The initial reception of The Bible Made Impossible has been a revealing experience. Reactions to the book have been polarized, either very positive or quite negative. I suppose that was to be expected. I did not write the book as a consensus-building exercise, at least for the short run. As the book itself argues, before any consensus around a better theory of scripture can be realized, a lot of deconstructive work is needed on the currently influential biblicism. In the following, I describe and evaluate the initial reception of The Bible Made Impossible and reflect on what that reception may tell us about American evangelicalism today.
A Polarized Reception
On the positive side, some reviewers have been deeply appreciative, praising The Bible Made Impossible as a very important corrective of misleading and abusive practices of reading scripture. Positive reactions have come in various forms, from both influential scholars and nonacademic believers. Some have written me with thanks, saying that the book was pivotal in bringing them back to a personal faith in Christ from which they had long ago departed because of the impossibility of the biblicism which they understood then to be the only Christian option. Some have by email recounted stories to me of the devastating effects in their personal lives of their biblicist (ab)use of the Bible, thanking me for helping them to see an alternative that they greatly needed.[285] Others have let me know that The Bible Made Impossible has transformed the way they read and apply scripture and has renewed their lives of faith. Yet other Christians, with a greater distance from American evangelicalism, have written to express incredulity that anyone could find biblicism plausible and compelling in the first place. And then others have told me that what I say in The Bible Made Impossible is essentially what they have intuitively believed all along, despite official teachings to the contrary, and that they are very grateful to have someone put words to their previously amorphous approach to the Bible. Those responses to the book have been encouraging and gratifying. To be clear, I do not assume that the book’s argument is validated simply because a lot of people find it helpful—a lot of people out there somehow find a lot of junk “helpful.” Still, the positive response to the book does tell us something, which I begin to unpack below.
On the negative side, however, The Bible Made Impossible has also provoked some strong, critical reactions and reviews. Most, though not all, of these have come from the neo-Reformed camps of American conservative Protestantism—those associated with the Presbyterian Church in America, the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, The Gospel Coalition, Westminster Theological Seminary, and so on. This sector of American Christianity seems to have a particular investment in a set of doctrines that seem closely allied with, if not directly underwriting, the kind of biblicism I criticize. Particular doctrines of the inspiration, perspicuity, and sufficiency of scripture for all of life—including theological conclusions adduced from scripture by (allegedly) “good and necessary consequence”—seem to appear in their minds to be threatened by The Bible Made Impossible. By contrast, much less negative public reaction to the book has come from conservative Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran, Holiness, Evangelical Free, and Pentecostal quarters. I am not sure whether that is because people in those circles already agree with much of what my book argues, or have been convinced by reading it, or are simply ignoring it. In any case, the strongest pushback my book has received has come from Reformed and Presbyterian circles—with the one major exception being the Christian Reformed evangelical historian Mark Noll, whose critical response to the book has been a model of balance and fairness.
I confess that I have been disappointed and disheartened by most of the negative reactions to The Bible Made Impossible. That is not because I expected everyone to fall in love with it. I am comfortable with contention, enjoy good criticism, and am gratified when something I write seems to help to advance the state of the argument in question, even when I am shown to be wrong in the process. I greatly appreciate when critics identify real problems in my thinking and arguments, as that helps me rethink and improve what I have to say. But I have been disappointed and dismayed in this case, because the cogency and force of the critical responses to my book have been so weak, the substantive intellectual engagement so shallow, and the strategies and tactics of response so often evasive, misrepresenting, and obfuscating. I honestly expected better than that. I had been given to understand that the last seventeen years have seen a marked improvement regarding the “scandal of the evangelical mind” described by Mark Noll in 1995 (i.e., that evangelicalism has no mind).[286] Depressingly, most of the negative evangelical reaction to my book has not reflected such an improvement. Instead, I think, it has largely reflected the same old brew of defensiveness, rigidity, fear, parochialism, diversion, triumphalism, and intellectual prevarication that has long plagued American evangelicalism and fundamentalism. Over and over again, the negative responses to The Bible Made Impossible have in essence reflected the following position, even though never so clearly admitted as such: “I do not like the implications of this book, and if my people and I took it seriously we would be in trouble, so here are some ways to throw the author under the bus, which should be effective for my purposes, even if those ways do not actually respond to the book’s argument or even make much sense.” In short, rather than actually engaging what my book argues, most of my critics have simply found one way or another to impugn and dismiss it, encouraging other potential readers not to spend the time to examine it for themselves.
