Are Ayn Rand and Jesus friends?

As readers of thefrontieratgrace.com, you are used to our Wednesday “Ask Beau” feature, in which we seek to give biblical answers to practical questions that men face (we can be reached at frontier@gracepolaris.org). Recently we received the following question from Chris via email:

With some attention being brought to Ayn Rand and her influence on many politicians and others, is Ayn Rand’s philosophy, “Objectivism,” in any way compatible with Christianity?

Today our feature is more properly called “Ask Dan,” because Dan Hermiz, a frequent contributor to the blog, has taken a shot at answering this one. Enjoy!

It’s a simple question, on the face of it. But the truth is that Rand, like many philosophers, spent a lifetime formulating and articulating her own unique philosophy which is, as she put it, “for living on earth.” This is to say that it is both systematic and comprehensive. It deals extensively with epistemology, morality, metaphysics, truth, politics, justice, and economics—just about everything a worldview needs. And because of this, what might seem simple at first glance is actually quite complex.

However, I do not believe that complexity must rule out the possibility for clarity. And having at once a healthy respect for complexity, yet a strong, even burdensome desire for clarity in regards to Rand’s philosophy, I admit that I have lamented on more than one occasion that “I’m waiting for the epic take-down” of her philosophic construct from someone far more qualified than me. But alas, I’m still waiting. And it may interest you to know that according to a survey conducted by the Library of Congress, Rand’s Atlas Shrugged ranks second, behind only the Bible, on a list of the most personally influential books among the American reader.

If I may, before jumping into a more analytical arena, I’d like to briefly share my personal feelings on this issue. For the lover of free-market economies, limited government, individual rights, reason, the law of non-contradiction, and the opportunity for personal achievement, Ayn Rand is a seductive ally. So seductive, that in spite of her being a pro-choice atheist, many “conservative Evangelicals” find themselves deeply enamored with her philosophy. I think this speaks volumes to the rhetorical force of her arguments, but in not every case is it true that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” In my personal opinion (for what it’s worth), Rand’s philosophy, on the whole, is one of the darkest, most destructive and godless philosophies known to modern man—second only perhaps to nihilism. Yes, I just said that.

While I suppose that on some of the details, Rand’s philosophy may align with a biblical worldview, I am far more concerned with its central tenets. In a nutshell, Rand has described her philosophy as follows: “My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life with productive achievement as his noblest activity and reason as his only absolute.” She further described her purpose in writing both novels and philosophy: “to define and present the image of an ideal man . . . what man can be, and ought to be.”*

In Rand’s philosophy, the individual, quite literally, is the moral center of the universe—God.

“The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no god’” (Psalm 14:1).*

Rand was an atheist.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lays down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

According to Rand, “in love, the currency is virtue . . . you love them for what they have achieved in their own character . . . you only love those who deserve it.”

“God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

Rand believed that “rational self-interest” was the highest form of morality. And, if I may opine once more, her arrogance was breathtaking. In her own words, she had “superior contempt” for most of her peers, considered herself “the most creative person alive” and openly criticized just about every thinker, teacher, and philosopher in history.

Christ, the real “ideal man,” said this in Mark 10:42–45: “You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

In Christ’s kingdom, the currency is servanthood.

Rand believed self-sacrifice, or “altruism” of any kind, to be the highest form of immorality.

I’ll leave you with one interesting, yet profoundly relevant anecdote from Rand’s life. Rand considered Atlas Shrugged to be “the one central integrating purpose of everything I did.” John Galt’s epic speech alone took her two years to complete, as it was essentially the “summing up [of] all the essentials of the novel.” En route to its publication, Rand interviewed several publishers, and in a discussion with the publisher who eventually won the “contest,” Rand was asked, “Wouldn’t you have to clash with the Judeo-Christian Ethic?” Years later, in an interview, Rand said that it was for precisely this reason that the publisher “got the book.” In her estimation, he was the publisher who most “got it.” Rand’s philosophy, in her own words, is wholly antithetical to a Christian worldview. And she wouldn’t have us thinking otherwise.

(Note: Quotations from Ayn Rand are taken from the documentary, Ayn Rand: In Her Own Words, directed by John Little and Robert Anderson. Biblical quotations are from the English Standard Version.)

Pay attention to the arts! A plug for one of my favorite books

Ten years of marriage, four children, vocational ministry, and the general business of life notwithstanding, I am absolutely convinced—art matters!

