New year, new pile....

As promised, and carrying on the (recently established) tradition of detailing some of my reading for 2026 (who knows what tangents and byways await), here are some of my thoughts on the pile of books that has appeared, as if by magic, in my study. And yes, I know I’m repeating myself, but at the bottom (and serving as a foundation) is my Greek New Testament. I will spare you the details of what and why (mainly because I’ve mentioned them before). I see no need to be shy about my commitment to what God has said (though note that He says it just as clearly in English as in koine Greek) and to its being foundational. And to it providing the necessary framework for my other thinking. “How quaint” some might say. Or perhaps “how closed minded”. But we all think within a framework, and we all (to use a metaphor beloved of both Calvin and N.T. Wright) look at the world through spectacles. The spectacles themselves, because they are not usually observed but the means of observation, don’t often attract attention - until they do. At least I am explicit about my framework.

As in previous years I have a major theological reading project in mind for 2026 that is next up in the pile. I first encountered Herman Bavinck, Dutch reformed theologian, educator, politician and polymath, at the very outset of my MTh studies at Union. Bob Latham introduced us to Bavinck’s “organic” view of Scripture, and I plumped for the assessment essay comparing this view with Warfield’s view of Scripture. James Eglinton’s (excellent) biography of Bavinck had just appeared, so I obtained a copy to get a more rounded view of the man. Proved to be a good move on my part, and ever since, Bavinck has been on my radar. Last year I read his “Christianity and Science” and began obtaining the four volumes of “Reformed Dogmatics” from various second-hand sources. Volume 1 sounds dry (it’s his preamble discussing dogmatics and its history), but it has been (I'm 100+ in) an excellent historical introduction not just to dogmatics but also to theology, philosophy and various points in between. I’m looking forward to Bavinck’s company throughout 2026.

Last year much of my reading was related to the paper I was writing on neuroscience and theology. But that hadn't really been the topic at the front of my mind (until it was!). My MTh dissertation was about the Biblical basis of human friendships. The general topic of friendship is again being revisited from multiple perspectives partly because its retrieval is seen as vital in a culture now so marked by chronic loneliness and its deleterious consequences. The starting point for many are the ancient accounts of friendship to be found in Plato, but particularly Aristotle. Now Aristotle was a bright chap who said many interesting and helpful things, and who still exercises a profound influence over Western thought (and for all I know much more widely too). His thinking on friendship was mediated to the Roman/Latin world by Cicero, who in turn was a major influence on Augustine, who is one of the towering figures in Western theology. Long story short, if friendship is important for us, then we should  find a basis for it not so much in Aristotle but revealed in Scripture. Now, this might not seem like a bold claim. But there have been those who have suggested that there isn’t much in Scripture about friendship, and indeed that it might actually be in conflict with Christian teaching. So because friendship always has voluntary and exclusive aspects it conflicts with the commandment to love even my enemies (etc, etc). I won't reproduce my dissertation here (because you can actually find it here), but I aim is to edit it down and tart it up and submit it in article form somewhere or other. Hence the need to update and extend my reading on the topic and the books on the pile relating to friendship.

In addition to theological accounts (Summers and Bequette), I thought I’d dip into some of Robin Dunbar’s work. Our paths crossed briefly in the University of Liverpool, prior to his move to Oxford. His is a scientific, evolutionary account of human relationships. He is perhaps best known for coining “Dunbar’s number” – the expected average number of stable relationships a human being can maintain (with various caveats). My reason for wanting to read such an account is simple. If relationships (including friendship) are fundamental to our humanity, then a completely naturalistic account of them should be possible. Their qualities, the effects of their absence, what makes for their flourishing, what causes their breakdown and so on, all of these are observable, and I’m assuming have been observed. Among other things it will be interesting to see if Dunbar’s stance is that once a naturalistic account has been given, there is nothing more to say. But as ever the science (as opposed to the smuggled metaphysics) will be fascinating. Whether any of this will be relevant to what I eventually write, we will see.

