One of the fun things about teaching is that oftentimes, students raise questions that I as a professor have not really thought about before. If you've read some of my earlier posts, you know that The Mainline was largely shaped in the classroom, so there should be little surprise that I've surely been influenced by this trend professionally. That being said there is one question that has been raised several times by students over the past few years that I have a hard time figuring out, and since writing sometimes leads to answers, I thought I'd devote today's post to the issue, if not the answer.
Here is the basic outline. While teaching the first half of the US Survey (roughly discovery/colonization through the Civil War/Reconstruction), I always make sure to spend time talking about the First and Second Great Awakenings. Though there is debate over exact dates (as an aside, it is a pet peeve of mine how often historians get labeled as purveyors of dates, since History is rarely planned out and even when it is, its not as if things "just happen" on a given date or end a certain time), generally the First Great Awakening ran from the 1710s into the 1740s (give or take), and the Second Great Awakening ran from the 1790s into the 1830s (again, give or take). The FGA was trans-Atlantic in scope, and was marked by the preaching of such divines as Jonathon Edwards, George Whitefield, and the Wesley brothers. The SGA was more American in focus, and showcased the preaching talents of the Beechers, Charles Finney, Barton Stone and Alexander Campbell. The FGA is often construed as having saved orthodoxy from the clutches of Deism and reinvigorated a sense of "the Protestant Interest" (to borrow from Thomas Kidd's excellent work on the topic). For American Historians, the FGA also is a precursor event to the American Revolution (at least in some circles). The SGA, while starting off as a religious revival (geared towards making sure that churches got planted in the newly opened Western states) eventually morphed into a movement that was also (at least in the Northeast and much of the Midwest) interested in reforming society (including, of course, anti-slavery).
So far, so good. But then the questions start. Consistently I have students who "embrace" or "support" the FGA (how can you not like Edwards' Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God?). But just as consistently, I have students who berate the very idea of the SGA. Many of those who take on the SGA cite its calls for Christian activism in the public sphere, or with specific reforms that became a part of it. But probably the most persistent critique is that the SGA appealed not to the "head" but only to the "heart". That its emotional appeals led to "shallow" conversions, which contributed to later problems in American Christianity.
I admit that the first time this happened in a classroom, I was sort of taken aback. It was certainly new to me. I generally point out that the same type of critiques were and could be leveled at the FGA (again, take a look at Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God -- it is pretty scary stuff to think that God's grace is the only thing keeping you from falling into hell, and maybe you should get right with Him before he removes His grace!). I've also had to counter claims that "nothing like this (ie appeals to emotion) ever happened in the Bible" -- by asking those interested to take a look at Acts Chapter 2 and try not to hear the emotional appeal in it.
When we dig a bit deeper the "head vs. heart" debate eventually gets us into discussion about theology. Now, I'm not a theologian (and I don't think I've yet had one as a student), but the gist of this animosity towards the SGA in some circles is the belief that it was the start of liberal theology within American Protestantism. There maybe some truth to that, but I'd also argue that it isn't the whole truth. Saying that someone like Henry Ward Beecher (whose theology eventually diverged quite a bit from that of his father Lyman -- and both men were standard bearers for the SGA) would be comfortably classified as a liberal today is problematic for several reasons. Did the SGA get everything "right" (whether theologically or in the manner of reform)? No. But then again, I'd argue that most of the people (including one favorite target for some modern theological conservatives, Charles Finney) weren't attempting to forge a coherent theology at all. For some, but only some (like Washington Gladden) that came later.
In the end (for me at least) talking about the FGA/SGA has prompted some interesting discussions, which I enjoy. They've made me question assumptions I've had about these events, as well as raise questions for me about how we (including my students) understand them. Oftentimes, it seems "we know what we know because we know it," my hope is that with some study and reflection we can see that both the FGA and SGA utilized a sort of balanced witness of the Christian faith, of both "head and heart", that it wasn't an "either/or" kind of thing. If that makes for a more complicated history, so be it. Because it is also probably more accurate.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The Emerging Emergents
One of my professors in grad school told us that we should always remember that our papers for him (and eventually the books/articles we would write) would never be "done." When we turn them in or submit them for publication, we are simply ending our work for the time being, and opening things up for conversation and discussion. We are never "finished" in other words.
Having published two books and lots of articles since that class, I can attest that in many ways it is a true statement. No matter how comprehensive the research, there are always going to be sources that are missed. No matter how well you discuss something, there always seems to be something else (often times new, sometimes derived from what it is you've published) that you wish you had included/known about. And no matter what your bibliography looks like, it never seems to fail that the moment you publish something (or send back the proofs to the editor), a new book or article lands on your desk that would have been awesome (and maybe even transformed) what you just considered to be "done."
As we enter the second year since the publication of The Mainline, perhaps the most glaring thing I wish that I had included was discussion of the Emerging movement. It is not because I had not heard about it, I had. It is not that I had not thought about including them, I did. It is just that by the time I really listened and thought, the manuscript was at a place where I didn't know where the emergents would fit into the narrative. And, to be honest, when you are in the last stage of manuscript writing (and you know the next time you get something from the press it will be proofs), tackling a whole new body of literature for a few paragraphs really doesn't seem worth it. Or, at least it didn't to me at the time!
