Rush Limbaugh — Christian Enough?

I have listened to Rush off and on since 1992.  He is almost prescient in his ability to “read between the lines” of political speech and motives.  (He had Bill Clinton pegged long before people realized his lack of character, and likewise Obama.)  He is a cultural Conservative and cultural Christian by heritage and deeply heartfelt values, attributes he shares with his hero, Ronald Reagan.  His values come from that heritage, not the desire to be famous or make a lot of money (for that, he could have gone the Bill Maher route and been much more popular).  The fact that he has been able to do both is what has made him prosper.

His forte is speaking out what fellow Conservatives already think, hence the common greeting that evolved, “Dittos.”

Yes, to newbies Rush comes off as pompous, but that is part of his schtick that frequent listeners understand.  He is the consummate gentleman to any reasonable individual who calls or meets him.  Many if not most of his notorious statements are what he calls “media tweaks,” which he knows will cause hysteria among the PC media.  He gets a kick out of thereby leading them by the nose, fully anticipating their reaction.

Is he born again?  I am not sure the mainline Protestant church heritage from which he comes even believes in that experience.  Salvation is by grace, not of works (Ephesians 2:9f.).  If one defines being a Christian by being active in church, guided by the Holy Spirit, showing spiritual fruit, etc., perhaps not.

Is he a friend to Christians and Christianity?  By intent, definitely.  By speech and actions, overwhelming, but admittedly not always.

One of the things that both Conservatives and Christians must learn, or relearn, today, is that the enemy of our enemy is our friend.  Another is that we ought not “bite and devour one another,” for envy, or any other petty, self-serving reason (Galatians 5:15).

©2012 Paul A. Hughes

“I Didn’t Speak Up” – Updated 2011

Martin Niemöller

by Paul A. Hughes

Inspired by the famous warning by Martin Niemöller.*

In America, they first created the Welfare State and “Entitlements” — including Social Security, which they promised would be “temporary” — which have created generations of dependent masses.  But I didn’t speak up, because I wanted government benefits and security, too.

Then they created special government programs and rendered court decisions favoring select minorities, setting quotas and giving them advantages in education and jobs.  Then they added de facto amnesty for illegal aliens, who do not pay income tax and who use public services and unpaid medical care disproportionately.  But I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to be called a racist.

Then they declared that women were discriminated against because of childbearing, that a baby was “part of the mother” until delivery, and that a woman had the “choice” to abort her baby for any reason whatsoever.  But I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to be called a sexist.

Niemöller as a U-Boat Captain in World War I

Then they made trade agreements that increased our trade deficit and exported American manufacturing jobs overseas, increasing unemployment, hopelessness, and poverty.  But I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to be associated with Protectionism, and I like cheap foreign goods, too.

Then they created special rights for certain deviant behaviors and lifestyles, enacting “hate crimes” laws that punish violence against certain persons more harshly — despite the fact that those laws violate the Equal Protection clause of the 14th Amendment — and even punish speech.  But I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to be called a “hater” or a homophobe.

Then it became clear that our government had been infiltrated by Socialists, Communists, Statists, and radicals.  They went so far as to say that any opposition to a black president’s policies is inherently racist.  So I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to be associated with McCarthyism or the KKK.

Then they decided that the U.S. Constitution was outdated, and no longer applied to modern, “Progressive” America.  But there were too few people left to speak for my Constitutional rights, because they had all “sold out” to self-interest or surrendered to Political Correctness — all because people like me were too afraid that someone might call them a bad name.

* Niemöller was a Protestant pastor imprisoned by the Nazis from 1938 to 1945.  In a speech in Frankfurt in 1946 he said, “In Germany, the Nazis first came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist.  Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew.  Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist.  Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.  Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left to speak for me.”

Copyright 2011 Paul A. Hughes

Niemoller monument

Judgment of the U.S. in Light of 2 Chronicles 7:14

Remember 9/11

If I shut up heaven that there be no rain, or if I command the locusts to devour the land, or if I send pestilence among my people; if my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:13-14).

The blessings the U.S. has enjoyed are the product of God using this nation for his purposes (a matter of sovereign Election). God sets up and tears down nations according to his purpose.  The judgment of the nations will come at the End, at Armageddon.  Afterward, Christ will rule all nations from Jerusalem for 1000 years. All OT prophecy must be filtered through the lens of NT revelation.  If God “pulls the plug” on the U.S., it will be because our usefulness has ended, either as part of his Plan, or because our apostasy makes us no longer useful.

The passage 2 Chronicles 7:13-14 refers specifically to Israel, which is/was Elect in terms of God’s covenant with Abraham.  God made special provisions for Israel, including a process of bringing them to repentance through famine, then persecution and war, and ultimately deportation. God did not necessarily make 2 Chr 7:14 applicable to other nations.

If we repent corporately, I suppose we may extend our usefulness, as did Hezekiah, and in a sense Nineveh and other nations.  But if destruction of the U.S. as a nation is part of God’s Plan, individual or subgroup repentance might not change that fate.  Yet those who are Christians — saved — remain a “remnant” who are of Israel, being grafted in through faith, and will be preserved through Eternal Life.

In the meantime, Christians in the U.S. should definitely do all they can to “by any means save some” (Rom 11:14, 1 Cor 9:22), and indeed to affect their society, culture, and yes, government, toward Godly purposes.

© 2011 Paul A. Hughes

The Molding of Jonathan Edwards

Jonathan Edwards

A period of exceptional religious zeal, popularly called the Great Awakening, took place in the American colonies, spontaneously, in the decades preceding the American Revolutionary War.  One of the heralds of this new period was Jonathan Edwards.  Such was his effect upon the history of the North American continent that even the secular history books find that they, too, must give account of this man.  He conceived his purpose to show the public the Father; to urge them, through his writing in his preaching, to a greater understanding of God; and to maintain a deep personal relationship with him.

If there is one single factor that makes a biographical study of Jonathan Edwards difficult, it is the veritable plethora of information to be drawn from.  That numerous biographies of him are in circulation is evident upon first perusing the library catalog.  Then there are the many writings of the late minister himself to be pored over for meaty tidbits of insight into his personality and mental processes, not to mention the studies and critiques written on his works.  Once the chaff has been shaken from the wheat, there is still quite a lot of wheat left to deal with.  Therefore, a brief study must be severely limited in scope, targeting fixed objectives—and, in this case, encompassing his early life only.  The concentration of this paper, then, will be up on Edwards’ developing years:  his development, primarily spiritual and personal, and secondarily intellectual, into a man so obviously a cut above the ordinary, molded into an instrument of the revelation of the Almighty to his fellow men, lifted up and exalted by the sovereign will of God, and leaving an indelible mark upon both American and church history.

How does God choose a man, and use that mere earthen vessel to pour out his Word in the Spirit upon others?  Who, in fact, does He choose, and is there any rhyme or reason to it that mere mortals can hope to grasp?

Consider David, who became the great king of God’s chosen people.  He was an unknown shepherd, the youngest of eight sons of Jesse.  Scripture records that while he kept the sheep, the flock had been attacked by a lion and a bear, and he had killed each of them in hand-to-hand combat.¹  Before David had ever come before King Saul, he had gained some notoriety as “a mighty, valiant man, and a man of war, and prudent in matters. . . .”²  But did God choose him for his mettle—for what he had become in the natural—or had He chosen him long before, and molded him into what He would have him to be?  Did David, indeed, have an outstanding character, or was that character instilled in him by the power and presence of God?  It is a great mystery.

There was much discussion in earlier times about the importance of breeding in the molding of great men.  Whether high character, with all its associated attributes—culture, intellect, innovation, foresight, honesty, forthrightness, diligence, discernment, etc. —are actually transmitted by heredity or simply passed along by the less noble means of education and exposure during the growth process, is subject to some question.  Either way, there is much evidence that Jonathan Edwards was, to a large extent, influenced by his forebears.

The Edwards family back in England had been of ministerial stock.  Clerics, even Puritans, were given a high place on the social scale among their peers.  This ecclesiastical Edwards dynasty was cut short when great-great-grandfather Richard, having already sired son William, died of the plague in 1625.  Young William Edwards’ mother was remarried to James Coles, a cooper (a barrelmaker, an unglamorous trade).  William, not by choice, was raised to carry on his stepfather’s business, the only trade Mr. Coles was able to teach him.

William was eventually to emigrate to new England, evidently disposed to improve his lot in the more free and open economic climate, as well as to escape the entrenched disdain of Puritans by the Anglican majority in his native land.  In those early days, the new England frontier began not so very far from the ship’ s dock.  The life of frontier Puritans was one of hard work and hardship, and future Edwardses were to develop a sturdy constitution.

The trek to better economic fortunes paid off, for William’s son Richard Edwards was to improve his station from that of mere tradesman to that of merchantman.  Richard was able to send his son Timothy to Harvard to obtain a formal education.

Timothy Edwards studied six years at Harvard, intent upon entering the ministry.  He received his B.A. and M.A. degrees in two separate ceremonies held on the same day, July 4, 1694.  The reason for both undergraduate and graduate degrees being granted simultaneously is unclear.  After graduation he moved to the frontier village of East Windsor, Connecticut, where he pioneered a pastorate.  Though never achieving for himself any fame, he served his congregation respectably and faithfully for sixty-four years.³

Timothy married Esther Stoddard, one of the daughters of the influential Reverend Solomon Stoddard.  He was of great renown in the Connecticut River Valley, referred to by the Indians as “The White Man’s God.”⁴  Stoddard had waged a doctrinal war with the famous Cotton and Increase Mather for over a decade, and had emerged victorious.⁵  Esther Stoddard, who was to become the mother of Jonathan Edwards, inherited his forceful character.

