The title is a bit misleading. I don't think this book is about why Christianity makes sense (a claim that naturally implies that other religions don't make sense), as much as it is about what it means to be a Christian. However, I can see how the title would appeal to the skeptic, or to the wavering Christian or even to the outright doubter/atheist/agnostic. Yet N.T. Wright convincingly articulates (though more convincing to those already predisposed to ideas of Christian faith) what it means to live a Christian life.
I. Putting the World to Rights
Modern (Jordan B. Peterson) and ancient (Aristotle) philosophers point to a line that runs through the heart of every person. As Wright puts it, "The line between justice and injustice, between things being right and things not being right, can't be drawn between 'us' and 'them'. It runs right down through the middle of each one of us. The ancient philosophers, not least Aristotle, saw this as a wrinkle in the system, a puzzle at several levels. We all know what we ought to do (give or take a few details); but we all manage, at least some of the time, not to do it." We all know this, whether we are Christian by name, or not. But an important part of the Christian faith is the fact that it "endorses the passion for justice which every human being knows, the longing to see things put to rights." Christianity, in other words, provides a real and honest route to restoring justice in the world.
II. The Hidden Spring
Many people will say they don't mind religious or spiritual people as long as those people keep their religion and spirituality to themselves. Ironically, those same people often have deeply religious or spiritual experiences, but might be too afraid or ashamed to admit it. There is clearly a desire among the religious and non-religious alike to understand the deep sense of spirit that runs through each of us. It can be called different names and explained in different ways through various philosophies of thought and modes of language, but its existence can't be denied. Yet, in many ways the world denies it all the time.
For example, Wright argues that, "[t]he skepticism that we've been taught for the last two hundred years has paved our world with concrete, making people ashamed to admit that they have had profound and powerful 'religious' experiences." The prevailing philosophy today says, "[w]e will pipe you the water you need; we will arrange for 'religion' to become a small subdepartment of ordinary life; it will be quite safe--harmless in fact--with church carefully separated off from everything else in the world, whether politics, art, sex, economics, or whatever. Those who want it can have enough to keep them going. Those who don't want their life, and their way of life, disrupted by anything 'religious' can enjoy driving along concrete roads, visiting concrete-based shopping malls, living in concrete-floored houses. Live as if the rumor of God had never existed! We are, after all, in charge of our own fate! We are the captains of our own souls (whatever they may be)! That is the philosophy which has dominated our culture. From this point of view, spirituality is a private hobby, an up-market version of daydreaming for those who like that kind of thing."
Wright goes on to write, "Millions in the Western world have enjoyed the temporary separation from 'religious' interference that this philosophy has brought. Millions more, aware of the deep subterranean bubblings and yearnings of the water systems we call 'spirituality', which can no more ultimately be denied than can endless springs of water under thick concrete, have done their best secretly to tap into it, using the official channels (the churches), but aware that there's more water available than most churches have let on. Many more again have been aware of an indefinable thirst, a longing for springs of living, refreshing water that they can bathe in, delight in, and drink to the full."
As a result, the "hidden springs have erupted, the concrete foundation has burst open, and life can never be the same again. The official guardians of the old water system (many of whom work in the media and in politics, and some of whom, naturally enough, work in the churches) are of course horrified to see the volcano of 'spirituality' that has erupted in recent years. All this 'New Age' mysticism, with Tarot cards, crystals, horoscopes, and so on; all this fundamentalism, with militant Christians, militant Sikhs, militant Muslims, and many others bombing each other with God on their side. Surely, say the guardians of the official water system, all this is terribly unhealthy? Surely it will lead us back to superstition, to the old chaotic, polluted, and irrational water supply?
They have a point. But they must face a question in response: Does the fault not lie with those who wanted to pave over the springs with concrete in the first place? September 11, 2001, serves as a reminder of what happens when you try to organize a world on the assumption that religion and spirituality are merely private matters, and that what really matters is economics and politics instead. It wasn't just concrete floors, it was massive towers that were smashed to pieces that day, by people driven by 'religious' beliefs so powerful that the believers were ready to die for them. What should we say? That this merely shows how dangerous 'religion' and 'spirituality' really are? Or that we should have taken them into account all along?"
I partly agree with Wright. Especially in the sense that he refutes the lazy, trite, and theologically ignorant atheist/agnostic argument which claims that 9/11 symbolizes the extreme consequences of embracing religious ideology, and therefore no one should be Christian or Muslim because doing so leads to such disasters. This is a shallow understanding of what it means to be Christian.
But then you have to ask, what does Wright mean by "taking them into account all along"? Does that mean George W. Bush should have given equal respect and credence to Islam in his national speeches? Or should he have omitted all the Christian references, thus indicating no preference for any religion in the American tradition.
III. For the Beauty of the Earth
In Psalm 19, David says that when you look at the universe it is obvious that there is a God: 'The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim they work of his hands'.