That being said, if there has been one thing nagging me about the final form The Mainline took (even if it hasn't been something that has been raised by reviewers or readers, at least not to my knowledge) it is that the Emergents didn't make it into the final product. For those of you who have never heard of the term, let me sum up the movement in very broad terms (while also pointing you to an excellent article by Scot McKnight here from Christianity Today). The Emergent Church movement seeks to find the best way(s) to "do Church" in a post modern world, and its focus tends to be on how to live their faith in the world.
To some, the Emergent movement has become the chief opponent of the Religious Right, surpassing attempts by the old Mainline to form a sort of counter Religious Left, by appealing to evangelicals directly (espescially younger ones) who grew up within conservative congregations. These disgruntled (?) or maybe displeased Christians have grown tired of the cultural wars of their parents, the desire for political power and influence by some church members, and feel let down by such engagement because they feel that such actions really aren't what their faith is about. That is perhaps true for some members of the Emergent community, but hopes that such a movement will fit seamlessly into liberal politics are bound to be ultimately frustrating (many Emergents, for example, remain opposed to abortion), and just as disappointing (after all, being active in the political sphere is what caused some of these believers to depart from the Religious Right to begin with, remember).
If there is one thing that the Emergents do offer my take on the new Mainline, it would be to remember that American Christianity is deeply complex -- much more so than it is often given credit for -- and not as easily captured by labels (Religious Right, Religious Left, Emergent) as we in academia (and many in the general public) would like to think. And if that is all there was to the Emergent movement, that would probably be where this blog post (and any additional material that might find its way into a second edition of The Mainline) would end. But, it isn't. Because while Brian McLaren is perhaps one of the best known proponents of the Emerging Movement in the United States, it was another pastor (or now I guess, former pastor) who really brought the movement to the attention of Americans outside evangelical circles: Rob Bell.
Bell is the former megachurch pastor from Michigan, who turned away from the pulpit after both a spiritual awakening/conflict (depending on how you look at it) and the firestorm of both praise and debate of his 2011 book Love Wins (in which he questions the existence of an eternal Hell). While this post is not a critique of either the book or the theology behind Bell's stance on matters of faith (if you want to read some of those, take a look at this, or this, or this), I raise Bell because he is perhaps the best example of the biggest problem I see with where Emergent theology fits within the scope of American Religious History, and that is post modernism.
Like McKnight, I agree that the emphasis on post modernism by some Emergents, and their critics, can be to much of a good/bad thing. But if a bedrock of Emergent theology is that we can never know for sure, that truth is an abstraction (more or less), or that it makes us uncomfortable to think that there might be a Hell (where people we know might end up if they are not saved), then this flies in the face of not only what the majority of Christians in America have and do believe right up to the present, but also what Christianity has taught since its emergence. While Christianity might be diverse in its application/manifestations, while its form has (and probably will continue to) changed, the rejection of truth seemingly has little pace within the Christian experience. Indeed, if post modernism is correct about truth, how can it be true! Twisting the word "truth" to mean the same thing as "opinion" or "belief" (such as "that is my truth") is a further undercutting of the very concept that somethings are right or wrong (your "truth" might be that 2+2=5, but that doesn't make your arithmetic correct). And if there is a Hell, its existence should make Christians uncomfortable (not because they believe that God cannot abide by sin, and those who remain unrepentant must be banished from His holy presence) but rather because it is their holy duty to bring the Good News to the lost and unsaved.
While I'm going to keep thinking about such things (perhaps for that second edition of The Mainline), I'm also going to say based on the first edition, that if the Emergent movement follows the post modern path, it is likely to run out of steam. If, on the other hand, it serves to remind us of the complexity of American Christianity (and Global Christianity as well), then it might just have a place at the table for years to come.
Having published two books and lots of articles since that class, I can attest that in many ways it is a true statement. No matter how comprehensive the research, there are always going to be sources that are missed. No matter how well you discuss something, there always seems to be something else (often times new, sometimes derived from what it is you've published) that you wish you had included/known about. And no matter what your bibliography looks like, it never seems to fail that the moment you publish something (or send back the proofs to the editor), a new book or article lands on your desk that would have been awesome (and maybe even transformed) what you just considered to be "done."
As we enter the second year since the publication of The Mainline, perhaps the most glaring thing I wish that I had included was discussion of the Emerging movement. It is not because I had not heard about it, I had. It is not that I had not thought about including them, I did. It is just that by the time I really listened and thought, the manuscript was at a place where I didn't know where the emergents would fit into the narrative. And, to be honest, when you are in the last stage of manuscript writing (and you know the next time you get something from the press it will be proofs), tackling a whole new body of literature for a few paragraphs really doesn't seem worth it. Or, at least it didn't to me at the time!
That being said, if there has been one thing nagging me about the final form The Mainline took (even if it hasn't been something that has been raised by reviewers or readers, at least not to my knowledge) it is that the Emergents didn't make it into the final product. For those of you who have never heard of the term, let me sum up the movement in very broad terms (while also pointing you to an excellent article by Scot McKnight here from Christianity Today). The Emergent Church movement seeks to find the best way(s) to "do Church" in a post modern world, and its focus tends to be on how to live their faith in the world.
