‘Puritans’ Category

In response to my mention in the previous post of 8,000 Dissenters dying in prisons during the reign of Charles II and James II, a dear friend, Ron Miller, made this extremely helpful comment:

“The 8000 number is found in De Foe’s preface to De Laune’s A Plea for the Non-Conformists, p 4 in the 1720 edition I have, the seventh paragraph from the start. De Foe says this, ‘I am sorry to say, he is one of near eight thousand Protestant Dissenters that perish’d in prison in the days of that merciful [sarcasm?!] prince, King Charles the Second’.”

Would you work for God in a specific cause? Then, there must be what John Owen, that immortal Puritan, called a “clear shining from God”:

“Clear shining from God must be at the bottom of deep labouring with God.”[1]

[1] Cited Peter Barraclough, John Owen (1616-1683) (London: Independent Press Ltd., 1961), 6.

Mark Jones, a dear brother, who is doing a fine dissertation on Thomas Goodwin’s Christology, has a list of potential PhD and MA theses. Excellent ideas: Possible Thesis Studies (17thC). I should add at some point a similar list for Baptists!

In a piece in The New York Times Magazine this past summer, Noah Feldman reflects on his upbringing in Orthodox Judaism. There were quite a number of things I found fascinating, but none more than this remark about his immersion in the Hebrew Bible:

“Line by line we burrowed into the old texts in their original Hebrew and Aramaic. The poetry of the Prophets sang in our ears. After years of this, I found I could recite the better part of the Hebrew Bible from memory. Among other things, this meant that when I encountered the writings of the Puritans who founded the Massachusetts Bay Colony, I felt immediate kinship. They read those same texts again and again—often in Hebrew—searching for their own errand into the American wilderness.” [“Orthodox Paradox”, The New York Times Magazine (July 22, 2007), 43].

This is extraordinary not only for the remarks about the memorization of the Old Testament, but also for the kinship felt by Noah, an orthodox Jew, for the Puritans. It is good testimony to the latter’s immersion in the Word of God

Read this extract from Susan H Moore’s new book on the Puritans who crossed to America in the 1630s but then returned to England for one reason or another: God of the Sea . It is only a small extract, but I found it very moving.

Any one who has read this blog knows of my tremendous admiration for the Puritans. But they could be wrong at times. Their interpretation of Romans 8:26-27, which they consistently read as the Spirit’s inspiration of the believer in groaning prayer, is a case in point.

Another would be the presupposition that the New Testament contains an ecclesiology as accurate as an architect’s blueprint. The emergence of Presbyterianism and Congregationalism—both espoused by Puritans who treasured the Word of God—reveals that such a presupposition did not necessarily yield one ecclesial model. And while I have definite predilections in one direction, who am I to say that a Presbyterian like Samuel Annesley, the grandfather of the Wesley brothers, was not used by God?

Also wrong, I believe, is the further presupposition that spiritual vitality is yoked to one ecclesial model. I am a convinced Baptist and Congregationalist, but any fair reading of Church History forces one to realize that God, for instance, has used moderate Episcopalianism as found in the eighteenth-century Church of England or Puritan Congregationalism or the semi-Episcopalianism of the Arminian Methodists of the eighteenth century or the interesting structure of the Moravian Church—that “exotic plant” as one recent history has described the Moravians of England—to extend his kingdom.

In the recent resurgence of the doctrines of grace, it seems to me that some Reformed folk have learned this lesson, hence the appreciation for others of a different ecclesial ilk. Others, though still tie spirituality to ecclesiology with the consequent negative impact on the virtue of humility and usefulness in the Kingdom.

Most recently, this arrogance can be seen in those who would argue that one type of model of church growth is guaranteed to produce the goods. Some urge a model of church growth à la Willow Creek, others cite Emergent as the only way to go. Some embrace a business model with the pastor as the CEO—to be honest this I find the strangest of all recent church growth models—and tout this as the sure fire method of spiritual revitalization. How utterly mistaken!

God is sovereign and ecclesial prosperity his right alone to grant. To be sure, there are paths that must be followed, but they are ways of piety and morality, not this type of structure or that. I have been closely following the path of one denominational grouping here in Canada that have recently endorsed one model of denominational governance with the conviction that this is the pathway to spiritual vitality and renewal and growth. It is a model that outrightly rejects the heritage of this group of churches, for whom I have a deep love, and I fear that they have been sold “swamp land in Florida” and will have a rude awakening! I hope I am wrong, but the weight of church history is against the claims of those who pushed this body of churches down this path.

As D.A. Carson, whose life and writings have been a tremendous inspiration to me personally, has rightly said: “We depend on plans, programs, vision statements—but somewhere along the way we have succumbed to the temptation to displace the foolishness of the cross with the wisdom of strategic planning.”

