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Fr. Dmitiri Dudko on faith and proof

Russian Orthodox priest Father Dmitri Dudko was both a heroic and a tragic figure in Communist Russia.  He was under constant scrutiny by the KGB, but continued to teach the truth of Christianity. While Christian dialog was prohibited, in 1972 and 73 he asked his congregation to submit questions they had, which he then addressed in his sermons. Many of these were written down by those in attendance, and distributed around Russia (not unlike the spread of the NT documents, or Luther’s 95 Theses).  In 1977 many of these were published outside of Russia in a volume entitled Our Hope, which reveals much about the church in Russia in the early 70′s, as well as providing some thoughtful questions and answers about the Christian faith in the context of an overtly atheistic culture.

Dudko was eventually broken by the KGB and coerced into recanting, which was apparently televised.  He later confessed how much he regretted his mistake, writing “Compared to the hell that I then brought into my soul, anything – even torture or execution – would have been easier to bear.”  He died in 2004.

The other night I picked up the book, and opened it to page 140:

Question: What proof is there in apologetics of Christ’s resurrection?

Answer: Proofs? Nowadays we’ve begun to prove everything. Prove that you love. Prove there’s a sun in the sky, or clouds. Prove you’re a man, not a camel…  So they ask me to produce proofs of Christ’s Resurrection.  We consider proofs to be an important argument, whereas in fact they’re no argument at all.  Proofs are the fruit of our weakness and not of our strength, the fruit of our unbelief.  Forgive me, but I don’t want to know any proofs, and I wouldn’t recommend that you seek them.  The fundamental proof is our faith. If we have no faith, no proofs will help.

But then, of course, the question arises:  Does this mean that we must believe blindly?  “Believe because it’s absurd,” like Tertullian?  I would like to address precisely this: the absurdity and the “blindness” of faith.  For in fact, faith is vision.  …  Faith, as one Russian philosopher said, is profound knowledge. The knowledge we glean from books is shallow, and with its help all we can learn are earthly laws.  But knowledge of the resurrection of Christ demands profound knowledge  – that is, not merely stuffing your head full of quotations and information, but transfiguring your entire being. That brings profound knowledge: faith.  Yes, faith often contradicts the shallow variety of knowledge, and shallow knowledge in turn considers faith to be absurdity.  It is for this reason that Tertullian said, “I believe because it is absurd” – not because faith itself is agsurd, but because shallow knowledge, the sinful world, considers it to be so.  I believe, not because it is absurd in general, but only because from your point of view it is absurd. In this way, we believe Christ’s Resurrection, but we don’t “prove” it. You have no faith?  That is your misfortune. …

… I know that there are people who doubt the Gospel, who insist that it’s not convincing. It is difficult to refute such people. They can only be pitied, for those who say such things are unable to believe; they have not yet acquired profound knowledge.

This is brilliant- this is an understanding of knowledge that can’t be comprehended from within a modernist framework, which by intent considers only “shallow” knowledge as reasonable.

Written on 23 July 2009 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 5 Comments
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Credo ut intelligam: an approach to modernism

Credo ut intelligam is Latin for “I believe so that I may understand,” St. Anselm’s famous quote, who also used the phrase fides quaerens intellectum, or “faith seeking understanding.”  The full quote is actually, “Nor do I seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe that I may understand. For this, too, I believe, that, unless I first believe, I shall not understand.”

Anselm, like Augustine, believed that faith and belief preceded understanding, not exactly a respected position among modernists.  Ironically, an analysis of modernism would reveal that they, too, depend upon the credo ut intelligam formula.  For example, look at Hector Avalos, a good example of Romans 1:22.

Avalos is a professor of Religious Studies at the University of Iowa, and author of a number of books, including The End of Biblical Studies. He is also a former Pentecostal child evangelist (meaning he was an evangelist as a child, not that he necessarily evangelized children).  He appears to have quite a large chip on his shoulder when it comes to Christianity.  In a current post at Debunking Christianity, he  restates his belief that “the field of biblical studies is still permeated by religionist biases.”  Yes, that’s a Romans 1:22 moment if ever I’ve heard one.