Given my background, I need to continue my education in the humanities and there are lots of classics that I have never touched. I have read a bit of ethics in my time, although usually secondary accounts for apologetic purposes. So I decided to continue my education with Macintyre's “After Virtue”. It so happened that N.T. Wright, in discussing the importance of ethics in Paul’s theology (although Paul would not have thought about it in our siloed terms) quoted his own “Virtue Reborn”. I decided these would make a nice pair to read back-to-back. Whether they in any way complement each other again, we will see.

So far, so good. But I might need some light relief. I decided to turn to a comedian for it. Marcus Brigstocke is both funny and clever (the two often seem to go together). I admit I came across “God Collar” in a charity shop, but it wasn’t just the bargain price the attracted me to this particular read. I spend relatively little time among atheists, certainly less than I spend with their writings. But I could perhaps be accused of holding the views I hold because I know little of the alternatives and rarely expose what I hold dear to scrutiny, even ridicule. As it turns out, this would be unjust. I often find the opposite to be the case. Many who think they have rejected God have never actually seriously encountered Him or sought to. In part this is because people like me are rarely who or what we should be, given what we claim to believe; we are terrifically bad adverts for those beliefs. But fundamentally we are not (or should not be) recommending ourselves as paragons or examples. I see nothing that indicates that any group of other human beings or the institutions they have built are worthy of worship (although some may have other important reasons for their existence and uses). It is God Himself who is worth listening to. And fortunately for us, God thinks so too. It turns out that the speaking God speaks! The problem is that He is often not heard, or even when heard, heeded. Anyway, we’ll see if Marcus is alive to such distinctions.

But finally to more trusted friends and allies. I have encountered some of the earliest Christian writers (after the Apostles themselves) in the writings of others. But (just as with God Himself) I can hear from the “men” themselves (or at least a few of them). So I picked up the Penguin Classics edition of “Early Christian Writings” (including writings of Clement, Ignatius and Polycarp). I have encountered Polycarp before thanks to reading Irenaeus’ “Against Heresies” (worth it for the riff on vegetables as names for the various Gnostic entities; 1:11:4). Context is everything though. So I decided I’d better read a bit about the context of the second century, hence Grant on the second century “apologists”.

This should be enough to get me going.

Reading for 2025 (so far...)

 

How long does it take for a tradition to become a tradition? I have no idea. But I think I'll stick with one that began only twelve months ago, and commence the blogging year by mentioning some of the books that it is my intention to read in 2025. Some are part of ongoing projects and there are two complete series in view. And no doubt that there will be other "one-offs" that I’ve yet to encounter.

At the bottom of the pile (and still foundational in more than the obvious sense) is my Tyndale House Greek New Testament. The acutely observant with longish memories will remember that this was also at the bottom of last year's pile, but it was there perhaps more in hope than expectation. I had embarked on learning NT Greek with the help of resources from Union. At the time I thought I might eventually embark on further, formal language study. But alas my progress was rather slower than I had hoped (and slower than was necessary to undertake the courses I had in mind). However, by last September I had made sufficient progress to join a local group that met online once a week to read and translate the NT. So, for an hour each Wednesday morning that’s what we’ve been doing. Reading our way through John’s Gospel, there have already been some lightbulb moments. I confess that some are a bit nerdy; a verb in a tense freighted with meaning that is missed in the English. Others have come as a result of feeling the full force of the language John reports Jesus as using (albeit in his translation from Aramaic to Greek). The clarity with which Jesus claims not merely to be a prophet but God Himself was not lost on His original hearers who, in John 8:59, are literally ready to stone Him to death (ie they’ve got to the stone picking-up stage). But while this is clear in English translation, Jesus constantly taking up the language of Exodus 3:14 (I am) comes through loud and clear in the Greek. In the same section at least one other person uses the same words (once), but the context and repetition on Jesus’ part emphasise His claim.

My strategy for our sessions is to try to do several verses of translation each day over the preceding week, allowing me to spot difficult vocabulary or grammar (of which there’s still a lot) ahead of time. I am still very much in the foothills, but the Tyndale “Reader’s Addition” helpfully lists less familiar words in footnotes at the bottom of each page, meaning that one doesn’t constantly have to refer to a separate lexicon or the interweb, thus saving lots of time. This year I’ve also been trying to read a couple of verses in Greek from my daily Bible reading schedule. And to keep moving forward I thought I’d better try and advance my understanding of the grammar beyond the basics covered last year. To some extent this develops from the reading, for it quickly becomes clear that basic rules are, well, basic. As with any language (and English must be a nightmare in this respect) such rules are often more broken than kept. So on my pile is Mathewson and Emig’s “Intermediate Greek Grammar”. While admittedly not what you would call “ a right riveting read” this is none-the-less useful for understanding some of the rule bending and breaking that actually occurs with the language “in the wild”. 