Why? Because art (in any form) not only offers one of the clearest insights into the culture of our present time, it forecasts its future—and, if effectively seized, it’s evangelization. It is likely that I owe such conviction in large part to the late evangelist/writer/philosopher Francis Schaeffer. I was first introduced to his work around 15 years ago, and to this day my affection for his work grows ever deeper.

Just months ago, I watched a couple of Schaeffer’s final sermons, delivered shortly before his death, and I was moved to tears. I have rarely, if ever, witnessed such a lucid yet fair assessment of a culture in moral decline, presented by a speaker who, with every labored word and gesture, evinced not prideful bloating or condemnation, but a brokenness brought on by the love of Christ. This love ultimately marks the Christian. And it is not merely a descriptive sentiment, but is in fact a prescriptive solution. The impact of Schaeffer’s work is broad and ineffably deep. I am one grateful soul.

And I’m not alone. Nancy Pearcey, of note, is one who immediately comes to mind. Not only did she have the privilege of studying under Francis Schaeffer for a time, but her contributions, written and otherwise, have not only multiplied Schaeffer’s work, but sharpened it.

For me, this is most acutely demonstrated in her book Saving Leonardo. In Schaeffer’s trilogy (The God Who Is There, Escape from Reason, and He Is There and He Is Not Silent), he introduced the concept of the “upper story leap.” Perhaps I’ll unpack that another time, but for my purpose here it will suffice to say that the concept has become one of the most important tools for me personally (and many others) for evaluating and understanding our time. I believe Pearcey in Saving Leonardo has managed to refine the idea for even greater impact. She calls it the “fact-value split.” I’ll bear enthusiastic witness that if you want to have a greater understanding of the art and worldview(s) of our increasingly secular society, what to do about them, and how to push back, then this is a must read!

I plan to read Saving Leonardo again soon, and it will be required reading for my children.

—Dan Hermiz

Wise students choose honest teachers

We all have teachers. And no, I’m not just talking about the ones with degrees who stand in front of a room and teach. What I have in mind is much broader. Family and friends? Sure. Pastors, counselors, mentors? Yes, they count too. But I’m thinking even broader, because it isn’t just the people we know personally who act as teachers in our lives.

Of course our first teachers are chosen for us: our parents—who in turn choose our next teachers. But in due time we have a lot of control as to who and/or what occupies the role of teacher in our lives. Think about it. When I pick up my latest read at Barnes and Noble, or go see the latest blockbuster, I’ve just made a whole host of authors, writers, directors, editors, composers, graphic designers, etc., my most recent teachers—hired at a cost of only $19.95 and $12.00, respectively (popcorn and drinks not included).

So here I am, offering another “garbage in-garbage out” warning, and issuing a call for us to stop seeing movies because Hollywood is evil, and stop reading books that fill our heads with nonsense. And hey, while we’re at it, let’s declare our homes as media asylums and placard King James inscriptions of Philippians 4:8 on our lone black and white tube TV’s, used only for the express purpose of replaying our home videos and viewing the occasional vintage Billy Graham Crusade.

Not exactly . . . and I hope you’ll excuse my sarcasm. It does have a point.

I’m guessing that if I were to use that last (and clearly disingenuous) paragraph as my Facebook status update, I’d probably get a few “likes.” And that’s a shame. Sure, it’s shame because some random person who didn’t get the sarcasm might agree, but what’s worse is that many who would get the sarcasm would find themselves aligning with not only its antagonist sentiment, but its arrogant attitude. And who is that supposed to help? It certainly isn’t convincing, although I suppose it may help reinforce one’s own position (albeit destructively and through logically barren means).

In the field of logic, such an “argument” would be regarded as a “straw man fallacy.” That is, it’s an unfair and inaccurate portrayal of an opponent’s position when in fact almost no one of that sort actually exists, at least in the mainstream. This is different from what we would call “Taking the roof off,” the logical tactic of exposing the inherent consequences of one’s particular assertion when correctly applied. One is cheating. One is actually quite helpful if done in the proper manner. But unfortunately, it seems we as a society are overwhelmingly guilty of the first and woefully unskilled at the second.

