[If you’ve been following the discussion in the Comments on my “The dance of the straw men” post below, you’ll have noticed that I (and some others) have been carrying on a debate with a visitor named Brendan, a very intelligent, thoughtful and courteous Unitarian. I have just posted a comment in response to his question as to why one should believe the Bible, more than the scriptures of other religions.

My response is below. I think it’s worth giving it a blog post of its own. This is not my personal Christian testimony, and it does not delve into the mysteries of grace. It’s just an account of the line of reasoning that leads me to contemplate the Christian faith in the first place.]

As for believing in biblical Christianity, here’s my rationale.

It’s true that faith begins where reason leaves off. But the decision to take that step is itself a reasoned one. It’s as if I were to take a course in mountain climbing. When I decide to do that, I implicitly accept the idea that I will soon step outside my range of knowledge into territory where I’ve never been before, and do things that make no sense to me. I am prepared to follow my instructor’s commands, even though he tells me to do things that seem counterproductive or even suicidal.

As a Christian, I am obligated (and I’m happy about this) to accept the validity of reason. But I also understand that it takes more than reason to describe the universe I actually live in. Every person alive (unless they have a serious personality disorder) understands this. We accept, at some level, that men who live for possessions alone are living an impoverished life. We accept that beauty matters. We admire people who give up their lives (the only lives they’ll ever get, in the materialist view) for a principle or a loyalty. Continue reading Apologia →

If you’re a social conservative, chances are you’ve had a conversation something like this:

Conservative: “But if we accept homosexual behavior as normal, how do we retain other traditional taboos, like the one against incest?”

Liberal: “That’s just a straw man. Nobody’s going to advocate incest.”

Now, read this, from Tauriq Moosa, tutor in ethics, bioethics and critical thinking at the University of Cape Town, South Africa (courtesy of Dale Nelson):

Thirdly, and oddly, people exclaim [incest is] “just” repugnant. We will examine this more closer later. Nonetheless, why should the sexual activities of two consenting adults concern us? This is the same question we can ask those who are ‘against’ homosexuality (which is like being against having blue eyes). It is none of our business what two consenting adults wish to do (as long as no one else is harmed/involved without consent).

Repugnance helped many things we now consider wrong to continue in the past, such racial and sexual inequality. We can’t rely on repugnance to justify our social policies, since our repugnance is simply that: our own. Besides which, people are repulsed by different things – and we cannot leave it up to the whims of our emotions to implement policies and laws which could, unnecessarily, cause suffering to other people, as is the case with gay people, women, and indeed the current brother-and-sister couple.

Pretty lively for a straw man, isn’t it?

Liberals—I want to share a serious word with you, in honesty and without malice. If you have any principles—any at all—I promise you that, if you continue on the Left, you will eventually either have to give them up or move to the Right. Because liberalism is not a position. It is a process. That process evolves continually. Nothing is out of bounds for it, given enough time. That’s why so many ‘60s radicals are Reagan Republicans now.

For years, people have been telling me (to take another example) that there’s nothing wrong with homosexual behavior because homosexuals are born that way (I’m still not convinced of that, but it’s beside the point for this discussion). The argument is, “If it’s inborn, it’s natural and right.” Christian liberals say it must be God’s will.

“Why would anyone choose to be gay?” the liberal says. “It’s penalized in our culture. So it must be inborn, and the gays have no choice in the matter.”

Bear that argument in mind when you read this, from Italy’s La Stampa.

A study conducted by neuroscientists at Turin University and researchers at the department of neurological science of the University of Milan asserts that pedophilia is caused by a defective growth factor called pleiotropic protein Progranulin (PGRN). The results were published in the journal Biological Psychiatry and presented during a recent convention of the Neurological Italian Society in Turin.

Now, if this theory is true, explain to me how the previously stated arguments for homosexuality don’t apply just as well to pedophilia.

And no, “You’re a Nazi,” does not count as a valid argument.

“The Annunciation,” by Fra Angelico

My recent Norwegian visitor gifted me with a book called Hva Er et Navn? (What’s In a Name? more or less), about customs and fashions of name-giving through Norwegian history.

In the section on biblical names, the author (Ivar Utne) discusses the origins of the name “Mary” (Maria in Norwegian). I hadn’t been aware there’s so much uncertainty about its meaning. Here’s the relevant section, as translated by me.

No one knows for certain where the name Maria originated. For that reason, several interpretations exist. We know for certain that the name had different forms in Palestine around the time of Jesus’ birth. It was Mariam in Aramaic and Miriam in Hebrew, which were the two languages the Jews used. The New Testament was written in Greek. There the name became Maria, because the Greeks thought “m” an ending that did not go with Mariam.

The trail leads further back. In the Old Testament, written in Hebrew, we find many women named Miriam. The first was the sister of Moses and Aaron, of whom we read in the story of the Hebrews’ exodus from Egypt to Palestine. The names of all three may be Egyptian, as they came from Egypt. The Egyptian meaning of Miriam is “beloved.”

Other scholars contend that Miriam comes from Hebrew and means either “rebel” or “a drop in the sea.” This is because there are Hebrew words with those meanings which sound like Miriam. The “drop” explanation has more recently become “star of the sea” in some naming books, but that explanation is accepted by few scholars.

There are numerous other explanations. In comprehensive naming lists, Maria, for example, is translated “sturdy and strong,” which might be rendered “big and strong.” “Visionary” and “wife” are also to be found among the interpretations.

Sorry I didn’t post anything for Thanksgiving (or Lewis’s birthday, come to think of it; but I did post Lewis quotes on Facebook all day). Wanted to get the two book reviews up, and… well, I’ve been melancholy.

It has to do with the death of my friend “Elmer,” I guess, about which I wrote below. Intimations of mortality. Who’s that bell tolling for again? I’ve never had an actual friend die before. I’ve had lots of classmates die (I have an idea, though I’ve never done the math, that my high school class has had an unusually high death rate, statistically). But nobody I would include in the small group of “friends” has ever died before. This is yet another validation of my lifelong policy of keeping my circle of friends small, so that funeral attendance will be infrequent and Christmas card lists short.

They held a funeral for Elmer down in Kenyon, on Saturday (correction: Friday). I was concerned that, since Jewish law requires quick burial, and Elmer was part of a Messianic synagogue, somebody had disregarded his own wishes,and completely cut out the congregation to which he belonged. But there were many members of the synagogue there, and his rabbi spoke at length.

And it was fascinating. Elmer’s nephew told a number of stories about him, and we all laughed without embarrassment. Because Elmer was never offended, at least by jokes about himself. He had once brought a vegetarian dish to a family meal, and his nephew said it looked like “pig scours” (that’s a term farmers know, but probably unfamiliar to you. I think you’re happier not knowing, especially if you just ate). Elmer thought that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Continue reading One last "Elmer" post →

Joel Miller writes about the natural flow of suffering in our lives.

Visit rural Uganda and tell me with straight face that God wants us to experience a life of ease and wealth, that he’s concerned about what kind of car we drive. It’s offensive to contemplate. More offensive to contemplate: say it in the face of the martyrs’ families in Nigeria who don’t even pray that their persecutors would stop, only that they would be able stand when their time comes. We’re not even worthy to suffer for Christ like that.

Joel is the author of The Revolutionary Paul Revere.

“The Parable of the Blind Leading the Blind,” by Abel Grimmer (1565-1630)

Joe Carter at First Thoughts links to an intriguing article by James Martin, S. J. in The Wall Street Journal, called “Jesus of Nazareth, Stand-Up Comic?” Before you take offense at the title, take time to read the piece. I think he makes an excellent point.

There are more overt signs of Jesus’s appreciation of a sense of humor.  My favorite is the story of Nathaniel in the Gospel of John.  When he hears that Jesus is from Nazareth he says, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?”  It’s a dig at Jesus’s hometown, which was seen as a backwater.  What does Jesus say in response?  You would expect the grumpy Jesus to castigate Nathaniel.  But he does the opposite.  Jesus says, “Here is an Israelite without guile.”  In other words, here’s a guy I can trust!  And Nathaniel joins the apostles.  It’s an indication of Jesus’s appreciation of a sense of humor.

Jesus’ parables, I’ve long believed, are particularly opaque to modern Christians because of our wrong-headed insistence on treating them as solemn guides to exemplary living. My own reading of the gospels (though Heaven knows I’m no scholar, and understand Greek not at all) has convinced me that parables need to be taken one at a time. Some are solemn, like the story of Lazarus and the rich man. But others involve crazy exaggeration (Jesus loved hyperbole, to an extent that would probably get Him in trouble in the modern church), and can best be described as a spiritual kick in the pants.

Martin gives some examples, which I generally agree with. One of my own favorites is the Parable of the Unjust Steward, in which Jesus tells—with apparent approval—the story of a manager who first of all embezzles his employer’s money, and then, before cleaning out his desk, gets a bunch of his boss’s debtors to falsify their loan documents, so that they’ll owe him favors. How many Sunday School teachers have twisted themselves into logical knots trying to get a “Go and do thou likewise” out of that story? The real point is just that crooked sinners are smart enough to “feather their nests” by helping others, purely out of self-interest, and we should be smart enough to do the same with an eye to eternity, especially since we handle wealth that our Master wants us to share.

When I was in a musical group I always meant to write a comic skit re-imagining the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant as a Godfather-style gangster story.

“You wanted to see me, Don Vito?”

“Yeah, Louie. Siddown. You want a cigar? Somethin’ to drink?”

“No, no thank you, Don Vito.”

“Wanna get right to business, huh?”

“If that’s all right, Godfather.”

“Sure, sure. OK, here’s the thing. I been hearin’ some stories. Whispers in my ear, you know? Something about you and Benny the Ninepin. You know about these stories?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What I been hearin’ is that you beat him up, broke his arm with a pool cue. Is this true?”

“He owed me money, Godfather.”

“How much, Louie?”

“A C-note.”

“A C-note.”

“That’s right.”

“One-hundred bucks.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now Louie, I’m confused. ‘Cause I seem to recall a time when you came up short… what was it? Two million simoleons?”

“Uh, somethin’ like that.”

“An’ all the boys told me I ought to break your neck and bury you out in the flats, so the other collectors would be more careful next time. But you was my cousin’s husband, so I said, ‘Nah, I’ll let it go this time. Put a scare in him and see if he cleans up his act.”

“I’ve always been really grateful, Godfather. You see, that’s why I was tryin’ to collect from Benny, so I could start payin’ you back–”

“A hundred bucks on two million? For that you broke Benny’s arm? Did it occur to you that a guy who’s had two million bucks written off ought to give a break some bum who owes him chickenfeed? What kind of a goombah are you…?”

Burk Parsons on whether trials are meant to make us stronger:

When we as a human race fell into sin, our affections changed, and we who once had the ability not to sin became a people who could not help but sin and even found pleasure in sin, albeit fleeting pleasure. Sin ravaged our hearts and minds, and, like Tolkien’s Gollum, we began to wallow in the mire of sin-dependent idolatry all the while maintaining our autonomy from God and our supreme, though perceived, control over any and all our precious little idols, each of which possessed an uncanny resemblance to ourselves. . . .

Both the enemy within us and the enemies outside us exist as a natural result of the Fall, and in their natural course of existence they fight daily to gain our affection, allegiance, and dependence. Like Gollum’s precious little idol that seemed to want to be found, our self-swindling hearts seem to want us to find our immediate and ultimate fulfillment in anything that lures our dependence away from God. Meanwhile, our Enemy is content simply to draw our affections to anything but the one true God, and thus to make us less dependent on God and increasingly dependent on ourselves and on our hearts’ precious idols, which will come alive and do our bidding.