The neo-Babylonian captivity of (some) evangelicals

Around September 1520, Matin Luther published a tract. Along with his other writings, he would be invited to repudiate it at the Diet of Worms in 1521. When Erasmus read this particular tract he is reported to have blurted out “The breach is irreparable” for it was seen by Luther’s contemporaries as his most incendiary writing to date. It attacked the sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church, which Luther maintained had actually held the Church in a kind of servitude. His aim was to set the Church free. The tract was called “The Babylonian Captivity of the Church”. It seems that today part of the contemporary church may have fallen prey to its own modern version of captivity. We all run the risk of being held captive by the culture which surrounds us. It configures us to think in certain ways, and not think in others. It has an ability to weave a spell that for the most part we are unaware of. It is always a challenge to break free.

For the Christian (in the Biblical sense) culture is particularly problematic where it is suffused with ideas and values opposed to the way the Creator would have us think. That there is such a thing as “the way the Creator would have us think” is of course highly contested in modern culture. Some maintain there is no Creator. Others maintain that even if there is He/She/It is unknowable (at least in any practically important way); one can therefore live as a practical, if not a philosophical, atheist. Then there are those who are happy to wander around in an agnostic fog, probably because it frees them to live as they see fit. This will have the added advantage of allowing them to fit in with the culture that surrounds them, of which they will be largely unaware. For my part, I am convinced that there is a Creator to whom I owe my existence. I am also convinced that He has revealed Himself in the Bible, not as the remote watchmaker of the deist, but the loving Father who goes to inordinate lengths precisely so that the He might know me, and I Him. As this is a minority view (and always has been) there is a potential clash between ways of thinking and behaving taught in the Bible (properly understood and applied), and those taught or even mandated in the surrounding, non-Christian, culture.

Such a clash is exactly the state of affairs that prevailed when the first Christians began to preach the Gospel, the good news of Jesus’ rescue mission (the one we’ll be celebrating in a few weeks). The Gospel was so counter-cultural in their time that living it and preaching it cost many of those first believers their liberty and their lives. That doesn’t of itself constitute evidence that the Gospel is true. Men and women in history have given their lives for all sorts of causes. But it does indicate that Biblical thinking and living has and can be costly. There are areas in the world where this is true today. But because broadly Biblical ideas and values came to predominate in the “West”, while there have been periods of difficulty, it would be hard to argue that, at least in recent times, we have experienced having to pay a high, let alone the ultimate, cost for following Jesus. And there have even been places where it has been reasonably comfortable for “evangelicals”. 

I mean of course the U.S. where historically it has not only been relatively easy to be a Christian believer, but in recent decades one could argue it has been desirable. Evangelicals in the US have had a political presence in the US since the 19^th century. However in the second half of the 20^th century, they emerged across the Protestant denominations to form a more clearly defined block, albeit with fuzzy edges. In the 1970’s moreover, they began to form a coherent voting bloc, coalescing around a number of political issues, particularly abortion. As a bloc they were of course actively courted by one Donald Trump in the 2016 presidential election, and as a bloc they apparently supported him. This was always a transactional relationship. Trump promised to put conservative justices on the US Supreme Court and announced himself to be an ardent “pro-lifer”; the evangelicals voted for him in large numbers, even if some of them held their noses as they did so. Back in 2016 there were those who pointed out that Trump did not pass some fairly basic tests that evangelicals should have been interested in. For Max Lucado he didn’t pass the “decency” test that he would apply to someone who wanted to take his daughters out for an evening, let alone run the most powerful country in the World. Russell Moore elicited a Twitter rebuke from Trump, when among other things he called him one of "two immoral options". For Al Mohler too, Trump didn’t pass the smell test, although the other candidate was at least equally unpalatable. Mohler is a smart man, who made a ton of cogent points at the time. That he has now changed his tune has led some to question his motivation. Other evangelicals are reported to be heading in the opposite direction, experiencing what sounds like frustration and a degree of buyer’s remorse. But the fact is that in their support for Trump they were prepared to prioritize the political over the theological. They got what many of them wanted. But they got a lot more besides.

