Tactical Faith

Equipping Christians in Alabama

Wm. Travis Coblentz

You See What You Want? Science and Faith

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Filed Under: Philosophy, Worldview Tagged With: ,

In the previous article on faith, entitled Overlapping Magisteria, we saw various ways that faith is used in non-religious contexts. They invariably relate to belief in a person—in that person’s goodness, trustworthiness, honesty, openness, all against a backdrop of evidence that might suggest that one should not believe them.[1] For example, engaging in an argument “in good faith” means that you are not saying things that you don’t believe, you are not trolling, and you are in fact working to understand the one with whom you disagree instead of using straw man or some other informal fallacy. And that you are doing so goes against the normal approach to arguments: To win at any cost.

The “publicly available” evidence—that evidence which everyone can see no matter what values they hold—serves as evidence against trust. But you, if you have faith in someone, trust them because you see something—something that is not publicly available evidence. And this trust simply means that you believe what they say, that their motives are good, and so forth.

What Does Science Want?

Scientific method demands publicly available evidence. Why would any field of study be concerned with publicly available evidence? The answer is obvious: It gives us a sense of certainty about the world. This isn’t like logical certainty, which seems to require no repeatability. Rather, this is a belief that things will repeat. This kind of certainty—that something will repeat—tells us about what science wants. Or, put more clearly, it tells us what we want that causes us to want to do science.

Why would anyone want certainty? Because certainty let’s us know that if we do action X, we get effect Y. Every time. And why would we want to know that? Because we want the power to control the world, or our environment (including our own bodies), and also to know the limits of what we can control.

Thus, science appeals to one’s desire to control the world.

Understand that I am using “control” in a neutral way. “Control” usually has a negative connotation—I do not mean it that way. Without control of (a part of) the world, you couldn’t eat, protect loved ones, or really anything at all. Science is an explanation of why those actions that have always worked work, and also how we might do them more efficiently and safely in the future.

The various theories of science in fact reflect this element. They are grand descriptions of how the universe works—from the unimaginably large to the unimaginably small.

But no one can be satisfied with the ability to control the world, nor the understanding required for reliable world-manipulation. We need a reason to move things about. Science itself is no “pure” interest in knowledge. It exists only because of the extra-scientific desire to control our environment with confidence. And the desire to control the world is driven by even more central or foundational values—everything from hunger to love, from fear of death to hatred of one who has hurt you. Of course, these values can include things as “purely” intellectual as the desire to solve a particularly difficult scientific (or mathematic) puzzle. In my own studies, I fell in love with complex logical proofs that were simply puzzles with no real content. But, even in solving a large and complex logical proof with no content, I was driven by a desire to overcome an obstacle, to find my way through a maze, to exert a kind of power-over—the exercise of control over a problem.

The point? Science wants something. It is not “objective” in the sense of being “without value.” Science is about puzzle-solving and world-manipulation.[2] And these are obviously necessary things: to overcome complex difficulties and to be able to manipulate the world so that we can accomplish our goals is surely a good thing. It is only bad if our motives are bad (e.g. we want to burn down our annoying neighbor’s house) or if we desire to control things that are not meant to be controlled (e.g. we enslave people).

Setting these issues aside for a moment, it seems that the value on which science is founded (world-control) is not sufficient for human life. We need other motives, too. But can science or, at least, thinking scientifically, give us values that would be sufficient for a human life?

Does Science See Enough?

If you pay any attention to what some might call the “science vs. religion” debate, you recognize that science is often praised as not only epistemically superior, but also a better ground for peace.

Why would someone say that if we all threw away religion and embraced science, we would be more at peace?

The answer to that question is quite simple: We disagree over religion and it can be very difficult to argue about which religion is true, at least based on publicly available evidence. On the other hand, science is strictly about publicly available evidence. Thus, an important value of science is, you might say, agreeability.[3] And if we are all seeking that which can be supported only on publicly available evidence, we will all likely have some level of agreeability.

Of course, we already noted above that the value that gives rise to science (world-control) is not enough for a human life.[4] What then can the practice of science grant us in terms of values?

But science has only one real value: Control of our environment. And this is not enough

Indeed, the problem is perhaps worse than this.

Imagine we were to say that science should be the final arbiter of all values. (This is already a problem, since science cannot give us the values that got science started in the first place. But let’s simply grant, for the sake of argument, that control is in fact a fundamental, true value.) Given that science is about control, each thing studied is understood by science to be an object studied with the goal of the knowledge required to manipulate it. So, when science comes to “understand” a human, science merely determines how that person might be controlled. What makes a person act a certain way, what stops certain feelings, and so on.

This is not all bad. After all, medicine is a way of controlling a person. Discipline is a way of attempting to control people—not in the sense of slavery, but in the sense of encouraging them to develop into responsible adults. And so forth.

But there is a problem when controlling the person is not meant to create a situation in which that person might be free. If medicine becomes that which controls a person, we might call that person an addict. When an authority wants to keep the person in a situation of discipline, then that is, at best, patronizing and, at worst, slavery and abuse.

