Theocentrism, Ecology, and the Earth Bible Project

Much has been said and written regarding the methodology of the Earth Bible project and its three part framework for reading Biblical texts. Critics have often accused the project of distorting the text to fit the Earth Bible mold, either stuffing it into a framework that does not address the issues of the passage, or stretching minute detail into meaning-altering significance. However, Psalm 104 provides an opportunity to utilize the framework as a sort of guide, checking our response as in a mirror and bringing forth new insight as with a magnifying glass. It is not that we should find or force an anthropocentric or ecological reading, but that we should look for (and at) it. I depart from a “radical” ecological hermeneutic in that I have not attempted to find in nature a significance independent from humankind or God, but rather centered the reading on God and as a result found nature as a subject. I believe this to be the proper method. C. S. Lewis sums it up in his essay “First and Second Things”:

To sacrifice the greater good for the less and then not to get the lesser good after all--that is the surprising folly…Every preference of a small good to a great, or a partial good to a total good, involves the loss of the small or partial good for which the sacrifice was made. Apparently the world is made that way…You can't get second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first.

If we are to take the Bible seriously as a subject of study, we must therefore take its worldview seriously, and this worldview centers on God as the Creator and King of the Universe. Only atop this foundation can a faithful biblical interpretation commence. We cannot simply shunt God off to the side and place something else in the spotlight—it will always ring false. And this is why Earth-as-subject can never become an end in itself. But if we respect the text, placing God at the center, we discover that God then immediately invests Earth with significance and dignity. Psalm 104 is an example.

Human beings are mentioned only in verses 1, 14-15, 23, 26, and 34-35, a mere seven verses in a total of thirty-five. The majority of the psalm is devoted to God and His provision for nature. We should point out, though, that God acts, if not in a human-like, then at least in a personal, way. He wears clothes (v. 1-2), builds a tent and a house (v. 2-3), rides a chariot (v. 3), and hides His face (v. 20). The rest of God’s actions are more magisterial, appointing, commanding, and making. In verses 14-15 plants are said to grow in order to nourish humans and make them glad, which Habel and his associates would clearly see as anthropocentric, refusing to recognize the right of the plant world to exist independently of humankind. Verse 23 mentions humans but makes no comment on their priority over the Earth. The writer mentions “ships” in verse 26, but only to say that they sail on the waters which God has made. The writer inserts himself into the psalm at the beginning and end, in verses 1 and 34-35. He calls God “my God” and seeks to please Him. Overall, while anthropocentrism may indeed lie behind the text, or within the author’s mind, it does not emerge in any significant way in Psalm 104.

The psalm does present a quite robust picture of empathy with the Earth and recognition of our “deep ecological connections” (Habel 4). The psalmist paints a natural world completely dependent upon God, from the grass to the animals to the mountains. The humans play a role, not as dominators or rulers, but as simply another kind of creature for which He provides. We find our nourishment in the produce of the field, just like the livestock (v. 14). The psalm gives us no pride of place, but mentions us in between cattle and cedars. We are encouraged to think outside of our own anthropocentrism and praise the God who has made the Earth and filled it with more than mere humanity. Here, perhaps contra the Earth Bible project, it is God and not Earth which provides the ultimate nourishment for the living things of the world. “They all look to you to give them their food in due season,” writes the psalmist in verse 27. Verses 27-30 establish the inseparable link between the fertility of the Earth and God’s superintendence. God gives food, and the animals eat. When God departs, they are dismayed. He gives and takes their breath and life.

Psalm 104 reminds us, much as the Earth Bible project attempts to, that we humans are not the center of the universe. But Psalm 104 finds its center not in praise of nature, but of nature’s God. We are constantly reminded that this is a theocentric universe, and nature is the method through which this message is conveyed. As we respect nature’s grandeur and richness, so we should look beyond it to the God who created it and give Him glory. Nature is therefore, in the eyes of the psalmist, not an end in itself but a means to worship. If we attempt to make nature into a “first thing,” we do violence to the text and become deliberately manipulative of its meaning. But if we put God first, we find that nature becomes an object of deep respect, appreciation, and wonder.

The psalmist continually deals with non-human characters as subject in their own right. God is shown as providing for the specific needs of each creature. He gives His gifts directly to the animals and plants, and the psalm states explicitly that the gifts are intended for them, and not for humans. The springs give drink “to every beast of the field” (v. 10); grass grows “for the livestock” (v. 14); the stork’s “home” is in the fir trees (v. 17); the mountains are “for the goats” and the rocks are “a refuge for the rock badgers” (v. 18); the lions seek their prey and lie down in their dens (v. 22) (emphasis added). The proper owners of these things are animals, not people. God does not only cater to human interests, but to all of His creatures. Any ecologically-minded reader would be overjoyed to find that God has clearly created a world in which animals have a right to live their lives, and in which human activity plays little role. In fact, as verses 19-23 state, animals and humans seem to live in separate realms.

