Category: Other Christians

I may (or may not) post a few thoughts on White’s rant-response later, but I thought I’d take a moment to answer something a couple of commenters touched on: my answering “challenges” White has issued soliciting responses on particular subjects.

My schedule is extremely busy, and I don’t have time to do a lot of things. One thing I don’t have time to do is read James White’s blog very often. As a result, I am blissfully unaware of many of the “challenges” I suspect he has made to me. Most have probably quietly gone off into the nether regions of his blog archives without me ever seeing them. The same goes for his webcast, which I don’t listen to. If, as he said in his reply, he recently played comments of mine from a debate years ago and asked for clarification of them, I wouldn’t know it, ’cause I don’t listen to his show. Neither, for that matter, do I read his books. He apparently thinks that I ought to respond to something that he wrote about James 2, but as I don’t own a copy of the book in question and haven’t read it, I wouldn’t know what it is he’s referring to.

The world is a big place, and the world of ideas is even bigger. I simply don’t have the time to monitor James White’s activities on a daily basis. Since (despite my open invitation to do so) he seems unwilling to pick up the phone and actually talk to me, it’s a very hit or miss thing whether I will even be aware of challenges he may toss my way. I suspect that, for the vast majority of such challenges, I never hear about them.

So that’s one way time enters the equation.

Another has to do with my ability to respond. At any given moment, I usually have several major writing projects I’m working on for work or for myself (this blog being one of the latter), and thus even if I become aware of one of White’s challenges, there’s a real question I have to face of whether at the moment it would be responsible of me to take time away from something else just to respond to whatever it is he’s demanding a response on.

Consider, for example, his latest challenge. He wants me to respond to something that was said in a debate the two of us had something like eight years ago. In order to justice to this request, I would need to:

1) Go find a copy of the debate in question.

2) Listen to it to see what was actually said (and thus make sure it isn’t being misrepresented).

3) Try to figure out wherever it may be that White has previously explained his concern (since he doesn’t explain it here; he just alludes to having made the demand in the past).

4) Go look up and read that place.

5) Compose a response.

6) Polish and revise it to avoid the foreseeable criticisms White will make.

7) Publish it.

8) Interact with him over it later, since no matter what I say it will provoke another vehement, densely-worded, triumphalistic exposition from him about why he isn’t satisfied with the response and how this one again illustrates the inferiority of Catholic apologists (and me in particular) and the superiority of Calvinism (and himself in particular).

9) Get tired of dealing with him.

10) And, finally, quit responding again–in the knowledge that he is likely to begin demanding further clarifications on the loose ends of this exchange for the next eight years.

His demand regarding James 2 is even worse since the performance of the above steps would be complicated by the fact that, even after I located the book, I would have to read it and try to determine what in it he is referring to. That’s a very dicey proposition, and he would be almost certain to accuse me of not responding to the thing he wanted me to respond to, or not responding in the depth he wanted, or not responding with the attitude he wanted, or not responding with a proper understanding of the context in which he had written, or not responding to all the other things he’d like me to respond to.

A third way time enters the equation involves the question of prudence. Since he won’t ever be satisfied (and, as his latest response continues to illustrate, he is incapable of admitting publicly that he’s simply wrong), there’s a risk that by dropping everything just in order to respond to the latest demand by James White that you will habituate him to this kind of treatment and thus encourage a repetition of the behavior in the future, leading to a further consumption of time as the cycle repeats itself in the future.

There are also considerations besides time. One is the general frustration factor in dealing with White’s attitude. Another is the fact that responding at this juncture would reward him in his efforts at misdirection.

That is, after all, what his huffing and puffing about John 6:44 and James 2 is. He brings those up to try to misdirect the reader from the fact that I have pointed out several howling errors on his part. A responsible person would say something like, “Well, yeah, it looks like I was wrong” or even “Well, yeah, I may be wrong, so I’ll check into this more” or “I phrased myself sloppily, so I’ll try to write more clearly.” But, since White seems unable to ever admit error on his part, he huffs and puffs about context (which wasn’t in or linked in the entry) and who he was writing for, and he throws demands around about why don’t I respond to what he’d like me to respond to and thus take attention away from the errors in what he wrote.

I’m very disinclined to reward such behavior, though time is still the primary factor.

Having said all that, I’m not averse to answering specific questions if White can summon up the wherewithal to pose his questions politely and concisely, in a way that doesn’t require me to go look up lots of sources.

For example: “It seems to me that John 6:44 means THIS, but you one said something that gave me the impression that it means THAT. Did I understand you correctly, are you still of that view, and if so, why do you prefer your interpretation to mine?”

