The following people should now consider themselves tagged:

1. Darryl Burling
2. Jono Mac
3. Timothy
4. Drew Lewis
5. Damian Peterson

One day, Juan is walking down the street when he meets a Protestant handing out tracts. They get to talking, and Juan is surprised to learn that the Protestant thinks that Catholics aren’t saved. Juan tries to reassure the fellow that Catholics are Christians too—in fact, they are the true Christians who submit to the true Church of Christ. Protestants, to be honest, are the ones who are at a great disadvantage, having neither doctrinal purity nor the pure sacraments; especially the sacrificial Eucharist.

To Juan’s surprise, though, the Protestant rebuffs him. “We can’t both be Christians,” he says. “If what I believe is true, then we’re saved by faith alone, and your gospel of faith and works is no gospel at all. But if what you believe is true, then Pope Boniface VIII was correct when he infallibly said that that no one at all can be saved without being in subjection to the Roman Pontiff. As for your Eucharist, the doctrine of transubstantiation is, quite frankly, an abomination. How can a piece of bread literally become Jesus’s body, to be physically eaten by an entire congregation?”

Juan goes away bemused. He has talked often with his priest, and they’ve discussed Protestantism a few times. The Catholic Church is the one true Church instituted by Christ—so Protestants are missing out on a lot by failing to submit to it. They’re deprived of much true doctrine, and of the proper means of grace in the sacraments. A Protestant communion service is deeply impoverished compared to a Catholic Eucharistic mass. But Protestants still sincerely believe that Jesus is the Son of God who died for their sins; they’re still Christians—and anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. In fact, even Muslims can be saved, or pagans in unevangelized countries, as long as they do their best to seek God with what little light of natural revelation they have.

As for the Eucharist being an abomination—well, you’d expect that from a Protestant! Jesus’s words were spirit and life; how could someone who hadn’t received these through the wonderful gift of the Eucharist understand them?

Thinking about it on his way home, Juan becomes more confident. Sure, that Protestant had rattled him a bit, but what could he know about Catholic teachings, after all? Juan determines to prove him wrong. When he gets home, he fires up his computer and does a search on Pope Boniface VIII. Soon he finds what the Protestant chap looks to have been referring to: a document called Unam Sanctam. By most accounts not an infallible declaration…except for the last line. It reads:

we declare, we proclaim, we define that it is absolutely necessary for salvation that every human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff.

Juan stares at this sentence for a long time. It’s hard to imagine a plainer, more explicit, more all-encompassing or hard-nosed statement about salvation. For every human creature, it is absolutely necessary to be subject to the Roman Pontiff in order to obtain salvation. There’s no room for wiggling. It’s not most human creatures; not a bit necessary; not sort of subject. This is in infallible and exclusive statement about how salvation may be appropriated, and it clearly says that no one who is not subject to the Pope can be saved. Was his priest wrong? If Boniface VIII was really speaking infallibly, then Muslims cannot be saved; ignorant pagans cannot be saved; Protestants who reject the authority of Rome cannot be saved (though of course, this statement was made in the 1300s, well before the Reformation). From the looks of things, even Eastern Orthodox Christians can’t be saved—and that can’t be right!

Juan decides to research the matter more deeply. He wants to familiarize himself with all the important Catholic pronouncements in this area, so he looks further afield. He finds that Boniface VIII was by no means aberrant in his conclusions; he seemed to have been reflecting a well-established, historical teaching. Pope Innocent III before him, at the Fourth Lateran Council, had said that “there is but one universal Church of the faithful, outside of which no one at all can be saved”; and Eugene IV, after him, had declared most magnificently in Cantate Domino that

The most Holy Roman Church firmly believes, professes, and preaches that none of those existing outside the Catholic Church, not only pagans, but also Jews and heretics and schismatics, can have a share in life eternal; but that they will go into the eternal fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels, unless before death they are joined with Her; and that so important is the unity of this ecclesiastical body that only those remaining within this unity can profit by the sacraments of the Church unto salvation, and they alone can receive an eternal recompense for their fasts, their almsgiving, their other works of Christian piety and the duties of a Christian soldier. No one, let his almsgiving be as great as it may, no one, even if he pour out his blood for the Name of Christ, can be saved, unless he remain within the bosom and the unity of the Catholic Church.

Not Jews? Then certainly not Muslims, Juan muses. Not schismatics? Then certainly not Eastern Orthodox Christians. Not heretics? Then certainly not Protestants. And not pagans? Then certainly not the unevangelized. That doesn’t line up with what he has been told at all. But the further he digs, the more statements like this he finds. From Clement of Rome to Augustine to Gregory the Great, and afterwards to Trent, then into the nineteenth century (with Pius IX being particularly vocal about the matter), there is an unbroken tradition of teaching: extra Ecclesiam nulla salus—outside of the church there is no salvation! This is Church Tradition. His priest must have been wrong. That Protestant chap was right. The Catholic Church really does teach that only Catholics can be saved.

Juan is prepared to accept this. The Church is infallible; his priest is not. Perhaps he made a mistake. Certainly there isn’t any doubt about the clarity or pedigree of this tradition. He makes a mental note to mention this to his priest the next time they meet; he should know about his mistake.

By this stage Juan has gotten up to the major statements of the twentieth century, and is reading through the principal documents of Vatican II. (He’s a quick reader.) Scanning through Lumen Gentium, his eye catches a statement that just flabbergasts him:

the plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator. In the first place amongst these there are the Mohamedans, who, professing to hold the faith of Abraham, along with us adore the one and merciful God, who on the last day will judge mankind. [...] Those also can attain to salvation who through no fault of their own do not know the Gospel of Christ or His Church, yet sincerely seek God and moved by grace strive by their deeds to do His will as it is known to them through the dictates of conscience.

He re-reads this three or four times, but the words don’t change. How can this be? As the Protestant fellow had said, Unam Sanctam, and the whole Catholic Tradition, clearly teaches that no one outside the Catholic Church, no one who does not submit to Rome, can be saved. But Lumen Gentium is saying that not only does a person not have to submit to Rome; not only does he not have to be a Christian by any standard; not only does he not have to claim the same religion as Abraham regardless of how wrong and heretical he is; in fact, he can be a rank pagan and be saved! Either the Church was wrong until Vatican II, which of course it wasn’t…or Vatican II was wrong. They can’t both be right.

Juan is confused, and he decides to sleep on it. The next morning he re-reads Unam Sanctam and Lumen Gentium, hoping that with a fresh start and a fresh eye, he will gain a fresh perspective. Perhaps these two documents really can be reconciled easily. Perhaps he just missed something obvious last night. He was pretty tired after all that reading.

Sadly, the two declarations remain steadfastly opposed. So Juan prints them out, re-reads them over lunch, and then hurries down to his church, conveniently situated a block over. His priest (with whom, of course, he is in frequent consultation so as to avoid error, and so as to submit himself to the proper authority delegated by the Magisterium) ushers him into his office. He’s anxious to help Juan with whatever theological question has arisen this time.

Juan explains his problem. Church Tradition says one thing up until 1964…then it completely changes its mind and contradicts itself!

