Review of "A Response to Grace: The Sacramental Theology of Balthasar Hubmaier," by Brian Brewer

Brewer, Brian Christian. “A Response to Grace: The Sacramental Theology of Balthasar Hubmaier.” Ph.D., diss., Madison, New Jersey, Drew University, 2003.

Brian Brewer, now Assistant Professor of Christian Theology at Truett Theological Seminary, will soon have published A Pledge of Love: Balthasar Hubmaier and Anabaptist Sacramentalism, which if not a direct publication of his doctoral dissertation seems to at least work on the same subject. Since that publication has been delayed, I have chosen to read the dissertation instead.[1] The central investigation is into Hübmaier’s sacramental thought as revealed through the two ordinances, baptism and the Lord’s Supper, and in other ecclesiological practices. One of the primary ideas is that Hübmaier retained much of the sacramental thinking of his Catholic background in his understanding of church practices.

Beginning with the perfunctory biographical section, Brewer focused the narrative on Hübmaier’s sacramental practice throughout his various places of ministry. The bulk of the work is on the Lord’s Supper and baptism–two subjects that have already been given much attention in Anabaptist scholarship. Particular attention was paid to the influences of Hübmaier from Luther, Zwingli and humanism.

Perhaps the most important contention in the dissertation is that of the fifth chapter. Brewer saw Sacramentalism as a guiding force in many other aspects of his ecclesiology, namely penance, the ban and preaching. These areas were not as thoroughly developed as the ordinances since Hübmaier’s writings were compelled to give the weight of his writing to the controversies of his day. As an Anabaptist he was necessarily embroiled in baptismal debate with Zwingli, and as a reformer he was not unaware of the prominent debate on the Supper. Brewer viewed Hübmaier as tending to import sacramental importance onto other activities in the church. Had Hübmaier been given the freedom to develop his thinking in these areas, he may have developed them in a sacramental direction. However, Brewer recognized that speculation into the trajectory of Hübmaier’s thought is not entirely productive and that the sacramentology associated with those other church practices stem largely from the unity of those practices with the sacramental ordinances.

Brewer continued by discussing Hübmaier’s influence on later traditions. The main line of influence that Brewer identified was on the Hutterians, whose beginnings in Moravia absorbed some of Hübmaier’s thinking that had remained a part of the Moravian Anabaptist consciousness after his Nikolsburg ministry. That influence may have spread further into Schleitheim Anabaptist thinking as transmitted through Peter Riedemann.[2] Brewer downplayed what influence Hübmaier would have had in early Baptists but recognized that Baptists could legitimately adopt Hübmaier as a like-minded prototype of Baptistic belief. Interestingly, Brewer turned to Karl Barth, whose thinking, though not dependent on Hübmaier, paralleled the reformer in his uneasiness with infant baptism. Barth did not replace the practice with believer’s baptism but nonetheless observed that it distorted the practice as instituted in Scripture.

That turn to Barth was demonstrative of Brewer’s final conclusion that Hübmaier’s theology provides a starting point for ecumenical discussion. Hübmaier’s relationship to the early Anabaptists, kinship to later Baptists, magisterial type of reformation alongside mainstream reformers and retention of important Catholic modes of thought place him in position to recognize how bridges can be built among those various groups in contemporary church life.

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[1]Dr. Brewer told me that the publisher has had to take extra time with some new printing equipment. The original release date was to have been in February.

[2]Brewer cited Heimann, Franz. “The Hutterite Doctrines of Church and Common Life: A Study of Peter Riedemann’s Confession of Faith of 1540.” MQR 26, No. 1 (Jan. 1952): 22-47; 26, no. 2 (Apr. 1952): 142-144. Having not yet read this article, the line of influence seems thin but still merits consideration. This could be an important avenue of future research.

Hübmaier and Article VII of the Baptist Faith and Message

            I arrived late to a Baptist research symposium to hear the Q&A following a student’s paper presentation. I don’t know what the paper was on except that had to do with Balthasar Hübmaier. The last question the faculty panel asked of the student was if Hübmaier would affirm the Baptist Faith and Message in regards to the Lord’s Supper. The student first responded by saying that Hübmaier would prefer relying on Scripture rather than on creeds or confessions. It was a bit of a pat answer but it was essentially correct. After thinking out loud for a few seconds, the student admitted that Hübmaier likely would agree to the substance of the BFM. Unfortunately that question had been the last and my immediately upshot hand was ignored. So, let’s reevaluate the question: would Hübmaier affirm the BFM’s teaching on the Lord’s Supper?

