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| Outside Newgate Prison, where Baptist pastor Thomas Helwys died for religious liberty |
Reading a review is one thing - responding to it is quite another. I am not a reactionary back-and-forth, “let’s review the review” type of guy. I am happy to write what I write in good conscience and leave it at that, for others to discuss. But the review’s author Marc Minter, an acquaintance of almost ten years, privately messaged me after publication more-or-less to say he hoped it was well-taken and that he was sincerely keen on further dialogue. I am happy to oblige, if a fruitful spirit can be maintained. This is a conversation worth having, and I wanted the book to foster such dialogues.
Marc doesn’t think Every Man’s Conscience is terrible. Never mind Themelios, he graced it with three stars out of five stars on Good Reads, which most would take to mean it may not be great, or even good, but at least it is OK. I took heart that other works in a similar vein received the same. “Maybe Marc is just not entirely sold on Baptist political theology”, I chuckled. Marc might reply that he does not agree with a particular interpretation of Baptist political theology, which is fair enough. Thanks to Baptists, he has the liberty to be wrong, as do I.
In all seriousness though, I was grateful for his kinder remarks: “the book is certainly valuable”, he says, admitting that “the main point of King’s thesis stands” and granting that the length of the book does not allow for addressing some more complicated debates at great depth. However, there are a number of problems with the review, in both its representation of the book’s arguments and it would seem, assumptions about my position as its author. I write very precisely, but it seems to me Minter has not read me with precision. I will respond to these in order of appearance.
Minter writes that I focus on “the Baptist fight for religious toleration.” Every Man’s Conscience is in fact about, as the subtitle says: the Early English Baptist Fight for Religious Liberty. There is a difference between toleration and liberty, and it matters. Toleration gives far too much authority to the state with regards to religion, as though it has any lordship over the human conscience. Ironically considering Minter’s later concerns, toleration may in fact result in restriction to unique and distinct Christian public witness in a way that liberty would not.
Minter addresses my perspective on “the relationship between early English Baptists and the radical reformers called Anabaptists” (paragraph 4), and argues “it is important to note King’s perspective because it flavours his narrative” (paragraph 5). But he misunderstands my perspective, which is most assuredly not that English Baptists were an uncritical continuation of any such movements, as Minter seems to indicate. My position is a more reconciled approach to the polarised “Anabaptists!” or “Separatists!” camps. Note the precision of the quote offered, with emphasis added: “It might be better to say that the Baptists came from English Separatism through the influence of what was called Anabaptism.” “Anabaptist” and its derivatives are, as I have written, a misnomer anyway and completely unhelpful as a category, generally rejected by those so labelled. Fruitful interactions with some accused of such “Anabaptism” - Dutch Mennonites - encouraged and affirmed the Smyth/Helwys Separatist’s growing convictions from Scripture with regards to church purity and nonconformity, congregational polity, believer’s baptism, and religious liberty. That positive influence gave way to Smyth and some of the congregation seeking to become Mennonites. Thus, the influence took on a more negative dimension from the perspective of Helwys. Maintaining the good of which he was persuaded in Scripture, but unable to countenance the bad - an errant Christology, sectarian isolation, pacifism, and withdrawal from social and political engagement - Helwys rejected Smyth’s decision and returned to London, where he planted the first Baptist church in England. As my friend and author of Every Man’s Consicence’s foreword Dr. Malcolm Yarnell has noted in a brief response, “Helwys was definitively not an Anabaptist theologian. In fact, he wrote against them.” The curious might start with having a look at An advertisement or admonition to the congregations, which men call the New Fryelers, in the Lowe Countries written in Dutch and published in English (1611).
Nevertheless, because early English Baptists followed Scripture where it led them, and because it led them to a free and regenerate ecclesiology of which religious liberty is a necessary part, they were plagued by the “Anabaptist” canard. It seems that continues today! So long as I am allowed to state my case, I do not mind being among those “which are commonly, but unjustly called Anabaptists”. It’s good company.
