The Recent Disputes Over Baptismal Regeneration And The Southern Baptist Convention

There's been a lot of discussion lately about how Southern Baptists view the reference to baptism in the Nicene Creed. I've seen the usual false claims about how everybody in the early church believed in baptismal regeneration, all of the church fathers believed in it, nobody opposed it before the Reformation, and so on. Few opponents of baptismal regeneration say anything significant about the extrabiblical evidence for their position, and the few who speak up typically only mention a small percentage of that evidence. For example, it's seldom mentioned that the ancient sources who held some kind of highly efficacious view of baptism widely disagreed about the nature of that efficaciousness. Christians of the patristic era disagreed about the meaning of "baptism for the forgiveness of sins". That's not a later development. There's a major need for opponents of baptismal regeneration to improve their handling of the issue. Here are some resources to that end.

The role of atheism in the pandemic

1. What does atheism have to do with the pandemic? I thought you'd never ask!

The regime in Red China takes the lion's share of the blame for the pandemic. It has systematically bungled the crisis. Part of this is due to a fanatical, paranoid concern to maintain total social control. 

2 But there's a theological element has well. It cuts against the grain of human nature to admit error, much less wrongdoing. You lose face when you do that. In fact, it can be hard for people to admit to themselves that they are morally flawed and guilty of moral failure, much less admit that to others. 

As I've noted in the past, one of the liberating side-effects of Christianity is that it free us to admit error and wrongdoing. If everyone is a sinner, if Christ redeemed you, if God forgave you, then it's safe to admit error and wrongdoing. That lowers our natural defensiveness. We have nothing much to lose by coming clean. 

But atheists in the Communist regime don't have that insulation. Saving face is all-important, no matter the harm to others.

3. There's also the fact that if you're a consistent atheist, life is cheap. You may value your own life, but other human beings are disposable. What does the death toll amount to in a nation with a population the size of China? Unless you have reason to believe each human life is important, why should the regime care about the death of so many Chinese? Individual lives are so expendable and replaceable. Like weeds. 

Forgiving Hitler

@RandalRauser

Your 95-year-old grandmother lost her family in the concentration camps of Auschwitz. One day she tells you that after converting to Christianity in 1950, she became convinced that Jesus wanted her to forgive Hitler and so she did. What is your reaction?

i) I'd probably make no attempt to correct her. Even when people are wrong, there are times when it's best to let it slide. 

ii) As I and others have argued, there's no duty to forgive the impenitent.

iii) What's the point of forgiving the damned? It doesn't absolve them. The damned will never benefit from human forgiveness. It makes absolutely no difference to them.

iv) At best, it has a psychologically therapeutic effect on the person who forgives them. Sometimes that helps them to let go of the past and move forward.

v) That said, why should we forgive those whom God refuses to forgive? If God hasn't forgiven Hitler, why should I? 

vi) But even assuming that she has the prerogative to forgive Hitler for when he did to her, she has no prerogative to forgive him for what he did to others. She can't presume to act on their behalf without their consent. 

How to be forgiving

i) How should we understanding passages like Mt 6:15 and Mt 18:21-35?

One problem is that it might suggest a cynical view of forgiveness. A quid pro quo. I don't forgive you for your sake but for my sake. I don't care about you. I don't forgive you because that's in your best interest, but because forgiving you is an act of enlighten self-interest. Unless I forgive you, I will be damned.

ii) Another difficulty is the specter of coercive forgiveness. "Forgive or else!"

But if I'm forgiving you at gunpoint, I'm I really forgiving you? Isn't coercive forgiveness grudging? Don't I still resent you? I resent having to forgive you. So isn't coercive forgiveness oxymoronic?

iii) Yet another difficulty is that we lack direct control over our feelings. We don't have total control over how we feel about other people. It's not a switch we can flip on and off. 

iv) One issue is whether the forgiveness in view is primarily psychological or performative. What does forgiveness mean? On a behavioral interpretation, I forgive in the sense of relinquishing vengeance. I refuse to get even. 

That parallels the nature of divine forgiveness. What's the opposite of divine forgiveness? Divine punishment.  For God to forgive means foregoing punitive actions. 

v) This is not to deny that forgiveness can have a psychological dimension. I'm just addressing an exegetical question. What does the command to be forgiving mean?