There has always been an anti-intellectual strain in US evangelicalism (and perhaps evangelicalism in general). By that I don’t just mean a dislike for intellectual endeavours outside of the Scriptures some of which like philology, history and science, were used to attack orthodox Christian belief. Thinking hard about that very belief has sometimes seemed too much like hard work for some evangelicals. There is something simple in the Gospel that is attractive (“Jesus loves me, this I know”), but the New Testament is clear that we should progress from milk to meat (1 Corinthians 3:1-3; Hebrews 5:11-14). Where teaching, training and thought are lacking, churches become vulnerable to being captured by influences and teachings other than those found in the Scriptures (Eph 4:14). It was the this sort of thing that Mark Noll diagnosed in the 1990’s:

“The scandal of the evangelical mind is that there is not much of an evangelical mind. An extraordinary range of virtues is found among the sprawling throngs of evangelical Protestants in North America….. Notwithstanding all their other virtues, however, American evangelicals are not exemplary for their thinking, and they have not been so for several generations.” (Noll, The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind).

Just over 25 years later, that hollowing out of evangelical thinking, intellectual, apologetic and theological, has led in some churches to partisan politics trumping (pardon the pun) Scripture. Those churches have entered a new Babylonian captivity. We shall see whether they return, and in what state.

Meanwhile, on this side of the Atlantic we have no reason to be complacent. We either hear and appropriately respond to the warnings of Scripture and grow up in our faith, or we too run the risk of entering some or other captivity.   

Turbulent Bishops (with apologies to Henry II)

In his displeasure at Thomas Becket in 1170, Henry II is reputed to have cried “will no one rid me of this turbulent priest”, leading to some of his more impulsive Knights paying the Archbishop a visit, resulting in his untimely demise. Even in the absence of outraged monarchs, the Church of England continues to encounter turbulence, although not (thankfully) with a similar violent outcome. This time it is the Bishop of Oxford who has been stirring the pot (one too many metaphors). For those not familiar with the continuing agonies of the established church in England, it has been discussing issues of identity, sexuality, relationships and marriage in a process called “Living in Love and Faith”. It has come to the point where the Bishops are meeting to agree concrete proposals to put to their governing General Synod; change is in the air. Officially, the Church of England currently holds to “traditional” (i.e largely Biblical) views of sexuality, gender and marriage. The broader culture, of course, does not. Hence the “traditional” view is pitted against what is widely regarded as a “progressive” view. This is seen as a problem in that not only is it uncomfortable, but is said by some to be unsustainable. Something has to give.

It is worth saying that it would be surprising if the views of Christians, seeking to follow a Saviour whom the world saw fit to crucify, were ever entirely compatible with the views of that same world. However, for a long time broadly Biblically-based values and attitudes have so influenced the Western World (an issue famously explored in Tom Holland’s “Dominion”), that tensions have tended to be at the margins or under the surface (with the occasional glaring exception). But, with increasing speed the values of the culture which we inhabit have been diverging from anything remotely Biblical. Hence problems have arisen, among them what should the church’s response be to this divergence and how should it decide. And this brings us back to the Bishop of Oxford, Stephen Croft.

In the middle of the final part of a process involving discussions among the Church of England’s Bishops from November 2022 to January 2023, Bishop Croft decided that it was time for him to make his own thinking clear and public. So he published a pamphlet entitled “Together in Love and Faith: Personal Reflections and Next Steps for the Church” (downloadable here) in which he concentrated on the issue of same-sex relationships, and in particular the attitude the Church of England should take towards same-sex partnerships. Some have questioned his objectives. Others have rather rolled their eyes at another bishop seeking to subvert the very teaching he promised to uphold and defend. But his pamphlet is interesting. It is in part a description of a journey from an evangelical position in which Scripture is the starting point and final authority, including in areas as difficult, fraught and contentious as human sexuality, to what he calls “a more affirming position” on same-sex relationships. It is a careful, thoughtful and I have no doubt sincere attempt to argue for that position. And he does it claiming that he remains an evangelical, retaining “a high view of the authority of Scripture”.

There have been lots of responses, from both those who share his newly adopted objective (that the Church of England abandons its currently orthodox position and move to recognize same-sex relationships as on a par with heterosexual relationships), and those who oppose it. Some of the opposition is from “traditionists” who look at 2000 years of church teaching and practice and see that the Bishop’s position stands this on its head. For them this is sufficient basis for rejecting his conclusions. But much of the opposition (unsurprisingly) has come from those Anglicans who claim, along with the Bishop, to be evangelicals, recognizing Scripture as the source and standard of Church teaching and practice (while taking note of 2000 years of teaching and practice). Perhaps the most thorough and penetrating response has come from a member of the Bishop’s own diocese, Vaughan Roberts. To be fair to the Bishop, Roberts’ response it is as effective as it is because the Bishop gave him prior sight of his pamphlet before it was published. And the Bishop has praised both the tone and content of Robert’s response. All very Anglican. But both cannot be right in their conclusions. Part of their discussion is about practical steps the Church of England might have to take to retain both of them within its compass. But there is a more fundamental, and familiar, issue that quickly comes to the fore. 

