David Brooks links to some of the best magazine writing of the past year, and one of the articles is about the origin of the universe. In The Accidental Universe, Alan Lightman tells the story of how the fine-tuning of our universe has driven theoretical physicists to postulate the idea of a multiverse to escape the implication that our universe was designed. Ours is just one of an infinite set of universes that just happened to instantiate the right conditions for life. That is, there is nothing particularly special about our universe; given infinity, it was likely to come about at some point.
The fine-tuning of our universe is described well:
For example, if the nuclear force were a few percentage points stronger than it actually is, then all the hydrogen atoms in the infant universe would have fused with other hydrogen atoms to make helium, and there would be no hydrogen left. No hydrogen means no water. Although we are far from certain about what conditions are necessary for life, most biologists believe that water is necessary. On the other hand, if the nuclear force were substantially weaker than what it actually is, then the complex atoms needed for biology could not hold together. As another example, if the relationship between the strengths of the gravitational force and the electromagnetic force were not close to what it is, then the cosmos would not harbor any stars that explode and spew out life-supporting chemical elements into space or any other stars that form planets. Both kinds of stars are required for the emergence of life. The strengths of the basic forces and certain other fundamental parameters in our universe appear to be “fine-tuned” to allow the existence of life.
The data cries out for explanation, and almost no one has the gumption to write it off as sheer dumb luck. Some scientists agree with theologians that it is best explained by a divine act of design. Francis Collins, while skeptical of intelligent design in biology, warmly embraces the idea that the physical constants of the universe were orchestrated by a higher power to make the evolution of life possible. Even the long time atheist philosopher Antony Flew could not explain away the data and changed his mind about the existence of God. But this sort of move is not a popular one with leading physicists.
Ivan Karamazov worried that if God is dead then all things are permissible. Likewise, so evangelicals have been told, if there is no magisterial authority, then all biblical interpretations are permissible. But even if this is not the case, we could still argue that “biblicism” results in pervasive interpretive pluralism, which is a very serious problem. So goes the argument of Christian Smith in his new book The Bible Made Impossible. The conclusion in Smith’s argument seems to be that the Bible alone is not sufficient to bring us to clear, unambiguous answers on whatever topic we might want it to address.
Naturally, evangelicals have been resistant to Smith’s conclusion. The most prominent piece of criticism of Smith’s new book comes from Robert Gundry, which has been cited as a helpful defense of “biblicism” by a number of evangelical blogs. One scholar even goes so far to say Gundry’s article is a “superb review” from “a senior evangelical statesmen.” But it seems that not everyone shares such a high view of Gundry’s evangelical credentials.
Gundry was ousted from the Evangelical Theological Society, the closest thing evangelicals have that resembles a magisterium, in 1983. The reason: the method deployed in a 1982 commentary on Matthew reached conclusions that were judged to be incompatible with the doctrine of biblical inerrancy.
Norman Geisler recounted the history of Gundry’s transgressions in a recent open letter that charges Michael Licona with the same sins. Apparently, Licona made an interpretive move in his recent book defending the historicity of the resurrection that lead him to conclude Matthew 27:51-54 was composed for literary reasons; not for the purposes of recording history. Al Mohler agrees that Licona has made the same interpretive blunder as Gundry and that Licona ought to recant his position.
The central premise in Mohler and Geisler’s argument is that the doctrine of inerrancy entails the historicity of Matthew 27:51-54. Thus any exegetical method that results in “dehistoricizing” the passage is unacceptable. Article XVIII of the Chicago Statement if Biblical Inerrancy is taken to make this clear:
WE AFFIRM that the text of Scripture is to be interpreted by grammatico-historical exegesis, taking account of its literary forms and devices, and that Scripture is to interpret Scripture.
WE DENY the legitimacy of any treatment of the text or quest for sources lying behind it that leads to relativizing, dehistoricizing, or discounting its teaching, or rejecting its claims to authorship.
All I will say about how the Chicago Statement is being deployed is that taking account of a text’s literary forms and devices seems compatible with the conclusion that a given text may not have been intended as history. I am not qualified to judge whether or not this is the case in the disputed Matthew text, but it is clear to me that there is a noticeable irony in that this text seems to result in the problematic “interpretive pluralism” that Smith highlighted in his book. By all accounts Gundry and Licona are reputable evangelical scholars who are at home in the “biblicist” tradition. Yet at the same time, voices in this same tradition name them as rogues, or at least proprietors of rogue methods of biblical interpretation.
As to what we should think about the issues raised by the controversy between Licona and Geisler/Mohler, William Lane Craig offers a helpful strategy for approaching these issues from an apologetic standpoint. If views like Craig’s are deemed to be wrongly accommodating of Licona, then it seems we need a magisterium, some authoritative interpretive community, to make these calls. Does the ETS play that role? If so, then what do we make of Gundry and the status of “biblicism?” It seems evangelicals are faced with what may be a tough choice: jettison biblicism or the authority of ETS-like institutions as a boundary-setting entities. The curious case of Robert Gundry makes it difficult to accept both.
UPDATE:
I was curious to see what Gundry’s 1982 commentary had to say about the Matthew 27:53. He writes:
Hence, Matthew probably means that the resurrected saints entered Jerusalem only after Jesus’ resurrection. It is unclear whether they came out of their tombs only after Jesus’ resurrection, or came out earlier but stayed in the countryside till Jesus had risen. The doctrine that he is “the first-born from the dead ” (Col 1:18; Rev 1:5) and “the first fruits of those who are asleep” (1 Cor 15:20) favors the former view because a delayed exit from the realm of death would seem less liable to contradict that doctrine.” Thus Matthew probably means that the saints stayed in their tombs for several days even though their bodies had been raised to life. Then they came out and “entered into the holy city and appeared to many.” [Robert H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1982), 576.]