One of the very few commentators that I actually enjoy listening to has as his personal motto, “I prefer clarity to agreement.” I appreciate that deeply. It his belief that if we are committed to being on the side of truth (as opposed to blindly declaring that the truth is on our side) that we owe it not only to our opponents, but to our students and to ourselves, to make clear and valid arguments and to offer them in a respectful manner. I by no means agree with him on everything, but I would much rather welcome him as a teacher in my life than someone I agree with all the time but who is far more concerned with what I think than with how I think and why I think it.

In the age-old debate of being in the world, but not of it, I’d like to propose a new metric for those who don’t already have this one in the toolbox. Instead of simply accepting and rejecting your teachers on the basis of whether or not they “proclaim the truth,” add this to your criteria: a teacher shall make fair arguments and not rely on subversive means to advance his or her ideas. Also – a good teacher is persuasive, but while passionate and bold, should honor, and even welcome honest questions or disagreement. If your questions aren’t welcome, there’s a good chance he’s a lot more invested in himself than in you.

—Dan Hermiz

Practical reflections on free will and divine sovereignty – part 5: Heart matters

In my heart’s sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poets gloss

Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute

–Daniel E. Gawthrop

This is the opening lyric to one of my favorite choral pieces and I have to admit, I can’t get it out of my head. My final entry for this series is by far the most difficult for me to finish. While there are a variety of reasons, I think most of them stem from one “mother” reason, specifically, that this final idea is the one that I personally think is most important. Why? Because this is where I’m forced to do some honest reflection on the condition of my own heart, and that isn’t always a pretty sight—for any of us. When the intellectual and emotional gymnastics come to an end, it’s time to ask myself a really important question: is it possible that the reason I struggle with this issue isn’t because I can’t find the answers, but because I can’t accept the answers for the simple fact that I personally don’t like them?

As you can imagine, I’ve wrestled a lot with the “goldilocks” wording for this last entry—that just-right balance between being bold and challenging on one hand, and sensitive and pastoral on the other. Sadly, I’ve not found them. So although I haven’t found the right words, at least in my estimation, neither do I think it best simply to leave these things unsaid altogether.

So my final resort is this: a list of questions. Perhaps you’d like to ask these of yourself sometime, keeping in mind that if you want an honest answer, you’ve got to start with an honest question. For the purposes of these questions, right answers are not nearly as important as true answers.

1. Is it possible that I reject the importance of rationality because I don’t want to do the work required of me for developing sound answers?
2. Is it possible that I reject the importance of faith because I’m not okay with trusting God’s word, no matter how trustworthy He has proved Himself?
3. Is it possible that I resort to clichés like, “You’ve just got to have faith” because I’m afraid that I might have to consider the possibility that I’m wrong?
4. Is it possible that I would rather “resist all beliefs” because I’m simply too prideful to admit that someone else might have (or be) the answer I so desperately need?
5. Is my struggle with God’s sovereignty a front for my own rebellion?
6. Am I blaming God for my sin by asserting that he must not have “chosen” me?
7. Is my struggle with God’s grace a front for my own ego?
8. Am I simply too full of pride to accept that I cannot save myself?
9. Am I too selfish to let God get all the glory for my good works?
10. Do I really understand that I’m not the center of the universe?
11. Do I realize that God loves me not because I’m so loveable, but because He’s so loving? And that it’s His lovingkindness that makes me loveable in the first place?
12. Am I willing to let God be in charge?
13. Am I willing to let God get all the glory and honor
14. Do I understand that God doesn’t owe me my “best life now,” yet I owe him everything?
15. At the end of the day, whom do I really love?

As I sit . . . I pray. I pray we find answers. I pray we find encouragement. But I pray most of all that we behold his glorious grace, and that upon beholding His glory, we find ourselves in the posture of Moses, and with the words of Isaiah:

“And Moses quickly bowed his head toward the earth and worshiped” (Exodus 34:8 ESV).

“Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, and the Lord of hosts . . . Here am I! Send me” (Isaiah 6:5,8 ESV).

—Dan Hermiz

Assertion or argument?

“You’re just a crazy conservative who hates poor people and thinks you’re better than everyone,” said the caller.

“Get off my phone, you big dope,” said the radio commentator who shall remain nameless.

Sound familiar? Well, it’s campaign season. Get used to it.

Whether it’s the presidential race between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney, or the local ballot issue, one thing is for sure: you’re about to get slammed with political ads. Oops, too late! I’ve already had enough to last a lifetime (hey, at least we found something we can all agree on).