Now, I don’t think that anyone would disagree that the study of the Bible is permeated – even dominated – by “religionist” biases.  Avalos, however, seems to believe that it shouldn’t be.  He states:

I want to end THE WAY the Bible is studied. In fact, I provide three scenarios on that page:

1) Eliminate biblical studies completely from the modern world.

2) Retain biblical studies as is, but admit that it is a religionist enterprise.

3) Retain biblical studies, but redefine its purpose so that it is tasked with eliminating completely the influence of the Bible in the modern world.

Of these 3 options, he prefers the third.  One of his goals, as a professor of religion, is to eliminate the influence of the Bible in the modern world, so “there should be no function or value left to the Bible anymore than there is to Homer’s Iliad in modern society.”

Back to Epistemology

Here, I think, is a modernist example of Anselm’s maxim.  Avalos has chosen to believe – I would say ‘to have faith in’ – modernism, meaning a naturalist, materialist, rationalist worldview (there are other views of modernism, but his is prevalent within the scholastic community).  As I’ve argued elsewhere, atheism, scientism, materialism, etc. have to be taken on faith; at some point a Kierkegaardian leap made from whatever set of data he relied on, to a conclusion that modernism with all of it’s baggage is truth, as far as it can be known.  Epistemologically, this position cannot be proven; rationalism, science and the rest require belief in order to go anywhere.

Avalos cannot use the tools of modernism to show that modernism is superior to any other worldview; it is inconsistent even from within modernism.  He must start with a choice to believe; once he believes in modernism, in logic, in reason, then he can begin to understand. It does not – it cannot – work the other way.

Credo ut intelligam.  Understanding can indeed assist belief; but, in the beginning, we must believe.

Written on 16 July 2009 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy, Romans 1:22 with 8 Comments
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How to find God (… but I didn’t know he was lost?)

Following up on my last two posts which dealt with finding a place from which to properly discover and discuss who the God of Christianity really is, here is an exerpt from NT Wright, from The Meaning of Jesus – Two Visions (pp 214,215):

The key issue in all theology is how to speak truly of God. If we are to speak of something that transcends space and time, this is beyond our ordinar world, how do we know what we are talking about? How can we know whether we are talking sense, let alone true sense?  How can we be sure that we are not … merely projecting our own self-image or our authority-figure fantasies on to the cosmic stage and calling them “god”?  The mainstream Christian answer has always been that, though the one true God is in various ways beyond our imagination, let alone our knowledge, and though even such knowledge as we may have is beyond our own unaided power to attain, this God has not left us to speculate, imagine, or project our own fantasies onto the screeen of transcendence; this God instead, through self-revelation, has given us such knowledge as is possible and appropriate for us.  And the same mainstream Christian answer has gone on to say that this self- revelation has taken place supremely in Jesus, the crucified and risen messiah of Israel.

The whole point of such a claim is, of course, that the one true God is known in Jesus himself, the human being who lived, worked, and died in first-century Palestine. Take that away, or split the historical Jesus off from the Christ known in faith, as some have tried to do, and you are left without a revelation of the one true God within our own world, the world of physicality and history.

…

… by close attention to Jesus himself, we are invited to discover, perhaps for the first time, just who the creator and covenant God was and is all along.  (Italics are mine)

This passage strikes at the heart of many attempts to write-off Christianity as just another invented religion.  The key is in Jesus himself, the guy who we read about in the Gospels.  It is important, then, for those who don’t want to face this Jesus, to try to discredit history through bad – even dishonest – scholarship.  At least honest atheists have stopped trying to prove that the man Jesus didn’t exist, which proved to be just embarrassing.   Not only is it reasonably certain that the Jesus of the Gospels did in fact exist and was executed by Pilate, the evidence for the resurrection is compelling, to use Anthony Flew’s adjective.

If someone wants a revelation of God, here it is, in the 1st 4 books of the New Testament.  The 4 authors have their own viewpoint, as eyewitnesses and reporters always do, but contrary to Bart Ehrman’s foolish interpretations, the paint a remarkably whole picture of Jesus.

