The Myths of Our Times
Bulletin Roundtable
Bulletin Roundtable Question
In this Bulletin Roundtable, our four contributors respond to the question: “What is one false or misleading philosophy or belief in our culture, and how should we respond to it?”
Paul Copan
Chris Reese—who is the managing editor of our Worldview Bulletin—and I are coeditors of the forthcoming Zondervan multi-views book, Three Views on Christianity and Science. One of the contributors is Michael Ruse, an agnostic philosopher of science who understands “faith” to be a blind leap into the theological dark; it is utterly immune to counter-evidence, rational argument, and outsider scrutiny. Mark Twain’s definition of “faith” isn’t far from Ruse’s—“believing what you know ain’t so.” While such a conception of “faith” or “religious belief” is often true of alternative “religious” or general worldview perspectives, this is a common misrepresentation of the biblical faith.
The biblical faith is a knowledge tradition, making claims rooted in historical—and thus, in principle, checkable or verifiable—realities (e.g., Lk. 1:3-4; Jn. 21:24; Ac. 1:3; 4:20). What’s more, many events of biblical/salvation history are accompanied by public signs and wonders with living witnesses who are able to attest to what actually happened (1 Cor. 15:3-11). Where does faith come in? Faith has to do with personal trust in,reliance upon, and commitment to God/Christ—indeed, embracing or receiving Jesus himself. While the biblical faith has intellectual, propositional content—that God exists, that he created the world, that Jesus was crucified under Pontius Pilate—faith is the personal response to what one takes to be true. True faith isn’t afraid of the facts and evidence; it should welcome them since the world God made and the Scriptures he has given are both God’s self-revelation and don’t contradict each other.
One biblical text Michael Ruse cites approvingly—and “provingly”—is where Jesus tells Thomas the Doubter that those who have not seen Jesus and the scars on his resurrection body yet still believe are the ones truly blessed (Jn. 20:29). Ruse overlooks several things. First is the verse that immediately follows: “Therefore many other signs Jesus also performed in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these [miracles] have been written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life in His name” (20:30-31). Second, Thomas should have listened to his closest, most trusted friends who told him, “We have seen the Lord,” instead of insisting on seeing Jesus’ wounds for himself (20:25). Third, we have other Johannine indicators that evidences and eyewitnesses matter (e.g., 1 Jn. 1:1). In John 20, the author clearly points to the evidential weight Jesus’ miracles possess which warrant believing in him.[1]
True Christianity is a “faith seeking understanding,” and Michael Ruse’s definition of “faith” is a misrepresentation of the Scriptures—which take argument, eyewitnesses, and public evidences very seriously—as well as the longstanding robust intellectual Christian tradition over the centuries.
Notes
[1] Some of these reflections are adapted from Paul Copan, A Little Book for New Philosophers: Why and How To Study Philosophy (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2016).
Paul M. Gould
A prevalent false idea is that Jesus doesn’t possess intellectual virtue to speak on all matters of reality. In other words, when those in culture want knowledge, they don’t turn to pastors or theologians, but rather to scientists or (even worse) Hollywood or YouTube. Sadly, and importantly, this is a problem first within the church. Many Christians today are happy to give Jesus spiritual or moral authority in their lives, but when it comes to matters of the mind, Jesus just isn’t viewed as relevant. As a result, anti-intellectualism is rampant in the church. There is a high cost to this anti-intellectualism. First, we fail to live up to God’s command to love him with all of our being, including our minds. Second, Christian belief is relegated to the private and subjective realm, instead of public truths that can be true or false. Third, we become spiritually deformed. Fourth, we become culturally irrelevant. The main reason we become irrelevant is that those looking at us from the outside think we are rather silly. We worship a dead-man-supposedly-risen. We are viewed as anti-science (since our beliefs are thought to be out of step with the grand naturalistic story). And our faith just doesn’t seem relevant to contemporary life. There is a high cost to anti-intellectualism both in terms of our own spiritual vitality and in terms of our ability to faithfully witness to truth, beauty and goodness of Jesus and the gospel to a lost world.