There are ways we can try to cultivate a forgiving attitude. Consider the opposite. Nursing a grudge. Brooding about the past. Keeping a mental list of slights. Reminding ourselves of what that person did to us, rather than letting the memory and intensity of the experience naturally fade with the passage of time.  

In addition, we need to learn not to take ourselves too seriously. Self-importance is a recipe for resentment. 

Should your past make you a pariah?

The Kavanaugh controversy is ephemeral. One way or another, it will probably be over with by next week. I'm discussing it because it raises some perennial ethical issues. 

But what if he is guilty? Should the Senate Judiciary Committee vote against his nomination?

Let’s put our past sins into four different categories, responding to each category in turn.

Foolish Things

The first category consists of the foolish things we did as teenagers and young people. But these transgressions are known, open, and a distant part of our history.

For example, my personal testimony, “From LSD to Ph.D.” is well-known.

It is well-known that I was a heroin-shooting, LSD-using, hippie rock drummer before coming to faith in Jesus at the age of 16 in 1971.

It is well-known I broke into a doctor’s office with a friend and stole drugs.

It is well-known that I was a proud, angry rebel.

As our daughters grew up, I shared my story with them. Now my grandkids know my story.

My story is known and out in the open, and it’s a testimony to God’s grace.

Since 1971, I have not used an illegal drug or abused a legal drug. And, despite drinking heavily at times in my teen years, I have not had a sip of alcohol since 1971.

If Brett Kavanaugh got drunk with his friends and assaulted another teenager that would be grave and ugly. But if this was something that was known, open, and unrelated to his behavior and conduct ever since then, it should not disqualify him from service today. (To be “known and open” would also mean that he had made things right with his alleged victim.)

Lots of us did stupid things when we were kids and teenagers. But as we became responsible adults, we put those things behind us.

Some of us even did reprehensible things as adults. But we made proper restitution, we were completely rehabilitated, and we have made something worthwhile out of our lives.

Such stories are noble and inspiring.

Past Behavior Honestly Addressed

The second category consists of sinful behavior in our past that we covered over, hoping it would never be discovered.

What happens when these old skeletons are suddenly discovered in our closet? If the behavior was totally uncharacteristic, if it did not lastingly wound or injure someone else, and if it was never again repeated, you can make a case for overlooking it — but only if the response today was proper.

In other words, if it came to light that, when you were a 16-year-old boy, you had consensual sex with your 16-year-old girlfriend, but since then, your moral behavior was impeccable, you shouldn’t be disqualified from public service today. But only if you responded properly when confronted.

A proper response would require full acknowledgment of guilt, not lying about the incident, and pointing to the changes you made to live rightly ever since.

To say that these sins of our youth make us unfit to serve today is to render unfit a vast percentage of the population. How many of us have an unblemished past?

Cover-ups

The third category consists of lying today when confronted with sinful behavior from the past. That would be the bigger issue to me with Justice Kavanaugh.

Did he do something reprehensible as a drunken teenager? Perhaps he did, but again, that is just an accusation at this point.

The big question for me is: Is he telling the truth today?

We’re not looking to confirm teenager Kavanaugh. We’re looking to confirm Judge Kavanaugh.

His present behavior is far more important to me than his teenage behavior. Can the man be trusted?

When Past Becomes Present

The fourth category consists of sinful behavior in the past that still carries over until today.

If Kavanaugh did, in fact, sexually assault his accuser more than 35 years ago, does that reflect his attitude towards women ever since? Is he an abuser? Does he view women as sexual objects? Does he look on his alleged past transgressions as just a bunch of guys having fun?

https://stream.org/past-sins-disqualify-today/

Much of what Brown says here is sage pastoral and practical advance. But I have three caveats:

Proleptic forgiveness

i) Is suicide ipso facto damnable? One argument for that contention is that if suicide is forgivable, then that implies postmortem forgiveness. To be forgiven, God must forgive him after the fact. After he died. 

However, that inference only follows if you think God is a timebound agent who must wait until after a Christian commits suicide to forgive him. But if God knows the future, then God can forgive some sins before they were committed. Proleptic forgiveness. 

ii) There's also the general issue of whether a born-again Christian can lose his salvation. If salvation is inamissable, then suicide isn't ipso facto damnable. 

Am I dying?

Cheap grace in Star Wars

Since the Star Wars reboot is due out in two months, that will renew interest in the franchise, which furnishes an opportunity to make some theological comparisons and contrasts. 