This, of course, brings us back to the issue of whether the Gospels are, in fact, inspired documents. However, even if we just look at them as any ancient text, they serve their purpose.  Christians do not (or should not) worship the Bible; it is, however, the Word of God – that which formerly was in oral form, reduced to writing.  However, our faith is based on Jesus himself, who continues to reveal himself to Christians today.

Written on 08 June 2009 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt, Theological Musings with 1 Comment
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Easter reflections

In America, we typically look ahead, rather than behind. Once a holiday is over, the decorations are ripped down and packed away, and it’s off to plan the next big event. But, just give me a moment to offer a couple of thoughts about Easter, as I’m still celebrating.

Easter has not been my favorite holiday, aside from maple cream flavored Easter eggs (which I can no longer eat). This was especially true for the last 20-some years, as Easter reminds me of my Dad’s death.  For most of my life I have tended to separate holiday celebrations from any religious significance, being one of those who sees all days alike (Rom. 14:5), in spite of having a very incarnational theology.  However, over the last couple of years I have become more and more incarnational, as well as liturgical. Christmas has taken on a new meaning for me, as has Easter.  I realize that the dates are somewhat arbitrary, but that’s not the point; the point is our meaning and purpose in the celebration.  As it turns out, Easter has become my favorite holiday.

Easter has always remained the focus of the Eastern liturgical year, while in the West Christmas took precedent.  I honestly can see both points; the incarnation is astounding. On the other hand, the Resurrection is the foundation of our faith; as Paul pointed out in 1 Cor. 15, if Christ didn’t rise from the dead, then neither shall we – and then we are to be “pitied more than all men.”

This year, I was struck by a new realization that also emphasizes the importance of Easter: atheists hate the Easter holiday.  This surprised me at first; I expected them to brush it off and go about life as normal. After all, most Evangelical Christians don’t really put a lot of stock in the day itself.  And, like Christmas, Easter has it’s share of non-religious aspects: chocolate bunnies, egg hunts, and so on.  We all know these accoutrements come from pagan fertility celebrations, so what’s the big deal?

Joe over at Debunking Christianity posted an “Easter Sunrise Blasphemy” which gives his perspective. Then, as I perused a few more atheist blogs Easter morning, I started to see a trend.  Whether it’s the whole concept of the cross and what that means – sin, judgment and death – or the meaning of the Resurrection, it apparently hits a nerve wity many atheists, much more so than Christmas.  Perhaps it’s that Easter is exclusive (even though most of us believe Christ died and rose for all mankind); or, perhaps it’s that Easter is intolerant of other faiths, or non-faiths. Or, perhaps Easter is simply the watershed issue in Christianity: either Christians are wrong and celebrating in vain,  or we’re right and non-Christians are missing out.

Whatever the issue, as I read through these posts, I kept thinking, “I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of salvation to all those who believe.”  Easter is exclusive, in that only those who have experienced resurrection can understand and share in the celebration. Easter is also intolerant and divisive; it says boldly, “we’re right” (and by default, “you’re wrong”).  Or, in other words, “I’m resurrected (and you’re just dead).”  It is the watershed of Christianity.  And I, for one, make no apologies for this; in fact, I celebrate Easter, along with millions of other Christians.  This is not to say that I don’t have sorrow for those like Joe who say, “I hate Easter.”

Easter – the Gospel – also happens to be inclusive: It is available to all.  However, as it turns out, Easter is only exclusive in that requires death in order to celebrate it.

Ay, there’s the rub…

Written on 15 April 2009 by me under Theological Musings with 1 Comment
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Atheist convert A.N. Wilson deconverts (back to Christianity)

Perhaps one of the more famous Christians-turned-atheist is author A.N. Wilson, who wrote biographies of people like C.S. Lewis & Tolstoy, as well as the “demythologizing” Jesus: A Life.   In this morning’s Mail Online, he writes,

For much of my life, I, too, have been one of those who did not believe. It was in my young manhood that I began to wonder how much of the Easter story I accepted, and in my 30s I lost any religious belief whatsoever.

