Augustine's Anti-Pelagian Writings

"Both by nature and by grace, Augustin was formed to be the champion of truth in this controversy. Of a naturally philosophical temperament, he saw into the springs of life with a vividness of mental perception to which most men are strangers; and his own experiences in his long life of resistance to, and then of yielding to, the drawings of God’s grace, gave him a clear apprehension of the great evangelic principle that God seeks men, not men God, such as no sophistry could cloud. However much his philosophy or theology might undergo change in other particulars, there was one conviction too deeply imprinted upon his heart ever to fade or alter,—the conviction of the ineffableness of God’s grace. Grace,—man’s absolute dependence on God as the source of all good,—this was the common, nay, the formative element, in all stages of his doctrinal development, which was marked only by the ever growing consistency with which he built his theology around this central principle." ~ B. B. Warfield, Introductory Essay on Augustin and the Pelagian Controversy

Those of you who know me well know that the writings of Augustine have had a huge impact on my development as a Christian—both spiritually and theologically. He has had such an enormous impact on me that I gave my son Gabriel the middle name "August" in his honor. In a recent post, I gave some recommended reading for 2013 and one of the books I suggested was Augustine's Anti-Pelagian Writings. To be honest, if I would have you read only one of Augustine's works, it would be his Confessions, but if I would have you read two, it would be his Confessions and his Anti-Pelagian Writings. Since the former is so much more commonly known, today I will focus on the latter. Below is a section of B. B. Warfield's introduction to the Anti-Pelagian Writings. It is only a small portion (the essay is quite long and included as an introduction to most versions of the Anti-Pelagian Writings) but it is enough to give you a taste of the theological importance of Augustine's efforts against Pelagius' heretical teachings. I hope it "wets your whistle" and inspires you to read this important collection of Augustine's work.

It was inevitable that the energy of the Church in intellectually realizing and defining its doctrines in relation to one another, should first be directed towards the objective side of Christian truth. The chief controversies of the first four centuries and the resulting definitions of doctrine, concerned the nature of God and the person of Christ; and it was not until these theological and Christological questions were well upon their way to final settlement, that the Church could turn its attention to the more subjective side of truth. Meanwhile she bore in her bosom a full recognition, side by side, of the freedom of the will, the evil consequences of the fall, and the necessity of divine grace for salvation. Individual writers, or even the several sections of the Church, might exhibit a tendency to throw emphasis on one or another of the elements that made up this deposit of faith that was the common inheritance of all. The East, for instance, laid especial stress on free will: and the West dwelt more pointedly on the ruin of the human race and the absolute need of God’s grace for salvation. But neither did the Eastern theologians forget the universal sinfulness and need of redemption, or the necessity, for the realization of that redemption, of God’s gracious influences; nor did those of the West deny the self-determination or accountability of men. All the elements of the composite doctrine of man were everywhere confessed; but they were variously emphasized, according to the temper of the writers or the controversial demands of the times. Such a state of affairs, however, was an invitation to heresy, and a prophecy of controversy; just as the simultaneous confession of the unity of God and the Deity of Christ, or of the Deity and the humanity of Christ, inevitably carried in its train a series of heresies and controversies, until the definitions of the doctrines of the Trinity and of the person of Christ were complete. In like manner, it was inevitable that sooner or later some one should arise who would so one-sidedly emphasize one element or the other of the Church’s teaching as to salvation, as to throw himself into heresy, and drive the Church, through controversy with him, into a precise definition of the doctrines of free will and grace in their mutual relations.

This new heresiarch came, at the opening of the fifth century, in the person of the British monk, Pelagius. The novelty of the doctrine which he taught is repeatedly asserted by Augustin, and is evident to the historian; but it consisted not in the emphasis that he laid on free will, but rather in the fact that, in emphasizing free will, he denied the ruin of the race and the necessity of grace. This was not only new in Christianity; it was even anti-Christian. Jerome, as well as Augustin, saw this at the time, and speaks of Pelagianism as the “heresy of Pythagoras and Zeno;” and modern writers of the various schools have more or less fully recognized it. Thus Dean Milman thinks that “the greater part” of Pelagius’ letter to Demetrias “might have been written by an ancient academic;” Dr. De Pressensé identifies the Pelagian idea of liberty with that of Paganism; and Bishop Hefele openly declares that their fundamental doctrine, “that man is virtuous entirely of his own merit, not of the gift of grace,” seems to him “to be a rehabilitation of the general heathen view of the world,” and compares with it Cicero’s words: “For gold, lands, and all the blessings of life, we have to return thanks to the Gods; but no one ever returned thanks to the Gods for virtues.” The struggle with Pelagianism was thus in reality a struggle for the very foundations of Christianity; and even more dangerously than in the previous theological and Christological controversies, here the practical substance of Christianity was in jeopardy. The real question at issue was whether there was any need for Christianity at all; whether by his own power man might not attain eternal felicity; whether the function of Christianity was to save, or only to render an eternity of happiness more easily attainable by man.

Genetically speaking, Pelagianism was the daughter of legalism; but when it itself conceived, it brought forth an essential deism. It is not without significance that its originators were “a certain sort of monks;” that is, laymen of ascetic life. From this point of view the Divine law is looked upon as a collection of separate commandments, moral perfection as a simple complex of separate virtues, and a distinct value as a meritorious demand on Divine approbation is ascribed to each good work or attainment in the exercises of piety. It was because this was essentially his point of view that Pelagius could regard man’s powers as sufficient to the attainment of sanctity,—nay, that he could even assert it to be possible for a man to do more than was required of him. But this involved an essentially deistic conception of man’s relations to his Maker. God had endowed His creature with a capacity (possibilitas) or ability (posse) for action, and it was for him to use it. Man was thus a machine, which, just because it was well made, needed no Divine interference for its right working; and the Creator, having once framed him, and endowed him with the posse, henceforth leaves the velle and the esse to him.