That would be a nice, reasonable way to ask. As opposed to:

So let’s compare things: I have pointed out the glaring incapacity of James Akin as a biblical exegete regarding comments he has made in public debate on John 6:44. His erroneous comments are available on the web. In comparison, Akin chooses to focus upon three sentences in a blog entry, and even then, can only ignore the offered context and insist upon fuller definitions. I’d think one of the chief figures of Catholic Answers could produce a little better effort in light of the three dozen debates we offer on Roman Catholicism and the numerous books in print relevant to the topic. Maybe Mr. Akin would like to comment on the exegesis of James 2 in The God Who Justifies that directly refutes his own claims on that passage? Let’s call Mr. Akin to a little higher standard, shall we?

Perhaps we should call Mr. White to a little higher standard as well.

So I’m reading this blog that I seldom look at, and I notice the following entry head, which says:

Emmerich to be Beatified

“Hm,” I think to myself. “Didn’t know that.”

The bloggist continues:

Nothing really startling here. Anne Catherine Emmerich, the 19th century visionary whose book, The Dolorous Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ provided a major portion of Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, . . .

And I’m thinking, “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘a major portion,’ but there were some elements in there.”

. . . will be beatified at a ceremony October 3rd, . . .

‘Kay. Be nice to have a source on that. ‘Cept that it seems to be this bloggist’s practice to rarely provide links–especially if it’s to someone he doesn’t like.

. . . a move which puts her on the road to “sainthood.”

Urrm. Being beatified doesn’t “put one on the road to sainthood.” There are several steps before one even gets to beatification. In keeping with the road metaphor, beatification is the penultimate stop along the road.

For those who only know the biblical definition of a saint . . .

Oop. Here it comes.

. . . (i.e., a Christian, called and holy not because of what we have done, but because of what Christ has done for us), . . .

Uh, yeah. Right. That’s the biblical definition.

So when Matthew 27:52 says that at the Crucifixion “The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised” (NASB), what it means is that many of the Christians who died and were buried before Christ came back to life.

And when Daniel 4:13 says that a saint (or “holy one”; same word in the original) came down from heaven and appeared in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, it means that a Christian came down from heaven.

And when, in John 6:69, Peter calls Jesus the Saint of God (or “Holy One”; again, same word in the original), he means that Jesus was “a Christian, called and holy not because of what he has done, but because of what Christ has done for him.”

Further, when Ps. 71:22 calls God the Saint of Israel (or “Holy One” of Israel; again the difference exists only at the fiat of the translators), it means that God is “a Christian, called and holy not because of what he has done, but because of what Christ has done for him.”

Yah. It’s not like there are multiple different uses of the word “saint” to be found in the pages of Scripture and we need to be sensitive to their nuances. We can speak univocally about “the biblical definition of a saint”–to be found in Book of Definitions, located just after the Book of Revelation.

But back to our bloggist, who tells us that:

. . . in Roman Catholicism a saint is a person who has more merit than temporal punishment upon their soul at death, so that they do not need to pass through purgatory for cleansing, but are fit for the presence of God immediately.

WHOA! Hold your horses there, pardner!

First off, people don’t have temporal punishment “on their soul at death.” According to a traditional articulation, a person may have a debt to be discharged after death by temporal punishment, but the punishment itself isn’t “on their soul.”

Second, if we stick with the debt of punishment formulation, a person who has any debt of temporal punishment when he dies will experience that punishment after death as part of his cleansing (except to the extent it is ameliorated by God’s grace, e.g., in response to the prayers of those on earth). The idea that if one’s merits in Christ balance off the debt of punishment then one will not experience purgatory is false. Merit and the debt of punishment are not weighed against each other like two things in the balances of a scale. They belong to different categories.

Third, the idea that the term “saint” is restricted to those who don’t experience purgatory is loopy. In common Catholic parlance, one meaning of the term “saint” is simply “someone who is in heaven.” But nobody (who knows what he’s talking about) holds that if you had to go through purgatory then you aren’t a saint. That would mean that all kinds of people are in heaven who aren’t saints because they had to be purified before experiencing the fully glory of heaven. That’s nuts.

But the official process of canonization, being made an official “saint,” is a church-based means of honoring particularly “holy” people who have passed on.

This is more or less okay, depending on how it’s taken.

The Catechism notes that “The term ‘communion of saints’ therefore has two closely linked meanings: ‘communion in holy things (sancta)’ and ‘among holy persons (sancti)'” (CCC 948). It also notes that “The communion of saints is the Church” (CCC 946).