Why are political ads so annoying? Most people reply with the answer that they are dirty, unfair, manipulative, and untrustworthy. And for the most part, those answers are probably pretty accurate. But I have another reason: it seems like they never actually advance an argument (“never” might be an exaggeration, but it’s close). Instead, they make assertion after assertion after assertion—and apparently I’m supposed to be convinced by whoever can most effectively scare me about the opponent while simultaneously endearing me to his or her own cause. And this is of course accomplished with brooding, dissonant music and blurred, untimely-taken black-and-white photographs when portraying the bad guy—and, by predictable contrast, happy, resolute music with brightly colored photographs when portraying the good guy.

It’s a lost art really—making an argument, that is. We’ve settled, it seems, for cheap tricks and shouting matches. But what else can we rightly expect when our idea of making an argument plays out like the example above. We can blame the politicians, and sure, they should be held accountable for their actions. But we are every bit as much a part of the problem. It is only when we can restate the opponent’s position and have that person reply, “Yes, that is exactly my position,” that we are really ready to have an honest debate.

We’re certainly not going to change the climate in politics overnight, but we can do something about it. For starters, we can be on guard—learn to recognize the difference between fair arguments and assertions, especially when espoused by people on our “side.” When there are more of us who prove, by virtue of our own ideological clarity, that we will only be persuaded by sound arguments and not manipulative assertions, politicians will be forced to deliver the real substance. But perhaps most importantly, we need to practice it ourselves. And for many, that will be like learning a new language, which is no easy task. So for starters, I have a simple recommendation: take advantage of this political season by putting to use your argument/assertion radar. You’ll probably find it pretty easy to apply this to the “other” side on any given issue. The real challenge (and skill) is applying it to your side just as liberally.

Happy detecting!

—Dan Hermiz

Practical reflections on divine sovereignty and free will – Part 4: Hindsight is 20/20

Jean-Francois Lyotard, a leading postmodern philosopher, once defined Postmodernism as “incredulity towards metanarratives.” Though he would later lament that the particular work in which he offered this definition was “simply the worst” of all his writings, it has, perhaps to his disappointment, come to be regarded by many as possibly his most significant work. In other words, it stuck.

Remember this phrase, “incredulity towards metanarratives.” It reflects, at its simplest, a rejection or disbelief in the idea that there is a grand scheme, or an ultimate purpose.* How hopeless. In contrast, a thorough reading of Scripture reveals a metanarrative of epic proportion. From the creation of the universe itself, to the fall of man and the means of his redemption, and ultimately, all eternity, the Bible overflows with purpose, and of that, supremely the glory of God. And the good news for you and me is that in God’s “God-centeredness,” He determined a plan—a purpose for all things that included the saving of sinners who might even be granted an eternity of cosmically captivating fellowship with the Creator Himself. How fantastically hopeful!

One peculiar thing about this metanarrative is the fact that we are actually characters in the story, and the story isn’t finished. The Divine Author however, in contrast to the conventional wisdom of all our English Lit teachers, has decided that He wants us to know how it ends even before we get to the final “chapter.” Have you ever wondered why? I have, and I can’t help but think God must have a pretty good reason for this too.

We have an English phrase, often employed by those freshly sobered by one of life’s hard-learned lessons, that “hindsight is 20/20.” Or of equal sentiment, “If I only knew then what I know now,” may perhaps be the phrase of choice. So what exactly is it that God wants us to see now about things to come, especially as it relates to salvation and the Free Will/Divine Sovereignty issue? What exactly does God want us to have the opportunity not to learn the hard way?

I’ll offer a few thoughts in brief.  I’ll leave the deeper reflection to you:

1. Salvation is God’s prerogative. It’s His plan, not ours. We need to get used to that. See Romans 9 and Ephesians 1.
2. Life on earth can be bad . . . really bad. But the ending is perfect. Not only will God deal with sin decisively and ultimately, he offers fellowship for all believers, and rewards for the faithful. This is why we can call the gospel “good news.”
3. Our confidence in God is to be promise-based. God’s track record through history demonstrates His trustworthiness. Our present and future belief is justified on the basis of God’s past faithfulness. Hence, we “live by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). And apart from faith, “it is impossible to please God” (Hebrews 11:6). In other words, no good thing, if accomplished apart from trusting in God, is ultimately pleasing to God. God wants my works, but He wants my trust first. See 2 Corinthians 5.

