The Proper Use and Abuse of Hypocrisy-Checking

hypocrisy juking

Everybody’s an inconsistent hypocrite. At least, that’s the lesson the internet is teaching us in 2018. (In case we hadn’t learned it from Scripture already.) I’m referring, of course, to the ever-present (and much commented-on) practice of hypocrisy-juking and various forms of whataboutism.

I was struck by it once again yesterday, when a number of conservative friends began to (correctly) point out the relative silence of progressive Evangelical bloggers and commentators on the failure of Congress to pass the ban on elective abortions at 20-weeks, when the child in question can obviously feel pain.

Now, this shouldn’t have been hard to pass nor to condemn and lament. It’s not a radically pro-life position on the matter. Most progressive European countries don’t allow the practice to be elective that late; the US is in the company of only seven other countries with abortion regimes as permissive as ours, including China and North Korea.

What was striking to my conservative friends was that you’ll frequently find progressive Evangelicals loudly (and perhaps rightly) arguing for various other policy measures (single-payer, immigration reform) along the lines of being holistically, or truly Pro-Life, and then decrying Congressional failure to act on these policies, and Evangelicals for failing to support them.

And yet, when it comes to a policy that is directly and indisputably Pro-Life? Crickets. One wonders why.

Maybe everybody was just focused on other issues that day? Or perhaps, given the increasingly tribal way we engage in moral outrage, there was a fear on the part of newly Progressive Evangelicals at offending or alienating their new-found allies on other issues of great moral concern? Is it a desire to avoid being perceived as one of those Pro-Lifers? The kind they left behind with the rest of their small-minded bigotry? Most cynically, perhaps they don’t care about pro-life anymore at all and simply use the language to engage Evangelicals on their issues of real concern.

Maybe Richard Beck has a point in warning his own tribe of progressives about just turning into Democrats the way conservative Evangelicals became knee-jerk Republicans.

Now, if you’re a conservative Evangelical of a certain sort, these last few paragraphs may have given you a nice, warm sense of satisfaction inside. I could suggest many reasons for it, but one might be the sheer relief of seeing someone other than the conservative Evangelical leaders who have been beclowning themselves in a Carnivalesque fashion through series of attempts to justify President Trump’s various gaffes and sins being called out. The list of cynical justifications, hypocritical back-tracking, willful blindness, and cowardly silences is truly cringe-inducing. Volumes could be written on the failure of moral voices in 2017 alone.

The point is, we could play the, “If Obama had said…” and “If Bush had done…” and “If Clinton had been…” game until the cows come home and we could all be right about someone. And more importantly, someone could probably be right about us.

Which brings me back around again to the broader question of hypocrisy-juking. Why do we engage in it? Also, are there proper uses for it? If so, how? And how ought we respond to it?

On the first question, I can think of a few reasons.

First, it’s just satisfying to take your ideological enemies down a peg. This is especially the case if you see them as prone to a specific kind of preening self-righteousness and grandstanding, with little self-reflection or humility. Catching out their inconsistencies can assure you of their basic wrongness and your basic rightness.

Connected to this, it can be a way of assuaging your own conscience for your own inconsistencies. You may not state it this way, but the basic tu quoque can be a rationalization: everybody does it. Look! They do it too.

More nobly, you may actually be interested in issuing a moral warning. Some people are actually interested in dialoguing and arguing with a principled opposition. You may see someone you disagree with and respect generally, falling into the sort of self-justifying hypocrisy, or an inconsistency born of moral cowardice and a need to fit the tribe, and feel the need to reach out and warn them to avoid it. Now, this can turn into concern-trolling fairly quickly, but I have seen it done (and had it done to me) in good faith.

Finally, and this is an extension of the last point, you may actually be interested in persuasion. Instead of just pushing people down a peg, you may desire to convince them to change their mind on a particular issue given their historic stance, or their stated principles elsewhere. In which case, something like hypocrisy-juking may be in order. (One thinks of Jesus grilling the Pharisees for tithing mint and dill for neglecting the weightier matters of the law, despite adhering rigidly to the minor ones.)

I think we can already see that in these last two reasons, we some place for it. But in the case of persuasion and warning, the act of pointing out hypocrisy and inconsistency ceases to be an act of “juking.” The moral intention, the heart behind it, transforms the act into one of righteous and (in the end) loving exposure and correction.

The last two questions, I think, are caught up with one another and are answered in Jesus’s teaching in the Sermon on the Mount:

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matt. 7:3-5)

Only the person who is committed to removing the plank from their own eye, to rigorously pursuing intellectual and moral integrity in their own life and thought, will be suited to attempt to remove the speck from their brother’s. This, both because they are now seeing more clearly, and also because one of the things they see more clearly is their own sin, corruption, and guilt in the matter. This leads to a humble heart not set on vengeance or the vindication of their own name and tribe.

But, of course, in order to be this person, you must be prepared to accept your brother’s help in removing the plank from your eye as well!

All of which is to say, when tempted to point out the hypocrisy in an opponent’s position, check yourself in the matter first. You may quickly find the self-righteousness drained from your stinging remarks. Which, ironically enough, means you’ll be more likely to frame them in a way that people on the other side will hear them.

On the flipside, the wise accept rebuke and become wiser still (Prov. 9:8-9). And this, even from harsh or bad-faith critics. It may be that you know someone is critiquing you just to take you down a peg or to protect themselves. Before you write them off as a fool, ask yourself, “But do they have a point?” If so, correct it. If they have a point, they have a point.