To some, the Emergent movement has become the chief opponent of the Religious Right, surpassing attempts by the old Mainline to form a sort of counter Religious Left, by appealing to evangelicals directly (espescially younger ones) who grew up within conservative congregations. These disgruntled (?) or maybe displeased Christians have grown tired of the cultural wars of their parents, the desire for political power and influence by some church members, and feel let down by such engagement because they feel that such actions really aren't what their faith is about. That is perhaps true for some members of the Emergent community, but hopes that such a movement will fit seamlessly into liberal politics are bound to be ultimately frustrating (many Emergents, for example, remain opposed to abortion), and just as disappointing (after all, being active in the political sphere is what caused some of these believers to depart from the Religious Right to begin with, remember).
If there is one thing that the Emergents do offer my take on the new Mainline, it would be to remember that American Christianity is deeply complex -- much more so than it is often given credit for -- and not as easily captured by labels (Religious Right, Religious Left, Emergent) as we in academia (and many in the general public) would like to think. And if that is all there was to the Emergent movement, that would probably be where this blog post (and any additional material that might find its way into a second edition of The Mainline) would end. But, it isn't. Because while Brian McLaren is perhaps one of the best known proponents of the Emerging Movement in the United States, it was another pastor (or now I guess, former pastor) who really brought the movement to the attention of Americans outside evangelical circles: Rob Bell.
Bell is the former megachurch pastor from Michigan, who turned away from the pulpit after both a spiritual awakening/conflict (depending on how you look at it) and the firestorm of both praise and debate of his 2011 book Love Wins (in which he questions the existence of an eternal Hell). While this post is not a critique of either the book or the theology behind Bell's stance on matters of faith (if you want to read some of those, take a look at this, or this, or this), I raise Bell because he is perhaps the best example of the biggest problem I see with where Emergent theology fits within the scope of American Religious History, and that is post modernism.
Like McKnight, I agree that the emphasis on post modernism by some Emergents, and their critics, can be to much of a good/bad thing. But if a bedrock of Emergent theology is that we can never know for sure, that truth is an abstraction (more or less), or that it makes us uncomfortable to think that there might be a Hell (where people we know might end up if they are not saved), then this flies in the face of not only what the majority of Christians in America have and do believe right up to the present, but also what Christianity has taught since its emergence. While Christianity might be diverse in its application/manifestations, while its form has (and probably will continue to) changed, the rejection of truth seemingly has little pace within the Christian experience. Indeed, if post modernism is correct about truth, how can it be true! Twisting the word "truth" to mean the same thing as "opinion" or "belief" (such as "that is my truth") is a further undercutting of the very concept that somethings are right or wrong (your "truth" might be that 2+2=5, but that doesn't make your arithmetic correct). And if there is a Hell, its existence should make Christians uncomfortable (not because they believe that God cannot abide by sin, and those who remain unrepentant must be banished from His holy presence) but rather because it is their holy duty to bring the Good News to the lost and unsaved.
While I'm going to keep thinking about such things (perhaps for that second edition of The Mainline), I'm also going to say based on the first edition, that if the Emergent movement follows the post modern path, it is likely to run out of steam. If, on the other hand, it serves to remind us of the complexity of American Christianity (and Global Christianity as well), then it might just have a place at the table for years to come.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
On Religious Liberty
I was first introduced to the great British philosopher John Stuart Mill in an undergrad political science class. We had to read his On Liberty, and his notions about rights -- whether I always agreed with him or not -- have stuck with me ever since as one of the best examples of classical liberal thought on the subject.
What does that have to do with The Mainline? Well, Mill also wrote on the topic of religion (probably the best example being his essay "Theism") in which he explored the arguments for and against belief in God/the divine. Mill's eventual claim, despite admitting early on that he was not religious and never really had been, is interesting chiefly because unlike some of his contemporaries in late Victorian Britain, Mill was unwilling to reject the idea of God. For him, while he could not advocate belief, neither could he put forward a notion of unbelief either. Rather, for some he argued, there was enough evidence to hope that religion, that God, might be. And that was enough for Mill.
I got to thinking about Mill, liberty, and belief/unbelief a bit more in the past few days. There have been some wonderful essays done by R.R. Reno (editor of First Things) about religious liberty in America today (Reno argues in part that its definition is being altered by secular humanists to mean freedom from religion in the public square/religion is fine so long as it is private and kept that way) as well as by John C. Pinheiro (of Aquinas College) about the need to study Religious History (noting that the world's atheist population is estimated to be only 3 percent, meaning that 97 percent of humanity has some form of religious belief system, and so academia needs to take the study of religion seriously). In short, both these pieces reinforce arguments that I (hope I) made in The Mainline, about the importance of religious belief (both privately and in the public square) in American History, and why secular humanists were not only going against the tide of our history but also missing out on the ways in which religion and faith have (and will continue to) shape us. The question really is not will religion/faith be a factor but which religion/faith will be influencing us in the twenty-first century (and I agree with these authors that secular humanism, even if at times given greater influence than it actually has, is a faith).
