My Two Cents on “Jesus Mythicism”

This is a cut-and-paste response to a Christian friend of mine, Mr. James Panetti, who was wrestling with this thing sometimes called “Jesus Mythicist” theory, which maintains not only that the Jesus represented in the Gospels is not historical, but that there was never even a historical figure known as “Jesus of Nazareth.”



Yeah, I think you are reckoning with some of the same things that I have been investigating. The underlying question you are dealing with is "How do we know stuff?" (That is what epistemology is all about.) What you are essentially pointing to is two different channels of "knowing" reality: "heart" and "head." You might even differentiate them as "intellect" and "imagination." There are probably several ways you could distinguish them.

For a long time, the two trajectories of knowing have characterized "art" and "science" separately. Science, employing the intellect, has been about the business of "objectively" withholding belief until "proof" has been offered to it. What I was touching on in my own note was the fact that they naively ignore the fact that they have not applied this methodology to the scientific method itself. My point has been essentially to show that science is not as strictly "scientific" as it assumes itself to be. The very method it asserts is assumed through a kind of intuitive "leap". In your own terms, you might say that they assume this scientific method because it is appealing to their "heart." Another way of saying it: they assert the scientific method because they find it beautiful.

Here is a very interesting excerpt from a biography on Einstein called Einstein: His Life and Universe:

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One day during the 1930s, Einstein invited Saint-John Perse to Princeton to find out how the poet worked. "How does the idea of a poem come?" Einstein asked. The poet spoke of the role played by intuition and imagination. "It's the same for a man of science," Einstein responded with delight. "It is a sudden illumination, almost a rapture. Later, to be sure, intelligence analyzes and experiments confirm or invalidate the intuition. But initially there is a great forward leap of the imagination."

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There have been several books and articles written that deal with this role of the imagination in scientific discovery, and the "leaps" that are taken in order for science to advance.

The particular struggle you have been wrestling with sounds like what has been called the "Jesus Mythicist" movement. This movement has come about in conjunction with the "New Atheism" that has recently emerged with Dawkins and Harris and others. I have two or three cents to say about both of those movements, and I’ll share that in generalizations that do not necessarily hold true for each person individually, but it might be said characteristic of the movements as a whole. They are often called "fundamentalist atheists," and for good reason: they characteristically ignore most of the significant intellectual advancements that have developed in postmodernism and what might be called post-postmodernism (we don't quite know what to call what comes after postmodernism yet!).

This atheism (and the Jesus Mythicist movement along with it) is a popularized rehashing of old out-dated enlightenment assumptions about reality. What is strikingly (and absurdly) ironic about it is that it wears the guise of "intellectualism", but it really practices what might be called "emotionalism." You will notice in debates between many of these atheists and Christian apologists (for example, the debate between Christopher Hitchens and Alister McGrath) that the atheist will depend largely upon wise-cracks, insults, over-generalizations, and charisma, whereas the “irrational” Christian they debate is raising powerful intellectual points to reckon with, which the atheist completely ignores, or else shrugs off with yet another wise-crack. I’ve noticed too that many of these atheists seem to absolutely relish in being as crass as possible (for example, the “Christ-my-ass” day of the “Rational Response Squad”) which is, of course, very cool, objective, and rational…not!).

As far as Jesus Mythicism goes, it assumes that if Jesus was indeed who the Church says he was, there would be scores of undeniable historical documents proving this. They assume a "Foundationalist" epistmeological posture that refuses to believe anything unless it can be proven (but only in the way that they happen to prefer things to be proven), and this with nearly absolute certainty. Because the other extrabiblical accounts of Jesus' life can be questioned (if you really think about it, is ANY historical document immune from doubt?), they reject them as proof.

What is happening, I think, is that these Mythicists are emerging in an age of information revolution. With the internet, everyone is a published writer, and any bit of information you could imagine is at your fingertips. My impression is that mythicists quite naively assume (though they wouldn't admit as much) that the ancient world was at least somewhat the same way: "If there really was a miracle-working Jesus, surely Joe Nazereth would have blogged about it." The fact is, however, that the process of documentation and writing, etc., was extremely time consuming and expensive, and there were not many people who even had the literacy to undertake such an endeavor.

Yet even if they did have the time and resources to write about Jesus, there would also need to be the additional requirement of people preserving that document for 2000 years. People would need to think this document was important enough to take the trouble of preserving it, and making copies of it, etc., in order for us to be able to have a copy to point to today.


It is nothing new to doubt that the Gospels portray the actual history of a man named Jesus from Nazareth. The whole "quest for the historical Jesus" movement tried to deconstruct the "historical Jesus" from the "theological Jesus." These guys didn't doubt there was an actual historical person based upon which the Gospel writers told tall tales, they were just trying (unsuccessfuly) to figure out which tales were tall, and which were short.

It's one thing to say "If Jesus did all the things the Gospels say he did, then you would expect to see extrabiblical materials documenting his existence." But I imagine that part of the reason why those in the historical Jesus quest didn't go so far to claim he never existed is because that if Jesus didn't really do all the fantastic things claimed of him, then there would be absolutely no reason whatsoever for the historians contemporary to Jesus' day to document his life. Even if he did do all the things the Gospels claim, it would not be justified to expect scores of extrabiblical accounts talking about Jesus. How much less if he wasn't extra-ordinary?

There are many other methodological assumptions concerning history that factor into this discussion; this is only the tip of the iceberg. But it is also, as I mentioned, assuming a foundationalist methodology: "I don't believe something until I have proof." The reality is: that is not even what they practice themselves concerning their assumptions of right methodology. They reject the "leap" the Christian makes into belief of Jesus' existence, but they make a "leap" themselves into the assumption that some absolute proof is required for belief in Jesus' existence.

The point that Alister McGrath is making in The Open Secret is that these "leaps" are required in the epistemic process--even with science. When we make the "leap" of belief in Jesus (which is not a "blind" leap that is completely without reason), and we are undergirded with good theology, we see from the inside that it is beautiful (in your terms, we "know with our heart" that Jesus is real).

There is a subjective element to that, but it is not relativistic, nor is it (necessarily) completely unobjective. The objectivity of it can possibly be found in this idea of "resonance" or "best explanation." McGrath points out that the Christian worldview has a powerful explanatory power, not only concerning the world, but even the very existence of other worldviews. There is a quality of resonance or equilibrium that Christianity (at its best, not its corrupted forms) can offer that other worldviews and religions do not seem to possess. But that is a whole other discussion....

Einstein on Science and Poetry

The following is an excerpt from the book Einstein: His Life.

One day during the 1930s, Einstein invited Saint-John Perse to Princeton to find out how the poet worked. "How does the idea of a poem come?" Einstein asked. The poet spoke of the role played by intuition and imagination. "It's the same for a man of science," Einstein responded with delight. "It is a sudden illumination, almost a rapture. Later, to be sure, intelligence analyzes and experiments confirm or invalidate the intuition. But initially there is a great forward leap of the imagination."

A dialog on scientific and theological methodology: “Proof” vis-a-vis “Presupposition” in Synergistic “Resonance”

The following is from a dialog I’ve been having with an atheist on this discussion board thread: http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/14534. The atheist’s responses follow the colons: “::”

It is a somewhat technical (albeit amateurish) discussion on epistemology. These responses are “off the cuff”, not exquisitely refined. They are nonetheless a little window into what I’ve been exploring recently, especially in critical realist epistemology, and Alister McGrath’s approach in his new book “The Open Secret: A New Vision for Natural Theology”. I’d, of course, love to hear your thoughts, if you’re interested in this kind of nerdy stuff, and have the tenacity to tread through this whole thing!

Here goes…

I do not disagree that the empirical method is a reliable and extremely helpful tool for knowing and understanding reality. The reason I harp on its limitations is because it is, for many atheists I’ve discovered, assumed to be the ONLY reliable and helpful tool for knowing and understanding reality, or indeed the tool that trumps all other competing ways of knowing and understanding reality.

The question that was naïvely ignored by modernity (and many atheists…and Christians, too, for that matter) is: “But how do we know the empirical process itself?” You see, I would say (following many respected epistemologists) that all knowledge comes through the use of certain tools or channels or methods. The empirical process is one channel for knowing reality. But what is the channel or process through which we come to know the empirical process? What lies tacitly beneath your statement “There is no reason for doubting my senses”?

This is simplified and imperfect, but I think it looks something like this:

(a) data is transmitted to your senses

(b) your senses transmit data to your brain

(c) You make some fallible assumptions into which you must take a “leap” of uncertainty:

(C1) That the data transmitted to my senses is accurate

(C2) That my senses work properly in transmitting that data to my brain?

(C3) That my intellect capable of properly interpreting this data?

