Are Hindu "Miracles" like Christian Miracles?

Christian apologists are liable to opposite errors: (1) Blind dogmatism: to fail to listen to opponents, recognize nuance, or ever concede anything, and (2) Blind conciliation: to concede to opposing arguments too quickly, without first coming to grips with the rich tradition of Christian thought on a given topic.

I'm afraid the young philosopher Seth Hart makes the latter error in his argument "The Glaring Problem with the Argument From Miracles: Bad logic, incomplete arguments, and the strange case of Prahlad Jani."

Hart is an Associate Professor of Biblical Studies and Theology at John Brown University.  He recently received his PhD from Durham U, and has also studied at Oxford and at Regent College.  What he has not apparently done is read my book, Jesus and the Religions of Man, and maybe not C.S. Lewis' much more famous Miracles, either.  If he had, he should not have made the arguments against the evidentiary value of Christian miracles that he did.  Because frankly, it does not appear to me that Dr. Hart has a very clear idea of what a miracle is, yet.  His argument seems somewhat tentative, so hopefully he'll be open to these opposing arguments.  

The Case

Hart begins by saying he "advocates" miracle claims, and is open to using them as fodder for Christian apologetics.  But his research on "eastern spirituality and miracle claims" have placed a bump in that road. 

I've been studying Asian religions for decades, including a "miracle-working" Buddhist guru for my MA, so I'll be happy to help him over that speed bump, if possible.  Though let me say from the outset that I regard the term "eastern religion" as misleading.  East is a direction, not a doctrine nor a set of practices.  Chinese traditions have little more connection to Indian traditions, despite Buddhism, than either do to European traditions.  Never mind many other great civilizations and tribes in Asia, and the complexity of European and American beliefs. 

But when it comes to the wonder workings of famous gurus, Hart is talking about something pretty common in East and West.  He reports: 

"In 2010, a scientific team of 35 researchers at the Indian Defence Institute of Physiology and Allied Sciences (DIPAS) undertook one of the most controversial studies ever done. Eighty-year-old Prahlad Jani claimed to have been visited by the goddess Amba; the goddess, in return for his devotion, would sustain him with nectar he claimed flowed through a hole in the roof of his mouth. Thus, he could survive without food or water. That, at least, was his claim—a claim that could be tested."

The team placed Jani under constant observations for two weeks in a hospital, under the gaze of CCTV cameras and a "large multidisciplinary team of scientists and physicians."  After fifteen days: 

"He had not eaten, drunk, defecated, or urinated—something seemingly impossible for any human being. Moreover, his body didn’t even seem to offer any evidence that he was fasting."

Hart recognizes some apparent flaws in the study: Jani gargled, bathed, sometimes left the CCTV field of view, and received devotees.  But he thinks these flaws poorly explain the results, and put Christian apologists in a bind: 

"There is an ironic twist here, for the Christian cannot demand less skepticism here than they’ve resented skeptics demanding of them.

"Now, do I believe Jani survived fifteen days without food and water? I’m not sure. Given my Christian convictions and the background of Hindu religiosity that colors this account, it certainly causes me to sweat. The most obvious, knee-jerk reaction would be an appeal to the demonic. Didn’t Jannes and Jambres duplicate the miracles of Moses? However, I feel deeply uncomfortable about such appeals; couldn’t the adherent of another religion surmise that the miracles supporting my religion were the products of dark, deceptive spirits?"

Seth then points to Catholic "miracles" at Lourdes, Fatima, and Zeitoun, which he says he found "intriguing," and says "they together form a bulwark of evidence that might buckle the knees of even the most confident Protestant." 

But it is especially hard for a Catholic to deal with such "miracles," Seth asserts: 

"Ones like Jani’s cannot so easily be accommodated, as they involve pagan deities. Nor could the Catholic simply take the skeptic’s approach. Jani’s experiment was done in a controlled scientific environment—a privilege not held by most of Catholicism’s most famous miracles (and, to be fair, the same could be said of Protestant miracles). To exercise this level of skepticism would, at the very least, risk special pleading . . . If Jani’s inedia was the product of demons, could not also the same be said of Catherine of Siena, St. Lidwina, Saint Nicholas von Flüe, Therese Neumann, and the Venerable Domenica dal Paradiso, who all reportedly achieved the same feat?"

"I've met a growing number of Eastern-minded thinkers who fully affirm the bodily resurrection of Christ yet would call themselves closer to Hindus. Eastern religions often have the ability to accommodate competing religions’ miracle claims in a way Christianity does not. So have Catholics introduced a new standard of evidence to determine the true faith—one they’ll later learn to regret?

"I have not seen this question answered—nor much addressed—in these conversations, though perhaps I am wrong." 

I don't know what conversations those might be.  But let me address this challenge.  I will begin by briefly describing my own research on a miracle-working "eastern" guru.  

A Living Buddha for Bill Gates? 

