Natalie Burris

Mohler and MacArthur are not part of a long line of church leaders defending creationism

Southern Baptist Archbishop Al Mohler (thanks to Slacktivist for that term) uses dramatic rhetoric when arguing against evolution.  He stated Christians "now face the undeniable truth that the most basic and fundamental questions of biblical authority and gospel integrity are at stake."  Evangelical Archbishop John MacArthur also employs dramatic language. 

Mohler and MacArthur place themselves in a long line of Christians who have defended six-day creationism.  Their language makes one think the church has always supported a literal creation account.  To reconcile Scripture and evolution, then, would be the church's first--and dramatic--capitulation to "secular" thinking.

But throughout history, not everyone affirmed six-day creationism.  Not all church fathers furthered a dichotomy between Scripture and science.  The origins issue was not the controversy some have made it today; in fact, it was often a non-issue. 

Robert Letham's Westminster Theological Journal article, In the Space of Six Days: The Days of Creation from Origen to the Westminster Assembly, argues that some church fathers did not spend time defending a literal Genesis reading.  To counteract some modern church leaders' misconceptions, here are some thoughts from Letham's article, which I read for my human origins class in college.

Third-century Origen didn't believe in a literal six-day creation, as it is impossible to interpret the creation account literally when the sun wasn't created until the fourth day, per Genesis 1.

Augustine believed in a simultaneous creation, so Genesis' days were actually one day repeated seven times.  "God accommodated himself to the capacity of weaker intellects and presented creation as if it were a process" (157).  

Up until the 1200's, most exegesis centered on the perfect number of creation's days and debates about when angels were created.  Whether creation occurred in six literal days wasn't important.

Calvin's Genesis commentary doesn't discuss the days of creation, which Letham thinks is significant in itself.  Like Augustine, Calvin believed in divine accommodation.  God accommodates his works to human capacity, to our level, "speaking to us in the prattling babble of baby-talk" (166).

Calvin believed Genesis did not teach astronomy or other sciences.  He didn't dismiss science, but valued it.  To Calvin, Genesis was written in a popular style for ordinary people, while astronomers dealt with more complex knowledge.  Astronomy was "very useful to be known: it cannot be denied that this art unfolds the admirable wisdom of God" (167).

None of the sixteenth-century Reformed confessions state earth was created in six literal days.  It was simply not an issue in the Reformed church at that time.

Moving on to English Puritans up until the Westminster Assembly, Letham says their theology has a "virtually complete absence of interest in creation" (173).  They never attempted a serious interpretation of the creation accounts - it was not a matter of controversy.

If the creation account is clear-cut and vital to the gospel message, why were there so many divergent interpretations--or none at all--pre-Westminster Assembly?  When Mohler and MacArthur defend a literal reading of Genesis, they fail to realize they're defending a relatively new interpretation, which differs from early church fathers' interpretations.  "Claims that a literal reading of the days of Genesis 1 is obvious fall down when the history of interpretation is taken into consideration" (174).

Even past North American Christians would disagree with Mohler and MacArthur: Mark Noll points out in The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind that theologically conservative Christian and Harvard botanist Asa Gray was the person most active in bringing Darwinism to the U.S.

Lastly, those who reject evolution and read Genesis literally still selectively interpret based on scientific developments.  Genesis 1:6-8 states:

And God said, "Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water."  So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it.  And it was so.  God called the vault "sky."

Thanks to modern-day astronomers and space exploration, we view this separation of waters as an ancient Near East understanding of the atmosphere.  Hardly any literalists today believe an ocean is above the sky, because science and simple observations prove otherwise.  Why, then, do literalists insist those who accept evolution disrespect the gospel's integrity?  Aren't literalists also allowing "secular science" to influence their interpretation of Genesis 1:6-8? 

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More problems with Biblicism

Chapter 4 of The Bible Made Impossible provides more problems with biblicism, beyond Chapter 3's epistemological and sociological problems. 

Scripture gives direct commands many biblicists ignore, such as "greet one another with a holy kiss," or "wash one another's feet."  While many Christians greet with a kiss due to culture, and some perform feet-washing, biblicists generally do not follow these commands.  

Meanwhile, biblicists feel strongly about pre-marital sex and abortion, yet Scripture lacks direct instructions about these issues.  Biblicists may respond that these explicit commands are culturally rooted, thus not applicable today.  But biblicists do not fairly and consistently appeal to cultural relativism, which undermines biblicism. 

This is why I took issue with complementarians and biblical gender roles.  Smith asserts interpretation ends up an ad hoc process (perhaps much like gender roles):

Various biblical commands are relaxed or tightened without a clear underlying rationale or justification, depending significantly, it seems, on the particular cultural and political interests and discomfort of those doing the relaxing and tightening. In other words, biblicists very often engage in what we might call “uneven and capriciously selective literalism.” Sometimes the Bible says what it says and must be obeyed. Other times the obvious meaning of the passage is relativized by historical and cultural considerations. And it is often not clear for any given interpreter or across different interpreters which is which, when, and why.