Jonathan was born on October 5, 1703, in East Windsor, the only boy among ten sisters.  All the Edwards children were tall.  Timothy Edwards was known to refer as his “sixty feet of daughters.”⁶  Jonathan, as the only male sibling, was in line for special treatment.  From an early age, he was tutored at home.  His diligent parents made sure he was well grounded in the “basics”:  arithmetic, algebra, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, rhetoric, and logic.⁷  He became an avid reader—books in that day were rare and considered precious, but he managed to read widely in the important contemporary works.  Edwards’ own writings show that he was greatly influenced by the philosophy of John Locke, the science of Isaac Newton, the theology of Richard Baxter, and even the fiction of Daniel Defoe.

From childhood, Edwards expressed a great love for the outdoors—the countryside, the seashore, and all of nature.  He said to himself, “sometimes on fair days I find myself more particularly disposed to regard the glories of the world than to betake myself to the study of serious religion.”⁸

He and an immensely inquisitive mind:  “When I was yet a child, no children’s play to me was pleasing; all my mind was set serious to learn and know. . . .”⁹  While others his age were given to frivolous activities, young Jonathan was reading, writing, and—with eyes wide and mind open—observing.  It was his observation of those tiny creatures that live and move all about us, and the relentless drive to understand, that led him to write his earliest known literary work, “Of Insects,” at the tender age of eleven.

“Of Insects,” like other of his early works such as “Of the Rainbow” and “Notes on Natural Science,” was the product of a mind that would not—could not—stop thinking.  Here was a natural student, a boy who could not be content to know the facts, but who must always know why things are the way they are.  “Of Insects” was in no way a literary masterpiece.  In fact, the text is fraught with run-on sentences.  However, eleven-year-old Edwards shows himself to have developed an extensive vocabulary, and to wield a depth of philosophical thought far beyond his years.  This depth of thought was presently to astound the men of his generation, as it still does today.

As in the case with all the sons of men, though they be raised in a religious atmosphere and instilled with the most stringent Christian ethics, each must necessarily make his own personal commitment with the Almighty.  Such was the case with Jonathan Edwards.  In his own words:

I had a variety of concerns and exercises about my soul from my childhood; but had two more remarkable seasons of awakening before I met with that change by which I was brought to those new dispositions, and that new sense of things that I have since had.  The first time was when I was a boy, some years before I went to college, at a time of remarkable awakening in my father’s congregation.  I was then very much affected for many months, and concerned about the things of religion, and my soul’s salvation; and was abundant in duties.¹⁰

And again,

The first time that I remember that ever I found anything of that sort of inward, sweet delight in God and divine things, that has lived in me since, was on reading those words of I Timothy 1:17, “Now unto the king eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory forever and ever.  Amen.”¹¹

The Puritan society in which Edwards lived was staunchly Calvinistic.  Their doctrine included that of Unconditional Predestination, the belief that God had chosen which souls would be saved and which would be damned at the beginning, and the individual was powerless to change or resist the divine plan.  The logical mind of Edwards, intent upon knowing the reasons why, rather than blindly accepting established views as fact, did not easily accept this:

From my childhood up, my mind has been wont to be full of objections against the doctrine of God’s sovereignty, in choosing whom He would to eternal life, and rejecting whom He pleased, leaving them eternally to perish, and be everlastingly in Hell.  It used to appear like a horrible doctrine to me.  But I remember the time very well, when I seemed to be convinced, and fully satisfied, as to this sovereignty of God, and His justice in thus eternally disposing of  men, according to His sovereign pleasure.  But never could I give account, how, or by what means, I was thus convinced; not in the least imagining, in the time of it, nor a long time after, that there was any extraordinary influence of God’s Spirit in it; but only that now I saw further, and my reason apprehended the justice and reasonableness of it.¹²

Edwards had had doubts about this doctrine, but could not easily cast aside what had been drilled into him all his life.  Though unable to totally justify it in his mind, he finally came to the point where he was able to accept it in faith.  He was evidently resolved not to worry about it any longer.

At the tender age of thirteen he entered Yale College, in New Haven, Connecticut.  Yale, like Harvard and other New England colleges, had been founded by the Puritan Fathers with the training of future ministers in mine.  It was not entirely unusual for students to enter college so young in those days, but Jonathan was nevertheless younger than most of his peers.

In 1722, Edwards completed a stint of four years of undergraduate study and two years as a theology student.  He had distinguished himself in his studies, giving the valedictory address.  Then he traveled to New York City to begin serving as a minister in a Presbyterian Church, a time of solid, practical training for him.

In April of 1723, he returned to East Windsor for the summer, intending to serve at Yale as a tutor the next term.  He was subsequently to enter into what was probably the most trying period of his life, and a time of great emotional and spiritual growth.  It is fortunate for the historian that he kept a private journal during this period.  Many of the entries speak of his deep soul-searching attitude.  For example:

The reason why I, in the least, question my interest in God’s love and favor, is, —1.  Because I cannot speak so fully to my experience of that preparatory work, of which divines speak.  —2.  I do not remember that I experienced regeneration, in those steps, in which divines say that it is generally wrought, —3.  I do not feel the Christian graces sensibly enough, particularly faith.  I fear they are only such hypocritical outside affections, which wicked men may feel, as well as others.  They do not seem to be sufficiently inward, full, sincere, entire, and hearty.  They do not seem so substantial, and so wrought into my very nature, as I could wish.  —4.  Because I am sometimes guilty of sins of omission and commission.  Lately I have doubted, whether I do not transgress in evil speaking.13

The rector (president) of Yale, Timothy Cutler, had been a mentor to Jonathan when he first entered the school, and the young student had great respect for him.  Cutler had been trained in the Church of England, not unusual since Puritan institutions were a recent development, but when he began displaying strongly Episcopal leanings he was dismissed, along with three like-minded tutors.  This left only Jonathan and two other tutors to bear the bulk of the burden of discipline and organization.  These tutors were overworked in preparing and conducting lessons, the students had become unruly and disrespectful in the uproar, and Edwards was shaken by the downfall of his friend.

It must be kept in mind that, although he was a college graduate with an advanced degree, possessing eight months of solid ministerial experience, and entrusted with manly responsibilities, he was yet only twenty years old.  It is not surprising, therefore, that yet another source of pressure should rest upon the mind and shoulders of young Edwards:  he met a girl.

Sarah Pierrepont was a pretty brunette from an influential family.  Her father, James Pierrepont, was a Harvard graduate, and the established pastor of the New Haven church.  He had been instrumental in the founding of Yale.  Also among her progenitors was a mayor of New York City, and many other impressive characters.¹⁴  As the proper daughter of a leading family, Sarah had been well trained in the social graces of the day.  She had even been taught to play the lute.

Edwards was thoroughly smitten.  This young man who had dedicated his life to intense study and prayer, who wrote profusely along philosophical/theological lines, who maintained a strictly disciplined lifestyle in a society where the good pleasures of life were imbibed heartily, now spent much time dwelling upon romance.  Inside the cover of the Greek grammar book was found this description:

They say there is a young lady in [New Haven] who his beloved of that Great Being, who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this Great Being, in some way or another invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for anything except to meditate on him…

Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction.  She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular purity in her affections; is most just and conscientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade her to do anything wrong or sinful if you would give her all the world . . . .  She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness, and universal benevolence of mind . . . .

She will sometimes go about from place to place, singing sweetly, and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what.  She loves to be alone, walking in the fields and groves, and seems to have someone invisible always conversing with her.¹⁵

Edwards was in no way prepared to undertake the task of winning such a prize as Sarah.  He was known to chide himself, during this period, for never having given attention to the social graces, as is recorded in his journal.¹⁶  he was a scholar, not a beau.  Tall and gangly, socially awkward and of a dismal, inanimate countenance, he stood little chance of making a favorable impression upon her.

Indeed, she was not impressed.  A mere teenager, Sarah did not find his immense loyalty or his already obvious attributes of achievement the least bit adventuresome.  It was too soon, in her mind, to settle on Jonathan as a husband.

At the Yale commencement exercises of 1725, the tutors, including Jonathan, received a raise:  “the tutors for their extraordinary Services of the year past and their trouble and pains in sorting the books and fixing Catalogues to ye Boxes have five pounds each added to their salary.”¹⁷  Riding home afterward to the East Windsor, Edwards was stricken down with pleurisy.  Ill for months, and unable to return to his duties at Yale, he resigned in 1726.  No doubt the enforced rest and separation from Sarah gave him plenty of time to consider his future.

Sarah led him on a merry chase for three years.  Lovesick Jonathan, faced with a distinct possibility of failure, had hit upon a plan:  to improve his social skills, so as to appear less awkward, more companionable, and more acceptable to Miss Sarah.  In time, whether as a result of “the plan” or not, Jonathan wed Sarah in a gala ceremony on July 28, 1727.

Edwards had accepted appointment as a pastoral assistant in Northampton, Massachusetts.  This was the church of his own grandfather, Solomon Stoddard.  Rev. Stoddard, at eighty-five years old, had decided to lighten his load.  His assistant was to preach every other Sunday in his place.  It was taken for granted that Edwards, when Stoddard died, would inherit his pulpit.

And so he did.  Stoddard died in February of 1729.  Edwards had already distinguished himself as an outstanding theologian.  Though in no way an orator—he wrote out his sermons beforehand and read them in the pulpit—his abilities in expounding doctrinal philosophy were soon recognized.  He was invited to address the Boston clergy in 1731, a significant honor.  His sermon was entitled, “God Glorified in the Work of Redemption, by the Greatness of Man’s Dependence upon Him, in the Whole of It.”¹⁸  In it he blamed the moral problems of the time on an attitude of self-satisfaction in religious circles.  The work became his first published sermon.