(c) You test out the reliability of those assumptions in step (c).

(d) You discover that those assumptions seem to be reliable and resonate well with the big picture of life.

Again this is oversimplified, but it is somewhat helpful for our conversation. The reality is that the process of knowing is both top-bottom as well as bottom-top. There is a kind of synergism involved here. Only through this synergistic process can you say “There is no reason for doubting my senses.”

So to say “I believe because there is no reason not to believe” is to assume that the default position of the human knower is to believe that which is presented to him (again, an oversimplified statement). I would agree. This is true not only of our senses, but also the testimony of others, and—I would say—even our intuition. (There are probably more things we could throw into that “default” as well.)

We assent to things until some kind of cognitive dissonance is introduced into the picture to make us question the validity of that thing. As such, we believe p because p “resonates” with everything else we understand concerning reality. When we are presented with a choice between p and q, we decide between them based on which option resonates best with our experience of reality.

I understand that this process is very similar to what Thomas Kuhn describes in Structures of Scientific Revolutions. McGrath points to Jean Piaget’s model of “equilibration” as another example of this. Here is an excerpt from McGrath’s book The Open Secret, the chapter on “The Psychology of Perception”:

The account of perception that we have given thus far is of a dialectic process in which sensory input is made sense of in terms of pre-existing perceptual schemas, which have themselves developed as part of the process of acting on sensory input. The perceiver both acts on the world and is acted upon by the world. Processing is both top-down and bottom-up. The perceiver organizes data, but the organizational system employed is itself influenced by the type of data it is required to handle, and has some invariant features or predispositions built into it, presumably as the outcome of natural selection.

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McGrath:

The two sides of this process have been referred to as “assimilation of” and “accommodation to” the world by Piaget. For Piaget, there exists a process of “reflecting abstraction” through which human beings interact with their environment. Human beings are not born with such structures, nor do they absorb them passively from their environment: they construct them through a process of interaction (which Piaget terms “equilibration”), in which equilibrium is achieved between assimilation and accommodation. Assimilation may be defined as the “act of incorporating objects or aspects of objects into learned activities,” where accommodation is “the modification of an activity or ability in the face of environmental demands.” Generally these two processes balance each other, but accommodation to the world begins to dominate when the perceiver encounters phenomena that do not readily fit into existing schemas. This sort of situation involves cognitive challenge and possibly stress, but the outcome may often be a reorganization or development of schemas so that they are more differentiated, complex, and in keeping with the sensory phenomena. Thus there is a cycle of assimilation–challenge–accommodation–assimilation–challenge–accommodation under-

pinning the process of perception and its development.

(end of excerpt from McGrath)

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So anyway, this is essentially the process through which the empirical method is appropriated and affirmed as a reliable epistemological tool. The ideas of “resonance” and “equilibrium” are essentially the same, I think.

:: I only claimed certainty regarding FACTS, nothing more! Facts are certain, unless you can present evidence that facts and our senses are untrustworthy. Your only argument for this was the fallacy from inductive uncertainty when you said that we could not be absolute certain about our senses. This is a red herring. That fact our senses are not absolutely certain does not mean they are not untrustworthy.

I never said that our senses are “untrustworthy” because we cannot be absolutely certain about them, did I? My only contention was that you cannot be absolutely certain about them, not that they are untrustworthy. Those are two completely different things. “Trustworthiness” does not necessarily entail “absolute certainty.”

This is a trustworthy, but not “absolutely certain” statement: “When I turn the key in my car’s ignition, its engine will start.” It’s trustworthy because that is what usually happens, and I do not have reason to doubt it will happen. It is not “absolutely certain” because something could have happened to my car without my knowing that will cause it not to start (e.g. someone siphoned the gas from my tank, etc.).

I would agree that (per your definition) “facts” are trustworthy. I do not agree that “facts” are “absolutely certain.” There is absolutely no fallacy in that recognition whatsoever, so far as I can see. If you think there is, then please justify that statement rather than stamping it with a so-called fallacy. Explain why it is a fallacy. Show me the error in this argument:

1. That the sky is blue is a “fact” (per your definition).

2. We know the sky is blue because our senses tell us so.

3. We cannot be absolutely, 100% certain that our senses give us accurate information about reality

4. Therefore we cannot be absolutely certain about “facts”

Note, again, that this says nothing about “trustworthiness” of the senses. It is merely the recognition of a threshold limiter to our certainty that cannot be surpassed into “absolute certainty.” The lack of recognition of this epistemic boundary is one of the weaknesses of Enlightenment Foundationalism, pointed to by theistic and non-theistic philosophers alike.

:: This is already been explained to you! We know [that the scientific method is reliable] via the scientific method.

No. All you have done is demonstrate circular reasoning. To justify the validity of the scientific method with the scientific method itself is circular. That should be obvious to you. It is like me saying “I know that the Bible is true because it says it is true.” That is circular too. My point is that, to a certain degree, circularity is a necessary aspect of the epistemological process. This has been demonstrated by Jean Piaget, as well as Michael Polanyi (both of whom were both very scientific epistemologists who include a significant amount of scientific research in their arguments, and neither of which had a theistic agenda to their work) and many others.

:: The scientific method limits/removes bias, is the most objective method we have, and it is continuously successful.

It is very helpful in the search for objectivity, but it does not limit/remove the bias of its own assumed truth-bearing nature; it is not (indeed cannot be, I don’t think) objective with relation to itself. The only reason you can say it is “continuously successful” is because you once assumed it to be reliable, and it has not proven otherwise. It is “continuously successful”, but only “from the inside” of presupposing that it is true.

:: And you've presented no alternatives.

Yes I have. Testimony, for example. I even provided you links to some excellent writing on the epistemology of Testimony (the last issue of Episteme journal, for example). Intuition is another factor worth seriously considering, rather than dismissing it categorically without good reason. As I understand, epistemologists such as Alan Goldman have defended intuition (with qualification) through Reliabilism. There are other factors in the process of knowing too, such as prioritization and the fact that a person has to feel like something is worth knowing before they seek knowledge of it. “Resonance” and equilibrium also play into this process. And that’s the tip of the iceberg. McGrath gives an excellent assessment of the psychological aspects of this process in his chapter on the “Psychology of Perception” in The Open Secret: a New vision for Natural Theology (the chapter is actually written by Joanna Collicutt, who is a lecturer in psychology).

Seriously consider the Matrix movie. Try to put yourself in the position of Neo. It is a hypothetical situation in which the very signals being sent to our brains, giving us data about reality, is called into question. This data typically goes without being questioned at all because, as you point out, we don’t have a reason to doubt it.

Think of the expression “the squeaky wheel gets the oil.” When we drive our car, we are not really consciously aware of all the mechanisms that work together to put us into motion, until something goes wrong. When something does go wrong, we pop open the hood and try to see what is the matter, and notice our oil is low, or radiator fluid is leaking, or whatever. When things work well all the time, we can easily take things for granted as being much simpler than they really are. When things go wrong, it forces us to think about these things we take for granted.

The Matrix/BIV analogies are really just a helpful way of causing us to stop and think about the epistemic complexities that we take for granted. If someone we had known for a long time, who we really respected, who had always proven to be a reliable source of information were to tell us in all seriousness that our experiences of reality were really just fabrications of computers being transmitted to us via electronic signals to our brains, we would be forced to reckon with (among other things, such as the epistemic nature of testimony) why we should or should not trust our senses. We couldn’t use science to prove that our friend was mistaken, because science itself would be called into question; science itself would be part of the illusion.

In the process of seeking objective truth, it should be our goal to bring our attention to the tacit epistemological processes that usually do not get our attention. It should not necessarily take a “squeaky wheel” to get us to think critically about it. We should be seeking it anyway. No we don’t have a reason NOT to believe our senses, but that should not keep us from trying to explore the process behind why we DO believe it.

Objectivity is explicitly concerned with thinking critically about our presuppositions. If “our senses tell us the truth” is a presupposition (which it is), then we should be critically examining it. That is exactly what postmodern epistemologists (and philosophers after them) have done. That has been what I understand Alister McGrath has been concerned with in his three-volume Scientific Theology: looking closely and thinking critically about the methodology behind science and theology that has often gone unexamined.

That methodology consists (at least in part) of what I outlined in my last post. But there are many places in which people explain it far better than me (such as McGrath’s chapter on psychology of perception).

:: You've STILL not presenting reasons for why our senses are untrustworthy. You're only making naked assertions!!

I’m not saying they are untrustworthy. Nor is it relevant whether or not there are those “reasons” (see above). Consider the fact that you are making the “naked assertion” that we should let our belief in our senses remain without question unless we have good reason to doubt them.

:: I however can make an argument for the reliability of our sense: our senses are repeatably and independently confirmed via the scientific method to such a degree that there is not reason to doubt them.