And those ruminations have also got me thinking about what it means for Christians (as that is the faith I write about in The Mainline) to accept a concept of religious liberty. Not just in the spirit of toleration, but also internally. How should those outside a particular denomination feel about the efforts of some denominational leaders to transform historic doctrines within their faith tradition (I talk about an earlier dust up in The Mainline, but for the latest from the Episcopal Church's Presiding Bishop, take a look at this)? How should people within that denomination feel/react? What does it mean for the future? Should we treat them with Christian charity, extend to them religious liberty if you will, or do they present a threat to the faith that should be cast out? For 97% of the world's population such issues matter. For academics, beyond just being interesting things to study it matter as well, because such a discussion would help us not only make the case that religious history should be studied, but also force us to think in new ways about old concepts and investigate what it means to believe or not (whether in God or in a point of doctrine).
I'm not sure what Mill would say about all this. But there is always hope. Hope that we can disagree, without being disagreeable. And hope that we can be honest enough to say that faith matters.
What does that have to do with The Mainline? Well, Mill also wrote on the topic of religion (probably the best example being his essay "Theism") in which he explored the arguments for and against belief in God/the divine. Mill's eventual claim, despite admitting early on that he was not religious and never really had been, is interesting chiefly because unlike some of his contemporaries in late Victorian Britain, Mill was unwilling to reject the idea of God. For him, while he could not advocate belief, neither could he put forward a notion of unbelief either. Rather, for some he argued, there was enough evidence to hope that religion, that God, might be. And that was enough for Mill.
I got to thinking about Mill, liberty, and belief/unbelief a bit more in the past few days. There have been some wonderful essays done by R.R. Reno (editor of First Things) about religious liberty in America today (Reno argues in part that its definition is being altered by secular humanists to mean freedom from religion in the public square/religion is fine so long as it is private and kept that way) as well as by John C. Pinheiro (of Aquinas College) about the need to study Religious History (noting that the world's atheist population is estimated to be only 3 percent, meaning that 97 percent of humanity has some form of religious belief system, and so academia needs to take the study of religion seriously). In short, both these pieces reinforce arguments that I (hope I) made in The Mainline, about the importance of religious belief (both privately and in the public square) in American History, and why secular humanists were not only going against the tide of our history but also missing out on the ways in which religion and faith have (and will continue to) shape us. The question really is not will religion/faith be a factor but which religion/faith will be influencing us in the twenty-first century (and I agree with these authors that secular humanism, even if at times given greater influence than it actually has, is a faith).
And those ruminations have also got me thinking about what it means for Christians (as that is the faith I write about in The Mainline) to accept a concept of religious liberty. Not just in the spirit of toleration, but also internally. How should those outside a particular denomination feel about the efforts of some denominational leaders to transform historic doctrines within their faith tradition (I talk about an earlier dust up in The Mainline, but for the latest from the Episcopal Church's Presiding Bishop, take a look at this)? How should people within that denomination feel/react? What does it mean for the future? Should we treat them with Christian charity, extend to them religious liberty if you will, or do they present a threat to the faith that should be cast out? For 97% of the world's population such issues matter. For academics, beyond just being interesting things to study it matter as well, because such a discussion would help us not only make the case that religious history should be studied, but also force us to think in new ways about old concepts and investigate what it means to believe or not (whether in God or in a point of doctrine).
I'm not sure what Mill would say about all this. But there is always hope. Hope that we can disagree, without being disagreeable. And hope that we can be honest enough to say that faith matters.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Course Work
As those of you who have read the book or this blog probably know, The Mainline was shaped by my time in the classroom. For the first time since the book came out, I was able to teach with it in an American Religious History course. While of course I'm biased, and hold out hope that nice things will be said on the student evaluations, I thought that it went quite well. But rather than dwell on student reaction to having to read a book by their professor, I'd much rather talk about the work my students did in the course.
There were 11 students enrolled in the course (which was sponsored by the Honor's program at Butler University). And I must say, they did some really exceptional work and provided their professor with, if not always new insights, then at least a reminder of why I thought writing the book in the first place was a good idea. In short, the vibrancy of the field of American Religious History remains quite bright, and I'm as convinced as much as I ever way that there is still much more to study and learn from this field.
My students had three mini-research projects to complete in the areas of colonial religious history (they were assigned one of England's New World colonies and had to investigate the role religion played in its founding), the use of multimedia outlets to convey religious messages (looking at websites, television programs, movies, or listening to the radio), and modern worship (attending a worship service -- either new to them or regular). Their findings were insightful: In the colonial project, several of them noted how the Puritans created a "moral establishment of religion" in their colonies. One student also pointed out, in what I found to be quite telling considering recent discussion of religious liberty, the degree to which political control of a colony's government seemed to dictate the degree of religious freedom colonists enjoyed. For the multimedia project one thing that I took away (and seems to have changed somewhat since the last time I taught the course) was the degree to which these various media outlets are melded and blended together by both ministries and listeners/viewers. And when it came to modern worship, what was evident in virtually all of the presentations was the vibrancy and variety of religious expression that is alive and well in America today.
We, as a class, were also fortunate enough to have four guest speakers over the course of the semester. Two of the leaders of Butler's chapter of Cru (formerly known as Campus Crusade for Christ) came and spoke about the challenges and blessings of their campus ministry. The directer of the Hillel Center on campus also came in and spoke about the Jewish American experience (both historically and on campus). The president of the Muslim Student Association also spoke (and was kind enough to do so at the request of her former professor), giving students yet another (and in this case at the peer level) angle on American religious experience writ large -- and at the campus level. Our fourth guest speaker, via Skype, was an old friend, Prof. Jason VanHorn of Calvin College. Who talked about using GIS to study the Geography of Religion, including helping congregations in Grand Rapids, Michigan better understand their neighborhoods and what outreach services they might be best suited to bringing to their local communities. All of these presentations were well received and sparked good discussion both during and after class.