Edwards soon settled into his role as a pastor.  He was not known to make social visits upon his congregation, not considering himself socially oriented, but would promptly visit the sick and needy.  He did, at times, invite the young people of the church to his home for prayer and discussion.  He would spend most of his energies in prayer and meditation, and thirteen hours a day in concentrated study, with a time set aside each day for outdoor exercise.  He was well-known for his extensive library.

Sarah, his wife, was to bear him eleven children.  She became known as a model wife and mother, and the perfect help-mate for one such is he.  A family friend, Samuel Hopkins, wrote of her:

It was a happy circumstance that he could trust everything . . . to the care of Mrs. Edwards, with entire safety and with undoubting confidence.  She was a most judicious and faithful mistress of a family, habitually industrious, a sound economist, managing her household affairs with diligence and discretion.

While she uniformly paid a becoming deference to her husband and treated him with an entire respect, she spared no pains in conforming to his inclination and rendering everything in the family agreeable and pleasant; accounting it her greatest glory and there wherein she could best serve God and her generation, to be the means in this way of promoting his usefulness and happiness.¹⁹

Again, he recalled:

She had an excellent way of governing her children: she knew how to make them regard and obey her cheerfully, without loud angry words, much less heavy blows.  She seldom punished them; and in speaking to them, used gentle and pleasant words.  If any correction was necessary, she did not administer it in a passion; and when she had an occasion to reprove and rebuke she would do it in few words, without warmth and noise . . . .  She had need to speak but once; she was cheerfully obeyed; murmuring and answering again were not known among them…

The kind and gentle treatment they receive from their mother, while she strictly and punctiliously maintained her parental authority, seemed naturally to . . . promote a filial respect and affection, and to lead them to a mild tender treatment of each other.  Quarreling and contention, which too frequently take place among children, were in her family unknown.²⁰

Thus we see the groundwork of the ministry of Jonathan Edwards.  His was a public ministry touched and blessed by the hand of God.  In addition, his sterling character and his very lifestyle were examples to his community and to the world of what a man of God should be.  He and his wife together built a household that was the envy of all.

The ministry of Jonathan Edwards has often been characterized as “fire and brimstone” because of his famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.”  However, this harsh, stark message was in no way exemplary of his ministry.  His desire was to preach the gospel, not condemnation.  Consider some of his other works:  “A Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Works of God in the Conversion of Many Hundred Souls” (1737); “The Distinguishing Marks of a Work of the Spirit of God” (1741); “Some Thoughts concerning the Present Revival of Religion in New England” (1742); “An Account of the Life of the Late Reverend Mr. David Brainerd” (1749, a biography of the self-sacrificing missionary to the American Indians, engaged to Edwards’ daughter Jerusha, but who died at the age of 29); “The Freedom of the Will” (1754); “The Nature of True Virtue” (1755); and “Concerning the End for Which God Created the World” (1755).

Edwards pastored the Northampton church until 1750, when he left in a time of controversy.  He served for a time as a minister and missionary to the Indians in Stockbridge, then was chosen as the new president of Princeton College.  After only a week in office, he was inoculated for smallpox, and died of complications on March 22, 1758.

Near death, Edwards had spoken of Sarah, who was not present:

Give my kindest love to my dear wife, and tell her that the uncommon union which has so long subsisted between us has been of such a nature as I trust is spiritual and therefore will continue forever.²¹

Two years later, Sarah, too, had passed away.

It was discussed earlier that one’s ancestry seems to have some bearing upon the character of the individual, whether by heredity or by the cumulative effect of family traditions, attitudes, and lifestyles.  As an interesting footnote, let us examine a study made of more than 1,400 descendents of the Jonathan Edwards/Sarah Pierrepont union by A. E. Winship in the year 1900.  He found that their marriage had produced: 13 college presidents; 65 professors; 100 lawyers, and the dean of an outstanding law school; 30 judges; 66 physicians, and a dean of a medical school; 80 holders of public office including three United States senators, mayors of three large cities, governors of three states, a vice president of the United States, and the comptroller of the United States Treasury, plus scores of college graduates, ministers, missionaries, prominent businessmen, authors, editors, and voluminous readers.  Even the “black sheep” of the family were outstanding, including the infamous revolutionary Aaron Burr.²²

Scripture tells us repeatedly that the blessings of God or upon the generation (offspring) of the righteous.  It is said that the ultimate proof of a prophecy is to see it fulfilled.

Notes

1. I Samuel xvii. 34-37.
2. I Samuel xvi. 18.
3. Ola Elizabeth Winslow, Jonathan Edwards (New York: The McMillan Co., 1940), pp. 5-7.
4. Elizabeth D. Dodds, Marriage to a Difficult Man (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1971), p. 19.
5. Perry Miller, Jonathan Edwards (Cleveland: The World Publishing Co., 1949), pp. 9-13.
6. Dodds, p. 18.
7. Edward H. Davidson, Jonathan Edwards: the Narrative of the Puritan Mind (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1966), p. 9.
8. Dodds, p. 22.
9. Ralph G. Turnbull, Jonathan Edwards, the Preacher (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1958), p. 13.
10. Turnbull, p. 15.
11. Turnbull, p. 16.
12. Turnbull, p. 15.
13. Vergilus Ferm, Puritan Sage: Collected Writings of Jonathan Edwards (New York, Library Publishers, 1953), p. 117.
14. Dodds, p. 13.
15. Dodds, p. 17.
16. Dodds, p. 22.
17. Dodds, p. 21.
18. “Jonathan Edwards,” Encyclopedia Britannica, 1981 ed.
19. Dodds, pp. 34, 35.
20. Dodds, pp. 42, 43.
21. Dodds, p. 201.
22. Dodds, p. 38.

Also refer to Alfred Owen Aldridge, Jonathan Edwards (New York: Washington Square Press, 1964).

© 2011 Paul A. Hughes. Originally presented to Gaylan Claunch, in partial fulfillment of the course requirements for PME 112, Introduction to PME, Southwestern Assemblies of God University, April 7, 1983.

God’s Troublemakers

Paul the Apostle, Acts 22:25

For many years, we have been told that good Christians are gentle, docile, and quiet, never disturbing or putting anyone to any trouble.  They live peacefully in modest homes, work regular jobs, raise families, and go to church.  Christians must certainly never complain, oppose authority, resist oppression, or use power to force reforms.  Judging from the Bible, however, the pundits would have a hard time proving these assertions.  In Scripture, most of the great men and women of God were troublemakers.

Joseph annoyed his brothers to the point that they sold him into slavery.  Accused of sexually assaulting his master’s wife, he was thrown into prison.  Later, he held his younger brother hostage.

Moses was a terrible troublemaker.  He challenged an Egyptian who was abusing a Hebrew, and killed him.  Later, he was asked accusingly, “Who made you ruler and judge over us?” (Exodus 2:14).  Pharaoh increased his oppression of the Hebrews, and their leaders blamed Moses.  “May the LORD look upon you and judge you!  You have made us a stench to Pharaoh and his officials and have put a sword in their hand to kill us” (5:21).  When the Egyptian army attacked them at the Red Sea, they cried, “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die?” (14:10).

David was a rebel and outlaw for many years, even working for his people’s sworn enemies.  He violated another man’s wife, then had him killed to cover it up.  God would not allow David to build his temple.

Elijah met King Ahab at Mount Carmel.  As soon as Ahab saw him, he asked, “Is that you, you troubler of Israel?” (1 Kings 18:17).  Elijah proposed a contest with the 450 prophets of Ba’al.  He won, and had all the false prophets slaughtered.

In fact, God’s prophets regularly made themselves a nuisance.  Ahab said of Micaiah, “I hate him because he never prophesies anything good about me” (1 Kings 22:8).  Zechariah was stoned to death, Jeremiah languished in prison:  carnal leaders generally did not like what the prophets had to say, and persecuted and killed them for it.

Now the reader should not imagine that troublemaking was limited to the Old Testament.  Jesus threatened the religious leaders of Judea by exposing their hypocrisy and gaining the allegiance of the people; thus they arranged to have him executed.  Likewise, John the Baptist angered Herod’s wife, who had him beheaded.

The apostles were arrested in the temple for preaching, but thereafter defied the Sanhedrin’s orders to cease and desist.  Peter was imprisoned for preaching; after he escaped, his guards were executed for negligence.  Stephen was stoned to death, and John’s brother James executed by Herod.  Paul with his companions were flogged at Philippi, stoned at Lystra, threatened by assassins; Paul caused riots in Ephesus and Jerusalem, and was otherwise beaten, threatened, and endangered (see 2 Corinthians 11:23-27).

For two millennia since then, Christian activists and agitators have caused no end of trouble for those in power and those who benefit from the status quo.

Jesus said that the Gospel would divide families; Christians would be hated, persecuted, and killed.  He “did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34).  The Lord has chosen that through those who are troublemakers in the eyes of the world He would accomplish his work.

Of course, not all trouble is ordained by God, and if not, should be discouraged.  Ungodly trouble brings disrepute upon the Church.  But in the present emergency, with the world growing worse and the end times approaching, we desperately need the kind of troublemakers we read about in Scripture.

When godly troublemakers act, we can expect many in the Church to denounce them as such.  If they bring hardship and persecution upon us, many will ask, as they questioned Moses, “Who put you in charge of us?  You have made us look bad in the eyes of the world!  It is your fault that we suffer!”  It will require great courage and self-sacrifice to stand in the face of bitter criticism, even that of our own brethren.  But if in obedience to God, how can we withhold?

© 2002 Paul A. Hughes

Archaeology Proves the Bible Record

Uzziah Tomb Inscription

The world today is deluged by opinions. Opinions that sound good become accepted as truth.  Opinions that are widespread and widely accepted come to be considered incontrovertible, conventional wisdom.