            Article VII of the BFM reads, “The Lord’s Supper is a symbolic act of obedience whereby members of the church, through partaking of the bread and the fruit of the vine, memorialize the death of the Redeemer and anticipate His second coming.”[1] Two aspects of this are important for our enquiry: the memorial aspect indicated by the words “symbolic” and “memorialize” and also the reference to the events of the crucifixion and the parousia. By referencing the event of the crucifixion the BFM bypasses the question of real presence that was at the fore of Reformation debates on the Supper. This is confirmed by Leon McBeth’s summary of historical Baptist understanding of the Lord’s Supper as “recall[ing] and reflect[ing] upon the death of Christ.”[2] McBeth further concluded that the central concern among Baptists regarding the Supper was real presence but rather the matter of who would be allowed to participate in the ordinance.

            Huldrych Zwingli’s memorial view was that the words of institution were metaphorical, with est of hoc est corpus meum taking the meaning of significant. The emphasis for Zwingli’s memorial view was the memorialized body, which was broken. For Baptist, as the BFM indicates, the emphasis is on the crucifixion event, during which that body was broken. The difference is of emphasis rather than substance on this point. While Baptists were engaged in a different debate on the Lord’s Supper, they retained an essentially Zwinglian answer to the debate from Hübmaier’s day. The first direction to take in answering the central question is to ask if Hübmaier would agree with the BFM’s understanding of real presence.

            Hübmaier’s teaching on the subject has been summarized often enough not to demand extensive treatment here.[3] John Rempel’s work, which has gained great currency in Anabaptist studies since its publication, summarizes Hübmaier’s opinion on real presence: "An ontological shift followed in which the visible church became the res referred to by the signum. That is to say, for Hubmaier the breaking of bread became preeminently a sign of the church and its covenant of obedience."[4] Further, "The Lord's Supper is [for Hübmaier] the sign that the incarnation is being carried on in the church."[5] If the Body of Christ memorialized in the Supper was for Hübmaier the church rather than the physical body as taught by Zwingli and evidently agreed to by Baptists, then Hübmaier would thus be at odds with the BFM.

            Reading Hübmaier’s writings might cause confusion if the chronological development of his controversy with his erstwhile co-reformer, Zwingli, is not taken into account. While that controversy centered on baptism, baptism was to the extent of that controversy’s reach. For instance, Hübmaier initially agreed with Zwingli, writing in one of his earliest works, Eighteen Theses Concerning the Christian Life of 1524, “The mass is not a sacrifice, but a memorial of the death of Christ.”[6] The editors of Hübmaier’s works commented on the similarity to one of Zwingli’s 67 Theses. Interestingly, both Zwingli and Hübmaier at this stage viewed the Supper as memorializing Christ’s death, thus further demonstrating the interchangeability of the body of Christ and the event during which that body was broken.

Directions toward including the church as the body of Christ alongside the physical body (in memory) of Christ are evident as Hübmaier’s thought developed. He wrote that believers partaking in the Supper are “willing to let [their] flesh and blood be broken and sacrificed, which [they have] now become one bread and one drink.”[7] While Hübmaier’s positioning of the church as the body of Christ represented in the Supper was a development of his thought beyond Zwinglian memorialism, perhaps even to the point of assuming greater prominence over the physical body of Christ, it is not as clear that the Zwinglian starting point had been set aside.[8] In Brewer’s estimation, Hübmaier’s “Eucharistic conclusion is the same as Zwingli’s, differing only in their hermeneutical routes.[9]

If Hübmaier intended to include the church as the res to the Supper’s signum to the exclusion of the physical body, then the BFM’s reference to the memorial of Christ’s death would not be in agreement with Hübmaier’s mature theology. If Hübmaier only intended to add a second meaning to the sign, then the BFM would be within Hübmaier’s teaching, although not fully encompassing the development of the additional meaning. While this may appear to allow Hübmaier the speculative affirmation of the BFM’s declaration on the real presence debate, given that the respective doctrinal statements were forged over the fires of different controversies. To make a judgment on this is admittedly speculative (a danger that will be addressed below), but it is evidence enough that Zwingli’s position was essentially no different than that of Baptists in general and that Hübmaier came to view Zwingli as an opponent on the issue.[10] This says little about other areas of possible disagreement between Hübmaier and the BFM’s teaching on the Supper such as the BFM’s eschatological outlook[11] or the BFM’s lack of entanglement of the Supper along with baptism into Hübmaier’s disciplinary ecclesiological superstructure.[12] If Hübmaier were to affirm the BFM, it would likely be with qualification at the least.