His priest reads over the pertinent statements which Juan has printed out. He’s read them before, of course, but he wants to refresh his memory. After a moment’s thought, he assures Juan that Vatican II was not in error; that Lumen Gentium and Unam Sanctam are both teaching the truth. Rome has never contradicted itself, and neither has God’s plan of salvation changed in the past six centuries. The problem is not with the documents, but with Juan’s understanding. He rifles through some files, and pulls out a dog-eared collection of papers, stapled together at one corner. “This is Dominus Iesus,” he says, “which clarifies what is meant in Lumen Gentium.” He hands it to Juan, tapping his finger against a section of text marked with a yellow highlighter:

Salvation in Christ is accessible by virtue of a grace which, while having a mysterious relationship to the Church, does not make them formally part of the Church, but enlightens them in a way which is accommodated to their spiritual and material situation.

“In other words, salvation is only ever found within the Catholic Church—but that doesn’t mean that everyone who’s saved is visibly or explicitly part of the Church. You can be an implicit member.”

Juan needs to think this over. He thanks his priest, but he goes away still deeply troubled. He knows what Unam Sanctam says. He knows that it’s absolutely necessary for salvation that every human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff. He can’t understand how a Protestant who explicitly rejects the authority of the Roman Pontiff, and who willingly refuses to be in subjection to him, can be “implicitly” in such subjection all the same. It doesn’t make the least bit of sense. He can understand, perhaps, how someone who doesn’t know about the Pontiff could implicitly be subject to Rome by joining himself to the body of Christ through earnestly seeking God. If such a person did come to learn about Catholicism, he would willingly and gladly subject himself explicitly. But in the case of Protestants and Muslims and Eastern Orthodox and whatnot, they explicitly refuse to be in subjection. So it’s a contradiction in terms to say that they are implicitly subject.

More importantly, Cantate Domino specifically named pagans and schismatics and heretics and Jews as being outside of the Church, and unable to receive salvation. Even if implicit membership is all that’s needed for salvation, all these people are unequivocally said to be unsaved; so they must be excluded from any kind of membership. But that plainly contradicts Lumen Gentium as read through the lens of Dominus Iesus. The answer his priest had given him seemed promising at first, but as he thinks about it on his way home, it becomes increasingly obvious that it isn’t an answer at all. It isn’t possible to reconcile all these declarations.

Juan spends a lot of time researching this. He learns that some Catholics, called Sedevacantists, reject Vatican II because it has contradicted prior teaching. He can sympathize. But Sedevacantists aren’t infallible; and Rome is. So they must have misinterpreted either Vatican II, or the earlier Tradition, or both. He can’t take the word of schismatics over the word of the Magisterium. In fact, he muses, Sedevacantists have done exactly what Protestants do, by exercising their private judgment instead of submitting to Rome. They have presumed to take upon themselves the authority of interpreting Rome’s teachings and deciding what they must mean, instead of letting Rome speak for itself. That’s ironically anti-Catholic, he thinks. He isn’t going to make that mistake.

But then what is he to do? He can’t see a way to reconcile his understanding of the various teaching documents. But he recognizes that he’s fallible; and that he must be understanding them wrongly if they appear to contradict each other. The plain meaning of Lumen Gentium is that non-Catholics can be saved. The plain meaning of Unam Sanctam is that they can’t. But…on what authority is he to decide which interpretation he’s mucked up? He knows that he must have misunderstood at least one of them. Or maybe both. How can he be sure?

After much consideration, Juan is forced to conclude that he simply isn’t able to discern the real meaning of the Church’s teaching documents in this matter. This at least is comforting in its consistency, since the Bible (the “original teaching document”) also plainly appears to teach in Romans that “no one seeks after God; no not one”. But obviously the implication of Lumen Gentium is that some people do sincerely seek after God. This apparent discrepancy just reinforces Juan’s conclusion that Catholic laypeople are not gifted with the ability to discern the real meaning in either Scripture or the Church’s later teaching documents. They just aren’t qualified. They lack some special knowledge which is needed to put everything together. To the layman, the meaning of the words in one document appears to contradict the meaning of the words in another; and the meaning of the words in a third, which are supposed to reconcile the two, don’t make any sense. So to know what Catholicism teaches, he really can’t consult its teaching documents. He has to ask his priest, who can explain them to him. After all, he has received the sacrament of ordination; he has special grace granted for his special office. Surely that explains why things are clearer to him.

Juan has to conclude that Catholic laymen simply do not have the special grace which must be required to fit everything together. Some kind of cypher is needed; a cypher which only the Roman Magisterium, in its priests and bishops and archbishops and, finally, the pope, has access to.

But why would the Magisterium encode their teaching documents in this way, he wonders. After all, they aren’t teaching documents at all if it isn’t possible to learn anything from them. He can’t answer that question, but then it isn’t his place to question the Infallible Church of Christ any more than it’s his place to question Christ himself. So he forces himself to be content with putting down his books, and working with the small doctrinal snippets that he gets from the pulpit every day in Mass (he goes every day because he needs all the grace he can get, and he’s hoping to store up some merit for himself by taking communion more frequently than other Catholics). He knows the major doctrines that he has to believe to be saved. He knows about praying to saints, and about how Mary’s body did not perish, and about transubstantiation, for example. He doesn’t really know anything about his faith except that which can be summarized in brief statements like “Mary was assumed bodily into heaven” or “the host turns into the real body of Christ”. But that seems to be how it must be for the laity, since further doctrinal knowledge is impossible; so he accepts it.

But then he’s pondering these doctrinal soundbites one night, in the hope of at least being a good Catholic by understanding the doctrines which he has been told about; and he starts to see some real problems. He’s meant to believe that, at the consecration, the host turns literally into the body of Christ. Each host miraculously becomes the true body of Jesus himself. This is integral to his faith. If he doesn’t believe this, he isn’t a Catholic. But what does it mean to believe this? He knows that Catholics believe the words, in a semantic sense; they affirm that the proposition “The host becomes the real body of Christ” is true. But that might be no different, he realizes, from affirming that “The law of noncontradiction is false”. Saying it, and saying it’s true, doesn’t actually mean that it’s possible, or that it’s possible to actually believe. It doesn’t mean that it can be true. It just means that someone affirming the proposition doesn’t really understand its content; he just believes its content is true. So if the content is unintelligible or unbelievable, that person isn’t really affirming anything of import whatsoever. He’s just making a fool of himself.

Juan ponders the meaning of the proposition “The host becomes the real body of Christ”. He reads the available literature (though of course it is either not infallible, or not possible to be understood by a layman since he doesn’t have the Magisterial Cypher). He finds that the doctrine of transubstantiation teaches that the secondary properties of the host (being the appearance of bread of a certain size, shape, taste, etc) remain, but the primary properties (that of being bread) are replaced with the real body of Christ. Put another way, the primary properties of the real body of Christ take on the secondary properties of the host. So there is no connection between the essence of the host, following transubstantiation, and its sensible properties. The essence is actually Jesus’ body; not the host at all. Some kind of illusion is going on. Once it’s consecrated, the host’s secondary properties don’t identify its primary properties at all.