Again, in the Matrix scenario, your argument would be irrelevant, because the scientific method would be irrelevant as “proof” (though not irrelevant as “resonance”). You must come to grips with this, but as of yet you have not. All those scientific “confirmations” you point to would be alleged fabrications of the machine to which you’re hooked up. Yes, it would be “reliable”, but that reliability would only be “from within” the Matrix. It would be “reliable” in that it is intrinsically/internally consistent and thus “resonant.”

The reason I don’t believe I’m in a Matrix is not because of the scientific method per se, but ultimately because that belief would not be useful in anyway to help me live my life. If I do not see proof, or other good reasons to believe in the Matrix, then the proposition of the Matrix does not disturb my “equilibrium” enough to force me to adjust the paradigm of my worldview. The best “resonance” is achieved, then, through NOT believing in the Matrix, believing instead in the truth-bearing nature of the signals sent to my brain. I maintain that paradigm (“I can trust my senses”) until equilibrium is disturbed, or an alternative with greater equilibrium and resonance is found.

:: Unless you can present a method that is as good as, if not better than empiricism, at verifying claims, then your complain is a red herring. So far you've failed to to this. What you presented was not only not on par with empiricism, it could not even be used to verify the truth of claims..

I beg to differ. Not only is it “on par” with empiricism, it is what empiricism itself demands and employs. The “method” of which I’m speaking is the very method we use in order to affirm empiricism. I recommend you re-read what I’ve said about “best explanation”, “resonance”, etc., as well as the process of “equilibration”. Better yet, go read some of the articles I posted, or buy or check out from the library McGrath’s book The Open Secret, or look into his Scientific Theology series.

:: The default position is to withhold belief unless we have evidence/reason to accept. We are to assume it is wrong until we have reason to believe otherwise. With our sense and the scientific method, we DO have evidence of reliability, we thus are justified in holding them as trustworthy.

Ok, now think about this. You now say the default position is to withhold belief. If that is the case, then you should be applying that to the scientific method itself. The process would look something like this:

Step One: Withhold belief that the scientific method is true

Step Two: Find evidence that the scientific method is true.

Step Three: Believe that the scientific method is true.

Again, the problem with this is that you are applying the scientific method itself as “evidence” for Step two. This is circular reasoning.

Take the same approach to the Matrix/BIV scenario:

Step 1: Withhold belief that the signals being sent to your brain accurately reflect reality.

Step 2: Find evidence that the signals being sent to your brain accurately reflect reality.

Step 3: Believe that the signals being sent to your brain accurately reflect reality.

Here too you are applying the scientific method to step 2. The problem is that the scientific method rests upon these signals (you get data from the scientific method via these brain signals). If you are “withholding belief” from these brain signals, then you would also, necessarily, be withholding belief from the scientific method. If you are withholding belief from the scientific method, then you cannot use it in step 2 in order to get to step 3 without your reasoning becoming circular.

Your approach is (unbelief-evidence-belief). But as I’ve pointed out, this process is viscously circular. But as I think about it (at 4:21am!!!), it seems that the converse (belief-evidence-unbelief) actually avoids that circularity (at least the “visciousness” of it). You see, your approach explicitly demands non-circularity, but tacitly employs it, and is thus self-contradictory. The converse approach does not demand non-circularity, but acknowledges the necessity of a degree of circularity (at least in the “leap” that is necessary to step into the proposition and test its resonance), and unabashedly employs it. You don’t necessarily have to find absolute proof in order to believe it. You find the evidence to believe it (at least partly) from the inside of that belief—the evidence being that it is a reliable process. No, that reliability is not “proof” (for example) that signals sent to the brain are true to reality. But the more you find yourself in equilibrium from within that position, the more you see it as reliable, and the less it really matters that you find that “proof.” The proof then only matters when dissonance (i.e. evidence against it) is introduced.

But that (above), again, is an over-simplification. The reality is that the process is quite complex and synergistic. Your approach (doubt-evidence-belief) might be called a “bottom-top” approach. The converse (belief-evidence-doubt) might be called a “top-bottom” approach. I think that the process of knowing is synergistic, incorporating both “bottom-top” and “top-bottom,” somehow. We process data (or evidence) using pre-existing schemas; and yet those schemas are also shaped by data. Which comes first: the chicken or the egg? It is difficult to say. Perhaps it is best to think in terms of synergistic process than an absolute starting point? I don’t know.

Sorry this is so long (and took me so long). I’m really trying hard to communicate clearly, but at the same time, this is a process of discovery for me even while I’m writing. I’m certainly not a pro at this (in case you couldn’t tell—ha!). Thanks for your patience! Have a good day!

Meditations Part III: a Faith Among Many Faiths

I apologize in advance if this seems is the most stream of consciousness blog you've ever read, but this is how I process things. I'm not even sure what I want to write or say, but something is in there that needs to come out. So here it is.

So, obviously, this question about Faith has been haunting me lately. This thing called "faith" is so ethereal, so cloudy and elusive—how could something so intangible be so important? And yet, I think, it is. It is how we live, whether we realize it or not.

My faith, as a Christian, creates a great tension for me in the way I engage my world. Many Christians try to engage our culture—its arts, sciences, and religions—with sanitized rubber gloves on. If it weren't for this "evangelical" component of Christianity, these Christians would very likely cloister themselves up in a iron wall-fortified Christian ghetto where all that ever happens is Bible study while they would wear Christian t-shirts, Christian shoes, Christian watches, eating Christian chicken fried chicken, and Christian after-dinner mints. The Bible, this "special revelation" we have from God is the only Truth that is important to them.

But this is a problem for me. Even as I accept Christianity by faith, I study the Bible and find that God reveals Himself in many ways, not just through the Bible. There are such concepts as "common grace"—grace given to all of humanity ("He makes his sun rise and set on the evil and the good")—and "general revelation"—the revelation of God to all of humanity, a revelation that happens much through his Creation ("the rocks cry out," see also in Rom 1), and as these concepts emerge in the Biblical text, it makes me realize that the Bible claims no monopoly on Truth. The only monopoly that Christianity has any claim to, perhaps, is "saving grace" or "special" revelation which happened mostly through Christ. But this saving grace is not the only thing that matters in life.

I would say that it is the most important thing because it carries with it eternal implications; you can have all the "common grace" in the world but you can't take it with you unless you inherit eternal life. Yet, I don't understand why anyone would want an eternal life of getting to know their Creator, if they have ignored a vast portion of His work while they were here on Earth. We can learn about God and love Him by observing what he has created, and we can do this, I think, through the arts, sciences, philosophy, theology, and even other religions because religions often reveal truth about Humanity. Now if you have a friend whom you love deeply, you naturally get to know this person's work. How could you tell an artist friend that you love him, and yet you never look at his art? He asks again and again, "What do you think? Do you find it lovely?" but instead of looking, you turn your head and close your eyes, and think about how much you love him, or read a letter that he wrote you once. Meanwhile, he stands there in your presence, watching you read, waiting for you to look at what he is holding up to show you. This is how I think God must feel with many Christians who have no interest in exploring his Creation and getting to know Him by looking at what He has done for all to see. Such beauty lost.

This mentality of some Christians that I find disturbing is not, however, without its valid concerns. As I begin to look at Creation, my senses are overloaded with the abundance of what is out there, much of which seems, at first glance, to go against what I understand to have been revealed to me—this "special revelation" from God that has been recorded in the scriptures. These cloistered Christians see these dark horizons and gather their children under their wings, fearful that their young ones may get lost in the darkness and lose their faith.

I can't pretend to know how to raise children, and it would be completely presumptuous for me to cast any judgments, but I can at least speak of what seems to make sense to me without assuming that I'm right. What seems to make sense to me is that there is some goodness in this way of protecting their children. I don't think it is good for children to go about roving in the darkness until they can understand how to navigate this darkness. Yet one day, perhaps far off into the future, these little children will be grown up, forced out into the world, taking their steps now without holding the hand of their mother and father. It is necessary, as a part of growing up, for them to let go of their parent's hands and walk "on their own." But I am afraid that many of these cloistered parents, in their fear of exposing their children to the dangers of the darkness, have not prepared their children with good advice on how to navigate the shadows. "If you see a shadow, run from it!" is perhaps the best advice they offer.

But this seems to me to do a disservice to the shadows, and to the people who live in the shadows—these ways of thinking about life that seem foreign to the Christian faith. I have particularly encountered these shadows as I have tried to discuss my faith with people who do not share the same faith as myself. I remember as a young boy in the third grade going to my elementary school counselor (who happened to be a Christian) and asking such questions as, "How do we know that we Christians are right? I mean, if I had grown up in India, I would be just as convinced that my religion there was right."