Why then indulge in such speculation? There is a danger in speculation to the point of losing focus on what was actually said, even if there were tendencies evident in the life of a theologian whose untimely death aborted a full fruition of his thought. Also, and more urgently, there is the possibility of idealizing a theologian of near kinship that can anachronistically project onto a historical figure the image of the one speculating. I suspect that this is what happened in our case here–the student may have saw great similarity on clearer areas and made a premature judgment on a grey area. A beach ball and a bowling ball cast remarkably similar shadows but seeing only the shadow would be a poor guide to deciding whether the ball is safe to punt. To be fair to the student, he was forced to speculate because that was the question that was asked. It might not have been a fair question to ask in the first place (unless the paper was titled, “Hübmaier and the BFM: A Comparison of Free Church Perspectives on Real Presence in the Supper”). Sometimes questions must be answered simply because they are asked.

While it would be convenient to find a historical teacher quite similar to ourselves and thus validate our own position on the authority of heroes, we must remember the true value of historical theology. No theologian of the past is an authority for us beyond except where they agree with Scripture. However, when we find one who has a very similar starting point, that theologian can become an effective foil toward our own theological development. In the case of Hübmaier and the Baptists, the shared starting points include recognition of the authority of Scripture, and a free church composed of believers. Both Hübmaier and the Anabaptists should be understood for who they really were and then, listening to their voices, they can challenge our theology and thus lead us to growth. Perhaps that may only mean that we are confirmed in our positions, but the differences can force us to strengthen our arguments or alternately rebuke us in our error.

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[1]http://www.sbc.net/bfm/bfm2000.asp. This is the latest edition of the BFM from 2000. The wording is retained from the 1963 BFM while the 1925 BFM, reading that the Lord’s Supper “commemorate[s] the dying love of Christ.” The emphasis in the supper as memorializing Christ’s death is similar.

[2]H. Leon McBeth, The Baptist Heritage: Four Centuries of Baptist Witness (Nashville, Tennessee: Broadman, 1987), 81.

[3]One of the more recent of which is Brian Brewer, “A Response to Grace: The Sacramental Theology of Balthasar Hubmaier,” Ph.D. diss., Madison, New Jersey, Drew University, 2003, ch. 3.

[4]John Rempel, The Lord’s Supper in Anabaptism: A Study in the Christology of Balthasar Hubmaier, Pilgram Marpeck and Dirk Phillips, Studies in Anabaptist and Mennonite History, no. 33 (Scottdale, Pennsylvania: Herald, 1993), 53

[5] Ibid., 80.

[6]In H. Wayne Pipken and John Howard Yoder, eds., Balthasar Hubmaier: Theologian, Classics of the Radical Reformation Vol. 5 (Scottdale, Pennsylvania: Herald, 1989), 32. cf. Summa of the Entire Christian Life, in Balthasar Hubmaier, 87-88.

[7]A Simple Instruction, in Balthasar Hubmaier, 334. Rempel saw notes of that direction even earlier in Hübmaier’s writings, Lord’s Supper in Anabaptism, 55-56.

[8]Rempel’s contention that Hübmaier used of the purposefully ambiguous phrase “the body of Christ in remembrance” in order to bridge from the physical body to the church (Lord’s Supper in Anabaptism, 63) might be an overstatement. Rempel may have been reading back onto Hübmaier’s use of that phrase Hübmaier’s later development, effectively suggesting that what Hübmaier intended as an addition was really a replacement.

[9]Brewer, “Response to Grace,” 98.

[10]Allowing that Hübmaier’s opposition was not against Zwingli’s position per se but rather the arguments by which Zwingli arrived at that position, it is significant that Baptist seem to also follow Zwingli’s argumentation. Millard J. Erikson, for example, significantly used “signifies” to interpret “is” in the institutional words. Christian Theology, 2^nd ed. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1998), 1129-1131.

[11]Hübmaier commented on this but this was not sufficiently developed to readily facilitate comparison.

[12]Simon Victor Goncharenko placed discipline in too important a role in Hübmaier’s theology by labeling it the “central” point (“The Importance of Church Discipline within Balthasar Hubmaier’s Theology.” Ph.D. diss., Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, 2011, vi. See the earlier review on this site), but such overreaching would hardly be possible if discipline were not of great, if not central, importance. Brewer listed discipline among those ecclesiological activities he called “quasi-sacramental”, thus recognizing discipline’s importance near to the level of baptism and the Supper.

Review of Scholar, Pastor, Martyr: The Life and Ministry of Balthasar Hubmaier (ca. 1480-1528), by H Wayne Walker Pipkin

Pipkin, H Wayne Walker. Scholar, Pastor, Martyr: The Life and Ministry of Balthasar  Hubmaier (ca. 1480-1528). Prague: International Baptist Theological Seminary, 2008. x+118 pp. 250Kč (≈$13.50).

