Reading Notes for Church History in Plain Language by Bruce L. Shelley

Shelley, Bruce L. Church History in Plain Language (Rev. ed. by R.L. Hatchett). Thomas Nelson, 2013.

Today, after two thousand years, Christianity is the faith, at least nominally, of one-third of the earth's population. . . . no other person in recorded history has influenced more people in as many conditions over so long a time as Jesus Christ. The shades and tones of his image seem to shift with the needs of men: the Jewish Messiah of the believing remnant, the Wisdom of the Greek apologist, the Cosmic King of the Imperial Church, the Heavenly Logos of the orthodox councils, the World Ruler of the papal courts, the monastic Model of apostolic poverty, the personal Savior of evangelical revivalists (517, 521).

By far the most accessible "Church History" book I have ever read. Shelley painted with a broad brush, but each chapter contains biographical material over theologians or religious leaders indicative to each of the "ages" of the Church. The final effect is a presentation that never feels thin like a watercolor wash, but rather it is as thick and topographic as Van Gogh. Due to the informative, personal element, this book reads far easier than most historical "surveys" might. I'm a fan of Shelley's integrated mini-biography pedagogy for presenting Church History: "Why so many personal stories? Again, the answer is communication. Without ignoring ideas, I have tried to wrap thoughts in personalities" (xii). There is a lot of "story" in this Church History, indeed.

Kudos to Shelley for his ability to present each side of a coin: presentation of the "Church", on the one hand, as society, as well as, on the other hand, the "Church" as individuals.

Church historians often ask, 'Is the church a movement or an institution?' These pages will show that I think it is both" (xii).

Where, after all, is true Christianity? In a sacramental institution, or in a self-denying lifestyle?" (215).

Shelley says, "I think it is both." I believe, however, that sometimes his personal bent towards one way over the other comes through. Certainly a Christian historian can think it is both ways, but that doesn't not mean the split is 50/50. Truly that would be a challenging wake to surf.

Sometimes I find Shelley's analysis questionable,  e.g., see page 358, Shelley describes the Protestant Reformation as hi-jacking ("shattering") traditional Christendom. To be fair, I know Shelley is pointing out the errors of deep-and-wide, contemporary Christian individualism, but (IMHO) it is erroneous to make a one-to-one correlation between the Reformation and Individualism. In effect, this makes one look back with a somewhat critical eye at the Reformation. (It is exactly how my undergrad *Protestant* Church History professor presented the Reformation: with a straight face and no qualifiers he essentially said the Reformation was a big mistake because of the subsequent denominational splintering, etc. Such presentations oversimplify the larger political and philosophical forces at play in the past 500 years.) Personally, I cannot relate to and unceasingly look sideways at Protestants complaining about the Reformation or the effects of the Reformation . . . the fallout and collateral damage of the Reformation are inconsequential compared to the primacy and necessity of the Church to reform when necessary and according to Scripture her witness to the Gospel. (I know this sounds like "the means justify the end", but we are talking about the Gospel! If the Church has to be temporarily- temporally-divided while we all wait for our RC and EO brothers to get in tune with the Kingdom of Heaven, well, then so be it.)

Moving on, there is a bizarre critique of Pilgrim's Progress in the section on "The Age of Global Expansion and Relocation 1900--". Just to clarify, in the Foreword the revised edition's editor, R.L. Hatchett, said he "added information" to that section, so I am not sure if the Bunyan critique was original-Shelley or sans-Shelley via Hatchett. However, Hatchett does say, "There are minor alterations throughout, but I wished to honor Shelley's personal imprints upon every page" (ix). Regardless of whether it is Shelley or Hatchett, the following statement poo-pooing Bunyan's great work makes me frown.

The Christianity that grew most rapidly in North America, and that has been most widely embraced in the Global South, was voluntary. In North America it also emphasized personal, individual conversion. Americans embraced Bunyan, whose Pilgrim's Progress (1678) both illustrates and proliferates a Christianity that focuses upon the Christian life of the individual. Bunyan does not abandon Puritanism, yet his story has the effect of communicating that Christianity was a matter of an individual conversion and pilgrimage. In the revivals and awakenings that shaped American religion, the emphasis again fell upon conversion of the individual. Sometimes this emphasis is received in the global churches despite their more communal and collective orientation (500).

 I do not believe that Pilgrim's Progress has that effect, or if it does, it can't be in a more meaningful way than any other classic book that "focuses upon the Christian life of the individual", e.g., Augustine's Confessions, Thomas Merton's The Seven Storey Mountain, C.S. Lewis' Surprised by Joy, etc. In any case, as I said earlier, Shelley said "Where, after all, is true Christianity? In a sacramental institution, or in a self-denying lifestyle?" (215). Shelley thought it was in both. Believing that he did a good job writing a church history that accounted for both via historical prose with the inter-weaved mini-biographies. Compared to how enjoyable and informative this book is, personally being tweaked is insignificant. 

Bruce Shelley on Christianity and Jesus Christ

"Today, after two thousand years, Christianity is the faith, at least nominally, of one-third of the earth's population. . . . no other person in recorded history has influenced more people in as many conditions over so long a time as Jesus Christ. The shades and tones of his image seem to shift with the needs of men: the Jewish Messiah of the believing remnant, the Wisdom of the Greek apologist, the Cosmic King of the Imperial Church, the Heavenly Logos of the orthodox councils, the World Ruler of the papal courts, the monastic Model of apostolic poverty, the personal Savior of evangelical revivalists" (Bruce L. Shelley, Church History in Plain Language (Rev. ed. by R.L. Hatchett), 517, 521).

The Proto-Creed of Christian Music

"We find the beating heart of Christian experience not in the church's creed but in its music" (Bruce L. Shelley, Church History In Plain English, 117).

Fellowship with the Divine

"Salvation for the early church was about more than going to heaven; it was about being united in communion with God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit had to be divine to include us and make us ready to share in the already existing divine fellowship. We would not be made into God or equal to God, but we must be transformed to belong to the rich, eternal communion that awaits Christians. . . . Early Christians saw their destiny as being included into fellowship of the triune God" (Bruce L. Shelley, Church History In Plain English, 112).

