On February 9, at 5:00 a.m., Daoud was awakened by the fire department. His Mosque and the home of the Muslim community was ablaze.

The community of 55 people at the maximum had purchased the building paid it off and was extremely proud that they had a home in the idyllic small town of Columbia in south Tennessee. The mosque was the only one within a wide radius and people from many small towns in the area came to worship there.

Three individuals had broken in, trashed the inside and tossed Molotov cocktails into the Mosque.

[...]

In the 7 years following 9/11, many have faulted the Muslim community for not speaking up enough. “Where are the moderates?”, people ask time and time again. But, many did speak up, others just didn’t know what to say. And when the Islamic Center was burned down by one of their own, the Christian community felt the same way. Many didn’t speak up. Not because they condoned the actions, but because they didn’t know what to say. Others said that the attackers were non-Christians or misguided so there is no reason for them to apologize or speak out against it.
Within a week, neighboring Muslim communities rallied and held a vigil at the sight. It was advertised an open to all. People from all faiths came and one of those was Reverend Bill Williamson from First Presbyterian Church. He had immediately sprung into action, collecting money during a service at the church and attending to present the money and take it one step further–offering a set of keys.

Reverend Williamson welcomed the displaced worshipers to visit the church. He brought Daoud and others to the Church and showed them to a room that he had set aside for them to use for meeting and prayers.

This dude was way, way, ahead of me.

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I don’t really remember how I related to this idea as a child. In one sense, I “knew” it. I was taught it, and I was pretty good at learning the things that I was taught. So, I knew it. But I don’t remember whether it made any sense to me at the time or not.

It doesn’t now. Hasn’t for a long time. As with most doctines about “God’s Will,” there is room for debate on whether this one is “Biblical” or not. (James McGrath says it is not, while Ken Pulliam thinks that, on balance, it is). Why is that important? Well, for some, whether it is “Biblical” or not determines whether it is “God’s Will” or not. For some, whether PST (assuming it is “the Biblical view”) is morally defensible or not determines whether Biblical fundamentalism is morally defensible. For others, it’s just an interesting question.

My view is that this is like any other doctrine. PST is both Biblical and un-Biblical, depending on which texts you focus on.

Furthermore, my view is that PST is non-sensical and morally indefensible.

Ken Pulliam, whose individual post is linke above on the issue of whether PST is “Biblical”, has written no less than fifty three detailed posts expositing his view that PST is morally indefensible. He argues against numerous modern and historical theologians who attempt to defend PST. To argue this forcefully against so many well-credentialed theologians, Ken Pulliam must be extremely clever, or he must be correct in his view. I am quite convinced that it is the latter (though I don’t doubt that he is clever). The articles he has archived under the PST category are spread over several pages (navigation is at the bottom), here. I believe this archive is likely among the most comprehensive (and persuasive) set of arguments against PST in existence. If you are interested in the Penal Substitution Theory, you could do worse than to spend a few days reading through it.

I offer the failings of the Penal Substitution Theory of atonement as an indictment of fundamentalism and as an invitation to consider healthier modes of thought about how humans can relate to what they hold sacred.

I have deliberately avoided defining PST. It is often difficult to distinguish from its cousin, “Satisfaction”, and its parent general “Substitution”. Virtually every criticism of PST applies to the broader spectrum of “punishment” and “substitution” theories.

An exception is the “ritual” subset of satisfaction/substitution models. These effectively take the ancient notion of sacrifice, strip them of the context (God’s wrath mollified by an obsequious gift), and leave only the ritual itself as the mode by which God is satisfied. (It is not always the case that the context is removed – sometimes the ancient concept of sacrifice is kept relatively intact). While most adherents of a satisfaction/substitution theory of punishment do not accept the “ritual” view, they sometimes will use its language, even in defense of the views they do espouse (citing, for instance, the necessity that Jesus be “perfect” in order for the sacrifice to be adequate).

Other orthodox or neo-orthodox ideas of atonement often come into the mix during discussions of atonement. Especially prevalent is the participation theory, that all who identify with Jesus participated mystically in his death and restoration, and have therefore have already been punished and restored. Arguments against PST have little force against the participatory model – one which (as McGrath points out is also Biblical). This model does less violence to ideals of justice and mercy but I personally still find it unsatisfying.

It seems odd to mention the Classic theory of atonement so late in a list, but it simply lacks clout these days. It often comes up, but rarely from anyone who accepts its primary efficacy. Under the Classic model, Jesus’ death and resurrection defeated Satan and Evil once and for all. As a theory unto itself, it has a feel of the mystical – this willing death of God, and his subsequent resurrection – for the very reason of their having happened – was the vehicle of atonement. They mystically about the defeat of Satan, evil, and death, and therefore wrought atonement. As a footstool to substitutionary theories, this view is merely a metaphor – it is because Jesus was punished as a substitute for us that Satan, evil, and death were robbed of their power. This is one area where some conservatives agree with some liberals – in symbologizing the Classic theory (though liberals are apt to do it sans the substitutionary doctrine).