H Wayne Walker Pipkin’s 2006 lectures, given as the Hughey lectures of that year, are here published by the International Baptist Theological Seminary at which they were originally delivered. They form a brief biography according to the latest scholarship. Torsten Bergsten’s biography[1] remains the standard and Pipkin admittedly relied on Bergsten for the primary framework of his own endeavor (38n), but Pipkin’s work gives an overall update that is needed after the four decades following Bergsten’s biography.

The book begins by outlining Pipkin’s own journey, tracing many years of scholarship perhaps best embodied in his translation, co-edited with John Howard Yoder, of Hübmaier’s corpus.[2] The first chapter then outlined the history of scholarship on Hübmaier. That history included much of the recent scholarship that followed the English translation of Hübmaier’s works.

Particular attention was given to doctoral dissertations, an area that has burgeoned even more since these lectures were given. Among these, Pipkin felt that there was some promise but he also did not hold back in expressing his uneasiness toward dissertations coming from Southern Baptists. He saw that several of the students, whom he viewed as led by Emir Caner, tended to read back onto Hübmaier their own theological convictions and categories. While I agree with Pipkin insofar as I believe that Southern Baptist scholarship on Anabaptism and Hübmaier has neither yet reached its maturity nor escaped the context of contemporary denominational debates, I would not go so far as Pipkin in rejecting contemporary terminology in understanding historical theologies. Pipkin faulted Caner for using the terms “trichomy” and “dichotomy” in relation to Hübmaier (who was a trichotomist), since he viewed these terms as more relevant for fields like math or biology but not for the theology of a figure who himself had not used the terms (25). It seems as though Pipkin was revealing more of his own discomfort with that terminology rather than recognizing the usefulness of the terms in labeling Hübmaier’s thought. By the same reasoning, concepts like the trinity must also be thrown out of biblical theology since that word is not used in Scripture. Regardless of whether Hübmaier used the word, he still taught the concept. Also, Pipkin did not seem to have been aware that the interest in Hübmaier among Southern Baptists was not so much due to Caner as it has been to Paige Patterson, although Pipkin did recognize Patterson as Caner’s mentor. Following the dissertations, as was Pipkin’s tactic, in recent years would confirm that fact.

The biographical section reads quite pleasantly and Pipkin addresses topics that would not have been covered in Bergsten. Pipkin demonstrated facility beyond the theological concerns involved with Hübmaier. He gave fair play to the political situations that drove several of the steps in Hübmaier’s life. Two will give evidence to that here will be recounted since these are areas that seem to be less attended in some scholarship and because Pipkin makes a useful contribution in a book of limited distribution. I believe his book is only available directly from the seminary.

One is the political situation of Waldshut in relation to the Hapsburgs. The town sat directly across the river from Switzerland and had a tendency of identifying itself with the Swiss. As the reforms in Zürich gained momentum Waldshut sought inclusion into the influence of Zürich but the Hapsburgs did not want to lose Waldshut from Austrian hands. With Swiss independence having come 25 years earlier, Waldshut desired similar independence but Zürich could not risk the contention with Austria, thus forcing Zürich to distance themselves from any appearance of trying to annex the town (61-63). If Waldshut were to bring in the Reformation they would have to do so outside of the auspices of the Swiss.

Further alienation came from the Peasants’ War. As the anonymous “To the Assembly of the Common Peasantry” [3]makes clear, part of the peasants’ program was to reform German society in line with the economic changes that had taken place at the end of the fifteenth century in Switzerland. With Waldshut’s involvement in the uprisings Zwingli would have been pressured to dissociate himself from Hübmaier, Waldshut’s reformer, lest the Catholic cantons attack the reforms in Zürich as having spawned the rebellion (72-73). These two factors combined with differences in theology and hermeneutics helped lead to the contention between Hübmaier and Zwingli.

The book ends with an overview of Hübmaier’s theology that offers no substantially original insights but does give an introduction to his thought in the same clear prose as the biography. Two appendices round out the book: the first being a defense of Pipkin’s translation of Hübmaier’s epigram, “Die Wahrheit ist vntödlich,” and the second a revision of the previously translated Pledge of Love, revised for inclusion in contemporary incorporations into worship services of baptism. In the critical edition of Hübmaier’s works, Pipkin and Yoder translated the epigram differently. Yoder preferred to render “vntödlich” as “unkillable” while Pipkin, based on his survey of dictionaries from both the sixteenth century and from more modern times, rendered it “immortal.” This is not so much a change of meaning as much a change of emphasis. The most important support for Pipkin’s translation is Hübmaier’s own usage when writing in Latin, where he used “immortalis.”

