Stanley Hauerwas

I am going out to see Stanley Hauerwas tomorrow at a conference in Chicago. He is speaking on whether or not the church matters. He is a man and that is a topic that I consider worth driving seven hours to hear. I confess that I am not all that hip on Hauerwas’ work; I’ve read bits of the Hauerwas reader and about the first half of Resident Aliens and so I figured before I find myself sitting next to him at breakfast I better read his memoir so I’ll have something to say. 51pv0-Op3CL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_I have heard good things about Hannah’s Child and have been intrigued by the man ever since I heard that he personally responds to every single letter that he receives but this trip finally gave me the occasion to sit down and read. I’m glad I did. It’s a fascinating Bildungsroman replete with love, madness, ideas, sex, and God. “This book is very different kind of work in which you expose and make vulnerable your own life in a way that cannot help but make you feel a bit uncomfortable. It’s a very special book for me. I care deeply about it” Hauerwas says in a 2010 Duke interview, the year Hannah’s Child was published. “I suppose if I’m remembered for any book that I’ve written, it’d be this one.”

In a way I felt bad for Hauerwas throughout the book because of just how exposed and vulnerable he is in the work. By that I mean that I am by nature someone that is extremely cautious of other people’s privacy, especially if they are a public figure and yet even I began thinking that I was reading a letter from a friend that I’ve known for many years. I figured that if I was feeling this way, every single person that has ever read this book must consider Hauerwas a friend and that must be exhausting for him, though he does say that his desire for friendship may be somewhat pathological. Perhaps what is most remarkable is that though the memoir was written by a theologian who has exerted more influence on the Church than all but a handful of his peers he makes you feel like you are reading the memoirs of your best friend from high school who teaches down at the local tech school.

Hauerwas

At times this offhanded approach felt like too much such as when he says that “I don’t even know what it means to be a teacher” and yet has spent four decades teaching and continually refers to the joy that it brings him and the importance of that work. Or when he says that “He is a Christian because it helps him live more truthfully” when the fact is that his entire schema of ideas is built on the Barthian claim that it is only by the light of the cross and resurrection of Jesus that we have any idea what truth means. I can’t let him get away with vacuous statements like that and neither should you. But aside from those more annoying misplaced confessions of ignorance, Hauerwas leaves a lot of his cards on the table. He doesn’t even mention meeting Pope Benedict, for example and yet manages to refer to dozens of his students by name.

Another remarkable aspect of the book is that even though it is a memoir it often feels more like a sequence of sketches about his friends and family than Hauerwas himself. Hauerwas rarely reveals his inner thoughts in a way that one would expect from a memoir and he even admits in the end that this book is more about his friends than it is about him. There is a striking moment, more than halfway through the book, when his first wife has left him and he returns home to an empty house. He said it felt “lonely” and the reader feels like he is able to exhale for the first time because though Hauerwas has felt like an old friend for the whole book, this is the first time we are able to truly feel with our friend, because it is the first time that he has let us see that his work ethic won’t be able to solve the loneliness he feels at the moment.

Somehow, Hauerwas manages to render university politics with the flare of a novelist and, as other readers have said, it was a hard book to put down. I think the reason for that is that Hauerwas finds every single person and every single thing that he gives his attention to to be of infinite complexity and interest and that is an infectious position to witness. It is also a truly Christian position. St. Thomas said that we cannot know the essence even of a fly.

If you’re interested in how Hauerwas became a world-renowned theologian and the steps you need to take in order to achieve that status, this isn’t the book for you. If you are interested in how a lower-class Texas guy has navigated his faith and work and family and love a great story, you’ll have a great time with it. Hauerwas manages to accept the fact that he is theologian who possesses a great deal of clout, and there is no false humility here, but he never writes in a way that feels like “damn, it’s good to be me” as he so easily could have. When he says that “I am a full professor with an endowed chair in a top research university” it doesn’t cause the wannabe academic in me to bristle with jealously because we’ve seen how much work and pain has been put in to be able to write that sentence. Hauerwas says that what it means to have children “is to learn to live without control.” The fact that Hauerwas has given us this book means that he has taken that message to heart.