The Church is the New Israel because Jesus is the New Israel

The gospel writers picture Jesus as retracing the steps of Israel. Reminiscent of Israel, Jesus spent time in Egypt, entered the Jordan (baptism), was tempted in the wilderness, called twelve apostles (like twelve tribes), spoke God's word like Moses (Sermon on the Mount), preached five sermons (compare the Pentateuch) in Matthew, performed mighty deeds of deliverance (sings, wonders, and exorcisms), and confronted imperial powers. Where Israel had failed, Jesus had been a faithful Son. His followers were to take up the task of being God's servant people. He worked with a faithful band of disciples, he taught them about life in what he called "the kingdom of God," and he introduced them to the new covenant that bound them together in forgiveness and love" (Bruce L. Shelley, Church History in Plain Israel, 4).

Reading Notes: The Spreading Flame by F.F. Bruce

Bruce, F.F. The Spreading Flame: The Rise and Progress of Christianity from its First Beginnings to the Conversion of the English. 1958. Reprint. Paternoster Press, 1981.

I have read a handful of books by F.F. Bruce (New Testament History, Acts commentaries), this book was equally good. Also, generally speaking, I appreciate Bruce's straightforward style of writing.

This book traces the growth of the Church from its inception until the 8th century. During this historical survey Bruce time and time again clearly depicts the context for each of the episodes he visits, e.g., the correlation between the Roman peace of Augustus' reign and Paul's words in Galatians 4:4, "when the fullness of time came, God sent forth his Son" illustrates how the world was both politically and religiously primed for the advent of the gospel (p. 24); the interlocutory Church Orthodox through its Ecumenical Councils vis-à-vis internal heretical pressures (Chapters 25-26, 31-33; particularly Chapter 33, titled Defining the Faith, which discusses the dialogue on the nature and persons of the Trinity between the Orthodox and heretical groups, i.e., Marcionism, the Monarchian schools, Docetism, Sabellianism, etc.).

Bruce's subject matter is separated into three parts, which, I believe, in Bruce’s estimation could be called “The Good, The Bad, and The Slightly Better”: Part I covers the Good of the "The Dawn of Christianity" until the destruction of Jerusalem (AD 1-70); Part II covers the Bad of the "The Growing Day" that rose out of Jerusalem's destruction at the advent and reign of Constantine (AD 70-313); and Part III covers the Slightly Better rising of the "Light in the West" with the English conversion (AD 313-800). In each of these three volumes, Bruce is at his strongest when giving simple descriptions that create a context for understanding the spreading flame of Church History.

In this historical retrospect, descriptions of Christian evangelism and Church growth were particularly compelling, i.e., without being sinfully detached or unemotional Bruce aptly avoids sensationalism in his retelling of Christianity's growth and the positive, liberating, and meaningful change it brought to pagan cultures, e.g., Christian mercy-ministries (pp. 189-190) and Christianization that was cataclysmic for the revision of existent law-code (p. 401). While reading this book I was reminded of David Bentley Hart's thesis in Atheist Delusions, a book "chiefly about the early church" and the revolutionary reality of the "triumph of Christianity." Similarly, Bruce's historical rendering of Church History as the metaphorical “Spreading Flame” plots out in an episodic fashion that same Christian triumph, albeit without the more provocative stylism of contemporary scholars, e.g., Hart, Peter Leithart's Deep Comedy, and Robert Louis Wilken's The Spirit of Early Christian Thought. Compared to said contemporary authors Bruce feels dry and dusty.

As an aside: I would never go to Bruce to resolve a theology question, however, if I am simply trying to understand what the Biblical text says or what actually did occur historically, then he is on the top of my list. Bruce is great for explanation, but Bruce is lousy for implication/application. Also, I know folks have actively debated whether it is best and/or accurate to consider Bruce a "liberal conservative" or a "conservative liberal", but I have to admit that I think that entire debate is tragically flawed. Unfortunately, when the debate is framed like that, it turns the debate into an argument between "kinds" rather than "types". To me that is criminal; Bruce is (in my humble opinion) intrinsically conservative when it comes to the discipline of Biblical Criticism. Why do I say that? Because Bruce first and foremost considered the New Testament documents to be historical, and the historicity of the New Testament and its message is exactly the rub between Biblical conservatives and liberals. The "Postscript" to this book is rather self-revealing of Bruce: he states, "For Part I the main source-book is the New Testament. An evaluation of the historical quality of its contents may be found in my inquiry Are the New Testament Documents Reliable? (first published in 1943)." Bruce continues with the expected scholarly posturing, briefly mentioning the value of Josephus' writings and Roman historian Tacitus, but I would love to read contemporary scholars who could echo Bruce on that first point.

Moving on, a repeated theme in the book is Bruce's contention that “Christianity was organized for catastrophe” (p. 288). Bruce notes:

The story of the Christian Church of the first three centuries is largely a commentary on this [Christ’s promise of triumph to those who persevere]. In the fiercest of tribulations Christianity proved its capacity for survival, and not for mere survival but for actual victory. And the victory was won by spiritual weapons alone. . . . We review the history of Christianity up to the year 313 with no sense of shame, but with a sense that here is something to evoke gratitude and inspire courage. The qualities that triumphed then are the qualities which still transmute disaster into victory (p. 289).

By this bold and epigrammatic statement Bruce points to the fact that Christianity in its beginnings is characterized by the fact that Jesus himself did not mince words regarding the looming opposition the disciples would be faced with. The disciples, however, had been given the promise of triumph, thus, after the complete reversal-and-inversion of the thought-to-be-disaster that was the Cross, all subsequent disasters and even death itself had been debilitated and turned upside down and inside out.