And there’s one more. Someday, that faith will become sight. Someday, the grand metanarrative comes to its final chapter. Someday, the greatest climax the world has ever seen will be upon us. What will be learned on that day if not before? That Jesus Christ is Lord? Yes. That the story isn’t just . . . a story? Yes. But here’s the part that I find really sobering, because it’s more than just sobering, it actually offers one of the clearest insights into my own soul. At the end of all things the glory and majesty of the Great I Am will be on its fullest display, for His crowning achievement will be finally revealed.

While the grand scheme of history is a redemption narrative, the final revelation doesn’t point to man, the saved—it points to God, the Savior. The more I learn, the more I am convinced of this truth: that in the end, ALL who are saved give ALL of the glory to God, while those who perish retain ALL the culpability for their sin, and ultimately, their death. Hence, the divine sovereignty/free will tension demonstrates its necessity. Divine sovereignty means that God retains all the glory for the salvation of the elect. Free will means that no one is off the hook for rejecting the free gift of God.

That’s difficult to swallow, and I know that doesn’t sit well with many (any?) of us. And it just so happens that this leads me to my final reflection for next week . . . What does my struggle with divine sovereignty/free will say about me?

—Dan Hermiz

(Note: In fairness, it should be stated that Lyotard’s position was not an all-out rejection of objective truth. It was more a rejection of the ability to correctly discern this truth. Philosophy recognizes this in part as a difference between ontology and epistemology. In short, the former is the “is,” while the latter is the “how we know the is.” What Lyotard’s view undermines is not the existential reality of objective truth. Rather, it undermines a whole host of “truth bearers” such as reason, experience, empiricism, Scripture, etc. I know, I know . . . Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.)

Practical Reflections on Free Will and Divine Sovereignty—Part 3: An Aside

(Note: The following post is part 3 in a series authored by Dan Hermiz. Click on the links to view part 1 and part 2)

For about a hundred pages of one of my favorite fiction books, Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, there is a not-so-brief history lesson on the Battle of Waterloo. You could easily read it and wonder halfway through, “What happened to the story?” “What’s the point of this?” The answer, I think, is context. The author apparently felt that for his readers to get the full weight of the story there were certain things they would need to understand from a historical perspective. Makes sense to me. Now I’m obviously no Victor Hugo, and my work is far short of a masterpiece. However, if I may borrow the strategy for a day, I’d like to go on a little aside and provide some context before moving to my next reflection. The aside I have in mind is a consideration, or really just a reminder, of what it means to keep an eternal perspective on things.

I’m guessing it’s a safe bet that you’ve heard someone described as “so heavenly minded” that he or she is “no earthly good.” I think I get the sentiment—that some people do in fact seem to render themselves somewhat impotent (socially speaking) because of their preoccupation with some other time or place, unwilling to see or do something about the problems staring them in the face, seeing them instead as some sort of doctrinal validation, so we best avoid them. But I have to admit that while I take the sentiment seriously, I’ve come to really dislike the phrase. My reason? For starters, it seems to me that the person this phrase attempts to describe has precisely the opposite problem. He’s too earthly minded, which is deeply unbiblical. Colossians 3:2 actually commands us to “set [our] minds on what is above, not on what is on the earth” (HCSB).

I think C.S. Lewis put it well: “If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next.” In my estimation, this is a far more accurate characterization. If I really am passionate about something, doesn’t that cause me to talk about it more? Even convert people to my way of thinking? Whether it’s my favorite sports team, musical preferences, or life and death itself, if I really care about something and dwell on it constantly I’ll be a greater ambassador on its behalf, not a poorer one. So if I find that I just can’t stop thinking about heaven, I’ll probably find that I can’t help but want to “give ‘em heaven.”

You might be wondering what this could possibly have to do with free will and divine sovereignty. It’s simple really.  A heavenly minded person is an eternally minded person, and eternity is the ultimate perspective changer. And if this is true, then getting eternity right can make all the difference in the world. For the Apostle Paul, even his great earthly suffering could be regarded as “a light and momentary affliction” when considered in light of the “eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17). I think this is one of the most profound indications of just how powerful an effect the reality of Heaven (or eternity) can have on Christ-followers.

