And this is exactly what we need to do. The stakes are very high. If we take the Bible too literally, we may go down the path of evangelism and start to condemn anyone who is not a baptized Christian. If we ignore it, we may be ignoring something that speaks to our very existential identity. Of who we are and why we are here. If we see Jesus just as a moral prophet, we will miss his entire message.
The facts before us
Unfortunately, much of what we have about Jesus comes from the Bible. His claims are extraordinary - he is the Son of God and he has come not only to save us but to set us free. He didn't come to give us a new moral code. He came to fulfil existing moral codes. If we want to get the most out of the Bible, to see Jesus as clearly as we can, to understand what he came here to do and what he meant to teach us, we need to move carefully and read the Bible with great care. We need to understand what truth means in this context and what Jesus meant when he spoke about God. We need to decipher how ancient minds see him and how we might see him to make sense of who he is. And perhaps have a more accurate portrait of him from our viewpoint. We need to ask the right questions and consider the right data and the explanations offered around the data. Thus, while absolute certainty may elude us, the weight of historical evidence, personal experience, and existential meaning can together form a basis for reasonable faith.
Holy Cow, we are really getting somewhere, huh?
I really do appreciate and enjoy our conversation here. Let's recap what I've presented and see if I have made any subversive moves.
Scientific Approach
I began by saying that I am going to present a case for Christianity that is scientific: by which I mean the approach advocated by
@bilby - observe, hypothesize, test, repeat. By this I mean that I will reference fairly objective "facts" and propose a hypothesis (of sorts), test it by argument, and repeat. I hope I have been reasonably consistent here and have not presented fiction as fact nor fact as fiction.
Language
One of my stipulations is that Christianity is not as complicated as we make it out to be and for that reason, I am presenting my case in fairly layman terms. At the end of the day, we do teach our children about Jesus at a very early age and it needs to make sense to their minds. I also suggested that ancient minds share this quality. They look at life from an existential perspective and have no qualms about presenting history as mythology, and vice versa. The fact that mythology does not fully align with reality does not bother them, just as children are not really bothered when they discover that Santa Claus is really daddy in disguise. But I did not propose that we do so and I have not done so either. Scientific factuality may not matter to them but it matters to us.
Spirit
I began by defining Spirit as referring to anything that's alive. I did that because I want to steer us away from spirituality as a nebulous supernatural concept and locate our conversation around our everyday experienced (or existential) reality. I have problems with the word, existential, since it is usually related to Existentialism, which is a whole different discussion.
Existential reality vs Scientific reality
I then pointed us towards this existential reality which, I suggest, is shared with ancient minds and which will help us understand where they are coming from. I made the point that from this existential point of view, even fairy tales and myths are important because they speak to a part of our reality that lies outside what we normally associate with science. But I did not suggest that we have to conflate myth with history and confuse fiction with fact.
Thank you—I genuinely appreciate the tone and clarity you’re bringing to this conversation. It’s rare to have this level of intellectual exchange that remains both substantive and respectful.
Your recap helps frame your argument well, and it gives me a chance to affirm where we agree and clarify where I think the tension still lives.
You say you’re trying to approach Christianity scientifically—not in the narrow sense of lab coats and test tubes, but in the broader sense of observation, hypothesis, and critical testing. I think that’s a good framework. But I would argue that some of the central claims of Christianity—especially the resurrection—don’t remain within the bounds of that model. That’s not a critique of your approach, but of the nature of the claims themselves. The resurrection isn’t just a hypothesis to be tested—it’s a one-time, supernatural intervention in history that defies repeatability, independent verification, and natural law. And yet, belief in that event is treated as the foundation for everything else.
So while you’ve tried to use a reasonable, iterative model to explain and test your case, the core claim—that this resurrection happened—can’t really be tested in the way your method suggests. Instead, what’s often substituted is whether the story resonates, whether it changed lives, whether it produced a moral system. And those are valuable questions—but they’re not equivalent to “did it actually happen?”