We are driven to respect the natural world, not simply because it nourishes us, or rather because God nourishes us through it, but because it is given the role of God’s kingly domain. Verse 1 proclaims that God is “clothed with splendor and majesty,” clearly setting forth a kingship metaphor, which is then extended in the following verses. His kingly robe is light, and His tent is the sky. He rides on the clouds in His chariot, and uses wind and fire as servants. All of the elements in this kingship metaphor are drawn from the natural world. It is therefore reasonable that the rest of the psalm, in its description of God’s control of and power over nature should also be read in the context of God’s kingship, and the Earth as His kingdom. Since we too are under God’s authority, we should not attempt to rebel against His established rule over nature, establishing our own despotic authority against His just and good rulership. Doing so would be treason, and would fall under the curse of verse 35.

As a whole, ecological hermeneutics is not nearly so far removed from the text as some other interpretations have been, but not as closely linked with the meaning as it should be. The Earth Bible project is simply one of the attempts to read the Bible from an ecological framework, and so we must not pass judgment on the whole field based solely on this group of scholars. There are a multitude of differing efforts to draw from the Bible some sort of word about ecology and our relationship to the natural world. Norman Habel and his fellows are, self-admittedly, “radical” in their approach. The critiques leveled against Habel’s approach are, in my opinion, valid. The method replaces the text as the well from which we draw meaning, and as such brings into question the purpose of doing ecological Biblical hermeneutics in the first place. Commitment to textual analysis is obviously only of secondary concern to the goal of presenting an ecological philosophy. And if this is the case, why not simply present the philosophy and be done with it?

The issue can be compacted to a single question: is the Bible authoritative or not? If it is, the plain sense of the text dictates that we do in fact live in an anthropocentric universe, in which human beings occupy a higher position than the animals, and enjoy a special relationship to the Lord in which the rest of the natural world in does not fully participate. It is an inescapable theme running through the entire corpus. This does not exclude non-human characters from participating in the narrative or having intrinsic worth, but it does mean that human beings are more important. And if the text is not authoritative, why are we reading it? I can only surmise that the Earth Bible project is simply using the text as a medium through which to present an alien message, harnessing the power of the Bible in our cultural imaginings in order to foist off an agenda upon its readership. There are many texts which capture environmentalist sentiments much more clearly and broadly than the Bible. Why is it significant that we find such a message in this particular text? I believe we will indeed find the message, but perhaps not in the way the Earth Bible project intends.

Works Cited

Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics. Ed. Norman G. Habel and Peter Trudinger. SBL, 2008.

Descartes and God

Speaking of Descartes’ philosophy of God, his contemporary Blaise Pascal said, “I cannot forgive Descartes; in all his philosophy, Descartes did his best to dispense with God. But Descartes could not avoid prodding God to set the world in motion with a snap of his lordly fingers; after that, he had no more use for God.” It has seemed to me, and also to many of his critics, that despite his avowed Roman Catholic faith Descartes’ conception of God fell more into the deist camp than the orthodox Roman Catholic one. Descartes used God to guarantee trust in our senses and the “formal reality” of the world outside our own minds, but this seems to be all God does. At the very least, Descartes’ God is a sort of generic monotheistic deity, holding all of the basic godly properties but without the added weight of the Incarnation or activity in history, much less any opinions on sin or redemption. But, it can be argued, such doctrines were not relevant to the task at hand in the Meditations, and the Catholic Church could take it from there.

The (first) Cartesian argument for God’s existence can be summed up quite simply but understood only in the context of the larger work. As Descartes writes in the third meditation, on page 101, “By the word ‘God’ I mean an infinite substance, eternal, immutable, independent, omniscient, omnipotent, and that by I myself and all other existent things, if it is true that there are other existent things, have been created and produced. But these attributes are such—they are so great and so eminent—that the more attentively I consider them, the less I can persuade myself that I could have derived them from my own nature. And consequently we must necessarily conclude from all that I have previously said that God exists.” Descartes here explicitly gives us his definition of the God he is working with: infinite, immutable, eternal, independent, omniscient, omnipotent, and the creator of everything. Notably, Descartes does not include goodness in this list. The concept of perfection, says Descartes, does not admit of deception, because all deception is a sort of lessening. We may assume that Descartes therefore subsumes goodness under the banner of perfection, something which, while not listed in the description in Meditation III, is essential to the proof in Meditation V.