Time to be blunt. Anti-intellectualism is a sin. It is deeply unbiblical. Nowhere in Scripture will you find a separation of head and heart, intellect and emotion. God calls us to love him with all our being. And Jesus is smart, as Dallas Willard reminds us. He is the smartest person ever. To switch my language, Jesus possesses intellectual virtue to speak on matters of reality. Yes, Jesus is beautiful. But he is brilliant too. And as his followers, we must reject anti-intellectualism. When we follow Jesus, we follow the Logos, the Word become flesh, and in him, as Paul states in Colossians, we find all treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Col 2:3). If you want to grow spiritually, if you want to be a faithful—and relevant—witness for Christ, then love God with all your mind and become like Jesus, intellectually and morally virtuous for the good of all.
David Baggett
The difference between the intellectual and emotional aspects of suffering can and likely does easily get confused.
Richard Attenborough’s movie Shadowlands features a deeply memorable scene with C. S. Lewis and Douglas, his stepson, in the attic of Lewis’s home. The setting is already strategic, I suspect, as they sit in front of a wardrobe. When Douglas initially arrived at the house he had asked to see the attic, and the first chance he got, he rummaged through its clothes only to be disappointed to find the hard back of the wardrobe instead of a passageway to another world. So the specter of disappointed hopes already colors and conditions the setting.
Well, Lewis’s wife, the boy’s mother, had recently died far too young from cancer. In the aftermath of the loss, Lewis told his brother, Warnie, that he didn’t know what to say to the child—the likely reason why he had avoided saying much of anything. Perhaps Lewis did not know what to say to Douglas because he had lost his own mother when he himself was just a boy around the same age.
Nevertheless, Warnie had told him to talk to the child anyway.
So together they sit in the wardrobe, and finally Douglas asks Lewis (“Jack”) if he believes in heaven.
“Yes, I do.”
Mustering a hint of grief-filled defiance Douglas says, “I don’t believe in heaven,” to which Jack, Christian apologist extraordinaire, gently replies, “That’s okay.”
“I don’t understand why she had to die,” admits Douglas.
“No, nor me,” Jack responds.
Eventually, in that crampy attic and mutual crucible of pain, Douglas’s voice nearly breaks as he confesses that he sure hopes to see his mom again, to which Jack, starting to weep, responds, “Me too,” as they both break down in tears and hold each other tight.
Moving without being maudlin, it is a powerful, poignant scene, and honestly quite instructive. Jack had the wisdom in that moment of shared anguish to know it was not the time to correct the boy’s eschatology or engage in theological debate, nor to act as if he knew all the reasons for this unspeakable tragedy. He knew he did not—just as there are invariably times when we will not, either. It was simply a time to listen and admit mystery, to be vulnerable but present, to hug the child and to weep together.
The experiential problem of evil—sometimes called the existential problem of evil, or the pastoral or psychological variant—is different from the intellectual problem of evil. Times will come to explore the issues of suffering intellectually, navigating nuances and delineating distinctions. But especially those with a philosophical penchant or analytic bent need to remember that sometimes the real issue is less an intellectual one than an emotional one, that sitting in silence can speak the loudest, and that efforts of attaining clarity are not done best when our eyes are filled with tears.
Christopher Reese
Skeptics frequently claim that if only they had enough evidence, they would believe in God or commit themselves to the Christian faith. The atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell was once asked how he would respond to God if he found himself standing before God on judgment day, and God asked, “Why didn’t you believe in me?” Russell replied, “I would say, ‘Not enough evidence, God! Not enough evidence!’”
A sincere desire to examine the evidence before one commits to something is proper and rational, and is what the apologist aims to provide to those with genuine questions about Christianity (some people, of course, just want to argue and aren’t interested in seriously considering the evidence). But there’s a danger in falling prey to the belief that if only we had a stronger argument or better evidence or could respond to every objection, then the person we’re talking to would embrace the gospel. It feels like the pressure is on us to be persuasive enough or smart enough to move the skeptic from doubt to belief.
All of this, however, rests on the assumption that embracing faith is purely a matter of the intellect. But there’s a great deal more that’s involved in making any kind of life-altering decision. One of the most significant is the issue of one’s personal will or desires. Humans have a tremendous capacity to resist evidence if a conclusion runs contrary to what they want to be true. There is also social pressure. As Abdu Murray observed in our recent interview with him, a “Muslim may turn away from the gospel message even if they intellectually assent to its core” because of a desire not to bring shame to their family. The same principle applies in other social contexts.
