Who You Are

– A story about our identity –

When the bird says, “Because I am not like the fish, inhabiting the underworld without air, I am not free; I must plummet, feathers and all, into that world, for without it I am coerced into that which is not life” –

When the fish says, “Because I am not like the bird, inhabiting the outer-world with air, I am not free; I must ashore, gills and all, into that world, for without it I am coerced into that which is not life” –

Will you say to the bird, “I love you and want to affirm you, so you must plummet into the sea?” Will you say to the fish, “I love you and want to affirm you, so you must ashore onto land?” –

And so help them to death? Can you call that love, or freedom, or life?

So say to the bird, “I love you and want to affirm who God made you to be. You soar so wondrously. Remain in the breeze.” Say to the fish, “I love you and want to affirm who God made you to be. I am amazed you can breathe without air. Remain in the sea.”


The Vanity of Unbelief: A Letter Exchange

[Editor’s note: It has been a somber time, seeing old friends fall away from the Christian faith. Something happened during that time we had together, and it left us all asking some very difficult questions. For me, it almost left me without faith. But here I am, holding to mine. I believe this interaction will be helpful for seeing just where we have gone, and where these paths lead. Know that this conversation is not over; it is my prayer that it is just beginning. I’ve written this response more specifically to Kaleb’s circulating letter, which describes his reasons for leaving Christian church, reproduced below my response, both publicly posted with his permission.]


April 5, 2016


My old Lynchburg friend. Thank you for sharing you story. It is honest, and your openness is truly appreciated. As I reply, your story and mine merge yet again. I believe it was meant to be, even from the foundation of the earth. My hope is that this letter will bring about belief, just as the power of God, through the truth, can bring resurrection from the dead.

It appears we missed opportunities, back then when we were close, to commiserate deeply as friends. I am sorry for the despair and the hurt, the travail and the tumult, which you endured alone. I was hurting back then, too. I believe a number of us men and women of Grace Assembly were struggling with our faith. As our doubting pastor stepped down from leadership, I remember – I was steeped in Kierkegaard and Derrida, on a downward spiral of darkness. I had no answers, and as my faith was attacked, I felt only silence. You, in many ways, seemed stronger than I. You were a dependable figure in our community, with a budding family, established friends (all who seemed to have you as their best man at the wedding), and everyone’s esteem. But apparently neither of us had answers. When you said,

I was being dragged kicking and screaming out of [faith], unable to ignore the increasingly obvious intellectual problems and unsatisfactory answers

I was there with you. Truly. I remember asking myself how in the world if the invisible and intangible realm was not something I could probe, how could I trust the Bible? I had no answers, but in pain I returned again and again to Isaiah 59, putting it into the first person: “justice is far from me, and righteousness does not overtake me; I hope for light, but look, darkness, and for brightness, but I walk in gloom. I grope for the wall like the blind; I grope like those who have no eyes; I stumble at noon as in the twilight, among those in full vigor I am like a dead man.” I felt dead. After a break-up with the woman I was going to marry, who deceived and hurt me more deeply than I could have ever imagined, and after finishing my degree and having no answers for what I was to do with my life, and after being completely consumed by my lusts and fears so that I locked myself in solitude for months on end without any outside connection but a crumbling church, I felt dead. What was life if it had no transcendent purpose? Could I, as a finite worm, approach the word “transcendence” without laughing, or crying? I cried. And I laughed, too. And then I read Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, or I tried to get up and fix my problems, and I cried and laughed some more.

But although we shared this despair, and a longing for answers, we found a different way, a different path, and another story. That’s what I want to talk about.

I began meeting with pastors, mentors, friends- telling them I was struggling deeply with questions. This was almost inevitably how each discussion ended- a concession to the difficulty of the questions and a dismissal of the question by discrediting your mind, logic, rationality, or empiricism as means to discover truth. It ultimately came back to presuppositionalism- one must simply believe it’s true no matter what the evidence- and take every objection or contrary thought and take it captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor 10:5).

Yes, let’s start with ultimate things. We can agree, you and I, that the answer is not presuppositionalism. Well, at least not the way you’ve defined it. Allow me to attempt a redefinition. Cornelius Van Til, the father of presuppositionalism, though he didn’t create the title (and it isn’t a good one!), was an apologetics professor at my school, Westminster Theological Seminary. In his legacy, one of my professors, David Powlison, put it well: “Christian truth is about the facts of life. It is pointedly not a leap of faith in the face of the facts, despite the facts, and damn the facts.” You might notice Powlison is referencing Kiekegaard, or Kant looming behind him, in speaking of a “leap of faith”. Christianity is not what Kierkegaard or Kant have made it into. I think of Ignatius, martyred under Roman Emperor Trajan (AD 98-117), who wrote that Jesus “was from the family of David, who was the son of Mary; who was truly born, who both ate and drank; who was truly persecuted under Pontius Pilate, who was truly crucified and died while those in heaven and on earth and under the earth looked on; who, moreover, was truly raised from the dead when his Father raised him up.” Christianity is in every way concerned with truth – with the facts. While “presuppositionalism” does seem to sound like, “You have your presuppositions and I have mine, and that’s it, despite the facts”, that isn’t the position Van Til or his students hold. Rather, I think you will find our approach clear after I show it to you. After all, it is easy to knock-down a straw man, as you have done. But I would like you to engage with the “truly” of Christianity, for it is really and truly in accordance with the facts.

Let me show you. Let’s look at your ultimate answer – your conclusion:

I finally concluded there’s nothing I’ve ever witnessed that can’t be explained naturally.

Nothing? Can you explain this:

But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.

Where does evil reside in the heart, Kaleb? Is evil in the left ventricle, and good in the right? Where is the natural-physical reality you just spoke about? Tell me, in your wisdom, how you can reconcile this – that there is nothing you can’t explain naturally, and yet you assume all kinds of answers that are non-physical. Let’s even say you find depression or anxiety in the brain – what makes depression an evil, and not a good? At every corner you are faced with the metaphysical, and you are faced with your ultimate presuppositions, and you are faced with your own gross inconsistencies, each one pointing to unfounded presuppositions, since your naturalistic presuppositions cannot uphold your beliefs in good and evil. At best, good and evil are social constructs, which are just as relative to their contexts as truth. And let’s push it further and say you accept Darwinianism. What makes you think your “scientific” search for truth is actually a search for reality, and not just a survival mechanism, which is actually your highest value? You are not working according to naturalistic presuppositions, but you are borrowing Christian values; in this case, the Christian truth that all men, save Christ alone, is a mixture of good and evil since the fall. This is what is meant by “presuppositionalism” – not that we all have presuppositions, but whether those presuppositions align with our other beliefs, and cohere within a whole system. Yours patently do not.

Let me show you, again.

I decided to stop being afraid. I decided I would no longer allow shame, guilt, or fear dictate my beliefs, and I would seek the truth fearlessly, entertain any argument, read any book or discuss with any person and yes, rely on my mind to discriminate truth and error. After all, if my mind was untrustworthy how could I trust it to judge the validity of my current position? It’s all I’ve got.

What is your ultimate presupposition here? Ironically, it is that your mind is the ultimate standard and judge of truth, because “It’s all I’ve got.” You actually have quite a strong faith in the metaphysical, don’t you? You have lied to yourself, thinking you can explain everything naturally. You have, with contrary evidence, even, believed and presupposed that your mind is the sufficient rule for truth – where is your natural evidence for that, and on what basis should it be accepted? Ultimately you end up in a circle of your own making. And did you not say the heart bore good and evil in it? Is that same heart wholly divided from the mind’s investigations? If not, you have again shown your utter inconsistency, and the bankruptcy of your humanism and naturalism, and have stuck yourself in a spiraling morass of mere opinion. When you accept yourself as the rule of truth you become Pontius Pilate, saying “What is truth?”, putting to shame the Lord of glory, who you know in your heart to be the King of Kings. But you say, “NO, I know my own heart!” And how do you know that you know your own heart, unless you presuppose that your mind is without fault? And what natural reason do you have for saying so? Your presuppositions fail you, because you begin at the wrong place. And yet, you do know certain things – but you don’t know how you know, and I would like to talk about that next.