In Return of the Jedi, the emotional climax is Vader's death scene. Luke's priority is not to defeat his father but to redeem his father. Not to destroy the empire, but to coax his father back from the dark side. Does his father still have a conscience that only a son can reach into? Can Vader be reclaimed? 

Luke, of course, wants to break the empire, but that's not his number one priority. In a sense, the fall and redemption of Vader is the metanarrative of the trilogy. 

In principle, that's an interesting theme. The execution is so-so. The turning point is when Vader must choose between saving his son (from imminent death) or remaining loyal to the emperor. When I first saw it, I couldn't help thinking that in the time it took for Vader to decide, Luke might well have succumbed to electrocution.  

The unmasking is dramatic, but a letdown. The actor (Sebastian Shaw) who had this crucial, but cameo appearance, is too old for the part. The final exchange between Luke and Vader is potentially poignant–if you don't give it too much thought. Later we see the ghost of Vader, alongside Yoda and Obi-wan, to show that he went to "heaven" when he died. 

The weakness is not so much with the execution, but the worldview. The quasi-Buddhist outlook that informs the trilogy lacks the theological resources to underwrite a genuine concept of redemption. The concept of redemption ranges along a continuum, from a thin secularized idea to something much deeper:

i) A second chance. 

In American culture, we sometimes equate redemption with giving a person a second chance after they failed in some respect. Give it another shot to succeed, to learn from his mistakes and do it right this time around. 

And there are situations in which that's appropriate. But it's a very thin concept.

ii) Restitution

Somewhat deeper is a contrite person who seeks opportunities to make up for the wrongs he's done. Not just another chance to do it right, but to right his wrongs. Make amends. 

That has a moral dimension lacking in (i). In addition, that's not just about what's good for the individual, but recompensing those he hurt. 

However, Vader is in no position to redeem himself in either respect, even in this attenuated sense of redemption. He's mortally wounded. And even if he wasn't dying, he can't begin to fix all the harm he's done. He can't restore the dead to life. Can give them back the lost years. Can't erase the pain of the survivors. 

To take a comparison, suppose Himmler had a son who was involved in the plot to assassinate Hitler. His son is slated for execution. Suppose, after some agonizing, Himmler shoots Hitler to save his son, but Hitler's bodyguards return fire during the altercation. 

In a sense, it's nice that Himmer died trying to save his son from execution. Nice that his paternal instinct was stronger than his allegiance to the Third Reich.

But that doesn't begin to atone for the vast and varied evils he facilitated. That's a tiny remnant of common grace in a morass of wickedness. 

There can be no true redemption in Star Wars because it has no true Redeemer. The categories of penal substitution and vicarious atonement don't exist in that world. It lacks the necessary underpinnings for redemption. 

Just say you're sorry and all is forgiven. There's no justice. No restoration. 

It's a touching father/son moment if you don't stop to consider what Vader got away with. But if you do think about it, then it reflects the underlying amorality of the worldview that informs the franchise. 

"I'm a changed man!"

The conundrum of personal identity is one of the perennial issues in philosophy. Even though you change over the course of a lifetime, changing in a multitude of little ways and big ways, are you the same person throughout it all?

It's difficult to give a clearcut answer to this question because it boils down to degrees of continuity, similarity, and dissimilarity. To questions of what is intrinsic or extrinsic to what, if anything, makes you the unique individual that you are.

Let's take some concrete examples. On his deathbed, there's a sense in which Paul was the same man responsible for the death of many Christians. Paul did it in a way that, say, Matthew Henry did not. And, indeed, Paul himself was always haunted by his preconversion misconduct. 

On the other hand, there's a sense in which Paul could honestly say, "I'm a changed man. I'm not the same man who did those terrible things 30 years ago."

In a way, that's true. If Paul could go back in time, knowing then what he knew now, he wouldn't do the same things. He couldn't do the same things. His beliefs changed. His attitude changed.

If you put him in a time machine and sent him back, if he met his younger self, and they met face-to-face talk, there's a very real sense in which the man who returned from the future is not the same man as his younger counterpart in the past. It's inconceivable that Paul, as an old man, would do what he did as a young man. As an old man, he was a gracious, saintly, long-suffering Christian. He would never persecute Christians. He would never arrange for their death. There's be no meeting of minds between his younger and older self. 

