“Do you have free will?” a recent article in the New York Times asks. “Yes, it’s the only choice.” So begins a fitful confrontation with the dilemma of free will in a world comprised only of the physical universe.

Although it never says it directly, the article appears to assume that the universe is deterministic. Everything happens as an unavoidable consequence of the events before; our choices are not free; and we are not morally responsible.

At the same time, it notes that “there seems to be a fairly universal gut belief in [free will] starting at a young age. When children age 3 to 5 see a ball rolling into a box, they say that the ball couldn’t have done anything else. But when they see an experimenter put her hand in the box, they insist that she could have done something else. That belief seems to persist no matter where people grow up”.

The article concludes that, “At an abstract level, people seem to be what philosophers call incompatibilists: those who believe free will is incompatible with determinism. If everything that happens is determined by what happened before, it can seem only logical to conclude you can’t be morally responsible for your next action.” Yet in our hearts, it says, we’re compatibilists who consider free will compatible with determinism. We believe that we do make choices, even though these choices are determined by previous events and influences. In fact, we must believe this to function properly, both at an individual level, and a societal one. Thus, “it’s the only choice”.

But this seems like a strange, even tendentious conclusion to draw. Did everyone surveyed actually believe the universe is deterministic? Or is that merely what the people in charge would like for these people to believe? The article speaks only of the subjects reasoning about a hypothetical universe. It doesn’t indicate that they conceded the universe really is deterministic. That belief is only clearly held by the philosophers who ran the tests, and the author of the article.

Do “average” people think the universe is deterministic in this way? That there is only physical matter/energy interacting according to invariable laws—and that, being part of it, we only act as these physical laws, and the prior states of the universe dictate?

I don’t think so. Most people do agree that in a deterministic universe no one would have free will. But they also, as the article points out, believe that we do have free will. The reasonable conclusion to draw is not that people are conflicted, believing both, but rather that they are consistent, rejecting determinism and affirming free will.

For example, people readily agree that we choose based on what we believe or what we feel. If you believe that buying a new car is like throwing money away, then you will buy a second hand car instead. Or if I feel that chocolate will be more delicious right now than cheese, then I will choose chocolate. I don’t take the chocolate simply because prior states of the universe acted according to physical laws, inexorably causing the atoms in my body to move in such a way that the part called my hand came into proximity with the object called chocolate and then moved again to bring it into proximity with the part of my body called my mouth, and so on. Yet this is what physical determinism says. I only ate the chocolate, and you only bought the second hand car, because of certain prior states of the universe and the operation of certain physical laws.

What this implies is not that physical determinism is true and yet we also have free will (because “there is no other choice”). On the contrary, what it implies to anyone who can think clearly is that physical determinism is false. The only obviously confused people are the philosophers who conducted the studies, and the journalist who penned the article.

The evident falsehood of physical determinism raises interesting questions. For example, when we say that we make choices based on beliefs and feelings, what exactly do we mean by “we”? Beliefs and feelings are not physical things. They certainly manifest physically in the brain, but a brain state is not a belief. A belief has properties like “aboutness” and “truth”, and is witnessed from the first person. A brain state has properties like “duration” and “location”, and is witnessed from the third person. This certainly seems to suggest that there’s more to us than just the physical. Usually we call it “soul” or “spirit”—but call it what you like, that is where the evidence leads. That’s where logic and common sense point us.

Oddly, it is scientists who are the least inclined to accept this. Some are notably acidic in their disgust, contempt, even hatred for such “delusional” views. But aren’t scientists, of all people, supposed to follow the evidence, regardless of personal belief?

This New York Times article demonstrates well how the Christian worldview makes more sense of the universe than the secular scientific one. If physical determinism is false, then we may indeed make choices based on beliefs and feelings. But if it is true, then even the scientific enterprise itself is just a sequence of inexorably caused physical events, with no correlation to “truth”. Similarly, if we are made in the image of God, then we should expect to be spiritual beings as well as physical ones, able to choose, and accountable to God for our choices. But if we are made by purely physical processes, then we are ultimately no more than complex arrangements of chemical reactions, reacting as the universe’s laws dictate.

“As for your two moral objections, the first is an objection to the doctrine of original sin. But once more, that doctrine is not universally affirmed by Christians and is not essential to the Christian faith. So don’t let that be a stumbling block for you.” —William Lane Craig

This is why, contrary to the objections of some, William Lane Craig is not the world’s foremost apologist. The first duty of apologetics is to the truth. Not to unbelieving presuppositions. You can’t have good apologetics without good theology.

A number of people then proceeded to disagree with me and defend Craig. (Here’s the context for Craig’s quote.) That debate has been well and truly hashed out, but to summarize, my contention is threefold:

1. Craig illicitly consigns the doctrine of original guilt to the status of a non-essential doctrine;
2. Craig indicates that if a doctrine is non-essential, you’re not obliged to believe it;
3. Per (1) and (2), Craig deflects the issue the wrong way: if he had wanted to avoid being sidetracked with this doctrine, he should have simply stated that whatever the Bible teaches on the matter must be believed; but instead he suggests that it isn’t necessary to believe anything.

This debate blossomed into an online conflagration between Steve Hays (who originally posted the quote that I then lifted to Facebook), Patrick Chan, myself, Glenn Peoples, and Matt & Maddy Flannagan. Here’s all the respective verbiage, in chronological order:

1. Steve: Bible-optional Christianity (Dec 28; the post that started it all)
2. Bnonn: Facebook wall post (Dec 29)
3. Steve: How mere is “mere Christianity”? (Dec 30)
4. Glenn: In Defence of William Lane Craig on Original Sin (Dec 31)
5. Matt & Maddy: William Lane Craig, Original Sin and Original Guilt (Dec 31)
6. Steve: Charity for me, but not for thee! (Dec 31)
7. Glenn: (un)Friendly fire (Jan 1)
8. Steve: Separated at birth (Jan 2)
9. Steve: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter! (Jan 2)
10. Patrick: Any steeples in Peoples? (Jan 3)
11. Steve: Every dog has its day (Jan 3)
12. Glenn: Deal Breakers and Christian Essentials (Jan 4)
13. Steve: Words of light and life (Jan 4)
14. Patrick: Self-serving Peoples (Jan 4)
15. Steve: Hansel & Gretel apologetics (Jan 5)

A lot of ink has been spilt. I’m loth to add to it. But some things need to be clarified for the sake of continued dialog and cooperation:

1. Craig’s bad apologetic method hasn’t been addressed

My original claim that William Lane Craig was wrong to demote the status of original guilt has received much criticism. That’s fine. But let me point out that my second and third claims, which deal more with his apologetic method, seem to have passed like ships in the night.

Remember, I said that Craig is essentially absolving the unbeliever of the obligation to believe what the Bible teaches about original sin (whatever that may be). As Steve has pointed out, this seems to be part of an overall apologetic strategy that draws the unbeliever in with some minimum facts about Christianity, and then tries to “trap” him by the regenerative work of the Spirit so that he’ll later come to accept doctrines which he currently finds objectionable. No doubt Craig would describe it differently, but that seems to be basically how the method plays out.

I think it’s important to distance ourselves as apologists from this kind of approach, and from any tactic of sidestepping a question that even implies that the unbeliever isn’t required to believe the words of Scripture. Because he is. Regardless of whether Craig is right to call original guilt a non-essential doctrine, his willingness to remove it as a stumbling block in this particular manner, so as to expedite his apologetic, is simply wrong.

2. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not shocked about anything

Glenn implied that I was shocked that earnest Christians could disagree with me on a matter such as original sin, and that this is because I’m insular, partisan, sheltered and so on. Now, I don’t grant his contention that Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholics are generally Christians. In fact, I think it’s plain that both these institutions are false churches, and it worries me that neither Glenn nor Matt see this.

But be that as it may, I’m not shocked at disagreement among Christians. In fact, that seems like a very strange thing to think, given that I tend to be pretty vocal about disagreeing with other Christians a lot of the time. It’s also odd given how shocked Glenn, Matt, and especially Maddy have acted at various points in the past couple of weeks. If I’m shocked because I’m insular, sheltered and partisan, what are their reasons? Or could it be that they’re actually not shocked, but I’m just misunderstanding—in which case why don’t I get the benefit of the doubt too?

3. I don’t think I’ve used the terms “liberal” and “evangelical” unfairly

Matt asked me on Facebook if I agree with Triablogue’s comments that Glenn is a liberal. I responded that since Glenn denies both hell and inerrancy, as they’re traditionally defined, it seems fair to use that label. I’d add that Triablogue have also observed that Glenn denies the historicity of Adam and Eve.

Glenn considers labeling him a theological liberal “below the belt”. I disagree. That’s certainly not how I meant it; I was just giving a brief and simple answer to Matt’s question. In my opinion, Glenn is theologically liberal. I’m a conservative Calvinist; I hold to a conservative view of what evangelicalism is. Traditionally, you’ll find that both hell and inerrancy have been doctrines affirmed in evangelicanism; and equally, doctrines which have been denied in liberalism. I think Donald Carson has written well on this (Jason Kumar, his Biggest Fan, could tell you for sure). Now, perhaps the term “evangelical” has become used so broadly in more recent times that it can include people who deny these doctrines; but in that case all that’s happened is that its meaning has expanded to be more…yeah, more liberal!

Simply put, since Triablogue and myself define liberalism in part by denials of eternal punishment, plenary inspiration, and a historical Adam, it’s not unfair for us to consider people who deny these doctrines liberals.

Notice that I never said Glenn is completely liberal, or a thoroughgoing liberal, or a liberal in every sense of the word. Obviously he’s not. As he himself has pointed out, he’s done much work in defending conservative views with which he agrees from liberal ones with which he does not. But I gotta point out, he’s also done a lot of work defending annihilationism from traditionalists—something that most traditionalists would consider a liberal thing to do! Simply put, if the shoe fits in this case, why try to deny it?

4. I’m not obliged to get into a protracted discussion on the merits of my opinion just because I told you what it was

Matt and Glenn were both upset with me because, when I answered Matt’s query about whether I agree if Glenn is a liberal, I then declined to defend that opinion on Facebook. Sorry guys, merely answering a question about what I think doesn’t oblige me to then get into a debate about it. You can treat it as an assertion on my part—that’s fine. Obviously without further argumentation it is. But you asked me for it. I gave it; but I never agreed to explaining it further (even though I did elaborate on my basic reasons for holding it) or defending it at length.

I find it strange that you seem very unwilling to accept this as my opinion, or accept that I have what I believe are good reasons for holding it. Your responses suggest that you think I’m being deliberately unfair and divisive. But how is that a charitable interpretation of my words? And let me point out that it takes two people sticking to their guns to make a division. Why do you get to be the good guys? Presumably we all think we have good reasons for our beliefs. So what’s the differentiating factor?

5. I don’t see any “wounded party” here

Matt, Maddy and Glenn have all made some show of how unfair and offensive the attacks on them have been. Matt and Maddy have claimed the parties opposing them are violating the principles of Matthew 18. Glenn has demanded that Steve repent of calling him a liberal.

Frankly—and excuse me for sounding a little uncharitable here but the apostle Paul was never afraid of saying it how it is, so who am I to differ?—this is a lot of two-faced ballyhooing. I mean, come on, are you eight? You don’t get to call people insular, sheltered and ignorant, would-be apologists, living in a bubble, partisans with unfair attitudes who fail to read patiently, carefully and fairly; and come in with a condescending attitude talking about how people can’t read in context, follow an argument, how you’re going to have to walk them through it, mocking their Alexa ranking (of all things) etc—and then turn around and put on airs, complaining about the conduct of others. That’s nothing but shrill hypocrisy, and I don’t mind pointing it out. If you’re going to demand a certain kind of conduct from others, it behooves you to set an example of it yourself. Especially when you’re citing Scripture as your justification.

If you don’t think the other party is responding appropriately or fairly, why don’t you just walk away? It takes two, as they say, to exacerbate a situation.

6. I don’t want to overblow these issues to the point that they obscure others

You’ll notice I walked away from the Facebook discussion on January 2. That’s because I didn’t think further dispute was going to be of any benefit to anyone—and especially not to the cause of our working together in the future. Trying to continue the debate seemed likely to cause only more division and offense. I don’t want that. I’d rather just disagree quietly in these particular ways than let them be a barrier to us working together in others.

My only reason for starting the Facebook thread was to draw attention to an obvious error made by Craig, which I think reflects a larger problem that seems to be almost lauded in apologetics: namely, philosophy directs theology, rather than vice versa. A lot of people got very worked up after that. I suppose if they want to do that, it’s their choice. But for the record, I’m not worked up. I’m actually pretty calm; though surprised that there was such a furore. I think maybe it’s time to let it go and move on to more productive things.

For the record: I’m not trying to burn any bridges. I’m not trying to put anyone down. I’m not implying any kind of refusal to cooperate with them in a general sense. Triablogue does not speak for me. And I think it’s fair to point out that I’ve said relatively little about the comments made by them. I didn’t start, and neither did I add to, the attack. My sole concern when I posted on Facebook was an error on the part of Craig; not anyone else. And I only stated my opinion regarding Glenn’s doctrinal position after I was asked.

I’d like it if we could all treat each other charitably, forgive each other if we feel we’ve been wronged, and move on to better things.

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.

Related posts:

1. The term “catholic” in the Nicene Creed

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.

Related posts:

1. NY Times twists on horns of secular free will dilemma

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.

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.

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