Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Triablogue Exposed!

Well, Miss Piggy, I really don’t have much choice in the matter. You see, I’m just a Muppet. My stage name is Steve Hays, but my legal name is Kermit the Frog. Paul Manata is really Jim Hensen.

We at Triablogue realize there are those out there who would like to put faces with our names. Since Steve blew our cover Monday, we now realize we are obligated to do something in view of this breach of security. We can either "Deny! Deny! Deny!" or we can just own up to it. We have chosen the latter option.

So, without further adieu:

Jason Engwer:

Pete:

Charles Sebold:





Dusman:



Patrick Chan:



Gene Bridges:


Gene also moonlights as a traveling Time Lord in the off season:


Evan May:


Eric Vestrup (aka the Pedantic Protestant):


Paul Manata:


Steve Hays (the myth:)

Steve HayReality: The Ultimate Apologetics Computer, in orbit on the International Space Station, designed by Dr. John Frame and Vern Poythress with advice from Founders:


This is who he said he was, but this is just a smokescreen:

And we all know that that means that the above picture is just a cover for the real Patrick Chan:


Watching from afar: James Anderson and Ryan MacReynolds:



And if anybody gets snippy about it, Manata moonlights on the orbiting space station as a security guard:

Shiver me timbers!

(Posted on behalf of Steve Hays.)

Josh Strodtbeck recently gave a series of interviews to the iMonk in which he attempted to compare and contrast Lutheranism with Calvinism.1 As a rule I don't target Lutheranism. That's not one of my priorities.

As a Calvinist I obviously have some basic disagreements with Lutheranism. However, the areas of disagreement are roughly paralleled in other theological traditions (i.e. Catholicism, Arminianism), so I find it more useful to target those traditions instead since they reproduce some of the same mistakes (along with many others), minus the many compensatory virtues of the Lutheran tradition.

Since, however, Josh has initiated a comparative critique, using Lutheranism as his standard of comparison (naturally), I'll take the occasion to interact with his critique.

Josh has every right to offer his criticisms of the Reformed tradition. Calvinism must acquit its claims before the bar of Scripture.

Also, since Josh is a very bright, articulate, and well-read disputant, the case for Lutheranism is in good hands. It's not as if I'm picking on a weak opponent. To judge by what I've read on his blog, he's more than able to hold his own with most-all of his critics. Indeed, if he didn't suffer from coprolalia,2 I'd be happy to add his blog to the blogroll over at Triablogue.

I also remember reading that he used to be a Calvinist himself. I'm not quite sure why he swam the Rhine. Maybe with a Teutonic surname like Strodtbeck, it was inevitable that sooner or later he would succumb to the irrepressible urge of the Lutheran Pon farr.3

Perhaps if some enterprising Reformed Baptist had kidnapped him and christened him MacStrodtbeck or van Strodtbeck, he would still be in our camp. However, we can console ourselves in the knowledge that whenever he gets to heaven, Brother Strodtbeck will resume his career as a five-point Calvinist.
If you look at Calvin's Institutes, he begins by defining God philosophically, much like Thomas Aquinas does in his Summa. That is, he defines God in terms of various attributes.
How is it "philosophical" to define God in terms of the divine attributes? Doesn't God reveal his attributes in Scripture? Doesn't God define himself by his revealed attributes?
That in itself makes Calvinism more prone to seeing theology as the development of an abstract system of thought. Again, the similarities to Thomas should be obvious. Of course, just listing attributes of God gets kind of dull after a while, so you have to begin discussing his actions at some point. But since the system itself begins with philosophically defined and described attributes, the theologian is naturally going to gravitate toward discussing things in terms of the attributes.
i) How is it more philosophical to go from what God is (i.e. attributes) to what God does (i.e. deeds) than vice versa?

ii) Why does Josh focus on Calvin's theological method when, at a later stage in the interviews, he will say that contemporary Calvinism is far more influenced by the Westminster Standards than it is by Calvin?

iii) As Josh will later point out, covenant theology is a central plank of the Westminster Standards. And what God does is hardly incidental to covenant theology.

iv)And while we're on the subject of philosophy, what about Gerhard's introduction of Aristotelian categories into Lutheran theology?
I think the nature of the human mind is such that one, maybe two or three more, of the attributes will become dominant, and for Calvinists, this attribute is divine sovereignty, especially because Calvinism as a theological tradition quickly became defined partly in terms of opposition to synergism and a strong emphasis on the ontological transcendence of God. This is manifested most sharply in the Westminster Standards, which in both the Confession and the Catechisms define God in terms of his attributes and derive the rest of Christian doctrine out of God's decrees.
i) It's certainly true that, to a great extent, the emphasis in Reformed theology has been conditioned by its sparring partners (e.g. Catholicism, Arminianism, Amyraldism).

ii) But I would like to see Josh demonstrate the claim that the Westminster Standards derive the rest of Christian doctrine from God's decrees. Is it really that axiomatic?
You see this show up in a number of places. The most obvious one is TULIP and the obsession of some Calvinists with predestination and the ordo salutis.
i) This is a charge I run across quite often—especially at the "Reformed Catholic" kennel. I would like to know which Calvinists are obsessed with TULIP. Is he referring to traditional Reformed theologians? Contemporary Reformed theologians? Reformed epologists?

Could he favor us with a few names? This allegation gets thrown around very freely without any documentation. That is how legends evolve.

ii) There is also a circularity to the charge. It's like members of the news media who constantly badmouth the war effort, then appeal to the unpopularity of the war to justify their hostile coverage. But, of course, the unpopularity of the war effort is owing in large part to the hostile coverage.

Likewise, it's only natural for Calvinism to regularly defend those aspects of Calvinism that regularly come under attack. Are we obsessed with TULIP, or is it our critics who are obsessed with TULIP?
The dominating concern in traditional formulations of the ordo is that God be absolutely sovereign in each step so that his desires are in no way frustrated. Less obvious is the Calvinist use of the Law. A sovereign is chiefly in the business of promulgating laws, whether those laws are active, such as the decree of predestination, or passive, such as the prohibition of murder. For some Calvinists, this means an emphasis on self-reflection to see if one's law-keeping sufficiently proves one's regeneration and election. For others, this means rewriting the doctrine of justification in terms of covenant fidelity or downplaying the significance of justification in theology.
i) How is the emphasis on God's role as a lawgiver in tension with an emphasis on justification? Isn't justification a forensic category? How can you have doctrine of justification by faith apart from its grounding in a divine lawgiver?

ii) What Calvinists "rewrite the doctrine of justification in terms of covenant fidelity"? Is he talking about traditional Calvinism or the Federal Vision?
It often means rigorous church discipline, and it can even manifest itself by discussing the entirety of one's knowledge of God and pursuit of the Christian life almost wholly in terms of law-keeping.
i) I agree with Josh that Presbyterians can get carried away with church discipline. But is the problem with church discipline, per se, or with the imagined infractions that are subject to church discipline?

ii) Is rigorous church discipline a bad thing? Does Josh favor a lax and permissive policy—like the ELCA or PCUSA?
The most obvious place is the doctrine of baptism. Your typical Calvinistic treatment of baptism heavily emphasizes the imposition of covenant obligations on the parents, the child, and the church. Depending on who you read, the "grace" of baptism is little more than being in the community where the covenant stipulations are upheld.
This may be true in some Presbyterian circles. It's less obviously applicable to Reformed Baptistery.
Luther shied away from abstractions, and we Lutherans inherited that. Not just sovereignty, but the attributes of God in general are simply not of extreme importance.
But if God has revealed his attributes in Scripture, then isn't this neglect unscriptural?
If you look at Luther's catechisms, he actually defines God in terms of Creation, the Cross, and the Church. Compare that to Q7 in the Westminster LC. So for Lutherans, theology is done in terms of God's relation to us. That means theology never gets away from Law and Gospel, from justification, from the incarnation of Jesus Christ. If you look at the discussion of election in the Formula of Concord, its driving concern is not maintaining God's sovereignty, but rather how election is to be preached within the framework of Law and Gospel.
Isn't that a rather agenda-driven theological programme? And the danger of a theological agenda is that it tends to be reductionistic. Justification is not the only soteric category in Scripture. What about election, redemption, regeneration, adoption, sanctification, reconciliation, propitiation, and glorification?

Several years ago, Robert Schuller wrote a notorious book4 in which he tried to reorient Christian theology away from Pauline theology because he thought Pauline theology was too negative. It was bad pastoral theology. Too judgmental. Too much guilt-tripping. We need to get back to Jesus.