Before I go on speaking about presuppositions and such, let me address your use of scripture. For all your evangelical accolades, please consider this – you have a very impoverished understanding of the scriptures. And at the very least, I would have thought the Calvinistic church which we shared would have pulled you out of such basic errors. I was wrong. I will correct a few of your misapprehensions, but they are so thorough, I cannot address them all.

So I’m 16… and I realize that every single person I pass on the street is (from the time perspective of eternity) seconds away from an unchangeable fate, for the great majority -an eternity in hell, but I have the secret that can change their eternal destiny.

“I have the secret that can change their eternal destiny.” This is not a proper understanding of what the scriptures teach. First, your view throughout your letter is that people are basically good, that they think clearly, and that they just happen to find themselves in eternal torment because they weren’t historically put in the way of acquiring knowledge of Christ. I’d ask that you humbly consider this is not at all what the scriptures teach. Quite the contrary. In Romans 1 Paul teaches that all men, by nature, “suppress the truth… For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but… exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator…” God and his salvation are not a secret to mankind, as you’ve written, but the scriptures teach that men reject God because of evil, endemic to the human heart since Adam’s fall. So then, men are liable for knowing God and rejecting him, because God has shown himself in everything that exists; therefore their rejection is inexcusable, just as yours is inexcusable. People don’t find themselves in hell because they are frolicking along ignorant of god, but because, rejecting God in the manifest ways he reveals himself to us (in every fact of the created universe, including the fact of one’s own psychology), He is rejected out of the wickedness of the human heart, which in order to follow its own lusts, willingly tumbles headlong into destruction. In this way, everyone has the “presupposition” of God built into who they are as creatures made in his image. You don’t go around actually believing you have to prove naturalistically that your language is sufficient to communicate to others, that your love or pain is real, or that your reasoning can be reliable –you presuppose these things because you actually know God, who has made us to be this way, in the deepest recesses of your being. You would have no basis for presupposing these things in a naturalistic world. For example, while I was in Cambodia, I met a man who was in the sex-trade “industry”, who openly confessed to selling girls as commodities. He told me that if Darwin was right, people have no intrinsic value in themselves. But we don’t live that way, and we believe it to be completely wrong, because we are made to know that. We are made to be in relationship with God – and so we are. I, therefore, do not tell him, “Well, that’s just your opinion, and I have my own presuppositions.” I tell him, “You are rebellion against the God you know by your violent rage against people made in his image, and you will be held accountable. Repent and believe in Christ to be saved.” I also would have turned him over to the police, if I had the power; I did see him arrested. But the point is that there is an active suppression of the truth in all unbelieving systems, and you are also actively suppressing that truth by fighting against Him, and by extension His anointed One, as your arguments show.

Let me show you, again.

I pondered these things and a little thought experiment occurred to me: What if out of say 10 world religions I would be randomly born into any one of them but there was only 1 true religion, Christianity (which I would not be born into). What mindset, what disposition would make my chances of discovering the truth the greatest?  Suddenly every social mechanism for corralling my belief was not virtuous but a blockade to truth. Skepticism vs dogmatism. Open-mindedness vs strong belief. Maximum exposure vs censorship. Embrace every question without shame, fear, or guilt. The truth tested will stand stronger. And to hell with presuppositionalism- that all but guarantees I’ll just be whatever religion I’m born into.

Here again you make the grave mistake of thinking that through one’s own use of logic and reason, they make their way to God. As I have just argued, God has made his way to us, evidencing Himself in everything that has been created, so that it is immediately evident to all He is God. Further, the radical slavery of the human heart means that everyone is born into slavery, and everyone is born a stranger to the salvation of Christ. No one is born a Christian. So this assumption of a tabula rasa does not stand. On that note, a second and equally grave mistake you’ve made is believing you actually are embracing “every question without shame, fear, or guilt.” You have this unbelievable unproved metaphysical commitment to the reliability of your own self. Again, if your heart or mind is at all faulty, what makes you able to answer any question reliably, or even know the right questions to ask? I wonder if ever you were a follower of Christ, since your love of self has come to the foreground. If you are such a valiant skeptic, why have you not been skeptical of your skepticism? All your beliefs are self-defeating, as any untrue faith is. All men have faith, and you have placed yours in the wrong place.

I know that I have spoken sharply, but it is only in hopes that you see the foolishness that you have dived headlong into. How can this trust of self be addressed? What is the answer? I tell you, that only by submitting to the God who made you, who has revealed Himself in the self-authenticating scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, revealed by His holy prophets, who stood as witnesses in all ages, can you be forgiven of your treason against God, and can you rely on an answer more sure (our mind is not “all we’ve got” as an ultimate presupposition). Your boldfaced assertions, despite your gross misunderstandings of the atonement, hell, and God’s morality (as if you had the right to judge Him!), these assertions must be placed at the foot of the cross, so that they may die with your rebellion. Only then, through the sacrifice of Christ, can your sins be forgiven, that you may see clearly, and be saved from this blindness and inane circularity. “Do no harm”, your unproved metaphysical commitment, you have violated with pride – you have epistemologically placed the name of the LORD on the same level as the dirt and false gods, taking it in vain, and encouraged others to do so by claiming this is the “truth”, as if you knew truth in itself. You should be ashamed. Jesus the Christ, has really and truly raised from the dead, as a historical fact. He is the only answer for our life from the dead, so I can say you to, “Repent and believe, and you will be saved.”

Say to God, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

Not, “I trust my own light.”

Say to Him, “Your son really and truly died, and really and truly lives forevermore. I want to live with him, since I know nothing but death apart from him.”

You have rejected Christ because of epistemology, and yet yours is fundamentally faulty. You have rejected Christ based on the “psychology of belief”, and yet you yourself have no explanation for your faulty psychology. You have rejected Christ because of the “moral repugnance of the Bible”, and yet you don’t know the Bible, nor do you have categories for morality without assuming Christian presuppositions.

Kaleb, you have rejected Christ for no good reason. I have shown you a better way, which is the good news of Christ.

Our two stories converge, and we needn’t commiserate any longer, but if you will die to yourself, I will die with you, and we will both die with Christ, in order that we may share the only true path, eternal resurrection life. For all falsehoods will fall headlong into destruction, and I plead with you to embrace the only foundation for reason, for love, for goodness, for kindness, for life – Jesus the Christ.

In Him,



Original letter:

November 7, 2015.

I wrote this about a year and a half ago on a rainy Sunday while I stayed home from church (which really upset my wife) to document some of my thought processes that led to my loss of faith while it was still fresh. Alot more water has gone under the bridge, alot has changed, and I’d probably write this somewhat differently now, but I just re-read it and it accurately describes much of the early part of my journey. I’ve added a brief postscript, and if anyone has any further interest or questions let’s discuss in person.




Religious Journey.
I come from a large conservative home-schooled christian family. Think Duggers, Bill Gothard, Doug Phillips, patriarchal, quiverfull, purity culture etc. At 15 years old I encountered the teachings of Ray Comfort (of the Way of the Master TV series w/Kirk Cameron), a street evangelist with serious passion for saving the lost. His teachings resonated strongly with me and under his influence I became very serious about my faith. I was very burdened for the lost and couldn’t believe the apathy of almost everyone who claimed to be Christian around me. The entire existence of humanity- a blip on the radar of eternity. My life- a blip on that blip. Seventy years, a blink of an eye, poof. Gone. But what happens during that blip for every human determines the eternal destiny for each of them- the outcome being either eternal bliss in heaven or eternal conscious torture and torment in a fiery hell. Which end is determined in the blip. So I’m 16 years into my blip, and I realize that every single person I pass on the street is (from the time perspective of eternity) seconds away from an unchangeable fate, for the great majority -an eternity in hell, but I have the secret that can change their eternal destiny. Repent and believe in Jesus and you’ll be saved from the wrath to come! How could I not warn them? How could I not spend every last second of my waking existence shouting from the rooftops, running from person to person shaking them to wake them up to the gravity of this dire situation? I was baffled and appalled at the Christians around me who appeared to me to be firemen holding a water hose just watching a house burning down with sleeping children inside unwilling to turn it on because the owner of the house might get upset you spilled water on his carpet. It was with this sense of urgency & desire to seek and save the lost that I started doing evangelism. As soon as I got my drivers license I began driving to the area malls, parades, universities, festivals, downtown events- anywhere people gathered- to pass out tracts, share the gospel & preach in the open-air. Warning everyone I could of the wrath to come and telling them of the love of God in providing a way of escape through repentance & belief in Jesus. I was incredibly burdened for all these lost people, if only they knew what I did! I spent thousands of dollars on tracts, studied apologetics, theology & world religions, took classes and went to evangelism conferences to hone in my ability to communicate the gospel. I memorized entire books of the bible. I cried & prayed with desperation that God would purify me, take away anything & everything in my life that might hinder me or decrease my ability to be a messenger of the gospel to the world for his glory. For about 7 years I did street evangelism every week- debating one on one with hundreds of people of wildly varying beliefs in the streets or preaching in the open air. The people I met and the conversations I had! Fascinating people. I had countless funny or amazing interactions, but I was also no stranger to persecution. I was mocked, threatened and cussed out more times than I could count, kicked out of places and even arrested. I started an evangelism group and for years we had a group of 10-30 people who would hit the streets every week preaching the gospel. I always hated, dreaded, going out but the euphoric presence of God we felt when we’d all gather back together to share the stories of the people we talked to, to pray for their souls and the seeds that were planted, to sing hymns and praise God together- the feelings were intensely emotional and made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. The feeling of being so happy you feel like you’ll explode! While most Christians were lukewarm, distracted by worldly desires, how blissful it was to be part of the faithful remnant minority even within Christianity, to be obedient, sold-out, rock-solid, on-fire for God. There’s little I can compare it to even to this day.

Today I’m an agnostic humanist. I am no longer a Christian. Looking back it just keeps getting stranger and stranger like some dream of a previous life but the feelings were no less real. I was not hurt by the church, I am not angry with god, Christianity, or Christians. I don’t think Christians (or Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, or people believing in any other religion for that matter) are stupid. I don’t share the hostility towards religion that seems so pronounced among many of my fellow apostates. People love to mock the belief sets they don’t subscribe to. Having experienced firsthand the astounding power of religious belief gives me a sympathy for even the most extreme religious groups (e.g. radical violent Islam, Westboro Baptist Church). “Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him”-Dostoevsky. The guys in ISIS, WBC, Nazi Germany- most of them are/were genuinely not ill-intentioned, they were simply doing what’s normal to them- what they believe is best for their God, their country, their family- just like everyone else. We look on from the outside or from the perspective of history and are horrified at the things these people would believe and do, but we forget we are also products of our upbringings. We sit in church listening in horror to the missionary’s tales of some exotic cannibalistic superstitious tribe sacrificing their children to some false god while dancing and singing around a campfire. Then we sing a hymn and begin our cannibalistic ritual of eating and drinking the flesh and blood of the human sacrifice that was made to appease the wrath of our angry god while chanting in unison music praising the beauty of the dripping blood from that human sacrifice. “Why yes grandma, it is a beautiful Sunday, thanks for asking.” We are products of our environment, and horrific things are often accepted without second thought because it’s ‘normal’ to us. The banality of evil described by Hannah Arendt. Every day now my previous religious life becomes stranger and stranger to me, and I’d like to share how that process began.

I used to describe my conversion to Christianity as more of a process than an event, and so it has been with my deconversion. My days of radical evangelism slowly dwindled as the introduction of the responsibilities of a career, marriage, and age began eroding my youthful zeal. My lack of ministry bothered me, and I vacillated between calling it inexcusable laziness and maturation from the crude evangelistic methods of a zealous youth.  In either case I was losing my will to do it- which was a far cry from the teenager who had a hard time justifying going to two years of college because it would be wasting time in books while people around me were dying and going to hell. I slowly became a normal Christian, going to church, attending bible studies, just like all my friends and family. I began reading alot more- political philosophy, social psychology, Austrian economics, history and philosophy were all of particular interest to me. I became involved in contemporary politics and worked on a few campaigns. As my understanding of current events and politics deepened I began to find myself embarrassed by the Christian right on more and more issues. I was amazed at how much religion influenced politics- particularly in foreign affairs. The religious narrative of a cosmic fight clearly polarized between good and evil lends itself handily to opportunistic politicians trying to gain support for whatever cause. This overly simplistic worldview combined with the blind nationalism & pro-war/militarism tendencies of the religious right made me sympathetic with Netanyahu’s (Prime Minister of Israel) sentiments of the American Christians as “useful idiots”. I couldn’t understand how the American church guided by the prince of peace of seemed much more eager to send soldiers than missionaries to the ends of the earth. I frequently thought of Solzhenitsyn’s quote-  “If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” This basic understanding of human nature seemed absent among both Christians and almost every military of the world- we’re always the angels of all things good and beautiful, they are always the embodiment of evil. The psychology of enmity. I began reading about propaganda and social psychology, reading Bernay’s, Arendt, Milgrim, Zimbardo, and alot of others who have pondered how decent people can be brought to believe absurd things and commit atrocities. Religion was uncomfortably often a major part of the equation. This is just one wedge that began to cause me to increasingly distance myself from my religious upbringing.


About this time I had my first daughter. I was quite excited to be able to experience fatherhood and experience the profoundness of a father’s love for his child- believing this would give me a new glimpse into god’s love for us as his children. One night my beautiful little daughter was throwing a fit at 3am as infants tend to do. In my frustration and exhaustion (and looming 5am alarm) I began to think- under what circumstance would I be willing to physically inflict torture on my daughter? I couldn’t remotely imagine any circumstance that would justify me taking a spike and driving it into my daughter’s spine for even 3 seconds. Then I began to think of our christian eschatology (end time studies), about hell and eternity. One of the things that always reassured me when I thought about the god and atrocities of the Old Testament was the idea of the incarnation. This doctrine teaches us that though we cannot see god, we can see in Jesus ‘the fullness of the godhead bodily’- i.e. through the life of Jesus we can see and know what god is like. All that O.T. stuff made me uncomfortable, but I liked Jesus, and I consoled myself that god had to be at least as nice as Jesus. But then I thought- what if god was to reincarnate himself again today in our world in bodily form, but this time he came to execute his promised future wrath on the wicked? This would be no less biblical than his last visit fulfilling redemptive history through his death/resurrection. But what would it look like? Based on what I believed, the great majority of those currently inhabiting the planet would be going to hell. But lets say he just chose one person. Jesus takes one person, pronounces him a sinner worthy of hell, lights up a fire and starts roasting this guy alive like a pig over a burning pit. As the guy screams in agony with his flesh & hair slowly burning- how many of us watching Jesus slowly turning this human rotisserie could stomach the character of god displayed in fullness in front of us at that moment? And this for all of eternity for the great majority of humanity who have ever existed. Looking down at my daughter fussing in her crib and pondering what I would think of god’s character were I to witness him executing his promised future wrath presently caused a nagging thought I was ashamed to even admit… I would think him an atrocious monster. But how was this hypothetical thought experiment any different than what I already believed? My hopes for fatherhood giving me a glimpse into god’s love ironically turned into the beginnings of my loss of belief in him.