Correct it because it is right, but also, the next time someone tries to critique you along those lines, you can actually be confident it is wrong. Indeed, you may even be able to share the way you have changed and that may be a model for your interlocutor.

Growth in grace here is difficult, and I don’t think for a moment I have this down. Still, given the toxicity of the cultural moment, one of the greatest ways to witness to the forgiveness, mercy, and transforming power of the gospel in our lives is to manifest it in our humble struggle for integrity.

Because the reality is, our greatest resource in any of this is in letting go of our sinful attempts at self-justification because we know by the witness of the Holy Spirit we have justified in Christ.

Maybe take some time now to log off and meditate on that.

Soli Deo Gloria

How to Keep Your Languages in Just 2 Minutes a Day

keep biblical greekI will let you in on a little secret today: I am not, by nature, a language guy. I know, I know. All ministry people, theologians, students of Scripture are supposed to be delighted at the intricacies of Greek and Hebrew and the wonders it can unlock. And, well, I am. Kind of. I do enjoy finding linguistic links in passages which can get obscured in translation, or puns, alliteration, or having a better handle on the way the particular construction of a verb might impact the sense of a Pauline injunction. There are reasons for pastors and theologians to know the original, Biblical languages.

But when it comes to it, languages are not something I naturally find myself wanting to practice or study on my own in the same way I study systematics, church history, or broad biblical theology.

Which is probably part of why I lost most of my languages after seminary. Not entirely, of course. Still, the reality is that once I got into ministry after my degree, week by week it was easier and easier to just let language study and practice fall by the wayside in the rush of day to day ministry, prep, meetings, etc. Especially since nobody was grading me anymore. And as every Greek or Hebrew teacher will tell you (repeatedly), if you don’t use it you lose it.

Well, of course, I had gain them back for studies here at TEDS (which can be pretty intense on the languages). Still, I have been looking for ways to make myself practice here so that I don’t lose them again in the midst of all my studies. So, imagine my delight when I ran across these new volumes by Hendrickson at this last ETS:

  1. Keep Up Your Biblical Hebrew in 2 Minutes a Day
  2. Keep Up Your Biblical Greek in 2 Minutes a Day

I have to say, I love these things and wish I’d have had them back when I finished seminary a few years ago.

They both are built and structured similarly. Each is a nice, hardback, leather volume about the size of a daily devotional. On each page, you’ll find:

  1. A verse from Scripture (OT or NT) in English
  2. A new vocabulary word with a few glosses you can either learn or remember. Which, after 365 days, ends up being a good chunk of the most common, repeated vocab.
  3. The verse in either Greek or Hebrew
  4. The same verse with glosses printed alongside each phrase

And that’s it. You basically work through the verse in three different ways, spending as much or as little time on it as you want (maybe 2 minutes), and then you put it down and come back the next day. The next day is basically the same, but they have picked a sentence which uses a new vocabulary word as well as the word you used the day previously, so that you’re constantly reinforcing vocabulary even as you learn (or recall) new words.

Now, it’s true, there is no parsing of conjugations, or anything in the way of grammatical tips. That said, this books are not meant to teach you Greek or Hebrew, but to retain and reinforce what you already have learned.

So, that is my plug. This is a good product. I like it. If you struggle with language study like me, and you really want to keep your languages (hint, hint, Seminarians), this is probably worth your investment.

Soli Deo Gloria

P.S. You can probably worth this into your devotional time if you study the verse and then read around it. Hot tip!





Examining Stott’s Strife (Reflections on Correcting Our Theological Fathers)

cross of ChristJohn Stott’s work The Cross of Christ is one of my favorite books on the atonement. A modern classic, its overall balance of exegesis, theology, pastoral insight, and existential application makes it worth returning to regularly. Beyond his many worthy commentaries, this book alone could secure Stott’s reputation as a giant in 20th Century Evangelical theology and ministry.

Recently, though, Adonis Vidu’s work Atonement, Law, and Justice (257-258) called my attention to a rather dismaying line or two where Stott seems to go ahead and affirm a “strife” of the divine attributes at play in God’s work of atonement.

Now, to speak of “strife” within God is language which more classical theology–with its axioms of impassibility and simplicity–typically rules out as deficient, if not abhorrent. If God is simple, without parts or pieces, to speak of God’s attributes is simply to speak of the single, indivisible reality of God from a different angle. In which case, it doesn’t make sense to speak of them at odds with one another. What’s more, recent revisionist critics of penal substitution have latched onto the idea that the doctrine requires us to posit a conflicted, split-minded God who needs to conquer his own wrath, as it were. To find Stott discarding the wisdom of the tradition and playing into the hands of critics of the doctrine would be distressing indeed.

In this post, I wanted to engage Stott a bit and see what’s going on. Both because I think it’s inherently interesting, but also because it’s a helpful gateway into reflecting on the way young theological students should proceed in engaging with our “fathers”  and “grandfathers” in the faith when we find troubling spots.

Two recent, theological blow-ups come to mind. First, there was the Trinity debate a summer or two ago, and then most recently the semi-brouhaha between John Frame, and others over James Dolezal’s book All That is In God. Other recent, internet tribunals could easily be adduced. Since I don’t think these disputes are going away, it’s worth slowing down and taking measure of how to proceed.

