Thor and the Frost Giant

Thor awakened in a mood, for he desired to take Utgard, the great fortress inside of Jotunheim.  So he took his two servants, Thialfi and Roskva, along with his brother Loki, and they travelled to Jotunheim.

It was a long journey, and as the sun set, the four companions vowed to settle down for the night.  They were in forest, and came across a cave that was quite a marvel, for it was not made of rock, but of iron, and had five deep tunnels.  So, tired from their long day’s journey, they settled into one of the chambers and fell deeply asleep.  But their sleep did not last, for in the middle of the night they were awakened by a terrible shaking of the cave.  They immediately rushed outside and found a frost giant lying next to the cave, snoring and slumbering, quaking the ground.

Thor called up to the giant, “Awaken!  What is your name?”

The giant’s eyes slowly opened, and he looked at Thor.  “My name,” he said slowly, his deep voice rumbling in the night, “is Skrymir.”  He looked at the group, and then at the cave.  “Why,” he asked, “were you in my glove?”  As he asked this, he picked up the cave and placed it over his hand.

Thor and his companions much marveled that they had spent the night in a glove, and were sore afraid that the giant might exact revenge, but Skrymir did not appear to be angry, and merely asked instead where they were going.  When they told him they were going to Utgard, he asked if he might travel with them, for he, too, was going to Utgard. 

Thor did not like the idea, but consented.  Skrymir, without another word, grabbed their provisions and placed it in his own bag, and began leading them through the forest.  They followed him until night fell once more, when Skrymir placed his bag upon the ground and without eating or speaking promptly went to sleep.

The four men were hungry, however, and so Thor tried to open the giant’s bag.  It was sealed, as if by magic; Thor was unable to open it.  His rage at last increased, and taking his hammer, he rushed upon Skrymir, striking the giant on the head.  But the hammer bounced off of it, and the giant said, “Did an acorn hit my head?”  He fell back asleep, and Thor tried again, but Smrymir only asked, “Did a gnat strike my head?”  Thor tried once more, and Skrymir stood up and said, “I believe dirt from a tree branch has fallen on me.”  Then he took up his bag and strode off into the woods, leaving them without provisions. 

Thor held his hammer aloft, and marveled at what had occurred.  He greatly feared that his hammer had lost its magic, and he would be unable to wield it any longer against the frost giants.  Loki placed his hand on Thor’s shoulder, however, and offered comforting words.  Thor, encouraged, led them on through the woods.

At last, near the day’s end, they reach Utgard.  They entered the Great Hall, where the giant king was holding a feast.  When the four companions entered, all revelry stopped, and the king demanded, “What has brought you here?  No one can enter my Great Hall unless he can prove himself in some fashion!”

Thor, who did not expect this response, stammered, “Loki can eat faster than anyone in the kingdom!”

The giant king laughed, and said, “Then let us hold a contest!  I will call my loyal subject, Logi, to hold an eating match.”

Soon, Loki and Logi were seated at either end of a long table.  In between them stood plate after plate of food.  The king raised his hand to signal the contestants to be ready, and then he swiftly lowered it with a word:  “Begin!”

Loki ate with all of his might, and when he had finished what was set before him, he looked at the giant, assured that he had beaten Logi.  But to his dismay, Logi had eaten, not only the food, but all of the plates, as well!

Thor thought quickly, and said, “Thialfi here is the swiftest runner in the kingdom!”

So the king called for Hugi, a young giant boy, and everyone went into the courtyard.  The two stood at one end, and the king announced the beginning of the contest.  Thialfi ran fast, but before he was halfway across the courtyard, Hugi had already finished. 

Thor was afraid for their lives, and said, “I shall prove my skills at drinking!”

So the king had a horn full of mead brought out, and Thor set about drinking.  But no matter how much he drank, the horn never emptied, and Thor flung it aside, exhausted.  “You may kill us now, for we have failed.”

The king laughed and said, “I will give you a challenge of my own.  Try to lift my cat from the floor.”  He placed an old gray cat on the ground, and Thor tried to lift it.  But the cat arched its back, and appeared to be a rainbow over Thor’s head, and Thor was only able to lift one paw from the ground.

The king laughed again and said, “Perhaps I should bring you an old woman with whom you can wrestle!”  But the old woman quickly pinned Thor to the ground.  Thor knew, at last, that it was the end.  He knelt before the giant king, awaiting death.

But the giant king only laughed once more and said, “I will not kill you, for I had to use many magic spells to defeat you.  For I am Skrymir, the giant from the forest.  When you tried to strike me in the woods, I made your hammer strike the ground.  When you held these contests, I placed a spell on my servants so that they would win.  When you drank from the horn, it had been dipped in the sea, and you drank an endless supply of seawater.  My cat was the Midgard Serpent, which encircles the world, and I am astonished that you lifted what you did.  And the old woman was Old Age herself, whom no one can cheat.  It took a great amount of magic to humiliate you, and I am deeply impressed.”

Thor, at hearing this, grew angry and leaped upon the giant king, swinging his hammer in full force.  But the king had disappeared, so Thor swung his hammer at the great walls of Utgard, hoping to tear it down.  But he found himself in an empty field, swinging only at air.  This was the first time Thor had ever been defeated by a giant.

-Norse Mythology

Grace-Full Prayer

Luke 11 is one of those passages that I sort of skip over.  Some Bible passages are meant to encourage, some are meant to instruct, and some are meant to rebuke.  Luke 11:1-13 does all three of those for me.

But mostly it rebukes.

Check out the first verse:  "One day, Jesus was praying in a certain place."  Right off the bat, I'm a little convicted.  As a disciple of Christ, I should be modeling my life after His; since Jesus was a man of prayer, I should be, too.  I'm not.  When I read this passage, I'm reminded that my prayer life - on a good  day, when the sun isn't in my eyes and the wind is in my favor - is feeble.  Jesus prays regularly; I seldom pray.

Have you ever thought about why Jesus prays?  He's God, after all, so it's not like He needs to pray.  This can only, logically, mean one thing:  Jesus wants us to be people of prayer.

It cuts me deep, right to the core.

But then here's what I do:  I reason that Jesus is God, and Jesus is my Savior.  Since I can't be God and I can't be my own Savior, then it's okay if my prayer life doesn't quite match up to His.

"One day, Jesus was praying in a certain place.  When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, 'Lord, teach us to pray. . . .'"

His disciples weren't God, and they weren't their own Saviors, but that didn't stop them from wanting to pray with the intensity and frequency with which Jesus prayed.  Here's the first point:  we should never let our humanity be an excuse not to grow.  His disciples were people - flawed ones, at that - yet they sought to be people of prayer.  My excuse is knocked out from under me.

So here's what I do next:  I figure that they walked with Him, physically, every day for three years.  They ate with Him, watched His miracles, and saw firsthand how intense His prayers were.  All I have is the Scriptures.  Of course they had more motivation than I do, so if I'm a bit lax, it's okay.

"'Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught. . . .'"

They're referring to John the Baptist.  John the Baptist did not walk, physically, with Jesus.  In fact, John lived off by himself.  All he had were the Scriptures and his prayers, and yet he was a man whose prayer life was meaningful enough that he could teach others how to pray.  Once more, my excuse is inexcusable.

But then I remember that John was specifically anointed by the Holy Spirit as a prophet of God, and his coming foretold half of a millennium before his birth.  I, on the other hand, am not a prophet.  My birth was not foretold.  So there ya go.

"'. . . just as John taught his disciples.'"

Who were John's disciples?  Men and women like us.  They were only people:  they were people who recognized the Truth, who had the Scriptures, and who had a preacher.  They weren't prophets, Messiahs, or even disciples of the Messiah, yet they sought to be men and women of prayer.  Do your know what this means?  It means that I have no excuse.  Neither do you.  If we are going to be disciples of Christ, we must be men and women of prayer.  We should never let our humanity be an excuse not to grow.

"But I've tried praying . . . it didn't work."

That's because prayer isn't a tool we use when things go wrong.  It isn't a wishlist that we give God so that He can check it and see if we've been good enough to get a few rewards.  It isn't a fortune-telling toy that gives us the answer we need, and it has nothing to do with special formulas or techniques.  Since these are the definitions most of us have in regards to prayer, once we remove those definitions, we're now left with . . . nothing, right?  Fortunately, we have God's thoughts on prayer right here in Luke 11.


"He said to them, 'When you pray, say:

'Father,
Hallowed is your name,
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread,
And forgive us our sins,
For we also forgive everyone who sins against us.
And lead us not into temptation.'"

This is something with which most Christians are familiar:  Jesus is instituting what is commonly called "The Lord's Prayer."  Luke gives us an abridged version and then moves on to the rest of Jesus' teaching on prayer (the complete version is in Matthew 6).  I  believe it's because Luke wants us to understand that Jesus is not giving us a formula to pray; the prayer is not the point.  Many denominations and faith backgrounds assign a special reverence to "The Lord's Prayer," even though Jesus Himself did not appear to pray it regularly; we have numerous recorded instances of Jesus' prayers, and not one of them is anything like "The Lord's Prayer."  Jesus, instead, is giving us a model of what prayer is.  That is, rather than describing the attributes of prayer, He's defining the essence of prayer.  The essence of prayer is conversation.

Think about it for a moment, and really consider what the elements of a conversation are.  There are greetings, certainly.  We might say "hi," or "hey," or we might address the person by name if we need to get his or her attention.

There is praise, if necessary.  "Hey, good job on that presentation!  I liked it!"  or, "Man, you really deserved that promotion; I'm glad you got it!"

There are offers to help:  "You need a hand moving next month?"

There are requests:  "Hey, you busy on Saturday?  I need some help putting in a new door."

There are apologies and confessions, sometimes.  "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Now check out "The Lord's Prayer."  There is a greeting ("Father"), praise ("hallowed is your name"), an offer ("Your kingdom come" - implying our part in that), a request ("give us each day our daily bread"), and an apology ("forgive us our sins").  In other words, prayer isn't a formula, but a conversation.  But here's the most important part to remember about prayer:  it is always Grace/Jesus/Gospel-centered.  Always.  We'll take a look at that in a moment.


Maybe you remember the A.C.T.S. way of praying.  I was taught it as a child, as were most Sunday-School-Attending children.  A.C.T.S. was an acronym for:

Adoration
Confession
Thanksgiving
Supplication

The idea was that, if you wanted to have a "complete" prayer, the majority of your prayers had to follow this pattern, and the reasoning went something like this:

You had to start with adoration because that reminded you that you were praying to God (as opposed to Santa Claus, I suppose), and it sort of let God know you were serious. Here's the problem:  simply saying nice words to get God's attention is a pagan idea.  If the God we're praying to requires praise in order to hear us, then we're worshiping the wrong God.  Not only that, but if we're living grace-centered lives, adoration is just simply what we'll do; we will never feel obligated.

Confession comes next because, as I was taught, sin blocks our access to God, and He can't hear our prayers if we have unconfessed sin.  This is so many shades of ridiculous, I hardly know where to begin.  Genesis 3, after Adam and Eve sin, tells us that God was "walking in the garden in the cool of the day," and that He called out to man, "Where are you?"  God sought Adam and Eve, even in their sin.

Jonah, in his racism, ran from God.  God pursued, and used a giant sea creature to get his attention.  God sought Jonah, even in his sin.

The world hated God.  God came to earth, clothed in humanity, and died for us.  God sought us, even in our sin.

The Scriptures, over and over, give us a picture of a God Who pursues us and Whose will is never thwarted, no matter what we may do.  God does not suddenly become deaf every time we sin, and to claim that our sins keep God from interacting with us is a mockery of the Cross that tramples upon His sacrifice.  Christ died for the fulfillment of the Law, and for our complete and total adoption as heirs to His throne.  Nothing can take that away.

Next comes Thanksgiving, because if you tell God how thankful you are, He won't mind giving you what you ask for in the "Supplication" phase.  You know, you don't want Him to think you're greedy, or anything.  The problem here is similar to the problem with "Adoration":  God can't be buttered-up.  Take a second and think about what we would honestly think of a God Who could be easily swayed by sycophants.

Not worth worshiping.

And that, ultimately, is why our "Supplication" phases often fail.  We ask God to make us happy, we ask God to conform to our will, and we ask God to do for us more than we ask to do for Him.  Our prayers, then, go unanswered, because we are, in essence, worshiping a false God.  "Your will be done," Jesus said.
Prayer is not about us.

Prayer is a conversation with God in which He is the center.

"Our Father . . ."  He is the center.
"Hallowed be your name. . ." He is the center
"Your kingdom come . . ." His kingdom is the center
"Give us each day our daily bread . . ." Our needs are met by Him.
"Forgive us our sins . . ." Grace comes from Him.
". . . for we also forgive everyone who sins against us."  His grace is a model and motivation for our interaction with others.
"Lead us not into temptation."  Take it from a recovering sinner:  nothing detracts from our witness of Him faster than sin.

If your prayers are a list of wants, they're wrong.  If your prayers are a phony attempt to impress God, they're wrong.  If you expect prayers to further your life for your selfish ambitions, your prayers are wrong. My prayers are wrong.

Let's break this down:

1) Prayer is a conversation with God, not a formula.
2) Prayer is, above all else, grace-centered.

This is what prayer is.  If we're being honest, though, neither of these points are particularly helpful to the man whose wife is dying of cancer. Maybe they should be, but they aren't.  The man whose wife is dying of cancer is probably not concerned with having a deep conversation, or even, necessarily, keeping his life Christ-focused.  He should be, but he isn't.  He just wants his wife to be healed.  So he asks God to heal her.

And he asks again.

And again.

And again.  He asks over and over because, as he's been taught, persistence guarantees a response:

Then He said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and he goes to him at midnight, and says, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me and I have nothing to set before him.'  Then the one inside answers, 'Don't bother me!  The door is locked and my children are with me in bed!  I can't get up to give you anything!'  I tell you, not because the man is his friend, yet because of the man's boldness, he will get up and give him as much as he needs.

"So I say to you:  ask and it will be given, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened.  For everyone who asks, receives; he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened."

In other words, be persistent in your prayers.  But here's the catch:  Christ is not saying, "Be persistent, and God will give you what you want."  We tend, I think, to stop reading here, thinking that what Christ is telling us is to bug God until He gives us whatever we're asking for, just to shut us up.  We ask, yes, we knock, yes, but we also seek.  Notice that if it were about our desires, we wouldn't have to "seek," because we know our desires, right?  I want certain things out of life, and I know what they are - I don't have to find them.  But Jesus places the two verbs ("ask" and "knock") within the context of persistently seeking.

So what are we seeking?  Remember, our prayers are Gospel-centered, revolving around God.  This is what is meant by "Your kingdom come."  Our seeking is directly related to God's plan, a plan that He has already made known:  "Go into all the world and preach the Gospel to all creation" (Mark 16:15).  In Acts 1:8, just before His ascension, Jesus tells them to be His "witnesses in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."  Our prayers are to seek God's will as it pertains to our lives - in other words, our prayers are to seek opportunities to share the Gospel.

"Yes, but Jesus talks about good gifts, doesn't he?"

He sure does.

"Doesn't that mean we should ask God for the things we want?"

Check out the next few verses in Luke 11:

"Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a serpent instead?  Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?  If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven. . . ."

I'm stopping (briefly) there, because that's where I often stopped paying attention.  Once more, I was making the Gospel about me, so what I read was, "If you know what's good to give, God does, too."  What I interpreted, though, was:  "Be persistent, ask, knock, and God, because He is good, will give you what you want."  Of course, my wants change from season to season, but that's not the issue, because it's not what Jesus is saying.

Notice the examples:  fish and an egg.  Jesus is giving examples of basic food stuffs related to the Jewish diet.  The kids in this story are asking to have their needs met, rather than their wants.  While I have a hard time picturing my daughter ever asking me for a fish, she constantly asks me for snacks.  Now, I can be pretty evil, but I still feed my daughter.  If I, therefore, can meet my daughter's needs, God can certainly meet my needs.  There are two problems, though, in my own life.  The first, is that I often confuse "needs" with "wants."  We must be ever so careful not to do that.

The second, though, is confusing what our most important needs are.  Because, while I do believe God wants us to ask Him for our needs ("Give us each day our daily bread"), the primary focus - the greatest need any of us may ever have - is the Holy Spirit:

"If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him."

 It is the Holy Spirit Who gives us a re-birth.  It is the Holy Spirit Who brings us from death to life, from darkness to light, Who takes our sin and places it on Christ, and Who takes Christ's righteousness and gives it to us.  It is the Holy Spirit Who makes it possible for us to approach God and call Him Abba.  The greatest request we could ever make of God is to request the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit, though, does more than just save us - it empowers us to witness.  Just before giving His disciples "The Great Commission" in Acts 1, He says, "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes."  In Acts 4, the disciples met together, prayed, the place where they were meeting was shaken, and then they were filled with the Holy Spirit.   A lot of times we read that as "the shaken was caused by the Spirit," but that isn't what happened.  The place shook, they were filled with the Spirit, and then they "spoke the word of God boldly."  The coming of the Holy Spirit, in other words, caused them to witness.

The greatest need anyone will ever have is the Holy Spirit, and this is the focus of Jesus' teaching on prayer.  God is a Gospel-centered God, not Santa Claus.  God defines Himself, He is not defined by us.  God follows His will, not ours.  God is building His kingdom, not man's, and our prayers should reflect all of this.

"If," Jesus said before His crucifixion, "there is anyway to avoid this, please.  But . . . it is not about Me, but rather Your Gospel-centered plan" (I paraphrased).  And if Jesus prayed like that, shouldn't we?     

The Believing Brain

Editor's Note:  This was originally published in August 2013.

July's book for The Debunking Christianity Challenge was Michael Shermer's The Believing Brain:  From Ghosts and Gods to Politics and Conspiracies - How We Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths.  Shermer's relaxed and easygoing style, as well as his knack for making difficult subjects (e.g., neuroscience) accessible to the layman, makes this an enjoyable and entertaining read.   There were several laugh-out-loud moments, and, to be frank, I never thought I'd find fMRI's so interesting.  Now, having said that, Shermer engages in several logical stumbles.

I want to be clear:  Michael Shermer is not an idiot.  He is clearly an intelligent man with a gift for processing information at a level much deeper than most of us could ever dream of achieving, but intelligent men are still men and they are still prone to the same flaws and broken minds with which the rest of us are prone.  Shermer hides behind his science - which we'll address in a moment - in order to cover those flaws, but they are there, nonetheless.

The basic premise, which he states no less than a dozen times, is that we form beliefs first, and then seek out reasons for those beliefs.  He attributes most beliefs, whether they involve religion, aliens, politics, or conspiracy theories, to an emotional response.  He uses, as an example, the idea of a hominid determining whether a rustle in the grass is a predator, or the wind.   This proto-human must decide - quickly - whether to flee or to stay, and in order to do so, must look for patterns that can clue him in to whether or not there is danger.  Shermer calls this technique - looking for patterns - patternicity.  Because it was vital to our survival as we were evolving, he argues, we have retained it in our modern lives, even when it is no longer vital.

And to a degree, he's right.  We do have a natural tendency to try and find patterns:  shapes in clouds, traffic during our commutes to and from work, what foods we feed our toddlers and how that translates into a diaper, stock market behavior . . . in fact, many of our nation's economic advisors rest their theories on trends and patterns.  What he assumes from this, however, is that we always form our beliefs first, and then find patterns to support those beliefs, and this is not always the case.  He is, in fact, overlooking a key component to much of our decision making:  observation.

C.S. Lewis did not emotionally decide to become a Christian one day.  He took years of observing, discussing, reading, and thinking, and even then he very slowly moved from atheism to agnosticism, from agnosticism to a believer in God, and from a believer in God to a follower of Christ.  For Lewis, the decision was not an emotional one until after the fact.

When my wife and I refinanced our home, I did not decide to do it emotionally.  I read the terms, I asked lots of questions, and then, once I had begun to sway to one side, I did more research.  The belief that it was the right thing to do was not formed first, but rather came later.

So it was with my discipleship.  I did not have an emotional moment where I fell to my knees, and have then spent the last decade trying to convince myself that my response was valid.  Rather, I had a season of deep study and reflection.  I had a season of examining what the Bible had to say regarding humanity (it's sinful), and seeing that this, indeed, played out in my life and in the lives of everyone I knew.  I had a season of examining the evidence for and against the Gospels.  I had a season of researching other faiths (not joining them, just learning about them), and of seeing where they fell short.  And it was then, and only then, that I formed my belief that Christ was who he claimed he was, that he did die for my sins, and that he rose again.  It was also then, and only then, that the emotional experience happened.

Yet according to Shermer, this is precisely what is wrong with religion.  A decision based on emotion, rather than rationale and logic, is often times "weird" - and therefore religions are "weird."  What is interesting about this, though, is that this is the same process used by Shermer to ultimately reject Christianity.

He tells a story of how his college girlfriend was in a terrible car accident that left her paralyzed from the waist down.  He spent that night praying to a God in which he only halfway believed, asking Him to heal her.  His response to God's apparent inactivity is interesting:  

A just and loving God who had the power to heal would surely heal Maureen.  He didn't.  He didn't, I now believe, not because "God works in mysterious ways" or "He has a special plan for Maureen" - the nauseatingly banal comforts believers sometimes offer in such trying and ultimately futile times - but because there is no God (44-45). 

There are two logical stumbles in this revealing text.  The first is that he practices the very same patternicity with which he criticizes all religion.  If faith in God is "weird" because it is based on an emotional response, then wouldn't that make his faith in no God equally as weird?  He formed his belief, after all, because of his hurt, because God didn't do what Michael Shermer asked Him to do.

Which is the second problem.  Shermer ultimately rejects God because God doesn't bend to his will.  Shermer defines God, rather than letting God define Himself.  Shermer decides what God ought to do, rather than allowing God to do what He will.  Shermer defines justice, when it is God Who is justice.


Francis Chan once commented:

"'I wouldn't believe in a God who would' . . . 'Who would,' what?  Do something that you wouldn't do, or think in a way that's different from the way you think?  Do you ever even consider the possibility that maybe the Creator's sense of justice is actually more developed than yours, and that maybe His love and His mercy are perfect, and that you could be the one that is flawed?  See, when we make statements like, 'Well God wouldn't do this, would He?' do you understand that at that moment you're actually putting God's actions in submission to your reasoning?  You're in essence saying, 'Well God wouldn't think that way or act that way because I wouldn't act that way or think that way.'"  

I do not say this to make light of the situation.  I do not say this because I believe that Maureen was a terrible person who got what she had coming to her.  But I do believe that we are all - including Maureen - sinners, and that God owes us nothing.  He gave us a planet.  He gave us trees that bear fruit, He gave us animals which provide meat, He gave us life, and, most importantly, He gave us His Spirit, which is the greatest need of all.  God owes us nothing, but He gives us everything.  He gave Michael Shermer a "sweet, loving, smart, responsible, devoted, caring spirit" (44) in the person of Maureen.  He did not owe Shermer this, but He gave it.  What Shermer has done, in essence then, is thrown an adult temper tantrum.  "But I WANT HER HEALED!"  And now he has spent the rest of his life pouting.

How does Shermer defend his patternicity?  Science.  And yet, to reject something because it doesn't do what you think it should is bad science, which is, ultimately, where Shermer stumbles the most.  Michael Shermer believes with everything in his body that science is the key to figuring out when our patternicities are right, and when they are wrong (2).  For example, near-death-experiences (NDE's) aren't real, because science has proven that the components (a feeling of floating, bright lights, tunnels, etc.) are caused when the brain is deprived of oxygen and begins to shut down (152-153), and therefore, he argues, there is no afterlife.

Shermer believes science has proven there is no afterlife, yet this is not a logical step.  Science has proven that NDE's are not a transition into the afterlife, perhaps.  I can agree with that, because the evidence is fairly clear, but that does not prove (or disprove) the afterlife at all.  In fact, science can't prove (or disprove) the afterlife, because we would have to go into the afterlife to see whether or not it exists.  The afterlife happens . . . after life.  NDE's happen . . . near death, not after death.  NDE's are, therefore, not the same thing as the afterlife.  They simply aren't.  To disprove a near-death-experience does nothing for the other.

"Supernatural" beings can't exist, Shermer argues, because the brain, when under duress, produces vivid hallucinations.  Mountain climbers often experience a strange "presence" hanging about, and science has determined that it has to do with the climate, altitude, and deep fatigue.  Shermer makes the assumption, then, that science has "proven" there is no supernatural.  Yet again, this is not a logical step.  A climber, in the subzero, high-altitude terrain of the Himalayas is likely to hallucinate.  But does that mean that all such encounters are matters of the brain?  What of the encounters with lucid individuals who are not climbing the Himalayas, biking cross-country in six days, or waking up at two in the morning, still halfway asleep?  What of a shepherd who stumbles upon a bush that speaks?  Moses wasn't under great mental strain, nor was he in an extreme climate or an oxygen-deprived altitude.  So what, then, caused him to "hallucinate," and become so convinced that he would go on to face one of the most powerful men in the world?  How does science, I wonder, explain that?

Yet for Michael Shermer, science is the key to understanding life.  He describes science in this way:

"It is time to step out of our evolutionary heritage and our historical traditions and embrace science as the best tool ever devised for explaining how the world works . . . science and the secular Enlightenment values expressed in Western democracies are our best hope for survival" (186-187). 

In other words, science can solve our problems and answer most (if not all) of our questions.  In other words, this self-proclaimed skeptic (someone who is an agnostic in theory but an atheist in practice) actually does believe in a god, he just calls his god "Science."  He admits it's "flawed" (187), but it still remains our "best hope."

I'm not certain a flawed god whom I can control is a god I'd like.  I've caused three car accidents in ten years, Mexican food causes me issues, and my pancreas doesn't work . . . do I really need to be in charge of God?  More than that, how can I trust a god who is, admittedly, flawed, as Shermer's god is?

There are several other illogical assumptions and leaps that Shermer makes throughout the book, but I've highlighted the big ones.  As I said at the beginning, it's an entertaining book, and he is certainly not an intellectual slouch.  The fact remains, however, that his basic premise is certainly true sometimes, but not always.  And hope for humanity can't come from within, because broken things can't fix themselves.


  

Thoughts on God

I've been thinking a lot about God, lately.  What I don't mean is that I've been thinking about how much I love God, or what some song says about God.  What I've been thinking about is the God of the Bible - the One Who could blast any of us to smithereens at anytime.

The God Who all but destroyed life on this planet through a Flood.

The God Who let His people be plagued by venomous snakes.

The God Who brought the Babylonians into Jerusalem, just so the Israelites would be taken into captivity.

I've been thinking about this God, and all I can do is be grateful, because this is clearly a God Who hates sin.

He hates sin so much that He destroyed His own life.

He allowed the Serpent to bite His heel.

He exiled Himself.

Why? Love.

So don't tell me that God is a mushy, softhearted god who overlooks sin, because my God is greater than that.  And don't tell me that God is a vindictive, petulant god who pouts when he doesn't get his way.  My God is greater than that, too.