Obviously Josh wouldn't agree with that way of doing theology. But isn't his own approach just as prejudicial?
That's why Chemnitz is comfortable with basically saying that God declares our election to us in the preaching of the Gospel and admonishes against rational speculation on the inscrutable decrees of God apart from Christ, who is made known to us in the Gospel and the Sacraments.
That's a standard caricature of Calvinism, as if our commitment to predestination is due to our unbridled "speculation" over the "inscrutable" decrees of God. Now, some folks think the supra/infra debate is guilty of that, but in the main, Calvinism is committed to predestination because predestination is a revealed truth.
So for Lutherans, divine sovereignty isn't a significant driving force in theology.
And why is that supposed to be a good thing?
As we see it, God's attributes are in some sense inscrutable.
i) That's a cop-out. Calvinism doesn't deny that "God's attributes are in some sense inscrutable." But this doesn't excuse us from ignoring what God has revealed about himself.

ii) Moreover, is that the real issue? Isn't the real issue the point of tension between sacramental grace and sovereign grace? Sacramental grace is indiscriminate and resistible, whereas sovereign grace is discriminating and irresistible. Since Lutheran theology is committed to the objectification of grace in the sacraments, it must fuzz over predestination.

So isn't the professed agnosticism respecting God's "inscrutable" decrees and attributes something of a charade? Far from being agnostic on the subject, Lutheranism has taken a very definite position on the nature of saving grace, according to which the means of grace (i.e. Word and sacrament) channel saving grace—as a result of which it's necessary to demote gratia particularis in order to promote gratia universalis?
Theology begins and lives where God is known, which is in Christ given to us in the Word and the Sacraments, not in abstract formulations of attributes or rigorous, logically consistent assertions about the nature of divine decrees.
i) And what about his Word? What does he say about himself in his Word? What about his self-revelation in Isaiah or John or Romans or Ephesians?

ii) Is Lutheran theology really that indifferent to logical consistency? For example, Lutheranism vehemently rejects reprobation as inconsistent with gratia universalis. But if Lutherans don't care about logical rigor, then why not affirm reprobation alongside gratia universalis, just as they affirm election alongside gratia universalis? It's seems to me that Lutheranism is very selective in its harmonistic methodology.
In the more common versions of TULIP, justification is an instantaneous, one-time event done by God alone based solely on his eternal, sovereign will and thus ceases being relevant after your conversion.
i) Is Josh saying that, according to Lutheran theology, justification is akin to sanctification? That it's progressive in character?

ii) What makes him think that, in Calvinism, justification is irrelevant after your conversion? Why wouldn't a Calvinist thank God every day for his justification in Christ? Why wouldn't that lay a firm foundation for his subsequent walk of faith? Motivate him to more forward?
In other formulations, justification is a decree made by God after a lifetime of sovereignly directed covenant-keeping.
What formulation is he referring to?
So already, the idea that the pastor's actions have anything to do with justification is taken out of the picture.
Once again, why is that a bad thing? Why should our justification before God be contingent on what a pastor does or fails to do? Why should a pastor mediate our justification? Why should a pastor be the instrument of our salvation or damnation?
So what is there for the pastor to do? Without justification, things can become extremely Law-driven. For example, there are some Reformed pastors who envision the Church as a home-school cult where even suggesting that there are benefits to the local public school gets you excommunicated. That simply doesn't happen in Lutheranism. I know secondhand of a woman from a Reformed church that got excommunicated for not articulating baptism exactly right, and for the Reformed, excommunication means being driven out of the community.
I agree with Josh that this is legalistic. On the other hand, it's a very odd example for him to choose considering a later statement he makes:
First, Lutherans believe that you need to believe in what the Eucharist is in order to receive any benefit from it. We would regard anyone who openly disbelieves in the Eucharist as not ready to receive it (we do not believe that the Real Presence is simply a theological opinion; it is what the Eucharist fundamentally is). This isn't just a fellowship issue; it's a pastoral issue.
So isn't Josh admitting—even insisting—that according to Lutheran church discipline and Lutheran pastoral theology, a theologically accurate and articulate understanding of communion is a precondition for being a communicant? Why isn't that directly parallel to the "bad" example of legalism he cited in reference to Calvinism?
As I said before, we Lutherans are huge on justification, and we believe that God justifies man by forgiving his sins in the Word and Sacraments. Preaching, baptizing, and communing are obviously pastoral actions, so the pastor sees himself chiefly in the business of justification.
How is the administration of the sacraments "obviously" a pastoral action? Where does the NT actually assign or confine those actions to the pastorate? Isn't it pretty precarious for Lutheran theology to erect such a soaring edifice over an invisible foundation?

Incidentally, I don't object if we delegate that task to the pastor, but from what I can tell, that's a tradition—nothing more. Where does the NT ever say that a pastor must officiate at baptism or communion? It doesn't.

There's a difference between what the Bible permits, and what it prescribes. Since Scripture is silent on this issue, we are free to delegate that task to the pastor. But there's nothing mandatory about that social convention.
God is literally forgiving people's sins through him.
Where does the Bible say that?
When you go to a Lutheran pastor and blurt out all that heinous evil you've been engaged in for the last ten years, the first thing he's going to do is forgive your sins in Christ's name.
Where does the Bible mandate auricular confession?
With a typical Calvinistic emphasis on sovereignty as, a Calvinist just plain can't do that.
And how is that a bad thing?
After all, you might not be elect. Christ might not have died for your sins, and thus God may not forgive you at all. So any language about forgiveness and justification is so heavily qualified by predestination language as to make it an abstract conditional formulation you can't grab onto and apply to yourself.
Actually, the denial of priestly absolution doesn't depend on either election or special redemption. There are other reasons for rejecting priestly absolution. I may not believe that Scripture has vested a fallible clergyman with that kind of authority over another man's eternal fate.

Does Josh really think that heaven must mechanically rubberstamp every priestly absolution—regardless of the circumstances? What if the confessionalist isn't truly contrite, but just wants to wipe the slate clean so that he can continue to sin with impunity?

Suppose I'm a Lutheran serial killer. I commit murder Monday through Friday, but go to confession on Saturday, and take communion on Sunday.5 Does God honor my diligent attempt to game the system? Are his hands tied?
Besides, the Reformed have traditionally viewed absolution as God's sovereign right and thus not really the business of the pastor.
Yes, and what's wrong with that, exactly? Sounds good to me!
In less election-obsessed versions of Calvinism, the Law is much more central to pastoral actions than it is in Lutheranism. For example, in Chapter XIV of the Second Helvetic Confession on Sacerdotal Confession & Absolution, the "Gospel" is defined mostly with law terms, being reconciled to God is understood as "faithful obedience," and most importantly, the Office of the Keys is understood as opening "the Kingdom of Heaven to the obedient and shut it to the disobedient." That's not to downplay what it says about absolution and the obvious influences of the Lutheran Reformation there, but this particular Reformed confession hedges its justification language with obedience language in a way that we Lutherans simply don't. I think that's tied up with divine sovereignty–God is a lawgiver who demands to be obeyed.
i) To begin with, the more I read Josh's interview, the more he sounds like Zane Hodges. Of course, they arrive at the same conclusion by somewhat different routes, but what's the ultimate difference?

ii) How does Reformed theology "hedge" on justification? Reformed theology doesn't confound justification with obedience. Rather, Reformed theology says that there's a "benefits' package" to which every child of God is party. Every true Christian is, was, or will be elect, regenerate, redeemed, justified, sanctified, glorified. If you have one, you have them all.

Everyone who is justified is sanctified, or vice versa. If you're not justified, you're not sanctified, and vice versa. These invariably go together, but they do not intersect at any point. So Reformed theology preserves justification in complete, self-contained integrity.
If God says I'm baptized in his name, that's his body & blood for the forgiveness of my sins, and that my sins are forgiven, who am I to argue?
Does Josh believe that every baptized Lutheran and Lutheran communicant is automatically forgiven? Does Josh draw any distinction between a nominal believer and a true believer, or—for that matter—a closet unbeliever or open unbeliever?

What about all those liberal Lutheran Bible critics of from the 19th and 20th centuries? Are they all entitled to the assurance of absolution as long as they've gone through the motions? Are we saved by pronouncing the right ritual words and performing the right ritual deeds? Is Josh's soteriology ultimately that crass and perfunctory?
So if you look at Westminster, it bases assurance on anything and everything except the proclamation from the pulpit that Jesus died for you…because the pastor isn't allowed to say that. Sure, it mentions "promises," but when a Lutheran says "promise," he means "an unassailable promise God has made to you in Christ." When Westminster says "promise," it means "a promise contingent upon fulfillment of covenant conditions." In that context, the only assurance a Calvinist can have is the kind based on a positive self-assessment.
i) Is Josh a universalist?

ii) Josh acts as if the gospel promises are unconditional. Are they?

Isn't forgiveness predicated on faith and repentance? Are you still forgiven even though you're faithless and impenitent?

If Josh answers "no" to either (i) or (ii), then isn't he offering men and women a false assurance of salvation?
The scary thing about TULIP is that uncertainty about predestination means uncertainty about the atonement. For the Calvinist, as long as his predestination is up in the air, so is his atonement. So the only recourse Westminster gives him is a subjective experience, which obviously is subject to uncertainty.
i) Josh doesn't believe that universal atonement entails universal salvation, does he? So universal atonement cannot ground the assurance of salvation.

ii) Doesn't Josh think that you at least need to be a believer to be saved? That you must believe in Jesus? Believe the promises?