Stott’s Strife

Turning to Stott, he has an important section titled “The holy love of God” (129-132) where he is rightly arguing that God’s atoning work must be carried out in a way that is consistent with the entirety of his character. God does not atone simply according to his generous, merciful love, but also his perfectly just holiness.

To that end, he takes up the question of whether it’s appropriate to speak of a conflict, or a “strife” of the attributes within God. Against P.T. Forsyth, who explicitly ruled it out, Stott thinks we shouldn’t be too troubled with it. Yes, the language is anthropomorphic, but isn’t Scripture anthropomorphic that way? Does not Hosea 11 present us with a God at odds with himself (“How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?”), torn between love and wrath? Here Stott sees a presentation which highlights the costliness of the conflict between what God “ought to do because of his righteousness and what he cannot do because of his love.”

He goes on to point out various phrases in Scripture which highlight a “‘duality’ within God,” such as Exodus 34, or “the kindness and sternness of God”, or “grace and truth”—couplets where “two complementary truths about God are brought together” as if to hold them in explicit tension. Following Emil Brunner, he sees this as Scripture’s way of remembering God’s “dual nature” as both Love and Holiness and not simply collapsing the one into the other in a manner that simply reduces holiness into love or love into holiness without any conceptual distinction between the two attributes.

Instead, we should recognize that the self-substitution of God for sinners in the cross of Christ reveals a God who fully enacts both aspects of his character in our salvation. It is the cross which enacts “the Holy Love of God”, in the words of P.T. Forsyth.

What’s Else Is Going On?

Now, on the face of it, there seems to be a clear affirmation of the strife of the attributes for the understandable reason that Scripture seems to do something similar. But it turns out things are a bit more complicated than that. Especially when you consider this key paragraph towards the back half of the section:

At the same time, we must never think of this duality within God’s being as irreconcilable. For God is not at odds with himself however much it may appear to us that he is. He is ‘the God of peace’, of inner tranquility not turmoil. True, we find it difficult to hold in our minds simultaneously the images of God as the Judge who must punish evil-doers and of the Lover who must find a way to forgive them. Yet he is both, and at the same time. In the words of G. C. Berkouwer, ‘in the cross of Christ God’s justice and love are simultaneously revealed’, while Calvin, echoing Augustine, was even bolder. He wrote of God that ‘in a marvelous and divine way he loved us even when he hated US’. Indeed, the two are more than simultaneous, they are identical, or at least alternative expressions of the same reality. For ‘the wrath of God is the love of God’, Brunner wrote in a daring sentence ‘in the form in which the man who has turned away from God and turned against God experiences it’.

What’s fascinating about this passage is that—when you consider the fact that Stott admits the language of Hosea is anthropomorphic—it is very close to an expression and affirmation of the point that divine simplicity and impassibility express.

As Vidu has it, in recognizing the non-composition of the divine nature, simplicity is helpful in ruling “out any prioritization of any divine attribute, whether justice or love,” as well as any thought that God is some being who must choose between his love or justice, or any of his attributes. God is his attributes in such a way that God is all that he is in all that he does. In which case, God’s attributes are never actually at odds with each other. God’s holiness is loving, his justice is kind, his mercy is righteous, and so forth.

Now, I think Vidu is absolutely right to argue the traditional language is more helpful (necessary even), than Stott’s formulation. But it appears that without using the language of the tradition, Stott was nonetheless trying to affirm the heart of its teaching in this regard. God must present himself, his acts, his intentions in history in ways that are accommodated to our finite and situated being in such a way that we can best understand them. And this may involve apparent tension, paradox, and difficulty—but we must take care not to collapse it too quickly or write off some of the material. We must affirm both the “kindness and severity of God” without imagining that in God’s eternal being they are different realities, or that God must choose between different aspects of himself.

I guess what I’m saying is that I think Stott picked a fight with Forsyth (and the tradition) that he didn’t need to, since I’m fairly sure Forsyth would agree there’s a duality or strife in the historical presentation of God’s attributes despite the actual inner unity. But also, just for that reason, those more classically-inclined might ease their worries about Stott on this point.

Young Guns, Fathers, and Grandfathers

With that discussion in view, I’d like to turn to the issue of engaging our theological fathers and mothers.

Christopher Cleveland had an insightful article over at Mere Orthodoxy on the Trinity debate that frames the problem historically. Without summarizing the whole thing, he calls attention to the way an earlier generation of conservative, evangelical scholars were often trained by critical scholars who rejected the tradition, so they were less conversant and concerned with it. Instead, these Evangelical scholars focused on Biblical studies, exegesis, defending Scripture and basic orthodoxy against critical scholars, but in ways that tweaked some traditional doctrines in the process (e.g. upholding the Trinity, but using Eternal Subordination to distinguish the persons instead of traditional doctrines like Eternal Generation).

Well, along comes a younger generation of theological students are being trained in a way that is more familiar (and sympathetic) to the classical categories and modes of theology developed in the Patristic, Medieval, and Reformed Orthodox periods (think the post-Muller Renaissance for scholastics). As they take advantage of the retrieval and ressourcement movements afoot, they take a look at some of their Evangelical “fathers” and find themselves frustrated at hasty dismissals of the tradition, or cringing at some of the newer formulations. They then begin engage in their “corrective”, or restorative project.

In which case, you end up having what looks like a bunch of young guns correcting respected, theological “fathers” on behalf of their “grandfathers.”