One such opinion that is tossed around today and widely accepted is that the Bible is rife with historical error.  Many so-called scholars have promoted this idea with enthusiasm.  One must realize that these “scholars” have their own agendas:  religious, anti-religious, anti-supernatural, anti-Christian, anti-Jewish, or very often political.  One does not go around “disproving” the Bible without a reason.

As a trained interpreter of the Bible and a student of Biblical archaeology, I have never found a fact in the Bible, historical or otherwise, that has been truly disproved.  Some events, like Creation, will likely never be proved to everyone’s satisfaction.  That is okay, since God never intended people to believe in him because of “proof,” but by a first-hand encounter with him through faith.

But a multitude of Biblical facts have been proved beyond reasonable doubt. It has been the habit of many Bible scholars to disbelieve anything that has not been proved three times over.  Many still maintain that the bulk of facts in the Bible were simply made up. Again and again, archaeology proves them wrong, and the Bible right.

The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 13, 18, 19) was long considered a myth.  No one could have inhabited the arid land south of the Dead Sea, they said.  But archaeologist Nelson Glueck, believing the Bible, undertook a survey of the region in the years of 1933-46.  He found many such sites of habitation, abandoned or destroyed in antiquity.

Kathleen Kenyon, the foremost excavator of Jericho (1952-58), reported finding no evidence of the miraculous flattening of its walls as recorded in Joshua 2-6.  Scholars have long considered her opinion conclusive.  I have visited the mound (“tell”) of Jericho, however.  Only isolated portions have been unearthed — but broad conclusions were nevertheless drawn by Kenyon. More recently, archaeologist Bryant Wood examined Kenyon’s own evidence, and found her findings to confirm the Biblical record.

Scholars have assumed that many names of people and places in the Bible were simply made up by the writers.  One of these names was that of Sargon, king of Assyria (reigned circa 722-705 B.C.).  The name Sargon was found nowhere other than a brief mention in Isaiah 20:1, until French archaeologist Paul Emile Botta unearthed his throne room in Khorsabad in 1843.  A number of inscriptions bearing the name Sargon were found.

Another discovery related to Sargon took place in 1989 at Nimrud (Calah).  A royal tomb was found hidden beneath the floor of a palace room previously excavated in the 1950s.  It contained the remains of Atalia, wife of Sargon; Yabay, wife of Tiglath-Pileser III (2 Kings 15:29); and a gold bowl bearing the name of Baniti, wife of Shalmaneser V, along with other artifacts.  Elsewhere was found an inscription to the wife of Ashur-Nasirpal II.  Other recent discoveries have yielded hundreds of cuneiform tablets which have yet to be deciphered.

On the subject of tablets (the clay slabs upon which they wrote in cuneiform), accounts of Creation and Noah’s Flood, similar to the Biblical accounts, were found long ago and are well known.  (The Flood story is universal, showing up in the the lore of such far-flung peoples as the Aborigines of Australia and native peoples of North America.)  The Mesopotamian Flood and Creation stories on the tablets are much longer than their Biblical counterparts, and contain multiple gods and outlandish occurrences.  Scholars insist that the later Hebrews must have shortened these stories, making them monotheistic and less “magical” — in which form they eventually found their way into the Bible.  But this would be a singular and unlikely event, since stories are more often lengthened and elaborated-upon than shortened, especially among pagan, polytheistic peoples.  In other words, the pagans took the shorter, monotheistic accounts and added gods and mythological details.

I believe Abraham took these more ancient, monotheistic versions of the Flood and Creation with him when he left Ur of the Chaldees. He handed the stories down to his descendants, the Hebrews, who possess them today in the Bible.  The proof of this theory will come if and when ancient tablets bearing the shorter, monotheistic versions of the stories are discovered.

Scholars and scientists have a way of giving the general public the impression that they already have all the facts, but this is not the case.  They are often very protective of their theories, and resent having them questioned.  But recent discoveries show that there are still a lot of facts left to dig up (literally).  In my observation, new facts overwhelmingly confirm the validity and veracity of Bible history.

In scholarly circles, unfortunately, to believe in the supernatural is to be ridiculed by one’s colleagues.  An example is that of Hans Goedicke, who believes that the Egyptian army was indeed drowned in the Red Sea, and therefore has become a laughingstock.  But even secularized scholars must bow to the Bible’s reliability:

“Now, I surely don’t believe that 600,000 people crossed the desert as the Bible says,” admitted archaeologist Yigal Shiloh, “but on the other hand, I’m not ready to disregard the Bible altogether.  I’ve dealt with the Bible enough, as a secular person, to understand that it’s not just a bunch of legends of the elders to explain what happened.  There is something to it” (Biblical Archeology Review, May/June 1988, pp. 45f.).

While speaking of the Exodus, the traditional dating of the departure of the Israelites from Egypt is during the reign of Rameses II (1279-1212 B.C.).  Scholars argue that the Exodus never took place, since no inscriptions record it.  But as has often been pointed out, no proud king would ever chisel news of his defeats in stone to be read throughout the ages.  There is, however, an inscription on the wall of the great Karnak temple at Thebes which declares a victory over Israelites in Canaan by Pharoah Merenptah, the son of Rameses.  What would be more natural than the son of a defeated king boasting of victory over his father’s enemies?

The names of persons and places in Genesis, and the cultures and practices portrayed, have a resounding ring of authenticity.  The first chapters of Genesis have a distinct Mesopotamian flavor.  After Abraham’s migration to Canaan, the mood changes.  Names of people and places, as well as the social, political, and cultural setting, accurately depict the situation in that frontier area.  The laws by which Abraham governs himself conform accurately to those of the period and locale.  Then beginning with Joseph’s captivity in Egypt, the names are authentically Egyptian, along with the setting.  It is unlikely that any one person, were he writing a fictional account, would have had such a grasp of these three diverse regions and cultures.

With the Exodus, the scene changes from Egypt back to Canaan, and so does the flavor.  The Scripture often records the original Canaanite place name along with the new Hebrew name (for several examples, see Joshua 15:8-15).

William F. Albright has shown many New Testament names to be authentic to the period.  Names such as Mary (Miriam), Martha, Elizabeth, Salome, Johanna, Sapphira, Jesus (Joshua), Joseph, James (Jacob), Judas (Judah), and Lazarus (Eleazar) are among the most common names found in first-century Palestine.

Scholars have sometimes considered names and places in the New Testament, as well as the Old, to have been made up.  Such was the case with Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor who had Jesus crucified.  But an ancient plaque bearing his name, along with that of Tiberius Caesar, was unearthed in Caesarea in 1961.

Similarly, an inscription dedicated to a Corinthian city official named Erastus can apparently be identified with the Erastus mentioned in Romans 16:23.

The “Altar to an Unknown God” in Athens mentioned by Paul in Acts 17:23 has not been found, but was reported seen by Pausanias about A.D. 150.

A plaque which once marked the burial place of King Uzziah of Judah (Isaiah 6:1) was found in a Russian museum on the Mount of Olives by E. L. Sukenik in 1931.

The water tunnel dug by King Hezekiah has been discovered, along with an inscription of dedication (2 Kings 20:20, Isaiah 22:11).

The family tombs of Tobiah the Ammonite (Nehemiah 2:19) and the Sons of Hezir (1 Chronicles 24:15) have been found.

Time does not suffice to note the many Biblical names which have been found on official seals, on inlaid ivory pieces, in inscriptions in stone, and on pottery shards (used like note paper in ancient times).  Nor does it suffice to list the multitude of cities, buildings, and locations (like “The Pavement” of John 19:13) recorded in the Bible which have been found by archaeologists.

Further, I have not even mentioned the evidence of ancient manuscripts of Bible books.  For instance, the handwritten Dead Sea Scroll of Isaiah, dated to the second century B.C., differs in only a few letters from modern texts.

There are many more things in heaven and earth than meet the eye.  There are many cities and archaeological sites yet to be dug.  In Jerusalem alone, much of the city has never been excavated because of continuous habitation and modern buildings.  But I am confident that, as more facts are discovered, more assumptions will be overturned, and Bible history will be verified.

© 1991, 2011 Paul A. Hughes.  Originally published in two parts in The Polk County Enterprise, June 16 and 23, 1991.

Græco-Roman Elements in New Testament Palestine

Roman Official in Uniform

It was a wondrous time, a wondrous and terrible time — a time of new empires, of new peoples, and of new languages; a time of new religion and old religion; a time of conquest, of reeducation, and of organization.  Such were the days preceding — pointing for it — the birth and death of Christ.  It was an unprecedented time, a time when a universal rule and the universal time paved the way for the evangelism of the known world — and, in time, the metamorphosis of an ungodly empire into a Christian empire.  The time, some say, when God himself engineered world situations according to his purposes.

It is said that no Scripture can be correctly interpreted apart from its context.  Unfortunately, many would-be interpreters of the Bible today have failed to give sufficient attention to its historical, as well as its literary, context.  When reading the New Testament, and the Gospels and the Acts in particular, one whiffs the wind of Græco-Roman influence in Palestine during the life of Christ and early evangelical outreach.  There is much that is misunderstood about this influence.  It is fitting and necessary, then, that we give attention to some basic elements of the Greek and Roman influence in the Palestine that Jesus Christ in the apostles knew.

“Roman” and “Greek”

There is a certain ambiguity of terminology when discussing things “Roman” and “Greek.”  On the one hand, it must be considered that Rome, after all, was both a city and an empire.  A resident of that empire, although freed from slavery, was not necessarily a Roman citizen (until the late Empire).  Conversely, a Roman citizen was not necessarily of Roman extraction.  Again, a “Roman soldier” was not necessarily either a Roman citizen or of Roman blood.  These details of Roman citizenship and the extraction of the soldiery shall be discussed in a later section.