So when Mohler says
In 1983, the Evangelical Theological Society voted to request that Robert Gundry resign from its membership. The arguments for his expulsion from the ETS are exactly those that are now directly relevant to the argument that Michael Licona makes about Matthew 27:51-54. The suggestions that these events reported by Matthew are “special effects” and a “poetic device” are exactly the kind of dehistoricizing that led to Gundry’s removal from the ETS. Gundry’s argument concerning Matthew’s use of midrash is virtually parallel to Licona’s argument from classical references and Jewish apocalyptic sources.
We should not take him to be making the impression that Licona’s interpretation mimics Gundry’s. It seems that Mohler and Geisler would be inclined to agree with Gundry here, making the Gundry/Licona connection less pronounced. It would be a matter of using the right hermeneutical method, not the necessarily getting the right results.
Does science have anything to tell us about the nature of morality? Could use of the scientific method help us apprehend the nature of good and evil? Sam Harris certainly thinks so as he appeals to the burgeoning field of neuroscience as the pathway to discovering objective moral facts. For example, Harris recasts classical virtues like kindness, willingness to follow evidence, and patience as “forces” of the brain that further the end of human cooperation. If such forces result in human well-being, then we ought to cultivate them to maximize human well-being, and ignore or destroy those that abate it.
The one virtue of Harris’s book is that it forcefully makes the case for moral realism. He admirably shares the concern of many, primarily those of religious persuasion, that atheists and scientists tend to slide too easily into moral skepticism. It easy to see why he is so beloved by nonbelievers as his sharp wit and punchy tone make him someone you like having on your side. Being on the receiving end of his ridicule is no pleasure as he is adept at making any position he dislikes appear ridiculous. Of course, his rhetorical skills carry him only so far, and are useless when shouldering the burden of proof.
It seems that his argument could be summarized like this:
[1] Good and evil depend on the experience of conscious minds.
[2] Conscious minds are natural phenomena.
[3]Therefore, good and evil can be understood through science.
In the wake of the Anthony Weiner scandal, the Washington Post’s calls attention to the modern phenomenon of the ‘e-fair.’ This is nothing new, of course, as social media sites like Facebook have been reported in divorce cases as contributing to the end of marriages. Yet the WaPo article has the intuition that ‘e-fairs’ are in some sense removed from the reality of ‘real life’ affairs.
We treat our virtual lives as if they have the same meaning, depth and repercussions as our offline lives, which is a noble impulse. But there is a difference. Having a Facebook friend is not the same as having a friend, tweeting a politically charged hashtag is not the same as being an activist and sexting is not the same as having sex.
All of these claims are true, but I would submit that they are trivially true. Of course sexting is not identical with having sex; anyone can see that. Yet the discernibility in the “meaning, depth and repercussions” of the actions doesn’t diminish their moral significance. This is because technology does not diminish our human significance. It is a fallacy to suppose that the online world we inhabit is somehow “less real” than then non-online world. Whatever the existence of the online person amounts to, it is unquestionably true that it makes a real difference in the world. And to make such a difference, a profound difference, both the human person and his or her significance must exist online. The denial of this truth is what I call the Facebook fallacy.
The Facebook fallacy rests on the simple assumption that the reality of a person’s being is diminished insofar as the person is mediated by technology. We might call this the “filter effect” as features of embodied human relationships are removed from our social interactions. We have all heard the complaints about technology disconnecting us from embodied human community, and to be sure, there are clear instances where this is problematic. Yet many of these complaints are too hasty. Communications experts have studied the effect of email on human communication and have noted that certain personalities are less inhibited and more communicative in writing than they are in person. Not everyone has been blessed with graceful social skills, good looks, a magnetic personality, and confidence in speech. The filtering effect of email, in a way, levels the playing field between two communicators by removing those barriers, and makes room for other properties of good communication to emerge like linear thought and artful prose. This goes to show that the loss of knowledge about another’s body language does not necessarily imply that we have lost the best knowledge available about another person.
A better way to think of social technology like Twitter and Facebook is not to think of them as filters, but as enablers. They enable human communication more conveniently than ever. The Washington Post article makes the interesting observation about what Weiner’s dalliances would be like before the digital age:
But 20 years ago, Weiner would have had to load his Nikon with film before pointing it at his crotch. He would have had to take this film to the Fotomat, wait 24 hours before picking it up, find an envelope, lick a stamp. In every preceding era, there were built-in checkpoints, moments in which one could ask oneself, “Is this a good idea? Does she want to see my dog in a sweater? Am I a congressman? Should that influence my decision?”
These actions are weighed against those today, “Click. Here are my genitals!” In light of the perceived imbalance, the writer asks “Does that make me a cheater?” I think the answer is obviously yes, but there is an important intuition she stumbles upon. 20-year-old technology took a greater amount of intentionality to pull off this sort of social connection. It took more time and more resources. The mind had to be focused more on carrying out each step for a longer period of time. That does count for something, but this doesn’t make the actions of clicking a picture of your crotch with an iPhone and then uploading it to Twitter morally less serious. Though the process is easier, faster, and more efficient its effects are just as concrete. More frighteningly, it can be disseminated just as easily by the receiver to a larger audience. The problem is that we don’t understand the power of the technology we are using–not that our actions are somehow less real because they are instant.