Isn't faith a subjective state of mind? Can we really eliminate the subjective dimension altogether? If we eliminate subjective experience, don't we thereby eliminate faith and repentance?

iii) Are we entitled to unconditional assurance? Assurance irrespective of one's faith or fidelity?
I knew a guy who went to a large PCA church here in Kentucky. We got to talking, and I straight-out asked him, "Did Jesus die for your sins?" His answer: "I know that if God wants me to, I'll be saved." It was just depressing. To him, all the passages in the Gospels where Jesus is forgiving people left and right aren't talking to him.
Well, I'll grant you that the guy Josh spoke to gave the wrong answer. So what's the right answer? Is the right answer that all the gospel promises are made to believers and unbelievers alike?

Why didn't Josh ask him a question like, "Do you believe that if you repent of your sins and trust in Jesus to save you from your sins, Jesus will save you?"
They're merely historical narratives of Jesus forgiving some other person's sins. The Gospels are a dead letter to him. And I think that's how most Calvinists look at the Bible, and it's reflected in their sermons. The Bible is largely a compilation of historical information, data for systematic theology, and conditions to fulfill.
Whose sermons? Calvin? Spurgeon? Whitefield? John Owen? Jonathan Edwards? Richard Sibbes? Martyn Lloyd-Jones? John Piper? What about the inspirational writing of Bunyan, Kuyper, and Samuel Rutherford?
For Calvinists, the Supper is just like the atonement. If you're not elect, then you're not regenerate, then you don't have true faith, so Jesus isn't even there to begin with, and he sure as heck isn't telling you your sins are forgiven.
Does Josh think the sacraments are like redeemable tin cans, where if you round up enough sacraments, like discarded tin cans in a shopping cart, and turn them in on your deathbed, you will collect your heavenly dues?

Does he think that a communicant who has no faith is still forgiven? Is Jesus absolving the faithless and impenitent among us?
Westminster's doctrine of communion is actually nearly identical to Trent's (remember that the Sacrifice of the Mass and Holy communion are practically two different sacraments in Trent)–it's all about making you a better person and strengthening your soul with nary a word about forgiveness. The reason Luther was so insistent on the objective, identifiable real presence is that he knew that if you make the reality of the sacrament dependent on your own faith, you lost the whole thing and would be stuck obsessing on whether or not you really had faith rather than believing what Jesus said about "for the forgiveness of sins."
So if Hitler consumes a communion wafer, his sins are remitted? No questions asked? Signed, sealed, and delivered to heaven by certified mail?
The same goes for baptism. Mostly what baptism does is place a bunch of conditions on you and your parents. Anything it promises is either conditional or not a promise of forgiveness of resurrection. I've even heard some Calvinists say that if you're not elect, you didn't get a real baptism; you just got wet. We Lutherans always look to baptism as establishing us in Christ and as God declaring us his forgiven children. We take "therefore reckon yourselves dead to sin and alive to Christ" very seriously when it comes to baptism, so all this vague stuff about "inauguration into the covenant community" isn't anything we have time for.
And what if a baptized Lutheran doesn't take the Pauline dictum very seriously? Does it make any difference to his "objective" state of grace whether or not he takes it seriously?
I think by this point, people know what I'd say. I'd answer by saying, "Listen to what God says to you in the Word, and believe in what he gives you in the Sacraments."
What if no one in the audience is listening to Josh's exhortation? Do they need to listen? Or would that reduce the objectivity of grace to a conditional promise? Isn't listening a "subjective experience."
Obviously, most Christians aren't taught to believe that the minister has any kind of divinely established mandate to forgive sins, and they mostly look at the sacraments as impositions of obligation, memorials, or divine ordinances you obey in order to testify of your own faith. We believe that God is the one testifying in the sacraments, and he's testifying to you and to the world that your sins have been nailed to the Cross.
What if you don't confess to the minister? Is that a condition of salvation? If God has already testified to the world in Word and sacrament that our sins have been nailed to the cross, then why is salvation contingent on priestly absolution?
That's not too far off from Reformed "signs and seals" language, but their language is tempered with limited atonement and/or conditional covenants so that there's some kind of disconnect between between the sacraments and an objective, divine declaration of absolution and righteousness. So the signs are only "effectual" for the elect, or their promise is contingent upon good covenant standing, or something.
Is Josh claiming that the sacraments are "effectual" for everyone who was ever baptized or took communion? In what sense are they effectual for everyone? Is a wafer your nonrefundable ticket to heaven? Instant salvation—just add saliva?

I keep hoping that Josh's position isn't as bad as it sounds, but he's so insistent and persistent that I begin to wonder.
The big criticism from all the other traditions–Catholic, Reformed, Wesleyan, you name it–is that if God were to just go around recklessly forgiving sinners, if people were allowed to believe in their salvation just because Jesus got nailed to a cross, that would encourage people to sin more. The answer, of course, is putting a hedge around Jesus. Basically, you tell people they can't have him unless they shape up. There are volumes and volumes of literature from all sides of Christianity about the conditions placed on forgiveness. Living up to covenants, doing penance, detaching your soul from sin, committing your life fully to obedience, and so on. We absolutely do not believe in that sort of thing. Jesus didn't put covenant conditions on the paralytic before forgiving him. He didn't tell the thief on the cross to shape up. He just absolved them. Just don't call God a liar.
But there are Biblical conditions placed on forgiveness. Forgiveness is conditioned on faith and repentance. And isn't obedience a necessary element in Christian discipleship? Josh would do well to scale back on the invective ("Just don't call God a liar") lest the admonition recoil on his own head.

No, we don't have to "shape" up before we come to Christ. But sanctification is not an optional accessory in the Christian life—like Mag wheels or leather upholstery.
Right, so where's election come into assurance? I think you learn to be confident of your election as you learn to be confident that what God says to you in the Gospel and the Sacraments is true, and that he is indeed saying those things to you.
True for whom? True for John Spong?
God speaks, and you say "Amen."
What if you don't say "Amen"? Is Josh placing a "condition on forgiveness"? Does that introduce a note of uncertainty into the transaction?
I believe I'm elect, because God's called me through the Gospel.
Wouldn't it be better to say I believe I'm elect because I'm answering God's Gospel call? That my response is the mark of election?
When I hear Luke, that paralytic is me. So when Jesus says "Man, your sins are forgiven," he's not just saying it to the paralytic in the story, but to me and everyone else who sees himself lying helpless on that mat. So I believe in my own election, and I'm not afraid to say that.
I don't have any particular problem with that application, but it's a conditional application all the same.
There's always the big question mark about apostasy. No matter what you believe about election, that one can keep you up at night. Christians who were just as good as you have fallen away, so why shouldn't you fall away, too? I think the answer lies in the fact that God's promises don't come out of the sky; they're made in the Church, because that's where his Word is spoken. My answer to that question isn't to try and find a logical resolution or some quality that differentiates me from them; it's to go to church.
Go to which church? Josh talks about certainty, yet he has staked his certainty in the sacraments. Yet that raises its own set of uncertainties. How does he determine a valid sacrament? How does he determine a valid ordination?
Christians are elect because Christ is elect, and so if I decide I don't want to be where Christ is because I think church is stupid or I'd rather live a life of flagrant sin, I'm counting myself out by my own unbelief.
Is he saying that "flagrant sin" is damnatory? But he keeps telling us that we have these objective, unconditional promises in the Word and sacraments.

Incidentally, where does Scripture say that Christ is elect?
I know most people want a logical answer, but I just don't have one. Keep going to church and believe what God says to you there if you want your troubles about apostasy to bother you less. That's why it's absolutely essential to go to a church where the Gospel is preached and the sacraments are administered according to Christ's institution and not let unfaithful pastors stay in power.
Well, that's fairly good advice, but he's stipulating that certain conditions must be met to avoid apostasy, and he's introducing an element of uncertainty in his appeal to the valid administration of the sacraments.
As I've said before, the pastor is an ambassador, given specific duties to perform. This is established when Jesus told his disciples in Matthew, "Whatsoever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatsoever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." John's version is even more transparent: "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld." We take these words of Jesus very seriously in the Lutheran church.
Do they take these words of Jesus very seriously? Where did Jesus make this promise to the pastorate?
But I am left thinking: Why is election defined as God choosing some for salvation and some for damnation.

In the OT, God elects/chooses a nation to fulfill the Abrahamic promise to bless the nations. Israel is chosen not in spite of the other nations but in order to bless the nations (with the only hope for humanity, knowlege of the one true God). Election then has a missional sense. Why do we then go to the NT and give it the sense of divine determinism.
i) This assumes that OT election was indeterministic.

ii) It also assumes that "election" in the OT is identical with "election" in the NT. But Paul distinguishes between different levels of "election."
Was Paul's theology formed in a vacuum? Paul spent years with the Christian communities in Antioch and Jerusalem. Doesn't it make sense that the synoptic tradition along with Paul's Damascus road experience would have provided the core of his theology?
Why? Paul was an OT scholar in his own right. And he received his knowledge of the gospel by direct revelation.
Doesn't it seem logical that the parable of the seeds and the soil, which appears in ALL FOUR gospels, would have informed his belief about God's initiative in salvation (the sower) and man's response (the nature of the soil)?
Why does Josh think the parable of the sower is inconsistent with Reformed theology?
Paul knew Jesus as Lord and God and had to know of Jesus' weeping over Jerusalem's refusal to find rest and refuge in him. Did he think Jesus was faking it or something?
Is Lk 19:41 Josh's best argument against the Reformed interpretation of Isa 40-48, or the predestinarian passages in the Gospel of John, or the predestinarian passages in Acts, or Rom 9-11, or Eph 1-2, &c?

