This Is Not What the Sheep Need: Reflections on Credo Magazine’s Book Awards
Our scholars should not, as such, be commending Roman academics with awards. They should be calling them to repent of their communion’s notions which twist and deny Scripture, and to use their talents and devotion to promote sound doctrine. For Christ said “if you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples” (Jn. 8:31), and Rome still does not abide in his word as it ought. And well might we fear that, ignoring Ps. 1:1 and 1 Cor. 15:33, our own theologians are at risk of being ensnared by that communion’s sins (Gal. 6:1b).
Carl Trueman caused consternation recently when, fresh from delivering the inaugural lecture of the Center for Classical Theology (CCT), he suggested Protestants need to “go back to basics.” It was not entirely clear what all this entailed, and as if to oblige an answer, Credo Magazine, CCT’s popular outlet, has revealed in what direction it imagines we should turn with its 2023 book awards.
There is a category called “Thomas Aquinas,” whose winner is a book by a Romanist professor who “invites all traditions – including the Reformed tradition – to retrieve Thomism so that together we can answer the modern challenges that have crippled biblical scholarship,” as Credo puts it. The question of Thomism’s usefulness aside – and with it, the cumbersome question of whether “expanding on Thomas’s Christological typologies today will equip biblical theologians with the ontology they need to defend typology in the first place” – it must never be forgotten that Aquinas was an idolater (see here), who sometimes butchered scriptural exegesis because of philosophy and tradition (see here), and who has been a stumbling block to many by means of his elevation to the center of a cult of personality (see here). Scripture commands us to avoid idolatry (1 Cor. 10:14: “my beloved, flee from idolatry”) and idolaters (5:11: “I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother if he is . . . an idolater”), not to take them as our teachers (comp. also Deut. 13), and it says that idolatry is a “work of the flesh” (Gal. 5:19-20) whose offenders “will not inherit the kingdom of God” (v. 21), but “whose portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death” (Rev. 21:8). Having an award for studies in such a person’s thought (thus encouraging more such studies) is about as far from obeying God’s command “not to associate” with such people as one can get.
The winner of the “Translated Work of Theology—Patristic and Medieval” award is a recent edition of John of Damascus (or Damascene)’s On the Orthodox Faith (De Fide Orthodoxa). This is the same work from which Aquinas derived the notions by which he promoted idolatry, saying “Damascene (De Fide Orth. iv, 16) quotes Basil as saying: ‘The honor given to an image reaches to the prototype,’ i.e. the exemplar” and concluding that “the exemplar itself – namely, Christ – is to be adored with the adoration of ‘latria’; therefore also His image.”[1] In other words, the worship given to an image passes through it to the person whom it purports to represent, so it is therefore appropriate to worship images of Christ since the worship passes through them to him. (This absurd notion makes idolatry impossible, provided one’s intentions are good, and openly contradicts Scripture’s representation of the evil and folly of idolatry consisting in worshiping objects in passages such as Psalm 135:15-18, Isaiah 44, and Jeremiah 10.)
Elsewhere Aquinas quotes Damascene saying “the precious wood, as having been sanctified by the contact of His holy body and blood, should be meetly worshiped; as also His nails, His lance, and His sacred dwelling-places, such as the manger, the cave and so forth.”[2] Yet Credo commends Damascene’s work, saying “readers would do well to receive this gift from Christianity’s Great Tradition with gratitude.” There is something awry when Protestants such as the contest judges commend Tradition (which they regularly capitalize), rather than defending Scripture against tradition’s tendency to undermine it (Matt. 15:1-9).
Winning the award for “Natural Theology” is Plato’s Moral Realism, published by a philosophy professor at the University of Toronto. The book description begins:
Plato’s moral realism rests on the Idea of the Good, the unhypothetical first principle of all. It is this, as Plato says, that makes just things useful and beneficial.
And continues:
This fact has been occluded by later Christian Platonists who tried to identify the Good with the God of scripture. But for Plato, theology, though important, is subordinate to metaphysics. For this reason, ethics is independent of theology and attached to metaphysics.