This suggests that science has tremendous importance, even for morality. For science is about control, and one element of morality is self-control, which surely involves looking upon parts of yourself as objects to be controlled. But you are not merely an object to be controlled, made up of objects to be controlled. So, too, much of our moral concern involves relating to one another in ways that encourage virtue, responsibility, love. Learning about ourselves, what causes lead to what kinds of effects in us, is terribly helpful for such moral endeavors.

And this is not even to mention the other obviously great results of scientific endeavors—from the almost-eradication of polio to sending a human artifact into interstellar space.

What Do You See?

Science sees the world through the value of world-control. And so it interprets all things as objects-to-be-controlled. This does not mean that science is in error, nor that it is bad. Rather, it sees a part of life.

There are two ways that science can be used badly. The first is obvious: Using scientific knowledge to do bad things. This is bad, but, at risk of sounding like a terrible person, it does not involve a misunderstanding of the place of science.

It is this misunderstanding that is the second bad use of science: I will call this, as others have, “scientism.” While some lovers of science mock this term, it does refer to a real problem. Scientism, as I’ll be using it, is the belief (which no one in fact holds, but many claim to) that only what can be proven, either now or at least theoretically in the future, by science is real. If this is the case, then people really are nothing more than objects that can be controlled. But no one with any healthy relationship, nor anyone who loves art or virtue, can possibly believe that. Thus, scientism is indeed not real. It really only exists in the statements of those who are actively engaged in trying to disprove religious beliefs, and perhaps in the minds of sociopaths.

So what do you see when you look at the world? When you look at other people? When you look upon a loved one? Yes, a large part of our interaction with the world involves acts of moving bits of the world about. But this is always for a deeper purpose—not often good purpose, but always deeper. Thus, science plays on a shallow set of values. These are indeed shallow enough that all humans may very well adhere to them—after all, we all want to have some control over our lives, our environment, our world. But if we allow the perspective which can only see objects-to-be-controlled to be the final arbiter of all interpretation, then our bad habit of seeing others as mere means to our own selfish ends will in fact be bolstered, not weakened.

Science is not enough. No one who is thinking clearly about the issue could ever say that it is.

Of course, this is not proof that Christian faith is enough, nor that it is good. But it is evidence that values richer and deeper than science will always be in play in practice, but that some good set of values must exist to temper and constrain the vision that science gives us of the world. Yes, you are an object that can be controlled. But that is not all you are. In fact, that is not what you fundamentally are. Your essential nature possesses a dignity beyond questions of control. One seeing you correctly, as you really are, should respond in love (and perhaps awe).

In short, you are a person. And seeing your personhood is truer to reality than seeing you as an object-to-be-controlled.

Indeed, the eyes that give us a vision for persons are the eyes that we should turn toward the world. These are the eyes of faith. But a lot more explanation is required to explain what this means. To that we will turn next.

[1] Rather importantly, you’ll notice that belief in the existence of the person is not really a question. The element of belief in the existence of God is perhaps not part of what it means to have faith in God. This issue will be discussed in a later post.

[2] One could respond here that the development of theories that give a description of the world we find a pure desire for understanding or factual information. But this response betrays a lack of understanding of the point. We desire to understand that which matters to us. We don’t seek understanding of that which has no value. And the value of the understanding that science offers is invariably a kind of control, or perhaps that the utmost limit, a line drawn on the limits of our control.

[3] I do not think agreeability is a fundamental value, but is a necessary result of the desire for certainty/repeatability.

[4] Puzzle-solving may be seen as another value alongside control. But it seems likely that puzzle-solving is a kind of practice of world-control, and so science can be reduced to simply world-control. Nevertheless, many experience the love of puzzle-solving as separate—a love of the intellectual. In a way, this might be akin to the love of money itself. Money, apart from what it can do for us, is in fact valueless. But it seems that some transfer the love of what money can do to the love of money itself. That is, instead of loving the things that money can acquire for us, they instead come to love the power (money) itself. Again, then, love of puzzle-solving is in a sense a kind of love of the power of overcoming difficult tasks. And so, while a game like Sudoku might be considered by some to be a fun exercise to keep mentally sharp, others come to love playing Sudoku just for the sake of playing it. I’d suggest that this is akin to the love of money (except perhaps less vicious) in that it is a love of the power of obstacle-overcoming itself. This love of obstacle-overcoming could open up a large conversation about existentialism, and one of my favorite thinkers, Nietzsche, who suggests that really our primary love is obstacle-overcoming (i.e. “will to power”). But for our purpose here, I believe desire to solve puzzles is a sub-category of the desire for controlling our environment/world.

Overlapping Magisteria

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Filed Under: Defending the Faith, Philosophy, Science, Worldview Tagged With: , , , , ,

In the previous blog, we looked quickly at what I think are decent reasons for unbelievers to be skeptical about faith—specifically about the relationship between faith and publicly available evidence.

One possible response is simple and clear: We could follow Stephen Jay Gould’s claim that science and religion (or faith) represent “non-overlapping magisteria.” That is, science oversees the realm of facts, while religion/faith oversees the realm of value.

