For Christmas, my father-in-law got me half an iPod. After ponying up for the other half, I discovered the wonderful world of podcasts. Veritas Forum's and William Lane Craig's Reasonable Faith podcasts are at the top of my list but, thanks to a friend's recommendation, I've discovered the oddly captivating personality of Maxie Burch. Burch is the Associate Pastor for Faith Development at North Phoenix Baptist Church. Holding a PhD in history, he does a lot of teaching at NPBC on Church history and historical theology. He's got about 30 lectures or so on iTunes and I'm slowly working my way through them. He's passionate and brings new perspectives to some old theological questions. And while I reject some of his presuppositions, his take on certain details and some of his conclusions, I welcome his attempts to bring theology to the local Church and to get all believers thinking deeply about their faith and about the God of their faith.
But today he went too far. I was listening to his introductory lecture (because I haven't been doing so in order) when he gave the wise admonition that we should read theology broadly while, at the same time, being discerning about what we appropriate into our own belief systems. I wholeheartedly endorse such an approach to theology but I absolutely reject his analogy:
"Here's my rule of thumb for theology. You do theology like you eat fish. You eat the meat and spit out the bones. Part of the reason for a course like this is, in your own heart and mind, trying to identify for you what the bones are. But it's not a good rule of thumb to never eat for fear that there are bones. There's a lot of good stuff out there to eat, it's just a matter of figuring out how to manage the bones."
Absolutely disgusting! If I did theology like I eat fish, I'd be out of a job. I agree that it's not a good rule of thumb to never eat fish for fear that there are bones. But it is a good rule of thumb to never eat fish since fish are gross. I get his point, of course, but wow, he certainly achieved the opposite objective with me than I'm sure he was intending. Thanks for the advice, Maxie, but, next time, pick a more tasty analogy.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
I’ll Have an Order of History, Hold the Theology
It took me 5 of 7 books, but I finally figured out what makes me uncomfortable about Thomas Cahill. When he sticks to history, which his works primarily address, he is superb. I read him ravenously because of this. But when he delves into theology, his thinking is really convoluted. That’s why I liked his book about Jesus and the New Testament much less than his book about the ancient Greeks. Because the Greeks didn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian God, Cahill didn’t talk much about Christian theology and I could take in the history with curiosity and enjoyment. And his discussions about the theology of the Jews were so broad that he didn’t give himself the opportunity to make any mistakes of particularity. He dealt solely with how the Jews stood out in their ancient near-eastern context and with how they radically changed the world as we know it. And when he wrote about the Irish and how they saved civilization, he rarely brought up theology and focused on how Celtic Christianity upheld culture while the rest of Europe was being deculturalized by the barbarians. Cahill is a superb historian for the uninitiated, like me, but he’s a horrible theologian for the person who knows even just a little bit of theology. That makes him dangerous for the non-theologian since he can so easily lead someone into wrongheaded theological thought.
The book I just finished, The Mystery of the Middle Ages: And the Beginning of the Modern World, fits the above description exactly. It’s a book about the influence that the Middle Ages have had on western culture, and you can’t do that without discussing theology a great deal. Again, his history is great, especially when he is talking about all of the things that our culture has that it wouldn’t if there had been no middle ages. He helps to correct the popular belief that the Church was only evil during these times and that the western world would have reached enlightenment sooner if those angry, conservative, fundamentalistic, repressive and anti-intellectual Christians hadn’t been in charge of things. What Francis of Assisi did for social justice, what Hildegard of Bingen did for women’s spiritual equality, what Dante did for public moral discourse, and what Thomas Aquinas and Roger Bacon did for science are all trumpeted boldly in this work. For these things Cahill is to be praised and the book should be (and has been) widely read.
But Cahill makes theological blunders that devalue the work significantly. I’m not a historical theologian but I play one on TV (actually, depending on how the chips fall, I may try to get a PhD in historical theology which would give me a bit more authority here). That being the case, I know enough to say that if you put Peter Abelard on a scale with Anselm of Canterbury, Anselm is going to carry more historical weight. I’m not saying that Abelard is insignificant, I’m just saying that if you’re going to give him 50 pages of press, you’d better at least mention Anselm. Anselm’s work on the atoning death of Christ revolutionized the discussion and planted the seeds for the revolution of the Reformation. And his ontological argument for the existence of God has been discussed for close to a millennium. Abelard’s work was discussed greatly for several centuries but he is now remembered more for his tragic romance with Héloïse than for his theological contributions. Cahill’s perspective leads to the exact opposite conclusion.
Another theologically atrocious claim by Cahill, also made in his discussions of Abelard, concerns the current debate about the doctrine of the atonement. I’ll let him speak for himself here:
“And though the idea that Christ died to repay his Father for human sin is still a favorite theory of many (especially evangelical) Christians, it is a doctrine no one can make logical sense of, for, like the Calvinist theory of Election, it necessitates a sort of voraciously pagan Father God steeped in cruelty and, in the case of Jesus’s horrific death, his son’s blood.” (p. 199)
This little chunk of text is filled with enough theological confusion to write an essay on, let alone a simple paragraph, but I’ll stay short. First, to compare the Calvinist theory of election to the penal substitutionary view of the atonement is laughable. The latter is embraced by evangelicals of all shapes and sizes, while the former is limited to a particular theological system. Secondly, thousands of pages have been written in just the past few decades on such a view of the atonement and they have quite ably “made logical sense” of it. Here’s just one example. Finally, to say that such a view “necessitates a sort of voraciously pagan Father God …” can only come from someone who hasn’t thought about the doctrine all that much. To make the claims Cahill does without at all mentioning the holiness of God and what sin’s violation of it might require for man’s reconciliation is theologically shallow, unfortunate and irresponsible.
