So I need some thoughts and opinions. Somebody wrote me with several questions, but the crux seems to along the lines of Can we offer proof that Scripture is inspired? This person had been a Christian for many, many years but due to some sort of personal crisis mishandled by the church, began to doubt the veracity of Christian life and belief. After years as a skeptic, having turned away from Christianity, this person finds difficult to completely do away with belief in Jesus ("So hear I am, after a few years of wanting to shun God, still unable to let him go – or maybe it’s Him who won’t let me go"). Of the several questions earnestly asked of me, "Why trust the Bible?" is at the top of the list. Below is part of my tentative answer to him. So.... what think thee? Any advice? Anything I missed or am dead wrong on?

Dear _______,

It seems like the latter two of your three questions hinge upon the first, the question of revelation, so it may be best to talk about that first. Is Scripture the divinely inspired work that Christianity maintains it to be? Can it be proved so? I think the answers to these questions are Yes and No, respectively; yes, Scripture is divinely inspired, and no, it cannot be proved to be so through any sort of brute rationality (still, though, once arrived at, I believe that maintaining trust in the Bible to be reasonable).

Let's start with simple revelation as an example - we'll even take it out of the realm of the divine. A man is driving down the highway and sees a car ahead lose control, flip, and roll onto the shoulder. The man slams on the breaks and rushes to the wreckage to see about tending to the injured. He finds the driver is beyond helping and likely only has moments left. And what's more, the driver is the president. The president, knowing his time is drawing near, looks the man in the eye and speaks his last words. Days later, after police questioning and everything, the man arranges a press conference and reports the president's last words.

Now the question is, how can anyone prove conclusively that what the man reports were actually either the president's words or that they were his last. One might look at the character of the man to determine his trustworthiness. One might compare the content of the quotation in question with past remarks verified to belong to the president. One might consult with experts on the president diction and vocabulary to ascertain to probability of him using the words and phrasing that he did. In the end though, anytime we hear report of someone having said a thing, we are essentially taking it on faith to one degree or another. Nobody has any means to actually prove that what was reported was actually said. Further, the man doesn't even have solid proof that what he reported was actually what was said. His whole report was based on a memory - a memory from a time when he was indubitably in the throes of shock and, perhaps, horror (he was, after all, witness to a gruesome accident that took the life of the nation's leader) - and we all know how fickle memories can be.

The point here is not to call into question the veracity of any and all reporting, but simply to demonstrate that proving that a report is true is impossible when one is removed by time or circumstance from the event. In the end, we might have to follow the old adage: the proof of the pudding is in the tasting. In our example, let's say the man's report of the president's last words was accurate. The words were true and yet could not be proved so. Regardless though, a president's final words aren't bound to have the kind of far-reaching effect on lives that religion can have. Whether the president really told a stranger such-and-so with his last breath is a far cry from whether Abraham really heard God tell him to sacrifice Isaac. In both cases, an outsider has no more empirical reason to believe that Abraham or the man heard what they claim to have heard - but in one case, the consequences are small, while in the other, the results would be horrifying to imagine.

So then, why do Christians believe Scripture to be God's inspired word? All the reasons and arguments people offer are nice and all, but at most they can only serve affirm that one made the right choice in believing in the veracity of Scripture. The fact that archaeological and historical sources corroborate many of the intricacies and details of Scripture doesn't prove it to be inspired. The fact that Scripture changes lives doesn't prove that it is inspired. The fact that Scripture offers a unique religious perspective never quite grasped by other popular faiths doesn't prove it is inspired. Obviously, it isn't for any of these reasons that Christians throughout centuries have staked their lives (and their deaths) on the Bible. It's really much simpler than that.

Christians believe in the Bible because they believe that the Bible is true. This sounds almost tautological, I know, but perhaps I can elucidate. Suppose that a woman attends a worship service with a friend. In hearing of the love of God, of the gospel of Christ, of her condition before God, of the Christian hope, she then comes to faith. Suppose that God, having granted her faith through his grace, which he imparted upon through her hearing of his word, changes her heart to see with a new perspective. Suppose also with this new perspective, he allows this newly converted woman to recognize him in Scripture and to cherish it as true revelation of him. In such a case, the believer believes that Scripture is inspired not because he been convinced through rigorous argumentation and fact-checking, but simply because God's Spirit causes him to believe it is worhty of trust. The fact is that it is only rarely that someone has a well-rounded understanding of Scripture's inspiration when he comes to faith. More often, a person repents in faith, embraces the Christian promise, and then turns naturally to the Scriptures for nourishment recognizing almost innately that truth lies within.