This is a helpful hermeneutic for any Christian Historian who is faced with trying to trace the Spiritual growth of the Invisible Church while at the same time giving proper merit to the growth of the Visible Church. Bruce quotes Dean Inge favorable: “The real history of Christianity is the history of a great spiritual tradition. The only true apostolical succession is the lives of the saints” (161). Thus, during his presentation of Church History post- AD 313, Bruce laments much of history of the Visible Church, nearly chalking some episodes up as none other than secular history. Interestingly, I think Bruce’s personality comes through the clearest at these subtle points where his opinion pokes through his straightforward style, e.g., “Where church leaders were able to exercise political as well as spiritual authority, they did not enjoy any marked immunity from the universally corrupting tendency of power—a tendency which presents an even more displeasing spectacle in Christians than it does in other people, because it clashes so with the first principles of Christianity” (293).

Yet, Bruce is no simpleton. He properly understood that it was impossible (and just plain wrong) to attempt to talk about the Invisible Church without referent to the Visible Church. He says, “But the difficulty of the would-be historian is this: it is relatively easy to trace the fortunes of a visible institution, whereas the course of a great spiritual tradition is much more elusive. And yet, the two are so closely interwoven that it is impossible to treat of the one without constant reference to the other” (p. 161). This made me thing of how there are always two types of network topologies: there are physical topologies (physical/literal telecommunication cable runs, connecting circuits from Point A to Point B) and there are virtual topologies (diagrams the logical/virtual flow of data across/through the interconnections of a physical topology).

After gritting his teeth in Part II, while reflecting on the post-Constantine imperial decline and its co-occurrence with barbarian invasions, Bruce highlights how a Church “organized for catastrophe” once again thrived. The Church took the “handicaps of that kind . . . in its stride, showing once again that it was organized for catastrophe and never revealed its true qualities better than in times of general disaster” (p. 417).

I find Bruce to be helpful. Church History is a messy affair, but this book was a good reminder that Christians should be cautious not to collapse the token of the Visible Church into the Invisible Church or vice-versa, e.g., Bruce says, “but the genuine spirit of Christ is sometimes to be found in unlikely quarters. That, after all, is what we might expect when we consider that Christ Himself was regarded as scarcely orthodox either in belief or in practice by the leaders of His own religious community” (p. 417). A good reminder, indeed.

History of Liturgy

Helpful essay on historiography/liturgical history. From the essay's conclusion:

The point of this tour through liturgical historiography is to demonstrate that what many people typically mean when they speak of the liturgy of “the early church” is actually a historically-contingent sample from a span of about four or five hundred years, beginning with, rather than climaxing in, the fourth century. This sort of observation does not tell us whether a certain liturgical form is good or bad, nor even better or worse, but what it does do is place the entire discussion firmly in the realm of human law, tentative investigation, and, thus eventually, prudential application.

As the saying goes: In Essentials Unity - In Non-Essentials Liberty - In All Things Charity.

Church History

"If we take seriously the Pauline conceptions of the Christian Church as the Body of Christ, then Church History may be regarded as the continuation of the story of Jesus. That is to say, Jesus, who began to act and teach on earth in the years immediately preceding A.D. 30, has continued to act and teach since that year by His Spirit in his servants; and the history of Christianity ought to be the history of what He has been doing and teaching in this way down to our own times--a continuous Acts of the Apostles. But this is not how Church history is usually viewed or presented. There is much truth in the words of the late Dean Inge:

The real history of Christianity is the history of a great spiritual tradition. The only true apostolic succession is the lives of the saints. Clement of Alexandria compared the Church to a great river, receiving affluents from all sides. The great river sometimes flows impetuously through a narrow channel; sometimes it spreads like a flood; sometimes it divides into several streams; sometimes, for a time, it seems to have been driven underground. But the Holy Spirit has never left himself without witness; and if we will put aside a great deal of what passes for Church history, and is really a rather unedifying branch of secular history, and follow the course of the religion of the Spirit and the Church of the Spirit, we shall judge very differently of the relative importance of events from those who merely follow the fortunes of institutionalism (W. R. Inge, Things New and Old, pp. 57f).

"But the difficulty for the would-be historian is this: it is relatively easy to trace the fortunes of a visible institution, whereas the course of a great spiritual tradition is much more elusive. And yet, the two are so closely interwoven that it is impossible to treat of the one without constant reference to the other" (F.F. Bruce, The Spreading Flame, 161).

The German-Reformation

Below are a loose collection of thoughts, some talking points (largely dependent/derived from J. W. Nevin's History and Genius of the Heidelberg Catechism) from a short, high-overview talk that I gave about the German-Reformation at our church's annual Reformation Celebration.

1. The Reformation was not something that flared up overnight; it had been developing within the Roman Catholic Church for some time, e.g., Wycliffe - "the Morning Star of the Reformation" - was born nearly two-hundred years before Luther nailed his Ninety-Five Theses on the door at Wittenberg. Nevin calls the Middle Ages the "womb" of the Reformation; he says that the Church, by God's Spirit, gave birth to the Reformation. 
2. Because the Reformation was something birthed in the Church by God's Spirit, Nevin says, "[Luther and the other Reformers] did not make the Reformation. The Reformation made them."
3. Because the Reformation was something that God' Spirit was birthing within the church, we cannot say the Reformation was bound only to Germany (although German was the "proper cradle of the Reformation"). This was a movement that occurred across the board, i.e., in France, Switzerland, the Netherlands, England, Scotland, etc.
4. The "Reformed Church" found its initial distinction through opposition to Roman Catholicism in France; there it first known as the "Catholic Church Reformed" - in time it became a "technical term", a form of nomenclature that distinguished it from both Lutheranism and Romanism.
5. "The Reformed Church was the national Protestantism of Switzerland, France, Netherlands, Scotland and England, and eventually the German Palatinate (South-Western Germany)."
6. The Catechism of the Palatinate (aka - Heidelberg Catechism) was chiefly written by Zacharius Ursinus, who was trained at Wittenberg by Luther's successor (Melanchthon).
7. Heidelberg Catechism was "eagerly accepted by other Reformed Synods", e.g., Synod of Dort included the Catechism as one of the Three Forms of Unity, and even now its acceptance and use are widespread. 