What is beauty and what is truth? And are they the same? As Keats wrote, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." But this is really a facile equation because, as Wright notes, "If beauty and truth are one and the same, then truth is different for everyone, for every age, and indeed for the same person from year to year. If beauty were hidden in the beholder's eye, then 'truth' would be merely a way of talking about the inner feelings that went along with it. And that simply isn't how we normally use the word 'truth'.
Beauty and truth are two powerful words that are associated with all sorts of equally powerful emotions. We know what someone means when they say something is beautiful or that it has beauty, so much so that it would seem ridiculous to have them explain it any further. Beauty, "whether in the natural order or within human creation, is sometimes so powerful that it evokes our very deepest feelings of awe, wonder, gratitude, and reverence. Almost all humans sense this some of the time at least, even though they disagree wildly about which things evoke which feelings and why."
Some argue that beauty is all in the mind, or the imagination, or the genes. It's all a matter of evolutionary conditioning: you only like that particular scenery because your distant ancestors knew they could find food there. Still others "might quite reasonably suggest that it's all about vicarious pleasure: we would like to be among the guests at the dinner party in the painting. It seems we have to hold the two together: beauty is both something that calls us out of ourselves and something which appeals to feelings deep within us."
I recently listened to a podcast entitled "What is Truth?", a debate between the outspoken atheist Sam Harris and the renowned psychologist/professor/philosopher Jordan B. Peterson. Their fundamental disagreements over the nature of 'truth' were apparent from the beginning. Wright touches on these differences in our understanding of truth: "On the one hand, some (Harris) want to reduce all truth to 'facts', things which can be proved in the way you can prove that oil is lighter than water, or even that two and two make four. On the other hand, some believe that all truth is relative, and that all claims to truth are merely coded claims to power."
But Wright admonishes us that the Christian story addresses a complex world. Within that complexity, we should be careful how we use the word 'truth'.
Christianity focuses on a deeper kind of knowing. "To 'know' the deeper kinds of truth we have hinting at is much more like 'knowing' a person - something which takes a long time, a lot of trust, and a good deal of trial and error - and less like 'knowing' about the right bus to take into town. It's a kind of knowing in which the subject and the object are intertwined, so that you could never say that it was either purely subjective or purely objective."
A word emphasized in the Christian faith acknowledges the kind of knowing that goes with the deeper and richer kind of truth: that word is "love".
IV. Heaven and Earth: The Puzzle
Wright argues that there are three basic ways (with variations) in which we can imagine God's space and ours relating to one another.
Option One is two slide the two spaces together. God's space and ours, in this option, are basically the same. God is everywhere and everywhere is God. Or, God is everything, and everything is God. This option is called "pantheism". It was popular in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds of the first century, primarily through the philosophy of 'Stoicism', and after centuries in decline it has become increasingly popular in our own times.
The problem with pantheism, and to a large extent with panentheism (the view that, though everything may not be divine as such, everything that exists is 'within' God), is that it can't cope with evil. The only final answer (given by Stoics in the first century, and by increasing numbers in today's Western world) is suicide.
Option Two is to completely separate the two spaces. "God's space and ours are a long way away from one another in this option." This is the Epicurean philosophy in which the gods will not intervene, either to help or to harm. Separating God's sphere and ours in the Epicurean fashion, with a distant God whom you might respect but who wasn't going to appear or do anything within our sphere, became very popular in the Western world of the eighteenth century (through the movement known as "Deism", espoused by great American figures like Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin). When many people in the Western world mention "God" and "heaven", they're talking about a being and a place which - if they exist at all - are a long way away and have little or nothing directly to do with us." This philosophy explains why many people say they believe in God, but often add in the same breath that they don't go to church, don't pray, and in fact they don't think much about God from one year's end to the next.
According to Wright, "the real problem with Epicureanism in the ancient world, and Deism in ours, is that it has to plug its ears to all those echoing voices we were talking about earlier in this book. Actually, that's not so difficult in today's busy and noisy world. It's quite easy, in fact, when you're sitting in front of the television or hooked up to a portable stereo, one hand glued to the cell phone for text messaging, the other clutching a mug of specialist coffee ... it's quite easy to be a modern Epicurean. But turn the machines off, read a different kind of book, wander out under the night sky, and see what happens. You might start wondering about Option Three."
Option Three is found within classic Judaism and Christianity. "Heaven and earth are not coterminous in this option. Nor are they separated by a great gulf. Instead, they overlap and interlock in a number of different ways." This is the most complex option, and it most fittingly embraces the complexity of the world.
"For the pantheist, God and the world are basically the same thing: the world is, if you like, God's self-expression. For the Deist, the world may indeed have been made by God (or the gods), but there is now no contact between divine and human. The Deist God wouldn't dream of 'intervening' within the created order; to do so would be untidy, a kind of category mistake. But for the ancient Israelite and the early Christian, the creation of the world was the free outpouring of God's powerful love.
In this third option, "The one true God made a world that was other than himself, because that is what love delights to do. And, having made such a world, he has remained in a close, dynamic, and intimate relationship with it, without in any way being contained within it or having it contained within himself."
This claim is hard to swallow unless you already have faith in God as the creator. And it's interesting to note that Wright barely mentions the word 'faith' at all in this book. For the skeptic or wavering Christian, this anthropomorphic view of God is difficult to grasp. And for the rationalist atheist it is easy to attack.
But as Terry Eagleton notes, "God is not a person in the sense that Al Gore arguably is. Nor is he a principle, an entity, or ‘existent’: in one sense of that word it would be perfectly coherent for religious types to claim that God does not in fact exist. He is, rather, the condition of possibility of any entity whatsoever, including ourselves. He is the answer to why there is something rather than nothing. God and the universe do not add up to two, any more than my envy and my left foot constitute a pair of objects."
V. Jesus: Rescue and Renewal
The most striking and blunt passage in this entire chapter if not the entire book comes here:
"The death of Jesus of Nazareth as the king of the Jews, the bearer of Israel's destiny, the fulfillment of God's promises to his people of old, is either the most stupid, senseless waste and misunderstanding the world has ever seen, or it is the fulcrum around which world history turns. Christianity is based on the belief that it was and is the latter."
Many people, Christians and non-believers alike, acknowledge an affinity toward Jesus the man. He taught many valuable moral lessons through parable and metaphor. The historical record of Jesus, while once in dispute, is now hardly denied. But what the death of Jesus the man symbolizes is what separates Christians from deists, pantheists, atheists, and agnostics.
Wright goes on to make a keen observation of a difference in science and history:
"Science, after all, rightly studies phenoma which can be repeated in laboratory conditions. But history doesn't. Historians study things that happened once and once only; even if there are partial parallels, each historical event is unique. And the historical argument is quite clear. To repeat: far and away the best explanation for why Christianity began after Jesus's violent death is that he really was bodily alive again three days later, in a transformed body." He doesn't suggest that this (or any other argument) can "force anyone to believe that Jesus was raised from the dead." The trouble is that "believing that Jesus was raised from the dead involves, at the very least, suspending judgment on matters normally regarded as fixed and unalterable; or to put it more positively, it requires that we exchange a worldview which says that such things can't happen for one which, embracing the notion or a creator God making himself known initially in the traditions of Israel and then fully and finally in Jesus, says that Jesus's resurrection makes perfect sense when seen from that point of view. Faith can't be force, but unfaith can be challenged."
He further highlights parallels to this phenomenon in the world of contemporary science. "Scientists now regularly ask us to believe things which seem strange and even illogical, not least in the areas of astrophysics or quantum mechanics. With something as basic as light, for example, they find themselves driven to speak in terms both of waves and of particles, though these appear incompatible. Sometimes, to make sense of the actual evidence before us, we have to pull our worldview, our sense of what's possible, into a new shape. That is the kind of thing demanded by the evidence about Easter."
All of these arguments play out at the "borders of language as well as theology."
VI. God's Breath of Life
One difficult aspect of embracing Wright's argument is that it requires us to relinquish our concept of time and space. Indeed, accepting the Christian faith requires this in some sense. Take this passage, for example:
"One day all creation will be rescued from slavery, from the corruption, decay, and death which deface its beauty, destroy its relationships, remove the sense of God's presence from it, and make it a place of injustice, violence, and brutality." This leads to the question, what does it mean to say that his future has begun to arrive in the present? According to Wright, this means (in Paul's words) "that those who follow Jesus, those who find themselves believing that he is the world's true Lord, that he rose from the dead - these people are given the Spirit as a foretaste of what the new world will be like." The Spirit is "the strange, personal presence of the living God himself, leading, guiding, warning, rebuking, grieving over our failings, and celebrating our small steps toward the true inheritance."
VII. The Story and the Task
Non-believers frequently attack faith based on literal interpretations of religious texts. Texts written by men and shaped over centuries. "Not all 'holy books' are the same sort of thing. The great writings of the Hindu tradition - the Bhagavad Gita, in particular - do not offer a controlling story within which the readers are summoned to become characters. They do not speak of a single god who, as the unique creator, chooses to act in one specific family and location rather than all others in order thereby to address the whole world. This affects form as well as content. The Koran, the majestic monument to Muhammad, is a different sort of thing again, much more like (in fact) the kind of hard-edged 'authoritative' book which some would consider the Bible to be - or perhaps we should say into which they would like to turn the Bible. Even Judaism, whose Bible the church has made its own, doesn't tell a continuing story of the Christian sort, a story in which the readers are summoned to become fresh characters."
What the Christian believes about Jesus "generates a narrative within which one is called to live; that living within that story generates a call to a particular vocation within the world; and that the Bible is the book through which God sustains and directs those who seek to obey that vocation as intelligent, thinking, image-bearing human beings. The Bible constantly challenges its readers not to rest content."
Finally, Wright circle back to the meaning of truth. "The parables of the Bible are 'true' at several different levels; and to recognize this is not a way of saying, 'The only real 'truths' that matter are the 'spiritual' meanings, the things that didn't 'happen' as events in the real world. Truth is more complicated - more interesting, in fact - than that."
Indeed, it is.