvall’s “The Apostle” accomplished it before this.

Third, turning to books, I listened to Michael Gruber’s The Book of Air and Shadows. If you like historical fiction and gripping crime thrillers, this is one you need to read (or listen to). The narration (of the audible book) takes some getting used to, but once you adjust to it, it’s really quite good. I’m glad I listened to the book (as opposed to reading it). (I was on a very long road trip and it helped me get through eastern Oklahoma where there’s not a Starbuck’s in sight!)

I won’t go over the plot, but it involves an intricate conspiracy surrounding a previously unknown Shakespeare play. Again, there’s a lot of violence and some bad language, but nothing gratuitous. Most interesting to me was the conversion of the main character, a bitter, hardened, cynical and sex-addicted attorney who, partly because of his Jesuit brother’s persistent witness, changes. I won’t say more than that so as not to spoil it for you who have yet to read or listen to the book. I highly recommend it. You’ll learn a lot about politics and religion during the Jacobean era of England’s history. The book contains some marvelous witnessing by the Jesuit priest brother. Some of his comments about life, love, sex, relationships, forgiveness are simply profound.

Fourth, I just finished listening to A Land More Kind than Home by Wiley Cash. (The title is from Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again.) It’s about a snake handling Pentecostal church in the western Mountains of North Carolina in the 1960s. And a conversion. I won’t say who or what gets converted, but you’ll know at the very end of the book. It’s about the power of religion to do both great good and great evil. And, like the very different The Book of Air and Shadows, it’s realistic narrative. The narration of the audio book is also excellent. I strongly advise listening to it. There are three narrators and they are all outstanding. Again, some of the “sermonizing” by one of the main characters (an elderly mountain woman) is simply profound. If you doubt that while listening to the book (or reading it)…wait until the end to judge.

Another thing I liked about these two books is their treatments of father-son relationships. In my opinion, that is the most complicated of all human relationships and its common pathologies account for a great deal of personal and social turmoil.

Should a Christian Work for Government?

Lately I’ve been reading a lot of Hauerwas. Earlier I read a lot of Yoder and still do pick him up occasionally. Neither one says Christians shouldn’t work for government, but things they do say about Christianity and government incline that way.

Of course there are government jobs where no conceivable conflict with Christian faith and morals would arise—the drivers license bureau, etc. At least one would be hard pressed to think of such conflicts. (Of course, conflicts could arise if a supervisor asked you to do something unethical, but that can happen in any job. Here I’m wondering about conflicts that automatically come with the job or probably will.)

What really got me wondering about this was last Sunday’s (May 13) episode of “60 Minutes.” They interviewed a former top US spy who had a lot of interesting things to say about strategies for information gathering. One that caught my ear was providing pornography to foreign diplomats and agents. He said he never met a diplomat of a certain country that didn’t love pornography and that he and other US agents provided pornography to them in exchange for information.

I had never thought about that before. I knew that as a US secret agent you might have to kill people, but provide them with pornography? Now that’s another question. Can a Christian do that with a clear conscience—for whatever payoff? Does any end justify such an immoral means?

As I watched that I wondered how many Christians watching the show shuddered at that method of obtaining secret information about our enemy countries. I suspected that many who wouldn’t hesitate to defend torture or even assassination did shudder at that and wondered to themselves whether they could do that with a clear Christian conscience.

Where exactly are the limits? I know that there are evangelical Christians working in intelligence gathering for the US government. What will they absolutely refuse to do—no matter what the pay off might be in terms of obtaining important information that might make us more secure as a nation?

Let’s consider torture. I have heard reasonable people defend torture as a last resort. (You can call waterboarding whatever you want to; to me it’s torture.) Okay, let’s agree to disagree about that. (I think torture is always wrong and should never be condoned by policy.) What about torturing a suspected terrorist’s wife and children—if torturing him doesn’t work?

Absurd, you say? Well, it has happened in history. I have read accounts of it being done by Nazis, so it isn’t literally absurd.

No, you say? Never? Why not? What justifies drawing an absolute line between torturing a suspected terrorist to extract information and torturing his wife and children if it is likely to work? (Remember, he’s only a suspected terrorist, so saying torturing him is justified whereas torturing his wife and children is not because he’s guilty and they’re innocent won’t work.)