Your reflections on language are also important. You emphasize that Christianity needs to be intelligible at a basic level—that it must connect to common human experience, even to a child’s mind. That’s fair. But the fact that children can understand a story doesn’t make the story historically or metaphysically true. You rightly say you haven’t conflated fiction and fact—but I think the function of myth and narrative in your argument sometimes quietly slips into that territory. It’s not about whether you’ve said “myth equals fact”—you haven’t. It’s about whether emotional and existential power is being used in place of external evidence when the claims demand more than resonance.
On your point about “Spirit,” I think your reframing—linking it to life and vitality rather than nebulous supernaturalism—is a helpful move. Grounding it in lived experience avoids a lot of mystical hand-waving. That said, once the conversation turns toward resurrection, divine mission, and eternal consequence, we’re back in supernatural territory, whether we dress it in metaphor or not.
Finally, I think the most valuable part of your approach is your emphasis on existential reality—that layer of human experience not easily captured by scientific description. I agree that fairy tales, stories, and myths serve this part of us, and that they matter. But again, the dividing line is this: if we’re using those stories for moral exploration, that’s one thing. If we’re using them to describe the actual structure of the universe—who God is, what happens after death, what historical events we must believe in to be saved—that’s another. And when Christianity insists on the latter, it opens the door not just to interpretation, but to investigation and verification.
So no, I don’t think you’ve made any intentionally subversive moves. But I do think your recap quietly highlights the same core issue: the pivot from historical truth to existential meaning remains unresolved. If the resurrection is true in the same way that a moral parable is “true,” then we’re in the realm of myth. But if it’s being presented as something that actually happened and must be believed, then the bar has to be much higher—and resonance alone doesn’t clear it.
I want to point out that this is not a redirection from my point of view. It is the perspective I wanted to take from the start. I'm not looking at the "moral, philosophical, and existential contribution" in isolation but side by side with the historical facts that are presented to us. We need, at some point, to start delving into the Bible and I don't want to do that without a clear framework and shared understanding.
Thanks for clarifying—that’s helpful, and I respect the care you’re taking in building a structured foundation before diving into the text itself. If your intent from the beginning has been to examine Christianity through both its existential resonance and its historical claims side by side, then that’s a worthwhile approach. I’m on board with that—as long as we’re clear about the framework we’re working within.
But here’s where I think the groundwork still needs tightening before we move into the Bible: we need to keep clearly in mind the difference between evaluating a moral or existential tradition and evaluating historical truth claims. They can certainly be explored together, as you’re proposing, but we must be clear about which lens we’re using at any given point.
For example, if we’re about to examine Jesus’ teachings or parables, we can absolutely look at them as moral philosophy. But if we’re examining claims like the virgin birth or the resurrection, we’re now dealing with historical assertions that require a different standard—evidence, plausibility, contextual consistency, and a willingness to question tradition.
So I welcome the move into the text. But to avoid circular reasoning or blurred categories, we’ll need to consistently ask: are we treating this passage as moral metaphor, as spiritual insight, or as literal history? The value of the conversation depends on our ability to keep those distinctions clear.
If that’s the shared understanding you’re aiming for, then I think we’re in a good place to move forward. Let’s open the text—but with the lens carefully chosen at every step.
It is not a different conversation. As you have pointed out, and I have also presented as such to you, Jesus comes to us as a historical person, perhaps mythologized. We need to be able to separate what is reasonably true from what is possibly mythology. He didn't just present to us a new moral framework, he asked his disciples to share his story. Tell the world about him. Did he know that he will be mythologized? I wouldn't know. But he didn't mean to present a new moral philosophy. He came to save the world and he presented himself as the Son of God.
You’re absolutely right that Jesus wasn’t merely offering a moral philosophy. He wasn’t aiming to be remembered as a teacher like Socrates or Confucius. He claimed something far more radical—that he was the Son of God, that he had the authority to forgive sins, and that through him the world could be saved. Those are not symbolic gestures. They are literal claims about divine identity, authority, and cosmic consequence.
So if we agree on that—that Jesus presented himself not simply as a moral guide but as the incarnate Son of God—then we also agree that this is no longer just a discussion about values or cultural narratives. It is about what actually happened in history. Did he rise from the dead? Did he perform the miracles attributed to him? Were the claims made about him by his followers (or by Jesus himself) rooted in reality—or did they grow, as you’ve acknowledged, through a process of mythologization over time?