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[1]Balthasar Hubmaier: Seine Stellung zu Reformation and Täufertum (Kassel: Oncken, 1961).; Balthasar Hubmaier: Anabaptist Theologian and Martyr, Translated and Edited by William Roscoe Estep (Valley Forge, Pennsylvania: Judson, 1978).

[2]Balthasar Hubmaier: Theologian of Anabaptism. Classics of the Radical Reformation, no. 5 (Scottdale, Pennsylvania: Herald, 1989).

[3]In Michael G. Baylor ed., The Radical Reformation, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 101-129.

Review of The Radical Reformation, by Michael G. Baylor

Baylor, Michael G., ed. The Radical Reformation. Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991.

Michael Baylor’s The Radical Reformation is a source book covering similar territory as the previously reviewed book of his, The German Reformation and the Peasants’ War.[1] The structure is the same–a collection of source materials in translation preceded by an introduction referencing the following documents. The texts are new translation prepared specifically for this volume, although many of the works have been translated elsewhere.

Unlike The German Reformation and the Peasants’ War the texts are unabridged. The series in which this volume fits is political rather than theological. Therefore the primary representative of the Radical Reformation is Thomas Müntzer and the article representing the Peasants’ War more than the more theologically motivated movements in the Radical Reformation such as Anabaptism. Unlike The German Reformation and the Peasants’ War Baylor had in view also, even if only secondarily, Anabaptism’s social implications. These were represented by Michael Sattler, Balthasar Hübmaier, Hans Denck and others. Beyond the group of texts laying the political and theological groundwork for peasant dissent, Baylor included several programs of the peasants outlining their complaints and their vision for a new society.

Baylor’s interpretation of the political aspect of the Radical Reformation is one toward which I am quite sympathetic. Rather than taking an idealistic view that distances the Peasants’ War from the Radical Reformation, Baylor recognized that the Reformation “absorbed preexisting socio-economic grievances and political aspirations, and gained a revolutionary momentum” (xi). As such, the political upheaval was not an aberration of the theological movement of the Radical Reformation but rather was a push resulting from Luther’s reformation. The radicals did not want to limit reforming activities to the ecclesial realm. They wanted to include the social order within the purview of the Reformation (xii).

Baylor was careful not to formulate too overarching a theological system for the Radical Reformation, instead preferring to recognize the diversity of the movement. The greatest cohesiveness to the movement in Baylor’s opinion was its opposition to the magisterial reformers (xiv). He did make one step toward unifying the movement by writing that the radicals did not separate the “worldly” kingdom from the “spiritual” kingdom as had Luther (xviii). This allowed the radicals to attempt to reform in both the social in addition to the religious spheres. Baylor may have reached too far at this point. Although the Schleitheim Confession cannot be taken as normative for much beyond Swiss Anabaptism, that strand of Anabaptism did not fit Baylor’s mold.[2] Schleitheim Anabaptism sought to limits its reforming activity more to the spiritual kingdom by its teaching of separation. There were social implications of Schleitheim Anabaptism, but these implications were worked out within the orbit of the separated community, often times in the practice of community of goods.

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[1]Michael G. Baylor, The German Reformation and the Peasants’ War: A Brief History with Documents (Boston: Bedford St. Martins, 2012).

[2]It was the doctrine of two worlds that Robert Friedmann found to be the “deepest layer” of Anabaptist theology from which all other elements of the essence of Anabaptism were derived. “The Essence of Anabaptist Faith: An Essay in Interpretation,” MQR 41, no. 1 (Jan. 1967): 8-9.

Review of Becoming Anabaptist: The Origin and Significance of Sixteenth-Century Anabaptism, by J. Denny Weaver

Weaver, John Denny. Becoming Anabaptist: The Origin and Significance of Sixteenth-Century Anabaptism, 2^nd ed. Scottdale, Pennsylvania: Herald, 2005.

John Denny Weaver’s introduction to the Anabaptist tradition is a work with two primary emphases. He sought retell the narrative of the first generation of Anabaptists in the sixteenth century up to the death of Menno Simons and then to discuss the significance of that tradition in the contemporary context. As such, Weaver’s Anabaptism is not a history but also a continuing narrative as heirs of the tradition seek to live out their faith consistently with the principles developed over four hundred-fifty years ago.