Now let's take a very different example: suppose a Nazi official escapes to South America. He was responsible for the death of thousands of Jews. And not just because he was following orders. He was a Nazi enthusiast. He took pride in his work. 

Decades later, Mossad agents discover him in a nursing home. Normally, they'd smuggle him out of the country to face trial in Israel. But he's senile. He no longer remembers his crimes. Is he now the same man who sent innocent Jews to the gas chambers?

It's a quandary. On the one hand it's unjust that he eluded justice all these years. On the other hand, it seems unjust to try him now that his mind is gone. They caught up with him too late. Yet that, in itself, is unfair. He got away with it. At least in this life. Of course, even if he had all his marbles, they can't really punish him adequately for the evil he did.

At the same time, this goes to ambiguities regarding personal identity. From a dualistic standpoint, his mind is still intact, but smothered by a deteriorating brain. Once he dies, once the soul is decoupled from the brain, his mind and memories will resurface. 

Take pain. If you're in excruciating pain, you can't think. It blocks reason. It consumes consciousness. But once the pain is relieved, reason returns. 

It's like saying I lost my keys. There are roughly two different ways in which I might "lose" them:

i) I can lose my keys even though they are still in my possession. I might absent-mindedly put them in a drawer, then forget where I put them. In a sense I still have them, but I can't access them because I don't remember where I mislaid them. Even if I remembered putting them in a drawer, I don't recall which piece of furniture.  

But just as I accidentally misplaced my keys, I might accidentally discover them if I happen to be rifling through that drawer for an unrelated reason.

ii) I can lose my keys if they fall out of my pocket. Or I take them out, put them on the counter while I'm trying to locate something in my pocket, and neglect to put them back.

That might happen in a public place. When I go back to the car, or walk back to the house, and reach for my keys, I suddenly realize they're gone! I run through my mind where I've been. Where might I have left them?

But even if I go back to the right place, they may be gone. Someone took them. They are lot forever. I will never see them again.

Eschatological justice is more like (i) than (ii). Even if, due to senility, the Nazi fugitive isn't the same man at the time of his death, he will be restored–to stand trial before the bar of God.  

But for Paul, his sins were forgiven.   

I will remember their sins no more

I will remember their sins no more (Heb 8:12; 10:17; cf. Isa 43:25). 

It's striking how often Bible scholars and theologians talk about forgiveness without beginning the analysis with a definition. Perhaps they think the meaning of forgiveness is self-evident. Or perhaps they think the concept is so basic that there's nothing more fundamental they can compare it to.

Still, given the centrality of forgiveness in Christian theology, you'd think there'd be more effort to define the key concept. 

On rare occasion, Scripture uses the anthropomorphic notion of divine forgetfulness to illustrate the nature of forgiveness. That's a useful analogy, because it's a unifying principle. 

i) It supplies a conceptual common denominator for many different kinds of Biblical statements that mention forgiveness. The basic idea is that forgiveness is like forgetfulness. When God forgives someone, it's as if God forgot what they did. It wipes the slate clean. 

ii) Likewise, it supplies a conceptual common denominator for divine and human forgiveness. For the same principle is applicable to divine and human relations. 

iii) Finally, it covers both the psychological and the activist dimensions of forgiveness.

If you forget what someone did to you, then you can't harbor resentment for what they did. When you look at them, it doesn't remind you of what they did. 

Likewise, if you forget what someone did to you, then you don't take punitive or vindictive action. 

The point is not that God literally forgets our sins, or that we necessarily forget wrongdoing. Rather, forgiveness has the same effect as forgetfulness in that regard. In fact, it's all the more impressive to treat someone as if you forget their misdeed, even though you remember it. 

iv) There are, of course, related concepts in Scripture. Justification is a richer concept than forgiveness. Forgiveness means treating the offender as if he's innocent, whereas justification means treating the offender as if he's good. It's a positive ascription. Not merely the absence of guilt, not bare acquittal, but a positive status. 

Blanket forgiveness

At Dylann Roof's arraignment hearing, representatives of the murder victims said they forgave him. That was widely commended in various outlets, including some Reformed sites.  That, however, raises the question of whether unconditional forgiveness is theologically warranted. 

Thus far I've held off publicly commented on the issue. I thought it best to put some space between the event and commentary. However, since Obama eulogized (and politicized) the funeral of Clementa Pinckney–presumably with the consent of his relatives–it's no longer a private affair.  