Ignatius and Art of Dying

Ignatius was the Bishop of Antioch in Syria. He was arrested and led to Rome to be executed around 110 A.D. During his travels from Syria to Rome he wrote several letters to Christian churches. The following excerpt is from his letter to the Roman churches.

His captors were brutal; Ignatius says they "only get worse the better you treat them." Ignatius knows they will feed him to lions/beasts when he arrives in Rome.

Reflecting on this, Ignatius says, "Now is the moment I am beginning to be a disciple. May nothing seen or unseen begrudge me making my way to Jesus Christ. Come fire, cross, battling with wild beasts, wrenching of bones, mangling of limbs, crushing of my whole body, cruel tortures of the devil -- only let me get to Jesus Christ!" (Quotations from Early Christian Fathers, edited and translated by Cyril C. Richardson (Volume I: The Library of Christian Classics), pages 104-105, in William C. Placher's Readings in the History of Christian Theology, Volume 1, 18.)

Lordship of Christ and the Christian Future

Philip Schaff reflecting on God's hand of providence in the midst of Heathenism:

Greece gave the apostles the most copious and beautiful language to express the divine truths of the Gospel, and Providence had long before so ordered political movements as to spread that language over the world and to make it the organ of civilization and international intercourse, as the Latin was in the middle ages, as the French was in the eighteenth century, and as the English is coming to be in the nineteenth (History of the Christian Church, vol. 1, 77).

Before Christ (BC)

God providentially used heathen empires and languages of olden times to prepare man for Jesus Christ. All of Western history and culture, i.e., Mesopotamia, Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Sparta and Athens; Grecian epics, lyrical poetry, and dramas; the rise of Rome, etc., was a tool in the hand of God, preparing the sons of Adam for Jesus Christ. Schaff says, "In Judaism the true religion is prepared for man; in heathenism man is prepared for the true religion" (58).

Anno Domini (AD)

Christ came. Christ ascended and now rules at the right hand of the Father. And Christ used the events of AD history, i.e., fall of Rome and Romish and Byzantium schism; 7th-10th century Islamic growth and development of medieval civilization; economic, technological, and political European transformations and the Renaissance; Protestant reformation and Western expansion; etc. and etc., for , as Schaff said, the "gradual diffusion of his spirit and progress of his kingdom."

Christian Approach to the Future

So, if we want to craft a Christian approach to the future, then we need to remember that Christ is King and is using the events of AD history to push his Kingdom into the corners and the shadows of this world. But how do you think and live if that is the approach you are trying to take? Well, here are a couple examples:

1) International Economies

Christ is using international economies to subdue the world, even when the captains of those international economies are tyrants. Eventually those tyrants are going to be overthrown, but in the meantime Christ is using them as a tool to cultivate the world, and from those figurative fields the Lord will grow and feed his Church.

2) Internet

The Internet is an incredible vehicle for delivering stuff. The glorious thing about the Internet is that it is an infrastructure that is both ubiquitous and flexible, e.g., you can get nearly everything (audio, video, text) anywhere (via wireline, WiFi, Satellite, etc., communication channels). The Internet is a powerful tool that Christ is leveraging for expanding his Kingdom, e.g., with the click of a finger you can send the entire writings of the Ante-Nicene, Nicene, and Post-Nicene Fathers to a village in middle of the Congo. And parallel to the Internet is technology in general: you can smuggle all the Western Christian classics and multiple translations of the Bible into Communistic countries on itty-bitty SD cards. Boom Shakalaka!!!

3) Cities

Cities are growing and growing and growing and growing, and even though lots of cities are bastions for sin (read: NY, LA, etc.), have faith that God is shoving people into cities for a reason. I thinks that when God begins to pour out his Spirit of revival and renewal there is going to be a lot of (positive) collateral damage, merely because of the fact that God has shoved a whole lot of humans into cities. My best guess is that it will look like the revolution that took place when the early church grew in the midst of Roman paganism: back then there was a lot of "positive" collateral damages, e.g., God's common grace was dispersed through the mercy ministries of the church: through the creation of orphanages, and care and dignity was given to the sick and infirm; also, a great many abandoned babies were saved and given homes, etc. On the front-end, all of that revival and renewal requires sustained prayer, so that the church is prepared and made-ready. That way when the moment comes all of us are ready to roll-up-our-sleeves and jump in! But on the back-end, it is going to be so cool to see God's Spirit poured out that we're going to want to crack a beer and just bask in the enjoyment of watching the glory of widespread-revival. But I digress.

The thing to remember in the midst of all this optimism is that Christ does not convert the nations at the edge of a sword. Christ uses AD history for the "gradual diffusion of his spirit and expansion of his kingdom,"  but he uses it after the specific pattern exemplified by himself and his Church: it is the pattern of peaceful martyr and witness. Christ didn't march into Jerusalem armed to the teeth, rather he peacefully rode into that city, all the while knowing he would be crucified as a martyr. God raised Christ from the dead, so the church follows the example of Christ. The church knows that God brings life out of death, therefore, the church has always been an optimistic witness of the efficaciousness of martyrdom.

Historiography: Christian Approach to History in One Sentence

"The history of mankind before his [Jesus Christ] birth must be viewed as preparation for his coming, and the history after his birth as a gradual diffusion of his spirit and progress of his kingdom" (Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, vol. 1, 57).

God Frustrating the Pagans

"It was the particularity of biblical faith that frustrated paganism: this God, this elect people, in this time and place. The typical pagan would (and still does) find such a restriction on sacred manifestation offensive. Still scandalous is the notion that God reveals himself as our Savior in the history of redemption through Jesus Christ and not just anywhere we happen to look for him" (Michael Horton, A Better Way: Rediscovering the Drama of God-Centered Worship, 41).