The structure of the historical section is based on the polygenetic model of Anabaptist origins (168), covering the Swiss, South German/Moravian, and Low Countries lines. The telling of those stories is fairly standard fair, but Weaver did bring out several trends throughout that narrative. A recurring theme was the tendency toward giving a place to the disenfranchised (33, 46, 51, et al.). The general focus was on people and events, yet certain theological matters, e.g. community of goods and melchiorite Christology, received attention also.

Weaver did not tell the story of where Anabaptism went after these generations but rather skipped forward to the present day. His chief concern was to appropriate the meaning of the Anabaptist tradition for contemporary existence as the church in the world. Although Weaver fully embraced the polygenetic account as determinative for the historical origins of the movement, he nonetheless sought to go beyond that account and assign meaning to the movement with a greater sense of unity than that from which the historical diversity might draw attention (168). Also, Weaver does well to open the fountain of Anabaptism beyond those who come to the tradition by birthright (as Mennonites can claim a historical linkage) but also those from the outside who embrace the tradition. Both have a place in the continuing story of Anabaptism (161-163).

The Anabaptist Vision was the guideline for Weaver’s own vision of the central characteristics of Anabaptism. Weaver went on to put his own spin on the Vision, going beyond Bender’s three-part schema of discipleship, ecclesiology, and the love ethic characterized by nonresistance. While Bender would later refine the Vision to just discipleship,[1] Weaver turned that discipleship, following Jesus, toward nearly being synonymous with nonresistance. He wrote, “Discipleship—Jesus as ethical authority—received a specific application in the _rejection of violence and the sword . . .. The voluntary community founded on discipleship to Jesus is perforce a peace church that rejects the sword of war—as Jesus did” (170). Weaver did highlight other distinctives, such as swearing of oaths, but the remainder of his discussion of the meaning of Anabaptism placed pacifism and nonresistance at the fore.

That nonresistance is played out within the Anabaptist conception of ecclesiology. That ecclesiology describes a church that is separated from society–sometimes antagonistically and at other times is a peaceful coexistence that Weaver terms “dualism.” These two modes of relating to the state is born out of Weaver’s understanding, following Gerald Biesecker-Mast,[2] of the early Anabaptist tension between maintaining a dualistic relationship or an antagonism with the state. Just as Anabaptism has historically taken various “manifestations and expressions (176), so also must current outworkings take various stances on dualism and antagonism within particular contexts (204). The general rule, Weave described, is that “the church in benign and tolerant situations should pursue the more antagonistic strategy” (205).

Weaver constructed his idea of discipleship with its focus on pacifism as a way of following Jesus. Following Jesus, for Weaver, is to “loop back” to Jesus (177), which is to constantly return to the narrative of Jesus in matters of ethics. The Anabaptist biblicism in history was to read Scripture as the “source for the life and teaching of Jesus” (160). Beyond this, however, Weaver tended to ignore the biblicism that was characteristic especially of the early Swiss Anabaptists. It becomes not altogether clear whether the move of viewing Scripture as the means to knowing the story of Jesus is a move that instead justifies downplaying the biblical account of Christ in favor of “looping back” to a Jesus molded in the Anabaptist image. Weaver’s treatment of the exhortations to turn the other cheek and to go the second mile are reinterpreted not as mere nonresistance but as means of empowering the oppressed, who by these actions actually call attention to the inequality being imposed by the oppressor (182-184). Giving both the cloak and the coat as payment of a debt results in a nakedness that does not shame the one who is naked but rather the one to whom the debt was owed for having caused the nakedness by his unjust demand.

The book concludes with an essay on interpretation, which is essentially a response to C. Arnold Snyder’s interpretation of the core of Anabaptist theology.[3] Snyder had identified the core of Anabaptism in three categories, areas of agreement with creedal orthodoxy, participation in the broader Reformation movement, and tenets exclusive to Anabaptism. Weaver gave multiple arguments against Snyder’s interpretative schema. He rejected Snyder’s starting point of identifying the core of Anabaptism with the strands of Christendom that came before it. For Weaver the more appropriate stating point was the differences with Christendom. Among them was pacifism, which, as the prominent characteristic of Weaver’s identification, he pointed out Snyder had omitted from the category of uniquely Anabaptist traits.

Weaver’s preference for the core of Anabaptism was the acceptance of the authority of the life and teachings of Jesus, i.e. discipleship (230). In this he shows his affinity for Bender’s Vision. The implications of both Bender’s Vision and Weaver’s core are a voluntary ecclesiology and nonviolence. The difference between Bender and Weaver is the prominence Weaver gave to nonviolence.