Sometimes even a powerful religious experience is not enough to shake unbelievers loose from their commitments. Lord Kenneth Clark, a prominent British art historian and producer of the 1960’s BBC television series Civilization, describes such an experience:
I had a religious experience. It took place in the church of San Lorenzo, but did not seem to be connected with the harmonious beauty of the architecture. I can only say that for a few minutes, my whole being was radiated by a kind of heavenly joy, far more intense than anything I had ever experienced before. This state of mind lasted for several minutes … but wonderful as it was, [it] posed an awkward problem in terms of action. My life was far from blameless. I would have to reform. My family would think I was going mad, and perhaps after all, it was a delusion, for I was in every way unworthy of such a flood of grace. Gradually the effect wore off and I made no effort to retain it. I think I was right. I was too deeply embedded in the world to change course. But I had “felt the finger of God” I am quite sure and, although the memory of this experience has faded, it still helps me to understand the joys of the saints.[1]
It’s fascinating to note that despite the power of this experience, which he attributed to God, it “posed an awkward problem in terms of action” because he would “have to reform” and his family might think he was “going mad.” He was “too deeply embedded in the world to change course.” Not even powerful evidence can sway someone who would rather stay on the path they’re on if they fear moral change or social backlash.[2]
Similarly, the famous atheist philosopher A. J. Ayer once had a near-death experience. While in the hospital with a serious case of pneumonia, he choked while eating, and his heart stopped for four minutes. During this time he “was confronted by a red light, exceedingly bright, and also very painful even when I turned away from it. I was aware that this light was responsible for the government of the universe. Among its ministers were two creatures who had been put in charge of space.”
He attempted to interact with the two creatures, but couldn’t get their attention, and the experience ended shortly afterward. A friend he recounted this experience to told him that her mother had also seen a red light after experiencing a heart attack.[3]
Remarkably, he concluded the following about this experience:
My recent experiences have slightly weakened my conviction that my genuine death, which is due fairly soon, will be the end of me, though I continue to hope that it will be. They have not weakened my conviction that there is no god. I trust that my remaining an atheist will allay the anxieties of my fellow supporters of the British Humanist Association, the Rationalist Press Association and the South Place Ethical Society.
Despite having encountered an entity “responsible for the government of the universe,” Ayer would only admit to a “slightly weakened” conviction about life after death, and continued to reject the existence of God. Echoing our previous observation about the power of peer pressure, he seemed anxious to let his fellow skeptics know that he hadn’t abandoned their cause, despite encountering significant evidence to the contrary.
Notwithstanding what skeptics say, then, there is considerable evidence that even direct and powerful supernatural experiences are not enough to move some (perhaps many) from unbelief to belief. Thus apologists need not beat themselves up if skeptics claim they don’t have enough evidence (though there are, of course, strong arguments and evidence that we can offer). There is much more going on in discussions about God’s existence and the truth of Christianity than propositions and arguments. As Pascal wrote, “The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know.” A person’s will, social relationships, and many other factors are at play, and ultimately we depend on the Holy Spirit to bring people to faith (John 16:8-11).
To cite our interview with Murray again, one thing he related that he learned from Ravi Zacharias is that “Questions do not need answers. People need answers.” The more we can know the person we’re sharing the gospel with, the more we can address the questions or concerns that often go beyond the intellectual issues, and speak to the whole person.
Notes
[1] Quoted in Timothy Keller, Making Sense of God: An Invitation to the Skeptical (New York: Redeemer; Viking, 2016), 18–19. Also see Keller’s account in the same chapter of the author Barbara Ehrenreich who had a profound supernatural experience but who still maintains her atheism.
[2] Clark reportedly converted to Catholicism shortly before his death, but as he points out in the quotation, this experience did not result in any immediate change to his life or beliefs.
[3] Ayers’s account of this experience originally appeared in The Sunday Telegraph (28th August 1988) and is reproduced here. In a follow-up article in The Spectator (15th October 1988), Ayers’s apparently desired to ameliorate his final paragraph in the original article by stating: “What I should have said is that my experiences have weakened, not my belief that there is no life after death, but my inflexible attitude towards that belief.”
Image by Fathromi Ramdlon from Pixabay
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