But for me, perhaps the highlight of the semester was the final papers and the presentations (even if we had to rush through some of them). My students had to research over the course of the semester a topic that interested them about American Religious History. Four papers dealt with politics and religion (particularly the Founders and disestablishment), four dealt with various facets of the Catholic experience in the United states (three on immigrant Catholicism and one on Catholic schools), and three covered various angles within the topic of Religion and American Culture (two of which built upon their previous course work).
It was a great semester and bodes well, I think, not only for the use of The Mainline in the classroom, but further study of American Religious History.
There were 11 students enrolled in the course (which was sponsored by the Honor's program at Butler University). And I must say, they did some really exceptional work and provided their professor with, if not always new insights, then at least a reminder of why I thought writing the book in the first place was a good idea. In short, the vibrancy of the field of American Religious History remains quite bright, and I'm as convinced as much as I ever way that there is still much more to study and learn from this field.
My students had three mini-research projects to complete in the areas of colonial religious history (they were assigned one of England's New World colonies and had to investigate the role religion played in its founding), the use of multimedia outlets to convey religious messages (looking at websites, television programs, movies, or listening to the radio), and modern worship (attending a worship service -- either new to them or regular). Their findings were insightful: In the colonial project, several of them noted how the Puritans created a "moral establishment of religion" in their colonies. One student also pointed out, in what I found to be quite telling considering recent discussion of religious liberty, the degree to which political control of a colony's government seemed to dictate the degree of religious freedom colonists enjoyed. For the multimedia project one thing that I took away (and seems to have changed somewhat since the last time I taught the course) was the degree to which these various media outlets are melded and blended together by both ministries and listeners/viewers. And when it came to modern worship, what was evident in virtually all of the presentations was the vibrancy and variety of religious expression that is alive and well in America today.
We, as a class, were also fortunate enough to have four guest speakers over the course of the semester. Two of the leaders of Butler's chapter of Cru (formerly known as Campus Crusade for Christ) came and spoke about the challenges and blessings of their campus ministry. The directer of the Hillel Center on campus also came in and spoke about the Jewish American experience (both historically and on campus). The president of the Muslim Student Association also spoke (and was kind enough to do so at the request of her former professor), giving students yet another (and in this case at the peer level) angle on American religious experience writ large -- and at the campus level. Our fourth guest speaker, via Skype, was an old friend, Prof. Jason VanHorn of Calvin College. Who talked about using GIS to study the Geography of Religion, including helping congregations in Grand Rapids, Michigan better understand their neighborhoods and what outreach services they might be best suited to bringing to their local communities. All of these presentations were well received and sparked good discussion both during and after class.
But for me, perhaps the highlight of the semester was the final papers and the presentations (even if we had to rush through some of them). My students had to research over the course of the semester a topic that interested them about American Religious History. Four papers dealt with politics and religion (particularly the Founders and disestablishment), four dealt with various facets of the Catholic experience in the United states (three on immigrant Catholicism and one on Catholic schools), and three covered various angles within the topic of Religion and American Culture (two of which built upon their previous course work).
It was a great semester and bodes well, I think, not only for the use of The Mainline in the classroom, but further study of American Religious History.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
On the Future of Denominationalism
Easter, a time for Christians to reflect and celebrate Christ's burial and resurrection, this year fell almost exactly on the anniversary of the arrival of my first advance copy of The Mainline, and that prompted me to do some reflecting of my own.
First, a big thank you to those of you who have read this blog (always feel free to comment), come out to presentations/book signings, and of course, purchased a copy. As an author, all of those things mean a good deal to me.
But secondly, and more importantly for this post, the one year anniversary of the book being out amongst the reading public has also led to some reviews (which I've talked some about on the blog as they arrive). Several of those reviewers (most recently Prof. Wade Clark Roof, in the Journal of American History) have raised the issue of what my work says about the future of denominational Christianity in America. One could read the The Mainline as an affirmation of denominations, and if you do, then that seems to fly in the face of evidence of denominational decline, contraction, and the potential for extinction. In short, rather than talking about a "new Mainline for the twenty-first century" as I do in the final chapter, these reviewers seem to be arguing that organized religion in the United States, as expressed by Christian denominations, is edging ever closer to European style irreverence. Another reviewer, while enjoying the book, went so far as to opine that by the time a second edition of it was needed, there might not be any denominations left to appreciate or understand it!
Let me start my response by saying that yes, in the main, I agree with the notion of denominational decline (in some respects, my entire book is about that phenomenon). But let me also caution those of a more pessimistic persuasion that we really don't know what that means. To begin with, as scholars such as Mark Chaves has noted, while there has indeed been an across the board decline in American religiosity, it has also been very slow and the numbers themselves have remained remarkably stable and speak of a good deal of continuity in how Americans view matters of faith. Chaves also, rightly I believe, points out that while the numbers tell us what has happened, they do not out of hand show us what will happen (they are descriptive, not prescriptive). We do not know the future, we can only safely comment on the past. A First or Second Great Awakening style revival could change things overnight. And to those who say such an event couldn't happen now, I would simply remind you that that is exactly what many said at the time that both of those events occurred.