O Lord, humble your people, make them a people of prayer and just practice, zeal for the gospel and the salvation of sinners, and above all a passion for yourself and your glory—revive them wherever they are. Amen.

In the past I have gone on record as saying that I have never read through Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. Some friends have been horrified at this admission. But this does not mean that I do not appreciate aspects of this remarkable work.

For instance, there is a tremendous scene in Part II, that second half of the work which many never look at—I have looked at parts even if I have not read the whole! Part II stresses the communal nature of the Christian life, with Christian’s wife, Christiana, and her family taking the pilgrim way along with a company including such characters as Feeble-mind and Ready-to-halt (Oh those names! One reason I have not been able to persevere with the whole).

In one priceless scene, their guide, Mr. Great-heart slays the Giant-Despair and the company of pilgrims destroy the giant’s refuge, Doubting Castle. Two of the giant’s prisoners, Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-Afraid, are rescued and they join the company of pilgrims, “for they were honest people.”

This liberation of the captives caused the pilgrims to rejoice greatly. Now, Christiana, we learn, “played upon the Vial and her daughter Mercy upon the Lute.” So they began to play, and “Ready-to-halt would dance.” So he took Despondency’s daughter, Much-Afraid, by the hand and “to dancing they went in the Road. True, he could not dance without one crutch in his hand, but I promise you, he footed it well; also the girl was to be commended, for she answered the music handsomely.”

If I didn’t already have a name for my blog, I would be half-disposed to call it “The Dancing Puritan”!

I am always thrilled when someone recommends the riches of our Christian past. A new book from Tyndale House, entitled 20 Things You Should Read (2006) and co-authored by four writers—David Edwards, Margaret Feinberg, Janella Griggs and Matthew Paul Turner, each of whom takes turns introducing the various works—is a good way to dip into some of the riches of our heritage. The authors/compilers rightly emphasize that these works of the past reveal how our Christian forebears struggled with many of the questions we wrestle with and how their beautifully-framed answers still convey hope and inspiration (p.vi-vii).

The Christian writers chosen are quite eclectic, ranging from Augustine to Madame Guyon, Julian of Norwich to Karl Barth. Some readers, myself included, would question the wisdom of such a wide range of authors, but I was glad to see the two key Reformers Luther and Calvin included as well as Bunyan, Charles Wesley (interesting that John is not included), Whitefield and Spurgeon. All of the writings are taken from documents available on the net, but it is great to have them in one compass like this.

The omission of John Owen and Jonathan Edwards—both masters of spirituality—is curious. But any such collection is bound to omit favourite authors of other Christians.

I also felt that at times the introductory comments were not helpful in doing justice to the historical context of the various authors. To say, for example, that Augustine “partied like a rock star before his conversion” and that up until that event, which took place when he was thirty-one, he had led “a promiscuous, unruly lifestyle” (p.1) simply is not true. After a year or so of such living when he first went to university in Carthage, Augustine actually settled down to a fairly prosaic life, seeking truth in the cult of Manichaenism and the Platonic philosophy.

But the intended audience of the book is obviously young men and women who have not been interested in the riches of Christian authors of the past. And in recommending these riches to such, the book succeeds admirably.

Old stereotypes die hard. Often it’s far easier to hang on to misguided caricature than do the tough digging for the truth. The words “Puritan” and “puritanical” offer a good case in point.

Our Canadian Oxford Dictionary, for example, after giving these terms a standard historical explanation, notes of the adjective “puritanical” that it means “one opposed to pleasure.” No surprise then that the Puritans are regularly pilloried by our pleasure-loving culture. Sure, some words that have distinct historical associations lose them after they enter into common currency. But not so with these words and their cognates.

Journalist and satirist H.L. Mencken best summed up our popular perspective on Puritanism when he defined it as “the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy” and observed that “there is only one honest impulse at the bottom of Puritanism, and that is the impulse to punish the man with a superior capacity for happiness.” One only needs to think of some depictions of historical Puritans in the film industry to see how such definitions have been taken to be gospel.

Richard Harris’ portrayal of Oliver Cromwell, the Puritan ruler of much of the British archipelago during the 1650s, in the movie Cromwell is one that he is able to carry off with nary a smile. It makes for good dramatic contrast with Alec Guinness’ brilliant role as the ill-fated Charles I, but it is hardly an accurate depiction of the man who enjoyed a practical joke from time to time, loved music and allowed dancing at his court, and had as his chaplain the theologian John Owen, who used to wear his hair powdered and adorned himself with a fashionable velvet jacket and flashy Spanish leather boots.

Much more recently, the first chapter of Charles Beauclerk’s Nell Gwyn: Mistress to a King repeats this standard vilification of the Puritans. They were men who “strove relentlessly for the light, their instincts bound like squirming devils and shoved into some dark corner of the soul.” They denied the common people of England simple pleasures like wrestling and running, holidays and theatre, and made adultery a capital offence. Evidence of the dreariness of the Puritan regime is found in the horrific names they gave their kids: names like “Abstinence, Forsaken, Tribulation,…Kill-sin and Flyfornication”!