Christian Presence

"In the fourth century, with the conversion of the emperor Constantine to Christianity and the steady growth of the church, the relation of Christianity to the society underwent a gradual but momentous transformation. Constantine introduced laws that made Sunday a day of rest, thereby creating a new calendar and reordering the life of society to make space for Christian worship. He advanced legislation that discouraged the exposure of infants by indigent parents and saw to it that the public fisc would provide food and clothing to rear abandoned children. He built churches, not only in the new Christian city of Constantinople and the old capital, Rome, but also in Jerusalem, a city that would acquire potent symbolic significance in the public consciousness. As these new buildings displaced the temples built by former emperors the plan of cities began to reflect the presence of Christianity in the life of the empire. The most prominent public building became the church, and to this day one will find a church on the central public square of European cities" (Robert Louis Wilken, The Spirit of Early Christian Thought: Seeking the Face of God, 199-200).

American Eschatology: Nationalist Typology That Infused American Rhetoric and Damaged Catholicity

"By the time of the Revolution, the residual ecclesial sensibility among the original Puritans had nearly vanished. A sense of national unity was strengthened by the Great Awakening and the French and Indian Wars, and the possibility that the church might function as a counterweight to national sentiment or state power was drowned in waves of revivals, each of which further damaged the catholicity of American Christianity" (Peter J. Leithart, Between Babel and Beast: America and Empires in Biblical Perspective, 72).

Book Review: John Calvin's American Legacy - Conclusion: John Calvin at "Home" in American Culture

Chapter 11 review here. Chapter 10 review here. Chapter 9 review here. Chapter 8 review here. Chapter 7 review here. Chapter 6 review here. Chapter 5 review here. Chapter 4 review here. Chapter 3 review here. Chapter 2 review here. Chapter 1 review here. Introduction review here. Initial thoughts here.

Thomas J. Davis, who edited this book, pens the final ado; it is an apt conclusion and he does it in just under four pages to boot! Kudos to Davis for writing a real conclusion; kudos for not giving in to the temptation of penning a verbose editorial tome.

In the Introduction, Davis stated that "the point of this book is that, despite all of the changes and challenges; despite Calvinism's ultimate failure to hold the American consciousness . . . the fact remains that Calvinism in America has had an impact on American society and culture in every century, even if at times it has gone unrecognized. And behind Calvinism stands Calvin" (11). This book has certainly pointed that very thing out; each of the authors has provided an excellent article highlighting Calvin's significance and the permanence of Calvin's legacy in America, a legacy that has made its mark upon American culture, theology, and literature.

Davis' "short conclusion" utilizes the work of Marilynne Robinson--whose "attempt to restore Calvin to a place in the American consciousness free from stereotypes" (13) is a perfect capstone to the proceeding eleven chapters. Davis examines several works by Robinson and quickly tells how she has put forth the effort to have Calvin "reinsert[ed] . . . into the cultural conversation," displaying her "concern for the dignity and well-being of the human creature in Calvin's thought--and the thoughts of his heirs--that could well serve as a bulwark against the dehumanizing and depersonalizing forces of the modern world" (268). In Robinson's work, which oftentimes meditates on the relations between fathers, families, and friends, the "house" and "home" are landscape-ish, they function as the perfect context and backdrop within which to best display Calvin and Calvinism. Davis echoes Robinson's artistic imagination, concurring that: 

Calvinism wrapped up in family rather than abstraction appears more genuinely human and, thus, acceptable. Perhaps through the work of Robinson, it will be easier to think of John Calvin and Calvinism as being at home in the American consciousness--as one of many influences that should have a recognized seat at the family table of American traditions (270). 

Book Review: John Calvin's American Legacy – Chapter 11 – Cold Comforts: John Updike, Protestant Thought, and the Semantics of Paradox

Chapter 10 review here. Chapter 9 review here. Chapter 8 review here. Chapter 7 review here. Chapter 6 review here. Chapter 5 review here. Chapter 4 review here. Chapter 3 review here. Chapter 2 review here. Chapter 1 review here. Introduction review here. Initial thoughts here.

Kyle A. Pasewark opens his article on Protestant/Calvinistic thought and author John Updike with a zinger of an observation: “Americans are not a people whose palates are sensitive to the taste of paradox.” Pasewark, unflinchingly, elaborates:

The strong and unambiguous flavors of progressivism, optimism, pessimism—all, in their way, opposites of paradox—are more our style, and we prefer them laid on a plate, or at the buffet stand, clearly distinguished [emphasis CCS] from one another so that we can have one flavor at a time rather than components stacked upon each other or flavors melded to confront us with first salty, then sweet, then both together (257).

If that doesn't make you twinge, then consider the weight of Pasewark's additional observation that Americans, precisely because of their Protestant heritage, ought to have a more developed palate:

This American preference is a little bit unexpected, since the United States is often portrayed—and portrays itself—as a “Christian nation,” and one would think that the key Christian and, even more, the central Protestant category of “paradox” would fare a little better in American culture, that “paradox” would be a word that one hears more frequently (257).

I must interject with affirmation: I rarely hear the word “paradox” when I am out-and-about. For example, I never hear the word “paradox” when I am at the grocery store in the north-most part of the Bible Belt, that is, in Warsaw/Winona Lake, Indiana, both cities with rich and deep heritage in American Revivalism—only miles form my residence is a Monument/Sanctuary dedicated to celebrating Billy Sunday's life and work; and I never hear the word paradox when I am at work where I am employed by a Fortune 500 Company and where I interact with co-workers in markets spread out across 27 of the States . . . okay, that is not accurate, I have heard one individual use the term “paradox” but that was only once in the past two and half years—in that instance “paradox” was a word in cliché phrase he used to describe an intermittent network issue we were troubleshooting, so that doesn't really count. I have only heard the word “paradox” used regularly in Wesleyan-Armenian circles during my days at university (Indiana Wesleyan University, Marion, IN), and then after college in Reformed – G. K. Chesterton-reading-and-chronically-quoting circles, which I now call home, that is, within the Communion of Reformed Evangelical Churches (CREC). All of that to simply say, Pasewark is correct—Americans are not a people whose palates are sensitive to the taste of paradox.