This would be a handy solution. Unfortunately, it is at least no more than a half-truth.

The realm of facts are claims about what is. The realm of values is about what matters. If these are non-overlapping magisteria, then faith can never play a role in determining facts—like the existence of God, for example, or the need to repent, and so on.

On the other hand, someone like Sam Harris wants to argue that science in fact helps to determine values.[1]

Gould’s hope for a peaceful resolution between science and faith seems doomed.

But perhaps Gould was on to something, but he was just sloppy in his terminology. For there is something important in what he is claiming—something perhaps far deeper and more revolutionary against the atheist view of science than he probably realized. We will begin to see some of this in this essay. And this will be further fleshed out in a later essay.

The central issue is that faith relates to gaining knowledge of facts about the world. We can see this in the way that we use the word “faith” in situations that are not necessarily religious. Let’s look at a few:

“Faithful”

A faithful person is someone who holds fast to their word, who does not betray you, no matter what troubles or temptations may arise that would drag them away.

In this context, then, to be full of faith means to be one that clings to what one has once declared was right no matter how circumstances may change. That is, faith seems connected with a constant good that defies experiences that would undermine it.

When we call someone “faithful,” it usually implies then that there was some difficulty—whether tempting/troubling circumstances or perhaps simply a very long span of time.

It seems then that being faithful involves a mix of two major elements: A kind of goodness or honesty or steadfastness with a background of evidence that suggests that the person would not have remained good/honest/steadfast.

“Faith in a person”

Faith is also used in the sense of trust in someone else. When you put your faith in someone it seems to mean something like trusting them with something that is of some importance even when you don’t have sufficient evidence to know that they’ll follow through.

But trust in someone like this does not happen with no evidence. There is usually something that you might “see” in the other person, something that you believe may merit trust despite significant evidence to the contrary. Often, we must put our faith in people in whom we have little evidence to trust and perhaps much evidence to reject.

So, here too we have that strange juxtaposition of anticipation of someone’s steadfastness despite good reason to think that they would not be so.

“In good faith”

When you engage in something “in good faith”—let us say a debate—it suggests that, despite having good reason to do otherwise, you will nevertheless truly consider the other person’s claims without trying to distort them. In addition, it means that you will not lie or distort your own position, but will show up honestly and forthrightly.

Once again, the word “faith” here contains that mix of contraries: Good reasons not to be honest, forthright, good, and yet being good nonetheless.

We could perhaps continue on in other uses of the word “faith,” but we’ve already seen a common denominator: The juxtaposition of good reasons to expect the worst and yet nevertheless seeing the best.

Facts vs. Values?

We could understand here Gould’s erroneous claim that science and religion/faith represent non-overlapping magisteria. After all, the facts in each of the above cases would cause us to expect the person to act wrongly or falsely, while faith believes what is best, by giving value where there is no real evidence.

But he is in fact wrong in one really obvious way: Faith (in each of the above cases) causes us to see, and even brings into existence, facts about the world. When you get to know someone who has been severely troubled, and you see within them a good that they themselves cannot even see, and you put your faith in them, often that good is sparked into acts of moral greatness.

Were the “eyes of faith” that perceived a good that no one else seemed able to see deceptive? Were they without sufficient evidence? Were they purely a matter of subjective value?

The answer to all of those questions is, “No.” Because you indeed saw something that was there. But you saw it because you cared for that person. That is, a value that you held opened your eyes to see something that others could not see. Or, to put the point more clearly, could not be seen from a purely “public domain of evidence.”

You see, the “public domain of evidence” has to be that which all can see, no matter what values they hold. But if what you saw in that other person can only be seen if you relate to that person in something like love.

And loving someone means having the right values. The public domain is the “objective” domain and so has, by definition,[2] no values. And if you don’t have value, you won’t see what is in fact there.

Of course, there is significant evidence to suggest that your trust will be let down. That’s a part of faith as we’re using it here. So, with faith comes a bit of risk—the risk that you may be duped, let down, abandoned, made to look the fool.

On the other hand, faith allows us to see and enliven the goodness in others that an “objective” observer, the “public,” will never be able to see. You might say that one cannot be seen fully for what they are except through the eyes of faith. And without someone giving them a little faith, most people will never be able to be as great as they could.

So, here is a cloud of concepts that are all tied together: faith, love, personhood, risk, hope, goodness, value, and personal development

Overlapping Magisteria

These magisteria are in fact overlapping. But not in that science encroaches on faith, but that faith is shown to run roughshod over the publicly available evidence, in the hope that great goodness might grow out of what it already sees. While science tries to deal with what is certain and fears being duped above all, faith seeks that which is not necessarily certain but might be. And it might be because faith sees hints that it is the case, and that something great might indeed come of it.

To paraphrase the philosopher/psychologist William James, there are worse things than being duped. Like missing out on some great good thing.

How does this relate to faith as a part of determining the truth of Christianity? I’d guess you already see at least some of where we’re going. But we’ll continue this in the next post.