Vaughan Roberts is no naïve Biblicist. He is a thoughtful and experienced pastor and Bible teacher, who leads one of the largest evangelical Anglican churches in Oxford. And crucially, he has personally has had to grapple with issues of human sexuality not just in the abstract, but personally. Once again in this paper he is very open about his own struggles and experience. Where he agrees with his Bishop, he makes it clear (and there are areas of agreement). But he is surely correct in spotting what has really changed for the Bishop. It is something the Bishop is also fairly clear about. Notwithstanding warm words about Scripture, he actually prioritises something above it. For him, Scripture is trumped by experience. We do not interpret our experience in the light of Scripture, we use experience to interpret Scripture. Where the demands and implications of Scripture lead to difficult and painful conclusions, including some that might mean careful and perhaps painful readjustment of our thinking and behaviour, it is legitimate to reinterpret Scripture. In fact, we probably should. For how could painful change be what God demands of us?  For the Bishop, in the light of the painful and unjust experiences of some of those whose sexual identity is different to Biblical demands and norms, we should find a way to alter our interpretation of Scripture to avoid the pain. This is simply the loving thing to do. And so in his pamphlet the Bishop goes to considerable lengths to do exactly this. As Roberts points out this is “an essentially liberal, rather than evangelical, approach”.  

All of which means that we have been here before. It is the old claim that Scripture is not the revelation of God, and does not have any authority over and above us. Authority lies somewhere else. For the Enlightenment it was in reason; in the 21^st century it is in experience. And so the current impasse that the Church of England finds itself in boils down to this familiar issue of authority. There is much more in Robert’s response beyond this, and all of it worth reading and thinking about. But why should the rest of us be bothered?

There are practical reasons for being bothered about the state of the Church of England; there's its infrastructure for one, with churches up and down the country. Then there are those links of fellowship between evangelicals (in the Roberts sense) in the Church of England, and those of us happily outside of it. We should not be, and are not, indifferent to the pressure they are under and the struggle on which they are embarked. It is tough. But what is at stake is truth, and truth always matters. There is such a thing as “Neuhaus’ law”:  where orthodoxy is optional, it will soon or later be proscribed. And that matters to us all.  

Amateur Hour

 It is hard to fathom the political pickle we are currently in. On this side of the Atlantic we (some of us) watched with horror as our friends in the US elected a political neophyte to the highest office in the land. From early on, it was clear that President Trump was completely mystified by the business of government. There were obviously things he wanted to do; he was admirably clear about what these were (fix healthcare, reduce crime, stop illegal migration by building “the wall”, appoint conservative judges, fix campaign finance). Some of them were entirely within the gift of the presidency, such as nominating Supreme Court justices. But many were not, requiring the cooperation of the legislative branch of the US system (ie the Congress). This should have been unproblematic for the at least the first part of his administration, given that he was elected as a Republican president, and the Republican party controlled both the Senate and the House of Representatives (and a majority of state Governorships to boot). The Republicans even tightened their grip on the Senate after the 2018 mid-term elections (although they lost control of the House).  But yet, Trump achieved remarkably little beyond securing a conservative majority on the Supreme Court. While this is not to be sniffed at, his term was more marked by an inability to govern than to get stuff done. He seemed to be more interested in trashing the very norms and institutions he should have been using. The simplest explanation is that he was an amateur and basically not up to the job. He famously said of healthcare “Nobody knew health care could be so complicated” in 2017. But everybody did know (except apparently him). Maybe he should have been paying more attention.

But Trump’s rise can be seen as part of a reaction to professional politics and the “elite” that populates it, as represented at the time by Hillary Clinton. There’s no doubt she knew all about politics from her experience as former First Lady, Senator, Secretary of State and so on. But she just couldn’t get enough voters to believe that she was on their side, and would get the sort of things done that they wanted. Trump was the perfect foil; a way of holding two fingers up to the system (apologies for this British cultural reference, in the US it is of course one finger). The problem is he proceeded to trash the system and the institutions that made it work, to the extent that it sort of did work, if only haltingly. And so a vacuum was created that was filled with conspiracies, distrust, misinformation, outright lies and an increase in domestic political violence (threatened and executed). The tragedy for us on this side of the Atlantic is that it appears that there are those that seek to follow the same playbook, whether actively or passively. And, at least initially, they managed to strike a similar cord.