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Reading David Bentley Hart (and His New Book of Essays)

Hart- Hidden and the ManifestTo my mind, there are few intellectual delights sweeter than reading the well-tuned prose of David Bentley Hart. I’m aware that this statement may occasion a few chortles and raised eyebrows—I think of the pastor friend who said Hart’s Beauty of the Infinite was the most difficult thing he’s ever tried to read and consequently gave it away— but over time, Hart’s writings have become to me like the sipping of a fine port after so many cans of Dr. Pepper or Mahler’s Resurrection symphony after so many Beyoncé songs, if you prefer. Hart’s new book of previously published essays is more digestible than Beauty of the Infinite, —more hours d’oeuvre style than full dress, if only because if you’re not enjoying the taste of one essay you can grab another—but it’s certainly contains the caloric content and the substance of a rich and full meal.

Hart’s book is a theological and philosophical treasure and is a rich testament to his unerring learnedness, eloquence and profound intellectual range, as John Milbank attests on the back blurb. Perhaps I may serve you better, dear reader —oh you, likely tortured soul, this far deep into philosophy and theology!— if instead of trying to tidily summarize these essays, (you really must just spend time with them), I am able to position you to better understand Hart when you do decide to finally try and read him.

There is no doubt that it is much easier to digest a three minute Beyoncé song than a 45 minute Mahler symphony and so you must know that reading Hart takes work and time. He is an acquired taste and if you’re anything like me, you will have several different stages in your journey with David Bentley Hart, resembling, somewhat strangely, the Kübler-Ross model of the five stages of grief.

  1. The first was the bewilderment stage– In this stage I was determined to understand what the man was saying even if it meant coming at the cost of spending more time looking up the words he was using than actually reading him. My first encounter was reading Atheist Delusions as a college undergrad and at many times I really had very little idea of what, exactly, Hart was saying but I knew that it looked very impressive and that I very well would like to swordfight with atheists this way some day and look as smart and accomplished doing it. But what exactly did it mean to be rather petulant or have a note of asperity? Dictionary… This stage often continues into the present.
  2. The Cheerleading or the Righteous Anger phase– This phase found me running up to the New Atheist bullies, or anyone that would disagree with him, behind his coattails—Hart, the brave older brother— casting stones and then running away. “Take that you bad guys that don’t believe in Jesus! I’ve got a very smart and clever brother that will take you to task.” In this phase, I enjoyed the ammunition that Hart gave me and felt that if he could be so disparaging to any and all that disagreed that it was not only appropriate to belittle opponents so and take great pleasure in laughing at their intellectual inferiority. As a young apologist wannabe sentences like “Dennet’s book is utterly inconsequential—in fact, it is something of an embarrassment…“ and “Dawkins [the] tireless tractarian [with an] embarrassing incapacity for philosophical reasoning” were like bullets in the chamber of my rhetorical gun. This stage lasted for about three years or until around the second year of graduate school when I realized that this roughshod apologetic approach might be winning some battles but losing the war.
  3. The Turn (Kehre)– In this stage I found myself distancing myself from Hart and his spewing prose and wondered why Hart seemed so angry all the time. Why all the vitriol? Doesn’t Paul say that if he speaks without love he is but a clanging cymbal? Was it really necessary to disparage those who thought differently than he did so hostilely? Doesn’t he like anybody? I found myself being frustrated with his disparagement of anyone and everyone that didn’t agree with him.
  4. Engagement– This stage began in earnest again with the release of Hart’s book The Experience of God in 2014. I was at the tail end of an M.A. in philosophy and I found that Hart’s book nicely captured many of the philosophical arguments I had been studying, tidying them up in their relationship to my faith and why, exactly, these ideas mattered—something that is easily lost in the midst of studies. I relied heavily on his exposition of the anologia entis why the prennial philosophical question of “Why is there something rather than nothing” was misunderstood, ignored, and unanswerable by modern atheists— in my case, Feuerbach.
  5. Acceptance– In the end (which I consider to just have arrived at with the reading of these essays), I got over Hart’s cantankerousness because he is just too helpful and brilliant to write off as simply a demagogue. It seems that even Hart’s heart has begun to softent: he writes in the preface to this new volume that “I have also decided not to attempt to soften some of the more immoderate or provocative remarks in these essays, despite my resolve to strike a more emollient tone whenever I can…” Whether this change of tone is strictly for personal advancement or arises from the injunctions of the gospel that Hart proclaims, I could not say, but I was assuaged (not that I really needed a reason to be) and am curious how Hart’s invective will change in his future work.david-bentley-hart

Maybe your relationship hasn’t been nearly as tumultuous as mine has. Who knows? Maybe you have not the slightest idea what I am talking about and yet have read this far! Regardless, this collection of essays is a treasure and it will be a volume continually close to hand, both for its example of the power of rhetoric and for its rich expositions of the most basic and fundamental tenants of Christianity read in the light of the best of the tradition. Who can resist sentences like: It imbues the works of Augustine’s senescence with an inexpungible tincture of tragic moral idiocy, one that he bequeathed to broad streams of Catholic and Protestant tradition” (139) and “Ultimately, Heidegger succeeds only at returning to an oblivion of being as profound as his own… (24)?