I first heard about the Taiwanese Buddhist Lu Shengyan, sometimes called a "living Buddha" by his disciples, from a couple who had joined his temple, and were convinced about the reality of the supernatural events occurring at it, but then became concerned that the sect was growing demonic.  They left and became Christians.  I decided to study his "True Buddha" movement for my MA at the University of Washington, under the supervision of the anthropologist Stevan Harrell, an atheist.  This was convenient, because while Lu's network was international, his head temple was in Redmond, Washington, about a kilometer from Microsoft, and within driving distance of our house in North Seattle.  (Though his fancy mansion, which I also visited once for a dramatic meeting, was past North Bend, near the mountains.)  

Lu Shengyan attempted to "leak the secrets of Heaven:" to take esoteric Buddhism, the sort practiced in Tibet, and make it publicly available.  He had written over 100 books leaking those secrets by the time I did my research.   I read several, in English or Chinese, and found they shared the following qualities: (1) they were lively and well-written, with a Zhuang Zi-like sense of humor; (2) they were chock full of miracle claims, such as the time Lu rebuked the god of Mount Rainier for a drought, and then it rained; (3) they consistently exalted Lu, while some of the sect's materials attacked rival gurus.  Indeed, when Lu arrived at his temple one day, I found I was the only one who didn't fall to the ground before him.  

When I interviewed followers of the sect, they related many supernatural stories, of how Lu had saved them, or taught them by telepathy.  An atheist Chinese mailman told me Lu was a con man who was in it for the women, while a Zen Buddhist nun told me he wasn't a good Buddhist because he ate meat.  But the anecdotal evidence for supernatural events in his circle might pretty strong on its own -- it even convinced two people who left, as I noted.  

But my face-to-face encounters with Lu Shengyan did NOT make me "sweat."  I didn't find his act convincing.  In fact, I ended my research on his movement not only with my faith intact, but my confidence in Christian miracles strengthened.    

Nor does the story of Mr. Jani bother me in the slightest, aside from the troubling fact that some people find his act troubling.  

I explained why I find Christ's acts so much more persuasive than those the likes of Lu Shengyan work in two chapters of Jesus and the Religions of Man.  (Which I need to update for Amazon, and can only be obtained directly, now.)  Let us begin with that word "miracle."  Because I don't think either man did any miracles. I was inclined to side with the atheist post man, and dismiss Lu Shengyan as a colorful, story-telling con man.  But feel free to add the adjective "demonized" if you prefer.

What is a Miracle? 

 In my 2000 book, Jesus and the Religions of Man, I argued that there are two kinds of alleged supernatural events, which I call "Miracle" and "Magic."  Miracles are what you find in the gospels and in the Christian tradition at its most credible.  Some Christian miracle claims, sorry to say, I do not find credible.  But maybe God works outside of the Church on occasion, too: "He is not a tame lion."  Magic is found almost everywhere, and is often conflated with Miracle, but the two are nothing alike.  They are distinguished by five contrasting traits: 

"1. Miracles ask to be verified: Magic insults the intelligence. 

"2. Miracles tend to be practical: Magic is often showy. 

"3. Miracles enhance human dignity: Magic makes us more or less than human. 

"4. Miracles point to God: Magic points elsewhere. 

"5. Miracles come in response to requests; Magic to demands." 

I developed these criteria in view of personal and second-hand experiences with and historical study of allegedly supernatural acts.  I give many examples in those two chapters.  They generally agree with other accounts of miracles, for instance Craig Keener's three books on the subject, a book by Eric Metaxis, and with C. S. Lewis' more theoretical Miracles: A Preliminary Study.  So there is nothing ad hoc about applying these criteria to a new Hindu guru.    

It is clear, on four of these criteria, that Jani's alleged failure to drink or urinate for two weeks was not a "miracle" at all.  It was a show with no practical value: he wasn't trying to make his way through the Sahara Desert to save a friend, for instance.  God created the urinary track for a reason.  Not using it makes Jani either more than or less than human, implying that the normal functions of the human body like are embarrassing, or that failure to use them lends one psychic power (as we will see).  These accounts do not mention God, but glorify either Jani himself, or the alleged goddess Amba (again, see below).  There is no sense of existential need followed by a request for help, like that of Elijah, or of many missionaries faced with trials.  Jesus fasted in the wilderness to pray, but his miracles often involved feeding the hungry.   

What about verification?  Isn't this experiment an elaborate and unusually careful attempt to rationally support the supernatural powers of Jani or Amba? 

More so than most magical tricks, granted, though magic acts do often pretend to be rationally verified, even while the audience knows the magician is up to some sleight of hand.  James Randi, one such performer, apparently offered Jani a million dollars if he could reproduce this trick under controlled conditions.  (Randi's challenge makes sense for magic, which arises from the will of the magician, but cannot work for miracles, in which God is in control, and cannot be bribed.)

And does it really follow that if an old man fails to drink or urinate for two weeks, the goddess Amba must be sustaining him?  Even the missionary doctor Paul Brand was impressed by the ability Hindu holy men had developed to control the body.  Others will suspect a trick -- he garbled, but did not drink anything?  He took baths, but never let anything out?  What was he doing off-camera?  Were one or more of those reputable physicians in his pay?   