The next problem that must be flagged in Minter’s review is the claim “He does not describe exactly what he means by religious liberty.” It is hard to believe that a review of this nature in a publication of this stature could get away with making such a statement and not be thought in some way disingenuous. From Every Man’s Conscience:
“True fellowship with Christ and among Christians is not created by coercion though, and no one should be forced in any way into the profession of any faith, the practise of any ritual, sacrament, or ordinance, adherence to any theological system, or membership in any religious institution. More specific to a Christian context, unbelievers should not be coerced to follow Christ, be baptised, or join a church since these are voluntary responses to the inward-working of the Holy Spirit through the preaching of the Scriptures.
This theological as opposed to humanistic approach to religious liberty, or freedom of conscience, is intrinsically linked to the Baptist “free church” ecclesiology whereby faith in Christ, not national heritage or religious parentage leads to baptism and fellowship. Furthermore, it historically fuelled Baptists’ intentional evangelistic methodology. Because the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but of the Spirit (2 Corinthians 10:4), and because we believe people become Christians not on the basis of governmental coercion, national citizenship, immediate family, or personal heritage, but as they hear the gospel and are called to repentance and faith in Jesus (Romans 10:5-15), we devote ourselves to evangelism, proclaiming the good news of Jesus and making disciples to the ends of the earth (Matthew 28:18-20).”
This is not buried in the middle of an already short-by-design book. It is on page 2.
Minter says that I give “the impression that early English Baptists argued that civil government should have no interest at all in the religious affinities of its populace”, once again linking this with an “Anabaptist” perspective. If I give that impression, I suppose it is because the early English Baptists give that impression, since I stick closely to the primary sources. I am not sure how Marc is defining “civil government”, “no interest at all”, or “religious affinities” here, so perhaps I am misunderstanding him, but my own Particular Baptist confessional tradition is clear on what the civil government is for, and overseeing, interfering with, or otherwise meddling with my religious affinities is not one of their tasks. For this I give thanks, otherwise as a resident of the United Kingdom, I would have been through quite the whirlwind five years with an amoral, somewhat agnostic self-described “very very bad kind of Christian” for Prime Minister, followed by the secularist with expressed appreciation for Christian values but no professed or practiced faith, followed by the Hindu, and finally arriving at the atheist now in office. And let’s not speak of the currently enthroned namesake of the seventeenth century’s two kings Charles.
Writing before the revolutionary changes to government brought by the wars of the Republic in the mid-century, Helwys (remember, not an Anabaptist!) wrote to King James I: “the king is a mortal man and not God, therefore hath no power over immortal souls of his subjects, to make laws and ordinances for them, and to set spiritual Lords over them. If the king have authority to make spiritual Lords and laws, then he is an immortal God and not a mortal man.”
It becomes apparent that Minter is not operating with clear or precise categories when he drifts from the subject of religious liberty to Christian social and political engagement, as though these are in some way at odds – a common trope among establishmentarians here in the UK, I should note. He writes ‘Liberation from persecution, coercion, and a state church was certainly the Baptist plea, but it is a historical fact that most early English Baptists advocated for a kind of religious freedom that included the civil enforcement of Christian ethics and societal norms.” I do not know why he thinks I would disagree. Never-mind my own broader contributions, easily found online, on a wide range of political subjects. The subtitle of my volume is the Early English Baptist Fight for Religious Liberty. Fight? That doesn’t sound very pacifist, or isolated from social and political engagement. Part of the book’s argument is that religious liberty is itself part of “Christian ethics and societal norms”, and one that Baptists actively pursued in pulpits, printing presses, prisons, palaces, and Parliament. This alone leaves me wondering how in any way I or those I am writing about can be interpreted as arguing for a religious liberty somehow at odds with Christian social action or participation in political processes. I even cite Spurgeon at one point: “we cannot, and dare not, cease to be political.” But is this the leveraging of worldly political processes and power for the advancement of the Christian religion, or is it more appropriately focused on the justice, peace, and freedom of society?
Further to his point about “civil enforcement of Christian ethics and societal norms” though, Minter cites 2LBC 22.7 that the Sabbath is a “positive, moral, and perpetual commandment, binding on all men in all ages” (2LBC 22.7)’. Without getting distracted by the Sabbatarian debate, why should this confessionally professed conviction necessitate wide-scale Baptist support for civil enforcement of spiritual practice? It is one thing for a government to uphold or advocate for a national day of rest or reduced trading hours, and to have - for any number of legitimate reasons - Baptist support. It is quite another to have a system that coerces through various means - taxes, fines, or other punishments - participation in a State-mandated day of worship.
