Breakpoint

Why is there something instead of nothing? This is a question that has long haunted scientists, beyond the what to the why. For a long time, the widely accepted answer from astrophysicists, astronomers, and others was that the universe always existed. This so-called "steady-state theory" was a favorite of materialists because it sidestepped any need for a Creator. However, in the 20th century, the collective evidence became overwhelming, forcing scientists to accept that space, matter, energy, and even time had a beginning. Ergo, the cosmos is not eternal. The "Big Bang" theory, which replaced the steady-state theory, wasn't as much an explanation for how the universe came to be as it was a description of the immediate aftermath of its beginning. The initial first cause, i.e. whatever it was that set off the Big Bang and provided the fine-tuning necessary to produce a life-friendly universe, remained a mystery. At least, it was a mystery for those unwilling to accept God as the first cause. That's not to say there were no suggestions. For example, among the attempts to explain the Big Bang and account for our shockingly life-friendly cosmos were complicated ideas with fancy names such as vacuum fluctuation, cyclic contraction and expansion, the anthropic principle, string theory, and the multiverse. However, as philosopher of science Stephen Meyer argues, each of these explanations comes with significant baggage. In his book, The Return of the God Hypothesis, Meyer shows how these theories either require prior mathematical fine-tuning, or involve serious category errors, or else undermine the reliability of science. In other words, these "solutions" tend to complicate the initial problem they attempt to address. Perhaps this is why, in lieu of these choices, some are now offering another explanation. Writing in Scientific American this month, former Harvard astronomy chair Avi Loeb proposed that our universe may have been created by an intelligent designer… just not God. What if, as the Harvard scientist (not a late-night radio host) suggests, our universe was "created in a laboratory of an advanced technological civilization… Since our universe has a flat geometry with a zero net energy, an advanced civilization could have developed a technology that created a baby universe out of nothing through quantum tunneling." Such an idea, he concludes, "unifies the religious notion of a creator with the secular notion of quantum gravity." Loeb doesn't speculate on the identity of our universe's engineer(s), or the location of the "laboratory" where it came to be. But if his proposal sounds familiar, it's because it is. Specifically, he's proposing a form of intelligent design, only one with an infinite number of extra steps. A question children and atheists often ask is, "If God made the universe, who made God?" The answer, given by classical theists, is "nobody." God is, by definition, self-existent and eternal, the very Ground of being. He who caused the universe to exist requires no cause. He is, as Thomas Aquinas put it, the "unmoved Mover." The very existence of something implies the existence of an unmoved Mover, an uncaused first cause. Because, as Freuline Maria sang in The Sound of Music: "Nothing comes from nothing. Nothing ever could." Loeb's version of intelligent design fails to offer an answer to this fundamental question. If the universe were cooked up through quantum tunneling in a cosmic laboratory by alien scientists, who made the alien scientists who created the universe? Loeb certainly tries to answer that question by suggesting that there may be countless baby universes, all engineered by "advanced civilizations," which in turn create more life-sustaining universes, but which are not self-existing or eternal. The process, he writes, may proceed along Darwinian lines, ensuring a selection advantage for life-sustaining universes since they can, in a manner of speaking, "reproduce." He's envisioning an infinite regress of universes and designers, creating one another back into eternity. It's like the old story about the tribe that believed the Earth rested on the back of a giant turtle. When asked what the turtle rested on, the tribesmen replied, "It's turtles all the way down." According to this Scientific American article, it's alien designers all the way down. This is Ockham's Razor on a cosmic scale. As Meyer concludes in his book, the "God hypothesis" is still the most scientifically reasonable explanation for the universe, one that does not "unnecessarily multiply explanatory entities." While it's an improvement that some modern astronomers and physicists are willing to consider intelligent design, given a choice between a transcendent God and an infinite number of immanent alien designers (or turtles?), the answer is obvious.

Media theorist Marshall McLuhan famously said: "We shape our tools, and thereafter, our tools shape us." That's certainly true of books, one of humanity's oldest tools. New research confirms –yet again—just how good it is for us to read books. Reading doesn't simply teach new facts, it wires various functions of the brain. A recent study out of the University of Rochester confirms that reading fiction measurably boosts emotional intelligence. Stories about playing tennis, for example, light up the same part of the brain used in actually playing tennis. Extended reading sessions also sharpen the ability to focus and grasp complex ideas. The same studies also suggest a related effect, that the less one reads, the more those skills dissipate. And, to be clear, scrolling on smartphones doesn't count as reading. Of course, Christians should read books, not only because of how God made our brains but because God chose to reveal Himself in Word. Apparently, He really wants us to know who He is.

One line from C.S. Lewis's autobiography Surprised by Joy is both simple and profound: "That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England." My friend Max McLean is bringing the story behind this line to life in his new film The Most Reluctant Convert. It premieres in select theaters across the country this Wednesday, November 3. One of my favorite parts of the movie is the tour of Oxford at the start of the film. There's something magical about seeing Lewis in the rooms, pubs, and streets where he roamed for most of his adult life. The city shaped him: it was his spiritual greenhouse, social club, and intellectual playground. In the film, we take tea with Lewis at "The Kilns," his home of more than 30 years, share a pint with him in his favorite pub, and see him take communion in his tiny parish church. Simply put, Max McLean's portrayal of C.S. Lewis is incredible. For years now, McLean has been bringing Lewis's life and work to the stage through The Fellowship for Performing Arts, based in New York. His love for the beloved author is obvious. He recently said, "Lewis is a hero of mine. I think he's not just one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, but one of the greatest writers of all time." I agree. C.S. Lewis is a life worthy of appreciation, and The Most Reluctant Convert is a story especially appropriate for this cultural moment. Early in his life, Lewis experienced much of the joy and pain he would later write about, especially in the life and death of his mother. These memories were part of what drove Lewis to become an exceptional children's author. He took the minds and hearts of kids seriously, famously saying that, "a children's story which is enjoyed only by children is a bad children's story." The lesson for us is that Lewis never talked down to kids, and we shouldn't either. He wrote stories that dignified them as the image-bearers they are. Lewis called them to goodness over evil, and challenged their hearts and minds. As a result, his books continue to resonate today with children and their parents. Another central theme in Lewis's writing is friendship and, in The Most Reluctant Convert, we see why. Far from coming to faith in a vacuum, Lewis was guided to Christ through conversations with Owen Barfield, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Hugo Dyson. Each of these friends showed "Jack" (as they called him) the love of Christ, while steadfastly challenging his materialist ideas. In fact, it was one particularly fateful afternoon walk, with his friend J.R.R. Tolkien, when a deeper aspect of Christianity driven home in Lewis's heart and mind. The Gospels have all the qualities of the pagan myths he loved, with one essential difference: the Gospels are true. In the words of Tolkien, they are God's "myth made fact." In matching Lewis's deep love for classic mythology with the wonder of Scripture, Tolkien found a bridge to his friend's heart. It's tempting to think that these kinds of conversations are out of reach in an ideologically divided time like ours, but nothing could be further from the truth. Christians still have opportunities to choose friendship with the people God puts in our path, and to reach them through the common ground of imagination. We never know when we might be talking to the next C.S. Lewis. Today, too, we need a revival of the Christian imagination. One of my favorite scenes in The Most Reluctant Convert is when Lewis reads George MacDonald's Phantastes for the first time. MacDonald's gripping imagery and deep love of goodness did something incredible for Jack, long before his conversion: it taught him to long for holiness. "That night," he would write years later, "my imagination [was] baptized." That imagination was quickly linked to Lewis's concept of joy: the longing for something deeper and better, and his desire for truth. In his words, it is "the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited." In The Most Reluctant Convert, we see a young Lewis, an atheist, slowly drawn to the truth and beauty of the Gospel through his longing for joy. One of the best outcomes of this film would be Christians inspired to tell stories in the exact same tradition. C.S. Lewis might have been "the most reluctant convert," but that only makes what God did in and through him all the more incredible. His is a story worth telling and watching. Don't miss your chance to see The Most Reluctant Convert this week. Its limited release in theaters starting November 3rd. You can get your tickets now at cslewismovie.com.

Facebook announced a "rebrand" this week. In the announcement, CEO Mark Zuckerberg presented a vision for social media in the future. Reacting to this news, Maria asks John is this is something we should withdraw from in fear, or whether there is a silver lining to the dystopian vision Mark Zuckerberg offers. Recently, a boy (who identifies as female) was convicted for having molested two teenage girls in two different schools. According to John, this real-world, and painful, situation is a consequence of ideological shifts about sex. These shifts embody the sexual revolution and is encapsulated in a White House statement on gender equity. To close, John recommends a new film coming out this week to theatres across the nation. The Most Reluctant Convert is a dynamic look at the coming to faith of C.S. Lewis. -- Recommendations -- The Most Reluctant Convert Max McLean | Fellowship for the Performing Arts

Handmaid's Tale author Margaret Atwood became a feminist icon for her dystopian novel in which women are enslaved for the purpose of childbearing. Her writing is both the basis for a hit Hulu series and the unofficial mascot of the #MeToo movement. Recently, Atwood retweeted an op-ed criticizing the use of phrases like "pregnant person" instead of "woman." "Why can't we say 'woman' anymore?" the article's author asked. And the backlash to Atwood's retweet was swift and vicious. Opinion pieces in USA Today and the Independent called her everything from "misguided" to "transphobic." She was compared with Harry Potter author J. K. Rowling, who has consistently rejected the trans narrative, and each of these onetime progressive heroines are now labeled a "TERF," or "trans-exclusionary radical feminist." This conflict between the "F" and the "T" in the acronym is real. The feminism of Rowling and Atwood assumes that women are real and are oppressed by men. But those in the camp of T claim that "woman" is a self-identifying construct, which men can fairly appropriate. So what's coming in this narrative? Will feminism eventually be edited to exclude women?

In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis described faith as "the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods." His is a crucial observation for a world that often pits reason against faith. Lewis understood that faith must always be guarded against the assaults of changing emotion. Lewis powerfully illustrated this point in The Silver Chair, the fourth book of The Chronicles of Narnia series. The story opens with Jill Pole, a typical English schoolgirl, being called suddenly (and even more strangely than anyone before her) into Narnia. Aslan, the Great Lion, gives her the task of rescuing Prince Rilian, son of Caspian, who had been missing for ten years. To help her, Aslan gives Jill signs to recite and remember, along with this dire warning: "Here on the mountain, the air is clear … as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind." Jill learns quickly just how true his warning is. Eventually, having left the surface of Narnia and descended to the depths of the underworld, she, Eustace Scrubb, and Puddleglum the Marshwiggle find Narnia's lost prince. He's so deeply enchanted by the Witch's dark magic that he can no longer tell madness from reality, truth from lies. It's only in the full grasp of his "madness," which actually turns out to be his moments of lucidity, that the prince unknowingly invokes the final sign given to Jill: he calls on the name of Aslan. In that moment, Lewis masterfully portrays the fog of doubt and deception. Under the Witch's enchantment, it's not clear who is a friend and who is an enemy. In fact, the three adventurers feel sure that the prince will attack them the moment he is free, but as Puddleglum reminds them in a moment of powerful courage, they've sworn to obey the words of Aslan. Only that better commitment, which might be called the right ordering of their loves, sees them through. They cut Rilian loose and break the Silver Chair, destroying the power of the Witch's curse. Lewis, of course, knew what it was to struggle with doubt. "Now that I am a Christian," he wrote, 'I do have moods in which the whole thing looks very improbable: but when I was an atheist, I had moods in which Christianity looked terribly probable." That's why faith mattered to Lewis: it grounds us in reality, even in the face of danger or uncertainty. Today, a generation of young people are debilitated by feelings of meaninglessness, doubt, and depression. They consistently hear that their feelings are their best and highest guide; they're encouraged to look inside and follow their hearts. Aslan's advice is better: "Remember the signs." In other words, only by looking to fixed, sure reference points outside of ourselves, can we orient and know the way forward. When the Witch returns to the cave, attempting to deceive Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum again, she offers us a dialogue that could substitute for modern textbooks on epistemology. "What is the sun?" the Witch asks the children, who have been underground for so long, all they have is a vague memory of things like Aslan, the sun, and the overworld. "It's like a lamp," one offers. But the Witch laughs this off. "Your sun is a dream, and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp." In other words, "the lamp is the real thing; the sun is [just] a children's story." Materialism offers the same argument. Because the idea of God helped us survive, goes the argument, people came to believe in him as real. But all we're doing is taking concrete things around us and inventing fairy stories about their origins. Just as the sun can be forgotten in a subterranean kingdom, Christians can sometimes feel as if there is no immediate proof of God's existence. GK Chesterton addressed this default appeal to materialism. "As an explanation of the world, [it] has a sort of insane simplicity… we have at once the sense of it covering everything and the sense of it leaving everything out." Materialism's explanation for love, goodness, evil, and personhood is comprehensive, but ultimately guts these things of any real substance. Likewise, in The Silver Chair, the sun, Narnia, and Aslan are real: in fact, they're the most real things of all. It's the Witch's kingdom that is the shallow copy. In the end, only Puddleglum the Marshwiggle can hold on to the truth, which leads him to stomp out the fire and break the Witch's spell for good. The solution to doubt is, then, according to Lewis, faith. Not blind belief, but a commitment informed by reason, goodness, and imagination. What God has told us in the light of day and which we then know to be true, we should not doubt in the middle of our darkest night. The only way forward is to, in the words of Aslan, "Remember the signs!"

Last week, Guatemala became the latest nation to sign the Geneva Consensus Declaration, the 35th nation to proclaim that human rights extend to unborn children. The declaration rebuffs today's Western imperialism: exporting abortion in the name of so-called "women's rights." When nations like Guatemala sign the Geneva Consensus Declaration, they're committing to fight pressure from the U.S. and other wealthy Western nations pushing them to legalize and publicly fund abortion. The Geneva Consensus Declaration was created by U.S. officials in the Trump administration. It came with little media fanfare and the day President Biden took office, his administration disavowed it and scrubbed it from the Health & Human Services website. Weeks later, the Biden administration announced it would launch new initiatives pressuring the global community to call abortion a "human right." The Geneva Consensus Declaration is worth celebrating, not only because it will protect women and babies, but because it poses a real threat to the ideological colonialism attempted by Western nations like the U.S. If it didn't threaten this ideology, the President wouldn't be nearly so concerned.

"The Big Quit." is not just a shift in the employment of millions, it's an expression of our culture-wide search for purpose. According to The Washington Post, "a record 4.3 million people — about 2.9 percent of the nation's workforce — quit [their jobs] in August." And, Gallup polling suggests that nearly half of working Americans are actively considering finding a new job. What's driving this trend away from work? It seems to be a perfect storm with many factors. Clearly, the pandemic has reshuffled priorities across society. Back in April, Forbes magazine's Keir Weimer suggested,"How we work has changed forever." A bit of hyperbole perhaps, but he's touching on something obvious and important. More than half of respondents from one survey said they would trade compensation for workplace flexibility. Having worked from home throughout the last year, they are hesitant to give up the time with friends and family, the luxury of not commuting, and a more home-centered vocational life. At the same time, working in certain industries is more difficult. For example, in the food industry, there are a "staggering 1.2 million jobs unfilled… right when customers are crushing through the doors, ready to eat, drink and finally socialize." Many point to the increased hours required, the unemployment benefits which exceed even increased compensation, and the stress of maintaining COVID-related policies in the workplace. And as more employees leave this industry, remaining workers with their hands even more full. Even so, the biggest reason for workers leaving work could be because they can. Between government stimulus policies, rising home values, and money saved during COVID, many Americans are simply, to borrow words from David Leonhart of the New York Times, "flush with cash." This is exactly the opportunity they've been waiting for to make a change. Still, as important as the economic factors are, they do not tell the whole story. As more than a few observers have pointed out, "the Great Resignation" isn't just a search for a better job. What we are witnessing is part of our culture's search for deeper meaning. Studies suggest that rising rates of "burnout," such as exhaustion, stress, and overall dissatisfaction across workplace sectors, are leading workers to quit. Columnist Whizy Kim of Refinery29 puts it this way: "[We] want to believe that our jobs can not only provide financial stability, but also emotional and spiritual nourishment... In a time of increasing secularism, work remains our steadfast religion. Burnout hits when our work fails to live up to expectations of it." Surveys show that Americans work more hours than any other industrialized nation. That becomes an incredibly important factor when work is not seen as meaningful, i.e., not part of something bigger than ourselves. In certain extreme cases, work takes the place of God. We look to it as the source to fill our emotional, vocational, and relational needs. That's unsustainable. To the extent that the so-called "Great Resignation" is a cultural reset, it can be a good thing. On the other hand, it will not be unless it is a reset of more than work hours, policies, and minimum wage. It has to be a reset of our understanding of what work is for, something that would require rethinking what humans are for. Any search for a perfect, all-fulfilling job will be fruitless. Rather than rethink their search, some are opting out of work altogether. This is a mistake, not just because savings eventually run out and bills inevitably pile up, but because we were created, in part, for work. Work existed before the fall, and is therefore inherently connected with our worship and dignity as image-bearers. To be clear, work is not our full identity, but it is inseparable from who we were created to be. Even knowing this can help eliminate the stress of where to work; it's easier to make rational choices when one's entire sense of self doesn't hang in the balance. And yet, because our work is one way that we worship God, it's meaningful even when mundane. It's worthy of our highest efforts when, in mirroring our Creator, we bring order out of chaos, provide for our fellow creatures, and cultivate His creation. Especially in this cultural moment, how Christians work is part of our witness. Christians can demonstrate God's goodness by the joy and vibrancy we bring to our vocation. We can show His love, concern, and provision for people by how we manage people in love and service. We can dignify God's design for human beings in how we work and in how we rest. All told, it could be that "The Big Quit" is, for Christians, an even bigger opportunity to begin.

John and Shane answer a listener who asks how we get past the erroneous "new" definition of racism (prejudice + power), and address old racism (prejudice based on pigmentation), when anti-racism and CRT doesn't allow "whites" to participate to the discussion? The pair also discusses how the unity and differences in the definitions of a Christian and biblical worldview before answering a challenge to population control in impoverished or resource-scarce countries.

In 2019, Templeton Prize winner Marco Gleiser made waves when he said that "atheism is inconsistent with the scientific method." In his view, atheism is a "categorical statement of belief," and doesn't depend on evidence as much as assumptions. This, of course, clashes with claims of the so-called "New Atheism," that science has officially debunked God as an explanation for the universe. Gleiser is an agnostic, and thinks scientists shouldn't close off the possibility of God. This accomplished scientist is saying something very important: atheism is not science's default position. On the other hand, it's important to note that science is not completely silent on the God question either, which is why generations of scientists have been drawn to a belief in the Creator precisely because of what they noticed in the universe they were observing. To put it another way, atheism isn't inconsistent with the scientific method just because it's a "categorial belief," but because it denies the order, complexity, and intentionality that point to God-centered conclusions.