The Heart of the Argument
Before examining specific criticisms of The Bible Made Impossible, it will be helpful to remind ourselves of the structure and substance of its argument. The first half of the book argues that biblicism, a widespread modern theory about how the Bible should function as an authority, is impossible. If biblicism is correct, I argue, then it should produce (particularly among those who hold it) a largely shared understanding of what scripture teaches—an interpretive convergence—especially on central theological matters. But, as a matter of undeniable empirical fact, biblicism produces nothing of the sort; instead, American evangelicalism embodies a pervasive interpretive pluralism in biblical interpretation and theology. I further argue that none of the possible biblicist explanations of this pluralism succeeds in salvaging biblicism. They may work to explain pluralism, a more limited accomplishment, but in so doing they actually undermine biblicism itself, since those very explanations are incompatible with key biblicist beliefs. I conclude, therefore, that biblicism is impossible, because the real world of biblical practice contradicts it, reflecting interpretive theological outcomes that should and could not exist if biblicism were really possible. In this I am saying what I think is patently obvious. The second half of the book then shifts to suggesting numerous possible constructive ideas for people who recognize biblicism’s impossibility. But there I make three key disclaimers: that these proposed ideas are relevant only if the critical argument of the first half of the book works; that I do not think they are complete, sufficient, or infallible; and that, in any case, they ought not to divert attention from the critical first part of the book.
Given the case I advance in The Bible Made Impossible, it is clear that those who wish to discredit it need to do one or more of the following. First, they could show that biblicism as I describe it is in fact not widespread in American evangelicalism. Second, they might show that biblicism as I describe it in fact ought not to produce fairly convergent readings of the Bible, that it is in fact not incompatible with pervasive interpretive pluralism. Third, persuasive critics might show that American evangelicalism is not rightly characterized as embodying pervasive interpretive pluralism. Or, fourth, they might show that one or another response or explanation that I offer or someone else offers in fact successfully rescues biblicism from the empirical fact of pervasive interpretive pluralism, without compromising biblicism itself. But none of the critical reviews of or reactions to my book has succeeded in doing any of these tasks. That is because, I believe, none of these four arguments can be validly established. Making the first and third stick would require taking leave of reality. And the second and fourth might be demonstrated only by eliminating a set of key aspects of biblicism that would turn it into a quite different theory altogether. Nobody that I have read or heard, and no argument I can imagine, has shown or I suspect could show it to be different.
But to keep open my sincere challenge and readiness to consider serious criticism, I invite anyone to convincingly vindicate any one or more of the following theses. (1) Most American evangelical believers and institutions clearly do not believe in or practice biblicism, as I have described it. (2) Biblicism, as I have described it, is in fact entirely compatible with pervasive interpretive pluralism. (3) American evangelicalism does not embody the kind of pervasive interpretive pluralism that I describe. (4) Pervasive interpretive pluralism can be explained away by means that leave biblicism, as I have described it, fully intact. I believe efforts to demonstrate any of these will be futile, though I am open to being shown otherwise. And until one or more is convincingly demonstrated, my case in The Bible Made Impossible stands strong.
(Ineffective) Criticisms
What, then, have been specific criticisms of The Bible Made Impossible and how should we evaluate them? Most of the critiques of my book have been remarkably similar in the pattern of objections and disparagements advanced. Rather than taking on the major critical review pieces one at a time, therefore, I believe I can do them justice by describing and responding to the recurrent protestations in most of the negative reviews.
Attacking Misrepresentations
One common feature of negative reviews of The Bible Made Impossible has been to misrepresent what the book clearly says and then criticize those misrepresentations. This operation does not involve attacking or dodging my book’s actual argument, but simply says that I argue things that I do not argue and then dismisses those misrepresentations as erroneous. Whether my critics intended to misrepresent me, did not read my book carefully enough, or had their minds too clouded by emotions, I do not know. Needless to say, none of those are acceptable.
