Roger Olson and the Necessity of the Holy Spirit

I've been considering this for some time. In my experience, I've never really considered how one can be truly objective in regards to interpreting the Bible. As much as I would love to claim pure objectivity, I know myself pretty well -- I'm human and I like things to line up with my world.

Happily, I'm proven wrong enough to completely wreck my own sense of objective superiority. Which is awesome in its own sad way

Roger Olson:

I know two kinds of Christians—those who think what the Bible “really means” is necessarily illuminated by the Holy Spirit such that ordinary, scholarly, rational exegesis alone does not yield its “true meaning” and those who think the “true meaning” of the Bible is discovered exegetically such that anything going beyond that is not its true meaning but its “significance” or application.

To the former I ask “How do you answer someone who discovers a ‘true meaning’ of the Bible that blatantly contradicts basic Christian doctrine and/or basic reason?” I point to sects and cults that claim to be Christian but teach esoteric meanings of Scripture that blatantly contradict what Christians have always believed about God, Jesus Christ, and salvation. (One such group even has its own Bible dictionary without which the Bible cannot properly be understood. The “true meanings” of many biblical passages are, according to the dictionary, esoteric, allegorical and contrary to sound doctrine.)

To the latter I ask “What is it that you think the preacher is communicating on Sunday mornings when he or she preaches from a text and God speaks through the sermon to afflict the comfortable or comfort the afflicted (or both)? Would you say the message of the sermon is not the true meaning of Scripture if it goes beyond what exegesis alone discovers?”

Let’s look into Scripture itself to see if it sheds some light on this disagreement over the “meaning” of Scripture.

For the rest, enjoy it here.

--Nick

Olson on Karl Barth's Universalism

Roger Olson:

As we discovered in our exegesis of Barth’s excursus about Judas in CD II/2, Barth seemed to believe that God will allow a reconciled sinner to go on living the lie, without the knowledge of his or her reconciliation with God, into hell. Perhaps for Barth “hell” is this lie and the living of it.

Therefore, insofar as “saved” means living in the joy and blessing of fellowship with God, the personal decision of faith is necessary for salvation.
We are coming, then, to the conclusion that the controversy over whether Barth was a universalist or not comes down to a matter of semantics. (Which is not to say it’s unimportant.) Apparently, in spite of some confusing ways of expressing it, Barth believed in at least two distinct senses of being “saved.” One is the objective reconciliation with God extended to all people because of Jesus Christ and his life, death and resurrection. In that sense, because of election and atonement, all are saved. No personal decision of faith is required for it to be ontologically true and real. The other is the subjective fellowship with God enjoyed by those who, through a personal decision of faith, embrace their identity as reconciled persons. Such persons alone are “Christians.” But they alone are not “saved.” At least some, if not all, of those who reject their election and reconciliation, will, in spite of being saved, go to hell, understood either literally as Lewis’ painful refuge after death or figuratively as the lie lived in misery. Even they, however, are “saved” in the objective sense. And, according to Barth, based on the statement quoted earlier, God will continue to proclaim the kerygma to them, apparently with the hope and intention that they will somehow, sometime become saved in both senses.
Our thesis and conclusion agrees almost entirely with one of Barth’s most astute German interpreters Walter Kreck in his magisterial Grundentscheidungen in Karl Barths Dogmatik: Zur Diskussion seines Verständnisses von Offenbarung und Erwählung (roughly translated Basic Decisions in Karl Barth’s Dogmatics: Toward a Discussion of his Understanding of Revelation and Election). There, in the middle of an exposition and discussion of Barth’s doctrine of election, Kreck asked whether it leads to apokatastasis. He concluded that Barth did not want to draw that conclusion, but that it seems logically to follow from Barth’s doctrine of election.[15] On the other hand, Kreck also wrote that Barth rejected “speculating” (about ultimate reconciliation) and attempted to hold to the “open situation of proclamation” (in place of a doctrine of apokatastasis).[16] However, what Barth wanted and what Barth logically implied (as necessary) appear to be two different things.
The main contribution, if it can be called that, of this research project is that Barth was and was not a universalist. The solution is not sheer paradox, however. He was a universalist in the sense of everyone, all human persons, being reconciled to God, not just as something potential but as something actual from God’s side. He was not a universalist in the sense of believing that everyone, all human persons, will necessarily know and experience that reconciliation automatically, apart from any faith, having fellowship with God now or hereafter. Without doubt, however, he was a hopeful universalist in that second sense of the word.

For the rest, enjoy it here.

--Nick

Olson, "Confessions of a Christian Humanist"

Olson:

I confess it. I’m a Christian humanist.

Some years ago I saw an article in a fundamentalist denomination’s magazine entitled “Are You a Christian Humanist?” Having long considered myself one, and thinking most fundamentalist Christians probably aren’t, I began reading the article with interest. The author, a pastor, defined “Christian humanist” as a person who (among other things) watches TV more than reads the Bible. Needless to say, I was disappointed. 

The phrase “Christian humanism” has a long and honorable pedigree. It was first attached (so far as I know) to the “philosophy of Christ” of Desiderius Erasmus during the Reformation. Later, in response to the rise of secular humanism especially in the 1930s “Christian humanism” was used to label the Christian alternative by, among others, Catholic thinker Jacques Maritain who wrote Integral Humanism in 1936. That book was a response to the 1933 “Humanist Manifesto.” (A version of Maritain’s thought about humanism was published in 1938 in the U.S. under the title True Humanism. According to its Preface it is based on a series of lectures; the preface doesn’t mention the 1936 book.)

Since Maritain’s exposition of Christian humanism, numerous Christian scholars have adopted the phrase and published books and articles on the subject. For evangelicals, one of the most prominent was J. I. Packer’s and Thomas Howard’s Christianity: The True Humanism (1985).

In its January, 1982 issue, Eternity magazine (of blessed memory, may it RIP), published “A Christian Humanist Manifesto” in direct response to the (secular) Humanist Manifesto II of 1973. But also in response to the fundamentalist and conservative evangelical attacks on “humanism” as essentially pernicious throughout the 1970s and into the 1980s. (Many of you may not be old enough to remember that campaign to vilify all “humanism” as evil led by the likes of Tim LaHaye and others. According to them, “humanism” is to be found barely hidden in public school textbooks. For several years conservative evangelicals especially sought for and found “humanism” hanging on every doorknob including in Christian colleges. It was a major impetus for the then growing home schooling movement.)

Eternity’s prologue to its Christian Humanist Manifesto noted that secular humanism is a real danger to society and not “a fundamentalist fantasy” even though “some of the attack on secular humanism offered by Christians has been shallow and misinformed.” Its Manifesto was written by Eternity’s editors in consultation with a stellar list of evangelical leaders including Donald Bloesch, Bernard Ramm, Arthur Holmes, J. I. Packer, James Sire and Richard Bube.

