Integrite Spring 2013

VOLUME 12 NUMBER 1

INTÉ GRITÉ SPRING 2013

PUBLISHED SEMIANNUALLY BY

MISSOURI BAPTIST UNIVERSITY Saint Louis, Missouri 63141 www.mobap.edu/integrite

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Editor John J. Han, Missouri Baptist University Todd C. Ream, Taylor University

Editorial Review Board C. Clark Triplett, Missouri Baptist University

Advisory Board Bob Agee, Oklahoma Baptist University & Union University James E. Barcus, Baylor University Andy Chambers, Missouri Baptist University John Choi, Handong Global University (Korea) Jerry Deese, Missouri Baptist University Arlen Dykstra, Missouri Baptist University Hyun-Sook Kim, Yonsei University (Korea) Mary Ellen Fuquay

Editorial Assistants Rebecca Klussman Jessica Kostelic

Douglas T. Morris

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal (ISSN 1547-0474 and 1547-0873) is published in spring and fall by the Faith & Learning Committee and the Humanities Division of Missouri Baptist University, One College Park Dr., St. Louis, Missouri 63141. Published both online <http://www.mobap.edu/integrite/> and in print copy, the journal examines historical, philosophical, theological, cultural, and pedagogical issues related to the integration of Christian faith and higher learning. All submissions are critically reviewed for content and substance by the editor and the editorial review board; in some cases, scholars in specific fields are invited to evaluate manuscripts. The opinions expressed by individual writers in this journal are not necessarily endorsed by the editor, editorial board, or Missouri Baptist University. Intégrité (pronounced IN tay gri tay) is a French word translated into English as “totality,” “integrity,” “honesty,” “uprightness,” or “integration.” In his doctrine of the Christian life, John Calvin considered “intégrité” as whole-hearted or integrated commitment to God. A Christian with such a commitment aims for single-minded devotion in Christ. Publication of the print edition of Intégrité has been made possible by funding from Missouri Baptist University.

SUBMISSIONS: Submissions of scholarly articles, short essays, review articles, book reviews, and poems are welcome. Send your work as an e-mail attachment (Microsoft Word format) to the editor, John J. Han, at hanjn@mobap.edu. We accept submissions all year round. For detailed submission guidelines, see the last two pages of this journal.

SUBSCRIPTIONS & BOOKS FOR REVIEW: Intégrité subscriptions, renewals, address changes, and books for review should be mailed to John J. Han, Editor of Intégrité, Missouri Baptist University, One College Park Dr., St. Louis, Missouri 63141. Phone: (314) 3922311/Fax: (314) 434-7596. Subscription rates: Individuals $10 per year; institutions $20 per year.

An additional shipping fee ($5-15 per year) is charged for international subscription.

INDEXING: Intégrité is listed in the Southern Baptist Periodical Index.

Volume 12, Number 1, Spring 2013 © 2013 Missouri Baptist University. All rights reserved.

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Volume 12

Number 1

Spring 2013

CONTENTS ARTICLES 3

Learning Together: An Approach to Sustaining a Community of Learning Based upon a Lutheran Perspective on Adiaphora Cordell P. Schulten

21

“A Poor Wreath for a Crown of Praise”: Understanding Herbert’s Devotion to the Sovereignty of God in His Poetry Ashley Anthony

32

Author without Authority: Stephen Crane’s Belief within The Red Badge of Courage and “The Open Boat” Mark Eckel and Tyler Eckel

THOUGHTS AND REFLECTIONS 42

The Uneasy Conscience of Evangelical Ambition Todd C. Ream

REVIEW ARTICLE 45

James Davison Hunter. To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World C. Clark Triplett

BOOK REVIEWS 52

David I. Smith and James K.A. Smith, eds. Teaching and Christian Practices: Reshaping Faith & Learning Mary Ellen Fuquay

55

Allen Verhey. The Christian Art of Dying: Lessons from Jesus John J. Han

2 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal 58

Dean Koontz. Relentless Ashley Anthony

60

John Grisham. The Appeal John J. Han

63

Maija Rhee Devine. The Voices of Heaven John J. Han

POEMS 66

“Provision” and Other Poems Jane Beal

69

“Longing for Spring” and Other Poems Ruth E. Bell

72

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

75

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 3-20

Learning Together: An Approach to Sustaining a Community of Learning Based upon a Lutheran Perspective on Adiaphora1 Cordell P. Schulten Introduction In any community where people seek to live, learn, and work together, questions will arise as to whether certain ideas expressed or practices performed are acceptable and beneficial. How the community goes about addressing these questions will often determine both the nature of that community’s existence and the quality of the community’s capacity for development and growth. This is especially true within Christian communities, such as local churches, ministry organizations, and educational institutions. When Christians seek to worship and serve together in community, they will be faced with the need to resolve questions regarding doctrines and practices that are essential for all the community’s members to agree upon as well as those teachings and activities that are open to alternative positions in matters of belief and conduct. The latter category of questions has often been referred to in Christian theology as adiaphora—a classical Greek word that essentially means “things that are indifferent.”

Because any Christian community will need to address questions over matters where there may be a variety of different positions, it is important to learn from followers of Christ in the past who have sought ways of dealing with adiaphora. This is especially true for a community of students, professors, and administrators who compose a university that endeavors to engage in learning in ways that reflect the character and mind of Christ. This article will first undertake a brief survey of the concept of adiaphora from its philosophical origins through, more specifically, its development in Lutheran theology from the time of the Reformation to its 20th century uses within Lutheran dialogue. Finally and most importantly, this paper will seek to advance a model for addressing matters of adiaphora based upon dimensions of Lutheran theology. The model suggested will allow for the possibility of matters of adiaphora with the understanding that, while a given idea, teaching, or activity may, in and of itself, be indifferent or morally neutral, the intention that prompts the idea or motivates the act, as well as the consequences that flow from the idea or conduct, will nonetheless have moral implications. Thus, this application of adiaphora will not lead to an “anything goes” attitude within a community of faith and learning, but rather it will provide a means for sustaining the value of diversity in thought and practice tempered by the ultimate twin goals of glorifying God and edifying others.

4 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Historical Foundations This first use of adiaphora can most likely be traced back before the Christian era to the ancient Greek philosopher Pyrrho (c. 365-275 B.C.). He used adiaphora to describe one of three characteristics of the nature of all things. To Pyrrho, all things were by nature adiaphora (i.e. “indifferent and thus, undifferentiable”), astathmêta (i.e. “unstable and thus, not measurable”), and anepikrita (i.e. “indeterminable”). His thesis on the nature of things is more a statement about the limitations of human observations and understanding about the things humans seek to examine. Pyrrho taught that, unless a person acknowledged this lack of ability to make ultimate discernments about the true nature of things, the person would be unable to experience happiness (“Pyrrho”).

While Pyrrho’s use of adiaphora is much broader in scope than the use of this term by later Christian theologians, especially those of the Reformation era, his point about the nature of things is still quite instructive. When we approach questions on which there may be a variety of possible answers, we need to acknowledge our own human limitations that impair our ability to understand and evaluate the ideas and activities of others. Pyrrho reminds us that we must start from a position of humility.

Following upon Pyrrho, the Stoic philosophers developed the idea of adiaphora beyond a foundational ontological category into an ethical dimension of life. For them, all ethical questions were divided into those actions which are good, those which are evil, and those which are morally indifferent or adiaphora.

Indeed, the Stoic Aristo is often regarded as the originator of adiaphora as an idea within the field of ethics (Diogenes Laertius, VII, 37). Aristo’s notion of adiaphora was also influenced by the Cynics. From these two emerged the prominent Greek usage of adiaphora. To put their view of ethics simplistically, virtue was good, vice was bad, but external, material things were adiaphora (More 70). The implications of this idea led to the conclusion that there is no difference in value between things morally indifferent (Diogenes Laertius, VII, 2).

To be even more specific, this Greek conception of adiaphora taught that pleasure and freedom from pain are without value and that “there was absolutely nothing to choose between the most perfect health and the most grievous sickness” (Cicero, De Finibus bonorum et malorum, II, 13, 43). Extended then to its ultimate conclusion, all experiences of life, such as health or humor, poverty or disgrace, or even sickness and death are all adiaphora.

The extremes to which the Greek philosophers took the notion of adiaphora were substantially abated, and one might even say “redeemed” by the understanding of “things indifferent” expressed and applied by later Christian theologians as they discussed the teachings of the Bible in general, and of Jesus and Paul in particular, under the category of adiaphora. It is not the purpose of this short paper, however, to delve further into either the classical philosophical idea of adiaphora, nor to chart the development of its early Christian conception.

Instead, the purpose of this paper is to explore the development and use of adiaphora both within the context of the Lutheran response to the Protestant Reformation in the 16th and 17th centuries and in more recent controversies within

Cordell P. Schulten 5 the Lutheran Church in mid-20th century Germany. Based upon such an exploration, this paper will seek to discern an approach to questions regarding (1) what qualifies as adiaphora and (2) how a community should respond to matters of adiaphora. Finally, using this Lutheran approach to adiaphora as an exemplar, this paper will suggest a model for sustaining a community of learning through an openness to understanding the range of ideas and activities that may be appropriately considered as adiaphora and an allowance for a variety of perspectives on adiaphorist matters.

A Lutheran Perspective We turn now to the Lutheran development and use of adiaphora in the context of the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century. The basic definition for adiaphora is this: things neither commanded nor forbidden in scripture. It is also often defined as “matters of indifference.” As a starting point for Lutherans, the definition of this term has been informed by Article Seven of the Augsburg Confession, which states, For this is enough for the true unity of the Christian church that the gospel is preached harmoniously according to a pure understanding and the sacraments are administered in conformity with the divine Word. It is not necessary for the true unity of the Christian church that uniform ceremonies, instituted by human beings, be observed everywhere. (Melanchthon 42) A definite distinction is made between what is necessary and essential (Word and Sacraments) as opposed to what may be beneficial and helpful, but is not considered necessary (Johnson). It should be noted that the category of adiaphora is defined by those things that are not necessary for the unity of the Christian church. For Lutherans, “humanly instituted ceremonies” were thus adiaphora, and as such, these ceremonies may or may not be observed according to the discretion of local congregations.

The definition of adiaphora drawn from Melanchthon’s explanation in the Augsburg Confession was formed principally upon the teachings of Martin Luther set forth in a number of treatises and essays he produced in response to questions arising during the Reformation. In July 1520, Luther published a treatise entitled “A Treatise On The New Testament, That Is, The Holy Mass.” Though he had previously written several treatises on the sacraments, Luther had only dealt with the definition and theology of the sacraments in these earlier works. He had not yet addressed the implications of changes in worship practices that were necessary to reflect the theology of the sacraments he had expounded. In the treatise, Luther began his attack on the Roman Catholic practices in the mass, particularly those practices that reflected the Roman Church’s theology of the mass as a sacrifice—our sacrifice to God. What was essential to Luther was the understanding that worship is the means of God’s working and granting his grace

6 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal to us humans, not an effort by humans to gain or earn the favor of God by any work of man himself.

To accomplish this aim, Luther sought, in this treatise, to define the mass as a testament that is God’s testament to us. If the mass is defined as a testament, then worship must be ordered and practiced to reflect such an understanding.

Before defining the mass as a testament, Luther confronts one of his foremost concerns with the way mass is practiced—the distractions from the essential truth of the Gospel. On this point Luther states, And now it has finally come to this: the chief thing in the mass has been forgotten, and nothing is remembered except the additions of men!... Indeed, the greatest and most useful art is to know what really and essentially belongs to the mass, and what is added and foreign to it. For where there is no clear distinction, the eyes and the heart are easily misled by such sham into a false impression and delusion. Then what men have contrived is considered the mass; and what the mass really is, is never experienced, to say nothing of deriving benefit from it…. If we desire to observe mass properly and to understand it, then we must surrender everything that the eyes behold and that the senses suggest—be it vestments, bells, songs, ornaments, prayers, processions, elevations, prostrations, or whatever happens in the mass—until we first grasp and thoroughly ponder the words of Christ, by which he performed and instituted the mass and commanded us to perform it. For therein lies the whole mass, its nature, work, profit, and benefit.

Without the words nothing is derived from the mass. (LW35: 81) From this passage, it can be noted that Luther is making distinctions between what is necessary—starting to be defined as word and sacraments—and what is adiaphora. Luther progresses along this tact as he acknowledges, “Although I neither wish nor am able to displace or discard such additions, still, because such pompous forms are perilous, we must never permit ourselves to be led away by them from the simple institution of Christ and from the right use of the mass” (LW35: 81).

Luther’s Reform of Worship Practices Luther did not intend to completely eliminate human traditions from worship, but instead to subordinate all human tradition and practices to the justifying word of God. To perform the mass and the celebration of the Lord’s Supper properly, such worship practices must first rightly be understood in the literal terms by which Christ instituted it—as a testament—when Jesus says, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20). To Luther, it was essential that one must define and understand the mass as a testament, as he explained,

Cordell P. Schulten 7

Not every vow is called a testament, but only a last irrevocable will of one who is about to die, whereby he bequeaths his goods, allotted and assigned to be distributed to whom he will. Just as St. Paul says to the Hebrews [9:16-17] that a testament must be made operative by death, and is not in effect while the one still lives who made the testament. For other vows, made as long as one lives, may be altered or recalled and hence are not called testaments….

For if God is to make a testament, as he promises, then he must die; and if he is to die, then he must be a man…. Christ also distinguishes this testament from others and says that it is a new and everlasting testament, in his own blood, for the forgiveness of sins; whereby he disannuls the old testament. (LW 35:84) One thing is clearly apparent from his writings on this subject. For Luther, the primacy of the Word must be central to any form of Christian worship: “Let everything be done so that the Word may have free course instead of the prattling and rattling that has been the rule up to now. We can spare everything except the Word. Again, we profit by nothing as much as by the Word” (LW53: 9).

By the term Word, Luther most likely included the Lord’s Supper or Holy Communion in its simplest form—the elements accompanied by Christ’s words of institution—for it is the proclamation of the gospel in a nutshell. In another of his writings, he succinctly stated, “For the preaching ought to be nothing but an explanation of the words of Christ, when he instituted the mass and said, ‘This is my body, this is my blood,’ etc. What is the whole gospel but an explanation of this testament?” (LW 35:106). Calvinists, Anabaptists, Zinglians, and others among the Protestant Reformers may have appealed to the Word of God as the principal element to worship, but in Luther’s view, the Roman Church did not.

In sharp contrast to the Reformers, the principal element to worship practice for Rome was tradition—the performance of the mass as a sacrifice to God, based on human additions to the worship service. What differentiated Luther from other reform movements that may have appealed to the Word of God as the principle element in worship was Luther’s insistence that “Word” is God’s declaration of justification to the ungodly. While Luther was in no way opposed to readings and singing in worship, he insisted that whatever was read or sung must be applied to the litmus test of God’s Word of justification. If anything said, sung, or performed in worship is in conflict with God’s justifying Word, it was not adiaphora. Rather, it must be reformed or removed.

Several years later, Luther wrote an order of service for the German mass.

There had been other German orders of worship that had been developed, but these had merely taken the Latin mass and translated it into German. When Luther developed his order of service, he not only translated the liturgy’s text into the German vernacular, he also changed the music into a more German style and rhythm. In defense of his reforms, he wrote,

8 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal I would gladly have a German mass today,… But I would very much like it to have a true German character. For to translate the Latin text and retain the Latin tone or notes has my sanction, though it doesn’t sound polished or well done. Both the text and notes, accent, melody, and manner of rendering ought to grow out of the true mother tongue and its inflection, otherwise all of it becomes an imitation in the manner of the apes. (LW 40:141) While seeking to meet the need of his German countrymen who desired a reformed worship order, Luther was cautious about making his fresh new form of practice into something legalistic and binding by replacing one oppressive form of worship with another. Instead, Luther recognized that his new order of worship was within the category of adiaphora and so offered it with the following instruction: “I would kindly and for God’s sake request all those who see this order of service or desire to follow it: Do not make it a rigid law to bind or entangle anyone’s conscience, but use it in Christian liberty as long, when, where, and how you find it to be practical and useful” (LW 53:61). By this example, Luther provides invaluable assistance for understanding and allowing a variety of practices that are considered adiaphora. They are not required by the command of Scripture nor are they essential to justification or the nature of the Church.

Rather, they may be practiced to the extent that they are practical and useful in the edification of others and the worship of God. Luther’s view on reforming worship practices is very informative in the discernment of a model for approaching other areas of teaching or practice that present both matters that are essential and those which would be considered adiaphora. In Luther’s case, he had great respect for human traditions and the heritage of Christian worship. Yet, he had unreserved contempt for those who considered external human traditions to be essential matters and thus binding upon the conscience. Instead, he considered such external forms adiaphora, and thus encouraged freedom to be exercised in these areas.

Luther’s spirit of diversity in worship, however, was tempered by a disdain for those who desired novelty for its own sake and had no appreciation for the tradition and liturgy that had been handed down through the history of Christian practice. Luther held that reform was necessary only when human additions to those worship practices were in conflict with the proclamation of the Gospel—where it turned worship into a work performed by humans rather than Christ’s work of salvation for and to his people. By developing his German order of worship, Luther attempted to preserve the purity of the Gospel as the central focus of worship, while also providing an order of service that was both engaging to the people and respectful to the tradition of Christian worship (Johnson 11).

Cordell P. Schulten 9 The Book of Concord Not many years after Luther’s initial work and application of the concept of adiaphora in reforming worship practices, his successors had to address questions that arose when discarded Roman practices were reintroduced due to the pressures of persecution. The Book of Concord’s Solid Declaration set forth an extensive explanation of this issue: Concerning ceremonies and church rites which are neither commanded nor forbidden in God’s Word, but are introduced into the Church with a good intention, for the sake of good order and propriety, or otherwise to maintain Christian discipline, a dissension has likewise arisen among some theologians of the Augsburg Confession: the one side holding that also in time of persecution and in case of confession [when confession of faith is to be made], even though the enemies of the Gospel do not come to an agreement with us in doctrine, yet some ceremonies, abrogated [long since], which in themselves are adiaphora, and neither commanded nor forbidden by God, may, without violence to conscience, be reestablished in compliance with the pressure and demand of the adversaries, and thus in such [things which are of themselves] adiaphora, or matters of indifference, we may indeed come to an agreement [have conformity] with them. But the other side contended that in time of persecution, in case of confession, especially when it is the design of the adversaries, either through force and compulsion, or in an insidious manner, to suppress the pure doctrine, and gradually to introduce again into our churches their false doctrine, this, also in adiaphora, can in no way be done, as has been said, without violence to conscience and prejudice to the divine truth. (Solid Declaration, Art. X, ¶1-3) The remaining paragraphs of Article X set forth in greater detail how matters deemed adiaphora may be allowed, but those which are judged by the Word of God to be false doctrine must be rejected. As with Luther, the authors of the Solid Declaration looked to God’s Word as the definitive standard when evaluating what God has commanded or forbidden and what matters are indifferent.

