Fourth in a Series on the Church in Politics
Social revolt and the revival of the Church often seem to go together. Although a social upheaval does not necessarily cause revival, history shows that a great spiritual renewal usually comes in a time of social and political unrest. Society periodically comes to a point of disintegration: morally, economically, and politically. The result may be simply chaos. But in such an extremity may lie God’s opportunity to revive and reform his Church so that it may be renewed as “the salt of the earth,” or as balm for the healing of the nations. It may well then arrest the tendency towards chaos and bring about a renewal of civilization and culture.
This appears to be true of certain periods of revival in the Old Testament and seems certainly to apply to the New Testament and the early Church. The Apostle Paul does not explain exactly what he means when he refers to Christ’s coming in “the fullness of time,” but there is little doubt that the phrase would apply to the early Roman Empire. A new era had dawned, and many serious problems had arisen in all spheres of the ancient civilization. The old “republican virtues” had largely disappeared. Emperors with their expensive and luxurious courts had become the focus of attention. At the same time, the whole economy of Rome was changing in character. The imperial city was becoming increasingly parasitical, living off the rest of the empire. In religion all kinds of strange doctrines were being accepted. Morals had fallen to a new low, and promiscuity, homosexuality, and other forms of debauchery were common. Although for a while it had seemed that the emperors would bring peace and political stability where the republic had failed, within a short time this hope faded.
In this situation Christianity took advantage of the opportunity to evangelize so that by 325, despite frequent persecutions, it largely dominated the scene. And because it gained the victory then, it was the one social entity able to survive the barbarian invasions during the three succeeding centuries. Thus it became the cornerstone of a new culture and civilization.
Much the same may be said about the revivals of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. With the rise of deism, the concomitant decline of morals, the industrial revolution, the French Revolution, and the imperialist expansion came radical and often violent change. Yet with it frequently went a renewal of the Church. The rise of the Methodist movement, the Swiss revival under Malan and Merle d’Aubigné, the religious awakening in Holland under Van Prinsteren, DeCoq, and Kuyper, and the numerous revivals and renewals in America all indicate that even in modern times a relation has existed between radical social change and revival of the Church. Furthermore, in the countries where renewals took place, society was stabilized and went forward to greater cultural achievements.
The best example of this connection between social upheaval and religious revival, however, comes from the sixteenth century. As the result of the work of many historians over the past century we can see today, probably more clearly than ever before, how the two fit together. Those who interest themselves in the history of the Protestant Reformation should constantly recall that it was a period of most intense social conflict and change. Out of this stirring and boiling came the Reformation, a movement one can really understand only if he takes into full account the social background.
Many recent works on the economic history of the period 1450–1600 point out that it was a time of industrial and commercial expansion unknown for at least fifteen hundred years, if not for the whole earlier history of man. The geographic discoveries in the New and the Old World played a considerable part, while the development of new techniques of production and commerce in Europe itself also stimulated radical economic change. One of the important effects of this “revolution” was a drastic rise in prices; the Reformation era experienced a spiraling inflation so violent that one economic historian has attributed the whole religious revolt to the “Price Revolution.” Partially as a result of this development, the old economic order with its individual merchants who carried their wares from one market to another was giving place to a new type of economic organization: the big company with its permanent representatives in every important city at home and abroad. At the same time governments were intervening increasingly in economic affairs for their own benefit. Economic change appeared everywhere.
With economic revolution went radical social change. The nobility, who often included the upper echelons of the church, faced serious difficulties. Although they were usually well supplied with land, they lacked the liquid wealth necessary for the new day. They could, of course, improve the use of their lands, but this they often found difficult because long-established custom prevented them from making changes, or because they simply did not have the ability or money to take the necessary steps. Some succeeded in obtaining positions at court or in the church that brought them increased revenues. But many who could not do so sought to recoup their fortunes by demanding more work or higher rents from their tenants and serfs. The response of these groups was anything but enthusiastic and was often expressed in riots and attempted revolutions.
The one group that found its lot improving throughout the period was the merchants and industrial entrepreneurs, who profited from the rise in prices and were rapidly increasing in wealth. Marrying into noble families that accepted them because of their money, setting themselves up as gentlemen by buying landed estates, acting as bankers for nobles, ecclesiastics, and kings, they increasingly gained power but always sought for more. In these ways, then, sixteenth-century society experienced a continual economic and social upheaval.
Quite naturally these changes had a profound effect on political organization and stability. No longer was the noble with his retinue of armed servants and vassals of such great importance. More efficient collection of taxes and the use of gunpowder had made the medieval noble as anachronistic as Don Quixote. The rising middle class with its relatively large supply of liquid wealth was quite prepared to support the monarch who would guarantee them protection and peace at home and abroad, who would pay them substantial carrying charges for loans, and who would, on occasion, open the ranks of the nobility to their sons and daughters by conferring titles. As a result, many of the national monarchies experienced a rapid growth of royal power or, in a country like England, of parliamentary authority under the aegis of the monarchy.
At the same time, every European monarch also saw on the eastern horizon the forces of Islam which threatened to destroy Europe, and with it Christendom. Yet this did not deter the Spaniards and the French from making alliances and waging wars to restrict each other’s power and prestige. Thus Europe lay constantly under the threat of both internal wars and foreign invasions now made completely inhuman by the unconscionable introduction of firearms. Politically, Europe seemed to stand on the brink of destruction.