Like many people who lost faith, I felt anger with myself for having been ‘conned’ by such a story. I began to rail against Christianity, and wrote a book, entitled Jesus, which endeavoured to establish that he had been no more than a messianic prophet who had well and truly failed, and died.

Why did I, along with so many others, become so dismissive of Christianity?

He blames the anti-Christian attitudes of Britain for much of his loss of faith, which “lends weight to the fervour of the anti-God fanatics, such as the writer Christopher Hitchens and the geneticist Richard Dawkins, who think all the evil in the world is actually caused by religion.”  He discusses some of these attitudes, then writes,

For ten or 15 of my middle years, I, too, was one of the mockers. But, as time passed, I found myself going back to church, although at first only as a fellow traveller with the believers, not as one who shared the faith that Jesus had truly risen from the grave. Some time over the past five or six years – I could not tell you exactly when – I found that I had changed.

When I took part in the procession last Sunday and heard the Gospel being chanted, I assented to it with complete simplicity.

He then goes on to explain in part why he began to once again believe – and it is not perhaps what you would think, unless you understood the true nature of Christianity, as celebrated in Easter.  He concludes the article with

Materialist atheism says we are just a collection of chemicals. It has no answer whatsoever to the question of how we should be capable of love or heroism or poetry if we are simply animated pieces of meat.

The Resurrection, which proclaims that matter and spirit are mysteriously conjoined, is the ultimate key to who we are. It confronts us with an extraordinarily haunting story.

J. S. Bach believed the story, and set it to music. Most of the greatest writers and thinkers of the past 1,500 years have believed it.

But an even stronger argument is the way that Christian faith transforms individual lives – the lives of the men and women with whom you mingle on a daily basis, the man, woman or child next to you in church tomorrow morning.

Christ is risen indeed!  There is hope; but then, some of us already knew that.

Written on 14 April 2009 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt with 1 Comment
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They couldn’t just be wrong…

From Discovery Channel News:

Earth’s climate continues to confound scientists. Following a 30-year trend of warming, global temperatures have flatlined since 2001 despite rising greenhouse gas concentrations, and a heat surplus that should have cranked up the planetary thermostat.

That should be good news, right?  According to the article (and a truckload of data that conflicts with the global warming theory), climatologists don’t know why the Earth isn’t heating up as it should.   However, Kyle Swanson of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee says:

“When the climate kicks back out of this state, we’ll have explosive warming. Thirty years of greenhouse gas radiative forcing will still be there and then bang, the warming will return and be very aggressive.”

Wow.  And people wonder why I am not buying the whole global warming thing.

Written on 02 March 2009 by me under Faith, Science & Doubt with 2 Comments
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The God Box, part 1

The Following is part one of a short story I wrote in 2002.

——————————————
Andy and Caroline stood briefly outside the study as Andy gave the slightly open door a short rap.

“Come in,” a booming voice responded. Andy opened the door and allowed his wife to enter first. A tall, balding man in his mid-fifties was hunched in front of a computer screen as he deliberately stabbed a keyboard with his index fingers.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he spoke into the air as he made one final poke and rose to greet them. “Sending off the weekly prayer e-mail,” he explained as he reached for Caroline’s hand, “I’m not much of a typist.” He paused for a split second, “Let me see if I can get this right. Carol, isn’t it?”

“Caroline.”

“Of course, my apologies. Andy, nice to see you again,” he shook their hands in turn and led them to two imitation leather chairs, of which there were three arranged in a conversation grouping in the corner of the study.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Reverend,” Andy began.

“Oh, call me John. I don’t like titles.” He took the third chair, which was arranged in such a way that his long legs had a chance to extend without danger of kicking his guests. “I continue to get a handful of folks calling me ‘Pastor’ around here, but I am trying to break that habit. Religious formality just gets in the way. That’s why I like to come out from behind the desk, and avoid as many of the religious clichés as I can. The world has too much religion, not enough Jesus, I always say.”