Once I allowed myself to explicitly admit my disconcertion with one issue, the questions began to quickly pile up. Soon I was having a full fledged crisis of faith. It’s interesting to think about now- it’s not as if my awareness of those issues was absent before- I was confronted and had as a christian argued apologetically every imaginable explanation of most of these questions in the street with atheists many times before- but it hadn’t ever really phased me because I just knew I was right, and I could easily dismiss any counter-argument with the Psalm-writer “LORD, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.” I was right, and if I didn’t understand it I had to be humble enough to simply trust god and lean not on my own understanding. It’s a very subliminal self-censorship- a mechanism that allowed me to avoid confrontation with even the most fantastical claims of my religion. I began meeting with pastors, mentors, friends- telling them I was struggling deeply with questions. This was almost inevitably how each discussion ended- a concession to the difficulty of the questions and a dismissal of the question by discrediting your mind, logic, rationality, or empiricism as means to discover truth. It ultimately came back to presuppositionalism- one must simply believe it’s true no matter what the evidence- and take every objection or contrary thought and take it captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor 10:5).

This began to bother me. It seemed highly anti-intellectual. It began to feel like censorship. I became much more acutely aware of my own psychological instincts. Questioning anything made me feel guilty, and I would often block questions out of my mind in shame that I was even thinking them. I was fearful of being exposed to bad influences that might lead me astray in my beliefs. I was fearful of reading anything that didn’t support my view. One person even told me I shouldn’t read so much since it could damage my faith. So my faith was dependent on ignorance for survival? This floored me. I became increasingly aware of the social mechanisms that corral belief. Censorship. Shame. Guilt. A once-Christian friend of mine became an atheist, and my church expelled him and forbade us from associating with him to protect us from his evil influence on our weak minds. Ostracization. Why the heck was that? I decided I wasn’t going to comply. Why the need to ostracise someone because they believed differently? The only conclusion I could come to is that ostracisation is for censorship and as a warning of the social consequences of not conforming in your beliefs to the remaining faithful. I might be able to understand the need for distinctive belief-set criteria for participation in a group with specific objectives- but to cut them out of your life completely? What are we afraid of? Was my truth so  weak that it will crumble if exposed to any opposition? It reminded me of Asch’s conformity experiments where one-truth teller has the effect of the little kid calling out the emperor’s lack of clothes- was that what we were afraid of? The domino effect of disbelief? What if someone believed the world were flat? Would I need to limit my exposure to that person to prevent my weak mind from being deceived into believing such stupidity? If my mind were so weak and deceptive that I had to censure and protect it from any unsanctioned thought how could I trust that what it currently believed was in fact correct? I didn’t think I would need to censor a man who believed the world was flat because that stupid belief was no threat to me- so what about religious thoughts were different? I began to realize that you only need rely on censorship when the belief you currently hold is in some way in doubt and you fear it would not stand if tested. That strength of belief (glorified as a virtue in Christendom) was often simply my unwillingness to ever question myself.

I pondered these things and a little thought experiment occurred to me: What if out of say 10 world religions I would be randomly born into any one of them but there was only 1 true religion, Christianity (which I would not be born into). What mindset, what disposition would make my chances of discovering the truth the greatest?  Suddenly every social mechanism for corralling my belief was not virtuous but a blockade to truth. Skepticism vs dogmatism. Open-mindedness vs strong belief. Maximum exposure vs censorship. Embrace every question without shame, fear, or guilt. The truth tested will stand stronger. And to hell with presuppositionalism- that all but guarantees I’ll just be whatever religion I’m born into. Becoming conscious of the ubiquity of these psychological tools for conformity of belief brought me to what was retrospectively a tipping point in my faith: I decided to stop being afraid. I decided I would no longer allow shame, guilt, or fear dictate my beliefs, and I would seek the truth fearlessly, entertain any argument, read any book or discuss with any person and yes, rely on my mind to discriminate truth and error. After all, if my mind was untrustworthy how could I trust it to judge the validity of my current position? It’s all I’ve got. In a Pascal’s-wager-of-the-mind of sorts I fell back on Jefferson sentiment to “Question with boldness even the existence of a god; because, if there be one, he must more approve the homage of reason, than that of blindfolded fear.” And with that the floodgates opened. I knew the bible well, I had memorized whole books of it. I knew the difficulties well, I had argued with atheists for many many years. But it was like all of the sudden I finally actually considered them. The questions were all so familiar but it was almost as if I was encountering them for the first time with an odd sense of deja vu.

I hated the fact that I was struggling with my faith. Religion has a way of being so consuming, so wrapped up in every part of your identity that to question it is to question the rationale for your entire existence. I think this is why doubt is so strongly eschewed- the consequences of the question being answered differently then the status quo are so great it’s easier just to simply avoid the question. But I felt liberated. More free than I ever have in my life. I no longer had to justify god. I no longer had to justify his designing of a world system where the great majority of the human race that has ever existed would suffer eternity in conscious unending unspeakable torment for not meeting a standard god purposefully set too high just to show them how insufficient they were, then threw them all in eternal hell for not believing in the human sacrifice of his son that appeased his wrath likely simply because (if you believe in free will) they lost the sperm lottery and were born into the wrong demographic with it’s own social pressures for it’s own belief sets. As a reformed Christian, they had no choice anyway, they were either designed for heaven or for hell. I could finally just admit that seemed pretty messed up and I didn’t have to justify it. I didn’t have to justify god commanding the genocide in Canaan, the slaughter of innocent children, the captors killing off everyone except the virgins who they’d keep as sex slaves (how’d they figure out who was virgin or not?). I didn’t have to justify a raped women having to marry and spend the rest of her life with the disgusting sicko who raped her (if he paid off her father to buy her). I didn’t have to justify slavery, or polygamy, or chauvinism, sexism, nationalism, racism (what else do you call the indiscriminate murder of any man women or child not of the Jewish race in Canaan?). I didn’t have to justify god commanding Abraham to kill his own kid, or Jephthah offering his own daughter as a human sacrifice to god. I didn’t have to justify the Christians around me who had never heard a proposed bombing of a foreign country they didn’t support (until Obama starting warmongering- the cognitive dissonance that induced!). It was ok to acknowledge that I felt like smashing little kids heads against rocks isn’t a happy thing (Psalm 137:9). It was ok to feel like many of these things are (of course asterisked by my limited understanding) pretty freakin screwed up. The questions piled up, and the justifications became bizarre. In my later stages of deconversion people would ask about where I would derive my morality if it wasn’t from god and the bible, but then I’d hear the same people justifying every atrocity above because- god and the bible. I began to rely more on my political ethic- do no harm- which I later found out was closely aligned with humanism. Does happily smashing babies heads into rocks align with the flourishing of humanity? The ethics of Christians began to seem more and more immoral, and the loss of those ethics became less frightening and the embracing of humanistic ethics more and more appealing.