At this point we have touched the central and formative principle of Pelagianism. It lies in the assumption of the plenary ability of man; his ability to do all that righteousness can demand,—to work out not only his own salvation, but also his own perfection. This is the core of the whole theory; and all the other postulates not only depend upon it, but arise out of it. Both chronologically and logically this is the root of the system.

When we first hear of Pelagius, he is already advanced in years, living in Rome in the odour of sanctity, and enjoying a well-deserved reputation for zeal in exhorting others to a good life, which grew especially warm against those who endeavoured to shelter themselves, when charged with their sins, behind the weakness of nature. He was outraged by the universal excuses on such occasions,—“It is hard!” “it is difficult!” “we are not able!” “we are men!”—“Oh, blind madness!” he cried: “we accuse God of a twofold ignorance,—that He does not seem to know what He has made, nor what He has commanded,—as if forgetting the human weakness of which He is Himself the Author, He has imposed laws on man which He cannot endure.” He himself tells us that it was his custom, therefore, whenever he had to speak on moral improvement and the conduct of a holy life, to begin by pointing out the power and quality of human nature, and by showing what it was capable of doing. For (he says) he esteemed it of small use to exhort men to what they deemed impossible: hope must rather be our companion, and all longing and effort die when we despair of attaining. So exceedingly ardent an advocate was he of man’s unaided ability to do all that God commanded, that when Augustin’s noble and entirely scriptural prayer—“Give what Thou commandest, and command what Thou wilt”—was repeated in his hearing, he was unable to endure it; and somewhat inconsistently contradicted it with such violence as almost to become involved in a strife. The powers of man, he held, were gifts of God; and it was, therefore, a reproach against Him as if He had made man ill or evil, to believe that they were insufficient for the keeping of His law. Nay, do what we will, we cannot rid ourselves of their sufficiency: “whether we will, or whether we will not, we have the capacity of not sinning.” “I say,” he says, “that man is able to be without sin, and that he is able to keep the commandments of God;” and this sufficiently direct statement of human ability is in reality the hinge of his whole system.

There were three specially important corollaries which flowed from this assertion of human ability, and Augustin himself recognized these as the chief elements of the system. It would be inexplicable on such an assumption, if no man had ever used his ability in keeping God’s law; and Pelagius consistently asserted not only that all might be sinless if they chose, but also that many saints, even before Christ, had actually lived free from sin. Again, it follows from man’s inalienable ability to be free from sin, that each man comes into the world without entailment of sin or moral weakness from the past acts of men; and Pelagius consistently denied the whole doctrine of original sin. And still again, it follows from the same assumption of ability that man has no need of supernatural assistance in his striving to obey righteousness; and Pelagius consistently denied both the need and reality of divine grace in the sense of an inward help (and especially of a prevenient help) to man’s weakness.

It was upon this last point that the greatest stress was laid in the controversy, and Augustin was most of all disturbed that thus God’s grace was denied and opposed. No doubt the Pelagians spoke constantly of “grace,” but they meant by this the primal endowment of man with free will, and the subsequent aid given him in order to its proper use by the revelation of the law and the teaching of the gospel, and, above all, by the forgiveness of past sins in Christ and by Christ’s holy example. Anything further than this external help they utterly denied; and they denied that this external help itself was absolutely necessary, affirming that it only rendered it easier for man to do what otherwise he had plenary ability for doing. Chronologically, this contention seems to have preceded the assertion which must logically lie at its base, of the freedom of man from any taint, corruption, or weakness due to sin. It was in order that they might deny that man needed help, that they denied that Adam’s sin had any further effect on his posterity than might arise from his bad example. “Before the action of his own proper will,” said Pelagius plainly, “that only is in man which God made.” “As we are procreated without virtue,” he said, “so also without vice.” In a word, “Nothing that is good and evil, on account of which we are either praiseworthy or blameworthy, is born with us,—it is rather done by us; for we are born with capacity for either, but provided with neither.” So his later follower, Julian, plainly asserts his “faith that God creates men obnoxious to no sin, but full of natural innocence, and with capacity for voluntary virtues.” So intrenched is free will in nature, that, according to Julian, it is “just as complete after sins as it was before sins;” and what this means may be gathered from Pelagius’ definition in the “Confession of Faith,” that he sent to Innocent: “We say that man is always able both to sin and not to sin, so as that we may confess that we have free will.” That sin in such circumstances was so common as to be well-nigh universal, was accounted for by the bad example of Adam and the power of habit, the latter being simply the result of imitation of the former. “Nothing makes well-doing so hard,” writes Pelagius to Demetrias, “as the long custom of sins which begins from childhood and gradually brings us more and more under its power until it seems to have in some degree the force of nature (vim naturæ).” He is even ready to allow for the force of habit in a broad way, on the world at large; and so divides all history into progressive periods, marked by God’s (external) grace. At first the light of nature was so strong that men by it alone could live in holiness. And it was only when men’s manners became corrupt and tarnished nature began to be insufficient for holy living, that by God’s grace the Law was given as an addition to mere nature; and by it “the original lustre was restored to nature after its blush had been impaired.” And so again, after the habit of sinning once more prevailed among men, and “the law became unequal to the task of curing it,” Christ was given, furnishing men with forgiveness of sins, exhortations to imitation of the example and the holy example itself. But though thus a progressive deterioration was confessed, and such a deterioration as rendered desirable at least two supernatural interpositions (in the giving of the law and the coming of Christ), yet no corruption of nature, even by growing habit, is really allowed. It was only an ever-increasing facility in imitating vice which arose from so long a schooling in evil; and all that was needed to rescue men from it was a new explanation of what was right (in the law), or, at the most, the encouragement of forgiveness for what was already done, and a holy example (in Christ) for imitation. Pelagius still asserted our continuous possession of “a free will which is unimpaired for sinning and for not sinning;” and Julian, that “our free will is just as full after sins as it was before sins;” although Augustin does not fail to twit him with a charge of inconsistency.