And who is Amba?  A rejected woman in a mythical story, who sought to gain magical powers by austerity in order to wreak revenge on an enemy, and then was turned part-time into a twisting river with crocodiles by her enemy's mother, Ganga.  Here's part of the Wikipedia account, with key points highlighted: 

"Amba gave up food and sleep, and practised asceticism standing still for six months in the Yamuna river valley, surviving only on air. She became emaciated and developed matted locks. After that, she stood in the waters of the Yamuna, without food and practiced austerities. After that, she spent time standing on her tip toes, having eaten only one fallen leaf of a tree. Her penance for twelve years started burning the heavens and the earth. She then went to Vatsa kingdom, in which many renowned sages lived. She roamed the kingdom, bathing in the sacred waters of the Ganges (Ganga) and the Yamuna. Then, she visited the ashrams of many sages . . .  as well as sacred sites . . .. During her journey, she observed difficult vows and performed ablutions in the holy waters.

"The goddess Ganga appeared before Amba and listened to Amba's tale that her austerities were aimed to destroy Bhishma, Ganga's son. The angry goddess Ganga replied that since Amba's mind was crooked, she would become a crooked and tortuous river, which will remain dry for eight months and flow in the four months of the rainy season. Ganga declared that the bathing places along the river's course would be in difficult terrain, and it will be infested with crocodiles and other fierce creatures. Amba wandered practicing severe vows and forgoing food and water for months. She visited many tirthas in this time and finally returned to Vatsa, where Ganga's curse materialized. Though half of her became the river Amba, the other half remained human, due to her ascetic merit."

Indian mythology is full of such stories.  Nothing could be less like the miracles of Jesus in the gospels, along all five criteria listed above.  This tale is poetic, but not (to me) in the slightest bit believable.  There is, in fact, no reason to believe that this "Amba" is more than a minor character in a famous ancient Indian epic, like one of the tragic females in accounts of the fall of Troy.  She is, in that story, a pure magician, gathering magical powers through austerity to destroy her enemy.  

So at most, claims about Jani partly meet only one out of five criteria for a true miracle, and probably not that one, either.  It may be impressive if some old man has developed the ability to not urinate for two weeks while also not drinking anything.  But I am not a doctor, and really don't care.  Perhaps one comes to see peeing in a more positive light as one grows older.  

And if this does require supernatural action, then the "traditional Christian" response that it must be demonic actually fits the facts rather well.  Amba is not a nice person.  If she is now a minor goddess of some sort, well that is literally what daemon meant in Greek.  Even taken quite literally and (I might add) gullibly, this story in no way conflicts with or undermines the truth of Christianity, or the redemption Jesus really did bring to India, told in detail by the likes of Vishal and Ruth Mangalwadi.  

Like those of Lu Shengyan, Jani's story does not even slightly incline me to believe in Amba, or in the goodness of either guru, or to doubt true Christian miracles.  In fact, such stories -- which are pretty common, even in the Christian tradition -- serve to highlight the credibility of Christianity, for three reasons: 

1. By contrast, true miracles are not arbitrary.  They fit, Lewis pointed out, within the pattern of Creation by a rational God as seen in Nature.  What God does in Nature on a large scale, Jesus did locally.  Jesus feeds the hungry, he does not magically make bodies no longer need food or drink.  That is what God does through the fecundity of Nature, feeding us all through the Earth's crops.  

2. How is it that scholars keep overlooking the obvious qualities of Christian miracles?  Some New Testament scholars compare the gospels to the Life of Apollonius of Tyana or (for Bart Ehrman) to the Polish rabbi Baal Shem Tov.  (See my Jesus is No Myth for a refutation of Ehrman's arguments.)  These gurus do magic, not miracle.   Their tricks are arbitrary and impractical, I show (it doesn't take much showing), glorify gurus not God, make us less than human (Baal is reincarnated as a fish!), and get their way by magical displays of power, not prayer.  

British philosopher Stephen Law, with whom I have crossed swords on this subject, made exactly the same mistake.  (I respond to his pushback here and here.)  He tells a fanciful story about one Bart (no known relation to Bart Ehrman or Simpson), who flaps his arms and flies at a party in Oxford, for no clear reason but to show off, and compares that to gospel miracles.  This only shows that he has not read gospel accounts of miracles with much perception.  It seems neither has Bart Ehrman, despite his real expertise.  

But the fact that so many skeptics, and even Christians, overlook the yawning gaps between Miracles and Magic, tells us something about the weakness of skepticism when confronted with the gospels.  If there were better parallels, they would have found them, because people like Ehrman, Pagels, and Carrier do read a lot.  If they were more observant, they would not make such comparisons.  But we are enveloped in a fog of blinding materialism, which sometimes obscures the vision of Christians as well.  

(3) The gospels and other early Christian accounts (Acts, even Augustine's stories) are remarkably coherent in how they describe miracles.  Nearly all such acts clearly fit the definition I give above, while apocryphal tales of Jesus resemble magic, as do stories about Apollonius of Tyana.  Miracles from reliable modern missionaries also tend to fit the Gospel pattern.  

