Could it be that Atheism and Science don’t mix, but God and science do?

I realise it’s a controversial claim in our secular age. After all, the belief that Christianity is anti-science and Atheism is pro-science is part of our cultural furniture here in the West.

But what if the opposite were true?

That’s the argument I’ve come across from several prominent thinkers and philosophers, most recently by Emeritus Professor of Mathematics at Oxford University, John Lennox, in his latest book.

To be clear, Lennox is not saying Atheists can’t do science: some of the smartest scientists are Atheists. Rather, Lennox and other thinkers are critiquing the worldview, the assumptions and beliefs of Atheism, not the people who believe it.

So, here’s what Lennox means:

In order to do science, we need to believe that our minds can discern truth

Lennox points out something that is obvious once you think about it: we can only do science if we believe our brains can discern truth about the world around us:

I do not think that this is hard to deduce from the fact that science proceeds on the basis of the a priori assumption that the universe is, at least to a certain extent, accessible to the human mind. No science can be done without the scientist believing so, so it is important to ask for grounds for this belief.

In other words, our brains can make sense of the universe around us, but why? It’s an important question to ask and answer for the sake of science.

But, he argues, Atheism doesn’t provide a satisfying answer. On the contrary, Atheism posits a mindless, unguided origin of the universe’s life and consciousness. And this destroys our confidence in our brain’s ability to know the truth.

But how?

Why Atheistic Evolution is a problem for Science.

American philosopher Alvin Plantinga shows why Atheism – or more particularly, Atheistic evolution – is a ‘game over’ type problem for our brain’s ability to know truth.

He captures his argument in what he calls the ‘Evolutionary Argument Against Naturalism [Atheism]’  or EAAN.

Here’s the Reader’s Digest version of his argument:

Atheism is a problem for science because evolution is based on the survival of the fittest, not the survival of the truthful. And therefore,  how can we be sure that our brains evolved to discern truth (as opposed to just helping us survive)?

(The short answer is we can’t.)

Here’s a step-by-step breakdown of the logic:

Step 1: The Starting Beliefs

We start by accepting two main ideas:

1. Atheism: The belief that there is no Creator God who designed our minds. Instead, we’re living in a random universe with only matter.

2. Evolution as the survival of the fittest: The idea that our minds (our brains) were built only through blind, random evolution by natural selection.

Step 2: Evolution by natural selection only picks winners, not truth-tellers

Evolution only ‘cares’ if your actions help you survive and reproduce. It’s all about your behaviour (does your behaviour help you survive). And not about what you believe (whether your beliefs are true or not).

Step 3: False ideas can be just as useful for survival

Because evolution by natural selection only cares about what you do, a false idea can make you act in a way that helps you survive just as much as a true idea.

For example: Running away because you believe a tiger is dangerous (True Idea) helps you survive. But running away because you believe a witch is trying to eat your soul (False Idea) also makes you run away and helps you survive just the same.

Step 4: We have a strong reason to doubt our mind’s reliability

Since evolution often rewards useful but false ideas, and there are ‘innumerable’ ways to be wrong but still survive, accepting Atheistic evolution means it is impossible to know if your brain has evolved to find truth.

Of course, if Atheistic Evolution is true (and therefore impossible to know if your mind can discern truth or not), then you’re left with a conundrum:

Step 5: Atheistic Evolution: The idea that eats itself

This realisation—that you can’t know if your brain is a truth-finder—gives you a strong reason to doubt the basic reliability of your own mind.

And if you must doubt your mind’s reliability, then you must doubt every single idea your mind produces.

Including Atheistic Evolution.

But if believing in Atheistic Evolution leads you to doubt Atheistic Evolution, then it’s an incoherent and irrational view.

Or as Atheist philosopher John Gray points out:

Modern humanism is the faith that through science humankind can know the truth – and so be free. But if Dawin’s theory of natural selection is true this is impossible. The human mind serves evolutionary success, not truth’.