So then, if it's the Spirit that moves in conjunction with Scripture and grants one faith to believe in Scripture, then why do we occasionally lose faith in the Scriptures, becoming skeptical at the inspiration, demanding, finally, a reason to believe in them? In the end, for the same reason that even after being redeemed the believer continues to struggle with sin: he loses focus on the object of his faith. So long as one's perspective is set upon the glory of the throne of heaven, doubts and temptations are the farthest thing from thought. But when one gets distracted by the cares of the earthly, then doubts and temptations creep in. This is the Christian's earthly struggle, to be in the world yet not devoted to it.

I know that to simply say that we take this on faith is quite mystical, but really, since when has the divine conformed to the empirical? I'm not advocating the abandonment of reason, but I think that we must keep our reason in subordination to faith. If, as believers, our reason does not serve our faith, we are wasting it and using it carelessly.

Moving. Busy.

Last night I dreamed that Hugh Grant was killed while fleeing a paparazzo on a dirtbike. The woman photographer rode up next to him as he fled, miscalculated, and fell down on top of him. And somehow, as the paparazzo cried and pulled on him, he was dragged slowly and inevitably by some unseen force (perhaps a rope or chain with which he became entangled) under an automobile where he was crushed. Quite gruesome. It all had a very amateur video/evening news quality to it. And the weird part was that I think this may have been my first dream in which I played no part, not even as an observer; I was essentially just an omniscient eye watching events without even the remotest connect to my being. Very strange.

Whoever said California doesn't show the seasons has their butt up their head. That is all for this broadcast.

If you're really my friend, you'll know what I'd like for Christmas. Here's a big helping of Yes Please!

Sightseeing I could totally get into.

[Courtesy of Feeling Listless]

Another gem of interest to twinkle under the light of scrutiny has been found in that wonderful mine known as The Youth Pastor Post. (holy cats that was an atrocious intro.)

Anyway, Jason "The Wall" Wall raises a point that I've run into on many cases and from many people within the realm of contemporary evangelicalism. He sees no use for cynicism and evidences a distaste for a cynical outlook on life. This is a common approach to the perspective of the cynic, but I wonder if it is a fair one.

Certainly, we've all run into thosecruel and loveless cynics who almost take glee in watching men fail, who predict a downfall and then revel in the tragedy that is born when that downfall inevitably occurs. This kind of cynicism really is kind of disgusting, but in the end, it's not what concerns us.

I often refer to myself as a "happy cynic." How can this be? WHat does it mean? Well, first and foremost, the cynic exhibits a marked distrust in the mythically genuine and pleasant nature of mankind. Rather than pessimistic, this seems to be closer to realism (and perhaps even wisdom). We know that self-interest is the rule rather than the exception. This is why captialism is so wildly sucessful as an economic model (the invisible hand is the agent of self-interest). We also know, from Scripture (solidifying the evidence of our eyes), that men are naturally decitful - having birthed of corrupt seed. And this: trust must be earned. We do not share our secrets with just anyone - for no matter the outlook we profess, deep down, we're all a little cynical.

I maintain that this is healthy and is a perspective built upon the merit of the ages. This doesn't mean that we cease to care, cease to love, cease to come to trust eventually, or that we cease to believe that things matter. Really all it means is that we are wise as serpents, expecting man to act in accordance with his nature.

So then, why am I the happy cynic? Not because I take glee in finding my cynicism proved time and again. No, though cynicism is the modus operendi, the glee comes from the otherworldly, from the mystical and incorruptible. My joy comes from my hope - a hope not built on earthly movements (political advances, sociological movements, or cultural redemption) but upon nothing less than the promise of Mount Zion. The promise that this is all but a passing frame. The promise that soon the faith will no longer be faith but will soon be sight.

These hopes affect me profoundly, causing me to take heart despite the natural depravity of man. I am made free from the burden of anxieties brought on by placing to much hope and care in worldly devices, in earthly solutions.

So yes, I mistrust the Bush administrations motives and even that the actions they believe to be good will actually turn out to be good in themselves. I mistrust the government to control anything efficiently. I mistrust people I don't know - for they have done not even the smallest thing to earn my trust. I also assume that every person I meet has know the depths of sin - for are they not sinners even as I?

I call this honest. I call this reasonable. I call this wisdom. I call this wholly justified. And... I call this cynicism.

In case you forgot how cute I am...

Of the more interesting things to come out of the entertaining kafuffle between Jon and myself in the "Vote for My Youth Pastor" post (things got pretty spicy for those who missed the fun) was the marked difference in how Jon and I see veracity on the internet. And it mostly centers on the question of whether I am real or not.

Jon, I think, views the net and interaction on the net in the manner that much of the webborne view it. He has difficulty believing that ideas are the driving force behind the internet and instead looks to persons (and I imagine, personal connection) as the crux of the net. I, of course, put very little stock in what personae are represented on the web. More interesting to me are the ideas brought up by these people. To me, it doesn't matter if the authors of these ideas are the real deal, fictitious constructs, or some mix of the two. So long as they keep my interest with their words and thoughts, they're aces in my book.