Since these sorts of debates and arguments seem increasingly inevitable, what ought we do? How should we proceed?

  1. Resist Name-Making Pride

Thinking of myself first, I think it’s important to simply sit with the fact that for many of us youngsters there is a deep temptation to prove and make a name for yourself early on. Whether or not you’re right on an issue, it is easy to give in to the urge to write that takedown demonstrating your knowledge, your exegetical skill, your mastery of the most recent studies which overturn the scholarship the prior generation was dependent on. But this is not honoring to God since it proceeds, not from a faith that wants to see the truth made known, but an insecurity that needs our name to be known.

Remember, in twenty years, the scholarship may again change. Different academic winds will blow, and a new crop of up-and-comers tempted to make a name for themselves on the back of the older crop of scholars and writers. And it may be it is “with the measure you use it will be measured to you” (Matt. 7:2).

I am not good at this, but polemical correction ought to proceed only with prayer and a humility before God and the Word. Many of the teachers that you are engaging are men and women who have poured out years into the local church, their seminary students, and their schools in order to further the name of the Lord. I think of John Stott’s work and ministry and pray that God would allow me to do 1% of the good for the kingdom that man accomplished through his preaching, writing, and ministry.

In which case, it is good to remember Paul’s admonition to Timothy: “Do not rebuke an older man but encourage him as you would a father… older women as mothers” (1 Tim. 5:1-2). I think this sort of consideration will help curb the odium theologicum motivated by pride that poisons debates at times.

  1. Undue Deference Is Not Necessarily Better

That said, Paul does encourage Timothy to encourage older men in the congregation—presumably indicating that Timothy is not absolved from a responsibility to instruct, correct, or encourage these older men and women towards holiness on the basis of God’s Word. Honoring our elders, respecting their service, and resisting the temptation to make a name for yourself at their expense does not mean remaining silent if you see error—especially serious error.

At times in Evangelical and Reformed circles, there is a default deference which treats certain figures (writers, pastor, professors) of certain standing as above all criticism. That is not proper either. We are bound to the Word of God.

In which case, I think we should be slow to see all critical engagement as necessarily disrespectful, dishonoring, or contentious. Indeed, as I mentioned above, often the motive in critiquing a “father” is defending a “grandfather.” Especially as we come to appreciate the formulations of a grandfather can end up cutting off some nasty problems that end up developing later on.

Again, Stott opts for affirming a “strife of the attributes” at the level of Biblical presentation in explicit disagreement with Forsyth. Is it disrespect or pride to think Forsyth has the better argument of the two? Or as Mark Jones asked recently, is it really arrogant to prefer and argue for the consensus of Westminster and most theologians prior to the 20th Century on a subject to that of some contemporary Evangelical theologians? It does not seem so.

  1. Confusing Language with Thoughts

In many ways, theology is a linguistic task. Minding your prepositions, keeping your terms straight, and even missing a single letter in a word can throw entire doctrines askew (homoousios v. homoiousios). But it’s also more than that. We need to keep our language about God straight because language keeps our thoughts about God straight. At least most of the time.

I bring this up because it’s worth slowing down in these debates to consider how often it is a matter of disputing over terminological and conceptual differences rather than actual differences of judgment (to invoke David Yeago’s distinction). Looking at Stott’s discussion again, it seems that he was trying to say close to the same thing that the tradition has when invoking the language of simplicity. In which case, what initially appears to be a large divergence is much smaller.

Given some of what Stott says elsewhere, I do think there is probably a material difference as well. Following Moltmann, along with many 20th Century theologians, Stott rejected impassibility. Now, I think that’s a mistake as well. But given his line about God being a God of inner tranquility and peace, I think an argument could be made that he was thankfully inconsistent in his passibilism.

This is important because recognizing that changes the way you approach a conversation. Instead of launching a broadside against grave error, we may find ourselves able to make a more persuasive plea to move closer to the tradition by explaining how close a person already is. This isn’t always the case, but I suspect it applies more often than we might expect.

  1. Preachers v. Scholastics

On a related note, I think considerations of genre and office ought to be considered in these conversations. For instance, the difference between a preacher and a scholastic. This cuts both ways, by the way. The Reformed scholastics were often criticized for having a dry, lifeless piety on the basis of their scholastic manuals. But as Richard Muller has pointed out, these were meant to be textbooks, not sermons or devotional guides. Precision and clarity are the goal, not devotional lyricism. But that doesn’t mean that doctrine can’t be preached with power. Just read Thomas Watson.

I think the reverse consideration holds true now. It is true that, as Barth said, dogma is the criticism of proclamation. But for types who have come to appreciate the beauty of fine distinctions and carefully delineated doctrines, we may be tempted to look at devotional writings, or listen to popular preaching with eyes and ears that are too critical. Preachers who could give you a textbook answer in a doctrinal exam, will nonetheless speak with a sort of looseness in the pulpit that so that their people will get the gist, or that Scriptural truth can land with emotional resonance. Trial by blog post may not be the best way to handle that.

Yes, preachers should strive for precision and for power. But even in a Puritan as careful as Watson, you can find gorgeous turns of phrase that warm your heart but that taken strictly may not make sense if you needed to defend them in a disputation. In which case, we have even greater reason to slow down in jumping all over a certain generation of preachers as well, for what may be a mere linguistic infelicity instead of a full-fledged heresy.

  1. Beware the Pendulum

Finally, I think it’s important we keep aware of the pendulum. A while back I was talking to an older, experienced preacher about some of these issues. He largely agreed with the doctrinal correction that was taking place, but he was also worried that if people weren’t careful, they’d end up over-correcting and provoking a corrective reaction of their own. I think that’s wise.

Some of us younger types who have been striving to recover classical categories, modes, etc. need to be careful we don’t do so simply by explaining the older view more plainly and leaving it at that. At times rejections are based on historical confusion, but at other times, we may find we need to re-situate older doctrines or break new ground to present them in a way that addresses contemporary concerns.

Recovering older patterns of exegesis may be part of the solution, but working constructively with the fruit of recent Biblical studies will also be necessary for showing that classical doctrines function to explain, not veil the text. Real gains have been made in Biblical studies and if there is one thing that absolutely admirable about the last generation of scholars is their commitment to the Biblical text. It’s something they share with the classical tradition.

At the popular level, we need to be careful our desire for doctrinally pure preaching does not kill our ability to apply that doctrine in ways that reach down deep into the lives of our people. It can be that your sermon on the cross has a quite clear, Christological underpinning, but the glory of the Godman’s suffering for me may be muted in the process.

I could go on further, but I’ll leave off here for now and simply end with a basic point: speaking of God is a difficult business to be undertaken with fear and trembling, joy and delight, humility, and finally, much prayer.

Soli Deo Gloria

Irenaeus and the Problem of (Greater) New Testament Wrath

kotskoIn his stimulating work The Politics of Redemption (88), Adam Kotsko calls attention to a fascinating, if a bit counter-intuitive, passage on the judgment of God in Irenaeus’ Against Heresies. We encounter it in a series of chapters written against the Marcionites and their criticism of the violence and judgment of the Old Testament God. Ireneaus will have none of it. He argues in several chapters that God authored both testaments and displays the same character in both testaments, including the righteousness leading to wrath and judgment.

Here Kotsko calls attention to the way Irenaeus “revers[es] the normal stereotypes of the Old and New Testament.” Ireneaus goes further than many and argues that–if anything–the problem of wrath is worse after Christ:

Inasmuch, then, as in both Testaments there is the same righteousness of God [displayed] when God takes vengeance, in the one case indeed typically, temporarily, and more moderately; but in the other, really, enduringly, and more rigidly: for the fire is eternal, and the wrath of God which shall be revealed from heaven from the face of our Lord (as David also says, “But the face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth”), entails a heavier punishment on those who incur it — the elders pointed out that those men are devoid of sense, who, [arguing] from what happened to those who formerly did not obey God, do endeavour to bring in another Father, setting over against [these punishments] what great things the Lord had done at His coming to save those who received Him, taking compassion upon them; while they keep silence with regard to His judgment; and all those things which shall come upon such as have heard His words, but done them not, and that it were better for them if they had not been born, (Matthew 26:24) and that it shall be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the judgment than for that city which did not receive the word of His disciples. (Matthew 10:15)

(Against Heresies, IV.1)

Even those of us who are not Marcionites, or try to avoid pitting an angry, Old Testament God against a loving New Testament God, tend to see a softening in the portrait from Old to New. But Irenaeus thinks that, if anything, the judgment we see in the Old Testament is lighter, being partial, limited, and therefore mitigated. Instead, in the New Testament Jesus himself threatens that the judgment of God waiting for those who reject him is worse than it was for those in Sodom and Gomorrah.

The problem of New Testament wrath, then, is at least two-fold. First, now that more revelation is available in Christ, there is less excuse for the hard-hearted wickedness of the disobedient. To disobey and shun righteousness now, to not believe the Word of God now, is to “despise his advent,” which merits a greater punishment. The logic here is similar to (though not exactly) that of the author of Hebrews who says:

For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt. (Heb. 6:4-6)

Or again, he quotes Paul in speaking of the Heretics who reject God’s word:

For the apostle does also say in the Second [Epistle] to the Corinthians: “For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them which are saved, and in them which perish: to the one indeed the savour of death unto death, but to the other the savour of life unto life.” (2:15-16) To whom, then, is there the savour of death unto death, unless to those who believe not neither are subject to the Word of God? And who are they that did even then give themselves over to death?

Second, not only is the responsibility level higher, the stakes are higher. Ireneaus looks to Jesus and says, “For to whomsoever the Lord shall say, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, in the everlasting fire,’ (Matt. 25:41), these shall be damned forever,” just as those who heed his word are saved forever. Again, the Old Testament judgments were often temporal and limited, but Christ speaks of the absolute finality of eternal wrath and judgment.

Given my continuing interest with the problem of continuity between the testaments, judgment, and wrath, I want to point out a few things.

First, Ireneaus’ logic here is entirely driven by Scripture and Christ. I note this against Kotsko who seeks to find an explanation for Ireneaus’s non-universalist views, given his understanding of God as a non-violent, “saving being.” Kotsko suggests that Ireneaus is understandably frustrated at the perversity of his opponent teachers who are “culpably stupid,” “unpersuadable,” and seem “impervious to reason,” because “if people cannot accept the gospel, there is simply no hope for them.” Irenaeus, therefore, inconsistently ends up demonizing his opponents, mired in wicked unreason and deceiving others just as the Devil does, leaving God a perpetrator of the greatest exclusion and violence imaginable.

Now, that some of this is part of Ireneaus’s logic seems clear. But contra Kotsko, this is not a logic fueled by mere frustration. It is rather one he derives explicitly from both Old and New Testaments, but most clearly from the words of Christ himself and the unique, epoch-transitioning work of the Incarnation of the Son. Only the assumption that Ireneaus was retroactively applying texts to fit a logic derived independently of them (an assumption belied by Irenaeus’s programmatic attention to the authority of Scripture), could lead one to miss this point. Ireneaus, therefore, seems to define the peace and salvific nature of God according to the historical works of God revealed in Scripture.

Second, it is worth noting that, much as with Cyril of Alexandria, Ireneaus takes a cue from Christ’s words and assumes that God is the active agent of judgment in both the Old Testament as well as in eternity. And this is born out in the several chapters surrounding this one.

Third, it is common to some advocates of revisionist approaches to the Old Testament that you can more commonly find Church Fathers accepting OT passages of active, divine judgment and wrath at face value, post-Constantine, largely because the Church became accommodated to the ways of Empire and power. I simply want to note that Ireneaus of Lyons (along with Tertullian and arguably Lactantius) places a very large question-mark on that thesis.

Irenaeus was not a comfortable 5th Century bishop. No, he was a 2nd Century bishop who wrote this work around 180 AD. He died around 202 AD. This is long before (100 years or so), before the rise of Constantine or the birth of the Imperial Church. He was alive for the persecution of the Church under Marcus Aurelius. He succeeded the prior bishop at Lyon because he was martyred for the faith. Ireneaus was manifestly not someone who had been rendered comfortable with the notion of divine, active judgment because of his desensitization to the violent, coercive ways of Empire.

Instead, it seems better to recognize that Ireneaus read the Bible the way he did, and posed the problem the way he did, precisely because as a biblical theologian (arguably the first), he was radically attentive to the unity of God’s works and ways in the economy of salvation. Much as we ought to be.

Soli Deo Gloria

Lying Sacrifices (An Addendum from Radner)

LEviticus radnerEarlier this week I discussed the alleged split between the prophets and the priests based on problematic readings of the prophetic critique of the cult. In it, I summarized the work of Jonathan Klawans, who has shown the ideological split has been exaggerated and absolutized.  Better to think of it as a contextually-situated critique of Israel’s practice of sacrifice, rather than a wholesale rejection of sacrificial religion as such. At least some of the problem in Israel, was that her economic injustice rendered her ritual sacrifices meaningless: you cannot sacrifice with stolen goods, because if they are stolen, they are not truly yours to sacrifice.

This little passage Ephraim Radner’s commentary on Leviticus is a suggestive addendum:

The movement of qorban is measured by the one who comes. In this light, it is a movement easily stymied, a movement whose fulfillment demands the whole of one’s integrity as a person. Jesus explicitly upbraids those who claim to be bringing qorban when in fact they are seeking a way to hold back, for example, support for their parents. Such offering is a subterfuge for “void[ing] the word of God” in its command to honor mother and father (Mark 7:9-12). If anyone brings an offering, if anyone would come forward to God bearing a gift, then this gift must somehow genuinely carry the whole of one’s self, as the story of Ananias and Sapphira demonstrates negative (Acts 5:1-6).

This is perhaps why the opening call to offering in Leviticus is immediately qualified as an offering of a live beast—often translated ‘cattle,’ but referring in general to land animals, which can be distinguished here only by their presumed cleanliness as coming from a domesticated herd…A true offering to God implies flesh with its blood (Lev. 17:14), something that is subject to human will and dominion, a “creature” to humans as humans are to God…:”You shall bring your offering of cattle from the herd or from the flock”; you shall bring me the life that is yours. (41-42)

There is much that could be unpacked here, but note two things. First, regarding the second paragraph, even the requirement that an offering be made from domesticated animals further reinforces the character of the ritual as offering up “the life that is yours.” It is life that you have tended, poured energy, effort, time, and money into. It is symbolic of your own life because in a very real sense your own life is caught up with it. In which case, we have even more reason to think that economic exploitation would spoil the atoning character of the sacrifice insofar as it is entirely contrary to its ritual meaning. It turns the truth of sacrifice into a lie.

Second, we see this also reflects the critique that is carried over into the New Testament. Jesus is a true prophet who sees through the legalistic corruptions of worship in his own day which rendered even the practices of tithing null. In declaring qorban what was owed to parents, mother and father are being robbed of honor in to sacrifice to the Lord in such a way that it doesn’t cut into your own way of living.

Radner’s addition of the dark tale of Ananias and Sapphira into our analysis tells even more deeply against anti-retributive appropriations of the “anti-sacrificial” polemic. Even in the days of the Early Church, when sacrifice has lost its atoning character after the self-offering of Christ, God still punishes such a perversion of sacrifice, for it is a “lie against the Holy Spirit” (Acts 5:3).

A lying sacrifice is a false sacrifice.

Soli Deo Gloria

Must We Choose the Prophets Over the Priests?

‘‘has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Surely to obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed than the fat of rams’’ (1 Sam. 15:22–23).

‘‘what to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? Says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats’’ (Isa. 1:11).

‘‘the sacrifices of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord’’ (Prov. 15:8; 21:27).

“For I desire steadfast love, not sacrifice” (Hos. 6:6).