Which means that for the foreseeable future, we will have denominations among us. The real issue, I believe for scholars (and this is a point I admit I did not make clear enough in The Mainline) was that despite specific and broad denominational decline, denominations remain the best and easiest means for scholars to categorize, count and study religious belief. So, in a very real sense, they aren't going anywhere anytime soon! And with that in mind, while I think it behooves scholars of religion to not neglect denominations, I also think we must not rest on what is (and has been) easiest and best when it comes to thinking about religious faith. We need more work on what individuals, not just aggregate composites (via denominations) actually believe, and how that belief translates their faith into their daily life (here, I think Art Farnsley's Flea Market Jesus, is a great step in the right direction). We need more study on non-denominationalism (both as a phenomenon and the congregations that it has created, many of which are similar to the old Mainline -- and many of which put the old Mainline to shame). We might also look for ways to not only explore the sacred/secularization paradiam, but also resurrect the concept of irreligion (the idea that religious belief is just fine for you, but maybe not for me)--which, is more indifferent to faith than it is hostile.
So, rather than being pessimestic, I am optimistic. Not only for the work that remains to be done, but that denominations are going to play a role in it.
First, a big thank you to those of you who have read this blog (always feel free to comment), come out to presentations/book signings, and of course, purchased a copy. As an author, all of those things mean a good deal to me.
But secondly, and more importantly for this post, the one year anniversary of the book being out amongst the reading public has also led to some reviews (which I've talked some about on the blog as they arrive). Several of those reviewers (most recently Prof. Wade Clark Roof, in the Journal of American History) have raised the issue of what my work says about the future of denominational Christianity in America. One could read the The Mainline as an affirmation of denominations, and if you do, then that seems to fly in the face of evidence of denominational decline, contraction, and the potential for extinction. In short, rather than talking about a "new Mainline for the twenty-first century" as I do in the final chapter, these reviewers seem to be arguing that organized religion in the United States, as expressed by Christian denominations, is edging ever closer to European style irreverence. Another reviewer, while enjoying the book, went so far as to opine that by the time a second edition of it was needed, there might not be any denominations left to appreciate or understand it!
Let me start my response by saying that yes, in the main, I agree with the notion of denominational decline (in some respects, my entire book is about that phenomenon). But let me also caution those of a more pessimistic persuasion that we really don't know what that means. To begin with, as scholars such as Mark Chaves has noted, while there has indeed been an across the board decline in American religiosity, it has also been very slow and the numbers themselves have remained remarkably stable and speak of a good deal of continuity in how Americans view matters of faith. Chaves also, rightly I believe, points out that while the numbers tell us what has happened, they do not out of hand show us what will happen (they are descriptive, not prescriptive). We do not know the future, we can only safely comment on the past. A First or Second Great Awakening style revival could change things overnight. And to those who say such an event couldn't happen now, I would simply remind you that that is exactly what many said at the time that both of those events occurred.
Which means that for the foreseeable future, we will have denominations among us. The real issue, I believe for scholars (and this is a point I admit I did not make clear enough in The Mainline) was that despite specific and broad denominational decline, denominations remain the best and easiest means for scholars to categorize, count and study religious belief. So, in a very real sense, they aren't going anywhere anytime soon! And with that in mind, while I think it behooves scholars of religion to not neglect denominations, I also think we must not rest on what is (and has been) easiest and best when it comes to thinking about religious faith. We need more work on what individuals, not just aggregate composites (via denominations) actually believe, and how that belief translates their faith into their daily life (here, I think Art Farnsley's Flea Market Jesus, is a great step in the right direction). We need more study on non-denominationalism (both as a phenomenon and the congregations that it has created, many of which are similar to the old Mainline -- and many of which put the old Mainline to shame). We might also look for ways to not only explore the sacred/secularization paradiam, but also resurrect the concept of irreligion (the idea that religious belief is just fine for you, but maybe not for me)--which, is more indifferent to faith than it is hostile.
So, rather than being pessimestic, I am optimistic. Not only for the work that remains to be done, but that denominations are going to play a role in it.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Welcome News from Rome and Dr. Roof
Today, I happened to be home (spring break) and so was able to watch my fourth papal conclave, and fifth pope live on television. Granted, I have no meaningful recollection of the first two (Popes Paul VI and John Paul I) and have only vague memories of watching the election of Pope John Paul II (on my family's black and white t.v.); but these last two (Popes Benedict XVI and Francis I) I watched from "white smoke" to first official prayer. Such an event opens the doors for "pontificating" (if you'll excuse the expression) on the part of the news media (once the white smoke happens in Rome, there is time to fill on the air), and thanks to social media by others as well. As an American Religious Historian, it is with such comments that I will focus on at least in passing.
