Upon @adionne’s recommendation I read Tim Cooper’s short book When Christians Disagree: Lessons from the Fractured Relationship of John Owen and Richard Baxter (2024). It pairs well with NGA’s 2024 conference on Unity, which you can listen to here.
Before I get into the book I want to point out there is a difference between maintaining the unity of the brethren (Ps. 133; Eph. 4:3) and fighting against heretics, rebellious/factious men (Titus 1:10-11 and 3:10-11), though there is some overlap (of course, fighting against factious men is the way we maintain unity). We may treat someone as a heretic/factious man when they are not, and conversely, we may treat someone as a brother when they are not. Cooper’s book is focused on maintaining the unity of brothers, so keep that in mind:
If you’re like me, I had no clue Owen and Baxter pretty much hated each other. Cooper does a good job explaining the history and going into the reasons behind this broken relationship. One of the best chapters, titled Personality, paints their portraits, sins and all. Owen, an Oxford grad, was “politically addicted,” or as Cooper puts it, a “political animal.” Cooper tells about one instance where Owen sought to rid Christ Church of academic regalia due to its Roman Catholic flavor:
In 1655 Owen unexpectedly summoned the academic staff to a meeting on the afternoon of Christmas Day, when few members could be present and he was much more likely to get his way. Which he did. The small number present voted to remove all statutes that required the wearing of regalia. It was a victory, then, though a short-lived one, since the next meeting overturned the decision. At a subsequent meeting, Owen declared that he had no more business to propose that day, waited for enough members to leave, then allowed another vote to permit those who wished to refrain from wearing regalia to do so. At a further meeting, he bundled several reforms, including the abolition of regalia, into one vote. The members were allowed no debate, they had only just seen the wording on which they were to vote, and they were required to vote on the whole package-it was all or nothing. Furthermore, in a highly unusual move, Owen wanted the members physically to divide into two groups, yea or nay, presumably to put more pressure on those inclined to vote against the measures. But they refused to obey his instruction. He then declared that the vote had passed without even seeing the results. In fact, the vote had failed, but the next day he asked for the record to show that it had passed. This request was refused. (pgs 45-46)
Baxter, on the other hand, was an only-child and autodidact who never had to argue/compromise with his books. For this reason he was hard to work with, and was often too dogmatic and too self-confident (for instance, Baxter insisted on formulating doctrinal statements with only the words of Scripture, which was incredibly difficult). Before ever meeting each other in person they had a history of theological disagreements which were disputed in print and in public. When they finally did meet, it was at a subcommittee on, ironically, unity. It didn’t go well:
They also had rival visions for, of all things, church unity. Both men wanted it; they just disagreed on how best to achieve it. The irony is that working together on unity served to drive them further apart. … What a moment that must have been when Baxter walked in the door of the Jerusalem Chamber at Westminster Abbey, when he and Owen first set eyes on each other and they exchanged greetings. It is worth pausing briefly to recall that they came into the same room with very different life experiences, opposing personalities, contrasting theological concerns, and a history of sniping at each other in print. Furthermore, as we have now learned, they arrived with differing agendas over the very purpose of the subcommittee in which they were both to play a part. How could this ever go well? The forces that had conditioned their lives up to this point now profoundly shaped their first encounter. (pg 88; 96)
There’s a lot more that could be said about their relationship and the causes of its disintegration, but for that you should read the book. Here are some of Cooper’s conclusions and questions he offers for reflection:
Why is it that we tend to see the actions of others in the worst possible light and our own actions in the best possible light? How might we attain a more objective and balanced perspective?
What do you make of Baxter’s claim that he had forgiven Owen? Can we say that we have forgiven someone and then hold on to the memory of their offense with such tenacity as Baxter demonstrated? What does forgiveness entail? How can we help our wounds heal? (pg 117)
If we can identify what could have helped [Owen and Baxter], we might at the same time gain insight into what can help us in our own disagreements or help those around us who are caught up in conflict. Let me offer five possibilities.
To begin with, it is a shame that there was no one to mediate between them. Earlier in the seventeenth century, similar disagreements had strained Puritan relationships, but those divisions were kept hidden from public view for the most part and moderated by well-oiled mechanisms designed to bring about at least a productive working relationship. Differences were negotiated. A respected senior leader could be called on to intervene. A “disputation” might be held (a semipublic debate) in which the disputants had the opportunity to present their case. But by the 1640s those mechanisms had broken down. Until then, all books had to receive a license before they could be published, but with the collapse of censorship, anyone could put their thoughts in print. Baxter did, and Owen replied. There was little that could be done to repair those first impressions made in the open view of all. The very public nature of Baxter’s comments partly explains Owen’s compulsion to respond, also in public and also in print. There was no one to bring them together and no practical way of doing it. With Baxter in Kidderminster and Owen in Ireland, the geographical distance between them was too great to bridge. So a dispute that was at least in some measure more about personality than about theology was left to fester. When the two men did finally meet, it seems that no one in that 1654 subcommittee had the stature and wisdom to guide them to a meeting of minds. Perhaps the participants lacked the will. Those general differences between Congregationalists and Presbyterians would have provided little incentive (and every disincentive) toward a mutual understanding between these two leading players. There is no evidence that anyone observed their mutual antipathy and sought to mediate a reconciliation. It looks as though Christian community failed to moderate the worst impulses in each of these men because that community was itself divided.
