Category: Theology

Posted on

Thoughts on MLK’s Case for Civil Disobedience

By Jim Spiegel

As today we are celebrating the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr., I have again been looking over his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” a crucial document in the history of the civil rights movement.  It is in this potent defense and application of an ethic of civil disobedience that we find such well-known statements as these:

  • “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
  • “An individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust…is in reality expressing the highest respect for the law.”
  • “The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists will we be.  Will we be extremists for hate or for love…for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?”

In his argument for full equality for black Americans, King appealed repeatedly to Scripture (especially the New Testament and the words of Jesus) and the authority of Christian theologians such as Augustine and Aquinas.  Now it is interesting to note that today many Americans Martin_Luther_King_Jr_NYWTSstaunchly oppose any mixing of religion and politics.  More specifically: they are critical of any use of theological arguments to defend public policies.  So by this standard, King was way out of line when he appealed repeatedly to Scripture to defend his views.  And he was completely off base when declaring “We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands.”

Of course, some theological arguments are better than others, whether they regard issues in metaphysics, ethics, politics, or any other subject matter.  Some criticisms of theo-political arguments are quite warranted.  But the point is that not all such arguments are necessarily flawed or illegitimate.  And if one believes otherwise, then one must be willing to accept the uncomfortable conclusion that King’s approach was fundamentally flawed.

So the next time you hear someone complain tout court about appeals to theology to defend political views, you might want to kindly inquire what they think of the tactics and rhetorical strategy of Martin Luther King, Jr.  I suspect that more often than not the person will be disturbed by the realization that their anti-theological dogma forces them to bite a bullet they aren’t prepared to bite.

Posted on

Heaven is Little House on the Prairie

By Amy Spiegel

Being a mom calls for many sacrifices. Giving birth, years of sleepless nights, sitting on the soccer sidelines in the freezing rain as well as the blistering heat. So much of your life is given over to the health and well-being of others that your free time becomes precious. I pity the child who calls down for a glass of water when I have “punched my time clock” and crashed in front of the TV for a little Netflix action. And despite the fact that I am the adult and the one who is supposed to know all about dying to self, it still takes a serious act of self-discipline to let the kids watch “American’s Funniest Home Videos” when I want to watch “Masterpiece Classics.” (I actually forced the boys to watch Sense and Sensibility with me a while back. Highlight of the experience? Sam passionately declaring “If Willoughby turns out to be a bad guy, I am going to be so mad!”) No one ever told me that parenthood would require laying down my leisurely pursuits along with all the more anticipated sacrifices. The worst part is that not only do my kids want to watch their shows but they want me to watch with them.

This also goes for whatever books they are reading. Silly me, I thought that once most of them were reading on their own, my time with books well below my reading level was over. So I have read books about the offspring of the Greek gods, books about the adventures of children in underground worlds, books about a world full of wizards and witches (okay, Harry Potter is awesome. I just didn’t need to read the series three times.) When I suggest books that I liked as a kid, all I get is blank stares and polite silence. But a few weeks ago, I caught a break when Bailey’s class was assigned Farmer Boy for book club. The Laura Ingalls Wilder books are everything I love rolled into one: farm life, history, moral lessons and amusing antidotes about childhood that magically capture life from a child’s perspective without a hint of condescension. I have tried for years to get the kids to read one of these books and now here was my chance. I loved the book so much I broke the cardinal rule of book club: No reading ahead. Sorry Bailey.

One can’t read Farmer Boy without being struck by how hard the Wilder family works to provide for themselves. Basically, the majority of the book is taken up with detailed descriptions of how they grew their food, how they made their clothes, etc. And I couldn’t get enough of it. They seemed so full of purpose and directions. I found myself longing to be transported into their world, a world in which there seemed little room for ambiguity.

While I still have dreams of owning chickens and livestock, the reality is that I am town folk, at least for now. But someday, even if I have to die to get there, I will get my little farmhouse. I will work all day and enjoy the fruits of my labor. Everything I do will have purpose and meaning. Only in this reality I won’t have to put up with the lack of indoor plumbing or stay up late worrying if the corn crop is going to freeze.