For us it was not a disputed election that brought things to a head, but a contentious referendum. There’s no point relitigating Brexit. The decision was passed to the people, the people decided and we all have to live with the political, economic and cultural consequences. The outcome was in part about sticking it to the elite, or at least that section of it that seemed to have actual arguments, facts, analysis, the biggest political beasts (one remembers press conferences with Balls, Osborne and Cameron) and, of course, experts. And in order to “get Brexit done” we were then, by some margin, prepared to entrust our system to Boris, a man who in normal times would have been completely disqualified from the highest office by his track record of lying and buffoonery. We apparently had had enough of “experts”, and handed the keys to those who would not pay undue respect to important institutions, not to mention personal integrity. Things then began to look up when Boris was dispatched precisely because of his lack of integrity (although no doubt basic political and economic incompetence played a role). But, alas, this turned out to be a lull, the calm before an economic storm brought on by monumental hubris which magnified the effects of a basic incompetence. Once again, some the stabilizing and constraining institutions which previously might have moderated the excesses of the political class were ignored or undermined. In the case of the Truss/Kwarteng omnishambles, non-budget, “fiscal event” these were mainly economic institutions like the OBR, the Bank of England, and the top civil servant in the Treasury who was apparently too “orthodox” for comfort. Trussteng knew better than the faceless (if experienced) bureaucrats, and better than the markets that they proudly professed to worship. They had been warned of course, in public debate, that fantasy economics don’t usually fare well when they collide with reality, but they either didn’t listen, or didn’t care, or actually believed the fantasy. We may never know which it was. But they managed to persuade the key selectorate that they knew what they were doing, and so the keys were duly passed on to them. 

If someone had proposed a script with a plot that followed the twists and turns of the last few months in UK politics, it would have been rejected out of hand as being too far-fetched. And the idea of a popular insurrection (albeit an unsuccessful one) in the US would also have seemed implausible not that long ago. But this torrid tale of people promoted or trusted beyond their abilities, of the triumph of the amateur and the charlatan over the serious and experienced, holds lessons for us. Knowledge, experience and character all count, particularly when it comes to running things like governments and economies. It turns out that this is no easy job and takes skill, experience, application and even a little luck (or the aid of Providence). Democratic political systems no doubt can be frustrating and exasperating, but the answer cannot be to entrust them to those who don’t really have a clue about what they are doing. Trusting the expert and the experienced, may also mean trusting the cautious, and that may mean that change is slow and incremental. But in the complex world in which we live, that may be the best we can hope for, no matter how impatient we may be. Better slow change than quick disaster.

Democracy only works where the voters play their part, inform themselves and decide carefully, weighing the options, judging character and ability deliberately and dismissing fantasies and the fantasists that promote them. Maybe in the end we get the politicians and governments we deserve. Well, we’ve tried the amateurs. Maybe it’s time to revert to the professionals, as unappealing as that might seem.

Science + theology?

A while ago I took to thinking about the area of study in which I am now engaged (theology), and also the area in which I had previously been professionally occupied (science). I suppose I conceived of these as two largely separable and separate fields. Sitting next to each other in the intellectual landscape, I suppose I would have expected to find a fairly well defined boundary between them. But because I am a realist (technically a critical realist), committed to a single , overarching and knowable reality outside of me, I would expect the boundary to be a fuzzy one, allowing friendly contact and interchange. If both represent valid pursuits, then they both deal with the same reality, although from different perspectives, using different tools. They are neither enemies or rivals. Admittedly, few scientists spend much time in properly theological reflection (except the ones who do), and there are probably more than a few who would deny theology any validity at all. But that has more to do with weaknesses in the education of scientists (at least in the Anglo Saxon world) than with any real problem with theology as a discipline. It has its problems of course, but validity is not one of them. However, it turns out that there may be a bigger overlap between theology and science than I had suspected.

I was alerted to this by having to critique a paper published in the Journal of Empirical Theology. Can there be such a thing I wondered. If theology is the study of an ineffable and inapproachable God, then it seems unlikely that empirical methods will have much traction. I am rather assuming that there are theologians (Barth perhaps?) who argue that when it comes to knowing anything about God, what is required is revelation not scientific experimentation. And while God’s self-revelation can be examined, debated and understood (and misunderstood), this is not a task that the methods of the natural sciences will be much help with. But theology (rather like science) is really not one single institution or discipline, with a single object of study from a single standpoint and a single set of tools. Given that things are believed about God (and indeed gods) by people, there are reasons for studying these beliefs, the people who hold them, and perhaps thereby discover things  about the God in whom they believe. In general, those who study people develop interests in the beliefs people have. So it is no surprise that tools have been developed to study such things, and some of these are thoroughly empirical.