For more than a century it has been common in OT scholarship to pit the prophets against the priests. Drawing on texts such as these, scholars would draw a stark contrast between two sorts of religious streams of consciousness within Israel, and the practice associated with them. Originally proposed by German scholars like Julius Wellhausen, an evolutionist paradigm of the growth of Hebrew religion (which typically went hand in hand with a sort of European, liberal Protestant, anti-Semitism) liked to see a line of development from older, retrograde forms of religion caught up with ritual, blood, and sacrifice, towards later, moral, spiritual, anti-sacrificial religion in the Prophets. Max Weber also worked a prophet v. priest paradigm into his classic Economy and Society, and let’s just say the priests don’t come out looking too good, either.

While this line of thought waned a bit, or transformed, in his work challenging the anti-sacrificial bias in 20th Century scholarship, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, Jonathan Klawans notes that forms of this paradigm still have some vigorous advocates in the academy (75-77). (Though, it should be noted that later iterations have consciously and rightly tried to purge the anti-Semitic sentiments.)

At a popular level, though, recent advocates of non-violent, “Christocentric”, or Girardian re-readings of the Old Testament will often point to these sorts of texts to show that the Bible itself contains dialogue and disagreements that present ideological disjuncts, which force readers to choose between them. When we encounter these passages, we may begin to re-evaluate our entire notion of God’s gift/revelation of the Law, its sacrificial prescriptions, and its place in understanding Christ’s work on the cross in the New Testament. In which case, when we see that Christ himself “takes sides” in his own non-violent, anti-sacrificial ministry (Matt. 9:13), the choice becomes clear.

But is this dichotomy between a priestly and an anti-sacrificial, prophetic ideology really at work in Israel’s Scriptures? Or if there is one, is it a hard one? Are we dealing with an absolute, theological disagreement in these critiques, or something more mitigated, more specific, more contextually-focused?

purity and klawansKlawans argues vigorously and decisively for the latter in chapter 3 of his aforementioned work. What I want to do in this post is simply summarize a bit of his case, since it’s very helpful in clearing up recent muddled discussions, and drawing our attention to pertinent facts which are frequently glossed over in these discussions.

Challenging the Dichotomy

First, after summarizing the paradigm, Klawans makes the important point that Weber’s influential dichotomy doesn’t really hold up cleanly on close inspection:

Jeremiah was descended from priests (Jer. 1:1), as was Ezekiel (Ezek. 1:1–3). Prophetic heroes like Moses, Samuel, and Elijah are remembered as actively performing sacrificial offerings (e.g., Exod. 24:4–8; 1 Sam. 3:1, 7:10, 9:14; 1 Kgs. 18:30–39)… It is sometimes surmised that Isaiah—whose call vision is situated in God’s sanctuary (Isa. 6:1)—may have been of priestly descent himself, though the evidence in this regard is certainly inconclusive. Without any doubt later prophets such as Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi were actively involved in the restoration of sacrificial worship in the early Second Temple period. Under the influence of Sigmund Mowinckel (1884–1966), the designation ‘‘cultic prophet’’ has also been applied to additional biblical figures, including Nahum, Habbakuk, and Joel, among others If prophetic activity could be cultic, and prophets themselves priestly, could their rejection of sacrifice really have been complete? (79-80)

Tracing this out at length does much to dissipate the appearance of an absolute disagreement about sacrifice and cult.

Second, the ideal types don’t match up when you consider the fact that some priestly material evinces some of the allegedly prophetic, moral edge. Leviticus 19 blends the two without any sense that cultic piety concerned with proper sacrifice and moral piety concerned with social justice and love of neighbor are at odds.

Third, we must consider the fact that prophets criticize more than sacrifice:

Amos objects to the Israelites’ festivals (Amos 5:21), and Isaiah objects to their prayers (Isa. 1:14–15). Is it conceivable that the prophets have categorically opposed all forms of worship? If they didn’t oppose all prayer, could they really have opposed all sacrifice? (80)

We rightly don’t have significant theses about the anti-supplicatory bent in prophetic theology, so why sacrifice?

Fourth, relatedly, some prophets include the Temple and the restoration of sacrificial worship in their visions of the restoration of Israel. Isaiah and Micah see visions of worshippers streaming to the Temple (Isa. 2:1-4; Mic. 4:1-5). Jeremiah mentions sacrifices specifically (Jer. 17:26; 33:17-18). And obviously Ezekiel, with his vision of the restoration of the Temple and its worship spanning 7-8 chapters certainly didn’t have an anti-sacrificial bias.

Fifth, the Prophets were a feisty bunch. They were prone to dramatic provocation in order to make a point. Isaiah walked around naked. Ezekiel cooked his food over feces. Hosea likely married a prostitute. It helps to remember, then, that violent, poetic, hyperbole was one of the least controversial means at their disposal to render a critique.

This really can’t be stressed enough. Work through the prophets at length, consult good guides to genre, style, the nature of Hebrew poetry, etc. and you realize just how unnecessary some of these dichotomous readings really are. Klawans argues that, “What seems like a categorical rejection can probably be better be understood as a prioritization” (81). Formulations of advice with the “not…but…” structure appear elsewhere (Prov. 8:10), and in these cases, it seems clear the advice is not absolute.

Taken together, these various considerations ought to make us slow to accept the absolute dichotomy between “sacrificial” ideologies and “prophetic” religion proposed by both scholars and popular thinkers. (I don’t have space to fill this out, but here I’d simply add that when we turn to the New Testament and consider Christ’s ministry and work, we should similarly avoid such dichotomies. Christ ministers as King, Priest, and Prophet, fulfilling the divine directives of all three.)