As strange as it might sound, I long for a Heaven of work, not rest. The white-cloud-and-harp Heaven is for the birds. I want a Heaven in which we can work but never tire, a heaven free of sickness and anxiety but full of chores to be done. So much of what wears me out in this world isn’t the work itself but rather my uncertainty regarding the meaningfulness of that work. I long to be in the presence of my Creator so that I might receive clearly and from His owns lips, my to-do list for the day, or possibly my to-do list for the next thousand years. Either way, when I pass through those pearly gates I will be ready to roll up my sleeves and dirty my hands with the soil of Heaven. Maybe that sounds more like Hell to you but to me it’s sounds like Paradise.

Posted on

Reflections on Ecclesiastes 1:18

By Jim Spiegel

In the book of Ecclesiastes we are told that “with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge the more grief” (1:18).  This is one of those passages that might seem counter-intuitive, especially to the young.  But if ever there was a biblical dictum that is proven by experience, this is it.

It is interesting to note that this passage confirms a popular idiom, namely that ignorance is bliss.  The suggestion seems to be that knowledge and wisdom are proportional to pain and sorrow, respectively.  If so, then the less knowledge/wisdom one has, the less grief/sorrow one experiences.  And a complete absence of knowledge/wisdom would therefore mean a complete absence of grief/sorrow.  In other words, ignorance is bliss.  Of course, there are other ways to ruin one’s bliss that don’t involve knowledge/wisdom, such as through brute physical pain.  One need not have any genuine knowledge/wisdom in order to suffer.

Now let’s reflect on some implications of this passage on the positive end, that is, for those who have an abundance of knowledge and wisdom.  Their lives would presumably be marked by grief and sorrow.  Jesus Christ, as God incarnate, would have a maximal amount of knowledge and wisdom.  Wouldn’t it follow, then, that he would be very sorrowful?  This is exactly what the Scriptures tell us, as Isaiah refers to the Messiah as the “man of sorrows” (Isa. 53:3).

Another implication is that to follow Christ and strive for wisdom and understanding is to commit to a life of grief and sorrow.  That’s not exactly how the Gospel is pitched in our culture.  But, then again, that’s not really the whole truth of the matter, since the faithful Christian’s sorrow is actually accompanied by joy.  This is one of the existential paradoxes of Christian experience, as we actually experience joy in our troubles and trials (cf. 2 Cor. 7:4; James 1:2).  And this joy is grounded in knowledge, quite the opposite of the bliss of ignorance.

Posted on

Our Stories Within the Story

By Amy Spiegel

I can always count on Maggie, our precocious seven-year-old, to inspire me to think outside the box. She is not one to color inside the lines, either literally or metaphorically.  She and I spend several hours a day one-on-one homeschooling, and she never fails to amaze me with her limitless imagination. Her “When-I-grow-up…” list grows by the hour and recently she seems to have added “color commentator” to her list of career aspirations. Not color commentator for football, mind you, or any other spectator sport. Why give the play-by-play of something as meaningless as sports when you could provide commentary on your own life. While hammering out an email, I’ll hear, “…and then the girl picked up her pencil and began to carefully print Zs” or “Maggie really hoped her mom would bring her snack soon because she was so hungry.”

Being a lover of narrative, I appreciate this gift that my daughter seems to have in seeing her life as a story, one to be enjoyed and cherished, sometimes to be endured. It isn’t easy to see the thread of story that runs through all our lives running through your own life story. Too often, we are too close up to see the themes and lessons. This time of year, many of us are focused on the Christmas story. Two thousand years removed from the events that changed human history forever, it’s easy to identify the main characters, to see the plot unfolding and rushing to the climax of the cross and empty tomb. But what was it like for the characters themselves, who weren’t storybook figures, only living between the pages of a fairytale? These were men and women of flesh and blood, often lacking in perspective, too immersed in the events of today to foresee the God-sized plan of which they were a part. This is a man, traveling with his betrothed, unable to find shelter. This is a young woman giving birth for the first time in a cave meant for beasts of burden, not the King of Kings. One has to wonder how much of it they really understood. Certainly the angelic visitations and Holy Spirit-inspired prophecies helped. But think of all the promises we are given, of God’s provision and love, of our ultimate destiny. Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, how often are we tempted to doubt? How often do we give way to despair? How often are we stuck in the cave unable to feel the light of resurrection?