Obvious examples are found in social and cognitive psychology, where many of the classic approaches found in other branches of the natural sciences, are used to study things like beliefs. The general approach can often be couched in classic hypothesis-driven terms (observation-hypothesis-prediction-test), using standard instruments and testing strategies to get at what is going on in people’s minds (or at least inside their heads). Religious ideas and beliefs might simply be seen as a subset of beliefs and ideas, examinable using exactly the same techniques. This is not a new idea; that religious belief was nothing special is a view that Scottish arch-sceptic and empiricist David Hume would have agreed with. Such investigations, undertaken from a standpoint of “methodological naturalism” generate explanations for the phenomena under investigation that do not invoke God, any more that I would have invoked His activity to explain the eye movement phenomena that I used to study. But then this doesn’t really sound like any kind of theology. And indeed it isn’t – it’s psychology.

As an aside, as a Christian believer, while I did not invoke the actions of God to explain the things I was investigating, I was well aware that He was not remote. He was as present in my lab as anywhere else; I am a Christian not a Deist. I was always quite comfortable with the belief that underpinning everything I did, indeed underpinning my very existence as well as that of the universe, was God’s power (revealed by writer of the New Testament letter to the Hebrews; Heb 1:3). But my job was to find immediate and natural explanations for what I was investigating, based on natural rather than supernatural mechanisms. My hypotheses were couched in terms of these natural mechanisms, and these were what my experiments tested, and what my theories invoked. But God and natural explanations are neither contradictory or mutually exclusive. They are different, and pertain to different levels of reality. But this poses a conundrum. I assume that there is an explanation that connects the power and working of the God who is spirit with the existence and maintenance of this universe which is material. I have no idea what it is, and my gut feeling is that even if God had revealed it I would not be capable of understanding it.

But back to empirical theology. There are models of belief and thought that originate within an avowedly theological context and use theological concepts. These are likely to be dependent, at least for the most part, on the revelation of God mentioned above. Empirical methods could, I suppose, be used to study such beliefs. But the methods themselves would have to be theologically informed, otherwise we’re simply back in the realms of psychology. This seems to be what goes on in what is called empirical theology. What I don’t quite understand is what it’s for. Mind you, that applies to a lot of science which is actually at its best when it is just about finding out stuff. It is only subsequently that it turns out that some of the stuff is useful or important or worth lots of money. There’s a lot of serendipity involved in even the hardest of hard sciences. There are contexts where finding how what and how people think is important. An example would be education where if you wanted to know whether a concept or belief was being adequately transmitted, then there are ways of finding this out in a rigorous manner. This is likely to be as useful in theological education as elsewhere. But is this really theology? Who’s to say. Defining disciplines is famously difficult. But I can conceive of investigating theological concepts and beliefs in a thoroughly scientific manner. Whether it ever is, is a different story.

A tale of two cities…

Edinburgh and London, September, 2022. The first has been sombre and restrained, the second has been brighter. The one has welcomed the arrival of the late Queen’s mortal remains to lie in state before heading south. The other filled with people looking excitedly for a glimpse of the new King as he takes up the responsibilities and burdens as head of state, even while grieving the loss of his mother. So many emotions, and a number of contrasts.

As so many have noted in these days, Queen Elizabeth II was (as we now have to get used to saying) a remarkable woman and a remarkable sovereign. Having lived one of the most scrutinized of lives, she is no less scrutinized in death. From the announcement of her passing at around 6.30pm on Thursday 8^th September, cameras were trained on the gates of Balmoral (where she died), as well as following all the intricate actions that seamlessly accomplish as well as evidence the succession. On Sunday the coffin containing her remains, draped in the Scottish Royal Standard, was driven from Balmoral to Edinburgh, with a helicopter filming from above. This had the added benefit of demonstrating again the impact the Queen’s death has had on so many. Throughout even relatively sparsely populated sections of the Scottish countryside, ordinary folk made their way to stand by the side of the road and pay their respects. By the time the cortege reached Edinburgh, where the route included the Royal Mile, ending in Holyrood Palace, the crowds were six or seven deep on both sides of the road. The quiet, respectful murmur of the crowd was interrupted by a wave of equally respectful applause.

