Written by J. P. Moreland |
Tuesday, May 14, 2024
The universe is precisely fine-tuned so that life could appear. More than a hundred independent, hard facts about the universe have been discovered in the form of basic constants of nature or arbitrary physical magnitudes which are, scientifically speaking, brute facts and for which there is no further scientific explanation (e.g., the force of gravity in the universe, the charge of an electron, the rest mass of a proton, the rate of expansion resulting from the Big Bang). What blows the minds of so many is that, if any single one of these—much less all one hundred!—had been slightly larger or smaller on the order of a billionth of a percentage point or more, then no life could have appeared in the universe. The universe is a razor’s edge of precisely balanced life-permitting conditions.

The Limits of Science and Danger of Scientism
The heart of scientism is the conviction that science can explain virtually everything. If there is not a valid scientific explanation for an event or state, then that is not properly an object of our knowledge. In reality, though, there are many things that science cannot explain. And the problem is not that we lack sufficient data—the problem is that these are the sorts of things that science cannot explain, even in principle. Moreover, these things are items that we know to be true. What makes all of this especially interesting is that theism can explain them.
Let’s look at five things that theism can explain but science cannot.
1. Science Cannot Explain the Origin of the Universe
For at least three reasons, science cannot—even in principle—explain the origin of the universe.
First, science explains one aspect of the universe by appealing to another aspect of the universe, often by connecting the two by subsuming them under a law of nature. For example, we explain the formation of water by appealing to the chemical properties of hydrogen and oxygen, along with some energy-releasing event that caused the two to come together according to these chemical properties. We explain the death of the dinosaurs by appealing to different catastrophic events. In all cases of scientific explanation, one already has to have a universe in existence before scientific explanation, initial conditions, laws of nature, and so forth have something to which they can apply. Scientific explanations presuppose the universe in order for those explanations to be employed in the first place. Thus, a scientific explanation cannot be used to explain the very thing (the universe) that must exist before scientific explanation can get off the ground.
Second, scientific explanations apply to ongoing temporal states or changes of states (both are events) of various things according to relevant laws. The moving of the continents, the formation of the solar system, the development of life, the decay of uranium into lead are all events or changes of state that are explained by other events and laws that connect the events. The ongoing event of a gas retaining its pressure at constant volume is explained by the gas’s retaining its temperature according to the ideal gas law.
And so scientific explanation presupposes time (events are temporal episodes, and no sense can be given to the idea of a timeless event) and the reality of events. Two things follow from this. For one thing, science will never be able to explain the first event (the beginning of the universe) because to do so, it would have to appeal to a prior event and a law connecting them. But in this case, the origin of the universe would no longer be the first event; the prior explanatory event would be. But then, to explain this first event, one would need to postulate another prior event, and a vicious regress ensues.
For another thing, since scientific explanations tie one event to another via a law, such explanations presuppose time for those laws to be applicable. Thus, again, science cannot explain the origin of the very thing (time) that must exist before scientific explanations can be proffered in the first place.
Third, coming-into-existence is not a process but an instantaneous occurrence. Consider the process of walking into a room. One starts completely outside the room, then one is 20% into the room, then 30%, and so on, as one passes through the entrance. Finally, one is 100% in the room. But coming into existence from nothing is not a process. It is not as though the entity in question starts off being 100% nonexistent, then is 90% nonexistent and so on until it is 100% existent. Remember, by “90% nonexistent” I don’t mean that 10% of the entity fully exists and 90% is completely nonexistent. Rather, I mean that the entire entity is 10% real. It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that notions like 90% nonexistent are incoherent.
Something either does or does not exist. Period. It follows that, apart from the creative activity of God, there can be in principle no reason, no explanation for why one thing—say, the universe—popped into existence as opposed to another thing— a Honda Civic, a bass’s backbone, one half of Mount Everest, or a pair of chicken wings. Science can only be applied to transitions of one thing into another, but coming into existence is not a transition; it is, as it were, a point action or instantaneous event. So science cannot in principle explain the coming-into-existence of the universe from nothing.
2. Science Cannot Explain the Origin of the Fundamental Laws of Nature
Not all laws of nature are equally fundamental. Some can be derived from others. For example, Newton’s first law of motion (an object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force) builds on Galileo’s concept of inertia (the tendency of matter to resist change in velocity; objects do not spontaneously change their velocities, which will remain constant unless acted upon by friction).
However, such derivations cannot continue indefinitely. There must be—and it is widely agreed that there are—fundamental or foundational laws of nature. But the existence and precise nature of these laws cannot be explained by science, since all scientific explanation presupposes them. As far as scientific explanation is concerned, these foundational laws are simply brute givens to be used to explain other things scientifically but which themselves cannot be explained scientifically.