In any case, misrepresentations of my argument have abounded. Some critics, for instance, have suggested that my argument is about biblical inspiration and inerrancy, when I clearly state that I do not question inspiration and do not wish to engage the fruitless inerrancy debate. Some critics have represented to their readers that my book is primarily about a Barthian Christocentric hermeneutic of scripture, in contradiction of both the implications of the structure of the book itself and my explicit statements to the contrary. Such reviewers then spend all their attention nitpicking one or two points from the latter part of my book and ignoring the main argument in the first part.
Another way that critics have misrepresented my book is by presenting some of my key arguments in the most simplistic, flatfooted, indefensible way possible, when in fact the book itself advances those same arguments with great care, necessary nuance, and proper qualifications. Restated in their worst possible expression this way, the arguments are then summarily dismissed, often derisively. Along these lines, for example, one critic wrongly claimed that my case against biblicism “requires uniformity” in biblical and theological belief among biblicists, when in reality I neither say nor suggest that. Similarly, a critic focused attention on my allegedly raising the problem of “seeming contradictions” in the Bible, when I actually explicitly criticize people (both fundamentalist Protestants and fundamentalist atheists) who are worried about such things as deeply misled. In short, many critical reviewers have put their own words in my mouth and then turned around and disparaged me for them.
The misrepresentations continue. For example, about the constructive proposals suggested in the second half of my book, I say plainly that they are “tentative,” “limited, partial, and fallible,” yet “worth consideration.” I am clear that they “do not offer a fixed package of solutions” and are not a “comprehensive program to rehabilitate” biblicism; my purpose “is not to resolve all of the problems” but merely to suggest “only possible partial contributions to what will have to be a larger reworking” of evangelicals’ approach to scripture. I actually suggest that a twenty-year discussion about these matters is likely necessary to sort out the difficult issues.
In one critic’s hands, however, I come off as thinking that my book has the solution to fix biblicism. “How then does Smith propose to solve the problem?” he asks, then reducing my complex set of proposals developed over three chapters to four simple ideas described in one long sentence. That sets him up to ask, “But will these maneuvers work to solve the problem?” Of course not, he proclaims. The critique represents me as trying to do things I explicitly deny trying to do and then slams me for not doing them well. He also falsely claims that I argue that the Bible “speaks authoritatively only on salvation in Christ and topics related to that salvation,” and wrongly suggests that I agree with a particular biblical scholar that simply “better scriptural exegesis” will solve the problem of interpretive pluralism. The same reviewer also repeatedly raises the issue of whether the Bible has “errors,” when, again, I clearly separate my argument from the inerrancy debate. And where my case is actually appropriately nuanced and qualified, it is misconstrued as signs of inconsistency and contradiction (e.g., “he backtracks,” he “himself gives ground,” “Smith doesn’t like proof-texting except when . . . ,” and “as he unconsciously admits”).[287]
Assertions without Evidence
Another favorite strategy of critics of The Bible Made Impossible has been to offer forceful assertions against the book without providing a shred of evidence to back those assertions up. The hope seems to be that simply saying something is so will make it so without any need to explain or justify the claim. It is not very convincing for those not already convinced. I suspect, however, that this strategy is often used not to seriously engage the book’s argument or convince the unconvinced, but rather merely to reinforce the views of followers already convinced and to immunize potential readers from ever picking up the book. Its success relies heavily on the presence of an existing in-group agreement about certain ideas, such that all a reviewer needs to do is simply assert the belief, with no justification, and everyone in the community can be counted on to nod in agreement. So, for example, some critics of my book have asserted that biblicism as I describe it could very well be reasonably expected to produce or accommodate pervasive interpretive pluralism, that the latter is no problem for the former, but then they provide literally no explanation of or evidence for how or why that could be so. The claim is just asserted and left.
Such critics are not actually arguing against the case in my book, but ignoring it and restating their preferred position. They are using my book not as the basis of a serious debate but rather as a convenient platform on which to stand to pronounce their already-established truths that are immune from critique. Oftentimes critics, having plunked down their undefended assertions, then immediately change the subject to another point of negative reaction, thereby suggesting that the matter is settled—when in fact it has not yet been engaged. Stated plainly, this is a diversionary tactic designed to survive and win (within tight communities of like-minded believers), not any real argument meriting respect.