The peculiar individualism of the Pelagian view of the world comes out strongly in their failure to perceive the effect of habit on nature itself. Just as they conceived of virtue as a complex of virtuous acts, so they conceived of sin exclusively as an act, or series of disconnected acts. They appear not to have risen above the essentially heathen view which had no notion of holiness apart from a series of acts of holiness, or of sin apart from a like series of sinful acts. Thus the will was isolated from its acts, and the acts from each other, and all organic connection or continuity of life was not only overlooked but denied. After each act of the will, man stood exactly where he did before: indeed, this conception scarcely allows for the existence of a “man”—only a willing machine is left, at each click of the action of which the spring regains its original position, and is equally ready as before to reperform its function. In such a conception there was no place for character: freedom of will was all. Thus it was not an unnatural mistake which they made, when they forgot the man altogether, and attributed to the faculty of free will, under the name of “possibilitas” or “posse,” the ability that belonged rather to the man whose faculty it is, and who is properly responsible for the use he makes of it. Here lies the essential error of their doctrine of free will: they looked upon freedom in its form only, and not in its matter; and, keeping man in perpetual and hopeless equilibrium between good and evil, they permitted no growth of character and no advantage to himself to be gained by man in his successive choices of good. It need not surprise us that the type of thought which thus dissolved the organism of the man into a congeries of disconnected voluntary acts, failed to comprehend the solidarity of the race. To the Pelagian, Adam was a man, nothing more; and it was simply unthinkable that any act of his that left his own subsequent acts uncommitted, could entail sin and guilt upon other men. The same alembic that dissolved the individual into a succession of voluntary acts, could not fail to separate the race into a heap of unconnected units. If sin, as Julian declared, is nothing but will, and the will itself remained intact after each act, how could the individual act of an individual will condition the acts of men as yet unborn? By “imitation” of his act alone could (under such a conception) other men be affected. And this carried with it the corresponding view of man’s relation to Christ. He could forgive us the sins we had committed; He could teach us the true way; He could set us a holy example; and He could exhort us to its imitation. But He could not touch us to enable us to will the good, without destroying the absolute equilibrium of the will between good and evil; and to destroy this was to destroy its freedom, which was the crowning good of our divinely created nature. Surely the Pelagians forgot that man was not made for will, but will for man.

In defending their theory, as we are told by Augustin, there were five claims that they especially made for it. It allowed them to praise as was their due, the creature that God had made, the marriage that He had instituted, the law that He had given, the free will which was His greatest endowment to man, and the saints who had followed His counsels. By this they meant that they proclaimed the sinless perfection of human nature in every man as he was brought into the world, and opposed this to the doctrine of original sin; the purity and holiness of marriage and the sexual appetites, and opposed this to the doctrine of the transmission of sin; the ability of the law, as well as and apart from the gospel, to bring men into eternal life, and opposed this to the necessity of inner grace; the integrity of free will to choose the good, and opposed this to the necessity of divine aid; and the perfection of the lives of the saints, and opposed this to the doctrine of universal sinfulness. Other questions, concerning the origin of souls, the necessity of baptism for infants, the original immortality of Adam, lay more on the skirts of the controversy, and were rather consequences of their teaching than parts of it. As it was an obvious fact that all men died, they could not admit that Adam’s death was a consequence of sin lest they should be forced to confess that his sin had injured all men; they therefore asserted that physical death belonged to the very nature of man, and that Adam would have died even had he not sinned. So, as it was impossible to deny that the Church everywhere baptized infants, they could not refuse them baptism without confessing themselves innovators in doctrine; and therefore they contended that infants were not baptized for forgiveness of sins, but in order to attain a higher state of salvation. Finally, they conceived that if it was admitted that souls were directly created by God for each birth, it could not be asserted that they came into the world soiled by sin and under condemnation; and therefore they loudly championed this theory of the origin of souls.

The teachings of the Pelagians, it will be readily seen, easily welded themselves into a system, the essential and formative elements of which were entirely new in the Christian Church; and this startlingly new reading of man’s condition, powers, and dependence for salvation, it was, that broke like a thunderbolt upon the Western Church at the opening of the fifth century, and forced her to reconsider, from the foundations, her whole teaching as to man and his salvation.

Augustine's anti-Pelagian writings are available for free all over the web. Here is the link to the CCEL version, which gives you a number of formats (online, PDF, plain text file, etc.), and here is a .mobi version that you can use on your Kindle, which you can get for free on any smart phone. I hope the above section of B. B. Warfield's introduction to them inspires you to read them. They will bless your soul, expand your mind, and magnify the glory of the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ in your heart.

By His Grace,
Taylor

Book Review: Raising a Modern-Day Knight

Last year in the post "Without Dad, Sons Drift," I mentioned I was reading Raising a Modern-Day Knight: A Father's Role in Guiding His Son to Authentic Manhood by Robert Lewis, and I promised to review it. Well, it has been several months but today I make good on that promise. I apologize for taking so long, but I was distracted by the birth of my son (the reason I started reading the book and the one whom I want to guide into authentic manhood). Warning: this is a long post because I summarize each chapter individually and intersperse my own comments throughout the review.

Lewis has divided his book into five major sections: “The Need for a Modern-Day Knighthood,” “The Knight and His Ideals,” “The Knight and His Ceremonies,” “The Knight and His Round Table,” and “The Knight and His Legacy.” I will go through each section, briefly summarize each chapter, and make some comments along the way.