So, how do we explain the existence and nature of these laws? Where did they come from? There are two major options here: (1) take them as unexplainable, brute entities, or (2) provide a theistic explanation. For many thinkers, myself included, the “unexplainable-brute-entity” option is not a good one. Since the actual brute entity might not have existed, we naturally seek an explanation as to why the contingent entity exists instead of not existing. And the fundamental laws of nature are contingent realities—after all, it is easy to conceive of worlds that have different fundamental laws of nature. So why does our world contain certain fundamental laws instead of others?
This seems like a perfectly permissible question, but some atheists reject the question on the grounds that it assumes The Principle of Sufficient Reason, which either begs the question (the only reason to believe it is if one already believes in God) or is just a brute principle that atheists are free to reject. The principle has different formulations, but one is this: For every contingent existent, there is a sufficient explanation for why it exists as opposed to not existing.
Theists have responded that the Principle of Sufficient Reason does not, in fact, presuppose the existence of God, and they insist that it is a rational principle that stands behind and justifies the human quest for explanations of why certain things exist and are what they are.
The atheist seems to be committing the informal taxicab fallacy. This fallacy occurs when someone hops into a principle or system of reason and uses that principle until he no longer likes the implication of the principle (or system), whereupon he hops out of the principle (or system) and stops using it. Applied to our discussion, we use the principle of sufficient reason all the time (e.g., when your car breaks down, your mechanic assumes there is a reason for why the engine exists in a bad way as opposed to existing in the way it should, so he tries to find that reason), and it has proven itself over and over again. But when we apply the principle of sufficient reason to the existence of the fundamental laws of nature (or, indeed, to the contingency of the universe we live in), the atheist rather arbitrarily stops using the principle because it most naturally yields a theistic explanation. He or she then jumps out of the taxicab.
3. Science Cannot Explain the Fine-Tuning of the Universe
What do we mean by fine-tuning?1 Our universe contains various constants (like the gravitational constant G in Newton’s law of gravity: F=G(m1m2/r2) and certain arbitrary physical quantities (such as the specific low entropy R2 level in the universe—the amount of disorder or useful energy to do work in the universe) that are not determined by the laws of nature but, as far as science is concerned, are brute facts that are just there.2
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According to Maya Forstater, who was fired for opposing gender ideology, won a wrongful dismissal lawsuit, and founded the campaign organization Sex Matters, these coming changes are a “major step” towards walking back NHS England’s “capitulation to the demands of gender extremists, which has damaged policies and practices, created widespread confusion, and harmed patient care.” 

Is it possible that the transgender tide might go out as swiftly as it came in? 
The impact of the Cass Review has been international, but the response has been mixed. The Netherlands rejected “self-identification” by a wide margin, but Sweden and Germany approved it. The Canadian establishment claimed the findings were “transphobic,” and the American LGBT activists similarly ignored these findings. Some people won’t wake up until the lawsuits are served. 
In the U.K., however, the Cass Review appears to be a tipping point. Scotland’s “gender clinics” have paused the prescription of puberty blockers (which England’s National Health Service has banned entirely outside of clinical trials). The NHS has also announced that in the wake of the Cass Review, an independent review of adult “gender clinics” will also be conducted (although Hilary Cass, who currently cannot use public transit due to security concerns, will not be spearheading it). 
Indeed, the NHS is not wasting any time in reversing the changes that have crept in over the past decade. Health Secretary Victoria Atkins is scheduled to announce changes to the NHS constitution on patients’ rights this week with an eight-week consultation period, according to the Telegraph. These changes, it appears, will actually be a reversion to the norm, with terms such as “chestfeeding” and “people with ovaries” banned in favor of the sex-specific terms previously used.  
As I reported in this space over the past several years, references to women had slowly but steadily been removed from NHS websites and medical documents, even on female-specific subjects such as cervical and ovarian cancer and menopause.  
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The unity is the gospel message of redemption we have through our Lord Jesus Christ, the suffering servant (Isa. 53, Matt. 8:17, John 12:38, Rom. 10:16, 1 Pet. 2:24, etc.) who lived, died, and was resurrected according to the Scriptures (1 Cor. 15:3, 4), and who poured out his Spirit to us at Pentecost (fulfilling Joel’s prophecy, Joel 2:28-29; Acts 2:16-18). God’s eternal truth and all his promises find their yes in Christ Jesus (2 Cor. 1:20). This is the central message of Scripture—the promise of redemption, of new creation, and of the love of God poured out in the promise, the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus our Lord.

It is common to hear admonishments to read the Bible and interpret it in context; that is, that we ought to avoid detaching a particular verse, story, or portion of Scripture from the immediate and original context in which it was written. An accurate meaning of words, verses, and stories may be found only as understood in context.