Around this time I met with one of the one pastors I’ve been close to. Having met with him nearly weekly for years we knew each other fairly well. He had recently resigned his position as pastor due to his own wrestling with doubts. One of the big questions I had was whether or not to be transparent with my wife about these struggles. At this time I hated the struggles I had and wouldn’t wish them on anyone. They were devastating, depressing, and isolating. My wife had a simplicity of faith I envied. I wished I could have just accepted things and lived my little life without having to encounter such world-shattering struggles. I desperately wanted to protect her and avoid dragging her into struggles she wasn’t having. But it was quite evident in the ways that I wasn’t leading her spiritually like she would have liked. I no longer read the bible with her or prayed together. I think much of this was due to my dislike for hypocrisy, and I hated going through the motions of religious rituals while feeling like I was being a fake. So I didn’t do them, and that was hard on her. She had married a deeply religious man, and now she was married to a deeply struggling man. We had dozens of conversations about this, but they were always limited to the acknowledgement that I was wrestling deeply with faith, and the question of whether it’d be wise to drag her into the particulars or to protect her and keep it to myself (or strategically find someone who could fix me). I stubbornly resisted her desire to at least talk about it so she could know where I was at, fearful that it would damage her faith as well. She persistently insisted that that was a risk she was willing to take if it was required for religious intimacy, so at least she’d know where I’m at. My pastor at this time recommended I be explicitly honest with her, otherwise in five years we might find ourselves in radically different places and that would be more destructive (to the relationship) than communicating honestly, no matter the risks and difficulties. So I took his advice and we began to discuss openly my struggles with my wife. She was shocked and we spent many nights with her in tears, terrified of who the man she had committed her life to was becoming religiously. She had married a fundamentalist street preacher, and now he was an agnostic questioning even the very existence of god. Her first fears were what her family would think, and what morally I’d become. If her family found out it could be devastating. And without any moral compass, what would prevent me from becoming a sexual deviant who would just cheat & sleep around on her? Her first fear simply confirmed to me the power of social pressure to conform belief. I thought about how I’d respond if my beautiful little daughter became an atheist. I’ve witnessed countless times, especially in my more dogmatically fundamentalist homeschool circles, how any variance in belief about the metaphysical by a child from their parents had destroyed their relationship. Then I began to think about how destructive this was.

I began talking with a philosophy teacher who specialized in epistemology. How could we know what was true about the metaphysical? The invisible. Things we cannot perceive empirically. Was it even knowable? How could people be so dogmatic about the truth of things no-one can see or perceive? Is there an angel or demon sitting beside me in this room right now? Are you willing to bet your life on your answer? Are you willing to cut off your child based on your answer? If we can’t be sure about it how can we be so dogmatic about it? Even if we all agreed 100% that there is objective truth, and that that was expressed absolutely in the Authorized 1687 version of the King James Version bible, and we put it on the table in a room of 10 Protestant Christians… how many different interpretations of every single issue would we come up with? The only person I agree 100% with is myself, and even that’s in question. So what are the chances that in all of history, in all of Christendom, in all of Protestant Christendom, in all of Baptist Protestant Christendom, in all of reformed Baptist protestant Christendom, with the millions of differing opinions in this narrow scope, that I was the one with the monopoly on truth? That when we stood at the pearly’s every other person, even if they made it in, would be corrected by god on many points in their theology, but when my turn came he said- enter in, you got everything right son! Yet I saw many families behave as if this were the case, and cut off anyone who disagreed on tiny nuances of theology, even cutting off their own children for such offenses. Pondering these things gave me an epistemic humility that helped me let go and not care so much about someone’s metaphysical beliefs, which inevitably led me to kierkegaard.


Kierkegaard was a Danish Christian existentialist philosopher. I still have no firm grasp of what he was all about but many people pointed me to him as the man to go to rescue you from faith crises. At this time I had many people around me abandoning Christianity, even one of my close friends I had met doing street evangelism had become atheist. There was no debating or answer I could give him he hadn’t already heard or used himself while witnessing in the streets. I could only ask him to tell his story. And since I wasn’t about to censor him he became the truth-teller from Asch’s conformity experiment. His deconversion rocked my own faith and played no small part in my own deconversion. Having experienced that I understand now why Christians desiring to remain faithful would ostracize and censor apostates like him. A little leaven does seem to leaven the whole lump. Back to Kierkegaard. The way I understand Kierkegaard is that he (unlike many Christians) fully acknowledges that faith is in some sense ridiculous. That faith begins where reason ends. That there can be no such thing as provable faith. That one can only make a leap into the dark by faith. This was refreshing and I could see how honest concession in this way could allow me to hang onto faith while acknowledging it to be ‘foolish’ in a worldly sense. Also instead of defining who’s in and who’s out by the belief set one subscribes to, he claimed we would know someone by their fruits, by their works of love, their love for one another. I quickly adopted this view but it created it’s own heretical theological implications. What about the Buddhist who spent his entire life relentlessly and selflessly denying himself to pursue the truth he called god? Versus the American teenager who once gave mental assent to 3 metaphysical beliefs and said a prayer in youth group and then spent the rest of his life living however he wanted? Would the buddhist spend eternity in hell but the youth group teenager an eternity in heaven based on 3 doctrines they respectively gave mental assent to? Where’s the justice in that? It seemed more based on the luck of the  sperm lottery and which religion you were born into than anything else. So Kiierkegaard’s existentialism appealed to me. Much less weight was given to the belief sets subscribed to and much more was given to the fruits displayed by the individual, namely- do they love one another? At this point I was becoming pretty theologically heretical from the perspective of my religious roots. The more I let go of the more questions I became willing to entertain, and Kiierkegaard, rather than saving my dying faith, became a stepping stone into disbelief.


The more I freely explored the questions, the less the canned answers satisfied. Every answer ultimately came back to a suspension of reason, whether that was through censorship of the question or Kierkegaardian fideism. In either case simply asking “If I was a Muslim, would this answer lead me out of (the obviously false) Islam into the (obviously true) Christianity?” Invariably if I responded the same way as I a Muslim I’d have remained a Muslim, no matter the evidence. Slowly I began to realize I simply didn’t know the answers and that the bible and Christianity began to appear just as peculiar as the superstitions of Islam or Buddhism or any other dogmatic belief about the metaphysical invisible world. I began to examine whether there were any empirical events in my life and world I could point to that pointed to the invisible supernatural world. But everything could be explained and understood perfectly naturally. For all the years I spent praying- on the random chance circumstantial events would line up we’d freak out and cling to it as direct answer to prayer. Most of the time we just prayed vaguely to avoid it being actually subject to test. Worst case it was completely unanswered and then it obviously just wasn’t God’s will. It was unfalsifiable. I’ve never witnessed a bona fide miracle, nobody has ever been healed of an amputated limb, miracles either happened 2000 years ago or in 3rd world countries where camera phones don’t exist. There seemed to be an inverse relationship between miraculous events and the ability to document them. I finally concluded there’s nothing I’ve ever witnessed that can’t be explained naturally. I finally realized I was a skeptical agnostic who doesn’t have a clue what I believe about the metaphysical unseen world, and that’s ok.


At this point I’ve told very few people. I talk very openly with my wife about it and she’s fairly devastated. We love each other, have a beautiful daughter together, and have thus far had a very rich and incredibly easy life together with no real problems besides this religious issue. I continuously apologize that I’ve put her through this, and I feel incredibly bad for her. She married a fundamentalist street preacher and now is married to an agnostic who has little desire to participate in many things religious. I understand how difficult it is, sympathise deeply and don’t hold it against her. She has been incredibly patient and tried hard to endure our discussions, but even just discussing it is painful for her. Had she not married me I don’t think she’d have ever had to wrestle through these issues, but now that she is I can’t imagine the status quo continuing. As I talk to her she’s begun to have her own doubts, but I want to respect her and I have no goals of deconverting her. It may be a false dilemma but I feel like if she continues to discuss with me I will influence her and lead her astray from her faith (which she fearfully suspects as well) meaning at this point she may be faced with the pre-emptive decision- her faith or me. Jesus says unless your love for your spouse is like hate compared to your love for him you’re not worthy to be his disciple. This is a hard issue and brings frequent tears in our discussions. But having read some of the horror stories of others coming out, I am very grateful for her gracious response. I wouldn’t wish the situation on anyone.


