University-Trained Mole Rats

Scripture teaches us that the creation is articulate.

“The heavens declare his righteousness, And all the people see his glory. Confounded be all they that serve graven images, That boast themselves of idols: Worship him, all ye gods” (Ps. 97:6–7).

The created order pours forth speech. Nature is not a dumb mute, vaguely gesturing in the direction of some nameless god, who must have made “all this.”

It is far more than that. The creation pours forth moral speech. In the text cited above we should note that the heavens declare God’s righteousness, and does so in a way that makes it unmistakeable that this righteousness is glorious, and that it humiliates those who pray to their statues. An honest look at the night sky, in other words, not only blows away the pretended rationality of idolatry, but also the pretended morality of it. The heavens declare God’s righteousness, and shames the unrighteousness of every alternative pretense.

When we kick against such heavenly declarations, we do it by demanding to see the argument laid out cold on the table and neatly dissected. But who said it was merely an argument? There are arguments that can be extracted from the experience, and if the experience has touched you, the arguments do make good sense.  But if you expect etiolated scholastic argumentation to do the same thing to your head and heart that a harvest moon rising over a spinney of pine can do then you are pursuing the epistemology of a colony of university-trained mole rats.

Looking to the argument alone is the same thing as not following it.

Scripture testifies to the glory of God everywhere, which is not the same thing as saying that the glory of God is locked up in the sealed container of special revelation. The Bible tells us that God is speaking to us all the time, in all things, in every event. Scripture tells us also that this speech is content rich, full of wisdom, power, goodness, and righteousness.

Pretending that this isn’t so is just that — pretending. To be created is to be in a place where God is never silent, anywhere, or in any blessed thing.

A Gracious Gift of the Creeps

I recently read Peter Leithart’s piece on nature at the Trinity House page here, and my initial reaction was to pose a test case scenario for him. It looked like this. I wrote Peter and asked him to write an article that assumes his “un-metaphysic” about nature, and use it to demonstrate the sinfulness of getting, for example, a sex change operation. This has to do with his point about the nature of limits, and I really want to see how his approach protects “natural” ​limits from the perversions of men.

So I asked him to write an article on this for the excellent reason that I wanted to read it. But turnabout is fair play, and while Peter said he would give it some thought, he also asked me to answer my own question. So okay, we both need to write something. Here is my shot at it.

What I was looking for is some kind of anchor found in the world that is capable of saying “thus far and no farther.” I think that nature provides us with an ancient boundary stone that we are not supposed to mess with, and I was trying to come up with an example that is not expressly prohibited in Scripture.

Paul says that certain activities are “contrary to nature,” but I am genuinely interested in how it is possible to deny that nature has a nature, and still do the casuistry in drawing a distinction between getting braces for your kid’s teeth, for example, which overcome a limit in nature, and getting him hormone shots, which do the same thing. Both involve procedures, both require medical training, both are altering “what is,” and so on.Clock Cogs

I suspect the key difference between Peter’s approach and mine on this topic is found in his first paragraph. But before proceeding to discuss that, I need to point out that there are many observations that Peter makes in this post that I agree with, the central one being that if we lay nature spread out on a dissecting table and cut it up, and act like we are disinterested observers focused on “just the facts,” we will simply prove the truth of Wordsworth’s dictum, “we murder to dissect.” I don’t want anything to do with an impersonal nature, grinding away in obedience to impersonal natural laws, observed, if at all, by a bored and distant Deity.

Here are the sentences from Peter’s first paragraph that perhaps highlight our different approaches.

“Here and there, the Bible uses this word and something like the concept of nature, but it’s not fundamental. The Bible doesn’t picture the world as a collection of created natures, but as a collection of creation things and processes and patterns of behavior.”

The way this is posed reminds me of the problem of the one and the many. Are we getting to the giant lego nature by means of stacking up all these little legos, such that nature is the sum of all these smaller natures? Or are we doing something else?

To Obligate Belief

The classic beginning of Calvin’s Institutes rightly assumes that it is not possible to know God without knowledge of ourselves. Without knowledge of self there is no knowledge of God. But it runs the other direction as well. It “not easy to discern” which knowledge precedes and brings forth the other. They are interdependent. “Accordingly, the knowledge of ourselves not only arouses us to seek God, but also, as it were, leads us by the hand to find him” (Institutes 1.1.1).

The same kind of thing is true of other sets of complementary assumptions. I cannot know my Cartesian pinpoint self without assuming something about the authority of logic. I think I think, therefore I think I am, I think. I cannot know the Bible without assuming something about the nature of the world in which I learned to read it, along with the reality of Miss Robinson who taught me how to read in first grade. I cannot know one thing without knowing something about all things.