In the late 16th century and into the 17th century, the question of permissible worship practices turned from reforming the Roman mass to regulating Protestant worship practices. This issue was the subject of many debates that pitted Lutheran against Calvinist reformers. Ironically, the Calvinists started from a position consistent with the Lutherans’ Book of Concord. In fact, they defended a concept of the indifference of forms of worship, such as the use of instrumental or vocal music, as the grounds for removal of instruments and the singing of hymns from Calvinist worship practices (Irwin 160). Lutherans, however, were unwilling to settle for an approach founded upon adiaphora

10 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal because they considered it to be only a half-hearted endorsement of music in worship.

While alluding occasionally to the teaching on adiaphora, Lutherans, instead, saw Scripture and Christian tradition as pointing clearly to the importance of music as a means of praising God and receiving spiritual benefits. Because God instructed such a means of praise, music was regarded as far more integrally connected with the means of salvation than merely considering it to be one of the adiaphoristic forms of worship. While maintaining Luther’s profound respect for music, these later Lutheran theologians’ rigid adherence to the tradition they regarded as authoritative made them insensitive to the role of music in worship.

The Colloquy of Montbéliard The issue came to a head at the Colloquy of Montbéliard in 1586 where the Reformed (Calvinist) spokesman Theodore Beza debated the Lutheran Jakob Andreae. Andreae opened the colloquy with an account of how Calvinists were using horses to pull down and tear out pipe organs from church sanctuaries. He contended that this demonstrated that Calvinists erroneously believed that musical instruments, like organs, were expressly forbidden by God in worship, and thus, were not considered by them to be within the allowable realm of adiaphora.

(Irwin 160). Thinking he had bested his opponent, Andreae was quite taken off guard when Beza agreed that such destructive practices should be condemned because pipe organs, as other musical instruments, were indeed adiaphora. Beza tempered his position, however, by noting that music had been abused under the Roman papacy when it served only to delight human ears. In contrast, he observed that when music is used for the praise of God, it has a special power for moving the human spirit to devotion and true worship. Beza concluded that “music is neither good nor evil, neither commanded nor forbidden, but that it depends for its value of being used in such a way as to promote true worship” (Irwin 161). In response, Andreae stated, “[W]e are herein in agreement with one another that organs and instrumental music are a free matter which one may have or not and for which each church has power and authority” (Irwin 162). Thus, the concept of adiaphora was the foundation for the allowance of a variety of worship practices between Lutherans and Calvinists on the matter of instrumental music.

The debate over the use of both instrumental and vocal music in reformed Christian worship practice, however, continued into the 17th century. From the Lutheran perspective, Philipp Arnoldi set forth a clear statement of the adiaphorist position: In sum, as far as our figural and instrumental music in German and Latin language is concerned, we have as support the example of our forefathers and Christian freedom. In the Old Testament they necessarily had to perform according to their ceremonial law, but we are not bound to this and do not defend it with such great

Cordell P. Schulten 11 necessity as the adversaries [i.e. the Calvinists] exert themselves and cry loudly for abolishment. (Irwin 165 quoting Ceremoniae Lutheranae) (Königsberg 1616) These Lutheran theologians were adhering to a view of music as adiaphora which was consistent with the high regard that Luther himself had expressed for worship traditions that were consistent with the proclamation of the Gospel. Arnoldi, though, did not consider music itself to be a matter of indifference. Strictly speaking, only the varieties of instrumental and vocal forms of music were within the category of adiaphora. This more refined view of music was expressed by Balthasar Meisner in his work Collegii Adiaphoristici, where he observes that adiaphora are “middle things” because they are midway between the divinely commanded and the divinely prohibited (Irwin 166). In another of his works, Meisner suggests that music itself has been commanded by God: “The Holy Spirit is not so much opposed to the sweet joy of holy Psalms as that he required and demanded the same from his faithful in both Testaments” (Irwin 166 quoting Collegii Adiaphoristici). While Meisner does not cite specific Scriptural prescriptions for the kind of music to be used in the church, he does emphasize that Paul urged the faithful to “love and pursue the holy harmony of songs” (Irwin 166).

In comparison with these expressions of Lutheran views on music as adiaphora, the Calvinist theologian Peter Martyr Vermigli articulated his view in support of the exclusion of music with an explanation consistent with an adiaphorist statement of the issue: I affirm that faithful and religious singing may be retained in church; but I do not confess that any precept exists on this matter in the New Testament. Wherefore if there be a church which does not use it, for just cause, it may not rightly be condemned, provided that it does not defend this matter illicitly by its nature or by the precept of God nor stigmatize other churches where singing and music are used or exclude them from the fellowship of Christ.

(Irwin 168 quoting Loci Communes) (Zürich 1587) While one might imagine that Vermigli’s position would have been welcomed by his brothers on the Lutheran side of the Reformation, their response to the Calvinist churches that excluded music developed into a much more rigorous stance that moved farther and farther away from the adiaphorist approach to such matters that had prevailed in the earlier days of the Protestant movement to reform the church.

12 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Late 17th-Century Refinements At the close of the 17th century, one Lutheran theologian thus observed, In the beginning of the Reformation it happened that middle things [i.e. adiaphora] were employed out of love and for the improvement of the weak; but what was then a free matter in the good hope that those who had such ceremonies would turn to us is now compulsory and almost an article of faith which we cannot change. (Irwin 172 quoting Theophilus Grossgebauer, Wächterstimme auss dem verwüsteten Zion) (Frankfurt am Main, 1661) From its beginnings in the early part of the 16th century to the end of the 17th century, Lutheran reformers used an adiaphorist approach by Lutheran reformers to the task of discerning what elements of traditional Christian worship practices could be retained and which needed to be reformed. While their application of adiaphora sometimes yielded a more legalistic conclusion in the defense of what these reformers found to be “necessary,” on the whole, the Lutheran perspective on adiaphora provides for us today a workable model for addressing issues of import within communities of faith that range far beyond questions of worship practices.

Modern Uses of Adiaphora To carefully examine the use and effectiveness of adiaphora, we turn now to a more formidable debate that separated the Lutheran church in the Germany of the 1930s. With the rise of Adolph Hitler to Reich Chancellor in 1933, Nazi rule began to permeate every dimension of German society. The Lutheran Church was then the established state-sponsored religion in Germany. Its ministers were paid, by the government, as civil servants. The Nazis sought to make this established German church “pure” by the adoption of the Aryan paragraph in the new Church Civil Service Law of that year. This provision, in its initial formulation, restricted membership in the German church to only those of the Aryan race. Later, it was revised to require those who served as ministers of the church to be of Aryan descent. A sizeable number of German pastors organized in opposition to the Aryan paragraph. Among them was Dietrich Bonhoeffer who assisted in drafting the following statement in response to the new law: According to the confession of our church, the church’s teaching office is bound only to authorized vocations in the church. The Aryan paragraph in the new Church Civil Service Law has given rise to a legal situation that directly contradicts this fundamental confessional principle. It proclaims as church law a condition that is unjust according to the confession and that violates the

Cordell P. Schulten 13 confession. There can be no doubt that the ordained clergy affected by the Civil Service Law, insofar as they have not been deprived by formal procedure of the rights of ministry, should continue to exercise in full the right freely to proclaim the Word and freely to administer the sacraments in the Evangelical Church of the Old Prussian Union, which is based on the confessions of the Reformation. Anyone who assents to such a breach of the confession thereby excludes himself from the communion of the church. We therefore demand the repeal of this law, which separates the Evangelical Church of the Old Prussian Union from the Christian church. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, Berlin: 19321933, 164) Bonhoeffer and the other pastors who opposed the Aryan paragraph declared that the law that sought to impose this racial restriction upon ministers of the German church was unjust, should be repealed and, if not repealed, should be violated.

Bonhoeffer and the pastors who had stated their opposition to the Aryan paragraph expected to be expelled from the established German Church.

Bonhoeffer wrote to Karl Barth, seeking advice on a possible course of action that might lead to separation from the established German church (DBW 164-66).

Although Barth counseled Bonhoeffer and his colleagues to wait and not initiate a separation, the time soon came for the issuance of the Bethel Confession, which had been authored principally by Bonhoeffer, and with its issuance, the formation of the Confessing Church.

A debate then ensued between, on the one side, the German Christians who both submitted to and defended the Aryan paragraph, and, on the other, the Confessing Church, who rejected the Aryan paragraph. In its most radical form, the Aryan paragraph stated, “Non-Aryans are not members of the German Reich Church and are to be excluded through the establishment of their own Jewish Christian congregations” (DBW, Vol. 12, 425). In its later version, it provided that “[t]he law governing state officials is to be applied to church officials; thus employment of Jewish Christians as pastors should be discontinued, and none should be accepted for new employment” (DBW 425). Bonhoeffer was a chief spokesman for the Confessing Church in this debate. In his treatise The Aryan Paragraph in the Church, Bonhoeffer set forth the various arguments presented by the German Church in defense of the Aryan paragraph and then systematically refuted them. A large part of the German Church’s argument was founded upon their contention that the Aryan paragraph was matter of external church organization that is adiaphora. For example, the German Christians said, “We don’t want to take away from Jewish Christians the right to be Christians, but they should organize their own churches. It is only a matter of the outward form of the church” (DBW 427). In response, Bonhoeffer stated, The issue of belonging to the Christian community is never an outward, organizational matter, but is of the very substance of the church. Church is the congregation that is called together by the

14 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Word. Membership in a congregation is a question not of organization but of the essence of the church. To make such a basic distinction between Christianity and the church, or between Christ and the church, is wrong. There is no such thing as the idea of the church, on one hand, and its outward appearance, on the other, but rather the empirically experienced church is the church of Christ itself. Thus, to exclude people forcibly from the church community as the empirical level means excluding them from Christ’s church itself. (DBW 427) Since the question of membership in the church went to the very substance of what the Scriptures teach on the nature of the Church, which is the Body of Christ, it could not be characterized as a matter of external organization. The German Christians then directly asserted that the Aryan paragraph’s exclusion of Jewish Christians from being pastors in the German Church was something that did not affect the confession of the church. They sought to use the Lutheran teaching on adiaphora as a shield against the protests raised by the Confessing Church. Against this assertion, Bonhoeffer stated that the Aryan paragraph struck at the very substance of both membership in and the ministry of the church. In so doing, it attacked the confession of the church—the essential beliefs upon which the church was founded. The Aryan paragraph obscured and perverted the truth of the Gospel. Thus, it was not a matter of adiaphora, but struck at the very essence of the nature of the one true Church which is Christ’s Body.

Bonhoeffer’s refutation of the German Church’s use of adiaphora in defense of the Aryan paragraph, however, went significantly further. He noted that even if the question of who is eligible for church ministry were considered a matter of adiaphora for the sake of argument, the German Church should still yield its position in favor of the Confessing Church. Bonhoeffer makes his argument by quoting a portion of Article X of the Book of Concord where adiaphora is addressed: Thus, Paul submits and gives in to the weak in matters of food or days (Rom. 14:6). But he does not want to submit to false apostles, who wanted to impose such things upon consciences as necessary even in matters that were in themselves free and indifferent. Col. 2:16: “Do not let anyone make matters of food or drink or the observation of festivals a matter of conscience for you.” And when in such a case Peter and Barnabas did give in to a certain degree, Paul criticized them publicly, as those “who were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel” (Gal. 2:14).

For in such a case it is no longer a matter of external matters of indifference, which in their nature and essence are and remain in and of themselves free, which accordingly are not subject to either a command or a prohibition regarding their use or discontinuance.

Instead, here it is above all a matter of the chief article of our Christian faith, as the Apostle testifies, “so that the truth of the

Cordell P. Schulten 15 gospel might always remain” (Gal. 2:5). Such coercion and command obscure and pervert the truth of the gospel, because either these opponents will publicly demand such indifferent things as a confirmation of false teaching, superstition, and idolatry for the purpose of suppressing pure teaching and Christian freedom or they will misuse them and as a result falsely reinstate them….

Thus, submission and compromise in external things where Christian agreement in doctrine has not already been achieved strengthens idolaters in their idolatry. (DBW 431-32, quoting the Formula of Concord, Article X, ¶¶13-14, 16).

By returning to the Book of Concord, Bonhoeffer demonstrated that the Lutheran approach to adiaphora that had been developed in the earliest stages of the Reformation, some 400 years before, was still valid and applicable to the pressing issues of his day; it was for all of his contemporaries who sought to live and learn in the community of Christian faith. By taking the Lutheran perspective on adiaphora as an exemplar, we may formulate an approach to determining what issues, ideas, or practices may rightly fall within the category of adiaphora and then, having identified an adiaphoron, we may develop a model allowing for a diversity of thought and practices within the guiding parameters of both the glorification of God and the edification of others. To this task we now turn.

A Suggested Model for Addressing Matters of Adiaphora within a Community of Learning To properly assess whether a matter, be it an idea, a teaching, or a particular activity, is adiaphora, we must first determine an appropriate standard by which this question may be discerned. For Luther, that standard was the Bible and, more specifically, the Reformation doctrine of justification by faith through grace alone. Any idea, teaching, or practice inconsistent with or distracted one from this foundational doctrine of salvation could not be adiaphora. In the formulation of the doctrine of adiaphora later set forth in the Book of Concord, the standard was what God had commanded or prohibited in his Word. What was neither expressly commanded nor forbidden by God’s Word was deemed adiaphora.

For the later Lutheran theologians of the 17th century, who engaged with Calvinists in debates over the use of music in worship, the standard for determining adiaphora combined both Luther’s particular demand for consistency with the Gospel with the general rule that considered matters indifferent when they were neither divinely commanded nor expressly prohibited in Scripture.

Even into the 20th century, Bonhoeffer’s reliance upon the Formula of Concord’s articulation demonstrates that the Lutheran standard for discernment of indifferent matters continued to exclude from adiaphora anything that would “obscure and pervert the truth of the gospel.” Thus, Bonhoeffer concluded that the German Church’s adoption of the Aryan paragraph could not be an adiaphoron because it

16 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal struck at the very substance of the truth of the Gospel and the nature of the church which is the Body of Christ. In every case, the standard remained the essential truths of the Gospel as set forth in God’s Word.

The Authority of God’s Word In light of the standard used by Lutheran theologians, an approach to using adiaphora within the context of a community of faith and learning, such as a Christian university, should at its foundation recognize the authority of God’s Word as the principal means for determining what matters may be regarded as adiaphora. However, to hold up the Scriptures as the standard could very well prove meaningless if the Word were to be subject to individualistic interpretations of its doctrines. Rather, for a Christian community of learning, the commonly recognized and historic articulations of the essential elements of the faith must serve as a guide for its standard. The historic confessions of the Church set forth in the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed are clearly fundamental and so may serve to establish an objective limitation upon the numerous interpretations that might be offered from the variety of faith traditions composing a Christian community of learning. Thus, the assessment standard for the adiaphorist approach suggested here may be stated as follows: An idea, teaching, or activity not expressly commanded nor prohibited by God’s Word, as understood through the expressions of the historic Christian faith in the Apostles’ Creed and Nicene Creed, and does not obscure or distract from the truth of the Gospel may be considered adiaphora. This standard is itself, though, open to debate and revision. The final articulation of a standard should be the product of dialogue among those participating in the community of faith and learning. The standard offered here may serve as a starting point for such a discussion. Once a standard for determining what qualifies as adiaphora is agreed upon, the members of the learning community may begin to raise particular issues for evaluation. For example, is the teaching that God created the universe adiaphora in a Christian community of learning? To resolve this question, one need only look to Genesis 1:1 and Hebrews 11:3 as well as the First Article of both the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds. Based upon these Scriptures and the historic confessions, we may firmly conclude that the belief that God created the universe is a foundational and essential teaching of the Christian faith. So the answer is that the teaching that God created the universe is not adiaphora.

What Questions are Adiaphora?

In contrast, though, when a question within the broader subject of origins is presented in a more specific form the outcome may be different. For example, is the teaching that God created the universe in six literal 24-hour days adiaphora within a Christian community of learning? If this question is examined by the Biblical passages that recount creation, one may view these Scriptures as

Cordell P. Schulten 17 supporting an interpretation of a six-day creation as one possible explanation.

When those same Scriptures are viewed through the lens of the historic confessions of the faith, however, the essential truth is limited to the proposition that God created all things. The First Article of the Nicene Creed confesses, “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.” By what means and when God’s creative acts occurred is not addressed as an essential element of the faith. Thus, the best answer to the question presented is that the teaching that God created the universe in six literal 24-hour days is adiaphora.

It should be noted that the characterization of an idea, teaching, or activity as one within the category of adiaphora does not mean that this particular subject is unimportant or deserving of less attention than essential matters. Rather, the use of an adiaphorist approach to subjects on which a variety of beliefs exists will, it is hoped, help to encourage an appropriate openness to discussion and dialogue that should be the hallmark of a Christian learning community that holds to the absolute nature of truth while humbly acknowledging that humans are limited in their ability to both apprehend and understand truth. Those matters that God has clearly revealed in His Word—the truth, for example, that He created all things—are essential elements of the historic Christian faith as testified by the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds. Those matters which are not essential to the faith— not foundational to the Gospel—and which have no bearing upon our justification

by God’s work of grace through the gift of faith may rightly be considered adiaphora.

Does Adiaphora Open the Door to Relativism?

Once an idea, teaching, or activity is characterized as adiaphora, we are presented with a second and potentially more significant concern. Since matters of adiaphora may be addressed by a variety of diverse positions, should all positions and perspectives be welcomed and accepted within a Christian community of faith and learning? In other words, if it is adiaphora, does that mean “anything goes”? In answer to this question, the instruction of the Apostle Paul on the adiaphorist issue of eating meat sacrificed to idols provides essential guidance (1 Cor. 8:1-10:33). Though Paul considers food, since it is an external matter, to be indifferent to our salvation (1 Cor. 8:8), the use and consumption of food is still to be guided by two essential objectives: the glorification of God (1 Cor. 10:33) and the edification of others (1 Cor. 8:9-13; 10:23-24). Based upon this Biblical pattern, we may set forth the following guidelines when a community of learning seeks to evaluate which positions or practices within the realm of adiaphora should be respected: First, does the idea, teaching, or activity glorify God? Does it direct the attention of others primarily toward God or toward the one engaging in the advancement of the idea, teaching, or practice?

18 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Second, does the idea, teaching, or activity edify others? Does it direct the other to Christ and his Word, or does it focus on individualistic experiences without consideration of the practice’s influence upon others?

Adiaphora Put into Practice To illustrate a practical application of the adiaphorist approach, we may use it to address a contemporary dimension of the debate over worship practices.

As we have seen above, questions involving which practices should be allowed in Christian worship has been the subject of considerations of adiaphora since the days of the early Protestant Reformation. It should then be no surprise to any Christian community composed of a variety of faith traditions that questions would arise over which practices should be included in the community’s worship.