What I did have last year (although I didn’t discus it in the relevant post) was some serious theological reading - Calvin’s Institutes (edited by McNeill, expertly and entertainingly translated by Ford Lewis Battles). The “Institutes” represented some of the first “proper” theology I read when I began the MTh at Union. I had of course heard of the man before, and had enough reformed friends to have heard of the Institutes. But I had never actually read Calvin (and now I wonder if my friends ever had either). I initially approached the two substantial volumes of the McNeill edition with some trepidation. After all the Institutes were originally written in the 16^th century, within a particular context and with some fairly specific polemical targets. I had already been exposed to some of Barth’s “Church Dogmatics” which was not an entirely happy experience. I needn’t have worried. The combination of Calvin’s clarity of organisation and thought (and his wit) on the one hand, and Battle’s skill as a translator on the other, made it an intellectual and spiritual treat. Even for those not of a reformed disposition, there is much to learn and admire in Calvin’s efforts. But that was last year. I wanted to continue reading theology, but what next? Providentially I picked N.T. Wright’s five volume “Christian Origins and the Question of God”. I say providentially because, a bit like Calvin (or was it Battles?) Wright has a way with words. I managed to get started on Vol 1 early, and finished it last week. It is written with verve and wit, but without sacrificing depth and thoroughness (and providing plenty of footnotes and an extensive bibliography). There are those occasions when one encounters writing dealing with difficult or potentially dense issues, but the author does so in way that provides assurance that they “know their onions”. Having learned lots about the Judaism that provided a key element of the context for Jesus’ arrival, life, death and resurrection, I’m now enjoying the second volume which concentrates on Jesus Himself. The plan is to complete all five volumes this year. So far, I have no reason to believe this will be a chore.

To digress from the theology for a moment (but not as far as you might think), I also plan to read Hillary Mantell’s “Wolf Hall” trilogy. Now it is true that she won the 2009 Booker Prize for the fist book in the trilogy, and this would normally scare me off. The books that critics deem worthy of awards and the books that I enjoy reading usually fall into two distinct and mutually exclusive categories. Prize-winning prose is usually not my thing. But I was was impressed with the BBC’s adaptation of the books, and enjoyed Mark Rylance’s portrayal of the central character, Thomas Cromwell. So I took the plunge and made the trilogy one of my 2024 Christmas asks. Some kind relative duly obliged and this has been my bedtime reading throughout January. Bedtime it may be, but “light” it is not. I’ll spare you the review, but I will be persevering. And the story of Cromwell (if not the man himself) is growing on me. I have two and a bit books to make up my mind.

Towards the top of the pile is reading for another “project”. I completed my PhD at the end of the 1980’s, and spent a good part of the 90’s in the Centre for Neuroscience at the University of Edinburgh. These were heady days in what we’ll call the “neurosciences” (really a collection of fields and techniques all aimed at understanding the operations of the brain and nervous system). As a subject it was reaching maturity and new tools, particularly those for imaging the brain in awake human subjects (ie while they were doing things like thinking), were becoming routinely available. The new techniques and results had not gone unnoticed by philosophers, who were beginning to think that there might be light at the end of the very long, very dark mind/brain tunnel. It was around this time that “eliminative materialism” came into its own with loud and confident statements made, asserting that things like beliefs were the product of a soon-to-be-refuted and redundant “folk psychology”. Soon we would all get used to the (correct) idea that beliefs were the phlogiston of the neurosciences and they would be properly replaced by talk about brain states. “I” am merely my brain and have no more basis in reality than the immaterial God who has already been routed and driven from polite public discourse. What I didn’t know at the time was that this was (of course) only a very partial view of the state of the philosophical (never mind the theological) world.