I think some Anabaptists (and perhaps others) prefer not to work for any government agency or branch because it is impossible to discern the line between what is participation in unchristian, immoral acts and what is not. And there is always the danger of being asked to participate, however indirectly, in violence or immorality such as providing pornography to someone.

I’m not convinced that Christians should never work for government, but I wonder if average, run-of-the-mill evangelical Christians put much thought into what branches of government they would work for and why (or why not).

Again, I suspect many conservative evangelical (and other) Christians would balk at supplying graphic pornography to enemy agents but not balk at participating in torture or assassination or capital punishment (assuming they are constitutionally able to stomach such things).

I don’t agree with Hauerwas or Yoder about everything, but I think they do (did) the church a great service by at least raising questions about Christian virtues and government practices.

In Hannah’s Child (his autobiography) Hauerwas writes about the backlash he felt from theological friends when he criticized America’s invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan. One well known theologian with whom he was close walked out on a talk he was giving and later wrote to ask him if he felt no “natural loyalties”—meaning to country, I take it.

I guess I would ask that theologian if he would provide pornography to an enemy agent if it would result in the likelihood of obtaining information that would help make our country more secure. If his answer was “yes,” I would ask if he would provide LSD or other mind-altering drugs. If the answer was “yes,” I would ask what he WOULDN’T do to obtain such information. If there was ANYTHING he wouldn’t do, I could ask him if he felt no natural loyalties.

Hauerwas believes it is always wrong for Christians to kill fellow Christians. Whether he is a strict pacifist is somewhat difficult to discern. I thought so, but then I read an article by him that muddied the waters a bit. He seemed to back off absolute pacifism into a kind of “war is always evil even when it’s a necessary evil” position. But one thing is clear—he wants Christians to be in the forefront of abolishing war (and capital punishment, etc.).

Should natural loyalties over ride Christian brotherhood? C. S. Lewis thought so. What did Christians of the first three centuries think? For the most part they did not participate in war or serve in the military.

Can anyone imagine the Apostle Paul, just to choose one first century Christian, providing pornography to anyone for any reason? Participating in torturing someone for any reason? Taking up arms to kill someone for any reason? I can’t. (I’m leaving Jesus out of the equation here just because I don’t want to play “the Jesus card.” It’s too easy to say “He’s the exception” or something like that.)

So why am I even posting about this? I wonder if, in our American evangelical Christian churches, we have given enough thought to what Christians should and should not do or participate in, in terms of sinful behavior, for the greater good of our country? At times it seems to me that we simply assume that we should do whatever our country asks us to do—especially if we are in the government’s service—without question.

Hauerwas has been vilified even for suggesting otherwise. Perhaps at times he expresses his own ideas in rather extreme ways, but at least he forces us to stop and think about the issues.

Part 1 of A New Series: Responses to The Gospel as Center by Members of the Gospel Coalition

Beginning today I embark on a series of posts responding to chapters in the new book The Gospel as Center: Renewing Our Faith and Reforming Our Ministry Practices edited by D. A. Carson and Timothy Keller and published by Crossway (2012). The publisher was kind enough to send me a complimentary copy, so I will review in detail here. My plan is to respond to a chapter at a time. The book has fourteen chapters, so this will be spread out over two or three weeks (at least). I may interrupt the series with other subjects from time to time. If you want to read along with me and check my responses, order the book right away. I’ll be digging in quickly. Once you receive your copy you can go back and read my responses in the archives.

The sixteen authors seem all to be members of the Gospel Coalition and signers of its foundational documents (which can be found at the end of the book). The authors are: D. A. Carson, Timothy Keller, Richard D. Phillips, Mike Bullmore, Andrew M. Davis, Reddit Andrews III, Colin S. Smith, Bryan Chapell, Sandy Wilson, Philip Graham Ryken, Kevin DeYoung, Stephen Um, Tim Savage, Thabiti Anhyabwile, J. Ligon Duncan, and Sam Storms. I’m not familiar with all of them, so I looked them up on the internet. So far as I can discern they are all Calvinists. Most are Presbyterians; a few are Baptists; one is Evangelical Free and one is “Bible Church.”