Under the moral-influence model (which is rarely invoked by conservatives as a model of primary efficacy), upon understanding the nature of Jesus’ sacrifice, people are moved to relinquish their sinful nature in favor of a Godly one. This, rather than a vicarious punishment, brings about atonement.

Under other Christian theories of atonement, the crucifixion is not directly responsible for the atonement at all. These are generally the most liberal theories, and include some Christian Humanist viewpoints. The most prevalent of these (and the only one I will mention) is that it is Jesus’ message that brings salvation. Under this view, crucifixion was the price Jesus had to pay for bringing his salvific message to humanity. I certainly understand the appeal of this view to liberals and to humanists. There are among the teachings imputed to Jesus some edifying lessons. And, the notion that Jesus would preach the message boldly even knowing it would mean his death is an edifying lesson in selflessness.

There was a stage during which I considered adopting a Christian-humanist viewpoint centered around the “saving message” and this view of atonement. The reason I didn’t is the same reason I don’t accept most other Christian doctrines – I don’t believe it is true. It is an admirable fiction, but a fiction none-the-less. First, I don’t especially believe that Jesus had any special foreknowledge of his death. It’s possible that he knew he was painting himself into a corner that would end in death – even crucifixion. But it’s just as likely that he was teaching what he thought was right without much appreciation for the danger in which it may have placed him. Second, I don’t think that it was his strong ethical teachings that got him crucified. I think it was his more likely his opposition to the practices current in the administration of the Jerusalem temple that did him in. Third, it’s hard to say what Jesus’ teachings really were. They likely didn’t include everything attributed to him in the New Testament. They likely did include things we don’t get to read about in the New Testament. Fourth, even among those attributed to him in the New Testament, only a few were especially strong ethical messages. Fifth, of those attributed to him which were strong ethical messages, most echoed ethical teachings already present in the Hebrew scriptures or elucidated by other teachers of his era – teachings which didn’t get anybody crucified. A person could do worse than to adopt the salvific message model of redemption and a humanistic Christianity, but it isn’t for me.

*These days more atonement-related ink is spilled on another controversy than on the general model of atonement. Unfortunate in my view, since the model itself needs some serious revision if it is to be held to a high standard of sense and sensibility. But I don’t get to decide what folks argue about, and the bigger discussion is over whether our sins were *infused* into Christ such that he somehow “became” guilty, or they were merely *imputed* to him, such that God was willing to act as though he were guilty of them. While Pulliam doesn’t often employ the language of imputation and infusion in his posts, he deals with both possibilities exhaustively.

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George Washington by Horatio Greenoug, Photo by Claire Houck, Creative Commons licensed

On point one… while remaining cognizant that hagriography isn’t proper history, I enjoyed this aspect of the segment. I like a good hagriography, and there’s hardly a better subject for it than the father of our country. King George is said to have remarked on George Washington’s plan to take a voluntary term limit and pass the presidency along democratically chosen lines that “if he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.” Considering that GW could have easily chosen to keep the position for life (and set an anti-democratic precedent), his decision to hand over power really does put him in a very good light. This and a number of forward-thinking actions make it difficult to think of GW as anything but great.

The second point was also interesting. It was very partisan (as one would expect on Moody radio), offering evidence for GW’s orthodoxy and devotion uncritically, while glossing over a number of sticky points. I believe that this is one of those cases where the center between two extremes really has a lot to recommend it as being closer to the truth. The evidence presented does in fact rule out the notion that GW was a partisan Deist, hostile toward orthodox Christianity. But, the evidence not presented does soften the notion that he was a devout and partisan orthodox Christian who opposed the spirit of separation of church and state as understood by Madison, Adams, and Jefferson. Nor was he hostile to orthodox religion in the mold of Thomas Paine. He might best be understood as a Christian Deist in the mold of Matthew Tindal – but there is plenty of room for debate and Orthodox Christianity is certainly within the realm of possibility.

The third point was mainly polemic. What Moody calls “historical revisionism” is probably a result of secular partisans playing up the evidence against Washington’s orthodoxy, and even of responsible historians treating the issue as difficult and contentious – denying the view that Washington was clearly and certainly orthodox. On the other hand I had to agree that the state of modern education, and the common disinterest in George Washington and the other founders is regrettable in the extreme. Should educators renew their interest in Washington, I hope they will present his whole life fairly and historically, even the unfortunate bits. And, I hope they will portray modern understanding of his religious views with the nuance responsibility requires.