That’s not a minor theological curiosity. That’s the foundation. Because if Jesus was mythologized—if the resurrection, the divine titles, and the supernatural events were embellishments added later—then the central truth claim of Christianity dissolves. You can still admire Jesus as a historical figure, and his teachings may still resonate. But the theological framework built on top of him collapses if the key events didn’t happen.
So no, this is not a separate conversation—it’s the same one, but it’s now arrived at the point of full weight. If Jesus really claimed to be the Son of God, and if his followers believed it because of what they saw or thought they saw, then the question that matters most isn’t “what did it mean to them?” It’s: was it true?
And that’s where the demand for evidence becomes unavoidable. Because the difference between someone sincerely believing they saw a risen Jesus and someone actually seeing a man rise from the dead is vast. One is testimony. The other is truth. And the world has no shortage of testimony for things that never actually happened.
So yes, Jesus asked his followers to tell the world about him. But once the story is presented not just as meaningful but as metaphysically binding, it enters a different category—one where it must be tested, not just treasured. If the stakes are eternal, then the evidence has to rise accordingly. Otherwise, we’re not following the truth. We’re following a story we’ve come to love.
I am suggesting no such pivot. I am saying we need to hold both in mind. As an aside, children have no problem doing that. I suggest that the ancient mind, as well, has no problem with that. Even in everyday conversation today, we exaggerate to make a point and attribute supernatural capabilities to our heroes. Like I said, super heroes are making a killing at the box office and Marvel Studio have even created a Marvel Universe around their superheroes to further encourage the sense of reality around what is obviously fiction. I am saying that such fiction are also important in our existential reality. Art matters. So does poetry. And dance. And all the other activities we engage in that are not scientific in nature. Including golf and football.
As we hold both in mind, we need to be clear when we are moving away from fiction and when we are dealing with facts. But I am also suggesting that they are not separate arguments. They both contribute to our existential reality.
I appreciate the nuance you’re aiming for, and I think we’re getting closer to the heart of our difference. You’re not pivoting away from the historical question—you’re saying we need to hold both the factual and the existential dimensions in mind together. That’s fair. I agree that fiction, myth, and art matter profoundly. They help us process meaning, identity, hope, and loss. They shape our emotional and cultural landscape. I don’t think anyone seriously committed to truth would try to dismiss their importance.
But here’s the critical point: the moment a tradition makes a claim about what literally happened, and ties eternal consequence to it, we can no longer treat story and fact as co-equal contributors to “existential reality.” They’re operating in different domains. Yes, a child can hold Santa and science side by side—but we don’t base medical decisions or legal systems on Santa. As we mature, we must learn where those lines are drawn, not just emotionally, but epistemically.
You’re absolutely right that we use exaggeration, storytelling, and metaphor in everyday life—even in religion. But Christianity doesn’t treat the resurrection as metaphor. It says Jesus literally died, was buried, and literally rose again in physical form—and that belief in this event is essential for salvation. That’s not poetic flourish. That’s a hard metaphysical claim with eternal consequence. And that makes all the difference.
You say we need to be clear about when we’re moving between fiction and fact. That’s precisely the point I’ve been pressing all along. If we’re going to treat the resurrection the way we treat the Marvel Universe—resonant, powerful, symbolically rich, but ultimately fictional—then let’s say so, and keep it in that category. But if we’re going to treat it as a historical fact—as the Christian faith demands—then it must meet the burden of scrutiny we apply to any historical claim with such extraordinary implications.
Holding both fiction and fact in mind may be possible. But blending them, or letting one drift uncritically into the other when the cost of belief is framed in eternal terms—that’s not an act of reverence. That’s a failure of intellectual responsibility.
So yes, story matters. Art matters. Metaphor matters. But if you’re going to claim that a man literally rose from the dead, defeated death, and requires your belief or you’ll be lost—then you’re not in the Marvel Universe anymore. You’re in the courtroom of truth. And the standard there is not whether the story is beautiful. It’s whether it’s real.