First I will offer a few remarks about the team of writers and what the project looks like from the “outside.” In the first chapter the editors make much of the diversity of the Gospel Coalition’s members. Judging by this team of authors, however, there doesn’t really seem to be very much diversity—at least not compared with the diversity of the evangelical coalition since its inception in 1942. Why all Calvinists? The editors (in the first chapter) extol the fact that they do not all come from one tradition. Really? I guess they mean they are not all Presbyterians. Well, most are. But once you see that the Baptist authors pastor churches with elders, the diversity begins to become less impressive. That’s especially the case given that they are all Calvinists. Maybe one or two are dispensationalist Calvinists? Maybe some are premillennialists and the rest are amillennialists? Or maybe there’s a postmillennialist somewhere in the mix. At first blush, anyway, I’m not impressed by the diversity of this group. Why not just admit up front that, with some minor points of disagreement, they are pretty much monochrome theologically.

My question is to what extent do these editors and authors think they are really representing the “tent” (large or small) of evangelicalism? It seems we, evangelicals, are their audience. (The publisher sent me a complimentary copy of the book!) Do they think that only they, conservative Calvinists, truly represent “the gospel?” Arminians and Wesleyans, Anabaptists, Lutherans, Pentecostals don’t have the gospel? The editors (in the first chapter) claim that the gospel is not a systematic theology, but one has to wonder when all the people allowed to speak about it adhere to one. Which one, you ask? Well, I am willing to bet they are all influenced, directly or indirectly, by Charles Hodge. He seems to be the godfather of conservative Reformed evangelicalism in America. Where does that leave the rest of us who do not belong to that tradition? I would very much like to know what Carson and Keller would say about Wesleyan evangelicals, for example. Can they be members of the Gospel Coalition? Are there any? Were any invited? If not, why not?

The National Association of Evangelicals was founded in St. Louis in April, 1942. Among the founders who, presumably agreed on the gospel, were Pentecostals, Holiness people, Free Will Baptists, Reformed, Free Church and many others. It was a pretty motley crew. (And I don’t mean that in any pejorative sense!) What they agreed about, doctrinally, was pretty minimal, but they embraced each other as equally evangelical in spite of significant doctrinal differences. To the best of my knowledge, nobody stood up and said “No. This isn’t enough. Some of you there have to get out. You don’t believe the gospel.” Oh, wait. I’m wrong. That’s exactly what Carl McIntire said when the founders of NAE invited him and his American Council of Christian Churches to join. He objected to the presence of Pentecostals and wouldn’t lead his ACCC into the NAE unless Pentecostals were excluded. Fortunately, Ockenga and other NAE founders wouldn’t go along with that.

My uncle was a board member of the NAE for years. He has told me of one particular meeting where a well-known conservative Reformed apologetics writers and speaker and theologian griped about the “shallow theology” of some members and made clear he was speaking about the Pentecostals. My uncle is Pentecostal and was offended although he forgave the man. It seems that SOME folks in the NAE and within the “big tent” of American evangelicalism are forever griping about its diversity. What do they want? Sometimes I think they want to narrow the tent down to those who agree with their systematic theology and marginalize or exclude those who don’t. We Arminians have struggled with this since Augustus Toplady declared that the Wesleys were not Christians because they were not Calvinists.

Chapter 1 is “Gospel-Centered Ministry” by D. A. Carson and Timothy Keller. They say right off that “We believe that some important aspects of the historic understanding of the biblical gospel are in danger of being muddied or lost in our churches today. These include the necessity of the new birth, justification by faith alone, and atonement through propitiation and the substitutionary death of Christ.” (p. 11) Who is doing this? In this chapter, anyway, they cast these frightening statements about the sorry state of “our churches” without naming any names. I’m suspicious because in Carson’s The Gagging of God he names my late friend Stanley Grenz and says that he cannot understand how his doctrine of Scripture can be considered “evangelical.” And yet, knowing Stan as I did, I am certain, from his description of Stan’s doctrine of Scripture (as not the supreme authority for faith and practice) that he did not understand it. (I have discussed this in detail in Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology.)