Given that highly-educated scholars so often overlook this distinction, it seems unlikely that the early Christians all got together and made up the gospel accounts, carefully filling them with just the sort of supernatural event that Lewis or I would find striking a couple thousand years later, while leaving out this other, far more popular sort.  It is more likely that such miracles are, in fact, traces of divine action in history. 

If God acts, His actions will not be arbitrary, any more than the laws of physics are arbitrary, but will fit into a larger creative pattern.  "The gods" are often silly creatures, and might I suppose do something as meaningless as helping an old man not pee to impress the Indian Army brass.  But if India gets into another fight with the PLA in the Himalaya Mountains, I'd advise them to bring canteens, and build latrines.  Because generally speaking, I think God wants us to plan around the laws he has made for His cosmos, and not thumb our noses at the Laws of Nature to show off.  A desperate prayer in a time of need, may be another matter. Brother Yun tells stories of similar miracles when he was imprisoned.  His account may also have been invented, but it comes closer to meeting my definition of "miracle" because that was practical and glorified God.   

I have other reasons for disbelieving Hinduism, and therefore marginal Hindu deities out of epic mythology like Amba.  But that is a topic for another day.  

Hart's Argument in Brief

Seth Hart ends by offering the following abbreviated version of his argument.  I'll quote his final comments in full, then give an also-brief reply, lettered a-h. 

"1) If miracles (a) occur that seemingly validate certain religious claims (b, c), we are warranted in believing in those religious claims (d)."

a.  "Miracle" needs to be better defined, as above. 

b. "Claims" are "validated" on the strength of both historical evidence AND prior probability.  Some supernatural claims are far more credible a priori than others.  A claim may be so improbable a priori -- such as the existence of Amba, or the goodness of Mohammed or Kim Jong-un -- that even an otherwise convincing miracle need not persuade a reasonable person. 

c. Anyway, how would failure to pee prove the existence of a goddess from an ancient Indian epic?  This seems a bit of a non sequitur.   

d. Miracles would, if they occur, certainly make the existence of a supernatural realm, or God, far more likely.  But other explanations can cover any phenomenon, such as the idea that we live in a computer simulation.  So validation can never take us so far as absolute proof.  Faith should not be blind, but an element of trust is necessary to know God -- or even other people.  

"2) Miracles occur that seemingly validate certain religious claims.

"3) Therefore, we are warranted in believing those religious claims.

"Premise 1 is arguably satisfied by other religious claims—those that are incompatible with Christianity. (e)  Appealing to deception by spiritual beings undermines premise 1, thus damaging the argument. (f)  Accepting the two premises would seemingly entail embracing something other than orthodox Christianity to account for these miracles (like religious pluralism). (g) The last resource would be to undermine miracle claims emerging in other religions, but this risks special pleading without demonstrating that every single one fails to satisfy the same evidential benchmark reached by Christian miracle claims. (h) As far as I am aware (i), we have not come close to this. This is not to say that it can’t be done but only that it hasn’t.

e. In a lifetime of studying world religions, I have seen little evidence that any non-Christian religion offers convincing evidence for genuine miracles comparable to those in the gospels.  Master Lu, when I tested him, failed.   

f. The argument here seems to be that if some supernatural events involve evil spirits, then maybe they all do.  But we differentiate on the mundane level between honest and dishonest people.  Given that we live in a world that follows laws, and that science demonstrates we can know those laws, it follows that something or Somone stands behind natural events that can be trusted, who shows integrity, and which is greater than mere "spiritual beings." So the traditional Christian distinction between God and common spirits is hard to avoid, even if this experiment was valid.  

g. I describe the deep, I think irredeemable, flaws of Religious Pluralism in Fulfillment: A Christian Model of Religions, Chapter Eight.  

h. Hart has not considered the possibility that God may heal people, or do other acts of mercy or judgement, outside of the Christian revelation.  But why should Christians assume that God never hears the prayers of a desperate Buddhist with a sick daughter?  Or of an oppressed people?  

I find both the "con man" and "demonizing" hypotheses for Lu Shengyan's show more plausible than that God truly worked through such a vessel, to be sure. 

But Christianity is ultimately a package deal.   Jesus' miracles are credible not only because of their character and the evidence behind them, but because of His character, and because of much else in the world that points to the salvation which He brought.  (And which can be historically verified, as I try to do in How Jesus has Liberated Women.)  

Hinduism is incredible, to me, not merely because this or that guru seems like a con man or in league with dark powers, but because the whole system seems worldly at best, ungodly at worst.  But these patterns of evidence and reasoning reinforce one another.

i. And Seth admits he is not very aware of what Christians have said about this subject.  Hopefully this exercise has suggested other facts for him and others who ask this question, to take into account.  

What is a True Progressive?

Adapted from an article originally published at The Stream on September 8, 2021. 