So my aim is to now read some of the rejoinders I should have read then. To be fair I was doing other things at the time like making my own modest contribution to trying to understand vision and eye movement. This time round I’m also specifically interested in the serious theology as well as the philosophy involved, because it turns out there is quite a lot of it. Including (as can bee seen in my pile) Barth. Actually Cortez's "Embodied Souls, Ensouled Bodies" has been very helpful on that front. Suffice to say that already I’m discovering that time has not been kind to the eliminativists, and that’s even before one begins to take on board what Divine revelation has to say about the constitution of human beings, mental and otherwise.

It turns out God has much to say about us as well as Himself.

"Of the making of books......"

A new year, and a new pile of books has appeared (as if by magic). It is just a little pile for the moment. One of them is part of a longer term project and I won’t really be able to tackle it properly for a while, but I was being pushed for Christmas present suggestions. Another is a holdover from 2023 which I’ve nearly finished reading. The rest are the “next” in the queue to be read. I get the feeling that the writer of Ecclesiastes was a bit ambivalent abut books, even at a time when there were far fewer of them about (see what he has to say about them in Ecc 12:12). These days all sorts of things get published. Just because something appears in a book (or is published in a journal as I used to stress to students) doesn’t guarantee good sense, wisdom or helpfulness. But I’m reasonably hopeful this pile will get my reading year off to a good start.

At the bottom of the pile is the Tyndale House Greek New Testament (Reader’s Edition, published by Crossway). Foundational to reading, and more importantly to understanding, is what God has to say. He sets the agenda and provides the framework. God is a speaking God, and although not knowable apart from his revelation of himself, what he says is understandable in any language. We all think using a framework that consists of a cloud of background assumptions and commonplaces. It’s important to know where it comes from. I want mine to depend on what God has said in his word, the Bible. What was written by the human authors of the Bible was obviously written down in a language other than English. However, it looses none of its power when translated, whether into English or any other language. This was a major bone of contention at the time of the Reformation, although the issue was really who had the authority to interpret Scripture. Ordinary believers were claimed not to be able or allowed to interpret it for themselves, so why let them read it in their own language? There is also a contrast here with Islam. The Koran only carries authority when read and cited in Arabic. As Pickthall wrote of his own English translation “The Quran cannot be translated. [This] is only an attempt to present the meaning of the Quran … in English. It can never take the place of the Quran in Arabic, nor is it meant to do so.”

So why bother learning New Testament Greek? Because not everything is equally clear and straightforward as the New Testament itself says (e.g. see 2 Peter 3:16), and all translation involves a degree of interpretation. To get into the mind of the writers in their own language is to gain a useful new perspective. Therefore, rather later than I probably should have, I’ve embarked on learning New Testament Greek. It won’t be a quick or easy process. But I hope to have completed the basics over the next eight months or so, and then there’s the possibility of progressing to some of the language modules offered by Union where I did my MTh. Perhaps by the year’s end, I’ll be able to read the odd verse here or there.

The holdover is Barclay’s “Paul & the Gift”; I started it last month (i.e. last year). It takes a bit of reading and illustrates why getting on top of NT Greek can be so useful. Barclay explores Paul’s use of the idea of a gift (linked with concepts like grace and mercy). You might wonder why this is needed given that the writing in question has been around for two thousand years or so. My view is that the big picture is fairly clear and easily understood. In my natural state I cannot work my way into acceptability with a God who is perfect, holy and just. But neither can he just “let me off” as an act of “simple” mercy – that would be outrageously unjust; he would become something less than he is. And if he just lets me off, what about you? That looks suspiciously capricious as well as unjust. So instead he does something daring in the extreme not to say surprising. He takes my punishment on himself (in the person of Jesus) and then he lets me off. Turns out it is simple. But then again it isn’t really. This leaves all sorts of issues hanging. Some of the complications are to do with how Paul discusses all of this especially in his letters to the Romans and the Galatians (hence the usefulness of the Greek, which Barclay quotes and discusses in detail). Some of the issues are to do with how Paul’s writing relates to the Judaism of his day, and how this is to be understood (something that changes from time to time). And some of it has to do with the ways we think today about gift and grace, which turns out to be different to what these things meant in the ancient world. All well worth exploring in more detail, which Barclay certainly does.