Smith then cites to troubling passages, on which hardly anyone attempts to sermonize (Phineas, anyone?).  For example, Paul furthers an ethnic stereotype in Titus 1:12-13: "Cretans are always liars."  It's difficult to find a take-home, prescriptive message from these puzzling passages.  

Another interesting point is that biblicists use circular logic when using Scripture to validate its own authority.  If this isn't problematic, what Scripture says about itself does not validate biblicism.  To make the Bible support biblicism, dubious logic is required, along with an anachronistic view of Scripture.

Smith echoes what Timothy Beal points out in The Rise and Fall of the Bible: the early church had a different understanding of what "the Bible" was.  When referring to "Scripture," they meant what is now the Old Testament.  The New Testament didn't exist yet.  

So, while the New Testament described Scripture as God-breathed, it's quite the leap to assume "the Bible, down to the details of its words, consists of and is identical with God’s very own words written in human language. Those are not necessarily the same thing."  That biblicism cannot be supported by the Bible "suggests sociologically that biblicism is actually not driven by its purported, manifest interest, but by other latent concerns, motives, and interests[.]"

Smith's last point is that biblicism sets up young believers for crises once they realize biblicism is untenable.  When non-biblicists point out problems, young Christians may not know how to respond.  Sociologically, once they're outside of their homogeneous tribe and in college, these young believers may feel they must reject their faith outright.  Biblicism sets up expectations that are impossible to meet.  

Biblicism "not only makes young believers vulnerable to being disabused of their naive acceptance of that theory but it also often has the additional consequence of putting their faith commitments at risk."  It's ironic that a sect of Christianity that purports to take faith and the Bible so seriously sets up its young people for failure when they experience the world for themselves.  

This reminded me of my first year of college, an experience I shared here a few years ago.  At a "secular" university with liberal professors, I joined two campus Christian organizations: 

...both groups tended to have a “those-evil-professors-will-taint-your-mind” mentality toward the university. They were simply diametrically opposed to the university, and the prevailing attitude was that of blanket rejection of anything not explicitly conservative, evangelical Christ­ian. [...] In our Bible studies and Friday lunches, we were taught sys­tem­atic, care­fully laid-out answers to the criticisms that “those professors” were going to level against our faith...

So, I hunkered down in political and theological conservatism in my first year of col­lege, holding tightly to my beliefs. I was certain that I was biblical and right, and my faith grew into a reaction­ary one. ...[T]hings were black or white, good or bad, Christian or non-Christian...

...I immediately labeled as non-Christian anyone who didn’t fit my conception of “Christian” (meaning conservative, evangelical...Republican). Therefore, I blocked off any learning from people I had labeled, building up my defenses so my faith couldn’t be jeopardized. 

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Are words directly knowable? Is "the other" so easily dismissed?

Chapter 3 of Christian Smith's The Bible Made Impossible describes how we got to biblicism today.  Charles Hodge and Benjamin Warfield, two American theologians during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, ended up influencing modern evangelicalism with their "objective" views about knowledge.

One view, Scottish common-sense realism, believes humans can directly grasp the meaning of what we perceive - whether it be objects or words.  Words are directly knowable and directly represent objects and ideas, which our minds can know with certainty.  Another view, Baconian inductive-empiricism, is similar - it's gathering "natural specimens" as facts and arranging them to reach an understanding.

These contrasted with the subjective enlightenment idea that the "knower" has authority to define the "known" through his or her individual perceptions.  Hodge and Warfield took their views for granted when they discussed theology: the Bible contains all the facts we need to know, and our job as Christians is to collect and order them.

Smith points out a contradiction, because the Calvinist Hodge strongly believed in the fallen human nature, which should have prevented him from thinking we can simply know the Bible's propositional truths directly, without bias.  Although inconsistent with Calvinism, this framework thrived because it was a great weapon against the encroaching theological liberalism.

Smith acknowledges he pulled from Hodge and Warfield's least-sophisticated works, but only because such weaker ideas shaped later evangelicals.  I agree, as I see that many modern evangelicals still believe the Bible's truths are objectively evident.  They portray challenges to their "objective" view as a dangerous relativism and a capitulation to postmodernism. 

As is clear to most of us, Hodge and Warfield's views are problematic: "Perception, knowledge, science, and language do not function in the real world the way these theories say they do."  Language and words are highly contextual, ambiguous, complex, and can mean many things at once.  