On the other hand, when one considers things “Greek,” one must know the following:  the word “Greek” comes from the Latin word Graecus.¹  However, the Greeks called themselves, in their own tongue, Hellenes.  Originally, this terminology, in either language, applied to certain tribes who from ancient times occupied the area we now know as Greece.  But with the conquests of Alexander, a change took place:  Greek culture was spread far and wide, becoming particularly entrenched in Asia minor, Syria, and North Africa, and “Greek” became applicable to any people who had embraced Greek culture.  They had become “hellenized.”²  The Greeks, by their advanced and attractive culture, and the Romans, by their organizational abilities and almost irresistible imperialism, had together virtually taken over the known world by the time of Christ.  Just how much, and in what ways, their influence affected first century Palestinian culture and thought — and, therefore, the Biblical documents — is still much under debate.  We must, in many cases, wait for the enlightenment of further research and discoveries.

Language

Latin, of course, was the official language of Rome.  In the early Empire, it was generally expected of every citizen, whether born in Rome itself were born in the farthest province, or granted citizenship as an adult, to learn to speak Latin.  The emperor Claudius is recorded to have once retracted the citizenship of a certain provincial who was found to have neglected to learn the state language.³

However, during this same period, and continuing until about the third century, the major language in the eastern half of the Empire was Greek.  The major reasons for this are discussed in an expert source:

And the Greeks were a very aggressive people, and early learned seafaring from the Phoenicians, and vied with the latter in the extent of maritime activities.  As a result Greek colonies were planted on nearly all the shores of the Mediterranean.  One of the strongest of these colonies was on the eastern coast of Italy, not far from the center of the Latin world.

The mingling of representatives from all the Greek tribes in Alexander’s army matured the development of a common Greek, and the wide introduction of Greek culture under his direction distributed the common tongue throughout the Macedonian empire.  When Rome conquered this Hellenized territory, she in turn was Hellenized, and thereby the civilized world adopted Koine Greek.⁴

This describes, in simplified terms, the complex situation by which Greek became the lingua franca of the Eastern Empire.  In the third century B.C., the Jews of Alexandria in Egypt thought it necessary to translate the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek, and thus the Septuagint.  The official seal of Caesar Augustus himself was inscribed in Greek.⁵  Then, when the apostles and the first century Christian historians wrote what we know as the New Testament, it was distributed in Greek.

An argument rages concerning the idiom expressed in the Greek of the New Testament:  do the thoughts expressed in Greek describe Hebrew/Aramaic thought with its origins in the traditions of antiquity, or are the thoughts corrupted and paganized by Græco-Roman idiom?  The fact is, there is sound evidence of both.  Some ideas have been traced rather conclusively to Semitic thought, others to Western.  As one might imagine, the correct interpretation of many New Testament passages depends greatly upon this question.  Many such passages remain clouded.  It bears upon us to continue our research for the discovery of the truth of Scripture.

Culture

Along with the proliferation of the Greek tongue in much of the Empire, the Romans also adopted many aspects of Greek culture.  Greek artistry reigned supreme.  The Romans accepted the Greek pantheon of gods, and gave them Latin names.  Roman leaders became enamored with Greek philosophy:  the great politician and philosopher or Cicero (106-43 B.C.) spent some time translating the writings of Plato into Latin.

Perhaps of even more consequence was the Greek influence upon the Roman educational system.  In ancient times, the people of Rome were very family-oriented.  Small children were traditionally taught at their mother’s knee, and older children were taught by their father.  In this family setting, each new generation learned from the former the high moral values of ancient Rome.

However, with their infatuation with Greek ways, prosperous Romans began to follow the fashionable Greek practice.  They employed a Greek slave or freedman in the capacity of pedagogue, a type of tutor.  The pedagogue served to take the children off their parent’s hands, escorting them to a Greek school, where they read the Greek classics, and were taught Greek grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic by a Greek teacher.  The children of Rome began to be more under the influence of these Greeks than of their own parents — and the Greeks were not known for their moral fiber.⁶

Because of the cultural and lingual blending heretofore described, the cultural effect of the Greeks and the Romans can in many ways be seen as one.

Certainly, it must be said that such Græco-Roman influences were not received in Palestine, and in Judea especially, with the open arms they had met with elsewhere.  After the death of Alexander (323 B.C.), his empire had been divided among his generals.  From these rulers came the Seleucid kings of Syria, and the Ptolemies in Egypt.  Beginning in the third century B.C., when Philopater ruled in Egypt and Antiochus III in Syria, the two powers began to vie for that land which lay in-between.  Repeatedly, the armies of both kingdoms invaded Palestine.

In the second century B.C., Antiochus IV, called Epiphanes, decided to force the hellenization of Judea, to the point of depriving them of their religion.  Antiochus authorized the building of a gymnasium in the heart of Jerusalem, where young Jewish men were encouraged in practices contrary to the Law.⁷  He took over the Temple, dedicated it to Zeus, and polluted it with ceremonial prostitutes and unlawful practices.  He placed a ban up on the right of circumcision, upon penalty of death.⁸  A rebellion of the Jews began with Mattathias and his sons, who came to be called the Maccabees.

Stubbornly, the Jews seem to have maintained their religion and traditional way of life throughout the New Testament period, to a great extent — but there were still avenues by which Græco-Roman influences crept in:  there were those of the Jewish aristocracy (the germ of the sect of the Sadducees) who were in its favor.⁹  For instance, the idea of building the gymnasium in Jerusalem actually originated with Jason, the high priest.¹⁰  Later, when Herod the Great was king, he catered to the Romans by building the Roman-style city of Caesarea, as well as a temple to Augustus Caesar in Samaria.  Herod renamed the fortress adjacent to the Temple Antonia, after Mark Antony.¹¹

In 63 B.C., Pompey the Great, soon to become a member of the Roman Triumvirate, besieged and captured Jerusalem, leveling its wall.  Judea was forced to pay tribute, and fell under Roman domination.¹²  Later, Judea (A.D. 6) and Galilee (A.D. 44) became actual Roman provinces, with Roman governors and military personnel.  Then, with the destruction of Jerusalem in A.D. 70, Israel as a nation ceased to exist.  The Jews became a people without a country.

The extent of Greek and Roman influence is evident in the history of many New Testament cities.  Tyre and Sidon, originally Phoenician, were hellenized after the Alexandrian conquests.  (The Stoic philosopher Apollonius was from Tyre.)¹³  Due to Seleucid rule, much of the territory of Palestine was arranged in “toparchies,” based upon the Greek city state, in which isolated cities control their surrounding territories.  Bethsaida, Caesarea Philippi, and Jamnia (in Judea) were known to have been toparchical capitals.¹⁴  Philip the Tetrarch rebuilt Panias as a Greek city, renaming its Caesarea Philippi (after Caesar Augustus).  Likewise, Herod Antipas built Tiberius on the Sea of Galilee, naming it after Tiberius Caesar.¹⁵  The cities of the Decapolis (“ten cities”) which included Damascus, Gadara, Gerasa, and Philadelphia, were populated by Greek colonists about 200 B.C.¹⁶

As an aside, it should be noted that Egypt, to which Joseph and Mary fled with the infant Jesus, had been largely hellenized as well.  A large Greek-speaking Jewish population resided there.  Egypt was incorporated into the Empire in 30 B.C., after the defeat of Antony and Cleopatra.¹⁷

The Roman Army

The Roman army in Judea consisted, Sherwin-White insists, not of Roman legionnaires (of actual Roman extraction), but of provincial auxiliary troops.¹⁸  It stands to reason that there were not enough men in the city of Rome itself to keep the world in check.  It was Roman practice to recruit provincials from its ranks and secure provinces.  Still, it is unlikely that they would have used native Jewish soldiery in such a headstrong nation in such a recent acquisition as Judea.  The common troops in Judea, therefore, were probably neither Roman nor Jewish.

The argument against Jewish soldiery is supported by the fact that the province of Judea was governed by a procurator rather than a proconsul.  A proconsul was used only in secure provinces, which did not require a standing army, and were administered by the Roman Senate.  Proconsuls which are mentioned in the New Testament are Sergius Paulus, governor of Cyprus (Acts 13:7), and Junius Gallio, governor of Achaia (Acts 18:12).

A procurator, on the other hand, had military powers, and was placed over troublesome provinces.  Procurators mentioned are, in addition to Pontius Pilatus, Antonius Felix (Acts 23:24 ff.) and Porcius Festus (Acts 24:27 ff.).  The procurators of the Middle East were all subject to the imperial legate (Latin propraetor) of Syria.