The Christian Humanist Manifesto deserves much wider dissemination and discussion than it received. I think it is still a valuable resource for Christian unity amid diversity in a Western world increasingly dominated by secularism. Unfortunately, in my experience, most Christians still think of “humanism” as essentially bad; they equate it with secular humanism and atheism. Almost completely forgotten except among Christian scholars is that Christianity is the “true humanism” rooted in Scripture (e.g., Psalms and especially in Scripture’s witness to the imago dei.

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Olson, "Inerrnacy & Definition/s"

Olson:

Kenton (“Kent”) Sparks is professor of biblical studies at Eastern University (American Baptist) in Pennsylvania. He has authored books such as Ancient Texts for the Study of the Hebrew Bible and God’s Word in Human Words. He identifies as an evangelical. Some critics will question that identification, but I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt and view “evangelical” as a fuzzy category.

In my opinion, a person can be evangelical without adhering all the way to every part of the so-called “received evangelical tradition” (stamped as that tends to be by Old Princeton theology).
Without question Sparks’ argument is bold—at least among evangelical and relatively conservative Protestants. It will be interesting to see how it plays out among moderate to progressive (postconservative) evangelicals.

What’s especially interesting about the book is Sparks’ response to the Old Testament “texts of terror”—something we have discussed here quite a lot. If I understand his thesis correctly, it is very similar to what I have argued here—that the Old Testament must be interpreted in light of the New and that, at least occasionally, reports in the Old Testament (about what God commanded people to do) must be relativized in light of the character of God revealed in Jesus Christ who is the Word of God in person.

Here is one especially clear statement of the book’s overall thesis:

Scripture, as a book written by fallible human beings, is itself a book of theological discourse that that advances the truth but also stands in need of redemption. Scripture is beautiful and broken, and it is being read and studied in the church, and sometimes outside of the church, by beautiful and broken human beings. Nevertheless, Christians have theological and philosophical reasons to suppose that, when we read Scripture well, we are able to understand it. And as we understand it, we shall find that God’s truth and beauty run deeper, and are more potent, than the brokenness that God is healing. (88)

In other words, according to Sparks, there are records in Scripture that simply cannot be trusted as true because of the Bible’s humanity. He begins with blatant contradictions such as the accounts of Judas’ betrayal of Jesus and death in Matthew and Acts; they cannot be reconciled. Most people are not particularly bothered by that. Only neo-fundamentalists find it necessary to try to harmonize them. The differences are not important theologically. One can easily respond to them by saying that, in spite of such contradictions, the Bible is “perfect with respect to purpose” (John Piper). We can chalk such flaws to human fallibility so long as we hold to a dynamic rather than verbal view of inspiration. (By “verbal inspiration” here I mean the idea that God led the writers to the exact words he wanted them to use. By “dynamic inspiration” here I mean the idea that God led the writers to the ideas he wanted them to record but allowed their personalities and cultures and fallible memories, etc., to affect what they wrote.)

What will trouble many evangelicals more is Sparks’ handling of the Old Testament texts of terror:

Where we judge that Scripture presents God as saying or doing something he would not say or do, we should confess that “these texts tell us more about the purposes of their human authors than about the purposes of God.” We will simply admit that the author of Deuteronomy wrongly believed (as Luther did) that God told his people to slaughter their enemies. To express in theological jargon, Scripture includes both “God-talk” (first-order words from God to humanity) and “god-talk-talk” (mistaken, second-order accounts of what God has supposedly said. This is an important distinction…. (105-106)

Telling the difference between these two types of texts is a matter of Christological discernment, not cultural accommodation. Sparks adamantly rejects any idea that his proposal is based on modern sentiments. To those who disagree he rightly points back to church fathers such as Gregory of Nazianzus and John Chrysostom and others who freely admitted that the texts of terror in question could not be taken at face value. The way premodern Christians handled them was to allegorize them. That method isn’t open to us. So where does that leave us?

 For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Olson's Respond to Fischer's "Calvinism"

Olson:

I do agree with much of what Austin wrote. In fact, I agree with the substance of it. I think a lot of critics of his post entirely missed his concluding remarks (criticisms) about “moderate” preaching–that it is sometimes too weak and lacking confidence in its own gospel message.

I have a one frame cartoon from (I think) Leadership magazine (years ago) showing a bespectacled minister sitting at his church office desk. Behind him is an attendance chart showing Sunday attendance at his church declining steeply. Across from his desk sits someone (a deacon?) saying “Well, pastor, maybe it would help if you didn’t end every sermon with ‘But then, what do I  know’?”
But another one shows a church custodian cleaning up around the pulpit on a Monday and seeing a post-it note in the pastor’s handwriting on the pulpit saying “Weak point, pound pulpit here.”
Austin rightly called for the current crop of “neo-Calvinist” preachers to preach with less certainty and authority (because what they are preaching is often opinion) and moderates to preach with more assurance and confidence (of the gospel).

I will stop speaking for Austin (and ask him to correct me if I got him wrong) and add my own commentary on the subject.

Yes, as some commenters here have rightly pointed out, Arminian preachers can also preach with over-reaching certainty that leaves no room for disagreement or doubt (that is, calling into question a person’s spirituality if not salvation for disagreeing or doubting). That’s just not currently as much of a problem with college students (especially) who are flocking to student conferences attended by upwards of twenty-to-thirty thousand students who hear neo-Calvinist (or whatever they should be called) preachers proclaim Calvinism as if it were the gospel itself and saying things like “If you received Jesus Christ for any other reason than the glory of God you might not be saved” and “Godordained sin” and “Christ died for God and not for you” and “If a dirty bomb fell on a city it would be from God,” etc., etc. (These are statements students returning from these conference and ones like them have reported hearing.)

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Austin Fischer, "The New Calvinism and Preaching"

Austin Fischer:

My Conversion…to Calvinism

I was converted to Calvinism because of the preaching of John Piper. I was in high school and somebody gave me a book he had written. I read it, understood some of it, and then began listening to his sermons and through the process of listening to sermon after sermon, eventually discovered I was a Calvinist.

My story isn’t unique. Indeed, I think most people’s conversion to Calvinism goes something along the lines of, “Well I started listening to Piper/Chandler/Driscoll/Chan’s preaching and woke up one day a Calvinist.” There’s no mystery here: it’s a rare occurrence when one consistently sits under someone’s preaching and doesn’t pick up on his/her theological presuppositions. The mystery is why so many people are currently listening to Neo-Calvinist preaching. And by this I mean, what are the causes for the proliferation of prominent Calvinist preachers with so much influence and appeal, especially among younger generations?

Better Preaching Material?