Minimizing Problems by Deflection
Another common theme in negative reactions to The Bible Made Impossible has been the charge that I have overblown the proportions of the problem I raise. This response subverts my argument by claiming it to be exaggerated. One version of this response has been to acknowledge that, yes, there are some biblicists out there who look like what I describe, but they are a mere lunatic fringe in evangelicalism. The implication is that the vast mass of evangelicals are not biblicists or are at least highly sophisticated and balanced biblicists undeserving of my book’s critique. One favorite way of saying this is to claim that I am attacking a “straw man,” that I have fabricated some outlandish fiction in my model of biblicism that describes virtually nobody. That then exculpates nearly all evangelicals from the criticisms in my book. “Well, there may be some people who are biblicists like that, but certainly none of us are guilty of such a charge!” This is a tactic of deflection through denial; by denying that the charge of biblicism rightly applies, one deflects the critique to some other irrelevant people.
One of the specific ways that critics have attempted this rhetorical maneuver has been to focus almost exclusively on the long list of “biblical cooking” and “biblical dating” books I offer as partial evidence of biblicism in evangelicalism, laughing them off as the silly and irrelevant fodder of a minority of the evangelical hoi polloi. Never mind my book’s pages after pages of evidence in the form of evangelical theological society declarations, denominational statements, declarations of evangelical seminaries and colleges and parachurch ministries, “four-views” books, scholarly treatises, and T-shirts and bumper stickers. All of that is ignored or presumed to represent, what, a lunatic fringe? It is not possible. I provide loads of empirical evidence with which any good evangelical should be familiar. In fact, before the book was published, some reviewers of the manuscript said that my pile of evidence was too high and that I should cut some of it out. But I see now that, as far as my critics are concerned, I may as well have provided no support for my argument, since they essentially ignored it anyway.
The charge that my book attacks a straw man is preposterous. I grant that some readers—such as professors in certain Christian colleges or seminaries—may well find themselves in particular communities that are not especially biblicist in culture. But such people must not mistake their unusual social locations for American evangelicalism as a whole. I have traveled and observed American evangelicalism far and wide for decades and know that my account of biblicism is no straw man. To dismiss my conclusions by focusing on the most ridiculous examples is to sweep the larger, very real problem under the rug. It is a diversion. We are not talking about mere loonies who can be laughed off. We are talking about significant sectors of American evangelicalism.
Many critics of my book have reacted along these lines in a strange way that I think betrays their bad conscience on the matter. First they protest loudly that they, their people, and evangelicalism as a whole are not biblicist. Then they turn around and launch into long and complex denunciations and refutations of the argument of my book. One wonders why, if nobody is actually a biblicist, the denunciations and refutations are necessary. These critics do “protest too much,” in a way that I think tells us that the book’s argument indeed hits close to home, that there is great sensitivity to the problem of biblicism, even among those who deny it, and that such denials therefore should not automatically be believed. If most evangelicals are not in fact biblicists, then they could simply laugh my book off as an irrelevant joke. The argument of The Bible Made Impossible conveys clearly that I do not think all evangelicals are biblicists, and that many who may be are not 100-percent, consistent biblicists as I describe biblicism. My suggestion is essentially in any particular that, “If the shoe fits, wear it” (and if it doesn’t fit, then, fine, don’t worry). The fact that so many critics protest both that the shoe most definitely does not fit and that they are very unhappy about the shoe and the idea that they might have to wear it is, I think, revealing. Why, if the argument of my book is fundamentally wrong and criticizes nonexistent entities, has it received such a reaction? Why has the book gotten such extensive attention, sold very well, prompted many readers to say, “Yes, exactly right!,” and caused others to remonstrate loudly, “No, this is bad and must not be accepted!”? I suggest that all this—including the loud remonstrations—tells us that the argument of The Bible Made Impossible in fact touches a sore nerve, that it does hit home, that it does all too well find its target.