Galilee, as mentioned before, did not become a Roman province until A.D. 44, with the death of Herod Agrippa I.  Therefore, Sherwin-White maintains, the centurion in Capernaum (Matthew 8: 5-13, Luke 7:1-10), obviously not a Jew, was not a Roman soldier — although Roman terminology is used.  Likewise, the executioner (Latin speculator, also rendered “bodyguard”) of Herod Antipas, who decapitated John the Baptist (Mark 6:21, 27), was not Roman.  Perhaps these men were Galilean Gentiles, or — more likely — foreign mercenaries.²⁰

The offices of the Roman army were, in order of ascending rank:  centurion, tribune (tribunus militum), and prefect (or legate, if the troops were Roman legionnaires).²¹  Up to the reign of Claudius (A.D. 41-54), provincial centurions were commonly non-Roman, and it was possible for one to be promoted to higher rank.²²  One commentator suggests that Claudius Lysias, the Tribune who rescued Paul in the Temple (Acts 21:31, 22:24, 23:10) was such a promoted provincial, who had been “enfranchised” (made a citizen by decree) by Claudius.  It was standard practice for an enfranchised citizen to precede his own single name with the name of the emperor who had granted his citizenship.  The same commentator further maintains that the “great sum” with which Lysias had purchased his citizenship was not a paid price, but rather of bribe made to the administrators in charge of the nomination process.²³  Antonius Felix, procurator of Judea (A.D. 52-59), is known to have been a freedman (ex-slave, or son of a freedman), and may have been promoted in similar fashion.²⁴  However, subsequent to Claudius, it developed that the officers of the provincial auxiliaries were no longer promoted from the ranks, but were commissioned from the Roman legions.  From Tribune up, officers were of Equestrian status, ranking as knights.  Late in the Empire, officers were appointed from the aristocracy.²⁵

Roman Citizenship

“I appeal unto Caesar,” cried Paul.  The great Apostle was calling into action his rights under law as a citizen of Rome.  A total of three instances are recorded in the Acts in which Paul invoked his rights:  having been mistreated and jailed at Philippi (perfectly legal treatment in the case of a non-Roman), Paul and Silas announced their citizenship, lest they be unceremoniously banished as common malefactors, and their ministry discredited (16:37).  Again, Paul asserted his rights as he was about to be beaten by the Romans in Jerusalem (22:25).  Finally, he appealed for trial before Caesar in Rome (25:11, 26:32, 28:19).

In order to understand the ramifications of Roman citizenship, one must first comprehend the evolving nature of the Empire itself.  As the Empire grew in territory, as it incorporated other peoples, cultures, and civilizations, as its ideologies changed and its morals declined, so did its laws change.

At the beginning, of course, only men of the city of Rome itself held the rights of Romans.  As Rome grew into an empire, the Roman army began to recruit provincials to fill its ranks in foreign lands.  In time, these auxiliary forces outnumbered the Roman legions.²⁶  Citizenship began to be granted as a reward for services rendered, especially to army officers.  At its height, citizenship ensured certain privileges, such as freedom from municipal taxes in the provinces, immunity to certain punishments and indignities, and appeal to Caesar in capital cases.  But as the Empire wanes, so did the value of Roman status.  In the third century A.D., the Constitutio Antoniniana declared all residents of the Empire, with the exception of slaves, to be Romans.²⁷  This shows the effective obsolescence of special citizenship status by this time.

Of course, even after the Constitutio Antoniniana, a privileged class still remained.  While in the early Empire the social castes of free men consisted of cives romani (Roman citizens) and peregrini (non-citizen provincials) — with the ruling class of royalty, officials, and equestrians ranking yet higher — in the late Empire that classes consisted of honestiores or curiales (aristocrats) and humiliores (“the masses”).  Above the honestiores ranked the influential potentes.²⁸

Paul held citizenship of both Rome and Tarsus.  During the Roman Republic (before the Caesars), it was impossible to hold such a dual citizenship.²⁹  Some scholars have doubted whether the Acts record is accurate on this point.  However, Pliny mentions one Claudius Aristion, who held dual citizenship in A.D. 106, proving the existence of such a status during roughly the same period.³⁰

A striking difference between the citizen and the provincial can then be seen when it comes to capital jurisdiction.  Before Judea became a province of Rome, the Sanhedrin held the power to administer the death penalty.  The Romans preempted this right, except for, perhaps, the execution of profaners of the Temple.³¹  Otherwise, only the procurator held capital powers:  therefore, the Jews brought Jesus to Pilate for judgment.  Pilate sent Jesus to Herod Antipas, who was visiting in Jerusalem, since Jesus was a Galilean.  This may have been a mere act of courtesy, or a matter of legality:  since Herod ruled Galilee, he had the right to judge Jesus, if he so chose.  It is also quite possible that Pilate merely would have preferred to avoid the matter.³²

But if the Sanhedrin held no capital powers, how then could they execute Stephen shortly thereafter?  For one thing, this incident might have taken place after Pilate was recalled to Rome, and no replacement had arrived.  Also, the Jewish leaders showed a propensity for doing whatever they felt they could get away with.  Stephen’s murder could easily be termed a “lynching.”³³  In fact, in killing Stephen without a trial, the Sanhedrin violated their own statutes.

Jesus and Stephen, of course, were provincials, not Roman citizens.  Paul, on the other hand, could not be sentenced for a capital offense, even by the procurator.  He had the right to be tried before Caesar himself, and not even Caesar’s highest officer could handle the matter for him.  Hence, Paul was escorted under guard — not in chains — to Rome.  Because of this and other peculiar circumstances, Paul was able to continue his ministry for at least two years in Rome itself, the heart and soul of the Empire.

Coinage

The use of Greek currency in Palestine probably coincided with the infiltration of Greek language and culture after Alexander the Great, reaching its height during the Seleucid domination.  Judea and Galilee, after all, were sandwiched between the Greek cities of Alexandria in Egypt and Syrian Antioch, the largest in the world except for Rome.  Greek settlements dotted Galilee, Syria, and the Decapolis.  From Antioch, caravans branched out into the surrounding area.

Roman money was introduced later, when Pompey the Great conquered Jerusalem in 63 B.C.³⁴  The Jews continued to produce their own currency, but Greek and Roman coinage were quite common from that time on.

Herod the Great (37-4 B.C.) was the first Jewish ruler to use Greek, rather than Hebrew, inscriptions on coins.  Herod Philip (4 B.C.-A.D. 34), king of Iturea and Trachonitus during the life of Christ, was the first to use pagan symbols on coinage, while his brothers evidently feared the Jews’ displeasure.  Later Herodian coins became unabashedly pagan.³⁵

The Roman procurator’s also tried not to offend the Jews with pagan symbols, including facial representations, until the governorship of Pontius Pilate.  Roman coins in Palestine were minted locally, but nevertheless bore the name of Caesar and not the procurator.³⁶  A number of Græco-Roman coins are mentioned in the Gospel:  the denarius was the “tribute money” mentioned in Matthew 22:19.³⁷  No doubt it was hated by the Jews, not only for the tax it represented, but for the image of Caesar stamped on one side.  To the Jews this was a “graven image.”

The drachma of Luke 15:8 was of Greek origin, as was the didrachma of Matthew 17:24-27.  The tetradrachma (stater), which originated in Antioch (the former capital of the Seleucid kings), was equal to the Israeli shekel.  It is mentioned in Matthew 17:27.  The tax money was one didrachma — the tetradrachma was equal to two, enough for both Peter and Jesus.  Other coins were the lepton (the “mite” in Mark 12:42), the quadrans (the “farthing” in Mark 12:42), and the assarion of Matthew 10:29.³⁸

Other Influences

Many other effects of the Græco-Roman culture and language are evident in first century Palestine, too many to list here.  Actually, it is quite possible that the use of the Greek tongue, in particular, was more widespread than previously thought.

In Nazareth, where Jesus Christ grew up, a stone was found which bears an edict of Caesar (probably Claudius), warning of capital punishment for grave robbing.³⁹  The very fact that it is written in Greek presupposes that Nazarenes could read it.  An inscription on a gate of the Temple warned, in Greek, that no Gentiles were to enter the inner courts, upon pain of death.⁴⁰  And, of course, the superscription on the cross of Jesus label him as “King of the Jews” in Greek and Latin, as well as Hebrew (Luke 23:38).

Conclusion

Now, perhaps, the “would-be interpreter of the Bible” mentioned earlier has had his mind intrigued, his heart inspired, and some of the blanks filled in by the information presented here.  This information is, technically speaking, “extra-Biblical” — yet the value of knowing a variety of facts and figures which surround the New Testament record can scarcely be estimated.  Ignorance of the concrete facts behind the Gospel is the worst enemy of true interpretation.  There has been much misinformation disseminated by those who have misunderstood the historical context of important passages.  If the earnest student of the Bible can but picture in his mind the exact situation in which words were spoken and acts committed, it will profit him much toward the cause of Christ, as well as his own personal life.

NOTES

1. P. G. W. Glare, ed. Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), p. 770.
2. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Gerhard Kittel, ed., translated and edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), p. 504-16.
3. Cassius Dio Historiae 60.17.4., cited in A. N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1963).
4. H. E. Dana and Julius R. Mantey, A Manual Grammar of the Greek New Testament (New York: Macmillan, 1927; rpt. ed., Macmillan, 1955), pp. 7, 8.
5. Dana and Mantey, p. 8.
6. Kenneth O. Gangel and Warren S. Benson, Christian Education: Its History and Philosophy (Chicago: Moody Press, 1983), pp. 51-60.
7. II Maccabees 4:7-17.
8. II Maccabees 6:1-11.
9. William Menzies, Understanding the Times of Christ (Springfield, Mo.: Gospel Publishing House, 1969), pp. 14-15.
10. II Maccabees 4:7-9.
11. Merrill C. Tenney, New Testament Times (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1965), pp. 59, 61.
12. Tenney, pp. 51-52.
13. H. Wayne House, Chronological and Background Charts of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1981), p. 59.
14. A. N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1963), pp. 127-31.
15. Menzies, pp. 23-24.
16. House, p. 59.
17. House, p. 49.
18. Sherwin-White, p. 160.
19.  “Procurator,” “Proconsul,” in New Bible Dictionary, ed. J. D. Douglas (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1962), p. 1036.
20. Sherwin-White, pp. 123-24.  Cf. Oxford Latin, p. 1802.
21. Sherwin-White, p. 124.  Cf. House, p. 56.
22. Sherwin-White, p. 155.
23. Sherwin-White, pp. 153-62.
24. NBD, p. 1036.
25. Sherwin-White, pp. 154-55.
26. Sherwin-White, p. 160.
27. Sherwin-White, pp. 10, 69, 180.
28. Sherwin-White, pp. 69-70, 108, 139, 173-74.
29. Sherwin-White, pp. 181-82.
30. Pliny Epistulae 6.31.3., cited in Sherwin-White, p. 182.
31. Menzies, pp. 58-59.  Sherwin-White, pp. 38, 41-42.
32. Sherwin-White, p. 31.
33. Sherwin-White, pp. 38-43.
34. J. A. Thompson, The Bible and Archaeology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1962), p. 306.
35. Thompson, p. 309.
36. Thompson, p. 310.
37. Stephen L. Caiger, Archaeology and the New Testament (London: Cassell and Co., 1939), pp. 146-47.
38. Caiger, pp. 147-48.
39. Tenney, pp. 221-22.
40. See Tenney, p. 73.

© 2011 Paul A. Hughes.   Originally submitted to Dr. Raymond Levang, in partial fulfillment of the requirements in BNT 532, “Background of the New Testament,”  The Assemblies of God Theological Seminary, April 18, 1985.

What San Jacinto Day Means to All Americans – and Mexicans

The Battle of San Jacinto by Henry Arthur McArdle, 1895

San Jacinto Day, April 21, 2011

On this day in 1836, eight hundred Texans marched across the open prairie to attack a superior force of the Mexican Army under dictator Santa Anna in broad daylight.  With them, they rolled two field cannon, the “Twin Sisters,” recently donated by the people of Cincinnati, Ohio.  Santa Anna apparently regarded the Texas Army as a cornered prey, having chased them from Gonzales in central Texas to the confluence of the San Jacinto River and Buffalo Bayou with Trinity Bay, and burning their capital, Harrisburg.

However, Santa Anna had the Texans right where Sam Houston wanted him.  Amid shouts of “Remember the Alamo!” and “Remember Goliad!” the Texans exchanged several volleys of musket fire with the barricaded Mexican troops before charging.  Their commander, Sam Houston, had two horses shot from beneath him, while being wounded himself in the ankle.

In about 15 minutes, the Texas Army wreaked havoc upon an encamped, complacent enemy, chased in disarray into the adjacent coastal swamps.  A Mexican officer, appealing to Tejano commander Juan Seguin as a brother, was rebuffed as an oppressor.  Santa Anna, captured overnight near where the modern Washburn Tunnel crosses Buffalo Bayou, formally surrendered to Sam Houston and promised to withdraw from Texas.  As Houston was well aware, two other Mexican armies stood within the borders of Texas.

Surrender of Santa Anna by William Huddle, 1886

Sadly, in the popular imagination, the Texas Revolution soon came to be seen as a victory of Americans over Mexicans — a misconception exacerbated by two Mexican invasions in 1842, and perpetuated in popular hero movies — but it was not that.  The Revolution was the fulfillment of the dream of Father Miguel Hidalgo, who in 1810 gave his life in a bid for democratic, republican freedom.  It was the dream of Jose Navarro, a native Tejano lawyer who participated in resistance movements in 1812-13 and represented the Mexican state of Coahuila-y-Texas in the Mexican Congress.  It was the intention of the democratic Constitution of 1824, under the banner of which, literally or figuratively, the Texans fought, and which Santa Anna had repeatedly violated.  It was also the dream of patriots in the Mexican states of Zacatecas and the Yucatan, who had been brutally suppressed by Santa Anna shortly before he turned his attention to Texas.

The victory led to the Mexican Cession, by which Texas independence was confirmed and lands reaching to the Pacific were acquired.  Whatever one’s thoughts about the rights of Mexicans, erstwhile Spaniards, who had never truly consolidated their “Wild North,” or Native Americans who had but sparsely populated and tenuously jockeyed for position in those lands, the Revolution led to a far different destiny for those lands and future occupants than the hinterland it would no doubt remain under the centralized control of Mexico City.  As it is, the North was spared the continual revolution that spanned well into the Twentieth Century, and served as a refuge for those who escaped the mix of dictatorship and lawlessness which has often prevailed.

To Americans, attitudes regarding the Revolution, and the Mexican War that followed, have ranged from pride to shame; yet there is no doubt the consequent expansion and growth west has helped make America great, by any definition, and provided a stable and peaceful domicile for millions of all ethnicities.  Texas is now the second largest American state, an agricultural, manufacturing, and oil-producing giant.

Of arguably greater importance, the idea of a democratic, republican government, in which people are equal in the eyes of the law, a law higher than self-interest and the whims of the moment:  an idea built upon the American Founding Fathers and confirmed in Texas independence, is surely the highest form of human government possible, and the key to freedom and opportunity to peoples wherever it may be adopted.

Copyright 2011 Paul A. Hughes

Austin-Area Hindu Swami Flees Justice

Austin Swami Prakashanand Saraswati

In a day when every indiscretion that can be pinned on a Christian minister or believer is trumpeted widely and often by the Mainstream News Media, it would be easy to overlook reports quietly and purposely slipped through by night regarding indiscretions by leaders of other religions.

Prakashanand Saraswati, 82, founding swami of the Barsana Dham ashram near Austin, Texas, is currently “on the lamb” after being convicted of sexual molestation of two young women, then minors, who were living at the ashram’s 200-acre compound.

See “Warrant issued against Hindu guru convicted of molestation,” in The Times of India, March 8, 2011.

According to the ashram’s Web site, “His Divinity Swami Saraswati,” also known affectionately as Shree Swamiji, “can expound upon any spiritual topic with such a clarity it is as if he is describing a visual account.  His scriptural understanding is unequalled and his books are unique examples of his exceeding knowledge related to the science of the material and the Divine dimensions.  The warmth of Shree Swamiji’s love melts the hearts of those who listen to him and drawing close to him opens the path to God.”

I am reminded once again, that there is only One Way to God, Jesus Christ, and a multitude of wrong ways.  The way of self-gratification is always the way of the flesh, and those who “walk after the flesh” (2 Peter 2:10) rather than the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:16) will never see God.

© 2011 Paul A. Hughes

A History of Early Electric Cars

1896 Electrobat

by Paul A. Hughes

Previously published at http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Crete/6111/electcar.htm (now defunct).  Originally written as a research paper for American History course at Texas A&M University, circa 1979.  Cited in the books, The End of the Road: the Transition to Safe, Green Power (Xlibris, 2010) by Joseph McKinney and Amy Isler Gibson, and NASA Contests and Prizes:  How Can They Help Advance Space Exploration?:  Hearing Before the Subcommittee on Space and Aeronautics, Committee on Science, House of Representatives, One Hundred Eighth Congress, second session, July 15, 2004, Volume 2, Issues 108-166.

Every few years, engineers unveil the latest experimental electric car, touting it as a panacea for the pollution of the world’s crowded cities and the depletion of vital resources.  These quaint conveyances are shown tooling along city streets, operating with a gentle hum, emitting no fumes to choke the lungs or burn the eyes.  Their design is clean and functional, their controls simple.  Still, they fail once again to “catch on,” capturing the interest and imagination of the general public.  The next model goes the way of the last, exiled to obscurity.

Today, few people realize that successful electric automobiles were being produced as early as the 1880’s.  For over 20 years, electric cars were commercially produced, and were for some years in heady competition with internal combustion and steam-powered carriages.  Not until internal combustion technology and promotion, along with cheap fuel, had outstripped all competition, did electric cars drop out of the automotive picture.

The Storage Battery

The technology required for the electric car was being developed long before the automobile was conceived.  The primary cell, invented by Volta in 1800, generated electricity by chemical action.  This primitive battery could be recharged only by replacing the active elements.   Not until 1860, when Gaston Faure invented the secondary cell, could a battery be recharged by simply passing a current through it — providing portable, renewable electric power.

In spite of earlier experimental work, a working electric motor was not built until 1833.   Thomas Davenport, an uneducated Vermont blacksmith, conceived it after observing a demonstration of an electromagnet.  Davenport patented his motor in 1837.

Riding the Rails

The invention of both the storage battery and the electric motor set the stage for their incorporation into an electric vehicle.  Davenport had in fact built a model electric locomotive as early as 1834, powered by primary cells.  In 1847, Moses Farmer of Massachusetts designed a locomotive that, powered by 48 one-pint cells, could carry two people along an 18-inch-wide track.

About the same time, Professor Charles Page of Washington, D.C., built a locomotive which, using 100 cells and a 16-horsepower motor, carried twelve people on the Washington and Bladensburg Railroad at up to 19 mph.  In 1847, Lilly and Colton of Pittsburg built a locomotive which received its power, produced from a central station, through an electrified rail.

Taking to the Road

Such rail-bound vehicles were a great leap forward, but it would be 30 years before another major advance.  In 1888, electric cars suddenly began appearing on the scene both in the U.S. and abroad.  Philip Pratt of Boston built an electric tricycle powered by six Electrical Accumulator Company cells, weighing 90 pounds.  In London, Ratcliffe Ward began operating an electric omnibus, the foundation of the London Electrical Cab Company.  Walter Bersey, a brilliant 20-year-old who had invented an improved dry battery, designed Ward’s second bus.  In two years, this second bus was licensed to make a regular run between Charing Cross and Victoria Station.

The first really successful electric automobile was the carriage built by William Morrison of Des Moines, Iowa, in 1890.  Morrison’s car used high, spoked wagon wheels to negotiate the rutted roads of America, and an innovative guidance system which included patented rack-and-pinion steering.  Morrison’s car was capable of running for 13 consecutive hours at 14 mph.  Much of the car’s success, however, was attributable to the promotional efforts of Harold Sturges, secretary of the American Battery Company.