Did I mention that Hart makes for a rather polarizing figure?

If there is one interweaving thread throughout Hart’s work (and these essays) it is the continual reference to the “conceptual revolution” of Christianity’s understanding of Being. That is, because of its doctrine of creation, Christianity forced a reconceptualization of the entire history of metaphysics. As Hart says,

Herein lies the great ‘discovery’ of the Christian metaphysical tradition: the true nature of transcendence, transcendence understood not as mere dialectical supremacy, and not as ontic absence, but as the truly transcendent and therefore utterly immediate act of God, in his own infinity, giving being to beings (109).

In other words, God is not some type of super creature among creatures (or man writ large as Feuerbach would have it) but existence itself. “Without him nothing was made that was made.” Hart uses this Thomistic doctrine between ens and esse to ground his critique of Heidegger in the first essay “The Offering of Names” and to summarize the uniqueness of Christian thought in “The Destiny of Christian Metaphysics” and it also features prominently in the title essay “The Hidden and the Manifest.” There are two important treatments of the much-maligned doctrine of God’s impassibility as well as two essays on Gregory of Nyssa an extended treatment of Milton and discussions about infinity.

If you’re just beginning with Hart or a fairly recent comer to metaphysics then I would suggest you start with Experience of God and then pick up this book of essays. (If you’re really just a pugilistic looking to excoriate your opponents, The Atheist Delusions is the book for you, though chapter 15 in that book I consider maybe the high point of any book I’ve read in the last five years. And it’s probably thanks to Hart that I even know what a pugilist is….) You’ll be glad you did.

Christian Doctrine and the Old Testament

Christian Doctrine and the Old Testament: Theology in the Service of Biblical Exegesis by Gary A. Anderson. Baker Academic (April 2017, 220 pp).

The relationship between theology and biblical studies is fraught with misunderstanding. While maybe not always murderous in intent, their relationship often feels like what it must have been like to stand between Cain and Abel—strained and tenuous, at best. There are certainly numerous exceptions, but generally speaking, it often seems that theologians have no personal stake in the claims they are making while biblical scholars are so entrenched in their traditional reading that they miss incorporating fruitful theological insights into their exegesis. Anderson-Doctrine and the OTSo there’s something humbling—perhaps even startling, sadly, because it’s so rare—in a serious theologian rolling up his sleeves and doing meaningful exegetical work informed by theology and the tradition, which so obviously affects not only the scholar’s career, but their personal faith as well. Gary Anderson, professor of Catholic Theology at Notre Dame, is such a scholar and Christian.

With tongue firmly planted in cheek, Anderson claims on the first page of his newly released book of essays, Christian Doctrine and the Old Testament, that he makes the “rather audacious claim” that theological doctrines actually aid the process of biblical exegesis and, when properly used, play a key role in uncovering the meaning of a text. As Robert Louis Wilken blurbs on the back, this claim, and his understanding of the historical-critical method, theology, and the history of biblical interpretation, makes Anderson a “rare creature among biblical scholars.” That sounds like quite the mouthful but, to extend the metaphor, he is a rare bird able to be identified and understood by all those who have the patience and discipline to explore, and not just by fellow expert ornithologists. Anderson writes clearly and intelligibly while also reminding the reader that serious reading of the Bible theologically is a “demanding enterprise” and reminds the nontheological reader of the benefits of “having some theological sophistication.”

In fact, the most startling and welcome aspect of this book for me was how this collection of essays read much more like extended devotionals and meditations than a scholarly précis. Throughout the book I found myself continually rediscovering the Old Testament—particularly through the eyes of the Church Fathers— and wanting to go back to the texts. There are exegetical gems which have the potential to reorient ones reading of Torah, for example: “The construction of the tabernacle is the climax of creation” (64) and “the moment of lighting the sacrificial pyre is the very apogee of the Torah” (ibid).

Gary-Anderson
Gary A. Anderson has written books on sin and Christian charity and writes for First Things and other magazines.

