Redeeming the Life of the Mind

Essays in Honor of Vern Poythress

John M. Frame, Wayne Grudem, John J. Hughes

• Publisher: Crossway
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781433553066
• Topic: Theologie & Religion
• Subtopic: Christliche Theologie

Vern Poythress, one of today's leading Reformed theologians, has made many vital contributions to evangelical scholarship—particularly a vision to glorify Christ as Lord over all areas of human life in order to redeem all realms of human thought.

In honor of his many years of faithful thinking and writing, twenty evangelical scholars have come together to produce a set of essays on topics of importance throughout his ministry: biblical exegesis, the doctrine of the Trinity, worldview, history, and ethics.

Table of Contents: Part 1: Sons of Yeshua 1. Redeeming Science: A Father-Son Tale (Ransom Poythress) 2. The Grace and Gift of Differentness (Justin Poythress) Part 2: Exegesis 3. The New Testament Background of ????? ?? Revisited Yet Again (G. K. Beale) 4. The Divine Choice between the Offerings of Cain and Abel (In Whan Kim) 5. Reading the Lord's Prayer Christologically (Brandon D. Crowe) 6. Psalms Applied to Both Christ and Christians: Psalms 8, 22, 34, 118 and Romans 15: 3 // Psalm 69: 9 (Robert J. Cara) 7. What Kind of Prophecy Continues? Defining the Differences between the Continuationism and Cessationism (Iain M. Duguid) 8. Christocentrism and Christotelism: The Spirit, Redemptive History, and the Gospel (Lane G. Tipton) 9. What "Symphony of Sighs"? Reflections on the Eschatological Future of the Creation (Richard B. Gaffin Jr.) Part 3: Doctrine of the Trinity 10. The Trinity and Monotheism: Christianity and Islam in the Theology of Cornelius Van Til (Camden M. Bucey) 11. Language and the Trinity: A Meeting Place for the Global Church (Pierce Taylor Hibbs) 12. Jonathan Edwards and God's Involvement in Creation: An Examination of "Miscellanies, " no. 1263 (Jeffrey C. Waddington) Part 4: Worldview 13. Redeeming the Seminary by Redeeming Its Worldview (Peter A. Lillback) 14. Presuppositionalism and Perspectivalism (John M. Frame) 15. The Death of Tragedy: Reflections upon a Tragic Aspect of This Present Age (Carl R. Trueman) 16. Beholding the Glory of Jesus: How a Christ-Centered Perspective Restores in Us the Splendor of God's Image (Brian Courtney Wood) Part 5: History 17. Christian Missions in China: A Reformed Perspective (Luke P. Y. Lu) 18. Historiography: Redeeming History (Diane Poythress) Part 6: Ethics 19. Christians Never Have to Choose the "Lesser Sin" (Wayne Grudem) 20. Perspectives on the Kingdom of God in Romans 14: 17 (John J. Hughes)

Part 1

Sons of Yeshua

1

Redeeming Science

A Father-Son Tale

Ransom Poythress

Many people have a love-hate relationship with the sciences. They see them either as the bedrock for life and the proper understanding of the universe or as some enigmatic intellectual pursuit they escaped from after that one required college course. People can talk with polarizing, emotionally charged language about their feelings on the sciences, the way they might speak about politics, the Yankees, or dark chocolate.

Some think only a certain type of person has what it takes to thrive in the sciences. This person must have a certain type of brain, a particular personality, and a special genetic predisposition to really enjoy the sciences. They believe the sciences are not for everyone.

This mistaken view can be used to ill effect by people on either side of the divide. Those who have embraced the sciences can sometimes see themselves as elite and superior. They are above and beyond the huddled, ignorant masses. They wield intellectualism as a weapon to intimidate others by using scientific language, like a password to a secret society, to exclude and diminish their peers. “You don’t understand what I’m saying when I spout a long list of complicated scientific terms? You poor soul. Just trust that I know what I’m talking about and believe that I’m smarter than you and know truth better than you.” They set themselves up as arbiters of truth in order to achieve power and position. This is science at its worst, used to confuse instead of clarify, to subjugate instead of serve.