Pasewark strings together a collection of zingers like pearls on a necklace in the first 3 or 4 pages of his article. He says, “Nowhere is the American preference for the directness of the nonparadoxical more in evidence than in the American understanding of freedom.” He then goes on to dismantle the uncouthness of how most Americans think about freedom, for we, I mean Americans, “do not approach these contradictions [our use of freedom to indicate many things that we believe are all “good” but are in fact contradictory] as contradictions but as modalities of the same thing” (257). Pasewark, again, shows that Americans are not as sophisticated as we would like to think we are.

These comments prep the ground for Pasewark's ensuing excavation, examining the “cold comforts” of John Updike, Protestant Thought, and the Semantics of Paradox. Pasewark begins with two premises: 1) “paradox is the fabric of John Updike's fiction” (258), and 2) “the classic doctrine of election is paradoxical” (259). To understand the latter premise Pasewark reminds his audience, “one's election [is] the condition for freedom, not its eradication” (259). Pasewark then goes into a couple examinations of characters from John Updike's writings to illustrate what happens when people with nonparadoxical understandings of freedom worship freedom (like Americans often do), “as seekers of freedom, his major characters ask for nothing more than to be alone, but they still require others, and though they begin by demanding freedom, they become ugly dominators of others and, ultimately, self-destructive as well” (260). This perverse and bizarre nonparadoxical freedom is their highest good and becomes their religion, and as Pasewark comments, this type of freedom is “asocial and apolitical” (262). Pasewark also notes:

This lack of political consciousness is not a weakness in Updike's work but an expression of his characters' deepest American contemporaneousness. For them, too, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are personal, not social (263).

Pasewark follows up this thought with an additional comment, “This, too, is a reversal and cancellation of Calvinistic Protestantism from Geneva through the Puritans,” which means when you try to create a just society with men and women who live with the effects of their death nature and the sin of their federal head Adam, “the actualization of social and political life is not ecstatic but effortful” (263). This is why freedom is paradoxical—one's election is the condition for freedom, for effort, for labor, etc., and it will be fruitful, productive. Contrast that with a nonparadoxical freedom, which, according to Pasewark, “devours not only itself but also the others whom it touches” (263).

Paswark then turns his eyes to the contemporary and provides examples of this naughty “freedom” running wild within American Republical political party (e.g. George W. Bush, activities of the CIA of late, etc.) and the resultant destructiveness. Bad “freedom is bad for people, personally, but also corporately, by that I mean bad “freedom” is bad for society. Personal and social havoc occurs when paradox is not the calibrating instrument of freedom, however, Pasewark tries to leave his audience with a hopeful thought:

. . . just how far from Calvin's view of freedom and government “this great roughly rectangular country severed from Christ by the breadth of the sea” has come. We can hope, however, that the full glory of the ultimate destructiveness of the nonparadoxical understanding of freedom is now clear to us, and perhaps the way is clear for a conception of freedom that is both paradoxical and political (265).

Book Review: John Calvin's American Legacy – Chapter 10 - “Jonathan Edwards, Calvin, Baxter & Co.”: Mark Twain and the Comedy of Calvinism

Chapter 9 review here. Chapter 8 review here. Chapter 7 review here. Chapter 6 review here. Chapter 5 review here. Chapter 4 review here. Chapter 3 review here. Chapter 2 review here. Chapter 1 review here. Introduction review here. Initial thoughts here.

Joe B. Fulton serves up an article piping hot with Twainian wit and comic relief that is, refreshingly, tossed with a respectable amount of sobriety. The article's sub-heading comes from a comment by Twain:

In modern times the halls of heavens are warmed by registers connected with hell--& it is greatly applauded by Jonathan Edwards, Calvin, Baxter, & Co. because it adds a new pang to the sinner's sufferings to know that the very fire which tortures him is the means of making the righteous comfortable (240).

Early on Fulton comments, “Twain delights in putting Calvinist definitions in the mouths of characters such as drunken miners and Satan” (241), but don't let observations like this mislead you in to thinking that Fulton is leveraging Mark Twain's literary legacy merely to bash him some Calvin. In fact, quite the opposite is at play.

Fulton argues that the “contribution” by Calvin(ism) to American literature has been (largely) misunderstood, e.g., “its [the contribution of Calvinism to American literature] influence is tracked inversely: American literature terminates, thrives, then flowers precisely as it sheds the dead husk of Calvinism in which it had been entombed” (242), and Fulton decries these literary histories written during the early twentieth century, the proponents of hasty inversion.

Contrarily, Fulton argues throughout his article that Mark Twain was “more alike than different” those men who contributed to the Calvinistic “husk” frowned upon by the early twentieth century literary historians, and that instead of being mere husk, “Jonathan Edwards, Calvin, Baxter, & Co.,” because they “[both Calvinist theology and Mark Twain] shared a theological vocabulary, metaphysical assumptions, and a view of God as sovereign. Their disagreements were substantial, but Mark Twain and the Calvinists were partners in the same enterprise” (253), is proof that Calvinism was a contributing (perhaps even a determinable) element of that savory kernel which is Twain's comic voice. (Fulton provides plenty of examples from Twain's catalog, both fiction and non-fiction, in support of his argument.)

Fulton is rather astute in all of this, and mentions, “Twain's criticism of Edwards and Calvinism is so compelling because it is a disagreement among writers who share most of the same fundamental theological conceptions” (252). This is invaluable for understanding the contributory-relationship between Calvin(ism) and American literature. It is, however, important to note that Fulton acknowledges that Twain's Calvinism is a “twisted version of Calvinist theology” (252), but this outlook only reinforces Fulton's argument that Twain was not merely dismissing Calvinism as an author within the American literary tradition but took it seriously.