"Facts" are not obvious, unmediated entities.  Instead, we actively interpret and mediate what end up as facts from various possibilities and meanings.  "All interpretations are also shaped by the particular historical and cultural locations and interests of the interpreters."  

The naive view that words are directly knowable has long been abandoned by informed thinkers.  Why, then, aren't more biblicists worried their interpretive framework might be problematic?  Smith describes their attitude as "unperturbed confidence."  This is when Smith's sociological expertise proves valuable, as I doubt a theologian or biblical scholar could provide such an astute assessment. 

Smith has several theories, but my favorite is his depiction of the strong, close, social networks among biblicists as a force in keeping biblicism alive, in spite of glaring problems.  Living in a relatively small, homogeneous, comfortable subculture means your inconsistencies will rarely be challenged.  Lest Smith come across as elitist, he notes even the most cosmopolitan form these close social groups.  However, research shows evangelicals in particular tend to create more homogeneous environments compared to other U.S. Americans.  

Such strong group identity means that differences with outside groups become magnified.  Vilifying "the other" means biblicists ceased to

understand the other's reasons, perspectives, and beliefs, or to honor them as fellow believers and come to a deeper understanding and perhaps resolution of differences.  The point, rather, is to remain on guard from being contaminated by the out-group or allowing them to grow in influence.  And in that process the other is very easily turned into an impersonal, two-dimensional caricature.  Out-groups are reduced to an abstract "them" whose beliefs are abridged into a few bullet points of greatest disagreement, which need not actually be taken seriously on their own terms but rather simply need to be refuted and discredited as a means to validate the views of one's own group.

Under this rubric, "the other" becomes easily dismissed.  Before even coming to the table, your group has decided "the other" is already wrong.  Not compromising or agreeing to a wishy-washy ecumenism is a badge of honor.

Any thoughts?  Is Smith's portrayal of biblicists fair?

Why I don't believe in a literal Adam and Eve

Although I'm not a scientist and have taken only one physical anthropology course, I feel compelled to share what I've learned about human origins.  In the same way complementarians tie traditional gender roles to a faithful reading of Scripture, I've seen some evangelicals assert that a truly serious reading of Scripture requires a belief in a literal Adam and Eve. 

I echo Peter Enns' recent criticism of Al Mohler's claim that the only way to respect the Bible and have a solid faith is to read Genesis literally:

I am writing [...] for the sake of those who are living with the consequences of what Mohler says they must believe–those who feel trapped in Mohler’s either/or rhetoric, that to question a literal interpretation of Scripture concerning creation puts one on the path to apostasy.

Driven by his precommitment to biblical literalism, Mohler leaves his audience with an impossible false choice between a Christian faith that must remain in intellectual isolation in order to survive and an intellectual life that has no place for Christian faith.

I consider myself a follower of Jesus and a serious reader of Scripture, so it's painful to be told I don't take my faith seriously because I do not believe Adam and Eve literally existed.  

To me, the fossil record shows Adam and Eve could not literally exist.  My brief summary touches on the gradual cultural and cognitive developments, because those may indicate where to place a literal Adam and Eve.  Here is an excellent, more in-depth interactive website from the Smithsonian.

"Hominids" are species after the last common ancestor of humans and living apes.  They walk upright, do not use their teeth as tools, and have bigger brains.  A "genus" is one taxonomical level above "species," and Australopithecus is the first hominid genus we know included species that developed tools.  First found in Kenya, they existed an estimated 4.2 to 1 million years ago, but show no evidence of culture.  Australopithecus even coexisted with our genus, Homo.

Homo appeared roughly 2 million years ago.  Homo habilis, discovered in Tanzania, were the first stone toolmakers.  Homo erectus were the first travelers beyond Africa.  Experts don't think they developed language, but evidence shows they cared for their elderly and weak.  

Early archaic Homo sapiens appeared about 500,000 years ago.  Their culture is more sophisticated, with structures, stone industries, and exploitation of natural resources.

Late archaic Homo sapiens, the last group before modern humans, in­cludes European and West Asian Neandartals.  There is evidence of flowers placed at burial sites.  However, language development is doubtful.  Interestingly, Neandartals lack descendants; they're an evolutionary dead end.  

Modern humans, Homo sapiens sapiens, appeared about 120,000 years ago, and I'm sure we're well aware of our own capabilities.

The line from the first hominids to modern humans is not clear, though.  The below "family tree" notes the transformation wasn't linear, but rather a multi-faceted, meandering process.  Tracing a direct line even within our own genus isn't even possible yet.

Where do we place Adam and Eve?  They could be Homo habilis, the first species to make stone tools.  However, there's little evidence of advanced culture.

What if they were Homo erectus,  with brain size comparable to modern humans?  But, Homo erectus didn't develop language, and this disregards earlier hominids who were toolmakers.  Or, Adam and Eve could have been Neandertals, but Neandertals were an evolutionary dead end.  However, do their burial rituals mean they had an understanding of death?