So this season, as you sit and ponder the lights of the tree, the gifts exchanged, and the pile of dishes to be washed, don’t forget to look up. Remember that your life, too, is a story being told. You may not know where you are going, but there is a light leading the way.

Posted on

My Presentation at Last Week’s EPS Meeting

By Jim Spiegel

Last week I attended the national meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society in San Francisco.  I attended many interesting sessions and my own session for the Evangelical Philosophical Society (entitled “Belief, Behavior, and the Necessary Conditions for Salvation”) went well, prompting much helpful feedback from the audience.

In my paper I note that the willingness on the part of some people to label themselves or others as “Christian” despite their chronic and extreme flouting of biblical moral standards is symptomatic of the view that the sole criterion for being a Christian is cognitive in nature—specifically, an intellectual affirmation of key doctrines.  I note that this view ignores the fact that certain behavioral standards are essential to being a Christian.  Consider these words of Jesus:  “Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me.  He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him…  If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching….  He who does not love me will not obey my teaching” (John 14:21-24).  Here Jesus defines love of himself not in terms of orthodox belief nor even, as our culture would prefer, passionate feelings, but in terms of obedience.

Some biblical passages even appear to make a strong connection between chronic disobedience and one’s eternal destiny, such as these assertions by the Apostle Paul:

Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God?  Do not be deceived:  Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God (1 Cor. 6:9-10).

The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies and the like.  I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God (Gal. 5:19-21).

Given the eternal ramifications of chronic, extreme wayward behavior, it would seem that false views about essential biblical moral teachings are likewise significant.  Therefore, I introduce the concept of “moral heresy” as a potentially useful conceptual tool in approaching this issue.  The ancient creeds tend to focus on historical issues (e.g., the virgin birth and the resurrection of Christ) and metaphysical issues (e.g. the Trinity and the divine incarnation of Christ).  The moral issues mentioned by Paul above are not addressed in any of the major church creeds or confessions, because they have never the source of significant debate in church history—that is, until the last few decades with regard to homosexual practice.

Next I note that since all expression of moral beliefs is a tacit endorsement of certain behaviors, publicizing one’s morally heretical views, whether or not one engages in the immoral practice oneself, might crucially undermine the faith commitment of others.  This fact appears to blur the line between beliefs and conduct in such a way as to significantly raise the stakes regarding contemporary ethical debates in the church, particularly regarding homosexuality.

Due to the current moral crisis in the American church, there is a high premium on moral discernment as well as personal virtue and integrity.  As the Apostle Paul warned the early church, “Watch your life and doctrine closely.  Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers” (1 Tim. 4:16).

Posted on

Angels and the Image of God

By Jim Spiegel

Are angels made in the image of God?  Some answer negatively on the basis of the fact that Scripture affirms this of human beings (cf. Gen. 1:26-27) but nowhere explicitly says the same of angels.  But to conclude from this fact that angels must not be made in God’s image is a case of the ad ignorantium fallacy (appealing to ignorance).  In fact, there are many good reasons to believe that angelic beings are divine image bearers:

  1. The Essence of Divine Imaging—What does it mean to bear the divine image?  Presumably this has to do with certain essential “soulish” capacities that a being has in common with the Deity.  Three such characteristics come to mind:  (a) cognitive capacity—the ability to use reason, form beliefs, perceive things, etc.; (b) conative capacity—the ability to make choices or act intentionally; and (c) moral capacity—being such that one’s choices are susceptible to ethical evaluation (praise and blame) and having duties or obligations.  Do angels have such capacities?  According to the biblical accounts, angels clearly have cognitive, conative, and moral capacities just as humans do.  It would appear, then, that they bear the image of God.
  2. “A Little Lower than the Angels”—It is said about Jesus that God “made him a little lower than the angels” (Ps. 8:5 and Heb. 2:7).  Presumably this refers to the fact that in sending his Son to Earth in human form he was in this way making him “lower than the angels.”  But if humans bear God’s image and angels don’t, then surely humans would not properly be considered “lower” than angels.  It seems, then, that angels also must be divine image bearers. 
  3. The Glory of Angels—It is clear from many biblical passages that angels are immensely glorious beings, so much so that even righteous people are tempted to worship them (cf. Rev. 19:10).  Moreover, angelic beings such as the archangel Gabriel, are given significant cosmic responsibilities.  The notion that such beings do not also bear the image of God seems incongruent with these facts.
  4. Angelic Impersonations of Humans—In some biblical narratives angels appear in human form (e.g., Gen. 18-19, Gen. 32:22-32, Heb. 13:2, etc.) in order to perform certain tasks.  And down through history there have been thousands of reports by Christians of encounters with angels in human guise.  The fact that such impersonations occur also seems incongruent with the denial that angels are divine image bearers.
Posted on