Descartes’ first and most substantial proof is a form of the classic ontological argument. It rests mainly on the assumption that the magnitude of reality of the effect cannot exceed the magnitude of reality of the cause. Thus, if we have the clear and distinct idea, or effect, of an infinite being with so many “great” and “eminent” properties that we do not possess, then the cause must be at least equal to the magnitude of reality of that effect, which seems to be infinite. The idea of a thing having more or less reality than another thing is somewhat alien to readers today, but basically signifies how perfect or independent a thing is.For example, if my copy of the Meditiations were burned in a fire, the other students’ copies would survive. The copies are independent of one another. However, if my copy of the Meditations were to burn, the whiteness of the cover would not survive, because the whiteness is dependent on the substance. The “accident” of whiteness is thus less perfect than the “substance” of the book. We can say, therefore, that because the whiteness of the book has less of an independent existence than the substance of the book, it is less real.

But more than a strange conception of a thing having more reality than another thing, there underlies Descartes’ argument the assertion that the concept of the infinite predates our concept of the finite. Without this assertion, we could simply say that God is an amalgamation of other concepts, like a unicorn or Gary Busey. As Descartes writes on page 101,

And I must not imagine that I do not conceive infinity as a real idea, but only through the negation of what is finite in the manner that I comprehend rest and darkness as the negation of movement and light. On the contrary, I see manifestly that there is more reality in infinite substance than in finite substance, and my notion of the infinite is somehow prior to that of the finite, that is, the notion of God is prior to that of myself. For how would it be possible for me to know that I doubt and that I desire—that is, that I lack something and am not all perfect—if I did not have in myself any idea of a being more perfect than my own, by comparison with which I might recognize the defects of my own nature?

So we see here a two-part argument for the positive conception of the infinite: infinite substances are more real than finite substances; and the fact that there seems to exist some sort of standard by which to measure imperfection. Descartes does not attempt to prove either of these claims. But he achieves, through the argument resting on these two assertions, a basis for believing in a cause of his ideas, namely, God. Added to this, by way of the natural light, is the fact that God is not a deceiver, and Descartes has a mechanism for reasonably believing the content of his sense perception.

The statement that God is not a deceiver is somewhat akin to the statement that God is good, but it is not equivalent. God could very well not be a deceiver and still be totally unconcerned with human life. So Descartes has yet to remove himself from the generic monotheistic conception of God, and remains at this point a deist. At the end of the third meditation he allows himself a moment to reflect on the magnificence of the God he has just proved, the possessor of so many great properties and attributes. This God is, if one may say, a god of milk and water. Descartes is very careful to keep a broad enough conception of God that he does not offend the reigning Roman Catholic Church, but keeps God at enough of a distance to allow free and autonomous reign to the rationalism and humanism that prevailed in the intellectual circles of the time.

But what about the second proof? Descartes uses the concept of clear and distinct ideas to once again demonstrate God’s existence. He writes on page 120,

It is certain that I find in my mind the idea of God, of a supremely perfect Being, no less than that of any shape or number whatsoever; and I recognize that an actual and eternal existence belongs to his nature no less clearly and distinctly than I recognize that all I can demonstrate about some figure or number actually belongs to the nature of that figure or number. Thus, even if everything that I concluded in the preceding Meditations were by chance not true, the existence of God should pass in my mind as at least as certain as I have hitherto considered all the truths of mathematics. . .

In this argument Descartes adds to his conception of God that God is a necessary being, or that God’s existence is a necessary part of God’s essence. This echoes very closely Saint Anselm’s response to Gaunilo’s objections to his ontological argument. So Descartes now has a sort of shortcut to trust in sensory perception, by reasoning that a clear and distinct idea of God has a property of necessary existence, and that a God containing all perfection would not be a deceiver, and thus one can trust the senses.

Throughout all this, Descartes never makes any statements about God being personal or interacting in any historical or direct way with the world or with human beings. While it could be concluded that such concerns are not relevant to the task of the Meditations, the conception of God as it stands in the Meditations is too close to a deist one to be ignored. Descartes does not say that God does not intervene in nature, perhaps fearing reproof from the Church, but it is not a stretch to assume that this is what he believes.

Bibliography

http://oregonstate.edu/instruct/phl302/philosophers/descartes-god.html

The Death of God-Language?

The way I see it, there is a major problem with theology today, and it is this: it is not theology. As is obvious, theology means instruction about God. I think it would be reasonable to assume that if I picked up a book on theology, I would find lots of God-language and, at least in a Christian context, I wouldn’t have to look too hard to find reference to Jesus Christ. But it turns out I am insane. A wide swath of theology today has divorced itself from God and rattles down the road of history without Him, like a car without an engine. And just like an engineless car, this theology will only roll downhill. God is the focus and the drive of theological study. Without Him in the mix, we are simply talking. I cannot understand how theology can be theology when the word and the propositional content are separated. But perhaps I’m old-fashioned.