Since Jesus is the God-man, he has human emotions. We already know that. How does that negate Biblical predestination?
One of the main problems that I have with hardcore Calvanism (and another other kind of systematic theology that does the same thing) is that pictures God sitting on a throne emotionlessly picking and choosing, saving and damning, killing and delivering. That is not the God of the OT that constantly bears his heart through his prophets.
i) Is Josh a neotheist? I don't think so. How would Josh debate a neotheist? He seems to share the same hermeneutical assumptions as open theism.
That is not the God revealed in Jesus' parables. That God runs to prodigal sons in great fits of emotion.
Does Josh really think that God is subject to "great fits of emotion"? Is God manic-depressive? Is God on Prozac? What happens if you have the ill-fortune to catch God on a bad day?

Is it better for God to be "killing and delivering" as long as he's emotional about it? A passionate executioner?

This is not to deny that God may have something selectively analogous to human emotions. But unless you turn Yahweh into Zeus, it is necessary to make allowance for poetry and hyperbole. A parable is fictitious. And it's often hyperbolic by design. Didn't they teach him that at seminary?

ii) Josh's complaint reveals another problem. His attack on Reformed theology is almost entirely pragmatic. He disapproves of certain consequences which follow from Calvinism. But how is that any way to judge if Calvinism is true to Scripture?

For example, Josh is a critic of the ELCA. But liberal Lutherans revile the consequences of Josh's confessional Lutheranism, do they not? They think it's antiquated, bigoted, judgmental, patriarchal, narrow-minded, sexist, intolerant, unscientific, homophobic, heteronormative, &c. Is Josh measuring Reformed theology by the same yardstick he's using on Lutheranism?

Josh generally strikes me as a pretty thoughtful guy, but in reading through his interview, he doesn't seem to have thought through his theological position as thoroughly as I'd expect.



1 http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/gods-sovereignty-in-lutheranism-an-interview-with-josh-strodtbeck-1
http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/god's-sovereignty-in-lutheranism-an-interview-with-josh-strodtbeck-2
http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/god's-sovereignty-in-lutheranism-an-interview-with-josh-strodtbeck-3-assurance
http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/god's-sovereignty-in-lutheranism-an-interview-with-josh-strodtbeck-4-election-and-salvation
2 Coprolalia is a medical condition which is disproportionately represented in Catholic, Lutheran and emergent church populations. Although it may have a genetic point of origin, it appears to be contagious.
3 As one can see from my Scottish surname, I was ultimately unable to resist the Reformed Pon farr.
4 Self-Esteem: The New Reformation.
5 As Lutheran serial killers go, I happen to be a fine lay theologian, with a well-marked copy of the Book of Concord. I'm also a regular lurker at weblogs like Cyberbrethren and Metalutheran.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Eyewitnesses And Servants Of The Word

Owing to the influence of [Rudolf] Bultmann, it has become a "basic article of belief" with most form critics that "the Gospel tradition owed the form in which it reached our evangelists almost entirely to community use and its demands, and hardly at all to direct intervention or modification on the part of eye-witnesses." Appeals to eyewitnesses found in the Gospels, and especially the epistles, usually have been understood as apologetic fictions.

To be sure, some of the earliest form critics - most notably Vincent Taylor and Martin Dibelius - diverged from the Bultmannian perspective and insisted that the disciples of Jesus must have played some regulating role in the oral transmission of the Jesus tradition....

Vincent Taylor even more emphatically states the case in his now-famous words: "It is on this question of eyewitnesses that Form-Criticism [e.g., as approached by Bultmann and company] presents a very vulnerable front. If the Form-Critics are right, the disciples must have been translated to heaven immediately after the Resurrection. As Bultmann sees it, the primitive community exists in vacuo, cut off from its founders by the walls of an inexplicable ignorance. Like Robinson Crusoe it must do the best it can. Unable to turn to anyone for information, it must invent situations for the words of Jesus, and put into his lips sayings which personal memory cannot check....However disturbing to the smooth working of theories, the influence of eyewitnesses on the formation of the tradition cannot possibly be ignored. The one hundred and twenty at Pentecost did not go into permanent retreat; for at least a generation they moved among the young Palestinian communities, and through preaching and fellowship their recollections were at the disposal of those who sought information....When all qualifications have been made, the presence of personal testimony is an element in the formative process which it is folly to ignore"...

The last several decades have seen a renewed emphasis on the need to understand Jesus and early Christianity within a first-century Jewish context. In this light, it is significant to note that - beginning with its Scriptures - the Jewish tradition as a whole put strong emphasis on the role of eyewitnesses. Only by appealing to credible eyewitnesses could one certify a claim as factual (e.g., Jer. 32:10, 12; Ruth 4:9-11; Isa. 8:2). Correlatively, bearing false witness was considered a major crime in ancient Judaism. Indeed, this was one of the explicit prohibitions of the ten primary stipulations of the Sinai covenant (Exod. 20:16). The Jewish law of multiple witnesses reflects the life-or-death importance of this command (Deut. 17:6-7; Num. 35:30).

It seems that this emphasis on the importance of eyewitnesses was quite explicitly carried over into the early church. The Sinai principle regarding multiple witnesses was retained (Mark 14:56, 59; John 5:31-32; Heb. 10:28) and made the basis of church discipline (Matt. 18:16; 2 Cor. 13:1; 1 Tim. 5:19). More broadly, the themes of bearing witness, giving a true testimony, and making a true confession are ubiquitous in the tradition of the early church (e.g., Matt. 10:18; Mark 6:11; 13:9-13; Luke 1:1-2; 9:5; 21:12-13; 22:71; John 1:7-8, 15, 19, 32, 34; 3:26, 28; 5:32; Acts 1:8, 22; 2:32; 3:15; 5:32; 10:37-41; 13:31; 22:15, 18; 23:11; 26:16; Rom. 1:9; 1 Cor. 1:6; 15:6; 2 Cor. 1:23; Phil. 1:8; 1 Thess. 2:5, 10; 1 Tim. 6:12-13; 2 Tim. 2:2; 1 Pet. 5:1; 2 Pet. 1:16; 1 John 5:6-11; Rev. 1:5; 2:13; 3:14; 6:9; 11:3; 17:6). As Robert Stein observes, the sheer pervasiveness of these themes in the early church testifies to "the high regard in which eyewitness testimony was held."

More specifically, certain key individuals are singled out in the New Testament for their roles as faithful witnesses, teachers, and preservers of the Jesus tradition, for example, Peter, James, and John, as well as James the brother of Jesus (e.g., Acts 1:15, 21-22; 2:14, 42; 3:1-11; 4:13, 19; 5:1-10, 15, 29; 8:14; 12:2; 1 Cor. 15:1-8; Gal. 2:9; Eph. 2:20). This emphasis on key individuals is not only consistent with ancient Judaism, but it is precisely what we should expect, given what we have learned from orality studies about the central role individual tradents play in orally dominant cultures.

It is difficult to explain this common appeal to eyewitness testimony in the New Testament if it is not rooted in historical fact. It seems we must accept as fact that "Jesus gathered around himself a group of committed disciples, some of whom were also prominent in the early church." This conclusion would suggest that mechanisms were in place in the early church that would naturally limit the amount of legendary material that was introduced into the Jesus tradition....

For many scholars, it seems that we have a very convincing reason for not accepting the early Jesus tradition as rooted in eyewitness recollection - namely the ubiquitous presence of supernatural and miraculous elements. Long ago, Julius Wellhausen made this often hidden presupposition quite explicit when he wrote, "The miracle stories in the form in which they are presented in Mark are most resistant to being attributed to the most intimate disciples of Jesus," and therefore "none of them may come from an eyewitness." Here, we submit, a historical decision about eyewitness influence upon the Jesus tradition is being decisively influenced by a metaphysical conviction about the possibility of supernatural occurrences....

Building upon some of the insights of [Samuel] Byrskog, [Richard] Bauckham offers several additional lines of evidence for the presence and importance of eyewitness testimony in the early church....

Bauckham has delivered a number of papers on this topic in recent years and has just released a full-scale study on the phenomenon of eyewitness testimony in the early Jesus tradition, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), that will likely serve as a landmark statement on this topic. Given that we were in the later stages of the publication process when the book was released, we were unable to incorporate it within the body of the text....

