Anna's Change of Heart: Bookish Reformed Ladies, History, and God's Use of Means

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of writing a short piece for the women of my church on Anna Maria van Schurman, a seventeenth-century Dutchwoman who was renowned throughout Europe for her learning. (Because “van Schurman” is a lot to type each time, I hope she wouldn’t be offended if I call her “Anna” from now on.) Anna’s parents saw to it that she received a well-rounded education in the arts, languages, and theology; by early adulthood, she had even begun corresponding with theologians such as André Rivet. Out of this correspondence came her best-known treatise, Whether a Christian Woman Should be Educated.

In the past, I’ve shared quotes from this essay that could make a bookish Reformed girl cry:

“…[T]he goal of studies is presumed not to be vainglory and show or idle curiosity, but rather the general goal of the glory of God and the salvation of one’s soul, in order that she may also emerge the better and happier, and may educate and guide her family (if that duty falls to her) and even be useful to her whole sex, to the extent that that is possible.”

“Let us define the phrase 'fitting' or 'expedient' not as whether the study of letters is appropriate, requisite, or precisely necessary to eternal salvation […] but as an occupation or means that can contribute to our integrity in this same life and, to a degree, through the contemplation of very beautiful things, move us that much more easily to love of God and to eternal salvation.”

“…[A]s the great Erasmus says, nothing so occupies the whole mind of a girl as does study: to which, as to a place of refuge, she may be allowed to flee on any occasion.”

The parts of her life I didn’t write about came later. After Anna’s mother died, she was consumed with household responsibilities and the care of elderly aunts. Although these things drew her away from study and intellectual companionship, she found deep spiritual solace in the daily work of nursing her kin. In her twilight years, she became a disciple (and avid apologist) of Jean de Labadie, an excommunicated, sectarian, proto-Pietist who emphasized a more immediate, mystically inflected knowledge of God. In the process, Anna came close to repudiating her youthful learning as being effectively spiritually dead. She also stepped outside of the traditional church as she had known it all her life. She describes this shift in a lesser-known work called Eukleria.

I don’t think Anna ever explicitly repudiated confessional Reformed theology. She also makes a few caveats to the effect that learning shouldn’t be summarily rejected, and that, in moderation, it can still be useful to the godly. Still, as one who’s been inspired by this one-time champion of women’s learning, it’s easy to feel shaken when this same woman, who sparred with Descartes and was visited by queens, all but retracts those views as an older woman.

And when she accuses the “worldly” of “[dislodging] the Holy Spirit from his throne and [turning] the weapons of erudition against the simplicity of faith…[erecting] a theater pleasing to the devil,” one naturally wonders just who she has in mind. These are not mild critiques. She further blasts “worldly theologians” as being completely fruitless preachers: 

“no one could easily persuade me…that the words of life that are dead in the mouth of a dead preacher…bring life to dead listeners. For the preacher can indeed say the words but not grasp and give voice to the meaning and life or Spirit of Scripture; the listeners, moreover, have not the ears to hear spiritual things in a spiritual manner or to grasp them inwardly. But how would the Holy Spirit plausibly attach himself to a dead person as a tool of his grace for bringing souls to life? Certainly not more, indeed less than to the crowing of the cock, which our Savior wanted to be a reminder to the turncoat Peter of his words in order to call him back from his special sin. In such a preacher the rule of sin stands in the way” (Eukleria II.XI, emphasis mine).

I read this passage several times, trying to think of a way in which it avoids being sheer Donatism. Indeed, a lack of obvious fruit in a preacher’s life is to be lamented, and open sin can be utterly devastating to one’s gospel witness; but surely that’s different from saying that the Holy Spirit is thereby prevented from kindling life in souls when the Word is proclaimed? If that were the case, what possible hope could there be for any of us? The Word of life itself cannot be “dead.”

Anna goes on to deprecate formal theological learning for clergy:

“If…teachers are truly taught by God and are instructed and led by the strength of his Spirit, three books are more than sufficient for them, namely the book of Scripture, the book of Nature, and the book of inward grace, in order to know God and themselves—and thus also humankind—thoroughly; in this knowledge all true wisdom is located. On the point history supplies us with examples of the martyrs, the Albigensians and, in the last century, of simple people—the unlearned, so to speak—who in one talk convert more people to God, or discover those already converted, than most of today’s preachers with a thousand of their learned and well-prepared sermons. Those who lack this inward Teacher can only borrow a kind of barren and false knowledge from a human school, which the Apostle elegantly calls ‘the form of knowledge’; this they also transmit and inflict upon their students.” (Eukleria II.XVII)

Again, there is a kernel of truth here, that an uneducated preacher who truly proclaims the gospel may be used far more effectually by the Lord than a man with a doctorate who lacks grace. (Though, it’s worth noting in the above that she refers to the converting power of “simple people,” not even necessarily ordained preachers.) This might have needed earnest restating in Anna’s context. But her statement also has an uncomfortable ring of anticlericalism, to least to my ears—a reluctance to embrace God’s ordinary use of means, even means which are glaringly marked by the Fall.