More importantly, its primary properties are the real body of Christ. The host is actually the body of Christ. But Juan has a pretty good familiarity with human bodies, and he knows that they are a certain size and constitution; they are a bit under 2 meters tall, comprised of skin and hair and bones and organs and lots of icky stuff that it’s hard to see being particularly beneficial to eat. Yet apparently this is precisely what he is eating. How is this possible, he wonders. Can it be that a man can swallow whole another man? Clearly not. (He is reminded of Nicodemus’ jejune question, “Can a man go back into his mother to be born a second time?” It creates an uneasy feeling in his tummy.) Yet this is what transubstantiation teaches: that swallowing the host is an illusion, and that what is actually happening is that he is swallowing Jesus himself. Brain, blood, heart, icky genitalia and intestines and things…so, in essence—even if not in appearance—he is doing something which is actually physically impossible; not to mention kind of wrong. It isn’t as if Christ is somehow “processed”, like an Essence of Jesus patty. It’s not as if he’s eating just a part of his savior. It’s his whole body. Not only is this physically impossible, but in essence he is actually engaging in cannibalism; it’s just concealed by the illusion of the host.

Other difficult questions arise. When a hundred hosts are consecrated, is each one a separate Jesus? Does that mean that there is no longer a Trinity, but a God comprised of a Father, a Holy Spirit, and a hundred Sons? How can Jesus have a hundred bodies but still be one person? That seems to violate the law of identity. And how can each host be a living Jesus? Does Jesus watch as he is ingested, and goes through the digestive tract of every Catholic who receives him at communion? That’s really unsettling. And if he watches, what eyes does he use, since he appears to be a host? Or maybe he isn’t alive in the hosts; but then, what’s the point of eating a dead Jesus body? Isn’t the importance of the Eucharist in the receiving of the living Savior?

At this stage Juan doesn’t know what to think. It’s obviously better not to even contemplate those doctrines he has been told about by his priest. Not only can he not understand the Catholic teaching documents, but he can’t understand Catholic doctrine in general! He can’t actually believe transubstantiation once he’s considered it carefully, because to believe something requires it be able to be stated in a sensible way that can be grasped by the mind. But it’s not possible to grasp transubstantiation with the mind, because its claims are self-contradictory. One human body can’t wholly contain another; that is just a constraint of the material universe. No doubt God could have created the universe so that matter can occupy the same space as other matter simultaneously; but he didn’t. It’s possible to believe in miracles where natural laws are suspended, but not in miracles where the very properties of the physical universe are contradicted. And not only this, but the whole thing is just grossing him out.

So he can’t believe the pithy soundbite of transubstantiation in any meaningful sense because he can’t interpret it in a non-ridiculous way. Neither can he do any study as an amateur theologian, because he can’t interpret the teaching documents of the Church in a non-ridiculous way; they seem to contradict each other and cannot be reconciled, but he is assured that they do not. He must be missing some kind of cypher which is needed to decode the apparent meaning of the words and reveal their real meaning. So what is he left with? To be a Catholic and be saved he has to at least believe in transubstantiation. He can’t believe it in a considered, propositional sense; so he is left with simply saying that he believes the words “the host becomes the real body of Christ”, and hoping to God that there is some rational, non-ridiculous meaning behind them. He doesn’t know what they mean; he just trusts that there is a meaning. So he is forced into a mindless, meaningless affirmation of doctrinal statements.

By this stage he’s too afraid to even try to interpret what the bodily assumption of Mary is, or any of the other myriad doctrines of which he is vaguely aware. He just mouths the words and takes communion and goes to confession and hopes that by doing so he is somehow saved. In truth, he doesn’t believe anything meaningfully; but he is comforted by some discussions with friends of his in the parish. One of them tells him, “we are not saved by intelligence, but by faith”. Juan supposes this could be right. He doesn’t understand the doctrines, but he has faith that they must be true. If there is any real understanding to be had, it is apparently only accessible to a select few authoritative Catholics. The laity rely on faith: they do what they are told they must do to be saved. Another friend tells him, “salvation requires obedience, not understanding.” That sounds right. The laity are saved by performing certain rituals. They trust in the rituals, and in the authority which instituted them. That’s the extent of their Christian faith.

That must be right. That’s how Roman Catholicism has always been. Peasants can’t be expected to have spiritual insight; they are just simple sheep. They need to be shepherded; told what to do. These things don’t change just because social standards and education have. Juan may work in IT, but to Rome he is still a peasant.

In the comment stream of a recent post by Ken Perrott, ‘A new science-bashing campaign?’, some discussion has been taking place about whether intelligent design (ID) can be considered scientific. Typically, secular scientists are vocal in their assertion that ID is a philosophical idea, and not a scientific one. It’s inappropriate to treat ID as if it were a scientific theory, or as if there is real evidence to support it, they say. And there is the vocal minority of ID supporters who push back and say the opposite.

In the comments on Ken’s article, the editor of Christian News New Zealand cited an article on Opposing Views by Jay W Richards, titled ‘Is Intelligent Design Science?’. I encourage you to read this article; it argues simply, yet I think persuasively, that it is not unreasonable to consider ID science—and that wherever you stand on the issue, you’d be naive to dismiss ID as unscientific by trying to define science in such a way as to preclude it.

In response to this article, Christian blogger Dale Campbell, who is an evolutionist, said:

What Jay Richards and others need to realise is that ‘ID’ is a philosophical inference which attempts to be scientifically informed. It starts with an inference, and then tries to find/match it with science – or (re)interpret science to try and match it up with the inference. The inference is not scientific, but philosophical.

Now, I don’t think Dale is opposing ID per se; rather, he is expressing his view that it’s a philosophical, rather than scientific position. As a Christian, I’m sure he does believe in ID; and as a Christian, certainly ID is a philosophical position. But does this preclude it from being scientific as well?

I don’t believe it does. Firstly, ID does not necessarily start with the inference of design, and then look for data in support of it. In fact, I think manifestly the fact that ID is not a specifically religious view demonstrates that it is quite possible and reasonable for it to be an a postiori rather than an a priori inference. Certainly for the Christian it must be treated as a priori: we come to the study of science with the presupposition that the universe was designed and created by God. But ID is not confined to Christianity, nor to religion at all. ID is simply the thesis that the universe, or some part thereof, was designed. A non-religious scientist could come to this conclusion quite reasonably by studying empirical data, and deciding that the facts at his disposal are best explained by a designer.

Is this an unscientific conclusion? Is it merely philosophical? This question raises another in turn: What is the difference between a “philosophical” as opposed to a “scientific” inference? For my own part, I’m not sure I see a clear distinction between them. Scientific inferences have two defining characteristics that I can see: (i) they start from empirical data; (ii) they are by nature abductive (and/or inductive; but abduction really is what defines them). Abduction, however, is itself a philosophical process; so I don’t see how we can deny that scientific inference itself is intrinsically philosophical. It is simply a kind of philosophical inference. All inference is philosophical in one way or another; and abduction is arguably more influenced by philosophical concerns than straightforward deduction.