Explaining the Challenge: Sacrifice without Cost

But how can we explain these texts? Because there really is a critique. And it’s very likely that the prophets were denouncing actual priestly practice they were observing. We cannot and should not try to muzzle, or dismiss these texts.

I cannot adequately summarize Klawan’s full proposal or analysis here, but I’ll try to note a few key points.

First, he suggests that the most common approach, which suggests the problem is not sacrifice per se but the abuse of the practice, has merit: “Proper worship presupposes moral righteousness” (82). In the absence of righteousness, then, the worship itself becomes detestable, as Abraham Heschel argued. Klawans cautions, though, that many iterations of this response often assume modern, theological sensibilities foreign to the text, such as the “ritual-versus-ethics distinction”, or merely external versus internal obedience, or letter versus spirit.

Second, Klawans argues that light is shed on the situation when you consider that sacrifice as ritual should be understood as a form of repeated, symbolic action (yet another way of breaking down the world of the prophetic and the priestly).

Materially, Klawans notes that however you come to think of the function of sacrifice (communion, expiation, gift, etc.), every notion involves “at least in part the transfer of property from the layperson to the priest, and from the priest to God” (84). Your sacrifice is to be something you own, or else it is not sacrifice on any reading. Klawans supports this analysis in a variety of ways from Levitical literature involving ownership, the laying on of hands, laws of restitution, etc. (85-86). He takes this as a key hook into part of the prophetic critique of sacrifice.

Exemplary here is David’s protest in 1 Chron. 21, when Araunah offers to give him the threshing floor and the sacrifice to avert the destruction of the plague: “no, I will by them from you at a price. I cannot sacrifice to the Lord my God burnt offerings that have cost me nothing” (2 Sam. 24:24; 1 Chron. 21:24). Klawans comments, “If what’s given to you constitutes an inappropriate offering to God, how much more what is stolen!” (86)

Klawans goes on to point out that much of the prophetic critique concerns the immoral means by which sacrificial material has been acquired. Amos’s condemnation connects transgressions cult with violations of the rights of the poor (2:6-8). Isaiah 61:8 explicitly pictures the Lord declaring, “for I the Lord love justice: I hate robbery with a burnt offering.” Malachi is also concerned with right offerings before Lord and sees them tainted through their being lame, blind, sickly, and stolen (1:6-13). They are detestable to the Lord because they are “brought without due cost” (87).

Passage after passage could be adduced connecting the concern for economic exploitation with the critique of sacrifice (Amos 5; Isa. 1; Jer. 6), suggesting “the prophets ‘rejection’ of sacrifice was deeply connected to their belief that Israel was economically rotten to the core” (87). This renders their sacrifices both ritually and morally grotesque. There is a gap between the meaning of sacrifice and the moral and economic culture surrounding its current practice that nullified it. On this understanding, if you take the prophets tendency towards exaggeration, hyperbole, and provocation, “who wasn’t a thief in Amos’s conception of things?” (88). For Amos, there is a fundamental problem with the practice of sacrifice in his time.

We can even say there may be a split between the prophets and the priests at the time when the critiques were leveled. They may have differed in their evaluation of Israel’s spiritual state, or how bad the corruption had gotten—was it the kind of thing the cult could deal with or not? But this is far from a matter of rejecting the cult in toto, or seeing it as not truly given by God, or replacing it with a completely different form of religion because Israel has evolved in its relationship beyond such messy, violent, sacrificial forms.

I don’t have time to follow out the rest of his analysis, but even glancing over at Jeremiah’s Temple sermon (Jer. 7:9-14), you see many of the same concerns at work. The whole text gives you a sense that the economic dimension is connected to that broader concern that Israelite practice of the cult is corrupt, rather than the cultic system as given in the Law itself.

While we may not be convinced that this economic dimension is the heart of the critique, or its only facet, nor that this solves all of our problems with these texts, Klawan has shown that those who refuse see the prophetic critique as fundamentally opposed to priestly practice and the cult are on to something. Instead of an irreconcilable, ideological division, we have historically-situated criticisms of practices and institutions surrounding the Temple, sacrifice, and so forth. We therefore “must avoid simple categorizations, be they religious or scholarly”, and we “cannot selectively take certain prophetic texts at face value” (99).

Slowing Down

As a final point, I’d simply add I believe the same sort of case can be made with a number of the apparent, ideological splits, or theological “contradictions” in Scripture currently being proposed as wedges, asking us to listen to these verses, not those, or these voices, not those. Yes, there are many apparent difficulties. There are tensions which are difficult to resolve—especially when we pit hasty readings against each other. And, at times, it is simply easier to throw our hands up and “admit”, or “be honest”, that we just can’t make the parts fit together.

But this is an impatience that, if given into, stunts our ability to sit humbly with the texts and hear from the Lord. We will become readers who need our Scriptures simple, immediately transparent, and able to be summarized in a soundbite. We more and more become a people uncomfortable with nuance and tension in our theology, our preaching, and ultimately our practice of faith.

Indeed, it’s instructive that Jesus invites his hearers to “go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’,” (Matt. 9:13). He does not presume the answer will be immediately apparent. He invites them to go learn, consider, meditate slowly on the text, and then come back and evaluate his work. I suggest his invitation remains the same today.

Soli Deo Gloria