What do Carson and Keller mean by “our churches?” They can’t mean PCA or any specific denomination’s churches because the authors come from various denominations. I doubt they mean the churches pastored by or attended by these authors. Surely they don’t mean “all the churches in America.” That would, then, be something less than news. Surely they DO mean “evangelical churches.” But notice they said “our” churches. That means, then, that they do see themselves as evangelicals TOGETHER with non-Reformed evangelical Christians. In other words, so it would seem, Carson and Keller and the other writers see themselves as belonging to an NAE-like “evangelical tent” that includes non-Calvinists. Do they think that all those non-Calvinists with them under that tent are NOT gospel-centered? If so, why are they with them in that tent? If not (excuse the double negative here), why are none represented in this book? The CLEAR implication of the book, simply by virtue of all the authors being Calvinists, is that “gospel-centered” means “Calvinist” OR AT LEAST “believing in substitutionary atonement” and “justification by faith alone.” But many non-Calvinists DO believe in those things. Why are none represented in this book?

Let’s go back and look at the NAE Statement of Faith. It says nothing about justification by faith alone or propitiatory, substutionary atonement. Why not? Perhaps because some founding denominations didn’t use that language? Probably so. At the very least we can say the founders of the NAE did not consider that language essential to the gospel or else they would have included it in their Statement of Faith. The NAE Statement of Faith does speak of Christ’s “vicarious and atoning death” and salvation through “regeneration by the Holy Spirit.” If someone wants to argue that those include or necessarily imply “propitiation” and “substitutionary atonement” and “justification by faith alone,” well, let them try. But the plain fact is the language is different, so it would be wrong to claim that all evangelicals ever agreed that the gospel necessarily includes those concepts. (And any good Wesleyan theologian can explain to you why “vicarious atonement” does not necessarily mean “propitiation” and “substitutionary atonement.”)

I would very much like to know what these authors would say about the minimal Statement of Faith of the NAE. Do they reject the NAE as not representing authentic evangelical Christianity in America? When did defection from the doctrines they mention begin? Why is it worse now than before when in 1942 the NAE didn’t see fit to include those doctrines (or “inerrancy,” by the way) in its Statement of Faith?

What I see here is a subtle attempt to pack a systematic theology into the meaning of “the gospel” such that anyone who does not believe in that systematic theology is gospel-challenged at best and downright not gospel-centered at worst.

Next Carson and Keller mention that their confession begins with God rather than Scripture and they defend that. “Starting with the Scripture leads readers to the overconfidence that their exegesis of biblical texts has produced a system of perfect doctrinal truth. This can create pride and rigidity because it may not sufficiently acknowledge the fallenness of human reason.” (p. 12) I simply don’t understand their reasoning. Three comments about this ordering of their statement of the “gospel.” First, I have no problem with starting with God instead of the Bible. Second, Carl Henry would have had a problem with it. Third, Stan Grenz was harshly attacked for doing this very thing in Theology for the Community of God. It was one of the harshest criticisms of that volume from conservative Reformed critics! Now it seems okay. I think someone owes Stan an apology. Oh, it’s too late. (Please don’t think I’m imagining things. Stan and I had long, late night conversations about the unfairness of those criticisms.)

The authors of this chapter say that “The American evangelical world has been breaking apart with wildly different responses to this new cultural situation” (viz., postmodernism?). (p. 14) They claim that some evangelicals are calling for “a complete doctrinal reengineering of evangelicalism.” (p. 14) Really? Who? I wish they would be specific so we know what they are talking about. Given their earlier statement I assume they mean that anyone who denies substitutionary atonement and justification by faith alone. Who does that? Well, to be sure, some evangelicals are uncomfortable with that language and some always have been. At times Wesley was uncomfortable with “justification by faith alone” INSOFAR as it implied that justifying faith can be alone (without good works following). Right in the middle of this first chapter I’m beginning to think this is a jeremiad about how awful things are among evangelicals. But I’m not convinced. There’s lots of diversity and there are some “outliers”—people most definitely pushing the envelope on the margins—but I just don’t see a new wholesale defection from the gospel going on among people who claim the identity “evangelical.” Unless, of course, you define “the gospel” as conservative Calvinism! In that case, the defection is not new!