If you haven’t already heard, Rob Bell is being judged. Or so say his defenders in the wake of a post by Justin Taylor that concluded that Bell “is moving farther and farther away from anything resembling biblical Christianity.” Perhaps there is something to question in saying something like this before reading the book. However, are both Taylor and John Piper really being patently unreasonable in coming to this conclusion? I mean here’s how the defense goes: Bell is just being provocative. He’s asking these questions to get people to really think about what they believe and why they believe it. Look at his endorsements. He couldn’t be advocating universalism. Asking questions doesn’t make one a heretic. This is just a marketing ploy, and it worked brilliantly. That’s why Bell is a great communicator. Reformed people don’t get it.
Okay. Here’s the deal.
If Bell’s book is not an argument for universalism, and that Bell’s rhetorical questions are not meant to ridicule the traditional beliefs of eternal conscious suffering, penal substitutionary atonement, and salvation by faith alone in Christ alone, then the marketing mechanism is a paradigm example of what Harry Frankfurt has defined as “bull****.” This is a good reason not to think Bell is a good communicator. This strategy of communication is pretentious, deliberately vague, and falls just short of lying. The “he’s being provocative” defense doesn’t help much in that provocation is not necessarily a virtue. It becomes vicious when you misrepresent yourself, acting like a phony, just so you can make a point and sell some books. Being forthcoming, clear, and presenting a persuasive argument, while considering contrary views in their best possible form, is always intellectually virtuous. Why not go that route? Because it doesn’t sell? Sounds like a good reason not to read the the book!
To be clear, I am not saying this because I am a Young, Restless, Reformed fanboy. The good Lord knows that I have been critical of things Piper and Taylor have said for years (after all, I am an Arminian egalitarian!). I think its fair to point out the wisdom of judging an author after reading their book, but to be surprised at their response to Bell’s promotional material, I think, shows a staggering lack of empathy for how they might hear what Bell is saying. I take their clear, serious-minded positions over the equivocation and obfuscation of a marketing ploy any day.
A university faculty prayer inspired by the Chorister’s Prayer of the Royal College of Church Music. Adapted by the CS Lewis Foundation
Bless, O Lord, us your servants,
Who are called to scholarly vocations.
Grant that what we apprehend with our minds
and profess through our words
May be grounded in truth
and offered confidently
with humility
to the greater good and well being
of our students, our colleagues,
our academic communities
and the world at large,
through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Gregg Ten Elshof’s I Told Me So is one best books I’ve read this year. In it he meditates on the fascinating phenomenon of self-deception, and lists a variety of ways we manage our beliefs to avoid the unpleasant consequences of truth. As we go through life we are offered a deal: believe the sober truth about yourself or believe things that give you a fair amount of satisfaction. It’s an easy one to take. As a college professor, Ten Elshof thinks he is a better-than-average one… along with 94% of his colleagues.
The deal of self-deception becomes more attractive to us when certain vices are elevated in our hierarchy of values, and in many cases these are determined by our culture. If someone thought you were racist seventy years ago, chances are you wouldn’t be so bothered by it. You might have been able to admit it, but you would not have felt overwhelmingly compelled to hide it. Today, however, no one is racist. To admit to racism is to admit to perhaps the greatest moral taboo of our day. The higher a vice is ranked in moral failure, the higher the temptation will be to be self-deceived about that vice. Second to racism, is phoniness. It is interesting that our culture places so much value on authenticity and honesty, and yet almost no one today is willing to admit they might have racist tendencies. Ironically, according to Ten Elshof, authenticity is precisely the value keeps us from admitting we could be self-deceived. As the value of authenticity becomes supreme, so does the vice of self-deception. So why would anyone want to take the deal?
When the truth collides with our self interest, we have ample reason to take the deal. Consider signing a doctrinal statement. Suppose a poor graduate student who is need of some extra income gets a call from a church that is interested in hiring him as an administrative assistant. During the course of the phone interview the pastor asks him about his theology. The grad student says a few things about the Trinity and the Incarnation, but he knows that this pastor wants to hear the word “inerrancy.” When it comes time to talk about his beliefs about the Bible the grad student is surprised to hear himself say, “I used to have doubts about inerrancy, but since coming to seminary I have been able to overcome it.” Really? When did that happen? It’s funny how those epistemic barriers to faith suddenly disappeared that morning!
We have all kinds of ways of deceiving ourselves. For instance, we like to manage our attention to certain facts and disregard others. When we study something like theology or apologetics we delight in attending to those arguments that only count in favor of our views. We even might say, “We are investigating the truth about ____” or “We are finding out why we believe what we believe,” but the truth is we are only attending to what confirms what we already we believe.
We procrastinate. There are tyrants that demand our attention, like a story about starving children in Haiti. We know we ought to give some money to the food relief program at church, but gosh darn it, we forgot the checkbook. “That’s it, I’ll write one when I get home,” we think! In the car we turn on the football game and forget about the sober pictures of small children with bloated bellies. When we get home we plop down on the couch with a bag of potato chips and forget about the unpleasant truth of someone eating pud pies to stay off hunger pains. The next week we come to church, without the checkbook again, we see the donation box and wonder why we didn’t remember to write a check.