For example, “He hit a home run,” may mean different things depending on whether it was written in the context of a business presentation or a baseball game. “Out of Egypt I have called my son,” has meaning in light of its Matthew 2 and Hosea 11 contexts. On the other hand, in Exodus God identifies Israel, while they were enslaved in Egypt, as his firstborn son (Exod. 4:22).
In each place there is the immediate context, but there is a broader context—the context of the entire revelation of God contained in the Bible. There are different human authors (i.e. Moses, Hosea, and Matthew), yet there is one divine author—God himself. There is an immediate context, and there is an overall biblical context—the overarching story of God’s mighty acts of redemption in Christ Jesus.
The Word of God Was Written by Both Humans and a Divine Author
Though we may be tempted at times to overemphasize the human author over the divine author, or the divine over the human, it is important to understand both together as we strive to accurately understand the word of God. Questions include, how are the two writers related to one another? How do they work together in Scripture? Is the Bible a human book, written merely by human authors, or is it a divine book supernaturally dictated to men of old? The answers are found in Scripture itself, which reveals that the Word of God was written by both humans and a divine author—every word is simultaneously human and divine.
Let’s consider 2 Peter 1:21 concerning the nature of prophecy:
For no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.
The word of God in the Bible comes to us through human writers. We find the humanity of the writers in variations of vocabulary, idioms, structure, and style. For example, there is the difference between the exquisite Hebrew poetry and varied vocabulary of Isaiah and the straight-forward narrative of Joshua. Similarly, in the New Testament there is the difference between the complex and elegant Greek of Hebrews and John’s more elementary Greek. We can detect the presence of the human authors throughout all of Scripture.
On the other hand, and at the risk of sounding obvious, we ought not neglect the divine author, God himself.
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If we are to do well at church planting, denominations, presbyteries, synods, or networks will be needed for spiritual, prayerful, and financial support. When Jerusalem was destroyed in AD 70, God’s plan continued to be revealed. Christians fled Judea. The temple could no longer be the focal point of assembly. The church was decentralized, and this proved to be a blessing. The many small local churches were places of hospitality and refuge for Christians, who were increasingly being persecuted. Local churches became known for their love and good works and for their care for slaves, widows, orphans, and the weak. In time, those churches would grow and would begin to send out missionaries to continue the cycle of life.

There was a time when the Western world seemed to be saturated with churches. The diligence and prayers of former generations had led to skylines filled with steeples. Even small villages were dotted with chapels. Then, some people began to think that bigger was always better. We were impressed by massive crusades and megachurches. It was assumed that we would be best served by the most programmed church with the most articulate preacher in our region. Many people left for seemingly greener pastures, while others fell away entirely. Many faithful churches were shuttered and sold off. Some did not realize that we were retreating. In the midst of it all, we seemed to lose God’s blueprint for His mission.
Regardless of how big or small a church is, what matters is that it is faithful and fruitful. We should rejoice whenever and wherever Christ is preached (Phil. 1:18). The broader trends of the past century, however, should compel us to revisit God’s blueprint for His mission. Iain H. Murray, in his book Evangelicalism Divided, gave a careful analysis of the impact of twentieth-century evangelical missions. He showed that those who were reached by broader missions efforts needed not just to be called to repentance and faith in Christ but also to be personally discipled in the context of faithful local churches. When this did not happen, many left Christianity behind, more confused and jaded than before.
More is required than broad scattering of seeds. Watering, fertilizing, and careful pruning are also vital components of missions. Believers need to worship alongside neighbors who we know love the Lord. Office bearers need to give personalized edification, encouragement, loving rebuke, and tender restoration. There is a need to be salt and light among our neighbors. This means that existing churches need to focus their efforts on planting new local congregations that worship reverently, preach the gospel faithfully, administer the sacraments properly, and discipline their members lovingly. If the church is to regain lost ground, we need to return to God’s blueprint.
When we step back and look at the broad themes of the Bible, we see that God calls His people out again and again. He called Adam and Eve out of hiding. He called Noah to build an ark and escape an evil world. He called Abraham out of the east, away from the worship of other gods (Josh. 24:2). He called Israel out of Egypt (Hos. 11:1). Christ called His disciples to leave everything behind (Mark 10:21). God’s people are called out of “Babylon” (Rev. 18:4). A foundational part of being the church means being called out. God’s people have been summoned to the throne of grace. It means abandoning hope in this world itself and casting ourselves on Christ alone. It also means being called into a visible expression of Christ’s body: a local, faithful church.