I'm not laying down a general rule. Ideally, it would often be preferable to wait a while before commenting on some controversy. Unfortunately, the other side doesn't give us that luxury. Right after the event, the wrong side rushes in to superimpose its interpretive narrative on the event. If you wait for a cooling off period before you push back, it's too late. By then the narrative is etched in stone. By then, moreover, the public is bored with that controversy. Attention has shifted to the next outrage de jour. 

It's admirable that some of the family members are willing to forgive the murderous assailant. That's personally virtuous. 

But whether that makes it a theological model for Christians generally is a different question. Good intentions don't ipso facto make something right or true. 

I'm going to evaluate what some commenters said, both at TCG, and Triablogue. Critiquing a commenter, who offers his own opinion of the issue, isn't the same as critizing the families. 

As a rule, I wouldn't directly correct the bereaved unless I think they have misconceptions which will harm the grieving process. 

Yes, You Can Correct People Who Are Grieving

Justin Taylor recently put up a post about the Charleston shooting. Among other things, he posted the popular video of people associated with the victims pronouncing forgiveness to the shooter. Below is a response I just wrote in the comments section of the thread. You can read the thread to get the context I'm addressing:

Cheap forgiveness

I'm going to comment on a post by a Barthian universalist:

http://thecrucifiedgod.blogspot.com/2015/03/wimpy-universalism.html

I happen to think universalism is quite morally demanding, and requires a kind of strength that the ordinary person does not have. 

Like Josef Mengele. Apparently, Nemeș is talking about how morally demanding universalism is for universalists. It requires "extraordinary strength."

Problem is, if universalism is true, then it's true for everyone–yet everyone is not a universalist. Only an infinitesimal elite. 

Clearly, then, universalism isn't morally demanding on Mengele, even though universalism, if true, is equally beneficial to everyone.  It makes no moral demands on anyone in particular. 

But this conception of the world is morally demanding, because it requires that we conform ourselves to God's image.

No, it means God will conform everyone to himself, resorting to coercive remedial punishment when necessary. 

Universalism is hardly wimpy; it demands an ethic of unilateral goodness which is beyond the strength of those who fancy themselves harder, stronger, in touch with reality because they believe some will be deservedly damned forever. They care about themselves and their "justified" sentiments of resentment and moral condemnation too much to open themselves to the demand of forgiving the wicked, of praying for bastards like the ISIS decapitators, to feel for the pain of those who deserve punishment. 

Why should I "feel for the pain" of ISIS decapitators?

This is an excuse for them to be unforgiving and mean, for them not to make efforts and sacrifices for the sake of reconciliation and forgiveness. 

What heroic sacrifices is Nemeș making?

It's just like rich liberals who consider themselves virtuous because they seize money from one group and give it to another, while they have tax shelters for their own fortune.

All I'm getting from Nemeș is self-congratulatory rhetoric. What does he actually have to show for his high-sounding words?

The entire post is larded with self-deceptive self-flattery. Nothing is easier than forgiving perpetrators for atrocities they committed long ago and far away. Suppose I say: "I forgive Attila the Hun."

See how easy that was? He died 1500 years ago. His victims weren't friends or family of mine. He did nothing to me personally. Forgiving people in history books. Abstract victims of abstract perpetrators. That's morally demanding? That requires a kind of strength which the ordinary person doesn't have? 

Likewise, suppose I say "I forgive Pablo Escobar" (of the Medellín Cartel). How hard is that? He didn't order the torture and/or murder of any relatives of mine. The victims pay the price for my cheap forgiveness. Didn't cost me a thing. To the contrary, it's self-congratulatory.

Notice, too, how Nemeș has cast the universalist in the role of a Nietzschean Übermensch. A spiritual superman. Unlike mere Christian mortals. 

It's revealing how some people can work themselves into this moral posturing. It's very tempting to think better of ourselves than we ought to.

Between deterrence and despair

In this post I'm going to revisit the ethics of suicide. This post will take for granted my previous discussion on the subject, viz.

http://triablogue.blogspot.com/2013/04/augustine-and-aquinas-on-suicide.html

i) For several reasons, I imagine that suicide is an especially difficult issue for pastors to address. To begin with, I wonder how many seminaries offer courses which give adequate attention to the ethics of suicide, as well as the pastoral dimensions thereof. I expect many pastors have to grope at working out their own position.

ii) Another complication is that a pastor is pulled in two diametrically opposing directions on this issue. How to strike the right balance between deterrence and despair. 