We realign our sentiments. Ever been rejected by a member of the opposite sex you found attractive? Have you ever thought, “She wasn’t good for me, anyway,” or “He’s probably a jerk underneath.” When we can’t get what we want, we adjust our value on whatever it is we didn’t get, and sometimes make it out to be something undesirable. “Why would anyone want to own a BMW? You look like such a tool driving around in it.” So says the grad student who envies the rich kid who drives an M3–the ultimate driving machine. “My pickup truck is awesome. It towed all my stuff from Minneapolis to California.” Yep it sure did. It did what any old pickup truck should do.
Here’s the kicker, though: the mechanisms that produce self-deception aren’t all bad. If we were not able to manage our attention to certain facts, delay our actions, or realign our values we would be deep trouble. We all know the chances of a cancer patient surviving are low, but they are even lower if the patient doesn’t believe she can survive. She is better off to think she can make it even though the odds are stacked against her. Delaying action when it is our duty to act is procrastination, but delaying action when we have the impulse to buy something saves us money. If we could not delay gratification, our lives would go very badly. And of course, a BWM M3 is a better car than a Toyota Pickup truck, but its good to learn how to be content if all you can afford is a Pickup!
Avoiding self-deception, then, is not about relinquishing these second-order capacities, but learning how they become vicious. Cultivating discernment in how our self-interest influences are thinking goes a long way in helping us spot the self-deceptive strategies we buy into. Forming in a community that tolerates a diversity of opinion and respects disagreement will make an even a bigger difference (communities committed to like-mindedness are prone to groupthink). These may take a long time to establish, but we can begin by becoming wary of a misplaced value on the virtue of authenticity… amazingly enough.
Ten Elshof’s book is a fun and easy read through an uncomfortable topic. It displays a remarkable amount of wit in helping the reader feel comfortable in approach a serious topic. Being a fan of Harry Frankfurt’s On Bull****, I found many related ideas in Ten Elshof’s musings that gave specific examples of how we misrepresent the truth to manage how we feel. It explains in delicious detail how we ‘bull****’ ourselves, and it is not only creative and original, it is above all wise.
PBS has a new miniseries God In America that seeks to get “Inside the tumultuous 400-year history of the intersection of religion and public life in America.” Later, the series will look at the so-called “Religious Right” and none other than evangelicalism’s favorite self-appointed prodigal son Frank Schaeffer has an interview explaining how it all went wrong.
It is doleful to read, not because we might think he has lost his way or resents his upbringing, but because he is so self-referential. Consider the following question and answer:
In 1973, Richard Lovelace penned an important article detailing the causes of an acute problem that persists in the lives of many evangelical Christians. He calls it the “sanctification gap” and zeros in on the history of Protestantism to explain why evangelicals have so many problems with focusing attention on spiritual formation. I learned of this article from my professor in spiritual theology & formation, Dr. Steven Porter, whom I have briefly mentioned here. Of course, all Christians everywhere who profess belief in the resurrection of Jesus have experienced a gap between the ‘real’ and the ‘ideal’ Christian life, but as Lovelace argues, evangelicals have a particular problem with it and there is no shortage of pastors and commentators condemning the arid and anemic spiritual life of ‘born again’ Christians.
This does not mean that is no shortage of pet solutions offered. Some believe we need a more robust doctrine, stronger teaching on truths like justification by faith, more participation in social activism for just causes, more evangelism, a return to a proper understanding of gender roles, more political involvement, to join various small groups, to create community, to read the right books, and attend more conferences. All of these have interesting potential, but most of them say more about the people offering the solution than they do about the people needing one. The overarching issue that Lovelace seems to point to is that evangelical theology has not paid that much attention to the teaching of sanctification. Most systematic theology books published by evangelical presses have abbreviated sections of sanctification compared to say, the doctrine of Scripture. The practical result of these texts simply advocates more participation in duties like Bible reading, prayer, church participation, and evangelism. Many evangelicals faithfully do these things, and yet many still experience the problems caused by the”sanctification gap.”
Porter describes what some of these problems are:
Pretense. Christians feel pressure to act if everything is fine, because (1) they are supposed to be better off than their unbelieving neighbors, and (2) they do not have the liberty to be “not fine” in their respective Christian communities. This is not outright hypocrisy, but it does breed the necessary dishonesty that hypocrisy requires.
Despair. Christians feel hopeless of change, because they feel saddled with the same burdens and beset with the same sins. Feelings of helplessness and frustration over not having a solution or a way forward result in a depressed Christianity that either will settle into complacency or outright rejection of God.
Programmatic & personal solutions. Christians will often attack the “sanctification gap” with the above description of pet solutions offered by the church or the pocketbook of the struggling Christian. Books, conferences, and recovery programs are thought to provide pseudo-solutions to the perplexing inability to grow.
Moral formation. Many Christians may actually make some real improvements. They might learn some moral regiment or modify their behavior by using some sort of knowledge that is simple and accessible to everyone. The only problem is that it is not specifically Christian. Anyone, secular or otherwise could enter into the program and experience the same kind of change. Dieting, exercise, and developing simple hobbies are all good and right, but do not inspire the kind of Spirit lead self-discipline that leads to humility and service towards others. Instead, it can breed legalism and judgmentalism.
Ministry activism. Others see taking up the cross as translating into constant busyness. Involvement in ministry, service, and evangelism are taken to be authenticating signs in a life well lived by a Christian. Surely, a minister must have his or her ducks in a row! Yet we are shocked when it is revealed that the ministers in our midst are caught in affairs or financial scandals. It seem as though our service to Christ can be our greatest hindrance to knowing Christ (Nouwen).