What does it mean to be progressive? Language is a game people play. If every game requires agreed rules (and it does), then every word requires agreed meaning. Definitions are the first step to rational thinking and action.  

Take dueling, for example. Shall we meet at sunrise, or sunset? Shall we bring seconds? Will we fight by pistols? Swords? Light sabers? Who gets to shoot first?

A duel without common language rules becomes a mere cat fight — or less. If you say, “Let’s meet on an island in the Volga River at sunrise,” and your opponent thinks of a river in Russia, but you have in mind a river in Brazil, the joust will not come off. When words lack agreed meaning, we may clash like rutting elk or we may miss by the width of a continent. One can't even fight intellectually without the common ground of clear definitions. 

 

Confusion Over “Progressive”

This is why many quarrels about religion and politics are mere “dust in the wind.” Poorly-defined words lodge in the eyes and obscure the vision: “faith,” “science,” “democracy,” “socialism,” and of course, “racism.” These words means such different things to different people, our rhetorical ships do not merely pass in the night, they float on different oceans. Except when carefully defined (see for example J. Budziszewski on the dangers of “liberalism” and “conservatism”) our buzz-words usually stir more emotion than thought.

The duel of our times is being fought, and it is over the meaning of progress: where we should go, and whether, having arrived there, we shall still be fully human.

Perhaps no word is more confusing today than “progressive.” It sounds lovely: Who doesn’t want a future that is better than the past? Wait a minute, though: What does “better” mean? Once it was “progressive” to save girls from infanticide. Then a new “progressive” catechism made it a sacred right to kill babies up to the moment of birth. In 1965, “progressives” stood boldly against segregating based on race or discriminating based on skin color. Now some who claim that label put blacks and whites in different classrooms, and select students or employees by how much light their epidermis reflects.

 

In Which Direction Is “Progress”?

“Progress” means forward motion. It is the opposite of “regress,” and perpendicular to “digress.”

Was Odysseus sailing towards
the sirens a "progressive?" 

Once again, though, to go forward begs several questions. Where are you standing? Which direction are you facing? What will you find that way? What is your goal? What islands, currents, storms, or pirate ships stand between?

 Would Odysseus be “progressive” to head toward the sirens where he yearned to go, or on to the next island? C.S. Lewis pointed out that if one has taken a wrong turn, the quickest way to get ahead is to go back.

“Getting ahead” requires a map and compass so we know which direction is truly ahead. Suppose we map “progress” on a cosmic scale, say, by watching the Andromeda and the Milky Way galaxies collide, and see what that can teach us about contemporary politics?

 

Progress Toward Chaos?

Some physicists say the ultimate end of the universe will be “heat death.” All material objects will finally turn into a cold porridge of protons and leptons, reaching a state of “thermodynamic equilibrium” after the largest black holes finally decay.

In what direction are “progressives” taking us, then? “Movement towards ultimate chaos,” maybe? Notice the mile markers they’re passing on their route:

Toppled statues? Check.

Graffiti on walls? Check.

Tents, syringes, and human waste on major city sidewalks? Check.

Anarchy in the streets? Shootings? Coyotes without borders? COVID-laden cough particles scattering through ICE facilities?

How about crowds in Afghan airports scattering as bombs explode?

“Now that one’s unfair!” You complain. “We do not call it ‘progress’ when an army that locks women indoors and carries out executions in soccer fields conquers a country. This isn’t moving forward, it’s religious kooks, an Afghan Moral Majority, dragging us back to 7th Century theocracy!  So no, this is the furthest thing from true progressivism!”

Or does saying that make you an "Islamophobe?" 

 

Who Says Islam Isn’t Progressive?

Black was the dress code in both Kandahar and downtown Portland.  Progressives and radical Muslims alike decree that only people with pure thoughts should speak.  They merely differ over who should get the mic. If you recall Lewis’ comment about turning around after a wrong turn, the Taliban might claim to be better progressives than Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.

“Backtrack to 6th Century Arabia, and we can find the true stairway to heaven!” say the Afghanis. This is a coherent idea, if not a good one.

Western “progressives,” lacking a sacred Scripture, are more muddled in their thinking. “Go forward!” They say.  But the direction they deem "forward" keeps changing, and they spin blindly in a fog of changing fads, from Marxism to liberalism, environmentalism to Woke ideology to such fear of "racism" and "Islamophobia" that they are afraid to object to Somali scams or Pakistani grooming gangs.  

One cannot progress, said Chesterton, if one’s goals keep on changing.

If degrading the most intricate and productive forms of civilization is “progressive,” then left-wing and Taliban philosophies have more in common than the Left cares to see.

 

Regress in Both Uniformity and Chaos

One can die of uniformity or of chaos. You may be frozen into a crystal, each molecule in your body lined up in tight rows. Or you may dissolve in chaos, like the T-1000 Terminator in a vat of molten steel. One is the totalitarian clone-like “diversity” of a modern sociology department or of a Chinese Community Party Politburo meeting. The other is South Chicago on a Friday night in summer or the streets outside Kabul’s airport.