If we designate Adam and Eve as Homo sapiens sapiens, our species, what about Neandertals and the early archaic Homo sapiens, the latter having structures and stone industries?

It's hard to pinpoint a literal Adam and Eve in the fossil record, as cultural and cognitive abilities emerged gradually.  Culture does not suddenly appear; rather, as we have seen, it develops over time.

Did God suddenly infuse a species with His image?  With gradual fossil evidence, some lines seem arbitrary.  Or did the capacity to bear God's image develop gradually like culture?  What about those on the continuum? 

Another problem is that Genesis 4:1 says, “Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil.”  The first evidence of agriculture was around 8000 B.C.E., and genetic changes required to domesticate plants took 2,000 to 3,000 years.  

If Cain were the first agri­culturalist, this leaves too little time for all humans to be Adam and Eve's descendents.  Also, based on the emergence of agriculture, Cain would have been alive 10,000 years ago, yet modern Homo sapiens appeared 120,000 years ago.  What about those before Cain?  And was his wife, also mentioned in Genesis 4, created ex nihilo?

A literal reading of Genesis 2:19 brings another impossibility.  Don­ald Miller, in Searching for God Knows What, estimates Adam named up to 50 million species:

It would have taken nearly a year just to name the species of snakes alone.  Moses said that Eve didn't give birth to their third child till Adam was well into his hundreds, which means they would have had Cain and Abel some thirty or so years before, which also means either it took Adam more than a hundred years to name the animals, or he and Eve didn't have sex for a good, long, boring century.  

How do Christians handle problems in pinpointing a literal Adam and Eve, like fossil records, agricultural history, and naming millions of animals?  What are the theological implications?

I don't have a clear answer, and honestly it's often unsettling.  However, I do know that all truth is God's truth, even (especially) science.  I trust God reveals Himself through nature.  I cannot continue to insist Adam and Eve literally existed in the face of glaring logical inconsistencies and a continuum that raises disturbing moral issues.  I wish literalists would be willing to engage with me and others in this camp, rather than summarily label us heretics.

Any thoughts?  Anyone know why every depiction of Adam and Eve is a lily-white couple, even though evidence shows they probably had very dark skin?  Interesting...

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Who gets to be the arbiter of gender roles in the church?

I'm looking forward to Rachel Held Evans' book based on a year-long project of following Scripture's instructions to women.  Some with traditional views of biblical womanhood have criticized the book, even though it's not yet available.  While I don't believe time travel is possible yet, some critics have brought up arguments that are common when defending traditional gender roles:

No serious effort was being made, as far as I could tell, to truly translate into our day and time something that may have made perfect sense to people living in those conditions 3,000 years ago but leaves US scratching our heads. And so Rachel camps out, constructs sashes, and stands in front of the city limit signs with a placard saying what a great guy her husband is -- because the Bible supposedly says she should. I am left scratching my head at what anyone is supposed to learn from such antics.  

A Baptist Press article I've previously linked to notes, "Today's young men need to hear the words of King David to Solomon, 'Be strong, and show yourself a man,' (1 Kings 2:2) and today's young women need a generation of modern-day Abigails to emulate (1 Samuel 25)."

The article also refers to John Piper, who says a godly man is "sensitive to cultural expressions of what is considered masculine, and mature masculinity adapts its behavior to fit what is culturally masculine."  It's clear most complementarians acknowledge that Scripture must be translated to our current setting. 

However, why do many Christians feel they have a copyright on what these modern cultural expressions look like?  How can they have so much certainty when defining gender roles?

For instance, Al Mohler unequivocally stated, "Those who believe that the Bible is indeed the inerrant and infallible written revelation of God are obligated to perpetuate and honor the pattern of leadership ordered within the text of Scripture."  And the Unlocking Femininity website states, "Because God is good and only does good, if we believe that hierarchy and patriarchy are evil, then we’re saying something about the character of God."

Complementarians tie traditional gender roles to a faithful reading of Scripture, so to question them is tantamount to questioning the Bible and God's goodness. Interestingly, it is exclusively male denominational leadership, seminary graduates, and pastors who determine these non-negotiable gender roles for the North American church.

I wonder whether there has been thorough reflection on biblical definitions of gender roles translated into today's terms.  I wonder whether North American cultural norms have been uncritically adopted, which then gets clothed in biblical language, immune from criticism as it's been equated with Scripture itself.

Perhaps holding up a sign at your town's entrance that praises your husband is not required of Christian women today.  I doubt that is Evans' point.  Hardly anyone thinks we should literally follow every biblical command to women, i.e. wearing headcoverings during prayer or being saved through childbearing.