These are common experiences in Christianity today, and they certainly have been common in my own Christian walk. Before I write a post explaining Porter’s response to the “sanctification gap” I would like some feedback: have you experienced these? In what regard and to what degree?
Looking over the blogosphere as it relates to evangelicals has been an entertaining, yet frightening exercise. It is entertaining, so far as blogs go, to produce and weigh in upon controversy. It is frightening in that participating in the controversy has been an ugly affair. Take the dispute between Marvin Olasky and Jim Wallis or the one between Karl Giberson and Al Mohler. These are ugly because of their appeals to character assassination (Wallis accusing Olasky of “lying for a living” and Mohler not caring about truth [!]).Then, of course, there is the ongoing controversy over BioLogos and its aggressive campaign to reconcile science and Christianity. Our very own Evangel blog had to be “rebooted” in the wake of the divisive nature of the creation debates that attend to the subject. While these things are alarming up close, taking a step back no one should be surprised considering the cultural context we find ourselves in.
Many think that postmodern thought originates and finds its legs in left-wing thought. Everyone can point to Rorty or Derrida or Foucault and cry foul about their promulgation of relativism, incoherence, and reductionism and teach young people to avoid the decay of truth running rampant in our universities and elite centers of cultural life. In fact, I think that is very godly and it is necessary for the good life. But there is what might be called a right-wing postmodernism, or better yet, a conservative acknowledgment of pluralism that inexorably frustrates public discourse.
Alasdair MacIntyre pointed out that such a frustration is the result of the multiplicity of systems that persist in our cultural milieu, In Whose Justice? Which Rationality? MacIntyre demonstrates that “tradition” gives shape to our presuppositions about justice and rationality and makes it almost impossible to resolve political disputes in our public discourse. Tradition according to MacIntyre is “an argument extended through time in which certain fundamental agreements are defined and redefined.” Schools of thought, we might call them, govern our argument and it is very difficult to get behind them, because our rationality is shaped from within them. One can easily see how MacIntyre’s insights apply to theological discourse between competing traditions. After sharing this thought with a seminary colleague he incisively remarked, “It all part of the Tower of Babel if you ask me.”
Evangelicalism is a cacophony of voices. The fragmentation is easily seen in Patheos’ Future of Evangelicalism series. Emergent voices say the old coalition is passing, the Reformed movement is making a comeback, apologetic ministries a thriving in light of the renaissance of Christian philosophy, there is a storm brewing over the dialogue between science and religion, evangelicals are the new mainline, film is the new literature, and activists are re-discovering “God’s politics.” The sloganeering is dreadful to read through, but if one makes the effort one will see that there is very little common, unifying ground that makes for a cultural force called evangelical Christianity.
Back to the Babel story, the main problem seems to be that the builders were out to make a name for themselves, and Evangelical ministries have a lot in common with them it seems. It is difficult to imagine God frustrating the purposes of his people, but it may very well be that our purposes are not His purposes. I don’t doubt that there is much wisdom in the prophetic voices and the reality of what direction things are heading. I just wish I could be more optimistic about evangelicalism as a whole.
After reading David B. Hart’s essay on baseball, A Perfect Game, in this month’s issue of FIRST THINGS, I soaked up his idyllic metaphors as I entered Target Field last night to see my beloved Twins take on the hapless Cleveland Indians. Beholding the wonder of the green diamond I was filled with immense gratitude for God’s provision in leading us out of the wilderness of the Metrodome to the promised land of outdoor baseball. No, perhaps it was better than that—like Eden on a sunny summer evening.
Joe Mauer’s chiseled jaw stood tall and proud as the Star Spangled Banner was sung by a local barbershop quartet swelling my Minnesotan heart with pride. Unlike Cleveland’s former narcissistic superstar, our hometown hero is a humble and modest fellow who grew up on the unassuming streets of good ole’ St. Paul. Surely his angelic swing would not result in a 4-6-3 double play tonight! There was much to be thankful for and Hart’s mediations swept over me as if the perfect Platonic Forms were bleeding into the material world from the pitcher’s mound.
And it did not take longer than five innings to be disabused of this frilly nonsense.
One of the things that has always troubled me about the Platonic Forms is that they only seem to be invoked to explain beautiful things. Their changelessness, their perfection, their timelessness are naturally thought to comport with the beautiful. Ugliness is thought to be a distinct feature of the finite world that fails conform to the perfection of the Forms. But it seems just as plausible to imagine Forms of horror, for they leave evidence of their ugliness that goes beyond the mere frailty of nature. Baseball seems to point to this reality.
If Dante had known of baseball he would have included it in one of the many circles hell. Souls under the wrath of God would be subject to watching their home team get two quick outs and the away team drive in four straight runs off of a couple of walks and four singles. We might be tempted to say this somehow fits into the game’s greatness, but there is no evidence to support this banal notion when one observes how this tortured process comes about.
Hart makes many references to the infinite as telling of baseball’s glory, but is he aware that it can be equally telling of its dread? Here is how it goes: Two outs, bottom of the fifth, first pitch, ball one, second pitch ball two, third pitch, ball three, meeting between catcher and pitcher, umpire resumes game, fourth pitch, foul ball, long pause between signals, fifth pitch, foul ball, sixth pitch foul ball, seventh pitch, foul ball, eighth pitch foul ball, ninth pitch foul ball, tenth pitch, single to right-center field. Repeat this process four times; add a walk or two in between. Beholding such monotony gives one a rotten sense of the infinite where hope for one last out comes to symbolize Kierkegaard’s notion of despair; wanting no longer to exist and not being able to do anything about it.