In interacting with Calvinistic theology, Twain's wit and comedy was a true and serated edge, however, he is a far cry from the “shock and awe” which characterizes a villain from contemporary slasher/horror film—Twain's slashes are purposeful, calculated, like the creative activity of the Triune God of Calvinistic Theology--Twain's slashes are not random. This means, as Fulton says, “Twain's grappling with Calvinism is earnest” (245).

My thoughts: I enjoyed this article. I have not read anything by Twain since middle school (and what I read at that time were the three or four classics), but Fulton has inspired to me to “take up and read” Twain, again. A lazy Saturday may be on the horizon, and, if so, then I feel that I may read me some Tom Sawyer.

Book Review: John Calvin's American Legacy - Chapter 8 - "Strange Providence": Indigenist Calvinism in the Writings of Mohegan Minister Samson Occom (1723-1792)

Chapter 7 review here. Chapter 6 review here. Chapter 5 review here. Chapter 4 review here. Chapter 3 review here. Chapter 2 review here. Chapter 1 review here. Introduction review here. Initial thoughts here.

This is the first chapter from Part III, concerning Calvin's legacy in American letters. Denise T. Askin is the author, and she provides a thorough and thoughtful analysis of both published and unpublished writings (sermons, sermon notes, journals and personal reflections, etc.) by Samson Occom, who lived during the eighteenth-century and was an Indian and an ordained Presbyterian minister.

Occom is a fascinating character, and equally fascinating is, as Askin refers to it, his "Indigenist Calvinism". But the true jewel of captivation in this article is Askin's careful attention to the literary nuances found on the fruitful pages preserved from both Occom's pen and pulpit. Askin analyzes that literary fruit, and presents in a concise, well structured article the unique style and voice resident in the writings of Occom, the Calvinist Native American. Also, she provides abundant examples of the literary tools put to good use by Occom in his writings, e.g., his use of "irony and Pauline paradox" -- what Askin refers to as "earnest irony"-- and prophetic voice, which "Measuring Christian society by its own standard--the gospel--Occom finds it wanting" (210).

After inspecting Occom's sermon style, she then "[traces] the scripture-based narrative that Occom evolved over a lifetime to unify his responsibilities and his identity as both Native American and Christian," a two-fold narrative which emphasized, on the one hand, the Creation account, that is, the Genesis narrative, and, on the other hand, the narrative of "Isaiah's prophecy of the regeneration of Israel"; Occom emphasized this over the archetypal Calvinistic narrative--the "covenant narrative". Askin points to this practice in order to illustrate Occom's indigenist Calvinism, which she believes "[served] a typological purpose as significant for the continuance of his people [Native Americans] as Exodus was for the Jews and the errand into the wilderness was for the earliest Calvinists of New England.

To conclude, Askin says,

Occom's writings reveal that he, like the Puritans, also looked through the lens of scripture and saw human events as eloquent both of God's will and of God's interaction with the community. He forged for his people a narrative that paralleled that of the founders of the New England colonies. . . . Occom's indigenist Calvinist imagination saw in the flat surface of life many layers of meaning that connected his present moment to the biblical past and project it forward toward an apocalyptic future. . . . The words of Occom--in sermons, letters, and diaries--reveal the complex nature of his "strange providence" as a Native American and a Calvinist in a fragile and changing world (215).

My Thoughts: Askin's article is great. Occom is such a fascinating character in American Church History, but what makes this article especially enjoyable is viewing Occom from a literary perspective. Oftentimes a Theologian or Church Historian will approach things from within their discipline and with what are more or less ready-made questions. However, when you change your approach, when you are challenged to view and approach a familiar subject matter from a different perspective, then, oftentimes, you find yourself asking different types of questions, or at least asking questions differently. (I'm replaying in my mind a scene from the movie Dead Poet's Society, "I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.") And so, I think that is what Askin has done with her article. She looks at things in a different way, asking new questions and asking old questions differently.

Book Review: John Calvin's American Legacy - Chapter 7 - Whose Calvin, Which Calvinism? John Calvin and the Development of Twentieth-Century American Theology

Chapter 6 review here. Chapter 5 review here. Chapter 4 review here. Chapter 3 review here. Chapter 2 review here. Chapter 1 review here. Introduction review here. Initial thoughts here.

Chapter 7 dovetails nicely with the preceding chapter's consideration of nineteenth-century Calvinistic theology in America, with many of David D. Hall's allusions for the twentieth-century fleshed out in this masterfully written article by Stephen D. Crocco, who provides the conclusion to the section on Calvin's influence on American Theology. In hindsight, Crocco's article is the standard by which the other two articles are plumbed and judged; each of the Theology articles were thoughtful, but Crocco's is exquisite, and much of my review will consist of lengthy quotations.

To begin. Crocco picks up where Hall concludes, denoting that there are many "readings" of John Calvin and his respective influence, hence, the title, Whose Calvin, Which Calvinism?, which we are told in an endnote is an allusion to Alasdair McIntyre's Whose Justice, Which Rationality? published in 1988. Crocco puts it like this:

There is simply no escaping the fact that, to one degree or another, Calvin "influenced" American Protestantism across virtually every theological spectrum imaginable, even traditions that were sustained in reaction against basic features of his thought. But questions of influence and development are notoriously complex and controversial. Put bluntly, one person's idea of influence and development is another person's plunge into apostasy or fundamentalism (165). 

 Crocco's article is structured threefold; the first division discusses those who discuss Calvin's influence on American theology, the second, which he says is "highly selective," considers those who discuss Calvin's legacy within the "context of the United States as a nation of immigrants," and the third, Crocco suggests a typological reading of Calvin as a "mountain dominating a theological landscape" (166).