To reference an episode that scandalised London Baptists, by way of illustration: the treatment of John Clarke, Obadiah Holmes, and James Crandall in New England. These men journeyed on a pastoral visit to William Witter, an elderly blind man who had been unable to gather with his church for a long time. On the Sunday, they worshipped together in Witter’s house, but the Sabbath laws of Massachusetts required attendance at the State Church. John Cotton would later write about how they thereby “profaned the Sabbath”. Consequently, they were imprisoned, fined, Clarke and Crandall were released after someone paid for their release out of pity, and Holmes was mercilessly flogged. Even one of the founding magistrates of the colony, Richard Saltonstall, was troubled. He wrote to Cotton:
First, you compel such to come into your assemblies as you know will not join with you in worship, and when they show their dislike thereof, and witness against it, then you stir up your magistrates to punish them for such as you conceive their public affronts. Truly friends this practice of compelling any in matters of worship to do that whereof they are not fully persuaded is to make them sin, for so the apostle tells us Rom. xiv., and many are made hypocrites thereby, conforming in their outward man for fear of punishment. (see Isaac Backus, Church History of New England , pp. 78-79)
Baptists considered this whole scenario and the systems that drove it to be absurd, and in no way meant by confessional statement regarding Christian worship and rest something lending itself to a coercive State.
I am glad that Minter agrees, “English Baptists were adamant in their arguments for the universal freedom of conscience, such that sinners would be persuaded by the gospel, not compelled by civil legislation and force. Therefore, King has made his case…” However, I was confused by his following words: “but he has also failed to address the heart of the debate among Evangelical Christians today (in both the old world and the new)…” regarding how civil governments develop and enforce laws, and the role of Christian ethics therein. I did not realise that was my task! That is not what I set out to do, so not within the scope of the book, which is a study in Baptist history, and specifically about religious liberty of conscience, not all matters of political theology. It is not and was not intended to be an all-encompassing Baptist social ethic or textbook for civil government and civic engagement even on the subject of religious liberty today. Note, from the introduction:
While it is somewhat beyond the scope of the present volume to detail any implications history might have for a contemporary approach to religious liberty, I do hope these will be somewhat obvious and that this analysis of history and theology will provide an accessible framework for appropriate Christian engagement in response to apparent and emerging threats to religious liberty today, whether that liberty is our own or our neighbours’. (p.5)
Perhaps Marc had broader expectations because of concerns I express in my introduction and conclusion. I reference the urgency of the topic in light of contemporary events, to be sure. I have in mind people like the man I know who wants all Muslims regardless of citizenship, religious beliefs and practices, or personal history to be rounded up and deported, and won’t hesitate to share it with the world. Or people like the man I recently was sharing the gospel with who answered “how did the world become so broken?” with the answer: “the Jews”. He gave me his own version of the evangelistic “three circles” presentation: the path to wholeness is the Final Solution of what he called “the glorious Third Reich”. Or those calling regularly for a “New Christendom” under the dictatorship of a “Christian Prince” along the lines of a “Protestant Franco”. Or the people who would be victims of these patterns of thinking and need to hear a Christian say, “that is not the way of Jesus.” Or people like those who sincerely and nervously think they must conform to every piece of advice or legislation a government puts out about what they should or should not do as a church in the worship of God and fellowship of his people. Or Christians in various parts of the world who face totalitarian governments who oppress them and are weary and need encouragement from saints who have gone before. I could go on. The early English Baptist fight for religious liberty speaks to all of these situations and many more.
I am convinced by Scripture that the historic beliefs commonly called “Baptist” - including religious liberty - are true, honour the Lord, and advance the gospel, and that they are worth holding on to and sharing for the good of society, whatever the season. That is why I wrote Every Man’s Conscience, that is why I am in the process of distributing it to the 75 professing Baptist members of the 119th US Congress, and that is why I would encourage you to read it yourself.
“Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart. But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways. We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God's word, but by the open statement of the truth we would commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God.” - 2 Corinthians 4:1-2
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