Anyone who has had the displeasure of having to watch this will understand how a stadium can transform from an Edenic paradise to a little shop of horrors. The agony is felt by 40,000 people all at once. Not even listening to a speech by an inept politician can elicit such a unanimous reaction. What we are beholding is foul in all respects, the sheerest form of ugliness one can imagine in the realm of sports. It makes the blood cool and long for the oblong game played in the winter of Minnesota where the ice, wood, and fist prevail.
I am afraid to say that I have become a more regular listener to a podcast from an atheist blog than I am a poster here at Evangel. Luke Muehlhauser’s Conversations From the Pale Blue Dot is one of the better podcasts out there that takes time to examine both sides of important issues in philosophy of religion. His interviews never fail to be charitable and informative even if one does not ultimately agree (see for example, the interview with Steven Porter on penal subsitutionary atonement–for the record I agree with Porter).
Recently, I was listening to the interview of David Basinger on the subject of Open Theism. Muehlhauser points out that Open Theism is no stranger to controversy and explores the divide that has emerged within Christian theology over its controversial premise of presentism. When asked about this divide, Basinger responds with an interesting epistemological explanation that could apply to many of our disagreements and sheds some light on the differences people have when approaching ecumenical questions (starting at minute 12:37).
Basinger begins by stating we approach our claims in two different ways. The first approach says, “I affirm this belief and only my perspective is justifiable, therefore the implication is that others who have other beliefs aren’t knowledgeable or aren’t sincere.” The second says, “I affirm this belief strongly, I feel justified in holding it, but other people who hold different beliefs are equally knowledgeable and sincere and therefore are equally justified.” Basinger says he falls into the second camp, and explains his approach by arguing that so long as one’s perspective is self-consistent and sufficiently comprehensive one is justified in holding to one’s perspective. Our choice of perspective has to do with what satisfies our own presuppositions, however they might be formed, and that reason does not have the power to resolve deep metaphysical disputes.
I will not comment on which approach is right or wrong, but I do think this rubric goes a long way in explaining why ecumenism is so controversial in itself. Mark Olson’s recent post is a paradigm example in how the two approaches conflict. Those that seek to participate in broad ecumenical discussions think that one can be justified in holding to perspectives that conflict with one’s own. The dialogue that follows is one that cherishes tolerance for others out of a sense of charity that affirms that all parties have been intellectually virtuous in seeking justification for their beliefs. This view holds that all parties have labored to be self-consistent and comprehensive in their affirmations. By contrast, those who are suspicious of ecumenical discussions do not see merit in dialoguing with others, because the polemical debates have not been satisfied. Others who hold divergent views are not justified in affirming them, because they either are not properly knowledgeable in what is in fact true, or are dishonest in their denial of what is true.
How we conceive the value of charity and the nature of truth bears upon how we will approach others in disagreement. The first approach rightly fears relativism and a tepid view of tolerance that opens the doors to error, and puts confidence in the reason to resolve disputes. The second rightly gives respect to the intellectual honesty to those who have worked through the relevant issues, but does not fully trust reason to deliver a reliable way to resolving disputes.
It seems to me that these approaches can reside in the same person at the same time, but on different issues. I increasingly see myself falling into the second camp (since I like Conversations From the Pale Blue Dot so much), but there are many issues where I still reside in the first (for example, on abortion). Much of it comes down to how much belief I have in reason to resolve disputes.
At the end of their 4-page Code of Business Conduct and Ethics Goldman Sachs declares that they reserve the right to “waive” certain provisions contained in the document. Well that certainly makes for an easy conscience, doesn’t it? American Public Media’s Kai Ryssdal interviews Greg Unruh, director of the Lincoln Center for Ethics who argues that at the end of the day “companies don’t like to miss out on profits, so the safety valve is allowing them to sacrifice their ethics if the price is right.” Why bother creating a document setting forth moral obligations when one reserves the right to waive them all along?
There is an interesting note in the current issue of Philosophia Christi (v11; n2) by David Reiter about presuppositional apologetics and its famed “transcendental argument for the existence of God” (or TAG for short). This argument claims that there is a deep metaphysical connection between the existence of God and some basic feature of reality. For example, moral laws are connected to the existence of God, and since we know moral laws exist, so does God. The same might be said about logic or the laws of nature. Reiter points to a dilemma TAG faces if it can be agreed that TAG’s form is:
(1) p
(2) Necessarily, if p, then God exists (or G)
So (3) G
In response, Reiter asks what exactly is the argument trying to establish? This may seem strange considering the obvious goal of any presuppositional apologist is to show that God exists, but it remains an open question as to whether God actually exists or necessarily exists. Many presuppositionalists want to make the stronger modal claim that God necessarily exists—that proof of God’s existence is entailed by the impossibility of the contrary.
I have been reading the final book in CS Lewis’s space trilogy That Hideous Strength, and I came across an excerpt worth sharing. For those unfamiliar with the book a man named Mark (who is an unbeliever) is being programmed under the threat of violence to think “objectively,” meaning without influence of the “chemical reactions” that produce our moral (read emotive) judgments. The scientist in charge of his progress commands him to trample a crucifix. Mark hesitates… and puts his life in danger.