Absolutely. But we can't really know at this point. I may suggest that if it were possible to establish the resurrection without doubt, it would have removed from many the fundamental possibility of choice. Who amongst us would defy God? There are some historical evidence around it, and Christian "historians" argue that this is enough but secular historians argue that it is not. We have examples of atheists looking into the evidence and becoming convinced and converted and Christian historians who also looked into the evidence and denounced Christianity as a result. Again, it is not an argument that I can engage in. Nor do I want to. I just want to include in this discussion the historical factuality of Jesus because it relates directly with what he is claiming.
What I am saying though, is that even if it were true, is it enough to establish Jesus's claims? Or conversely, if it were not true, do we then jettison everything he said?
I appreciate your honesty here—and I think this gets us right to the heart of the tension that underlies the entire discussion.
You admit that we can’t really know if the resurrection happened, and that the evidence is ambiguous—strong enough to convince some, weak enough to repel others. Fair enough. But that’s precisely why the resurrection can’t be treated like just another inspirational story. Christianity doesn’t just ask us to admire Jesus—it asks us to believe that something literally, physically happened in history and to stake our eternal fate on it. That’s not an abstract preference. That’s an ultimatum.
You suggest that if the resurrection were proven beyond doubt, it might remove the possibility of genuine choice. But here’s the problem: that assumes that belief must be earned through ambiguity—that God, or truth, must remain just unclear enough to allow for moral freedom. But that’s a dangerous position when the cost of doubt, according to Christian doctrine, is eternal separation from God. If belief is required for salvation, but clarity is deliberately withheld, then we’re not being offered a meaningful choice—we’re being tested in the dark.
And here’s where I think your final questions are especially important—and especially revealing.
You ask: If the resurrection were true, would that automatically establish Jesus’ divine claims? My answer is: not necessarily. Miracles, even if real, don’t automatically confer moral or metaphysical authority. A being with immense power might still be ethically suspect. We’d need to evaluate not just what Jesus did (if anything), but what he taught, claimed, and commanded. Power alone doesn’t justify allegiance.
You also ask: If the resurrection didn’t happen, do we throw out everything Jesus said? And my answer is: no. If his teachings offer moral clarity, wisdom, or existential depth, they deserve to be heard and assessed on their own merit—just as we do with the Buddha, Epictetus, or Confucius. But in that case, we are no longer practicing Christianity as a religion grounded in divine intervention—we are engaging with Jesus as a moral philosopher or prophetic figure. And that shift is enormous.
Because if the resurrection didn’t happen, then the central theological claim of Christianity collapses—even if some of its moral teachings endure. And if the resurrection did happen, then it demands not just reflection, but rigorous demonstration—because belief in it is not optional within the tradition; it is the keystone of the entire structure.
So you’re right: these questions matter. But they’re not just questions of meaning. They’re questions of truth. If Christianity is true in the historical sense it claims, then it changes everything. If it’s not, then we should be honest enough to say so—and evaluate its moral contributions accordingly. But we cannot keep one foot in metaphor and the other in metaphysics without losing intellectual integrity on both sides.
And I totally agree. But it needs to be taken forward as a whole, not just on the paucity of one event.
I appreciate that, and I agree—it’s fair to examine the entire worldview and not fixate on a single detail out of context. But in this case, the resurrection isn’t just one isolated event in a broader philosophical system. It’s the linchpin of the entire framework.
Paul himself makes this explicit: “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is in vain.” That’s not a metaphor. That’s a declaration that the truth of the Christian message—its authority, its promise, its power—stands or falls on this one historical claim.
That’s why I don’t see it as narrowing the conversation when we emphasize the resurrection. It’s not a footnote—it’s the cornerstone. You’re right that Christianity includes a broader moral, communal, and existential structure—but all of that is built on the claim that Jesus didn’t just teach well or die nobly, but physically rose from the dead and thereby validated his identity and mission as the Son of God.
If that event didn’t happen, then Christianity becomes something else entirely. It might still offer moral wisdom, but it no longer has the divine authority or salvific power it claims. It becomes one voice among many, not the voice of God incarnate.
So yes, let’s take the whole picture seriously—but let’s also be clear that everything else Christianity offers is only as strong as the foundation it’s built on. And that foundation is the resurrection—an event that, if true, changes everything, and if false, leaves us with a beautiful story, but no more.
NHC
