For decades liberals have claimed that Democrats care for the poor and Republicans don’t. And they really believe it. A meme that circulated widely over left-leaning blogs a few years back had a depiction of Jesus with a child on his lap, reading,
"It’s ironic because the biggest enemy of the Republicans isn’t Harry Reid or Nancy Pelosi or Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama, it’s THIS MAN… He said heal the sick, feed the hungry care for the weakest among us, and always pray in private."
The real irony for the Party of Pro-choice and its apologists is the child in Jesus’ arms.
More recently, religious progressive Jack Jenkins wrote a piece, bluntly titled, “The Strange Origins of the GOP Ideology that Rejects Caring for the Poor” in reaction to comments made by GOP Congressman Roger Marshall on health care.
In an attempt to explain why government-run programs don’t work, the Kansas Representative remarked, “Just like Jesus said, ‘The poor will always be with us. There is a group of people that just don’t want health care and aren’t going to take care of themselves.”
Although Marshall clarified that he was speaking “in the context of supporting the obligation we have to always take care of people (emphasis added),” progressives, imagining themselves tapped into the divine mind-set, took to the media with their own hermeneutics.
There was MSNBC host Joe Scarborough who disparaged the lawmaker’s comments as a “complete twisting of everything that the Gospel is about. Everything! Read the Gospel. Read the Sermon on the Mount. … I mean, Jesus was pretty clear.” Yes, he was, and Scarborough would do well to read those texts himself—or, perhaps, a little more closely.
There was also Matthew Loftus in America: The Jesuit Review who traced Marshall’s biblical quote to Deuteronomy 15:11 where the Israelites were commended “[to] always be generous and open-handed with their neighbors.” Jack Jenkins included a link to the same verse in his critique.
Such biblical expositors should note that unless we are living under a theocratic government, as was ancient Israel, the state has no biblical duty to the poor. As James Madison put it, “Charity is no part of the legislative duty of government.” Our nation’s Founders understood that, biblically, the role of the state is limited to protecting the citizenry, preserving civil order, and executing justice, and that care of the needy is the responsibility of those closest to their need—neighbors and de-centralized civic and faith-based organizations... Continue reading here.
It took but a few decades for the law written on the human heart, engraved on stone, and honored for millennia to be largely lost on the collective conscience. Today, instead of the Ten Commandments, there is one: “Thou shalt not judge.”
Oddly, in a time when the concept of “sin” has also lost its purchase, a person called out for judging will become a social outcast until his “guilt” is purged by the penances of public apology, diversity/sensitivity training, and reparation to the offended. Even among Christians, judging the behaviors and lifestyles of others is considered unseemly at best and unchristian at worst.
Take singer Carrie Underwood. When she came out in support of same-sex “marriage” in 2012, she credited her faith for her position stating, “Above all, God wanted us to love others,” adding “It’s not up to me to judge anybody.”
A year later when Pope Francis fielded a question about a gay subculture in the clergy, his now famous response, stripped from its context, was taken by nice people of faith and social progressives as an imprimatur on non-judgmentalism.
Despite its ever-so humble patina, non-judgmentalism has deep logical, practical, moral, and theological problems.
First, if “it’s not up to me to judge,” that applies to the wrongness of actions as well as their rightness. For which ever way we judge is a de facto judgment on the opposing view. For example, when Carrie Underwood endorsed same-sex “marriage” it was her moral judgment on the social contrivance and its supporters, as well as a moral insinuation, if not judgment, about the criticisms and critics.
Second, non-judgmentalism is self-indicting. If judgment-making is wrong, so too is the judgment against judgment-making.
Third, fidelity to non-judgmentalism requires moral neutrality on all matters—an impossibility even for the entrenched non-judgmentalist. Regardless of his religious sympathies, he will consider things like cheating, rape, and exploitation as wrong and things like honesty, fairness, and charity as good.
Fourth, the person who refrains from judging truth from falsehood and good from evil quickly will find himself a victim of those adept at parading one for the other.
Lastly and most importantly for Christians, the “who-am-I-to-judge” ethic has no biblical warrant. Quite the opposite. Read more.
In "An Agnostic Manifesto" literary critic Ron Rosenbaum, a self-described agnostic, writes, "Agnosticism is not weak-tea atheism," but "radical skepticism, doubt in the possibility of certainty." He explains that unlike both atheists and theists, agnostics refuse to accept things on faith. For example, when asked about the origin of the universe – what "banged" and what caused it — the agnostic shrugs, ever so humbly, "I don't know."
It is a response calculated to let you know that he occupies an elevated plain of intellectual integrity. What the agnostic doesn't realize is that he is just as much a person of faith as those he tries to distance himself from. It begins with what he really knows.
What he knows
What he or anyone knows starts with personal experience.
Children learn about the dangers of a hot stove not from their mother's warnings but from the smarting of their curious fingertips. Adults will insist that a ball, swung over the head on a string, will follow a curved path when released, until they try it and discover that it continues on a straight one.
In cases where personal experience is no help — like questions about the origin of the universe or the existence of heaven, the soul and God — people depend on nonexperiential sources.
One source is intellectual predisposition, best expressed by Harvard biologist Richard Lewontin: "We take the side of science in spite of the patent absurdity of some of its constructs, in spite of its failure to fulfill many of its extravagant promises because we have a prior commitment, a commitment to materialism."
Note that Lewontin's trust in science as the fount of knowledge is based on his intellectual preference to a particular worldview, not on science's demonstrated power in answering life's ultimate questions.