As a rule, we want to say whatever we can to strongly discourage suicide. Taken to a logic extreme, that would commit us to an utterly merciless attitude towards those who take their own life. That functions as a disincentive to commit suicide. Utter disapproval. The threat of damnation.

On the other hand, what if, despite our best efforts, the deterrent fails? Then we find ourselves trapped by our rhetoric from offering any possible consolation to the survivors. 

So I imagine that pastors often find themselves in a bind. Suppose he preaches at the funeral of someone (maybe a church member, or child thereof) who committed suicide. Suppose he holds out hope for the suicide. That's comforting to the family.

But suppose another church member commits suicide a few months later. That family might blame him. Had he taken harder line at the funeral, maybe their loved one would never have considered suicide. That crack of hope was all they needed. So whatever position a pastor takes, he's liable to have parishioners mad at him. 

iii) My point is not that we should settle a pragmatic compromise that maximizes the benefits of both positions without the extremes. This is not about splitting the difference. Clearly whatever position we ultimately take must be grounded in sound theological principles. My point, rather, is that both these opposing concerns are legitimate concerns. We need to try and do justice to both because both are valid principles. 

iv) A further complication is the euthanasia debate. The ethics of suicide intersects with voluntary euthanasia (i.e. assisted suicide). In fact, Peter Geach defines euthanasia as "suicide to escape pain and disability" (The Virtues, 143). So there's the additional challenge of carving out a pastoral position that doesn't fuel euthanasia. 

v) It's striking that the Bible has no direct prohibition against suicide. How should we interpret the silence of Scripture in that regard?

There is, of course, the traditional Catholic view that prooftexts a prohibition against suicide from the 6th commandment. Problem is, that inference is fallacious. As Catholic philosopher and logician Peter Geach says:

Now the arguments against suicide are often as bad as the arguments in defense of traditional sexual morality. The argument that suicide is self-murder is none the better for it antiquity. As Antony Flew once pointed out, you might equally condemn matrimonial intercourse, as own-wife adultery; both as regards "x kills y" and as regards "x copulates with y's wife", identifying the variables so that you have "x" both times makes a difference that may well be morally relevant. Again, the argument that suicide cuts off a chance to repent of what you have done may sufficed to show that if suicide is a sin it is a very great sin, but it cannot be used to show that suicide is a sin. The Virtues (Cambridge 1979), 143. 

Geach is opposed to suicide, but he's clearing away the dead underbrush of bad traditional arguments for make room for better arguments supporting the traditional prohibition. 

That doesn't mean suicide is licit. It just means you can't prooftext your opposition from the 6th commandment. That's not a valid inference. 

vi) In theory, one could construe the silence of Scripture to mean that whatever is not forbidden is permitted. And there are certainly many instances in which that's the case. That, however, is not a reliable principle. 

Indeed, one could take the silence of Scripture in the opposite direction. Scripture doesn't specifically forbid some activities because they were so obviously evil that it's unnecessary to spell it out. The Bible doesn't attempt to provide an exhaustive list of what's permissible and impermissible. 

vii) Another explanation might be that biblical laws codes and vice lists deal with typical behavior rather than exceptional behavior. The will to survive is strong. It's unnecessary for Scripture to explicitly forbid suicide inasmuch as there's a natural aversion to suicide, unlike most sins. 

Even if that's a partial explanation, it can't be the whole explanation. Although suicide is statistically unusual, there's a fraction of the population that resorts to suicide, for a variety of reasons. That's been the case throughout history. 

viii) I think the absence of a Biblical prohibition makes it harder to argue that suicide is intrinsically evil or damnable. It's not disobeying God or breaking God's law (cf. Rom 4:15). 

ix) Of course, suicide could still be generally wrong because it indirectly conflicts with certain Biblical duties. To take an obvious example, consider a family man. As a husband and father, he has an obligation to support his dependents. By committing suicide, he is shirking his social responsibilities. 

x) This can also apply to potential or prospective duties as well as actual duties. Take a teenager. He's single. Has no dependents. 