Two things stood out to me this afternoon. First, was that along with the expected speculation and discussion of what was happening while we awaited the emergence of Francis I (indeed, discovering that was who we were waiting for), there was also a good deal of "this is what the next pope has/needs to do" coming from the news media. Some of it was of the bland variety ("he will need to use social media"), but some of it was also very American-centric ("Catholics want the Vatican to allow priests to be married" one commentator asserted, apparently know what ALL Catholics -- American or otherwise-- want on the issue). And some of it, of course, was also politically liberal ("the next pope will need open the Church up to gays and lesbians"). I found it both fun and odd at the same time that the news media was setting up a laundry list of things the new pope HAD to do, as if the new pontiff had no idea about these (and other) issues, and might actually prioritize other things. Furthermore, it never seemed to cross the journalists' minds (and the priests and bishops who I saw that were part of the interviews were apparently to polite to point out) that perhaps the Church and the new pope might disagree with their assumptions altogether.
The second thing that I noticed, which has been on the rise over the past few days, was undertones of anti-Catholicism in discussions about the looming papal vote. Some of this has come from the news media (some lamenting that because of his devotion to John Paul II, Francis I was likely not going to revive Liberation Theology, nor do past comments he has made on abortion line up with what a pro-choice politics). But some of it has come from American Protestants. In that regard, much of it has not been directed at the papacy per se (at least not yet), but rather internally, as (for example) some evangelical Protestants have attacked others on Twitter for daring to say that Christians (regardless of denomination) should pray for the cardinals as they met in the conclave to vote. Neither of these is new, and the former variety is likely to intensify in the years to come. As an academic Historian, I will be keeping my eye as much on these things as well as the pronouncements Francis I makes in the days and years to come.
And so, that was the news from Rome today. But while watching, listening, and waiting, I also was doing some reading (I can take the talking heads and speculation for only so long). While flipping through the March 2013 issue of the Journal of American History, I eventually found my way to pages 1207 and 1208. For there was a review of The Mainline by Wade Clark Roof! To say that I was pleased to have such a prominent scholar review my book is an understatement. To find that he actually enjoyed it ("excellent denomination-by-denomination analysis," the "politics of decline" decline is noted as "insightful analysis") even better! While offering some critique as well, to say that Dr. Roof's review made my day is also an understatement.
All in all then, a very full day. A very blessed day.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
The Souls of Real People
Historians have an awesome responsibility. As a profession, we deal with the past of course. But it is a real past, the real past, which was constructed, inhabited by real people (just like us). In telling their story then, historians have the task of both constructing an argument about the past, as well as doing justice to the past and the people we are writing about.
Today, I had a chance to really ponder those sentiments. Before heading downtown to teach, I stopped off at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. The final resting place of Hoosiers since the mid-1860s, those interned there include the politicians (governors, senators, vice presidents, and a president), the infamous (John Dillinger), powerful businessmen and community leaders, as well as average citizens. My purpose in driving through the cemetery grounds was to find a few graves of people I have studied and written about over the past few years. It was both intellectual curiosity as well as hoping to find a few new details for my current project.
What does this have to do with The Mainline? Well, quite a bit actually, at least insofar as we are thinking of the Mainline in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Chapter 2). I am currently researching the life and times of Preston Davidson, a native Hoosier from a distinguished family in Indianapolis (his maternal grandfather was governor of the state), who fought for the South during the Civil War. Indeed, his life is full of virtually every Civil War cliche one can think of, and in many ways he remained unreconstructed to the end of his life. What makes his story compelling in terms of The Mainline, however, was more to do with his religious life. His paternal grandfather was a Presbyterian minister in Virginia. The Reverend Andrew Davidson was a church planter along Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, centered in and around Lexington. The Reverend Davidson was an Old School Presbyterian, a devout Calvinist, and could by all accounts deliver a powerful sermon. As such, he represents both a doctrinal divide within American Protestantism, the tensions involved in early nineteenth century America over slavery, and desire for evangelicals to find both acceptance and to help shape American culture (the Davidson family was a product and protector of Lexington's chief school of higher education, now known as Washington and Lee University, for virtually all of the nineteenth century).
Two of the Reverend's sons were part of the "Virginia exodus" that helped settle Indiana. One, the Reverend Charles Baker Davidson, followed in his father's ministerial footsteps -- though exhibiting a denominational fluidity that seems much more modern than perhaps is often admitted. Baker joined the Methodist Church in Indiana, serving congregations in and around the Evansville area, and by the time of the Civil War, left that branch of Protestantism for the Episcopal Church. Preston's father, Alexander Davidson, became intrinsically linked to his father-in-law's political career and ambitions. But when it came to religion, Alexander exhibited more of the evangelical streak of his family: Helping to found Indianapolis's Second Presbyterian Church, whose first pastor (who married Alexander and Catherine Noble) was Henry Ward Beecher. Beecher introduced his sister, Harriet, to a former Noble family slave whom the governor had brought to Indiana after the deaths of his own parents. The former slave's name was Tom, and the Beechers often visited with him in his cabin on the Noble family farm.
To add a further layer, while Preston eventually enrolled in the then Washington College in Lexington (from which he went on to fight for the Confederacy alongside his cousins, other family members, and under the command of Lexington's famed Presbyterian warrior, Stonewall Jackson), his first taste of higher education was in Indianapolis at North Western Christian University -- which is today known as Butler University. The driving force behind the school was Ovid Butler, who was a staunch free soiler and devout evangelical. This was the world that produced Preston Davidson, and as numerous scholars have argued, we cannot really grasp why the Civil War was fought, or why it lasted so long, unless we appreciate the role religion played in American life during the first half of the nineteenth century.