Modern progressivism often imposes a sameness of thought like molecules in a crystal, even while breaking social connections into the sludge-like chaos of death. Simple ideologies, whether “forward to the future!” or “back to 7th Century Arabia!” demand conformity. They atomize and isolate us, eroding the fabric of civilization.

Progress? If death is our goal, I’m afraid America has made quite a lot over the past year.

 

True Progress Echoes Creation

An alternative vision of progress echoes Creation. Quarks unite to become protons and neutrons. Atoms form molecules. Nucleotides, proteins, and DNA make cells, then tissues and organs. Organs, said St. Paul, cooperate to form bodies, each with its unique and valued contribution. Men and women make families. Centers, forwards, and point guards become basketball teams. Farmers, tradesmen, soldiers, and other specialists create a city, said Plato. The Medieval Church invented even higher forms of harmony, unity within diversity, such as contrapuntal music, the great cathedrals, and the university.

“Death, thou shalt die,” said John Donne. Whereas today’s “progressives” often seem to aim toward entropy, from Creation to the Resurrection of Jesus, Christian progress has meant defeating it. The American motto, “Out of many, one” (E Pluribus Unum) spits in the eyes of chaos and conformity alike. Diversity in creative harmony is the form of progress on which western civilization was founded.

Followers of Jesus may thus call ourselves true progressives. We have a Guide who does not change, and the unity we seek is not “equity,” a sludge of conformity, but the oneness of organs within a living body.

The duel of our times is being fought, and it is over the meaning of progress: where we should go, and whether, having arrived there, we shall still be fully human.

The myth as I’ve read it has them sailing right on by, with Odysseus lashed to the mast, and his shipmates protected by earplugs. They didn’t turn around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do All Paths Lead to God?

A Facebook friend, Eric Van Evans, just wrote a critique of what he called "Exclusivism."  He defined that position as "the belief that only one particular religion is true."  (Often it is defined, instead, as "the belief that only followers of your faith will be saved.")  In my doctoral dissertation, I also critique "Exclusivism" in the sense Van Evans criticizes, so I don't mind that definition or someone else taking a shot at it.  The problem is that Van Evans seemed to assume that the only or best alternative to exclusivism was what is called "Pluralism," of the John Hick variety: that God is the sun and different religions the planets which take in rays from that sun in common.  (Though Van Evans preferred the  more seasonal metaphor of a garden with many flowers.)  

It was a short piece, but a good starting point for thinking not only how Christians should view other traditions, but how the nature of reality itself, and the facts of human faiths, constrain our options, and why I think there is a better one than either Exclusivism or Pluralism. 

"Religious exclusivism is the belief that only one particular religion is true. (a) The rest are seen as either dangerously confused or outright false.(b) This belief has always struck me as both philosophically untenable and spiritually impoverished. If God is love, as Christianity and other religions proclaim,(c) then that love must surpass doctrine. (d)  So, I’ve always seen religion as a garden of many different flowers growing toward the same light.   They may differ in color, appearance, or fragrance, but they share the same soil. (e) Here’s a brief sketch of why I’ve never been able to accept religious exclusivism." (f) 

(a) Some exclusivists define their view, rather, as the belief that only their faith is salvific, leads us to God or to salvation.  But like Eric, I also prefer to focus on truth, in part because it is easier to verify than the ultimate fate of all human souls.  

(b) Some exclusivists, like the Catholic theologian Gavin D'Costa at Bristol University, whose work I critiqued in my dissertation and who participated in my viva voce, admit a great deal of truth in other religious traditions.  They define their "exclusivism" more narrowly as meaning that their faith alone is ULTIMATELY true.  I concede that I find such language confusing.  Surely "exclusive" means one must exclude other faith traditions in a stronger sense than that.  

(c)  What does this mean, "Christianity and other religions" say that "God is love?"  All other religions?  A few other religions?  This is certainly not universally believed.  The closest parallel to Christianity here may be the ancient Chinese philosopher Mo Zi, who said that human beings should model themselves on the love of Heaven.  But I have never heard that the Aztecs claimed that God or the gods were love.  In fact, atheists are partly right: religion is often tribal, justifying one society to destroy other societies.  One can, of course, cite Old Testament verses to justify this position, or to destroy it.  

(e) What does it mean to say that "God's love must surpass dogma?"  Isn't that itself a dogma?  

(f) Do all religions in fact "grow towards the same light?"  And are there no weeds in this garden of religions?  No snakes in the grass?  Is human religious culture carefully tended flowers, or a wild jungle full of dangerous beasts?  

One of the problems with Pluralism is that it tends to romanticize religion.  After all, Charles Manson had a religion.  Jim Jones was religious.  Adolf Hitler can be seen as a highly successful religious entrepreneur.  

In fact, I would argue that the garden or jungle of human religions is a highly diverse place.  You have genuinely great thinkers, like Plato, Lao Zi, Isaiah, and Confucius.  You have violent revolutionaries, like Mohammed and Marx.  You have crackpots creating personality cults.  You also find (or don't find) vague figures half lost in the mists of time, like the historical Buddha, about whom it is hard to make heads or tails.  