Andy was silent, not really having a clue what the distinction between “religion” and “Jesus” was, or how you could have one without the other. He glanced over at Caroline, who nodded knowingly. Right, he thought. She doesn’t get it, either.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Pastor John broke eye contact momentarily as he reached behind him for his well-used but seldom washed mug on his desk. The couple both replied to the negative as Pastor John readjusted himself in the chair.

“This is certainly a pleasure,” he affirmed. “We are all so excited to ‘adopt’ you into our family. It’s rare to have a couple come forward together, but definitely a plus.” Seeing their somewhat confused looks, he continued, “you see, when a husband or wife accepts Christ alone, it can create great stress in a marriage. However, as you are both beginning your new lives together. A most wonderful opportunity, both for you, as for us, as we get to participate with you in that journey. Yes, a very wonderful thing indeed. As I mentioned Sunday, the Bible tells us that the angels rejoice when one is saved. I’d say they had quite a celebration last Sunday!”

Andy and Caroline smiled politely, still not quite sure what kind of a journey they were on. This was all very new to them, as neither had come from a family where religion played a part. Caroline responded first, “This is all very new to us.”

“Of course, of course,” John jumped in. They could see that he was obviously used to doing most of the talking. “I understand completely. Don’t try to figure everything out all at once- you’ve got plenty of time to learn the ins and outs of Christianity and church life. We’re just glad you’re here.” He took a sip from his cup. “Tell me,” he said, looking at Andy, “a little about your backgrounds.”

“Well, neither Caroline or I have ever been what you’d call religious.”

Andy was interrupted by a knock on the study door. “Excuse me,” said John, rising to get the door. The church secretary, Joan, according to the nameplate on her desk, handed the pastor two cardboard boxes, about the size of boot boxes, but with a hinged lid, similar to a cigar box. He thanked Joan and re-closed the door.

“Carry on,” he nodded to Andy as he returned to his chair, setting the boxes on the floor in front of them.

Andy’s eyes fell to the boxes, which he noticed had “Andy” and “Caroline” lettered on the front. “As I was saying, we’ve never been what you could call religious. Neither of our families ever attended church, and at least in my family, the subject of God never came up.”

“Unless somebody was swearing,” Caroline added, smiling. She continued, determined to carry her side of the conversation. “My family went to church for weddings, funerals, and sometimes Christmas, if there was a special program. My mom believed in God, and even claimed to have seen Him once. She quickly added, “she used to do acid in the 60s.”

Pastor John nodded silently, either not catching or not acknowledging the humor.

“Religion never made any sense to us, to me,” Andy continued. “In fact, it still doesn’t.”

Caroline nodded in agreement, “I’m not even sure why we came on Sunday, other than the Nelson’s had been after us forever to come and I told Andy, ‘we’ve got to go once, then we can tell them that it’s just not for us.’ But, “she paused, looking over at Andy to make sure she had his agreement, “we both felt something Sunday that we’d never felt before. I guess you call it the presence of God, or at least that’s what I think it was. I thought it was just me, but then before I knew it, I was kneeling down in front next to Andy. I don’t even know how I got there!”

“I’m still not even sure what it all means,” said Andy earnestly. “I mean, I feel different – lighter, I guess you could say – but I have absolutely no language to explain it. I started reading that Bible you gave us on Sunday, but to be honest, it hasn’t helped explain anything at all to us.”

Caroline was shaking her head, “It’s all so foreign. It’s like a different language, a different culture. I feel inside that it’s true, but I guess my head hasn’t arrived there yet.”

With that the pastor smiled. “I am very excited for you two. I really am. You are in the best possible place to learn about God and what it means to be a Christian.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline asked.

“What I mean is, most people have preconceived notions about God and Christianity, especially if they have watched Christian TV or have been reading that so-called Christian fiction that is so popular now. It’s sometimes very hard to shake those notions loose and get them on the right track.”

“My mom always said – in fact, she said it again yesterday – that there are many tracks, that’s why there are so many churches,” interrupted Caroline.

Andy grinned, “Caroline’s mom is sometimes on several of them at once.”