How can we know if we are "right"? Ah, but that's a modern question. The post-modern question then, I suppose, is "Is there such a thing as 'right' when it comes to religion?" I think my questions as a young boy gave me this sense of finitude and inadequacy to make bold assertions that I still have today. This causes some tension with the fact that my faith is an "evangelical" faith, a faith that wants to multiply itself. It is not out of arrogance that my faith wants others to believe the same—it is the only response Love can have to receiving this Gospel of salvation: we want to share this good news of salvation with others. I've shared my faith several times throughout my life, but every time I've run into this little "bump" along the road: people don't just accept what I have to say because I have said it! Go figure! Just as I assumed when I was a young child, these people are just as confident in their faith as I am in mine! And even more surprising, many of these people wanted to convert me to their way of thinking as well! How astonishing! The way they see is best to live life, they want to share with me so that I can have what they think is the best life I can have! The nerve!

Of course it is only out of love (usually) that these people want me to change my way of thinking, but I found myself resisting them without even considering what they have to say—"If you see a shadow, RUN!" But then I stopped myself thinking, "If they have the same attitude toward my faith, spreading the good news is impossible with these people!" I found myself extremely frustrated that others wouldn't consider my faith, while at the same time I refused to consider theirs! It didn't take very long for me to see the hypocrisy in my approach to Faith, and it made me realize that it was really my moral obligation to change the way I encounter these other worldviews.

It is not an easy thing to do to seriously consider other worldviews. Not at all. Often it means that some of the things—even THE thing—that you hold most dear are called into question. Not long after this, I found myself being encountered with ways of thinking that very seriously challenged my own, ways of thinking that seemed to make more sense to me—at least in some respects. "Ok, this makes sense, I've seriously considered it…now what?"

There were several things that kept me from trading in my Christian worldview for another. First of all was the residue of the "run from shadows!" approach that still remained in me, but I think this "run" mentality really had more to do with love than it did fear. My Christianity, my God, is so much more than just a "worldview," a way of thinking—it is a relationship, a very meaningful relationship to me. It is my identity. It is me. One should never be so quick to trade something so important in. I'm glad I didn't. Yet if it is this important to me, surely it would be that important to others as well.

Yet my love for God is not the only reason why I held on. It also had greatly to do with my love for my family and my close friends. I knew that if I were to let go of my faith, my relationship with my family and these friends would undoubtedly be changed dramatically, creating a tremendous tension where there wasn't such tension before. It would have torn me completely for something like this to happen. My life would never be the same. My love for God and for my family and friends, thank God, made the giving up of my faith a colossal task not to be taken flippantly in the least. And because of this realization, I cannot help but to approach the evangelization of another with a great humility, patience, respect, and understanding for the difficulty of the proposition I have given them.

Again and again, I have encountered challenges to my worldview as I explore this world of light and shadows in order to carry out my relationship with God. Again and again, these challenges that lurk in the shadows have been extremely convincing, offering great "proofs" and compelling ideas that make my Faith seem to appear weak when compared to them. And yet I held on. Besides my love for God and how much my Faith composes my identity, the other thing that keeps me from letting go is the fact that there are so, so many Christians throughout history whom I greatly respect that have held on to their faith in spite of these same oppositions, Christians who are far more intelligent and accomplished than myself. Surely the chief of these Christians in my esteem since high school has been C.S. Lewis. I thank God for that man. Absolutely brilliant. Question after question that I and others in my life would ask, challenges to the Christian faith that seemed insurmountable, Lewis would provide excellent and insightful possible answers for, pointing out ways of thinking that I would have probably never considered myself. Inevitably, there would be difficult questions that I couldn't find answers for from Lewis. But these previous experiences of having seemingly insurmountable questions overcome made me realize that it is quite possible—even most likely—that there were answers to these questions that I just hadn't found yet.

All of these factors—love for God, love for my family and friends, respect for other Christian thinkers, and the realization that there could be trajectories of thought I've not yet considered—all served as a "buffer" for my faith, a cushion that immensely softened the impact of opposing ways of thinking that seriously challenged my faith. I wasn't aware of this in the beginning of my faith journey, but this cushion seems to make the shadows not near so terrifying to me. I now face challenges to my faith on a regular basis, and I do so without fear. Yet, there are many Christians who are not aware of this cushion that exists for matters of Faith. While the cushion of Love may be inherent to them, the other realities that can serve as a cushion may not be self-evident. Thus, when they encounter the first or second serious challenge to Faith, their world is shattered. An immediate answer is not found to a question that they have, and thus they assume that the answer must be, "There is no Christian answer for this, therefore it must not be true."

There is one question that I have not mentioned yet, a challenge to faith more ominous than any "way of thinking" that I could ever encounter, and that question is simply, "Where are you, God?" I remember in college, I encountered this challenge with full force, and it brought me to the ground in tears. That God which I had once experienced in such a "real" way had seemed to withdraw his presence from my life. That warmth and comfort that once held me together seemed absent. I was cold and naked. I felt forsaken, left alone, orphaned. More than mere ways of thinking, this felt reality of abandonment seemed to make all other challenges to my faith seem like they were the philosophical musings of Jessica Simpson. THIS was reality for me: God was not there. That was the reality I felt and lived in. And yet I held on to my faith. There were only two things that kept me from giving that faith up: the memory of that experience with God that I longed to have again, and a U2 song.

Yes, U2 helped save my faith. I could sound really pious and say, "this passage out of the Psalms saved my faith," but in all reality, it was not the Psalms that echoed in my mind but the chorus of U2's "40," a chorus that cries out to God, "How long to sing this song? How long? How long? How long? How long?" When I was on the verge of giving up on God, that chorus was what kept me holding on, a chorus that is taken from Psalm 40 as David was crying out to God, feeling abandoned. "I waited patiently for the Lord…" Patiently. I don't know how patient I really was, but I waited anyway, all the time singing, "How long? I'm dying here, God…HOW. STINKING. LONG!!???" I held on.

A friend of mine once pointed to an author who encouraged a young friend to "Live the question." When I first read this, I thought it was nonsense. "Live the question? What is that supposed to mean? That's stupid." Now, I think I see what this author was talking about. In fact, what I once thought was nonsense, I now think is sage advice for a young Christian—or any person for that matter. There you go, me making another shift in thinking that occurred after about a month of contemplation. I have so much to learn. "Live the question." I guess I interpret this now to mean, "Don't be so quick about coming to conclusions about things. Let the cushion do its job. Don't be so quick to forsake your love for your God, your family, your self. Don't be so quick to think foolish what so many intelligent people have thought was the highest truth. Don't try to be so quick when, in reality, what you are is slow. We are all slow. Be slow, and let slow happen. Let the question happen. Live the question." I don't think that means, "Don't listen for answers, and don't seek out answers." Indeed, to not seek answers is not to ask a question. We seek. The question is the journey. And then we weigh all the answers that come along before we exchange who we are for another "Me."

"Live the question." For how long though, I wonder? I don't know. But that is what I'm going to do as I am trying to seriously consider what the Eastern religions (namely, Taoism for the present) have to say about God and Truth. It seems to be the best way of both respecting my own experience and understanding as well as respecting and considering these other perspectives that are so important and meaningful to other people. It's not dismissing other perspectives out of hand, but neither is it embracing them uncritically. It's the middle way—the way of Love, I think.

Meditations Part II: On the Nature of Faith, Certainty, and the Existence of God

In my understanding (and the understanding of several prominent theologians) of what "faith" means in Christianity, there is really no need for an absolute certitude (i.e. "I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am correct in saying 'Christianity is true.'"), there is only the need for (a) a knowledge (Notitia) of the Gospel, (b) an assent (Assensus) that the Gospel is true and (c) an act of faithfulness (Fiducia) to that assent.

For example, I do not have to have an absolute certitude that my office chair will hold me up when I sit on it. I could even watch as person after person sits in that chair, the chair holding them up, yet still I cannot be absolutely certain that the chair will hold me up. Perhaps there is a screw that has been about to fall out the whole time the others sit, but when I sit that screw will finally give and collapse under me. It is possible. There is always a first time. But should that lack of *complete* certitude keep me from sitting? No. That would be absurd and irrational to let such a slight possibility keep me from sitting down. In fact, I wouldn't even stop to consider such a possibility unless I was forced to stop and think about it--it's just not something that you do. It's silly. So I don't dwell on that. Rather, I believe it will hold me up, based on that belief I sit. In that act of sitting, I have acted out my complete faith and confidence in the chair that it will hold me up.

