Just Thinking 22 3

VOLUME 22.3 I WWW.RZIM.ORG

THE MAGAZINE OF RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

JUST THINKING What Truth Costs PAGE 2

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ORDINARY HEROES PAGE 14

JESUS: THE PATH TO HUMAN FLOURISHING PAGE 18

THE GLAMOUR OF ATHEISM PAGE 24

Just Thinking is a teaching resource of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries and exists to engender thoughtful engagement with apologetics, Scripture, and the whole of life.

Danielle DuRant Editor Ravi Zacharias International Ministries 4725 Peachtree Corners Circle Suite 250 Norcross, Georgia 30092 770.449.6766 WWW.RZIM.ORG

TAB LE of CONTENTS VOLUME 22.3

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What Truth Costs

“As my wife and I walked into the hallway, I was reminded of the sober reality that truth has a cost,” writes Abdu Murray. What follows is an excerpt from his book Grand Central Question: Answering the Critical Concerns of the Major Worldviews (InterVarsity, 2014).

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Ordinary Heroes

A discussion about living up to one’s potential prompts Margaret Manning to reflect on so-called “ordinary lives” lived faithfully before God.

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Jesus: The Path to Human Flourishing

I’Ching Thomas examines the ideas of Confucianism and how the gospel of Jesus Christ speaks to the deep desire to flourish and thrive as human beings.

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The Glamour of Atheism

Cameron McAllister contemplates atheism’s imaginative appeal in light of the accusation that “Christians are frequently accused of wishful thinking, of retreating to the church in the face of a vast and pitiless universe.”

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Think Again

Ravi Zacharias considers his journey with God and many others who have walked this road.

“What I have concluded is this: The greatest of loves will often come at the greatest of costs.”

Quod Est Veritas? Christ and Pilate by Nikolai Ge (1890)

[Exposing Motives]

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What Truth Costs

By Abdu Murray

While we often say that we love truth or that truth is important, we seldom actually mean what we say. We know this deep within ourselves, do we not?

We tend to take the path of least resistance. Indeed, sometimes, like Pilate, we are too preoccupied with the cost of truth to see reality as it is.

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Taken from Grand Central Question: Answering the Critical Concerns of the Major Worldviews

by Abdu Murray. Copyright (c) 2014 by Abdu Murray. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515. www.ivpress.com.

is illness was grave, a heart condition as I recall, and he was facing a risky medical procedure.

He had been in the hospital for several days before I was invited to visit him. Probably in his midfifties, he was alone in the United States as he waited for his children to arrive from the Middle East. He was no longer married, either because his wife had passed away or because they were divorced. But regardless, he was alone.

And afraid.

A woman who had heard me speak about Islam and my journey from Islam to Christ invited me to visit the man and share the gospel with him. She served as a Christian chaplain at the hospital and had stopped in to ask the man if he needed any spiritual support. He told her that he was a Muslim, and they struck up a conversation about their respective faiths and their opinions about Jesus. As their conversation progressed, his questions became increasingly difficult to answer, and the fact that English was his second language didn’t help. Having heard me talk about the evidence for the Christian faith and how it factored so heavily in my own conversion from Islam, she thought of me and asked the man if I could visit him to address his questions. He agreed, and she called me straightaway.

Before I knew it, I was riding up an elevator smelling of disinfectant to share Christ with a man I had never met. As the elevator doors opened on his floor, I expected to face many of the same challenges I myself had put to Christians who shared the gospel with me. Little did I realize that the usual intellectual and

H

theological questions that Muslims lodge against the gospel would not be the main topic of our discussion. Instead, I would be reminded of something far more profound.

The harsh lights of his hospital room greeted us as my wife and I walked in at the chaplain’s invitation. She smiled and made our introductions. Despite his illness, the several tubes sticking out of him and the always-embarrassing hospital gown, the Muslim man exhibited quintessential Arab hospitality as he sat up to greet us, grasping my hand, saying “Marhaba”—hello in Arabic. I sat down next to his bed, and we made small talk.

Soon, however, the conversation turned to the main reason for my visit. “So,” he began, “I understand that you used to be Muslim and may be able to answer some of my questions about Christianity.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” I responded. “What questions do you have?”

And with that, he began. To be sure, he provided many of the usual questions Muslims ask about Jesus, the Bible and the gospel. Isn’t the Trinity polytheistic?

Hasn’t the Bible been corrupted over time? How could God become a man and die a humiliating death on a cross? They were all objections I used to lodge against Christianity ad infinitum. Taking the questions at face value, I began to address them one by one.

I provided philosophical, theological, historical and scriptural answers to his questions, and he was a bit more open to them than most Muslims—but only a bit. As he offered up the usual rejoinders, I answered them. But still he was coolly resistant, stony even. In fact, with every answer, he became stonier and stonier.

Frankly I was getting discouraged and

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somewhat frustrated, so I paused and turned things toward a different topic: his family.

His children were all he really had left. Having heard that their father was ill, his sons and daughters were making arrangements to fly to the States to see him. And when talk turned to his children, the first crack in his stony veneer appeared. His lip quivered just a bit, ever so slightly, but it was there. “Your children mean a lot to you, don’t they?” I asked.

“They are all I have in this life,” he answered in his heavy accent. “Without them, I may die in this country alone.”

“Do you believe that God is with you? That he cares about you and wants you to know him?”

“I believe that he is everywhere. But I’m not sure that I can ever know him,” he said. “God is too great for mere humans to know.” That is a belief many Muslims have, which is why this dear man was afraid that without his children he would die alone. It was so sad, yet so profound. I let his disclosure hover in the room a moment as I prayed for guidance about the next thing to say. And then it occurred to me.

I gathered up whatever boldness I was capable of and began the part of our conversation that really mattered. “We’ve been talking for some time now about the answers to your questions about the gospel. But can I ask you a personal question?”

“Please. Go ahead,” he answered, sounding more confident than his eyes suggested.

I swallowed hard and asked the question I feared might derail the discussion for good. “What would happen if you did become a Christian?

What would your kids think or do?”

His eyes lowered as a slight sigh left his lungs. “They would disown me.

It is unforgivable and a shame for me to become Christian.”

I knew that fear all too well. I had

to face the possibility of such losses when I was wrestling with (and even against) the answers that Christianity offered to my toughest questions. “I know what it’s like to have to face that kind of rejection.

I also know that the possibility of losing the people you love the most is a powerful reason to close your ears to the answers the gospel provides.”

The historical evidence, the philosophical and theological arguments— none of them—broke through the man’s stony veneer like the words I had just spoken. A tear escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheek. “Thank you,” he said, surprising me. “Thank you for understanding that I might lose everything if I even consider what you are saying.”

Though our conversation did not last much longer, the tenor changed dramatically from that moment on.

After realizing that it was not the gospel itself that he had difficulty with, but the possible consequences of accepting it, he began to ask me follow-up questions instead of just lobbing rejoinders.

And then a minor miracle happened.

Some Muslims will not even touch a Bible, fearing that it is an unclean corruption that pollutes them. But this Muslim man, having realized where his real difficulty lay, asked to keep the Arabic Bible I had in my hand. I gave it to him, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Allah Ma’ak, Amu,” which means “God be with you, uncle.” (Arabs call male elders, even strangers, “uncle” as a sign of respect.)

THE TROUBLE WITH TRUTH

As my wife and I walked into the hallway, I was reminded of the sober reality that truth has a cost. That cost may vary from person to person and from circumstance to circumstance, but there is no doubt that truth is costly.

My conversation with the Muslim man in the hospital punctuates this point in an important way. It shows us that

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As my wife and I walked into the hallway, I was reminded of the sober reality that truth has a cost. That cost may vary from person to person and from circumstance to circumstance, but there is no doubt that truth is costly. while we often say that we love truth or that truth is important, we seldom actually mean what we say. Some years ago, I read a line from Judith Viorst’s play Love and Shrimp that humorously highlights our dance with and around the truth.

I made him swear he’d always tell me nothing but the truth I promised him I never would resent it No matter how unbearable, how harsh, how cruel How come he thought I meant it?1 While whimsical, these words remind us how duplicitously we can act when it comes to truth. We can offer platitudes to imply we want the truth, no matter what it may mean, but we seldom act accordingly.

The famed thinker and writer C.S. Lewis was an atheist who eventually bowed his knee to Christ after being confronted with the credibility of the gospel. In his own words, Lewis was “the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England” when he finally gave his life to Jesus.2 In the opening pages of his classic work Mere Christianity, Lewis makes an insightful comment about the tension between our pursuit of truth and our desire for comfort: “If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort, you will not get either comfort or truth—only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair.”3 We know this deep within ourselves, do we not? We tend to take the path of least resistance. But when we do, we find

that although that path provided the least resistance, we found plenty of resistance at the destination. Yet, time and again, we opt for comfort over truth. The tendency to sacrifice truth for comfort seems practically hardwired into our psyches. In saying this, I need look no further than my own past to see how often I sacrificed truth on the altar of my own comfort. As a Muslim, I did not want to admit that the gospel was true, that Jesus is who the Bible claims he is, because doing so would cost me dearly.

The cost of truth is quite plain and easy to grasp as a concept. It is the emotional barrier or personal bias that prevents a person from sincerely considering whether his worldview might be false and another worldview might be true. Though the concept is quite easy to understand, the consequences are quite easy to overlook. Lest we chalk our resistance to truth up to just pride or stubbornness, I suggest we look at history to see examples of just how high the cost of truth is.

Consider the most famous trial in history: Jesus of Nazareth standing before Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea. Jesus had been brought before Pilate on charges of blasphemy and of making himself a king over and above Caesar. Ironically, it was not Jesus who was really on trial, but Pilate. The Roman governor was face to face with the very One who claimed to be Truth Incarnate, “the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). And Pilate’s reaction to the truth was being put to the test.

Therefore Pilate said to Him, “So You are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say

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correctly that I am a king. For this I have been born, and for this I have come into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears My voice.”

Pilate said to Him, “What is truth?”

And when he had said this, he went out. (John 18:37-38 NASB) Pilate asked the most important question he could have asked in light of Jesus’ statement equating his voice with truth. Pilate, the pagan Roman politician, had asked the Author of truth—Truth Incarnate—to describe truth for him.

But he squandered the opportunity. He did not want an answer. He merely asked the question as a sarcastic, rhetorical device, having become fed up with the whole process. Pilate asked the right question but with the wrong motive. And it was because of the cost of truth.

The Gospel of Matthew provides further detail about how powerful the cost of truth was in this encounter.

Matthew records that the night before Pilate’s encounter with Jesus, his wife had a dream about Jesus. It so disturbed her that she went to her husband the day of the trial to warn him (Matthew 27:19).

But Pilate did not listen. He feared that the crowd might flare out of control if he did not hand Jesus over to be crucified (vv. 23-24). Pilate was concerned not with Jesus’ innocence or the truth of his claims; he was concerned only with the consequences of his decision to condemn or not condemn Jesus, regardless of the truth of the matter. He was too preoccupied with the cost of truth to see reality

as it was. Is it not the irony of ironies that Pilate stood before someone claiming to be Truth Incarnate—who had just told him that if one recognizes truth, one recognizes his very voice—and yet Pilate failed to consider the matter sincerely because the consequences terrified him?

AN EQUAL OPPORTUNITY DISCOURAGER

Matthew 27:19-20

While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent him a message, saying, “Have nothing to do with that righteous Man; for last night I suffered greatly in a dream because of Him.” But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to put Jesus to death.

Though Pilate’s response to truth was dismal, we shouldn’t rush to deem ourselves to be superior, lest we judge hypocritically. I certainly have no room to do so. I can recall my own situation, having been a proud Muslim my whole life only to be confronted with the evidence for the gospel, yet wanting so desperately to deny it. My mind had accepted the overwhelming evidence establishing Jesus’ claims to be God’s Son and the Savior of the world through the cross.

But I allowed that truth to be eclipsed by the looming losses I might suffer if I chose a life for Christ. Identity, close relationships, community, even safety— all were at risk if I followed Jesus. And the cost was just too much to bear, leading me to years of indecision and despair.

So many have shared their painful stories of rejection when they turned from their worldview to the gospel.

Jewish friends who have embraced Jesus as the Messiah share how their families and communities cast them out, how their parents shouted with tears in their eyes, “You’ve betrayed us!” or “You’re killing Judaism!” In his book New Birth or Rebirth? Jesus Talks with Krishna, Ravi Zacharias recounts the true story of

My conversation with the Muslim man in the hospital punctuates this point in an important way. It shows us that while we often say that we love truth or that truth is important, we seldom actually mean what we say.

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Pilate was concerned not with Jesus’ innocence or the truth of his claims; he was concerned only with the consequences of his decision to condemn or not condemn Jesus, regardless of the truth of the matter. He was too preoccupied with the cost of truth to see reality as it was. Is it not the irony of ironies that Pilate stood before someone claiming to be Truth Incarnate—who had just told him that if one recognizes truth, one recognizes his very voice—and yet Pilate failed to consider the matter sincerely because the consequences terrified him?

Subramaniam, a man born into the highest caste of orthodox Hindu priests, and how his family and community threatened his life when he chose to follow Christ.4 Interesting, is it not, that even Hindus, who hold to a religion that claims to be tolerant and inclusive, can suddenly become incredibly intolerant and exclusive when one of their own gives his life to Christ?

And Zacharias, himself a nativeborn Indian Christian from a Hindu Brahmin heritage, goes on to observe that “when a westerner is attracted to Eastern spirituality, the East claims credit for having had the answers all along. But should an easterner be attracted to Christianity, it is seen in the East as a betrayal of one’s culture. Ask any Christian from India and you will find that to be true.”5 Indeed, the cost of truth stirs up our duplicity quite powerfully.

Lest we think that the cost of truth impairs the judgments and perceptions of only the religiously minded, let us consider some frank statements from leading academic atheists that show how emotional barriers and biases factor into their rejection of God. Thomas Nagel, professor of philosophy at New York University, one of America’s leading institutions, candidly wrote,

I want atheism to be true. And I’m made uneasy by the fact that some of the most intelligent and well-informed people I know are religious believers.

It isn’t that I don’t believe in God and naturally hope that I’m right in my beliefs, it’s that I hope there is no God. I don’t want there to be a God. I don’t want the universe to be like that.6 Doesn’t the cost of truth bubble over in that statement, practically startling us? Nagel candidly admits that he is uneasy because intelligent people are religious. He strongly implies that if there is a God, he will lose his hope. He doesn’t want God to exist. But if he rejects God because of purely evidential reasons, why the unease, why the loss of hope? Nagel admits that his atheism is not merely about intellectual conclusions, but about emotional desires.

Aldous Huxley is even more candid in exposing that his personal biases—even more than the evidence—influenced his rejection of God. In Ends and Means, he writes, I wanted to believe the Darwinian idea. I chose to believe it not because I think there was enormous evidence for it, nor because I

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believed it had the full authority to give interpretation to my origins, but I chose to believe it because it delivered me from trying to find meaning and freed me to my own erotic passions.7 There it is again. Huxley, an intelligent and erudite thinker, did not embrace evolution because of the evidence. Nor did he reject God for the lack of it. Rather, he wanted to rid himself of the burden of trying to find meaning. He wanted no sexual restrictions. In other words, he did not want to pay the cost associated with belief in God. For Huxley, disbelief was not a matter of the mind, but a matter of the heart and will.

From those who come from religious backgrounds and communities to lofty academics and social commentators to those in positions of power, truth’s consequences can be a powerful motivating factor in allegiance to a worldview. We cling to our worldview and reject the possibility that another opposing worldview might be true, because so much about us is at stake in the debate. As journalist Upton Sinclair writes, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.”8 COUNTING THE COST

But why must we even bother to expose the cost in the first place? Why not leave one another to our personal biases and prejudices?

For Christians, the answer is simple.

Jesus is Christians’ supreme example, and he challenged nearly everyone he met to confront their own biases and barriers. In fact, Jesus’ powerful admonitions were not reserved for those who were unwilling to follow him. No, he was an equal opportunity exposer of biases, leveling his critiques (especially) at his own followers. As his following increased greatly, Jesus asked the multitude of new disciples to consider whether they were really interested in embracing the truth he was offering, in light of the great cost that would come with it (Luke 14:27-33).

It’s interesting that Jesus challenged the crowd of people who chose to follow him to reconsider in light of what they would have to lose. Leaders who are primarily interested in self-glorification constantly think of ways to increase their following and are constantly worried about causing people to abandon them.

A call to give the matter further reflection is just the kind of thing that might deflate a crowd’s enthusiasm and leave a leader standing alone. But Jesus was not interested in popularity. He was interested in the futures of all those he came in contact with, and he wanted them to think hard about what it would mean to follow him.

Likewise, we should not shrink from the sometimes unpleasant job of exposing barriers to truth. In fact, Jesus shows us that doing so is not harsh, but loving. Consider his encounter with a rich young man. The man asks Jesus, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit

Luke 14:27-33

Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.

For which one of you, when he wants to build a tower, does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it?

Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who observe it begin to ridicule him, saying, “This man began to build and was not able to finish.” Or what king, when he sets out to meet another king in battle, will not first sit down and consider whether he is strong enough with ten thousand men to encounter the one coming against him with twenty thousand? Or else, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So then, none of you can be My disciple who does not give up all his own possessions.

We cling to our worldview and reject the possibility that another opposing worldview might be true, because so much about us is at stake in the debate. As journalist Upton Sinclair writes, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.”

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Jesus shows us that it is not harsh or patronizing to expose another’s barriers. It is an act of love. It is, perhaps, one of the most loving things we can do for another so that emotion-laden rebellion can give way to sincere investigation.

Mark 10:17-21

And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.’”

And he said to him, “Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth.”And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

eternal life?” (Mark 10:17). With a view toward addressing the man’s hidden assumptions, Jesus first answers him with a question: “Why do you call me good?

No one is good except God alone” (v. 18).

He asks this, forcing the rich man to consider the implications of his question.

And then, to expose the man’s hidden motivation in asking the question, Jesus references six important commandments from Exodus and Deuteronomy that the man likely knew well (v. 19).

Taking the bait, the man shoots back a self-confident answer, “Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth” (v. 20). And with that response, he unwittingly lays bare an important truth that he has to come to grips with in order to truly follow Jesus. He knows that he has obeyed the commandments of how to act toward humanity and that he is able to proudly proclaim that fact to Jesus and all those around him. But still there is an underlying need to ask Jesus what more is expected of him.

There are two things at war within that rich man: the desire to justify himself and the subconscious knowledge that he can never really do so. Because the man’s desire to justify himself before God stands in the way of embracing that truth, Jesus seizes the opportunity to expose the man’s cost: And Jesus looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

Disheartened by the saying, he

went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. (Mark 10:21-22, emphasis mine) Tellingly, the rich young man, who has kept the law from his youth, does not disagree with Jesus. Rather, he is saddened and walks away grieving. Why? Because Jesus exposes something sensitive and subconscious: the man’s underlying desire to justify himself. The man knows that his self-righteousness is not enough, so he walks away sad, unwilling at that point to let it all go for the sake of truth. Jesus tenderly yet firmly taught the young man —and teaches us today—the not-to-beoverlooked maxim “Until the heart is open, the ears remain closed.”

But there is something subtle yet profound in the encounter that must not escape our notice. Mark records that just as he was beginning to expose the man’s cost, Jesus “loved him” (Mark 10:21). It was after feeling this love that Jesus addressed the man’s personal barriers.

Jesus shows us that it is not harsh or patronizing to expose another’s barriers.

It is an act of love. It is, perhaps, one of the most loving things we can do for another so that emotion-laden rebellion can give way to sincere investigation.

BRINGING THE COST TO THE SURFACE

But how do we bring to the surface the subconscious and powerful cost of truth so that it can be addressed and, once addressed, be put behind us so that we can address the tough intellectual questions?

Allow me to suggest three ways.

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1. Socrates and scribes—answering questions with questions. First, we need to be upfront about the cost of truth when we discuss matters of deeply held beliefs.

Some years ago, I was invited to participate in an interfaith dialogue at a university with a sizable Muslim student body.

A Christian group invited me to speak opposite a Muslim scholar who had been invited by the school’s Muslim student association. The topic we were to address was somewhat unconventional for such engagements: “How Can a Loving, All Powerful God Exist in a World of Suffering? A Christian and Muslim Response.”

During the talk, I offered philosophical, theological and scriptural reasons for my belief that the existence of an all-powerful, all-loving God is not incompatible with the reality of suffering and evil. Specifically, I argued that in the gospel we not only have a theoretical answer to the problem of evil, but we actually have God entering into the human condition to deal with evil as a matter of history. The point, I argued, is that the gospel provides the best answer to suffering.

The event was geared to get Christian and Muslim students to sit next to each other and interact on the material presented. But sadly, like many such meetings, Muslims and Christians kept to their own sides of the room. During the event, I saw a Muslim student sitting with his friends, and I knew, just from seeing his reactions to me and the scowl on his face, that he would be the first student to interact with me after we finished our remarks. Sure enough, as soon as my counterpart and I closed our remarks, the student stood up and all but ran to the front of the room to confront me.

In a loud voice, he began his questioning. “I heard you appeal to logic and reason during your talk,” he said. “But how can you believe such nonsense like

the Trinity?” The volume and zeal in his voice had their desired effect. A crowd gathered around us to see who could best whom. I wanted to address the student’s question, if for no other reason than that the Trinity is a stumbling block for most Muslims who consider the gospel, but I was not interested in a verbal slugfest. So I gently responded by offering a question of my own. “The Trinity is an important topic, but can I ask you a question first?

Do you want to consider my answer, or do you want to stump me in front of everyone? Do you want a conversation or a fight? I’m interested in the first one, not the second. If you want a spirited discussion, great. Otherwise, I’m not interested.”

His tone changed as he responded, “No, I want a conversation. I want to hear your reasons for believing in the Trinity.”

And with that, we had an actual conversation. It was a spirited conversation to be sure, but it was a real conversation, and those who stood by listened intently.

I am an attorney by training, so the best way I can think to expose someone’s underlying biases and barriers is to ask questions. In case you are leery of following the voice of a lawyer, you can take solace in the fact that we have great examples of world-changing thinkers who have done exactly what I suggest. The great philosopher and teacher Socrates was famous for answering a question with a question. In fact, professors at institutes of higher learning all over the world employ the Socratic method by answering questions with questions. Though initially frustrating to students (I flash back to my Constitutional Law class), this method gets them to realize the underlying assumptions they bring to the topic.

And if Socrates is not enough of an authority to show us the value of this principle, let’s consider Jesus. He answered the rich man’s question (“What must I do to inherit eternal life?”) with a question (“Why do you call me good?”). Jesus did

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this throughout his earthly ministry. (A particularly masterful example is Jesus’ confrontation with the scribes recorded in Luke 20:1-8.) In every encounter, Jesus exposed the motives behind the questions.

In doing so, he teaches us another valuable maxim: addressing the question’s content is not as urgent as addressing the question’s intent.

2. A careful ear listens for the cost. Asking questions is good only if we listen to the answers. Strange, is it not, that we need to be reminded of so obvious a truism?

But most of us can recall times when we asked someone for the time, only to realize moments after being told the answer that we still didn’t know what time it was.

Careful listening, as important as it is, has become something of a lost art.

We must also be careful to listen to others’ explanations of their circumstances and their worldviews, not just their answers to our questions. I think of an incident involving the satirical storyteller Quentin Crisp. He was in Northern Ireland when the strife between Catholics and Protestants was quite intense. During a performance there, he stated that he was an atheist. A woman in the audience immediately stood up and asked him, “But is it the God of the Catholics or the Protestants you don’t believe in?” She obviously hadn’t listened carefully to Crisp, revealing more about her personal biases than Crisp’s—and getting more laughs than Crisp did in the process.

Careful listening not only keeps us from making fools of ourselves, but also helps us to understand the costs others face in considering the gospel. About a year after I had become a Christian, I received a phone call at my home. As soon as I said hello, I heard a woman’s heavy Middle Eastern accent. “Mr. Murray? I heard that you converted from Islam to Christianity. How could you do that?”

Other than the quite natural reaction of asking her who she was and how she got my home phone number, my inclination was to launch into an argument about the Bible’s veracity and Christian doctrine—which I did. I laid on her a dissertation about the philosophical, theological and historical proofs for Christianity, citing theologians from Augustine to Zwingli. When I finished my response, I sat back in silence and let my diatribe sink in, thinking she would be utterly impressed with the sheer volume of my arguments. But then she responded with a simple follow-up question. “That’s all very nice, but I want to know how you could become a Christian knowing what you would lose.”

I felt like I had taken a long walk off a short pier. I had failed to listen to the woman’s question, and instead of addressing her primary issue, I had spent time trying to impress her with information she wasn’t asking about or ready for. I could have easily understood where she was coming from by simply asking her what she meant when she asked, “How

Asking questions is good only if we listen to the answers. Strange, is it not, that we need to be reminded of so obvious a truism? But most of us can recall times when we asked someone for the time, only to realize moments after being told the answer that we still didn’t know what time it was.

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could you do that?” (This is yet another reason why asking questions is so important.) But I forged ahead with an answer to the question I thought she was asking.

The lesson I learned that day was simple yet powerful: careful listening is integral to understanding another’s place on the journey toward truth.

Often the cost a person faces is not as obviously or easily admitted as it was when I spoke to the woman on the phone or talked with the student at the university.

The hiddenness of the cost, or a person’s unwillingness to reveal it, may make it difficult to see. Careful listening is key in such situations, because a person’s cost often bubbles up to the surface during conversations—sometimes obviously, sometimes subtly.

A Christian cannot pretend that the cost of truth does not apply to her. Indeed, it applies in many ways. Christians have often engaged with each other in debates about nonessential doctrines and have gotten emotionally worked up or even offended at one another in the process.

Why? Because everyone—yes, everyone—has an emotional attachment to their view, no matter how trivial. Some attachments are more easily severed than others. But they are still there. This is as true for Christians as it is for anyone else.

For a Christian to admit that she, too, faces consequences in considering the possibility that the gospel is not true is nothing more (and nothing less) than credibly engaging in conversation. And to do so is not to say that we hold onto our faith tenuously. Far from it. Rather, we show that we are confident enough to shine the light of evidence and reason on our beliefs. And that light shines brightest when it is powered by sincerity.

3. Truth has a cost, but why should I pay?

Another very important question rises from the reality that truth has a cost.

Why should we pay it? What makes

truth worth taking such enormous risks?

In the pages that follow, we’ll examine the central questions that the major non-Christian worldviews seek to answer. Those worldviews exist—and people give their allegiances to them— because they think the answers to those questions are worth it. In the chapters to follow, I intend to sustain the thesis that the gospel not only validates those questions, but also offers better answers than any other worldview. It is these answers that show why the gospel is worth paying the price. And it is to them that we now turn.

Abdu Murray, an attorney by training, is co-founder and president of Embrace the Truth International and serves as an associate with RZIM. For more information, see http://embracethetruth.org/.

1

Judith Viorst and Shelly Markham, Love and Shrimp (New York: Samuel French, 1993), 41.

2 C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, rev. ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1995), 221.

3 C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, HarperCollins ed., (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 32.

4 Ravi K. Zacharias, New Birth or Rebirth?

Jesus Talks with Krishna (Colorado Springs: Multnomah, 2008).

5 Ravi K. Zacharias, Why Jesus? Rediscovering His Truth in an Age of Mass Marketed Spirituality (New York: FaithWords, 2012), 55.

6 Thomas Nagel, The Last Word (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 130, emphasis mine. Interestingly, Nagel has recently released a book in which he concedes to some degree the credibility of the evidence for a non-material cause of the universe. See Thomas Nagel, Mind and Cosmos: Why the Materialist Neo-Darwinian Conception of Nature Is Almost Certainly False (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

7 Aldous Huxley, Ends and Means (London: Chatt & Windus, 1946), 310.

8 Upton Sinclair, I, Candidate for Governor: And How I Got Licked (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1935), 109.

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[United with God]

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Ordinary Heroes

By Margaret Manning

Can the “ordinary” contribute to a sense of meeting potential, or does the preponderance of the ordinary simply serve as a perpetual reminder of a failure to thrive? Or could it be that we find our purpose in the very midst of the most mundane and ordinary tasks of life?

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he question was asked and the room fell silent: “Does anyone ever feel they’ve lived up to their potential?”

It was a loaded question, not only because it was asked in a group of persons struggling with vocation but also because the word “potential” is elusive in its definition. What does “potential” mean in a world that views achievement as athletic prowess, celebrity status, or economic success? If the exceptional is the guide for the achievement of one’s potential, how will those of us who live somewhere between the average and the ordinary ever feel we’ve arrived?

The inherent routine and mundane tasks that fill our days contribute to the struggle to understand our potential.

How can one possibly feel substantial when one’s day-in, day-out existence is filled with the tedium of housework, paying bills, pulling weeds, and running endless errands? These tasks are not celebrated or sometimes even noticed.

They are the daily details that comprise routine. In fact, for artists and bus drivers, homemakers and neurosurgeons, astronauts and cashiers, the days are often filled with repetitive motion, even if there are moments of great challenge or extraordinary success. It is no surprise then, with our societal standards and our routine-filled lives, that we wonder about our potential. Indeed, does much of what we do even matter when it feels so ordinary? Can the “ordinary” contribute

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to a sense of meeting potential, or does the preponderance of the ordinary simply serve as a perpetual reminder of a failure to thrive?

The so-called “simple lifestyle” movement attempts to locate potential in exactly the opposite ways of much of Western society. In this movement, simplicity unlocks the key to potential, and not acquisition, or achievement, or recognition. Clearing out what clutters and complicates makes room for finding potential in what is most basic and routine.

In the Christian tradition, as well, there are many who see true potential and purpose unlocked by the radical call to simplicity. Some of the earliest Christians, who fled the luxury and security of Rome once Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Empire, believed that one’s “holiness” potential could only be achieved within the radical austerity of a monastic cell. There in the cloistered walls where each and every day presented simple routine, repetitive tasks, and the regular rhythm of prayer and worship, perseverance with the ordinary became the path to one’s potential.

Brother Lawrence is one of the most well-known of this type of monastic. In The Practice of Prayer, Margaret Guenther writes, “Brother Lawrence, our patron of housekeeping, was a hero of the ordinary.”1 As one who found his potential in cultivating a profound awareness of God in the ordinary tasks of his day, Brother Lawrence was an

“Faithfulness rarely feels heroic; it feels much more like showing up and hanging in. It is a matter of going to our cell, whatever form that might take, and letting it teach us what it will.”

Availing himself to consistent faithfulness yielded the blessing of both proficiency and presence—the presence of God—right there in midst of the costly monotony of dirty pots and pans.

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“ordinary hero.” While he attended chapel with the other monks, his true sanctuary was amongst the pots and pans of the monastery kitchen. What we may not realize in the popularized retelling of his story is that he actually began by hating his ordinary work. His abbot wrote about him: The same thing was true of his work in the kitchen, for which he had a naturally strong aversion; having accustomed himself to doing everything there for the love of God, and asking His grace to do his work, he found he had become quite proficient in the fifteen years he had worked in the kitchen.2 Quite proficient in the kitchen. Could it be that Brother Lawrence was able to fulfill his potential by washing dishes?

Despite his strong aversion, he found purpose in the very midst of the most mundane and ordinary tasks of life. He fulfilled his potential by focusing on faithfulness. This is not faithfulness that triumphs over the desire to fulfill one’s potential. Indeed, as Guenther describes it, “Faithfulness rarely feels heroic; it feels much more like showing up and hanging in. It is a matter of going to our cell, whatever form that might take, and letting it teach us what it will.”3 Availing himself to consistent faithfulness yielded the blessing of both proficiency and presence—the presence of God—right there in midst of the costly monotony of dirty pots and pans.

My friend Sylvia is one of my ordinary heroes. Sylvia shows up and hangs in there as a paraplegic. She has not been able to use her legs since she was in high school. A horrible accident, when she was just a teenager, took away her ability to walk or to run, and left her without any discernible feeling in the lower half of her body. Her spine severed, the nerves do

not receive the necessary information to register sensation or stimulation.

Prior to her accident, Sylvia was an aspiring athlete. Without the use of her legs, this aspiration would be put on hold, but not permanently. Though she is paralyzed in body, she is not paralyzed in spirit. And she eventually competed in several World Championships and in the Paralympic Games. Her determination to excel at world-class competitions, despite her injury, and her intention to live a full life has been an immense inspiration to me. She drives, works at least a forty hour week, and has traveled the world. She has mastered the art of navigating the world in a wheelchair. She has not defined her “potential” by her disability.

Fulfilling one’s potential has little to do with greatness. And yet, the heroism of the ordinary does not preempt the greatness that the world confers to those who have reached their potential with staggering and dramatic achievement; for even those who achieve greatness have faced the drama of routine and the tidal wave of tedium. But to assign the fulfillment of one’s potential solely to great acts and recognition is to miss the blessing that comes from faithful acts of devotion, often done routinely and heroically in the ordinary of our everyday. Perhaps it might be said of us, as it was of Brother Lawrence: “He was more united with God in his ordinary activities.”4 Margaret Manning is a member of the speaking and writing team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

1

Margaret Guenther, The Practice of Prayer (Boston: Cowley Press, 1998), 113.

2 Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, The Practice of the Presence of God, ed.

John J. Delaney (New York: Image, 1977), 41.

3 Guenther, 112.

4 Brother Lawrence, 47.

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[ M e d i at o r o f r e l at i o n s h i p s ]

Jesus: The Path to Human Flourishing

By I’Ching Thomas

In view of the historical disrepute that the Christian faith bears among the Cultural Chinese, how we can present the gospel in a way that resonates with Confucianism’s aspirations and values—especially with regards to human flourishing?

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The following is an excerpt from a forthcoming book by I’Ching with the same title.

or hundreds of years, Christianity has been perceived to be a foreign religion and hence irrelevant for the Cultural Chinese.1 The “One more Christian, one fewer Chinese” chant on May 4, 1919, in China further reinforced the misconception that when one chooses to follow Jesus, one has denounced his or her Chinese identity to go after a foreign or western god and ideology. A Chinese commits a great offense against his ancestor and nation when he pledges allegiance to Jesus.

According to historian Wu Xiaoxin, the propaganda that impacted the Chinese the most is the claim that “Religion is the opium of the people.”2 Anyone familiar with the events in that part of the world during the mid-1800s would realize the baggage this statement bears. It did not help that many of the Western missionaries of that generation rode on the coattails of the European opium traders to bring the gospel to the Chinese.3 Additionally, just a mere forty years ago, during China’s Cultural Revolution, the ancient philosopher Confucius was compared to a hated general who had tried to usurp Mao’s rule.4 Temples that were built in Confucius’s honor were burned and his ancient writings were set to flames in the name of anti-feudalism.

In recent times however, interest in pre-modern Chinese culture has grown, and Confucianism in particular has seen a resurgence in popularity.

This is evident in the setting up of more than 300 Confucian Institutes around the world by the Chinese government in just ten years. In an ironic contrast to its earlier repression of Confucianism, the communist government aims to promote the Chinese culture and language via these institutes to expand its soft power globally.

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Today, though Confucianism is not the formal ideology of many Cultural Chinese, its influence on their worldview, culture, and social life remains powerful and undeniable. For example, the weighty value placed on education and filial piety can all be traced to Confucius’s teachings about how life ought to be ordered. While it is possible to detect the metaphysical footprints of Taoism and the existential projections of Buddhism in the Cultural Chinese worldview, the philosophy that has most profoundly shaped the Cultural Chinese’s conception of life and reality has been the Religion of the Learned: Confucianism.

CONFUCIANISM’S CONTRIBUTIONS AND IDEAS

Based on the philosophy and teachings of the ancient statesman, philosopher, and educator Kung Fu-tzu (551-479 BC), Confucianism’s greatest contribution has been to the intellectual and ethical aspects of Cultural Chinese thinking and life. Historically, especially during most of the Han period (circa 200 BC-200 AD), Confucianism was the official ideology that provided the state and society with a standard code of morals, prescribing precisely the nature of the relationship between those who govern and those who are being governed. Since then, most if not all feudal rulers have subscribed to the philosophy and enforced it as a secular religion.5 Though typically described as one of China’s Three Religions (Taoism and Buddhism being the other two), Confucianism is not a system of beliefs into which you can “convert.” Rather, it is perceived as a way of life that consists of rituals that maintain the harmony of communities and societies. Often portrayed as utilitarian and this-worldly,

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The central idea of Confucianism is that every normal person can aspire to be the Noble or Superior Man—superior to his fellows, if possible, but surely superior to his own past and present self.

Confucianism’s pragmatic principles especially addressed the social dimension of human existence. Confucius was especially concerned that man should develop as humans in the most moral sense.

Hence, the central idea of Confucianism is that every normal person can aspire to be the Noble or Superior Man—superior to his fellows, if possible, but surely superior to his own past and present self. A moral code based on benevolence towards others, and the development of self and society via proper education and practice of virtues are key ideas of Confucianism. These ideas would eventually lead toward the flourishing of humanity and the achievement of the Noble Man. A significant portion of the various Confucian texts, like the Analects, evolved around the characteristics of the Noble Man. The Noble Man is one who exemplifies the highest of virtues like integrity, love for truth, and filial piety. He is also a man of learning and of proper conduct: “A gentleman avoids seeking to satisfy his appetite to the full when he eats and avoids seeking comfort when he is at home. He is diligent in deed and cautious in word, and he associates with possessors of the Way and is put right by them. He may simply be said to be fond of learning.” (Analects, Book 1-14) HOW TO BE TRULY HUMAN: SELF-CULTIVATION

Mencius (372-298 BC) and Hsun Tzu (313238 BC) are probably two of Confucius’s more famous followers. In reality, Confucius’s followers wrote many of the ancient Confucian texts rather than the philosopher himself. While both Mencius

and Hsun Tzu elaborated and expanded the central ideas of Confucius, they seem to disagree on the nature of humanity: Mencius believed that human nature is inherently good while Hsun Tzu thought that we tend to be evil by nature.6 Though they held very contradicting views about humanity, both were convinced that man can nonetheless strive towards perfection through proper education and the practice of virtuous conduct.7 This is the idea of self-cultivation. Mencius thought that self-cultivation would help us realize the goodness within us so that we can truly live according to our nature.

In contrast, Hsun Tzu believed that despite our evil nature, we have the potential to become the Noble Man if we restrain our evil nature through ceremonials and rules of right conduct. This is achieved when our practice of virtues becomes habitual and our nature is transformed. In other words, the Noble Man is really what it means to be human.

Accordingly, the cultivation of the Noble Man would be impossible without a proper social environment that is conducive to inner harmony and the development of harmonious relationships with others. Confucius viewed the self as the center of a nexus of relationships: family, friends, society, and state. Hence, it is essential that the harmony of these five cardinal relationships be maintained at all costs—ruler to ruled, father to son, husband to wife, brother to brother, and friend to friend.

OVERCOMING THE HISTORICAL BAGGAGE OF CHRISTIANITY

As noted earlier, Christianity is perceived as a foreign religion. If the Christian faith

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is to be accepted doubtlessly and comfortably by the Cultural Chinese as one that is relevant and not another Western import, this historical baggage will have to be overcome. And just as in all crosscultural settings, one of the ways we can cultivate an open mind so that our unbelieving friends would be persuaded is when we start from a common ground rather from where we differ.

In view of the historical disrepute that the Christian faith bears among the Cultural Chinese, perhaps we can examine how we can present the gospel in a way that resonates with their aspirations and values—especially with regards to human flourishing as defined by the ideals of Confucianism.

Though there are two contradicting views of the nature of man, most Cultural Chinese hold to Mencius’s optimistic view of humanity. However, the bitter experiences faced by the largest Confucian nation in the world, particularly in the last century, have exposed the weakness of both the society and culture. Despite centuries of striving towards the ideal of the Noble Man and human flourishing, they are not making the kind of progress they had hoped.

Most Cultural Chinese would concede that it does not take too much soulsearching to admit that humanity does seem to possess weaknesses that make it impossible for us to reach our aspiration of the Noble Man. Thus, this longing for human flourishing and the cultivation of a moral self present two great openings to express the relevance of the Christian faith for Chinese culture.

JESUS THE PATH TO HUMAN FLOURISHING

First, while the Christian belief in original sin and depravity has always been alien and even offensive to many Cultural Chinese, they can certainly identify with sin in reality—in their own lives as much as in the lives of others. In all honesty, we

can safely say that Confucius’s counsel of self-cultivation has not been able to adequately bring about the human flourishing we hope to achieve. In fact, the basic human predicament seems to be the incapacity for the realization of such an ideal. As Christians we are not surprised by this common human failure, for the Bible tells us in Romans 3:23 that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” And this is where the Good News for the Cultural Chinese comes in. The aspiration of human flourishing and becoming a Noble Man may be unattainable on our own, but we don’t have to do it on our own. The path towards that hope is open to us in Christ: For I bear them witness that they have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge. For, being ignorant of the righteousness of God, and seeking to establish their own, they did not submit to God’s righteousness. For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes. (Romans 10:2-4) Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6) As we examine what the gospel is truly about, we see it is about human flourishing.

The Good News is that God has sent his own Son to restore the Shalom that has been disrupted by sin. While it is easy for us to assume that Shalom equals peace and harmony, biblical Shalom encompasses much more than that. Shalom as expressed in Scripture incorporates not just peace but universal flourishing, wholeness, and delight—the way things ought to be.8 It is a rich state of affairs where there is contentment, where humanity fulfills its vocation, and where humanity is in perfect fellowship with its Creator and Savior.

Theologian Cornelius Plantinga, Jr. cogently describes biblical Shalom as a state in which the physical world, human-

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ity, and its cultures and ethnicities, families, married couples, friends, and individuals, all exist in wholeness while enjoying edifying relations with each other and encouraging one another’s virtues.9 When viewed this way, Confucius’s idea of human flourishing very much reflects the Shalom that Jesus came to restore. In fact, as considered earlier, much of what is central to the Cultural Chinese’s attainment of human flourishing is the preservation of relationships.

Maintaining the goodwill of existing relationships and seeking reconciliation where necessary towards a harmonious society and an inner harmony is all part of the notion of human flourishing. If that’s the case, we can certainly relate biblical Shalom to the Chinese’s idea of human flourishing.

While Confucius was right in his prognosis of humanity’s purpose, he perhaps was a little too optimistic about man’s ability to perfect himself, as history and experience inform us that we will never be able to achieve biblical Shalom (or human flourishing) on our own. As such, in Shangdi’s love and wisdom, he has sent the ultimate Son of Heaven who humbled himself to enter into his creation as one of us to show us what it is like to live in the way he intended us to— according to the example set by him.10 Jesus, the Son of Heaven, first atones for our sins so that we may be saved from them if we accept him. He also sends the

Holy Spirit to help us live righteously and virtuously. In short, the gospel to the Cultural Chinese is this: salvation from the penalty of sin and victory over its power in our lives, which consequently opens the way to flourishing and Shalom.

Instead of self-effort, Christ has already provided a way for us towards that end, which we may attain by trusting in him.

Interestingly enough, Confucius also advocated the idea of the Mandate of Heaven, referring to the will or decree of heaven. Though the term did not originate with Confucius, as it was a term commonly used to refer to one’s destiny or fate, Confucius used the phrase to speak reverently of the will of a personal God. According to Confucian classics, the emperor held the key to the Mandate of Heaven and hence was deemed to be the Son of Heaven. As he is the Son of Heaven, he is the mediator between the powers above and the people below, governing by the Mandate of Heaven.11 Unfortunately, China’s ancient past informs us that most of the earthly Sons of Heaven proved to have failed in their mission to govern wisely. In God’s grace and mercy, He sent his own. Unlike his predecessors, this Son of Heaven, named Jesus, came to serve, and eventually sacrificed himself to fulfill the will of Shangdi, to bring reconciliation.

When the narrative of the gospel is presented this way, it avoids being perceived as a foreign solution to the

As we communicate the gospel to Cultural Chinese, we can certainly present Jesus as the mediator and reconciler of relationships, because harmonious relationships are of supreme importance to most Cultural Chinese. Salvation is therefore best understood in terms of a reconciled vertical relationship with God and a harmonious horizontal relationship with one’s fellow man.

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Cultural Chinese’s existential problem.

Rather, it seamlessly corresponds with Confucius’s ideals for humanity but with a realistic solution.

it is seen as “Christ’s shame-bearing death.” And as we demonstrate how the resurrection is “honor-gaining,” the gospel narrative immediately becomes recognizable and indeed very desirable.

JESUS THE MEDIATOR OF RELATIONSHIPS (GUANXI)

Second, it is widely known that the Chinese culture is a face-value culture that greatly honors relationships (guanxi).

While the notion of guanxi is too complex to discuss here, suffice to say that Cultural Chinese would try to avoid confrontation at all times and at all costs to maintain the harmony of their relationships. In all aspects of life—family, business, and friendships—nobody should cause someone to lose face and run the risk of severing the relationship.

Match-made marriages and the engaging of a reputable person as guarantor rather than signing a contract are all cultural practices that are not unfamiliar to the Cultural Chinese. Hence, Cultural Chinese are very well acquainted with the need for and the role of a mediator or middle person in any major undertaking.

Scripture tells us that Jesus is the one mediator between man and God: “For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all, which is the testimony given at the proper time” (1 Timothy 2:5-6). As we communicate the gospel to Cultural Chinese, we can certainly present Jesus as the mediator and reconciler of relationships, because harmonious relationships are of supreme importance to most Cultural Chinese. Salvation is therefore best understood in terms of a reconciled vertical relationship with God and a harmonious horizontal relationship with one’s fellow man.12 In addition, as the Chinese culture is a shame-honor culture, the Cross and what Jesus did on the Cross becomes very powerful for the Cultural Chinese when

I’Ching Thomas is associate director of training at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Singapore.

1

Cultural Chinese is used in certain contexts (in contrary to Chinese) as it would include all diaspora Chinese from around the world: Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, The Philippines, etc., as well as those from Mainland China.

2 Wu Xiaoxin, “The Hall of Four: politics, faith and daily life in a northern Chinese village,” April 16, 2010 at http://podcasts.ox.ac.uk/ people/xiaoxin-wu. Accessed July 21, 2013.

3 This era of the Opium Wars and Unequal Treaties is also sometimes known as China’s Century of Humiliation.

4 Julia Ching, Confucianism and Christianity: A Comparative Study (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1977), 50.

5 Tong Zhang and Barry Schwartz, “Confucius and the Cultural Revolution: A Study in Collective Memory,” International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society 11:2 (1997), 193.

6 Michael C. Branigan, The Pulse of Wisdom: The Philosophies of India, China and Japan, 2nd ed.

(Belmont, CA.:Wadsworth, 2000), 27.

7 81, James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics, Vol. II, rev. 2nd ed.(Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1895).

8 Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., Not The Way It’s Supposed To Be: A Breviary of Sin (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdsman, 1995), 10.

9 Ibid., 100.

10 Shangdi is the title that is used to refer to the Supreme Lord or literally, Lord of Heaven.

11 Ching, 188.

12 Enoch Wan, “Practical contextualization: A case study of evangelizing contemporary Chinese,” Chinese Around the World (March 2000), 18-24.

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The Glamour of Atheism

By Cameron McAllister

Atheism, like any belief system, makes a loud appeal to the imagination, and if we overlook this striking fact we turn a blind eye to one of the key sources of its persuasive power. What is the chief appeal of atheism? In a word, death.

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[ I n d e s p e r at e need of life]

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he title of this article risks overstatement. Consequently, I hope the reader will do me the courtesy of not regarding it as a cheap ploy for attention.

My aim is simple: I wish to examine an aspect of atheism’s imaginative appeal.

Christians are frequently accused of wishful thinking, of retreating to the church in the face of a vast and pitiless universe. Though this is clearly a doubleedged sword (wishful thinking works both ways), my reason for focusing on the “glamour” of atheism is not so much to craft a rejoinder as to train a lens on a frequently overlooked issue.

Atheism, like any belief system, makes a loud appeal to the imagination, and if we overlook this striking fact we turn a blind eye to one of the key sources of its persuasive power. Specifically, I want to suggest that death is atheism’s ultimate appeal, and that death lends atheism its special glamour. It is in the arena of popular culture in particular that this glamour frequently announces itself most vocally. My hope is that this thesis will seem less controversial and even less outrageous as we progress.

A new type of character has emerged in popular television.1 Not only is this character a hardened naturalist, this character is a principled cynic when it comes to human motive, an inveterate pessimist on all matters of progress, and an outright fatalist where man’s destiny is concerned. This character sees through everything and everyone, and is not afraid to issue shrill reports on his or her unseemly findings. It goes without saying that “said character” is usually some kind of investigator, preferably a medical doctor or a detective, and that said character usually dispenses with all social formalities in the name of blunt honesty that often borders on misanthropy. After all, said character cannot be bothered with the usual conventions that govern civil society. Said character’s only alle-

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giance is to the truth, and truth rarely agrees with our sense of decorum.

Have you met this character? He goes by the name of Gregory House in the television series House, M.D. We see him in the current BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, and his latest incarnation is detective Rustin (aptly shortened to Rust) Cohle in HBO’s True Detective.

The following is a brief sampling of detective Rust’s worldview: The world is a “giant gutter in outer space.” Rust says that human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself; we are creatures that should not exist by natural law. Rather, we are things that labor under the illusion of having a self—this accretion of sensory experience and feeling, programed with total assurance that we are each somebody when in fact everybody’s nobody. Hence, argues Rust, “The honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing. Walk hand-in-hand into extinction, one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.”

When Rust’s partner poses the very reasonable question of how he manages to get out of bed in the morning, Rust replies, “I tell myself I bear witness. But the real answer is that it’s obviously my programming, and I lack the constitution for suicide.”

As is often the case with this kind of character, a direct correlation is drawn between Rust’s unflinching outlook and his misery. He is a functional alcoholic throughout most of the show and occasionally abuses drugs in order to subtract sleep from his obsessive work routine.

We catch brief glimpses of him working through the details of his case in his spartanly furnished home, the walls decorated with crime-scene photos. He has no friends. His marriage crumbled beneath the weight of a tragedy that took his daughter’s life—a tragedy he describes

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in positive terms when he is under the influence of his nihilistic worldview. His partner repeatedly describes him as “unstable,” and it is visibly evident that he walks a thin line between genius and madness.

So, what in any of the foregoing could possibly be construed as appealing?

As articulate as Rust is on the subject of human nature (or the lack thereof), few will find much inspiration in his conclusion that “everybody’s nobody,” and fewer still will feel compelled to “deny our programming” and waltz headlong into extinction. And yet, I think there is a powerful appeal to Rust’s bleak philosophy, and even a kind of austere beauty to it.

In a masterful essay entitled “Is Theology Poetry?” C.S. Lewis frames atheism in mythological terms, and names Man as the tragic hero of the story.2 Here is man’s trajectory in brief: From complete emptiness, certain forces and molecules appear and collide, and the cosmos is born from their chaotic convulsions. In the wake of ageless eons and a diverse set of biological wardrobe changes, mankind emerges on faltering steps, survives by brute force and instinct, worships a god fashioned in his own image, becomes enlightened, throws off the shackles of religion to awake in the dawn of a new era of reason and progress where all illusions are well and truly vanquished. But the last act lends the special poignancy to the story that elevates it from melodrama to high art: In the end, nature has her revenge, matter winds down, and man is extinguished as easily as the flame on a candle’s wick. This is atheism in the tradition of high tragedy.

What is the chief appeal of atheism?

In a word, death. This story begins and ends with nothingness. Carbon-based life is a brief reprieve between two absolute abysses. We have our minute sliver of time on this minute patch of existence, both of which will be swallowed by oblivion in the long run. Seen in this light, suicide—“denying our programming”—is the most potent and naked expression of human free will on display, a great cosmic revolt against the material upheavals that accidentally produced us in the first place.

This is why atheism is a zero-sum game, a philosophy of death that can offer nothing but death. This is why the rising tide of secularism in the Western world is fostering an indefatigable culture of death. Forged in a crucible of nothingness, we wander as cosmic orphans back to the yawning void from which we were so tragically ejected. In such a stark context, anything more than death, or on the side of life, or even minimally optimistic must be regarded with either pity or callous derision because it is obviously deluded, naïve, or dishonest.

The existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre said “existence precedes essence.” In other words, we have no stable or fixed identity that precedes us. The burden of identity, selfhood, and meaning rests solely on our shoulders. But, again, if we came from nothing and are returning inextricably to nothing, life is a temporary accident, and death is the only authentic currency at our disposal. Why is death authentic? Because it is life that is artificial and nothingness that is essential. It is not that this worldview tries to be especially morbid—in many cases it makes a valiant attempt to be life-affirming—it’s

It is not that this worldview tries to be especially morbid—in many cases it makes a valiant attempt to be life-affirming—it’s simply that it has literally nothing else to offer, or, rather, it has precisely nothing to offer.

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Romans 8:6-8

The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.

The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so.

Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God.

simply that it has literally nothing else to offer, or, rather, it has precisely nothing to offer.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying that it is impossible for atheists to lead exemplary and even noble lives.

Clearly, many do. What I am saying is that, from the standpoint of scientific naturalism, such behavior is an anomaly because naturalism, devoid of any and all metaphysical underpinnings, can provide neither the motivation nor the justification for a truly selfless life. Such values must be borrowed, or smuggled in, so to speak.

In a provocative article, the journalist Matthew Parris, himself an avowed atheist, reluctantly concedes that removing Christian evangelism from the continent of Africa would be disastrous. Why? “In Africa Christianity changes people’s hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation.

The rebirth is real. The change is good.”3 My point is not that atheists can’t be good people. My point is that it is manifestly impossible for atheism to “change people’s hearts,” to inspire transformation and rebirth on its own steam. Those wishing to find the ethical resources for such an undertaking must look elsewhere.

The apostle Paul tells us that the mind set on the flesh is death (Romans 8:6). An honest materialist will agree with this statement. If the material universe traces its lineage back to a cosmic accident, then life cannot be regarded as anything other than alien, an intrusion where emptiness will ultimately prevail. So, the materialist mind is set preeminently on emptiness and death.

Part of our unique and pastoral mission as Christian men and women is to revive in people a love of life in a culture of death. We need to work carefully to restore the appeal of life in all of its vital glory. We need to remind this culture of death that life, not emptiness, is essential, primal, and original. In fact, we have value and purpose precisely because we

have been created by a personal God in his image, fashioned for intimacy and joy with God as well as with others. We can preach nothing less than eternal life, because anything less than eternal life is simply a temporary loan from a bankrupt universe. Indeed, the poverty of atheism is so total that it is powerless to offer anything more than death.

It is this life offered by Christ that stands in stark contrast to the materialist mindset. As RZIM colleague Os Guinness says, “Comparison is the mother of clarity.” My intent has not been to isolate those who resolutely deny any kind of divinity. Rather, my honest hope is that the radical nature of the life that Christ offers us might come into sharp focus when set against the unsparing backdrop of consistent materialism.

David Bentley Hart has said that we have only two options at our disposal: Christ or Nothing.4 A casual survey of our cultural landscape makes it abundantly clear that our love of life is in desperate need of resuscitation. I believe Christ alone can accomplish this resuscitation.

Cameron McAllister is a member of the speaking and writing team at RZIM. 1

Strictly speaking, this character is not new, but is in fact ripped right from the pages of an existentialist novel. A primary example would be Meursault from Albert Camus’ The Stranger.

However, the sensibilities displayed by this kind of character are new to the world of television.

2 C.S. Lewis, “Is Theology Poetry?” in The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses (New York: HarperOne, 2001), 123-126.

3 This quote is taken from Matthew Parris’s article “As an Atheist, I Truly Believe Africa Needs God” on Come and See Africa’s Website. Accessed April 4, 2014 http://comeandseeafrica.org/casa/atheist/athiestafrica.htm.

4 See David Bentley Hart, “Christ and Nothing (No Other God)” in his book In the Aftermath: Provocations and Laments (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2009), 1-19.

[28] JUST THINKING • RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

Think Again The Marks of Love

YEARS AGO I was given the great privilege to be in Shanghai in the home of the famed Chinese evangelist Wang Ming Dao. He told us that he was put in prison for his faith in Jesus Christ, but he soon renounced his faith and was released from his imprisonment.

Thereafter, he says, he lived with such torment of his soul that he walked the streets of Beijing saying, “My name is Peter; my name is Peter. I’ve denied my Lord.” Soon, Mao Zedong put him back into prison—this time for eighteen years.

Wang Ming Dao said every day in prison he woke up and sang the hymn by the hymn writer Fanny Crosby,

All the way my Savior leads me; What have I to ask beside?

Can I doubt his tender mercy, Who through life has been my guide?

Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort, Here by faith in Him to dwell!

For I know whate’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.

At first the guards tried to silence him. When they weren’t able to succeed, they resignedly put up with his singing.

Gradually, as the years went by, they would gather near the opening to his cell to listen as he sang of God’s faithfulness to him. Eventually, they began to ask him to sing to them and to teach them the words of the song. Such is the impact of one who walks faithfully with God. Many years earlier as a young man trying to come to terms with God’s call in ministry, I stood by a garbage dump in Ban Me Thuot, Vietnam: it was the grave

of six missionaries martyred in the Tet Offensive of 1968. All alone, I pondered the price they had paid for following Christ. I asked myself whether any of them would have answered God’s call on their lives if they had known that their lives would end in a garbage dump. God knows our frailties; how loving of Him that He does not allow us to know the future. I prayed there by that grave that God would make me faithful so that I would not focus on the cost, but rather, keep my eyes on the mission to serve Christ with all my heart, soul, and mind, and on the sweetness of the walk with Him, day by day.

The Bible speaks of many who suffered on behalf of the gospel who were unwilling to abandon the precious faith entrusted to them. Consider the apostle Paul, who knew intimately what it was to write, “I bear on my body the marks of Jesus” (Galatians 6:17). Think of the stoning of Stephen and the heartache endured by those recorded in Hebrews 11. Furthermore, eleven of Jesus’s twelve disciples died a martyr’s death; not one of them anticipated how they would die when they came to him. If they had known where following Jesus would lead them, one wonders whether any of them would have started on the journey, for as they proved later, they were not particularly brave men.

And yet, faithfulness over the long run is the shining example of what faith is meant to be. The story of the gospel in China is only one recent example.

During the Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong burned the seminary libraries, expelled Christians from the country, and declared that the name of Jesus would never be pronounced on Chinese lips

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again. He tried to bury the Christian faith completely. Today, the Chinese church is the fastest growing church in the world.

Many, many times I have looked back at my own journey. Had I known the cost it would exact, I am absolutely positive that at the very least I would have had grave reservations and trembled at stepping onto the road. What I have concluded is this: The greatest of loves will often come at the greatest of costs.

We may never be imprisoned for our faith, but what one deems to be of ultimate value exacts a cost in proportion.

God knows our frailties; how loving of Him that He does not allow us to know the future. I prayed there by that grave that God would make me faithful so that I would not focus on the cost, but rather, keep my eyes on the mission to serve Christ with all my heart, soul, and mind, and on the sweetness of the walk with Him, day by day.

I have a friend who spoke to me of how difficult it was for him when he finally learned the heavy cost of his sin through the forgiveness extended to him. He had betrayed his wife and family and lived through the pain of asking for forgiveness and rebuilding that trust.

Somehow over a period of time he assumed that even for them, the hurt was mended and the past expunged from their memory. One day he returned home from work early in the afternoon, just to get a break. Unaware that he was home, his wife was on her knees crying out to God to help her forget the pain she and her children were bearing. It was a rude awakening to him of the cost of his sin and of his family’s sacrificial love. Now multiply that wrong by a limitless number and you will get a glimpse of what Christ

bore on the cross for you and for me.

The greatest of loves will never come cheaply. The greatest of loves that you and I can ever experience is an intimate relationship with God, who has given everything for us. And yes, sometimes, it takes everything you’ve got to honor that love and it takes everything you’ve got to honor that trust. Look at any athletes who have succeeded. Discipline and perseverance are indispensable parts of their lives unless they cheat. When you have discipline, you have the marks on the body to demonstrate it.

There is always the temptation to misjudge the cost halfway through the journey. God reminds us again and again that the true measure of gain is only calibrated at the destination. That is why even Moses, when he asked how he would know that God had called him, was told, “When you get there you will know it.”

That’s not the answer he wanted but that was the profound lesson he learned.

Fanny Crosby, bearing the marks of blindness in infancy by a traveling doctor’s questionable treatment, sang of God’s faithfulness and love to her dying day— and saw the end with the eyes of her soul: All the way my Savior leads me, Cheers each winding path I tread; Gives me grace for every trial, Feeds me with the living Bread.

Though my weary steps may falter, And my soul athirst may be, Gushing from the Rock before me, Lo! A spring of joy I see.

That may be why, even in singing the hymn, the last two lines are repeated: “Gushing from the Rock before me, Lo! A spring of joy I see.”

Warm Regards,

Ravi

[30] JUST THINKING • RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

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• The Quarterly Magazine of

RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple. For which one of you, when he wants to build a tower, does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it?

—Luke 14:27-28

© 2014 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries