Enlightenment modernist types want laws to run everything, all by themselves, and they want this in every department of human thought. It doesn’t matter if we are talking about logic, or science, or economics. They want the whole schbeal run by the law of non-contradiction, the law of gravity, and the law of supply and demand. These impersonal laws float ten yards above the surface of the ground, each one holding itself up there by its own shirt collar. Here’s this “law,” telling everybody and everything what to do, and you just have to obey it, okay? “Why do we have to obey it?” “Don’t ask questions,” somebody hisses. “He just floated in one day and spoke with great authority.”
Postmodern types see that the support for all this is nil, and so they want to say that all these laws are just conventions, like the rules of baseball. We could have the runners go clockwise if we wanted. The law of noncontradiction is a convention, the law of gravity is perhaps a little more stubborn, but nothing is really fixed if you watch The Matrix enough times, and the law of supply and demand is simply the logic of selfishness imposed on the world.
Nancy Pearcy illustrates this foolishness pretty clearly in her fine book Total Truth. “Even American schoolchildren are now taught this postmodern view of math. A popular middle school curriculum says students should learn that ‘mathematics is man-made, that it is arbitrary, and good solutions are arrived at by consensus among those who are considered expert'” (p. 43). This view of math is going to lead directly to a future mush-for-brains postmodernism . . . either that or very crooked accountants. “What does 7 plus 8 equal?” “Well, what do you want it to equal?”
Whenever non-believers discover something good or true about the world, this is simply common grace. We as Christians are not allowed to reject what they discovered simply because they may not have given glory to the triune God for the discovery. Let’s pretend that Harvey did not give due glory to God for his discovery that the heart is a pump and that blood circulates. He may have given glory to God — I don’t know — but let’s pretend he didn’t for the sake of the illustration. If we come to a robust Trinitarian understanding of science and medicine, this does not require us to believe that the blood just sits there.
The law of non-contradiction was formulated by Aristotle, a pagan. The law of gravity by Newton, a heretic. The law of supply and demand by Adam Smith, a key figure in the Deistic Scottish Enlightenment. When we come to understand this, should we say that consistent Christian faith requires us to throw these clear-headed observations out because they are tainted goods? No, because the blood is still there, circulating away.
What we reject is the impersonalism, unbelief and autonomy in the formulations of those who initially taught us these things. We reject their account of what they saw, not what they saw. But even rejecting their account, we can still see the truths of the things they describe with our own eyes. Where we differ is in the explanation.
The apostle Paul says that in Christ all things hold together. This would include arguments, the solar system, and the delivery platform for that loaf of bread in your cupboard. The law of non-contradiction is not authoritative for the reasons that Aristotle thought. It is authoritative because God the Father cannot be not God the Father. The law of gravity is not this impersonal force making everybody stick to the ground. Jesus commands everything to hang together, and just like the wind and waves on Galilee, every atom in the universe happily obeys Him. And why is it not possible — barring the kind of intervention that Jesus performed in person a couple times — to have a loaf of bread cost a dollar to make, and have the authorities make everybody sell it for fifty cents a loaf, and still have bread? It is not because some invisible hand is in charge — the law of supply and demand is simply the way Jesus does things.
Autonomy is the problem, and so we reject the autonomy. We don’t reject the common grace of God. Who was the guy who invented all the stuff that makes this laptop work? Was he regenerate and, if he was not, should I stop typing? Of course not, although I will stop typing. But I am only stopping, not because I reject common grace, but rather because I am tired, and it is time for bed. But I wonder if our stupendous mattress, the one we bought this last summer, the one that is now calling me, was invented by a man who gave glory to God. If he did not, it doesn’t matter . . . because I do.