In Calvin studies, particularly modern scholarship, there is a distinction between Calvin and Calvinism. Crocco provides adequate coverage of this distinction, highlighting works by Charles Partee, The Theology of John Calvin, R. T. Kendell, Calvin and English Calvinism to 1694, and Paul Helm, Calvin and the Calvinists, and sets the stage for a round of important questions:

Any attempt to enlist Calvin into a modern theological program raises the questions: were additions to Calvin--the federalist view of the covenant or modern views of scripture--an extension or confirmation of what was important for Calvin, or were they parasitic accretions? Were the things  that were subtracted from Calvin for the twentieth-century--his views on civil government and double predestination and his anti-Romanist polemics--life-saving amputations, or did they drain the life blood of Calvin? . . . In the narratives behind all of these relationships [Augustine and the Augustinians, Edwards and the Edwardseans, Barth and the Barthians, Calvin and the Calvinists], there is considerable debate about what constitutes a tradition and, more particularly, what counts as progress or regression in it (167).

 Perhaps this dilemma might best be illustrated by the image of a person journeying on a road.  If a person is journeying on a road [the road is a reading of a person, like John Calvin, or a tradition derived/propagated from the writings and influence of said person], then what change in direction constitutes a departure from the road, that is, from the way the person was initially journeying? Or perhaps it is even more complicated than that; perhaps what constitutes a departure (progress or regression) for this person is simply traveling on the road differently. Perhaps now the person beings walking on the other side of the road. What does that imply? Is it a break from the tradition? or merely progress?

We see this type of dilemma frequently--doesn't matter what the topic is, it is evident even within intramural dialogue regarding video games (e.g., is Doctor Wario part of the Mario lineage? or a departure from that original 8-Bit NES greatness? But wait, is 8-Bit NES considered the genesis of Mario? or is that character rightly understood as having originated from the arcade console version of Donkey Kong?)

There certainly is "considerable debate" about what constitutes a tradition, which is why Crocco goes on to say that "in a number of conflicting cases" theologians, historians, economists, theorists, etc., try to "incorporate Calvin into their narratives," which leads to a "wax nose" type of Calvin--"The picture of a dozen or so Calvins sporting different noses is humorous but accurate" (167). Whose Calvin, Which Calvinism? Indeed.

Crocco is wise, noting  that "in addition to having a wax nose, Calvin is also a mirror that reflects the particular beliefs and agendas of those who claim him for their own" (169). It would seem, then, that how a person handles Calvin is a "tell" of what may be veiled or unveiled motives, sensibilities, presuppositions. Calvin wrote on a plethora of topics, and people frequently leverage him across a multitude of academic, spiritual, and political disciplines, and it is oftentimes the case that when people do so, rather than learning more about Calvin, we in fact learn more about the very persons discussing Calvin.

Perhaps one of the most captivating and fascinating parts of the article is Crocco's description of the Council of the Alliance of the Reformed Churches Holding the Presbyterian System in Philadelphia in 1880. Crocco describes and analyzes the imagery and symbolism displayed on the banners representing respective nationalities and theological heritages, ranging from "Bohemia and Moravia, England and Wales, France, Germany, Holland, Hungary, Ireland, Italy, Scotland, and Spain," and points out the significance that "only two times Calvin was mentioned on a dozen banners"--Crocco concludes that this means that "Calvin was acknowledged as the great theologian behind these traditions. . . . [but] the banners showed that Calvin's influence was mediated [emphasis CCS] or related to particular communities and churches by people who had special historical or ecclesiastical connections to those communities" (171). Crocco continues:

The heroes of the faith of particular nations--figures such as Zacharias Ursinus and John Knox and creeds such as the Westminster Confession, the Synod of Dort, and the Heidelberg Confession--were the paths back to Calvin and the paths forward to the broader Reformed tradition. This patter--where Calvin is acknowledged as the great theologian of the Reformed tradition whose teachings were mediated both by indigenous influences and by subsequent theological development--is at the heart of his role in the development of American theology in the twentieth century just as it was in the nineteenth, eighteenth, and seventeenth centuries.

Thus Crocco shows that Reformed theology in America is best represented by a cacophony of  theological voices, albeit, voices that are harmonizing (for the most part) with Calvin, the mutually acknowledged great theologian of the Reformed tradition. It is important to note that at different times some of the voices had a more significant role and influence, e.g. "Until the early nineteenth century, American Protestantism was most heavily influenced by the Reformed traditions coming out of England and Scotland" (172), but we also see in different pockets across American influencing "undercurrents" from Holland, France, etc. Crocco provides surveys of this theological development, recounting the histories of the men and theologies who mediated Calvin, those variegated names and universities that have been associated with the differing Calvinistic camps in the American Reformed-landscape, e.g., Old Princeton, Neo-Calvinism, Christian Reconstructionism, etc.

Despite these intramural debates, and the many debates contended by theological liberals during the past 50 years, Calvin is still "lifted up as transformationist and associated with positive social change." However, Crocco adds, "To contend, as this chapter has done, that Calvin's role in American theology were largely mediated does not imply that they were entirely mediated." Calvin certainly was read. He was not merely received through said channels of mediation; Calvin's ideas were not always trafficked through the firewall of another author or tradition (that is, socially speaking, not at the presuppositional level that occurs within every person's private reading). Crocco lists the various published writings by Calvin that were available in America, specifically throughout the past century, and that it was especially during that century that Calvin was mediated anew by men like Karl Barth and H. Richard Neibuhr and Emil Brunner. And so Crocco closes:

Twentieth-century Protestant theologians inherited a landscape in which Calvin was in the air they breathed; he affected every horizon, and the bedrock of his thought was just below the surface of every step they took. To speak in terms of a landscape lends itself to a picture of Calvin as a mountain that dominates the geography. Images of Mount Hood (Calvin) looming above the city of Portland (American Theology) . . . Although theologians and ecclesiastical movements have grown accustomed to the inspiring, hospitable, and malleable character of his writings, history has shown that, 500 years after his birth, Calvin is still capable of pint to a God who resists all efforts to be domesticated by the church or academy. Perhaps Mount Hood's neighbor, Mount St. Helens, provides an apt metaphor of the power that can be unleashed when God decides to speak through his gifted and faithful servants (185-86).

My Thoughts: Masterfully written; excellent research and composition. Crocco's analysis and thought are fair and charitable (and I can only hope someday to write both as well and thoughtfully as he has in this chapter).