In the first section Lewis describes the problem with manhood and the need for a solution. In chapter one, “Manhood: Don’t Let Your Sons Leave Home Without It,” he describes the problem with manhood in general and gives the basic direction of the book. He sees three problems facing boys today: they do not have a biblically grounded definition of manhood, fathers lack a directional process that calls sons to embrace manhood, and there is no ceremony formally commemorating teaching and calling to live as a man at various stages in a young man’s growth. Lewis and his friends went searching for these things, and they found a pattern in medieval knighthood and content in Scripture. He states, “Sons need fathers who are involved in their lives—dads who will love them, teach them, and discipline them. But clearly, sons also need a masculine vision. They need a manhood language. They need a ceremony. And, they need other men. Knighthood, as an outline, offers all this and more.” He parallels the three problems facing boys that he sees with what the knighthood pattern: knights had a set of ideals, they had a well-defined process to knighthood, and they had ceremonies marking their growth. From this pattern and Scriptural content, Lewis constructed this book.

In chapter two, “The Invisible Dad,” Lewis uses his own story, and the fallout of his alcoholic father on three sons, to describe the problem America and the rest of the world is facing: invisible dads. They are not all alcoholics. Some are working very hard to provide for their families, and there are others who have abandoned their families all together. The fallout is the same though: “the crippling impact... a disfigured masculinity with disastrous results.” Fathers must give their sons clear answers to the following questions: What is a man? What are a man’s responsibilities? What does a man believe? How does a man behave? What should a man try to achieve?

In chapter three, “The Drift of Sons,” Lewis begins by telling the story of Jeffrey Dahmer and the book written by his father. He quotes from Jeffrey’s own father, Lionel, “And so I wasn’t there to see him begin to sink into himself. I wasn’t there to sense, even if I could have sensed it, that he might be drifting towards that unimaginable realm of fantasy and isolation that it would take nearly thirty years to recognize.” Now, Lewis is not claiming all boys with absent or invisible dads will become serial killers, but he is pointing out that when dad is absent sons begin to sink into themselves and they begin to drift. He goes on to talk about a proverb, Proverb 17:6, “Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the glory of children is their fathers.” First, he points out that grandchildren being a crown shows that they are the honor and delight of grandfather’s—a sense of achievement and completion. Second, he emphasizes the second part of the verse: fathers are the source of glory, delight, boasting for their sons. “He possesses an authority that is both inexplicable and awesome. For this reason few things are more important to a boy—or a man—than a touch, or a smile, or a word of encouragement from Dad.” Furthermore, a father’s presence—emotional, spiritual, and physical—gives life to a boy. It anchors him but without it, he drifts. Furthermore, simply presence and love are not enough. They are good but not the best things. The set of ideals every son needs includes a vision for manhood, a code of conduct, and a transcendent cause. Without these, even with love and presence, boys will drift.

In the second section, “The Knight and His Ideals,” Lewis begins to talk about the needs of all sons—vision, code, and cause. Chapter four, “A Vision for Manhood,” is where Lewis gives his definition of manhood, which he believes will give boy (and men) a compelling vision for the proper use of their passions and aggressiveness. He draws an analogy from how a medieval knight was trained, citing the vision, code, and cause knights received from a young age as a proper model for raising a “modern-day knight.” He shows how modern culture does little to harness the energy of men in the positive ways ancient cultures did and without it, boys never become men wreaking havoc on the world around them. With no manhood vision, code, and cause boys get out of control and society suffers. “The central problem of every society is to define appropriate ropes for the men,” Lewis quotes from anthropologist Margaret Mead. So, first, where do men get some definition of (vision for) manhood and their role? Society? Well, as Lewis points out, ours has not given such definition or at least not one that is consistent or productive. Perhaps from family? Dads are central to to boys’ manhood vision but 40% of American households are without a father figure (and that is just those in which the dad is physically absent). Maybe churches can give this definition and vision? Lewis states that unfortunately much of the American church has retreated from the culture’s push for gender neutrality rather than filling the void with compelling vision. After this sobering survey of possible arenas from which a definition might come but has not, Lewis constructs his own definition from a comparison between the two most important men in history: Jesus and Adam. In sum, his biblically-constructed definition of a man is one who 1) rejects passivity, 2) accepts responsibility, 3) leads courageously, and 4) expects God’s greater reward. I appreciate this chapter and think Lewis’ definition is biblical, yet I wish he had emphasized the role of gospel power in following/living up to this definition. He uses Jesus almost strictly as an example, and, while we can certainly see true manhood in Jesus, if we just give boys a definition with no appeal to gospel power, we are just left with a moral lesson with no power. It is the gospel—our union with Christ and all His benefits—that empowers us to be men who follow in His footsteps. If we just try to pull ourselves up by our proverbial bootstraps, we will fail every time. I would teach this chapter, but I would need to supplement it and show how the gospel drives and empowers our rejection of passivity, our acceptance of responsibility, our leading courageously, and our expectance of God’s reward.