If ever there were an issue that could use an infusion of heavenly perspective, it’s the doctrine of salvation. My next two reflections in this series will venture into just that issue. This is where the whole free will vs. divine sovereignty issue gets really sticky. So before offering my thoughts on it, I think it’s beneficial to remind ourselves that when we’re talking about salvation, we’re taking about eternity. While there might be a process involved, there is nothing temporary about it. It is my personal belief that one of the reasons this doctrine of the relationship between free will and divine sovereignty is so difficult for many of us is that we are stuck in “earthly minded” ways of thinking (I’ll expand on this later). And if we’re going to understand how these two concepts work together, we’re going to need a strong dose of eternal-mindedness. We must proceed with caution and humility.

—Dan Hermiz

Practical reflections on free will and divine sovereignty – Part 2: Get in the game

For those of you who may be new readers to the blog or happened to miss my last entry, you may want to refer back to Part 1 of the series from a few weeks ago. In it I attempted to telegraph my purpose in offering some thoughts, over the course of several installments, on what can be a complicated and heavy issue. As noted, for our purposes here, I’m more interested in being practical than theoretical (hence the title above). In other words, let’s assume that this is an issue that won’t go away anytime soon and consider, “What do I do about it in the meantime?”

I titled part 1, “Why Pray?” And if you noticed, I didn’t really answer that question specifically. Instead, I used it as a way of highlighting the breadth and depth of this issue. For what it’s worth, I believe that honest questions often have a way of saying far more than we might think, so I thought it beneficial to simply respect the question and let it marinate, if you will. For part 2, I’d like to return to that question by offering what I think is at least part of the answer: to “get in the game,” or, as Nike would put it, “Just Do It.” Sure, there’s a sense here that to pray is a simple act of obedience. That is, I’m commanded to pray, so if I don’t do it, it’s disobedient. And that’s true—and for some of us, it may be the only motivation we need to be persistent in prayer. But I think there’s even more to this than simple obedience.

A few months ago, while studying the book of John, something struck me. I was in John 11, which relates the account of Lazarus’ resurrection by the work of Jesus. It is a wonderful passage, with many layers of truth and meaning. In fact, I wonder if it is precisely this great quantity of truth which prevented me from making this observation before. Now, there is no question that Jesus is the one who performed the miracle, but if you look closely at the text, you’ll notice that He wasn’t the only one involved. He commanded someone else to “take away the stone” and commanded another to “loose him, and let him go.” Stated simply, Jesus did it (we might even say he ordained it), but in performing the miracle, he included the actions of individuals in His act. At this I was forced to pause and reflect that if I were there that day I’d have had to be a fool not to participate in such a miracle. The creator of the universe just asked me to have a part in raising a dead man to life, and I’m too overcome with confusion as to who’s responsible for the miracle to be Christ’s agent? That would be crazy.

Prayer isn’t all that different really. If I’m not doing it I’m not just disobedient, I’m really missing out. I can either wonder all day if my prayers really make a difference, or I can get in the game – be a participant in God’s work in the world. Remember, God does all things for His glory. The resurrection of Lazarus was no exception (see verses 4, 40); neither are our everyday lives (1 Cor. 10:31). So for all my fellow “Christian Hedonists” (as John Piper would say), think of it this way: when we pray, we participate in the Glory of God. What a joy. What a privilege.

Practical reflections on free will and divine sovereignty – Part 1: Why Pray?

Why pray? Or for that matter, why do anything at all? God’s in control, right? And doesn’t He know the end from the beginning? And aren’t all of my days already written down? So if God is in control, knows everything, has a plan that can’t be changed, and one really believes all of that to be true, it seems pretty evident to me at least that the believer of said propositions might experience some serious struggles. “Struggles,” in fact, may be putting it mildly.

It’s a subject that is near and dear to me in some ways. For starters, there is no question that these themes run rampant all through Scripture, so being a student of the Word means that this issue can’t easily be set aside. I can’t just think, “Oh I’ll get around to it someday.” I need some answers here!

But beyond the doctrine, beyond the technical jargon, beyond even the answers, is what I think really cuts us to the core—the heart stuff. So in regards to all the restless nights, the frustration and doubt, and even that parched-in-spirit feeling—the feeling that nothing you do or say really matters, that food might as well be tasteless, that music might not as well be beautiful, and that prayer is virtually useless—I first just want to say one thing: I know what that feels like. Personally, I know those restless nights all too well, and I’ve seen up close just how deep and dark these matters can be for some people whom I dearly love. I know it hurts. I know it’s hard.