[1] See Harris, The Moral Landscape (Free Press, 2011). As you might imagine, I have some significant disagreements with Harris and some criticisms of this book. But, aside from his consistent misunderstanding of Christianity, faith, and ethics, it contains some good insights.

[2] I would argue that there are in fact objective values. But that’s not how the word is used most of the time. To be objective means to be the kind of person who holds no value over any other—that is, you’re not biased—and so this is, in effect, to have no values.

Rich Sam and the Trouble with Faith

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Filed Under: Apologetics, Defending the Faith, Philosophy, Theology Tagged With: , ,

Faith is a problem. Or, at least, it really seems to be a problem, for both Christian and non-Christian alike. Atheists who are big fans of science are particularly critical (or, really, derisive) of any hint of faith.

We can retort: “Yeah, but you have faith in science!!”

To which they will respond, “HAHAHAHA!”

They are perhaps right to respond with laughter. We believers often use the word “faith” in careless ways, and that may be partly because we’re not entirely clear on what faith is. So, let’s explore some of the things about faith that seem problematic—specifically how faith relates to evidence.

Faith and Evidence

The critique of faith is really about how it relates to evidence. And Christians respond in various distinct ways. So, first the critique:

“Faith is belief without evidence.”

Is this true? Perhaps we should ask another question: If you have evidence, then why do you need faith? Indeed, what use is faith if you have all the evidence before you?

So, it seems faith at least involves some element of lack of sufficient evidence in some part of some belief. Yes, that’s vague. We will hopefully clear things up a bit as we go.

What then is the problem with believing things without sufficient evidence? Well, there are a number of serious problems:

Belief without evidence can never amount to knowledge. Knowledge requires at least that we believe something, that it is true, and that we have some kind of evidence or warrant for believing it. If any of these three properties is lacking, we don’t have knowledge.

If we do not have sufficient warrant for a belief, then even if that belief is correct that is purely luck. And we could never even really know that we are right. Islam may in fact be the correct faith. We just have to hope we’re lucky.

I don’t think too many Christians would be comfortable with that position. Of course, most Christians point to experiences, the work of the Holy Spirit, and so forth and say that it is because of God’s activity that we believe, not evidence. And that is in fact the beginning of an excellent response.

The main problem here is that most of us, with good reason, treat private warrant—evidence that only you can see, but others cannot—with suspicion.

There is good reason for the suspicion. People are easily deceived by emotional episodes. People often want to believe things that are not true. People may try to deceive others. People easily misread experiences. In the past, people have interpreted certain experiences as visitations of the divine, but we now can easily explain these through science. Other such critiques can be raised. The problem here is that, because no one else has access to these (purported) evidences, no one can check to see if you’re misled or confused or offer an alternative interpretation or be convinced that you’re correct.

And that is perhaps the primary problem with any belief that lacks sufficient publicly available evidence: It leaves no place for conversation. For dialogue takes place in the domain of publicly available evidence. You can share your story, and you can be quite emotionally persuasive, but reason demands some kind of warrant that other people can see themselves.

Perhaps that is why discussions about faith can become so ugly so quickly.

Many Christians and Christian thinkers would argue that faith does indeed have sufficient warrant for the claims it makes. There is, they say, sufficient reason to believe that Christianity is true.

This claim is tricky. Obviously, modern atheists (and believers in other religions) don’t think there is sufficient evidence for Christianity. Indeed, if we reflect a bit on the first chapters of Romans, we recognize that sin has corrupted our capacity to reason. Perhaps, too, any “god” that we can prove, whose being we can climb to through intellectual towers of Babel, is not the true God.

In fact, the word “faith” suggests that it requires more than publicly available evidence. Thus, apologetics—insofar as it is the presentation of publicly available evidence—is limited in its power to convince others to faith.

Most Christians agree with this claim anyway—believing that it takes an act of the Holy Spirit on the hearts of their hearers to truly change. But we nevertheless try to argue for the faith anyway.

We are presenting two conflicting views of faith, then: That no evidence is sufficient and the evidence is sufficient to convince you.

Exploring Faith

Imagine you were to talk with an atheist who believes firmly in the need for solid, publicly-available evidence for belief. This atheist, let’s call him Rich Sam Harrikins. So, Rich Sam believes faith is silly, a denial of clear evidence. At the same time, it seems to weaken our critical faculties, making us credulous before bad arguments for theism.

But we were not going to argue with Rich Sam about whether Christianity is true. Rather, we want to argue that faith is not simple credulity. But it is still faith, not belief based on clear, publicly available evidence.

What would you say? Could you convince Rich Sam that embracing faith does not mean abandoning reason? Could you come to some agreement with him that those parts of faith that are outside the realm of evidence and reason are not ignoble or childish, but in fact important and central?

And how would your view of faith impact the way that you do apologetics with Rich Sam and others?

Let us know what you think. And keep following, as we reflect more on what faith is and how it should impact our apologetics.

Grassroots Apologetics Mobile

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Filed Under: Events

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Currently Rescheduling!

