The book Out of Adventism recounts the painful journey of a former Seventh-day Adventist theologian and teacher, Jerry Gladson, out of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. Gladson taught at Southern Adventist Missionary College from 1972 to 1987, but was forced to resign over divergent theological views. He later converted to The Disciples of Christ and pastored in various churches. Reading his story reveals a crucial theological trifecta that eventually led to his change of mind and church membership.

The Theological Trifecta

In his book Gladson states that early on he always had misgivings about certain Adventist doctrines. While he wanted to remain an Adventist, three things finally forced him to reconsider and led to a break with the Adventist Church: the gospel, Ellen G. White, and prophecy. These foundational subjects led Gladson to the conclusion “that Adventism is simply wrong in several of its core doctrines” (p. 47).

Justification by Faith

As in most out-of-Adventism accounts, the gospel, specifically justification by faith, played a center role in Gladson’s departure. Adventists, as do many conservative Christians who take obedience seriously, have struggled with legalism. White had to deal with the issue in her time, and it apparently was a significant factor for Gladson in the early 1980s when he taught at Southern.

Gladson describes the lack of assurance of salvation that he felt as an Adventist, and then recounts his own discovery of grace (pp. 45–64). His personal soteriological drama unfolded against the background of the Ford-Brinsmead-Paxton controversy of the 1970s–1980s. Gladson seems to give a fairly accurate representation of the issues, even if at times he (as to be expected) puts a negative slant on Adventists and their understanding, or the lack therefore, of justification by faith.

Interestingly Jerry Gladson quotes some of the Adventist Church’s official statements on salvation by grace through Jesus Christ alone and acknowledges that they indeed present “a theology of salvation that is consistent with the common Protestant view of salvation by grace” (p. 82).

Thus, despite his personal struggles, the gospel does not seem to have been the issue that forced him out, even though, according to his account, it did.

The Spirit of Prophecy

Another crucial point of contention is Ellen G. White. Gladson spends four chapters dealing with the “crisis” surrounding her. His account is fascinating because the issue with her inspiration, the use of sources, etc., exploded during the time of the Desmond Ford crisis.

Even before the controversy with Walter Rhea and others sprang to life, Gladson had expressed his misgivings about White’s ministry and prophetic gift, which only intensified as the controversy accelerated to a full burn. What Gladson writes is not really new. He repeats stories similar to those that Rhea, Canright, Graybill, and Numbers have circulated before. He even spends a couple pages on the epilepsy theory—the argument that her visions resulted from brain damage due to the rock incident when she was a child (p. 132).

Perhaps many Adventists didn’t understand how White’s inspiration worked. One could even argue that the church back then hadn’t necessarily handled the crisis in the best manner possible. And some people undeniably abuse her writings, a problem that she herself had to deal with at times. Gladson seizes on this unfortunate fact, writing about those Adventists who “rate Ellen White equal or superior to the Bible, like the Mormons” (p. 140) even though he concedes that this is not the official church position. Why bring it up, then? An equivalent argument would be that we should dismiss the role of Mary in Scripture because Roman Catholics have venerated her.

It’s kind of ironic, too, that an Old Testament critical scholar like Gladson, who studied the sources of various biblical books, the cultural influence on them and so forth, should find it so disturbing that White used sources. Gladson should have put the issue of inspiration in perspective and moved onto a deeper appreciation of how inspiration worked in general and White and her inspiration in particular. Unfortunately, that’s not how it turned out for him.

Historicism versus Preterism

Early in Out of Adventism, Gladson writes the following revealing statement about the apocalyptic books of Daniel and Revelation:

Careful examination convinced me that apocalypses were actually works of creative imagination. More akin to poetry than prose, they could not legitimately be read as literal predictions and blueprints of the future. . . . They were not road maps of future events predetermined to take place during the course of human history, as I had been taught in Adventism, and on which the denomination stakes its very existence (p. 33).

In short, he rejects the validity of the two books upon which the church, the same entity that employed him to train its ministers, “stakes it very existence (p. 33).” And yet Gladson later claims that his firing was a “witch hunt” (p. 63). “Examining the apocalyptic texts against their cultural background,” he writes, “convinced me that instead of historicism or futurism, a preterist interpretation was most appropriate for apocalyptic” (p. 35). He calls historicism “obsolete,” (p. 84) as if talking about something that is no longer up to date and needed.

Of course, such an understanding of biblical-apocalyptic literature has far-reaching consequences. First of all, the book of Daniel, if its own interpretation is taken seriously, requires a historicist hermeneutic.