Let me tell you my context: I am a white, male, middle-class American college student. I grew up in a Southern Baptist Church but am now Reformed Baptist. Some of my assumptions and commitments are that the Bible is absolutely authoritative and that it is divinely inspired. As such, I cannot speak to or about the experiences of many, many Christians. But my context does not dictate silence. I too have a voice, and though people like me have been speaking for centuries, it does not mean that I cannot speak now, and it does not mean that they were wrong then. In this paper, I want to argue that theology is only itself when it speaks of its subject, that is, God. I want to argue that the Bible has Something to say, and that the Gospel has been discarded in favor of the doctrines of humans. This position is controversial because it is traditional. It is unorthodox precisely because it defends orthodoxy. This paper is the refuse of secularism, dropped into the bag of common sense and set aflame on the doorstep of modern man. This is, in the colloquial parlance, the ding-dong-ditch of the death of God.

We have to pause for a moment, lingering on the brink of this earth-shattering epistle. Isn’t one of the primary assertions of contemporary theology (as set out in the handouts on secularism, assertions of contemporary theology, and the rise of modernism) that a conception of Christianity limited to the authority of the Bible and founded in an orthodox conception of Jesus as the historical God-Man and Savior a result of the exclusion of other voices from the discussion? Should we not listen to other, and (reportedly) equally valid, interpretations of the central meaning of the Message? Yes and no. In my erudite opinion, anyone who proposes a view of Christianity which rejects the Bible as the standard of knowledge and God’s message to the world, as well as replacing the historical and actual death of Jesus with myth-language or some sort of “higher” interpretation of what seems to me to be a common-sense reading of the text as a historical account, must examine their motives. Are they truly trying to reveal to people what they think the true message of Christianity has been all along? Or are they hijacking traditional language to mask the replacement of orthodox systems with their own ideologies in order to make it easier for the Church to swallow? I think this is what Tillich does, and I think it is ultimately dishonest. When a normal (and by normal here I mean not an academic) person on the street talks about God, they are not talking about the impersonal ground of being. Let’s not turn theology into a country club and have high and educated discussions in our ivory towers full of code words and secret meanings that the rest of the populace is oblivious to. Many contemporary theologians argue this, but does their message reflect it? If what you mean by “God” or “Gospel” is not what your audience means, are you truly communicating?

The sort of linguistic camouflage that Tillich or Hick presents is ultimately the enslavement of the universal to the particular. Culture and prevailing human thought forms, the absolute rulers of our minds, have dictated that we must reject the supernatural in favor of scientism and place absolute truth (and its supporters) in the furnace; in that place there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. And so Christianity, which does not anymore realize that it is a Message from Above rather than a human construction, blindly follows the spirit of the age which is itself the age of blindness to truth, and both fall into the pit. This spirit says that there is no universal truth, no claim to knowledge which applies to all peoples in all situations. And it is right, if it limits itself to speaking of humanity. But humanity, that limited, ignorant, pain-filled mass, is exactly where the Gospel did not come from. The Gospel is the message to the world, not the message from it. God reached down from the heavens and men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit. And He spoke universally. It is ridiculous to say that the universal message of salvation and life does not apply to some situation. All you have succeeded in saying is that you don’t understand the concept “universal.” If the Bible is universal, it speaks to you. It applies to you. Take it and use it. Your context can dictate superadded meanings to the text, but do not mistake them for the primary ones.

What about liberation theologians like Gutierrez who claim that poor and oppressed people are not concerned with abstract metaphysical claims, but rather practical and particular changes to oppressive and evil worldly systems? Well, in a certain sense I understand that pure theology is perhaps not the most pressing need of the downcast. But in another sense the Gospel of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is of utmost importance. Let’s assume that the orthodox Christian conception of the world is correct, and that after this life there are two eternal destinations contingent upon a person’s response to the work of Jesus, namely, heaven and hell. Now, if one assumes that an eternity of happiness and fulfillment are available upon acceptance of Jesus, then that eternal reward infinitely outweighs any improvement to the conditions of this life. Does this mean that Christians should ignore social reform? By no means! I like Gutierrez and I think he makes an important point, but I think he takes it too far. What I mean is that if we focus only on preaching a message of liberation from social or worldly oppression we are denying the oppressed a much greater good—liberation from sin and the wrath of God.