Accompanying, and perhaps basic to, these various changing aspects of European life, was an intellectual and moral revolution every bit as radical. Partially causing and partially caused by other forces operating within European society, it formalized many of the changes taking place in the economic, social, and political spheres. A new attitude toward life, toward one’s neighbor, toward oneself, and toward God had become common.
The new affluent society and changes in philosophical thinking led men to begin to concentrate their interest upon this life rather than the one to come. Taught by the ancient classics now becoming well known through the labors of scholars and publishers, men came to believe they could become almost divine by using their reason. Through discipline and culture they could gain the greatest felicity upon earth; they did not need to dream of a future life. In fact, some, such as Pomponazzi, believed that faith in an afterlife was really immoral. Self-exaltation here was considered to be enough.
Naturally this presupposition brought a change in moral standards. Men began to believe that they should deal with each situation as it arose and formulate a decision on the basis of what reason taught in those circumstances. The belief that a divine law existed for the guidance of men, a law to which they had to adhere or take the consequences, disappeared in many circles of intellectual and social leaders. The outcome was that even in the Church standards of right and wrong became very vague and uncertain, while in political, economic, and personal life moral principles seemed largely to disappear, not only for the upper levels of society but even for the common man. Men boasted of their freedom and their liberty to act solely according to their reason or their passions. Rabelais with his ribaldry brings this whole picture into focus.
Yet, while many boasted of the changes taking place on the ground that man was coming of age and entering a new era, many also had grave doubts. If things continued as they were, civilization might well fall apart. Furthermore, many also had gnawing fears that there might be a Day of Judgment, there might be a God of righteousness who would demand that man give an account of himself. To solve the problem some turned back to the Middle Ages, hoping to revive the medieval church with its doctrines and its commands. Others, usually under the influence of Augustine, the fifth-century Bishop of Hippo, turned to the Bible. There they found answers that medieval man had forgotten long ago: justification by faith, salvation by grace, rebirth by the Spirit of God. The result was the Reformation of the sixteenth century.
As one compares the sixteenth century with today, he cannot but feel that contemporary man stands in a situation very similar to that of his brethren of the days of Luther, Calvin, and Cranmer. It looks as though Western culture and civilization is heading directly for collapse. Yet 450 years ago God by his Spirit used a chaotic situation to bring men back to himself. May it not be that he will do the same in our own day and age? Our responsibility is to take our stand as did Luther and leave the rest in His hands.
Will A Believer Steal?
In John Aiken’s Alexander the Great and a Thracian Robber we come on these impressive words: “What is a conqueror?… All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is, then, the difference, but that as you were born a king and I a private man, you have been able to become a greater robber than I?”
Theft wears many faces; it operates in many fields. Were human history given as a drama, perhaps the largest cast of characters would be associated with some sort of thievery. Observing the pirating and plundering that goes on in places high and low, one might suppose that the Apostle Paul had written to the Ephesians, “Let him that stole, steal”!
Almost any kind of wrong involves stealing. The order “Thou shalt not steal” is inherent in any one of the Ten Commandments. By having other gods we rob God of his supreme right to be worshiped alone. Taking God’s name in vain, we rob him of reverence due him. Dishonoring our parents, we cheat them of their rightful respect. Profaning the Lord’s Day, we rob it of its sacredness. Murder is the worst kind of robbery. Adultery is stealing of affection that belongs to another. By bearing false witness we may steal a man’s reputation, his liberty, or his life.
Theft is action emanating from the condition of the human heart. George Herbert said, “He that steals an egg would steal an ox.” Thievery takes innumerable forms. Chicanery, cheating, misrepresentation of commodities, disguising of products—all these are theft. “These traitorous thieves, accursed and unfair,” roared François Villon, “the vinters that put water in our wine!”
In a scriptural sense we are all God’s guests: to presume on his hospitality by regarding his creation as ours unconditionally is a form of theft. Paul not only orders the thief to quit stealing but commands him to go to work that he may start giving (Eph. 4:28). Every non-giver robs somebody. Malachi pictures people who probably wouldn’t have pilfered a piggy bank as cosmic bandits pillaging the bank of heaven! “… Ye have robbed me … in tithes and offerings.… Ye have robbed me, even this whole nation” (Mal. 3:8, 9).
Thievery assumes many forms and operates in many places. But surely it must appear the most dishonorable when it operates in God’s house. One could scarcely play a more ignominious role than that of the thieving believer! How shall we sing psalms in the congregation of the Lord if we have robbed men of eternal hope? If stealing bread from a man is wrong, what if we steal from him the Bread of life? If failure to share our goods with the needy is theft, what is our failure to share with him the Gospel of grace?
Not all believers are thieves. Many have taken up the cross and committed themselves with abandonment to God’s kingdom. With the Apostle Paul they know that God’s love and Christ’s death have made them debtors to “both the wise and the unwise,” and they are bent on paying that debt.
They not only believe that Christ is the Redeemer; they also believe that he speaks the truth when he says, “… unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:48). They will not steal from men the most valuable thing of all: the Word of life everlasting.—LON WOODRUM, Hastings, Michigan.
Milton D. Hunnex is professor and head of the department of philosophy at Willamette University, Salem, Oregon. He received the B.A. and M.A. degrees from the University of Redlands and the Ph.D. in the Inter-collegiate Program in Graduate Studies, Claremont, California. He is author of “Philosophies and Philosophers.”