In conclusion, given that the first-century Jewish world of the pre-Gospel oral Jesus tradition highly valued eyewitness testimony, we find it far more plausible that the early church valued and preserved the essence of the personal remembrances of Jesus's original disciples than that they neglected the actual eyewitnesses, only to manufacture fabricated testimonies at a later date. At the very least, we can now conclude that the standard form-critical arguments against the presence of a significant amount of eyewitness testimony within the oral Jesus tradition are deeply flawed. (Paul Eddy and Gregory Boyd, The Jesus Legend [Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2007], pp. 269-270, n. 2 on p. 270, 286-287, 290, n. 78 on p. 290, 291)

Monday, September 24, 2007

Sesame Street Atheism

A few characters (or one type of character posting as many tokens) asked me how I knew that God existed, that the Bible was his word, and that he had certain attributes.

I didn't think that they jumbled and confused proofs and arguments with knowledge, so I didn't try to answer in that way. (Of course the above confusion had problems since it invokes an infinite regress.) Anyway, out of the many possible ways I could have answered (rather than the immediate knowledge all men have, cf. Romans 1, or some experiential knowledge, cf. Alston's Perceiving God), I told them that I knew it based on God's - another person - testimony. I assumed that knowledge by testimony was a relatively unproblematic notion. Thus I take it that an acceptable way one could know:

[1] My wife had eggs for breakfast

is by:

[2] My wife told me so.

I also assume that most of what we non-specialists know about science, philosophy, architecture, cars, ects., is based on the testimony of another. I highly doubt that our atheistic friends seek to personally verify all the thousands of experiments, calibrate the hundreds of tools, and interview the hundreds of scientists whose findings were used by other scientists to tell us about a new theory (or, even, an old one, like evolution). Thus I take it as an unproblematic assumption that people don't have a problem with knowledge by testimony.

So, when asked how I knew that the biblical God existed, that the Bible was his word, or had certain attributes, I answered with:

[3] My God told me so, I take it on his own testimony (another way this can be expressed is, "I take it on faith." But, this type of answer shows that faith is not contrary to positive epistemic status).

Now, I was not asked how the atheists, say, Bert and Ernie (since they post anonymously I'll assume they don't mind), could know that God exists, the Bible was his word, or had certain attributes. That would, at least in cases where they wanted to be persuaded, require a different answer (and this would depend on what their presuppositions were). But, as I said, I wasn't asked to answer how they could know (not savingly, of course; this is only brought about by God's instigation and regenerating work in the heart of the sinner) that God existed, or that the Bible was his word.

Okay, so apparently they didn't appreciate [3], for some reason! They came back with something like these rejoinders:

[4] Allah told the Muslim that he existed.

[5] Kali (or one of the billion of so other Hindu gods) told the Hindu that she existed.

[6] My god (some nebulous formal principle without material, I guess) told me that your God was a liar.

And so [4] - [6] was supposed to be taken as defeaters for my belief in [3], I guess.

But, I don't appreciate the force of [4] - [6] at all persuasive, for some reason!

I find it an odd argument that essentially can be expressed thusly:

[*] People cannot know any proposition P based on the testimony of testifier(1) if another testifiee has another testifier(2) who have testified some other proposition P1 inconsistent with P.

[*] seems prima facie ridiculous. Here's a couple reasons why. Take what I told my son when he was two. I told him:

[7] Santa Clause does not exist.

As a two year old he couldn't fly to the North Pole and empirically verify my statement (and, even if he could, perhaps Santa was buried far below the icy surface. I don't suppose he could have received funding for a major dig into the Polar ice caps). So, either he knew, or did not know, [7]. Say he believed me. Say his belief was true. Was his belief warranted? Well, not by propositional evidence in favor of [7], after all, he was two! Many would say he knew [7] based on:

[8] His father told him so.

Now, if knowledge by testimony is a valid way to obtain knowledge, and above we agreed that it was, then my son knew that Santa was not real. If philosophers of testimony are correct, they assigning knowledge to testifiees whose testifiers know what they have testified. I knew that Santa Clause was not real, and this knowledge was transferred to my son. Knowledge is transitive in these cases.

This could be multiplied. It seems like our two year olds know many claims that they do not have empirical evidence for, well-thought-out arguments for, self-consciously aware of the reasons for and against, etc. They know claims like this:

[9] Our pet Rusty is a dog.

[10] Drinking bleach under the sink will cause a boo-boo.

[11] That ugly man (in my case) and that pretty woman (in my wife's case) are mommy and daddy.

It would appear that they know claims like those expressed in [9] - [11] based on the testimony of another; in many cases, the parents. I suppose it's relatively unproblematic to assume that the attitude our 2 year olds should take to the above testimonials is not one of skepticism. What reason should skepticism and disbelief be the automatic select? "I believed by instinct whatever my parents and tutors told me, long before I had the idea of a lie, or a thought of the possibility of their deceiving me. Afterwards, upon reflection, I found that they had acted like fair and honest people, who wished me well. I found that, if I had not believed what they told me, before I could give a reason for my belief, I had to this day been little better than a changeling," says Thomas Reid.


But look at how [*] affects something we would all count as knowledge in the case of [7] based on [8] in this situation: My 2 year old plays in the McDonald Play Palace one December day with Jessica, another two year old. Jessica's father has told her that Santa Clause is not real. As they're in the Hamburgler's jail house, they begin to discuss the fast approaching Christmas morning. After some discussion, Jessica then says, "My daddy told me that Santa was going to bring me a bunny rabbit." My son, disobeying his father's instruction to keep quiet about what I've told him, blurts out, "There is no such thing as Santa Clause!" After some hostile words about cookies and milk disappearing, presents not being under the tree on Christmas Eve, and then "magically" appearing on Christmas morning, and even hearing Santa's "Ho ho ho," Christmas Eve night, Jessica asks my son, "Oh yeah, how do you know that Santa Clause is not real?" My son replies with [8]. Then, Nicole, a notorious pushy preschooler chimes in with:

[12] "Well, then you can't know that Santa isn't real because Jessica's dad has told here that he is, in fact, real."

Now, from what we've learned, we know that Jessica does not know [12]. She has been mislead. She is, in fact, justified in her belief (but not warranted since her epistemic environment was not conducive to supporting true-belief formation), though; but that's another matter. What concerns us for our purposes is if, based on [*], [12] takes away my son's knowledge that [7] based on [8]? It is hard to see how. Thus [*] seems to imply that my son could not know that [7], which seems absurd. This could be extrapolated into far more weighty areas as well. Surely there are scientific beliefs that we hold based on the testimony of some scientists. Say that someone learns some theory:

[13] Certain combinations of chemicals of this and that sort, according to this or that physical principle, based on such and such biological principles, can bring about speciation.

Surely there is much in [13] that most people who hold to evolution take on the testimony of so and so scientists. There are measurements, rules, formulae, laws, calculations, etc., that most of those who hold [13] have not personally verified for themselves. They have not read all the journals, verified all the tests that stand as givens for other tests, etc. Some of what goes into [13] is taken on the testimony of, so they say, the brilliant scientists whose profession it is to know these things.

Now, let's look at another claim about science. Let's pick that fundy creationist every evolutionist loves to hate, Ken Ham, as saying:

[14] Certain combinations of chemicals of this and that sort, according to this or that physical principle, based on such and such biological principles, cannot bring about speciation.

Now, I suspect the evolutionist wouldn't bat any eye lash at the claim that he cannot know some things assumed by [13] merely because Ken Ham as testified to the contrary. The evolutionist would hardly say that the fundy creationist knows [14] just because a "scientist" (so as not to beg any questions) has told them otherwise.

Examples like the above could be multiplied greatly.

I thus take it that (*) fails as a defeater for [3].

Now, certainly [3] isn’t going to be very persuasive of a reason for the atheist to know that God exists, that the Bible is his word, or that he has certain attributes; but the question was how could I, a Christian, know that he exists, etc. And, certainly if God doesn’t exist then I couldn’t know that he did based on [3]. But, from my perspective, I don’t need to prove his existence to myself, and so that rejoinder wouldn’t count as a defeater for [3]. This objection also shows that the de jure question cannot be easily separated from the de facto question. Now, perhaps the atheist has a defeater for my belief in God? If so, he needs to present it. But as it stands, with the information contained in the question, I take it that I have answered it. The response given to my answer has, I believe, been shown to be unsuccessful.

Providence & Prayer

(Posted on behalf of Steve Hays.)

Terrance Tiessen is an advocate of what, for convenience, I dub Reformed middle knowledge—which is a compatibilist variant of Molinism. His book on Providence & Prayer, which is well worth owning, presents a comparison and contrast between competing positions on divine providence. Terry also has a forthcoming article in the WTJ in defense of Reformed middle knowledge.

I'll quote some passages from his book, and then comment on the excerpts:
Without restating the argument, I believe that the demonstration of the compatibility of foreknowledge and human freedom, even libertarian freedom, which was offered by William Lane Craig (Molinist model) is completely adequate. Foreknowledge is not causative, not would it be an instance of backward causation.1
i) It's hard to square this admission with Terry's stated position elsewhere, in which he denies that foreknowledge and libertarian freedom are compatible (e.g. 317).

ii) I also don't see how his conclusion follows from the premise. It's true that foreknowledge doesn't determine the future. So it's not "causative." But foreknowledge implies a determinate future. The relation is logical rather than causal. But even on logical grounds, foreknowledge is incompatible with an indeterminate future—since an indeterminate object of knowledge cannot be an object of knowledge.
What God knows ahead of time (from our perspective) is the future that comes about through the decisions of free human agents (and would be so, even if they were libertarianly free, which I do not believe is the case, though Craig does). If people decided differently, God's knowledge would have been different. This does not entail that the future must be undecided; it affirms rather than the future that actually comes to be is determined by responsible agents at that time, that those actual decisions have truth value, and that God knows their truth value.2
This statement is not so much wrong as it is misleading, for it's quite ambiguous, and skates over the deeper issues. For those theological traditions that affirm foreknowledge, the question at issue is not whether God knows the future, but how he knows the future—consistent with other attributes or actions.