This, if true, means that the whole world is a package deal. God did not give us the world piecemeal. He places us in an integrated reality, and it is only sin that wants to pretend that we are anywhere else.

That sin wants to say that so long as it is willing to continue the argument, there must be something to the argument. But that is what Hell will be like — endless gnawing, endless rationalizations, endless argument. The worm does not die.

The Way It Looks on the Screen

So I am a presuppositionalist. That’s true enough, but what do I need to presuppose? This will require more development, but what needs to be presupposed is the way things actually are. You don’t need to know all the precise details of how things actually are — you don’t begin at the end — but you do have to be committed to the truth a priori, knowing that such objective, unmovable truth, which is so necessary as the foundation of every form of knowing, is not possible apart from the bedrock of the true and living God.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge (Prov. 9:10). But beginning with the fear of the Lord does not mean beginning with the Lord alone, the Lord solitary, the Lord isolated. No one can know the Lord that way — it is incoherent — oxymoronic. God cannot be known from outside God unless there is a creation, in which the knower lives. And if he lives in a created order larger than himself, then he also knows things other than God simultaneously with his self-knowledge, and these other things also testify to the majesty of the God who created them all.

So prior to the creation, there was no fear of God. In order to have the fear of the Lord (which is the beginning of knowledge), it is necessary to have a knowing subject who does the fearing, and who knows himself to exist as a fearing creature. Moreover, he lives and moves and has his being in a world within which that fear makes sense.
That fear makes sense to the creature because he presupposes the whole shebang. He presupposes the God who is, the world that this God spoke by the word of His power, the holy law that our first parents disregarded, and the Scriptures which declare to us His spelled out explanations of all that has come to pass.

If I presuppose a Creator, then heaven and earth must be contained within that presupposition. If I presuppose a Savior, then a Word containing gospel is contained within that presupposition. If we say that God wrote two books, His Word and the world, it makes no sense to pit those books against each other. God is perfect, and the books He wrote need to be perfectly harmonious.

Not only can I not consider God independently of the created order, I cannot successfully isolate His Word to us from that created order. In order to read a Bible, I have to reckon with a cascading series of things like learning to read, a cow that contributes leather for the cover, paper, ink, the light that strikes the page, the physical eyes that receive that light, the brain cells that remember what I read yesterday, and so on. How shall they distribute tracts without a typesetter?

It is not the case that the world comes to me through this portal, and the Word through that portal. God is the living constant, and He is speaking at all times and through all things. This is something precious I learned from Van Til. At the same time, I do want to run with some of this and apply it in ways that perhaps Van Til would have been uncomfortable with. The computer that is my brain can (I think) run two operating systems — Van Til 1.2. and Lewis 5.2. The code in the back room can look pretty funky sometimes, but I like the way it looks on the screen.

So, like all presuppositionalists, I try to reason from Scripture instead of reasoning my way to the Scriptures. I don’t want to presuppose a neutral space, from which I try to get others to become Christian. But when I presuppose Scripture, there is another foundational layer underneath that. I must presuppose a God who is absolute, and who has revealed Himself in absolutely everything. In the words of Schaeffer’s great title — He is there, and He is not silent.

What Plato’s Cousin Knew

Theological disputes are often matters of great moment, even when those outside the dispute cannot track with what is going on. I think it was Gibbon who once displayed his ignorance by saying that the debate over homousia and homoiousia was somehow over the letter i — which is pretty similar to saying the debate between atheists and theists is over the letter a.

But at the same time, theologians are capable of talking past each other simply because they are used to different terminology, or perhaps because they are worried about the trajectory of those who use that other terminology. Take, for example, the distinction between natural revelation and natural law.

Now before opening this particular worm can, I want to acknowledge that two positions represented by these phrases can be quite different indeed. But this is a historical fact, not a logical one. I believe the two essential positions can be collapsed into one another with 5 minutes of questions.

Say you are comfortable with the phrase natural revelation. You believe that the triune God of Scripture revealed Himself through the things that have been made, and that this fact leaves all men everywhere without excuse. It sounds to me like this is an ethical obligation, and another fine word for natural ethical obligation would be natural law. Honoring God as God is not optional, and it is therefore law.

Say you are comfortable with the phrase natural law. Laws do not arrive by themselves, coming from nowhere in particular, but rather laws come from a lawgiver. And the giving of law is a form of communication, is it not? One might even say that communication reveals things — natural law is therefore a form of natural revelation.

No, no, no, someone will cry. Cornelius Van Til disagrees with John Locke and Thomas Aquinas. And I cheerfully grant it. This doesn’t mean that the hearts of the two positions are inconsistent. The God who reveals Himself through the things that have been made, and the God who embeds His law in the natural order of things, and even deeper in every human conscience, is the same God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Father of The Lord Jesus Christ.