Jupiterian Amillennialism

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Darryl Hart is easy to read, but, in another sense, he is very hard to read. His second chapter “Whose Freedom, Which Liberty?” is a treasure trove of historical information, but his discussion also includes, it must be said, an astonishing oversight. I don’t know what — other than an amillennialism that appears to have the pull of Jupiter’s gravity — could account for it.

Darryl begins by noting, and ably discussing, the common idea among American Protestants, from the Founding on, that Protestantism and civil liberty go together like ham and eggs. Darryl doesn’t assume it the way they do, and points out in a number of places that they are assuming it. “The flip side of this assumption was the similar belief that Protestantism was the best soil from which civil liberty could grow” (p. 51, emphasis mine). “For him [Beecher], as for Witherspoon, the connection between Protestantism and political liberty was so close as to be obvious” (p. 56). “Beecher was not the only American Protestant to let the connection between political and religious liberty go assumed rather than proven” (p. 57, emphasis mine).

He discusses John Witherspoon, and Lyman Beecher, and Josiah Strong, showing how each of them assumed that evangelical Protestantism was the natural cradle of liberty. Darryl is quite right about this, and I was somewhat confused reading through this section — because I assume it too, and I do so because it seems historically obvious. But Darryl wants it to be demonstrated, about which more shortly.

But Darryl then tries to show that these American Presbyterians were departing radically (albeit unwittingly) from the Westminster Confession’s definitions of liberty, which Darryl wants to represent as advocating a very “spiritual” concept of liberty. He quotes the twentieth chapter of the WCF, and then says, “In other words, the primary consideration in understanding Christian liberty was the ultimate salvation of persons from sin and death” (pp. 62-63).

“What the Confession taught first of all was that salvation freed Christians from the penalty of sin, promised eternal life, and liberated them from following the laws and customs of the Old Testament” (p. 63).

Darryl speaks of the “spiritual nature of Christian liberty” (p. 63). But this is where Darryl’s astounding omission comes. “Nevertheless the understanding of Christianity developed at London during the 1640s, especially the doctrine of Christian freedom, made clear that political arrangements had nothing to do with the attainment of the spiritual liberties enjoyed by believers” (p. 70) Here is the glaring problem. The Westminster Assembly was convened by Parliament in 1643 and lasted until 1647. It was filled with Presbyterians, who believed in a tax-supported, state church. The First Civil War went from 1642-1645, and the Second Civil War ran from 1648-1649. The Westminster Assembly was convened right smack in the middle of a civil war, and was convened by the leaders of the rebellion. Two years after they were all done, the upshot of the rebellion in England was the king GOT HIS HEAD CHOPPED OFF, and THE MONARCHY WAS ABOLISHED. Now, I know that the Presbyterians in the Assembly were opposed to the regicide under Cromwell, but this was not because they objected to a political application of the faith, as can be readily seen by reading what they wrote. It was because they objected to that application.

I simply cannot understand why Darryl would draw conclusions about the “apolitical” nature of Westminsterianism, but not refer to the fact that the men who drafted that document were neck deep in the political affairs of the time, and drew the different conclusions they did on the basis of their respective theologies. Moreover, I cannot fathom how Darryl could draw these conclusions from the chapter on Christian liberty in isolation, and not make any reference to the chapter on the civil magistrate, which says loads of things that don’t sound very “apolitical” to me. To wit:

The civil magistrate may not assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments, or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven (2 Chron. 26:18; Matt. 18:17; 16:19; 1 Cor. 12:28–29; Eph. 4:11–12; 1 Cor. 4:1–2; Rom. 10:15; Heb. 5:4): yet he hath authority, and it is his duty, to take order that unity and peace be preserved in the Church, that the truth of God be kept pure and entire, that all blasphemies and heresies be suppressed, all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline prevented or reformed, and all the ordinances of God duly settled, administered, and observed (Isa. 49:23; Ps. 122:9; Ezra 7:23, 25–28; Lev. 24:16; Deut. 13:5–6, 12; 2 Ki. 18:4; 1 Chron. 13:1–9; 2 Ki. 24:1–16; 2 Chron. 34:33; 15:12–13). For the better effecting whereof, he hath power to call synods, to be present at them and to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God (2 Chron. 19:8–11; 2 Chron. 29; 30; Matt. 2:4–5) (WCF 23.3)

So then, according to Westminster, the civil authority has the right to keep the Church from splintering into a bunch of pieces, to preserve peace in the Church, to keep the truth of God pure and entire, to suppress all blasphemies and heresies, to prevent corruptions in worship and discipline, to reform them if they are already there, to settle and administer all the ordinances of God, and see they are observed, to convene synods, to attend synods, and to make sure that the synods don’t screw up. Now I much prefer the original Westminster over the American Westminster, and some of this is even a little too chewy for me.

But Darryl wants to say that “faith and public policy have little to do with each other” (p. 70) and he wants to say it as though it were the heritage of Westminster. I simply can’t get my mind around this.

But there is another problem for him, going in the other direction. Darryl knows that Thornwell was one of the principal advocates of the spiritual nature of the church. “Thornwell defended well this spiritual conception of Christian liberty” (p. 63). But Darryl still flinches. He prefaces his discussion of Thornwell by saying, “Without trying to justify a clearly racist and pernicious way of ordering society and economic production . . .” But if the Christian faith is apolitical, then whatever could be wrong with racist and pernicious ways of ordering society? Who cares about that? All we want to know is if we are going to heaven with our sins forgiven. And whatever could be wrong with saying ditto when it comes to economic production? Remember, Darryl holds that Christian “freedom [has] nothing to do with politics” (p. 63). Christian liberty is apolitical (p. 64). Well, is it or not?

And so here are some concluding thoughts, taking up Darryl’s challenge, the one he levels at Christian republicanism’s greatest weakness — “that is, failing to spell out the exact nature of the ties between religion and political liberty” (p. 60). There are three answers to this — exegetical, historical, and “think about it for a minute.”

Exegetically, God commands all nations to believe in Jesus, to observe all that He has commanded. Kiss the Son, lest He be angry. The New Jerusalem is the Christian Church, and kings will bring their honor and glory into it. This could be developed more, but there it is.

And historically, from at least the time of Constantine on (not to mention far-sighted Christians before Constantine), the Christian Church has assumed it as self-evident that the civil magistrate had an obligation to submit to the lordship of Jesus Christ. Many of the Founders of the American experiment believed that this could be done informally, but they agreed with all Christendom that it was absolutely essential to do. They stepped away from the robust Westminster embrace of an established church, but they stepped away from Westminster in the opposite direction than Darryl indicates. Westminster insisted on a formal, covenanted relationship between state and Church. The Americans thought we could have an informal, “goes without saying” arrangement between state and Church, but they were still advocates of Christendom. Darryl has objected to this most recent move (that’s reasonable), but it’s still a little weird. Westminster brewed themselves a hearty oatmeal stout of establishmentarianism, the Americans went for an amber ale (no federal church, state churches if you want them, and generic Protestantism pervasive everywhere), and now Darryl is urging us all to return to the stout. But his example is confusing — he is drinking the bottled water of secularism.

“Think about it for a minute.” Look at it this way. If the gospel genuinely liberates a people from their sins, freeing them from their bondage to vice and self-indulgence, and these people begin to live responsible and God-honoring lives, it will at some point be next to impossible to enslave those people. All the tricks that despots use won’t work on them. Christian liberty, of the spiritual kind that Westminster spoke of, is a yeast that must work through the entire loaf of bread.

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