On the flip side, those not drawn to the sciences will sometimes try to separate themselves through a different kind of derision. They portray scientists as awkward, geeky, and introverted. To them, scientists are people who sit in dark, windowless labs poring over data because they’re too antisocial to form functional human relationships. These individuals laugh at the pocket protectors and the frequently parodied inability of scientists to perform in the “real” world. To them, scientists are like that out-of-place kid brother they condescendingly tolerated and begrudgingly assisted when he was out of his depth. Alternatively, some feel like they are the kid brother, and science is the scary, inaccessible older brother. So, they distance themselves to avoid potential embarrassment and rejection.

At times, these differing stances can set up invisible battle lines, trying to disparage one another in order to elevate themselves. I regard these two prevailing positions as fatally flawed because the battle line creates a false dichotomy. The tension rests on the presupposition that some gifts are better than others. Although some may have more aptitude in the sciences, that doesn’t make them inherently better (or worse) than anyone else. Job description doesn’t make you superior. The CEO in a penthouse office isn’t better than the janitor who cleans his office. Putting value on ability isn’t biblical—it’s cultural. Although there may be real, ordained differences in authority, there is no inherent difference in the value of the work. All work done to the glory of God is glorious.

God created work for his glory and for love of neighbor, not for societal standing, monetary advantage, or selfish gain. As a result, I believe everyone can appreciate the fundamentals of any job or task, from changing diapers to leading a country. This includes the sciences as well. If we can’t explain our work in a way that is accessible to everyone, it’s a failure on our part rather than a reflection of the inadequacy of the hearer. Owing to our human nature as image bearers, not only are the sciences understandable to everyone—they are also potentially enjoyable by everyone. Even if some individuals may not gravitate toward the sciences, they can praise God as they discover what science reveals about “his eternal power and divine nature” (Rom. 1:20).

I have my father, Vern Sheridan Poythress, largely to thank for my perspective on science and, more generally, all facets of creation. It was he who taught me from an early age to search out how God is revealed in all aspects of life. Whether through Old Testament law pointing forward to Christ, redemptive themes abounding in film, or bare winter branches demonstrating God’s artistry, my father pointed out God’s revelation and how we, in relationship, respond to him. This vision of the world became most apparent to me as I journeyed through the sciences. My understanding matured with time as my father helped open my eyes to a more expansive vista of creation.

I don’t recall exactly when or how my interest in the sciences originated, though my parents tell me it was from a young age. I do remember that my father actively nurtured those early feelings. I recall my excitement upon receiving what was, at the time, a fairly expensive oil immersion compound light microscope. With my primitive tools and technique, I eagerly dissected small insects or birds that had perished in our backyard, and mounted samples on microscope slides. I pored over books on animal behavior and watched National Geographic documentaries on repeat. Those early years of uninhibited exploration provided much of the groundwork for my future interest in the sciences.

However, the rigor and routine of school and the pressure of grades soon infiltrated my carefree revelry. During those teen years, my father stoked the fire as he patiently and painstakingly held my hand through science fair projects. His contagious excitement reignited in me those wonder-filled moments that made the sciences so appealing. I’ll probably never truly know exactly how many hours he dedicated as he explained, re-explained, and further explained endless sheets of mathematical equations. Yet through it all, there was no concealing the pleasure he got from being involved.

The flat, disinterested style of the public schools seemed to almost intentionally disfigure the sciences into a set of lifeless obstacles to be surmounted on the way to some nebulous idea of comfort and success. My schoolteachers reduced science to pragmatic tools, meaningless rules, and rote memorization. But at home, I watched my father come alive expounding on the beauty of consensus and cooperativity in creation. The sciences took on new life for me under his tutelage. He delightedly tried to explain a new system of annotating, describing, and manipulating very large numbers; he got carried away teaching me how to use exponential regression to compare evolutionary models with typological-cladistic arrangements of animal phyla, and I found myself caught up in the fervor with him.