Scotland, it is claimed, is unsure of its place in the state of which the Queen was head. She had made no secret of her love for Balmoral and its setting. It was where she spent her last days on earth. Just last week, in the first time for a long time, a departing Prime Minister had to make his way there to resign, and the newly elected leader of the largest party in the Commons had to make her way there to be offered the position. The Queen’s relationship with the locals around Balmoral was a warm one, and they and many others made their way to Balmoral’s gates to make their feelings clear. It is notable that the Queen rose so high above the political arguments over independence. Of course she inherited the crown of Scotland by right, independent of her status in the rest of the United Kingdom. She was a direct descendant of James VI. But given the level of political argument over Scotland’s status, one referendum behind us and perhaps another one to come, the affection in which she was held by Scots was amply demonstrated by the crowds. There will be many a Scots tear shed when, shortly, she leaves Scotland for the last time. Whether her departure will mark a turn to a republican frame of mind remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, over the weekend, the events that confirm the accession of the new King continued to unfold back in London. For the first time we were all able to see the meeting of the Privy Council as an Accession Council on Saturday. Over previous centuries this had only been witnessed by Privy Councillors themselves, and then only by relatively few. Now, millions of us could observe the inner workings of the British constitution. Again Scotland loomed large. King Charles III will take a number of oaths at the time of his coronation. But long before that he has already taken an oath to “inviolably maintain and preserve the settlement of the true protestant religion as established by the laws made in Scotland”. This is part of the constitutional settlement that brought about Union in 1707. In what is seemingly becoming a secular state, this must have bemused many of his subjects, including Presbyterians back in Scotland who seem to have little notion of what the “true protestant religion” actually is.

Today (Monday) Edinburgh witnessed the solemn sight of the Queen's coffin, with the Royal Family walking close by, being taken from the Palace of Holyrood, to lie in St Giles Cathedral. The new King joined his grieving family there having completed another key ceremonial task back in London. Both the Lords and the Commons have met to allow their members to pay tribute to the Queen. All of the speeches were personal, many of them were moving. One thing that was striking was the number who highlighted the Queen’s personal faith in Christ. While this has been observed by all, it is clearly more meaningful and personal for some. Those who were not just subjects of Her Majesty, but fellow believers with her, were able to bring a special focus to her faith and witness pointing out that hers was no mere formal or official religion. She bore a personal commitment to a King higher than herself; this was what had liberated her to perform her duties in the way that she did. I have no way of knowing the extent to which these speeches, just a small subset of so many being made across the world, will have an impact on the King. But today all of Parliament, along with the King and his Queen Consort, gathered in Westminster Hall to hear the Speakers of both Commons and Lords remember the Queen and express condolences to the King and the Royal Family for their loss. It was a reminder of both the public and personal. We have all lost a Queen; Charles has lost a mother.

Then the King was on his way to Edinburgh from London for another procession, more ceremony, further words of remembrance and condolence. Then the Queens coffin will leave Scotland for good, and head to London to lie in state before the funeral next week. The divided focus on two cities, will again be concentrated in one place. The past will give way to the future. There are new memories to be made, and a new reign will unfold. But even in an age of rampant materialism and naturalism, the usually unseen hold of the unseen has been laid bare. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, moved to tears by the death of someone who was inevitably remote from most, bereaved by the loss of a near stranger. And those invisible cords of history that makes a nation out of a people, have been revealed for the strength that they provide even if they are poorly understood and appreciated. A whole hidden world revealed, if only temporally.

It turns out there more to life than meets the eye. We’ll all be praying God save the King, as He surely did his mother.

Methodological musings

Summer is nearly over, school exam results are in, and the traditional English pastime of agonizing over the education system is in full swing. As the days lengthen and the temperature (hopefully) drops, I have to return to thinking about my little part in the great educational adventure (the masters programme at Union Schoolof Theology). Having completed a bunch of modules last year covering a range of topics, this year I am about to embark on the research methods module and then my dissertation. There are those who insist that we’ve all moved on from the days when Theology was taken seriously as an academic subject. I suspect some lurk among my former scientific colleagues. Mind you, they would probably also hold the same view (although only ever very quietly articulate it) of sociology, political studies, poetry, swathes of psychology, and other oddities. In fact, if they but knew a little bit of history (another subject area with dubious credentials) they would know that this is a very 19^th/early 20^th century view of the academy in which only science provides truthful and therefore useful knowledge. Everything else is “nonsense”; useful only in so far as it is mildly entertaining.

Before coming back to the issue of theology specifically, it’s worth just making a few rejoinders to this sort of (admittedly minority) view (see also here). The first thing to note is that scientific approaches have only ever applied to a fantastically narrow sliver of life and experience. To claim that only those things which can be measured and weighed, parameterized and counted matter, leads to an extremely impoverished view of life that no one could, or ever really has, held. To dismiss the warmth of human relationships, the beauty of sunsets, the evocations of great music (whether Elgar or E.L.O), is to dismiss the sort of thing that makes life liveable. None of these things can finally be reduced to numbers without missing something both important and wonderful. The view that only the measurable is knowable is only held in seminar rooms, and while having arguments. Then its proponents return to spouses and children and talk of love and affection (presumably genuinely), or go out and enjoy a good meal, and do not feel in any way that these are nonsense experiences that are to be dismissed.