The actual text says, “I am content to classify Plato’s theory as robust realism with the proviso that his realism be distinguished from moral theology” (pp. 10-11) and “in the matter of ethics, Plato draws his principles from metaphysics, not from theology” (p. 54). It is strange to give a theology book award to a philosophy book which explicitly denies a theological character to the moral conceptions of the philosopher whose thought it relates. One might as soon give an award for best electronic dance music to a string band or a classical orchestra.
The award for “Theological Retrieval” went to Hans Boersma’s Pierced by Love: Divine Reading with the Christian Tradition, which is the inspiration for Credo’s latest edition on lectio divina (literally, divine reading), being mentioned nine times in that issue about this approach to reading scripture. Credo commends it here because it is “what spiritually serious Christians have always done” (emphasis mine), which claim is curious, since its own edition on lectio says “Lectio Divina originates in the twelfth century with Guigo the Second, an Italian monk,” or, maybe, “as far back as St. Benedict of the sixth century” (all emphases mine). Also, there is arguably an implicit insult that believers who do not use lectio are therefore not “spiritually serious.”
Winning the award for “Systematic Theology and Dogmatics” is Christ the Logos of Creation: An Essay in Analogical Metaphysics by Notre Dame professor John R. Betz. It features what appears to be an image of Christ on the cover, in which offense against the Second Commandment (Ex. 20:4) it is joined by two other awarded books. Alongside the edge of the front cover is a series title that reads “Renewal within Tradition.” This series is produced by a Romanist press and edited by the same professor, Matthew Levering, who won the “Thomas Aquinas” category. The series summary, available here, states that “Catholic theology reflects upon the content of divine revelation as interpreted and handed down in the Church” and that the series “undertakes to reform and reinvigorate contemporary theology from within the tradition, with St. Thomas Aquinas as a central exemplar.” It continues, “the Series [sic] reunites the streams of Catholic theology that, prior to the [Second Vatican] Council, separated into neo-scholastic and nouvelle théologie modes” and that “the biblical, historical-critical, patristic, liturgical, and ecumenical emphases of the Ressourcement movement need the dogmatic, philosophical, scientific, and traditioned enquiries of Thomism, and vice versa.”
That is thoroughly and unabashedly Roman, and yet it did not prevent Credo’s Protestants from commending Betz’s book. When they then weakly complain the author “would benefit from a wider engagement with the Protestant tradition,” one feels compelled to cry aloud in mixed pathos and exasperation: ‘Just what did you think you were going to find in a Romanist work of renewal and ressourcement, if not Roman tradition, ideas, and thinkers?’ One does not go to Bob Jones University to find the arts of winemaking and dancing; and one does not go to Rome to find the Reformation and its protest against those things which make Rome distinctively Roman.
There is an irony here as well, for in Trueman’s post-CCT lecture appeal to ‘go back to basics’ he bewailed evangelicals who assert divine suffering by denying impassibility, and praised some Romans (the Dominicans) by contrast for their theology proper. And now the CCT has just recognized this book, which also commends Hans Urs von Balthasar, a Roman theologian who . . . . . . asserted divine suffering.[3] Granting Trueman’s appeal was at First Things, not Credo, this inconsistency suggests that the larger classical crowd is apparently not as discomfited by people who seem to deny impassibility as Prof. Trueman (albeit still regarding it as mistaken). And the approval of Balthasar by Romanists committed to Thomism-inspired renewal suggests that, Trueman’s wistful gazes upon members of that communion notwithstanding, the grass is not greener on the other side of the Tiber. (Or, keeping with the context of his original statement, that it is not so on the other side of the accreditation agency conference room.)