Sounds a bit heavy. Much shorter is Peter Williams “The Surprising Genius of Jesus” which is primarily a look at what is commonly called the “parable of the prodigal”. Williams, now principal of Tyndale House, was involved in producing the Greek NT I’m looking forward to being able to read, and is an expert in Greek (and other things). So this will again be about the specifics of the language Jesus uses and how he tunes it to the precise context of his original audience. William's point is that this is done with such skill that Jesus demonstrates not just the genius of an expert story teller but the genius of the original author; he is of course both.

I have some philosophy/philosophical theology in my pile In the form of Plantinga’s “Knowledge and Christian Belief” and Tyson’s “A Christian Theology of Science” (which I mentioned briefly previously). How do we know what we think we know? Plantinga is perhaps best known for his book “Warranted Christian Knowledge”, but the book in my pile is later, shorter and perhaps an easier read. No doubt to the bemusement of that rarest of beasts the “new atheist”, Christian belief (along with lots of other wild and wacky stuff) is potentially respectable again. This may be the product of a culture that has privatised belief and elevated the principle of tolerance to totemic status. If sincerely held belief is beyond criticism (at least when privately held and not inflicted on others), then this must apply to Christian beliefs. Where such beliefs raise their head in public, say in academic debate, they should be given a polite hearing, if only to be dismissed as just someone else’s “truth”. Tyson seeks to give priority to Christian belief (or at least theology) over even science. That this should be at all entertained is very different to the attitudes I was exposed to as a student forty years ago. It was taken for granted that progress, particularly in science, meant we could dispense with certain types of belief which were only for the weak-minded. How things have changed, at least superficially.

Some history next: a two volume biography of Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon (obtained from the excellent Kernaghan's bookshop) and Richard Turnbull’s biography of Shaftesbury (“Shaftesbury: The Great Reformer”). Selina was an influential participant in the “Great Awakening” of the eighteenth century. Although almost forgotten now, she was one of the great supporters of George Whitefield and a number of other prominent preachers. What the Awakening achieved is disputed by historians, but arguably is saved Great Britain from the kind of revolution that afflicted France at the end of the eighteenth century, and laid the basis for major social reforms in the nineteenth. Some of these were implemented by Shaftesbury, hence the idea of reading about the two together. I confess that I’m looking forward to these as “light relief” meaning no disrespect to their authors. I love reading history and had the privilege of studying the history and theology of evangelicalism with Richard Turnbull not that long ago. He was kind enough to give us his copies of his book, so I’ve felt morally obliged to read it for a while. I’m sure it will be a treat.

Finally on the pile is John Wyatt’s account of his friendship with John Stott (“Transforming Friendship”). John Stott was probably almost as influential as Shaftesbury but at a very different time and in a very different way. I was attracted to this book because at its heart is a friendship, the topic of my dissertation. That was dry, clipped, academic, referenced – it was theory. Wyatt’s book is of interest because it is about personal practicality. An interesting contrast.

So, these are the books that make up my initial pile for 2024. Looks like a good reading year already.

Life in the Pandemic VII: Don’t panic, there’s still plenty of books to read…

Frank Zappa is quoted as having said “So many books, so little time”. But of course, for a while now, many of us have had considerably more time for reading than we bargained for, thanks to the pandemic and the lockdown. I’ve been going to work in my dining room for the last few months, so as it turns out I haven’t had a lot of extra reading time. But I have enjoyed a few notable (and eclectic) pandemic reads…so far.

As I’ve noted inside its front cover, my first lockdown read was Alistair McGrath’s biography of C.S. Lewis(1). To my mind both the author and the subject are interesting characters. McGrath is interesting because he began his academic sojourn in the world I am most familiar with. His initial calling was to science, eventually obtaining his Oxford DPhil in molecular biophysics. However, around the time he went up to Oxford, he discovered that there were other, complimentary ways of investigating and understanding the world around him, including theology. And it was to theology he turned, and in which he has made his mark. Lewis, along with other authors and scholars, helped him to understand his journey, and it is perhaps this that explains his interest in Lewis. McGrath’s approach as a biographer turns out to be quite scientific, because in order to master his subject, his approach was to immerse himself in the data - in Lewis’ case his published writings, broadcasts and, importantly, his letters. I came to Lewis in my teens, although I confess that I have still to read the Narnia books. My introduction to him was his science fiction trilogy (“Out of the Silent Planet”, “Voyage to Venus”, and “That Hideous Strength”) from which I moved on to books like “Mere Christianity” and “The Screwtape Letters”. What these don’t particularly reveal is much about the man himself. But McGrath does this forensically, although from a sympathetic standpoint. In doing so he reveals a complex character, flawed (as we all are) in many ways, navigating his way through two world wars and the cultural upheavals of the 20^th century. It is well worth a read.