Seven Reasons for the Liberal Arts—Part 2

By Jim Spiegel

Here are my four other reasons for studying the liberal arts:

Reason #4:  Studying the liberal arts builds the virtue of self-control.  Admittedly, if you study the liberal arts, you are bound to encounter subjects you don’t like and even find tedious and annoying.  That’s fine.  But then you have the opportunity to grow.  Studying subjects you dislike is a good discipline and builds self-control, which is a fruit of the Spirit (cf. Gal. 5:22-23) and fundamental to godliness.  Athletes intentionally do unpleasant and tedious exercises like wind sprints and weightlifting, yet they know its valuable because it gets them ready to compete.  How much more value does self-control and godliness have?  The Bible says “physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come” (1 Tim. 4:8).  Studying subjects you dislike is valuable because of how it builds self-control and, thus, makes you more godly.

This is not to say that the life of a liberal arts learner is not pleasurable.  Self-control is not inconsistent with a life of pleasure.  (Just ask Mr. Christian Hedonist, John Piper.)  In fact, the life of broad learning is actually the most pleasurable.  We all find pleasure in participating in and discussing things that interest us.  So those who have more interests have more ways of finding pleasure in life.  On the other hand, the less you know, the fewer interests you’ll have and thus the less fun you can have and the more easily you can be bored.  So whenever I hear someone say, “I’m bored,” I think “Well, that’s probably because you’re boring.  And you’re boring because you don’t have enough interests.  And you don’t have enough interests, because you haven’t learned enough.  What you need is a liberal arts education!”  That’s just what I think to myself.  I rarely say that out loud.  (And I have the self-control to resist saying it because I have a liberal arts education.)

Reason #5:  Studying the liberal arts makes you a more open-minded person.  Open-mindedness is an intellectual virtue.  It is the virtue of being willing to consider new ideas, perspectives, or entire subjects.  The open-minded person is generally willing to give something or someone a fair hearing.  In contrast, the closed-minded person is intellectually foreclosed against new ideas or perspectives.  In the context of education, this vice is displayed by anyone who stubbornly refuses to consider a legitimate idea or perspective.  It is also evident in anyone who begrudges the study of math or biology or art or any other entire field of study.

Closed-mindedness is a vice and intellectually deadly for anyone, but it is especially tragic in young people.  As a person ages—and this includes college professors—they experience what might be called “hardening of the categories” as they close their minds to new things.  People are most imaginative and intellectually fertile in their younger years.  (This is why the most groundbreaking achievements in art, science, and literature tend to be made by those who are relatively young.)  So to be a closed-minded young person is like choosing to be prematurely senile.

Like humility and winsomeness, open-mindedness is the sort of virtue that is not only attractive but tends to inspire the same quality in others.  If we are willing to give others’ ideas and opinions a fair hearing, then they will be more willing to listen to us as well.  So a simple application of the Golden Rule shows us that we should strive for this trait.  And, of course, studying the liberal arts is crucial to doing so.  Exploring a variety of subjects opens the mind to new vistas of insight and understanding.

I should add that as Christians (and who, by the way, are foreclosed on the creedal points—such as the triune reality of God, the divinity and resurrection of Christ, and the need to obey him), we have nothing to fear when it comes to new ideas and innovations.  This is because, as the well-worn dictum goes, all truth really is God’s truth.  So we can be adventurously open-minded in our studies while unwaveringly committed to the verities of our faith.  And that is the essence of a Christian liberal arts education.

Reason #6:  Studying the liberal arts is a biblical duty.   Proverbs 4:7 tells us to “Get wisdom.  Thought it cost all you have, get understanding.”  And in hundreds of other biblical passages we are told to pursue wisdom and understanding.  The biblical writers did not restrict the subjects of “understanding” to your major or just the stuff you’re interested in.  Presumably, they mean any kind of genuine understanding of truth, goodness, and beauty.  So it appears we have a duty to learn in every discipline.  Christian liberal arts colleges like the one where I teach are simply being faithful to this biblical mandate.