Of the nine awards given, only three were given to Protestants (Petrus van Mastricht, Phillip Cary, and Karen Swallow Prior). There are concerns about the last, who endorsed Revoice and published a book with contributions from a normalizer of immorality (see here), and the second, author of the “Book of the Year,” teaches at a university that has normalized that same strand of immorality, and makes some curious claims.[4] One award was given to an author of unknown affiliation, while three were given to Romans, and another to a member of an Eastern communion (Damascene, whose translator is also an Easterner). Boersma is officially an Anglican, but his views are so thoroughly Romanist as to be accounted with the members of that communion (see here or footnote).[5]
All this matters because Rome still retains most of those things against which we have been protesting for 500 years. It still has purgatory, pilgrimages, penance, and indulgences – the Pope has even offered them via Twitter – as well as intercession of the saints and prayer to angels. It has a full-orbed system of false ideas about Mary: perpetual virginity, immaculate conception, bodily assumption into heaven, and regarding her as “exalted by the Lord as Queen over all things” (Roman Catechism, 966), to whom prayers and devotion ought to be given, and who is “invoked in the Church under the titles of Advocate, Helper, Benefactress, and Mediatrix” (969). In Scripture our Helper is the Holy Spirit (Jn. 14:16, 26; 15:26; 16:7), and our Advocate is Christ himself (1 Jn. 2:1), the relevant Greek term (paraklétos) only being used of them, never of any other person. And Scripture plainly says that “there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Tim. 2:5); Mary is nowhere referred to as a mediator.
Rome also maintains the same mistaken notions of justification[6], and of scriptural interpretation[7] and authority[8] as in the past. It forbids its clergy to marry, which 1 Tim. 4:1-5 says is a teaching of demons and a mark of people who have “seared consciences” and “depart from the faith.” Scripture also says that marriage is God’s ordained means for preventing immorality (1 Cor. 7:2: “because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife”). Having rejected this, Rome has become the scene of gross, widespread corruption, 33 of its 194 American dioceses being involved in or having completed bankruptcy proceedings, many because of payments to sexual abuse victims. It openly rebels against Christ’s command to “call no man your father on earth” (Matt. 23:9) by using this as the official title of all its clergy, but especially of the Pope, who is styled “Holy Father,” pope itself coming through Latin from the Greek for ‘papa, father.’
Now God says to “beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” (Matt. 7:15), that “Satan comes disguised as an angel of light” (2 Cor. 11:14), and that his “servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness” (v. 15). He says of such people that we will “recognize them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:16). Who can deny that the widespread sexual abuse and errant doctrine of the current Roman communion are rotten fruits?
Our scholars should not, as such, be commending Roman academics with awards. They should be calling them to repent of their communion’s notions which twist and deny Scripture, and to use their talents and devotion to promote sound doctrine. For Christ said “if you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples” (Jn. 8:31), and Rome still does not abide in his word as it ought. And well might we fear that, ignoring Ps. 1:1 and 1 Cor. 15:33, our own theologians are at risk of being ensnared by that communion’s sins (Gal. 6:1b).
Tom Hervey is a member of Woodruff Road Presbyterian Church, Five Forks (Simpsonville), SC. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not of necessity reflect those of his church or its leadership or other members. He welcomes comments at the email address provided with his name. He is also author of Reflections on the Word: Essays in Protestant Scriptural Contemplation.
[1] Summa Theologiae III, Q. 25, A.3
[2] Summa Theologiae III, Q. 25, A.4
[3] How Balthasar’s ideas of divine suffering comport with historic notions of God’s immutability and impassibility is disputed within the Roman communion, as evidenced by one of the other books in the “Renewal within Tradition” series being devoted to a consideration of his ideas on this point (One of the Trinity Has Suffered: Balthasar’s Theology of Divine Suffering in Dialogue by Joshua Brotherton), and works such as The Immutability of God in the Theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar by Gerard O’Hanlon.
[4] E.g., he says he “feels quite comfortable in a high-church Anglican congregation,” as well as that it is not “a tragedy when Protestants become Catholic” (here at about 7:55).