It's true that human beings, as secondary agents, have an instrumental role to play in causing certain things to happen. It's also true, in a sense, to say that if people decided differently, God's knowledge would have been different. But this is all equivocal.

From a Reformed standpoint, human beings don't "determine" the future. God determines the future. God's determination determines what human beings will do. This includes their contribution to the future as secondary agents. There is a sense in which human beings effect or eventuate aspects of the future. We are temporal creatures, acting in time and space, so that our past or present actions (or even inactions) impact the future. To some extent, we bring it about. A system of providence involves secondary agents (personal agents) as well as secondary agencies (inanimate forces).

That, however, doesn't mean that we "determine" a future event, any more than an electrical storm "determines" a future event. Lightening may cause a forest fire, but it doesn't "determine" that outcome—not in the way that Terry is using the term.

Now, you might say that it determines the outcome in terms of physical determinism. It's a physical determinate, in the sense of cause and effect (e.g. a chemical reaction). But I don't think that's the kind of determinism that Terry has in mind.

Rather, he is taking the position that the possible future which God determines to occur is, itself, determined by his knowledge of what we would do in one possible world or another. That's not the same thing as physical determinism.

Rather, it's a ways of saying that God's reason for choosing to instantiate possible world A over world B is supplied by his knowledge of what we would do in alternative scenarios.

From a Reformed standpoint, our contribution to the future is determined by God. Yes, we contribute to the eventuation of the future. But that is because God has determined that future (as an end), and has also determined our causal contribution (as a means to that end).

Now, it's consistent for Terry to say that we determine the future since, for Terry, God is opting for possible world A over possible world B in light of what we would do in either situation. And that, in turn, introduces the specter of retrocausation—as if God's knowledge of what we would do is caused by what we would do.

Indeed, this implicitly flirts with the specter of preexistence, as if God is making his choice from a platonic plenum of free-floating possibilities that subsist apart from the nature and being God—like a cosmic mail-order catalogue.

Calvinism doesn't deny that God knows what we would do. But what is the source of his knowledge? In Calvinism, God's knowledge of hypotheticals and counterfactuals is an aspect of his self-knowledge. God knows what we would do, because God knows what he would do with us.

In Reformed theology, hypotheticals are hypothetical decrees. God knows the alternative outcome because he knows what would occur if he decreed the alternative outcome. God not only knows the outcome of the actual decree, but he also knows the outcome of every hypothetical decree.

The correct metaphor wouldn't be a mail order catalogue, but a novel. A novelist knows what his characters will do, and he knows what they would do. He knows that, in part, because he assigns to each character its defining characteristics. It would be out of character for a character to act in a certain way. And it would be out of character because the novelist has vested the character with certain characteristics.

He also knows what each and every character will do in the future because he has written their future for them. And he knows what they would do in some alternative future, because he has imagined alternative endings for his novel.

Do the characters determine the plot? No. Do the characters determine the author's knowledge of the plot? No.

The characters carry out the plot. They are part of the story. They make certain things happen—things that wouldn't happen if that character didn't exist. And the author's knowledge of the story would be different if the story were different.

But who would make the story different? The storyteller or the storybook characters? If the author chose to write a different story, then that would affect his knowledge of the story, but that's an aspect of the author's self-knowledge. He determines which possible storyline will become the actual storyline.

The characters don't write the plot. Rather, they are written into the plot. The novel isn't written from the inside out—like The NeverEnding Story.

Okay, I'm using a metaphor. And it has certain limitations—like any metaphor. But I think it helps to explicate and expose certain inchoate assumptions and intuitions that are feeding into middle knowledge.

Unlike fictional characters, human beings are conscious beings. And we are genuine agents. We cause certain things to happen.

Yet, when we talk about possible persons in possible worlds, we are talking about the equivalent of fictional characters. Possible worlds are fictions—fictions which inhere in the mind of God. It's just that one of those otherwise imaginary scenarios will come true—in the actual world which God chooses to instantiate.

What is a possible person, anyway? Is a possible person something over and above God's idea of a possible person?

A real person is something over and above God's bare idea. In making a real person, God objectifies his idea in space and even. Even in that case, a real person exactly corresponds to the possible person—which he concretely exemplifies.

And in what sense is a possible person God's idea of a possible person? Are there possible persons, in the sense of freestanding possibilities—of which God has an idea? That would be Platonism rather than Christian theism.

Rather, God's idea is constitutive of a possible person. A possible person is a contingent set of properties which God predicates of a common subject. They don't have to go together to form that particular set of properties, which—in turn—constitutes a possible person. God could consociate a different set of properties.

Indeed, God entertains every possible combination. That's a feature of his necessary knowledge. He knows all possibilities and all compossibilities. Hence, God knows a possible person by knowing his own idea of a possible person—and his idea is constitutive rather than derivative.

By contrast, Terry is implicitly—if not intentionally—suggesting the reverse: that the possible person is constitutive of God's idea.

From a Reformed standpoint, God knows a possible person by knowing himself. He knows what he thinks, and he knows what he can do. A possible world is a subset of divine omnipotence. A possible world is a circumlocution for what God could possibly do. And a possible person is a special case of a possible world.

So what makes a possible person possible is divine omnipotence. Possibility isn't ultimately an attribute of an ideal person, but of the God whose omnipotence is what makes anything possible, and whose omniscience is constitutive of the object.

That's a long answer to a brief quotation, but it will expedite the analysis as we proceed.
I, too have become increasingly convinced that God's knowledge of what would happen in hypothetical situations is an essential element in his wise planning and predestining of the future of the world's history.3
I don't have any problems with this statement, per se. My problem, rather, is with Terry's assumption that this condition can only be satisfied by middle knowledge. But hypotheticals are possibilities. As such, they are already covered by God's necessary knowledge. God knows what would transpire if he decreed an alternative state of affairs. So this doesn't demand recourse to middle knowledge.
God must know what a person would do in every possible situation, and one cannot know that if the person's decision is ultimately indeterminate, awaiting the apparently arbitrary choice of the free agent when the moment of decision arrives.4
I agree, which is why I don't how what he denies on p317 is at all consistent with what he affirms on p315. Here he says one cannot know that if the person's decision is ultimately indeterminate, awaiting the apparently arbitrary choice of the free agent when the moment of decision arrives, but there he says the demonstration of the compatibility of foreknowledge and human freedom, even libertarian freedom, which was offered by William Lane Craig (Molinist model) is completely adequate.

This tension is reinforced by his definition of contracausal freedom (365) and libertarian freedom (366) in the glossary, which converges with his denial on p317, but diverges from his affirmation on p315.
If God simply decided the future in one logical moment without regard to the possible responses of creatures to his own initiatives and the wisest responses that he could make to those creaturely decisions, then any appearance of significance in those human decisions is thoroughly illusory.5
Once again, this is, at best, ambiguous.

i) How does a denial of middle knowledge imply that God doesn't take the consequences of each alternative scenario into account when he chooses which possible world to instantiate? God's necessary knowledge will suffice.

ii) Now his necessary knowledge would be inadequate if you think that God's knowledge of counterfactuals is dependent on what the creature would do. But I reject that assumption for reasons I gave in my earlier reply to Terry, where I said (to quote myself):
In Molinism, God's knowledge of what the creature would do is a mediate knowledge, mediated by the creature.

God knows what the libertarian agent would do because what the libertarian agent would do is the cause of God's knowledge. God isn't causing the agent to do this, for if he were causing it, the agent would cease to be free in the libertarian sense.

In Calvinism, by contrast, God knows what the agent would do because he knows what the agent would do if he caused the agent to do this or that in some alternative scenario. So, in Calvinism, God's knowledge of hypotheticals or counterfactuals is immediate rather than mediate.

Thus, Calvinism preserves divine aseity and impassibility, whereas scientia media compromises divine aseity and impassibility by making God's knowledge of hypotheticals or counterfactuals contingent on what the creature would do, rather than what God would do with or to the creature.
iii) Since, moreover, Terry is on record as endorsing compatibilism, that would be the obvious strategy to pursue in anchoring and explicating the significance of human decisions.

iv) The problem with Terry's position doesn't lie in the responsiveness of the creature, but in making God react to the creature—as if God must adapt to a realm of autonomous possibilities that present themselves to him or confront him with a preset range of choices from which he is allowed to make his selection.

Yet hypotheticals are not a preexistent, coeternal vending machine, alongside God, as if God inserts the coin, makes his selection from a preset menu, then pushes the button, and out pops the actual world.