As I said, there is always the possibility (however unlikely) that the chair will break when I sit on it. However, my faith in the chair is not negated by my realization of that. I could be mistaken to place my faith in that chair because (a) I do not have an exhaustive knowledge of the chair (i.e. of the chairs engineering and if everything in the chair's engineering is in the right place and unbroken) and (b) I cannot see into the future of what will happen if I sit in the chair. But my faith is demonstrated and completed in the act of sitting. There is no need for absolute certitude; there is only the need for a confidence (assensus) that the chair will hold me up (noetitia) that provokes an act of faith (fiducia).

I think it is the same way with our faith in Christ. I am not omniscient, thus I cannot know with absolute certitude that the Gospel of Christ is true. However, based on my experience with the Spirit of Christ and from what I have learned in history and logic, the only proper response for me is to have a faith in Christ and the claims of His Gospel. Placing my confidence in Him, I aim to trust Him with my heart and my obedience. I have yet to be disappointed in my decision to place my faith in Christ, however that doesn't mean that I am not wrong to do so. The one and only way we can know for sure is when we die and are/are not resurrected. But in the meantime, what matters is not that I have an absolute certitude that Christianity is true. What matters is that I have the kind of confidence (assensus) in Christ that provokes act of Faith (fiducia).

I could be wrong, but it seems to me that any claim of "absolute certainty" would be roughly equivilent to the claim of being God--a claim of omniscience. This admittance of lack of absolute certainty is, I think, an appropriate recognition of humility before an infinite God.

...still pondering...

Meditations on God, Faith, and Atheism

Perhaps I've been living in a bubble for the past 7-8 years, but I had come to believe that Atheism had become completely passé with the dawning of Post-modern subjectivism along with its evaporation of intolerant, absolutist statements. Perhaps Atheism has waned over the past decade. Indeed, in all my internet discussion, it is not atheism that I've found myself in dialogue with but rather agnosticism. However, thanks to my friend Pheirser for bringing this to my attention, it appears that Atheism may again be on the rise in secular thought with much help from Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris. Not just atheism, but a sort of atheist fundamentalism with the kind of heated rhetoric (and sometimes the kind of logic) that you might see from the religious fundamentalists they so harshly criticize. I've been thinking about reading Dawkin's popular book, The God Delusion, and offering my criticisms of it, but that is something I think would be fun to do with a small group of people.

My own worldview has been shaped with much thanks to a brief discussion (even though I'm sure I misunderstood him) with a college Philosophy professor who helped me to see the epistemological (i.e. our ability to know things) limitations of human beings. He really only hinted at this, never speaking in great detail on it, but the reality of it has sort of haunted me ever since. What can we really know for sure, without a shadow of a doubt? We have great limitations on what we can know for sure, simply because we are not God, we are not omniscient.

On "Truth," "Belief," and "Certitude"

First off, to define my terms:

Truth—what is, objectively, the content and order of Reality.
Belief—the body of knowledge concerning Reality a person considers to be True.
Certitude—one's notion that, without a shadow of a doubt, his belief is 100% true, leaving absolutely no room for the slightest possibility that he is wrong.

In college, before I talked to my professor, I thought that Certitude was inherent to Belief in Christianity—that one could not have Belief without Certitude. Now, I think differently. Now I think that Certitude about almost anything is actually impossible for humans simply because humans are not infinite in their knowledge of reality. [1] Therefore, when approaching almost any subject matter, humans should practice epistemological humility, realizing that they could be wrong. Let me give an example.

[WARNING: LIFE OF DAVID GALE SPOILER!] Think of the movie The Life of David Gale. The jury was pressed to make a decision, and because of the partial video they saw in addition to other evidence, they were convinced that the evidence convicted Gale of murder. However, the full video reveals the fact that Gale did not murder his colleague at all, but it was, in fact, a suicide. Likewise, we need to make a decision in life as to what we believe about the Gospel of Christ. The evidence and experience can be overwhelming that the Gospel is true (and it is, I think, overwhelming), and on that evidence we make a decision to follow Him -- we put our faith into practice. However, I will not know until I die whether what I believe is indeed true or not. By saying that I cannot accept the Gospel of Christ with Certitude, I am simply acknowledging the fact that I don't know everything. If I don't know everything, then it is possible in that shaded area of my ignorance there could be some Truth (i.e., "What actually is" not "what appears to be") I am missing that -- like that final piece of evidence in Gale -- tells a different story than what appears to be the case as I see it now.

As far as I see it, the only true rational or scientific verification of whether or not the Gospel is true will happen at the Second coming of Christ. The Gospel says -- among other things -- that at this time, there will be life after death for those who believe. Using the scientific method of verification is impossible here. We cannot conduct an experiment that proves there is eternal life for those who believe. We cannot cause the Second Coming to happen, and then record the results. Real and final verification is impossible. However, there is plenty of evidence that suggests the Gospel is true, and on this evidence we believe that it is true, and live our lives in faith that it is true.

The Faith of Atheism

However, this is a sore rub for atheists. Atheists seem to like to think that they have a philosophical worldview that is completely absent of Faith. My atheist friend told me that any belief that is based on Faith is "irresponsible." The problem for the atheist is that Faith is inherent to their worldview as well, whether they realize it or not. Now I need to define a couple more terms in this context:

Faith—a Belief (see above) that is based on an experientially unverifiable presupposition [2]
Presupposition—something that is an assumed and necessary foundation for a philosophical argument.

As far as I can tell, Atheists exercise Faith in these (if not also other) presuppositions:

1) That their physical senses are not deceiving them, that their experiences are an actual (and not fictional) reality.
2) That the scientific method is the best way of discerning Truth
3) That there is no reality beyond our spatio-temporal existence

Presupposition 1 is a presupposition that both Christians and Atheists share. The movie The Matrix is an excellent example of this. If it is true that all of our experiences are essentially electronic impulses in our brain that could be reproduced through other means, this very response that you're reading could be a fictitious fabrication of artificial intelligence. Of course, there is no real reason to believe that the Matrix exists, but there is also no way (that I'm aware of) to prove that the ideas of the matrix are false. Therefore, all science is based on the "faith" or "presupposition" that we are not in something like a matrix and that scientific experiments are not fictitious images produced by contrived electronic impulses. Therefore, if it is "irresponsible" to believe anything based on faith, then we are all in trouble. [3]

Regarding Presupposition 2, How do you verify that the scientific method is the best way of discerning Truth? A gut feeling? Do you use scientific method to prove that scientific method is True? You see, it becomes a circular argument because their foundation of scientific method is itself an unverifiable presupposition that requires Faith.

Presupposition 3 is especially unique to atheists. Christians have the opposite presupposition, that Reality does extend beyond our spatio-temporal existence. Now, by "spatio-temporal" what I mean the experience we have of space-time. For example, we experience three space dimensions (i.e., up-down, left-right, forward-back), and one time dimension (i.e., time only moves forward). But Christianity (and other religions) claim that there is more to reality than meets the eye, that there are aspects of Reality that extend beyond our tangible grasp. Now the problem this presents for Atheists is the fact that scientific method is entirely based upon empirical data. If there is Reality that extends beyond our spatio-temporal existence, it is, by definition, impossible to empirically test and thus beyond scientific method. Thus Atheists have to presuppose by Faith that there is no Reality beyond the spatio-temporal, because there is no way through scientific method to prove that it does or doesn't exist.

That is all for now. I'll try to write more on this later. Please, I welcome any comments, critiques, or suggestions!

__________________________

Footnotes:

[1] I say this in keeping with my lack of absolute certain. That is, even in this statement "humans can say almost nothing with absolute certitude," I realize that I could be mistaken, and I welcome any insights on how I could be wrong in this regard.

[2] This is a very contextually-confined definition of Faith. In other contexts, I will use the word "Faith" in a very different sense.

[3] This is, as I understand it, the epistemological reality that Descartes was dealing with in his Meditations and Discourse on Method. I just started reading his Meditations, so please forgive me if I'm mistaken on this, but as I understand it, Descartes concluded that the only thing that you cannot doubt, that you can know with absolute certainty, is that you exist. The only thing that Descartes could be certain of was that he was, indeed, doubting. "If I am doubting, there must be an 'I' to exist."

"Creation Will Be At Peace"--a Sermon

Last week, I threw together, at the very last minute, a sermon to preach at my dad's church. I am not a preacher, and I've only preached about 3-4 sermons in my life, but they were all class requirements. Anyway, my dad knew I had just taken a preaching class, and so he asked me earlier in the week if I wanted to preach when I got home, and I was really interested in doing it because it was to be a sermon concerning the Christmas message of the angels and the lighting of the angel candle, in celebration of Advent.