In chapter five, “A Code of Conduct,” Lewis builds on his knight model adding the next link in the chain of manhood ideals: code. He states, “When a dad imparts a code of conduct, when he establishes boundaries and reinforces truth, a son is forever strengthened. Learned at an early age, ethical standards become a beacon in the midst of a darkened society, a lighthouse that steers us away from the rugged coastline of moral destruction.” Unfortunately, not only does culture generally not reinforce biblical values but it actively attempts to undermine them on a regular basis. Now, there are several aspect to this code that a father needs to impart to his son: a will to obey (God’s), a work to do (according to his unique design), and a woman to love. Under a “will to obey,” Lewis states, “True satisfaction is directly proportionate to one’s obedience to God.” He then gives 10 biblical ideas that he believes are central: loyalty, servant leadership, kindness, humility, purity, honesty, self-discipline, excellence, purity, and perseverance. Lewis points out  that for a father to train his “page” in this will to obey he must set a godly example, teach truth, share stories, and reinforce with affirmation, attention, and discipline. In a complaint similar to the previous chapter, while I agree with his previous contention and in general his list of virtues, without Christ’s gospel-driven power this all becomes legalism. If these are just rules to obey and not ways of pleasing our Savior in response to all He has done for us, then we will burn out quick or become Pharisees. Moving on, Lewis next addresses a “work to do.” One key factor in this that Lewis identifies from Solomon’s writing in Ecclesiastes is that labor is frustrating and painful but is redeemed and enriched in relationship to God. The other key factor in the work to do is helping a son find his “bent.” Lewis draws this from Pro. 22:6. He points out that “The way he should go” is not some prescribed path that everyone follows but one unique to the “bent” or gifting of the boy. He ends this section by saying, “Nothing satisfies the human heart as fully as service for the Kingdom in one’s area of gifting.” I agree. Finally, Lewis addresses the final part of the code—a woman to love. A son must be instructed in how to love, lead, and honor a woman, for his wife will play a crucial role in his future life. Unfortunately, one of the biggest places where men are passive today is in caring for a woman. Most are not even being taught that it is their responsibility! Lewis ends by stating that with these three components to the code, a son is forever strengthened. Overall, I believe this is an excellent chapter and I would agree with Lewis’ assertions, but, as with the previous chapter, in order to avoid legalism, we need to teach our sons how the gospel drives and empowers the obedience, the work, and the love.

In chapter six, “A Transcendent Cause,” Lewis explains the third need of a son for his growth into a modern-day knight: cause. Most men drift through life pursuing whatever society tells them will give them meaning, but in the end they find it was all worthless—the deals, the money, the glory, etc. They ended up asking, “What’s the point?” Our culture’s conventional cause equates meaning with position, is highly competitive, pursues success at all costs, has the reward of power, and the ideal of wealth and power. This will leave a man as empty as when he started. These things are not inherently wrong but are incomplete and cannot be a transcendent cause. A transcendent cause is not something we do in addition to everything else; it is the factor that motivates everything else we do. In order to do that, it must be truly heroic, timeless, and supremely meaningful, and only Jesus satisfies that threefold criteria. Only Jesus can integrate the end of life with the focal beginning of life and everything in between. Only He connects the now with eternity. I agree.

Chapter seven begins part three of this book: “The Knight and His Ceremonies.” In chapter seven, “The Power of Ceremony,” Lewis shows the value of a tried and true method for marking pivotal moments in life stick with an individual forever: ceremonies. Many significant moments in our lives are already sealed with ceremonies (e.g. weddings and graduations), so why not extend them to pivotal manhood stages? They can be the “crown jewels” of helping a boy become a man. Lewis elaborates on how ceremonies cement life instruction and discipline with a sports analogy: the volleyball dig, set, and spike. These key maneuvers mirror dad’s character, instruction, and ceremonies (respectively). The “dig” (character of the father) is the grunt-work, but it sets up the other key maneuvers for helping a boy become a man. The “set” is a strategic move—intentional and calculated—and so is a father’s life instruction to his son. The “spike” is an aggressive final play that drives home everything for which the “team” has worked so far. Then Lewis says, “A ceremony is like a spike. It drives home the point with unmistakable certainty.” Ceremonies should be defining moments of a boy’s passage into manhood that seal up the instruction which has preceded, give vision for the next stage, and will live on in his memory forever. But what makes a good ceremony? Lewis gives four elements: costly (not only momentarily but time, effort, energy, etc.), ascribe great value to the individual, employ symbols, and empower a life with vision. That last one is particularly important. Ceremonies should say in no uncertain terms, “From now on, life is going to be different, more is expected of you, and more joy awaits you.”

In chapter eight, “Four Manhood Ceremonies,” Lewis brings the argument for ceremonies into focus by the describing four key manhood transitions/stages and their ceremonies, and, after briefly talking about each, he uses his own ceremonies as examples. The four critical transitions which need ceremonies are puberty, high school graduation, college graduation, and marriage. At puberty a boy’s body outpaces his ability to comprehend and control the changes taking place in him, so he needs his father’s guidance to make sense of the confusion and a ceremony to call him out of boyhood, giving him a vision for teenage life. At high school graduation and upon leaving for college, a young man finds himself with an enormous amount of freedom. He needs to be trained for what he will face and have that training sealed by a ceremony that calls him to a purpose greater than pleasure, i.e. making a mark for Christ in the world. Furthermore, at this ceremony it should be made very clear that the young man will no longer be treated as a boy but as a peer, with all its benefits and expectations. The next stage is college graduation. Here youth ends, and the son is formally initiated into manhood. He is called to fulfill the definition of manhood in his life, and he is welcomed to the “round table” with the other men as a “fellow knight.” Now he takes part in the instruction and ceremonies of other boys as they are called into manhood. The final ceremony is the marriage ceremony. Lewis suggests performing this the night before the wedding in the presence of all who attend the rehearsal dinner. It should include his fiancé and mark with “stunning clarity” the beginning of a new line of knights. Finally, to end this chapter Lewis highlights the simple fact that manhood ceremonies show a boy that he has been noticed: “With great clarity and regal pronouncement, manhood ceremonies tell a son, ‘I notice you! You are important to me! You are important to the kingdom of God! You have an important masculine destiny to fulfill!” I particularly like this chapter. I agree with Lewis that ceremonies can seal up teach and call a young man into a new stage of life with remarkable clarity and permanence. Each father (or group of fathers) needs to come up with their own ceremonies, which will take much time and effort, but I believe the rewards will far outweigh the cost.