Other than that my perspective is quite optimistic. I’ve finally come to the point where I am grateful to have gone through this.  For the first time in my life I can interpret the world based on how I see it. The cognitive dissonance and mental gymnastics required to fit evidence into a presupposed conclusion are gone. I am reading a ton and find the world more beautiful and fascinating than ever before. The world is not all evil and my life is not consumed with preparing for the next world cause this one’s all gonna burn. I have no idea what happens after death and though that can be scary it invests every minute of my life with extra meaning. My ethic is free to be humanistic, I don’t have to justify genocide and I am free to embrace an ethic of minimizing harm and maximizing human flourishing. For meaning and purpose I have the most incredible career that I find deeply meaningful and believe it to be incredibly contributory to the good of humanity, I couldn’t think of anything more meaningful for me at this point. I have a beautiful wife, an incredibly charming daughter, a bright future, and some hard times ahead when/if people find out. My family and those around me will be devastated I’m sure. But it’s bound to happen and we’ll roll with the punches as they come. As for my philosophy and purpose in life now- I find it best summed up in Lester’s final dialogue at the end of the film American Beauty-

“I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time… For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars… And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined my street… Or my grandmother’s hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper… And the first time I saw my cousin Tony’s brand new Firebird… And Janie… And Janie… And… Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me… but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… you will someday. ”




Postscript (11/07/15)


This seems like ages ago. So much water has gone under the bridge. I’ve since either ‘come out’ or been ‘discovered’ (the fact that it’s a scandal to not have certainty about metaphysical, invisible, untestable, allegedly ‘not subject to logic or reason’ beliefs is strange in itself) by almost everyone I love or care about. I’ve lost friends (either through direct biblical excommunication or simply by no longer having religion in common, which was the basis for many relationships), had many very painful, tear filled conversations, become a scandal to some family and former friend circles, submitted to church discipline etc. It’s a brutal process to lose faith… when anyone (usually in confidence) tells me they’re also beginning to have their own doubts it simply makes me want to cry for them. I became incredibly depressed, isolated, some days I couldn’t even get out of bed- it was like watching everything I’d ever built my whole life upon crumble before my eyes. Five years ago had I known where I would be today I would have shot myself to save myself (I say that only to illustrate my level of sincerity & commitment at the time). But the more I read, studied, learned, pursued relationships with Christian PHD philosophers, PHD apologists, pastors, mentors (many of whom I can call friends today) the more I felt like my faith was being ripped from me against my will, I was being dragged kicking and screaming out of it, unable to ignore the increasingly obvious intellectual problems and unsatisfactory answers. Today I can honestly say it was the worst thing I’ve ever been through (had a pretty easy life) but the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Truth is a gauntlet but an incredible reward worth pursuing. There is so much I could say, but I’ll leave that to coffee conversations for anyone interested (yes, that’s an invitation [to family and friends anyway]). I was asked by one of my sisters “If you now believe Christianity is false, how could you just let your family & friends continue believing what you think is a lie without saying anything?” It’s a fair question, and one I’m quite conflicted about.I think I at least owe it to those I care about to explain myself and offer the opportunity to discuss further if anyone’s interested, and that’s why I’m sharing this with you today. Looking back with the perspective of time I’d say my loss of faith can be attributed to 3 things primarily (in order of importance):


  1. Epistemology. Faith is a poor epistemology. If I could have only one reason, this is it.
  2. The Psychology of Belief. Our deceptive minds can be incredibly misleading.
  3. The moral repugnance of the bible. Google that yourself, I have no suggestion.


The above three points are the most concise explanation I can give for why I am no longer a Christian. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I understand even explaining myself is relationally risky from a Christian worldview and I have no desire to further jeopardize our relationship, so for most of you this will probably be the end of our religious discussion. That said, if any of you would like to discuss further I’m an open book.



“The Word” Became Flesh

Carl Dreyer’s Ordet (1955), translated as “The Word” in English, is a Danish film adaptation of the theatrical play written by Lutheran minister Kaj Munk in 1925. The film has garnered much attention in the realm of spirituality in film, and is regarded as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, spiritually significant films. Among its honors are the 1956 Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Language Film, the National Board of Review Award for Best Foreign Film, the Golden Lion (the highest prize of the Venice International Film Festival), the number one rank of “most spiritually significant film of all time” in 2010 by the Arts and Faith online community, and the Vatican’s one of fifteen “important films” pertaining to religion.

Munk’s Ordet is primarily the story of faith and love overcoming skepticism and doubt. On a small Danish farm in a hauntingly quiet rural setting, a dogmatic orthodox farmer’s family is torn asunder by various trials: one child believes he is Jesus the Christ himself, another is a cynical and stoic atheist, a third falls in love with a rival family’s daughter, forcing his father to face the doctrinal divide between their families, and all this comes to a climax in the death of the farm’s mother figure. All this conflict is put to the viewer as a question, asking, “Is there a place for the power of God today?” And the story unequivocally answers back, “Yes.” In the analysis that follows, we will investigate, through Robert B. Strimple’s book, “The Modern Search for the Real Jesus,” how Munk is able to say, “Yes,” and how that has significant implications for the Christian searching for Jesus today.

The foundational and epistemological assumption the viewer must be prepared to accept to understand Munk’s script is the Kantian distinction between scientific and religious knowledge. This is the fountainhead for the film’s skepticism and agnosticism, and its chilling desperation for faith. While referring most directly to an earthly father, the first word spoken in the film is, “Father?”, a demonstration of the distance felt between God above and men below. Miracles, a constant point of tension, are mentioned sixteen times in the film, representing the connection between the empirical, that which we sense here on earth, and the transcendent, that which is divine. Johannes’s atheist brother denies any spiritual presence on earth, saying, “It is all so meaningless – so meaningless.” Not only does Germany’s late nineteenth century Ritschlian Liberalism also put forth this strong and impossible Kantian division between heaven and earth, it also, along with Munk, puts forth this answer to the ineffable gap between the two: love; it is love, along with the faith of Bultmann-like existentialism, that Munk is able to provide an answer to the hopeless gap, albeit a faulty answer.

Picture of the play’s author

Faith and love work together for Munk’s depiction of the historical Jesus in Johannes; for Munk they become equivalents, as the reader will shortly understand. While Ritchlian Liberalism characterizes Munk’s value of love, the basis for love and Richtlian value is found in existentialism. This existentialism accounts for the psychological turmoil Johannes finds himself in. The film’s minister, after first meeting Johannes, who believes himself to be “Jesus of Nazareth,” was told something was wrong with Johannes. Therefore he asks Johannes’s brother Mikkel, “Was it… a love affair?” And Mikkel says, “It was Søren Kierkegaard.” Kierkegaard, the father of existentialism, produces the “leap of faith” theology necessary to embrace value judgments like love and hope. Johannes, we are told, “had a difficult time with speculation and doubts… [which] turned inward.” Strimple explains this phenomena as “[an embracing of] uncertainty as integral to being” (119). It is this blind nonsensical faith which allows for the film to communicate change and hope in the physical realm, and allows Johannes to make sense for his family the value of love.

Value judgments like love, following after this existentialism, become far more important for Munk than any historical ones. Both Munk and Albrecht Ritschl believe, as Strimple says, that “the concept of the kingdom of God… [is] interpreted solely in ethical and social terms. The kingdom comes as men unite for common moral action, motivated by love” (51). And so Mikkel’s atheism is written off by Inger, his wife, who explains that virtue, not doctrine, brings one close with God. Mikkel confesses that not only does
he not have faith, but has no “faith in faith.”