Reason #7:  Studying the liberal arts is essential to Christlikeness.  In the Gospel of Mark we read that the people said about Jesus, “he has done everything well” (7:37).  Jesus, it appears, was the ultimate example of the versatile student.  Lest we dismiss this as an automatic consequence of his being divine, don’t forget that the New Testament also tells us that Jesus “grew in wisdom and stature” (Luke 2:52) and that he even “learned obedience” (Heb. 5:8).  Being fully human, Jesus shared these experiences with us, including all of the difficulties and suffering that they entail.  Since we are commended to imitate him in every way, we too must learn obedience, grow in wisdom, and, yes, do everything well.  And, of course, this is precisely the point of a Christian liberal arts education—to make us Christlike learners.

So there you have it—seven reasons, among myriad others I’m sure, to study the liberal arts.  To summarize, if you want to know the wisdom and beauty of God, if you want to be a strong ambassador for Christ, if you want to avoid embarrassing your faith, if you want to display the fruit of the Spirit, if you want to have the virtue of open-mindedness, if you want to fulfill your biblical duty to pursue wisdom and understanding, if you want to be more like Christ; in short, if you want to be a better Christian, then you need to study the liberal arts.

Posted on

Seven Reasons for the Liberal Arts—Part 1

By Jim Spiegel

The school where I teach, Taylor University, is a Christian liberal arts college.  Sometimes I am asked for a rationale for the liberal arts and, specifically, why a liberal arts education is important from a Christian point of view.  In this and my next post, I will provide such a rationale.

I considered giving my reasons in the form of a top ten list.  But top ten lists are cliché.  So I’m going to do something completely different.  I’m going to use a top seven list.  I will propose seven good reasons for studying the liberal arts—seven reasons why disciples of Jesus should be intellectually versatile.

By “liberal arts” I mean, of course, that wide range of studies that includes the humanities and sciences, from art to zoology.  So why as Christians should we be committed to liberal arts learning?

Reason #1:  Studying the liberal arts enables you to better appreciate the wisdom and beauty of God.  God is the source of all truths of science, math, history, psychology, theology, and every other discipline.  As the apostle Paul says, in Christ “are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col. 2:3).  So to study in literally any discipline is to understand Christ better.  Even the most abstract or minute insights about differential equations, mallard migration patterns, or the history of the French Revolution reveal something about the genius of God.  And any insight into the divine is a profound insight.

Also, all of the beauty found in the creative arts, from painting to poetry to music and theater, is ultimately derived from the beauty of God.  As Alain de Botton puts it, “beauty…is a fragment of the divine…  The qualities of beautiful objects are those of a God from whom we live far removed, in a world mired in sin . . . but bittersweet tokens of a goodness to which we still aspire.”[1]  God is the source of all aesthetic excellence wherever it might be found, so to experience beauty in any domain is to indirectly experience God’s beauty.  And liberal arts training gives us the greatest exposure to that beauty.

Reason #2:  Studying the liberal arts helps you to avoid embarrassing your faith.  To explain what I mean, consider these words from St. Augustine that are just as relevant today as they were when he wrote them 1600 years ago:

Usually, even a non-Christian knows something about the earth, the heavens, and other elements of this world, about the motion and orbit of the stars an even their size . . . , and this knowledge he holds to as being certain from reason and experience.  Now it is a disgraceful and dangerous thing for an infidel to hear a Christian, presumably giving the meaning of the Holy Scripture, talking nonsense on these topics; and we should take all means to prevent such an embarrassing situation, in which people show up vast ignorance in a Christian and laugh it to scorn . . . .  If they find a Christian mistaken in a field which they themselves know well and hear him maintaining his foolish opinions about our books, how are they going to believe those books in matters concerning the resurrection of the dead, the hope of eternal life, and the kingdom of heaven . . . ?”[2]

Augustine’s concern here is that fellow Christians in his day were reflecting poorly on Christ by announcing false and uninformed views about various issues—issues that today we would call scientific.  By publicly sharing their ignorance, these Christians undermined any credibility they might have had in proclaiming the Gospel.  For if a person is easily duped about geology and astronomy, then they are just as vulnerable and untrustworthy when it comes to theology.