Yet his parents may need him to provide for them when they become enfeebled by old age. If he commits suicide, he is denying them the support he owed them. Actions have consequences. Part of moral evaluation is to consider the likely or foreseeable consequences of our actions. Will that unjustly harm others? 

xi) You also have the emotional devastation that suicide often inflicts on the survivors. Indeed, one suicide can precipitate another suicide. If a survivor is inconsolable, he (or she) may commit suicide.

xii) Let's take a more difficult case. A man with grown children is diagnosed with terminal cancer or mild dementia. Not only is death inevitable (barring the unexpected), but death will be preceded by physical and mental incapacitation. Some people fear that more than death. 

However, that's also a great opportunity for a family to pull together. Draw closer. Undergo emotional healing and reconciliation. Suicide short-circuits that opportunity.

xiii) Let's take an even more difficult case. Say a childless widower is diagnosed with terminal cancer or mild dementia. He will be tempted to end his life while he still has the presence of mind to make decisions for himself. He fears being at the mercy of strangers. Does he have a duty to let nature take it's course? 

However we answer that question, this is an opportunity for the church to practice outreach to people who otherwise face abandonment at a time of life when they are most vulnerable.  

ix) The claim that suicide is unforgivable because it's too late to repent is complicated. 

a) That depends on the method. If you use an instantaneous method, then once you pull the trigger or step in front of the train, it will be too late to regret it–this side of the grave.

b) But other methods allow for regret. If you jump off a skyscraper, you may regret it a split-second later. You may regret it all the way down. At that point, the dilemma is not that you can't regret your rash act, but that you can't reverse it. Same with other methods which may induce mental or physical incapacitation prior to death. There may be time enough to regret it, but not enough time to reverse it. 

c) The actual claim may be, not that you can't repent, but that you can't confess to a priest and receive absolution. It's too late for that. But, of course, that's bound up with a particular theological tradition. 

x) I'd also like to make a point about euthanasia. Many people support socialized medicine. At least they support the idea of socialized medicine. They don't think healthcare should be a business. 

I'd simply point out that as long as healthcare is in the private sector, you can't be euthanized against your will. You have contracted with a healthcare provider. That may include advance directives prohibiting passive euthanasia (i.e. death by dehydration). And you may have granted a second party medical power of attorney to enforce your directives. Even if the physicians wish to euthanize you, under that private sector arrangement they lack the legal authority to defy your advance directives (a legal instrument) or overrule the medical power of attorney. 

If, however, physicians are public employees, then end-to-life policies will be set by gov't bureaucrats. Physicians are accountable, not to the client/patient, but to their gov't employer.

Does Scripture say you must forgive the impenitent?

http://winteryknight.wordpress.com/2014/05/26/does-the-bible-say-that-you-should-forgive-someone-who-does-not-repent/

"You betrayed the gods–all of them"

Vikings ran its second season finale this week. In one scene, Floki, who likes to taunt Athelstan, accuses Athelstan: "You betrayed the gods–all of them."

Athelstan was a monk before he was abducted by the Vikings when they raided his monastery. Athelstan is something of a social chameleon, who blends with whatever environment he is put in. When he's with Christians, he plays the Christian role. When he's with heathens, he plays a heathen role (although he holds something in reserve).

Floki's point is that, having turned his back on the Christian God when he was living with the Vikings, and having turned his back on the Norse gods when he resumed living with Christians, Athelstan has alienated all the gods. He no longer has a deity to turn to. Athelstan is unnerved by the accusation. Is he doomed? 

From a pagan standpoint, Floki's allegation somewhat misleading. To some degree, pagans believed in local gods. You have your war god and we have our war god. The winners are victorious, either because their war god is stronger, or because the losers were fighting on the turf of the enemy war god, which put them at a disadvantage. 

if you married into a different heathen people-group, you might leave your ancestral gods behind and adopt their gods. Indeed, that was expected. 

Mind you, there was also a certain amount of syncretism in heathen piety. Because some phenomena attributed to the gods was universal, the same god would be responsible for that phenomenon. Presumably, there was only one storm god by different names. One sun god by different names. 

Still, if you keep shifting allegiances, your ancestral gods won't accept you back. Changing sides may be acceptable so long as you remain loyal to your adopted gods. But you will run out of divine patrons if you cross that border too many times.