C. Michael Patton recently examined this issue on his blog and his hypothesis is that in the current cultural climate, Calvinism just preaches better (than its alternatives, Arminianism in particular). By this he means that in a world of ambiguity, skepticism, and uncertainty, Calvinism’s emphasis on the absolute sovereignty of God is better preaching material than any sort of free will theism. As Patton says, “Evangelicals love to hear about the sovereignty of God, the glory of God in suffering, the security of God’s grace, the providence of God over missions, and yes, even the utter depravity of man. This stuff preaches. This stuff sells tickets.”[1]

In the opening chapter of Against Calvinism, Roger Olson makes a similar connection by suggesting that Calvinism’s emphasis on certainty and sovereignty has been an anchor for those seeking refuge from the difficulties of finding faith in a postmodern context.[2]

I think Patton and Olson are clearly on to something. Although I’m no specialist on the matter, it’s always seemed to me that Calvinism is far more at home in modernity than postmodernity. 

Calvinism, once accepted, provides an inner logic with virtually no loose ends that offers its adherents a strong sense of certainty. Calvinists believe God is in absolute control, that no event happens unless God ordains it, and so in any and all circumstances they can be absolutely certain that God’s exact plan is unfolding. So for those going through certainty withdrawals, Calvinistic preaching can be a welcome remedy, especially when it is articulated with the passion of people like Piper and Driscoll. In other words, they are preaching that we can have certainty and they are preaching it with certainty. And this stuff does indeed sell!

As such, I think the current appeal of Calvinist preaching has less to do with passion and more to do with certainty. Thus, I would contend that it is not so much that Calvinism preaches better as it is that certainty preaches better. It always has and always will, but it is especially appealing in a postmodern context (or post-postmodern, or whatever we are in now), which seems inundated with ambiguity. I might go even further and argue that at the heart of most passionate movements, you will find a message of certainty preached with certainty.

Of course the larger issue is whether or not certainty, while obviously desirable, is responsible. This is a nuanced and contentious issue, but one I think needs some serious attention. I have argued elsewhere that certainty in our beliefs about God is not merely bad manners but bad theology.[3] In other words, of course preaching certainty with certainty is going to sell and create a movement. But does it create good disciples?

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Heresy, Heretics & Semi-Pelagianism"

Olson:

The recent “dust up” over possible semi-Pelagianism among certain Baptists has given rise to the usual confusion about terms like “heresy” and “heretic.” So let’s clear things up a little (hopefully).

What makes a belief “heresy?” Well, there’s no easy answer to that unless it is within a church or denomination that has a formal magisterium. Such as the Roman Catholic Church. Some beliefs have been formally “anathematized” by a council or a pope. Then they are heresies. Somewhere, several times over the centuries, what we have been calling “semi-Pelagianism” here has been declared heresy by that Church. Some Protestant churches have also declared it heresy. Not all. If a belief has been formally declared anathema or heresy by a church magisterium, then, within that church or denomination it is heresy–there. Whether it is heresy outside that church or denomination is a difficult question. For example, what sense would it make to say that a Buddhist is teaching the “Nestorian heresy?” However, a Catholic, for example, might say that a certain Protestant is teaching that heresy. But “heresy” has somewhat different meanings even there–inside and outside that church.

Many “free churches” have no magisterium or even formal, written statement of faith. For example, the American Baptist Churches, U.S.A. is a denomination without a magisterium or formal, written statement of faith that could be used as an instrument of doctrinal accountability. So “heresy” is a very problematic concept there. Still, an ABCUSA leader or theologians might say that a person within the denomination is teaching heresy. That’s meaningless unless they explain what they mean by “heresy.” Usually in such a context it means a belief believed to be seriously contrary to the gospel or Baptist practice. For example, a conservative ABCUSA person might say “Such-and-such a pastor is teaching the heresy of universalism.”  But since there’s no agreed on list of heresies in that denomination, the person using the term can only mean ‘I think that pastor is teaching a doctrine contrary to the gospel” or to Baptist practice. In other words, in that context, “heresy” has no teeth other than the damage that might be done to a person’s reputation.

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Problems with Inerrancy"

Roger Olson:

Notice I put “inerrancy” in “scare quotes.” That’s to indicate that what I am talking about is the term, not precisely the concept. Or, to put it another way, my concern is that the term is used for many different concepts and therefore, without definition, is virtually meaningless.

Now I am going to quote a leading evangelical theologian’s definition of biblical inerrancy. I’m not revealing his name first; his identity as the definition’s author is below it. I challenge you to read the definition first and only then see who wrote it. And before peeking at the author’s name, formulate an opinion about it. Is the definition what you thought “inerrancy” means? Is it what leading conservative evangelical inerrantist theologians mean? How many would agree with it?

Here is the definition which is copyrighted, but the author’s web site gives permission to disseminate it with the copyright line following. I also provide, as requested, a link to the source of the definition at the author’s web site. (However, I first encountered it elsewhere; it was given to me by a colleague many years ago.)

The definition:

“I. The Word of God

“The Bible is…without error in the original manuscripts…”  Since there is a wide diversity of opinions on the meaning of “error” in such an affirmation, it is appropriate that I give my understanding of the word in this context so that you know what I am affirming.

I will suggest two definitions of “error”, the first of which I consider proper for judging the reliability of any literature including the Bible and the second of which I consider improper.  According to the first I believe the Bible is “without error”.

1) A writer is in error when the basic intention in his statements and admonitions, properly understood in their nearer and wider context, is not true.  (In reference to indicative statements, “true” means they correspond to reality; in reference to admonitions “true” means that obedience of these admonitions is in harmony with reality, i.e., it accords with the will of God.)

2) A writer is in error if any of his individual statements are not literally true.

The difference between these two definitions and my own understanding of the truth of the Bible may be clarified by three illustrations from Scripture. (To many of my fellow theologians the following would sound elementary to the point of being superfluous. But in my tradition it is a necessary starting point if we are to come to properly understand our affirmation on Scripture.)

A) God says against Jerusalem through Jeremiah (15:8), “I have made their widows more in number than the sand of the sea.” This statement is “literally” false.  But according to definition 1 above, it is not false since the basic intention of Jeremiah is to press home (by an exaggeration which had become a commonplace analogy in the Old Testament) the tragically large number of widows as a sign of God’s judgment.

B) Jesus says in Mark 4:31 that the Kingdom of God “is like a grain of mustard seed which when sown upon the ground is the smallest of all the seeds on earth…”  According to definition 2 above, Jesus erred here because the mustard seed is not the smallest seed on the earth.  But according to the first definition he did not err because his basic intention was not in the least botanical.  The point is the great contrast between the smallness of the seed and the largeness of the full-grown shrub.  Jesus capitalized on the proverbial smallness of the mustard seed (TWNT, VII, p. 288) to make a perfect, inerrant point about the Kingdom of God.

C) If we used definition 2 above the Gospel writers would have to be accused of error in their chronology of events of Jesus’ life.  Just one illustration: The story of the healing of the paralytic (Mt. 9:1-8 = Mk 2:1-12 = Lk 5:17-26), the call of Levi (Mt 9:9-13 = Mk 2:13-17 = Lk 5:27-32), and the question about fasting (Mt 9:14-47 = Mk 2:18-22 = Lk 5:33-39) follow back to back in all three Synoptics and so refer to the same events.  Again, the stilling of the storm (Mt 8:23-27 = Mk 4:35-41 = Lk 8:22-25) and the Gesarene demoniac (Mt 8:28 = Mk 5:1-20 = Lk 8:26-39) follow back to back in all three Synoptics so that with the verbal parallels one can see that the same sequence of events is being referred to in each Gospel.  But Matthew has these last two events before the three cited above.  While Mark and Luke have them after these three events.  It cannot be both ways.

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Inerrancy"

Olson:

What does “inerrancy” actually do?

During this week’s brouhaha over possible semi-Pelagianism among Southern Baptist theologians (see the previous two posts and the comments here), one response has stuck in my mind and given me reason to worry. It worries me more than the possibility of semi-Pelagianism in the ranks of the theologians.

I confess that throughout this budding controversy I have occasionally broken a personal policy. Normally I do not go to other blogs to see what others are saying about the subjects we talk about here. But the policy isn’t iron clad; it’s not a rule, just a rule of thumb to protect my time. If I went to every blog someone recommends I read, I’d never get anything else done. So, normally, I only go if the blog is by someone I respect or whose opinions I consider influential and the subject is directly relevant to a matter I’m working on here.

This week I followed a link one commenter provided to a blog containing quotes by leading Baptist theologians about this issue of possible semi-Pelagianism among non-Calvinist Southern Baptist theologians. One of those quotes was from a Southern Baptist seminary president’s blog. (Don’t try to drag a name out of me or even mention possible ones; I’m not interested in personalities here. I’m talking about ideas.)

The well-known seminary president began this particular blog post by congratulating the Southern Baptist theologians he was about to criticize for at least believing in the inerrancy of the Bible. He said he was glad to be having this conversation with them (over grace and free will) because at least they and he agree on biblical inerrancy.

Two things caught my attention about that and made me worry. First, why didn’t the seminary president begin by saying at least he and his debate partners agree about Jesus Christ or salvation by grace? Why jump immediately and directly to the Bible—and a particular theory about the Bible?

For the rest, click  HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Why I still call Myself a Baptist."

Olson:

Some of my theological friends criticize me for holding on to my “Baptist” identity in the current theological and political context (especially the U.S.A.) where these labels have largely come to mean mean-spirited, narrow-minded, legalistic, even hypocritical religiosity and where they are virtually equated with the Religious Right, of which I am not a part.

Many Baptist churches have dropped the word “Baptist” from their names because it has been so tarnished by television evangelists, right-wing religious politicians and the so-called “Baptist wars” of the last twenty-five to thirty-five years.

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Christian Egalitarian" Quote

“As someone who has experienced the wonderful pastoral leadership of two women in two successive evangelical churches I know experientially what I have always found in Scripture—that women and men are equally called and gifted by God for Christian ministry. I heartily appreciate and endorse the ministry of Christians for Biblical Equality and hope that its ministry will help to free both women and men from the bondage of cultural accommodation to hierarchical male domination in churches and families.”

—Dr. Roger E. Olson

Author; Lecturer; Professor, George W. Truett Theological Seminary, Baylor University, Waco, TX

Roger Olson, "How to Believe without Being Fundamentalist"

Olson:

Because of the prevalence of fundamentalism (and what I have here called “neo-fundamentalism”) in American religious life, many moderate Christian pastors struggle with how to preach and teach Christian truth, doctrine, without being absolutistic, narrow, presumptuous and exclusive. I receive questions like that all the time and it seems to be a question hanging “in the air,” so to speak, in many, if not most, moderate Christian churches and educational institutions.

I have been critically reviewing chapters in The Gospel as Center. I often have the impression that these authors, all members of something called The Gospel Coalition, have a fundamentalist mentality. That is, they approach and exposit doctrine from within a fundamentalist ethos. In varying degrees they treat truth as black and white (absolutistic). Beliefs are either “gospel truth” or heresy. (There are, of course, exceptions to this. One came up in the chapter I most recently reviewed. It had to do with tolerance of both cessationism and continuationism. However, the author condemned belief in the baptism of the Holy Spirit as a second definite work of grace as “horribly mistaken.” That kind of language is, to me, fundamentalist. It was the kind of rhetoric used by fundamentalist forces that tried to keep Pentecostals out of the National Association of Evangelicals when it was formed in 1942.)

One way I describe fundamentalism (as an ethos) is its tendency to shift most beliefs from the “opinion” and “doctrine” categories into the “dogma” category. (I’ve explained these three categories and their inevitability and importance in detail in several of my books.) That is to say, beliefs most Christians view as important but not essential get re-placed in the category of essentials of the faith (“fundamentals”).  One example of that in the current neo-fundamentalist phenomenon is monergism.

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Fundamentalism of the Left"

I should just copy and paste something here for my thoughts on Olson. ;)

Olson:

I put “fundamentalism” in scare quotes to distinguish its use here from its proper, historical-theological use. It’s proper historical-theological use has to do with the movement of conservative Protestants to oppose theological liberalism in denominations and seminaries (etc.) that arose in the early 20th century and with its various manifestations past and present. In that proper sense, there is no “fundamentalism of the left.”

However, many people (including yours truly occasionally) use “fundamentalism” to designate a certain mindset and style of argumentation especially within religious circles. That is, it is often used in popular speech (what the Germans call Umgangsprache) to designate an ethos exhibited by individuals or groups. That ethos is usually understood to include a very black-and-white view of complicated issues, a tendency to absolutize doctrinal and moral beliefs most people would consider secondary (at best), and a tendency to use almost any means to oppose, marginalize, silence opponents’ views.

Let me be clear: I do NOT think most “real fundamentalists” (in the historical-theological sense) are “fundamentalists” in the popular ethos sense. Somehow or other, the label was drawn from the historical-theological phenomenon and applied to a certain mentality and pattern of behavior discernible across the spectrum of theological (and sometimes political) views.

I wish there were a different label for mean-spirited religious absolutism. But perhaps one has to go with the flow of language and accept that “fundamentalism” is now widely understood in that sense. That is the sense I mean here when I speak about a “fundamentalism of the left.”

For the rest, click HERE.

--Nick

Roger Olson, "Plantinga, Science & Theology"

As always, blah blah blah.

Olson:

I did not get to hear Alvin Plantinga when he spoke at my university a couple weeks ago. His topic was theology and science. He has a new book about it that I plan to read (when I have a month to digest it!).

Several people have asked me here about what role I think science does play in theology. That’s because I rejected as invalid “Dear Abby’s” claim that modern science has made the Bible’s view of homosexuality invalid. I said that science can’t do that.

The argument is that if science proves (as some allege has happened) that sexual orientation is biological/genetic, then we have to believe that same sex sexual behavior is morally right. The usual caveat is that it must be mutual and not coercive. And, of course, that it must be between consenting adults.