I agree whole heartedly with their call for relevant expository preaching and for justice and ministry to the poor. Of course, the devil is in the details with that second one. I’m not sure what they mean beyond charity, if anything. Who has ever opposed charity?

On page 17 they say “The evangelical ‘tent’ is bigger and more incoherent than ever.” Really? Give some specific examples, please. And don’t mention Joel Osteen. Maybe he’s evangelical; maybe he’s not. I don’t know. But he certainly doesn’t represent any major shift in evangelicalism. There have always been evangelists among evangelicals who embarrassed us. For the most part evangelicals have always been relatively tolerant of them. Their presence has never signaled an “incoherence” of the evangelical “tent.”

On pages 19-20 the authors (Carson and Keller) discuss systematic theology and biblical theology and affirm that statements of the gospel should stick to biblical language as much as possible. I certainly don’t disagree. But then they unpack Genesis 1-2 in a way that seems to draw on a system of theology (covenant theology) that many evangelical Old Testament scholars would disagree with. For example, “the church is God’s temple” (meaning supercessionism: the church is the replacement of Israel’s temple). Okay, I don’t necessarily disagree. But is this “gospel?” Is this simple biblical exegesis? Or is this systematic theology? What does it have to do with the gospel as the good news about salvation through Jesus? Oh, but these authors are stretching “the gospel” quite far beyond what most evangelicals have thought it meant.

On page 20 they refer again to “those who have a truncated view of what the gospel is.” Who are these villainous people who “have a truncated view of what the gospel is?” People who deny the substitutionary atonement? People who deny justification by faith alone? Who are they? (Not me!) I wish they would spell out who these enemies of the gospel lurking among us are. Without names I can’t judge what to think about their vague and veiled denunciations.

The authors end this chapter with “In short, gospel-centered ministry is biblically mandated. It is the only kind of ministry that simultaneously addresses human need as God sees it, reaches out in unbroken lines to gospel-ministry in other centuries and cultures, and makes central what Jesus himself establishes as central.” (p. 21) All I can say to that (taken alone) is Amen! I agree whole heartedly. The only problem is who defines “gospel” and how. Already at the end of the first chapter I’m on my guard and concerned that these authors are going to tell me that Hodge’s systematic theology (minus stuff about the sacraments and maybe eschatology) is “the gospel.” Or at least that robust, conservative Reformed theology, Calvinism, is “the gospel.” If so, then “Houston, we have a problem.” But, I’ll go through the rest of the book willing to change my mind if something else appears. I hope it does. But the first chapter isn’t very encouraging.

So why do I find this troubling? (By “this” I mean the tendency in chapter one to decry evangelical defection from the gospel and to define the gospel as including systematic theological categories.) Well, if you don’t find it troubling, let me ask you to consider this alternative scenario. One day you receive a book in the mail from a major evangelical publisher purporting to say what “the gospel” and “gospel ministry” mean and it is edited and partly authored by two very well known evangelical theologians and right up front it says that pacifism is an essential part of the gospel and complains about the “truncated view of the gospel” by many evangelicals who no longer believe in pacifism but embrace just war theory. Would you be troubled? And yet, for much of church history, committed Christians, including many evangelicals, have thought pacifism was the right way to interpret and apply the gospel in the world. Until WW2 and even for a while afterwards many Holiness, Pentecostal and Restorationist churches, to say nothing of Anabaptists, did believe the way of Jesus Christ included pacifism. But they didn’t try to push that on all other evangelicals when the NAE was founded in 1942 and, for the most part, those who still believe in pacifism don’t go around claiming that everyone who disagrees with them has a “truncated view of what the gospel is.” That’s just one example. There could be many, many more examples of particular traditions among evangelicals who hold as very important certain doctrines but do not say everyone who disagrees is not “gospel-centered.” In fact, in the past, ONLY FUNDAMENTALISTS said such things. I will dare to say that for much of evangelical history anyone who said that the “gospel” necessarily includes things not explicitly stated in the NAE statement of faith would be considered fundamentalist. That was a major parting of the ways—when William Bell Riley in 1919 declared that premillennialism is a “fundamental of the faith” and essential to the gospel. That kind of statement was one reason for the formation of the NAE in 1942—to create a larger, broader and more inclusive tent of evangelicals that transcends without denying denominational distinctives.