She also quotes her earlier correspondent, the theologian Rivet, who in his dying days experienced what Anna calls “the light and power of divinely imprinted experiential knowledge,” and is said to have broken out in prayer, saying, “I have learned more theology in these ten days in which you have visited me than in the space of fifty years…” I find it interesting that Anna uses this deathbed experience—one not unique, after all, in the biographies of theological giants—in support of a general downplaying of the value of theological scholarship for the Christian. Surely, what we’ve learned during our several decades of life will be a speck of dust in comparison to the unimaginable riches of eternity. This glorious truth should always be kept in mind, especially by those of us who take special delight in study, and encourage us to keep our intellectual attainments in their proper perspective! However, it seems to me that it should rather encourage us to pursue deeper learning (as long as it is properly oriented toward love of God and neighbor), rather than discourage us.

Reading Michael Horton’s systematic theology, I recently learned about a distinction that was important to many early Reformed theologians, that between ectypal and archetypal knowledge of God. Briefly (correct me if I’m wrong), archetypal knowledge is the truth as only God can perfectly know it, while ectypal knowledge is just as true, yet accommodated to our finite human capacity. Because we are creatures, we can know God only insofar as He reveals Himself to us—ordinarily, through such means as the preaching of the Word and the sacraments. This distinction has many implications for how we approach theology and journey through the ordinary Christian life. While God can reveal himself in any way he chooses, Anna seems to assume that “divinely imprinted experiential knowledge” is God’s typical way of working among his people, or a better way unknown to the average churchgoer.

To apply this distinction to theological pursuits: As plodding and frustrating as it often feels, it seems that the intellectual rigor of truth-seeking by means of history, languages, ideas, and arguments is a struggle that God intends for us during our earthly pilgrimage. The temptation to seek shortcuts to archetypal (immediate) knowledge is perennial; perhaps every era and movement within the church, and many individual believers, has faced it. Of course we also have to engage in the spiritual rigor of continually trying, failing, and trying again to live out our beliefs in a consistent, concrete way. But just because we’re often going to fail—and just because the intellectual struggle can become an idol unto itself (just as emotions and experiences can!)— doesn’t dismiss us from the vocation of wrestling.

I have not made an exhaustive study of Anna’s later writings, so my reflections must be taken with a grain of salt. To look at these questions as they deserve, I’d have to do much more research, and undertake something more indepth than a blog post (and I guess I might). I don’t know everything that led to Anna’s dramatic theological shift, or how her ideas, fully realized, shaped her views of Scripture and the church.

However, two takeaways have stuck with me: first, anti-intellectualism can take many forms, and it certainly isn’t new in the history of the church. As I read the above passages from Eukleria, I felt as if I could have been reading something from (much later) American frontier revivalism. It turns out that, too, has a history.

Second, I already knew that before enlisting them in support of a pet issue, you have to consider figures within their historical context. But this reminded me that you also have to consider a person’s ideas within the trajectory of her life. I don’t think Anna’s later change of heart should take away from our admiration of and learning from her earlier achievements. But it points to the limitations of a “Look at this exemplary person” way of using history, or of appealing to such figures for evidence regarding, e.g., women’s roles in the church.

Honestly, though, my most humbling takeaway is that even an intellectually gifted woman, lovingly nurtured as a covenant child, granted the best scholarly opportunities that could be afforded to a woman of her day (heck, better than many get today),  who pursues that learning with all sincerity and earnestness, can fall into grave error. This should be zero surprise to me, but it’s still giving me food for thought. 

October 8 dissertation notes (Week 8): Meeting

Was I saying that last week was rough for the dissertation? This week was worse...

Within a week of each other, and quite independently, my husband and one of my best friends made the following analogies (paraphrased): "It sounds like you're writing blank verse and being criticized for using improper sonnet structure," and "You're trying to write Chopin and being forced to turn it into a Sousa march." Clearly I surround myself with excellent people :) And the latter gives way too much credit to my writing... Still, that's kind of what it's felt like, at various moments throughout this process.