Inger replies,

But you have something else, something more important. A heart, goodness. I tell you, it is not enough to have faith if one is not a good person at the same time. And that’s what you are… [Faith] will come… Yes. And then you will see how warm you will feel, a glow inside you, and you’ll be so happy.

This faith, a faith which finds the divine, comes only through acts of love and goodness; that is, it comes through value judgments. Inger’s “I tell you” seems to be a reference to Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount when he says, “But I say to you…” This, then, is a pivotal point in the film, a point which seems to correct or re-orient the viewer’s current position with new teaching. Around this value judgment hangs the whole film.

The answer, then, to the distance between God and man becomes the act of love upheld by faith. Strimple explains how this value judgment should be interpreted:

In Ritschl’s estimation, religious affirmations – regarding God, for example – are strictly ‘value judgments.’ That qualifier, ‘value,’ cuts two ways: a value judgment is a judgment that affirms what we consider to be of value for our life; at the same time, it is a judgement that actually has value in making our life the kind of life it should be. A person can come to a sense of his or her own dignity and worth through the idea of a God who is his or her Creator, Savior, and Sustainer. But remember, Ritchl emphasized that this doctrine of a divine being is strictly a value judgment. (50)

The tension of value cutting both ways is well depicted in the conversation Mikkel and Inger have with Anders, the youngest brother. Though and unknown doctrine divides two families, the farmer’s and the tailor’s, the value judgment of love bridges this gap, too. Inger says, “Anders! You haven’t fallen in love with the tailor’s Anne?” …You know, they’ve got quite different ideas about religion.” Anders, knowing this to be the case, says, “We love each other. It doesn’t make any difference.” To which Inger says as the final thought, “Yes, that’s what we think too, Mikkel and I.” Inger again gaps the distance between belief and unbelief not only through her belief in love for Ander’s romantic situation, but between belief and unbelief in the divisive nature of dogma for herself and Mikkel. In this way love becomes the qualifier by which life not only is seen as communal, but is made communal. This type of common brotherhood, an acceptance of all of humankind under the banner of faith, hope, and love, appears as Munk’s explicit purpose for the film, and is proposed under the guise of blind faith in God, most clearly demonstrated in Johannes.

Munk’s view of Jesus, and even the historical Jesus, only now under the banner of love, becomes manifest in the person of Johannes. Under existentialism the issue of Johannes being divinity is a moot point (119): functionally Munk, like Ritschl, “emphatically repudiat[es] the orthodox doctrine of Christ’s two natures, yet he retain[es] the traditional terms, such as deity, in order to express the value, the unique value, of Jesus’ life for us” (51). Jesus, in this way, is not divinity condescending to die on the cross for the sins of his people, but Jesus is he who stands squarely and preeminently in that place of highest value, pointing us to community and life. Therefore, when Johannes performs god-like miracles, it is not simply a modern day miracle to bridge the gap between science and religion, a cheap trick or evangelistic propaganda, but a statement about the existential power of faith and love. Whether or not the film’s demonstration of miracles asserts something actually happening in reality is not important (notice how the clock is stopped by Anders), but important for Munk essential is the reality that a blind existential faith can and truly does produce manifestations of the divine presence, whether that be in the form of a prophet-like man or communal love.

The genuine Christian believer has no such existential blindness; his epistemology is not rooted in rationalism (15), or in a blind faith which makes room for love, but in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, which are a light to life’s path. Therefore, the revelation of God which came down, not the rationality of man which looks up, is the answer to Munk’s hopelessness. Jesus Christ is not Kierkegaard’s “Knight of Infinite Resignation,” or “Knight of [blind nonsensical] Faith”, neither is he Munk’s Johannes, or Munk’s faith, but He is God descended from heaven to earth in the flesh. He is not an idea, a myth, blind faith in the infinite gap, or an appropriated persona, but a person who lived and died for His people in the first century of our Lord. The true Christian can answer “Yes” to the question “Is there a place for the power of God today?” because the Jesus of history was incarnate of the virgin Mary, suffered, died, rose, ascended, gave his Spirit to the church, and sits at the right hand of God, ever making intercession. For this reason also, Ordet, “the word,” has meaning; otherwise, love cannot be defended as an ultimate value, but only a subjective one. But the Christian knows what love is because Christ, the Word, gave his life for sinners.

The film’s last word, “Life!”, representing the fullness of faith and love expressed in the characters, becomes Mikkel’s declaration of “It is all so meaningless” if it is taken apart from God condescending to reveal Himself to man (especially through the historical space & time Jesus). If the historical Jesus did not come and die, then what does “faith” and “life” mean? We know true life only if we know Jesus. The true Christian can look on Munk’s film only in appreciation for its question, but not for its answers; Jesus is made known in the gospels, not in this existential experience. Jesus is not a wandering sage pointing to the truth and the need for faith, but He is Truth pointing to Himself, and faith finds meaning only in Him. The power of God today is seen, then, in the Jesus Christ who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. “The Word” is not something we create today, He is the eternal Way, Truth, and Life spoken forever, and given to us in the Holy Bible, the Word who became flesh.


Christian Existentialism?

Is Christian faith a leap-of-faith theology? Is universal human experience projected into the stories and moments which make up the Biblical narrative, so that they are for us, myth?

Rudolph Bultmann follows the existentialism of Heideggar, claiming that Heideggar essentially says the same thing about reality as the New Testament, yet wholly apart from it. For a little background, Heideggar contended that our being (“sein”) is just there (“dasein”), so that is has a certain “throwness” to it, extended in time and space. This is a reality we encounter every waking moment. We wake up in the morning and we are there – just there. However, we also encounter the reality of nothingness. We all stare nothingness in the face every waking moment. When we wake up in the morning, we are there instead of not there. Why? Why something, or someone, rather than nothing, and no one? This is the core existential question. How we decide to live knowing that the whole of our existence is radically contingent, knowing everything could and would go on without me? There are those who fill that tension with “externals”, who cram in the noise of everyday living and mundane concerns to keep us from feeling the unbearable weight of the tension of the dark drab meaninglessness of our self-existence. For Bultmann & Heideggar this is cowardly. And for Bultmann, Jesus’ essential significance for us stems from the fact that he alone kept the tension of his contingency at the forefront. He stared death in the face fearlessly, even to the point of death on the cross.

The Bible, then, is an expression of this existential answer for the church, and it must be “demythologized” to find its core existential message. Heideggar was said to “chuckle” that Bultmann put existential significance specially in Jesus, for if this is all true, then Jesus is just one expression of a particular faith-community.

But can the Bible be seen as essentially an existential statement projected into certain forms belonging to the faith-community of the first century alone, so that we who are now more advanced can shed the forms of the Biblical narrative for its striking existential core of meaning?

Looking at how the Bible speaks of Jesus will help us answer this question.

Colossians 1:13-17 says

“He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, because by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities–all things were created through him and for him. And he Himself is before all things, and in him all things subsist.”

First of all, what does it mean that Jesus is the “firstborn of all creation”? Does that mean He is a created thing, as the Jehovah’s Witnesses would contend? “Firstborn” is a term used throughout the scripture, and is often used to denote superiority or dignity, such as in Ps. 89:27, used in the same way here. The “He is” in the Greek can also be taken without reference to time, meaning that outside of time Jesus is both the image of God and firstborn of creation, with “of creation” meaning superior over creation (Greek note: Objective genitive).

This all trends toward what Herman Ridderbos said: “It can even be maintained that by the name Image of God in the passages in question Paul intended to elucidate “the eternal relationship of the Father to the Son” (Paul, 71), whereas firstborn over all of creation implies a definite priority of the uncreated Son with reference all things created (Paul, 82).

What confirms all this is verse 16, which says “by Him all things were created”, and we aren’t left thinking “what are ‘all things'” because Colossians says all things in heaven and earth, which corresponds to the visible and the invisible. And what’s more, this is a clear kickback to Genesis 1 – “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth”, so that Jesus’ divine being is said here to be eternal. He is without time and space.