While most contemporary theologians argue that the legitimacy of established Christian doctrine is less than solid (in part) because entire swaths of people were left out of its formulation, I want to argue a more practical point. I want to assert that the ecumenism of orthodox Christian creeds and doctrines are at this point irrelevant on the ground level. Key terms and ideas have been established in lay consciousness for hundreds to thousands of years, and a radical reevaluation of these concepts and a reassignment of their referents seems to me to be simply impractical. Words like ‘God’ and ‘salvation,’ the role of Jesus in the doctrine of the Christian church, these things are already defined in the public lexicon, and use of the same words with totally new referents, many of which (such as Tillich’s or Robinson’s conception of God) stand in stark contrast or outright opposition to the traditional and pre-established concepts behind those words. This strikes me as somewhat disingenuous. It is as if theologians want to capture the allegiance of unwitting laypersons with comfortable language while at the same time undertaking a secret revolution and rejection of everything those laypersons hold ‘Christianity’ to be.

So what then are we to say to theologians like Kwok Pui-lan and other syncretistic or inclusivisic writers, or to “Christian” pluralists like John Hick, or to proponents of liberation theology like Gustavo Gutierrez? Is there no place for them in the discussion? Once again, yes and no. I suggest that this more modern or liberal approach to Christianity, characterized by the reassignment of traditional language, should be given its own vocabulary. New ideas should have new ways of speaking. Old and firmly established ideas should retain the old words. Christian theology should retain traditional God-language as being about the personal, transcendent, God of the Bible as interpreted for thousands of years. New conceptions of God should be easily identifiable and fall under their own umbrella. Those who attempt theology without God should no longer claim to be continuing the course of orthodox thought, but rather depart from it to make their own world with their own history. Let the people decide which they prefer, rather than attempting to sway them with the shell of familiarity masking an alien worldview. I am not here arguing with scholars like Susan Thistlethwaite who challenge the inclusivity or appropriateness of God-language in terms of gender, etc. I am arguing with people like Hick, who call themselves Christian and depart from virtually every standard of definition for what Christianity means.

Theology without God is impossible. We have fooled ourselves into accepting it only because God-language has fallen prey to a linguistic Invasion of the Body-Snatchers, or to some other equally appropriate pop culture reference. The point is, the only reason we think it even exists is because it looks the same on the outside. But it isn’t. This is something new; this is idolatry. We worship ourselves or we worship the universe or we worship life or love or being or any of a million other things, anything to avoid worshiping the God we once knew. We have said that the traditional idea of God is irrelevant to modern society… have we ever considered that the dictates of modern society are irrelevant to God?

The point is that the idea of a transcendent and active God is only irrelevant because we have abandoned it. In our rush to seek fulfillment in individualism and self-actualization, we have made man the measure of all things, and thrown out the Ruler. And then the theologians come and say that theology must speak to the culture, and so theology must discard God. But what if theologians concerned themselves, not with “limping after reality” but with proclaiming the Reality of God? Let culture drift in the sea of relativism, and let true theology be the port that the ship of faith returns longingly to, tired of the restless waves and storms of changing cultural norms and social pressures. Theology will endure not by being water, but by being stone. Let us look to our Rock and shape our theology around Him, and not try to chisel Him small enough to fit into the box we want to give Him.

In this paper I want to sound the death knell of the death of God. Let us move beyond the declaration of God’s death at the hands of a mustachioed German iconoclast to the divine declaration of His death on a tree on the outskirts of a Middle Eastern city in 33 AD. Nietzsche said, “God is dead, and we killed him.” This was the cry of the Gospel writers, and then the triumphant Yes of “He is risen!” Let us not forget it.

Pietism and Early American Theology

The practice of Evangelicalism in the United States has become a touchstone of American culture and religious practice. But Evangelicalism did not emerge from a vacuum. As with any religious movement, it arose in response to many factors, including but not limited to previous religious systems of thought, cultural needs, and political positioning. While this essay cannot chart the complete course of Evangelical development in the United States, it can attempt to outline the possible influence of continental Pietism in shaping the theology of America’s early colonial evangelical leaders, such as Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield. Similarities between the two movements cannot be denied, and will be briefly pointed out: particularly an emphasis on a changed life; the need for qualified, confessing ministers; contributions to mission work; and a revitalization of religious concern among ordinary men and women. Though it seems that many colonial Evangelicals (particularly Lutherans) were originally strongly opposed to Pietism, the passage of time and the situation in the Colonies softened this resistance and resulted in a significant mingling between the two groups (Tappert, passim). An examination of the thought of Jonathan Edwards, the most significant early American theologian, will perhaps yield insight into growing similarities in emphasis between Evangelicals and Pietists.

F. Ernest Stoeffler writes about Pietism, “Wherever it is found its ethos is manifested in a religious self-understanding which the author has characterized elsewhere as experiential, biblical, perfectionistic, and oppositive” (Stoeffler 9). Pietism can generally be described as a movement which stressed the importance of ethical, upright behavior by the Christian, in order to distinguish the saved person from the unsaved world. Philipp Jakob Spener is widely considered to be the one of the most important figures in early Pietism (Mullin168). He outlined in his most famous work, the Pia Desideria, his “proposals to correct conditions in the Church.” A short glance at the table of contents gives us the following suggestions: more extensive use of the Scriptures, exercise of the spiritual priesthood of all believers, emphasis on practice versus mere knowledge of Christianity, a change in the conduct of religious controversies, the reform of schools and universities, and preaching for the purposes of edification (Spener vii). He writes:

We do not understand the perfection which we demand of the church in such a way that not a single hypocrite is any longer to be found in it, for we know that there is no field of grain in which there are no weeds. What we mean is that the church should be free of manifest offenses, that nobody who is afflicted with such failings should be allowed to remain in the church without fitting reproof and ultimately exclusion, and that the true members of the church should be richly filled with many fruits of their faith. Thus the weeds will no longer cover the grain and make it unsightly, as is unfortunately often the case now, but the weeds will be covered by the grain and made inconspicuous (Spener 81).

A concern for proper Christian conduct was therefore motivated by a desire to present the Church as both appealing and effective in the presentation of the Gospel to the secular world. We can see in this a similarity to the emphasis placed upon godly living in modern Evangelical churches. Evangelical alternatives to worldly activities and entertainment such as music or movies, as well as the growing movement among conservative Evangelicals to home-school their children, all point to a desire to be distinct from the world in the same way that early Pietists advocated, and often for the same motivation.

In regard to the selection of ministers, Spener and the Pietists believed that only those who are called to ministry should be allowed to fill positions in the church. Spener wrote:
Since ministers must bear the greatest burden in all these things which pertain to a reform of the church, and since their shortcomings do correspondingly great harm, it is of the utmost importance that the office of the ministry be occupied by men who, above all, are themselves true Christians and, then, have the divine wisdom to guide others carefully on the way of the Lord. It is therefore important, indeed necessary, for the reform of the church that only such persons be called who may be suited, and that nothing at all except the glory of God be kept in view during the whole procedure of calling. This would mean that all carnal schemes involving favor, friendship, gifts, and similarly unseemly things would be set aside (Spener 103).
In a letter to Moses Lyman responding to the news that Lyman had taken it upon himself to preach to a congregation as a layman, Jonathan Edwards revealed his position, much like that of the Pietists, that the ministry is a calling and not a simple profession. Edwards reproved Lyman, writing:

And if there be no certain limits or bounds, but everyone that inclines may have liberty, alas! what should we soon come to? If God had not seen it necessary that such things [the ministry] should have certain limits and bounds, he never would have appointed a certain particular order of men to that work and office, to be set apart to it, in so solemn a manner, in the name of God (Edwards 302).

Most significant about this letter is Edwards’ approving mention of Gilbert Tennent, a Presbyterian Pietist then ministering in New Jersey (Edwards 303, footnote 9). Edwards notes that Tennent and he were of the same position in this matter. But more than this, the mention shows that Edwards was familiar with Pietist thought.

Randall Balmer writes that, “The most profound influence of Pietism is, once again, incalculable—its effect upon ordinary believers. For anyone reared within the evangelical subculture in America, with its parietal rules, its emphasis on personal piety, its proscriptions against alcohol, tobacco, and dancing, and its sabbatarian scruples, the continued influence of Pietism is self-evident” (Balmer 27). Pietism began as a movement to revitalize Protestant faith, and succeeded to a large extent. Spener’s emphasis on personal Bible study and devotionals (McGrath 146) as a method for growing in faith and applying Christianity to daily life would not make waves in any Evangelical church today. Edwards, of course, as a leader of the first Great Awakening, also greatly emphasized a personal, intimate relationship with God rather than an abstract intellectual knowledge.

It is a well-known fact that Evangelicals exert a great deal of effort and expense in their support of and participation in worldwide and localized missionary activities. While Evangelical Protestants did not begin to focus on missions in earnest until the Nineteenth Century, Moravian Pietists from Germany had established small missionary communities in Greenland, America, and Africa by 1750 (McGrath 178). As McGrath writes, “Pietistic and Evangelical forms of Protestantism, which emphasized personal conversion, were naturally oriented toward the idea of reaching out to those who were not converted. . . [they] saw this work as the natural extension of their calling as Christians” (McGrath 178). Jonathan Edwards also participated in missionary activity, working with communities of American Indians, especially Mohican and Mohawk groups (Smith xxiii).