Even Darwin himself saw this problem. He wrote:

‘With me the horrid doubt always arises whether the conviction of man’s mind, which has been developed from the mind of the lower animals, are of any value or at all trustworthy.’

But can’t science help us discern truth?

One counterargument is that, while our brains may be unreliable in discerning truth, modern science can help us overcome this limitation. I.e. Imperfect brains + science = truth.

But this belief relies on the assumption that our brains can reliably discern some measure of truth in the first place. But if the argument above is correct, then we have no confidence that our brains have evolved to know the truth at all (even imperfectly).

In which case, science + unreliable brain ≠ truth.

(To use an analogy, if you knew that your thermometer came from a factory where it was revealed that the thermometers were all faulty, could you ever rely on what the thermometer said?)

Another reason Atheism doesn’t make sense of our world

While there are other problems with Atheism, the fact that it destroys any reason to believe our mind’s ability to find truth is worth noting.

As Lennox points out:

It is for all these reasons that I reject atheism, and not because I believe Christianity to be true. I am a mathematician with a deep and lifelong interest in science and rational thought. How could I espouse a worldview that discredits the very rationality I need to do mathematics?

Whereas Christianity does provide a solid foundation for Science

Lennox then goes on to point out that, in contrast to the Atheistic-evolutionary view or reality,  the biblical worldview does provide reasons for believing in our mind’s ability to discern truth. Namely, being created in the image of a rational God makes sense as an explanation for why we can engage in science.

Science and God mix very well. It is science and atheism that do not mix.

Article supplied with thanks to Akos Balogh.

About the Author: Akos is the Executive Director of the Gospel Coalition Australia. He has a Masters in Theology and is a trained Combat and Aerospace Engineer.

Feature image: Canva

This story is told from the perspective of Maggie, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. She describes what it is like to be part of a caring church community while carrying the weight of deep trauma. For those who have not lived through such experiences, the thoughts and responses of survivors can sometimes seem difficult to understand.

By sharing her journey, the hope is that readers—especially Christians—might develop greater awareness and compassion for those who live with hidden wounds, and learn how to walk alongside them with gentleness and care.

*This account includes references to abuse, and some may find the content distressing. Reader discretion is advised.*

Here is Maggie’s story:

Abuse survivors and the church community are things that don’t easily sit side-by-side. The church is supposed to be a safe place, for everyone. When we hear church and abuse, there is a correlation that assumes abuse within the church. While my abuse happened both within and outside of the church, I make no distinction for the survivor in this article, as the ramifications of abuse know no boundaries.

I walk into my church service each Sunday, wondering what encouragement, song or part of a sermon will trigger me. I live in hypervigilance of something that will reignite my childhood trauma, some innocuous comment that sends me into self-protection mode.

As a survivor, I often hide in the shadows, fearful that someone will spot an erratic behaviour or ill-fashioned response and won’t understand. It’s the challenge of being in a community where God has shown us so much mercy and surrounded with His love. Because as a survivor, I lived through hell, and whether from sermons, worship, or stories that are shared about God’s mercy and love, I often feel like a failure because my history impedes my appreciation of His grace.

I have learned to manage the triggers that blindside me using techniques that get me through. I deliberately go to our church’s smaller evening service, sitting in the back, next to the aisle so that I can escape if I am triggered. Anxiously, I wait for one of my few trusted companions to arrive. They know my heart, which allows me to relax slightly, not feeling so exposed.

Inevitably, the guilt starts. Whether from being encouraged to immerse myself in God’s word or acknowledging our sin before God. The cognitive dissonance can be deafening. How do I acknowledge my sin (often maladaptive behaviours from childhood), when it is how I was raised? I always survive the service. I know the intent is well-meaning, intended to draw us closer to God. The music, the set-up, the sermon, all cater to the 70% of the congregation that didn’t come from a traumatic childhood.