You see, I've been really stirred by the idea that we are in community with angels at any moment of any day. A very bizarre thought that nobody ever preaches about, but something that appears to be true nonetheless. I wanted to write a sermon that touched on that somehow. I also wanted to touch on the idea that the message of Peace that the angels brought was both an allusion to the peace of Eden, and a foreshadowing of the eternal peace to come at the second Christmas when Christ comes again to make a new heavens and a new earth. But alas, time ran out, and we had to pack up and leave for Arkansas before I could really figure out how to tie it all together into a sermon.

I'm not sure I ever did figure out how to tie it together well, but this is what I threw together in about three hours the night before I preached it (along with a little polishing up). It basically breaks every single rule I was supposed to have learned in my preaching class...but ah well. So if there is anyone out there who would like to randomly read my first Christmas sermon (heck, my first sermon I've ever written that was not for a class) enjoy!

And before I forget... Merry Christmas!

“Creation Will Be At Peace”

Luke 2:8-20:
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ[a] the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

I want to tell you a story. It is, in a way, the same kind of story that you see in almost every movie you go to. It is “the” story really—the story of which all other stories are really only copies. Have you ever noticed that many movies you go to work kind of like this:

Act I: As the movie begins, life is generally good. Everyone is pretty happy. You watch the characters as they laugh together. You watch the father scooping the little girl off the ground and raising her into the air, and then looking wistfully over at his wife with a cheesy smile on his face because he loves it. Ah… life is good. But then… huh oh… then something bad happens like…say…the wife and the cute little girl are kidnapped. Well, this ushers in Act II, and this takes up most of the movie. In Act II, the father sets out with all of his wit and macho-ness to save his wife and daughter from these bad men who have captured them. The hero-father goes through several trials and tests, almost dies several times, but always comes out alive. A lot of times, it is right when things look the worst for the hero that he begins his victory over the bad guys. Perhaps it is only a hair’s breadth separating him from his fate as he is knocked hard to the ground by the enemy…but wait! Then something happens… like say, he remembers his little girl’s laugh, his wife’s warm embrace, and these thoughts give him the energy he needs to get up off the ground and really take charge. He beats his enemy this time, and comes out alive. Act III. In this final thirty minutes or so of the movie, the father takes charge, beats all the bad guys once and for all (well…unless, of course, there’s a sequel where he does it all again), and he saves his family from the bad guys. And in the last scene, like the first scene, there are lots of giddy laughter and cheesy smiles as we see the family back to “life as normal”…but not quite the same as before because they have grown closer in a way, and a bit wiser.

This is, essentially, the story. Now we often don’t think about this, but it is also the story of God and man. Just as life began in Act I of the movie with everyone happy… so also our life began, in the Garden of Eden. What if we could catch a scene in a movie of Adam and Eve’s life? What if…? I can just see Adam and Eve in that glorious garden. Adam is in the back yard…maybe he just finished building a shed to put his new riding lawnmower in…who knows? Eve is in the kitchen with her 1950’s cooking apron on, maybe she’s baking some cookies for Adam… maybe she’s making some fruit salad… who knows? Well, Adam comes inside, wipes the sweat off of his forehead as he lets out a sigh of relief. “Ahhh… air conditioning.” Hmm… there’s a problem here… I don’t mind giving Adam a riding lawnmower and air-conditioning, but we can’t have kids yet, because they don’t have kids until they get kicked out of the Garden, right? Ok, so instead of kids…of course! They have animals! Ok, so Adam walks in the back door, and their little malti-poo (that is, of course, a maltese-poodle mix—Kara and I have a little malti-poo named Libby, and she’s really cute…)… so their little malti-poo comes running into the kitchen, and goes absolutely crazy with glee, jumping all over Adam and barking anxiously until Adam picks her up. And so, Adam picks up the little white furball of a dog, snuggles it close, and looks wistfully over at Eve with a cheesy smile, and she give him a cheesy smile back. Adam reaches over to the freshly baked batch of cookies, but Eve slaps his hand saying, “No! Don’t you remember, we are having God over to dinner dear… you can have as many as you want once he gets here, because, well… you know, he’s God and he just works like that.” Ah yes, life was good.

Ah, but wait… you see, life doesn’t stay good. You know the story, you know what ushers in Act II… God said to Adam and Eve, “Of all the grocery stores in Arkansas, you can buy as much fruit as you want—on my credit card even. But there is one store I ask you not to shop at, for if you shop at this store—the store down on 1st street with the picture of a pig, yeah that one—you will surely die. But what do Adam and Eve do? Some lawyer (you know… snake…) came along persuaded them that they should go ahead and shop at the Piggly Wiggly, and because of this, they are kicked out of the Garden of Eden.

Now the point of this familiar narrative God gives us in Genesis 1 is not the specifics such as, “What kind of fruit did they eat?” I don’t even think that the fruit was the really point. The point is that Adam and Eve disobeyed God. And you see, when you disobey someone, fellowship is damaged with that person, peace is broken, and thus fellowship and peace was damaged between God and Man when Adam and Eve fell. You see life went from “good” to “hard.” Very hard. All the sudden pain and suffering and death are introduced into the story. Tears fall to the ground. Blood spills onto the earth. People get angry at each other, and fight, and kill, and lie. Hearts and promises are broken. Life is hard.

This is Act II. However, there is another difference between THE story and the hypothetical movie I mentioned earlier. You see in THE story, God’s story, it is not Adam who goes out to defeat the wicked lawyer who tricked them into shopping at Piggly Wiggly… it is God Himself. God is the Father who is trying to save his loved ones from the death that was brought about by the enemy—which is Sin, disobedience, broken fellowship. All through Act II, which lasts pretty much through the rest of the Old Testament, God is trying to restore this community he once had between Himself and Humanity. The Laws given in the Old Testament were a way to help restore this community so that the presence of God could dwell among the people of Israel again. But this is still an imperfect community between God and Man. In fact, because humans are just so stupid and can’t get it right, God’s presence leaves the temple forever, and eventually the people of Israel are sent into captivity. That is where the song “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” comes from—captive Israel, waiting, longing to be freed from their captivity by the Messiah, longing also for that restored community with God, a community of peace and wholeness.

You see, community was, essentially, Act I in the Garden. The Garden of Eden was this perfect community between God and Man, between Man and Man, and between Man and the Creation God placed Man in charge over. Community. But this community was broken because of Sin, and everything God has been doing since then has been to try to restore this perfect community, trying to bring the story on to the conclusion of Act III when life will be good again.

Well, Act III began 2000 years ago in the city of Bethlehem. You see, in Bethlehem, God Himself came to His loved ones from disaster, which is an astounding news considering that, for the thousands of years during Act II, God had been trying to redeem mankind to Himself more or less from a distance, sending prophets and angels to carry his proclamations to the people… Angels—yes. That is the advent candle we lit today: the angel candle.

At this point we have to interrupt the story and ask ourselves, “What is an angel?” Well, the word, “angel” literally means “messenger.” Now, we’re talking about God re-establishing community here, so I’m going to do something crazy here that I think might just help us sink into an idea of community with the people who have come before us: the Hebrews. This is the word the Hebrews would often use when they spoke of angels: “mahlaka.” Hear that as the Hebrews, thousands of years ago, would hear that, and try to feel the community between you and them: “mahlaka.” When Rome dominated the world in the first century, the Roman world spoke Greek. They would read these Gospels and letters of the New Testament we have in the churches. And when they would read anything about angels, they would use this word: “angellos”. Again, try to hear that as if you were a first century Christian, sitting on the dusty floor in a crowded room: “angellos.” “Angel.” “Messenger.”

Many people think that an “angel” is more of an office, a kind of position, than it is a type of spiritual being. I think this is probably true, because if we look at all the different times “angels” are seen in the Bible, there are various reactions. Sometimes angels just look like anyone else. The author of Hebrews even says that many people have entertained angels without even realizing it. But then on the other hand, you get these completely different reactions, such as we get from these Shepherds in the Christmas story who are scared to death when they see the angels. So some angels seem to be scary looking…others not so much…This could mean any number of things such as that angels can assume different appearances, or that it is an office for different kinds of spiritual creatures (such as Seraphim and Cherubim). They could be scared at the startling way in which they appeared all of the sudden… or heck, it could be that some angels are just ugly…like Jay Leno. Who knows? We do understand that demons are fallen angels, so this could further support the idea that “angel” is a kind of office.

Whatever the case…we just don’t really know all that much about angels, but we do know that they know a lot about us. We do not realize this on a day to day basis, but we are being observed, you see, not just by God…but by a whole host of spiritual creatures. I know this sounds like a science fiction movie, but it’s really not. If we believe what the bible and Christian tradition has to say about it, Angels do watch us, and care for us deeply because God cares for us. In a really confusing passage in 1 Corinthians where Paul talks about wearing coverings on heads, one of the reasons he gives is “because of the angels.” People think that this is implying that angels watch us as we worship, and they are exhorted and disturbed even as we do what we do in church and in worship of God. Whatever “angels” or “heavenly beings” are, we are, somehow, in community with them, right now… even though we don’t realize it.