Eventually, I went off to college, and although I persevered, much of the zeal dried up. Science lost its sheen, its spark fading beneath mounds of droning professors, stuffy classrooms, and inane paperwork with only the occasional flash of what I knew must be hidden somewhere below the surface. Where was that thrill of discovery? Or being gleefully astonished by two disparate ideas joining together in harmony? I knew something was missing, and I graduated confused and disheartened. Science, real science, was entombed somewhere beneath my feet. I could feel that it was there. I could see the headstone, yet it felt beyond my power to unearth the captive realm.

My time of study at Westminster Theological Seminary finally exhumed the precious jewel of science. Through my work there and hours of conversations with my father, I started to see the wellspring of my zeal for the sciences. He helped me see not just that I love science but also where that love came from, something I had not been able to grasp until then. He wasn’t just encouraging a love of science, but explaining and showing why I love science in the first place—because I love God. In showing me why I love science, by extension, he showed me why I had lost science. When anything displaces God as the focal point, you no longer see it through the light of the Son, and its gleam is lost. It’s like trying to use the moon for light after you’ve removed the sun from the sky.

When you love God, by extension you love everything about him, everything that proclaims him, everything that is brought forth by him, everything that reminds you of him. If you enjoy anything in life, it’s because first and foremost you see God in it (although non-Christians would deny it—Romans 1). Pleasure of any kind is a shadow of the fulfillment we find in relationship with God. It’s all meant to point and drive us toward him. So I am excited by science because my heart sees God there and delights in God’s revelation of himself. The experiments I do with my hands and the results I see with my eyes reveal God’s beauty, organization, sovereignty, care, power, tenderness, inscrutability, and a host of other attributes. Those flashes of majesty I glimpsed throughout my life in science fully reveal themselves when they’re connected to the majesty and worship of the one true Creator God.

Furthermore, humans are the only creatures capable of this connection. As image bearers, we are able to enter into a personal relationship with God in a way that nothing else in creation can. A human soul is more significant than all the marvels of science because of this alikeness. Therefore, as our understanding of science grows in scope and grandeur, by association our worship of God for the special place of humankind in creation expands proportionally.

These truths struck me with irrepressible clarity on one particularly memorable occasion. In my early years of graduate school, my father came to Boston University to give an open lecture on science and faith. There were about a hundred people in the audience ranging from freshman music majors to the senior president of the atheist club on campus. Many people were drawn by my father’s reputation for superior academics and a sharp theological mind. I remember sitting in the front row nervously preparing my introductory comments and watching him off to the side. His physical presence isn’t particularly commanding—tall and lanky, always lecturing in a full suit, seemingly unaware of the definition of “relax.” A brief summary of his résumé intimidates. You quickly realize the magnitude of his genius accompanied by wisdom, maturity, and a degree of solemnity that comes from years of world experience. Yet, there is none of the pride or abrasive confidence that often accompanies such knowledge. He possesses a quiet, gentle, and inspiring humility. I sometimes notice the slightly awkward way he stands, a little too stiff, a little too uncomfortable, with his hands clasped strangely, looking off into a corner, his mind traveling at light speed. It’s endearing, and—without disrespect—I’d almost describe it as adorable, like a sweet, absent-minded professor.

Once I survived the nerve-wracking ordeal of introducing the greatest man I know, I settled down to listen to his talk. I had heard several versions of it in bits and pieces through the years—at the dinner table and scattered throughout chapters of his books. Although the content itself wasn’t new, it was the presentation that gripped my attention. Being personable and sociable isn’t one of my father’s strongest traits, but he knows it’s a way of demonstrating love for others, so he works hard at it. This adds to his adorable quirkiness, but it also means his lectures can be didactic and dry, relying more on audience interest in material than on charisma and panache. However, as his talk wore on, the entire audience pulsed in rapt attention. For a large group of college-age students, this was no small feat. Every day hundreds of professors across the country fail to keep students awake, let alone attentive. How was this possible? It became all the more remarkable as the subject material increased in complexity to the point where I was sure no one in the audience had the faintest clue what he was talking about. There is no way a freshman business...