Another source is our nonrational sensibilities. For instance, astrobiologist Paul Davies believes that a yet-to-be-discovered principle is woven into the cosmos that makes biological life inevitable. He believes this, not because he has any evidence to substantiate it, but because, as he puts it, he is "more comfortable" with it than the alternatives — presumably, those that include a necessary Being.
More to the point is NYU law professor Thomas Nagel who, in a moment of admirable candor, admitted, "It isn't just that I don't believe in God I hope there is no God! I don't want the universe to be like that."
For Davies and Nagel, knowledge is determined by emotional aversion and affinity.
Lastly, there is authority.
At the individual level, knowledge is limited. No one can personally verify every claim as fact. Thus, much of what we "know" depends on the word of others: journalists, scientists, teachers, parents, pastors. A person need not have lived in 19th-century France to know that Napoleon existed, nor bounce a laser beam off the moon to know that light travels at 186,282 miles per second. Obviously, authority-derived knowledge requires faith in the expertise and trustworthiness of other people.
It is even by faith that we know that the law of gravity will remain valid tomorrow.
Despite mathematical relationships that describe the effects of gravity, there is no consensus about its nature. Is it a distortion of space-time, an attractive force of tiny, mediating and, as of yet, hypothetical particles (gravitons?), a mysterious "action-at-a-distance" between bodies having mass? All of the above? Take your pick.
Without such knowledge, belief that the tide will rise in the morning is nothing more than belief that the future will be like the past. But if the universe is the fluke product of random collisions, as some claim, that belief requires faith in the unwavering regularity of nature and the infallibility of our sensory experiences and rational abilities.
If, on the other hand, the universe is the product of an Intelligence that wanted to make it intelligible, the lawful and predictable behavior of nature is a logical and reasonable expectation.
Consequently, the agnostic, like everyone else, has faith. What's more, Ron Rosenbaum's belief in "uncertainty" is an expression of faith in the certainty that answers to "ultimate" questions are uncertain. So, in reality, his faith is not in uncertainty at all. And that applies to his practiced faith, as well as his professed faith.
Faith is confirmed not in what we say (our beliefs), but in what we do (our behaviors).
A child standing nervously at the edge of the pool, being coaxed by his father in the water, must either plunge in or remain at water's edge. There is no middle way. He may believe with all his heart that his father won't let harm come to him, but until he jumps, his fear holds him captive in functional unbelief.
To the question, "Does God exist?" a person can answer: yes, I don't know, or no. But in practice, a person must live as if God does or doesn't exist; there is nothing else to do, but oscillate schizophrenically between the two.
Agnosticism is a statement, a mood, a posture. It thrives in the intellectual oxygen of coffeehouses and cocktail conversations. But outside of those breezy zones, the atmosphere supports only belief and unbelief.
Chattanoogan Regis Nicoll is a fellow of the Colson Center for Christian Worldview who writes commentary on faith and culture for a number of print and online publications. This commentary is adapted from his book, "Why There Is a God and Why It Matters," available on Amazon.
The challenge for Christians today, as in every era, is to be prepared in season and out of season to share the rational basis for faith. This is not foremost about defending truth, but about giving it voice. For as Charles Spurgeon once counseled, "Truth is like a lion. Who ever heard of defending a lion? Just turn it loose and it will defend itself."
A few years back, I was engaged in an online discussion with “Nigel” (not his real name).
Nigel was a self-described atheist and rising star in the Brights movement – a community of philosophical naturalists aimed at “illuminating and elevating the naturalistic worldview,” as their slogan proudly states. Some of its more prominent luminaries include Richard Dawkins, Michael Shermer, and Daniel Dennett.
After coming across an article I had written critical of naturalism, Nigel invited me to dialog with him on his open blog. I agreed and was quickly drawn into a protracted discussion.
Over a period of several weeks, we covered topics ranging from the origin of the universe and the nature of matter to the origin of morality and the nature of God. While Nigel betrayed no movement away from his atheistic position during the course of our exchange, a man who had been following our dialog left this remark:
"I have truly been swayed by Mr. Nicholl's (sic) writings. There is a [lot] to think about in his reply. Somehow I think I've always known we were not a cosmic accident. And Nigel, you are a brilliant man. Am I to believe great minds are a product of evolution. It's not adding up any more. I'm not saying Christianity is right but I do now believe in a God. There, I said it. I'm on record. My curiosity is stoked for further responses from Mr. Nicholl (sic). Nigel, thanks for having this blog. I have some heavy things to think about now from both sides."
As I read those words my thoughts turned to Spurgeon. I realized that it wasn’t me or my skill that moved this man; it was the truth turned loose upon him.
To equip others to do just that, my newly released book, Why There Is a God and Why It Matters, is arranged around a collection of my essays that I have selected and revised to systematically address truth from the ground up: from nature of knowledge and the knowledge of nature to the competing narratives of naturalism and theism in explaining the origin of the universe, life, morality, the metaphysical questions of meaning, purpose, and significance, the role faith plays in all explanatory accounts, and how God -- in particular, the Christian God -- is the explanation that best fits the facts, notwithstanding the age-old problems of evil, suffering, and injustice.
In the preface to his book, The God Delusion, atheist popularizer Richard Dawkins makes no bones about his goal: “If this book works as I intend, religious readers who open it will be atheists when they put it down.”
In similar vein, my goals for this book are that 1) unbelievers who open it will be believers when they put it down, and 2) believers who open it will be more confident in their beliefs and in their ability to give them voice.