1 T. Tiessen, Providence & Prayer (IVP 2000), 315.
2 Ibid. 315-16.
3 Ibid. 316.
4 Ibid. 317.
5 Ibid. 319.

"Ending the war"

I heard an interview with Hillary on Sunday. She was in representative form—which means reciting prepared answers to duck tough questions. What struck me was her choice of verbs in describing her Iraq war policy. It was always the same verb: we must “end” the war in Iraq. What made this striking was the verb she avoided: she never talked about “winning” the war, only “ending the war.

Now, there are two ways to end a war: by winning or losing. And it’s pretty easy to end a war by losing. You simply surrender and retreat.

Perhaps the war in Iraq is a lost cause, although I think we should give Petraeus a chance to turn the situation around.

But the far left would like to see American suffer a resounding defeat. From its twisted perspective, America is the enemy, not militant Islam.

I’d add that there are a few folks on the far right who take the same position. Consider the tinfoil punditry of Peter Craig Roberts, which is frequently indistinguishable from the subversive, delusional ranting of Gore Vidal, Ramsey Clark, and Noam Chomsky.

I’ve never been a big fan of the Iraq war. I’m mainly been opposed to opponents of the war because I think their arguments—especially in the ramp up to war—were generally flawed arguments that misdiagnose the nature of the enemy, and therefore present a misguided strategy for dealing with the threat of global jihad.

Remembering Jesus

As I've discussed in previous threads earlier this year (here and here), human memory is more reliable than critics of the New Testament often suggest. Paul Eddy and Gregory Boyd discuss the subject at length in their recent book, The Jesus Legend (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2007). They also present evidence for a higher rate of literacy in ancient Israel than some critics suggest, and they argue for the role of written material in preserving information about Jesus prior to the writing of the gospels. In this post, however, I want to focus on their comments on the reliability of orally transmitted information in an oral culture like first-century Israel.

They make many good points relevant to this subject, and I'm not going to quote them on every one of those points. I'll just give some representative examples.

Before I quote some examples, however, I do want to summarize some of their other points. We should distinguish between memory studies done in a setting such as the twenty-first-century United States and what would be likely to have occurred in an oral culture like first-century Israel, in which much more emphasis was placed on developing memory skills, people weren't relying on modern technology to keep records for them, etc. Modern skeptics shouldn't assume that their own poorly developed memory skills reflect the memory skills of a first-century Jew. We also need to keep in mind that oral cultures are capable of distinguishing between different types of information and differing degrees of importance associated with those types of information, just as we're capable of making such distinctions. The fact that a culture doesn't have much concern for accurately preserving information about one subject doesn't prove that they would be equally unconcerned about accuracy on all other subjects. And the ability of a modern court witness to remember some details of the physical appearance of a crime suspect he saw unexpectedly for a few seconds isn't comparable to the ability of an ancient Jew to remember something he heard Jesus teach many times with a prior expectation of hearing Jesus teach. Eddy and Boyd discuss these and other significant qualifications in some depth. This post isn't meant to be a substitute for reading their book.

But here's some of what they write on the subject:

According to legendary-Jesus theorists, these early oral Jesus traditions were only loosely (or, in the case of Christ myth advocates, not at all) rooted in actual remembrances of Jesus and were very susceptible to legendary accretion. Word of mouth is not a trustworthy means of disseminating information in the best of circumstances, it is argued. And it is even less reliable when one is dealing with "naive and mythologically minded" people like the early Christians. Thus it is reasonable to conclude that much (if not all) of the Jesus material we find in the Gospels is rooted in the imagination of early Christians, as opposed to historical reality....

Early form critics such as Bultmann took it for granted that folk traditions consisted almost exclusively of short vignettes. How could longer narratives, to say nothing of epics, be remembered and transmitted intact orally? While this view is still prevalent today among many in New Testament circles, a significant number of folklorists, anthropologists, and ethnographers over the last several decades have justifiably abandoned it. The reason for this reversal is that empirical evidence has shown it to be demonstrably wrong. A large number of fieldwork studies have "brought to light numerous long oral epics in the living traditions of Central Asia, India, Africa, and Oceania, for example." Hence, as the famed Finish folklorist Lauri Honko recently noted: "The existence of genuine long oral epics can no longer be denied." In fact, amazingly, scholars have documented oral narratives whose performance lasted up to twenty-five hours carried out over several days....

Honko himself has witnessed one oral narrative whose performance ran seven days...

[Joanna] Dewey has pointed out that an oral narrative the length of Mark would take at most two hours to perform, which, as we have seen, is relatively short by the oral-narrative standards. What is more, as oral narratives go, Mark's narrative would be relatively easy to remember and transmit. "Good storytellers could easily learn the story of Mark from hearing it read or hearing it told," she writes. And from this she concludes that, "given the nature of oral memory and tradition...it is likely that the original written text of Mark was dependent on a pre-existing connected oral narrative, a narrative that already was being performed in various versions by various people."...

In order to understand and assess accurately the new forms of memoric skepticism [skepticism about the reliability of human memory] operative today, one must understand the intellectual influences and contexts that have given birth to them. The "crisis of memory" that began to be widely announced in the 1980s and 1990s can trace its seeds to the general collapse of confidence in human knowledge that followed the debacle of World War I. It is no coincidence that the same time period that gave rise to memoric skepticism in its individual (F.C. Bartlett) and collective/social (Maurice Halbwachs) forms also fostered the rise of similar skepticism in historiography (Carl Becker), sociology of knowledge (Karl Mannheim), and New Testament studies (Rudolf Bultmann). As [Barry] Schwartz notes: "These men appealed so greatly to the West because their views resonated so closely with the cynicism of the post World War I worldview and ethos: 'the world is not what it seems.'"

The interdisciplinary spirit of skepticism included a strong suspicion - and commitment to the unmasking - of the always-already-present ideological/political motives behind claims of historical "truth." Over the decades, this trend has been fueled by such intellectual forces as Marxist historical analysis, poststructuralist deconstruction, Foucault's "genealogical" historiography, and a variety of other postmodern intellectual impulses and intuitions. With each of these forces comes a bias for the new, the contingent, the aporia, and a bias against the traditional, the connected, and the stable....

Memorization as an educational technique was ubiquitous in the ancient world. As any good oral teacher would do, Jesus himself clearly taught in ways that facilitated remembrance of his words....

In sum, the ancient, orally oriented world - unlike the Western, post-Gutenberg, (post)modern world within which contemporary memory experiments are conducted - offered a context within which memory was valued and memorization and its techniques were intentionally studied and practiced....

Schwartz goes on to express his concern about the effect of hyperskeptical social memory theory upon Gospel studies in no uncertain terms: "Theories that dismiss the Gospels as screens on which church leaders projected their agendas are instances of intellectual dandyism...but since they resonate with the taste of a cynical age, their burden of proof is light."...

Even Daniel Schacter, a memory theorist known for his work on the distorting effects of memory, can offer a generally positive assessment of the matter: "On balance...our memory systems do a remarkably good job of preserving the general contours of our pasts and of recording correctly many of the important things that have happened to us" (pp. 237, 252-253, n. 58 on p. 253, 256, 278, 283-284, n. 54 on p. 284)

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Turgid Atheism

John Loftus sent me an email asking me if I "had read [his] book yet, friend?" He included a link to a blog entry where he tells everyone that Eddie Tabash recommends his book. Frankly, that makes me want to read it even less (which is paradoxical since I don't care to read it at all!). He implies that his book "is the best counter-apologetics book ever." What a slap in the face to guys like Oppy, Q. Smith, Drange, etc. Talk about a Napolean complex.

Tell ya what, John, if you can tell me why this review of your book, which concludes that I should save my money when it comes to purchasing your book, is wrong, perhaps I'll consider reading your book.

Early Agreement About The Historical Jesus

The existence of Jesus wasn't an issue among the earliest Christians and their enemies. They agreed that Jesus had lived in Israel during roughly the closing years of the first century B.C. and the opening years of the first century A.D. The concept that Jesus didn't exist, or that the earliest Christians thought of Him as having lived in the more distant past or in a non-earthly realm, didn't arise until later in history.

As we see in the earliest New Testament documents and in material that can be dated even earlier (some creeds used by the New Testament authors, for example), the early church viewed Jesus as the fulfillment of the Old Testament expectation of an earthly, human Messiah. That Messiah was to have lived under and fulfilled the Jewish law and was to have had other earthly, human characteristics, such as descent from David. Apparent relatives of Jesus, including supposed members of His immediate family, are prominent in the church in its earliest years, as illustrated in the writings of Paul.