Daniel 2 begins in ancient history and follows historical events through the rise and fall of four major kingdoms (Babylon, Media-Persia, Greece, and Rome) until the end of all earthly kingdoms (Dan 2:44). The chapter starts with Babylon, naming it (Dan 2:38), and ends in the future even from now, when “no trace” (Dan 2:35, NJKV) of any earthly empire remains and God’s eternal kingdom comes into existence: “And in the days of these kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom which shall never be destroyed; and the kingdom shall not be left to other people; it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand forever” (Dan 2:44, NKJV). The prophecy, which begins in ancient history, follows the flow of history until God’s future kingdom arises. This same pattern, which begin in antiquity and ends in eternity, dominates the apocalyptic prophecies of Daniel. And on this idea the historicist hermeneutic is based, the hermeneutic that Gladson explicitly rejects.

Of course, any attack on Adventist prophecy, like Gladson’s, quickly brings in its wake the alternative of Antiochus Epiphanes IV as central to the preterist interpretation of the little horn of Daniel 7 and the little horn of Daniel 8.

One has to, however, raise a legitimate question: How does Antiochus Epiphanes, who died in 164 BC, fit, as Gladson argues, the little horn power of Daniel 7, whose demise resulted from a heavenly judgment that concludes like this: “Then the kingdom and dominion, and the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven, shall be given to the people, the saints of the Most High. His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and all dominions shall serve and obey Him” (Dan 7:27, NKJV)? How does Antiochus Ephiphanes IV be the fulfillment of a kingdom that hasn’t yet been established?

And what about the little horn of Daniel 8 as a fulfillment of Antiochus? This is equally impossible. First comes Media-Persia, described as “great” (Dan 8:4). Next comes Greece, described as “very great” (Dan 8:8). Then comes the final power, the little horn described as “exceeding great” (Dan 8:9). How can the relatively short reign of a relatively minor Seleucid king be depicted as greater than either the massive empires of Media-Persia and Greece? Wouldn’t the empire of Rome, which followed Greece, be a better fit? Of course, and that is the strength of the historicist interpretation.

In Daniel 2, 7, and 8 four world powers (three in Dan 8) dominate the prophecies. Babylon is named in Daniel 2:38. Media-Persia and Greece are named in Daniel 8:20–21. All that’s left is the final power, the one that in Daniel 2, 7, and 8 arises after Greece; that’s depicted as more powerful than the kingdoms (Babylon, Media-Persia, Greece) before it; and that extends to the end of time, when it’s supernaturally destroyed (Dan 2:45; 7:26–27; 8:25). What power arose after Greece, was more powerful than Greece and the kingdoms before it, and still exists, which means it could indeed go to the end of time? Certainly not Antiochus Epiphanes.

If that’s not enough, Jesus (Matt 24:15; Mark 13:14), by referring to “Daniel the prophet,” places the “abomination of desolation” (Dan 9:27; 11:31; 12:11) in the context of the Roman Empire—the empire in which the entire New Testament narrative unfolds. And Jesus depicted the “abomination of desolation” as an event yet future. In other words, Jesus establishes the identity of the final empire in Daniel as Rome, and in so doing debunks Gladson’s preterist interpretation of Daniel in general, and Antiochus Epiphanes in particular.

Out of Adventism

Much of Gladson’s book deals with his travails at Southern before leaving the school in 1987 and eventually leaving Adventism. Gladson puts his spin on events that are now more than thirty years old, and because many of those whom he depicts are dead, they can’t challenge his version of things. It was, no question, a tense and rather challenging time at Southern.

Something about Gladson’s position raises important questions. He admits not only having serious and significant doubts about several of the church’s “core doctrines,” but even flat out rejects the historicist interpretation upon which the church “stakes it very existence” (p. 33). He also openly admits that he bought into the historical-critical method, the kind of approach that, logically at least, would lead to rejection of foundational teachings of the Seventh-day Adventist church. And yet he complains about being subject to suspicions about his views?

If you believe what the church teaches and you are released of your teaching responsibility, you are indeed treated unfairly. But if you did not believe what the church teaches you shouldn’t have been teaching at church-run schools to begin with. So why complain about being dismissed for views that you really did hold that are out of line with official church teachings and even undermine the theological perspective of the Adventist Church?

Considering his positions on prophecy alone, one wonders whether Gladson should have been teaching Old Testament theology to young Adventists and training students for the Adventist ministry. Even if things might not have always been handled in the best manner, one cannot avoid the conclusion that as a historical-critical preterist who holds views contrary to Adventist teaching, Gladson had to go. And this book, at least from his side, tells the sad story of that inevitable departure.

“If we are faithless, He remains faithful; He cannot deny Himself.” (2 Tim. 3:13 NKJV)