Now you’ve heard all of your life that there are such a thing as angels, but it’s not something that seems truly real, is it? But I imagine that the shepherds heard similar stories of angels, maybe even believed them, but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. They were scared to death as the angels appeared and they heard them say:

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

I can just imagine those words, “Peace on whom his favor rests” echoing in their minds. Peace. No more hardship. No more suffering, pain, loneliness. Peace. The good life. Eden. This was a proclamation of Eden—the perfect life of perfect community. And where did the angels say they would find this savior who will bring peace? “lying in a manger.” A manger! Of all the places in the world, the son of God, the messiah, the one who was to bring peace back into the world, bring Eden back to the earth… was born in a cow’s feeding trough? And yet, I wonder if, as God was writing out the story, this movie starring his only begotten son, he added this whole “manger” and “sleeping in a stable” thing, surrounded by all the animals, as a nod to Eden. Could it be Eden? Paul calls Christ “the Second Adam,” and here this second Adam sleeps in a cow’s dinner. Is that just coincidence? I wonder…

Peace on earth. When the Jews would hear the word, “Shalom” or “Peace,” they understood it as a kind of “wholeness” or “complete-ness”. “On Earth, wholeness…” It is a picture of mankind being whole, complete, being just as God planned for us to be, kind of like before we messed it all up, breaking fellowship and peace with our sin. But this is Act III—and thank God for Act III! This is where peace and wholeness begins to happen again as the enemy begins to get defeated little by little.

Do we see absolute peace on earth in our lives today? No. But we do a little. And we have the Gospel that Christ brought to us that gives us a new life of hope, hope of eternal life in perfect community with God, and this is a hope that can make even the darkest hour on earth just a little brighter, an “eternal weight of Glory,” as Paul says. A glorious peace.

“Peace on earth.” It began with Christ, so it is happening right now already, but it is not yet fully completed. That will happen on the second Christmas when Christ comes not as a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, but as a mighty warrior. Ultimate peace happens in the life to come. Peace. Wholeness. It’s already here, but not fully, but that is okay because we have hope. But humanity cannot horde this peace to ourselves. As it fills us, we let it overflow into the rest of Creation! And this is essentially the picture that we see in Isaiah 11. Many people interpret this simply as allegory, symbolic of the peace to come. But I think there is reason to believe that there is good reason to believe that there is more to it than symbol. I am not alone in thinking that this is more like a photograph of the messianic peace that is to come. Please, look at this picture of peace the prophet Isaiah gives us:

“The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling [a] together;
and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

The infant will play near the hole of the cobra,
and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest.

They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.”

You see, just as God created the heavens and the earth and filled it with all kinds of life—both in the heavens and the earth—he is working to bring that full life of peace to all of his creation, not just to mankind. I’m convinced that the end of God’s story in Act III will look much like His story began in Act I, much like this picture Isaiah gives—a “new heavens and a new earth” when not just man, but all of Creation will be at peace.

But that peace comes to us, little by little, even now, and it can fill us. Peace, yes, as it overflows from all “on whom his favor rests” to the angels who watch over what is happening in this wondrous story that their God, our God, is writing. Joy to them, I’m sure, as they got to play a part in it, “messengers” bearing God’s glorious message to the shepherds. And peace, also, to the animals who so graciously shared their beds with Mary and Joseph and the little baby Jesus that night. Peace to them, as they slept side by side with the people, feeling the warmth and the joy that came from the new parents.

This Christmas message the angels bring to the shepherds is an allusion, a reminder of the peace in the Garden of Eden, and it is a foreshadowing reminder of the peace that is to come once and for all when Christ comes again and we enter into eternal, perfect Fellowship and community with him and his Creation once again on that blessed second Christmas.

Now imagine, if you will, that hope of life that we have for a second. Imagine all the pains and worries of this world as they pale in comparison to the glory that awaits us. Imagine the peace you feel as you watch these daily sufferings you experience fade away like a mist fades in the penetrating rays of the sun, a mist that you have forgotten was even there by the time you eat lunch. Imagine that peace, and imagine it forever. Let this hope fill you as much as you can stand with peace and joy and hope as we remember the message of these angels this Christmas. Peace. And don’t horde that peace.

Imagine that peace overflowing from you into the angels that are watching you, even when you are alone. Say that something goes terribly wrong, and you are alone, and about to get really frustrated. Think of this Peace proclaimed by the angels on that first Christmas, the Peace of eternal life, and watch that frustration melt away, and imagine that peace and joy overflow into the angels that are watching you, perhaps even those very same angels that came to the shepherds.

As you experience that peace yourself, imagine that peace overflowing from you even the animals that you’re around. Perhaps you have a dog or a cat in your house. Imagine the kind of community Adam and Eve had with the animals, and recognize that this is the kind of community that God wants to restore you to. I know this sounds crazy, but nevertheless, let that community happen between you and your pet, or you and the squirrel climbing up the tree. Be Adam and Eve and bless the life around you, all life. Be creative with it!

Let joy and hope overflow from you in your relationships with people. Imagine the true insignificance of those little annoying things that happen around people—A waiter gets your order wrong, or you have to stand in line for an hour, or someone hides the remote control somewhere and you can’t find it—imagine as all these annoying things fade completely away in eternity. Instead, focus on the thing that will last even into eternity: Love. Let that perfect community that is to come once again start to happen in your relationships with people.

But finally, and most importantly, Give thanks and glory to God. This is part of your community with God, a communication of Thanks and Praise to Him. Follow the excellent example of the angels and say, “Glory to God!” Let His peace and His joy flow more and more into you as you give Him glory for what he has done in this wonderful, unimaginable blessing of a thing we call Christmas.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

Eloquent Preaching: Good Thing or Bad Thing? (C&P)

So... apparently I am sinking into a pattern here. Most of my contemplative writing seems to be done in response to other people's blogs. I suppose it is because I feel more of an impetus, an urgency about writing it because it is done in the context of a specific situation with a specific person. Well, I hate to leave all of that stuff just out there in various places, so I think I'm going to try, when I can and when it is appropriate, to just copy and paste my responses. Here is one such thing "C&P," and it was written in response to this blog.

As I understand it, your argument is essentially: Paul is an example telling us that the Gospel Myth should not be eloquently decorated with rhetoric. Am I on target? Now I would agree with this statement: It is not necessary for the Gospel Myth to be eloquently wrapped to be effective. However, I am not sure I can agree with the former statement.

The question, I think, lies in whether or not Paul's example is to be the rule to which everyone else in every situation should follow. I'm not entirely convinced this is the case with this particular issue, though it is somewhat convincing because Paul points to his weakness as a seal of apostolic authenticity. Suppose, however, that it was simply not Paul's gift to speak extemporaneously (I can identify!). Suppose he was much better with rhetoric in his writing than his oratory skills.

I think a quite compelling case can be made for this. This seemed to be the overall impression that several people had of Paul, and Paul had of himself, based on 2 Corinthians 10. Also, consider what is (to my knowledge) his only real attempt at oral rhetoric when he spoke to the Athenians of the "unknown god" met very little success. Furthermore, I think that a compelling case could be made that the elusive "thorn in the flesh" may be referring to his lack oral eloquence. He does seem to make a connection between the thorn and his weakness, and then his weakness with his unimpressive nature in person. Lastly, Paul's letters are quite often rhetorically eloquent, even utilizing poetry and metaphor.

Then on the flipside, we seem to have another Christian, Apollos, who is traditionally understood to have impressive and persuasive oratory skills, although we have nothing ostensibly written by him (though its contended by some that the very-eloquent Hebrews is authored by him). Considering these things, a quite compelling case, I think, can be made that God uses and blesses eloquently packaged preaching as well as more simplistic preaching.

Lewis seems to make a similar conclusion regarding eloquence and myth in Experiment in Criticism in his chapter on Myth. He does say that it is not necessary for Myth to be packaged eloquently for it to serve its purpose, but he also points out that it often has been expressed eloquently (pointing to Virgil as an example). Here, he seems to be impartial to whether Myth is decorated or no. However, Lewis does believe in the intrinsic goodness of well-crafted form, and says that it is important to note not just the content (the logos) of a piece of art but also recognize it as poeima (something made). And although he is not speaking directly about homiletics, he does ironically end the chapter VIII by pointing favorably to the examples of eloquent sermons that even botch exegesis of the text. "…what he expounds of his author's philosophy may be well worth reading, even if it is in reality his own. We may compare him to the long succession of divines who have based edifying and eloquent sermons on some straining of their texts. The sermon, though bad exegesis, was often good homiletics in its own right." (87) Thus, we can infer that while Lewis would say well-crafted poeima is not necessary to homiletics (any more than it would be necessary in a recipe book), it does not detract from it, but is rather a good thing.