And then you have Jesus of Nazareth, to whom, after a lifetime of study, I still find no strong parallels.  

Van Evans then offers five observations or conclusions: 

1. "Most people inherit their religion.  Had I been born in Tehran, I would likely be a Muslim.  In Kyoto, perhaps a Buddhist or Shinto.  In a secular household, probably an atheist.  Much of what we believe is shaped by the culture we find ourselves thrown into.  But truth, of course, is not defined by geography."

This appears to be a generalized version of what John Loftus called "The Outsider Test for Faith," which I rebut in How Jesus Passes the Outsider Test.  (And in our debate on Unbelievable.)  Van Evans appears more careful about drawing conclusions from the "fact of religious diversity," as Loftus calls it.  Good!  For even given the fact that people in these various places do generally believe these things -- though people in Tehran seem to be divesting themselves of their Islamic beliefs right now, and Japanese are generally not all that "religious"-- no obvious conclusion follows. 

People in different cultures also believed different things about the moon.  Then astronauts in one culture went there, and gained a richer understanding of that body.  If Jesus really is the Son of God, then he likewise offers greater knowledge of who God is, knowledge that in the course of events, like a great tree growing from a single seed (to use Jesus' own metaphor), will spread out from one spot.  

One does not want to commit the genetic fallacy.  That an idea originates in one place, makes it neither more nor less likely to be true, by and large.  Something, after all, must be true, and awareness of that something is not likely to be evenly distributed.  And belief in God is probably the most widespread metaphysical ultimate, so that belief is the least dependent on mere geography.  

2. "Religions make different claims, but many point toward similar experiences such as awe, surrender, bliss, transformation, and mystical union. When a Muslim and a Christian speak about God’s love, they are often unpacking the same encounter with the divine, even if they interpret it through different lenses. Doctrinal differences may divide us, but our shared experience of God often unites us."

Perhaps the Aztec cannibal, when he eats the heart of a victim atop a pyramid in Mexico, experiences similar feelings of awe, surrender, and transcendence, as a Catholic when he eats the "body of Christ."  After all, human beings have a limited patina of emotions.  Does it follow that both are encountering "the divine," and even the same divine?  

The claim that they are, or are not, are both doctrines.  So even Van Evans admits, implicitly, that human feelings are not enough.  There are also better and worse ways of understanding who God is, and what He wants us to do.  That's doctrine.  John Hick's Pluralism fails at this point, as D'Costa points out, and Hick admits that he has no basis to claim good is a better representation of "the Real" than evil.  Which is another way of saying, in an effort to be fair to everyone, he winds up being unfair to what he knows in his heart to be true: that Good is good, and Evil is evil. 

If Van Evans is arguing that recognition of the goodness of God should be a hint to ultimate truth, I agree, and that's one reason why I believe in Jesus.  If he denies that, then it seems to me he's contradicting himself.  

3.  "Exclusivism assumes that one’s own religion has privileged access to ultimate truth. But epistemically speaking, that’s a problematic jump insofar as human knowledge is limited. In other words, we interpret the infinite through our finite senses. Even if one tradition seems truer than others, it’s implausible to claim that any one system exhausts the divine altogether. As the philosopher John Hick put it, different religions may be understood as culturally conditioned responses to the same transcendent reality. He often called this reality, “The Real.”

Lots of confusion here, so it's fitting that Van Evans brings in John Hick's name. (I hadn't noticed that he mentioned Hick when writing the above paragraphs.)  

a. "Privileged access" is not the same thing as claiming "exhaustive knowledge" of truth.  My analogy of the moon landing come to mind again.  Neil Armstrong had privileged access to the moon, but not exhaustive knowledge of it.  Just so, those who see me, said Christ, see the Father.  That is not equally true of those who see Jim Jones, except in the sense that the Father of Lies is also a metaphorical "father."  But Jesus did not say that his disciples had exhaustive knowledge of God.  Those are two different claims.   

b. Hick began by calling this reality "God," but then realized that excluded non-theistic traditions.  In the books by him that I have read, he never seriously grappled with the problem I note above, that some religious founders are positively evil.  He even seemed to include Maoism in his naive sketch of planets circling the sun, as I recall.  In the end he essentially admitted that he couldn't privilege interpretations of "the Real" that privileged good over evil.  But if one cannot judge between good and evil, why call what religions receive "light" rather than "darkness?"  

c.  All our knowledge is "culturally conditioned."  It does not follow that some claims about reality can be verified, and others, falsified.  

d. I don't like the word "assumes" here, either.  Christians do not "assume" that Jesus is Lord.  His life, teachings, miracles, death, and resurrection give us reason to call him Lord.  Our faith is a conclusion, in other words, not an "assumption."  

4. "A God who would punish a genuine seeker simply for being born into the “wrong” tradition would be infinitely cruel. That would make God more concerned with doctrinal precision than with the mind and heart postured toward the good. That sounds like a jealous tribal deity, not a God of absolute love and intellect. Does that sound like a God worthy of worship?"