In chapter nine, “Other Manhood Ceremonies to Consider,” Lewis gives five examples from men he has known who followed his advice. All the ceremonies were unique and powerful, but Lewis draws out five commonalities that are key to manhood ceremonies: they employ elements of surprise, are intensely spiritual, incorporate symbols, include a blessing from dad, and include other men. Lewis then calls the fathers reading this book to take these examples and principles and begin coming up with their own ceremonies for their sons. After reading this chapter, I think one would find it difficult to view ceremonies as cheesy or anything less than powerful, when they are done well.

In chapter 10, “Commemorating a Transcendent Cause,” Lewis suggests that an ideal way for a father to affirm and commemorate his son’s commitment to Jesus (transcendent cause) is to be involved in his son’s baptism. This chapter depends on a traditional Baptist view of baptism for it to really work, and Lewis acknowledges that others do not share his view of baptism. So, he suggests that no matter what view of baptism you hold, fathers should “find a way to be more than just a casual observer in the tenth row at your son’s baptism.” Lewis also states, “I fully recognize that baptismal practices vary from church to church, and they are often based on deeply held convictions. I have no desire to cause conflict or disruption.” I appreciate and respect Lewis’ desire not to move the purpose of the book away from raising a son into manhood to a debate over baptism. I would like to pay a similar respect to him and not turn my review into such a debate. Instead, I would like to suggest that a father with a Presbyterian view of baptism (such as myself) can participate but in a different way. Instead of attempting to commemorate a one-time event in the past, part of a father’s instruction to his son should be frequently to remind his son to “improve” his baptism. The Westminster Larger Catechism question 167 asks, “How is our Baptism to be improved by us?” and it answers:

The needful but much neglected duty of improving our Baptism, is to be performed by us all our life long, especially in the time of temptation, and when we are present at the administration of it to others; by serious and thankful consideration of the nature of it, and of the ends for which Christ instituted it, the privileges and benefits conferred and sealed thereby, and our solemn vow made therein; by being humbled for our sinful defilement, our falling short of, and walking contrary to, the grace of baptism, and our engagements; by growing up to assurance of pardon of sin, and of all other blessings sealed to us in that sacrament; by drawing strength from the death and resurrection of Christ, into whom we are baptized, for the mortifying of sin, and quickening of grace; and by endeavoring to live by faith, to have our conversation in holiness and righteousness, as those that have therein given up their names to Christ; and to walk in brotherly love, as being baptized by the same Spirit into one body.

Instead of focusing on the memory of a past event, a father can show his son how to let that past event be a constant reminder of God’s grace to him Jesus and one of the means by which the Spirit conforms us more and more into the likeness of Jesus.

The fourth section (“The Knight and His Round Table”) and eleventh chapter, “Knighthood and the Community of Men,” is short, but I believe an incredibly important chapter. Lewis points out that even if your son sees your godly, manly character; even if you instruct him in the ideals of authentic manhood vision, a code of conduct, and our transcendent cause in Christ; and even if you craft life-changing manhood ceremonies, your son’s development will be incomplete if you do it all alone. He points out that in America we are a nation of individualists (not a new observation), and he points out that this individualism has “thrown back [men] on themselves and shut [them] up in the solitude of their own hearts.” Raising a son in this environment only perpetuates this deficiency in manhood. We need a community of men. He comments, “Boys become men in the community. There is no substitute for this vital component.” We cannot go it alone, and Lewis gives three reasons why: First, if a father’s presence is weighty, the presence of other men is weightier still, for it is not longer just dad talking but a community of men. Second, communities of men form deep friendships, especially when they realize they have a personal stake in the success or failure of all their sons. Third and finally, a community of men expands a son’s spiritual and moral resources, for he can draw off the wealth and depth of the community and not just a single individual. I really do think this chapter is incredibly important because most men in America live lives of quiet, lonely desperation. We generally do not even scratch the surface of the friendships about which we read in the Bible, e.g. David and Jonathan. If we live that way, how can we expect our sons to not? And, even if we give them all the other resources of manhood, have we not left them wanting? Have we not deprived them of a greater depth to their manhood? Have we not left them a little dull? As Pro. 27:17 says, “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.”

In the final section, “The Knight and His Legacy,” Lewis pulls together some loose ends and wraps up his work. Lewis begins this final section with chapter twelve: “The Decree.” This chapter is entitled “The Decree” because Lewis draws off an ancient knighthood analogy: the Decree of Cortes, “We decree that no one shall be knighted unless he is a knight’s son.” While that decree was designed to maintain a cast system, it has an analogical basis in reality for us today: “only the son of a knight (a real man) can become a knight (a real man).” Now, there are, of course, exceptions to this rule for God’s grace is capable of changing anyone, but they are few and far between and generally come at the cost of great pain, heartache, roadblocks, and work. This is because “the chief component in a boy’s journey to manhood is Dad: his modeling, his involvement.” Lewis points out that every father has a distinct and awesome advantage: the admiration of his son. All sons’ hearts cry out for a father who lives like a knight—a dad who lives what he believes and says. When the father walks a life of manhood consistent (not perfect) with the ideals he teaches his son, the son will follow in his footsteps. “The real legacy we leave in our sons’ lives is what we have lived out before them,” Lewis states, and then he challenges his readers to cultivate manhood and live consistently in front of their sons. I believe he is right in what he says here, for while there are exceptions to “the decree,” they are the exceptions that prove the rule. Again, what is missing in this chapter is an appeal to gospel-power and God’s grace for living consistent lives before our sons. We cannot do it just by willing ourselves to do so. Before reading this I prayed that God would make me the man I need to be to raise a man, but now after reading it I will pray even harder. We all need to start praying now and not years down the road when we find see our sins of passivity in our sons.

Chapter thirteen, “Where the Boys Are,” is a recent addition in the book’s second edition. In it Lewis gives a picture of where the sons of Bill Wellons, Bill Parkinson, and Robert Lewis are now. During the first edition of this book, some of the sons were still boys, but now they are all men and Lewis updates the reader on how his ideas, goals, and methods worked with their families. It is a worthwhile chapter to read simply for the inspiration that it can give those of us who are new dads to form a manhood community in which we can raise our sons and leave them a legacy.

The final chapter, “A Word to the Dads Who Think They Blew It,” is exactly that: words to dads who think it is too late to have a relationship with their sons. Lewis states, “It may require some hard humility on your part, but I can declare with certainty that as long as you’re both alive, it’s never too late to close the gap with your son. Never.” Under the layers of pain and anger a son longs to be reconnected with his father, if his father approaches it properly. Lewis suggests three moves: restart, restore, and re-energize. To restart the relationship, Lewis advises that dads need to go to their sons (no matter their age) and commit to a fresh beginning. This will, he warns, take deep humility because dads need to share their hearts—their love for their son and regrets—and then ask their son how they can be a better dad. This last part especially needs to be approached with humility because the dad must listen without comebacks, excuses, or justifications. “Dad’s humility is a great door-opener,” Lewis remarks. To restore the relationship, dad needs to confess his sins against his son to his son and seek his forgiveness. All dads, of course, need to be willing to confess for leaders need to lead in confessing sin, but this is especially important for the dad who thinks he has blown it with his son. Real damage has been done and dads need to acknowledge that, confess it, and seek their sons’ forgiveness. Finally, to re-energize the relationship, a dad needs to give his son his blessing. Regardless of what has happened between the father and son, the son desires his dad’s blessing and giving it will re-energize his life. It will also re-energize the relationship and “pave the way for better days with him.”

In conclusion, I think this is an excellent book. While I have had some complaints about the lack of gospel-driven teaching (see above), I believe proactive dads can take the advice, methods, and teaching of Lewis; combine them with the truths of who we are and what we have in Jesus; and teach their sons to be authentic, biblical men. I would recommend any dad with sons at any age read this book, but I would especially suggest that new dads (like me) read it now. It is never too early to start thinking and planning for instructing our sons in biblical manhood. Finally, I believe there is no greater gift we can give our sons than teaching and showing them authentic manhood. They need it; the world needs it.

I hope you enjoy the book and it teaches you how to raise your son to be an authentic, biblical man—a modern-day knight. 

By His Grace,

Taylor

Thankfulness, Not Obedience

"Come, my soul, think thou of this. Believing in Jesus, thou art actually and effectually cleared from guilt; thou art led out of thy prison. Thou art no more in fetters as a bond-slave; thou art delivered now from the bondage of the law; thou art freed from sin, and canst walk at large as a freeman, thy Saviour's blood has procured thy full discharge. Thou hast a right now to approach thy Father’s throne. No flames of vengeance are there to scare thee now; no fiery sword; justice cannot smite the innocent. Thy disabilities are taken away: thou wast once unable to see thy Father’s face: thou canst see it now. Thou couldst not speak with him: but now thou hast access with boldness. Once there was a fear of hell upon thee; but thou hast no fear of it now, for how can there be punishment for the guiltless? He who believeth is not condemned, and cannot be punished. And more than all, the privileges thou mightst have enjoyed, if thou hadst never sinned, are thine now that thou art justified. All the blessings which thou wouldst have had if thou hadst kept the law, and more, are thine, because Christ has kept it for thee. All the love and the acceptance which perfect obedience could have obtained of God, belong to thee, because Christ was perfectly obedient on thy behalf, and hath imputed all his merits to thy account, that thou mightst be exceeding rich through him, who for thy sake became exceeding poor. Oh! how great the debt of love and gratitude thou owest to thy Saviour!" ~ Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening

I love Spurgeon's artistic description of the benefits of redemption that Christ has won for us. When I read this, the last sentence especially stood out to me. Notice Spurgeon did not say, "Because of all this, you owe Jesus your obedience." He said that we owe Him thankfulness and there is a big difference between those two.

Think about it this way: if a person says to you, "It would make me happy if you did this for me," there are two ways you could look at their request. If you are indifferent about the person or you do not like them—you have no relationship with them and no reason to be grateful to them—then their request for their happiness is at your expense. If you do what they ask, it is merely compliance, duty, obedience, and it feels inconvenient or burdensome. However, if you love that person, if you are thankful to them for all they have done for you, then your heart is bound up with theirs and their happiness is your happiness. Then, their request for their happiness is not at your expense at all. Even if it is hard for you, even if you have to drop something important to do it, you do not feel exploited or inconvenienced by the request because you want to make them happy, you want to show them how thankful you are. So it is with God. When there is awe at what He has done in Christ for sinners like us; where there is thankfulness for the many benefits of salvation, duty becomes desire, obedience becomes thankfulness, and sacrifice becomes joyful service. Where there is love and gratitude, there is a desire to show our thankfulness through service. That is what we give God: lives of thankfulness, not obedience to the rules.