One practice that poses such a concern is the use of speaking in unknown tongues in public worship. It was an issue within the Corinthian church to which the Apostle Paul wrote his first epistle (1 Cor. 12:1-14:40). This passage of Scripture contains explicit instruction regarding the use of the spiritual gift of tongues. It may be properly deemed adiaphora because the possession and practice of this gift is clearly not essential to the Gospel, nor is it expressly commanded or forbidden. Paul demonstrates that it is but one of a number of spiritual gifts that may or may not be granted to a believer depending upon the will of God. Whether this gift should be practiced publicly as a part of worship must then be discerned by the community. The guidelines for making this evaluation, as set forth above, are at a minimum: (1) whether the practice would glorify God (1 Cor. 14:20-25), and (2) whether its practice edifies others (1 Cor. 14:13-19).

Following these guidelines, the community should discern both: (A) Does the activity of publicly speaking in unknown tongues cause those who hear it to direct their attention to God, or is the attention of others being drawn to the one who is speaking the unknown tongue? and (B) Is this activity edifying those who hear it?

On this second part of the evaluation Paul gives further instruction in 1 Corinthians 14:27-28: “If any speak in a tongue, let there be only two or at most three, and each in turn, and let someone interpret. But if there is no one to interpret, let each of them keep silent in church and speak to himself and to God.” In this case, edification of others requires that meaning be conveyed through what is publicly spoken. If the means of conveying that meaning (i.e. an interpreter) are not present, Paul instructs us, there should be no public speaking of an unknown tongue as a part of the worship of the community. While not all matters of adiaphora may be addressed by a direct appeal to Scripture, the principles set forth in the Word of God will still provide guidance to engage the question. This approach to adiaphora recognizes that, while some matters may be allowable since they are indifferent to the essential elements of the historic Christian faith, an adiaphorist idea, teaching, or practice will nonetheless always have an influence upon those who hear, see, and participate in it.

Cordell P. Schulten 19 While most might acknowledge that contemporary uses of adiaphora may be helpful in addressing controversies over church practices, the question of whether adiaphora may prove constructive within the academy that seeks to be distinctively Christian in its approach remains open. The questions pondered within the academy often raise issues over which faithful followers of Christ may differ. How those questions are examined may very well raise valid concerns of the maintenance of an institutionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Christian identity. For those learning communities composed of a variety of faith traditions within Christianity, the open inquiry characteristic of the academy may become particularly troublesome.

The guidelines offered by an adiaphoristic approach, when actively engaged by all members of the community, can assist in remediating those concerns.

Conclusion The purpose of this paper has been to explore the development and use of adiaphora both within the context of the Lutheran response to the Protestant Reformation in the 16th and 17th centuries and, in more recent controversies, within the Lutheran Church in Germany in the 20th century. From this exploration, we have discerned an approach to questions regarding (1) what qualifies as adiaphora and (2) how a community should respond to matters of adiaphora. Finally, using this Lutheran approach to adiaphora as an exemplar, we have suggested a model for sustaining a community of learning through openness to understanding the range of ideas and practices that may be appropriately considered as adiaphora and an allowance for a variety of perspectives on issues that are adiaphora. The first step in the model considers adiaphora to be any idea, teaching, or activity that is not expressly commanded nor prohibited by Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Word, as understood through the expressions of the historic Christian faith in the Apostlesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Creed and Nicene Creed, and does not obscure or distract from the truth of the Gospel. Once a matter of adiaphora is identified, though, the model recommends that the community of learning must evaluate whether the adiaphoron glorifies God and edifies others. If it meets these objectives, the adiaphoron should not only be respected and allowed, but encouraged so that the community of faith and learning may be sustained and continue to grow through a mutual interchange of thought and life.

Note 1

I gratefully appreciate Ellena Ceu, LLB candidate at Handong Global University, for her excellent research assistance.

20 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Works Cited Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Aryan Paragraph in the Church. Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works (DBW), Vol. 12. Berlin: 1932-1933; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009. Print.

Irwin, Joyce. “Music and the Doctrine of Adiaphora in Orthodox Lutheran Theology.” Sixteenth Century Journal 14.2 (1983): 157-72. Print.

Johnson, Jim. “Adiaphora and Worship.” Wordalone.org. WordAlone Ministries/Sola Publishing, 26 June 2003. Web. 6 March 2013.

Junghans, Helmar. “Luther on the Reform of Worship.” Lutheran Quarterly 13 (1999): 318-19. Print.

Leaver, Robin A. “Luther and Bach, the ‘Deutsche Messe’ and the Music of Worship.” Lutheran Quarterly 15 (Autumn 2001): 317. Print.

Leupold, Ulrich S., ed. Introduction to Volume 53. Edited by Helmut T. Lehmann. American Edition ed. 55 vols. Vol. 53, Luther's Works.

Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1965. Print.

Luther, Martin. “Against the Heavenly Prophets.” Church and Ministry. Ed. Conrad Bergendoff. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1525. Print. _______. “The Babylonian Captivity of the Church.” Word and Sacrament. Ed. Abdel Ross Wentz. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1520. Print. _______. “A Christian Exhortation to the Livonians Concerning Public Worship and Concord.” Liturgy and Hymns. Ed. Ulrich S. Leupold. Phiadelphia: Fortress Press, 1525. Print. _______. “Concerning the Order of Public Worship.” Liturgy and Hymns. Ed. Ulrich S. Leupold. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1523. Print. _______. “The Freedom of a Christian.” Career of the Reformer: I. Ed. Harold J. Grimm. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1520. Print. _______. “An Order of Mass and Communion for the Church at Wittenberg.”

Liturgy and Hymns. Ed. Ulrich S. Leupold. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1523. Print. _______. “A Treatise On The New Testament, That Is, The Holy Mass.” Word and Sacrament. Ed. E. Theodore Bachman. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1520. Print.

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Melanchthon, Philip. “Article VII of the Augsburg Confession.” The Book of Concord. Ed. Robert Kolb and Timothy J. Wengert. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1530. Print.

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Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 21-31

“A Poor Wreath for a Crown of Praise”: Understanding Herbert’s Devotion to the Sovereignty of God in His Poetry Ashley Anthony As C.S. Lewis points out in his well-known text Mere Christianity, people are primarily divided into two categories: those who believe in some sort of god and those who do not. According to Lewis, “People who all believe in God can be divided according to the sort of God they believe in” (29). It is, after all, generally one’s perception of the god believed in that decides the course and classification of one’s religion. Conversely, as Stephen Hawking, a famous physicist, claimed in an interview, theology is “unnecessary” if one believes that the world was created as a result of gravity, not as a result of God. If this is the case, there is no God, and thus there is no need to discover what one believes concerning him. In Christianity, the importance of understanding what one believes about God is covered under the idea of theology, and in discovering what one believes about God, one also begins to discover the impact of theology on the practical walk of Christianity. C.S. Lewis describes theology as a map, which helps Christians decide what they are going to do with the spiritual experiences encountered. In other words, theology must be practical; it must help the Christian decide how to move forward. Otherwise, it is not an authentic theology.

For the seventeenth-century metaphysical poet George Herbert, this idea of a practical theology is revealed in his poetry, which evinces his spiritual struggles while also showing that he consistently relied on his knowledge of God. As a man of deep study who gave up his position in secular society to become a priest of a small parish, Herbert wrote his poetry, which was collected and titled The Temple, seemingly as a spiritual exercise, as he never published his works during his lifetime despite the possibility of monetary compensation. Herbert’s poetry is certainly clever, but more evident is that within his poetry is a profound understanding of a personal theology, on which he relies even during his most difficult conflicts. Because of Herbert’s devotion to God and study of the Bible for his pastoral ministry, his poetry can be better understood and appreciated in light of his theological views, and particularly, his theology as it relates to John Calvin’s teaching. One of the most pervasive images in Herbert’s poetry is God’s relationship to man, and specifically, God’s sovereignty both in nature and the life of man. In his poetry, Herbert seems to acknowledge the role of God as supreme mover in contrast to the powerlessness of man, perhaps the most controversial aspect of Calvinism. In his introduction to John Calvin: Selections from His Writings, John Dillenberger discusses Calvin’s theology: “It often has been said of Calvin’s thought that it illumines the benefits of God in Christ for the believer.

It would not be too much to call it a religious functionalism, for his religious

22 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal exposition serves the life and understanding of the believer” (20). Herbert’s poetry is an example of the practical purpose that Calvin’s theology serves in the believer’s life; furthermore, it is an example of how one’s own theology can be used as map to navigate spiritual conflicts and circumstances.

In the contemporary controversy and misunderstanding of Calvin’s simplified “five points” doctrine, many overlook the underlying theology that fuels Calvin’s teaching. Despite the complexity of Calvin’s doctrine, it is generally taught as five main points: total depravity (all men are affected by original sin and unable to choose salvation); unconditional election (God decides the eternal fate of humans, either salvation for the elect or damnation for the reprobate); limited atonement (Christ’s death was only for the elect); irresistible grace (when the elect are called to salvation they cannot and do not reject God); and perseverance of the saints (the elect cannot lose their salvation). Although important in providing a cursory understanding of Calvinism, these five points leave many guessing at the core of Calvinism. John Dillenberger suggests the following as the foundation of Calvin’s theology: The essential structure of his thought is evident in a series of parallels which run throughout—God the Creator and God the Redeemer, law and Gospel, the Old Israel and the New Israel, Providence and election. Indeed, all the pairs can be put under God the Redeemer and God the Creator. (14) Dillenberger’s statement seems to be supported by the organization of Calvin’s “Catechism of the Church of Geneva of Faith.” The first catechism emphasizes Calvin’s belief in the importance of God as Creator: “Master.—What is the chief end of human life? Scholar.—To know God by whom men were created” (249).

The most important objective of man’s life is to know God, and the reason for this, Calvin suggests, is that men were created by God. Calvin’s last catechisms address God as Redeemer. After asserting that repentance is the act of surrendering one’s self to the Holy Spirit to reject sin and obey God, Calvin writes that this allows for the true worship of God, because “the only worship which [God] approves is not that which it may please us to devise, but that which he hath of his own authority prescribed” (265). Calvin begins with the idea of God as Creator and ends with the idea of God as Redeemer of man through the repentance produced by the fear of God and leading of the Holy Spirit; Calvin begins and ends his religious instruction with God, specifically the sovereignty of God as Creator and God as Redeemer. God created, and the Holy Spirit allows man to reject sin and obey God, which could not have been done by man’s own power. Underlying the contemporary five points of Calvinism is this belief in the sovereignty of God as creator and redeemer; ultimately, God is completely sovereign over his creation, which includes man.

In understanding the function of Herbert’s poetry, one must first understand the character of Herbert and his devotion to sincerity. In “The Country Parson,” a brief text that teaches men how they should conduct their lives if they are pastors, Herbert continually refers back to an idea underlined in ‘The

Ashley Anthony 23 Parson’s Life’: “The parson’s yea is yea, and nay, nay” (204). In conducting affairs, Hebert believed that the parson should be sincere and trustworthy in his speech and actions. In Heart-work: George Herbert and the Protestant Ethics, Cristina Malcolmson further addresses Herbert’s perceived value of sincerity in the life of a priest: “Herbert is both coolly aware of the need to perform and insistent on countering the potential for hypocrisy and the fragility of appearance by grounding authority on an internal holiness adamantly sincere and genuine” (32). From all appearances, Herbert’s goal was to reflect a life authentically devoted to sincerity to reflect God positively to his parishioners. This devotion to sincerity is paralleled in Herbert’s poems, about which he admitted to a Mr. Duncon on his deathbed: “Sir, I pray deliver this little book to my dear brother Ferrar, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master” (311). Herbert did not admit that his poems were a reflection of deep study or polished theology, but rather admitted that they were depictions of an unruly spiritual nature undergoing regeneration. The importance of realizing authentic passion and struggle in Herbert's poems is essential to understanding the poet and his poetry. T.S. Eliot asserts that if struggle is not seen within Herbert’s poetry, the reader has entirely mistaken the poet: “To think of Herbert as the poet of placid and comfortable easy piety is to misunderstand utterly the man and his poems” (14). Herbert’s poetry depicts his Christian life as it actually was, and he included thoughts and feelings that could blight or benefit his reputation as a country parson. While retaining piety and respect, Herbert questions God, voicing his complaints and agony over various areas in his life, while indicating that sin still existed in his body. Herbert’s poetry, in its depth and honesty, seems to undertake a task described by Calvin in “The Man and His Life”: “It is certainly a rare and singular advantage, when all lurking places are discovered, and the heart is brought into the light, purged from that most baneful infection, hypocrisy” (23).

Along with the spirit of sincerity in his poetry and pastoral life, Herbert pursued the spiritual growth of his parishioners and fellow Protestants. Herbert asked Mr. Duncon to pass the poems along to his brother so that his brother could evaluate them: “If [Ferrar] can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public; if not, let him burn it; for I and it are the least of God’s mercies” (311). Herbert’s poetry was not created to impress or to be published. Ultimately, Herbert’s goal was to present his poetry to God as a form of worship, which is demonstrated in the metaphysical comparison of a legal purchase to devoting one’s life to God in “Obedience”: On it my heart doth bleed As many lines as there doth need To pass itself and all it hath to thee.

To which I do agree, And here present it as my legal deed. (lines 6-10)

24 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Herbert admits that his poetry is simply the outpouring of his heart onto paper, which he then gives to God as an offering. In recognizing this sincerity, both in poetry and in life, one will begin to see a man guided by what he believed about God. This is most clearly appreciated when his poems are read and understood, as Herbert sometimes writes with a desperation that might communicate doubt or cynicism. However, Herbert’s poems are eventually resolved with his theology, as he relies on what he knows about the nature of God as a resolution to his conflict. Herbert’s practical theology constantly underlies his spiritual conflicts throughout The Temple, as it is clear that even during the most arduous circumstances, Herbert constantly depends on what he knows about the sovereignty of God. Throughout Herbert’s poetry are numerous images that act as metaphysical conceits, which are complex metaphors that generally guide a poem.

Because his poetry within The Temple primarily indicate his spiritual life, Herbert uses the metaphysical conceit to explore various aspects of his Christianity.

Several of his conceits are devoted to his theology that point to the sovereignty of God while also referencing images used by Calvin and those who followed Calvin. In her essay “George Herbert and the Puritan Piety,” Jeanne Hunter recognizes several images in Herbert’s poetry that seem to imitate or at least resemble images used by reformed theologians impacted by Calvin. Even though this further suggests the impact Calvin had on Herbert’s theology, it also reveals more about Herbert’s own theology. One of these images is based on the presence of sin in the believer’s life. Because sin still exists in the elect’s bodies, Calvin suggested that the heart always needed to be “brought to a better tune, and to a better temper” (Hunter 234). Calvin saw this tuning of the heart not within man’s ability; rather, God alone was able to bring the discordant heart to repentance, thus to order. In his own acknowledgment of God’s role in the removal of sin, Herbert writes in “Repentance”: “But thou wilt sin and grief destroy / That so the broken bones may joy / And tune together in a well-set song” (lines 31-33). Herbert alludes to God’s sovereignty over sin and grief in the sinner’s life while also suggesting that this process is similar to tuning. “The Temper” is devoted to Herbert’s sin in contrast to God’s holiness, illustrating man as one in need of tempering and tuning, and God as the one who tempers and tunes. In the end, Herbert relinquishes his fate to God: “Stretch or contract me thy poor debtor / This is but tuning of my breast / To make the music better” (2224). Herbert realizes that sin still exists in his body while also communicating that he must rely on God for his regeneration. This aspect of his theology—God is in control of his regeneration—seems to provide hope for the poet, as he realizes that eventually his heart will be tuned and tempered completely.

An image of a garden and its gardener is frequently found in Herbert’s poetry. In “Paradise,” God acts as a gardener in the garden, which is Herbert’s life. Cristina Malcolmsen suggests that “the assertion of the value of structure inherent in the enclosed garden represents for Herbert the orderly plan of salvation and the inclusion of the soul within it” (182). The sovereignty of God in conversion is apparent in Herbert’s idea of God as the gardener and man as the one being pruned. Herbert first implies that God as gardener organizes the

Ashley Anthony 25 garden: “I bless thee, Lord, because I GROW / Among the trees, which in a ROW / To thee both fruit and order OW” (lines 1-3). Calvin explains a similar idea: “Nature is rather the order prescribed by God” (339). “Paradise” recognizes the role of God in the organization of nature while also suggesting order in spiritual growth. Herbert continues: “What open force, or hidden CHARM / Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM / While the inclosure is thine ARM” (lines 4-6).

Herbert alludes to the constancy of his salvation, which cannot be taken away, dependent on the idea of God’s assurance in the life of the believer, or the Calvinist doctrine of perseverance of the saints. For Herbert, as long as God is protecting him, there is nothing that can harm his salvation. Herbert recognizes the enclosure of God’s spiritual protection as freedom from damnation, but sin is still a part of his life: “Inclose me still for fear I START / Be to me rather sharp and TART/ Than let me want thy hand and ART” (lines 7-9). Herbert recognizes his own weakness in consideration of the sin that still exists in his mortal body; he is still prone to temptation. The request for discipline to deter Herbert from sinning is striking: Herbert’s discipline compels him to want the corrector’s hand, or sense of safety, instead of turning away from it, as a child might from its corrector.

Herbert later compares the discipline of God to a gardener’s pruning: “When thou dost greater judgements SPARE / And with thy knife but prune and PARE / Ev’n fruitful trees more fruitful ARE” (lines 10-12). Herbert depicts God’s work in the believer’s spiritual life through the role of gardener and the structure of the poem. Just as God prunes the trees so they can grow better fruit, so Herbert cleverly prunes words to better fit each idea and provide a visual representation. God is depicted as one who regulates the soul of man so that it will continue to bear fruit or grow spiritually. Finally, Herbert writes, “Such sharpness shows the sweetest FREND / Such cuttings rather heal than REND / And such beginnings touch their END” (lines 13-15). Although the pruning might seem unfair or severe at first, Herbert suggests that this pruning actually heals, playing off rend as meaning either emotional pain (for the believer) or a physical tear (the cut from the pruning shears). With this cutting, the plant is able to grow properly, just as the Christian is able to grow spiritually. In reference to human nature, Calvin states, “Let us therefore remember, whenever each of us contemplates his own nature, that there is one God who so governs all natures that he would have us look unto him, direct our faith to him, and worship and call upon him” (339). Calvin emphasizes the government of all natures for a purpose, so the elect will worship and call upon God. Just as God is depicted by Herbert as the gardener responsible for the gardening, God is depicted by Calvin as the one who governs the realm of human nature. In the face of spiritual discipline, Herbert is able to refer to the idea that God must discipline Christians as they undergo the process of regeneration. This process is a result of God's love for the elect, an aspect of Herbert’s theology that if taken away would undermine his acceptance of spiritual discipline.

The rudder is another metaphysical conceit often used as a metaphor for God’s sovereignty in the life of the believer. The idea of God as the one who directs the life of the believer is paralleled with the image of a rudder, which

26 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal steers a ship in a certain direction. Calvin’s acknowledgment that God is sovereign is emphasized in his description of irresistible grace: “The mind... recognizes God because it knows that he governs all things; and trusts that he is its guide and protector, therefore giving itself over completely to trust in him” (325). Herbert also seems to recognize this same sovereignty of God. In “The Bag,” Herbert writes about the assurance of God’s control despite experiencing grief: “Though windes and waves assault my keel / He doth preserve it: he doth steer / Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel” (lines 2-4). Herbert later alludes (lines 5-6) to Christ’s calming of the storm (Mark 4), paralleling God’s sovereignty over nature with God’s sovereignty over Herbert’s life and circumstances. In “Obedience,” Herbert indicates the excellence of God’s control over his life as opposed to his own control through the image of a rudder: “Let me not think an action my own way / But as thy love shall sway / Resigning up the rudder to thy skill” (lines 18-20). Herbert suggests not only that God is a better navigator, but also that he needs God’s love to influence the submission of control; Herbert does not allow God to direct his life by his own power. By expressing his need for God’s complete direction, Herbert seems to express Calvin’s idea of the mind recognizing God as its guide. Despite spiritual opposition in the circumstance of his life, Herbert still trusts God, as Calvin suggested the believer would. Herbert is able to rely on his knowledge of the sovereignty of God, recognizing that God directs his steps just as the rudder directs a ship. Even while the “waves” of a difficult trial were assaulting Herbert, he was dependent on his theology as he worked out his feelings in relation to what he knew.

It is evident that Herbert believed in the powerlessness of man in comparison to the sovereignty of God. Herbert’s realization of his total depravity is seen frequently throughout his poetry, as he constantly admits that he is unable to change his own circumstances and relies on God to enact the changing for him.

In his poem “Christmas,” Herbert admits both his total depravity and his need for God to change his life: Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right, To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger: Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst have A better lodging, than a rack, or grave. (lines 11-14) Herbert does not suggest that he has renovated and decorated a suitable room in which God can reside; God must do that. Herbert’s heart, without God’s improvements, is a tomb. Herbert certainly brings to light his own spiritual nature, but he references it alongside the idea that he is in the process of regeneration, which is enacted by God. Herbert does not wallow in his inability to force spiritual change. Rather, he recognizes it within his theology, which indicates that God is constantly enacting regeneration for the Christian. Herbert continues the idea of his heart as a construction zone in “Confession”:

Ashley Anthony 27 Within my heart I made Closets; and in them many a chest; And like a master in my trade, In those chests, boxes; in each box, a till: Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will. (lines 1-5) Despite Herbert’s best attempt to barricade his heart, grief still infiltrates Herbert’s formation whenever it wants. Herbert later qualifies this grief: “No screw, no piercer can / Into a piece of timber work and wind / As God’s affliction into man” (lines 7-9). Despite man’s unwillingness to confess or feel repentance, God inserts what Calvin described as “dissatisfaction with and a hatred of sin and a love of righteousness, proceeding from the fear of God” which ultimately leads to confession and repentance (265). The recognition of sin, and the consequent grief in light of and abhorrence of sin, is within God’s ability, not man’s ability.

Herbert illustrates this with man’s construction of barriers to resist repentance and the invasion of guilt or conviction. Herbert, with his sinful nature, resists God, which echoes Calvin’s idea of the leading of man into repentance, as opposed to man choosing to recognize his sin on his own. In “Man,” Herbert continues the conceit of the heart as a structure being worked upon in an attempt to promote man as a residence for God: “My God, I heard this day / That none doth build a stately habitation / But he that means to dwell therein” (lines 1-3). Herbert recognizes God as Creator of man, suggesting that God created man so that he could inhabit man, alluding to man as the temple of God (1 Cor. 3:16). The idea of God as an architect is presented by Calvin in reference to the roles of God and nature: At this day, however, the earth sustains on her bosom many monster minds—minds which are not afraid to employ the seed of Deity deposited in human nature as a means of suppressing the name of God.... He will not say that chance has made him differ from the brutes that perish; but, substituting nature as the architect of the universe, he suppresses the name of God. (Edgar & Olphint 49) Calvin believed that seeing nature as a deity or as the creator of itself was blasphemy, and this included the idea that man believed he was not created by God. Ultimately, God is the creator, or architect, of the universe, and further, God is the creator and architect of man’s heart. Within his poetry, Herbert struggled between his attempts to improve the structure of his own heart and his allowing God to work on his heart. However, in his realization that God was sovereign in the process of regeneration, Herbert stopped his own attempts at creating a worthy temple for God to reside in and allowed God to change him.

Although Herbert suggests that it is possible for the believer to be the temple of God, he is not suggesting that God literally becomes a piece of the believer. In Love Known, Richard Strier remarks on Calvin’s response to those who believed that God is literally a part of the believer: “Calvin saw these

28 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal theological radicals as promiscuously confusing God and the creatures in stating that God is ‘substantially’ or ‘essentially’ in us and all creatures and that we and all things are therefore ‘portions’ of God” (63). Comparatively, Herbert recognized man as physically separate from God, although man can be the temple or resting place of God. In “Man,” Herbert writes, “Since then, my God, thou hast / So brave a Palace built; O dwell in it / That it may dwell with thee at last” (lines 49-51). Herbert distinguishes between man’s heart and God, confirming Calvin’s belief in the two as separate while also recognizing man as an incredible creation. Although Calvin did not agree that God was essentially a part of man, he did believe that man was “the loftiest proof of divine wisdom…because he is a rare example of God’s power, goodness, and wisdom, and contains within himself enough miracles to occupy our minds” (335). Both Calvin and Herbert believed that God and man were two separate entities while also acknowledging the importance of man as God’s creation. In his own perception of the relationship between God and man, Herbert was able to trust in the fact that because he was made by God as a dwelling place for God, he would not be abandoned.

The theology of God’s presence is a recurring struggle in Herbert’s poetry, as Herbert frequently struggles with feelings of abandonment. Throughout his torment of isolation, there is a constant thread of the sovereignty of God that underlines his feelings. In “A Parody,” Herbert indicates that the sense of God’s presence felt by man is God’s responsibility: Yet when thou dost suppress The Cheerfulness Of thy abode, And in my powers not stir abroad But leave me to my load. (lines 6-10) Herbert perceives God as the one who is able to give or take away the sensation of presence, suggesting that God suppresses the “cheerfulness” of his company. Not only does Herbert suggest that God controls his manifestation in the believer’s life, but he also suggests that man’s attempt to conjure God’s attention is ineffective: “I may seek, but thou art lost” (line 24). In “The Longing,” Herbert continuously calls on God, portraying a heart in agony because of the absence of God. Herbert begs to be heard, asking, “Lord hear, Shall he that made the ear / Not hear?” (lines 35-36). Herbert’s anguish is not resolved in “The Longing” despite his attempt to procure God’s attention and action: “Pluck out thy dart / And heal my troubled breast which cries / which dies” (lines 82-84). Even though Herbert pleads for the sense of God’s presence, there is an indication that God has yet to make his presence felt. This aspect of Herbert’s theology—God is in control of his presence—separates Herbert's belief from the Ignatian meditation popular during his time, which suggested that God’s presence could be conjured if only the right words were spoken. However, this understanding of God’s presence does seem to associate him with Calvin’s theology. Malcolmsen suggests that Herbert’s theology of God’s presence finds its roots in Calvinism: “Herbert, with his Calvinist sense of the overwhelming sovereignty of God,

Ashley Anthony 29 cannot finally believe that God has limited himself to any rhetorical convention: but that does not prevent him from trying every verbal formulation available” (84). Although Herbert is evidently trying to catch the attention of God, he does not undergo certain rituals that he believes will force God’s ear to his words.

However, God does not only ignore Herbert, as indicated by “The Bag.” Underlined in this poem is an important aspect of Herbert’s belief in the sovereignty of God in his presence: “Storms are the triumph of his art / Well he may close his eyes, but not his heart” (lines 6-6). Referencing the calming of the storm by Jesus (Mark 4), Herbert realizes that even though God’s presence might not be felt in the conflicts faced, God is still sovereign even during those struggles. His reliance on this perception allowed Herbert to keep his faith even when it seemed like he was forgotten by God. Herbert realized that God was in control of revealing his presence, and in “The Bag,” it becomes evident that, although this might have produced a difficult trial for Herbert, it was actually an aspect of his theology that he could depend on when he felt abandoned.

The importance of theology in devotional poetry becomes evident when trying to appreciate and absorb the intention of the poet. Herbert readily admitted that his poetry was not simply words constructed in wit, but spiritual conflicts that affected him, and thus his theology would have been exhibited and strengthened, whether consciously or unconsciously, in writing about personal and spiritual matters. Even though the relationship between Calvin’s writings and Herbert’s poetry is informative in the awareness of Herbert as a poet and pastor, his poems can still be appreciated for the depiction of the honest and passionate struggles Herbert encountered. Although some might be disturbed by the spiritual conflict in Herbert’s life, Herbert’s words in reference to his impending death should provide resolution: “I shall dwell in the new Jerusalem, dwell there with men made perfect; dwell, where these eyes shall see my Master and Savior Jesus” (312). Herbert’s poetry reflected his life as a devotion to God in light of the sacrifice of Christ, and in order to reach a greater and more valuable understanding of Herbert’s writing, the extent of this devotion must be considered. As Hebert wrote in “A Wreath”: Give me simplicity, that I may live, So live and like, that I may know thy ways, Know them and practice them: then shall I give For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise. (lines 9-12) Herbert was perfectly aware that his gift to God was humble; regardless, he devoted his life to the worship of God, and this included his poetry.

Herbert devoted his religious poetry to God and depicted his personal spiritual struggles throughout, but his poetry can still be relevant to those who do not share his beliefs. T.S. Eliot suggests that “the relation of enjoyment to belief—the question whether a poem has more to give us if we share the beliefs of its author, is one which has never been answered satisfactorily” (23). Because of the controversy that sometimes hovers over Calvin’s doctrine in contemporary

30 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Christian culture, many might be adverse to Herbert as new scholars are suggesting a connection between Calvin and Herbert’s theology. Calvin’s foundation firmly stands in his belief in the sovereignty of God, an idea that expresses the core of Christianity. Furthermore, his theology acts as a map which guides the Christian in his practical walk of faith. In the same way, Herbert uses his theology as a way to persevere through spiritual conflict, relying on his knowledge of God when circumstances seem to oppose his theological convictions. When it seems as if God has abandoned him, Herbert trusts in the fact that God is in control of his own presence. He also realizes that God is in control of the circumstances surrounding the feelings of abandonment. When Herbert feels inadequate and overwhelmed by his sinful nature, he is able to rely on God’s promise of spiritual discipline, which enables regeneration. As Herbert deals with spiritual conflicts, he always faces it with his theology, proving that his knowledge of God is not based in ideology, but rather his theology affects his actions, seen best through how he confronts spiritual conflict. Herbert's initial uncertainty in giving over his poems on his deathbed seems quite unfounded when considering the outcome. Herbert has indeed proved his worth not only in literary history, but also as a spiritual leader whose poems have proved useful to such “dejected poor souls” that he wished to serve with his writing. With an authentic representation of his regeneration, Herbert has provided readers with a theology that actively works itself out in his spiritual life, indicating that without a theology that is practical and effective, one does not have the map needed to live out the Christian faith sincerely.

Works Cited Clarke, Elizabeth. Theory and Theology in George Herbert’s Poetry. New York: Oxford UP, 1997. Print.

Dabney, R.L. “The Five Points of Calvinism.” The Hall of Church History.

2001. Web. 9 May 2013. <http://www.spurgeon.org/~phil/dabney/5points.htm> Dillenberger, John, ed. John Calvin: Selections from His Writings. Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1971. Print.

Edgar, William, and K. Scott Olphint, eds. Christian Apologetics Past and Present Volume II. Wheaton: Crossway, 2011. Print.

Eliot, T.S. George Herbert. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Ltd., 1962. Print.

Fish, Stanley. The Living Temple. Los Angeles: U of California P, 1978. Print.

Herbert, George. The Complete English Poems. London: Penguin, 1991. Print.

Hunter, Jeanne Clayton. “George Herbert and Puritan Piety.” Chicago Journals: The Journal of Religion 68.2 (1988): 226-41. Web. 8 May 2013.

Malcolmson, Cristina. Heart-Work: George Herbert and the Protestant Ethic.

Stanford: Stanford UP, 1999. Print.

Mann, Cameron. A Concordance to the English Poems of George Herbert.

Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1927. Print.

Strier, Richard. Love Known: Theology and Experience in George Herbert’s

Ashley Anthony 31 Poetry. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1983. Print.

Whalen, Robert. “George Herbert’s Sacramental Puritanism.” Chicago Journals: Renaissance Quarterly 54.4 (2001): 1273-1307. Web. 8 May 2013.

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 32-41

Author without Authority: Stephen Crane’s Belief within The Red Badge of Courage and “The Open Boat” Mark Eckel and Tyler Eckel Introduction Stephen Crane (1871-1900) would have loved The Matrix. The 1999 film by the Wachowski Brothers hit the Cineplex by storm. Audiences immediately saw its implication: What if there is another reality? The conflict in the film revolves around both saving what is real and convincing others that this “real” exists. Viewers ponder, “Am I seeing the world only as I believe it to be or as it really is?” Personal interpretation is crucial, but does our interpretation create the world or mask something in the world which we refuse to acknowledge? Like The Matrix, Crane is syncretistic, claiming multiple answers to his question.

Crane writes about reality as he sees it in The Red Badge of Courage (1895) but carries on the “eternal debate” (Red Badge 60) about “The Question” (70).

The problem for viewers of The Matrix and for Stephen Crane is the seeming lack of unity in reality. Some do indeed go through life without questioning, “How does everything fit together?” This question, however, is crucial to the whole of life. If there is no organizing principle, if no one is in charge, if humans are left to the whims of fate and personified Nature has no master, we in fact live in Crane’s world. Stephen Crane’s view of life can be summarized as naturalistic cynicism—man against indifferent nature. Crane’s naturalism provides the essential understanding of life: Nothing and no one governs Nature. Cynicism is best reflected in Crane’s use of irony. There are no happy endings in Crane’s writings. The story stops abruptly, not in tragedy, not in triumph, but in timidity. A human writing about humans concludes that existence has no coherence, nothing to hold it together and thereby give life meaning. Nature is not against humans; human existence does not matter to Nature. Crane portrays humanity as pathetic, spinning on an apathetic Sphere. If Earth is uninterested in humanity, life is simply a state of flux.

How, then, should a person respond to living in such a world of instability? The Red Badge of Courage is not simply one man’s view of war; the book ultimately ignores the coherence of the universe. If there is no governing structure, order, or framework whereby people interpret life, everyone is left alone. The verbal shrug of the shoulders—“whatever”—is indeed the answer to every query. Humans by themselves are left to themselves. Crane uses impressionistic realism to make the individual the arbiter and interpreter of truth. Impressionism suggests personal, emotional, visual, situational, and

Eckel & Eckel 33 experiential foci. Crane’s reality is created in conjunction with his viewpoint. What he sees and feels is Crane’s outlook. If there is another world behind this world, Crane fashions it for himself and his reader. The clarity of Crane’s assumptions concerning life makes it clear that absolutes do not matter because humans do not matter. There is no past or future to which one would need to give account. Only the present matters, so the individual may interpret his part in unfettered Nature.

Rebellion against Authority Crane lived his short life with others who had a long reach. The ideas of Darwin, Nietzsche, and Marx, for instance, had begun to seep into intellectual conversation. Nietzsche’s views were honest: If one rejects the Christian God, he or she must naturally reject the Christian ethic. “Dog-eat-dog” evolutionary theory popularized by Darwin streamed into literary communities. Marx gave the poor a new voice, all the while redistributing wealth until the wealth producers were gone. Together with writer friends—Henry James, H.G. Wells, and especially Joseph Conrad—naturalism, atheism, and impressionism were finding inroads into fiction. Nature alone, man alone, and self alone are worldview constructs which discovered their voice in Crane.

Seeds of aloneness began to take root in Crane’s childhood. Fourteenth in the birth order, he grew up in the home of a Methodist minister. It would not be difficult to see that strict discipline, along with lack of personal attention, could foster individualism. From the beginning, Crane rebelled against his father.

Baseball, theater, chess, smoking, drinking, and novels—all considered to be vices by Reverend Crane—became Stephen’s focus. Were his dad alive to see, Stephen’s multiple love affairs would also have been a mutiny against religious standards of conduct. Perhaps calling the cannon battery in Red Badge which lobbed shells at the enemy—soon to be destroyed itself—“Methodical idiots!

Machine-like fools!” was really a shot at his dad. Of course, Crane’s father spoke on behalf of the One who ordered the universe. Among the many poems Crane produced, revolt against God was a consistent theme. The Black Riders and Other Lines, while published after The Red Badge of Courage, was concurrent thought as Crane substitutes himself for The Almighty: A man went before a strange God— The God of many men, sadly wise.

And the deity thundered loudly, Fat with rage, and puffing.

“Kneel, mortal, and cringe And grovel and do homage To My Particularly Sublime Majesty.”

The man fled.

Then the man went to another God—

34 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal The God of his inner thoughts.

And this one looked at him With soft eyes Lit with infinite comprehension, And said, “My poor child!” (The Black Riders LI) It is not surprising that God is left unreferenced in Red Badge. Even a direct argument against the evil of war in the world might have suggested care for God’s existence. So, when one rejects God, one is left by oneself. Crane’s anonymous references to “the youth” were statements of aloneness. Crane’s recorded words cement the author’s perspective: “Impressionism was his faith. Impressionism, he said, was truth, and no man could be great who was not an impressionist, for greatness consisted in knowing truth. He said that he did not expect to be great himself, but he hoped to get near the truth” (Berryman 55). Left alone with Nature and himself, Impressionism became his god, and self became his authority.

Self as Authority Editors were attracted to Crane’s journalistic impressionism. While other correspondents recorded events, Crane took readers to the events through his eyes. “Forget what you think about it and tell how you feel about it” (Berryman 25) was Crane’s explanation. Reporting became interpreting; ultimately, Crane’s journalistic interpretation became the lens through which he wrote his fiction. As Crane’s main character in Red Badge explains, “A certain mothlike quality within him kept him in the vicinity of the battle. He had a great desire to see, and to get news. He wished to know who was winning” (Red Badge 126). Crane alone possessed an inner knowledge, replacing thinking with feeling. Impressionism is feeling which depends on individual experience and perspective to be the twin arbiters of truth. Impressionistic painters used dots of paint to blur the lines of reality. Crane’s writing created his own reality. Crane questioned all established standards, becoming the sole authority as “the youth” in the novel.

The novel’s youth sees the world around him only through his own eyes.

