from blue ash (IV)

Five inches of snow fell overnight, and I sat in my hobbit hole curled up on the sofa in my pajamas with the fierce wind rattling the windows, incense burning and Mariee Sioux playing over my IPOD dock as I read about Daniel Boone's first days in the Indian hunting ground they called Kan-tuck-kee. Mandy and I talked for an hour and a half before bed, and I love talking with her. She's seriously "out of this world" in so many ways, and I told Dylan, "I'm so grateful to be with someone like her." She always puts a smile on my face, and oftentimes my jaws hurt from laughing so hard. It's that or rickets. Dear God, don't let it be rickets. And the hypochondriac in me takes off!

I've been studying Calvinism a lot over the past week or two, refamiliarizing myself with the doctrine and the arguments. Calvinism is a beautiful systematic theology, it really is, and I find myself drawn to it. The question is, "Why?" It's one thing to ask ourselves what we believe; it's quite another to ask ourselves why we believe it (and the second question may very well be the most important one). In studying these things, I'm asking myself, "Why do I agree or disagree with their interpretations and conclusions? What are my motivations?" No one approaches the scripture tabula rasa, and we carry not only preconceived notions and presuppositions to the text but also inclinations and motivations. We do well to be wary of such things. My slant towards arminianism could very well be motivated by a desire to not rock the boat among my Arminian friends, or to not have to go through all the trouble of rethinking every aspect of my understanding of Christianity, or to hold onto cherished beliefs. Likewise, the attraction of Calvinism could very well be motivated due to a desire to be more "orthodox," in the sense that Calvinism is the breed of Western Christianity that's most prevalent. The draw could even be motivated by a desire to be "like-minded" with those folks up in Wisconsin who tenaciously hold to such convictions. Most of my studying has been focused on what are often considered the "linchpin" issues of election and predestination (interestingly, Calvin himself didn't write a whole lot about the subject; Martin Luther was the pioneer in this Calvinist thought, though he doesn't get the credit). As I wrestle with these subjects, several "points of concern" arise. In brief:

(a) Both systems [Calvinism and Arminianism] came into existence around the 16th century: Calvinism through John Calvin and Martin Luther, and Arminianism through Jacob Arminius.

(b) Both are direct results of the Protestant Reformation and represent Protestantism over against the Catholic Church, emphasizing sola scriptura, sola gratia, and sola fides

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(c) Both systems understand election (and, consequently, predestination) to be individualistic in nature; both systems were derived during the period immediately following the Black Plague of Europe, which served as a violent transition from a collectivistic (group-focused) understanding of identity to an individualistic understanding of identity, which remains prevalent in western culture today.

(d) Both systems thus understand the New Testament and the Old Testament texts on election to be individualistically focused. And yet historians and biblical scholars agree that individualistic thinking didn't evolve until about 1600 years after the writing of the New Testament; ergo, the New Testament writers couldn't possibly be writing from an individualistic perspective. New Testament authors, thinking in accordance with their collectivistic societies, would've approached such terms as election and predestination from a corporate rather than individualistic perspective. This means, then, that there may be serious error in both Calvinism and Arminianism insofar as the focus is upon individuals rather than groups.

I vividly remember being in Romans class with the Esteemed Dr. Smith when a student asked about whether Paul was Calvinistic or Arminian. Smith poignantly replied that St. Paul was neither, since a millennium and a half were to pass before people started thinking about the terms in such ways. In studying election and predestination, we'd do well not simply to reference the works of Wayne Grudem or Jack Cottrell but to look at the way 2nd-Temple Palestinian Jews would've seen the terms, the way Greco-Roman pagans would've understood the terms, the way the early church understood the terms. There's a certain attraction, which I feel deep in my bones, to embracing a black-and-white systematic theology and wrapping all of scripture around that, so much so that we stop letting scripture interpret scripture and let our systematic theologies interpret scripture. I find my lazy heart drawn to systematic theologies so that I can take the beliefs of a man far more brilliant than me and make them my own, thus avoiding the hard work of wrestling with scripture myself. My brain won't let me do that: I have a compulsion to study these things, a compulsion to wrestle with scripture, a compulsion to examine all arguments and try to determine what makes most sense. And I have a feeling that if we were to travel back in time, find a first century Christian (whether Jewish or pagan heritage, it doesn't matter), and present both sides of Calvinism and Arminianism to him, and ask him which he agreed with, he would just blink his eyes and scratch his beard and wonder what in the world we were talking about, because they didn't think about these things the same way we do. This is a pretty huge deal, and in my studies of the subject, I need to keep that at the forefront of my mind.

Ultimately, in all such studies, humility is key. I like N.T. Wright for lots of reasons, but what tops the list is a disclaimer he gives at the first lecture of each new semester where he teaches. N.T. Wright is a world-renown theologian, a phenomenon of sorts, either loved or hated, and so many people take everything he says as gospel, as if he's the only voice on these subjects. If I were in his shoes, I'm sure the pride would consume my head and my heart, and I'd bathe in the praises of those who come to learn under me. It's for this reason that his disclaimer strikes me so deeply: at the beginning of each semester, he tells his students, "At the very least, twenty percent of what I'm going to teach you is wrong. The problem is, I don't know what those parts are." 

We need a good dose of humility whenever we begin talking about God and the way he works, and the sad truth is, especially when it comes to the issue of Calvinism and Arminianism, people on either side of the debate don't exercise humility. It's often a "my way or the highway [to hell]" mentality. One side is truly Christian, the other side is apostate. In one of the books I've been reading to learn more about Calvinism, for example, the author is asked, "Why don't all Christians embrace the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination?" His answer is two-fold: (1) they don't read their bibles, and (2) God has hardened their hearts and blinded them to the truth. He adds, "The modern evangelical church is drowning in an ocean of theological stupidity. Here and there are handfuls of the 'orthodox' clinging to the wreckage of what was once a great ship." The 'orthodox' are, of course, Calvinists, and the 'great ship' is Calvinism. Such arrogance is something that just makes my stomach twist all up in knots, and it's tempting for me to forget all of his arguments up to that point by virtue of his arrogance, but unfortunately it's a really good book, so I can't do that.