The heathen gods were not forgiving, even when humans were guiltless. For instance, Zeus would force himself on women. They were in no position to rebuff his unwanted advances. This enraged Hera. But she can't exact revenge on her philandering husband. Zeus is too powerful. So she'd take it out on his hapless victims. 

When he was out hunting, Actaeon accidentally saw Artemis bathing. She changes him into a stag, which provokes his hunting dogs to attack him. 

If that's how the heathen gods treat humans who offend them through no fault of their own, imagine what awaits a human who betrays them! There is no one left to protect you. No where you can go to escape the wrath of the gods. 

Although I'm discussing fiction, paganism is not a dead religion. Folk Hinduism and folk Buddhism are pagan religions. There is also a resurgence of paganism in the West. 

And this is one of the differences between heathenism and Christianity. Peter betrayed Christ. And Peter was not alone. Except for John, all the other disciples abandoned Christ when the authorities took him into custody. They feared collective reprisal. 

Yet betraying the one true God is not an unpardonable offense. The blood of Christ redeemed his betrayer. Peter was contrite. God forgave Peter. 

When to forgive?

This is a follow-up to an earlier post. I linked to this article:

http://headhearthand.org/blog/2014/04/07/please-stop-forgiving-those-who-dont-want-forgiveness/

A number of commenters raised theologically confused objections. In addition, Pastor Todd Pruitt (a contributor to Ref21) also fielded theologically confused objections on Facebook.

i) Let's begin with a general observation. Forgiveness, especially among humans, involves two parties: the offended party and the offending party. I'm referring to an objective offense (i.e. actual wrongdoing), not subjective offense ("I'm offended by your statement. I find that personally offensive").

Let's take an illustration. The Columbine massacre. Who is even in a position to forgive Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris? 

The only folks who are even in a position to forgiven the killers are folks who were wronged by their actions. In principle, that would include the students (and a teacher) they killed or wounded. If some of the dead students were Christian, they'd still be in a position to forgive them after the fact. Other parties who were wronged would include parents and siblings of the dead students. Or dear friends. 

Random TV viewers who tuned into the coverage aren't even in a position to forgive the killers. 

Moreover, that's just a that's just a prerequisite. A necessary condition. That doesn't mean those in a position to forgive the killers ought to forgive them. 

ii) There are commenters who fail to distinguish between unconfessed sin and impenitent sin. Confessing every sin we ever committed is not a precondition of forgiveness. The larger issue is contrition. It's not so much a matter of particular sins, but whether you view yourself as a sinner in need of forgiveness. Do you have a penitent attitude? 

iii) Some commenters cited Mt 6:15. 

a) Here there's a failure to distinguish between qualified and unqualified Scriptural statements. Many unqualified Scriptural statements are implicitly qualified. Scripture often speaks in generalities. But then we have statements on the same topic which include caveats or conditions. The qualified statements qualify the unqualified statements. 

Unqualified statements about forgiveness are like unqualified statements about prayer. You have statements in Scripture which promise that God will give you whatever you ask for. But there are other statements which specifically or logically qualify those promises. 

b) Moreover, citing Mt 6:15 to prove unconditional forgiveness proves too much, for God does not, in fact, forgive everyone. 

iv) Some commenters cited Lk 23:34.

a) To begin with, the textual authenticity of that verse is quite uncertain. For instance:

http://www.aomin.org/aoblog/index.php/2012/04/05/from-the-lips-of-jesus-or-a-scribal-hand-father-forgive-them-for-they-do-not-know-what-they-are-doing/

Most editions of the Bible footnote textually suspect verses. It's striking how many readers pay no attention to the footnotes. Do they not bother to read the footnotes? Do they not grasp the significance of what the footnote says? 

b) Assuming that Lk 23:34 is authentic, it only applies to unwitting sin. It doesn't cover those who sin defiantly. 

c) Unlike humans, God has the prerogative to forgive what one person did to another person. Third-party forgiveness. That's quite different than a TV viewer who  presumes to forgive Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris for what they did to someone else's kids. We aren't God. We don't have the same prerogatives. 

Blanket forgiveness

http://headhearthand.org/blog/2014/04/07/please-stop-forgiving-those-who-dont-want-forgiveness/

Universal justification

http://www.wlsessays.net/files/BeckerUniversal.rtf

Conditional forgiveness

http://winteryknight.wordpress.com/2012/07/11/can-you-forgive-someone-who-refuses-to-confess-their-guilt/