Personal comfort consumed the youth’s focus, and experimentation was the basis for his knowledge. With no ultimate reassurance about war outside himself, he would have to establish his own experience. In one case, he “watch[ed] his legs to discover their merits and faults” (Red Badge 56). Emotion surges through the text as the youth realizes that he cannot understand anyone but himself: “He felt alone in space…. No one seemed to be wrestling with such a terrific personal problem. He was a mental outcast” (64-65). Crane’s personal reflection is transferred to the youth who “tried to observe everything” (69). The youth’s omniscient ego enters early, and often “[t]here was but one pair of eyes in the corps” (71). Calling himself “a fine fellow,” he seemed supremely gratified that his perspective would carry the day (90).

The youth named Henry egotistically thinks that “his profound and fine senses” (75) are unappreciated by others around him. It is always his

Eckel & Eckel 35 “impression” (94) that matters most. He is a know-it-all. Whether in life or death, the ultimate concern is self—ego reigns. The youth is consumed with envy. Henry’s only concern with others is what they have that he wants. A death wish is pronounced as he surveys dead bodies littering the battlefield landscape: “He, the enlightened man who looks afar in the dark, had fled because of his superior perceptions and knowledge. He felt a great anger against his comrades.

He knew it could be proved that they had been fools” (99).

Any connection to others is simply to create another opportunity to look in the mirror again. The youth repeatedly calls attention to himself. Consider the youth’s response to impending battle: He would have liked to have used a tremendous force, he said, throw off himself and become a better…. He thought of the magnificent pathos of his dead body…. As he was at last compelled to pay attention to them, his capacity for self-hate was multiplied…. He now conceded it to be impossible that he should ever become a hero. He was a craven loon. (124, 125-26) An extended section of chapter 14 identifies the youth’s self-pride. Faith resides in himself. He serves his own pomposity, avoiding life’s obligations. While scorning and diminishing his compatriots, he elevates himself. Others’ questions may cause momentary unease, his feelings blown by the wind, but shame is covered quickly. In Red Badge, friend and foe are consistently referenced as inanimate objects or simply animals. The enemy is nothing more than “an unconquerable thing” (182). When there is a pause for reflection, others’ eyes are on him. On the last page, the reader finds these words: “For he saw that the world was a world for him” (211). Everything comes back to Henry. Crane’s impressionism was the self-filled chasm between the literary periods of romanticism and modernism. The first reveled in nature, the second used nature.

Crane’s passive acquiescence toward Nature created impressionistic realism. The youth’s pride ultimately had little impact. His part in the war proved to be insignificant: “The world was fully interested in other matters” (173).

Nature’s Brute Authority People may interpret their world, but the world has the final word. Crane refers to the world as “Nature.” Capitalization seems to suggest an external authority, a god-like personification. However, Crane’s Nature is not a good god.

Nature is harsh. Nature is amoral. Nature is indifferent. Nature has no thought for the individual. Humans are interlopers, party-crashers in an uncaring cosmos.

Loneliness pervades Red Badge. While there is dialogue aplenty, the reader encounters only the empty echoes of supposed community. Ultimately, we are left to ourselves and by ourselves.

Crane expresses surprise at the beginning of his war contemplation. The war had not made an impact on Nature, which “had gone tranquilly on with her

36 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal golden process in the midst of so much devilment” (89). Crane continues in chapters 7, 8, and 12: It seemed now that Nature had no ears…. He conceived Nature to be a woman with a deep aversion to tragedy…. There was the law, he said. Nature had given him a sign… The youth wended, feeling that Nature was of his mind. She re-enforced his argument with proofs that lived where the sun shone…. It seemed that Nature could not be quite ready to kill him…. He forgot that he was engaged in combating the universe. (100-01, 104, 130) Crane employed his journalistic ability for an article about coalminers in Scranton, Pennsylvania, but his sketch turned into a screed against Nature: “It is war. It is the most savage part of all in the endless battle between man and nature.

Man is in the implacable grasp of nature. It has only to tighten slightly, and he is crushed like a bug” (Berryman 89).

Crane famously records the war between Nature and humanity in the short story “The Open Boat” (1897). Based on a journalistic entry, Crane had actually endured a shipwreck and used the experience to create the short story. Crane’s correspondent in the boat writes, When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples. (“The Open Boat” 246) The narrator desires to confront personified Nature, “bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying ‘Yes, but I love myself.’ A high cold star on a winter’s night is the word he feels that she [Nature] says to him” (247). Crane understands the tragedy, the misery of his situation. Life is chance. Human efforts are a shooting star. Both The Red Badge of Courage and “The Open Boat” express outrage against Nature, but there is no recourse for response (“no bricks”) because there is nothing to worship (“no temple”).

Without an absolute authority to reverence, Crane, like the youth and the ship’s journalist, wishes to be his own authority. Yes, Nature is bigger, stronger, and oppressive. However, it is no god. Crane rejected The Creator, and, by doing so, also rejected the creation. If Nature does not care, man must return the distain.

If they cannot throw bricks at the temple, perhaps humans can heave them at each other.

Presentism as Authority The War Between the States—heaving bricks at each other—is both backdrop and metaphor in The Red Badge of Courage. Stephen Crane’s novel

Eckel & Eckel 37 was an early progenitor of realism—writing as if one were recording events at a local police station. Frank, sometimes graphic, prose made readers feel as if they were there. Decades later, other now-famous names would add to the tradition: London, Hemingway, and Faulkner. Considering his stints as a news reporter, it is no surprise Crane wrote in such a manner. Further, Crane’s lackadaisical attitude toward unfinished schooling created no connections to literary tradition.

Crane had no canon. He did not draw from authors’ past work. He wrote in the present. Crane considered his environment to be his “university.” For the novella Maggie: A Girl of the Streets (1893), it was the Bowery; for “The Open Boat,” it was a real-life shipwreck. His human experiences were also unfettered from Heaven’s authority. During the time of Dickens, Conrad, James, and Crane, God’s existence was cast in doubt. Until this time, novelists depended upon the authorial-omniscient view—the writer with authority. All voices within the novel were based on the author’s perspective. For Crane, in keeping with his rebellion against authority, he chose variant viewpoints from characters within the script, whether truthful or not (Gardner 157-58). In Crane’s mindset, there is no past, no future—only present influence.

To Crane, death is the end of the present. Death anticipated “his eyes burning with the power of a stare into the unknown” (Red Badge 106). “He now thought that he wished he was dead. He believed that he envied those men whose bodies lay strewn over the grass of the fields and on the fallen leaves of the forest” (121). Fear of death—“ominously silent he became frightened and imagined terrible fingers that clutched into his brain” (134)—is ever on Crane’s mind. History becomes nothing more that an individual’s trophy case. However, his awards are meant only for him, not for future generations. Every person must create his or her own past and future within the boundary of what Crane calls “present circumstances” (73). Fear is an ever-present emotion in Red Badge.

Crane is not scared of some future event or place like heaven or hell. If there is no fear of afterlife, one must fear losing this life.

If this life is all that matters, fear promotes fulfillment of present desires.

The title Red Badge of Courage is embedded within chapter 9. Bravery in battle is reduced to a wound; the youth was envious of other soldiers who had been bloodied. While some commentators focus on the youth’s growth from cowardice to heroism, Henry himself seems to care little if at all. What he wants is a wound, a scar, a mark which confers on him singularity and independence. What strikes the reader is that meaning for the wound is tied directly to the here and now.

Crane ends his writing with irony—no clarity of dénouement—because the future does not matter. Any purpose, reason, or authority in life is found in this life alone.

No Absolute Authority Left to itself, humans’ search for meaning is a returned reflection in the mirror. Purpose is self-directed. Belief parties with fate. Emotion is a scream without sound. “The Open Boat” records Crane’s anti-authority assumptions:

38 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

[Nature] did not seem cruel to him then, nor beneficent, nor treacherous, nor wise. But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent.

It is, perhaps, plausible that a man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of his life, and have them taste wickedly in his mind and wish for another chance. A distinction between right and wrong seems absurdly clear to him, then, in this new ignorance of the graveedge, and he understands that if he were given another opportunity he would mend his conduct and his words, and be better and brighter during an introduction or at a tea. (251) Crane believes that social mores, such as etiquette, are the only authority possible in human terms. The unasked question is “Why obey community standards without absolutes?” If experience is the arbiter of truth, the only possible justification for a standard is having the exact same experience as another. Only then can one claim truth. However, individual experience has no universal authority. If no external authority exists, humans are left to the whims of raw power—either in the hands of tyrants or tyrannical Nature. Because Crane’s character makes decisions in the moment, ethics become situational. Community values matter little. What others do or don’t do is unimportant to Crane.

So Crane’s youth in Red Badge finds himself without hope. There is no anticipation of something better, of a life well lived. People live and then they die. Chance, luck, accident, and coincidence are words marking life’s progress.

Fate is Crane’s repetitious term of choice throughout Red Badge: “It was as if fate had betrayed the soldier” (Red Badge 70) Supposed “right” or “wrong” is nothing more than power going to the top dog, reflecting Darwin and Nietzsche.

It is not as if the youth cares about those around him whether for good or ill.

There is an air of carelessness in Henry. Whether something happens or does not happen has no consequence. Self is the youth’s only focus. Crane would agree with the English poet William Ernest Henley: “I am the captain of my fate….”

Human will is the sole arbiter of choice.

So the reader sees the youth berating his lieutenant who had no appreciation for his fine mind or senses. Henry was “the enlightened man” (99) who knew more than generals did. He turns out to be nothing more than a sophomore—a fool who thinks he is wise—expressing full-throated pride.

Humans create their own knowledge, interpret their own fact, and become their own authority. The last line of Crane’s short story “The Open Boat” summarizes the idea: “[T]he wind brought the sound of the great sea’s voice to the men on the shore, and they felt that they could then be interpreters” (256).

Conclusion If others, creation, and The Creator do not matter, love of self is all that is left. Famous novels such as Camus’ The Stranger, Jack Kerouac’s On the Road,

Eckel & Eckel 39 and J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye follow the antinomian—anti-authority— perspectives in Crane. Camus’ ethic-less life view in novels could not stand real life injustice during World War I. He spoke out against inhuman situations before the United Nations. Jack Kerouac, highly touted as a restless wanderer, ended up back at his mom’s house when needs and rest beckoned. In Salinger’s work, Holden Caulfield exhibits the same hypocrisies he castigates others for. The Red Badge of Courage and all likeminded followers leave a void of authority. The emptiness of Crane’s viewpoint is exposed by objectivity, Truth, creation, and reality.

Objectivity and Impressionism Some would argue that the so-called “impressionism” was simply a method of communication. However, method and meaning are kissing cousins.

A book’s perspective comes out of a point of view, an assumption about life. The audience is consistently given one individual’s sightline in the book. Problems arise, however, when history is interpreted only through one set of eyes. Crane’s dependence on the “seeing” metaphor throughout the novel—possibly 200 references—limits the reader to presentism: The past does not matter, and the future is simply dumb luck. Subjectivity is limited to someone’s impression; objectivity is Another’s limitless standard.

Truth and Experience Experience may witness truth, but truth does not depend on experience.

Henry’s own words demonstrate the ineffectual foundation of experience: “It became impossible for him to invent a tale he felt he could trust” (Red Badge 128). The quotation shows that human creativity is limited. “Questionings [made] holes in his feelings” (151), which have the ephemeral nature of fog.

What the reader can be sure of is the testimony of R.G. Vosburgh who recorded that “[w]hen he was not working he would sit writing his name Stephen Crane, Stephen Crane” (36). Ego secure, Truth was not. Truth cannot come out of midair. Truth needs a transcendent, immutable source outside of human experience.

Creation and Reality People cannot live with the result of their anti-creational beliefs. A Christian vantage point sees a Creator-creation distinction. The separation of first from second means our ultimate concern is “[f]ear Him who can kill both body and soul” (Matt 10:28). For the unbeliever, emotional fear of the physical world is the only other option. Crane’s viewpoint depends on “under the sun” assumptions.1 If there is no God, creation is indeed unfettered, untethered, anchorless in the sea Crane so imagined would subsume him.

40 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Reality and Truth While Crane wrote about nature’s indifference and his own malaise about life, still he could not turn away from the plight of the prostitute in Maggie or racism in “The Monster.” Deep within a person resides the template of Another whose Image he sees in other faces. Dallas Willard summarizes, Our beliefs are the rails upon which our lives run. We believe something if we are set to act as if it were so. But if our beliefs are false, reality does not adjust to accommodate our errors. A brief but useful characterization of reality is as what you run into when you are wrong—that is, when our corresponding beliefs are not true. Truth is quite merciless; so is reality. (16) The Matrix and The Red Badge of Courage leave the viewer with two options: continue to live as if another reality does not exist or accept this life as subservient to Another. Rebellion is so much make-believe if an Author with Authority exists. Self is but one small word in the universe-filled volumes of One Author. Nature knows its name is “creation,” its Author, “Creator.” Temporal time owes its working to Eternal Authority. And an Author with Authority is Absolute, establishing absolutes. There are two realities; but the natural world is sustained by The Supernatural. Only an Eternal Authority brings coherence with the temporal reality. Stephen Crane’s impression of reality is only the author of “That’s your interpretation.” The Author with Authority is the only Interpreter who matters.

Note 1

The Old Testament book Ecclesiastes uses this phrase over 30 times, emphasizing a naturalistic point of view.

Works Cited Berryman, John. Stephen Crane: A Critical Biography. Revised ed. Toronto: McGraw Hill, 1977. Print.

Crane, Stephen. The Black Riders and Other Lines. 1895. Web. 15 July 2013. <http://public.wsu.edu/~campbelld/crane/black.htm> _______. “The Open Boat.” The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories. Ed. Pascal Covici, Jr. New York: Penguin, 1991. 223-56. Print. _______. The Red Badge of Courage. The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories. Ed. Pascal Covici, Jr. New York: Penguin, 1991. 43-212. Print.

Gardner, John. The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers. New York: Knopf, 1984. Print.

Vosburgh, R.G. “The Darkest Hour in the Life of Stephen Crane.” Stephen

Eckel & Eckel 41 Crane. Ed. Harold Bloom. New York: Infobase Publishing, 2007. Print.

Willard, Dallas. Introduction. A Place for Truth: Leading Thinkers Explore Lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Hardest Questions. Ed. Dallas Willard. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2010. 15-21. Print.

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Thoughts and Reflections The Uneasy Conscience of Evangelical Ambition Todd C. Ream We evangelicals are a quirky breed. At our best, we cross lines of supposed separation, forging relations with brethren from a wide spectrum of geographic origins, ethnic groups, and Christian traditions. For proof of such relations, one need look no further than the joint legal action the Catholic University of America and Wheaton College recently took against the United States Department of Health and Human Services to protect their common commitment to life. At our worst, we are rightfully known more by our fears than our hopes. The secular face of the scientific community, for example, may enjoy the adversity we offer in terms of debates about the origins of life. We evangelicals, however, often provide thoughtless fodder for conflicts that in many ways may prove more cosmetic than substantive.

Given the pervasive nature of this fear, those who have served on evangelical college and university campuses historically gave into the pressure it wields. In an attempt to launch appropriate counter measures, Mark Noll offered The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, and George Marsden offered The Soul of the American University and The Outrageous Idea of Christian Scholarship approximately 20 years ago. While I cannot draw a direct causal link, since that time evangelical colleges and universities have blossomed in several ways— student enrollments surged, new facilities were built, and the quality and quantity of faculty publications began to rise.

Before our proverbial “Mission Accomplished” banner is unfurled, however, I fear we evangelicals are not without our rightful critics. In an article in The Atlantic, “Networks of Modernizers,” which remains as insightful today as when published over a decade ago (Oct. 2000), Alan Wolfe argued, [T]he evangelical scholars with whom I have spoken are democratic to a fault. They tend to see good in nearly everyone….

The downside of all this is that evangelicals sometimes find themselves with no adequate way of distinguishing between ideas that are pathbreaking and those that are gibberish.

Perhaps the larger challenge facing us now is not an uneasy conscience over our failures but our ambition.

For good reasons, we are uneasy about facing this challenge. Wary of any individual seeking to secure a place more significant for him or herself than God

C. Clark Triplett 43 ordained, the Church historically viewed ambition with great suspicion.

Introduced in the biblical narrative with Adam and Eve’s choice to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the rationale for such suspicion is confirmed with the construction of the Tower of Babel. Augustine, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Thomas Aquinas all condemned ambition as a seedbed for vices.

Any wavering in this commitment to condemn ambition did not come until Spain and England competed to settle the so-called New World.

In Ambition, A History: From Vice to Virtue (2013), William Casey King detailed this complicated yet decisive transition in terms of perceptions of ambition. He began by noting the Geneva Bible, in particular, offers 76 references to ambition, almost all of which refer to it as a threat to Christian virtue. In an effort to encourage potential colonists to cross the Atlantic, however, Casey noted ambition underwent considerable revision. Incentives of titles and land were made available to members of classes who would otherwise not prove eligible had they stayed in England and Spain. As a result, Casey argued, “[w]resting ambition from the panoply of vice and reconstituting it as a virtue was a necessary ideological precondition to the establishment of the United States.

Without ambition, there could be no America” (190).

Although a critical component of the human fabric of this new nation, evangelicals and their predecessors remained suspicious of ambition. As Casey observed, despite their critical role in the establishment of the United States, our Puritan ancestors were not convinced of the benefits of ambition. Like Augustine, Bernard, Thomas, and the translators of the Geneva Bible, our evangelical conscience still remains ill at ease with ambition.

Yet, all is not well. Lurking within our conscience is another seedbed for vice occupying the flipside of the same coin as ambition—sentimentality. Fearing the rise of any individual to a state not ordained by God, the culture on our evangelical college and university campuses is often uneasy with achievement regardless of motivation. Individuals showing signs of ambition are thus often dismissed as prideful and a threat to piety.

Higher education is notoriously guilty of perpetuating a host of vices stemming from ambition. Unfortunately, accounts of learned despisers of anything smacking of the common culture abound. While ambition’s presence is more immediately repulsive, sentimentality is just as grave a threat to virtue as it allows mediocrity to masquerade as Christian faithfulness. In an attempt to put this threat into context, Stanley Hauerwas contended that “[t]the great enemy of the church today is not atheism but sentimentality” (The Hauerwas Reader 526).

Ambition’s vice-laden assumption is that one person can elevate himself or herself to a state greater than God-ordained. Sentimentality’s vice-laden assumption, in contrast, is that no person’s God-ordained state is greater than or even different from any other. As Wolfe put it, we evangelicals leave ourselves powerless to distinguish “between ideas that are pathbreaking and those that are gibberish” (“Networks of Modernizers”).

One way to combat this challenge is to succumb, like much of higher education, to ambition. The appraisal of human identity as woven into the biblical narrative, however, propels us beyond this regrettable option while also

44 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal pointing beyond sentimentality. What makes us distinct from other created beings is the way we bear God’s image. To succumb to ambition is to confuse ourselves with God. To succumb to sentimentality, in contrast, is to disrespect the diversity of ways God’s image is present in our fellow human beings. No one of us adequately reflects the infinite nature of God’s character. By appreciating the gifts present in wider segments of the human population, we are able to come closer to appreciating the majesty of God, which sentimentality otherwise seeks to dismiss.