One particular version of the minimize-the-argument-by-deflection strategy has been to insist specifically that I have overstated the extent of theological pluralism in evangelicalism. If that claim were true, then it would knock much of the wind out of my book’s sails. But it is not true. Again, the many pages of concrete evidence of theological pluralism and disagreement I provide in the book speak volumes. Yet the comeback is often something like, “Yes, but those apparent disagreements mask a real underlying unity.” Some critics say, for example, that most evangelicals share the same conviction that Jesus died on the cross to save people from sin. Others claim that most evangelicals would interpret a passage like “do to others what you would have them do to you” (Matt. 7:12) in a similar way. Perhaps. But note what has to happen to arrive at this level of agreement. First, biblical and theological propositions must be stated in the most generalized terms. Second, exactly what those statements mean specifically and in application must not be brought up. Third, only a limited number of scripture passages can qualify as those about which most evangelicals would agree. And, fourth, that agreement is focused on the meaning of single passages of scripture, not on what comes of the broader interpretations of all the seemingly relevant passages in the Bible that appear to speak to some topic.
Beyond those conditions, the agreement among evangelicals disappears. Most evangelicals will of course affirm together that Jesus died on the cross to save people from sin. But scratch just below the surface, and disagreement emerges. How exactly is that salvation achieved? What actually is sin? Who are the people who get saved? And so on. In short, pervasive interpretive pluralism again. Yes, most evangelicals agree that we should “do unto others,” but as soon as anyone starts to put wheels on that imperative, conflict sets in. What does that mean for dealing with unrepentant sinners? What does it mean for women who want to be ordained to the ministry? What does it mean when practicing gays and lesbians show up at the church doors wanting to join? The shared belief in the truth of a Bible verse does little to ensure agreement about what it means in practice—which, when the rubber hits the road, is what matters most about scripture’s authority.
It is also well and good to say that evangelicals agree on the implications of some particular verse of scripture. But individual Bible verses are not what The Bible Made Impossible is about. It is about the whole of scripture and the way that the Bible as a whole can and should function as an authority. What about the very many other more difficult, strange, and seemingly indigestible passages of scripture that contribute to the magnitude and intractability of the larger problem I describe? What about other passages of scripture that seem to say or suggest different things than the specified passage about which evangelicals can agree? Therein lies the real problem of interpretive pluralism.
And, in all of this, nobody has yet convincingly explained how and why it is that, if evangelicals really do enjoy such widespread agreement about so many doctrinal and moral issues, they can be so divided ecclesiologically into many thousands of different denominations, conventions, associations, quasidenominational groups, and independent congregations. Undeniably, behind these separations are real, historical, and contemporary disagreements in theological views that are apparently worth splitting and staying divided over.
Christocentric Hermeneutics, Either Ineffective or Obvious
Another common line of criticism against The Bible Made Impossible has focused on the Christocentric hermeneutic that I propose in the second half of the book. Ironically, however, different critical reviewers of my book claim opposite positions on the point. Some negative reviewers have argued that adopting a Christological hermeneutic will do little or nothing to solve the problem of pervasive interpretive pluralism. These critics are highly skeptical of Karl Barth, whom I propose as one model here, and say that few of the problems of disagreement will be resolved by a Christocentric approach. Strangely, other negative reviewers have claimed the exact opposite, namely, that they and most other evangelicals obviously already take a Christocentric approach to understanding the Bible, that I am here suggesting nothing new, that they already are way ahead of me in my constructive proposals, and so there is no problem. It is thus hard to know whether the kind of Christocentric hermeneutic I suggest is either already in full swing or is believed to be a dead-end among evangelicals. My own observation is that only a small minority of evangelicals really understand and practice the kind of strong Christocentric hermeneutic I propose, that the majority think they read the Bible Christocentrically but in fact only do so partially and selectively, and that another major sector of evangelicals brings no Christocentric sensibilities to scripture at all. It is much easier to say that Christ is the center of all biblical interpretation than to actually practice that kind of reading and application consistently and well. I am confident that the claims are usually much stronger than the practice.