I believe that there are troublers in the house of Israel these days and they are mainly on the conservative side of the house. A few years ago a man I greatly admire, Kevin Mannoia, was elected president of the NAE. After a very short time (so I’m told by insiders) some conservative Calvinist members began to agitate for his removal. Specifically, so I’m told, he had dared to suggest that the American Baptist Churches, U.S.A. (the denomination with which I have since leaving Pentecostalism most closely associated with) should be allowed to join the NAE—so long as the denomination would affirm the Statement of Faith. That’s all that’s expected of any member denomination. Oh, except one thing—historically denominations cannot be members of both the National Council of Churches and the NAE. Kevin wanted to change that rule. The conservative Calvinists demanded his resignation and he did resign to keep the peace. Really, what is that rule except old fashioned fundamentalist separatism? It ought to be abolished. It’s a left over from evangelicalism’s fundamentalist background. I think the conservative Calvinists primarily wanted Mannoia out because he is Wesleyan-Arminian. Some of them do not think you can be authentically evangelical and be that in spite of the fact that Wesleyan-Arminians were there at the beginning—as charter members of the NAE.

I’m also concerned because the Gospel Coalition has clout with some nondenominational, nonconfessionally specific evangelical schools such as Wheaton. (One author of this book is president of Wheaton.) Does this mean someone who disagrees with anything the authors of this book say is an essential part of the gospel should not teach in those schools? I hope not, but I fear that will be the outcome. Oh, not that it will be so announced, but as an almost thirty year long veteran of evangelical higher education I know how these things work. Someone comes along and says “But the penumbra (!) of the school’s statement of faith includes such-and-such” (that it does not say) and “therefore, so-and-so should be fired” (or not hired). I’ve seen it happen many times. It has happened to me! Although I wasn’t fired, people tried. A president of an evangelical college told my president [then, not now] that I should be fired because I was open to Oneness Pentecostals being considered evangelicals IF they seemed to be moving toward full, robust trinitariansm—which IS happening among them. He told my president I was questioning the Trinity! He’s an idiot, of course, insofar as he can’t tell the difference between acknowledging someone who does not yet fully affirm the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity as an evangelical and personally questioning the Trinity. And, of course, as I’ve related here before, a leading Calvinist pastor told me he would get me fired if I did not side with him against open theism and remained “open to open theism.”

Next—Chapter 2 “Can We Know the Truth?”

When it comes to Christian social ethics I have two heroes, but the problem is they are widely considered antithetical. John Howard Yoder and Reinhold Niebuhr. Much of Yoder’s reputation is gained from contradicting Niebuhr. And of course, much of Niebuhr’s reputation was gained from contradicting pacifism. Admittedly, the pacifism Niebuhr was against was not Yoder’s. He even tipped his hat to Anabaptists as a needed witness. He was against the liberal Protestant pacifism of the social gospel movement (people like Edwin Dahlberg). Nevertheless, insofar as Niebuhr thought ALL pacifism is wrong and Yoder thought pacifism (Christocentric like his or liberal) is right, they are opposites on that and many other issues.

Yoder has in recent years enjoyed a revival of interest, probably mainly through Hauerwas. Niebuhr’s influence continues, of course, as he is almost always named as “the most influential Christian thinker” by politicians. Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton and Barak Obama have so identified him.

Of course, I don’t see how a Christian COULD be president and NOT appreciate Niebuhr’s approach to social ethics. It would certainly be difficult to be president and have Yoder as your social ethics mentor.

My problem is that when I read Yoder I find myself saying “Amen” a lot–to almost everything he says. I am convinced that he was right about New Testament, original Christianity and especially the teachings and example of Jesus and how they ought to apply to Christian living today. The church is supposed to be that light set on a hill, living by a different set of values from the rest of the world (not that they can’t sometimes overlap). For example, the way of the world is coercion; the way of Jesus is love. I am convinced that Jesus would not want his followers to engage in deadly force.

Yoder’s social ethic is focused on obedience. Obey Jesus and let the chips fall where they may. Obedience is our calling; effectiveness is God’s business. We are not called to manage history; we are only called to live as Christ instructed us to live. Amen.