By giving you a substantive exposure to all of the disciplines, a liberal arts education prevents this sort of thing.  You will be less likely to ignorantly pontificate about a subject because, well, you won’t be ignorant about it.  So liberal arts training helps you to avoid associating the Gospel with ignorance and thus tarnishing the name of Christ.  That’s a big deal.  But now let me expand on this a bit more positively.

Reason #3:  Studying the liberal arts makes you a better ambassador for Christ.  By becoming broadly knowledgeable, you make yourself a more interesting and circumspect person, and thereby you become a more compelling witness for Jesus.  There are a lot of evangelistic “methods” and programs out there, and all of them attempt a shortcut past the best and most biblical way of drawing others to Christ.

The apostle Peter sums it up like this: “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us” (1 Pet. 2:12).  A Christian liberal arts education doesn’t just equip you for this or that vocation or set of tasks.  Rather, it turns you into a certain kind of person—a person who is a good thinker, imaginative, and intellectually versatile; you will become a person who has more interests and is therefore more interesting.  In short, you will become a person such that people will want to know what your ultimate life commitments are.  And no evangelistic method or program can match the power of that.

[1] Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness (Vintage, 2008), 149.

[2] St. Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis, 2 Vols., Ancient Christian Writers, nos. 41-42, trans. John Hammond Taylor (New York: Newman Press, 1982), 1:42-43.

Posted on

Is God a Moral Monster?—A Book Review

By Jim Spiegel

Anyone familiar with the writings of the new atheists is aware of their penchant for taking potshots at Old Testament ethics.  Their moral objections target such things as:  (1) God’s desire to be worshipped, (2) God’s preferential treatment of the Israelites, (3) the Old Testament’s apparently low view of women, (4) the Old Testament’s approval of slavery, (5) the divinely ordered massacre of Canaanite people groups, and (6) the Old Testament’s peculiar laws related to food, hygiene, and other matters.

Richard Dawkins infamously sums up these complaints and more in The God Delusion when he calls God “a petty, unjust, unforgiving control freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sado-masochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.”

So where and how to begin responding to these raving claims?  One good place to begin is Paul Copan’s new book, Is God a Moral Monster?: Making Sense of the Old Testament God.  Copan systematically addresses each of the above objections and more.  He not only presents helpful rejoinders to the new atheists’ objections but also provides an astute analysis of Old Testament ethics that demonstrates a proper sensitivity to (1) the historical-geographical context of the ancient Near East, (2) numerous complex and perplexing hermeneutical issues that arise in Old Testament studies, and (3) the moral, social, and cultural presuppositions that contemporary readers invariably bring to their reading of the Old Testament.

In sum, what Copan offers is an informed, patient, and crucially nuanced treatment of the Old Testament moral code.  Of course, as Copan rightly notes, the new atheists are not interested in nuance, so his responses to their objections are unlikely to change their minds or, for that matter, soften their inflammatory rhetoric.  For those who are willing to approach the text sympathetically, Copan’s treatment of these thorny issues is richly rewarding.

Here is a brief summary of some issues Copan addresses and how he responds to each:

  • Arbitrary Dietary Laws:  The Israelites were only permitted to eat split-hooved and cud-chewing animals.  And they could only eat fish with fins and scales.  Isn’t this irrationally arbitrary and just plain kooky?  Copan proposes that the point of these requirements was their symbolism.  Organisms that meet these criteria do not cross spheres or living boundaries.  That is, they live entirely on land or in the water.  Thus, the dietary criteria symbolized purity for the Israelites.  And “unclean animals symbolized what Israel was to avoid—mixing in with the unclean beliefs and practices of the surrounding nations.  Israel was to be like the clean animals—distinct, in their own category, and not having mixed features” (81).
  • Polygamy:  The Old Testament was apparently misogynistic.  After all, doesn’t it endorse polygamy?  Copan notes, however, that the fact that many O.T. patriarchs had multiple wives does not imply that this was a morally acceptable practice.  “Is” does not imply “ought.”  (This is just one instance of many where this principle applies to Old Testament ethical issues.)  Also, Copan shows how passages that have been interpreted as showing divine approval of polygamy (Exod. 21:7-11; Deut. 21:15-17; 2 Sam. 12:8) actually do no such thing.
  • Slavery:  Ancient Israel’s moral code permitted slavery.  This is morally repugnant and a sure sign that the God of the Old Testament was indeed a “moral monster,” right?  Not so fast.  First, Copan notes that the Old Testament “servant” (ebed) should not be equated with “slave” as we understand the term (vis-à-vis Amercian slavery).  In ancient Israel, such servanthood “was a voluntary (poverty-induced) arrangement not forced” (126).  Secondly, the Old Testament standard for servanthood constituted an enormous moral advance on other ancient Near East practices where slaves were considered property and were stripped of their familial and social identities.  O.T. servants were considered persons, not property.  And, thirdly, the Old Testament servant laws were actually devised to protect the poor.   “Israelite servitude was induced by poverty, was entered into voluntarily, and was far from optimal.  The intent of these laws was to combat potential abuses, not to institutionalize servitude” (127).
  • Killing the Canaanites:  In several O.T. passages, God commands the Israelites to completely destroy several Canaanite people groups, including the Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites.  This appears to be blatant genocide.  Copan makes many interesting points in response to this accusation, most importantly that this was not genocide or “ethnic cleansing” because God’s command was not was not based on ethnicity but sin (162).  In fact, Canaanites who repented were spared and welcomed into the Israelite community.  Secondly, we tend to overlook just how severe the Canaanite debauchery was, as they were steeped in extreme idolatry and sexual perversion.  Thirdly, as Copan puts it, “the conquest of Canaan was far less widespread and harsh than many people assume” (170).  The O.T. phrase translated “utterly destroy” does not imply that literally everyone is killed, but need only suggest a good trouncing of the enemy.   And, fourthly, the main concern was to eliminate the Canaanite sins and the deadly religious practices that inspired them rather than the Canaanite people themselves.

Copan offers a variety of observations intended to either diminish or eliminate our moral qualms with God’s commands and moral regulations in the Old Testament.  Depending on the reader, these will be more or less convincing.  But however helpful or persuasive his points are, we need to keep in mind the biblical observation that God’s ways are not our ways (Isa. 55:8).  In particular, as Copan wisely notes, “We live in a time when we’re very alert to racial discrimination and intolerance, but we aren’t as sensitized to sexual sin as past generations were.  We live in a time that sees death as the ultimate evil.  Perhaps we need to be more open to the fact that some of our moral intuitions aren’t as finely tuned as they ought to be.  The same may apply to our thoughts about what God should or shouldn’t have done in Canaan” (192).

One of Copan’s emphases in the book is that we should not resist the new atheists’ accusation that the Old Testament ethical standards were imperfect:  “Instead of glossing over some of the inferior moral attitudes and practices we encounter in the Old Testament, we should freely acknowledge them.  We can point out that they fall short of the ideals of Genesis 1-2 and affirm with our critics that we don’t have to advocate such practices for all societies” (62).  This cannot be stressed enough.

What we find in many of the Old Testament laws and regulations are either temporary concessions to human sin (e.g., regulations regarding divorce, slavery, and polygamy) or God’s punitive response to human sin (i.e., God’s commands to destroy certain Canaanite people groups).  The new atheists consistently ignore or refuse to adequately appreciate this context of God’s response to human fallenness.  Scripture’s moral “ideal” when it comes to all human relations, as Copan notes, is found in Genesis 1:26-27, which affirms humans as divine image-bearers who should work together in harmony.  It is also evident later in the New Testament, such as in some of the teachings of Jesus.  To represent the Old Testament moral code in isolation of this is a gross distortion of Scripture and a complete Christian ethic.

My criticisms of the book are minor.  First, Copan occasionally refers to God as “other-centered” (e.g., pp. 27 and 201), presumably to combat some new atheists’ claims that God is ego-centric or, in Dawkins’ terms, “megalomaniacal.”  While God is surely extremely other-concerned, even self-sacrificially, he is not other-centered.  This would be inappropriate, since God deserves everyone’s primary respect and concern, including his own.  (For a brilliant and inspiring exposition of this point, see Jonathan Edwards’ essay “The End for Which God Created the World.”)