Being “called out” means leaving behind sinful attachments to this world and instead being joined to the body of Christ (Eph. 2:19–22). Being the church means that we must leave behind any worldly motives or practices that are rooted in trendiness, pragmatism, or showmanship. It means putting the worship of God above all else. This does not mean, however, abandoning the lost who live around us. To seek them out and call them in brings glory to God (Luke 15:7, 10, 32). The lost need to come under a local ministry where their particular sins and struggles will be addressed. They need neighbors who love them and who will show them the love of Christ. This will mean taking up our cross and making God’s ordinary means for missions central. Being “called out,” for some believers, may also mean being called out of a larger church and into a church plant or smaller local church. It may mean a calling to an area where churches are few. It may mean becoming part of a church that is small or struggling.
Woven through the biblical theme of being called out is another theme: being “gathered in.” The Israelites were called out of their homes and gathered to worship the Lord at His house (Ex. 23:14; Ps. 95). Their calendar was designed to revolve around the routines of feasts and sacrifices. Sadly, they lost this privilege during the exile. Yet even when they were scattered across the world by evil empires, they began to meet in local synagogues to read God’s Word and pray. Usually these gatherings were Sabbath meetings held within walking distance of most of the believers in a region.
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Written by Stephen O. Presley |
Tuesday, May 14, 2024
Zwingli the Pastor shows that pastors are as important today as they were in Zwingli’s time. The pastor has an essential role in times of crisis. As Eccher tells us, Zwingli preached powerful sermons to rally people to theological reform for the sake of gospel renewal. Some were so persuasive that his audience ascribed to him a near-prophetic quality. Pastors are the ones God calls to faithfully shepherd his people with virtuous persuasion. But Zwingli wasn’t a perfect pastor, and that’s the point.

On October 11, 1531, Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531) died on the battlefield after his Zurich battery was routed by Catholic forces at Kappel. He went into battle believing that God would sustain them—a devastating miscalculation. The accounts of his death vary dramatically. According to one report, the Catholics who found his lifeless body staged a posthumous mock trial, hurling insults at him and condemning him for various offenses. He was then beheaded, quartered, and burned, an unsanctimonious ending to one of the magisterial reformers.
Other reports give different accounts of the events—some fantastical. One suggests he lived long enough to make a dramatic defense of his views under interrogation, while another tale describes how his heart was salvaged from the ashes of his burning body, symbolizing the passion and purity of his message. Discerning truth from somewhat murky history exemplifies the challenge of recounting the complex and fascinating story not only of Zwingli’s death but also of his life.
In his book Zwingli the Pastor: A Life in Conflict, Stephen Brett Eccher includes the many “paradoxes and ironies” that make Zwingli a complex and controversial figure (2). Eccher is honest about the Swiss reformer’s successes and failures and finds lessons in them all. Zwingli’s life is often misunderstood and overshadowed by the other enormous figures of the Reformation, but alongside them, Eccher reminds us that Zwingli labored to see the same kinds of reforms that began from the milieu of Renaissance humanism.
Return to Scripture
Modern-day humanism is different from Renaissance humanism. The former is an “ideology,” while the latter was a “pedagogy.” The Renaissance humanism Zwingli soaked up aimed at personal transformation, primarily through the Scriptures and the wisdom of the tradition. His education led to deep learning of ancient literature and Scripture encouraged Zwingli to trust the Bible and to challenge contemporary assumptions about its interpretation.
According to Eccher, associate professor of Reformation Studies at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, Zwingli was convinced Scripture is “literally God’s word” (21). Zwingli believed his people needed to hear God’s Word more than anything else; only Scripture would bring life and renewal. To that end, he made the radical decision, following the example church fathers such as Chrysostom, to preach through books of the Bible (lectio continua), rather than sticking to the standard lectionary readings.
“This decision was a stunning revelation to those present,” Eccher writes, “and was the first formal liturgical change ushered in by Protestantism” (59). At times, especially early in his preaching career, he preached on themes or topics that addressed cultural issues, but eventually, he gravitated toward “an evangelical gospel message,” the kind of message that stirred the hearts and lives of the people under his pastoral care (12).
Zwingli’s humanist education enhanced his preaching with good rhetorical and oratory practices so that a “winsome use of words characterized his preaching” (24). He combined rhetoric with his practical experiences, such as his time on the battlefield, which helped him connect with his audience.
Eccher identifies two key themes that colored Zwingli’s biblical interpretation and subsequently shaped his preaching: clarity and certainty. The former stressed the “Spirit’s determinate power to illuminate,” while the latter implied the “power of Scripture” (37). He combined these points with a Christocentric focus and with what Zwingli called “the Rule of Faith and Love” (45). “Initially surfacing in Zwingli around 1524,” Eccher writes, “this rule established charitas (‘love’) as an axiomatic grid of interpretation that helped to embody the practice of neighbor love in a diverse era” (45).
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