The question then becomes, what does the role of biblical women and men look like in 2011 in North America?  And who in the church gets to decide these roles?

Learning about non-North Americans has revealed gender as a cultural construct. Biology still plays a role, but what is considered feminine here is often not the case outside North America.

I've shared details before from ethnographic studies.  Among the Mur­ik of Papua New Guinea, women and men are allowed to show aggression. Generally, Indonesian men are viewed as emotional and full of passion.  Women are thought to be more stable, rational thinkers who handle business transactions.

Looking briefly outside our North American context, we learn there is no one, universal definition of gender roles.  Biblical womanhood is expressed differently, depending on the church's cultural context.  Allowing husbands a "trump card" and barring women from leading men may seem absurd in some non-North American cultures.  

Although not all complementarians would agree, Mark Driscoll has said Paul's instructions resulted from women being "unfit," "more gullible and easier to deceive than men."  Driscoll also frequently describes women as emotional. 

Or, when North American Christians oppose anti-bullying measures because they eliminate gender roles, these Christians fail to explain why certain characteristics are male and others female, and to ground this explanation beyond our particular culture's assumptions about gender.  

I know a culture-less reading of Scripture isn't possible.  But perhaps we should more thoroughly look at how and why women and men appear to be different in our culture, and why they should act certain ways to be good Christians.  Perhaps the church should stop painting women and men with such broad brushstrokes.

Rather than marginalizing those who do not fit the North American mold of femininity and masculinity and who have not conformed to particular roles, could the church community make room for them?  As Joy Bennett wrote in a great post over at Deeper Story, "just because a woman's strengths don't fit the typical female patterns doesn't mean she doesn't fit into the body of Christ."

I wish the church would take a closer look at our definitions of masculinity and femininity.  Are they informed more by North American culture than anything else?  Humility on all sides would also be helpful, as it's pretty bold to think your interpretation of gender roles is precisely what God commanded, and questioning this interpretation disrespects the Bible and God's character.

I am left scratching my head when biblical gender roles just happen to match up with traditional twentieth-century North American gender roles, and that one exclusive group has decided to be the arbiter of these roles.  Let's take a closer look (and stop reviewing books before reading them), shall we?

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Rachel has apparently made little (if any) effort to figure out what the various commands she is supposedly implementing actually meant. No serious effort was being made, as far as I could tell, to truly translate into our day and time something that may have made perfect sense to people living in those conditions 3,000 years ago but leaves US scratching our heads. And so Rachel camps out, constructs sashes, and stands in front of the city limit signs with a placard saying what a great guy her husband is -- because the Bible supposedly says she should. I am left scratching my head at what anyone is supposed to learn from such antics. I will not be surprised if a number of people come away with their preconceptions confirmed about what an "outdated" book the Bible is -- and yet, what they will have read is probably not a serious analysis of the questions under consideration.

Christian Smith and biblicism: intellectual integrity and conversation starters

I recently started reading Christian Smith's The Bible Made Impossible: Why Biblicism Is Not a Truly Evangelical Reading of Scripture.  Due to heavy reading and writing demands this semester, I won't be able to finish the book anytime soon.  However, I still want to occasionally share interesting quotes and ideas from the book as I steal time to read it.  Besides, Scot McKnight posted at length about the book, and now Roger Olson is discussing it (Here is Olson's first installment and addendum, which I recommend as he touches on concerns I've had so far).

First, I had to double-check that this Christian Smith is the same person--a sociologist--who wrote one of the books I feel like I constantly refer to, Divided by Faith.  Turns out, he is, and it seems he brings a fresh, outsider-looking-in mindset to this debate.  Smith was actually an evangelical for years and has now converted to Catholicism, although he still considers himself an evangelical.  His position as a sociologist, as opposed to a Biblical scholar or theologian, brings a fresh perspective and interesting grasp on biblicism.

What is biblicism?  It's a theory that puts emphasis on the Bible's exclusive authority, perspicuity, self-sufficiency, internal consistency, self-evident meaning, and universal applicability.  I copied the ten specific factors of biblicism from McKnight's blog, which Smith sets out in the book:

1. Divine Writing: the Bible is identical to God’s own words.
2. Total representation: it is what God wants us to know, all God wants us to know (he quotes JI Packer here) in communicating the divine will to us.
3. Complete coverage: everything relevant to the Christian life is in the Bible.
4. Democratic perspicuity: reasonable humans can read the Bible in his or her language and correctly understand the plain meaning of the text.
5. Commonsense hermeneutic: again, plain meaning; just read it.
6. Solo [not sola] Scripture: we can read the Bible without the aid of creeds or confessions or historical church traditions.
7. Internal harmony: all passages on a given theme mesh together.
8. Universal applicability: the Bible is universally valid for all Christians, wherever and whenever.
9. Inductive method: sit down, read it, and put it together.
10. Handbook model: the Bible is handbook or textbook for the Christian life.