If evangelical colleges and universities do nothing else, they should strive to be places where God’s character, as present in the human condition, is appreciated. By peering further into the biblical narrative we are confronted with the diverse array of callings God issued. The father of a nation was called to leave the only land he knew for a land he had never seen. A shepherd living in exile was called to lead God’s people out of bondage. From a family full of potential kings, God selected the least likely son to rule. In between these better known accounts are stories of individuals God called to any number of roles with the only common thread between many of them being an imperfect yet ultimately obedient spirit. In the end, who would prove a more diverse cast of characters to lead the Church than the disciples Christ called?

Perhaps the clearest articulation of the diverse nature of humanity’s reflection of the created image of God is offered by Christ himself in the parable of the talents. Beyond the vice-laden options of ambition and sentimentality, Christ details in Matthew 25:14-30 an account of a master who, prior to leaving for a journey, entrusted sums of talents into the care of each of three servants “according to his ability.” Upon his return, the master rewarded the two servants who made good use of their talents but rebuked the third servant who “dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money.” Ironically, the term talent refers to a unit of money while in English metaphorically pointing to the diverse array of abilities we all possess. In the end, Christ’s admonishment is not simply about money but how we strive to cultivate the talents with which we are entrusted.

The critical question for those of us serving on evangelical college and university campuses is this: In what ways do we use the diverse array of talents with which we are entrusted? The use of such talents is evident in the quality of the exchanges taking place among our students, faculty members, and the larger academic community, as well as in the nature of the exchanges those individuals have in the Church and society. In the end, we serve a master who will rightfully judge us for how we fostered those talents. I fear neither ambition nor sentimentality is sufficient reason for failing to fulfill our calling.

With the end result of our formative efforts being the praise and worship of God, evangelical colleges and universities are poised to offer an education promoting the virtues necessary for all members of their communities—and, in turn, the lives those community members touch—to be fully human. Recent successes should not spark anew an uneasy conscience. In contrast, beyond ambition and sentimentality resides an exciting journey generated by nothing less than Christian faithfulness.

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 45-51

Review Article Hunter, James Davison. To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World.

Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. 368 pages, $27.95

By C. Clark Triplett A time-worn message of the evangelical faith around the world is the mandate to change the world, particularly because of the fallenness and brokenness of mankind. Every Sunday, sermons are replete with thundering rhetoric on the need to transform society. This is such an obvious implication of the Christian stance that it seems hardly worth arguing the point. The problem is that reality seems to consistently weigh against the well-meaning efforts of the true believer. This is the basic premise of James Davison Hunter’s To Change the World.

At first glance, Hunter’s conclusion seems counter-intuitive to the title of the book and the overwhelming consensus of evangelicals. As reviewer Greg Gilbert indicates, Hunter “head-faked in the direction of a straightforward advocacy of a transformationalist way of thinking—that is, that the world should be changed and can be changed, and it is the church’s task and mission in this age to do it” (1). After a close reading of the text, however, the response of Hunter is that most of this sweat and toil is misguided.

This is a weighty academic work that uses social and historical analysis with a focus on the place of political power. Hunter is first and foremost an academic serving as Distinguished Professor of Religion, Culture, and Sociological Theory at the University of Virginia. He has also served as Executive Director of the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the university. His discussion is rooted in social theory and provides detailed and complex evidence from the history of culture, political systems, and the church to support his critique.

According to Hunter, the basic flaw in evangelical attempts to change the world is the emphasis on “idealism” as the primary means of transformation. This view states that change is primarily personal and cultural transformation occur: “[I]f you have the courage and hold the right values and if you think Christianly with an adequate Christian worldview, you too can change the world” (17).

Idealism, particularly Christian idealism, focuses on individual—”one-by-one”— transformation either through conversion or the entire ideology of a culture. It also operates on the premise that cultural change is purposeful and rational and

46 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal that people will recognize the truth and make changes on its basis. This approach is problematic because it fails to take into account the complexity of cultural development and the impact of the power of cultural elites, social networks, technology, and institutions. In a historical survey of major social changes, Hunter demonstrates how intricately and subtly culture changes through a complex process of influences that are sometimes unexpected. What is clear from his survey is that “[c]hange in a culture or civilization simply does not occur when changes of beliefs and values in the hearts and minds of ordinary people or in the creation of mere artifacts” (77). This does not mean that the beliefs and values of ordinary people do not matter, but they do not play a central or decisive role in overall change.

Hunter uses a significant amount of space and time to critique three contemporary Christian ideologies that have attached themselves to specific political agendas: the Christian Right, the Christian Left, and the Neo-Anabaptist Movement. In each case, these movements make their case on the basis of a mythology about the direction and purpose of culture that drive the strategies and tactics of its followers. Unfortunately, this mythology, which usually does not change, fails to take into account the changes in language, institutions, and networks that surround them. It also does not recognize, despite political attachments, that the state operates in ways that are not always subject to “electoral will,” but rather to bureaucratic necessity, and that their solutions are most often partial remedies to the real issues people care most about. Perhaps even more tragic is the willingness of some Christian leaders to attach themselves to certain political agendas antithetical to the Christian faith. This ultimately leads to a negation, rather than affirmation, of its greatest contributions to culture.

As Hunter warns, “By nurturing its resentments, sustaining them through a discourse of negation toward outsiders, and in cases, pursuing their will to power, they become functional Nietzcheans, participating in the very cultural breakdown they so ardently strive to resist” (175).

Hunter’s concern about the attachment of Christians to certain political agendas relates to the corrupting influence of power that is so essential to politics.

This kind of power, whether it is held by individuals, communities, or social structures, “naturally tends toward manipulation, domination, and control’ (188).

It is a world of illusion that seeks to deceive and to ultimately enslave those who fall under its spell. It is the force of a kind of “wordliness” that the New Testament, in particular, warns against so clearly and starkly. Christ came into the world to break the hold of “powers and principalities” that promise an ultimate reality that leads only to more violence and brokenness. Christ’s purpose was to bring a new humanity that established new relationships that work counterintuitively to the will to power that defines much of contemporary society. This new way is reflected in the very life and death of Christ and his sacrificial, humble identity as the “son of man.”

In the third essay of the book, Hunter proposes an alternative that more faithfully models the way of Christ and his invitation “take up his cross and follow me” (Matt. 16:24). This is a call of faithfulness to the person and witness of Jesus Christ, a life of “faithful presence” that takes the mandate to become “salt

C. Clark Triplett 47 and light” in the world seriously. Facing the challenge of faithfulness in this generation, however, it is necessary to understand the temper of American civilization, its cultural logic, and consumer mentality. The mistake of most Christian political agendas is to assume that their partially correct solutions are the defining ones. This approach fails to recognize the challenge of the “dizzying complexity of their causes that make the modern world so confounding” (199). In spite of a concerted effort, Christianity has still been unable to articulate a comprehensive critique of modern culture. Unmasking contemporary culture requires a recognition of the underlying challenges of “difference” and “dissolution.” One relates to how Christians engage the outside world while the other relates to the nature of the Christian witness (200).

Difference is articulated primarily in terms of modern pluralism and all of its ramifications. What is perplexing about cultural pluralism today, according to Hunter, is that instead of its being the exception to the rule in a dominant culture, reality now exists without a dominant culture. The implications of this are that the beliefs, moral commitments, and the habits of daily life no longer provide a “plausibility structure” for discourse and action: “By these lights, modern pluralism not only represents a multiplicity of ways of perceiving and comprehending the world but also a multiplicity of plausibility structures that make those perceptions credible in the first place” (202). While it is certainly possible to continue to believe in God, it is much more difficult because there is no existing reference point in a shared public forum. This changes the entire structure of belief and the assurance that the faith has any credibility in modern culture.

The second challenge, tightly intertwined with the first, exponentially increases the uncertainty of the nature of reality. Dissolution relates to a basic doubt about the ability to relate what is said in words to what exists in reality.

When language no longer relates to or corresponds with the world (world-to-word fit), then there is no framework or authority to appeal to whether it is God, science, or tradition: “Thus in the contemporary world we have the ability to question everything but little ability to affirm anything beyond our own personal whims and possessive interests” (206). In contemporary society, even the most extreme and radical positions can be advocated with the same level of seriousness even though there is little or no justification for these claims. So in the public media, for instance, the outrageous pronouncements of extreme commentators such as Glenn Beck are taken with the same level of credibility as the statements of the President of the United States.

Keeping in mind this new and unfamiliar territory in modern society, Hunter subsequently attempts to present an alternative approach to Christian witness in a post-Christian world. The pervasiveness of these challenges makes a way forward much more tentative and requires a recognition of a need for humility in engaging a world that is so radically diffuse. Although there is evidence that the Christian faith is proclaimed and lived out in contemporary society, according to Hunter, “they have also been formed by the larger postChristian culture, a culture whose habits of life less and less resemble anything

48 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal like the vision of human flourishing provided by the life of Christ and witness of scripture” (227).

Hunter proposes a theology of “faithful presence” as an alternative path to the ideological and political perspectives of the three major evangelical models.

This approach acknowledges the challenges of contemporary culture and advocates a dialectic of both affirmation and antithesis to negotiate and supervene the pitfalls of the often one-sided discourse of the typical evangelical stances mentioned previously. The author attempts to balance the affirmation of the validity of culture and culture-making (world-making) before God while accepting a major identity of the Christian church as a “community of resistance” (235). The church understands that it exists in a world with structures created by God which are good, but at the same it must be present in ways that challenge those structures and activities that dishonor God, who is the source and creator of all good things. Hunter summarizes this balance as follows: “[T]he objective is to retrieve the good to which modern institutions and ideas implicitly or explicitly aspire; to oppose those ideals and structures that undermine human flourishing, and to offer constructive alternatives for the realization of a better way” (236).

The central argument of this book is that the primary task of Christians is not to try to make major changes in the world, but to bear witness to the presence of God through faithful embodiment of his word. Whatever change that might occur in culture will not happen through abstract and disconnected arguments based on ideology. Rather, it is only when God’s word is “enacted and enacted in a particular time and place” that God will be honored. Simply put, a “theology of faithful presence” is an acknowledgement of God’s presence in the world, as expressed particularly in the Incarnation, and his followers respond to his call to engage the world as his disciples: “For Christians, if there is a possibility for human flourishing in a world such as ours, it begins when God’s word of love becomes flesh in us, is enacted through us and in doing so, a trust is forged between the word spoken and the reality to which it speaks…” (241).

According to Hunter, faithful presence is embodied in the world in three key ways. First, it means that Christians are to be fully present in their relationships with one another both within the Christian community and without.

This means directing life toward the flourishing of other human beings, including welcoming the stranger. Those who are different from us should not be objects of fear, but compel us to acts of kindness and mercy. Both individually and collectively, Christians should work towards uplifting others through various social structures and activities.

Christians also engage in faithful presence through commitment to fruitful tasks. This incorporates much of what makes life meaningful or sometimes a drudgery, including jobs, parenting, being good citizens, volunteer work, and student life. It is something that should be pursued with commitment and excellence in a manner that reflects God’s glory and presence. Work has its own integrity apart from the accumulation of wealth or power as long as it is done “unto the Lord.” Work ought to be something that honors God and reflects the quality of his creation.

C. Clark Triplett 49 Finally, faithful presence means that Christians are fully engaged in the spheres of social influence, including social institutions, family life, and other organizations. It recognizes the place of power and the opportunities for exploitation if it is wielded in way that does not reflect the way of Jesus. It entails both affirmation of human life and a resistance to structures and actions that do not contribute to the flourishing of injustice, oppression, and abuse of the weak and disenfranchised. It considers the wellbeing of all who are part of God’s creation and made in his image: “What this means is that where and to the extent we are able, faithful presence commits us to do what we can to create conditions in the structures of social life we inhabit that are conducive to the flourishing of all” (247).

To Change the World is a timely and prophetic book. It addresses in a balanced and lucid manner important questions about the way Christians should act in the current polarized political climate. The clamor of voices in 21st-century American culture in particular has often drowned out the simple and clear message of the gospel and is often self-righteous and arrogant. Political pundits in noisy jeremiads pronounce God’s approval or curse upon numerous activities and events that may not be so easily understood based on the complexity of how things truly change in the world. As a result, acts and events, such as the Iraq War, are interpreted in the context of divine providence. Theologian Gerhard Sauter raises the question “Is the need of the moment the command of God? Can history be seen as a manifestation of God’s will” (126). Sauter is not questioning whether God is involved in history, but whether a particular time or event is automatically an affirmation of God’s approval. His response is to quote from the Barmen Confession, the document of the Confessing Church in Germany prior to World War II: “Jesus Christ…is the one Word of God, whom we are to hear, whom we are to trust and obey in life and in death. We repudiate the false teaching that the church can and must recognize yet other happenings and powers, images and truths as divine revelation alongside this one Word of God, as source of her preaching” (126). In the same manner, Hunter questions the alignment of Christian ideology with particular political structures. Such conflations lead to a confusion of the Christian message with certain political agendas that are quite antithetical to the faith they proclaim: The tragedy is that in the name of resisting the internal deterioration of faith and the corruption of the world around them, many Christians—and Christian conservatives most significantly—unwittingly embrace some the most corrosive aspects of the cultural disintegration they decry. (175) The concept of faithful presence has broad implications for American Christianity, but it has a particular valence in the area of Christian education. It is an important corrective to the sometimes insular and inadequate efforts to relate faith and learning, which are often centripedal (focused inward) in their focus rather than engaging culture and literally going into the world and the realms of human experience. The value of Hunter’s work is his focus on a “vision of

50 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal formation” that orients faithfulness to the totality of life. Christian education is not just about developing cognitive constructs that prepare students to engage in battle against all the negative things in the world; it is about fashioning Christians in new ways that demonstrate the reality of God’s love and justice. This is the essence of John Westerhof’s article “Fashioning Christians in Our Day.” Making Christians is a key component of schooling Christians: Thus the making of Christians involves the practice of living a particular way of life. The process is similar to that used in learning a craft such as stonemasonry, a sport such as basketball, or an art form such as dance. The learner apprentices himself or herself to a master. Through observation, imitation, and practice the apprentice learns a multitude of skills. The apprentice also learns a language and is initiated into a history. Christian apprenticeship is discipleship. (271) This is not to disparage the important task of building conceptual models of faith and learning and the serious attempts to relate faith to critical inquiry. The seminal projects of theologians such as Thomas F. Torrance, Bernard Lonergan, and Wolfhart Pannenberg provide important contributions to the conversations on the relationship of faith and critical thinking. At the end of the day, however, even such critical stalwarts as Bernard Lonergan have argued that a scientific theology, “if understood within the frame of a very broad and duly rigorous and sophisticated epistemology, can remain profoundly hermeneutical and formative for life” (Thiselton 156). With this in mind, perhaps the construct of faithful presence ought to be the starting point for Christian education.

Hunter recognizes that Christans are aliens and strangers in the world.

Cultures are certainly broken in manifold ways through violence and injustice, and ultimately only God can change them in ways that will be permanent. This does not mean that followers of Christ must live in opposition to everything in life; however, it is still possible to make the desert bloom with flowers at certain times and in specific places. This is the vision of shalom that Nicholas Wolterstorff describes in his compelling book Until Justice and Peace Embrace: The Kuyper Lectures for 1981 Delivered at the Free University of Amsterdam (1983): “To dwell in shalom is to enjoy living before God, to enjoy living in one’s physical surroundings, to enjoy living with one’s fellows, to enjoy life with oneself” (70). For Hunter and Wolterstorff, this vision of shalom incorporates new and transformative relationships with other human beings in an ethical community that recognizes that peace cannot be secured in an unjust culture, so it seeks out what is good for all. Shalom also seeks to find delight in its physical surroundings and to shape the world in ways that are pleasing to God. Ultimately, according to Wolterstorff, shalom incorporates “right, harmonious relationships to God and delight in his service” (126). This model of shalom, according to Hunter, is the starting place for any small impact that Christians may have on the world. Christians are called to follow Christ and enflesh this vision in all areas of life. Although the church must wait for a final fulfillment in the new heaven and

C. Clark Triplett 51 earth, they must intentionally practice this new life in a world that is in itself always changing in a grand tension between history and the revelation of God (230).

Works Cited Gilbert, Greg. “Book Review: To Change the World.” Nov/Dec 2010. Web. 6 June 2013. <http//www.9marks.org/books/book-review-change-world> Sauter, Gerhard. Protestant Theology at the Crossroads: How to Face the Crucial Tasks for Theology in the Twenty-First Century. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007. Print.

Thiselton, Anthony C. The Hermeneutics of Doctrine. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007. Print.

Westerhoff, John H. “Fashioning Christians in Our Day.” Schooling Christians: “Holy Experiments” in American Education. Ed. Stanley Hauerwas and John H. Westerhoff. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1992. Print.

Wolterstorff, Nicholas. Until Justice and Peace Embrace: The Kuyper Lectures for 1981 Delivered at the Free University of Amsterdam. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1983. Print.

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 52-65

Book Reviews Smith, David I., and James K.A. Smith, eds. Teaching and Christian Practices: Reshaping Faith & Learning. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011. 240 pages, $14.28 Reviewed by Mary Ellen Fuquay They attend regularly, submit assignments on time, take part in group discussions, and generally seem to invest themselves in their courses. They are the successful students who, not unexpectedly, make their instructors feel successful. Most professors who teach such students likely stay in touch with new concepts, texts, and technologies that move their courses forward, but those same professors may not feel motivated to dramatically change their course goals and objectives each year. By contrast, in 2009 a number of professors, most of whom teach at Calvin College, joined a project of the college’s Kuyers Institute for Christian Teaching and Learning, and each agreed to create a course incorporating one or more Christian practices. After teaching the newly designed courses, the professors presented their results and then wrote the majority of the essays collected for Teaching and Christian Practices.

The title does not fully illuminate the content of the essays. The subtitle, on the other hand, focuses the reader on the book’s purpose—Reshaping Faith & Learning—to explore how the professors moved from a generalized use of “faith and learning” to courses in which students were expected to fully engage in more measurable “practices” in approaching content or even in the types and schedule of assignments. Essay topics range from discussions of the reasons and background for using Christian practices in education to practical applications for class scheduling, types of assignments, group discussions, collaborative projects, and course assessments. In light of numerous published books and articles on faith and learning, this book of essays expands the topic and would seem to be especially useful on residential campuses where a majority of students choose an institution because of its Christian mission. Less clear may be the book’s effectiveness as a guide to instructors whose students come from widely varied educational and spiritual backgrounds.

The authors’ classes followed a number of practices such as prayer, hospitality, testimony, timekeeping, charity, listening, and interpretation (approaches used in hermeneutics but applied to economics, for example). Most of the authors alluded to three desires for their courses: They sought to change their courses from straight lecture, they wanted their courses and instructional

Book Reviews 53 style to be student-centered, and they were willing to first self-evaluate their motives for the use of Christian practices and the extent to which they themselves already engaged in the spiritual practices. A consistent theme in those essays is the willingness to take risks.