Put yourself in the place of one of Jesus' brothers, a son of James, or a grandchild of Jude, for example, who lived at a time when the church was transitioning from belief in a Jesus who never lived on earth to belief in a Jesus who did live on earth, recently, and was one of your close relatives. Such a change would have widespread implications and would be easily noticed. What if you had been a leader in a Pauline church that had recently been in contact with Paul, and you had taught for decades that Jesus was a non-earthly figure who lived a life radically different from what the gospels describe? Then you see a document (one of the gospels) circulating among the churches that presents a view of Jesus contradicting what Paul had told you and what you had taught for decades. Or put yourself in the place of a relative of Pilate or the Jewish religious leaders at the time when the early Christians were changing their view of Jesus so radically. What would you think of the claim that your relative, Pilate, had condemned God incarnate to death? How would you, as a Pharisee, for example, react to the claim that your recent predecessors were responsible for rejecting and putting to death the Messiah? What if you knew that the people making such assertions had argued for something radically different shortly beforehand? Would you not only not criticize the change, but even corroborate the Christian assertions about Jesus' birthplace, the means by which He died, the existence and emptiness of His tomb, etc.?

For these and many other reasons, the large majority of people, and nearly all scholars with relevant credentials, reject theories suggesting that Jesus didn't exist or that the earliest Christians thought that He had lived significantly earlier, for example. The agreement among the earliest Christians and their enemies regarding Jesus' existence in first century Israel is also the consensus of the modern world and modern scholarship.

In some recent posts, I've mentioned a book by Paul Eddy and Gregory Boyd, titled The Jesus Legend (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2007). Though the book addresses more than the issue of whether Jesus existed, it does address that issue. Eddy and Boyd make many good points, far too many for me to discuss here, but I do want to quote some portions of their comments. For a more extensive treatment of the subject, in addition to reading the book by Eddy and Boyd, see J.P. Holding's web site and Chris Price's material on the subject (here and here). I'm not going to quote what Eddy and Boyd write about the non-Christian sources who are usually discussed in this context (Mara bar Serapion, Josephus, etc.). (Their material on Tacitus is particularly good.) Rather, I'm going to focus on some of their more general comments and some of the evidence they mention that isn't often discussed. The first few sentences are from the conclusion of their discussion of a passage in Justin Martyr that's sometimes misrepresented as evidence of early belief in Jesus' nonexistence:

Trypho [a non-Christian Jew Justin Martyr debated] is not arguing that Christians invented Jesus. Indeed, his argument is actually predicated on Jesus's historical existence, for he is arguing that Christians invented a false conception of Christ and applied it to Jesus. The fact that Trypho assumes Jesus existed throughout the remainder of his debate with Justin Martyr further confirms our interpretation.

Hence, we have no reason to think that Trypho, or anyone else in the first and second centuries, denied that Jesus existed. Given that Christianity had numerous enemies in the ancient world who wanted to expose it as a lie, the absence of this criticism is noteworthy, especially if Jesus was a fabricated figure, as Christ myth theorists contend. We are being asked to accept that the Jesus story was a fabricated myth, even though all the earliest opponents of this supposed myth presuppose it is not a fabrication in the very process of critiquing it....

What is significant is that no one in the ancient world seems to have flatly denied that Jesus performed miracles - let alone that he existed. Rather, they grant that he was a wonder-worker but offer a different manner of explanation for how he performed his feats. And this, it seems, is difficult to explain on the assumption that the Jesus story was nothing more than a recently created legend. If the Jesus story was in fact a recent legend, it seems the ancient critics could have, and most certainly would have, argued this point instead of wasting time offering counterexplanations for his miracles....

We now turn to the claim made by certain legendary-Jesus theorists - particularly those who argue for the more radical Christ myth theory - that Paul is virtually silent about, and largely uninterested in, the (supposed) Jesus of history. In this view, Paul's silence indicates that he did not view Jesus as a recent historical figure. Rather, these scholars argue that Paul viewed Jesus as a mythic deity who performed his saving work in the distant past and/or in the heavenly realm....

since the typical Christ myth thesis understands Paul's view of Jesus as patterned after the savior figures of the ancient mystery religions, this would require that knowledge of these mystery religions be both available and attractive to a first-century Jew - a Pharisee, no less (Phil. 3:5) - like Paul. As we have already suggested, however, neither of these claims is likely (chaps. 2-3). We have no solid evidence that mystery religions existed in the first century in the form proposed by Christ myth theorists. And we have very good evidence suggesting that, even if they had been in existence, first-century Jews would have viewed them with contempt....

From Paul's writings it is evident that he knew a significant amount of detail concerning the life of Jesus. He knew Jesus was born and raised as a Jew (Gal. 4:4) and that he was a descendant of Abraham and David (Gal. 3:6; Rom. 1:3). Paul knew Jesus had a brother named James (Gal. 1:19) and perhaps other brothers as well (1 Cor. 9:5). He knew by name a number of disciples who ministered with Jesus, and he knew that Jesus's disciple Peter was married (1 Cor. 9:5). Paul also knew that Jesus was betrayed (1 Cor. 11:23) and that he was executed by crucifixion (1 Cor. 1:17-18; Gal. 5:11; 6:12; Phil. 2:8; 3:18) with the help of certain Judean Jews (1 Thess. 2:14-15). Paul was aware that Jesus instituted a memorial meal the night before his death (1 Cor. 11:23-25), and that Jesus was buried after his death and was resurrected three days later, a fact he refers to frequently and places a great deal of weight on (Rom. 4:24-25; 1 Cor. 15:4-8; cf. Rom. 6:4-9; 8:11, 34; 1 Cor. 6:14; 2 Cor. 4:14; Gal. 1:1; 1 Thess. 4:14). As we have noted, in a first-century Jewish context, this affirmation inherently implies the resurrection of a physical body in a historical sense.

Moreover, Paul knew that Jesus's earthly life was characterized by meekness, gentleness, self-sacrificial love, and humble service (2 Cor. 10:1; Phil. 2:5-7). Paul's central passion was to know and be conformed to Jesus Christ (Phil. 3:8-10), and he consistently held up Jesus's life - and his own life as modeled on Jesus's life - as examples to be emulated (1 Cor. 11:1)....

How, for example, could Paul possibly have set conformity with Christ as the goal of his life, and how could he possibly have insisted that others do the same, if he knew and cared little, in concrete detail, about what it was he and other disciples were supposed to conform to? With Paul, as with all other first-century Hellenistic and Jewish models of character, the call to imitate the life of a person presupposed a significant shared body of knowledge about the life that person lived....

Moreover, only on the assumption that Paul and his congregations cared and knew about the life of the one they had devoted their own lives to can we explain the creation of the Gospels. The Gospels are, if not biographies per se, at least biographical in the sense that they "display a didactic concern to portray the character of their subject matter by recounting things he did and said." In other words, they are structured for teaching purposes. But how are we to explain the felt need to provide instruction from the life of Jesus in the church shortly after Paul's death if the extreme legendary-Jesus theorists are right in arguing there had been virtually no interest in, let alone a need for, such information before Paul's death? It seems much more reasonable to assume that from the start the earliest Christian communities felt a need to know about the historical person they had committed their lives to....

It is important to note that Paul always assumed that the faith he came to embrace and preach was the same faith he had earlier sought to destroy (Gal. 1:23; see also 1 Cor. 15:11). This means that Paul did not create the Christian faith he preached; to a significant extent, at least, he inherited it....

Again, we are not denying that Paul believed he received revelations directly from the risen Jesus. But nowhere does he suggest that his knowledge of Jesus is limited to these personal revelations. And he everywhere reflects the conviction that the revelations he received were consistent with the teachings the Christian churches had been passing on from the beginning....

Following Seyoon Kim, we will break down possible instances of Jesus tradition in Paul into two broad categories: (1) certain/probable references, and (2) possible echoes. While assessments of the matter vary significantly, under Kim's analysis there are over twenty-five instances where "Paul certainly or probably makes reference or allusion to a saying of Jesus," and "over forty possible echoes of a saying of Jesus."...

[In 1 Corinthians 11:23-26] The timing (Passover), the Old Testament allusion ("new covenant"; e.g. Jer. 31:31-34), the language ("remembrance" = covenant sign), and even the blood metaphor itself all make sense within a Jewish covenental matrix....

The vast majority of scholars grant that the author of the Gospel of Luke is also the author of the book of Acts. Indeed, the two works are generally understood as two volumes of one work. Yet, in the second volume, Luke chooses to make little use of the Jesus tradition that he obviously is so familiar with (as witnessed by the content of his first volume). As W.A. Strange observes, Luke fails "to provide any substantial teaching from Jesus which would assist the church in solving the problems that he describes in Acts....When the church in Acts faces some perplexity, it does not base its decisions on the teaching of Jesus."

We shall discuss how this curious phenomenon might be explained shortly. But however we explain it, we clearly cannot suggest that the lack of references to the Jesus tradition in Acts in any way reflects an ignorance of, or lack of interest in, that tradition on the part of the author....

The same principle, we suggest, must be applied to Paul. However we explain the scarcity of explicit citations of the Jesus tradition in Paul, we have no reason to follow those legendary-Jesus theorists who suppose it was because he was unaware of, or unconcerned about, Jesus's teaching....

Similarly, Kim notes that John's epistles and the book of Revelation contain few references to traditions found in the Gospel of John. Hence, he concludes, "The scarcity of Paul's explicit reference to Jesus-tradition can hardly mean his lack of knowledge of or interest in it" (pp. 170, 178, 201, 205, 209-211, 215-218, 220, 229, n. 74 on p. 229)