I recommend the Wikipedia article on GW’s religion – at least as it currently stands. It includes a large segment on Lillback’s book, and helps see how the issue can be clouded by seemingly contradictory evidence.

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This debate was among those rare exceptions. When one of those comes along, you don’t talk about who won or lost the debate, as much as what you learned from it. Unfortunately, Bart Ehrman is unskilled at oral debate and sounded uncomfortable and strident. In addition, he did not always argue as effectively as he could have. So, if we have to speak of a winner, it is the conservative, Craig Evans. But both were interesting, and both made a number of valid points. I’ll recap a couple. But right now, it’s time to watch the video. It’s just shy of an hour and a half, so watch it when you have some time.

First, some points about Evans. I really admired his closing statement which contrasted the humility of evangelical Christianity with the false confidence of fundamentalism. I believe that even fundamentalists hearing him defend conservative Christianity would appreciate his viewpoint (and might, without giving up the doctrines of hard inerrancy and other unfortunate aspects of fundamentalism, think of themselves as being closer kin with his view than with the view they have historically espoused).

Second, while his presentation on such issues as whether the gospels “contain” eye-witness testimony, whether we have sufficiently well-attested witnesses to the originals, where we can have a good deal of confidence about concerning the historical core of the gospels, and how the gospels can be and are used by historians and archaeologists, was relatively partisan, it was also essentially correct. In the case of how historians and archaeologists use the gospels, it was more correct than Ehrman’s contribution.

Third, for whatever reason, he left a number of points very conspicuously unanswered.

Fourth, he was in very questionable territory on a couple of items.

For his part, Ehrman was somewhat far afield in answering the question about how archaeologists might employ the gospels. He was not his usual professorial self (I’ve seen instructional videos in which his style is much more somber and reflective) – instead he did come across as strident and uncomfortable. In addition, apart from his answer on archaeology, his answers were essentially correct – but very partisan in presentation.

His strongest point – and one which did go unanswered – concerned the question of who Jesus said that he was. He is correct that John differs from the other gospels in that it portrays Jesus as being self-consciously Divine in terms of equality or near-equality with the Father. Before I go into more detail on this let me diverge for a moment.

Evans cites a short list of items that can be historically known about Jesus from the Gospels – including that he was known as a healer, that he was baptized by John, and that he preached the Rule or Kingdom of God, among other things. He also points out that he was received as a messiah-figure by (some, at least, among) his disciples and may have acknowledged such a designation himself. These are all important facts about Jesus that it would be foolish to discard lightly, and they attest to a certain amount of reliability of the gospels in terms of how they characterize Jesus life, and teachings. Ehrman probably agrees with most of those points, but treated them dismissively. As I said, his approach was partisan.

Significantly, this list of Evans correctly omits any notion that Jesus thought of himself as uniquely Divine. In fact, Evans would have been irresponsible to defend that notion as being anything like a historical certainty. Ehrman made the point that many evangelicals ask the question – is Jesus who he said he was? Ehrman, rightly in my view, made the point that these same evangelicals hold an unjustified assumption – that Jesus said he was God. In my view, he never believed that or thought it.

That isn’t to say that John invented the notion (or even held it in the same way modern Evangelicals do). Notions of the divinity of Jesus certainly predated John and showed up in the writings of Paul and even, obliquely, some of the synoptic gospels. John is simply the gospel that presents that notion least ambiguously and attributes it to Jesus himself. One of the most interesting fields of study I’ve recently run across is trying to understand in the context of first century Judaism what was meant by the notion of divinity, especially as it was applied to Jesus. If Evans had answered Ehrman’s challenge on the historical reliability of the notion that Jesus and his immediate followers conceived of him as co-equal with the Father, then the discussion would have inevitably become more technical and begun to explore some of those issues. I believe that Evans avoided that in part because he did not relish that discussion – knowing as he must that there is little support in the Bible or in the context of first century Judaism for the idea that Jesus was, thought he was, or was thought of as being “fully God”.

This is the biggest point of contention, I believe, between the liberal or secular student and the conservative one: the identity of Jesus. On this point, I think Ehrman’s position is stronger. The next biggest point of contention between the liberal or secular student and the conservative one is the nature of the Bible. On this point Evans does engage, and in some ways corrects Ehrman’s views which – presented from the partisan viewpoint of counter-apology – are a tad extreme. However, Ehrman is largely correct – there are good reasons to discount the doctrines of inerrancy and infallibility. Evans, to the extent that he only corrects Ehrman’s occasional over-reach but does not answer his basic charges, seems to agree with Ehrman in spirit, even if he holds to a strong notion of Biblical reliability and considers it the authoritative word of God. He consistently defers the repeated question: does he finds in the Bible the same irreconcilable contradictions that others find. In short he does not base his “high” view of the scripture on the idea that there are no “errors” in the Bible, but rather on the idea that the Bible is generally reliable and tells a consistent and believable story.