The historical sections of the book serve as a sufficient introduction to the movement, but the later sections do not serve this purpose as well. They are more imbedded in contemporary debate over Mennonite identity that do not give a balanced enough perspective for readers at an introductory level, especially for those coming from an outside perspective. However, they do play an important role in viewing that debate when read in correspondence with the other perspectives.

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[1]Harold Stauffer Bender, “The Anabaptist Theology of Discipleship,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 24, no. 1 (Jan. 1950): 25-32.

[2]“Anabaptist Separation and Arguments Against the Sword in the Schleitheim ‘Brotherly Union,’” Mennonite Quarterly Review 74, no. 3 (July 2000): 381-401.

[3]Anabaptist History and Theology: An Introduction (Kitchener, Ontario: Pandora, 1995).; “Beyond Polygenesis: Recovering the Unity and Diversity of Anabaptist Theology,” in Essays in Anabaptist Theology, ed. H. Wayne Pipkin. Text Reader Series 5 (Elkhart, Indiana: Institute of Mennonite Studies, 1994), 1-33. Weaver mistakenly referred to the latter text as “later” (224).

Review of The German Reformation and the Peasants' War: A Brief History with Documents, by Michael G. Baylor

Baylor, Michael G. The German Reformation and the Peasants’ War: A Brief History with Documents. Boston: Bedford St. Martins, 2012.

For students of the Radical Reformation, the Peasants’ War is a movement in the background that is not entirely understood, especially as it related to those involved with the rebellion who would later join the ranks of the Anabaptists. Dr. Baylor’s latest publication, intended for high school curricula but also appropriate as an introduction at the collegiate level before continuing on to broader treatments. The advantage of Baylor’s work is that the larger themes explaining the movement are not lost in detailed historical narrative. This is helpful for students whose focus is elsewhere but need a basic understanding of the war, which is often referenced but not fully explained in Radical Reformation scholarship.

Several significant themes come to the fore. The sense of dissatisfaction among the peasants arose from changing population dynamics. In the late medieval period populations declined, resulting in feudal lords offering better working conditions in order to attract from among a smaller pool of labor. In the latter half of the fifteenth century, populations rebounded from earlier losses such that lords returned to many of the practices that had formerly worked to the peasants’ disadvantage (3ff). It was this loss of some of the privileges temporarily enjoyed that led to the discontent that fulminated in the mid-1520s.

Baylor’s focus was on the peasants’ revolt’s relationship to the Lutheran Reformation. He recounted the polemic of the Catholics, who had blamed Luther’s teachings with fomenting social unrest yielding rebellion. Luther countered by insisting that he had consistently warned against violent action taken established governments (3).[1] Also, the peasants sometimes saw themselves as a social movement but at other times saw themselves as enacting the teachings of the Reformation in their calls for social reform (15,21). The relationship with the Anabaptists was not described except to point forward toward the future involvement that many of the peasants would have in the then nascent Anabaptist movement (30). The discontent that was felt toward the Established churches that supported the princes was continued in the Anabaptist protest against those same Established churches.

The bulk of the book consists of primary source documents, mostly abridged. They are divided into sections representing documents from before Luther’s Reformation, those representing the views of the Catholics and Protestants, those written by peasants and their supporters, and lastly those on the debate between the relationship between the German Reformation and the Peasants’ War. The documents contain a nice mix of texts and pictures. The abridgement does cause a problem in one place, though. The abridgement of Exsurge Domini skips between the third and eighteenth error listed in the bull without correcting for the change of anathematizing what is denied to what is affirmed (48). So, for the student not sufficiently acquainted with the differences between Catholic and Protestant doctrine might be confused as to whether the doctrines from eighteen on are approved of or condemned by the bull.

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[1]The Catholics apparently ignored that the social unrest had beginnings well before Luther’s time. The oldest document recorded in this book includes an initiation right into the organization of the peasants. That rite involve saying 5 five paternosters and a Hail Mary–clearly understanding itself in terms of Catholic ritual (36).

The Short Lifespan of Anabaptists: Myth?

One fact(?) mentioned in Goncharenko's dissertation was that Anabaptists had an average lifespan of eighteen months after baptism, i.e. after a year and a half after accepting believer's baptism in the Anabaptist community the baptizand would be martyred.[1] He gave no reference, which is no surprise since I have heard this "fact" cited occasionally but never with any reference. In a wikiality world, I suspect I could impart truth to it by citing Goncharenko in Wikipedia.

This is one of those anecdotes that is shared to highlight the Anabaptists as being the persecuted church. It is supposed to be so hard to believe because we don't realize the extent of the persecutions. Maybe I am overly critical but the uncited Anabaptist lifespan may actually be too hard to believe.