The reason this doesn’t touch the traditional Christian stance about sex outside of heterosexual marriage is that traditional Christianity has always taught that we are all fallen and born with sinful inclinations (orientations). Science proving that homosexual desire is biological/genetic wouldn’t affect that belief any more than science proving that men are naturally inclined toward sexual promiscuity would force Christians to alter their belief about sexual promiscuity. (One could go on and talk about alcoholism and numerous other conditions that may very well be biological/genetic but not therefore morally good to act on.)

The larger issue, of course, is whether you can ever derive an “ought” (moral imperative positive or negative) from an “is.” Science deals ONLY with “is.” Ethics deals with “ought.” The latter cannot be based on the former in a causal relationship. Certainly what is the case may have some bearing on decisions about what ought to be the case, but what is the case can never determine what ought to be the case. By definition “ought” goes beyond “is.”

Oughtness requires something transcendent to nature. Attempting to derive ought from is is called the “naturalistic fallacy.” Whether a certain sexual behavior is right or wrong cannot be determined by observing nature–even by observing what people do that they cannot help.

Illustration: Let’s suppose that the day arrives when science demonstrates conclusively that pedophilia is biological/genetic. I do not know of anyone who would argue that that would result in our having to conclude that adults preying on children is okay.

I have been told by scientists that it is just as likely that, in some people, alcohol addiction is genetic as that homosexual orientation is genetic. Yet I know of no one who argues that abusing alcohol (or abusing oneself with it) is good or right or even neutral. It’s a bad thing that people ought not to do.

For the rest. . . 

Olson/Patheos

--Nick

Roger Olson, "How Serious a Heresy is Universalism?"

Blah blah blah interesting comment blah blah blah Roger Olson blah blah blah.

Olson:

I have called universalism “the most attractive heresy.”  For a lover of God’s love, universal salvation might seem to be necessary.  (I guarantee you that some neo-fundamentalist will take that sentence out of context and attribute it to me without acknowledging what follows.) 

However, I’m not a universalist.  On the other hand, I’d rather be a universalist than a true Calvinist (i.e., a five point Calvinist who believes in double predestination).  

Someone once asked me whether I would still worship God if somehow I became convinced the Calvinist view of God is correct.  I had to say no.  Sheer power is not worthy of worship.  Only power controlled by love is worthy of worship.
If somehow I became convinced that universalism is correct, would I still worship God.  Yes, but…. 

I would have to wonder how a God of love can enjoy love from creatures that is not given freely.  Of course, someone might argue that, in the end, every creature will freely offer love to God and be saved (e.g., Moltmann).  I would just call that optimism.  There’s no way to believe that true other than a leap of optimistic hope. 

Everyone harbors some heresy in his or her heart and mind.  The only question is–how serious are the heresies one holds?  Of course, nobody thinks they harbor any heresies (in the sense of theologically incorrect beliefs).
I agree with Swiss theologian Emil Brunner (and others) that universalism is heresy.  It is unbiblical and illogical.  However, that does not mean a person who holds it is not a Christian.  I have never met a Christian who was one hundred percent theologically correct.  Scratch hard enough and you’ll always find some heresy beneath the surface (if not on the surface).  That’s true for me as much as for anyone else.  If I thought I held no heresies, I’d think I had already arrived at the fullness of truth–something even the apostle Paul did not claim. 

I think universalism is a minor heresy SO LONG AS it does not interfere with evangelism.  (See my earlier post here about why universalism should NOT interfere with evangelism.)  I also evaluate the seriousness of universalism by its context–viz., why does the person affirm it?  If universalism is evidence of a denial of God’s wrath and/or human sinfulness, then it is much more serious.  Barth’s universalism (yes, I believe Karl Barth was a universalist and I’ll post a message here about why later) did not arise out of those denials which is why he didn’t like the appellation “universalist.”  The term is usually associated with liberal theology.  In that case, as part of an overall liberal/modernist theology, I consider it very serious indeed. 

Strictly historically speaking, any universalism is heresy–according to all major branches of Christianity.  The Catholic church allows hope for universal salvation but not confident affirmation of it.  But, of course, as Luther demonstrated, all branches of Christianity can be wrong.  That is why I reject paleo-orthodoxy and any appeal to absolute authority of tradition.  Tradition gets a vote but never a veto.  The Bible trumps tradition. 

When universalism is believed on biblical grounds (as in The Evangelical Universalist by Gregory McDonald–a pseudonym), it is much less serious than when it is believed as part of a liberal theology that denies the wrath of God and the sinfulness of all human beings (except Jesus Christ, of course). 

(Sidebar regarding neo-fundamentalism: A neo-fundamentalism is someone who will take what I have written here and claim I have affirmed universalism or at least given aid and comfort to heretics.  A neo-fundamentalist, like a straightforward fundamentalist, is a person who cannot distinguish between non-absolute condemnation of error and error itself.  Count on it.  Some probably Southern Baptist heresy-hunting neo-fundamentalist will pick up on this blog post and spread it around as “proof” that Roger Olson harbors sympathies with universalism.  That is, however, evidence of either a weak mind or ill will.) 

So, what is my final word on universalism?  I don’t have a “final word” on it because “it” is not all that clear.  What kind of universalism?  Based on what?  I consider all positive affirmations of universal salvation that include denial of everlasting hell heretical.  But not all are equally bad or condemnable.  Some are based on confusion.  Some are based on liberal theology.  Some (e.g., Karl Barth’s) are based on the logic of God’s love and electing grace (viz., “Jesus is victor!”).  All are wrong, but not all are equally bad. 

Let me be clear.  (This is necessary because of the power of neo-fundamentalists within evangelicalism today!)  I am not a universalist nor do I sympathize with universalism.  I am simply trying to get people to consider the possibility that not all versions of universalism are on the same level of error.  There is egregious error and there is simple error.  One kind of universalism (based on denial of God’s wrath and human sinfulness) is egregious error.  Another kind (based on confusion about God’s love requiring his overriding free will) is simple error.  I hope I don’t hold any egregious errors, but I’m sure I hold some simple errors.  I am open to having those pointed out to me.

Roger Olson/Heresy & Universalism

A postscrip thoughtt: I'm not certain if Olson really defines heresy. I also think Olson should read Eric Reitan's post in Universal Salvation? The Current Debate where Reitan engages with Jerry Walls and Thomas Talbott on the issue of libertarian freedom and universal salvation. Reitan doesn't see that as much of an issue and neither does Talbott.

I think getting Reitan, Talbott and Olson to sit down and break open a bottle would be a great experience for all.

Yeah, I'm still plugging that book. :)

--Nick

Austin Fischer, "Certainty Not"

This has long been one of my issues with the YRR movement, though to be fair this problem is fairly prominent within Christendom as a whole.

What follows is a guest post by Austin Fischer, Teaching Pastor at Vista Community Church, Belton, Texas. Austin is a seminary graduate with strong interest in theology. As always with guest posts, I have to say that “The opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Roger Olson.” However, I wouldn’t put this here if I didn’t agree with its basic message. These are Austin’s words, so I am going to let him respond to comments about this message.

Certainty Not

“Theology is the study of God and his ways. For all we know, dung beetles may study us and our ways and call it humanology. If so, we would probably be more touched and amused than irritated. One hopes that God feels likewise.”[1]

Pretention and Certainty

“And you think your stuff doesn’t stink.” The adage may sound crass, but the problem it highlights is crass: pretention. There are few things more repulsive than pretention. The teenager who knows it all, the sports fan who has never lost an argument, the theology major who has unlocked all the mysteries of the universe. An hour locked in a room with any of the aforementioned persons is enough to make the strongest heart weak.

And lots of things go into pretention: pride and projection, arrogance and insecurities, knowledge and ignorance. But at its very core pretention, especially theological pretension, feeds on certainty. We become pretentious when we get certain, when we become convinced that there is simply no way we could be wrong about this, when we cannot see any truth in alternative positions, when we can no longer feel the weight of dissenting voices and as such seek to squelch them out.

But of course when it comes to theology, certainty is impossible. Finite human beings are trying to make sense of an infinite God. We always know God subjectively, never objectively. Perhaps the most certain thing we can say about God is that we cannot be certain about anything. This is not to say we cannot be confident, that we cannot have good reason to believe what we believe. But it is to say that certainty will always lie just beyond our grasp. Certainty? No. Confidence? Yes.

Bad Tone and Bad Theology

In my estimation, the tone of modern American evangelical theological rhetoric belies a furious, but ultimately impossible and misguided attempt, for certainty. Allow me to speak from my context and experience. The Young, Restless, and Reformed movement and its vast web of associated organizations (The Gospel Coalition, Sovereign Grace Ministries, Acts 29 Network, Passion Conferences, etc.) have experienced amazing growth and gained incredible influence. And yet for many who have ears to hear, it often strikes the shrill chord of pretention.

I used to be young, restless, and Reformed. I understand why people embrace five or four point Calvinism. I see how they look at Scripture and think it teaches unconditional election and irresistible grace. And I see how they find any sort of free will theism problematic. Where do free decisions come from if not from God? How else do you translate Romans 9? I get it. I get how they could think it stinks.

What I don’t get is how they don’t smell, well, their own stink. How is God good, just, or loving in creating people for eternal damnation for sins he ordained they commit? Is Calvinism truly Christocentric? Are the emphases of the Gospels the emphases of Calvinism? How do we make sense of the numerous places in the Bible that implore us to make decisions on the apparent assumption that we actually can? How is human moral responsibility coherent in a determinist framework? I’m not saying there are no answers to these questions. I am saying that to me (and many others) they all stink.

I’m okay with acknowledging that some of my answers to difficult questions stink (or will stink to others). And I’m okay with it because while I hold my beliefs with a great deal of confidence, I know I cannot hold them with absolute certainty. Many in the YRR (and especially its leaders) just don’t seem to be able to smell the scent they’re putting off. They are just…so…certain. And they seem to think this certainty is a sign of knowledge and authority. Perhaps it’s just a sign of bad theology.

Transcending Transcendence

What is perhaps most ironic is that Calvinist theology has traditionally placed a heavy emphasis on the transcendence of God. God is said to be so beyond human comprehension that we have no right to call into question his goodness, justice, or love, even in light of his reprobation of some. God operates on a plane for which there is little or no analogy. But if God is indeed so transcendent, how can they be so certain of the truth of their beliefs? Is TULIP an exception to God’s transcendence? Free will theism is often accused of belittling God’s transcendence, of forgetting how holy and other God is. And yet Neo-Calvinism appears to do far worse: it attempts to transcend God’s transcendence. This lies at the heart of theological pretention and the culture of certainty for where transcendence is honored, certainty and thus pretention are deflated and humility blossoms.

Though I disagree with Calvinism, Calvinism isn’t the real problem. The problem is theological pretention, which has become a dangerous bedfellow of Neo-Calvinism.Theological pretension needs to be challenged but not merely because it is bad manners. It is bad theology. It is theology that attempts to transcend transcendence. And bad theology produces bad disciples.

Theological Reconciliation

In a recent edition of Christianity Today, John Piper was asked about theological reconciliation. Borrowing from Frances Schaeffer, Piper suggests that theological reconciliation might look like throwing love bombs over the walls between us instead of hate bombs. Hmmm. While throwing love bombs over walls is certainly preferable to throwing hate bombs, I would think tearing down the walls (or at least making nice, big doors) would be more helpful for theological reconciliation. And to state the obvious, the throwing of bombs over walls would seem to assume we couldn’t get together in the same room, which is a shame. Messages taped to hurled bombs (podcasts, books, conferences, tweets) don’t exactly scream reconciliation. They scream, “I’m certain about this so you better come over here.” This shouldn’t be a surprise though. Reconciliation isn’t important in a culture of certainty.

This is further fleshed out by Piper’s remarks regarding his infamous “farewell Rob Bell” tweet wherein he explains what he meant:

When I watched the video of Rob Bell that was put up on Justin Taylor’s website, which was, I think, a link to his book on hell, my issue there was not primarily his view of hell. It was his cynicism concerning the Cross of Jesus Christ as a place where the Father atoned for the sins of his children and dealt with his own wrath by punishing me in his son. Rob Bell does not admire that. He doesn’t view the Cross that way, as a penal substitution. I consider that the essence of the Cross and my salvation, and the heart of God for me, and that ticked me off royally…And so, there’s a point for “Thus far, no further, farewell.” There are other points where we ought to be cultivating all those courtesies.

First, Bell doesn’t deny penal substitution in the video. He implicitly criticizes a certain understanding of penal substitution (some would say a caricature) wherein a select few are saved from a bloodthirsty God by the intervention of Jesus. But more to our point, Piper seems to indicate that he is willing to say “farewell” to people who don’t share his particular understanding of penal substitution or view it as the “heart of God”.

Does he realize how many Christians he is saying “farewell” to? Is he aware of just how many orthodox, evangelical Christians don’t consider penal substitution the “very heart of God”? But that’s the thing. He probably does know, he just doesn’t care, and he doesn’t care because he’s so certain he’s right. As noted above, theological reconciliation will never be organic in a culture of certainty. The same could be said for humility, which lies at the root of theological reconciliation. What will be organic in a culture of certainty is pretention, and its seeds are currently blooming for the whole world to see.

And while I am hesitant to pull the Jesus card here, I just can’t help myself. Piper claims throwing love bombs and sending “farewell” tweets is justified because Jesus was “really hard on certain theological differences.” And I suspect at this point Mark Driscoll would chime in and note that when Jesus comes back (taking a breather from his eternal MMA cage match with the Holy Spirit) he will have a sword, a tattoo, and is coming for blood. But to state the obvious, none of us are the resurrected Messiah come back to judge the world; therefore we don’t use swords or throw bombs.