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Tactical Faith’s Grassroots Apologetics events bring a great mix of intellectual topics and friendly discussion. Speakers from Tactical Faith as well as from the local area will present on intriguing topics that fit broadly into apologetics, with ample time set aside for discussion. Come not merely to hear, but to discuss together with us about the topics presented as well as any related issues on your heart. Let us live out the goal of iron sharpening iron.

What

TF Grassroots Apologetics Mobile

When

TBD
9:00a-2:00p

Where:

The Exchange
202 Government St
Mobile, AL 36602

Cost

$20.00 (to be paid at event)
Coffee and other drinks will be provided during the event.
Bring money for lunch downtown.

Speakers

Dr. Travis Buchanan
Dr. Wm. Travis Coblentz
Dr. Brad Swiger
Kyle Beshears, M.Div., M.R.E.

 

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RSVP HERE!

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SPEAKERS –

Kyle Beshears

Teaching Pastor at Mars Hill Church in Mobile, AL. Kyle is a PhD student (ABD) at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He teaches courses on worldview and apologetics at the University of Mobile. His research interests include philosophy of religion and American religious history. He is married with one child.

Dr. Travis Buchanan

Travis is an Assistant Professor of Theological Studies at Colorado Christian University and online instructor for Phoenix Seminary in theology, New Testament, and writing instruction. He received his PhD from the University of St Andrews in Theology, Imagination, and the Arts. His research interests are primarily in Christian theology as it intersects with other disciplines, especially literature, culture, and the arts. He is married and has four children.

Dr. Brad Swiger

Brad is a member of Eastern Shore Presbyterian Church.  He received a Ph.D. in Basic Medical Sciences from the University of South Alabama, where he is currently an Assistant Professor in the Department of Biomedical Sciences.  Brad has been a follower of Christ since 2001 and has been a passionate advocate of apologetics for nearly as long.  His desire is to teach fellow believers to think critically about their faith, being firmly grounded in the gospel, so that they might reject the frequent attacks against its validity and be capable of offering a positive case to its skeptics. Brad is married with three children.

Dr. Wm Travis Coblentz

Travis is the Executive Director of Tactical Faith and teaches philosophy at the University of Alabama, Birmingham. He studied Bible and ministry through seminary, and was a pastor in Toledo for several years before attending Baylor University to receive a PhD in philosophy. He loves to interact with difficult ideas and thinkers, and focuses primarily on ethics and history of philosophy. He is married with three children.

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Talking to the World about Christian Morality III: Becoming What We Are

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Filed Under: Apologetics, Ethics, Philosophy, Worldview Tagged With: , , ,

When Bob was probing the possibility of homicide, we found that he could ask (at least) three kinds of why questions. One “why?” can be answered with an explanation about whether it is in fact legal or moral. Another “why?” could be answered with an explanation of why it is immoral to murder. If, after having the morality explained, he asked another question, such as “Why should I care if it is bad or good?”, then the only recourse is an appeal to the enforcement mechanism (punishment or reward).

In the 2nd post, we looked at how Christians are often criticized for holding to a childish kind of morality, because we have a tendency to point directly to God as the ground for morality, and both we and our critics tend to understand God’s place in morality as the ultimate enforcement mechanism. But we noted at the end of the 2nd article, that God grounds morality in a way far deeper than an enforcement mechanism. In fact, if we think that God is primarily a punisher of sin and rewarder of righteousness, his desire to show mercy and the self-sacrificial act of Jesus on the cross seem a bit out of character. But God’s forgiveness, his reckoning of faith as righteousness, is a sign that God’s relation to morality is not primarily as some transcendent lawgiver and judge.

So, what is God’s relationship to morality? In what way does God ground ethics?

In some ways, the answer I’ll give (and I hope I’m right!) is too obvious to be of much interest. In other ways, we seem unable to grasp it. But here it is: God grounds morality because all things exist as a result of his character and thus are sustained insofar as they function in accordance with his character, and deteriorate/die/are corrupted insofar as they function in a manner opposed to his character.

Most of us talk about this, but then we immediately fall into a discussion of a law as the standard. But the law isn’t the standard. God is the standard. The law is guidance—or instruction, as “Torah” would be better translated—to understanding who God is. For the key to righteousness is not following a law, but loving what is good, or, rather, he who is good—God—and growing to be more like Christ—the perfect image of God.

To take one more simple step: Humans were created in the image of God. Which means that we are fundamentally beings that are meant to reflect, to present, to image God. That, in turn, means that to be what we really are, we must reflect the character of God. And, of course, the clearest manifestation of God’s character is found in Jesus Christ.

What is that character, by the way? Love. All the Torah and the prophets are summed up in the dual commands to love God and love neighbor.

So, what does this mean about Christian ethics?

First, the law is not central—at least not in the sense in which we normally think of law. Law serves as instruction toward the character of God. It is not the case that “all have sinned and fallen short of the law.” It is, rather, that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” We have not been imaging God. We’ve turned against his character, by turning away from God, and ultimately becoming destroyers of his creation—by destroying ourselves, our neighbors (Cain being the first to do so), and the world around us.