Thus for this and other reasons, I would conclude that if it is a persons gift (e.g. Apollos), that gift should not be buried but exercised, and God will bless it. If eloquence is not your gift, no problem—the Gospel Myth will work even in spite of clumsy words because of the message that is being preached. Eloquence should never be an excuse for bad exegesis, but there is something inherently good in it, something that perhaps reaches into the concept of Sehnsucht which shoots people with a pang of longing for Christ. This combination of Sehnsucht and good theology might greatly contribute to the process of theological application because it not only points people to a particular truth, but it gives them the Sehnsucht, the Desire to carry that truth out in their lives, pointing themselves Heavenward: "Further up, and further in!"

The Gospels: Literality, Reliability, and Myth

Ok... so this was written in response to a blog. I thought I would recycle it in my blog, because it holds many kernals of thoughts I'm trying to work through right now concerning the scriptures and understanding what, perhaps, we can learn from Art and Myth when thinking about the scriptures. And know this, that I don't pretend to have answers here, these are just things I'm trying to think through and seek the truth about. I post these things here on my blog so that other people can help me think through these things--so I really appreciate your comments. So... here goes:

New Testament Book Copies and Original Manuscripts

Regarding point #2 "Several hundred years separate the original from the earliest Gospel manuscript we have", this is, to my knowledge, a factual error. There have been discovered several manuscript excerpts from various books of the New Testament that have been discovered and dated within 200 years of their assumed date of authorship, the earliest of which is the John Rylands Fragment (John 18:31-33,37-38) dated 125 A.D. (within a century of the death of Jesus). When compared to discovered copies other ancient writings, the narrow span of 100 years between archetype and ectype is staggering. In Plato (427-347 B.C), the span is 1200 years. Ceasar (100-44 B.C.)? 1000 years. Homer's Illiad (100-44 B.C.) does a little better at 500 years. (For a more detailed comparison see this page on carm.org).

Thus, rather than the span from original to copy being a discouraging thing to faith in the reliability of the Gospels containing the accurate words of Christ, I find it rather encouraging for the authenticity of the New Testament manuscripts. Indeed, there are differences among manuscripts, especially in the NT, however the Old Testament manuscripts have an extremely surprising uniformity. But even in the NT, the vast, vast majority of discrepancies are theologically impotent.

But still, you pose good questions that demand examination.

"Does absolute, infallible transmission of manuscripts really matter?"

I think not. First of all, as you point out rightly, we are in trouble if it is vital to faith because there are, unarguably, discrepancies between manuscripts. But second of all, I think that the imperfection of the scriptures really fits quite well when considering Christianity from a theological perspective.

If we did have all of the original manuscripts of all the books of the Bible, held perfectly in tact with every "jot and tittle," we would be in grave danger of idolatry. It would be even more of a heinous situation if Jesus himself wrote a book preserved in such a way. It would be such a thing, I imagine, that wars would literally be fought over in order to possess. The focus would be so transfixed on this tangible relic of Christ and Christianity that the true nature and purpose of Christianity--community of love and faith--would be overshadowed. The incongruence of the scriptures, then, ideally spurs the Christian to embrace the other important aspects of Christianity such as the community of faith (the Church) and the Holy Spirit.

Jesus: the bridge between Jew and Pagan

I am very heavily affected theologically by C.S. Lewis and his Oxford friends (a.k.a. "The Inklings"--Tolkien, Barfield, Williams, etc.), and so I'm certain what follows will be very biased by that fact.

Consider that Christ is the one who unified Jew and Greek. The religion of the Jews was one of letters, tightly sewn to what had been written in the Law, the Torah and the Prophets. It was a very moralistic religion, a religion primarily consisting of regulations that were to be followed. Although the Jews were certainly not without their stories, the "real" importance (especially around the first century) was on "keeping the Law." Things were very "crystal", clear-cut, and definite.

But then there were the Pagans (i.e., essentially, the non-Jew). Most other religions at that place and time (to my knowledge) placed the emphasis much more heavily on stories--e.g., the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman god-myths. Not that these religions were without their own "rules" (indeed, sacrifice was a major element), but there was not the same kind of extreme emphasis placed on a "God-given, written Law" that was written and studied and followed to the letter.

Enter Jesus--the "Word become Flesh". Rather than writing more rules to be followed, he spoke of morality in parables, stories, thinking it best to that others to pass his words along rather than writing them down himself (a much less "definite" way of doing things). The words of Jesus, these parables (connected to the word "Parabola"), were more ambiguous, slippery, not the kind of crystal, clear-cut laws the Jews received in the Torah. So in this respect, it seems as though he has one foot in the Pagan world (ambiguity), and one in the Jewish world (morality), thus bringing them together.

Yet, Jesus himself was not ambiguous--he was flesh, tangible, factual. Lewis referred to the life of Jesus as "Myth become Fact". Here we see in Jesus a tangible story, a literal consummation of what had been foreshadowed in all prior myths of dying and rising gods. So in this respect, Jesus again has his foot in both the Pagan world (story) and the Jewish world (literality).
The writings of the Christian NT then, having feet in both Pagan and Jewish worlds, would seem to logically have --in contrast to the great pains taken for accurate transmission in the OT--much less emphasis on "exactness" in the transmission. Not that accuracy isn't important, but it is not all-important to Christianity. You see, I think that if everything concerning the historicity of Jesus was absolutely crystal-clear and undebatable, where would the Myth go?

Myth and Fact

In common language, we use the words "Myth" and "Truth" as antonyms, completely unrelated to each other. But is this really the case? People such as Lewis and Tolkien beg to differ. First of all, Myth and Art (I use this term in the broad sense of the arts in general) reveals Truth about life. Just as the very best Art is tied to reality, so Myth is tied to reality. Myth helps us to understand reality with our imagination (which Lewis calls "the organ of meaning").

But also, there is something, they say, that happens in Myth as in the Arts such as story, poetry, etc.: Truth is experienced. There is a kind of "slipperiness" to Myth and much good art, and this "slipperiness" places it just beyond our reach, just outside of the kind of tangibility that breeds manipulation, and this seems to be integral to the experience of Truth. This, I think, is why it was so important for Jesus to ascend and the Holy Spirit to descend. Note that the Spirit is a very ambiguous kind of thing—unseen, almost chaotic. Both Greek and Hebrew words for "spirit" (Greek pneuma, and Hebrew ruach) both also mean "wind." The nature of wind is very "slippery." "The wind blows where it pleases." It is almost chaotic, refusing to be ordered. You cannot hold wind in your hands. It is tangible and yet, in a way, intangible. In The Pilgrim's Regress, Lewis talks about a "Dialectic of desire" that served for him as a kind of empirical, experiential, ontological proof of God's existence, and this dialectic was brought about by an experience he called—among various names—Sehnsucht (a German word for "the desire for something that is out of your reach"). His experience of truth was integral to its being out of his reach—and this the thing that spurred him from atheism to a belief in the transcendental Other (which he later realized was the God of Christianity). Buechner speaks of something very similar in Telling the Truth: Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairytale.

The sort of paradox we get in Christianity presented to us in the 21st century is that the Gospel is both historical and mythical, tangible and intangible. It is tangible in the sense that we do have some proof of its accuracy and reliability, but it is ultimately out of the reach of a kind of "scientific" fact that proves it absolutely, once and for all, without question. This paradox of tangible-intangibility helps us both to infer—based on the evidence we have—that it is true, as well as experience that truth through the slippery, mythical quality it has.

"Does [the fact that we don't have the exact words of Christ and his disciples] matter?"

Yes and no. It does matter that we can at least infer that the essence of what is recorded in the Gospels is historical. It does not matter that it is exact, because that unexactness, that slipperiness, is what gives it more of the quality of myth. Even the stories that we do not think were in the original manuscripts (such as the woman caught in adultery) are worthy of reading because it is essentially true to the Myth of Jesus.

"Does it bother you that we can never truly know what Jesus may have said and what was the creation of some later editor?"

No, because this adds to the mystery behind Christ which creates a sort of transcendental experience. It seems somewhat obvious that Christ did not intend for us to know his exact words. That is why he left it up to other people to pass it on. It is a more organic and, really, personal way to do it, really. It lets Man be partners with God in his work here on earth.

I guess this all presupposes that the scriptures were not written verbatim by God—whispering every single word to the NT writers as they penned their Gospels and books, but that is a WHOLE other discussion, and it is an ideal that, I think, most theologians do not hold today. I could be wrong.

I don't know… let me know your thoughts on this, and where I need to clarify what I'm thinking about.

Thanks!