By His Grace,
Taylor

Let That Be Enough

"...have you not cause to say, 'I love the Lord, because He hath heard the voice of my supplication.'?... He has heard you in the day of trouble, has strengthened you, and helped you, even when you dishonoured Him by trembling and doubting at the mercy-seat. Remember this, and let it fill your heart with gratitude to God, who has thus graciously heard your poor weak prayers." ~ Charles Spurgeon, the morning of Feb. 6 from Morning and Evening

Reading this today reminded me of a very special part of prayer that I often forget in my desire for answers--the believer's prayers are heard by the God and King of the universe always. Even when we do not get the answers for which we look, He never turns a blind eye or deaf ear. He always listens and perhaps says, "Wait, my child," and when, in our anxiousness, we say, "But, Father!" He patiently responds, "Wait, my child." That is never the response I want but it is no less valid or loving. The very fact that our heavenly Father--the God and King of the universe--is available at all hours and hears us is incredible. Imagine how you would feel if the President (whether you like him or not) was always at the ready to hear you. Just the fact that he listens and wants to hear from us would be an honor, regardless of his response. How much more true is that of our heavenly Father? He is the King of the universe; I am a pion and unimportant even by human standards (not to mention cosmic standards). He is the holy God; I am a sinful, selfish creature. Yet, He wants me to come to Him and wants to listen. That alone, regardless of the answer, is amazing. I am not a big fan of Switchfoot in general (not that I have anything against them; I just do not care for most of their music), but I like the chorus to "Let That Be Enough":

Let me know that You hear me
Let me know Your touch
Let me know that You love me
And let that be enough

Let that be enough, Father.

By His Grace,
Taylor

All Human Life Not Equal?

"The arguments are the same then and now because the two options presenting themselves to us haven’t changed and won’t ever change. Slavery and abortion aren’t just random, unconnected controversial issues, they’re rooted in our view of human beings, and they illustrate the two possible directions in which our country can go as we move forward. Will we embrace intrinsic human value or instrumental human value?
"Whatever we decide as a nation, don’t think for a moment that the principle we settle on will only be applied to abortion." ~ Amy Hall, Stand to Reason

Abortion is obviously an issue over which Americans are deeply divided. A classic "pro-choice" (the politically correct way of saying pro-abortion) tactic has been to argue that an unborn child is not a "human life" until some later-term point in the pregnancy. If it really is not a human but just a "fetus" in the first or second trimester, then there is nothing wrong with aborting it, right?

Pro-life advocates have countered with the argument that life begins at conception. This, I believe, is a powerful argument because it exposes the arbitrary nature of the "pro-choice" tactic. If life does not begin at conception--the point where genetic material comes together and creates a complete genetic human--then all other choices of points in a pregnancy are arbitrary. For example, if you look at the long-haul of my 31+ years of existence, where was the most unique, important, and decisive turning point in my development? Was it when my heart started beating? That is very significant but not the most decisive. The most decisive turning point was when the genetic material from my father and mother came together and created the "genetic me" that has existed ever since. Everything else after that was merely a further expression of the "genetic me" in this world. The "genetic me" was guaranteed to have a beating heart (and every other physical feature I have) at the moment of conception (baring any unforeseen external complications). This is also important because the definition arises from something internal to me (to the unborn child), not external. All the other definitions of human life are extraneous--recognitions that arise in an outside observer. To choose any point of development that depends upon the opinions of society that are based on observations of the unborn child, not anything within the unborn child itself, is arbitrary. In America, abortions are legal up to 24 weeks. What makes that the magic moment? What is the difference between the 24 and 25 weeks? Or what is the difference between 24 and 23 weeks? The choice is arbitrary with respect to the life itself and is based on political and social opinions from external observations. Some "pro-choice" advocates have argued that date is valid because it is the point at which the baby would be viable outside the womb. That is still an external definition, not one intrinsic to the child, and it is not the most decisive turning point in its development. Furthermore, that is only true given the proper medical technology and medical technology is constantly improving. Will we keep pushing that date back as medical technology improves? That makes the value of life depend on the medical advancements of society--again, an arbitrary and extraneous definition of human life. (For an extended and robust version of this argument, see Part 2 of David VanDrunen's Bioethics and the Christian Life: A Guide to Making Difficult Decisions.)

Recently the "pro-choice" tactic has taken a turn. Mary Elizabeth Williams has argued that the unborn are human beings but "a life worth sacrificing," if the mother ("the boss") so chooses:

Here's the complicated reality in which we live: All life is not equal. That's a difficult thing for liberals like me to talk about, lest we wind up looking like death-panel-loving, kill-your-grandma-and-your-precious-baby storm troopers. Yet a fetus can be a human life without having the same rights as the woman in whose body it resides. She's the boss. Her life and what is right for her circumstances and her health should automatically trump the rights of the non-autonomous entity inside of her. Always.

Ms. Williams probably thinks she has disable the pro-life argument. "Sure," she says, "It's life, but so what?" My brothers and sisters in Christ over at Stand to Reason (quoted above) have written a response showing the above argument is the same argument made for slavery in the sad history of our country and much of the rest of the world. It is worth reading, so make sure you do.

I want to add to their rebuttal. Ms. Williams has not essentially changed the "pro-choice" tactic. Her definition of when abortion can be permitted is still arbitrary: she has just moved the arbitrary choice from when life begins to when life has value equal to the mother. It is still completely arbitrary. When does the life become as valuable as the mother's? When does it become equal to the mother? In the second trimester? When it is born? When it is one week, ten weeks, a year? When it can say its first words? When it leaves the house? Or, does it never reach the same value and should mothers have the right to kill their children at any point?

We must also ask, who determines this value? Is it really the mother herself or is it a consensus of society? If it is either, then the killing of a child could be justified at any point in time simply because the mother or society deems it acceptable. Not only that but we must ask if this value ever leaves the human and if so, when that occurs? Does the child's value ever exceed the mother's? Perhaps when the mother is dependent on the child for survival? Is it acceptable for children to kill their parents if they have started to become a drain on their resources or the resources of society?

The darkest chapters in human history were born out of the opinion that all humans are not created equal. If human value is not the same throughout its life, then it becomes a completely arbitrary "free-for-all" driven by the opinions of society and those with the most political influence. Slavery becomes a very real possibility. Infanticide is just around the corner, and euthanasia of our elders will shortly follow. When all human life is not equal, a pecking order of value is created and oppression (or worse) of any group is up for grabs.

By His Grace,
Taylor