Mark was well aware of the rising danger. Obviously, if he disobeyed, his last chance getting out Belbury alive might be gone. The smothering sensation once again attacked him. He was himself, he felt, as helpless as the wooden Christ. As he thought this, he found himself looking at the crucifix in a new way—neither as a piece of wood nor a monument of superstition but as a bit of history. Christianity was nonsense, but one did not doubt that the man had lived and had been executed thus by the Belbury of those days. And that, as he suddenly saw, explained why this image, though not itself an image of the Straight and Normal, was yet in opposition to crooked Belbury. It was a picture of what happened when the Straight met the Crooked, a picture of what the Crooked did to the Straight—what it would do to him if he remained straight. It was, in a more emphatic sense than he had yet understood, a cross.
Here Lewis shows through his character that it is impossible to see the Cross from “objective” neutrality. Further along he explains why:
He [Mark] was thinking, and thinking hard, because he knew that if he stopped even for a moment, mere terror of death would take the decision out of his hands. Christianity was a fable. It would be ridiculous to die for a religion one did not believe. This man himself, on that very cross, had discovered it to be a fable, and he died complaining that the God in whom he trusted had forsaken him—had, in fact, found the universe a cheat. But this raised the question that Mark had never thought before. Was that the moment to turn against the Man? If the universe was a cheat, was that a good reason for joining its side? Supposing the Straight was utterly powerless, always and everywhere certain to be mocked, tortured, and finally killed by the Crooked, what then? Why not go down with the ship?
The cross shows that there is no middle ground between choosing to do wrong or to suffer wrong. All the secular mind can do in the face of this choice is to obtain some kind of “objectivity” that denies right and wrong altogether. And that, of course, is madness.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
Concluding Thoughts
In conclusion, Principe sees the real problem of the warfare thesis perpetuated by the likes of atheist activists like Richard Dawkins who excoriate religion in the name of science and the creationist lobby who want its theories taught in public schools before they become accepted as scientific theory. When we find our blood boiling over the legal battles, the expulsion of professors from the academy, the jeremiads of militant atheism, or the narrowness of literalism, we should stop and take a breath and consider the complex yet cordial relationship science and religion have enjoyed over the centuries. In the end faith and reason serve one another.
While I am not in total agreement with everything Principe has taught there is much to be commended in this series. His is a scholarship of integrity that honestly evaluates the highly complex issues surrounding tumultuous historical events and handles philosophical arguments competently and admirably. Though I still find myself sympathetic the scientific interests of the ID project, particularly with regard to development of a criterion to detect design, I recognize that the design argument has its limits. Today’s advocates should abandon the attempts to have it taught in the public schools and focus its energies on testing its hypotheses. It may be a fact of life that the scientific establishment is sold out to naturalism and will not allow any project that postulates intelligent causation for patterns in question and that is lamentable. But the questions don’t stop with court-rulings, tenure denials, or rejections from peer-reviewed journals. ID theorists may have to resort to doing science the old fashion way: doing simple experiments, forming cogent theoretical explanations, and publishing the results in popular books. There will be no shortage of review from scientists and curiosity from the public. If they do well enough, the paradigm will shift. If it was good enough for Darwin it is good enough for design.
Principe is correct that methodologically speaking, looking for natural explanations is the best way to do science. It may not be the only way or the perfect way, but it seems to further investigation the most. He is also correct that miracles do not necessarily halt investigation altogether since it takes a robust inquiry to verify one. With all the arguments trying to refute claims of irreducible complexity, this seems to be the only positive result of the conflict between ID and evolution has produced. And why should we be surprised? This has always been the inspiring outcome between science and religion.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
The Conflict Over Evolution
Princepe is not naïve to the challenge Darwinism poses to religious people, though he laments the fact that so few have learned much about their Augustinian traditions. He argues that fundamentalists have done a hearty disservice to themselves by forgetting the importance of the no-conflict thesis between the book of nature and the book of Scripture and go so far to embrace a literalism that concludes the earth is only 6,000 years old. However, he does not savage them uncritically like most academics. He is aware that for most of Western history the age of the earth was only thought to be under 10,000 years old, because there was no reason to think God would want to have the world around for so long (billions of years) before the appearance of mankind.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
Natural Theology and Intelligent Design
The arise of the mechanical philosophy (the view that sees the world as one large machine-like entity) in the 17th century lead to a promotion of materialism, that matter is all there is, and in turn encouraged atheism. Various responses to this involved what became known as “natural theology”—the practice of using examples from nature to demonstrate God and the wisdom of his character.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
The Galileo Affair
After make these philosophical points, Principe switches gears and addresses two of the great examples that are often cited to support the conflict thesis between science and religion: Darwinian evolution and the so-called “Galileo affair.” Starting with Galileo we are introduced to the subject of heliocentrism through Copernicus. Interestingly enough, both Copernicus and Galileo were theists who did not see any conflict between their scientific endeavors and their religious beliefs. Copernicus’s book was published by the urging his fellow clergymen (Copernicus held an administrative role in the Holy Order) though it was not well-received. The prevailing view of the day, that sun went round the earth, simply did not fall by the wayside since it fit with common sense experience (we don’t feel the earth move, we see the sun move, and so on) and traditional readings of the Bible (Joshua’s passage of the God making the sun stand still implied that the sun moved). In other words, it took time for his views of the verified by other scientists.
Galileo is most famous for his conflict with the Catholic Church over espousing and expounding Copernicus’s views, but the story is often characterized in cartoonish metaphors of him being drug off in chains before a nefarious Inquisition. In reality, the affair spanned a great deal of time. The Inquisition was often disinterested in the charges against Galileo by intellectually inferior monks, and deferred to others to evaluate his scientific theories. Unfortunately for Galileo those outside sources are what got him into trouble when they declared his theories to be “foolish and absurd.” Nonetheless, Galileo found himself lightly reprimanded and was counseled to write in more hypothetical language (rather than sounding absolute).
A fact that is often lost in casual citations of the Galileo Affair is that he was friends with Pope and had his blessing in his studies. The Pope wished for a moderated debate between the two theories as there were clergy that were on both sides of the issue. In fact, the famous quote, “The Bible tells us how to go to heaven, not how the heavens go” came from a Cardinal sympathetic to Galileo’s cause. Regrettably, through a publishing snafu and the irrepressible nature of Galileo’s scathing wit, his book Dialogue on the Two Chief World Systems alienated his old and very powerful friend. Due to the pressure from external events such as the Protestant Reformation and the Thirty Years War the Pope could not deal with the internal strain and personal affront Galileo caused and had him tried and convicted of heresy.
Nevertheless, the judgment was not signed by the Pope’s nephew or the two Cardinals which suggests the trial was more for show than anything else. It is true that the events of the day led to a sad ending for Galileo, but centuries later the papacy lead by John Paul II fully vindicated him.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
Miracles
Though God can do anything, He adheres (though not strictly) to a type of “covenant with creation” where scientific investigation is made possible. However, those times when he breaks with that “covenant”, where scientific investigation is not possible, are when the miraculous becomes a reality. Miracles are the suspension of the laws of nature (which God normally upholds) that bring about an effect of the divine will or a disproportionate effect to a secondary cause (for example, the wind blowing so magnificently that it parts the Red Sea). While miracles are supernaturally caused and cannot be explained in scientific terms, they do not necessarily stop science from investigation. To verify a miracle one must do a searching inventory of possible natural causes to conclude that none of them would be adequate to explain the event in question. Daniel Dennett, a notorious naturalist, agrees, “Miracle-hunters must be scrupulous scientists” (Dennett, 2006: 26).
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
Providence
At the center of the issues is the relationship between God and nature. Understanding this thorny subject is a difficult task since one must be able to define a wide variety of terms as they relate to causation, both natural and supernatural. Is causation fundamentally natural, supernatural, or both? It is important to note that a matter of orthodoxy is the conception of a singularly creative and omnipotent deity who provides a necessary (though not sufficient) condition for the scientific enterprise. The implication is that regularity of law-like action is ensured by the sustaining order of the deity’s providence.
In the same way providence is a decisive factor in theological doctrine, so it is in science. How we construe God’s interaction with the created order will determine how we think about and practice science. Almost universally rejected is the naïve supernaturalism of theological determinists who insist that for every effect in the natural world there is a supernatural cause. In other words the explanation for why your hair grows is “God did it.” This view undermines the scientific enterprise since its explanations are deemed sufficient and no further knowledge can be gained. Instead, the history of Christian thought has affirmed the idea that God governs and sustains the created order through secondary means. Creation contains a system of causality that is reliable, regular, and observable, yet remains original or “final” in the will of God. Thus the natural causes are sustained by God’s concurring providence.
With the ongoing discussions about Bruce Waltke’s video at the BioLogos website and his subsequent resignation from RTS, as well as the long comment thread here at Evangel about events in Genesis, I thought I would post some thoughts about the relationship between science and religion that were gathered from a series of helpful lectures from the Teaching Company. Some might find it helpful and others, I’m sure, will not.
Introduction
As a child the subject I found most interesting was the natural and physical sciences. Sunday evenings were often dedicated to sitting in front of the television marveling at the entertaining experiments on Newton’s Apple and the elaborate habitats of myriad creatures on Nature. Often I found myself, against my parents wishes, wanting to spend another hour watching Nova explore the vast expanse of the universe, but bedtime was past due. In elementary school we took six weeks to study the anatomy of the human body and were assigned projects to study a favorite animal (mine was the wolf). I always found the digestive system to be absolutely fascinating. Yet every encounter with deep scientific questions were met with deeper questions about the origin of humanity, the age of earth, and how the book of Genesis fit into it all.
I liked Gayle Trotter’s post about her top ten parenting books so much I just had to make my own. Now in full disclosure I must tell you that I am not a parent, though I hope to be. In seeking wise instruction about what exactly parenthood is and how one’s attitude towards it should be shaped, I have found Mike Austin’s book Wise Stewards to be immensely helpful.
Wise Stewards is more of a popular treatment of themes Austin explored in his scholarly publication Conceptions of Parenthood, which I have reviewed elsewhere. But it isn’t simply a repeat of the scholarly work as it also explores Christian ideals such as stewardship and “shalom” as well as key virtues for Christian families. The book has the quality of being short–but let that not deceive you–it is no easy read. Like any good philosophy book it is meant to be read slowly so that the reader will fully digest the complexity and substance of the ideas, and then be read again when they pondered seriously.
Gregg Ten Elshof’s 
Joe Mauer’s chiseled jaw stood tall and proud as the Star Spangled Banner was sung by a local barbershop quartet swelling my Minnesotan heart with pride. Unlike Cleveland’s former narcissistic superstar, our hometown hero is a humble and modest fellow who grew up on the unassuming streets of good ole’ St. Paul. Surely his angelic swing would not result in a 4-6-3 double play tonight! There was much to be thankful for and Hart’s mediations swept over me as if the perfect Platonic Forms were bleeding into the material world from the pitcher’s mound. 