Even when stated this way, I disagree with him. Yes, the New Testament is harmonious on certain matters central to Christian theology. Furthermore, there are no written testimonies to Christian views from the same early period that profoundly contradict the New Testament position on those matters (though there is ample evidence that such contradictory Christian views did exist in that early period – and there is reason to surmise and some limited evidence that in fact non-Christian views of Jesus from those in as good a position as Paul and the Evangelists to evaluate the stories was also at odds with the Christian narrative).

But even if we take the view on face value that the Bible is generally reliable concerning the life and teachings of Jesus, it is still quite a task to derive from that support for wide swaths of evangelical doctrine. As Ehrman pointed out, important doctrines (including the Trinity) are without Biblical foundation apart from layers of interpretation in light of doctrines unheard of at the time the New Testament was written. (Furthermore, taking into account the cultural context of New Testament writings, it might be said that the Bible is directly or indirectly at variance with, for instance, Trinitarianism as later conceived). This is one area where Evans may have overstated his case – in suggesting that issues which come up in textual variants are resolved by other, better-founded, texts – and including the Trinitarian formula of First John. He would be hard pressed to produce those texts and show how they are properly interpreted in light of the cultural context of their writing in support of the spurious formula of the Johannine comma. As Ehrman pointed out, a number of teachings historically (and currently, in many circles) held to be important and worth repeating and sermonizing over, are based on insecure variants. Not all are as clearly spurious as the Johannine comma, but quite a few are at least disputable. Taken together with ample evidence to doubt the absolute reliability of every statement in the New Testament, with good reason to read the Gospels as each expressing its own position, with an honest appreciation of the tension between their accounts, and mindfully of which are most representative of what the earliest followers of Jesus thought and believed about him, it follows that the weight of modern conservative theology, including doctrines about the Bible itself, is very insecure.

That said, I like Evans’ approach. While he still holds (unjustifiably in my view) to much of conservative theology and a traditionally high view of scripture, he divorces himself from fundamentalist absolutes both by leaving Ehrman’s strongest charges unanswered, and by – in his closing statement – positively pointing out the futility of an absolutist interpretation of the Bible. He acknowledges, rightly, that his views are contingent and debatable, and that while he holds to the authority of a traditional interpretation, that rejection of that tradition is also a valid and honest position. It is precisely this humility that separates the modern evangelical from the modern fundamentalist, and lends respectability to the conservative position.

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As with many attempts to defend the penal substitution theory, this one “skates around the issue” as Pulliam puts it. Rather than defending penal substitution, it proposes a new theory: one that could be humorously described as the “law of conversion of Glory”. In other words, under John Piper’s theory, Jesus’ death isn’t meant as punishment that was due to us and which is taken in our place. It is a way of restoring God’s glory, something which our dying eternal torment might otherwise have accomplished.

As Pulliam points out, this is a peculiar notion, and one that you would be hard pressed to find in the Bible. And it does require some strange thinking about what Glory is and how it can be “magnified”: issues which are implicit in Piper’s argument but which he doesn’t directly address.

On the positive side, Piper’s theory lacks the underpinning of retributive justice that normally underlies the theory of penal substitution. This is worth pointing out. When it comes right down to it, I think most believers in penal substitution balk at notions of retributive justice when forced to contemplate them seriously.

In fact, I think Piper’s argument – like many arguments in favor of penal substitution shows that most believers in it don’t really accept the justice of it, and don’t want to impute that kind of perverted justice to God. I think this is why their defenses of it are often crafted in terms that (pardon the pun) substitute some other theory in its place.

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In a recent discussion of tithing, I revisited a fact that never stood out starkly to me before: under Mosaic law only agricultural landowners were required to tithe. As tithing was, as far as I can tell from scripture, the only means of finance of the Levitical government (caveats about what Solomon or other later kings required of their subjects notwithstanding), then it seems to follow that only land-owning farmers paid taxes. There was no property tax on a home if one didn’t raise one’s own livestock on the land. There was no tax that I can find on income earned laboring on someone else’s farm.

At the same time, the Levitical tax was used primarily to support the priests, who were forbidden from owning land (and therefore producing their own wealth), and secondarily for feeding “the poor”.

So, under Levitical law, taxes were purely redistributive, and uniquely “socialist” in that they applied to those who “owned the means of production” so to speak, and used primarily for the benefit of those who had no ownership of same.

Of course this is pretty irrelevant. As I mentioned before similarities to modern “socialist” schemes are interesting but we shouldn’t try to interpret radically different ancient societies through the lens of modern ideologies. And likewise, we shouldn’t build our fiscal policies today – or try to live our lives today – on the basis of a reconstruction of an ancient society’s standards.

But it’s interesting.

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