But the truth, when examined, is quite different. As Marxist historian Christopher Hill, an expert in 17th century British history, once observed, “very few of the so-called ‘Puritans’ were ‘Puritanical’.” Granted, instances of dreary kill-joys can be found in their ranks, but they are not to be taken as representative of the whole.

The Puritans were serious people, but knew when to laugh. Smiles and laughter, Richard Bernard maintained, were part of a good life. And Richard Sibbes, an influential Puritan during the reign of James I and Charles I, was confident that “joy is the habitation of the righteous.” Nor were they opposed to sports and recreation. Cromwell gave his daughter dancing lessons. Other Puritans were into hunting and fishing, bowling and swimming, and even skating. What they were against were cruel sports like bear baiting and using up what they considered a day of rest and spiritual reflection, Sunday, for such activities. Even theatrical entertainment, which the Puritans attacked because of frequent lasciviousness, was tolerated to some degree during the reign of Cromwell. Hardly “the great iron giant of Puritanism” as Beauclerk depicts the movement.

And as for sex, William Gouge, a prominent Puritan leader, could encourage married couples to engage in sexual intercourse with “delight, readily and cheerfully,” since it was essential to marriage. Another Puritan leader, Richard Baxter, could urge married couples to remember that there is nothing the human “heart is so inordinately set upon as delight.” Husband and wife should thus take pleasure in each other. Take joy in your wife, Baxter urged husbands and then quoted the Bible, “let her breasts satisfy thee at all times, and be thou ravished always with her love.”

Finally, what is often forgotten about the Puritans is the utterly key role that they played in advancing democratic freedom. In a collection of essays dealing with “counterfactual” history, John Adamson, a Cambridge University scholar who specializes in the political and cultural history of 17th century Britain, has an intriguing essay entitled “England without Cromwell: What if Charles I had avoided the Civil War?” He reasons that if Charles I had been able to avoid the Civil War, the evolution of England’s constitutional monarchy, in which power came to be shared between the crown and parliament, may well have been set back decades, even centuries. And England could have ended up being a mirror image of Louis XIV’s absolutist France across the Channel.

As it was, the debates among the army officers around Cromwell during the 1640s about the right to religious freedom and Cromwell’s own incredibly deep conviction that freedom of religion was a natural right were crucial steps on the road to the democratic freedoms we enjoy today. It is amazing to think that—according to the reporting of the New England Puritan, Roger Williams—Cromwell once maintained in a public discussion “that he had rather that Mahumetanism [i.e. Islam] were permittted amongst us, than that one of God’s children should be persecuted,” which is a very interesting comment in light of recent events.

Well, all of this puts Puritanism in a very different light and is a good reminder that common perceptions about our past can sometimes be very misleading.

I was given a copy of Tabletalk yesterday. I had not read this publication for quite a while. I have really enjoyed it in the past. The particular issue that I was given, entitled Proud Mediocrity: Facing the Addiction of our Culture (September 2006), was no exception. It was very well done, especially the article by George Grant, entitled “A Passion for Truth.”

I was intrigued, however, by a statement made by Chris Donato in his good piece, “In the Service of the King.” He linked the waning of “the Christian ideal of vocation”—rigorously implemented by the English Puritans—to the “religious and political repression of the seventeenth century” and the replacement of the “fatalistic hyper-Calvinism of certain Puritans” by the “mechanistic Deism of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment” (page 17). This is extremely intriguing! And of course, in the small space allotted for the article, only a potted version of this thesis could be given. But it would be fascinating to pursue it further.

Donato seems to assume or assert four things.

First, the attacks on the Puritans in the Restoration era by Charles II and James II undermined the Puritan concept of vocation. Why was this so?

Second, certain Puritans were hyper-Calvinistic. Which Puritans were hyper-Calvinists? Well, certain Baptist authors in the eighteenth century are often accused of being hyper-Calvinists—I am thinking of men like John Gill and John Brine and John Skepp (the term needs to be well defined to include Gill)—but historically these men are not Puritans. If we rule out these men, I am not sure who Donato has in mind.

Third, this hyper-Calvinism precedes the “mechanistic Deism of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment.” Actually, though the chronology is the other way around. Does this undermine the thesis though?

Fourth, Evangelicalism did not maintain the Puritan view of vocation. But is this so? I think one can see a Puritan view of vocation in John Wesley’s view of work and wealth, for instance (via his maternal grandfather, the Puritan Samuel Annesley). You see it when Evangelical authors address domestic issues—consider Samuel Stennett on domestic duties in his sermon series on this topic.

But these are only initial thoughts. I would love to see someone track through the idea of vocation in the 18th century, asking the question, did it change from the Puritan view? And when did it change and why?