What about the “throwness” of being? The confrontation with nothingness? Could it be that the scriptures are expressing the eternality of Jesus as a way of saying that our existential experience reaches beyond even time and space? There are two reasons this can’t be the case. 1) The “because” of verse 16 makes Jesus stand far above “all things” (the all things of Genesis 1 which would include humanity), they existing not only by him, but for him. And 2) verse 17 says “in him all things subsist” (could also be translated “hold together” or “cohere”). This means that all contingent beings, or things, are only being there (“dasein”) by and for Jesus. How then, could the cross be an expression of the tension of his radical contingency in facing nothingness? In Jesus is everythingness. In Jesus are all contingencies, so that the scriptures flatly contradicts this existential approach to scripture.

And yet, let us not forget that although all things exist by and for Him, verse 13 makes it clear that this same One took on flesh and dwelt among us. The One in whom all contingencies exist became contingent! Of course, He did not leave His eternal nature behind (as if by subtraction), but assumed (added) humanity to His person to redeem His people. In this way the atemporal became temporal, the One outside of time entered in, and so we must relate to Him as both God and man. We must see the eternal purpose of God in the Son (outside heavens & earth, visible & invisible), and yet we must see the history of God’s purpose unfolding not only by and through the Son, but with Him as the center figure.

It is this unfolding of revelation which provides for our turn toward Kierkegaard, the father of existentialism. My argument is essentially the same as the one toward Bultmann and Heideggar; that is, when focusing so specifically on the individual-existential situation, the explicit and scriptural grand narrative and overarching purpose becomes obscured and discarded at the very cost of its meaning. The interpreter comes either with the presupposition that they ought to only listen to what pertains to this aforementioned existential anxiety (brought about by Kantian philosophy, but that is for another time), or they allow scripture to speak for itself and interpret itself as it pertains to that very existential quandary (and every other type & topic). Let me recap what Kierkegaard argues in his work “Fear & Trembling”, which centers on the narrative of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis 22.

For Kierkegaard the existential situation is not being and nothingness per se, but the tension is the same. Kierkegaard writes that “[m]ost people live completely absorbed in worldly joys and sorrows; they are benchwarmers who do not take part in the dance.” For Kierkegaard, taking part in the dance is a matter of faith. He says, “By faith I do not renounce anything; on the contrary, by faith I receive everything exactly in the sense in which it is said that one who has faith like a mustard seed can move mountains. It takes a purely human courage to renounce the whole temporal realm in order to gain eternity… But it takes a paradoxical and humble courage to grasp the whole temporal realm now by virtue of the absurd, and this is the courage of faith.” By faith, then, Abraham is said to enter in to the realm of absurdity by suspending his ethical judgments (i.e., that he should not kill his son). For Abraham this is not a mere infinite resignation to do what is absurd, but a step of faith, in which authentic existence is found.

To be a “knight of faith” the Christian existentialist must have faith in God and His word, just as His word to Abraham, even if it is capricious or counter-intuitive or absurd, because there is no reason, in this spacio-temporal realm, to accept “objective” values (be they moral or whatever) which cannot be tested by the senses – these are accepted by “faith”, or “blind faith”, to use a colloquialism.

Is this what Genesis 22 teaches? That we also should be like Abraham who make this irrational leap of faith into the nonsensible realm? It was the unfolding of revelation which turned us toward Kierkegaard, and that is where we begin. What was God revealing in Genesis 22?

Well, turn back a few chapters to Genesis 17, where God says,

“Behold, my covenant is with you, and you shall be the father of a multitude of nations… I will make you exceedingly fruitful, and I will make you into nations, and kings shall come from you. And I will establish my covenant between me and you and your offspring after you throughout their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you. And I will give to you and to your offspring after you the land of your sojournings, all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession, and I will be their God.”

Now, first of all, when it says in 17:1 that the Lord appeared to Abraham to speak this, was the moment in the realm of the non-sensical (Kantian “noumenal”)? Even if it were so, in chapter 18 the Lord appears as an man and sits down to eat with Abraham to give the message of Isaac’s birth (its significance being that through Isaac blessings would come to the nations – Gen. 18:18). How then is Gen. 22 taken as a leap of faith into the irrational? The Lord’s revelation to Abraham is not a guess, or an impression, or anything like it, but it is a clear revelation clearly spoken by God Himself, just as the Lord physically walked and spoke in time and space as a man with Adam (Gen. 3:8). Will we let the text speak for itself, or must we impose upon it certain parameters which outlaw its very message (i.e., that God spoke to certain men differently than he spoke to others)? In order for Kierkegaard to make Abraham’s experience analogous to ours, which he does, we must reject that God specially revealed Himself to Abraham in this way, but that would be to reject what the text plainly teaches about how God spoke with Abraham.

Second, the defining factor for the story of sacrifice is faith in God, not faith in the absurd, irrational, or non-sensical. Listen to what the author of Hebrews writes,

“By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was in the act of offering up his only son, of whom it was said, ‘Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.’ He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back” (11:17-19).

How would blessings come to the nations, or kings come from Abraham – how would God’s word be true, if Abraham’s son was dead? When Kierkegaard describes the “knight of infinite resignation”, he puts forth a notion that to be infinitely resigned is necessary because the future and the outcome of our faith is entirely and completely unknowable to the rational mind. This is exactly the opposite of what the Bible puts forth as faith. While it was unseen that God could bring Isaac back from the dead, the character of God’s promise (“I will make you into nations, and kings shall come from you”) is such that it is so sure to happen in time and space, that even miracles will be wrought that its end may come. It is fixed. To have faith in God is to have faith that what He says about time and space (our sensible realm) is the truth; and in fact, it is the only truth, so that irrationality is not having faith in God, and irrationality is believing anything other than what God has said (which, ironically, these existentialists are prone to do).

For this reason faith is not a faith in the irrational, but it is a faith in God, who is the measure of rationality! And to prove God’s faithfulness to His promise, that He would even raise one from the dead, He gave Jesus, who lived in space and time – the Son. The purpose of Abraham’s sacrifice is only seen fully in the light of God’s. Abraham cannot be seen as speaking with God in isolation from God’s unfolding of revelation, starting with Adam and ending with Christ (Heb. 1:1). In Jesus is the fulfillment of the promise to Abraham, that through his seed the nations would be blessed. So, then, because we are not directly players in the revelation of this promise (but recipients), to pattern our lives and existential quandaries after them would completely miss the point of what the Bible says about our personal lives in space and time.

So finally then, the faith once for all delivered to the saints is not an irrational one, but is unfolded by He who is ultimate rationality. It is not divorced from time and space, for Jesus, in whom all contingencies exist, entered into time and space to live and die, that our faith might be secure in God – and God has given sufficient proof to all men not only of His eternal power and divine nature throughout creation, but by raising His Son from the dead and seating Him in the heavens. A so-called “Christian Existentialism” does nothing but overthrow the message of the Bible by coming to it with terms that cannot and will not be justified with the text itself. The existential hermeneutic is a hermeneutic of unbelief – unbelief that God has revealed Himself, and that climatically in His Son.

May our God continue to save us from our self-sufficiency, save us from our thoughts of self-existence, and help us see that we may have eternal life in Christ, a life which escapes all fear of death or “nothingness” and makes void every notion of irrational faith through a faith grounded and vindicated in the God who raised Jesus from the dead, for we who believe are also seated with Him and wait for His further revelation from heaven. May He quickly come. Amen.


**Leaned upon Strimple on the Historical Jesus, Vos on Biblical Theology, Van Til for ultimate rationality, and the lecture material of Lane Tipton for Colossians.