The “holy persons” or “saints” (Latin, sancti) that belong to the communion of saints, or the Church, include those on earth. Even now there is a sense in which Christians on earth are saints. In colloquial Catholic speech, though, a common meaning of the term is reserved for those who are in heaven (whether they passed through purgatory or not). A third usage of the term is what the bloggist refers to as “an official ‘saint'”–a canonized person–and the Church does reserve this distinction (canonization) for those who lived lives of notable holiness.

Thus the Catechism says: “By canonizing some of the faithful, i.e., by solemnly proclaiming that they practiced heroic virtue and lived in fidelity to God’s grace, the Church recognizes the power of the Spirit of holiness within her and sustains the hope of believers by proposing the saints to them as models and intercessors” (CCC 828).

Nevertheless, what our bloggist has written is fraught with errors.

Due to the defects in his understanding of the Catholic theology of merit, temporal punishment, purgatory, and saints, it would have been well if he had checked a Catholic dictionary before he wrote. For example, John Hardon’s A Modern Catholic Dictionary could have set him straight on a number of points (though Hardon is not writing a technical treatise on the subject and so doesn’t offer an exhaustive account). He writes as follows:

Saints: A name given in the New Testament to Christians generally (Colossians 1:2) but early restricted to persons who were eminent for holiness. In the strict sense saints are those who distinguish themselves by heroic virtue during life and whom the Church honors as saints either by her ordinary universal teaching authority or by a solemn definition called canonization. The Church’s official recognition of sanctity implies that the persons are now in heavenly glory, that they may be publicly invoked everywhere, and that their virtues during life or martyr’s death are a witness and example to the Christian faithful.

Had our bloggist friend checked Hardon’s dictionary (or any number of others), he wouldn’t have erred so badly in the subjects on which he touches.

Unfortunately, he didn’t.

You may want to know the identity of our bloggist friend.

That would be James White.

Occasionally there is some book that hits it big and has all kinds of people praising how well it is written. I’m starting to get a reflective skepticism of such claims, because I’ve been burned too often by them.

I know, de gustibus non disputandum est, but some things are just poorly written.

This was what happened with the Harry Potter craze. People were going on and on about how well it was written, but when I read the first Harry Potter novel, I was stunned at how poor the writing was. I acknowledge that the book has some interesting ideas in it, but the way in which these ideas were given literary form was utterly incommensurate with the level of praise being heaped upon the book. It made me wonder about the people had who want to put J. K. Rowling up there with Shakespeare. Just how much exposure to literature did they have? Not much, if they thought that Harry Potter was the bee’s knees.

In case you haven’t read it or seen the movie, the basic plot of the first Harry Potter novel involves a young boy who has lost his parents and leads a dreary existence but who then discovers that he is the most famous, most important person in the world. Since readers typically identify with the protagonists of the books they are reading, it’s easy to use this premise as a ham-fisted, over-the-top, delusions-of-grandeur fantasy for the reader. Rowling has noted that she started writing the series while she was leading a rather dreary existence herself and working out her feelings over her divorce. Reading the first Harry Potter novel, I couldn’t help the feeling that on some level she was writing it for her own sons to atone for her divorce, giving them a marvelous escape fantasy from the realities of their broken family.

(If you want to read a sci-fi novel with a smilar premise that is more like what Harry Potter *should have been,* read Jerry Pournelle’s Starswarm.)

So when people started hyping how well written The Da Vinci Code is supposed to be, I was very suspicious. Once again, “interesting ideas” are delivered with an utter lack of literary style. The books is appalling written, but I don’t need to explain why because someone else already did.

Read this analysis from Language Log about Dan Brown’s incompetent wordsmithing.

Favorite quote:

“Brown’s writing is not just bad; it is staggeringly, clumsily, thoughtlessly, almost ingeniously bad.”

Occasionally there is some book that hits it big and has all kinds of people praising how well it is written. I’m starting to get a reflective skepticism of such claims, because I’ve been burned too often by them.

I know, de gustibus non disputandum est, but some things are just poorly written.

This was what happened with the Harry Potter craze. People were going on and on about how well it was written, but when I read the first Harry Potter novel, I was stunned at how poor the writing was. I acknowledge that the book has some interesting ideas in it, but the way in which these ideas were given literary form was utterly incommensurate with the level of praise being heaped upon the book. It made me wonder about the people had who want to put J. K. Rowling up there with Shakespeare. Just how much exposure to literature did they have? Not much, if they thought that Harry Potter was the bee’s knees.