[5] He quotes Pope Francis approvingly, regards the Reformation as a lamentable tragedy, and denies sola scriptura as the authority for faith in favor of Rome’s scripture and tradition, doing so, by his own admission at Credo, because of the teaching of important Roman theologians. He also thinks “the Reformation doctrine of justification sola fide needs a significant overhaul in light of [N.T.] Wright’s reading of the New Testament,” and that Wright’s views “are more or less compatible with standard Catholic and Orthodox understandings of justification theology” (Exile, ed. James M. Scott, p. 257).
[6] “Justification includes . . . sanctification, and the renewal of the inner man” and “is granted us through Baptism.” (Roman Catechism 2019-20)
[7] “The task of interpreting the Word of God authentically has been entrusted solely to the Magisterium of the Church, that is, to the Pope and to the Bishops in communion with him.” (Roman Catechism 100)
[8] The Church “does not derive her certainty about all revealed truths from the holy Scriptures alone. Both Scripture and Tradition must be accepted and honored with equal sentiments of devotion and reverence.” (Roman Catechism 82)
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Did Authoritative Male Headship Exist in the Garden of Eden Before the Fall?
If Adam and Eve were equal in their roles and responsibilities in the garden prior to the fall, then Eve would have been held equally responsible as Adam in keeping the covenant, but this was not the case. It is Adam who was held responsible for breaking the covenant, not Eve, because he was the federal head (Gen. 3:17-19, cf. Hos. 6:7). Adam and Eve no longer existed in true righteousness and holiness as they did before the fall. The prior ordered relationship that already perfectly existed between Adam and Eve in Genesis 2 is altered post-fall, with the husband and wife both having sinful natures.
There is a lot of debate going on currently regarding male and female roles in marriage and the church. Increasingly, some Christians are arguing that there was no authority structure in Adam and Eve’s relationship in the garden of Eden prior to their fall into sin.
According to this line of thinking, if there was no relationship order before the fall, then authoritative male headship was not God’s original design but rather part of the post-fall curse. The conclusion of those who argue this way is that husbands and wives are to equally submit to each other, and all those verses in the New Testament about wifely submission and women not being able to teach authoritatively in the church must mean something else. Is this actually true? No. Here’s why.
We learn about God’s original design for men and women in the second chapter of Genesis.
In Genesis 2 God made a conditional covenant with Adam before Eve was created:
The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” (Gen. 2:15-17)
In Genesis 2 we also learn that God made Eve, an image-bearer of God, to be a helper to Adam:
Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” Now out of the ground the Lord God had formed every beast of the field and every bird of the heavens and brought them to the man to see what he would call them. And whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all livestock and to the birds of the heavens and to every beast of the field. But for Adam there was not found a helper fit for him. So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Then the man said,
“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.”
Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh. (Gen. 2:18-24)
In these two passages we learn that God made Adam first and then made Eve from the rib of Adam for the specific purpose of being a helper to Adam. Additionally, before God created her, God gave Adam the direct command not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, along with specific sanctions if Adam failed to pass the test of fidelity to his sovereign King. God also gave Adam authority to name the animals before Eve existed.
Authoritative male headship was part of God’s original design in the garden of Eden.
As Denny Burk points out in an article for The Gospel Coalition, one of the key arguments against authoritative male headship is based on an interpretation of Genesis 3:16 that denies the reality of order in marriage before the fall.[1] (See below for more on Genesis 3:16.) Yet, Adam’s headship before the fall is on display in the following circumstances:Adam—not Eve—was given the responsibility to keep God’s command not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. In Genesis 2:16-17, God made a conditional covenant with Adam (also known as the covenant of works) to test his fidelity to his Creator. Eve had not been created at the time God commanded Adam not to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Adam was the covenant head who represented all of humanity, and by his disobedience he brought condemnation on himself and all his posterity. Similarly, Jesus was the covenant head who, by his fully obedient life and perfect sacrificial death, secured salvation and eternal life for all who trust in him (see Romans 5:12-21 regarding the first Adam and the last Adam).