Some writers used only one primary practice in their course makeover; others chose related practices that best related to their course content. In the essay cleverly titled “Eat This Class,” Julie Walton and Matthew Walters explain the purpose, plans, and schedule for students to share meals with at least two groups of classmates during the semester. The instructor joined each group, whether the meal was breakfast, lunch, or dinner and whether it was in the dining hall, a private home, or even a soup kitchen. A majority of the students later reported that they benefited from the shared meals and, although many were more comfortable working—and receiving grades—as individuals, they agreed that the course’s collaborative learning projects were enhanced by their concurrent sharing of meals and conversation. In another essay, David Smith’s “Reading Practices and Christian Pedagogy,” the writer thoroughly discusses how class readings and discussions systematically developed students’ sense of the difference between consumerist reading (the usual way Americans try to gather information or pleasure from their reading), and charitable reading (reading through which the reader is open to spiritual change). Another essay, probably the most spiritually illuminating, is Rebecca DeYoung’s writing on encouraging students to carefully and prayerfully identify personal vices, including two whose names seem outdated but whose effects are current and ubiquitous: pusillanimity and vainglory.

Most helpful are the essays in which the writers first explain how they interpret the need for Christian practices in the classroom and then report on their spiritual self-examination in light of the practices. Carolyne Call included several pertinent questions as she surveyed her “spiritual preparation for class each week”: “Am I actually living out, in the classroom, the things I say I believe…?

How do I walk into the classroom? Do I make eye contact? Call people by name? Ask them questions about their own lives?” (67). The next two questions, if self-administered by most instructors, are particularly revealing: “How do I think about [students] when I’m not in the classroom? How do I talk about my students to colleagues?” (67). In her essay and in others —primarily those by Walton and Walters, the Smiths, DeYoung, and Ashley Woodiwiss—the authors offer comparatively more detail about practicalities of creating syllabi, scheduling and assessing assignments, and creating a fair way of requiring out-of-class meetings for students and/or the students and the instructor. James Smith, in his essay “Keeping Time in the Social Sciences,” describes his intentions to “outline the course in which the experiment was carried out, introduce and explain the practices that were performed (along with a rationale for why these practices were appropriate for this course), and then provide a critical evaluation of the experience. What worked? What didn’t? What could I do differently?” (142).

Especially appreciated are the frank discussions of the various writers’ reflections on what worked and what did not work.

54 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Several other essays also include at least some analysis of the data gathered in student evaluations of the courses. A few essays, however, include long quotations from student journals or course evaluations by only one or two students. Even though the students showed they understood and had benefited from the use of Christian practices, the inclusion of quotations does not seem as helpful as other essays’ discussions of quantitative results taken from student evaluations. Readers may wonder what kinds of comments appeared in the evaluations from students who responded negatively to the courses.

Granted, several authors alluded to students who demonstrated only surface understanding of the reason for practices. Most obvious of that group are the Erskine students described in Woodiwiss’s “From Tourists to Pilgrims: Christian Practices and the First-year Experience.” Instructed to join classmates in determining the purpose and planning of their groups’ pilgrimages, the students did not seem to fully engage in the assignments or understand how the practice could positively influence their spiritual lives. This result might also appear in institutions with open or nearly open admissions policies, because even sophomores and juniors in non-major courses may not have the historical background to respond to and benefit from courses that are heavily structured with Christian practices.

Readers may ask which of their own courses could best undergo makeovers incorporating one or more Christian practices. The book’s essays can certainly appeal to, and likely inspire, interested instructors, both those seeking educational, philosophical, and theological discussions and those wanting more practical ideas for changing a course. The editors’ introduction closes with the reminder that the book is not meant as a collection of “rigid recipes, finished prescriptions, or guarantees of pedagogical bliss,” but as an aid to “imagine a practice of teaching and learning…rooted in the long and rich history of Christian practice….” The editors and authors succeed in doing “so through examples as much as through exhortations” (23) and through inspiration and risk-taking instead of platitudes.

Book Reviews 55

Allen Verhey. The Christian Art of Dying: Learning from Jesus.

Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011. 423 pages, $30.00 Reviewed by John J. Han Death and dying are an area that has captured popular attention in recent years. Flooding the market are books on near-death experience, such as The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven: A Remarkable Account of Miracles, Angels, and Life beyond This World (by Kevin and Alex Malarkey, 2010); Heaven is for Real: A Little Boy’s Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back (by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent, 2010); and Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife (by Eben Alexander, 2012). Recent years have also seen the publication of several academic or semi-academic books on death and dying penned by Christian authors. One of them is Allen Verhey’s The Christian Art of Dying. What is unique about Verhey’s work is that it addresses the issue not only in doctrinal but also in personalized terms. Written after the author encountered death face to face, it combines biblical teachings and his Christian reflections on what it means to die, what a good death is, and how churches can better minister to the dying and the bereaved.

The book consists of four parts: “Medicalized Dying” “Ars Moriendi,” “Faith and Faithfulness in the Face of Death: Toward a Contemporary Ars Moriendi,” and “The Practice of Christian Community and the Practices of Dying Well and Caring Well for the Dying.” The author first analyzes two radical, equally erroneous views of death and dying: over-dependence on medical technology and a nonchalant, stoic, and otherworldly attitude toward death and dying. With the advancement of modern technology, an increasing number of patients die on hospital beds, and caregivers exhaust various medical procedures so that they can delay the supposedly worst enemy of all humanity— death. Although no one denies the reality of death, today’s society tends to focus too much on extending life as if death were evil. While admitting that death is a horrible event and that medical professionals deserve praise for their hard work, the author contends that it is wrong to try to view death mainly from a technological perspective. The churches need to reclaim their own voice on death; instead of succumbing to the culture of “medicalized death” (a term borrowed from Philippe Aries’s book The Hour of Our Death), they need to teach their congregants about sickness and death from a Christian perspective.

Another extreme view of death Verhey identifies is the Platonic ideas that the flesh is less important than the spirit, death is not something to fear, and dying well means dying in unfailing faith. Such a view is well illustrated in Ars moriendi (“The Art of Dying,” 1415-50), the late medieval manual for the dying and caregivers. According to this Latin text, there is a good side to death, and the dying person should resist five temptations—lack of faith, despair, impatience, spiritual pride, and greed. The implication is that those who fear death lack Christian virtues. Verhey points out that while Ars moriendi is praiseworthy in its

56 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal rejection of medicalized death and in its admonition to turn to God/Christ on one’s deathbed, it is unbiblical to glorify death: [W]hen [Ars moriendi] began by commending death as liberation from the body, it sounds more Platonic than Christian. It may have made dying easier, but the cost was high. In its otherworldly orientation, it risked in its own way a premature alienation of people from their bodies, from their ‘worldly’ communities of family and friends, and from God’s good creation (if not from God). (174) Also, what Ars moriendi teaches minimizes the psychological and emotional impacts of death on the dying and the bereaved.

Verhey proposes a contemporary Christian approach to death and dying— a renewed understanding of Ars moriendi. While the author agrees with the text that the dying should focus on Christ and His suffering on the cross, he also points out that death is not something to celebrate, not something that we should accept gladly and willfully, as the text sometimes implies. He notes, “To love God is not to delight in suffering or death. To love God does not make masochists of us” (270-71). In learning to die well and faithfully, the story of Jesus’ death illustrates the key virtues for Christians to embrace: faith, hope, a love that is patient, humility, serenity, and courage in the face of death. The author suggests a biblical paradigm that avoids both medicalized death and “the commendation of death” (255). After all, Christians should seek “a divine victory,” not “a technological victory,” over death (294).

Anyone who has survived a potentially life-threatening incident— advanced cancer, heart attack, a car accident, etc.—develops a new perspective on death and dying. The author is a theologian at Duke Divinity School, but after surviving amyloidosis, a blood disorder, he came to a new understanding of what it means to die, what a good death means, and how Christians should face death. As stated by the author, The Christian Art of Dying is not a memoir, yet readers cannot avoid hearing, in this scholarly work, a genuine voice of a Christian man who almost died and has come back to share his reflections with us.

Dying is a difficult process for the patient and for the loved ones. Except for a small percentage of people with firm convictions about afterlife (or its nonexistence), most people fear death. We instinctively want to live; it is in our DNA. Circumstances, faith, or self-respect may push people to die honorably rather than live in disgrace, yet no one actually wants to die. Jesus himself prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup [death] be taken from me” (Matt 26:39 NIV), although he also wanted God’s will to prevail. In addition to the uncertainty about what happens after death, people fear the suffering that often accompanies the physical death. Death is not something that can be treated in a cavalier manner. At the same time, dying is not something to be feared, either. After all, life is full of suffering (for many people), as Job lamented: “Mortals, born of woman, are of few days and full of trouble” (Job 14:1

Book Reviews 57 NIV). The apostle Paul also mentions the indescribable beauty of heaven, in which he “heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell” (2 Cor. 12:4 NIV). The Christian Art of Dying presents a biblically sound, wellbalanced view of death and dying and thus is worthy of a place in every Christian’s library.

58 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

Dean Koontz. Relentless. New York: Bantam, 2009. 464 pages, $9.99 Reviewed by Ashley Anthony As a successful author, Dean Koontz has written many books which rank as number-one New York Times bestsellers. Generally in the genre of thriller or horror, Koontz’s novels cover ideas and themes extending beyond those of the “sensational novel,” infusing his Catholic beliefs with his bestselling material to create works that make readers consider the world around them. In his novel Relentless, Dean Koontz considers themes which recur in his works, including good and evil, life and death, family, culture, and science.

Cubby Boom has had a fantastic life, guided by what he believes is his guardian angel, named Ralph. He is married to Penny Boom, an acclaimed children’s writer, has a child genius nicknamed Milo, and owns a dog called Lassie, a seemingly intelligent, non-Collie mix rescued from the pound by Milo.

As a writer, Cubby has had unprecedented success, as his first book became a major bestseller. Regardless, he has still had his share of positive and negative reviews, but the positive generally outweighed the negative, at least until he received a derisive and inaccurate review by a particularly important and mysterious critic: Shearman Waxx. Penny tells Cubby to let it go. Cubby’s publisher, Hud, is excited that Cubby has reached the point where he is actually reviewed by Shearman Waxx. However, when Cubby enacts a spy mission at a local restaurant to get a glimpse of the critic, the two have a seemingly trivial runin until Waxx leaves, looks at Cubby, and simply states, “Doom.”

Cubby is simply embarrassed about the run-in until that same night, when after chasing Waxx out of the Boom family home, Cubby finds his family’s picture in the overheated oven. After Cubby takes a call from a man who was in a similar situation with Waxx, a situation that left his wife and two daughters dead, Cubby realizes that Waxx is determined to do more than just scare him. Waxx wants to humiliate and destroy Cubby and his family, and as Cubby finds out soon after he and his family are forced to become fugitives to survive, the mysterious critic is not acting alone and his crimes are not as few as they first suspected.

Koontz instills several trademarks into his novel, including limited cursing, absence of graphic sexuality, and humorous writing style. He also includes an uncannily aware dog and the virtuous woman. Lassie, the Boom family’s dog, seems to be able to understand the needs of the family with a consciousness unusual for a dog. In his other novels, dogs are generally “good,” showing up when rescue or comfort is needed. The virtuous woman is also a recurring image in Koontz’s writing, suggesting his appreciation of women, but they are generally neither passive nor helpless. Penny Boom is a resilient woman with clear individuality not based on her husband’s character. She kills to save her family and is intimidating in general, exuding a strong female presence.

Book Reviews 59 As a Catholic, Koontz recognizes the contrast between good and evil, revealing in an interview about why he includes evil in his novels: Evil walks among us. We don’t always see it. Each of us, in our daily lives, encounters evil; we are tempted to evil every day of our lives. If we don’t want to read about it or think about it, I don’t think that’s a truly Christian point of view. We have to acknowledge it, face it and defeat it. That’s what each of my books is about.1 In their attempts to resist the evil power of Waxx and his posse, the Boom family prove their innate goodness, especially in contrast to the cruelty and evil of Waxx.

Although not perfect, the Boom family show their love and care for each other.

Cubby and Penny are willing to do everything to save the other and their son, including sacrificing their own lives. Although complex characters, the three are likeable and the apparent personification of good. However, Koontz makes it evident that the family is fighting a losing battle: They are outnumbered and caught unaware, and do not have adequate or comparable resources. Regardless, in the battle of good against evil, Koontz makes it clear who wins: the good, every time.

In Relentless, Koontz contemplates the “method behind the madness,” considering why people kill to defend and advance cultural and intellectual movements. Shearman Waxx is the overseer of such an intellectual movement.

He believes that life is meaningless and humans are a “disease of the dust,” and he is willing to sacrifice anyone who promotes a more positive portrayal of human nature. Although Waxx’s movement seems unstoppable, Koontz provides a symbol of familial love and intellectual understanding to oppose Waxx, suggesting that his movement is not as invincible as it may seem. Koontz provides a complex novel depicting a war of good against evil and love against hate, and although Koontz recognizes that evil is relentless, he shows that good is also relentless against evil.

Note 1

Drake, Tim. “Chatting with Koontz about Faith.” National Catholic Register 6 March 2007. Web. 1 March 2013. <http://www.ncregister.com/site/article/2013#ixzz2Z9EhFtHz>

60 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

Grisham, John. The Appeal. New York: Bantam Dell, 2008. 484 pages, $7.99 Reviewed by John J. Han This is one of the better legal thrillers by John Grisham—a work of suspense and surprise. As in his other novels, Grisham relies heavily on stereotypical characters, yet the fast-paced, engaging storyline overshadows the relative weakness in characterization. The novel is a page-turner that entices the reader to the next page, to the next chapter, in anticipation of more action. The surprise ending is aesthetically satisfying. More importantly, Grisham deals with some contemporary moral issues in this novel, including black money in politics, the lavish lifestyle of some super-rich people, environmental concerns, and the importance of ministering to the weak and defenseless. Overall, The Appeal is more than a fun story to read. It makes us ponder what is happening in American politics and what we can do about it.

The story begins with a bang—with a one-sentence paragraph: “The jury was ready” (3). In the first three pages, we encounter some of the main characters. The small debt-ridden legal firm of Payton & Payton—run by Wes and Mary Grace Payton and located in Hattiesburg, Mississippi—represents good. In the current lawsuit, the firm represents the plaintiff Jeannette Baker who lost her husband and son to cancer, supposedly caused by the toxic chemicals Krane Chemical dumped into the soil and water near its plant. The Paytons and their small staff await the jury’s verdict with silent prayer: “…they held hands in a tight circle and prayed as they had never prayed before. All manner of petitions were lifted up to God Almighty, but the common plea was for victory” (5-6).

Mr. Carl Trudeau, a New York billionaire and CEO of the Trudeau Group, which owns Krane Chemical, represents evil. A worldly man pursuing prestige and unlimited wealth, he monitors the legal situation from lower Manhattan. He pays Jared Kurtin, a top defense lawyer, $750 per hour for representing him in court. Confident that the plaintiff will lose, Jared and his lawyers enter the courtroom “without prayer” (6). Trusting his legal team, Carl is cautiously optimistic about the verdict. He also resents the fact that the case is being deliberated by a group of rural Southerners: “He waited, and as usual asked himself how, exactly, so much of his empire could rest upon the combined wisdom of twelve average people in backwater Mississippi” (7).

By the end of chapter one, we learn that the Paytons win the jury’s verdict. The rest of the novel deals with the ferocious “appeal” (hence the title) Carl launches to reverse the verdict. Although a brilliant businessman, he lacks a full understanding of how money sways elections. A master of Machiavellian tactics, however, he quickly learns how the system works and uses the system to his advantage. At the suggestion of an influential ex-U.S. senator who knows how to manipulate the system, Carl spends eight million dollars to overturn the verdict—not by argument but by changing the face of the Mississippi Supreme Court so that a candidate sympathetic to his company can be elected. By

Book Reviews 61 spending eight million dollars, Carl saves hundreds of millions dollars he could have paid in case he lost the appeal. It is a scheme that mutually benefits the exSenator and the billionaire; out of eight million dollars, one million is deposited into a U.S. account, and the rest is deposited offshore.

In engineering election results, the political operative uses a fresh face that can appeal to the populace—a candidate who has no political baggage, a family man, a man of principle, a man of faith. Out of many possible candidates, Ron Fisk, who runs a small law firm in rural Mississippi, is chosen as the best candidate. Supported by an unlimited supply of money, he beats his overmatched opponent, Sheila McCarthy, a current Supreme Court justice who is conveniently framed as a closet liberal. Jeannette Baker’s case is retried, and as Carl Trudeau hoped, Ron Fisk breaks the tie on the court, thereby playing the key role in reversing the verdict. The irony is that Ron, a sincere politician, does not know exactly why some of the people supported him with so much passion; he is one of those well-intentioned politicians who fall victim to political operatives who manipulate them with ulterior motives.

In this novel, Grisham condemns water pollution caused by some manufacturing companies that pursue profits at the expense of public health. However, reporters and novelists have written about environmentally irresponsible companies for many years, so his novel does not really cover anything new about the issue. More interesting is the way Grisham describes the profligate lifestyle of the super rich. Carl buys an abstract sculpture, which he secretly despises, for $17 million at an auction only to beat his rival business tycoon. Carl’s third—and trophy—wife is a blonde woman thirty years his junior. Carl gives her $300,000 each month as spending money. She insists on having a baby as an insurance plan for herself; she now has a son by Carl, but both parents dislike the child. At an exclusive party, Carl and his business rival pretend to be friendly, but they hate each other. Of course, this is an overgeneralized view of the East Coast Brahmins, considering that there are many philanthropically minded billionaires such as Bill Gates and Warren Buffett. Still, it is amusing to see how Grisham pokes fun at some rich people. (In addition to his mockery of those rich people, Grisham pokes fun at many other things in the novel, which will make readers chuckle.)

An intriguing character in this novel is Danny Ott, pastor of the Pine Grove Church which Jeanette Baker attends. He feels indignant about the fatal damage caused by Krane Chemical, he does not like the way the company responds to the health crisis, yet he stays above the fray. As a man of the cloth, he sticks with his primary calling: ministering to his flock. He does provide the church as a meeting place for those affected by the water pollution, but he generally keeps a low profile. He prays for those who are afflicted, digs graves for and buries the dead, and maintains the small church cemetery. His conviction is that “once the body is dead and the spirit ascends into heaven, the earthly rituals are silly and of little significance…. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. God sent us into the world naked and that’s how we should leave” (135). Thus, he does not believe in elaborate funerals marked by embalming, flowers, and pricey caskets.

62 IntĂŠgritĂŠ: A Faith and Learning Journal He is not an activist, yet he seems to elicit admiration from Grisham, a Baptist layman whose fiction often reflects his progressive social agenda.