Smith's main contention is that the "biblicism that characterizes the thinking and practice of much of American evangelicalism is not so much "wrong" as it is impossible, even taken on its own terms.  It simply does not work as proposed and cannot function in a coherent way." (The Kindle version isn't showing page numbers for some reason, but I will try to update this with page numbers somehow - sorry!)  Its adherents have to resort to textual selectivity, denial, and contortion that violate biblicism's own intentions.  Biblicists engage in these practices in an unintentional, taken-for-granted way.

This practice has a lot to do with the "sociological process of maintaining safe identity boundaries and avoiding truly challenging intellectual arguments" than actually building a fervent faith and trust in God.  Sounds similiar to the notion of submission as Master Signifier, doesn't it?  

Biblicism creates problems for itself.  The Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy warns that the Bible's authority "is inescapably impaired if this total divine inerrancy is in any way limited or disregarded, or made relative to a view of truth contrary to the Bible's own; and such lapses bring serious loss to both the individual and the Church."  This sounds almost threatening to me.  Smith writes that the very same Bible that many insist is harmonious causes intelligent, sincere people to come up with many different interpretations.  This is called "pervasive interpretive pluralism."  So, "the actual functional outcome of the biblicist view of scripture belies biblicism's theoretical claims about the Bible."  Smith wants to address this flaw, in the interests of intellectual honesty and theological integrity, as we cannot ignore this disconnect.

One of the concerns that Olson brings up in his first post on the book is whether Smith has created a straw man, and is unfairly mixing together scholarly evangelical biblicism with folk religious biblicism.  However, Smith notes: "Biblicist leaders and scholars at reputable Christian denominations, seminaries, colleges, and parachurch ministries may dismiss or disdain the popular biblicism embodied in folk Christiantiy, but popular biblicist kitsch is the fruit of the larger biblicist culture that at least some of those leaders and scholars sustain."  There is still a shared, broad, cultural tradition of this type of epistemology, and the Bible's authority isn't a conversation ender, but rather a conversation starter.

Needless to say, I look forward to continuing The Bible Made Impossible to see what kinds of conversations we can start...

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Review of The End of Evangelicalism - Part 2: Inerrant Bible

This is part 2 of my review/discussion of David Fitch's book, The End of Evangelicalism.  Check out part 1 for an overview of the theory that Fitch appropriates from Slavoj Zizek.

One of evangelicalism's Master-Signifiers (conceptual objects to which we give our allegience, but in reality are empty at the core) is the belief in an inerrant Bible.  Commitment to a high view of Scripture is a defining characteristic of evangelicalism.  This belief gained traction during the fundamentalist-modernist debates in the 1920's and '30's, which eventually led to a split from mainline Protestants in reaction to higher criticism.  

It's worth noting, however, that the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy specifically denies that "inerrancy is a doctrine invented by scholastic Protestantism, or is a reactionary position postulated in response to negative higher criticism."  Regardless of the motives behind its origin, to be a good evangelical, one must suscribe to the belief in an inerrant Bible.  The Chicago Statement defines the term "inerrancy" as Fitch uses it, but it can be summarized as a belief in the Bible's authority because of its divine verbal inspiration by God, which is "historically, and in every other way, inerrant in every word" (p. 50).  Because every word conveys a propositional truth, a close reading of the Bible is encouraged, in attempts to somehow reach the original author's intent.  Or for us legal eagles, Evangelicals:Bible:: Scalia:Constitution.

As most evangelical institutions require a commitment to inerrancy, this belief has helped knit evangelicals together as a group.  But Fitch questions how this doctrine has actually shaped us as a people.  One of the characteristics of a Master-Signifier is its elusiveness, meaning it's difficult to pin down.  An inerrant Bible producing "one true interpretation" has been elusive for evangelicals.  Fitch says that inerrancy "is mocked each time another set of evangelical commentaries multiplies the possible interpretations for each text in the Bible" (p. 55).  Inerrancy as a more conceptual object, though, serves us well, as it helps to rally the troops against liberals (as objet petit a) who would deny the truth of the Bible.

Fitch also points out that the belief in an inerrant Bible does little in the way of unifying evangelicals in practice, because once you state you believe in inerrancy, no one can question the interpretation that results.  Thus, the belief holds factions that would otherwise have little in common.  Sadly, manipulating Scripture in this way prevents evangelicals from actually participating in and continuing the story that Scripture tells, because the church is too busy defending and upholding inerrancy.  

As far as irruptions of the Real, which are in-breakings that expose the emptiness of the Master-Signifier, Fitch points to the disagreement over the Chicago Conference on Errancy's stance on literal 7-day creation, and Hal Lindsey's failed apocalyptic predictions.  Through these overidentifications, inerrancy was shown to be "more about 'being right!' than a belief that we inhabit with our daily lives" (p. 59).  Fitch also points out that inerrancy is a device used to control the truth.

