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).