In any event, what I originally said in the book bears repeating: the Christological hermeneutic is only one among many proposals tentatively offered, and debates about it should not sidetrack the main argument of the book, about biblicism’s impossibility. Whatever is the case about a Christocentric hermeneutic, that in and of itself does not invalidate the first and primary argument against biblicism, although more than a few negative critics seem to want to imagine otherwise. In fact, the Christocentric proposal that some are so intent on refuting is only even relevant if my more basic critique of biblicism is valid. But my critics seem to think that it is not (though often without explaining how or why). Yet that makes irrelevant their long drilling into my Christological proposal. Why then do they so persistently attack a suggested response to a problem when they claim not to believe that the problem even exists? I think that it too shows that they genuinely do worry that the problem does exists.
The Catholic Bugaboo
Yet another response from people who did not like The Bible Made Impossible has been to draw attention to the openly publicized fact that after writing the book I entered into full communion with the Catholic Church. Somehow that fact in and of itself is supposed to discredit the book. In some cases, this objection was leveled as a pure ad hominem condemnation. In other cases, critics tried to elaborate arguments about how my becoming Catholic completely undermines my legitimacy to offer any arguments on the matter of the Bible or the church, justifying the dismissal of the book in toto, regardless of its actual content and reasonability.
It has not only been fundamentalist-leaning anti-Romanism types who have had this reaction. One highly visible, emergent-church movement leader also pitched a simple anti-Catholic argument in a three-part review on his blog. He essentially wrote, “I really like the book, Smith’s argument is correct (blog entry Part I), and I agree with his proposed solutions (Part II); however, since Smith has become Catholic, he has discredited himself and therefore the entire argument of his book (Part III).” This critic’s problem was that the Catholic Church claims to exercise teaching authority, and he does not like any church having any authority. Thus, while some conservatives still hold on theological grounds that the Pope is the anti-Christ, apparently some “progressives” now hold on general antiauthority grounds that becoming Catholic is an unpardonable sin discrediting anything said (even if it is admittedly true) by one who does it.
A more specific and plausible—though ultimately fallacious—argument related to the Catholicism issue, made by more than a few critics, has been to say that the Catholic Church itself suffers from just as much internal interpretive pluralism as does evangelicalism. In one sense, that is true. But such a charge also betrays a fatal incomprehension of the crucial differences in ecclesial contexts within which those pluralisms play out. It forces very different kinds of Christian experiences and paradigms into the single evangelical one with which these critics are most familiar. That is understandable but not legitimate or acceptable. At the risk of opening up a debate about the (de)merits of Catholicism itself, which is not my interest here, it must be said that just because various Catholic theologians and laypeople disagree about a lot of things, which they do, does not mean that Catholicism as a tradition suffers the same kind of pervasive interpretive pluralism that evangelical biblicists do and in the same ways. Differences within Catholicism are processed within the context of both two thousand years of continuous historical tradition and the Eucharist which draws all Catholics to the same sacramental center of communion. Further, when disagreements must be decided on, which is not every case, the exercised authority of (what Catholics believe to be) a Christ-authorized teaching Magisterium provides clearly defined boundaries of doctrinal orthodoxy and established ecclesial processes for adjudicating differences. By comparison, American evangelicalism—and most of Protestantism more generally—can process differences of interpretations and beliefs only through individual convictions, the marketplace of beliefs, and the ability of anyone to change churches and denominations to better suit their beliefs and preferences. The core Protestant principle of the individual’s right to self-determination in scriptural interpretation—particularly when allied with biblicist theory—is precisely what helps to generate the kind of pervasive interpretive pluralism that my book names and criticizes.
Furthermore, Catholics are not biblicists to begin with, nor is The Bible Made Impossible an attempt to convert anyone to Catholicism, so even raising the question of diversity within Catholicism is irrelevant to the argument of the book. It is just another diversionary tactic. It is preposterous simply to point out that Catholics have their own internal disagreements as the supposed grounds for concluding that the argument of The Bible Made Impossible is wrong. That reveals, I think, a kind of irrational desperation that gives the lie to the alleged confidence of such critics.
