Why Baptism?
The main dispute between the “naïve” historians of the 1940’s and 50’s and the social revisionist, polygenesis historians of the latter half of the 20th century seems to be over the question of norms: who decides what defines Anabaptist? I think we can say that Bender and Yoder (among others) believed that the church determined the criteria for early Anabaptist faithfulness, or to say the same thing in sociological language, what counts as truly Anabaptist is “what lived on.” I doubt that these people were naïve so much as hopeful, hopeful that most or even all of those 16th century radicals who adopted the practice of adult baptism believed what would eventually live on. But notice that adult baptism is not itself one of Bender’s main defining points of the Anabaptist Vision (discipleship, brotherly community, love/nonresistance), rather an important subpoint to the way Anabaptists did community. Bender felt no need to use the practice of adult baptism as the sole defining characteristic of his faith ancestors because that did not seem to the now centuries-old tradition to be central—though it remained one sine non qua of Mennonite conviction.
The turn to social revisionist scholarship was a result of the recognition that Bender’s mode of writing history was inevitably self-congratulatory—it’s almost impossible to receive a critique from history if we define as our faith ancestors as those who agree with our presently dominant distinctives. These new scholars wanted to broaden the scope of Anabaptist historical study to include those who may not have agreed with Bender’s three points, perhaps to open the possibility of historical critique or perhaps merely to assume an air of scholarly objectivity, and so chose a new defining norm: the practice of adult baptism. Why adult baptism should have received the privilege of defining historical Anabaptists is not entirely clear, except that it corresponds directly to the name we have carried over the years. But unwittingly, then, we (as the church) relinquish the power to define our historical character to people with an entirely different agenda—in this case, an agenda to tie our convictions to an historical heresy and thus discredit our entire movement. The Donatists, we remember, had begun to separate themselves from the Church back in the 4th (or so) century, receiving rebaptism to signal their separation, and the Church declared the practice heresy; the Reformers applied the name of Wiedertäufer (Anabaptist) with the explicit presumption of the same. These “Anabaptists,” on the other hand, had refused the name, opting instead simply for Täufer, Brethren, Doopsgezinde (baptism-minded), or something similar.
So why use a derogatory name to define the nature and scope of Mennonite historical lineage? It certainly does allow for a more “objective” review, though again only by giving away defining rights. Whether or not the practice of adult baptism should continue to define the historical scope of our movement seems to me an open question, but we must at least acknowledge the forces at work in such a shift. The 20th-century shift in Anabaptist historical study was not a shift from naïveté to objectivity, but rather, as Andrea Strübind has recently recognized (perhaps for the first time), “the so-called ‘normative’ depiction of Anabaptist [in the mid-20th century] was being replaced by a new, equally ‘normative’ sociohistorical version of Anabaptism.” The question is not whether or not we have defining norms, but who chooses them.
I’m narrating the shift in Anabaptist historiography in a way that privileges the academic and pastoral intentions of the scholars in order to illuminate what I believe are important contemporary factors leading to that shift. At the same time, I am keenly aware that both modes of scholarship operated under the discipline of real history, and a concern for historical accuracy occupied the center of the push toward a social revisionist or polygenetic historiographical paradigm. Earlier scholars did not so explicitly “choose” the norms of historic Anabaptism as they did cull these norms from Swiss Anabaptism. They were operating under the assumption that chronological precedence equaled developmental precedence in the movement of European Anabaptism, and so narrated differences in German, Moravian, or Dutch Anabaptism as deviations from the prior normativity of Switzerland. When more recent scholars re-arranged the source material to suggest multiple origins, much more testimony fell into place. A polygenetic view of Anabaptist origins (strictly defined) makes more historical sense than a monogenetic view. These historical concerns, however, did not arise in a vacuum; the contemporary concerns I detailed above cannot be discounted.
The future of Anabaptist historiography will need to follow Strübind in her direct confession of theological agenda and her direct naming of normative sources. We will need to wrestle with whether or not the practice of adult baptism alone constitutes an adequate definitional boundary for historical Anabaptist study—it may overly narrow the scope, or it may attribute to our movement what never belonged. We will need to take seriously the extent to which “Anabaptism” constituted a recognized, coherent whole in the 16th century, and we will need to take seriously the extent to which “Anabaptists” did not consider themselves members of the same movement. And church history can never abandon its overarching task of moral dialectic with the contemporary church, for it describes that body of saints still willing to give and receive counsel.
Comments (2)
Tags: Anabaptist
![[RSS for this post]](/images/feed-icon-14x14.png){kind=icon}
Brian, I just wanted to ask about your statement: “But unwittingly, then, we (as the church) relinquish the power to define our historical character to people with an entirely different agenda—in this case, an agenda to tie our convictions to an historical heresy and thus discredit our entire movement.”