1890 Morrison

Fits and Starts

In May, 1893, the World’s Columbian Exposition opened in Chicago.  Exhibits included the Morrison-Sturges carriage, another by the Ward Electrical Car Company, and two Keller-Dagenhart tricycles.  Originally, an entire fleet of Keller-Dagenharts was ordered to transport patrons around the exposition ground.  But only two were built, thus missing a golden opportunity to make electric vehicles a major attraction at the fair.

About that time, electric cars were built by W. J. Still of Toronto and Dickson’s Carriage Works of Ontario.  Dickson’s car was commissioned by Frederick Barnard Featherstonhaugh, who later granted it an honorable retirement after 15 years’ service.

Walter Bersey designed and built a post office van in 1893.  The next year, he completed a four-seater car.  But Bersey was constantly in trouble for violating Britain’s Red Flag Act which, among other regulations, restricted automobiles to 2 mph in cities, and required two drivers, plus a third man walking ahead of the vehicle.

Stiff Competition

At this juncture, steam and internal combustion cars began to emerge as stiff competition to the electric.  James Bullard introduced the flash boiler in 1885, enabling steam cars to get up steam within minutes.  Nicolaus Otto of Deutz, Germany, combined the best features of previous internal combustion engines into his successful four-cycle engine of 1877.  The first gasoline-powered cars were built by John Lambert and Henry Nadig in 1891.

In 1894, Le Petit Journal sponsored a 78-mile car race from Paris to Rouen.  Then, in 1895, the Automotive Club of France held the great Paris-Bordeaux race of a then incredible 727 miles in length.  Only steam and gasoline cars participated in these two events, and the upstart gasoline cars asserted themselves convincingly.

The Big Race

H. H. Kohlsaat, publisher of the Chicago Times-Herald, decided to sponsor an automotive contest which was more than just a sensationalized competition.  The Times-Herald contest ostensibly placed great emphasis on preliminary tests and evaluations with only a secondary interest in the outcome of a road race.  The primary considerations of the test were to be general utility, cost, speed, economy of operation, and general appearance.

The competition took place in November of 1895.  The road-race itself, in which just six cars participated, was by no means on the scale of the previous European races.  Many automobile developers who had planned to participate were foiled by either mechanical difficulties or by the snowstorm which took place the night before the race.

Two of the entries were electric.  Morrison had planned to enter a new version of his carriage, but found it could not be readied in time.  Instead, he removed the third bench seat of his original car to make room for more batteries.   The race version dressed out at 3535 pounds.

The other electric car in the race was the Electrobat II of Henry Morris and Pedro Salom.  The pair had completed their first car, the Electrobat I, in 1894.  Their improved model was steered by the rear wheels instead of the front, and powered by two 1-1/2 horsepower motors mounted on the front axle, weighing in at 1650 pounds.  With a range of 25 miles at 20 mph, the Electrobat II was one of the first automobiles to employ pneumatic tires.

The other entries in the race, all gasoline-powered, were those of the Duryea brothers, H. Mueller and Company, R. H. Macy Company, and the De La Vergne Refrigerating Company.  Of these, all but the Duryea car sported engines designed by Karl Benz of Mannheim, Germany.

After all the other tests were complete, the participants lined up for the road race on November 28.  The snowstorm the night before covered the 54-mile course, already rutted, with eight inches of new snow.  In spite of cold temperatures, ranging from 30 to 39 degrees, crowds lined the course.

Only the Duryea and Mueller cars were able to finish the race.  The Duryea won easily, averaging 8 mph in spite of a 55-minute stop to repair the steering mechanism.  Morris and Salom had planned to have fresh batteries relayed along the course, but the wagons carrying them could not get through.  Consequently, the Electrobat II was limited to a short demonstration run.   The Morrison electric was overworked in the deep snow, causing its motor to overheat.  It was forced to drop out of the race after three hours.

After the race, the judges were ready to present the awards.  The Duryea car earned $2000 for its speed, power, compactness, and race performance.  The Mueller car was awarded $1500 for its performance and overall economy.  The race performance of the Morrison and Macy cars garnered each of them $500.  The Electrobat II was granted no money, but was awarded a special gold medal for “best showing in official tests, for safety, ease of control, absence of noise, vibration, heat, or odor, cleanliness and general excellence of design and workmanship.”¹ Though the outcome of the road-race had been officially minimized in the beginning, it seems to have been the major consideration when monetary prizes were awarded.

The Success Years

In May of 1896, H. J. Lawson held an auto show at the Imperial Institute at South Kensington, England, attended by the Prince of Wales.   This time, Walter Bersey’s latest carriage, elegant and absolutely silent in operation, stole the show.

For the time being, the electric car held its own with its competitors.  More and more entrepreneurs began manufacturing electric vehicles.  In 1895, Colonel Albert A. Pope of Columbia Bicycle fame had an electric car built by inventor Hiram Maxim.  Maxim’s design was a Crawford horse-drawn runabout converted to electric power.  Pope went on to produce electric cars for several years before changing to internal combustion.

Early in 1897, Morris and Salom formed the Electric Carriage and Wagon Company, which ran twelve electric cabs on the streets of New York City.

General Electric began building electric cars in 1898.  In December of that year, Count Chasseloup-Laubat achieved a record speed of 39.25 mph in his Jeantaud Electric automobile.  At the time, only the electric car was capable of such speed.

The Count did not hold the record for long.  In 1899, Belgian inventor Camille Jenatzy challenged him to a series of races.  Jenatzy’s “La Jamais Contente” had a 100-horsepower motor, and was one of the first “streamlined” automobiles.  In fact, Jenatzy’s car looked like a bullet on wheels.

La Jamais Contente

A series of three races were held at Achere from January 17 to April 29.  In the first two races, the two cars matched speeds at 41.42 mph and 49.42 mph, respectively.  On the third try, Jenatzy’s electric achieved a then incredible 65.79 mph.  This record was not broken until Leon Serpollet’s steamer reached 75.06 mph at Nice, France, in 1902.

In 1899, ninety percent of the cabs in New York City were electric.   By 1900, the Electric Vehicle Company had put hundreds of its electric Hansom cabs, modeled after the design of its horse-drawn predecessors, on the streets of the metropolis.  The Hansoms eliminated the need for a differential by providing a separate motor and axle for each rear wheel.

For three years, Canadian Motors Limited produced a small two-seater electric called the “Motette,” beginning in 1900.  The same company also manufactured an electric bus called the “Tallyho.”

Henry and Clem Studebaker had begun their wagon manufacturing business in 1852, and supplied wagons to the Union Army during the Civil War.  In 1902, the company decided to enter the electric car market, producing a light, conservative runabout.   But after manufacturing electrics for six or seven years, they switched to internal combustion.

Unresolved Difficulties

The advantages of the electric car had been realized from the beginning.  Near-silent operation and lack of unpleasant exhaust emissions made the electric automobile ideal for city use.  Its controls were simple enough for a child.  But because of certain inherent drawbacks, the increasing availability of cheap petroleum, constant improvements in internal combustion, and to a significant degree the whims of consumers, the electric car market began to lose its momentum.

The major disadvantages of the electric car can be attributed largely to its immediate power source, the storage battery.  The lead-acid battery underwent many changes over the years and was much improved, thanks to the work of Faure, Brush, Volckmar, Swan, Sellon, Correns, Bersey, and others.  However, its inherent faults remained: the electrolyte, sulfuric acid, was by nature corrosive.  The batteries deteriorated even when not in use and had to be replaced in about two years at significant expense.

Battery cases were prone to leak, staining or corroding surrounding parts of the car and emitting noxious fumes.  The acid fumes were not only unpleasant but potentially explosive and otherwise hazardous to the car’s occupants.  The batteries were heavy, close to 100 pounds per horsepower-hour.  Because of the weight, electric cars had trouble climbing hills. Extremes of temperature affected battery performance.  A charge was good for 20-60 miles, depending on the make of the battery, the type of automobile, and the way in which it was used.

In 1900, Thomas Edison undertook to invent, develop and market an entirely new type of battery.  Starting from scratch, he was able to begin manufacturing the new battery in four years.  Edison’s battery was based on an entirely new combination of elements, nickel-alkaline, with a non-corrosive electrolyte, potassium hydroxide.  Non-corrosive, its contents sealed safely in a nickel-plated case, Edison expected the battery to solve the problems of the electric car.  The cells were much lighter, only 53 pounds per horsepower-hour.

Edison with Alkaline Battery

However, the voltage produced by the nickel-alkaline battery was lower, 1.2 volts as opposed to 1.5 volts for the lead-acid battery.  More cells would be required to do the same job.  Edison halted production when reports of leaking cases, bad electrical contacts, and a drop in voltage during use were reported.  He withdrew the battery from the market in order to do more work.  In about five years, he released an improved version.

The Decline

Unfortunately, the introduction of the improved battery was too little, too late.  By that time, the electric-powered car could no longer compete with the speed, power, economy, and range of the internal combustion engine.  By 1910, the general public had come to prefer the sputter, cloud of smoke, and raw power of the gasoline engine to the silent operation of the electric motor.  The roar of an engine became a sign of power, prestige, and progress.  The gentle electric came to be associated with senior citizens.

Like the steamer, the electric car was made obsolete by the advances of internal combustion.  More than that, the electric lost the imagination of the public, which was its ultimate downfall.  Only token electric cars have been produced since 1914, more curiosities than commercial successes.  For electric cars to compete again in an open market, barring a major and prolonged oil crisis, it would seem that they must not only match their competitors in technology and performance, but recapture the public imagination, as well.

NOTES

1. L. Scott Bailey et al., The American Car Since 1775 (NY: Automobile Quarterly, Inc., 1971), p. 96.

© 1996 Paul A. Hughes