I feel deflated and misunderstood most of the time.

A Few Insights 

I hope that by sharing my perspective and experience, readers might understand what life can be like as a Christian survivor. How for me at least, I reconcile my history and faith. I offer these concepts as guideposts rather than absolutes. It is about starting a conversation, not drawing a line in the sand.

1. Our brains are wired differently.

Because of what we survived, our God-given creative brains rewired us for survival.

This re-wiring is remarkably similar to those who have had a traumatic brain injury (1). There are many studies that show the effect childhood abuse has on the brains of survivors (2). From cognitive impairments and emotional dysregulation to sleeping disturbances, the list goes on. Because of our trauma, we see the world through a different coloured lens.

2. Shame can be debilitating for survivors.

This is a core part of what we struggle with in church and life.

Ashamed, we feel loathing instead of God’s love after sermons. We are ashamed of what happened to us and fear being judged. We are ashamed of the things we did to survive, knowing that many of those things, from maladaptive and addictive behaviours to sexual promiscuity, enabled our survival. The very coping mechanisms that helped us survive are condemned and cause shame. 

3. Saying “Trust God, He’ll get you through” can be unhelpful.

While well-meaning, saying ‘Trust God, He’ll get you through’ is a simplistic perspective.

We experienced betrayed trust throughout our childhood. It’s actually amazing that we believe God will carry us, when it would be easier to blame Him for how it’s all gone wrong. Trust is one of the most difficult things a trauma survivor wrestles with. To be given a pat on the back and encouraged to just trust God, when we’re overwhelmed by a trigger reinforces a sense of failure, and a torrent of shame returns. Why haven’t I healed quicker? Why is life so hard? Do I not trust God enough?

4. Ask questions.

In the intimacy of a small group (mainstays in Christian fellowship), for the survivor, it can feel like our trauma is the elephant in the room.

I have tried to provide my survivor perspective when discussing a passage of scripture, leading to an uncomfortable silence. Instead, I shut down. What I crave is someone to ask me how wrestling with this passage affects me as a survivor. Having those discussions, especially in the light of a complex diagnosis (e.g., mine with Dissociative Identity Disorder), is a breath of fresh air. It means people want to understand and provides a sense of validation and affirmation of God’s love for us.

5. Prayer and Friendship are key.

We all live busy lives, and it’s easy to say we will pray.

Many times, prayer is action. It’s not about a few well-meaning words and moving on; it’s about picking up the phone and saying, hey, let’s grab a coffee or take a walk. It says, I am making time for you. We don’t need platitudes that are easy; we need friends who are there. I suspect this sort of sincere friendship is something that would go a long way for many struggling in our churches.

6. Believe that we are strong.

We are tougher than you might think. We’ve been through hell and survived. Living with it may be tough, but we got through. We don’t need to be coddled, we need respect.

We live in a fallen world.

Statistics indicate that 32% of children have experienced childhood abuse (3). That means that the likelihood of sitting next to someone in a service or bible study group that has a traumatic history is not uncommon. And the world is not getting any better. It is the responsibility of the church to understand ALL members of the congregation, and to carve out a place for the growing number of trauma survivors in our midst. The church should not and cannot take the place of therapeutic help.

Instead, the church needs to provide a place of safety and compassion, where the practical skills of learning to trust and feel safe can be put into practice as we walk through this world and come to terms with our history of trauma, and our place as a child of God.

A word to survivors.

There will be readers who are survivors of some sort of trauma that has defined and shaped their view of the world.

All I’d like to say is, if you have reached through the muck of your history and are clinging to God, don’t give up. Believe that in the church community, there will be rest. Take charge of your future, and if you don’t find that respite in the church you are in, then reach out, ask for what you need or find a new church home. Do the hardest thing of all: trust yourself. Trust what you know of God and lean into Him. That support is there; you may have to look beyond the jagged edges of the ragamuffin mob of believers that surround you, but God will introduce you to people of faith you can be real with. They won’t be perfect; no one is, but they can be a heart where who you are is accepted and loved.

Start there.

Here are versus that help me each day:

Proverbs 3.5-8, Deuteronomy 29.29, Romans 5:3-4, Psalm 139, Psalm 46.10

Maggie Walters is a trauma survivor and author of SPLIT a life shared: living with Multiple Personality Disorder. She is an advocate, both in and out of the church, for changing the narrative around mental health and complex trauma.  

Article supplied with thanks to Akos Balogh.

About the Author: Akos is the Executive Director of the Gospel Coalition Australia. He has a Masters in Theology and is a trained Combat and Aerospace Engineer.

Feature image: Canva

It feels like the world is on fire. Just look at Ukraine, Gaza, China and AI – there’s much to keep us up at night.

Will the rules-based world order that has kept major conflict at bay for the last 70 years survive? Or will the new Trump administration’s ‘America First’ policy lead to a withdrawal from organisations like NATO? Some commentators are bullish about Trump’s foreign policy, while others predict the end of NATO and a more fractious, conflict-ridden world.

And then there’s AI.

As AI continues to advance, will it take our jobs and dehumanise us? Where will that leave our kids as they finish school and move toward entering the workforce? And what about China? President Xi Xingping has allegedly told his military to be ready to invade Taiwan by 2027. Will he order his troops to take the island?

There’s much to worry about in this uncertain world—the world really is on fire. But as I think and blog about these issues, I try to process them in a way that draws me closer to God and his goodness rather than toward despair and fear.

Here’s how I’m going about it:

1) Sin may shock me, but it shouldn’t surprise me

I’ve been traumatised from watching the news over the past 18 months.

The October 7 massacres plumbed a level of evil and brutality I could scarcely imagine. And not just by Hamas fighters, but also some everyday Palestinians and Muslims in the Middle East and Australia, who cheered on this atrocity.

Is this really the world we live in, I wondered.

Like many in the West, I’ve been immersed in the Enlightenment-era belief that the world is improving and progressing. Yes, we are improving in many areas, like technology, health, and wealth (with global rates of poverty falling precipitously over the last 40 years). And for this, we should praise God!

But morally, as humans, we’re cut from the same crooked timber as Adam and Eve.

And Jesus doesn’t give us any expectations of a world progressing. Instead, we’re to expect wars and rumours of wars (Matt 24:6-7). Sinful people will go from bad to worse (2 Tim 3:13). As they persecuted Jesus, so they’ll persecute us (John 15:20). We’re living in a world under God’s judgement (Romans 1), where God is giving humanity over to its sinful desires, leading to evil people doing evil things.

That’s the Biblical expectation.

And so, while I’m shocked by evil people doing evil things, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is ‘situation normal’ (as tragic as it is).

And if I expect evil to happen in this rebellious world of ours, I’ll more likely respond to it in a way that looks toward the only One who can bring a final end to this evil:

2) If I look to the Risen Messiah, I’ll be at peace

In my relatively short life I’ve realised something: what holds my attention governs my life.

If I’m looking to human politicians to solve my and the world’s problems, I’ll be on a never-ending rollercoaster of ups and downs, depending on their performance and on whether they’re in power. I’ll feel fear when tyrants rise. I’ll feel relief when ‘my party’ wins.

But human politicians are mortal and temporary. They can only do so much. Their power is limited.

But if I remember how big God is, then the world’s problems will always seem smaller – or rather, in the right proportion. And that tends to ease my fears, and bring me comfort.

3) Life, and this world, are temporary, ‘like a dream’

Tim Keller once described our temporal world and our lives like a dream:

It’s all-encompassing when you’re in it. But then you wake up, and it’s all behind you. Of course, there are consequences to our actions in this world that we don’t have in our dreams, but from eternity’s perspective, it’s just as temporary.