There are moments that may make the more conservative scholar uncomfortable like Anderson’s contention that “Paul’s turn to the figure of Adam as the prime example of a biblical sinner is not in accord with the basic thrust of the Old Testament itself” (73) and others times when all sides might feel a bit put out like in the third chapter on creation: “Though Gen. 1 does not teach creatio ex nihilo in the way early Christian theologians might have thought of it, it does not rule it out as decisively as many modern readers have assumed” (48). There is also plenty that the Protestant scholar will find exception to such as Anderson’s study of Mariology and his chapter on the biblical warrant for purgatory but he might also make the Catholic theologian uncomfortable with his usage of Barth in places. Above all, I would say that this book brought me further into the heart of God, which for reader, and I would daresay, author alike, there could be no greater hope.

There are three other subthemes at the heart of the essays—apart from the main thesis that doctrine and biblical studies belong together—that Anderson identifies for the reader:

  1. There is no single method of reading Scripture advocated or that holds sway in the book. This is illustrated in his favorable use of Barth in the proper biblical grounding of original sin (which, provocatively, neither thinker believes is found in Genesis 3, proper) alongside chapters arguing the biblical warrant of Mariology and purgatory.
  2. The need for biblical scholarship to make a concerted effort to properly understand what theological doctrines actually wish to affirm. One of the biggest hindrances between the exegetical grounding of Christian doctrine, Anderson writes, is the ignorance of biblical scholars actual grasp of theological doctrines.
  3. The importance of the Old Testament, with particular influence on Jewish interpretation, as a source for Christian doctrine.

Though these themes are on display throughout the essays, it is easy to lose them in the midst of the specific material of the individual chapters. I found myself wanting more internal consistency and coherence among the essays. To that end, Anderson’s book would have been richer if he would have taken the time to write a new section on methodology or discussed in more depth the proper relationship between theology and scriptural exegesis and how they are to inform one another. We see the fruit of Anderson’s methodology but it would have been more satisfying to see behind the ways in which that fruit was picked. Nevertheless, Anderson has given readers a treat in his careful theological exposition of the scriptures.

*Thanks to Baker Academic for the review copy.

To Be or Not to Be? It Is the Question

To be or not to be? We ask ourselves this question everyday, whether we realize it or not, through probably not in the existential context in which Hamlet gave us this most famous of lines. But we do decide in every action whether or not what we do will give us being or deprive us of what it means to be fully human. So, what does it mean to live a full and complete human life? I’m so glad you asked! Let me tell you what my friend James Schall has to say on the matter. Let me begin with a story. Schall-Life of the Mind

In graduate school, I asked the Intercollegiate Studies Institute (ISI) if I could be their campus representative, which I realize now, is somewhat akin to asking the fire department if I could bring my watering can to help fight their fires. They probably rolled their eyes but they obliged and so I became the pioneering member of ISI at the University of Dallas. ISI is a conservative educational organization whose purpose is to teach “the core ideas behind the free market, the American Founding, and Western civilization, ideas that are rarely taught in [the] classroom” and so being the ISI rep at a school like the University of Dallas— which exists to teach the great books and keep Western civilization alive— did not make me their most valuable asset. A majority of the students were already bought in to ISI’s core ideas and so I now realize why I could never get anyone to contact me with questions I had. (Book reviews can be so cathartic!) ISI has a lot of rich people who give them a good deal of money and so I became the recipient of boxes of free ISI books. One of the thinkers they introduced me to was Father James Schall, S.J., through his book The Life of the Mind. I remain forever indebted.

C.S. Lewis famously said that one has not read a great book until they have read it more than once (though you have to read it once to read it again). I would place Schall’s oeuvre in that category, and Life of the Mind is no exception. It is a book that could be profitably read over and over in order to discover anew or for the thousandth time what truly matters and what one should spend their precious time pursuing. Schall’s book is like a fortune cookie from Ancient Athens in that you can turn to almost any page, select any sentence, and meditate on its profundity throughout the day. Let me concretely apply this bold statement by opening the book at random to three places and recording what I find, which I can do, because I am my own editor.

  1. “We do sense, however, that we need speculative reasons to explain of justify our practical decisions and actions, especially if we suspect that what we do is wrong by some transcendent standard—that is, if we presume we do have such a thing as a conscience” (124, The Whole Risk for a Human Being).
  2. “Modern economics has shown ways for the drudgery of labor to be performed with dignity and profit by free citizens. If one thinks, for instance, of modern sewage and waste management systems, we see how the work formerly forced on slaves can be carried out in another, more human, way” (29, Artes Liberales—The Liberal Arts).
  3. “Not only am I, I, but that which is not myself is just as real as I am” (107, The Metaphysics of Walking).
rev-james-schall14_0
Father Schall, walking metaphysically, metaphorically, with a magnificently misaligned name tag.