Caroline gave him one of her looks, and continued, “I mean, Judy Nelson warned me about that church down on the corner of 5th, to make sure we didn’ t go there instead. She said they had some strange ideas. How do we know which church has it right?”

Pastor John sat for a moment, his hands pressed together with the index fingers pressed against his lips. “I can tell that you are both real thinkers,” he said slowly. “That’s good . that’s very good. I think our church is a good place for you. We have classes that will help you to sort out all of these questions.”

With that, he reached down and picked up the two boxes, and handed one to each, glancing at the names to make sure they had the right ones. “These are for you,” he said.

John took the box, which was obviously empty. Caroline opened the lid on hers anyway, then after a moment looked up. “What is this?”

John smiled warmly, “These are your God Boxes.”

To Be Continued …

Written on 07 February 2009 by me under Fiction with 2 Comments
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The Inane Atheists

The “New Atheists” – people like Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins and of late, Christopher Hitchens – have been making the news now for a couple of years, as their books promoting their strain of anti-theism can be found on endcap displays and best-seller lists everywhere. While some of you who are arguably wiser than myself may not be familiar with these guys, I’m sure many of you are.  I started paying attention to them initially due to my old friend Mike who, when we reconnected after many years, advised me that he had become an atheist. I’ve never been big on apologetics, but found some of the debates – much of which involved the creation-evolution issue – somewhat stimulating. However, I think that the term “New Atheists” should be changed to “Inane Atheists.”  While some of them at times can sound wise and philosophical (apparently, at least, to other atheists) the majority of their arguments have proven to be little more than atheistic bedtime stories, concocted to provide the same type of comfort they charge religions with fabricating.

The Preacher of Ecclesiastes is correct: There is nothing new under the sun.  While the packaging has changed, there is nothing new about the disbelief in God, and the Biblical advice on the subject is still sound. The Psalmist is on point as is Paul.  Today, atheism, the belief that there is no god of any kind, also includes the belief that nothing supernatural or non-material exists. This, of course, describes a lack of belief, or a negative belief, if you will. The positive – what they do believe – would be called philosophical materialism, or sometimes naturalism. As I’ve described before many times, materialists are merely myopic; they have chosen to believe only in what they think has physical properties.  Atheism is, in many ways, epitomized by the Golden Calf, and yes, it is a form of idolatry, exchanging the worship of the Creator for the worship of the creation. I’m sure the argument would be made that they do not worship anything, but of course that is foolishness as well; the natural processes of the universe and reason itself are put in the place of God.

If anything is new about today’s atheists, it is that they are moderns (as are we all in the West).  As I’ve set forth in my Teacup Analogy, their arguments (for example, lately I’ve read a ridiculous series of posts trying to apply IDQ principles to Christianity and the Bible) must be brought completely within modernism in order to function. If you hold to a philosophy that is skeptical of their epistemology, they sound quite ridiculous.  They succeed only when they manage to trap some poor soul into adopting their presuppositions; as we in the West are all moderns to a degree, it is occasionally possible to suck some unsuspecting Christian into believing that Christianity is properly understood only within a modern context. John Loftus, at Debunking Christianity, is at least honest about that point when he says that modernism is the Achilles’ Heel of Christianity. Of course, John presumes modernism, and at least to my knowledge he hasn’t presented any argument for why modernism is the only true philosophical position; his point is that modernism and Christianity are incompatible, and that if you adopt a purely modernist worldview, Christianity will be undone.

However, as Alister McGrath has written (“I Believe” – Exploring the Apostles Creed, pp 26):

Reason runs into difficulties when trying to cope with God. Alfred, Lord Tennyson made this point perfectly in his poem “The Ancient Sage”:

For nothing worthy proving can be proven,
Nor yet disproven.

Belief in God, it need hardly be added, rests on solid foundations- even if paradoxically, as Tennyson suggests, it cannot be proved. Atheists and Christians alike take their positions as matters of faith. The former may like to try and represent their position as objective and scientific, but it is actually nothing of the sort.

Modern atheists, of course, will see this thinking as malarkey, as it is an argument based outside of the modernist teacup, or at least removes the argument from the materialist epistemology that they rely on. The “New” Atheists cannot seem to function outside of modernism or outside of materialism, because that simply is the box in which they have put themselves in. To interact with them on any meaningful way, you have to get in their box (or teacup).

And why would I want to do that?

You see, I’ve encountered God. It’s not just that I’ve had some spiritual experience, but that I know and have relationship with God.  A modern atheist will, of course, toss this in the pile of non-observable claims and demand “evidence.” However, this presumes a Kantian or Platonic kind of dualism, which is certainly not a given.  Classifying God and all experiences of God into the large category of Noumena in order to dismiss it entirely is, I think, to commit serious philosophical error; but for one who is committed to atheism, it is convenient, pragmatic error.  Again, it requires a commitment to stay within the modernist teacup and to close your eyes should you ever attempt to look over the rim.

Modern atheists, however, are almost always not committed to requiring objective evidence in all areas of their lives; if they did, they would become “Spock”-like in their assessment of everything, including politics and relationships. Love would cease to be a many-splendored thing, and family life would have to be based on pragmatism rather than any emotional bond. It is contradictory for a materialist to claim “I know that I love my wife,” for he can know nothing of the kind; it is simply an unprovable claim by his own standards.  However, materialism becomes essential when fending off any claims of God (although it has been shown many times how internally inconsistent these arguments against God are).

Operating from a more consistent approach in which you accept that there are ways of knowing that are not limited to that which is observable and measurable – that is, living outside of the teacup and taking in the banquet that surrounds it – we can look to the arguments, claims, challenges and ridicule of modern atheism and see how inane they really are. While I believe it is possible to climb in the teacup and expose the errors from within modernism, for the Christian to “prove” his own faith, it is simply not necessary.

Written on 26 January 2009 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt, Philosophy with 11 Comments
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The question of unbelief 2.5

My friend David Hayward (a facebook friend, anyway…) has written a very interesting post on the 10 Movements of faith, most of which don’t sound very faith-like, using words like questioning, doubt, rejection, darkness, abandon and fear.  From a Western evangelical point of view, these are bad words, things that we either try to avoid, ignore, heal, or if nothing else fails, condemn.  However, perhaps David is right; perhaps we should not fear these, but recognize them as signs of growth.

I’ve seen these stages over the years in many friends and acquaintances.  I don’t know that everyone goes through all stages, at least concerning core beliefs. As I commented on David’s blog, I think the Western evangelical church is often geared towards keeping people at Stage 1, where people can be entertained, placated, and manipulated.  Growth  – as any parent can tell you – is often hard to deal with.  Then, some folks are just better at dealing with questions than others. And, as I have mentioned, it may not be our core faith that’s challenged, but the “baggage” that we often receive along with the Gospel, or perhaps even the nature of our faith.  Again, I think David is on to something: if we never go through these stages, we’re not growing.  As my favorite songwriter has written,

It’s not that hard
to figure it out
Where there’s no question,
there’s no doubt

- Glen Phillips, There Comes a Time

As we read through the Gospels, it seems that Jesus even encouraged questioning and doubt at times – consider the story of the Rich Young Ruler, for one, or the “eat my flesh” teaching.  A preacher that I heard many years ago said that God “offends the mind to reveal the heart.”  If we won’t challenge our own beliefs, sometimes God himself will.  The ancient church traditions – such as the Eastern Orthodox and Anglican – seem better able to deal with these stages of faith, and even anticipate and encourage them.  There is a wealth in the liturgical and mystical (speaking of the old mystical tradition, not what currently passes for mysticism) traditions that the evangelical church simply cannot understand; and perhaps it is this very issue – dealing with these “negative” stages of faith – that acts as a barrier between the old and new.

So, what happens when the church fails to recognize these stages as growth rather than “backsliding?”

At the close of his post, David asks

Can we consider the possibility that someone abandoning their faith and leaving the church could actually be a potential development in their spirituality, a stage where they are being beckoned to abandon their child-like faith to move toward a more mature and adult faith? And can we allow people to linger in any of these movements without time limits? I think these are important questions to consider.