‘So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.’ (2 Cor 4:18).

When I remember that life is temporary, I feel strangely soothed. I can better respond to bad news, knowing that this world will be rolled up like a scroll and God will bring it to judgement (Eccl 12:14).

4) I’m  never alone: Christ is also with me

While suffering is challenging, I find it even more challenging when I feel alone and isolated in that suffering.

When I think that I have to face an uncertain future alone, I feel vulnerable. I feel exposed. I feel weak. But when I remember that Christ is with us, to the end of the age (Matt 28:20), then I feel a rush of comfort, even confidence. I can face an uncertain and challenging future knowing that the risen and Almighty Lord Jesus Christ is with me.

5) Have the right hope, or frustration will be the norm

Like most people around the world, I hope for a future of peace and stability.

Where Jewish kids aren’t massacred or taken hostage, and Palestinian kids aren’t bombed or used as human shields. Where there’s peace in our region and democracy in Russia.

And those are good things to hope for and pray for.

But if that’s where my hope ends, I’ll feel frustrated and disillusioned. I might even tend toward despair.

But if my ultimate hope is in an ultimate reality – the return of Jesus and the end of all evil (Rev 21), then I won’t be afraid or shaken. Sure, I’ll lament sad things that happen, but these things won’t undo me.

6) I need to get out of centre stage – and keep Jesus there

One of the most profound truths in Scripture is this: Jesus is the centre of the Universe. Therefore, he must be the centre of my life.

But since every man since Adam, I have a tendency to put myself in the centre. And when I do,  strange and awful things happen.

I find myself becoming more demanding of those around me, including what’s happening out there in the world. I subtly (or not so subtly) demand things of God. As I become more demanding, I become more controlling, wanting to bend situations and people to my will. Of course, I can’t control anyone, let alone world events, so I end up feeling angry and frustrated. I question God. I question his goodness.

But when Jesus is the centre of my life, these selfish, controlling desires start losing their grip on me. I see the world with a fresh perspective: it’s not about me and what I want. It’s about what Jesus is doing, bringing more people into his kingdom and waiting for that final day of his return.

7) Thankfulness gives perspective

Being glued to social media and the news tends to shift my perspective in God-less direction. Whether fear at world events. Or envy of other people’s lives.

But thankfulness shifts my perspective in a God-ward direction.

When I realise that everything I have – my life, my family, my possessions, my health, my relationships – are ultimately a gift from a good and heavenly Father, my perspective shifts. When I realise that as a sinful, rebellious man I deserve eternal condemnation, not the life I’ve been given, I’m humbled and removed from the centre of life.

When I realise the forgiveness Jesus has won for me – undeserved, eternal, unwavering – I feel joy.

8) Waiting is a feature of the Christian life, not a bug

As a modern 21st century Australian, I’m not a fan of waiting.

I want my life to work as I want it, right now. Waiting is not only a waste of time, I reason, but frustrating. I want God to fix the world now. Why can’t there peace in Ukraine now? Why can’t the Middle East calm down, now? What’s God doing, I think to myself?

But waiting isn’t a bug, something that’s wrong with the Christian life: it’s baked into it. Whether it’s waiting for Jesus’ return, for God to answer prayer, or patiently waiting during a challenging personal season, waiting is what we’re designed for.

As author Mark Vroegop points out in his book Waiting isn’t a Waste, ‘Waiting on God is living on what I know to be true about God when I don’t know what’s true about my life’. If I know that God is good and in control, then I’ll live differently in this difficult ‘already but not yet’ chapter of world history. I’ll live trusting that God has got this, rather than despairing and shaking my head (or fist) at God for not doing what I think he should be doing.

Article supplied with thanks to Akos Balogh.

About the Author: Akos is the Executive Director of the Gospel Coalition Australia. He has a Masters in Theology and is a trained Combat and Aerospace Engineer.

Feature image: Photo by Na Inho on Unsplash