Second, and this is the point of this series, the instruction we’ve been given in Scripture, and most clearly in the person of Jesus Christ, is tied to what we are.

This second point might seem kind of obvious, but the way Christians talk about and respond to ethics suggests that we’re not getting the point of it.

Let me offer a quick story to emphasize this point.

Some time ago, I was speaking to the senior class of a Christian private school. I was to talk about identity in Christ. In my usual thick-headed way, I began the discussion by asking the students what it meant to have their identity in Christ. They interpreted this phrase “identity in Christ” as being equivalent to “I am a Christian,” which seems to mean “I have made a profession of belief in Christianity.” But I pushed a little, because finding our identity in Christ must mean more than that some legal transaction has taken place in heaven’s books. Surely it means something like we see ourselves somehow united to the very person of Christ…that we cannot think of ourselves without thinking of Jesus, or something like this. Isn’t that what having some particular identity means?

What was interesting, though, is that it didn’t take long for these students—children of Christian parents who were paying good money to send their children to a school that would support their faith—to admit that they felt that being a Christian seemed to be against who they felt they were.

Consider that. Who are you? How does one define oneself? While some may reference some attribute that they have, it seems that who we are relates somehow to those things that we desire, that we love (from pizza to parents).

Now consider what these youth were bold enough to admit: They felt like God came into their lives primarily to stop them from doing things that they loved, or strongly desired. In fact, it was in those moments where they felt “most alive” or that they were about to do something in which they would become wholly transported into that act. Consider for example two unmarried teens who have been dating for years, they feel wholly in love with one another, and they have an opportunity to be alone one evening. It is in those moments that it seems Christianity comes in to say, “Stop! Hold back!” And, indeed, that seems to be the case almost all the time. Christianity, yes, is about faith and love—we are saved by faith in Jesus’ sacrifice, not by our own works. Nevertheless, the morality of Christianity seems to be a morality of living almost exactly like the world—but you can’t do quite as much.[1]

So, is that what “identity in Christ” means: Being a little less than the world?

No, it is not.

Identity in Christ is at least like being part of a sports team. Would an Alabama football player think that he was just like the other college students (he enjoys good food and the various fun things that college students do), but does a little less (can’t eat all that junk food, has to avoid some fun things because he has to go to the gym or practice, etc.)? Of course not!

The life of the football player is only seen as less if we ignore the fact that he has a purpose, and that excellence in that purpose requires a different life from the rest of the world.

Christian morality is not about stopping people from doing things—though it of course calls for us to stop doing things. Christian morality is about calling us to something great—and this great thing to which we are called is hindered by all the vices that the world declares to be the stuff of happiness.

Now, I should launch into a long discussion of a Christian’s purpose—because even here the sense that Christianity is about becoming less infiltrates our understanding. What is the purpose of a Christian life? To reflect God’s glory, of course! And what does that mean? Don’t sin!

But “don’t sin” does not mean stop doing things—it means stop missing the mark![2] Which, simplified, means, “Hit the mark!” And, if I may interpret that, surely means something like, “Do that for which you were created!”[3]

Thus, sin is about not doing that for which we were created. Sin is about becoming less.

Christian morality is about becoming those kinds of people who, like the well-trained and well-built football player, can carry out our purpose with that excellence and focus that gives us a fulfillment that a piece of cake or a night of binging alcohol and illicit sex could never give us. Christian morality is about becoming what we are.

So, why shouldn’t Bob kill Sam? Because Bob would be undermining both Sam’s being and his own. He would be acting against his nature—even if it felt good to do it—and so would be undermining the possibility of that rich fulfillment for Sam, Sam’s loved ones, and, of course, for himself as well. And such a loss of purpose and fulfillment, if not turned away from in repentance, will haunt him as he becomes that wraithlike[4] shadow of what he could have been.

So, too, we can at least partly agree with Wittgenstein’s claim in the Tractatus with which we began this series:

There must indeed be some kind of ethical reward and ethical punishment, but they must reside in the action itself (6.422).

Thanks be to God that, if only we repent and turn to him, he forgives us and draws us out of that slavery to sin and death!

[1] That is, we hold in the highest respect Christians who are model economic machines—they make good money, plan a good retirement, possess nice things. It’s just that they should go to church, give a portion to charity and tithe, and don’t do as much of the stuff that the world does (keep sex within marriage, don’t smoke or drink—at least not too much,  don’t use vulgar language—at least not too much, don’t watch too many rated-R movies, don’t get too ostentatious with your possessions, etc.).

[2] As most of you probably know, the Greek word for sin in the New Testament (transliterated as hamartia) means “to miss the mark,” as in an archer who misses the target.

[3] What, though, does it mean that our purpose for being created is to reflect the glory of God? Surely, it means that we image God in the same way as Jesus. So, too, it means that we are meant to rule over the earth under God, overseeing and directing creation in a way that reflects God’s creative activity (see Gen 1 and 2). So, too, we are meant for the redemption of creation (see Rom 8), indeed we are even participating in Jesus’ act of redemption (Col 1:24). That we are called to great glory and power is almost an understatement (see the exalted language of Eph 1:18-23—pay close attention to what Paul writes in v. 23!).