Additionally, I can’t help but notice that Jesus’ anger was almost exclusively stoked by people who were pushing for theologies of exclusion, theologies rooted in pretention (Jesus’ diatribe against the Pharisees in Matthew 23 and the cleansing of the Temple stand out). So if we insist on throwing love bombs, how about we at least throw the bombs Jesus threw?

A Way Forward: More Transcendence

Of course everything I have noted about neo-Calvinism could be turned the opposite way. Neo-Calvinism certainly hasn’t cornered the market on pretention. But the simple fact is that in American evangelicalism, neo-Calvinism now has the microphone and the world is listening. What does it hear? I think it hears some good things, but I’m afraid it also hears pretention.

If I may make a bit of a pretentious suggestion myself, I would encourage the Young, Restless, and Reformed movement (and especially its leaders) to take transcendencemore seriously. Don’t treat TULIP like the one exception to God’s transcendence. Don’t just tolerate dissident voices but understand that you need them (just like they need you!) because you can’t be certain you’re right. Invite “them” to speak at your conferences, request their presence on your boards, and perhaps cease creating private clubs where they’re not allowed.[2]

If you do it, I have no doubt you’ll lose followers and probably lose influence. But you’ll also gain something invaluable, both for yourself and for your followers and for the whole world: humility. You can beat the humility drum all day long but it will never stick in a culture of certainty. So what will it be…power or humility, influence or reconciliation? Jesus could be trusted with both. I’m pretty sure most of us can’t.

---

[1] Fredrich Buechner, Wishful Thinking, 112.

[2] The Gospel Coalition serves a striking case in point. The organization claims to represent the deep and broad evangelical consensus regarding the truth of the gospel (see their Preamble). One can’t help but catch a whiff of pretention here and this whiff is no doubt reinforced by the fact that there is not a single free-will theist of any sort on the Gospel Coalition council or staff. Apparently the deep and broad evangelical consensus of the gospel does not need the voice of free-will theism.


Fischer/Patheos


--NIck

Roger Olson, "Fundamentalism & Evangelicalism; Distinctions?"

Olson:

What Distinguishes “Evangelical” from “Fundamentalist?”

Is it possible to be truly, authentically evangelical without being fundamentalist? That’s what I really meant to ask in books like Reformed and Always Reforming, How to Be Evangelical without Being Conservative, and Questions to All Your Answers (and in many of my articles about “postconservative evangelicalism.”

The problem is that, over the last few decades, fewer and fewer people call themselves “fundamentalists.” I think that probably began when the media started using the label to describe terrorists. Who wants to be associated in people’s minds with Ayatollah Khomenei? (Some of you may be too young to remember, but, as I recall, he was the first non-Christian that I ever heard labeled “fundamentalist.”)

These days, people who used to identify themselves as fundamentalists and who still exhibit that ethos call themselves “conservative evangelicals.” Of course, there are people who call themselves conservative evangelicals who are not fundamentalists. So it gets complicated.

So why is this even an important question? Simply that, at least here in the good old U.S., there is a huge network of educational institutions, publishers, mission agencies, world relief organizations, parachurch ministries, etc., etc., that identify themselves as “evangelical.” Most of them at one time or another had some affiliation with the so-called “neo-evangelical” or “postfundamentalist evangelical” movement that was born in the 1940s out of disillusionment with the fundamentalist movement.

The story has been told over and over again by scholars such as George Marsden, Mark Noll and Joel Carpenter (to name just a few). Put simply, “evangelical” includes “fundamentalist” but not all evangelicals are fundamentalists.  Put another way, fundamentalists are evangelicals, but since the 1940s, at least, there are many evangelicals who are not fundamentalists.

Of course, one of my projects has been to point out that in the last three decades many people who are more like the old fundamentalists than like the new evangelicals, in terms of ethos, are calling themselves “conservative evangelicals” and trying to push many of us who are more like the new evangelicals out of the evangelical movement.  An example, in my opinion, is Al Mohler calling me “postevangelical.”

I claim that my ethos is not essentially different from the evangelical ethos I learned and came to embrace in seminary (North American Baptist Seminary) in the 1970s. My evangelical ethos is closer to the original one of the National Association of Evangelicals than to that of many self-identified “conservative evangelicals” who, in my opinion, operate out of an ethos more like the old fundamentalist one against which the new evangelicals rebelled.

What do fundamentalists, conservative evangelicals and postfundamentalist/postconservative evangelicals have in common? Much.

All of us, as evangelical Protestant Christians, believe in 1) the supreme authority of inspired Scripture for faith and practice, 2) basic Christian orthodoxy as embodied in the consensus of the church fathers and reformers about the deity and humanity of Jesus Christ, the Trinity, etc., 3) a supernatural worldview, 4) salvation by God’s grace through faith alone, 5) personal conversion as normative for authentic Christianity, 6) the cross of Jesus Christ as the only means of salvation and as vicarious atonement, 7) the virgin birth, resurrection and visible return of Jesus Christ.

The distinctive hallmarks of post-1925 fundamentalism are 1) adding to those essentials of Christianity non-essentials such as premillennial eschatology, 2) “biblical separation” as the duty of every Christian to refuse fellowship with people who call themselves Christians but are considered doctrinally or morally impure, 3) a chronically negative and critical attitude toward culture including non-fundamentalist higher education, 4) emphatic anti-evolution, anti-communist, anti-Catholic and anti-ecumenical attitudes and actions (including elevation of young earth creationism and American exceptionalism as markers of authentic Christianity), 5) emphasis on verbal inspiration and technical inerrancy of the Bible as necessary for real Christianity (including exclusion of all biblical criticism and, often, exclusive use the KJV), and 6) a general tendency to require adherence to traditional lifestyle norms (hair, clothes, entertainment, sex roles, etc.).

Who were these post-1925 fundamentalists? Not all of these embodied all six of the above hallmarks, but they generally functioned within that ethos: William Bell Riley, Frank Norris, Bob Jones, Carl McIntire, John R. Rice and the early Jerry Falwell. And many, many more. Most of them were non-Reformed, but there was a Reformed camp of fundamentalists who shared that ethos without premillennialism. (I would locate Cornelius Van Til there.)

How did the postfundamentalist evangelicals differ from them? Beginning in the 1940s and increasingly throughout the 1950s former self-identified fundamentalists began to shy away from that identity and ethos without embracing liberalism or neo-orthodoxy. They 1) sought to establish ecumenical cooperation and fellowship among evangelicals who disagreed about non-essentials such as eschatology and predestination [“generous orthodoxy”], 2) sought to be cautiously open to secular culture and higher education and its products, and 3) sought to overcome legalism that had become characteristic of much fundamentalism.

In other words, the main difference between the new evangelicals and the fundamentalists was one of ethos—at least from the new evangelical point of view. From the fundamentalist point of view, of course, the difference was more than one of ethos. It was often viewed as one of departure from the gospel.