In The Appeal, Grisham clearly sides with the little guys in society who stand up against those who have money and power. His heroes may be uneducated, they may not always win, but they know what is right and what is wrong. Grisham gives such lowly people a voice through his fiction. In this regard, he is similar to John Steinbeck, who stood up for the little guys in such novels as The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men. In the former, for example, the migrant workers from the Midwest suffer hardships in California, their future is not promising, yet they keep pressing for their right to a decent standard of living. Admittedly, Steinbeck is more subtle and complex than Grisham in his portrayal of good and evil, yet both novelists are moralists committed to social justice and human rights.

Book Reviews 63

Devine, Maija Rhee. The Voices of Heaven. Irvine, CA: Seoul Selection, 2013. 316 pages, $16.00 Reviewed by John J. Han As an author of a book, Maija Rhee Devine, a Korean-American writer, is a late bloomer. She came to the United States in the 1960s and worked on her novel, The Voices of Heaven, for fifteen years before it was published this year, alongside her poetry chapbook Long Walks on Short Days (Finishing Line Press).

Before the publication of her books, however, a number of her prose works and poems appeared in national journals such as Michigan Quarterly Review, Boulevard, North American Review, and The Kenyon Review. The publication of two book-length works heightens her profile nationally and internationally.

According to the author’s recent conversation with this reviewer, The Voices of Heaven began as a memoir and ended as a novel. Like James Joyce’s A Portrait of a Young Man as an Artist, many of the characters and events derive from the author’s own life. Similar to Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus, who leaves Ireland for Continental Europe, Rhee’s main character, Mi-na, leaves South Korea for the United States. Both characters find their respective native cultures stifling—the Irish culture dominated by Catholicism and the Korean culture by Confucianism. Both characters reach their full potential on foreign soil.

The majority of the story focuses on the events from the late 1940s to 1960. After 36 years of Japanese colonial rule, Koreans achieved national liberation in 1945, but their jubilation was short-lived as the country was divided into two parts: the pro-Soviet North and the pro-American South. Hostilities between the two sides culminated in the Korean War (1950-53), which claimed the lives of 415,000 South Koreans, 36,574 Americans, and 1.5 million North Koreans and Chinese. Devine’s novel portrays, in graphic detail, the hardships Koreans suffered during this time—the hardships the author must have experienced personally. The Voices of Heaven reflects the author’s anticommunist sentiment and her gratitude toward America for defending South Korea against North Korean aggression.

The novel’s point of view constantly shifts, and the main characters’ names are used as subheadings. (Nicholas Sparks uses a similar structure in his novel The Lucky One.) This allows us to enter the mind of each character. As the story opens, we encounter a family in Seoul which consists of Gui-yong (a truck diver), Eum-chun (his wife), Mi-na (their adopted daughter), and Gui-yong’s mother. Gui-yong and Eum-chun are a loving couple. The problem is that they do not have a son. Gui-yong’s mother forces him to get a concubine so that they can have a son who will inherit the family name. With much reluctance, Guiyong secures a concubine, Soo-yang.

Soo-yang lives with Gui-yong and his wife under the same roof. Although broken-hearted, Eum-chun learns to accept her “fate” as a barren woman. Sooyang bears a son to the delight of Gui-yong’s mother, who now feels ready to die anytime, having fulfilled her sacred duty to secure a baby boy for the family.

64 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal After delivering her son, Soo-yang gradually gains power within the family. Mina loses her grandmother and her father in her teen years, comes to the United States as a graduate student, becomes a professor, and marries an American scholar, a specialist in U.S.-Asia relations.1 In the epilogue of the novel, set in 2005, Mi-na returns to her native land. By that time, her mother has been dead for more than a decade. Surprisingly, Mi-na learns from Gui-yong’s concubine— her Little Mommy—that she had been an adoptee in Gui-yong’s family.

Although amazed at the economic progress South Korea has made since the 1960, Mi-na is also disappointed that the country still retains the Confucian culture of male chauvinism.

Devine’s prose style is typical of first-generation Korean immigrants who learned English as a foreign language, which puts emphasis on correct grammar. Like Younghill Kang (The Grass Roof), No-Yong Park (Chinaman’s Chance), and Richard E. Kim (The Martyred), she seems mindful of sentence correctness. For instance, like those earlier prose writers, she distinguishes between the past and the past perfect and avoids sentence fragments. (In contrast, 1.5- or second-generation writers, such as Chang-rae Lee [Native Speaker], tend to write in an informal, easy-going style.) Also, some of Devine’s English expressions originate in Korean sayings and maxims. Examples abound: “I promise upon my ancestors’ graves” (137), “a caterpillar must eat pine needles, not something else” (144), and “spiders would soon spin webs in her girls’ throats” (176), among many others. Such expressions will come across as foreign yet fresh for nonnative speakers of Korean.

Western readers may find it difficult to understand how two women can live with the same husband. Historically, however, polygamy has been practiced in many parts of the world, including ancient Israel (biblical figures Abraham, Jacob, David, and Solomon come to mind) and 19th-century America (in the second half of the century, a quarter of Mormons practiced polygamy). In the patriarchal Confucian culture of premodern Korea, bearing a son was a sacred duty for a married woman. If she failed to produce a son, she was sometimes dismissed from the house.2 Therefore, some wives endured the pain of seeing their husbands sleep with another woman to get a son. Other women even encouraged their husbands to get a concubine (as Abraham’s wife Sarah does in Genesis); at least a concubine’s son belonged to the first wife. Human nature being what it is, however, the lawful wife typically felt jealous toward the concubine who produced a son. In Devine’s novel, Eum-chun undergoes the same emotional turmoil after Soo-yang’s son is born.

In a way, The Voices of Heaven is an indictment of traditional Confucian culture in Korea. In addition to preference for a son, daughters-in-law in the novel live as virtual slaves until they reach old age. Protestant Christianity first came to Korea in 1884 and has played an important role in transforming society, teaching social justice, respect for women, and human rights. Although Christian faith has altered the way Koreans view life to a certain extent, Confucian ideals— filial piety, scholarly pursuits, worldly success, bringing fame to the family, male dominance, etc.—still dominate the Korean psyche. Growing up in mid-20th century Korea, Mi-na does not find much hope in her native country, so she

Book Reviews 65 moves to America, where she regains self-confidence as a woman. Readers will find The Voices of Heaven both informative and intriguing. It offers gripping life stories, as well as an insight into a country that is fundamentally Confucian but also sends the second-largest number of Christian missionaries overseas.

Notes 1

The author earned her B.A. in English and her M.A. in English from Sogang University (Seoul) and from St. Louis University, respectively, both of which are Jesuit institutions. She is married to Michael J. Devine, the director of the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library in Independence, Missouri.

2

Classic Confucian texts list seven â&#x20AC;&#x153;vicesâ&#x20AC;? of a married woman that could be used as valid reasons for dismissal by her husband: disobeying parents-in-law, bearing no son, lasciviousness, jealousy, persistent chronic illness, too much talk, and thievery.

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring 2013): 66-71

Poems “Provision” and Other Poems Jane Beal Provision I saw the window of heaven open!

From it poured forth a stream, a flood! Gold, pure gold, much fine gold, with ruby rings, too— it did not cease to rain down from its source.

Gold covered the hills all around as far as I could see, except for patches of green grass where cattle were chewing the cud and where a shepherd slept under a tree.

He looked poor in his rags by the water, the waters of the stream he lay by, and I wondered what he would do when he woke, opened his eyes, and turned to see: gold!

From heaven I heard the voice of God say: my provision is endless.

Caedmon Remembers Hearing the harp, like hearing my enemy’s horn, filled my heart with fear even when I was longing for heaven to come down into my hands so I could pray and praise in the company of men in the mead-hall, those ordinary mortals, my friends and my kinsmen from whom I fled to bungle my way to the barn to bed down with the animals, not expecting the angel, who appeared and said: “Sing to the Shaper the beginnings of earth and sky!”

Poems 67 A Benedictine Sister Makes a Mosaic First, I gather the stones.

I bend to find themâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;flat, white, and shiningâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; in the desert around Santa Fe. After singing the psalms at Compline, I kneel me down over an enormous rectangle and begin to place one mystery beside another.

Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

My breath-prayer stirs the dust. I wheeze like an asthmatic as first Moses, then Elijah, and now Jesus emerge from the sparkling sandstone.

My Moses has golden horns because Saint Jerome found them in translation. My Elijah carries a scroll because the Word of the Lord that came to him comes to me.

Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

The three disciples sprawl in awe-struck wonder at the white glory-cloud bursting above them: there in the midst of it, Christ Pantokrator, Ruler of All, Sustainer of the World!

He stands in the mandorla as if he is being born from the Virgin, white against a turquoise-blue placenta, a brilliant door in the unbroken opening of life!

O, transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

A red lining I piece in, red for the blood of his birth and his passion, red for his sacred heart hidden under stones of praise and the rays of his magnificence.

But at his foot I lay my rock of purple amethyst, the twelfth stone of the heavenly Jerusalem, the one I sing in the daily breviary, the one I sing with my soul.

O, transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

When it is done, my mosaic where heaven and earth meet, I show it to the brothers who asked me to make it, and they nod sagely before they lay it in the barn.

68 IntĂŠgritĂŠ: A Faith and Learning Journal They cover it with a grey cloth, and the afternoon sun shines on it through cracks in the roof sometimes, but not even the old ox or the crippled donkeys can hear it singing: Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

I grow old remembering it, hidden there behind a manger.

My hair turns gray, my skin around my eyes and mouth wrinkles like a dried-out sunflower pulled up from the ground.

But then a man like one of the lost magi stumbles on the monastery in the desert. He even finds the barn, where he trips, slips the gray shroud aside, and hears!

Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

My Transfiguration! He says he must buy it, as if he were the merchant who found a treasure, yes, he says he must redeem this lost work of art for a new sanctuary.

Transfigure, yes, transfigure me like a melody, a melody set in the white sandstone of Santa Fe!

Poems 69

“Longing for Spring” and Other Poems Ruth E. Bell Longing for Spring Icy asphalt lot full of winter-drabbed cars Slush crunching underfoot Barren campus of dead grey grasses Thin clouds in empty skies Mirroring my winter within Longing for spring Thirsty for blossoms of joy— Then at my feet in the snow a flower A lilac? Some lavender?

Tiny purple flowers on a spruce-like branch soft in my hand Hope…

Unreasonable promises of flowers underfoot in winter’s ice— The Answer The Riddle, then the Answer.

How satisfying.

Endless nights spent puzzling over little mysteries, always searching seeking the answer.

The Pharisees sought to riddle Jesus with their tiny problems and failed although he answered them.

70 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

Honeysuckles Carpets, tapestries— Gold and white gold everywhere Such royal trappings.

Poor thin starving dog, hunger-frightened; I had bread, but he ran away, The lovely pine trees, God’s strong and mighty green hands sheltering the hills.

For hours up and down we traveled the mountains, on merry-go-round roads.

Sparkling in moonlight, shining white dogwoods, rejoicing amid the dark pines.

North Carolina where every earth wound soon bleeds no matter how small.

Poems 71 A Sheepâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Tale In deep lonely valleys, among the desert thorns the brilliant lilies flourish.

Our Shepherd delights in their selfless love and trusting adoration.

Uncomplaining they transform the wilderness, praising their Lord with fragrant incense and bright faces.

Encouraged and strengthened He clothed His garden with royal robesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Some with scarlet and purple, Others are graced in purest white mirrors of His own light.

In such glory earthly lilies dwell.

Another, immortal, He takes as His bride, clothed in blood crimson, gowned with His light.

Blessed messengers, lifting gleaming trumpets, they joyously herald Lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s return to a cold dark world.

Maranatha.

Alleluia.

72 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

Notes on Contributors Ashley Anthony <agscm8@mail.umsl.edu> is a graduate student in English at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. She graduated from Missouri Baptist University in 2012 with a B.A. in English. Passionate about both teaching and the discipline of English, Ashley hopes to teach at the college level when she graduates, instilling within her students the same fascination about literature and writing that she possesses. In her free time, Ashley likes to read, travel with her husband Matthew, and spend time fixing up and decorating their home in St. Peters, Missouri.

Jane Beal, Ph.D. < janebeal@gmail.com> is an associate professor of English at Colorado Christian University where she teaches creative writing and literature.

As a poet, she has produced more than a dozen poetry collections, including Sanctuary (Finishing Line Press, 2008) and The Roots of Apples (Lulu Press, 2012), as well as a CD of her poetry read aloud, Songs from the Secret Life (Shiloh Studio of Sound, 2009). As a literary scholar, she has authored John Trevisa and the English Polychronicon (ACMRS, 2012) and edited Translating the Past: Essays on Medieval Literature (ACMRS, 2012) and Illuminating Moses: A History of Reception from Exodus to the Renaissance (Brill, forthcoming 2013). She has published biographical essays on early women writers, including Marie de France, Julian of Norwich, Margery Kempe, and Elizabeth I, as well as creative non-fiction essays on midwives in history. To learn more, please visit http://sanctuarypoet.net.

Ruth E. Bell of the St. Louis Metro East <belletrist52@yahoo.com> teaches English at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. She has taught many years of freshman composition and literature at the college level. An avid gardener, she also volunteers at her church and gives tours at the Alton Museum of History and Art. The poet-artist enjoys using Facebook to connect with old friends, family, and classmates as well as researching obscure topics.

Mark D. Eckel <meckel@lbc.edu> is Professor of Leadership, Education, & Discipleship at Capital Bible Seminary, Lanham, MD. For over 30 years, Eckel has served the Christian community as a high school teacher, college professor, curriculum writer, essayist, and international speaker. Eckel’s lifelong pursuit is the practice of faith-learning integration; his next work is focused on interdisciplinarity within biblical theology. Over 300 essays can be found at www.warpandwoof.org. He has earned Th.M. and Ph.D. degrees.

Tyler M. Eckel (B.A. in Humanities) is a freelance writer-editor who lives and works in Indiana.

Mary Ellen Fuquay <FUQUAME@mobap.edu> serves as Director of the EXCEL dual credit program and as Assistant Professor of English at Missouri Baptist University. She received an M.A. in English from the University of

Virginia and a B.A. in English from Oklahoma Baptist University. She taught at the high school level for five years and later worked in the real estate and financial industries for several years before serving 25 years as a church pianist or accompanist for various other organizations, four of those years as MBU’s staff accompanist.

She has volunteered in various church and community organizations for more than forty years, primarily in music and in children’s education, and continues as a regular piano duet performer. She has two grown daughters and a seven-year-old grandson.

John J. Han <hanjn@mobap.edu> is Professor of English & Creative Writing at Missouri Baptist University. He is editor of Wise Blood: A Re-Consideration (Rodopi, 2011) and has published articles in Journal of Bunka Gakuen University, Journal of Transnational American Studies, Kansas English, Literature and Belief, The Moral Philosophy of John Steinbeck, Steinbeck Studies, The Steinbeck Review, and other journals and essay collections. Currently he is co-editing two collections of critical essays—one (with C. Clark Triplett) on death and dying in literature and the other (with Carol Austin) on disability in literature. He is also the author of numerous poems published worldwide. He earned his M.A. and his Ph.D. from Kansas State University and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, respectively. In addition to MBU, he has taught at KSU, UNL, Nebraska Wesleyan University, and Washington University in St. Louis.

Todd C. Ream <tdream@taylor.edu> is Professor of Higher Education at Taylor University. He earned a B.A. from Baylor University, an M.Div. from Duke University Divinity School, and a Ph.D. from The Pennsylvania State University. Ream is the author and editor of a number of books concerning the Christian faith and higher education, the most recent (with Perry L. Glanzer) being The Idea of a Christian College: A Reexamination for Today’s University (Cascade, 2013).

Cordell P. Schulten <schulten@gmail.com> is an associate professor of American and International Law at Handong Global University in Pohang, Korea. He has also taught at Fontbonne University and Missouri Baptist University. Before teaching, he practiced law for ten years, specializing in commercial litigation and death penalty cases. Schulten earned his M.A. in Theological Studies from Covenant Theological Seminary in 2004 and his J.D. from Saint Louis University School of Law in 1986. He has also done graduate studies in Theology and Culture at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis.

C. Clark Triplett <triplett@mobap.edu> is Vice President for Graduate Studies and Academic Program Review and Professor of Psychology/Sociology at Missouri Baptist University. He earned an A.A. from Hannibal-LaGrange College, a B.A. from Southwest Baptist University, an M.Div. from Covenant Theological Seminary, an M.S.Ed. from Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville, and a Ph.D. from Saint Louis University. He also studied at Concordia Theological Seminary, Covenant Theological Seminary, the University

74 IntĂŠgritĂŠ: A Faith and Learning Journal of Ulster in Northern Ireland, and the Harvard Institutes. He is co-editing (with John J. Han) a collection of essays on death and dying in literature.

75 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal

Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Submission Guidelines Interested Christian scholars are encouraged to submit academic articles (15-25 pages), short essays (6-10 pages), review articles (10-12 pages), book reviews (48 pages), and 3-5 poems (40 or fewer lines each) for consideration. Send manuscripts as e-mail attachments (Microsoft Word format) to the editor, John J. Han, at hanjn@mobap.edu. Due dates are March 1 for inclusion in the spring issue and September 1 for the fall issue. We accept submissions all year round.

All prose submissions must be typewritten double-spaced. For citation style, refer to the current edition of MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers. Articles and short essays should include in-text citations in parentheses, a list of endnotes (if applicable), and an alphabetical listing of works cited at the end of the article.

Book reviews need only page numbers in parentheses after direct quotations.

Articles Articles should examine historical, theological, philosophical, cultural, and/or pedagogical issues related to faith-learning integration. Possible topics include, but are not limited to:         

the current state and/or future of the church-related college history of Christian liberal arts education Christianity and contemporary culture a Christian perspective on multiculturalism and diversity service learning academic freedom in a Christian context implementation of Christian truths in academic disciplines Christian education in the non-Western world global Christianity.

Articles must engage in faith-learning issues or controversies in a scholarly, critical manner. We generally do not consider manuscripts that are merely factual, devotional, or sermonic. We typically do not consider articles that use more than twenty-five secondary sources; merely present other scholars’ opinions without developing extended, thoughtful analysis; and/or use excessive endnotes.

Direct quotations, especially lengthy ones, should be used sparingly.

76 Intégrité: A Faith and Learning Journal Short Essays We welcome short essays on issues related to Christian higher education, such as pedagogy, culture, diversity, and globalization.

Review Articles We consider review articles—extended and in-depth reviews of recently published books. In addition to a summary and critique of the book(s), the article should elucidate the key issues related to the topic.

Book Reviews Each issue of Intégrité includes several book reviews. Scholars are welcome to submit reviews of books published during the past few years.

Poems We welcome submissions of poems that pay attention to both form and content.

On writing style Considering that most Intégrité readers are Christian scholars and educators who may not have expertise on multiple disciplines, we recommend concise, precise, and easy-to-understand writing style. Writers should follow what William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White suggest in The Elements of Style: use definite, specific, concrete language; omit needless words; avoid a succession of loose sentences; write in a way that comes naturally; and avoid fancy words.