But the Noble-Davidson plot was not the only one I visited. I also tracked down the grave of the man who was the subject of my first book, the Reverend Edward S. Shumaker. Not unlike Davidson, Shumaker was the product of the evangelical Midwest; though of the second half of the nineteenth century. And while anti-slavery had been the main reform of Shumaker's father's generation, for Edward, who became a Methodist minister, the chief reform was Prohibition. He became a champion for the dry crusade and eventually the leader of the Indiana branch of the Anti-Saloon League. Shumaker became more a political operative than minister, fought battles against wets, damps, and even amongst his fellow drys. Despite the ups and downs, thankfully for Shumaker, his death came before repeal of his beloved 18th Amendment.
Shumaker's story reminds us yet again of the power of evangelical Protestantism to shape American culture. To forget that, is to forget not just one of the chief reasons why Prohibition became a reality, but also why Protestants were so invested in such a reform -- combating societal evils was sometimes easier than dealing with doctrinal and theological issues.
To forget these types of stories, to neglect religious aspect of reforms, of life, and their impact on American culture, is to miss a huge part of our history. It also does something else: It downplays the potential that religion has to continue to shape that culture today. Ponder that, and for those whose graves I visited today:
Today, I had a chance to really ponder those sentiments. Before heading downtown to teach, I stopped off at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. The final resting place of Hoosiers since the mid-1860s, those interned there include the politicians (governors, senators, vice presidents, and a president), the infamous (John Dillinger), powerful businessmen and community leaders, as well as average citizens. My purpose in driving through the cemetery grounds was to find a few graves of people I have studied and written about over the past few years. It was both intellectual curiosity as well as hoping to find a few new details for my current project.
What does this have to do with The Mainline? Well, quite a bit actually, at least insofar as we are thinking of the Mainline in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Chapter 2). I am currently researching the life and times of Preston Davidson, a native Hoosier from a distinguished family in Indianapolis (his maternal grandfather was governor of the state), who fought for the South during the Civil War. Indeed, his life is full of virtually every Civil War cliche one can think of, and in many ways he remained unreconstructed to the end of his life. What makes his story compelling in terms of The Mainline, however, was more to do with his religious life. His paternal grandfather was a Presbyterian minister in Virginia. The Reverend Andrew Davidson was a church planter along Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, centered in and around Lexington. The Reverend Davidson was an Old School Presbyterian, a devout Calvinist, and could by all accounts deliver a powerful sermon. As such, he represents both a doctrinal divide within American Protestantism, the tensions involved in early nineteenth century America over slavery, and desire for evangelicals to find both acceptance and to help shape American culture (the Davidson family was a product and protector of Lexington's chief school of higher education, now known as Washington and Lee University, for virtually all of the nineteenth century).
Two of the Reverend's sons were part of the "Virginia exodus" that helped settle Indiana. One, the Reverend Charles Baker Davidson, followed in his father's ministerial footsteps -- though exhibiting a denominational fluidity that seems much more modern than perhaps is often admitted. Baker joined the Methodist Church in Indiana, serving congregations in and around the Evansville area, and by the time of the Civil War, left that branch of Protestantism for the Episcopal Church. Preston's father, Alexander Davidson, became intrinsically linked to his father-in-law's political career and ambitions. But when it came to religion, Alexander exhibited more of the evangelical streak of his family: Helping to found Indianapolis's Second Presbyterian Church, whose first pastor (who married Alexander and Catherine Noble) was Henry Ward Beecher. Beecher introduced his sister, Harriet, to a former Noble family slave whom the governor had brought to Indiana after the deaths of his own parents. The former slave's name was Tom, and the Beechers often visited with him in his cabin on the Noble family farm.
To add a further layer, while Preston eventually enrolled in the then Washington College in Lexington (from which he went on to fight for the Confederacy alongside his cousins, other family members, and under the command of Lexington's famed Presbyterian warrior, Stonewall Jackson), his first taste of higher education was in Indianapolis at North Western Christian University -- which is today known as Butler University. The driving force behind the school was Ovid Butler, who was a staunch free soiler and devout evangelical. This was the world that produced Preston Davidson, and as numerous scholars have argued, we cannot really grasp why the Civil War was fought, or why it lasted so long, unless we appreciate the role religion played in American life during the first half of the nineteenth century.
But the Noble-Davidson plot was not the only one I visited. I also tracked down the grave of the man who was the subject of my first book, the Reverend Edward S. Shumaker. Not unlike Davidson, Shumaker was the product of the evangelical Midwest; though of the second half of the nineteenth century. And while anti-slavery had been the main reform of Shumaker's father's generation, for Edward, who became a Methodist minister, the chief reform was Prohibition. He became a champion for the dry crusade and eventually the leader of the Indiana branch of the Anti-Saloon League. Shumaker became more a political operative than minister, fought battles against wets, damps, and even amongst his fellow drys. Despite the ups and downs, thankfully for Shumaker, his death came before repeal of his beloved 18th Amendment.
To forget these types of stories, to neglect religious aspect of reforms, of life, and their impact on American culture, is to miss a huge part of our history. It also does something else: It downplays the potential that religion has to continue to shape that culture today. Ponder that, and for those whose graves I visited today:
Requiescat in pace
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