The new evangelicalism was to be a broad tent that included everyone from conservative Presbyterians to Pentecostals to Advent Christians to Nazarenes to (recently) the Worldwide Church of God. Fundamentalists were invited to join but declined. Still, formally speaking, fundamentalists are evangelicals and, to liberals, anyway, all evangelicals are fundamentalists.

As an heir of and scholar working within the new evangelicalism movement I have found it necessary to warn fellow new evangelicals about a neo-fundamentalism taking shape and growing among us. Its adherents are not exactly like the older fundamentalists, so it’s not easy to identify them. For one thing, they don’t call themselves fundamentalists. They call themselves conservative evangelicals and attempt to style themselves as mainstream evangelicals, even “confessional evangelicals” and so forth. (Using positive-sounding labels that imply THEY are the “real” evangelical heirs of the postfundamentalist evangelical movement.)

Why does it matter? Why do I and others bother to sound the warning alarm about this? Because much is at stake. First, the nature of the gospel is at stake. These people, like the older fundamentalists (some of whom are still around) wish to “enrich” the gospel and evangelicalism with doctrines not all new evangelicals believe. But they pretend that all “real” evangelicals always believed them. In their hands, the gospel becomes a system of theology virtually identical with that of Charles Hodge and the Old School Princeton Theology of the 19^th century. The gospel becomes a new law, system of orthodoxy, that requires adherence without mental reservation for salvation or at least for discipleship. In their hands, for example, being evangelical requires not only right beliefs but right way of believing—that is, foundationalism.

Second, the wonderful network of trans-denominational parachurch organizations (colleges, universities, seminaries, mission agencies, world relief agencies, publishers, etc.) is at stake. The new fundamentalists are out to take them over. There is no doubt about that in my mind. I experienced it “extremely loud and incredibly close.” So have many of my colleagues who spent much of their lives in Southern Baptist institutions and were forced into exile by the new fundamentalists. Now the same people, joined by others, are attempting to do with evangelicalism what they did with the Southern Baptist Convention and its seminaries.

The problem is that these new fundamentalists, who are, admittedly, evangelicals too, are not easy to identify. They pass themselves off as mainstream evangelicals, the heirs of Carl Henry, for example. Henry, however, denied that inerrancy was a litmus test of authentic evangelical faith. And, as strongly opinionated as he was about many matters, he attempted to keep the evangelical “tent” broad and inclusive.

I identify the new fundamentalists by their ethos which I find to be similar in many ways to that of the older fundamentalists. They are evangelicals who TEND to 1) spend much energy searching for and identifying heresies among evangelicals, 2) focus a lot of attention on identifying “evangelical boundaries” and solidifying them by demonstrating that some evangelicals are “outside the boundaries,” 3) add non-essential doctrines to the essentials of evangelicalism (boundaries) such as biblical inerrancy, young earth creationism, monergistic salvation and/or penal substitutionary atonement, 4) find nothing of value in non-Christian culture—especially philosophy, psychology and sociology, 5) attempt to frighten the faithful about “doctrinal drift” and “defection from the faith” where those do not really exist.

Remember, I’m talking about an ethos here, not a set of absolute markers or even characteristics those who display them are fully aware of (they would no doubt deny some of them).

Who am I to talk this way? Am I just someone on the sidelines crying “wolf!” when there is no wolf? I don’t think so. Of course, that’s for you to decide. But I have been in this evangelical movement my entire life and have had very keen interest in it most of my adult life. I have been editor of an evangelical scholarly journal, contributing editor to Christianity Today for quite a few years, chair of the Evangelical Studies Group of the American Academy of Religion, professor of theology in three Christian universities strongly historically identified with evangelicalism, author of numerous articles and several books dealing with evangelicalism. I have seen with my own eyes and experienced directly this attempted takeover of the evangelical movement by new fundamentalists.

An analogy is what has happened to the Republican Party in the United States. I can remember when it included influential moderates such as Nelson Rockefeller, John Anderson, Mark Hatfield and many others. Now moderates are unwelcome in the party. The party has been virtually taken over by people who in the 1950s and 1960s would have been considered radically right wing in their economic views.

People ask me all the time “Roger, why don’t you just give up calling yourself ‘evangelical’ and admit you’ve lost it? ‘Evangelical’ now means ‘fundamentalist’.” Call me stubborn and a champion of lost causes, but even if I go to my grave the only moderate evangelical left that’s what I will be calling myself. I hope others will join me in this and not abandon the label and the movement to the new fundamentalists. (Many of the people who ask me that still call themselves Baptist when, to most people in America, “Baptist” is virtually equated with “fundamentalist.” Why don’t they give up calling themselves Baptist?)

Something I’ve been reading set me off on this post. I’ve been reading articles by a certain, not-to-be-named evangelical philosopher/theologian who finds something good and right and helpful in a postmodern, even deconstructionist, philosopher’s musings. He carefully dissects the philosopher’s thoughts, pointing out the benefit for all Christians, evangelicals included, of exposure of idols, while also pointing out areas of the philosopher’s thought that are theologically weak and probably should be avoided. But he’s very adroit at pointing out the fact that in this particular deconstructionist philosopher’s writings, the non-Christian elements seem to stand in tension with the ideas that are beneficial to Christians. The latter could, if followed out consistently, reform the former and help even this philosopher move closer to the kingdom.

This evangelical philosopher/theologian’s work in the area of postmodernity and deconstruction is profound. It displays first hand acquaintance and real understanding of postmodern philosophy. He does not rely on other evangelical sources; he reads the philosophers themselves. What he finds is not exactly the “standard evangelical line” about postmodernism and deconstructionism. For that alone, being cautiously and critically open to postmodernism and deconstructionism, he was denied tenure at an evangelical institution of higher education. That’s new fundamentalism at work. At that same evangelical institution of higher education, not many years ago, the governing board ordered the president to stop the faculty from introducing liberation theology to students in any manner or form. They did not want the students even to know what liberation theology is. All teaching about liberation theology was to stop. Of course, the president refused and was fired. New fundamentalism at work.

Do I know about these and similar events merely anecdotally? No. I have them from the primary sources. I know people on both sides personally. And I’ve been there myself—in a similar situation where we (theology faculty) were ordered by an administration to cease and desist all teaching about open theism. New fundamentalism at work. I was told face-to-face by a powerful pastor that he would get me fired for not siding with him in his attempt to get an open theist colleague fired. New fundamentalism at work. I was invited to speak at a conference of new fundamentalists (who, of course, consider themselves mainstream evangelicals). Not once during the several days long conference would one of them sit with me at a meal. “Biblical separation” at work, new fundamentalism at work. (No “table fellowship” with heretics!)

Something truly awful is stirring within evangelicalism. It’s directly analogous to what has happened in the Republican Party. I call on moderate evangelical leaders to stand up and speak out against it. So far most have not. None dare call it fundamentalism.

Olson/Patheos

--Nick