Look at the chapter that last citation is taking from: The Metaphysics of Walking! What does that even mean!? I know that you are intrigued. Other chapter titles include such gems as: On the Things That Depend on Philosophy; On the Consolations of Illiteracy, Revisited; Books and the Intellectual Life; On the Joys and Travails of Thinking.

If you are looking for a good graduation present for either high school or college seniors, look no further my friends. One of the most shocking moments of Schall’s book to our modern sensibilities is when he reminds us that some pleasures are worth pursuing and others are not. In other words, some things are better than others! Any author willing to sacrifice his career at a prestigious East coast university (Schall teaches at Georgetown) with such a brazenly old-fashioned statement deserve a standing ovation.

I had the privilege of meeting Schall in grad school—I hope that I gave him a standing ovation, alas, I cannot remember—and I consider it one of the highlights of that period of my life. Wearing an eye patch and continually dabbing the excess saliva from the corners of his mouth as he spoke, Schall’s body was deteriorated but his face beamed like a child, mind sprightly, eyes radiating with the joie de vivre that comes from a life of disciplined intellectual delights and the continual back and forth of students and teacher. The Life of the Mind is a book that every person should have on their bookshelf, and hopefully, more often than not, in their hands. There are few books that come to my mind so full of life and wisdom and few thinkers that have done so much with the joys and challenges of the intellectual and spiritual life as Father James Schall. It will be a sad day, indeed, when his astute mind and childlike countenance go to find their final rest.

Reading Dante in 2017

dante_alighieriI’ve been re-reading my Dante in prep for a class I’m teaching tomorrow and have been struck once again by the power of literature. I realize that is not saying a whole lot, but when you are able to slow down enough and let a work like the Commedia read you, rather than you just plowing through it, it’s a truly remarkable experience. Rod Dreher in his new book, How Dante Can Save Your Life says that “Dante knows you better than you know yourself.” Before you roll your eyes consider the opening lines again, from Dorothy Sayers translation.

Midway this way of life we’re bound upon,

I woke to find myself in a dark wood

where the right road was wholly lost and gone.

Does language get more beautiful? Those three lines alone evoke desolation and a holy longing, unfilled desire and disconsolation in a way that an entire current NYT bestseller may never do in 400 pages.

And so Dante is everyman, on the perilous journey of life, lost in the darkness of sin 52225612looking for light, which arrives through Virgil, the embodiment of all the goodness and truth and beauty that God’s divine creation has to offer apart from divine grace. But Virgil’s limitations, his being outside of union with divine grace in the person of Jesus Christ, means that he cannot take Dante where he needs to go. For that, he needs to revelation of divine grace itself: his darling Beatrice. And thus the story begins. As Dreher says, “You will not be the same after reading it. How could you be? All of life is in there.”

Reading La Divina Commedia is not easy. But nothing worthwhile ever is.

Read Paul in Your Bible, Then Read This

apostle-paul

Years ago, I was talking with a friend on the phone when he began telling me about finishing E.P. Sanders Paul and Palestinian Judaism and another work by Jimmy Dunn. The issues that he brought up from those books seemed so foreign and out of reach that he might have well been reading to me the Nag Hammadi manuscripts in the original Coptic (which I’m sure he would have liked to do also). At the time of that conversation, I had studied a couple of the classic studies on the historical Jesus, but long scholarly tomes on the apostle Paul were another matter. Anderson-Paul's New PerspectiveTalking about the impact that the 4QMMT Dead Sea Scroll had on the way we read Paul seemed an exercise for an old librarian in Cairo somewhere, not for a 20-something campus pastor. And yet, while I knew that those ideas mattered, and mattered a great deal, I wondered where to begin. I wish that Garwood Anderson’s book had been on my shelf back then, because it is the place to start. One Amazon reviewer said all you need to know: “If you like John Piper and N.T. Wright, buy this book!”

For those of us who care deeply about the New Testament, especially Paul, Professor Anderson’s book on Paul published last year is like pulling away the curtains to let the light in. “Friendly to all but friends to none” was the phrase that kept coming to mind as Anderson finds something to like in both the new, old, and post-new perspectives on Paul but yet is not content to take any approach wholesale. He cites a particular kinship with Michael Bird’s approach, “especially in his care to make rapprochement between divided factions, showing that the differences are less severe than frequently supposed” (108).

