Given the recent attention garnered by the "new atheism" and its spokesmen, it was only a matter of time before a defector emerged from within the ranks. Enter Antony Flew. A lifelong outspoken atheist and Oxford philosophy professor, Mr. Flew recently published a book, There Is a God: How the World's Most Notorious Atheist Changed His Mind, outlining his journey away from unbelief. One piece of promotional material for the book calls it "one of the biggest religions [sic] stories of the new millennium." He would seem to be the ideal combatant to challenge the new atheists in the battle over belief. But is he really?
A few reporters and bloggers have raised questions about the octogenarian's mental competence as well as the motivations of his co-author, Roy Abraham Varghese. But questions about competence aside, Mr. Flew is not quite the crusading convert his book title suggests: He did not embrace Christianity, but Deism. As he told Christianity Today, he feels more spiritual kinship with the skeptical Thomas Jefferson than with Jesus. "I understand why Christians are excited, but if they think I am going to become a convert to Christ in the near future, they are very much mistaken," he said.
So who are the other writers manning the ramparts against atheism while espousing their new devotion to Christ? They are typically sappy types armed mostly with therapeutic bromides.
For several weeks this fall on the New York Times best-seller list, Christopher Hitchens's God Is Not Great lagged behind It's All About Him: Finding the Love of My Life, by Denise Jackson, wife of the country-music star Alan Jackson. The "Him" in Ms. Jackson's title is not her husband, but God. The book tells the story of how a marital crisis prompted a spiritual awakening in Ms. Jackson. Her story is stuffed with anodyne pronouncements such as "Alan and I get up every morning and take each day as it comes, with a renewed pledge to each other and to Christ."
After seven decades as an atheist, British novelist Fay Weldon recently converted. She, too, was inspired by her new faith to write a self-help tome, What Makes Women Happy, which describes a near-death experience (the gates of Paradise were "very vulgar, very middle class") and ponders the female soul in a chapter titled "Releasing Something Here Inside." To be sure, the Jackson and Weldon books have inspired many readers. But the most enduring conversion stories in modern times don't offer tales of perky piety triumphing over personal malaise. They are far more ambiguous and attentive to the challenges of living a spiritual life in a secular world.
C.S. Lewis, one of the most well-known Christian apologists of the 20th century, called himself a "reluctant convert," and in his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, he described the process as akin to being caught or overtaken by an irresistible force. "Before God closed in on me," he wrote in a typical passage, "I was in fact offered what now appears a moment of wholly free choice." Even as he yields to conversion, which he likens to a snowman slowly melting, he admits that he "rather disliked the feeling."
Yet Mr. Lewis's unusual conversion narrative has inspired thousands of believers. In the 1970s, just before he began serving a prison sentence for his Watergate crimes, former Nixon aide Charles Colson read Mr. Lewis's Mere Christianity, and he says that it persuaded him to come to Christ. More recently, scientist Francis Collins, director of the National Human Genome Research Institute, has discussed how, when he was a young doctor and an atheist, Mr. Lewis's writings led to his own embrace of faith.
Perhaps now more than ever, converts must combat a pervasive cultural cynicism that views conversions--particularly those made during moments of crisis--with suspicion. It was only his decades-long devotion to his Prison Fellowship ministry that eventually silenced those who doubted Mr. Colson's sincerity. Mr. Flew's claims have prompted many to wonder if his rejection of atheism and embrace of a deity is driven less by genuine faith than by the normal fears of old age. This is where therapeutic Christianity, however popular, has failed to extend the legacy of converts like Mr. Lewis. The secular public can be forgiven for failing to find in a woman's marital problems, for example, a life-changing reckoning with belief.
The most persuasive conversion narratives recount not merely emotional surrenders to faith but also intellectual grapplings with it. Although devout atheists would vehemently disagree, the conversions of men like Mr. Lewis, Dr. Collins and even, perhaps, Mr. Flew reveal that intelligent people--trained in rigorous fields such as philosophy and the hard sciences--can embrace faith and tell persuasive stories without extremes of emotional flagellation. The Road to Damascus is paved with theology not therapy.
-- Ms. Rosen is a fellow at the Ethics & Public Policy Center in Washington.