I have my doubts for three reasons. The first is that I've yet to find a credible source for this fact. The search for this fact is obscured since mentions of it don’t point back to any reference. This should raise questions in the historian’s mind because it is no unique incident for “facts” to work their way into the body of knowledge on a subject.

One instance of this is the immersion baptism of Menno Simons. For many years it had been believed that Menno practiced baptism by immersion. John Horsch traced references to this “fact” back to one translation of a key text written by Menno but found that the translation suggesting Menno baptized by immersion was spurious and artificially inserted into the text.[2] Unfortunately, I cannot yet begin such a search since I cannot find any references to trace. I ask my readers’ assistance if you come across any citations. It may be that, if given a starting point, I can trace this back to a credible, verifiable source. It is also possible that I may find this to be a spurious insertion into our “knowledge” of the first generation of the Anabaptists.

The second reason is that it is no secret that this “fact” serves a polemical purpose of validating the Anabaptists as the persecuted church. Given Christ’s warning that the church would suffer for his name sake, acknowledging the persecution of the Anabaptists serves to validate them as the true church of Christ. Any hyperbole on this point would of course heighten the Anabaptist role as the church persecuted. To say that baptism was a veritable death sentence in the sixteenth century is too convenient an aid to Anabaptist polemics to not warrant a staid measure of scrutiny.

The third reason regards the manner by which we would come upon information about the post-baptismal lifespans of Anabaptists. While the first two reasons cannot prove against the “fact” but only prove it unwarranted, this third reason provides an explanation as to how such an error could be developed. The knowledge that we would be able to gather on the deaths of Anabaptists favors overrepresentation of those with shorter lifespans after baptism.

This overrepresentation arises in two ways, both based in the accessibility of records concerning Anabaptist martyrdom. The major figures with whom we are familiar today, primarily writing teachers in the church but also prominent leaders with no written legacy, were those who were prominent in their day also. Because of that prominence the biographical details including the accounts of their martyrdom are well known. It is that same prominence that would have made them higher priority targets for persecutors. So, the same prominence that resulted in these leaders’ higher rate of persecution also resulted in a higher availability off accounts of their martyrdom, which is to say that the Anabaptists who faced more acute persecution were those of whom we have more records. So, the records would be skewed toward a nonrepresentative sampling of baptized believers. The Anabaptists who were less prominent were under the radar (insert appropriate 16^th-century metaphor here–“beyond the nostrils of the hounds”?) of the authorities, thus living longer and consequently leaving less records of their longer post-baptismal lifespans.

The second way is similar but not in regards to prominence. Many of the records we have of individual Anabaptists comes from trial records. These trials were often seeking execution. So, those Anabaptists whose lives were cut short by persecution made it into the records while those who died of natural causes would have been far more likely to not have made it into the record as being Anabaptists. The Nicodemism under which some Anabaptists lived, particularly among the followers of David Joris, compounded this problem.[3] So again, it is the Anabaptists who were martyred who are overrepresented while those whose longer lives would extend the eighteen month average lifespan are those who would be underrepresented in calculating that number.

If we were to find a credible source for this eighteen month lifespan, the most it could say is that it was among those of whom we have record that the average post-baptismal lifespan was eighteen months while recognizing that this cannot take into account those of whom we have no record, whose lives were likely considerably longer and would thus redefine the statistic.

Two final notes: I don’t mean to pick on Goncharenko, especially since I was less than generous in my previous review. He only cites this fact that seems to circulate without proper credibility. For the sake of clearing his name as a sole transgressor, here is another example of someone mentioning the fact without citation:

http://lakeswampbaptist.com/templates/System/details.asp?id=31214&PG=xCast&LID=4014&CID=20828

Also, I may update this post sometime in the future. Someone might find a citation I can follow that opens the path to begin following this line of investigation. I might find it myself. I might also take some time to crunch some numbers out of the Martyr’s Mirror and various biographies I have laying around. Perhaps this calculation will confirm the number. Today, however, I only wish to raise the warning against accepting “common knowledge” to readily. I’m more interested in what really happened in the Radical Reformation than in polemical expediency.

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[1]149n in the dissertation, but I don't know where it is in the book. Perhaps the fourteenth footnote in the last chapter like it is in the dissertation.

[2]John Horsch, “Did Menno Simons Practice Baptism by Immersion?” Mennonite Quarterly Review 1, no. 1 (Jan. 1927): 54-56.

[3]J. Denny Weaver, Becoming Anabaptist: The Origin and Significance of Sixteenth-Century Anabaptism, 2^nd ed. (Scottdale, Pennsylvania: Herald, 2005), 138.