I think this is part of the legacy of Kaycee Nicole at work. A lot of people felt abused by the situation, but the more I reflect on it, the more I'm struck by how cool an idea it was. It was misinformation on a grand scale, but it was misinformation in service of information. I now know more about cancer and its effect on people and families than I did before being lied to. This gave me the kernel of an idea that would become one of the backbones to my Nowheresville experiment.

I would lie to people in order to help them think about things in other ways, from other angles.

Well, perhaps lie is too strong a term. I create fictions. I say things with strength that I don't necessarily believe. Maybe. Nowheresville is a blatant practice of misinformation. Hence the disclaimer. I didn't just write that to be funny. I wrote it because its true that everything here is made up. Except for the disclaimer. And other stuff. Part of the reason it's so believable is that it's hard to tell where The Dane ends and Michael Cossarwal (the writer behind The Dane) begins. And where Michael ends and Seth (the writer behind Michael Cossarwal) begins. And where Seth ends and Johnny T (the writer behind Seth) begins.

So who's who and what's what? Did I really not vote for Bush? Do I really think that Piper is too legalistic? Do I really have issues with Tim Keller's approach to church-planting? Do I really like all those movies in my Top 100 lists? Am I single? Am I the guy appearing in all those vidblogs? Am I a guy? Am I written by just one person? Does it matter?

No. It most certainly does not matter.

Especially since I'm up front about the fact that I traffick in fictions. And I'm exercising these little white lies in order to get at bigger truths. Meta-truths you might call them. It's the ideas that are important. Not "me."

Now to Jon's objection:

Ideas and thoughts are all well and good, but persons are much more important and relevant. I'm not going to waste my time simply arguing with an idea, unless it has personalized impact.

Again, why should I argue with an idea when it might not even be sincere? If another "persona" is writing this, then there is no real force behind it, so I would be fighting with a phantom that could evaporate at any moment. You can respond to an idea, but you can't argue with it.

An interesting, but I'm not sure I buy it. No no, nevermind. That's just me being patronizing. I totally don't buy it. How often do we look to books and movies for more than pure entertainment value? Can there be meaning in fiction though fiction is not true? I think the answer is obvious. I even seem to remember Jon posting quite a bit about The Lord of the Rings. This is what I'm talking about: fabrication used as a means to reflect on the real. People are all the time analyzing the meaning of films (remember the whole Matrix thing? And the moral and intellectual content in fabricated stories gets under peoples' skins; Johnny T recently expressed distaste at the ripe optimism expressed in this era of Hollywood films.

The thing is, someone might prefer to have a one-on-one conversation with an author about his ideas, but the lack of that has never stopped people from finding fictions to be deeply meaningful. Both Jon and Jason worry that they don't know who exactly they're speaking to when they comment here. In the end though, it doesn't matter. The important thing is the exchange of ideas. The characters are secondary - though it is the characters that serve to draw the audience in, that help them digest the ideas.

'Cuz honestly, who wants to read straightup abstract philosophy? The mind-numbing dullness of that kind of writing is precisely the reason I stopped being a philosophy major.

News alert: cappucino is a laxative. Be aware. Be safe.

Brandon's been calling me Chris Elliot this week - likely hoping to deflate my tremendous sense of self-confidence. Just now, he walked into the romm and said, "Oh my, it's Chris Elliot wearing a beanie!"*

* note: no, Brandon didn't really say "Oh my." I think originally he said something like "Oh snap!" But there are children who read this site (or at least adults with that mentality), so I toned him down to keep it clean.

p.s. Brandon looked soooo hot today.

I painted the house for Halloween :-) Yes, I love the holiday that much.

Halloween 2004 Pictures

So, yeah, my candidate lost. But I'm not too broken up over it. I know that God uses even bad things for good - and so, I am pacified.

So then, despite bets to the contrary. I did indeed vote. Just on propositions. Oh yeah, and I did also vote for the president. I had been hearing over and again how Christians should vote for the morally upstanding before voting for the pragmatic and sensible, so I did just that. I voted for the youth director at my church. He's maybe the most upstanding person I know over thirty-five, so that makes him a far better choice than the filth most people will be voting for. Plus, he's one of the funniest people around, you can bet your hat on that.

But again, do we really need a president?

So yeah... pumpkin.

One thing that I get a real kick out of are those who clammor for the Christian's moral responsibility to vote, to make their beliefs known through the electoral process, and yet they do the opposite by using a voter's guide. Listen, I don't care if you think the Christian Coalition is aces, but giving them your voting right is a far, far cry from actually voting. You know those people who find the recently deceased and vote for them, ghost-voting? If you are voting a guide, you are the equivalent of one of the recent dead and the publisher of your guide is the one stealing a dead voter's choice. I mean, I'm okay with it if you don't really care all that much and just want to follow some guide, but if you do then please don't ever let me hear you speak of voting as a moral thing - because you have stripped all moral decision-making from the process.