And the notion that science is somehow self-sufficient, never requiring insights from other disciplines, is a peculiar kind of intellectual arrogance not worthy of the first-year undergraduate flushed with A-level success, who has yet to learn of his true ignorance. Where this type of attitude (articulated or not) persists among professional scientists (and where it does true professionalism and rigour are undermined) trouble is usually not far behind. You might think that clear thinking is a hallmark of science, but the literature is replete with counter-examples that a mildly competent philosopher or historian of science would be able to supply. Confusion and conflict over no more than poorly defined categories and misnamed concepts is far from unknown.

It is the philosophers of science (rarely scientists themselves) who have had to tackle how scientists actually think when engaged in effective science. Most scientists find that doing stuff is complicated enough without thinking too hard about it. In my experience it is not uncommon to bumble about in mist before finding a sensible approach to a problem. Activity rather than cool, dispassionate thought is often the preferred approach. The highly sophisticated, specialized and technical nature of most contemporary, professional science has exacerbated rather than moderated such tendencies. And all of this is prior to the really big elephant now sitting right in the middle of science’s front room – integrity. “Ethics” is not science (like epistemology it is a sub-discipline of philosophy), but “ethics” are now one of science’s big problems. This is perhaps inevitable where things like careers, salaries, and economic exploitation of scientific results are to the fore. All research costs money, and the money is usually someone else’s. This brings inevitable pressures and temptations. Things are further complicated where science and political controversy become entwined as in current debates around vaccines and climate change. Science is far from the clean, cool, rational, straightforward, always successful enterprise that some would have the non-scientist believe.

So in the complicated and nuanced world we all have to inhabit, studies of other aspects of existence have their place and I assume require an appropriate toolkit, some knowledge of the past, and strenuous efforts to discover and apply new knowledge. There is a right way to go about science, or rather right ways – it’s not as methodologically monolithic as you might think. And I’m assuming the same applies in a discipline like theology. There is even an interesting overlap in methodology, in as much as reasoned argument has the same characteristics across disciplines (a philosopher could give me chapter and verse on this). Coherence will be good and contradiction bad. Claims will be testable and tested against evidence. Interestingly, while the main object of study in theological investigation is different to that which I studied previously, there is again an overlap between my former and future efforts. If the object of study in theology is God (the only real and true one I mean), then there is a problem because there is a sense in which He is unknowable. And yet He has revealed Himself in a number of ways. Of prime importance is Scripture, the book of His words, and His primary method of self-revelation. But then we have His created order (including ourselves) – the book of His works. And that’s what I’ve been studying for all these years. In studying them, I have been studying Him.

But I take it that given the centrality of Scripture, this will be a prime focus of theological research, and therefore theological method. This raises a bit of a conundrum as far as research is concerned. The Bible has been an object of study for a long time. In my former existence a premium was placed upon revealing new things. Admittedly where I managed this, the things that were revealed were only of interest to me and a tiny handful of other people. Had they not been revealed the world would have continued spinning on its axis. But they were, in their way, novel. But is theological research about finding out new things about God in Scripture or do we know everything about Him we need and are able to know? Research would then become a matter of rediscovering the thoughts of others, a sort of history. I can see the value in this, but is it all there is? Or are there new things to be discovered, articulated and applied? I am already aware of two theological tribes which take two different, and opposing, positions on this - constructivists versus conservatives. No doubt there are others I’ve yet to encounter.

The inventiveness of humanity and the productivity of science and technology do occasionally throw up genuinely new issues which require theological reflection. One example would be nuclear weapons which placed the means of planetary destruction in human hands for the first time. A current example would be the current controversy over gender, what it is and whether it is fixed or fluid; such questions would simply never have occurred to previous generations. But is this fundamentally about generating new truth, or applying old truth to new issues? Novelty may not be as novel as it first  appears. And if some claim is made that a really novel theological truth has been discovered, is this a good thing or simply danger sign?

These are the questions to be batted about next week. Some hard thinking to do. It’s unlikely to be dull.

Messiness and main things

It can be very easy to fall out with people, something all human beings seem to have a talent for. Sometimes religious people in general, and Christians in particular (particularly those at the Protestant/Evangelical end of the spectrum) get singled out for being key exemplars of this propensity. Given that, it is worth pointing out that the Monty Python joke about “splitters” has much more to do with politics than religion, suggesting that this really is a human, not specifically Christian, frailty.