Scholars such as Randall Balmer and F. Ernest Stoeffler have argued for the significance of Pietist influence on American Evangelicalism, and the views of both groups on four large issues have been shown to have been, if not identical, at least quite similar. Philipp Jakob Spener, the “father of Pietism,” and Jonathan Edwards, figurehead of the Evangelical Great Awakening, wrote and worked approximately fifty years apart—Spener in Germany and Edwards in the upper American Colonies. We know from correspondences that Edwards was familiar with Pietist thought to a certain extent, and that he approved of the work being done by Pietist ministers such as Gilbert Tennent and Theodore Frelinghuysen (Edwards). Whether Edwards ever read Pia Desideria is not known, much less how much explicit influence Pietism had on the development of Edwards’ theology. It could well be that Evangelicals and Pietists are similar because of an underlying commitment to Biblical values and principles, which worked themselves out in similar ways independently of one another. However, Tappert demonstrates that as time progressed and ministry positions became vacant, colonial Americans grew more and more accepting of small doctrinal differences. George Whitefield was even warmly welcomed to preach in Lutheran Pietist churches (Tappert 27). It is therefore not unreasonable to assume that Edwards and contemporary Pietists would hold substantial common ground.
Balmer argues that Evangelicalism in the United States emerged from a blending of two streams of Protestant thought: Puritanism and Pietism (Balmer 14). While it seems as if every American knows of their Puritan religious heritage, one seldom hears much about the debt American religious thought owes to Pietism. Indeed, one would be hard-pressed to find a non-specialist that has even heard of the Pietist movement. But it would seem as if, as much as the famous Jonathan Edwards, Philipp Jakob Spener had a hand in forming modern American Evangelical doctrine—a doctrine that seeks to uphold orthodoxy while boldly calling Christians to live out their faith in a real and effective way.


Works Cited

Balmer, Randall. Blessed Assurance: A History of Evangelicalism in America. Boston: Beacon Press, 1999. 13-30. Print.

Edwards, Jonathan. The Great Awakening. The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 4. Ed. C. C. Goen. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972.

Edwards, Jonathan. "Letter to Moses Lyman, May 10, 1742." A Jonathan Edwards Reader. Ed. John E. Smith, Harry S. Stout, and Kenneth P. Minkema. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995. Print.

McGrath, Alister. Christianity's Dangerous Idea: The Protestant Revolution--A History from the Sixteenth Century to the Twenty-First. New York: HarperOne, 2007. Print.

Mullin, Robert Bruce. A Short World History of Christianity. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. Print.

Smith, Stout, and Minkelma, "Editor's Introduction." A Jonathan Edwards Reader. Ed. John E. Smith, Harry S. Stout, and Kenneth P. Minkema. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995. Print.

Spener, Philipp Jakob. Pia Desideria. Fifth Printing. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980. Print.

Stoeffler, F. Ernest. "Introduction." Continental Pietism and Early American Christianity. Ed. F. Ernest Stoeffler. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1976. Print.

Tappert, Theodore. "The Influence of Pietism in Colonial American Lutheranism." Continental Pietism and Early American Christianity. Ed. F. Ernest Stoeffler. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1976. Print.

From John Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 2.

1. By the knowledge of God, I understand that by which we not only conceive that there is some God, but also apprehend what it is for our interest, and conducive to his glory, what, in short, it is befitting to know concerning him. For, properly speaking, we cannot say that God is known where there is no religion or piety. I am not now referring to that species of knowledge by which men, in themselves lost and under curse, apprehend God as a Redeemer in Christ the Mediator. I speak only of that simple and primitive knowledge, to which the mere course of nature would have conducted us, had Adam stood upright. For although no man will now, in the present ruin of the human race, perceive God to be either a father, or the author of salvation, or propitious in any respect, until Christ interpose to make our peace; still it is one thing to perceive that God our Maker supports us by his power, rules us by his providence, fosters us by his goodness, and visits us with all kinds of blessings, and another thing to embrace the grace of reconciliation offered to us in Christ. Since, then, the Lord first appears, as well in the creation of the world as in the general doctrine of Scripture, simply as a Creator, and afterwards as a Redeemer in Christ,—a twofold knowledge of him hence arises: of these the former is now to be considered, the latter will afterwards follow in its order. But although our mind cannot conceive of God, without rendering some worship to him, it will not, however, be sufficient simply to hold that he is the only being whom all ought to worship and adore, unless we are also persuaded that he is the fountain of all goodness, and that we must seek everything in him, and in none but him. My meaning is: we must be persuaded not only that as he once formed the world, so he sustains it by his boundless power, governs it by his wisdom, preserves it by his goodness, in particular, rules the human race with justice and Judgment, bears with them in mercy, shields them by his protection; but also that not a particle of light, or wisdom, or justice, or power, or rectitude, or genuine truth, will anywhere be found, which does not flow 41from him, and of which he is not the cause; in this way we must learn to expect and ask all things from him, and thankfully ascribe to him whatever we receive. For this sense of the divine perfections is the proper master to teach us piety, out of which religion springs. By piety I mean that union of reverence and love to God which the knowledge of his benefits inspires. For, until men feel that they owe everything to God, that they are cherished by his paternal care, and that he is the author of all their blessings, so that nought is to be looked for away from him, they will never submit to him in voluntary obedience; nay, unless they place their entire happiness in him, they will never yield up their whole selves to him in truth and sincerity.