This chapter is loaded with gems and I can't do it justice with a single blog post.  Fitch's discussion of George W. Bush's actions during his presidency is golden.  

For me, fewer examples come to mind with inerrancy, because I've spent more time criticizing the other elements in Fitch's triumvirate: a Christian nation and a personal relationship with Christ.  However, I did notice that Al Mohler provided a great example in one of his recent posts, The Church and the 'Clobber Scriptures' - The Bible on Homosexuality.  Here, as a gatekeeper and controller-of-the-truth in his defense of inerrancy, Mohler refers to his usual objet petit a's: liberals and homosexuals.  

What if I'm called to be an anonymous Israelite?

Because it's a major part of the Sunday-school canon, I would repeatedly hear stories about God using Moses to free the hundreds of thousands of Israelites from slavery in Egypt.  The emphasis was on Moses, his calling, and how he overcame his speech impediment.  I learned about David, how he was the scrawniest out of his brothers, yet anointed King of Israel.  I learned about the Apostle Paul and his dramatic conversion story.  It wasn't all males, though.  I also learned about Esther, Ruth, and of course, Mary.  

The common theme was that each of them had a calling.  God had chosen to work through them to do his work.  The application was, and still is, that we too have a calling.  We're important, just like Moses and David and Mary, and need to figure out what we've been called to do, so we can do God's great work.  

I don't mean to sound cynical about a very valid tool that Christians use when we think about our profession or passion, but sometimes this whole "calling" business, to me, smacks of first-world self-centeredness, and I feel ambivalent about it.  I wonder about the 600,000 Israelites.  What if I'm called to a life as one of the many, forming bricks out of straw, as opposed to the thrilling life of a leader whom God uses to turn rods into snakes?  I think about the would-be victims of genocide in Esther's day.  Isn't it much more fun to think about being called to a life of an important queen who rescues her people?  

I don't have a problem with learning about and emulating those mentioned in Scripture.  But, when combined with the narcissism and comfort so entrenched in our culture, I've realized I tend to aggrandize this idea of a special calling.  I've assumed that I too will be the next Esther or Paul, to be remembered down through the ages.  

This hearkens back to the realization I had when we lost electricity for a while: it's the little, gritty, sacrificial things that make up the kingdom of God.  Perhaps my realization also applies to how I've viewed my calling and profession.  I'll admit, it's much easier for me to get excited about following Christ when it involves big, leadership-type, comfortable opportunities.  As a future attorney, my hope is that I would win an important case that would provide more dignity and rights to the least of these.  But would I be just as content if God intends for me to work anonymously, day-by-day, quietly helping those who need it most?  Hmm, that doesn't sound too glamourous.  Perhaps I could make the sacrifices and live like Mother Theresa and Shane Claiborne, but I sure wouldn't mind getting a book deal out of it as well!

What if I'm called to a life that wouldn't make a great Sunday-school story centuries from now?  Would I still want to pursue that calling?  Is even thinking about the concept of a calling a first-world luxury that would seem silly or pointless to my fellow Christians in the two-thirds world?  It all just seems very "me-centered."  Instead of asking "What am I called to do," I'm trying to ask "What does the Church need to do, and how can I join in?"  It's a shift from "me" to "we," and a dose of much-needed humility.  But parting the Red Sea is much more fun, isn't it?

Waving Bibles in each other's faces

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that the Bible has been used to both support and abolish slavery, oppress and liberate women, and promote and oppose war.  I shared how uncomfortable it makes me, as a progressive Christian, to read disturbing stories in the Bible and not know how to reconcile them.  I feel like I'm picking and choosing the parts of Scripture that appeal to me the most, while sweeping the dissonant parts under the rug.

This conflict becomes especially noticeable in American politics, and I'm sure we'll see more of it in the upcoming presidential election.  Sarah Posner, from Religion Dispatches, does an excellent job of pointing out how both sides of the political spectrum use the Bible, in her article, Paul Ryan’s Bible, Jim Wallis’, Or None of the Above?  Posner mentions that using the Bible for policy arguments has its limits and pitfalls, and, "When you wave a Bible in someone's face, just remember that someone can wave one in yours, too."

The 2012 election, unfortunately already being covered and re-covered in our 24-hour news cycles, will be my third presidential election as a "thinking Christian."  I know to watch for the code words that both sides use, and will be enthralled with the language, symbols, and other imagery that each candidate will invoke.  