The interplay of man’s choice with God’s decree isn’t just a problem needing solving. It’s a core issue with massive effect both doctrinally and spiritually, and because of its weight, well . . . let’s just say that countless trees have been felled in the service of men wiser and more learned than I seeking to find “the answer.” I doubt I have much to contribute on the theological side. Yet still, I wish that perhaps I could provide some encouragement, and even offer a few challenges for anyone who may be wondering, “So how does this all work exactly?”

Disclaimer: I won’t actually be telling you how it works.

Instead, I’d like to do something a little different. I’d like to move from the theoretical to the practical. You see, I’ve done the work, and you should too (in fact, I’d be happy to point out some helpful resources should you so desire). And in doing the work I’ve discovered some things, even gotten some answers that I’m pretty satisfied with, but there is something else of which I’ve become convinced: not having the perfect answer doesn’t have to destabilize my walk with the Lord.

And this is precisely what I hope to get across: that it’s a good thing that God is sovereign—so let us rejoice that He can never be surprised or upstaged. It’s a good thing He gave us free will, for in that gift He became the author of freedom—so let us thank Him! It’s control tempered with grace. It’s freedom without chaos. Good for God, good for us.

Obviously, this is merely an introduction, a “lay of the land” as it were. I look forward to offering a few simple reflections in the weeks to come. I hope they help.

—Dan Hermiz

Don’t jump!

It’s a familiar scene. Person A explains that the reason for a particular behavior is that “everyone else is doing it” (or so it seems). Person B, believing such behavior to be foolish or naive, responds with the unassailable retort, “Well if everyone jumped off a cliff, would you do that too?” Apparently winning debates is just that easy.

But the truth emerges easily here: just because all or most people are saying it, doing it, or otherwise advancing it, that doesn’t mean that “it” is right. No amount of sincerity, kindness, and/or altruism that might attend a particular consensus can make something true when it is false. For a society that largely considers “sincerity” to be a synonym of “honesty” (I confirmed this with the thesaurus on my word processor), that can be difficult to swallow. You can in fact be sincerely wrong.

So today I get to stand in for person B. Who might be standing in for person A? Well, the entertainment industry for one. I submit to you the conversation from just about any medical drama (Scrubs, House, Grey’s Anatomy, etc.) that goes something like this:

Sick Patient: I guess all we can do is pray.

Doctor: What good is that? Fantasies don’t heal people. I heal people.

Sick Patient: Well, science and medicine can’t do everything. You don’t need science if the good Lord is good enough to give you faith.

Doctor: I don’t have faith, I have facts.

Apparently faith and facts have nothing to do with each other, right?

If you’re paying attention, you’ll see this dualism all over the place. Something can be known or believed—but never both. It can be religiously true or scientifically true—but not both. It can be personal or it can be universal—but you’d better not push your “personal” values on me. You might think abortion is wrong for you because you think it’s taking the life of an innocent human being, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be allowed to do it.  Do you see the dangerous implications of this kind of thinking?

Yet so many Christians have bought into it. “It doesn’t matter what science says; you just have to take the leap of faith,” one might say. I recently read an article about a new archaeological find that may provide significant corroborating evidence for the biblical account of David (“may” being the key word). What struck me when I read the article online, however, were some of the comments made by believers, essentially arguing that it was irrelevant because “archaeology is about science and religion is about faith.”

Again I can’t help but think—why do people accept the idea that science and faith have to be so sharply separated? I thought the Bible commands us to “love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength” (Mark 12:30, emphasis added). Can we really love God with all of our mind while simultaneously disparaging its role in the life of the believer? And we mustn’t forget what Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 15:14: “And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain” (ESV). Think of that. If Christ didn’t in fact rise from the dead, no amount of faith, no leap of faith, can do anything to change that. For that matter, it can’t save us either, for ultimately it isn’t faith itself that saves; it’s the object of our faith that really counts.

So I ask again: If everyone else leaped off a cliff, would you do it too?

Just don’t forget to think before you jump. It’s a thrill when there’s someone there to catch you. But if not, well, . . . not so much.

—Dan Hermiz