[4] As I learned while reading The Lord of the Rings, “wraith” has the same etymology as “wreath”—they both refer to something that is twisted. Thus, the image of the Ringwraiths is that of humans bent and twisted by a love that is itself bent and twisted.

Talking to the World about Christian Morality II: Getting Past the Gospel of Legalism

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In trying to convince Bob not to kill Sam in the previous post, we ran into a series of “why” questions and corresponding kinds of answers. There is a strictly legal response, a moral response, and an enforcement mechanism (punishment or reward) response. We determined that once you are talking about enforcement mechanisms, you are no longer talking about what makes something good or evil. For being punished doesn’t make something evil, but rather (in a just system) you are punished because you’ve done something evil.

In an important sense, the final “why” question, which makes you talk about the enforcement mechanism, arises from insolence or apathy or cynicism. It is a “why?” that arises from simply not caring at all about morality itself.  When Bob had the conversation with Christy, and she explained that Bob should not kill Sam because God values all life and desires for everyone to have the chance to come to repentance, that (or something similar) should have been sufficient for Bob. But Bob is apparently not moral or well-adjusted,[1] and so, in asking one more “why” question (specifically, “why should I care what God values?”) we have reached a point where it seems that the only answer is the threat of punishment or promise of reward.[2]

Atheists have often criticized Christianity because it depends on God being the judge for right and wrong. And perhaps they have a point, for it seems that mature and decent people do not need God to know right and wrong. In fact, we Christians can appear rather unconcerned with morality itself, but only concerned about punishment and reward. Does “thou shall not murder” require some sort of special revelation and threat of punishment for decent people to decide not to murder? Surely not! And claiming that God punishing us is what makes it the law—that is, immediately referencing the eternal enforcement mechanism—undermines the moral heart of a law. Because as soon as you mention punishment or reward, one becomes morally far-sighted: one no longer sees the moral goodness or evil of what we’re talking about, but only the possible negative or positive repercussions of an action. And someone who does good things only for the sake of receiving a reward or avoiding punishment is no  better than a criminal, just more prudent or cowardly.

But this problem of appealing to the enforcement mechanism (punishment or reward) is not really a problem unique to Christianity. For if I were to ask of secular morality the same question “why?” enough times, they too must appeal to some enforcement mechanism—promise of reward or threat of punishment.

But perhaps the problem isn’t merely that non-Christians are apathetic or insolent toward Christian morality. Or at least, not without reason.

We ended the last article with the claim that there is a clue in the emphasis in Christianity on forgiveness over punishment and reward. For no one is righteous, and forgiveness is offered to even the worst among us.

But we Christians have a tendency to emphasize punishment and reward, and to appeal to God primarily as the enforcement mechanism of morality. Why? Perhaps because of how we have learned about the gospel, particularly in sharing it with others. We have learned that the most important thing to prepare someone for the gospel message is to convince them that they are terrible sinners, deserving of and on their way to hell. Not until someone has accepted this are they prepared to embrace the gospel.

But see how we’ve prepared them for the good news that God loves them and gave his only Son that they might have eternal life to the full? We’ve emphasized punishment and reward, and so instead of talking about how sin is like a cancer, eating away at our lives and everything we value, we jump immediately to talk of eternal torture or eternal reward. God seems to be merely an enforcer, not one who loves us and wishes to free us from the slave masters under which we’ve subjected ourselves.

So, too, this view of morality is enshrined in our legal conception of salvation: God has an eternal law, and breaking that law is an attack on an infinitely glorious and good God, and so all sin is worthy of eternal punishment. Again, when looking at it this way, it is hard to understand why sin is so bad. We make these statements about God being infinite and perfect and all sin is against God and therefore all sin is infinite and worthy of infinite punishment. This all seems to work logically, but I personally don’t really understand its meaning.[3] One could interpret these ideas in various ways (see footnote 3)—they seem almost like free-floating statements that have little to no connection with my experience. I don’t experience sin as infinite. But I do experience the lure and the evil of sin—I see the façade of beauty beforehand, and the emptiness, pain, brokenness that arises within and following it. So does the world—in those moments when distraction is not present, when the shimmer of worldly pleasures has faded, when we have a moment to reflect on life, even the world knows there is something wrong.

Instead of focusing on meeting the world in those places of hurt and emptiness, we bring the legal gospel. We start by trying to convince people that they’ve broken a law, that they deserve hell, and that Jesus is the only means to get out of punishment and gain reward.

We’ve turned the Father into our enemy, Jesus into merely a means to an end, and the purpose of morality into getting rewarded.

But God the Father is not our enemy. Jesus is not merely a means to an end. And the purpose of love is not merely to get into heaven.

Perhaps our eagerness to present a simplified, relatable gospel has in fact confused, even corrupted, the gospel?[4] At least, it makes atheistic morality seem to have a richness that Christianity lacks: There is no final punishment or final reward. Therefore, you are left to consider only the goodness or evil of an act, rather than seeing morality as merely a means to an end (which is no morality at all!).