But while I'm busy deconstructing phrases like "nanny state," "family values," or the scare words thrown around in the immigration debate, hopefully I can keep in mind that the Right isn't the only side who uses the Bible for their own gain.  The Left joins in the fun as well.  As Posner said, a representative from Catholics United tried to give Ayn-Rand-follower Paul Ryan a Bible with all of the verses supporting the poor bookmarked.

The cynical side of me sees both sides manipulating Scripture for their own purposes.  The idealistic side of me hopes we can transcend quoting Bible verses for political gain, and recognize this ancient collection of scrolls for the nuanced, polyvocal, confusing, and beautiful thing that it is.  I'm hoping my idealistic side wins out, but who has time for nuance in a 2-minute segment on CNN or in a televised presidential debate?

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From "Why me" to "I will follow"

Beal, in The Rise and Fall of the Bible, provides a clear description of the problem of theodicy:

Imagine the problem as a triangle: on one corner you have the belief that God is just; on the next you have the belief that God is all-powerful; on the third, you have the observation that people suffer unjustly.

It's a logical problem.  You can't hold the three corners of the triangle together.  So any solution to the problem of theodicy inevitably lops off one of them. (p. 160)

Some of us cut off the God-is-all-powerful corner, while others cut off the God-is-just corner.  Still others claim that no suffering is unjust.  

Beal notes that the Bible (remember, it's a collection/library) does not resolve theodicy.  Instead, it argues, wrestles, and explores different responses to it.  The texts end up "affirming the question over any and every solution" (p. 160).  Again, the Bible is not univocal, and we cannot reduce it as such.

Psalms 13 and 88, and Pharoah's hardened heart, stand in tension with the idea that God is always just.  This should rightly horrify us, and we feel the need to turn away.  These stories and outpourings to God cause discomfort, and so we seek reassurance.  But Beal points out:

[T]he psalm itself, indeed the Bible itself, doesn't turn away with us.  It stays with the voice of pain.  Even as it lingers in the hollow silence after Jesus' own lonely cry from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" [...] The library of the Bible has spaces to let suffering speak and be heard. (p. 161)

This way of looking at those troublesome passages of Scripture, and the troublesome suffering we experience today, is intriguing, but it still begs the question.  I still want to know why God would supposedly harden Pharoah's heart and render plagues the way She allegedly did.  The notion that humans are pawns in a cosmic game is disconcerting.

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Aside from my lingering concerns, though, the idea that the Bible doesn't seek to resolve the tension of theodicy is compelling.  Perhaps we shouldn't expect the Christian faith to resolve those tensions either.  In the same way that Beal criticizes the expectation that the Bible is an answer-book, I've realized that I'm expecting the Christian gospel to provide an answer to the theodicy problem.  

In demanding that my faith provide answers it perhaps was not designed to provide, and in turn rejecting this version of the faith, I do it a disservice.  Maybe what is repugnant to me is not the failure of Christianity to solve the theodicy issue once and for all, but at the heart of it, it's a failure of the expectations that I've imposed.

Will Willimon recently remarked on Bart Ehrman and theodicy in The Christian Century.  In the context of the recent tornados that pummeled the South, Willimon acknowledges the limits of explanation, but comments that an Ehrman-like rejection of Christianity is not the only option:

No one around me at those locations of terrible destruction asked, “Why me? Why God?” Most of them were too busy, drenched in sweat, and dust from the rubble to pause to engage in philosophical speculation. Their most persistent question was, “How can we do more to support and work for the victims?”

And that seems very Christian to me. Jesus was not a great philosopher who came with a set of noble precepts and brilliant ideals. Jesus never said, “Think about me.” Rather it was always, “Follow me!”

Jesus was among us as a victim of horrible injustice. He offered us few explications of suffering and injustice; he offered himself as fellow sufferer. As Hebrews says, Jesus not only came to us but suffered with us. He offered us not reasoned explanations but rather empathetic, life-giving presence with us. He gave us not a great way to think about tragedy but a way of acting in and through tragedy.

The mindset of the tornado survivors who turned around the "Why me" question strikes me as very powerful.  In my cerebral, analytical way, I have begged God, Scripture, and my faith community to please give me an answer in the face of global suffering and my very own personal nightmares.  

The very fact that I've had the luxury to stop and think about suffering, analyzing the why's every which way, is telling.  Just like those in the U.S. who have had their houses leveled, I doubt that those without clean water and enough food for their children around the world care which theodicy-triangle corner to lop off at the moment.  

Yes, I still definitely struggle with what Ehrman dubs "God's problem," and at this time I'm close to lopping off the God-is-all-powerful corner.  But Beal and Willimon have reminded me that Jesus calls us to follow him where we are.  Perhaps instead of spilling liters of ink and writing wordy blog posts on theodicy, we should subvert those questions.  We can't be expected to first solve all philosophical problems, or expect the gospel to solve them, before we begin to follow Jesus.