2. Those, therefore, who, in considering this question, propose to inquire what the essence of God is, only delude us with frigid speculations,—it being much more our interest to know what kind of being God is, and what things are agreeable to his nature. For, of what use is it to join Epicures in acknowledging some God who has cast off the care of the world, and only delights himself in ease? What avails it, in short, to know a God with whom we have nothing to do? The effect of our knowledge rather ought to be, first, to teach us reverence and fear; and, secondly, to induce us, under its guidance and teaching, to ask every good thing from him, and, when it is received, ascribe it to him. For how can the idea of God enter your mind without instantly giving rise to the thought, that since you are his workmanship, you are bound, by the very law of creation, to submit to his authority?—that your life is due to him?—that whatever you do ought to have reference to him? If so, it undoubtedly follows that your life is sadly corrupted, if it is not framed in obedience to him, since his will ought to be the law of our lives. On the other hand, your idea of his nature is not clear unless you acknowledge him to be the origin and fountain of all goodness. Hence would arise both confidence in him, and a desire of cleaving to him, did not the depravity of the human mind lead it away from the proper course of investigation.

For, first of all, the pious mind does not devise for itself any kind of God, but looks alone to the one true God; nor does it feign for him any character it pleases, but is contented to have him in the character in which he manifests himself always guarding, with the utmost diligences against transgressing his will, and wandering, with daring presumptions from the right path. He by whom God is thus known perceiving how he governs all things, confides in him as his guardian and protector, and casts himself entirely upon his faithfulness,—perceiving him to be the source of every blessing, if he is in any strait or feels any want, he instantly recurs to his protection and trusts to his aid,—persuaded that he is good and merciful, he reclines upon him with sure confidence, and doubts not that, in the divine clemency, a remedy will be provided for his every time of need,—acknowledging him as his Father and his Lords he considers himself 42bound to have respect to his authority in all things, to reverence his majesty aim at the advancement of his glory, and obey his commands,—regarding him as a just judge, armed with severity to punish crimes, he keeps the Judgment-seat always in his view. Standing in awe of it, he curbs himself, and fears to provoke his anger. Nevertheless, he is not so terrified by an apprehension of Judgment as to wish he could withdraw himself, even if the means of escape lay before him; nay, he embraces him not less as the avenger of wickedness than as the rewarder of the righteous; because he perceives that it equally appertains to his glory to store up punishment for the one, and eternal life for the other. Besides, it is not the mere fear of punishment that restrains him from sin. Loving and revering God as his father, honouring and obeying him as his master, although there were no hell, he would revolt at the very idea of offending him.

Such is pure and genuine religion, namely, confidence in God coupled with serious fear—fear, which both includes in it willing reverence, and brings along with it such legitimate worship as is prescribed by the law. And it ought to be more carefully considered that all men promiscuously do homage to God, but very few truly reverence him. On all hands there is abundance of ostentatious ceremonies, but sincerity of heart is rare.

http://www.ccel.org/ccel/calvin/institutes.iii.iii.html

Obligatory Introductory Post

Hello all, and welcome to my little piece of the internet. I've been urged to start up a blog on apologetics, so I thought I would oblige. This blog will incorporate Christian theology, apologetics, philosophy, and good old opinion into what I hope will be a cohesive and engaging whole. It may or may not be updated regularly, so we'll see how that goes.

A little about me for those who don't know: I am, as of this writing, a junior at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. I am double-majoring in Religious Studies and Philosophy, and I plan on perhaps pursuing a professorship [Alliteration Bonus +10!] someday. My passion is for Christian apologetics, engaging and discussing the important ideas and beliefs of the system and pointing out what I see to be flaws in our thinking.

C.S. Lewis, more than any other (non-biblical) thinker, has influenced me the most, and for those of you familiar with his thought you will assuredly see echoes in my writing. It is my hope and prayer that Christians will find this blog a source of confidence and encouragement, and that non-Christians will find it challenging and engaging.