We might say, “But atheists can’t really have good or evil unless God does exist!” And I think we’re right. But what most people hear—and what most Christians seem to mean is: “But you have no good or evil unless you have a God who will punish you for breaking his laws!”

But having God punish has nothing to do with what makes good things good and evil things evil.

Let us say there is a man who denies the existence of traffic police. He states sagely, “Driving recklessly is wrong!”

A believer in traffic police responds, “But it wouldn’t be wrong if you didn’t get a fine, or lose your license, or receive jail time!”

We would think that the denier of traffic police was a bit silly for denying the existence of the obvious, but we would also reject the believer’s claim that getting punished is what makes reckless driving wrong.

What makes driving recklessly wrong is that it is dangerous, both to you and to other people. The fine is merely a confirmation that you did something wrong.

All this to say, atheists get something right about morality: If we must appeal to a great punisher/rewarder to believe in morality, then we ourselves are, at best, immature,[5] and, at worst, evil.

To have faith, trust, in God and to love God and our neighbor—these are not means to getting rewarded. They are the reward. Here the clue of God’s forgiveness makes itself clear: God’s forgiveness shows us that he is grieved by our sin, not because it diminishes or injures him in some way, but because we are his creation and we are dying in our sin. And he wishes us to have abundant life, for the grandeur of his creation is itself perhaps the best image of his glory (as creator).[6] Christian morality is about humans, and creation, being brought into fullness.

This is why I think that Christian morality may best be described as an ethics of virtue. A virtue ethic is in some respects a kind of foreign idea to most of us. Nevertheless, it contains a richness that stands up to the criticisms of Christianity that seem pervasive in society. The next of these essays will explore this idea in more depth.

[1] I don’t say this in jest. Aristotle states in his Nichomachean Ethics I, 4: “…we need to have been brought up in fine habits if we are to be adequate students of fine and just things.” After all, he claims, we have to begin such discussions of morality “from things known to us.” Thus also why we are to train our children up in the good and honorable things taught to us by God—not simply so that they know information about what God does or does not like, but so that they develop a taste for what is truly good—so that these words of God are on their hearts (cf. Deut 6:6-8)

[2] It is possible that this “why” is in good faith. Consider one who does not have a sufficient understanding of the love and greatness of God—who might, for example, think of God as similar to one of the bickering gods of ancient Greece. If so, such a question would in fact be an inquiry into the nature of God, rather than an actual lack of concern about values.

[3] What I mean is that this could be interpreted in the opposite way as well: All sin is against God, and God is infinite and perfect. Being infinite and perfect, no sin can in fact injure him in any way. Therefore, no sin is worth punishing at all. Or it could be argued thusly: All sin is against God, and God is infinite and perfect. Being infinite and perfect, no sin injures God in any way, and thus he can freely forgive sin at his discretion. But, given that love and mercy are perfections, God therefore forgives all sin.

[4] Let me offer a quick story that will emphasize this point. When I was teaching at a Bible college, one student, intrigued by Aristotle’s view of happiness, did some research on happiness by carrying out a survey of people in the Birmingham area. It ended up being a related set of questions on the Christian view of eternal life (since Christians claim that happiness is only truly found in heaven). The most important point that came from the interview came from every respondent—except one old lady—who said that they would be happy to go to heaven even if Jesus wasn’t there. That is, the presence of Jesus, what has been called the “beatific vision” (blessed vision) of God himself is not what they were longing for, but the rewards of heaven (presumably mansions and jewels and good food, etc.). Jesus was merely a means to get there. Except, of course, that one old lady, who seems to have grown more than most of us: She said there is no heaven without Jesus. To be with Jesus, whom she loved and who loved her, was the reward itself. She was the rare exception.

[5] I do not think it is in fact wrong to start with the idea of punishment and reward. We are all in fact quite immature and corrupted/corruptible, despite what the atheist might declare about him/herself. So some sense of threat or promise of reward can be helpful in times of tremendous temptation, when even one’s sense duty fails, or when one is slowly worn down into apostasy or a sinful lifestyle.

[6] It seems that many see God’s glory as achieved best by being over-against creation, as if God’s greatness is shown by how much disdain he has for that which he created, or, alternatively, by how lowly his creation is. As if God, the self-giving Creator, is glorified by having a failed, lowly, pathetic creation. “Very good” he called it in Genesis 1—it absolutely is broken and in need of redemption, but it is no ugly, pathetic thing. It is a wonderful, beautiful thing, which God seeks to bring to full grandeur through his Son and the many sons (cf. Romans 8). Thus, too, Christians seems to think that, even though we are baptized with fire, and will pass through the fire, and not be destroyed, yet the fire that will burn up creation is one that destroys absolutely so that we can pass into another, ethereal realm. Perhaps the fire with which we are baptized and will pass through, which purifies, is precisely that which will fill the universe—purifying it of all the power structures that give the corrupt and corruption itself power. Because God is redeeming us and his creation, for our greatness is his glory.