Fundamentalism, and even more temperate versions of evangelicalism, leave no room for those who have to step outside of the program. If they fail to “experience” God like they are supposed to, or question some of the teaching, they are often condemned, or treated as immature (the “weak in faith”).  However, I think we need to ask ourselves, exactly who is “weak in faith,” those who dare risk their faith to deal with their questions, or those who insist on suppressing doubt?

Written on 01 November 2008 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt with No Comments
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The question of unbelief

How could you forsake the love of God that way
Don’t fade, you’re staying here with me
Don’t fade, I need to know that someone still believes
- Don’t Fade, Glen Phillips

A week or so ago John Loftus over at Debunking Christianity (a very interesting site) asked Christians to tell him why he didn’t believe:

But since you believe we will be punished by God in hell (however conceived) if we don’t believe, then you need to offer some explanations for why we don’t believe. Surely a good God like yours wouldn’t punish us if we weren’t deserving of it, right? And surely your God wouldn’t punish us for our disbelief without offering us a clear testimony with sufficient evidence to believe, right?

Now, John’s testimony is that he was a Christian, received a Th.M. from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, and studied under William Lane Craig. But, over time he came to unbelieve in God – an opposite response of what we’d generally expect. And, there are others who have similar stories.  John suggests three possible reasons for not being able to believe: ignorance, willful disobedience, and a failure to experience God – all good questions to consider.  Concerning the question of ignorance, is disbelief merely a matter of not enough information?  In John’s case, I would have to presume the answer is no; he’s got a theology degree, and I haven’t.

As far as disobedience goes, he asks a very profound question in response: “Who in his right mind would be willfully disobedient of that which he knows to be true, if the truth is that he will go to hell if he is?“  Of course, the question of being in one’s right mind is another issue. I suppose one could hypothesize that unbelief is a type of psychosis resulting from the inability to reconcile the sinful nature with a works-oriented theology, like Paul describes in Romans chapter 7.  It’s really an interesting thought, along the same lines as, “does OJ really think he’s innocent?”; but it’s not an idea I would pursue at this point.

I think that John’s 3rd option – a failure to experience God – deserves some real thought.  A hard-core double-predestination Calvinist would probably pick this option and write these atheists off as merely people whom God has rejected.  However, I’m not a Calvinist, and I don’t think the answer is that simple. On this question, John writes:

Have we just failed to experience God in our lives? Do we need to experience something that we didn’t? What kind of experience do you mean? A miracle? Well, whose fault is that? God knows what we need to believe, and if so, why doesn’t he provide it? If God did the greater deed, by sending his son to atone for our sins, then why doesn’t he do the lesser deeds by providing us the evidence and experiences we need to believe?

It’s somewhat interesting that John wrote this post last week, as I’ve been thinking about this question myself. Why, indeed, do some people appear to be blind to what seems to be the clear revelation of God?  I believe that God, indeed, has revealed himself, and quite clearly, as Paul writes in Romans 1:

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

Part of the answer, at least for some, might be answered by Loftus’ own proposition that modernism is the Achilles’ Heel of Christianity.  We differ, however, in that John believes modernism to be the superior worldview, whereas I take an opposite view.  Perhaps – at least in part – buying into modernism is tantamount to planting seed in a field of weeds; the clear result is that faith is choked out.

I began this post quoting Glen Phillips, who is perhaps my favorite singer/songwriter. He seems to understand faith and doubt in a way that I find quite remarkable, being he’s not a Christian, or even necessarily religious (per an interview in 2004; although, the song “Thank You” on his latest album implies he’s at least a Theist).  I’ll end this post with a verse from “Dam Would Break” that seems relevant to this discussion:

What is this ice that gathers round my heart
To stop the flood of warmth before it even starts
It would make me blind to what I thought would always be
The only constant in the world for me
And every hour of every day
I need to fight from pulling away
And if my mind could only loose the chain
The dam would break

Written on 19 October 2008 by me under Epistemology, Faith, Science & Doubt with 2 Comments
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