Adam exercised authority over the animals by naming them (Gen. 2:19). Similarly he called the helper God gave to him “Woman” (Gen. 2:23). Post-fall, Adam would give his wife the name Eve, “because she was the mother of all living” (Gen. 3:20), showing his faith in God’s promise to provide a savior for mankind.
Even though Eve sinned first, God placed the fault on Adam, as he was the one who bore the responsibility to keep God’s command in Genesis 2:16-17:And to Adam he said,
“Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the treeof which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life;thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field.By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread,till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken;for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Gen. 3:17-19)
Satan sought to overthrow God’s established order for the human family.
The fact that the serpent approached Eve and not Adam is an indication of Satan’s attempt to overthrow God’s design for the order of creation:
Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” (Gen. 3:1; see also Gen. 3:2-7)
According to theologian Meredith Kline in Kingdom Prologue: Genesis Foundations for a Covenantal Worldview,
Various factors may have entered into the tempter’s strategy of approaching the woman rather than Adam. Certainly in maneuvering Adam out of the position of primary response Satan was defying and subverting the structure of authority God had appointed for the human family. Moreover, there would be greater contradiction of this same divine institution if Eve could be induced to lead the family head into sin than if it happened the other way around.[2]
Kline continues regarding Satan’s attack against the social structure God had ordained:
Satan’s challenge to God’s authority compelled man to choose between two masters. It was part of Satan’s falsifying of the situation that he projected for himself the image of lordly benefactor. While he was getting the woman to separate in theory between God’s interests and her own and to act in a spirit of self-interest over against the (insinuated) inconsiderateness of God, Satan managed to strike the pose of one who was himself concerned for man’s best interests. At every turn he forced onto man this choice between authorities.
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Christianity and Politics III: The Goodness and Limits of Politics
Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Friday, July 14, 2023
Pursuing faithful political order and rule, using the power of the state to do good, as has been recognized by Christians throughout the ages, is a good and noble vocation. But Christian political action is also not presumptuous. It is realistic about what can be accomplished in this fallen, evil age, an age in which God has not promised ultimate victory, even as it is optimistic because it entrusts itself to a God who in his infinite wisdom sovereignly rules human history.Man was made to order and rule over the world that God made. Although there is a unique (and theologically important) sense in which this was true of Adam, it is inherent in the image of God and continues to be the case even after the Fall.
Nonetheless, Adam’s fall into sin has radically changed everything. Although the vocation remains (order and rule), it can no longer be carried out in the same way as would have been the case had Adam not sinned. What, then, has the Fall done?
A classic principle of Christian theology, one that has been invoked often with regard to Christian political action, is this: grace does not destroy but restores nature. This means that certain aspects of how God made the world do not cease to be operative simply because sin has twisted and deformed those institutions. This would include things like the goodness of marriage and childbearing, as well as the goodness of labor and work. With regard to political order it means that although the Fall has created difficulties with regard to the human vocation of ordering and ruling the world, it has not destroyed the possibility of doing so. Governance is not—even in light of the Fall—a sub-Christian concern, or contrary to human virtue. Man still maintains the capability and responsibility to order and rule the world.
Sin, however, has made this much more difficult. There is now an enmity between those who belong to Satan and those who belong to God (Gen 3:15). This enmity will manifest itself in the world until the coming of Christ when he will return and put every enemy under his feet (1 Cor 15:24–25). The entire created order, political rule included, has been “subjected to futility” and exists in a state of “bondage to corruption” (Rom 8:20–21). Fallen mankind “became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened” (Rom 1:21). “Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things” (Rom 1:22–23). Sin has infected everything, the ability to rule well, even the ability to think properly about ruling well.
Had Adam not sinned, faithfully ordering and ruling the world as he was meant to do would not only have been possible, it would have been a joy. With the entrance of sin into the world, the vocation remains, though twisted and distorted by the Fall. Order must now overcome disorder, rule must include governance, but also punishment, and so on.
This does not mean that political order and rule is worthless, nor that much good cannot be done through it, but it does mean that there should be a Christian “eschatological reserve” wherein we recognize that the good we can do this side of Christ’s return is limited. Our political philosophizing must reflect these limitations.
Put simply and succinctly, Christian political action in a fallen world can be defined according to a simple maxim (to be expanded in subsequent articles): Do the good you can, where you are.1
The antithesis between the divine and satanic seeds will not be overcome in this age; the fullness of the kingdom of God will not be manifest until the last day. But God has revealed, both in his word, and in the various facets of the created order, what man’s vocation in the world is, and how that vocation should be carried out. That vocation includes ordering and ruling over the world and its people, in the unique tribes, tongues, and nations that God has established. Nothing about the Fall negates this vocation and responsibility.
While some Christians reject political power as too tainted by the Fall, there is also a temptation for Christians to reject the kind of limited and circumspect approach to politics I’ve begun outlining in this article. This temptation can take many forms, from utopianism to despair and defeatism regarding our present political condition. The latter can even be combined—as strange as it might seem—with hope in some form of nearly miraculous intervention that will usher in a sudden transformation of a given political order. In this way of thinking doing the limited good you can, where you are, just props up a tottering, evil regime. Better to let it all burn and hope an unexpected deliverer will arise to set things right.
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Review of “Rejoice and Tremble” By Michael Reeves
Reeves argues that there are multiple types of fear. First, natural fear is the fear of pain, accidents, and death. These are the result of the fall, but they are not sinful in themselves. A second form of fear he calls “Sinful Fear,” which gets its name because it derives from our sin. We fear God as judge because we know we are guilty before Him. Finally, there is the fear of the Lord (I will call it Righteous Fear, though Reeves simply calls it “Fear of the Lord”), which is the center of discussion later in the book.
Books don’t often make grown men cry with joy, but I have heard that Reeves’s book on the Trinity (Delighting in the Trinity) has done so. That book is still on my reading list, but when I heard Reeves recently wrote a book on the Fear of the Lord, I knew I had to read it. I read it to get exposure to Reeves’s work, but I also read it because I am fascinated by the topic of the Fear of the Lord.
Reeves begins with a great question: Is fear good or bad? On the one hand, Jesus came to deliver us from fear (Lk. 1:74–75; Heb. 2:15); on the other, we are called to fear God (Prov. 1:7; Ps. 86:11; etc.). Reeves’s book is designed to “cut through this discouraging confusion” (16). His goal is that readers would be able to “rejoice in this strange paradox that the gospel both frees us from fear and gives us fear. It frees us from our crippling fears, giving us instead a most delightful, happy, and wonderful fear” (16).
Setting us Free from Fear
Reeves argues that there are multiple types of fear. First, natural fear is the fear of pain, accidents, and death. These are the result of the fall, but they are not sinful in themselves. A second form of fear he calls “Sinful Fear,” which gets its name because it derives from our sin. We fear God as judge because we know we are guilty before Him. Finally, there is the fear of the Lord (I will call it Righteous Fear, though Reeves simply calls it “Fear of the Lord”), which is the center of discussion later in the book.
Despite living in times where safety is undeniably greater than at any point in world history, many people live in perpetual fear. Anxiety is rampant. Reeves argues that “the loss of the fear of God is what ushered in our modern age of anxiety, but the fear of God is the very antidote to our fretfulness” (24).
Fear does not merely derive from uncertainty though; it sometimes derives from certainty—the certainty that God is holy and we are not. This realization, present in all humans, contributes to a Sinful Fear that leads men to flee from God. They hate His holiness, and they fear the life of holiness he would bring in their lives. Further, they know He will judge, and they know they will be guilty.
Sinful Fear is the natural state of man before God. The fanning of such fear is the grace of God, awakening the sinner to the reality of his predicament. As the old hymn says, grace teaches the heart to fear, and only then can grace that fear relieve.
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