Unity is of course important. In philosophy it has been a matter of debate from Plato and Aristotle forward. In politics, it is valued because of the perception that people don’t vote for divided and disunited political parties (a rule most recently restated by Nadhim Zahawi, Boris’ final chancellor). More importantly for me, it is enjoined by the Psalmist  (Ps 133:1 – “how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity”) and prayed for by Jesus (John 17:21 – “..that they may all be one..”). But unity is one of those odd things that while important, is not really of value in an of itself. Just as faith can only ever be as strong as its object, so unity is only of value where there is something (or someone) to unite around. This brings us back to splitting.

One of the accusations constantly thrown at the Reformers in the sixteenth century was essentially that they were “splitters”. They were introducing division into the church that had no business being there. The point was often made that it would not end well; once a splitter, always a splitter (partly the Python’s point). It was predicted that once the split had occurred from Rome there would be other splits, until the whole reforming project ran into the sand. Where previously there had been glorious unity under Rome, there would be all these fissiparous protestants, both defacing the beauty of the church, and generally causing lots of trouble. And it did rather look like this for a while. Except for a couple of things.

The unity of Rome was both around the wrong object and was in part illusory. The human institution of the church, with its accretion of prelates and both extrabiblical and unbiblical ritual, with its devotion to international politics and political rather than spiritual leadership, had moved so far from the church as instituted at Pentecost as to be unrecognizable. It had become a barrier to the saving truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, not its doorway. Even so, even Luther recognized a high threshold for secession, and his original intent was reform rather than schism. That door, if ever open, was swiftly closed against him. In any case, Luther faced a situation in which no-one was entirely sure what the truth really was that everyone was supposed to unite around. He was active during a period of theological pluralism, when even for key ideas (including some that would become hotly contested like justification) the right line was often ill-defined. The production of Erasmus’ new translation of Scripture, a great improvement on the Vulgate, had the effect of showing up that in certain areas what had become accepted truth was far from it. The institution, when challenged, reacted with hostility. A split became both inevitable and unbridgeable where truth was defined by God in His Word, as opposed to a human institution.

And while it still looks to some that chaos was the result, chaos that is still with us, this is surprisingly deceptive. That central role of Scripture as defining truth has another important aspect to it. Some things are both true and necessary – get them wrong and the consequences can be eternally disastrous. Deny them, and the outcome is likely to be as unpleasant. It is clear that Jesus is not just a great teacher or prophet, but God and man. As hard as this is to get our heads around, undermine, redefine or deny the truth of who Jesus is, relegate the truth of His life, death and resurrection to opinion, and the Gospel is emptied of its transforming relevance and power. This hypothesis has, as it happens, been tested in contemporary Europe (including the UK) and North America, and the results may be clearly observed. However, it is less clear whether it is necessary for Christians to meet at 10.30am every Sunday morning, sit in wooden pews and sing songs written prior to the nineteenth century only accompanied by a pipe organ. In the New Testament there is teaching about some of things we should do as Christians, and in some cases the way in which we should do them. But there is surprisingly little practical detail, leaving ample scope for a legitimate spectrum of practice. This has not prevented some Christians from falling out over details that Scripture simply does not supply.

John Newton, former trafficker in human slaves, writer of “Amazing Grace” and latterly Church of England vicar and rector wrote “If a man is born again, hates sin, and depends upon the Saviour for life and grace, I care not whether he is an Arminian or a Calvinist.” I think Newton puts it rather well. Essentially he was saying that we should keep the main things the main things, and not fall out over the other stuff. And this was the genius of the eighteen century revival and awakening. Even though there were fallings out, and the big one was the Calvinist/Arminian division between John Wesley and George Whitefield (the one referred to by Newton, and one that still exists today), there was an underlying unity in the Gospel. Even the division between Wesley and Whitefield should not be overstated; they found a way to work if not together then at least with a degree of harmony. Wesley famously preached Whitefield’s memorial sermon in 1770.

Of course there will always be a legitimate debate about what the main things actually are, and where the border really is between main and secondary issues. I think Newton summarises them well. There are primary issues, those necessary for salvation, and then there are secondary issues. We can debate these, and perhaps we should, but we should not be falling out about them. Because some have fallen out about them in the past, we find a range of different groups, and it can all look a bit messy. And yet I have always found so much in common with fellow believers in, and followers of Jesus, that there has always been a degree of unity for all to enjoy. This unity, based on God’s Word, is the sort of thing experienced at places like Keswick.

Keep the main things the main things and it turns out things are not as messy as they first appear.