When I read Niebuhr (e.g., An Interpretation of Christian Ethics or his essays in Love and Justice) I also find myself saying “Amen” a lot. Niebuhr believes it is irresponsible for Christians to abdicate responsibility for the world and he equates pacifism with that. He doesn’t justify war as good, but he believes it is sometimes a necessary evil. He agrees with Yoder that Jesus taught and modeled radical love. They basically agree on the Sermon on the Mount–it must not be watered down or glossed over. Niebuhr thinks it is possible for the individual Christian to live by it somewhat consistently. And he agrees that we OUGHT to live by it perfectly consistently. But he also thinks this is a fallen world where Christians must sometimes hold their noses and do things contrary to the Sermon on the Mount. Effectiveness matters and sometimes requires compromise. That’s where Yoder disagrees.

John Stackhouse (Regents College) wrote a book a couple years ago entitled Making the Best of It. I reviewed it for Books & Culture. It’s an excellent evangelical re-statement of Niebuhr’s social ethic. I found myself agreeing whole heartedly.

On the other hand, reading Hauerwas’ War and the American Difference, convinces me Yoder was right. War is something Christians ought to oppose and never participate in or support.

Well, you see my dilemma. I’m divided within myself. I agree with Yoder that the Christian life, including the life of the church, is one of radical obedience to the love Jesus taught and modeled including “Resist not evil” and “love your enemies.” I also agree with Niebuhr that effectiveness in abolishing injustice is part of the Christian’s calling (including the church’s calling). When Hitler was rampaging through Europe our duty was effectively to stop him. I also agree with Yoder that the church’s main duty is peace making by being a peaceful witness to the Lamb.

Is there a way to reconcile these two impulses-one toward radical, uncompromising obedience and one toward Christian effectiveness and responsibility for society that sometimes requires compromise (e.g., to abolish injustice using coercion if necessary)?

Occasionally I look to Bonhoeffer as a guide. Not as a guide in the sense of “Here’s a check list to go through at the end of which you’ll know what to do.” Bonhoeffer was no advocate of casuisty. But a guide in the sense of feeling resigned to the fact that occasionally in this world an evil arises so great that one has to set aside perfect obedience to the new law of love and hold one’s nose and do what it is necessary and trust God to forgive.

Bonhoeffer was a pacifist–until he was handed the opportunity to participate in the plot to assassinate Hitler. I think he remained a pacifist through that. I don’t think his participation (he volunteered to pull the trigger) was due to a policy of putting effectiveness over radical, uncompromising obedience Niebuhr style. Rather, it had to be something like Kierkegaard’s “teleological suspension of the ethical.”

IF we think Bonhoeffer made the right decision, even if it was in another sense wrong, then it seems our involvement in World War 2 was justified in the same sense–not due to some policy of just war but due to having no alternative except to allow a madman to take over much of the world and commit genocide against many groups he hated.

The problem, as I see it, is that AFTER WW2 most previously pacifist Christian groups dropped pacifism altogether and embraced war as good (something to be celebrated).

That example, Bonhoeffer, doesn’t exactly reconcile Yoder and Niebuhr, of course, but it gives one instance of a person who, while holding fast to pacifism as the norm, embraced violence as the exception (as a necessary evil). Let’s imagine that the Allies liberated Bonhoeffer before he was hanged. (That almost happened.) Would he have then been a Niebuhrian defender of war? I don’t think so. I think he would have remained a pacifist and simply appealed to the exceptional circumstances to justify (not make righteous) his decision to participate in the plot to kill Hitler.

My point is, the only way forward I can see, to get off the horns of the dilemma, is to stand with Yoder as the norm but remain open to exceptions when circumstances absolutely require them. Some evils are so horrendous that they need to be overcome quickly and the only way to do that is coercion and sometimes even violence. The response is not to create a justification system to prepare for them, but to be the kind of persons who know when they arise and how best to respond. Bonhoeffer was that kind of person.

As a general rule, I think it is true that God does not call Christians or the church to manage history. He calls us to obedience to the law of love. Coercion using deadly force is always sin but not always wrong. I realize that’s dialectical, but I don’t know any way out of that.