Anderson’s study is incredibly learned and yet is lively reading. (To read or not read all of the footnotes the first time through was my continual dilemma.) As the well-respected Pauline scholar Michael Gorman blurbs on the back, “Anderson has mastered the literature produced by the traditional, new and post-new perspectives on Paul.” And yet the reader takes comfort in Anderson’s honest confession on the first page of the book that “If I were granted but one desideratum of Pauline scholarship it would be that they all take a decade of Jubilee, cease publication, and let me catch up.”

All of the big names are here and introduced: Sanders, Hays, Wright, Dunn, Gorman, Barclay, Campbell, Martyn, Bird, and Watson; and all of the debates are summarily dissected: pistis christou, justification, impartation and imputation, solution and plight, a “center” of Pauline scholarship, works and law, Paul’s “conversion” as well as fair-length treatments of contentious passages like Romans 3:21-4:28 and Philippians 3:1-11 that contain material seized by both perspectives. Admittedly, those who have done no to little reading in Pauline studies (maybe you are scratching your head at the above list) will have to work hard to find their way around Anderson’s book, but for my money, there is no better work out that is both a generous and accessible introduction to serious Pauline scholarship— as well as a contribution to the scholarship itself—than Paul’s New Perspective.

Anderson
Anderson is professor of Greek and New Testament at Nashotah House Theological Seminary in Wisconsin.

In large part, Anderson is in lock step with the new perspective (and he admits there really is no such monolith as “the” new perspective) but believes that some of their positions become “reductive overcorrections.” The provocative thesis that drives Anderson’s book past the first 150 pages of fantastic summary of the Pauline debates is that contradictory schools of Pauline interpretation are “both right just not at the same time” (379). That is because neither perspective pays adequate attention to the fact that Paul was only human and that, inevitably, his theology would have changed and shifted over time. And so Anderson proposes rapproachment between the either/or debates in Pauline scholarship by looking at how Paul’s thought developed over time. He says, “The shortcomings of both the TPP (traditional perspective on Paul) and the NPP (new perspective on Paul) are accounted for in the same way: both schools of interpretation are insufficiently attentive to the manner in which Paul’s soteriology has developed from his earliest to later writings” (ibid). In other words, the new perspective is right to stress that phrases like “works of the law” in Galatians is written as shorthand for Jewish ethnic descent (which includes “boundary markers” like circumcision table fellowship) and should not be read as generic good deeds done in order to merit favor with God. And yet, those who transfer that reading to “works” as mere shorthand for “works of the law” fail to adequately see how Paul’s thought has undergone development from specific Jewish and Gentile concerns to more basic anthropological considerations.

Though Anderson’s developmental thesis does not depend on enlargement of the accepted seven-letter Pauline corpus, a chunk of the book is devoted to making a case for the disputed letters. Anderson makes a case for the inclusion of Colossians, Ephesians, and the Pastoral Epistles, along with the undisputed Galatians, Romans, 1 Thessalonians, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Philippians and Philemon. The extension of the Pauline corpus from the undisputed seven letters to a contested 13 letter corpus is important, Anderson believes, because it allows us to fill out Paul’s theology and development: “I’m persuaded that excessive trepidation on this matter has precluded New Testament scholars from seeing a possibly larger picture” (166). In arguing for their authenticity, Anderson summarizes his case by saying that “far from a misunderstanding of or derivation from Paul’s soteriology, these letters corroborate a trajectory already evident in the undisputed letters, so much so that one would be justified in thinking that Paul himself wrote them” (381).

Let me end by quoting a juicy bit at the conclusion of Anderson’s book that will give you a feel for where Anderson is going and hopefully will entice you to pick this one up:

The rapprochement offered here succeeds only under two conditions, to be sketched now briefly: 1) that justification cease to be the center and preoccupation of Pauline theology such that it is made to bear weight for which it was not intended and 2) that union with Christ once and for all take [sic] its place as the central and integrative fulcrum of Pauline soteriology in all of its juridical, relational, transformational, and ecclesial dimensions (384).

For those looking for a way to better understand New Testament and Pauline scholarship and the points in the key debates, there is no better place to begin than Paul’s New Perspective. But I must warn you, once you begin reading in Pauline studies, it’s hard to stop. But it will make you read your New Testament like you never have before. As Wesley Hill says, in Anderson’s book “one is reminded yet again why wrestling with Paul is so invigorating.”