If Christianity's central claims are correct, then the universe has a creator who became incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth, died for the sins of the world, rose bodily from the dead, and continues to offer eternal life to those who trust in him. If these claims are true, they deserve not merely admiration but allegiance. They would represent the defining events of human history.
If they are false, however, the implications are equally profound. Christianity has shaped civilizations, inspired art, influenced governments, comforted the dying, motivated charity, justified wars, and guided the lives of billions of people. A religion with that kind of influence should not simply be accepted because it is ancient or widely believed. It should be examined with the same seriousness its claims demand.
C. S. Lewis understood this point perhaps better than anyone. Although remembered as one of Christianity's most influential defenders, he famously observed in God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics (affiliate link), "Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important." Lewis intended this statement as an invitation to belief, yet it also provides an excellent starting point for skepticism. If Christianity really is either true or false, then it follows that there must be some meaningful distinction between those possibilities. There must be something that could count as evidence either for or against it.
That raises a surprisingly difficult question...
What would it actually take to disprove Christianity?
Many debates about religion begin too late. Christians often begin by defending the resurrection, while skeptics begin by criticizing miracles or pointing to biblical contradictions. Both sides assume they already know what evidence matters. Yet before discussing any particular argument, a more fundamental issue must be settled. What kind of evidence should we even expect to matter? If Christianity is a claim about reality, then it should be possible, at least in principle, to imagine circumstances under which that claim would prove false. If no imaginable evidence could ever count against it, then Christianity has ceased to function as a proposition about the world. It has become something else entirely.
Every meaningful claim about reality carries within it the possibility of being mistaken. If someone claims there is buried treasure beneath an old oak tree, the claim may be true or false, but there is an obvious way to investigate it. If archaeologists claimed tomorrow that Julius Caesar never existed, historians would immediately point to coins, inscriptions, letters, and contemporary accounts that contradict such a conclusion. Even scientific theories, despite their extraordinary explanatory power, remain open to revision should new evidence emerge. Their strength lies not in being immune to criticism but in surviving repeated attempts to falsify them.
This principle was articulated most famously by the philosopher of science Karl Popper. He wrote in Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge (affiliate link), "A theory which is not refutable by any conceivable event is non-scientific..." Popper was not attacking religion. He was describing a characteristic that separates empirical explanations from those that can accommodate every possible outcome. A claim gains intellectual credibility when it risks being wrong.
Christianity is not a scientific theory, and it would be unfair to judge it solely by scientific standards. It makes historical claims, philosophical claims, and theological claims. Nevertheless, Popper's broader insight still applies. If Christianity makes assertions about events that occurred in history, about the existence of God, or about the resurrection of Jesus, then those assertions must, at least in principle, be capable of evaluation. Otherwise, they cease to describe reality in any meaningful sense.
Interestingly, one of the earliest Christians appears to have agreed.
Writing to the church in Corinth, the Apostle Paul grounded the entire Christian faith on a single historical event. "And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain" (1 Corinthians 15:14, KJV).
This passage deserves careful attention because it is often quoted without appreciating its significance. Paul was not arguing that Christianity remains valuable even if its central miracle never occurred. Nor was he suggesting that faith should triumph over evidence. Quite the opposite. He acknowledged that Christianity depends upon a historical claim. If Jesus did not rise from the dead, then Christian preaching is empty and Christian faith is misplaced.
This means that Christianity itself should allow for the exploration of conditions under which it would be false. Unfortunately, the existence of such conditions, does not mean people are willing to accept them.
Imagine, for a moment, an impossible hypothetical. Suppose archaeologists uncovered a first-century tomb containing the unmistakably identifiable remains of Jesus of Nazareth, accompanied by overwhelming historical evidence accepted across the scholarly world. Would Christianity immediately disappear?
Probably not.
Some believers would question the evidence. Others would argue the remains belonged to someone else. Some might conclude the discovery was fraudulent. Others might interpret it as a deception permitted by God. Still others might reconsider what the resurrection meant, suggesting it had always been spiritual rather than bodily.
This thought experiment proves very little about Christianity itself, but it reveals something important about human beings.
Beliefs rarely exist in isolation. They become woven into identity, family, morality, culture, and community. The philosopher Will Durant once observed that "education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance." In practice, however, discovering we are mistaken is among the hardest things a human being can do. Evidence alone seldom changes deeply held convictions. We interpret evidence through commitments we already possess.
That observation applies equally to atheists, Christians, Muslims, political ideologues, and scientists. None of us approaches difficult questions as perfectly neutral observers. Recognizing that fact is not an argument against Christianity. It is simply an acknowledgment that changing one's mind requires more than accumulating facts. It often requires reexamining the framework through which those facts are interpreted.
This brings us to a subtle but important distinction.
There is a difference between believing something because evidence supports it and believing something regardless of what the evidence shows.
Consider a simple claim.
"God answers prayer."
At first glance, the statement appears straightforward. Yet the longer one reflects upon it, the more difficult it becomes to determine what evidence could count against it.
If prayers are answered, believers naturally see confirmation.
If prayers go unanswered, it may be said that God answered "no."
If tragedy occurs, God is working in mysterious ways.
If blessings come, God has shown his favor.
Every possible outcome becomes consistent with the original belief.
This does not necessarily prove the belief false as many true statements can accommodate complexity. The difficulty is epistemological rather than theological. Once every conceivable observation supports the same conclusion, it becomes impossible to determine what evidence would count against it.
Philosopher Bertrand Russell illustrated this problem through one of his most famous analogies. He asked readers to imagine someone claiming that a tiny china teapot orbited the Sun somewhere between Earth and Mars. Because the teapot was too small to detect, no one could disprove its existence. Russell's point was not that invisible teapots exist. It was that the inability to disprove a claim is not, by itself, evidence that the claim should be believed.
Christianity is, of course, far more sophisticated than Russell's imaginary teapot. It possesses centuries of philosophical argument, historical tradition, theological reflection, and personal testimony. Yet the underlying principle remains relevant. A belief should not become immune to criticism simply because it has been carefully defended.
Astronomer Carl Sagan expressed the same intuition in simpler language: "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence."
Although the phrase has become something of a skeptic's slogan, its underlying principle is hardly controversia. If a friend says they saw a deer crossing the road, few people demand photographs. If the same friend says they watched the Moon split in half before reassembling itself, most people would require considerably stronger evidence.
Christianity asks us to accept claims of precisely that extraordinary kind. Miracles, prophecy, incarnation, resurrection, and divine revelation are not ordinary events. They are, by definition, exceptions to ordinary experience. Evaluating such claims does not require hostility toward religion. It simply requires intellectual consistency.
David Hume made this point nearly three centuries ago in his essay Of Miracles. Hume argued that before accepting miraculous testimony, a reasonable person should ask which is more probable: that the laws of nature have been suspended, or that the witnesses are mistaken, deceived, or embellishing events.
Whether one ultimately agrees with Hume is less important than recognizing the standard he proposes. The discussion should not begin with the assumption that miracles cannot happen, nor with the assumption that they obviously did. It should begin by asking what evidence justifies either conclusion.
That same standard ought to apply everywhere, but it doesn't.
If a Muslim reports witnessing a miraculous healing at Mecca, Christians rightly ask whether alternative explanations exist.
If a Hindu claims a vision of Krishna, Christians do not typically accept the experience as proof of Hinduism.
If a Latter-day Saint bears testimony that the Holy Ghost confirmed the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, most evangelical Christians do not regard that testimony as sufficient evidence.
The important question is not whether people sincerely report extraordinary experiences. People of virtually every religion do.
Many believers insist upon rigorous evidence when assessing other religions while accepting considerably weaker evidence for their own. Skeptics are capable of the opposite error, dismissing religious evidence without giving it serious consideration because they have already concluded miracles cannot occur.
Christianity deserves careful examination because it makes extraordinary claims. Skepticism deserves careful examination because it offers an alternative explanation for those same claims. Neither position should be accepted by default.
The question, then, is not whether Christianity has answers. The question is whether those answers can withstand careful investigation.
You can't possibly disprove a religion with supernatural (non-tangible) claims
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