But if scientific inference is characterized by these two principal factors, then how is ID not a scientific inference? Empiricism and abduction seem to describe the inference of ID just as well as any uncontroversial scientific inference which comes to mind.

Typically, I’d expect a scientist to say that I’ve omitted a third factor: scientific inferences need to be falsifiable. But there are two obvious objections to this: (a) falsifiability is a relatively modern notion in the history of science, and as such can’t be used to define science qua science. But more importantly, (b) it’s transparently evident that not all scientific inferences—indeed, perhaps not even most scientific inferences—are falsifiable. It’s not inferences which scientists generally require to be falsifiable, but theories. But even then, a theory is just the conclusion of a number of inferences (ie, it is itself an inference), many of which might not be themselves falsifiable; so the demand of falsifiability seems rather arbitrary.

Whether or not ID is true, and whether or not anyone can or has come up with falsifiable hypotheses about it, it does seem to me that Jay Richards is correct in his evaluation that it is not intrinsically unscientific. As he explains, we can’t validly keyhole science to fit certain preconceived philosophical notions about the world. In fact, the attempt to define ID out of science is openly prejudiced and hypocritical, being the attempt to exclude philosophical views of the world from science, on the basis of a philosophical view of the world. The definition of science really is not as fixed, narrow, or agreed upon as anti-ID scientists and philosophers would like to say it is.

But the sad thing is what this does to our children. When children are denied access to science, to an understanding of reality, that is immoral. Its a form of child abuse. We should think of this when we hear news of creationists attempts to introduce their material into New Zealand’s school science classes (see Culture wars come to New Zealand). And what about those children who are educated in ‘faith school’? Or those home educated? What guarantee is there that they are not being denied access to a good education in science?

This sort of rhetoric is pretty common from New Atheists, but I didn’t really expect it from Ken. He’s usually more fair-minded. It’s hard to believe that someone who claims the rational high ground can casually throw out the accusation of child abuse. But perhaps this just shows how easily “freethinkers” are influenced by, and indoctrinated in New Atheist dogma. In any case, I want to respond carefully, thoughtfully, and in some detail to this “child abuse” charge. I think that when it’s calmly and carefully examined, it reflects extremely poorly on the people who make it.

Defining the charges

According to Ken, “when children are denied access to science, to an understanding of reality, that is immoral. Its [sic] a form of child abuse.” I infer the following four premises from his statement:

1. Having a right understanding of science is a necessary condition for having a right understanding of reality.
2. Not teaching children a right understanding of reality is immoral.
3. Therefore, not teaching children a right understanding of science is immoral.
4. The kind of immorality involved is in the category of child abuse.

I don’t think any of these premises are unfairly stated. Indeed, I’ve been very conservative. In particular, premise (i) is quite weakly worded considering that Ken not only relates “science” to “an understanding of reality”, but—implicitly—to an exclusively correct understanding. I think it could very justly be reworded: “having a right understanding of science is a sufficient condition for having a right understanding of reality.” But often people state things more strongly than they might necessarily mean, and so I have taken the weaker interpretation here.

Responding to the charges

Each of these premises bear comment. I really will try to be brief, but if you want to get to the meat of the issue, skip right on down to item (iv).

i. Having a right understanding of science is a necessary condition for having a right understanding of reality

This premise raises an obvious question: which understanding of science is necessary for understanding reality? As scientists are so fond of pointing out, science is an ever-changing discipline. Theories which are accepted today are thrown out tomorrow and replaced with new ones which are thrown out in turn the next day. So off the bat, how can this premise be true? More problematically, though, as any good scientist will readily admit, science is always wrong. Einstein, for example, is famously quoted as saying about reality, “We know nothing about it at all. Our knowledge is but the knowledge of school children [...] We shall know a little more than we do now. But the real nature of things—that we shall never know, never.”1

Given this, the most that can reasonably be claimed about science is that understanding it is necessary for understanding the latest scientific theories about reality; which is really saying nothing at all. It doesn’t speak to the success of science in actually understanding reality; nor to the importance of this in education.

And this being the case, premise (i) is manifestly untrue; and even any scientist worth his salt would rightly scoff at it. If reality is to be understood—actually understood—then science is not the tool to use. So this premise must, at the very least, be amended to say that a right understanding of science is a necessary condition for having an approximate understanding of reality. Even then, however, it must be pointed out that science is not, by any means, a sufficient condition for having an approximate understanding of reality—not if “reality” is taken to mean “everything which exists”. After all, if non-physical souls actually do exist, or if God exists, what can science say about these things? Nothing at all. And if science can say nothing at all about the matter of souls, or God, and if souls and God do exist, then science alone cannot by any means furnish us with even an approximate understanding of reality. A scientist would have to beg the question to make that claim.

ii. Not teaching children a right understanding of reality is immoral

Under a Christian worldview this charge could be defended—at least to a degree. The defense would look something like this:

1. Understanding the gospel is a necessary condition for rightly understanding reality (because a right understanding of reality requires an understanding of God and our relationship to him).
2. We are commanded to preach the gospel to everyone (Matthew 28:19–20), and especially to our children (Deuteronomy 6:7).
3. It is immoral (ie, it is sin) to transgress the commands of God.
4. Therefore, it is immoral to not preach the gospel to our children.
5. Therefore, by implication, it is immoral to not teach our children (or any children for whom we are responsible) a right understanding of reality insomuch as that understanding is conveyed in the gospel.

Thus, from a Christian perspective, I am compelled to agree with (ii) to the extent that theological knowledge must be taught to children. Perhaps a case could be made that scientific knowledge must be taught also, but I can’t think how; so I leave it as an exercise for you, the reader.

But Ken is speaking atheistically, not as a Christian. And what grounds does an atheist have to say that something (anything) is immoral? What grounds does he have to say, in particular, that not teaching children an understanding of reality is immoral? Not that I don’t agree with him, but how can he justify his belief here, under an atheistic worldview? He can’t just assert that it’s immoral—he has to be able to show that he has grounds for his assertion. It must be congruent with the rest of what he believes. That’s a burden of proof that he has yet to take up, and without which his accusation is just so much hot air.

iii. Therefore, not teaching children a right understanding of science is immoral

I’ve largely dealt with this conclusion by exposing the complete lack of justification for the premises which lead to it. But notice what a strong, very broad claim it is. Anyone who doesn’t teach their children science (whether in person or by way of schooling) is a child abuser. That is no doubt easy for Ken to say, living in an affluent first world nation where education is taken for granted. But does he think it applies everywhere in the world? If not, why not? And does he think it applies through all of history? If not, why not?

Notice also that a Christian—even a Christian who is himself a scientist—cannot teach his children science in such a way that secular theories are undermined, because secular theories are a priori assumed to be right, and Christian theories (which contradict these) are wrong. So under Ken’s view, Russell Humphreys could not teach his children both big bang and white hole cosmology,2 and conclude that the white hole model must be closer to the truth. That would be so extremely immoral that it is best characterized as child abuse. To actually hold to anything other than a purely secular scientific view of the world, and to pass this on to your children, is child abuse. Since it’s absurd to think that any parent would teach his children that which he believes to be false, it follows that Ken must either think that non-materialists should never be allowed to have children; or at the very least that they should never be allowed to actually parent their children. That is how extreme the logical conclusion of Ken’s view is. Far more extreme than any kind of Christian fundamentalism. Manifestly, in the minds of people like Ken science is no less a fundamentalist religion than any other.

But even if a “right” understanding of science is taught to children, how much is enough? At what point of education have we satisfied our alleged moral obligation to teach science? Most children in New Zealand only learn science up until the age of about fifteen—and what they learn is hardly systematic or comprehensive. Are we, as a country, being grossly immoral by not teaching science better? Are we, as a nation, abusing our children? Should we be enforcing mandatory science education to a university level? And after that, what sort of moral obligation is passed on to children when they become old enough to learn for themselves? Are they acting unethically if they don’t continue to maintain their knowledge of new scientific theories? Are they abusing themselves? If my daughter has no interest in science and never learns anything about it after the age of fifteen, is some kind of immorality going on?

Lastly, is this ethical rule only applicable to science? What about music or math? Art or languages? Is it immoral to not teach those? If not, why not? If so, then all the same questions above apply.

iv. The kind of immorality involved is in the category of child abuse

This is really the crux of the matter. Let me expand on it a bit so that it’s quite clear what is being claimed.

Child abuse is emotional, physical, or sexual harm caused by maltreatment or neglect of a child.3 It is a serious crime. It is wrong—not merely in the sense that speeding on public roads is wrong, or stealing from work. Those are wrong, but not in the sense of being “evil” or “wicked” as people generally use those terms. You don’t go to jail for those sorts of crimes. But child abuse actually is evil. People who abuse children are considered sick; depraved. They go to jail for it.

So Ken is saying that when I teach my daughter at the age of, say, seven years that (a) the Bible is the infallible word of God; (b) that the soundest exegetical understanding of the book of Genesis is as historical narrative; and (c) that orthodox (secular) scientific theories of origins (including cosmological and biological theories) must therefore be mistaken—that I am actually abusing her in a wicked, criminal way, and that I ought to be incarcerated. It is as if I did not feed her and let her become emaciated. It’s as if I let her broken leg turn septic instead of taking her to a doctor. It’s as if I continually shouted obscenities at her, telling her that she’s ugly and fat and hateful and that I can’t stand the sight of her. It’s like me beating her with a hose, or perhaps raping her every now and again. That’s what child abuse is, after all: emotional, physical, or sexual maltreatment or neglect. So teaching my daughter that the Bible is the word of God, and that secular theories which contradict it must therefore be wrong, is in the same category as doing these things to her.

How can I respond to this? Instinctively, with a manly left hook. Failing that, I can only ask: Ken, are you truly that deeply lost in the pit of your self-made religion, worshiping science, that you cannot see the total idiocy of such an accusation? I’m not in favor of teaching children rubbish either. But I’m not going to stand up and say that atheists are child-abusers because they teach their kids nonsense like that there’s no immaterial soul. Or even that they are child abusers for teaching their children utter tripe, such as that Christian homeschoolers are all child abusers. That would just be stupid. It would be, in fact, slander. They’d be rightly not a little ticked off if some religious nutjob accused them of abusing their kids by teaching them what they believe to be true. So why do I need to stand here meekly while some non-religious nutjob accuses me of the same thing?

This is the sort of rhetoric typical of the New Atheists. It is deeply, deeply hypocritical. It is big on vitriol and emotion, but tiny on rational thought. It’s a sadly ironic accusation. Christians are supposed to be the close-minded, unreasoning bigots—but we aren’t the ones saying this sort of thing. We don’t just teach our children that science is sometimes wrong; we have reasons for teaching them this. For believing that the Bible is the word of God. If you doubt it, just look through some of the posts on this blog. Read my book. Read other Christian apologists or philosophers. Read Plantinga or Lewis or Aquinas. Are we also abusing our children when we teach them the arguments made by these great thinkers? What about when we teach them the arguments made by (let’s not mince words) morons like Dawkins and Dennett, and set them homeschool assignments in Year 7 to refute their jejune reasoning? You don’t have to agree with what we say, but what happened to that central sentiment of the Enlightenment: defending our right to say it? You’re turning into the very thing you claim to hate: extremists who believe that anyone who disagrees with you is not only wrong, not only irrational, not only dangerous, but criminal.

You’re turning into the medieval Catholic Church. Stop it before there’s another inquisition.

1. Cited from Gordon Clark, Philosophy of Science and Belief in God (Trinity Foundation: 1996); pp viii–ix.
2. Russell Humphreys, Starlight and Time: Solving the Puzzle of Distant Starlight in a Young Universe (USA: Master Books, 1994).
3. See answers.com, ‘child abuse’ (http://www.answers.com/child%20abuse) for various definitions along these lines from a number of encyclopedias.

Related posts:

1. “No one is righteous”…metaphorically speaking

I. These examples have an alien social context

That is, in the ancient society in which these examples appear, a strong and (to our ears) harsh rebuke was sometimes necessary to save face. To fail to defend oneself in such a way was shameful; conversely, to do so maintained one’s honor. But we do not live in an honor/shame society where this is understood and accepted as appropriate behavior. We live in a guilt/reward society with quite different norms of discourse. Therefore, whatever else we take from these examples, a certain amount of circumspection is required in converting them to our own situation. They are not immediately normative.

II. These examples are generally inapplicable

When I look at the examples in Scripture of one party disciplining or deriding another, I find it hard to see how they are applicable to any typical online scenario. In order for us to be warranted in emulating the Bible’s examples of discipline and derision, there must be a parity between (a) the parties we are disciplining and those parties in Scripture; (b) ourselves and the disciplining party in Scripture; and ideally (c) the mechanism of discipline itself. But when I consider the situations involved, the analogy between any and all of these elements seems tenuous.

a. The disciplined parties

The examples we find in Scripture where discipline or derision are used seem generally to be examples of unbelievers teaching falsehoods or otherwise questioning the authority of God. The prophets of Baal; the Scribes and Pharisees; the Judaizers; etc. Examples of less severe rebukes are common in the case of believers who are led astray by such false teachers.

Now, it is true that online there are many ministries and individuals who have assumed the authority to teach heresies, blasphemy, and falsehood—and they should be exposed and dealt with in some way. Assuming that items (b) and (c) below are analogous to this situation, they should be dealt with even with discipline and derision. But that remains to be seen; and I am not thinking so largely of these sorts of people, but rather more generally: of bloggers who simply hold to different views of some doctrines than we do. They are not necessarily assuming any particular authority or running any ministry, and they are not necessarily heretics or unbelievers—they just don’t agree with us on everything, and they wish to explain and defend their contrary views. These are not necessarily cult leaders, nor even cult members. They are not generally unbelievers, and don’t consider themselves so; and they are not usually mocking God (at least, not deliberately). In short, as long as we are conversing with professing Christians, even when they are not Christians, it is atypical for us to be in discourse with people who are like the sorts of people who are disciplined and derided in Scripture.

b. The disciplining parties

Perhaps more importantly, though, we must ask ourselves if we are warranted in emulating who we are emulating. And not merely who, because Jesus certainly mocked the Pharisees, and as Christians we are certainly to emulate him, but in what capacity? That is, is there a parity between the role of the person doing the disciplining in Scripture, and our own role online? Are our situations analogous?

In every case that I can think of in Scripture, it is either a prophet who is doing the disciplining and deriding (Jesus and the Apostles being foremost among them), or it is someone in a position of leadership. So either their role is one of authority appointed directly by God; or it is one of authority appointed by men. I think we can safely dispense with the first group as being entirely inapplicable today, since none of us think we are appointed as prophets by God. As regards the second group, it is certainly true that some of us may be in positions of authority in various ministries—but what bearing does that have in the larger online community? Such authority is specifically limited in scope. I am not subject to the authority of, say, John Piper. He is a Reformed Baptist pastor—but he is not my Reformed Baptist pastor. But how many of us are even in a position such as that? If you are a pastor or an elder in your church, then you are certainly obligated to exercise discipline among your congregation; yet your authority does not extend to other congregations. But most of us are not pastors or elders; we are simply Christians passionate about the truth. So our situation is by no means analogous to the situations of those in Scripture who we find disciplining and deriding unbelievers and false teachers. We just don’t have the authority they do. In fact, we have no authority at all (except perhaps what authority is imputed to us by Christians who recognize that we accurately and faithfully expound the Scriptures—but that does not supersede the authority of their church). So, online, to assume the sort of authority over someone which leads us to rebuke him is to usurp the authority of his own church. Do we think that highly of our own standing? Do we despise the church that God has built, and make ourselves elders of the internet?

c. The mechanism of discipline

Thirdly, what is the medium of communication for discipline or derision which we find in Scripture? Since online interaction is primarily written, we should be looking for written examples. Those examples where discipline or derision is spoken are a step removed from our own circumstances, and therefore cannot be immediately transferred. This is not to say that they are inapplicable—just that they are not directly analogous. We need to justify our use of them. Yet all of the strongest examples of discipline and derision in Scripture seem to be face-to-face encounters. True, there are written examples also, but they are more tempered and diffident, precisely because (we may assume) it is more difficult to gage what is being said when there are no non-verbal cues. Therefore, it is reasonable to ask: even assuming (a) and (b) are analogous to our situation, would we be willing to say the same things to the person’s face and as they appear (not necessarily as we mean them) as we are saying to them online? If not, then it seems our situation is still not analogous to Scriptural examples. And, if not, we must also ask ourselves why not. Is it because we are in fact being overly harsh? Is it because it would not be appropriate? Is it because we are afraid? Is it because we are speaking above ourselves in some way?

III. Other, contrary examples are generally more applicable

The people with whom we are conversing are usually professing Christians. Now, it is reasonable to be discerning regarding that profession, but even in cases of significant doubt we are not necessarily warranted in treating someone as an unbeliever. What can we glean from Scripture with regard to how we should treat others who profess the faith (even when they are expounding serious heresies)? Consider the Corinthians, or the Galatians. Paul certainly spoke harshly to them at times, and was thoroughly warranted in doing so. Their errors were certainly magnificent. Yet, while many of us today might well have simply dismissed them as unbelievers, Paul did not. Similarly, his language was not as harsh as that which many Christian bloggers might use today against far less egregious views.

More pertinently, we are given specific instructions in various places as to how we ought to conduct ourselves—either with believers or unbelievers. We are reminded to examine ourselves before drawing attention to the fault of another. We are reminded to make ourselves last even if we may be first. We are told to conduct ourselves with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience—even when we are reviled and that respect is not deserved. We are told that discipline is not warranted before we have reasoned and pleaded with a brother; and that we are to hand him over to his church, rather than disciplining him ourselves. These are all difficult to reconcile with the attitude we customarily might adopt online.

Furthermore, when we seek to correct someone, or when we interact in a pedagogical capacity with another blogger, we are implicitly claiming to have wisdom and understanding—even wisdom and understanding that they do not. If we genuinely do, then this alone is sufficient to lend authority to our words; we do not need to magnify our own importance with rebukes and stinging remarks. We do not need to insult or ridicule our opponents. Indeed, though I claim no perfection on my own part, let me ask: Who is wise and understanding among you? By his good conduct let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom. But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast and be false to the truth. This is not the wisdom that comes down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual—demonic! For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace (James 3:13ff).

It seems to me that this is a genuine indictment upon the attitude of many well-meaning Christians online. It is certainly an indictment upon my own attitude on occasions; particularly in the past. It is easy to say that the Bible commands harsh language and a disciplinary attitude at times; but it is harder to show that it is ever justified in our own case. And regardless of how we intend to come across, blogging is generally an implicitly instructive exercise. We would do well to remember that teachers will be judged more severely. It is easy to say that we are rebuking someone out of love, and mocking them because, in our charity, we wish to show them the error of their ways. But God knows our hearts, and know that love is patient and kind; it is not arrogant or rude or irritable or resentful. It bears all things and endures all things; it does not insist on its own way.

IV. Some practical suggestions

That said, let me offer some considerations which I have been increasingly trying to keep in mind as I write—

• Even if I am genuinely acting out of love, how do I appear to be acting to others? If I appear arrogant and rude, irritable and impatient, unkind and resentful, then I am not representing Christ or Christianity, and contradict my intentions. I may rightly be called to account.
• Conversely, God knows the heart; I do not. It is not my place to judge the intentions or motivations of those with whom I am debating. Perhaps they are thoroughly unreasonable. Perhaps they are not saved. Perhaps they wish only to slander me or promote their own agenda, being quite disinterested in the truth. But perhaps they are saved; perhaps they are just having difficulty with the doctrines in question; perhaps they think they are acting as they should, even when they are mistaken; perhaps they are simply immature. It is uncharitable and counterproductive to dwell negatively on my opponents’ motives—even if I am right.
• I can trust God, or I can trust myself. When I am defending a difficult doctrine and trying to persuade my opponent of its truth, I can either do it in a way which encourages him to consider it further, and then trust God to work in his heart over time—or I can insist on my own way and condemn him as a heretic if he does not listen, and thereby encourage him to never associate with me or others like me again. In one situation I will be jointly accountable for his error on the day of judgment; in one I will not.
• God uses debate to correct all parties. The possibility exists that I am wrong. If I keep this in mind I will be appropriately humble, as the Bible commands; and I will remember that my place is not that of a teacher except inasmuch as I am recognized as such by others because I am faithful to the Word. If I fail to keep this in mind, I will be inappropriately overbearing and self-assured, and probably ignore or overlook a valuable insight of some kind, because I did not believe that God could use my opponent to teach me.
• I am saved by grace from sins against God which utterly eclipse any sin against me. How then can I be ungracious to anyone, let alone my own brothers in Christ?
• On the day of judgment everyone will give account for every careless word. I therefore write carefully, re-reading and rewording what I intend to say until I am certain I will not be ashamed when I am asked to give an account for it.

Finally, let me encourage all my fellow bloggers to re-read the book of James. Consider the demeanor of its author, and meditate on what he says about the tongue. In writing online, in such a public arena, we are particularly beholden to these teachings. So let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger—for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness that God requires.

It struck me as I put the phone down how terribly sad it is that this is the best hope an unbeliever can offer another. Although it was he who was trying to comfort me, I felt that it was I who should have reached out to comfort him. His thinking about us would not keep Sarah healthy; wishing for it would not produce a safe delivery; and luck is just an adjective for whether an event is favorable or not. Yet unbelievers don’t just use these sorts of platitudes as window-dressing. They really mean them, and need them. Their best and only source of hope lies in the patently hopeless; yet they are willing to ignore this because they need hope so badly.

For my part, I had something infinitely more valuable than my colleagues’ thoughts and good wishes. I had prayer, and the prayers of my family and friends; and the assurance that a sovereign God who loves me and my family was listening, and working out all things for our good. In comparison, the platitudes of my colleagues, well meant as they were, were simply worthless to me. The good wishes of a million people might be behind me and I would despair but for my knowledge that God is behind me too. They could be against me instead and it would make no odds. It is only in the power and love of God that I can rest for assurance.

Now you might object, and I know that many skeptics will, that it’s easy to say such things in hindsight, after everything turned out well. It wouldn’t be so easy to write such a smug post if Sarah had died and I was an only parent with a baby in the critical care ward. But let me remind you of two things: Firstly, I didn’t know how events would unfold when I made that phonecall. I was not assuming that God would provide the outcome I was praying for simply because he loves me. I am not that naive. Indeed, although God has been immensely good to me, and the trials with which he has tested me have been meager in comparison to some, it is during those very trials that I have been most acutely aware of his loving providence and the over-arching goodness of his purposes. So if you wish to test the genuineness and strength of the hope that is within me, test it according to my reaction at the time—not afterwards when everything has turned out well. But then you will find no fault, for I obeyed Scripture’s command to not be anxious about anything, but by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving made my requests known to God (Phil 4:6). Not that I obeyed perfectly—but I obeyed. Secondly, how much stronger would my hope be if things had gone badly! If I were writing this with my wife in the grave and my baby in the hospital, would I need the assurance of God’s providence more or less? Do you think that my assurance is based on things going well? On the contrary! I could not have made the first point above if my hope were not prepared exactly for those times when things go badly. It is a hope based on the assurance of the ultimate wellbeing of all God’s people. The Bible does not teach health and wealth—quite the opposite. But it teaches that God loves his own, and answers their prayers; and so I have a hope both for the temporal well-being of my family, and a far greater hope for their eternal well-being in the resurrection, when that temporal well-being is taken away.

Is faith a crutch on which we lean in times of trouble, as some atheists sneeringly assert? You’d better believe it is. If you don’t, you don’t believe what the Bible says about it, and what hope do you have? Let the unbeliever mock, as Paul was mocked at the Areopagus, and as our Lord was mocked on the cross. His jeer is empty and his ridicule turns back on itself. Is he jealous that we have such hope? Let him join us, for it is offered to all. Is he angry that we believe what is false? Why be angry if it is not true? Is he afraid that we do not hope in vain? Let him fear no longer, but repent and believe. Is he contemptuous because he needs no hope for himself? What will his contempt gain him in the grave? For what reason does he rail against us? Does he despise those who admit their weakness? Or does that weakness imply error? But we have the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. We run the race with endurance, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith—who, for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is now seated at the right hand of God on high. Our hope is built on nothing less than the knowledge that we will one day be there also.

Thank you to everyone who supported us in prayer; and may God be glorified through our child.

If you are unable to view the embedded slideshow above, click here to go straight to the album.

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” So the Pharisees said to him, “You are bearing witness about yourself; your testimony is not true.” Jesus answered, “Even if I do bear witness about myself, my testimony is true, for I know where I came from and where I am going, but you do not know where I come from or where I am going. You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one. Yet even if I do judge, my judgment is true, for it is not I alone who judge, but I and the Father who sent me. In your Law it is written that the testimony of two people is true. I am the one who bears witness about myself, and the Father who sent me bears witness about me.” They said to him therefore, “Where is your Father?” Jesus answered, “You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also” (John 8:12-19).

I was struck by this passage as I read through chapters 7 and 8 of the gospel of John, because the situation in which Jesus finds himself is so familiar to me. As Christians, we carry on the work of Jesus in proclaiming that he is the light of the world. We testify that whoever follows his word will not walk in darkness. Sometimes we are able to present a comprehensive apologetic detailing why the word of God is necessary to have light, and why anyone without it is indeed in darkness intellectually and spiritually. Sometimes we simply affirm it as the truth without elaboration. In either case, what is one of the chief responses we receive? In my own experience, it is, “Even if your arguments make sense, they beg the question, because they rely on the very Scripture whose authority you are trying to prove! This is circular—I have no reason to believe it. You’re trying to tell me that Scripture is true because Scripture says that it’s true.”

This is the same accusation that Jesus himself faced when he declared the truth before the Pharisees. The world will not accept the word of God for what it is. Even though Jesus is the truth—the very standard for declaring and for judging what is right and what is wrong—the world will not accept this standard. They demand an “external” standard for determining what is true and what is false. If some claim cannot be subjected to whatever means of evaluation they normally use, then it is worthless. How could it be known to be true?

This sort of attitude assumes that man is autonomous in his ability to discover truth. It assumes that he is in such a position that he can judge any claim, and appraise its truthfulness apart from God himself. Thus Jesus says, “you judge according to the flesh”. It is impossible to rightly discern the truth of God’s word if one is judging according to the flesh, for these truths “are spiritually discerned”, so that the natural person “is not able to understand them” (1 Cor 2:14). To assume that there is some other standard by which to judge God’s word is to make something higher than God himself. It makes our God-given faculties higher than the God who gave them. Anyone doing this is therefore implicitly denying the authority of God even as he pretends to be impartially examining the evidence so as to decide whether or not God has authority.

Our response to this self-deceiving attitude should be the same as Jesus’. Firstly, we should point out how ridiculous it is to claim that something is not true simply because it attests to itself. Even if Scripture does bear witness about itself—and how could it not, for what higher witness is there than God’s own word (Heb 6:13)?—the fact is that its witness is true. We know this because we have the Spirit of God, who attests to us that this is so. We do not need, and could not find, a higher witness.

Secondly, we should respond according to the world’s own standards. For, since Scripture is true, we can use whatever means of determining truth the unbeliever likes to show this, provided these means are actually valid (if they are not, we should refute them instead). We practice that curious dichotomy:

Answer not a fool according to his folly,
lest you be like him yourself.
Answer a fool according to his folly,
lest he be wise in his own eyes (Pr 26:4-5).

First, we reveal the foolishness of making our God-given means of determining truth higher than our creator, by refusing to do so ourselves. Second, once we have shown the folly of worldly judgment, we use it nonetheless to show that, even by that worldly judgment, the truth of God’s word is evident. The foolishness of the unbeliever is not only in presuming to stand over God as judge, but is also in judging incompetently and coming to the wrong conclusions. He is so darkened and hardened against God’s word that he will neither accept its own testimony, nor evaluate its claims honestly as he would any others. Indeed, this latter concern is something for which Christians must particularly be prepared as they examine the Bible with unbelievers. The refusal of non-Christians to interact with the text of Scripture as they would with any other text becomes manifest and flagrant. Normal textual criticism will be utterly disregarded and rejected in order to preserve their prejudiced preconceptions about God’s word. We must answer the fool according to his folly so as to destroy his illusion of wisdom; but not before we refuse to answer him according to that folly, lest we be like him ourselves.

So we have a twofold task in declaring God’s word. On the one hand, we show that objections to the truth we affirm are baseless in their own right, and so Scripture stands firm. On the other hand, we show that, even by the unbeliever’s own standards, he has failed to rightly judge the truth of God’s word, and so stands condemned.

I, Paul, myself entreat you, by the meekness and gentleness of Christ—I who am humble when face to face with you, but bold toward you when I am away!—I beg of you that when I am present I may not have to show boldness with such confidence as I count on showing against some who suspect us of walking according to the flesh. For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete (2 Corinthians 10:1-5).

This passage is frequently cited by Christians to support the doctrine and practice of apologetics. That is why I have chosen it. It openly states that Christians are engaged in spiritual warfare—though not “according to the flesh”, “using mere human weapons” (AB). Rather, looking at the Greek, the weapons of our campaign are powerfully able through God to destroy not physical fortresses, but rather to tear down the high walls of human reasoning and speculation which people raise in their minds against the knowledge of God.

This is an encouraging passage. It speaks strongly of the intellectual superiority of the Christian worldview. However, although it is commonly used as a prooftext for the power and method of Christian apologetics, when we read it in its larger context it is difficult not to notice that it is actually directed inward, toward the church; rather than outward, toward unbelievers. Paul is not speaking about evangelism here, but rather is issuing a warning to those in the Corinthian church who believe he is “walking in the flesh”. He begs them not to give him cause to use these spiritual weapons against them because of their disobedience. His concern is to ensure that every wrong opinion and every bad argument which is raised against his preaching is refuted, so that believers in the church may have their minds increasingly conformed to “the mind of Christ” (1 Cor 2:16), and increasingly obedient to his gospel. This is of much importance to him in all the churches. He encourages the faithful Philippians to be of “one mind, striving side by side for the faith of the gospel” (Phil 1:27; cf 2:5); he directs the Romans to “not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Rom 12:2); and he instructs the Ephesians “to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Eph 4:23-24).

Therefore, 2 Corinthians 10:5 is specifically a passage which supports polemics as a part of church discipline. It does not speak directly to the topic of apologetics. However, what is polemics if not the practice of apologetics directed toward other believers? If the weapons of our warfare are able to tear down intellectual strongholds within the church, taking every thought captive to obey Christ, then how much more will they be capable of powerfully refuting unbelieving worldviews, which do not even have the benefit of claiming Scripture in their support. It is clear that our spiritual weapons are equally effective against all kinds of unbelief; wherever it may appear. The purpose of wielding them is ultimately to ensure that every thought is taken captive to obey Christ—which in turn is the basis for punishing disobedience. But obedience to Christ is not something required only of Christians, but of all people. It is the imperative fiat on which the gospel of grace which we preach is based: “The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead” (Acts 17:30-31). It is the absolute moral duty of all people everywhere to submit to the gospel, which, “through the prophetic writings has been made known to all nations, according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith” (Rom 16:26). Therefore, the spiritual weapons which we wield are fitted not only for correction and sanctification within the church, but for the evangelism and conversion of the lost.

What precisely is the nature of these weapons, however? It is clear from the passage that they are not physical, but spiritual or intellectual; and that they have the power of God. But Paul does not explicitly describe them. He seems to be referring to his own preaching, and possibly to his letters. Since he was plainly aware that his words carried the weight of God’s own revelation (cf Gal 1:12), this is consistent with the metaphor he uses in Ephesians 6:10-20. That passage therefore casts a great deal of light on this one, since he evidently has the same idea in mind, but approaches it from the more holistic perspective of sanctification; thus treating it more fully, and providing some useful context for his briefer comment in 2 Corinthians. For, as he says in Ephesians, not only do we not “wrestle against flesh and blood”, but our battle is “against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph 6:12). With this in view, we can understand the spiritual landscape on which the warfare mentioned in 2 Corinthians 10 takes place. It is not merely Christians correcting other Christians, or Christians refuting non-Christians—rather, there is an entire army supporting our human opponents: an army of angels, led by Satan, who is the ruler of this world from the supernatural realm.

Understanding this, it is clear why we require truth, righteousness, the gospel, faith, and salvation for our armor: none of these rely on our own strength or abilities, which are insignificant compared to those of Satan. They are given to us by God, for the very purpose of standing against the rulers of the current spiritual darkness in the world. Similarly, for the purpose of defeating these forces, we have been given the word of God as our sword. Undoubtedly, it is to this weapon which Paul refers in 2 Corinthians 10:5: to the Bible, and to its preaching, and to every argument made from it. The word of God is not merely our sword, but “the sword of the Spirit” (Eph 6:17), to be taken up “in all circumstances” (v 16). It is not Christians who have divine power to destroy strongholds—it is the weapon we employ. It is the word of God, and the Spirit of God, which are able to demolish arguments and every pretension which sets itself up against the knowledge of God (NIV), regardless in whom they are found. It is God who has the power to defeat the spiritual forces who wage their campaigns in support of these arguments and pretensions; and it is God who has the power to convert souls.

As Christians, we are in a unique and privileged position. In ourselves, we are powerless to change people’s hearts, or to reveal the truth of God to them. We cannot argue from our own reason, or our own experience, because these are as impotent and worthless as the unbeliever’s. Only the reason of God, and the experience of God, are effectual to powerfully convert the darkened minds of sinners. Yet we have been given these as divine weapons to use—we have the ability, and the authority, and the duty (Matt 28:19) to use them to defeat spiritual darkness, and to bring spiritual light. By faith, we are so united to Christ that we are entrusted with powerful weapons to fight for him. But let us also be cautious, for wielding powerful weapons entails not merely privilege, but responsibility. We must have discernment, fortitude, and confidence in them, if we are to use them correctly. But above all, we must be wielding them rightly—not by our own power, but in the power of God, through study, meditation, and prayer. Warfare easily brings out pride, cruelty, anger, arrogance, and a desire for power and glory. Yet we are not warriors of the world, and these things will bring judgment upon us. If we are to be proud, we must boast in the Lord; yet toward man we must be humble (Ps 34:2). If we are to be cruel, it must be in oppressing Satan through the preaching of the gospel; out of compassion for the lost. If we are to be angry, it must be because the holiness of God is impugned and despised; though we forebear any offense against ourselves. If we seem arrogant, it is because we know and boldly proclaim the truth without regard for the preference of man; since we submit to God instead. And if we desire power and glory, we are not to crave it for ourselves; but to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen (Jude 1:25).