Miscellaneous Other Critiques
The above charges and claims represent the bulk of the criticisms offered by my negative reviewers and commentators. Sundry others, even more weak and pointless, have also been proposed. Some lay readers have complained that the book is too sophisticated and difficult to understand. (Does anybody use a dictionary anymore or care to learn any new terms and ideas?) Other scholarly critics imply that my book, being written by a “mere sociologist,” is inadequately theologically sophisticated. Some critics have tried to snare me in convoluted arguments about “universality” and Scottish commonsense realism, though their contentions are focused on minor issues and distract from my book’s central argument. It is all simply more diversion and obfuscation. Yet other detractors writing in denominational magazines have declared, in effect, “We know that our tradition teaches the right Christian doctrine, which is authorized, we are certain, by the Holy Spirit, and since we subscribe to something like biblicism, our views must therefore be correct and so Smith must be wrong.” Beyond that, the problem of pervasive interpretive pluralism is something that does not need serious explanation and can just be ignored. The combination of parochial outlook, arrogant self-confidence, and intellectual shabbiness in such cases is mind-blowing.
In sum, The Bible Made Impossible has in its first eight months come in for what at first seems to be some damaging criticism. But, disappointingly, none of it has been particularly cogent or serious. Most negative critiques have consisted of various mixes of distortion, misrepresentation, diversion, deflection, irrelevancies, and logical non sequiturs, below the surface of which more than a little emotional distress, anxiety, and indignation is also evident. My critics have recurrently dismissed The Bible Made Impossible without actually responding to its central challenge. I can only conclude, then, that my original argument stands firm: biblicism in American evangelicalism is in fact very real, widespread, influential, and, yes, impossible.
Lessons Learned
I wish in this afterword not only to evaluate my critics’ assessments but also to step back and reflect on some of the larger implications that the initial reception of this book suggests, at least to me. I begin by noting that, the critical naysayers notwithstanding, a great many evangelicals have bought The Bible Made Impossible, and some of them have found its argument to be valid and valuable. Presumably people are not even now continuing to buy my book in large numbers simply because they want to read something that they suspect is wrong and useless. More broadly, I think the efforts of critics to delegitimate the book have largely failed in settings not immediately under their influence. I believe that I have (following many others who have raised similar questions, as my book notes) put my finger on a crucial problem in American evangelicalism, and I hope that doing so helps to change people’s and institutions’ approach to scripture’s authority in good and faithful ways.
At the same time, however, I think much of my book’s negative reception highlights some sobering, even depressing, facts. Significant sectors of American evangelicalism, I have been forced to conclude, seem more committed to protecting their particular versions of truth—as they are scattered about the jumbled terrain of pervasive interpretive pluralism—than to openly, honestly, and sincerely pursuing the Truth in its greater fullness as well as it can be understood, even if that means revising some past verities. This itself is of course merely another symptom of the deeper sickness that The Bible Made Impossible sought to diagnose in the first place. The criticisms of my book themselves thus turn out in a strange way to be additional evidence illustrating its argument.
So, while very many American evangelicals from different parts of that tradition seem to be aware that their tradition has some big problems when it comes to the use of scripture, and they are open to learning new and better ways to read the Bible, other evangelicals appear to be completely convinced that they already have the infallible truth about the Bible and that it is their divinely appointed job to defend and champion it against any possible questioning. They are not open to considering what to others seem to be clear problems with their theories. In fact, they seem to confuse their own particular theories with divine truth itself, as though the two were identical. And so their ideas are, it seems, above reformation. Ironically, some of those conservative Protestants who most strongly affirm humanity’s total depravity and the devastating noetic effects of sin are the very same people who seem to think that their own theological ideas are above all reproach and stand in need of no further interrogation, development, or correction. The Protestant mantra of “Reformed and ever reforming!” is thus turned into a hollow, formal self-deception, ritualistically intoned over an increasingly ossifying ecclesial body. Having seen and heard all it wants, it has shut its eyes and stopped its ears. Since it already knows all that it wants to say, its mouth only repeats the denominational standard lines. Thus one truth is heartily proclaimed and celebrated, while quite a different truth is actually lived.