Second, it would have helped if Owen and Baxter had been able to focus more on what held them together and less on what drove them apart. They agreed on a great deal; they even admitted as much. The differences between them were relatively narrow. If only they could have recognized how much they shared in common and focused on that. Instead, they could see only their differences. This illustrates a general pattern: those who are closest to each other have the bitterest disagreements-the smallest differences assume an overlarge importance, while outsiders look on and wonder what all the fuss is about. It was difficult for these two men to recognize their commonalities when contingent circumstances pinpointed their differences with excruciating precision. Their personalities intervened, and they were big personalities. We might call them alpha males. Self-awareness might have softened each man’s blows against the other. Both were at fault, both were fallible, and yet both struggled to see it or admit it. The problem always lay in the other man.
Third, in addition to focusing on their common ground, they might also have paid far more attention to those many verses in Scripture that summon us to unity and concord. This is, after all, a driving theme through the whole of the Bible. “Behold, how good and pleasant it is / when brothers dwell in unity!” (Ps. 133:1). On the night before he died, Jesus prayed to the Father for all his disciples, “Keep them in your name… that they may be one, even as we are one” John 17:11). That is a high prayer indeed. We see the same concern expressed throughout the letters of Paul. He instructed the Philippian Christians, “Complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind” (Phil. 2:2). He called on the believers at Thessalonica, “Be at peace among yourselves” (1 Thess. 5:13). He gave a similar command to the church in Rome: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Rom. 12:18). Scripture seems clear on this point: disunity, discord, and division are a reproach to the cause of Christ. Yet it seems that such verses were obscured in Baxter’s and Owen’s mind because the differences between them loomed so large. Theirs was a contentious age in which printed disputations were hardly uncommon, but even so, they did not seem to pause to ask themselves whether the issues at stake really justified setting aside these repeated biblical injunctions toward unity. Both men genuinely believed in unity, yet they seemed blind to the way that their own actions cut across that very goal.
Fourth, the story of Baxter and Owen has reinforced for me the importance of one central virtue: humility. As I look back over the events of this book, I see far too much pride in both men. Oddly enough, they had no trouble seeing that pride in the other man, but each one struggled to see it in himself. Paul urged the believers in Ephesus, “Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:1-3). The story we have just encountered would have been transformed if these two Christian brothers had carried themselves in that manner. I was once told that there is no problem in the world that cannot be solved by humility— humility from all those involved. If Owen and Baxter had responded to each other with generosity, with an understanding of their own fallibility and weakness, and with the “humility and gentleness” that Paul so prized, their relationship might have been a great deal better than it was, and their story could have been different. If they could have thought the best of each other, not the worst, they might not have wounded each other in the way that they did. This is a story of pride, willfulness, and self-blindness when it could, potentially, have been a story of forgiveness, understanding, and generosity even in the face of legitimate difference.
Finally, it would have helped if they could see what we can see. This is the great advantage of distance and hindsight, an advantage that is by definition unavailable to the participants in any con-troversy. We have noticed how accidental factors triggered what may have been an unnecessary controversy. We have identified the ways in which this was more a clash of personalities than it was a clash of ideas. We have been able to examine in slow motion the breakdown of their relationship. Over time, and left unresolved, wounds began to accumulate, piled so high it was impossible to see past them. This was a long process of alienation in which action gave way to emotion early on. The issue no longer resided merely in intellectual differences on certain points of belief but in the strong feelings that were provoked by such differences. Those feelings were not an inevitable consequence; it is entirely possible for two people to disagree amicably. But this is far more difficult in a context like theirs in which trust has been lost. In its place, instincts of fear and opposition are aroused, and all future actions are assessed through that filter of mistrust. Memory – often a partial, prejudiced, and inaccurate memory — proves to be a powerful shaping influence long after the initial events have occurred. This is memory as an open wound. As Baxter so eloquently explained, “The national concerns made so deep a wound in my heart, as never will be fully healed in this world.” I would think the same was true of Owen. He might also have harbored the memory of Baxter’s irritations along the way, not least his obstinacy in 1654.
We have been able to see the various causes of their conflict and the different factors at work as their relationship went from bad to worse, but they could not see them. They were far too close and far too personally invested. It is the same with us. If we are engaged in controversy, we become blind to so much of what is going on, not least inside us. That, I hope, has been the value of this book. In understanding their story, perhaps we can better understand our own narratives. If we can see what they missed, perhaps we will have a much clearer idea of what we may be missing. Owen and Baxter have inadvertently supplied us with a checklist of questions that we might use as we adapt our response to discord when it begins and as it proceeds:
• Do I really need to respond to the initial provocation?
• How much of the conflict can be traced back to personality rather than theology?
• Am I overlooking all the things I have in common with the other person and seeing only the small number of differences?
• How are my own faults contributing to a poor relationship?
• Am I showing the humility, generosity, gentleness, and kindness to which I am called?
• How much pride is mixed up in my motivations and actions?
• How much damage will be inflicted on those around me and the cause of Christ by my continued conflict with the other person?
• Is there anyone in my Christian community who can help repair our relationship or manage our differences?
(pgs 121-6)
Blessings,