So, while I recommend Cahill’s newest book highly, just like his others, I do so with the strongest of theological cautions. His history is intriguing, as always. He’s got great new stuff on some well-known historical figures and he introduces the reader to some lesser-known folks that we should be aware of. But don’t buy his theology. It’s not only misrepresentative in certain historical respects, it’s misleading as far as the Christian worldview is concerned. Feast on the historical meat but go somewhere else for your theological dessert.
The book I just finished, The Mystery of the Middle Ages: And the Beginning of the Modern World, fits the above description exactly. It’s a book about the influence that the Middle Ages have had on western culture, and you can’t do that without discussing theology a great deal. Again, his history is great, especially when he is talking about all of the things that our culture has that it wouldn’t if there had been no middle ages. He helps to correct the popular belief that the Church was only evil during these times and that the western world would have reached enlightenment sooner if those angry, conservative, fundamentalistic, repressive and anti-intellectual Christians hadn’t been in charge of things. What Francis of Assisi did for social justice, what Hildegard of Bingen did for women’s spiritual equality, what Dante did for public moral discourse, and what Thomas Aquinas and Roger Bacon did for science are all trumpeted boldly in this work. For these things Cahill is to be praised and the book should be (and has been) widely read.
But Cahill makes theological blunders that devalue the work significantly. I’m not a historical theologian but I play one on TV (actually, depending on how the chips fall, I may try to get a PhD in historical theology which would give me a bit more authority here). That being the case, I know enough to say that if you put Peter Abelard on a scale with Anselm of Canterbury, Anselm is going to carry more historical weight. I’m not saying that Abelard is insignificant, I’m just saying that if you’re going to give him 50 pages of press, you’d better at least mention Anselm. Anselm’s work on the atoning death of Christ revolutionized the discussion and planted the seeds for the revolution of the Reformation. And his ontological argument for the existence of God has been discussed for close to a millennium. Abelard’s work was discussed greatly for several centuries but he is now remembered more for his tragic romance with Héloïse than for his theological contributions. Cahill’s perspective leads to the exact opposite conclusion.
Another theologically atrocious claim by Cahill, also made in his discussions of Abelard, concerns the current debate about the doctrine of the atonement. I’ll let him speak for himself here:
“And though the idea that Christ died to repay his Father for human sin is still a favorite theory of many (especially evangelical) Christians, it is a doctrine no one can make logical sense of, for, like the Calvinist theory of Election, it necessitates a sort of voraciously pagan Father God steeped in cruelty and, in the case of Jesus’s horrific death, his son’s blood.” (p. 199)
This little chunk of text is filled with enough theological confusion to write an essay on, let alone a simple paragraph, but I’ll stay short. First, to compare the Calvinist theory of election to the penal substitutionary view of the atonement is laughable. The latter is embraced by evangelicals of all shapes and sizes, while the former is limited to a particular theological system. Secondly, thousands of pages have been written in just the past few decades on such a view of the atonement and they have quite ably “made logical sense” of it. Here’s just one example. Finally, to say that such a view “necessitates a sort of voraciously pagan Father God …” can only come from someone who hasn’t thought about the doctrine all that much. To make the claims Cahill does without at all mentioning the holiness of God and what sin’s violation of it might require for man’s reconciliation is theologically shallow, unfortunate and irresponsible.
So, while I recommend Cahill’s newest book highly, just like his others, I do so with the strongest of theological cautions. His history is intriguing, as always. He’s got great new stuff on some well-known historical figures and he introduces the reader to some lesser-known folks that we should be aware of. But don’t buy his theology. It’s not only misrepresentative in certain historical respects, it’s misleading as far as the Christian worldview is concerned. Feast on the historical meat but go somewhere else for your theological dessert.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Do Politics and Theology Mix?
One of my favorite political commentators, Hugh Hewitt, and one of my favorite philosopher-theologians, J.P. Moreland, answer the above question with an absolute affirmative here.
The occassion for the interview is J.P.'s new book, The God Question: An Invitation to a Life of Meaning. I have 5 or 6 J.P. books that I want to read already so, I was prepared to skip this one, since I already have other books that touch on the issue. But, in reading J.P.'s rationale for the book and a brief description, I've changed my mind and want to read it tomorrow. I won't, but I will add it to my list. This is more than just a philosophical exercise or an anthology of apologetic arguements for the existence of God. It's much more than that and it's a book that I can recommend even without having read it.
Back to the interview, I hope that all of us take more seriously our obligation to participate in the political process and heed J.P.'s instruction to think much more deeply about and integrate more effectively our theology and politics.
The occassion for the interview is J.P.'s new book, The God Question: An Invitation to a Life of Meaning. I have 5 or 6 J.P. books that I want to read already so, I was prepared to skip this one, since I already have other books that touch on the issue. But, in reading J.P.'s rationale for the book and a brief description, I've changed my mind and want to read it tomorrow. I won't, but I will add it to my list. This is more than just a philosophical exercise or an anthology of apologetic arguements for the existence of God. It's much more than that and it's a book that I can recommend even without having read it.
Back to the interview, I hope that all of us take more seriously our obligation to participate in the political process and heed J.P.'s instruction to think much more deeply about and integrate more effectively our theology and politics.
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