It seems to me that part of the larger problem stems from a basic difference in how many pastors, denominational leaders, and seminary professors tend to see things versus how sociologists, like me, see things. Decades of observation tell me that the former almost exclusively tend to focus on and invest in the importance of saying the right things. The assumption seems to be that if we can only utter the right ideas and declare the proper beliefs, then all correct actions and behaviors will flow naturally from those right ideas. It is, in short, a highly idealistic outlook, in both the metaphysical and moral senses. Sociologists, by comparison, are not content simply to hear what people say; we also want to observe what people actually do. We see that what is said and what is done are often very different things. And so, without ignoring what people say, sociologists tend to tune in to what actually happens, how things really operate. Such an approach—which often observes that it is all good and well to say x but the reality is one of z—defines The Bible Made Impossible. When I as a sociologist point out that the undeniable empirical facts simply do not match the ideal talk, it seems that the natural reaction of many religious leaders and thinkers is simply to reassert the saying of the right things, as if that will fix the matter. This creates mutual incomprehension. I find such responses pathetically inadequate, and my critics apparently find my observations of the empirical discrepancies between talk and fact to be unmoving. On this I have to confess that I think religious leaders have much to learn from “mere” sociologists. In fact, it seems essential to the entire Christian tradition that, above and beyond what we believe and say, how we actually behave is terrifically important as well, including when it comes to the Bible.
As a good Augustinian, I realize that none of us should really expect much of each other. This is so in part because, per Augustine, the human will is usually stronger than the human mind. That means that people are often capable of insistently believing in whatever they want to believe in, even if the ideas are patently wrong to most everyone else and in fact. Evidence of this fact is pervasive in human life—although it is discouraging to most academics, who like to think that good evidence and arguments should decide matters. Yet when people, for whatever other reasons, do not want to have their thinking changed, rarely does a good argument with solid evidence actually change their thinking. Humans have a frightening ability to adhere to beliefs and positions that are contradicted by all kinds of good evidence and experience. Such is the power of the human will over the human mind. One might dare hope that the infusion of God’s grace and the illuminating and sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit among Christians would mitigate the triumph of the human will when it comes to believers understanding scripture and theology. But that does not seem to be much the case. That itself describes again a key argument of The Bible Made Impossible—namely, that, despite the best of intentions and education, apparently sincere Christians operating in the biblicist mode of thinking still end up disagreeing about what the Bible actually teaches on many matters, both great and small.
Why does this seem so hard for some people to see and admit? From my sociological perspective, it is often because different Christians have a huge amount of social, relational, and career capital—and not merely biblical conviction—at stake in the defense of their particular (biblicist) positions. And this provides the will, the desire, to refuse to consider alternative ideas. I am not saying that people do not firmly believe in their beliefs. They usually do. But the content and importance of people’s beliefs are also highly subject to the shaping influences of social and relational forces that can challenge, ignore, or reinforce them. For many biblicist evangelicals, to abandon their biblicism would have the consequence not so much of destroying some great theological truth as more immediately threatening their jobs, their reputations, their family relationships, their life investments, their identities, their friendships, their church homes, and more. For some, it would mean admitting that the epistemological basis on which they have lived most of their lives is flawed. That is hard. I am not saying that none of that matters. I am saying that it must not be confused with theological truth. And I am saying that ultimately theological truth ought to win out over such sociological and personal interests.
All of what I have observed here is, of course, highly predictable, sociologically. Any sociologist of religion who hears it will ask, “What else did you expect?” But I continue to wonder, in my own frazzled idealism, whether the Christian church is really reducible to such sociologically predictable, often highly unimpressive social processes and behaviors. Jesus said to those who would follow him that the Son of Man has no place to lay his head, that everything must be sold for the pearl of great price, that we must leave the dead to bury the dead, that we must take up our crosses and be put to death. What then does it mean when bodies of Christians become stuck in their own small, comfortable, self-assured, parochial—sometimes even sectarian—religious worlds from which they refuse to budge? What can we say when the representatives of some Christian communities are, as their behavior makes clear, so certain that they already have the full truth that they therefore seek to discredit anything and everything different? What kind of future can evangelicalism have under those conditions? In the end, are those who have inherited the (so-called) Reformation really and truly prepared to “ever reform”? I hope so, but I have my doubts.
Christian Smith,
Durham, England
Wednesday of the Third Week of Easter,
Feast of St. Mark the Evangelist, 2012