That is, I concede, a potential problem with Exclusivism.  I will let exclusivists answer it.  I think the challenge is stronger or weaker, depending on what kind of exclusivist you ask.  But notice that Van Evans has switched in his definitions from the question of truth, to the question of salvation.  

5. "Every religion is a flawed, yet beautiful attempt to discover God. The mystics of every tradition got this right. Their approach was found in paradox, mystery, and silence. I trust them far more than the apologists who fervently try to convert others, claiming their religion is the only way. To believe one path is true does not mean all others are false. I remain drawn to the Christian story not because I believe it excludes other stories, but because within it, I’ve encountered meaningful transformation. But I’ve also encountered that same transformation in other traditions, too."

Despite Van Evan's distaste for doctrine, we're getting a lot of it here, without much discussion of the raw data of religions, which I make it my habit to study.    

a. Many religions deny that their faith is "an attempt to discover God."  Why impose that on them, then?  

b. And what were Mohammed's true motives in launching jihad, pillaging enemy caravans, torturing and murdering those he attacked, and marrying dozens of women?  To discover God?  To gain loot?  Or both at the same time? 

Such questions must be answered, before drawing such conclusions.  

c. As a Christian, I affirm that "Jesus is Lord."  But that is not merely an a priori assumption to me.  it is a conclusion that decades of studying non-Christian traditions has reinforced.  

I deeply respect Confucius.  I love the aphorisms and paradoxes of Lao Zi.  To the extent I can figure out who Buddha really was, I think he may have been sincerely seeking for a solution to suffering in the world.  I love Buddhist cuisine, and am amazed by the many beautiful temples I have visited in East Asia and North America.  

And yes, I think Islam got some things right about God.  He is the Creator.  He is the Boss.  I also think Marxism gets what power it has from truths it borrowed (albeit in a distorted form) from the Gospel. 

But every religion is not "beautiful."  Some are brutally ugly.  If Van Evans has never witnessed this, he is lucky.

d. There is, indeed, a time to be silent, and a time to confess ignorance.  There is also a time to speak, and a time to declare what one thinks one knows.   Van Evans chastises apologists, forgetting, it seems, that he is wearing the hat of an apologist even as he writes.  I do, too, but I do not apologize for my apology. 

Finally, Van Evans concludes: 

    

"We have to be careful not to project our pathologies onto God. Religious exclusivism often does just that. It says, “I’m right. You’re wrong.(a)  And if you don’t agree, you might go to hell forever.” There’s nothing noble or beautiful about that vision.(b)  I don’t believe God is concerned with theological correctness. Instead, I believe God is deeply concerned with how we live: the love we give, the good we do, and the truth we seek. (c) So, I would encourage you to try to see religion as a garden full of flowers. They may look different, but at the end of the day, they emerge from the same ground and grow toward the same sun."

(a) John Hick and Eric Van Evans also say "I am right, you are wrong," one reason D'Costa describes the former as a de facto exclusivist.  Logic forces us, in affirming A, to deny non-A.  Pluralists can't get away from that, either.  It is a little unfair of them to decry other exclusivists from talking precisely the same way they talk.  

(b) No one said hell was beautiful.  But while I am not an exclusivist, and while I prefer to talk about truth not salvation, there is something beautiful about love. And warning someone against the destruction of their soul, because you love them, can be beautiful.  I know a cop who dragged a man out of a burning vehicle, who also talked about hell, also because he loved them.  And he was a beautiful follower of Christ.  

(c) Again, note the doctrine in service of anti-doctrine, here.  But "faith vs. works" is a false dichotomy.   Maybe God cares what we believe, in part because how we "love God," and if we love God, will determine how we love our neighbor, or if we love our neighbor.  And maybe truth is precious for its own sake.  

Van Evans then closes with three quotations, from the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Gospel of John, which resemble one another.  I need not show that these three quotes are cherry-picked to prove his point, that all paths go up the same mountain.  His quote from the Gita is probably closest to the actual message of the book, though that book was also a religious justification for waging war.  

The logical problem here is even harder.  What such cherry-picking shows is that D'Costa was right: "Pluralists" are really exclusivists, when it comes to truth.  Because they exclude verses that don't support their point of view.  

I am neither an exclusivist nor a pluralist.  Over many years of studying Christian thought, in the Bible and among great thinkers like Augustine, Ricci, Chesterton, C S Lewis, and many others, I developed a model of religions I call "Fulfillment Theology."  I believe that model is both biblical, and fair to the complex truth of world religions.  One need not cherry-pick.  Nor need one deny truth in non-Christian traditions: the Chinese traditions I have studied are rich in truth.  But having seen what God has done through human traditions, I believe one can follow the star to the manger in Bethlehem, in worship and in wonder.   Because I have found that the truths in other traditions ultimately point to Christ, often in the most amazing ways.  

Or "blow out the candles, the sun has risen," as the great Chinese writer and philosopher Lin Yutang put it.