My second quibble is less significant and essentially a matter of emphasis.  There were a few places in the book where I thought Copan would have done well to concede the difficulty of some of the problematic O.T. passages.  He does make this general point at times, as when he says, “For anyone who takes the Bible seriously, [the] Yahweh-war texts will certainly prove troubling” (188).  But I was disappointed that Copan did not concede his (or anyone’s) inability to completely resolve the moral problems presented by a few other passages.

Again, these are really minor complaints, especially when you consider the breadth and depth of the discussion in Is God a Moral Monster?  Because the book deals with so many controversial and sensitive subjects, I suppose that readers should expect to take issue with some of Copan’s analyses.  (I was surprised that I agreed with nearly all of them.)  But whether or not readers agree with Copan’s approach to each particular problem passage, his book is sure to educate and edify.  Is God a Moral Monster? is an immensely valuable resource for anyone interested in Old Testament ethics or for those who seek informed responses to the new atheists’ objections concerning the topic.  Copan is to be commended for this superb work.

Posted on

Thislethwaite, Theology, and the Norway Massacre

By Jim Spiegel

This Washington Post piece by Susan Brooks Thislethwaite has created quite stir.  Take a look, and you’ll see why.  For starters, she follows the NY Times and others in referring to the Norway mass assassin, Anders Behring Breivik, as a Christian.  Then she goes on to challenge readers to consider how Christianity may inspire violence.  Interestingly, in her article she vacillates between asserting that the supposed violence-inspiring elements in Christianity are mere theological “interpretations” of our religion, on the one hand, and actual “elements of Christianity” on the other.  If she intends to claim the latter, she gives us no evidence whatsoever to support her claim.  If she intends only to suggest the former, then her remarks are horribly misleading.  In any case, Thislethwaite’s article is inflammatory and only manages to create confusion.

Thislethwaite apparently rejects the distinction between genuine Christians and those who merely claim to be Christians.  We recognize this distinction in every other context, so why not here?  Being a Christian is not simply a matter of affirming certain propositions, as is clear from many biblical passages (e.g., Mt. 25:31-46; 1 Cor. 6:9-10; and Gal. 5:19-21).  Even if Anders Breivik did affirm the deity and resurrection of Jesus (which, by the way, he denies), this does not by itself make him any more Christian than the devil himself (who presumably would affirm these truths).

It is telling that Thislethwaite doesn’t bother to identify any biblical passages that might reasonably be construed to inspire violence, much less mass murder.  Perhaps she has in mind certain Old Testament passages where God commanded the killing of the Canaanites.  But these are not uniquely Christian texts.  Jews and Muslims also regard these as scripture.  It is the New Testament that is uniquely Christian, so it is here that we must look for “Christian elements” that might inspire violence.  And what do we find in the New Testament?  A consistent ethic of non-violence.  The ethic of “turn the other cheek” non-resistance.  The ethic of submitting to political authorities.  And, when one must disobey the governing authorities, an ethic of peaceful disobedience.  In short, we find an ethic of non-violence that has inspired numerous pacifist theological traditions.  Yet Thislethwaite insinuates that there is something about Christianity that could justify violence?  Breathtaking.

Okay, so perhaps what Thislethwaite really wants to suggest is that some madmen, most recently Anders Breivik, have warped or twisted Christian ideas to their own use in attempting to justify their violence.  Well, of course this is true—and it is so obvious it is hardly worth stating.  But if this is all she wants to say, then why does she say that it is Christianity that becomes lethal, that Christianity may be complicit in mass violence?  Perhaps Thislethwaite just wants to have it both ways—to implicate Christian theology itself in violence without having to do the biblical or theological analysis necessary to demonstrate this (which, of course, is an impossible task, as I just noted—the New Testament nowhere endorses violence but only peaceful responses, whether in resistance or non-resistance).

Or, more cynically, perhaps Thislethwaite’s only real aim in this piece is political.  Maybe she just wants to create a negative association with conservative Christianity by suggesting that Breivik is a “right wing” Christian extremist.  This would certainly help to demonize the political views of conservative Christians—views that, as a “left wing” political thinker, Thislethwaite personally despises.

In the end, I’m not sure what Thislethwaite’s aims or real claims are in this piece.  What I am sure of is that her article is confused, inflammatory, and irresponsible.