A lot of it seems to come down to simple difficulty in communication. When I met with my adviser this week, I often felt, from the reactions I got, as if I were answering different questions than I was being asked; or, at least, that we had opposite ideas about where the real heart and interest of my project lay. The more I've thought about it this week, the more I've wondered if that's the key to why none of my revisions have passed muster.

Here's what I mean. The main takeaway from this week's meeting is that my argument about Gregory's preaching is still not sufficiently analytical; it's too descriptive; there isn't a clear sense of a narrative in my dissertation. That is, the fact that Gregory understood preaching to be a means of God's grace (this is shorthand for my argument, but it's the gist), is not, by itself, interesting, no matter how neglected it's been in others' scholarship. It's describing something about Gregory's writings that presumably anyone could glean if they tried. What's interesting is why that's the case.

Now, I've made a point of discussing elements of Gregory's context in my dissertation. You can't talk about ideas, or their proponents, without seeking to understand them in terms of the period and environment in which they stood. But, to me, the fact that Gregory's ministry was framed by controversies over the Holy Spirit, and that he was trying to establish his authority as spokesman for orthodoxy, are the "well, duh," part of this. Undoubtedly those things were in the air, and as such probably shaped the way he talked about the effects of preaching and the role of the preacher. They don't make the theological ideas all that much more or less interesting. Moreover, assuming too much explanatory significance for them seems at best speculative, and at worst, painfully reductionistic. (As Kevin put it, "as if theology was a strategic game or a wax nose.") So I've held back from making them too explicit a part of my argument.

So, what I'm wondering is, is my argument coming across as a primarily theological argument and not a sufficiently historical one? Could that really explain all the obstacles in pushing this project forward? That the way I've framed the project is inappropriate for the methodology I need to be following? Is that what could be meant by descriptive vs. analytical? I don't want to make a faith-based claim and then spackle in some historical context to make it look as legit as possible. That's not sound scholarship...

A way around the problem of context could be to return to more of a comparative project, which is what my adviser is suggesting. He said that if I'm really wanting to argue that Gregory saw preaching as doing something more than the Greco-Roman rhetoric of his day, then I really need to be doing a comparison of his writings with contemporary rhetorical handbooks. And once we were on the same page that this is more or less what I've been trying to argue, he said that although it might be a good hunch, he doubts it's ultimately provable -- Christian and pagan language about persuasive speaking was largely similar, even if they used different language, like invocation of the Spirit instead of the muses, for instance. (It would've been useful to have realized the apparent uselessness of my argument a long time ago, but...what can you do.)

So I'm supposed to go back to my sources again, particularly spending more time with ancient rhetorical treatises, and see if I can find a fresh way of framing the project. My concern is to salvage as much of the work I've already done as possible. I don't have time to start from scratch. I want to be done by the end of 2016. (That's already a year and a half longer than I meant to take for this degree program.) But in the meantime, I guess I don't have much to lose. If this is what it will take to be allowed to defend and graduate, well...it's worth a shot.

Another comment I got was that the project, as it currently stands, wouldn't be publishable, because it's not clear why someone would need to read it in order to learn anything new. I guess it depends on who "somebody" is, and how much their assessment matters to me.

Anyway--most of this week was spent preparing for that meeting and then processing afterward. I've sent a follow-up email summarizing the main takeaways from it and raising some of the things I've mentioned here. The response will govern how I approach my next steps. I was terribly discouraged by this conversation because I'm so tired of writing, re-writing, and still feeling I've not been understood. I don't know if I've successfully diagnosed the reasons for all the disconnects -- or if having done so will ultimately help anything. I guess it's worth something that I still haven't given up.

Book Review: Bitesize Biography: Samuel Rutherford

Samuel Rutherford (Bitesize Biographies series) by Richard M. Hannula
EP Books (2014); 140 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour 

When my husband and I were newbie Presbyterians, we became acquainted with a haunting adaptation of the hymn “The Sands of Time Are Sinking” and soon learned that its lyrics consisted of strung-together quotations from the letters of Samuel Rutherford. We did a little research on this seventeenth century Scottish pastor and came to love his passionate and pastoral style of writing. (Note the title of my blog, and the quote along the side!) We were also surprised to find that Rutherford wasn’t exactly a household name, even among lifelong Presbyterians.

This little book by PCA elder Richard Hannula tries to remedy that, and it does so admirably. Like the other books in the Bitesize Biographies series, it pretty much offers just that: a major figure from history in easy, accessible morsels. At the same time, though, it’s not insubstantial: the reader gets an excellent survey of Rutherford’s life from his rural ministry in Anwoth, to his exile for opposing episcopacy, to his contributions in the Westminster Assembly, and places all of it within the wider religious and political controversies of the day.