Much harder work, but no less rewarding, was Peter Sanlon’s “Simply God”(2). This isn’t bedtime reading, but it addressed something that’s bothered me for a while. As readers of this blog will know, I’m interested in God. Admittedly my interest is more personal than academic, but that doesn’t mean I’m somehow exempt from doing hard thinking about Him. And one of the dangers I’ve become aware of is that I come to see Him as simply a bigger and better version of me. This is in part the age old issue of creating God in my image, instead of recognising that I’m created in His. Of course, I’m not alone. Arguably this is fallen humanity’s biggest and most devastating mistake, stretching all the way back to Eden and the Fall. And it’s pervasive. The “gods” of the ancient world were just big versions of their Canaanite, Babylonian, Persian, Greek and Roman inventors. The “straw-God” of the new atheists is/was just a big version of what they observed/observe in humanity around them. More worryingly the God who is the object of some contemporary evangelical prayer and worship often seems to suffer from similar deficits. But Sanlon’s starting point is that this is a total misconception. Yes we are created in His image, but it is a fundamental mistake to see in this the idea that the difference between us and Him is quantitative. It turns out (and no real surprise here if you’ve been paying attention) that He is a totally different type of being. The gap between Him and us is way bigger than, and of a completely different order to, the gap between a person and a paramecium. This causes an obvious problem. How are we to understand Him if He is so different? Thankfully, it turns out that He has provided help towards exactly this end, because He wants to be known. So He has revealed things about Himself in ways that we can understand. Not being able to understand everything, shouldn't stop us from trying to understand something. Starting with God’s simplicity (which in this context has a particular meaning and significance) Sanlon investigates God as He is revealed. And there is an interesting subtext. I may be reading more into Sanlon’s writing than is there (for which I apologise in advance), but I think he’s fairly angry about the small of view of God that many of us carry around in our heads. I think he’s right to be angry about this (if he is). And to the extent that this book helped me to understand that my view of God had been inaccurate, weak and impoverished, I’m more than happy to apologise! Hard work, but a good read.

A third lockdown read that I’ll mention is completely different. It’s John Searle’s “Seeing Things as They Are”(3). This book has nothing to do with theology. Searle is a UC Berkeley philosopher, as far as I know not a believer, with little interest in theology. I discovered him through his “Chinese Room” argument which appeared in the late 70’s/early 80’s; this seeks to show why brains are not computers and why computers cannot be conscious (or at least conscious in the way that you and I are). He writes with a compelling and elegant clarity. Not that I would claim to always follow his arguments fully, I’m sure I miss a lot. I am after all, just a scientist not a philosopher. But I always get the feeling that there’s something in his arguments, and that it’s worth paying attention. “Seeing..” is an attempt to explain consciousness, in this case the kind of consciousness that is involved in the process of perception. While many regard consciousness as a mystery (and some have argued that it is a mystery that can’t be solved), for Searle there is no mystery, once we think about it clearly enough. The mystery results from confusing categories, and holding on to philosophical baggage and bad arguments from the past. This one’s been keeping me going for a while. So quite handy in a pandemic.

And as if this were not enough already, I’ve just ordered my holiday reads. A similarly eclectic bunch including Stephen Westaby’s “The Knife’s Edge”, George Zuckerman’s “The Greatest Trade Ever Made”, and on the theological front Peter Hick’s “Evangelicals and Truth”. So many books. But then the pandemic isn’t over.

1.       McGrath A (2013) “C.S. Lewis: A Life”. Hodder & Stoughton.

2.       Sanlon P (2014) “Simply God”. IVP.

3.       Searle JR (2015) “Seeing Things As They Are”. Oxford University Press.