I am surprised by your tone here, because it implies that you feel a strong need to defend the Anabaptist tradition, to place some sort of barrier between Anabaptism and those outside of the Anabaptist community. Later you also ask, “So why use a derogatory name to define the nature and scope of Mennonite historical lineage?”
I think that I am surprised at how much your language reflects the feelings of one who has been “victimized.” This question of how Anabaptist historical identity is defined and labeled is important to notice and intriguing to discuss, but I question its relevance in the wider mission of the church.
Does it really matter? Why do you feel like Anabaptists are “relinquishing” some right or power that they had to others outside of the movement? Why is it important that they define their own historical character themselves?
Often you say that it seems that others know you better than you know yourself. So why become so fearful and defensive when others still use the “heretical” term that has been used against Anabaptists in the past?
I guess I am just thinking of the goal of the wider church in general. It seems unimportant at this point to be concerned about how to retrieve the rights Anabaptists apparently possessed before they were called Anabaptists in order to rename themselves or redefine their past reputation.
In the Christian community today, is it wrong for the church to allow those outside of the community to notice a particular practice or ethical conviction of the church, however insignificant it seems as part of the church’s practices overall, and proceed to use that one particularly noticeable characteristic to define the entire movement? What is the purpose of the church today? To be a distinct community as it demonstrates the love of Christ it contrast to the surrounding culture?
Should the church just stop at considering it a compliment that those outside the community noticed a distinction? At this point in history, I would like to assume that when those outside of Anabaptism use the term “Anabaptist” more comes to their minds than the issue of baptism exclusively, perhaps even Christ.
I may just be trying to say that I do not think that it is always negative for those outside of the church community to do the labeling, even if the terms used happen to be “derogatory” or offensive initially. This may be too bold, but Jesus was not often called the Messiah, but the names given to him by those opposed to His movement were meaningful in that they demonstrated a distinction in His behavior and rhetoric had been acknowledged and had made a significant impression upon the wider community.
That’s an important point, and I appreciate the criticism. I did not mean to complain about the terrible disservice done us by the original Reformers in naming us “Anabaptist,” but rather to expose and exhibit the ideological motives of such a name. Discerning the boundaries of Anabaptism by the practice of adult baptism alone is neither objective nor detached, but firmly attached to a people who set those boundaries intending to stamp out a movement.
This assertion is relevant to historians outside and inside the Anabaptist tradition precisely because it reopens the question of boundaries. Anabaptists must continue the struggle to articulate their history rightly for the same reason the broader church must do the same thing: because it is that historical character that gives shape to our present character; neither our actions nor words are intelligible without that back-story. (I’m not entirely sure why this would be a question of enormous interest to those outside the Anabaptist tradition, but I also struggle to understand why historians live to study a story in which they have no stake.) What does self-sacrificial obedience mean if we cannot point to Jesus and to the martyrs to explain? For Anabaptists, what does economic sharing mean if we cannot point to the practice of mutual aid that sprung up by social necessity in the 16th century Netherlands? Methodists care that we speak of John Wesley as reformer rather than schismatic, Catholics care that we not appeal to early heretics for definition, and Anglicans prefer that we not speak of certain aspects of their origins (as do Anabaptists) for very good reason: these stories change not only the way we are perceived in the world, but they way we truly are in the world.
I do not at all mean to discount the necessity of listening to the way our neighbors describe us in trying to forge and tweak our own identities—indeed, one cannot separate identity from communities of interest (if not always of care). That it has been a tradition in some Anabaptist circles to answer the question “Are you a Christian?” with “Ask my neighbor” is part of our story that made your questions and criticisms particularly poignant to me. But neither Jesus nor his disciples allowed their enemies to have the last say in defining Jesus’ identity—most of the early sermons in Acts engage in exactly the sort of right re-telling of Jesus’ story that I’m saying we must do about the church. The stories we tell about Jesus in a real sense identify Jesus, for they display the character of Jesus. Likewise, the stories we tell about the church (and its various streams) in a real sense identifies the church, and such a task is not one we should undertake lightly.
Lest I seem to have again too quickly rejected your point, I should say directly that you’re right: some of what I said does not take seriously enough the sort of ecumenical spirit also an integral part of the Anabaptist story. I should also acknowledge my own ideological motives for such a shift, since part of my motivation indeed grows from my wish to separate myself from certain less “desirable” practitioners of adult baptism in the 16th century. Hopefully others, Anabaptist and otherwise, will hold all of us who delve into the annals of history accountable to the reality of history and the generosity of Christ.