It’s not just Rutherford’s name that’s little known, however. There are stories from his era that many Christians will only tend to hear if they have a penchant for history—such as the stories of pastors who were maimed, exiled, and martyred for writing and preaching in favor of Presbyterian polity and practice; and the great love for the celebration of the Lord’s Supper that both Rutherford and ordinary congregants wrote much about. These are not just “history,” but big pieces of a heritage that should still be formative today.

One of the best ways that Richard Hannula draws readers into that heritage is by packing the book with quotes from Rutherford, in hopes that they will be enticed to read the letters and sermons for themselves. He does this seamlessly and without distracting from the flow of the narrative. He also provides a list of Rutherford’s writings at the end of the book, as well as suggestions for those who are interested in doing more in-depth and scholarly reading about the man and his times.

In closing, here are a few of my favorites of those quotes. I hope that getting to know Samuel Rutherford will bless you as it has blessed my family.

“Grace tried is better than grace, and it is more than grace. It is glory in its infancy. Who knows the truth of grace without a trial? And how soon would faith freeze without a cross!”

 “Know therefore that this is a race of God’s choosing and not of our own; and the ill roads, the deep waters, the sharp showers and the bitter violent winds that are in our face, are of God’s disposing. We will not get a better road than our Lord allows us. He has called us to suffering, and not a stone is in our way by chance.”

 “Believe Christ’s love more than your own feelings. Your Rock does not ebb and flow, though your sea does.”

The publisher provided me with a review copy of this book, and I was under no obligation to give a favorable review.

Tidbits on married life from J. R. Miller

Some time ago, I came across a quote I liked from a work titled Home Making, published in 1882, by James Russell Miller. (I was tickled to learn that Miller, a Presbyterian pastor, was born and brought up in my ancestors' neck of the woods near Frankfort Springs, Pennsylvania, which, as you can see, is pretty rural and not an area I hear mentioned a lot.) Over the past few days I finally took the opportunity to read the full work, to see if I liked the entire book as much. Well, aside from a surprisingly practical and sweet section on household worship, it was largely what you'd expect from a book called Home Making from the 1880s . . . which is to say, lots of sentimental Victorian poetry and "edifying" stories to drive home his points. And since I have a pretty high tolerance for the old fashioned, you know it must've been slightly cloying!

Good news, though! I'm going to post the handful of share-worthy gems I collected from the book, so that you don't have to go hunting for them yourself. :-)

On marriage:

“The present duty is unselfish love. Each must forget self in devotion to the other. Each must blame self and not the other when anything goes wrong. There must be the largest and gentlest forbearance. Impatience may wreck all. A sharp word may retard for months the process of soul blending. There must be the determination on the part of both to make the marriage happy and to conquer everything that lies in the way. Then the very differences between the two lives will become their closest points of union. When they have passed through the process of blending, though it may for the time be painful and perilous, the result will be a wedded life of deep peace, quiet joy and inseparable affection."

“[Husband and wife] should read and study together, having the same line of thought, helping each other toward a higher mental culture. They should worship together, praying side by side, communing on the holiest themes of life and hope, and together carrying to God’s feet the burdens of their hearts for their children and for every precious object.” 

“Pride must have no place in wedded life. There must never be any standing upon dignity, or any nice calculation as to whose place it is to make the apology or to yield first to the other. True love knows no such casuistry; it seeks not its own; it delights in being foremost in forgiving and yielding.”

On hospitality:

“Then this large heartedness will impart its spirit to the home itself. A husband who is generous within his own doors will not be close and niggardly outside. The heart that is used always to be open at home cannot be carried shut through this suffering world. The prosperous home of a generous man sends many a blessing and comfort out to less favored homes. Every true home ought to be a help to a great many struggling lives. Every generous and large hearted man scatters many a comfort among the needy and the suffering as he passes through this world.

There is nothing lost by such scattering. No richer blessing can come upon a home than the benedictions of those who have been helped, who have been fed at its doors, or sheltered beneath its roof, or inspired by its cheer and kindly interest. There is no memorial that any man can make for himself in this world so lasting and so satisfying as that which a life of unselfish kindness and beneficence builds up.” 

And my favorite:

“... [A] wife’s ministry of mercy reaches outside her own doors. Every true home is an influence of blessing in the community where it stands [. . .] The ideal Christian home is a far reaching benediction.” 

  I pray to have a home like this someday!