In case you haven’t read it or seen the movie, the basic plot of the first Harry Potter novel involves a young boy who has lost his parents and leads a dreary existence but who then discovers that he is the most famous, most important person in the world. Since readers typically identify with the protagonists of the books they are reading, it’s easy to use this premise as a ham-fisted, over-the-top, delusions-of-grandeur fantasy for the reader. Rowling has noted that she started writing the series while she was leading a rather dreary existence herself and working out her feelings over her divorce. Reading the first Harry Potter novel, I couldn’t help the feeling that on some level she was writing it for her own sons to atone for her divorce, giving them a marvelous escape fantasy from the realities of their broken family.

(If you want to read a sci-fi novel with a smilar premise that is more like what Harry Potter *should have been,* read Jerry Pournelle’s Starswarm.)

So when people started hyping how well written The Da Vinci Code is supposed to be, I was very suspicious. Once again, “interesting ideas” are delivered with an utter lack of literary style. The books is appalling written, but I don’t need to explain why because someone else already did.

Read this analysis from Language Log about Dan Brown’s incompetent wordsmithing.

Favorite quote:

“Brown’s writing is not just bad; it is staggeringly, clumsily, thoughtlessly, almost ingeniously bad.”

. . . is now online. See here.

A couple of updates on Jack Chick:

1) I hadn’t realized, but the Catholic Answers Special Report that I wrote on Chick Tracts is online. (This isn’t the same as the article on my meeting with Chick. I’ll get that online soon.)

2) I finally found a copy of Jack Chick’s high school yearbook photo. This is a photo that I knew existed (one of two) but that I couldn’t find a copy of. Here is the original courtesy of the Jack T. Chick Museum of Fine Art:

Now here’s a comparison of how Chick looked back about 1942 with how he looks today:

I was pretty pleased at how the drawing I did came out. It shows the same wide mouth,  prominent cheek bones, and broad forehead that struck me when I met Chick. There are signs of aging (of course!), and his eyes look larger when he is wearing his glasses (which he doesn’t all the time; he had them both on and off during our meeting), but it came out pretty nicely.

A reader writes:

I just read your latest in "This Rock" about your encounter with Jack Chick.  Wow.  What a weird experience that must have been.  It was weird just reading about it.  I’m impressed with how you maintained a charitable disposition.  I don’t think I could have even approached the man for fear of getting beligerent with him.  I can’t help but laugh at how the encounter must have appeared to him through his lense of paranoid narcissism (or is it narcissistic paranoia?).

I noted in my blog (http://flyfishinggalilee.blogspot.com) that the article reminded me of one of those cordial meetings in a casino (or similar setting) between James Bond and his current arch-nemesis.  You should start introducing yourself as "Akin….James Akin."  🙂

What sort of film was he releasing?  Will you be reviewing it on your website or in "This Rock?" 

Thanks. Meeting Jack Chick was a truly surreal experience. I hope folks will check out the article on it in This Rock (it will also be put on the Web . . . eventually). Chick’s film, The Light of the World, is a standard presentation of the gospel as Chick understands it (with a few dashes of anti-Catholicism thrown in). I have a standing invite to review it for DecentFilms.Com,and I’ll post a link here when it gets done.

Incidentally, since Chick is such a recluse that he doesn’t let his picture be taken, I realized that I am now one of the few people who knows what he looks like. As a result, I decided to draw a picture of him–comic book style, of course! Here ’tis:

A reader writes:

I just read your latest in "This Rock" about your encounter with Jack Chick.  Wow.  What a weird experience that must have been.  It was weird just reading about it.  I’m impressed with how you maintained a charitable disposition.  I don’t think I could have even approached the man for fear of getting beligerent with him.  I can’t help but laugh at how the encounter must have appeared to him through his lense of paranoid narcissism (or is it narcissistic paranoia?).

I noted in my blog (http://flyfishinggalilee.blogspot.com) that the article reminded me of one of those cordial meetings in a casino (or similar setting) between James Bond and his current arch-nemesis.  You should start introducing yourself as "Akin….James Akin."  🙂

What sort of film was he releasing?  Will you be reviewing it on your website or in "This Rock?" 

Thanks. Meeting Jack Chick was a truly surreal experience. I hope folks will check out the article on it in This Rock (it will also be put on the Web . . . eventually). Chick’s film, The Light of the World, is a standard presentation of the gospel as Chick understands it (with a few dashes of anti-Catholicism thrown in). I have a standing invite to review it for DecentFilms.Com,and I’ll post a link here when it gets done.

Incidentally, since Chick is such a recluse that he doesn’t let his picture be taken, I realized that I am now one of the few people who knows what he looks like. As a result, I decided to draw a picture of him–comic book style, of course! Here ’tis: