Late in 2007, Christopher Hitchens and Alister McGrath met for a public debate on the topic of Religion: The Poison or the Cure, where the merits – or lack thereof, of religion (and Christianity in particular), were thrown back and forth. I’ve written up my summary of the debate, and I’m in the process of writing a review, and I’ll post it when it’s done.

Unlike some comments out there on the debate, it really will be a review. The Hitchens/Dawkins fanclub over at Dawkins’ site, of course, make the truly important observations on the debate here (and on the subsequent pages in that forum). Apparently “Alistair McGrath is a nonce.” Crucially, “There’s something very comical about the way that this McGrath person moves about as he talks.” But what strikes me as genuinely revealing about just how familiar the fanbois are with the person they are talking about was this gem in the very first comment: “That guy just strikes me as a very small person that makes a living out of Dawkins’ fame. How come he can’t seem to manage writing a book that isn’t about somebody else’s work?”

Wow. Just wow. McGrath has written two books in which he criticises Dawkins. Two. Put that next to the fact that McGrath has authored at least 18 academic books (the list there does not appear to include the Dawkins Delusion) and edited three larger volumes, written a couple of textbooks, and authored literally dozens of peer reviewed articles, including a few in science. Yep, that’s McGrath all right, riding the coat-tails of Richard Dawkins.

Jaqueline Salmon reviewed the debate in the Washington Post here.  She concludes, “Nobody got knocked down, nobody was knocked out, no arm was held up in triumph, the eternal question remains unresolved.” I can’t say I share her conclusion. It’s my humble opinion that in flamboyant presentation Hitchens won, and on content, Hitchens left in a body bag – but I’ll also be suggesting that McGrath could (should) have done better on the offensive.

Stay tuned, I’ll announce when the review is online.

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It’s the Easter season. Today is Good Friday. Christmas is good and all, but I have to share Tom Wright’s dissatisfaction with the fact that Christmas has come to overshadow Easter both in the commercial world and in the Church in many parts. The death and resurrection of the Son of God is the heart of the Christian faith, and if what we say is true, it is the sequence of events that changes everything. It is an embarassing affront to anyone who wants to take the name of Jesus, yet hold to a sort of invisible and irrlevant spiritual Gospel, or a version of the Saviour that accomodates inner peace and eternal (yet decidely immaterial) life. Easter reminds us that Christianity presents us with a flesh and blood man who died and who bodily rose. You can’t hide a religion like that in respectable language that doesn’t want to give the appearance of crudeness or falsifiability. We don’t shrink back from saying that this completely dead man was brought back to life and not only that, presented himself to his followers as the physical, completely credible and very real Lord of creation. There’s no room for blushing liberals to have a sort of divine moral example who will live on in our hearts, or any kind of Platonic teacher of wisdom who has transcended the unnecessary physical world. Christianity will have none of that. Like it or leave it, but you can’t re-make Easter in a more respectable mold. The physical death and physical resurrection of Jesus is what grounds our hope, not only of eternal life, but of the transformation and ultimate redemption of creation. It gives the things that God has made eternal value. God is interested in the world, it is not destined for the scrap heap, and he is pleased to see it redeemed. Tom Wright, mentioned earlier, has plenty to say about this in his excellent book Surprised by Hope (SPCK, 2007), which I’m reading at present, and will be reviewing when I am done.

On another note, but staying with the Easter theme, this interesting and short article has appeared at the website of the Biblical Archaeology Society. We typically think of the scene of Jesus’ prayers in Gethsemane prior to his arrest as taking place in a garden. But the New Testament never actually refers to Gethsemane as a garden. Gethsemane is a cave!

Image: The cave of Gethsemane.

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My good friend Dee Dee Warren has a new podcast, which you should definitely check out.

It’s called The Preterist Podcast, and it’s, well, a podcast about preterism. Preterism is a view within Christian eschatology, teaching that a number of events in biblical prophecy are now in the past. Preterism contrasts strongly with futurism, the view popularized in such sensational works as The Late Great Planet Earth, or more recently, the Left Behind series of books and movies.

Dee Dee does a much better job than I could summarizing the position, and for Christians who have not encountered the view before, do check out her podcast. It may well revolutionize the way you read many parts of the Bible. What’s particularly helpful about Dee Dee’s podcast is – apart from the fact that she’s awesome at making podcasts and stuff – is the fact that a lot of the material carrying the label “preterist” out there on the internet is not really historic preterism at all, but a more recently aberration that teaches that there is literally nothing left to occur by way of biblical prophecy. No future return of Christ, no future bodily resurrection of the dead, for example. It’s a small but very vocal movement confined almost exclusively to the internet. If you’re not a Christian and you’re reading this, those issues might seem like a bit of a storm in a teacup, but if you’re someone concerned about Christians orthodoxy, you’ll see why that’s not a serious option for Christians. The Preterist Podcast then is a welcome alternative.

The presentation is fantastic, everything is laid out clearly and persuasively, and yours truly is responsible for a few of the sounds you’ll hear. What are you waiting for?

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Yes, two posts in a row about Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s children’s masterpiece, The Little Prince.

I’ve seen this book referred to by a number of reviewers as something of a Christian allegory. That being so, I’m still never quite sure if I am reading more into it than the author intended. But even if I am, I suppose that is yet another mark of a really good author, that the principles in his work can be seen as real-world truths that can be applied in ways he never anticipated.

Here’s how Psalm 19 begins in the English Standard Version of the Bible.

The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.

Like the psalmist, when I look up at the stars at night, I see the glory of God displayed in the things that He has made. “What an awesome God!” I might think to myself. And yet, Richard Dawkins looks up and the same sky and says “what a pretty accident” (or at least, he could say that, given what he believes about the absence of a creator of the Universe).

Of course, it can be explained in rather boring terms why we respond to the same sight differently. I think that there is a personal God who is responsible for the existence of the universe, and Professor Dawkins does not. But why explain such things in boring terms when The Little Prince does it with such poetic style? In Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s story, our hero , in his search for human companionship, has just met a fox.

“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.”

“I am a fox,” the fox said.

“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”

“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.”

“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince. But, after some thought, he added:

“What does that mean – ‘tame’?”

[At this point the fox distracts from the question for a little while, but then we are returned to it, and I will go to that part of their discussion now.]

“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. “It means to establish ties.”

” ‘To establish ties’?”

“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than just a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…”

“I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince. “There is a flower… I think that she has tamed me…”

“It is possible,” said the fox. “On the earth one sees all sorts of things.”

“Oh, but this is not on the earth!” said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.

“On another planet?”

“Yes.”

“Are there hunters on that planet?”

“No.”

“Ah, that is in interesting! Are there chickens?”

“No.”

“Nothing is perfect,” sighed the fox. But he came back to his idea.

“My life is very monotonous,” he said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…”

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

“Please – tame me!” he said.

In a way it cheapens really effective analogies to explain them after they are given. They are supposed to just work. But here’s a start: God is the little prince, you are the fox, and the wheat-fields are the heavens that declare his glory – if we have been tamed. Now read it again.

That is why Richard Dawkins and I can look up to the same starry sky and see two very different things.

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My current favourite children’s book is The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I’m currently reading it to my son. He’s old enough to read it himself (he recently turned 10 – how the years have flown by!), but I’m making the most of reading to him while he still lets me – long may those years last!

Sometimes Children’s books (like the chronicles of Narnia, or this one) have a way of presenting profound philosophical points in such a perfect way. I doubt that all such points are self-explanatory to their young audience, which is yet more reason to think that children’s stories like this one are best when read to children as well as by them, because a really good story benefits the reader as much as the listener.

Anyway, to the point: Part IV of The Little Prince, the narrator, the man who met the Little Prince, introduces us to the fact that the Prince is from Asteroid B-612. But the narrator assures us that he’s just telling us this as a matter of fact, and not for the sake of “the grown-ups and their ways.” For you see,

Grown-ups love figures. When you tell them that you have made a new friend, they never say to you, “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies?” Instead, they demand: “How old is he? How many brothers and sisters does has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?” Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.

If you were to say to the grown-ups: “I saw a beautiful house made of rosy brick, with geraniums in the windows and doves on the roof,” they would not be able to get any idea of the house at all. You would have to say to them, “I saw a house that cost £4,000.” Then they would exclaim: “Oh, what a pretty house that is!”

Just so, you might say to them: “The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, then that is proof that he exists.” And what good would it do to tell them that? They would shrug their shoulders and treat you like a child. But if you said to them: “The planet he came from is Asteroid B-612,” then they would be convinced, and leave you in peace from their questions.

They are like that. One must not hold it against them. Children should always show great forbearance toward grown-up people.

But certainly, for us who understand life, figures are a matter of indifference. I should have liked to begin this story in the fashion of the fairy-tales. I should have liked to say: “Once upon a time there was a little prince who lived on a planet that was scarcely any bigger than himself, and who had need of a friend…”

To those who understand life, that would have given a much greater air of truth to my story.

For I do not want any one to read my book carelessly. I have suffered too much grief in setting down these memories. Six years have passed since my friend went away from me, with his sheep. If I try to describe him here, it is to make sure that I shall not forget him. To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend. And if I forget him, I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures.

As someone with some familiarity with – and great appreciation for – the writings of Alvin Plantinga, and just as someone who thinks that we can know that God exists without being able to convince anyone, this stood out to me immediately as really profound.

Christians believe (or at least I hope I’m not the only one who believes this) that in some really important way, we know God, and that God, to some extent, has made himself known to us. Take a philosophically unsophisticated person to whom God has personally made Himself known as loving and forgiving, and so forth. Given that God really has done so, what kind of objection is it to say to such a person, “but how can this have happened when we don’t even have any hard evidence that God exists?” In these circumstances, that God is loving and forgiving (and so forth) is evidence that he exists, because you can’t be loving and forgiving – or anything else – unless you exist.

Of course, if someone forbids the possibility that the narrator ever knew the little prince, or that God could ever have actually made himself known, this will just sound false. All the more reason to think that evidentialism is a stupid epistemological outlook.

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I noticed this in today’s Otago Daily Times, and some googling turned this up, providing a fuller story.

The first line makes it sound a little more dire than it really is: “A quarter of people in Britain today cannot tell the difference between a text in the Bible and a speech by Sir Bob Geldof, a study has found.” As the story unfolds, what we learn is that in Britain, a quarter of those people surveyed (more than 1,000 adults) as part of a study conducted by the public theology think tank Theos, thought that a particular verse in the Bible was something that Bob Geldof had said. The verse was Proverbs 31:8,”You must defend those who are helpless and have no hope. Be fair and give justice to the poor and homeless.”

I have to confess, the weight of this particular finding is a bit lost on me. It’s something Bob Geldof, and a number of other people concerned about poverty would say, so if the option of “was this statement made by Bob Geldof” was put to these participants, a quarter of them, unless they had memorized the verse ahead of time, could quite easily have thought that the answer was yes.

I’m guessing that the overall point is that Geldof’s concern for poverty is a biblical one, and that’s a point well made. The story concludes:

Paul Woolley, director of Theos said: “There are clearly some important challenges to the Christian community contained within these findings. The fact that people confuse the Bible and a speech by Bob Geldof is intriguing, but the fact that 42 per cent of people disagree that the Bible champions the cause of the poor and marginalised demonstrates a significant degree of biblical illiteracy and the need for the Christian community to model the emphases of its sacred text more clearly.”

Apparently more than half answered correctly, saying that the Bible spoke about justice and poverty more than about hell, adultery or homosexuality, but the 42 per cent who didn’t think that the Bible champions the cause of the poor and marginalised at all suggests that those surveyed hold something of an ill informed caricature of what the Bible is about. This suggestion was only confirmed by a reader’s comments at the page where this story appears – comments that question whether the Bible could really be said to champion the cause of the oppressed and that this would be a “change of emphasis,” away from the obvious emphasis of killing homosexuals and adulteresses.

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Recently I posted a clip featuring a number of calls being made to Planned Parenthood. Today I found longer clips, providing some background to these calls and the reasons for them. Check them out:

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This caught my eye today, from a recent issue of the Harvard University Gazette.

A poll conducted on Harvard University Students about religion, morality and the current US presidential race revealed that 70% of students considered religion either somewhat important or very important in their lives. Over half that group (40% overall) “are religious and secular centrists who incorporate religious views with their political attitudes and actions.”

What stood out to me on reading this was not the fact that it’s unusual for people to think this way. It’s not. This really just served as a reminder that those voices in the ivory towers of academia insisting that no really or properly democratic society mixes its religious values with its political decision making – those voices with which I have been engaging in postgrad study for the last few years until recently – really do not represent ways of thinking about values and society shared by the majority. And for that, at least, I am relieved.

Incidentally, the poll included the Harvard Institute of Politics Political Personality Test. You can take that test here.

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