A New Theist Response to the New Atheists (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) [1 ed.] 9780815352471, 9781351139366, 0815352476

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A New Theist Response to the New Atheists

In response to the New Atheist intellectual movement, this volume articulates a “New Theist” response that has at its core a desire to engage in productive and depolarizing dialogue. To ensure this book is of interest to atheists and theists alike, a team of experts in the field of philosophy of religion offers an assessment of the strongest New Atheist arguments. The chapters address the most pertinent questions about God, including politics and morality, and each essay shows how a reflective theist might deal with points raised by the New Atheists. This volume is a serious academic engagement with the questions asked by New Atheism. As such, it will be of significant interest to scholars working in the philosophy of religion and theology, as well as those engaged in religious studies generally. Joshua Rasmussen is an associate professor of philosophy at Azusa Pacific University, USA. He works primarily on topics in metaphysics, with a focus on basic categories of reality and minds. He is the author of Defending the Correspondence Theory of Truth (2014), Necessary Existence (2018), and How Reason Can Lead to God (2019). Kevin Vallier is an associate professor of philosophy at Bowling Green State University, USA. His interests lie primarily in political philosophy; ethics; philosophy, politics, and economics (PPE); and the philosophy of religion. He is the author of Liberal Politics and Public Faith: Beyond Separation (2014), Must Politics Be War? Restoring Our Trust in the Open Society (2019), and A Liberal Democratic Peace: Creating Trust in Polarized Times (2020).

Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies

The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. This open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Christianity and the Triumph of Humor From Dante to David Javerbaum Bernard Schweizer Religious Truth and Identity in an Age of Plurality Peter Jonkers and Oliver J. Wiertz Envisioning the Cosmic Body of Christ Embodiment, Plurality and Incarnation Aurica Jax and Saskia Wendel Laudato Si’ and the Environment Pope Francis’ Green Encyclical Robert McKim Theology Without Walls The Transreligious Imperative Jerry L. Martin A New Theist Response to the New Atheists Edited by Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ religion/series/RCRITREL

A New Theist Response to the New Atheists Edited by Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rasmussen, Joshua L., editor. | Vallier, Kevin, editor. Title: A new theist response to the new atheists / edited by Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier. Description: New York : Routledge, 2019. | Series: Routledge new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019042341 (print) | LCCN 2019042342 (ebook) | ISBN 9780815352471 (hardback) | ISBN 9781351139366 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Religion—Philosophy. | Atheism. | Theism. Classification: LCC BL51 .N4535 2019 (print) | LCC BL51 (ebook) | DDC 210­—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019042341 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019042342 ISBN: 978-0-8153-5247-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-351-13936-6 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

For lovers of wisdom

Contents

List of contributorsix Introduction

1

JOSHUA RASMUSSEN AND KEVIN VALLIER

PART I

God and reason7   1 Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause

9

ALEXANDER R. PRUSS

  2 An argument for a supreme foundation

21

JOSHUA RASMUSSEN

  3 God and moral knowledge

33

DUSTIN CRUMMETT AND PHILIP SWENSON

  4 Taking a new perspective on suffering and death

47

CHRIS TWEEDT

  5 Is the God Hypothesis improbable? A response to Dawkins

59

LOGAN PAUL GAGE

  6 The nature and rationality of faith LIZ JACKSON

77

viii  Contents PART II

God and morality93   7 Deiform morality

95

THOMAS M. WARD

  8 Are we better off without religion? The harms (and benefits) of religious belief

103

CHRISTIAN B. MILLER

  9 A license to sin? Spiritual practices and moral licensing

119

JENNIFER ZAMZOW

10 Another dimension of the moral argument: the voice of Jesus and the historical fruits of the Christian faith

131

PAUL COPAN AND THOM WOLF

11 Moral strangers as co-laborers in the fields of justice

153

RICO VITZ

12 Reflections on a secular foundation for religious liberty

168

HUNTER BAKER

PART III

God and theology179 13 A bloody death that saves the world? Making sense of Christ’s cross

181

JORDAN WESSLING

14 The fate of the “good person”

199

KEVIN KINGHORN

Index214

Contributors

Hunter Baker, J.D., Ph.D. is the dean of arts and sciences and professor of political science at Union University. He is the author of The End of Secularism, Political Thought: A Student’s Guide, and The System Has a Soul. Baker also serves as associate editor of the Journal of Markets and Morality and is a research fellow of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist church. Paul Copan is the Pledger Family Chair of Philosophy and Ethics at Palm Beach Atlantic University in Florida. He is the author or editor of many books, including Loving Wisdom: A Guide to Philosophy and Christian Faith. Dustin Crummett is a postdoctoral fellow at the Ludwig Maximilian ­University of Munich. He works primarily in social and political philosophy, ethics, and the intersection of these two fields and philosophy of religion. Logan Paul Gage is an associate professor of philosophy at Franciscan University of Steubenville. He works primarily in epistemology and philosophy of religion. The recipient of Baylor University Graduate School’s 2014–2015 Outstanding Doctoral Dissertation Award in the Humanities for his dissertation “Objectivity and Subjectivity in Epistemology: A Defense of the Phenomenal Conception of Evidence.” He is currently working on a book about John Henry Newman. Liz Jackson is a research fellow at Australian National University and an assistant professor at Ryerson University (starting Fall 2020). Her research focuses on issues at the intersection of formal and traditional epistemology. She has recently published work on the belief-credence connection, epistemic permissivism, and pragmatic and moral encroachment. Her research interests also include philosophy of religion, ­especially questions about the rationality of theistic commitment, e.g., faith and

x  Contributors Pascal’s wager. She completed her Ph.D. in philosophy at the University of Notre Dame. Kevin Kinghorn is an associate professor of philosophy and religion at Asbury Theological Seminary. Kinghorn has published articles on philosophy of religion, moral philosophy, epistemology, and philosophy of action and written the books The Decision of Faith: Can Christian Beliefs Be Freely Chosen? and A Framework for the Good. Christian B. Miller is the A. C. Reid Professor of Philosophy at Wake Forest University and director of the Character Project (www.thecharacterpro ject.com), which was funded by $5.6 million in grants from the John Templeton Foundation and Templeton World Charity Foundation. He is the author of over 85 papers as well as three books with Oxford University Press: Moral Character: An Empirical Theory (2013), Character and Moral Psychology (2014), and The Character Gap (2018). He is also the editor or co-editor of Essays in the Philosophy of Religion (Oxford University Press), Character: New Directions from Philosophy, Psychology, and Theology (Oxford University Press), Moral Psychology, Volume V: Virtue and Character (MIT Press), Integrity, Honesty, and Truth-Seeking (Oxford University Press), and The Continuum Companion to Ethics (Continuum Press). Alexander R. Pruss is a professor of philosophy at Baylor University. He works in metaphysics, philosophy of religion, formal epistemology, and philosophy of mathematics. He is the author or co-author of four books in metaphysics or applied ethics and is currently working on paradoxes of infinity. Joshua Rasmussen is an associate professor of philosophy at Azusa Pacific University. He works primarily on topics in metaphysics, with a focus on basic categories of reality and minds. He is the author or co-author five books, including Defending the Correspondence Theory of Truth (Cambridge University Press, 2014), Necessary Existence (with Alexander Pruss; Oxford University Press, 2018), The Bridge of Reason (Great Legacy Books, 2018), Is God the Best Explanation of Things: A Dialogue (with Felipe Leon; Palgrave, 2019), and How Reason Can Lead to God (Intervarsity Press, 2019). He has published more than 30 articles on these and related topics, and has participated in several grant-funded projects, including as principal investigator for a project on the role of randomness in creativity (2013–2015). Philip Swenson is an assistant professor at the College of William & Mary. He does research in ethics, metaphysics, agency, and philosophy of religion. His work in these areas has been published in journals such as ­Ethics, the Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Philosophical Studies,

Contributors xi and Philosophical Quarterly. Philip has previously spent time at Notre Dame and Rutgers. He received his MA in philosophy from the University of Missouri and his PhD in philosophy from the University of California, Riverside. His dissertation defended the view that moral responsibility is incompatible with causal determinism. Chris Tweedt is a lecturer in philosophy at Christopher Newport University. His specializations include epistemology, business ethics, and philosophy of religion, and he has published in Philosophy Compass, Journal of Moral Philosophy, and Faith and Philosophy. RICO VITZ is Professor and Chair of the Department of Philosophy at Azusa Pacific University. He is the author of Reforming the Art of Living: Nature, Virtue, and Religion in Descartes’s Epistemology, coeditor of Hume’s Moral Philosophy and Contemporary Psychology and of The Ethics of Belief: Individual and Social, and the editor of Turning East: Contemporary Philosophers and the Ancient Christian Faith. His work appears in The Oxford Handbook of David Hume, Journal of the History of Philosophy, British Journal of the History of Philosophy, American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, Hume Studies, Faith & Philosophy, The Modern Schoolman, Journal of Philosophical Research, and Christian Bioethics. He is a member of the Executive Committee of the Society of Christian Philosophers and served as the Executive Vice President-Treasurer of the Hume Society (2014-2018) Thomas M. Ward is an assistant professor of philosophy at Baylor University in Waco, Texas. He specializes in the history of philosophy, focusing on the Middle Ages. A 2009 Harvey Fellow, Ward is the author of John Duns Scotus on Parts, Wholes, and Hylomorphism (Brill, 2014), as well as many research articles in the history of philosophy, including “A Most Mitigated Friar: Scotus on Natural Law and Divine Freedom,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 93:5 (2019), winner of that journal’s Rising Scholar Essay Contest in 2018. Jordan Wessling is a Resident Fellow at the Carl F. H. Henry Center for Theological Understanding, hosted by Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He specializes in systematic theology and has published approximately twenty articles and book chapters in places such as the International Journal of Systematic Theology, Theology and Science, Neue Zeitschrift für Systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie, and the International Journal of Philosophy of Religion. With Oliver Crisp and James Arcadi, Jordan has also written a short book on theological method, which is in press with Brill, and edited a collection of essays on divine and human love, Love, Divine and Human: Contemporary Essays

xii  Contributors in Systematic and Philosophical Theology (London: T&T Clark, 2019). In addition to these collaborative ventures, Jordan has a finished monograph of systematic and philosophical theology on God’s love, which is in press with Oxford University Press (entitled, Love Divine: A Systematic Account of God’s Love for Humanity). Thom Wolf is president and professor of global studies at University Institute, New Delhi. University Institute convenes, connects, and collaborates educational experiences around the crucial question of the twenty-first century: What is the best way to live life on this planet? Jennifer Zamzow is an instructor for Concordia University Irvine and UCLA. She received her PhD in philosophy with a minor in cognitive science from the University of Arizona and did a postdoctoral fellowship in ethics and cognition in the Department of Philosophy and Center for Ethics and Policy at Carnegie Mellon University. She works primarily on issues in moral cognition and behavior, ethical theory, medical ethics, and business ethics. She has published work on diversity in ethical intuitions; affective forecasting in medical decision making; and how our use of moral rules, moral intuitions, and cost–benefit analyses affects the way in which we interpret moral requirements for ourselves and for others.

Introduction Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier

1. War and peace in the battle of ideas One of the great historical contests is between contrasting views about the nature of ultimate reality. Is ultimate reality good? Is it supreme? Or is ultimate reality devoid of purposes, intentions, and value? Can anyone know one way or another? The contemporary iteration of this contest has seen the emergence of strident critics of religious worldviews, especially those worldviews that affirm the existence of God. The most visible and influential of these critics in recent times are the New Atheists, led by Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris, and the late Christopher Hitchens. The New Atheists are inspired by a commitment to test one’s beliefs bravely, boldly, and humbly by the instruments of reason and empirical evidence. A root of New Atheism, then, is a call to face reality through honest inquiry. The value for a rational pursuit of truth motivates the common New Atheist contrast between faith and reason, since New Atheists understand “faith” as believing something without a rational basis, or worse, as believing something against all evidence. We have had many conversations with New Atheist acolytes over the years, and we have found that one of their prime concerns is epistemological. They worry that those who believe in God exhibit—and even extol—“blind” belief without adequate evidence. New Atheists challenge religious folk to investigate things—to find out what is true—with an open mind. We observe that the New Atheists’ commitment to evidence-based inquiry is the primary source of their skepticism of religion in general. New Atheists tend to associate “religion” with tribal thinking. What unifies “religious” worldviews is not so much their ontology, but their method of inquiry. Religion, as they see it, is based on dogma and “faith,” which is in contrast to an honest pursuit of truth. It is unsurprising, then, that New Atheists tend to view theists with suspicion. Theists who persist in their religious beliefs are not innocently mistaken about ultimate reality; theists have intellectual vices, such as a tendency toward post-hoc rationalization. To be an honest truth seeker is to share the New Atheists’ core value, and it would be unexpected for a theist

2  Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier to have that value. If you are a genuine truth seeker, you will inevitability move away from “tribal” beliefs. Persistent belief in (your) God is evidence that you are not a genuine truth seeker. In response to persistent, blind belief, New Atheists circle their wagons, displaying a strong sense of their in-group and their out-group. The outsiders are blind believers, and they must be refuted because their values and beliefs are problematic, even dangerous. As magicians and comedians Penn and Teller said of Dawkins’s The God Delusion, “If this book doesn’t change the world, we’re all screwed.” Unfortunately, a common theistic response, especially in the popular culture, takes a defensive or derisive tone, one that shuts down dialogue before it can begin. This tone reinforces the New Atheist concern that theists are not interested in the truth and are not willing to be wrong. Another kind of response, common among academics, has been to ignore the New Atheists. Philosophers of religion in particular, those who specialize in questions about ultimate reality, have been almost completely silent.1 It is not hard to explain why. The arguments given by the New Atheists are not substantial contributions to the field; they are polemics aimed at a broader audience. Moreover, although their arguments have cultural impact, they are not new, and they are out of step with the major developments in the philosophy of religion.2 However, in the wake of these responses, people polarize into ideological in-groups and out-groups. Even in academic circles, philosophers of religion sometimes feel their love of truth has come under suspicion. Rather than build a city of knowledge together, there is pressure for atheists and theists to view each other as enemies. The result is tragic: insights, including major advances in the field, are lost in the throes of warfare.

2. Our purpose We have a vision for a productive, scholarly exchange that reaches into the popular sphere. This exchange is characterized by building, not battling. It is collaborative and depolarizing. The “New Theist” brand expresses a commitment to a certain kind of depolarizing interaction. This commitment is not new: it is characteristic of many scholarly conversations. What we have yet to see, however, is high visibility of this sort of commitment that reaches popular-level conversations about God. Two core values define the collaborative conversation we envision. First, we share the New Atheist commitment to intellectual virtues, such as truth seeking, honesty, carefulness, and so on. We strive to cultivate in ourselves the same love of reason and the same preparedness to bravely, boldly, and humbly test every belief with the best arguments and evidence. Our goal, then, is not to rationalize previously held beliefs, but to get closer to truth, wherever it might lie.

Introduction 3 Second, we want to establish a charitable and respectful engagement between interlocutors. Lack of respect blocks the flow of insights from one to another. Hence, our desire for truth also inspires a commitment to social virtues, such as love and respect toward dialectical opponents. We aspire, then, to compose and share intellectual work that is even-handed, reasonable, and gracious. We hope to build a bridge of understanding that is inclusive, secure, and honoring toward everyone. We work to foster the sort of conversations that contribute to the New Atheist interest in helping people get free from the traps of blind belief. We want to inspire architects of conversation to help unblock the flow of truth and discovery. We approach the topic as scholars, primarily philosophers, who work on worldview questions—such as about God’s existence, attributes, and relations to the world. Few engagements with New Atheists have this feature, and almost none responds to the New Atheists as a community united by a common goal of depolarizing the atheist–theist divide. Our aim, then, is not to provide knockdown arguments in an intellectual contest. Rather, we aim to inspire a productive conversation.

3. Volume overview The volume includes a series of chapters on big questions about God. Each chapter shows how a theistic commitment to truth seeking can address a problem or puzzle posed by New Atheists. We have 14 chapters covering three broad themes. The first theme is “God and Reason.” New Atheists frequently say there is no good reason or solid evidence in support of theistic belief. Chapters in the associated section explore some recent moves in classic theistic arguments. The chapters implicitly address the worry that we cannot combine theistic belief with a commitment to scientific methods, such as inference to the best explanation. In “Paradoxes of Infinity and the First Cause,” Alexander R. Pruss argues that some familiar paradoxes of infinity can only be resolved if the history of the world is finite. The tone is exploratory, rather than decisive. The idea of a first cause is something routinely attacked as irrational and baseless, but Pruss provides an argument for a first cause that depends entirely on how to resolve some difficulties in mathematics. In “An Argument for a Supreme Foundation,” Joshua Rasmussen marks out a pathway that begins with the New Atheist value of truth seeking. Rasmussen argues that truth seeking in certain domains leads one to expect to find explanations for contingent events, which bolsters a key premise in the argument for the existence of a foundational explanation of contingent reality. Rasmussen then extends this “contingency” argument by addressing the charge that there is no reason to think the foundation of things has theistic attributes. Rasmussen shows how the same principle that points to a foundation also provides evidence for a supreme foundation.

4  Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier In “God and Moral Knowledge,” Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson provide a probabilistic argument that connects moral knowledge (i.e., knowledge of moral truth) and theism. According to their argument, those who maintain that we have moral knowledge, as Sam Harris does, can gain on reflection at least some evidence to put on the theist side of the scale. Next, in “Taking a New Perspective on Suffering and Death,” Chris Tweedt argues that the problem of evil does not show that we should affirm atheism over theism. Tweedt draws attention to a critical distinction between one’s evidence and one’s perspective on one’s evidence. By Tweedt’s argument, evil will be interpreted differently according to different, sensible perspectives, including a perspective on which God exists. Logan Paul Gage’s “Is the God Hypothesis Improbable? A Response to Dawkins” deals with Dawkins’s “747 Gambit” objection to theism. Gage shows how Dawkins’s objection inspires a deeper understanding of the nature of the foundation of things. Rather than reduce the probability of God’s existence, Dawkins’s interest in simplicity can actually lead to an intrinsically probable theory of the foundation that coincides with classical theism. Capping off this first section is Liz Jackson’s “The Nature and Rationality of Faith.” Jackson deals with what is perhaps the most important concern that gives rise to the New Atheism. She addresses the problem of “faith.” She argues that once we examine how New Atheists define faith, we will see that either faith is not irrational (on one set of interpretations) or that the vast majority of theistic believers do not—or need not—actually have faith (on another set of interpretations). The second theme is “God and Morality.” These chapters explain how reasonable theists understand the connection between God and moral truth and often challenge the idea that one can develop an entirely satisfactory moral framework based solely on secular premises. The aim here is emphatically not to show that atheists lack sufficient reason to be moral. On the contrary, part of the purpose of this volume is to highlight many of the same moral virtues that New Atheists esteem. In this vein, we also have a chapter that addresses the relationship between God and politics with a focus on religious liberty. Thomas M. Ward, in “Deiform Morality,” explores the New Atheist charge that God’s role in motivating behavior is, at best, inappropriate. Ward concedes that if one were only moral because of theistic belief, this would be morally problematic. Still, after examining the theories of moral motivation in the history of theistic moral theory, he identifies ways of conceiving of the connection between God and the moral life that avoid the New Atheist concern. Christian B. Miller, in “Are We Better Off Without Religion? The Harms (and Benefits) of Religious Belief,” addresses the New Atheist charge that, in general, religious belief leads to immoral behavior and harmful treatment of other persons.

Introduction 5 Jennifer Zamzow, in “A License to Sin? Spiritual Practices and Moral Licensing,” challenges Dan Dennett’s argument that spiritual motivations necessarily excuse morally irresponsible behavior. Although there is some empirical evidence to support Dennett’s hypothesis, the balance of evidence shows that certain religious beliefs can often provide motivation for moral behavior. Paul Copan and Thom Wolf give a historical-based analysis in “Another Dimension of the Moral Argument: The Voice of Jesus and the Historical Fruits of the Christian Faith.” They argue that the New Atheists share a moral vision with a Christian past and follows in the wake of the transformative impact Christians have had on moral reform and to produce moral tranformation. If so, then religion can be a force for the moral good, and this contributes to our evidence that a religion like Christianity could be true. Rico Vitz argues in “Moral Strangers as Co-Laborers in the Fields of Justice” that, despite interminable moral disagreement between atheists and theists, there are good grounds for alliance formation between theists and atheists for addressing certain social maladies and injustices. Hunter Baker argues, in “Reflections on a Secular Foundation for Religious Liberty,” that, despite a number of recent controversies about religious liberty in U.S. political culture, that atheists have good reason to endorse religious liberty for persons to act in ways that atheists disapprove of. The third theme is “God and Theology.” This theme addresses New Atheist criticisms of certain theological beliefs that often accompany theistic belief. A common thread in this section is an agreement with New Atheist concerns about certain, narrowly characterized theological positions. The authors develop accounts in the spirit of theological progress and clarity. This section focuses on worries about the coherence and seriousness of the Christian doctrine of the atonement (Jordan Wessling’s “A Bloody Death that Saves the World? Making Sense of Christ’s Cross”) and on questions about the eternal fate of the good, nontheists (Kevin Kinghorn’s “The Fate of the ‘Good Person’ ”). The aim is to show that beliefs that commonly accompany theism are subject to the same form of rational engagement as the previous themes.

Notes 1 Notable exceptions include Ganssle 2008; Wielenberg 2009; and Plantinga 2011, 13–30. 2 In the five, seemingly canonical, works of the New Atheism (Dawkins 2006; Dennett 2006; Harris 2004, 2006; Hitchens 2007), Plantinga is only mentioned in two footnotes of Dennett (2006, 406–407, 409), while Swinburne appears, but is repeatedly dubbed a “theologian,” in Dawkins (2006, 58, 63, 65, 147) despite multiple appointments in philosophy, including nearly two decades at Oxford.

6  Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier

References awkins, Richard. 2006. The God Delusion. London: Bantam Press. D Dennett, Daniel. 2006. Breaking the Spell: Religious as a Natural Phenomenon. New York, NY: Viking. Ganssle, Greg. A Reasonable God: Engaging the New Face of Atheism, Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009. Harris, Samuel. 2004. The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. ———. 2006. Letter to a Christian Nation. New York, NY: Vintage. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York, NY: Twelve. Plantinga, Alvin. Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism. New York: Oxford University Press. Wielenberg, Erik. 2009. “Dawkins’s Gambit, Hume’s Aroma, and God’s Simplicity.” Philosophical Christi 11:1: 111–125.

Part I

God and reason

1 Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause Alexander R. Pruss

1. Introduction I begin with an initial outline of a version of the Kalam cosmological argument for the existence of God:1 (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

There is a cause. There is no circle of causes. There is no infinite regress of causes. If (1)—(3), there is an uncaused cause. So, there is an uncaused cause. If there is an uncaused cause, God exists. So, God exists.

Some of the premises are more controversial than others. Premise (4) is completely uncontroversial: if there are no uncaused causes but there is a cause, then that cause has a cause, which in turn has a cause, and so on, which either leads to a circle or a regress. Premise (1) is widely accepted, but somewhat more controversial, as there are philosophers who think that because fundamental physics can be formulated without the word “cause,” we should be skeptical of whether there is causation. Premise (2) is often intuitively accepted, but it has been proposed that the universe can be explained by circular causation2 or, more modestly, that the existence of closed-time solutions to Einstein’s equations shows the possibility of circular causation. Although there are many interesting things to be said about circular causation, in this chapter I will bracket these questions. A reader who wishes to investigate (2) may wish to think about the paradoxes of time travel.3 That leaves two highly controversial premises: (3) and (6). At least since Hume, positing an infinite regress of causes has been a standard alternative to a theistic posit of an uncaused cause.4 Moreover, some cosmological arguments for the existence of God allow for an infinite regress of causes, holding that God could create such a regress from eternity.5 Premise (3), which rejects infinite causal regresses, is thus controversial in both theistic

10  Alexander R. Pruss and nontheistic circles, and this chapter will be largely devoted to examining that premise. Finally, regarding (6), God is not the only candidate for an uncaused cause. One might think instead that there are uncaused random quantum fluctuations all around us, none of which is God. Granted, (6) does not say that every uncaused cause is God, but if some uncaused causes are not God, then perhaps no uncaused cause is God, and there is no God (since it’s very plausible that if God exists, he is an uncaused cause). Moreover, one might think that something other than God—say, the Big Bang—could be not just an uncaused cause, but an uncaused ultimate cause—that is, an uncaused cause of all other entities, or at least all other contingent and/or concrete ones.6 Kalam arguers offer two kinds of considerations in favor of the rejection of infinite causal regresses in (3).7 One kind is empirical: they argue from empirical data in favor of a Big Bang cosmology with a finite past. If the past is finite, then perhaps there just was no time for an infinite causal regress. However, one may have two kinds of worries here. First, there is scientific speculation about the possibility of physical realities preceding the Big Bang. Second, if time is continuous, there could be an infinite number of instants of time even in a finite interval of times, which would allow for an infinite number of causes even in a finite past. Another kind of consideration in favor of (3) is conceptual arguments against infinities, either actual infinities in general or infinite sequences of past events. After all, if there can’t be an infinite sequence, there can’t be an infinite regress. In this chapter, I will offer a different set of conceptual considerations in favor of (3). I won’t object to the possibility of infinities as such. Denying the very possibility of infinities would arguably put mathematics in serious jeopardy. After all, everything can be made to follow from an impossibility, so if the axioms of mathematics entail there are infinite numbers of things— like an infinite number of primes—and infinities are impossible, then everything, including self-contradictions, follows from these axioms. Moreover, it would be most mysterious why the study of mathematical structures based on axioms from which contradictions follow is so useful in science. Instead, I will argue for causal finitism, a view (or family of views) on which an infinite number of items cannot be causally prior to one effect. Given causal finitism, (3) follows, since each of the infinitely many items in a causal regress would be causally prior to the item from which the regress started, contrary to causal finitism. However, I won’t have much to say regarding (6) and the identification of God with the first cause. Premise (4) can be easily and uncontroversially strengthened to yield the conclusion that every cause has an uncaused cause in its causal history. Taking all the uncaused causes together, we get an ­ultimate—but perhaps plural—cause of the rest of the causal nexus. One can then argue that the elegance and unity of the observed parts of the

Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause 11 causal nexus give us some reason to think that the ultimate cause is singular rather than plural. One might further deploy design arguments to argue that the ultimate cause is likely to be an agent moved by good reasons.8 I find this line of thought powerful, but I won’t defend it in this chapter, both for the obvious reason of space, but also for a more principled reason. I would like this chapter to be an invitation to an atheist to take causal finitism seriously, and hence to take seriously the existence of an ultimate uncaused—perhaps plural—cause and then to join in a common investigation of what this ultimate uncaused cause may be like. In the next three sections, I will sketch three causal paradoxes of infinity, two of them well known and one new, and argue that they, and others like them (there are many more!), give us good reason to accept causal finitism— namely the view that infinitely many things cannot causally impinge on a single effect. The first paradox is more of a warmup than a serious paradox, but it helps clarify the line of thought.9

2. Thomson’s Lamp Consider a lamp with a toggle switch. Each time you flip it, the lamp changes between being on and being off, and nothing else can affect the state of the lamp—the lamp and switch are indestructible. At 10 a.m., the lamp is off. Then at 10:30, the switch is flipped. And again at 10:45, 10:52.5, 10:56.25, and so on. Between 10 and 11, the switch is flipped an infinite number of times. At 11, the lamp must either be on or off. But which? It’s on after an odd number of flips and off after an even one. But after an infinite number? There seems to be no answer. This story is known as the Thomson’s Lamp Paradox.10 But where exactly is there a paradox? One could simply say that although the story tells us what happens after a finite number of switch flippings, it is simply silent on what happens after an infinite number. The story is compatible with the final state being on, and it’s compatible with the final state being off. It just doesn’t say which.11 But while this response has a lot going for it, there is still something puzzling. The story specified that the only thing that can affect the state of the lamp is the flipping of the switch. The lamp’s final state, thus, is either an uncaused and unexplained brute fact, or else it is an outcome of the switch flips. Let us take the two options in turn. The principle of sufficient reason (PSR) says that every contingent fact—a fact that holds but does not need to hold—has an explanation. The first option implies that the final state of the lamp violates the PSR. Although many contemporary philosophers end up denying the PSR for other reasons, the PSR is still sufficiently intuitive that having to deny the PSR may be taken to be paradoxical. Moreover, holding the PSR to be necessary can be argued to be important to both philosophical and scientific reasoning.12 For instance, a central

12  Alexander R. Pruss method both in contemporary philosophy and science is the inference-tobest explanation, where we conclude that the best putative explanation of a phenomenon is likely to be the truth of the matter. But if there can be unexplained phenomena, then we always have a competing nonexplanatory hypothesis which says that the phenomenon in question happens for no reason at all. The only epistemically responsible way to rule out such a nonexplanatory hypothesis without accepting the Principle of Sufficient Reason would be to hold a priori that unexplained brute phenomena are unlikely. But contingent matters that cannot be explained also cannot be said to be either likely or unlikely. That said, defending this claim in detail would take us too far afield.13 In any case, there is another problem: one can tell the Thomson’s Lamp story in what seems to be a completely deterministic setting, and the idea that the output of a completely deterministic system would violate the PSR is paradoxical. The second option is that the final outcome is the result of the switch flips. But now we have an intuitive puzzle. If we have a sequence of switch flips between 10 and 11 a.m., it shouldn’t affect the causal contribution of any switch to change when that flip happens, as long as the order is kept the same. For instance, if there are only three flips, at 10:15, 10:30, and 10:45, the causal contribution of each will be unchanged if I shift them, respectively, to 10:05, 10:50, and 10:57—the first flip will turn the lamp on, the second will turn it off, and the third will turn it back on. This lack of causal difference should intuitively be true even if there are infinitely many flips. Let’s suppose we move the 10:30 flip to 10:45, the 10:45 flip to 10:52.5, the 10:52.5 flip to 10:56.25, and so on. That shouldn’t affect the final lamp outcome. But this shift is equivalent to simply omitting the 10:30 flip. And, intuitively, omitting a single flip in a sequence should reverse the final outcome. So we have fairly intuitive arguments that the shift both would and would not affect the final outcome, and that is a paradox. Still, perhaps the best bet here is to deny either the intuitive shift invariance or the intuitive thesis that omitting a flip reverses the outcome. We could, however, suppose some sort of a messy function from infinite sequences of flip times to final outcomes, a function that doesn’t satisfy shift invariance or doesn’t satisfy omission reversal (or satisfies neither). Perhaps that function would be indeterministic. That function would have to be encoded in the laws of nature. Thus, the view would have to say that in any world where a lamp capable of an infinite number of flips can be made, there would have to be some additional law of nature specifying what happens in the case of an infinite number of flips. It is, however, implausible that such a law would have to exist. Now, if causal finitism is true (i.e., if infinitely many causes cannot impinge on a single effect), then we have a very simple solution, one that explains why the lamp situation cannot happen: it cannot happen, because it makes

Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause 13 the final state of the lamp have an infinite number of flips in its causal history. Being able to give such a principled explanation for why a paradoxical story is impossible is evidence for causal finitism. Nonetheless, this paradox is not particularly strong. A philosopher can, after all, hold that the PSR is a mere rule of thumb (and perhaps we wouldn’t expect a rule of thumb to apply in such a strange case as the lamp) or else posit that there would have to be some arbitrary law of nature in any world where one can make a lamp like Thomson’s. If Thomson’s Lamp were the only paradox of infinity that causal finitism resolves, this success would provide very weak evidence for causal finitism. But there are more interesting paradoxes ahead, and causal finitism’s success in explaining what goes wrong in all these cases will provide a good inference-to-best-explanation argument for the truth of causal finitism.

3. Grim Reapers What the defender of causal finitism really wants is a paradox that has more paradoxical force than Thomson’s Lamp, one where allowing infinite causal sequences leads to a contradiction or at least to a denial of an uncontroversial necessary truth. The Grim Reaper Paradox provides something of the first sort. We have a victim, Fred, who is alive at 10 a.m. Now, a grim reaper is a machine that has a dial set for a particular time. At that time, the grim reaper wakes up and checks to see if Fred is alive. If Fred is not alive, it goes back to sleep. If Fred is alive, it instantly kills Fred. (Though the killing doesn’t have to be instantaneous, just fast enough to happen before the next reaper wakes up.) Once dead, Fred stays dead and cannot die except by the hand of a grim reaper. So far there is nothing paradoxical here. But now suppose there is an infinite supply of grim reapers, set for different times. One is set for 10:30 a.m. The next is set for 10:15, then one for 10:07.5, and so on. It’s certain that Fred is dead at 11. After all, if he were alive then, he would have been alive at 10:30, too, and then the 10:30 reaper would have killed him. But the 10:30 reaper did not kill Fred. For the only way it could do that would be if Fred were alive at 10:30. But if Fred were alive at 10:30, he’d have been alive at 10:15, too, and then the 10:15 reaper would have killed him. But for exactly the same reason, the 10:15 reaper did not kill Fred, since it could only do that if Fred were alive at 10:07.5, when Fred would have fallen victim to a different reaper. This reasoning generalizes, and so (1) Fred is dead, (2) Fred can only be dead by the hand of a reaper, but (3) no reaper raised a hand to harm him. This is much more of a paradox than Thomson’s Lamp: we get a real contradiction rather than an indeterminacy. It won’t do to say, as Hawthorne would have it, that the mereological sum of the reapers together killed Fred.14 For the mere sum of things that do nothing does nothing.15

14  Alexander R. Pruss It is, however, a little less clear than in the case of Thomson’s Lamp how exactly causal finitism rules out the story, in that in the story as given, none of the reapers actually do anything, and hence it seems that there are not infinitely many causes in the history of the final outcome, namely Fred’s being dead at 11. There are, however, multiple ways of spelling out the details in causal finitism that allows the view to rule out the paradox—that is why I called “causal finitism” a family of views. One attractive way to proceed is to say that ensuring an outcome counts as an interaction that falls within the causal history of an event, even if in ensuring something one in fact does nothing but observe. For instance, my wife may tell me to ensure that my son is in bed. I may tiptoe to his room, gently open the door, and notice that he is in bed. I have thereby ensured that he is in bed, even though I did nothing to him. For me to count as having ensured, however, I had to be disposed to bring it about that he is in bed if he weren’t already in bed. We can then say that an appropriate causal finitism should also rule out infinitely many ensurings in the history of an event. Since each reaper ensured Fred’s being dead at 11, the story is ruled out by an appropriate version of causal finitism.

4. Die guessing The Gambler’s Fallacy says that the nonoccurrence of an outcome in the past throws of a fair die is evidence that the outcome will occur now. This is a fallacy, because a fair die has no memory (this is a consequence of the independence of tosses, which is a part of the concept of fairness). For exactly the same reason, it would be a fallacy to think that any pattern of past throws of a fair die can be leveraged to gain information about a future outcome. We can call this the Generalized Gambler’s Fallacy. For the Generalized Gambler’s Fallacy to be a fallacy, it is crucial that we be certain we are dealing with a fair die. In real life, we have no such certainty. If I roll a die ten times and each time it comes up six, I have good evidence that it’s a crooked die. But if I am certain that the die is fair, then this surprising outcome should make no difference to me: the chance that the next roll will be six will still be one in six. Now consider the following unpleasant game. Before a fair die is tossed, you need to guess whether it will show a six—you must say “Six” or “Not six.” If you’re right, you get a dollar. If you’re wrong, you’re tortured. It is clear what the one and only best strategy for this game is: guess “Not six,” and you have a five in six chance of avoiding torture. Suppose the game is repeated. Assuming it’s certain that the die is fair, it would be an instance of the Generalized Gambler’s Fallacy to think you can leverage information about past rolls to improve your outcome. The one rational thing to do is to guess “Not six.” But now suppose that you’ve played this game once a year over an infinite past, with the game coming to an end in some specific future year. It turns out that there is a strategy that, when consistently applied, is better than

Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause 15 consistently guessing “Not six.” Moreover, this strategy leverages information about past rolls. Let’s say that something happens “almost always” provided that there are, at most, only finitely many exceptions, and “almost never” provided that it happens, at most, finitely many times. Here then is the strategy: • •

If you almost always got a six, guess “Six.” Otherwise, guess “Not six.”

There are two possibilities. Either the die comes up six almost always, or it comes up non-six infinitely many times. If the die comes up non-six infinitely many times over the course of the game, then at any time at which you play the game, it will already have come up non-six infinitely many times, and so by the second rule in the strategy, you will always guess “Not six.” In this case, you will have exactly the same outcome as the old consistent “Not six” strategy. But if the die comes up non-six only finitely many times over the course of the game, then the first rule of the strategy will always be and have been triggered. And you will almost always be right when you guess “Six,” so you will only be tortured finitely many times. On the other hand, if you follow the old consistent “Not six” strategy, then in this unfortunate case you will be tortured almost always. It’s clearly better to be tortured almost never than to be tortured almost always. The modified strategy is sometimes much better than the old one, and in other cases the same. So it’s on balance rationally better to use. But the new strategy leverages information about past tosses, and the rejection of the Generalized Gambler’s Fallacy shows that such leveraging can’t help. So we have a real paradox. This paradox is neatly ruled out by causal finitism. In order to make use of the strategy, you have to know if the count of past non-sixes was finite or infinite. Your mental state, thus, has to be influenced by infinitely many die roll events. This would involve infinitely many causal-type influences on a single present event, and causal finitism rules that out. Perhaps, though, you’re not very impressed by this paradox. After all, the improved strategy only does better in the very unlikely case (indeed, the law of large numbers says that the probability of this case is zero) where the infinitely many rolls of a fair die are almost all sixes. However, Yuvay Gabay and Michael O’Connor have found that by leveraging the axiom of choice from set theory it is possible to come up with an even better strategy.16 Amazingly, the better strategy results in one avoiding torture almost always no matter what comes up.17

5. The general argument We can now give two different kinds of arguments for causal finitism on the basis of the earlier informal remarks.

16  Alexander R. Pruss 5.1. Induction The first is an inductive argument:   (8) Scenarios P1, P2, and P3 are impossible because they are paradoxical.   (9) A single version of causal finitism gives an elegant unified explanation why P1, P2, and P3 are impossible. (10) There is no good competitor. (11) So, probably, causal finitism is true. When an elegant theory can give an elegant explanation of multiple phenomena, that is strong evidence for the theory. For instance, gravity explains not just the falling of objects on earth but also the orbits of the planets, comets, and other bodies around the sun; the orbits of natural and (as of the twentieth century) artificial satellites around planets; and the movement of lead balls in the Cavendish apparatus. The greater the number of phenomena and the more variety among them, the stronger the evidence. In this chapter, we considered three paradoxes, though Thomson’s Lamp was more of a warmup than a really serious paradox. This argument can be significantly strengthened by giving a number of further paradoxes.18 Currently there are only two competitors to causal finitism as unified explanations of why so many paradoxical stories are impossible. The first is a version of finitism that holds that there cannot be an actual infinite number of things, where actuality is understood in such a way (i.e., one either needs eternalism or a growing block theory of time) that finitism rules out both simultaneous and past infinities. As I noted in the introduction, finitism puts mathematics in jeopardy, and that is a serious cost. Finitism, however, is not much of a competitor to causal finitism, since it comes close to entailing causal finitism and probably has to entail causal finitism for it to do the work that needs to be done in ruling out paradoxes. Suppose that whatever is causally prior must be simultaneous with or in the past of what it is causally prior to. Then ruling out the possibility of a present or past infinity of things rules out infinite causal histories and yields causal finitism. On the other hand, if causation doesn’t have to be either simultaneous or past-to-future, then either finitism also rules out timeless and future infinite numbers of items or it does not. If it does rule them out, then it yields causal finitism. But if finitism does not rule out timeless or future infinite numbers of items, then one can generate variant paradoxes involving, say, timeless or future-to-past causal sequences. For instance the Die Guessing Paradox could easily run from the future to the past if future-to-past causation is possible. Those paradoxes would then be ruled out by causal finitism—since causal finitism only concerns the order of causation, not the order of time— but not by finitism.

Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause 17 The other competitor in the literature is Michael Huemer’s thesis that infinite intensive magnitudes are impossible.19 Take a magnitude to be a quantity that appears in correct scientific explanations—for instance, mass or charge. Some magnitudes are defined as sums. For instance, the mass of an object might be taken to be the sum of the masses of the components. Those magnitudes are called extensive. All other magnitudes are intensive. Huemer allows for the possibility of infinite numbers of things. Given this, it is likely that there can be infinite extensive magnitudes. For instance, if there are infinitely many planets, then the total mass of the universe is infinite. However, Huemer posits that there cannot be an infinite intensive magnitude and leverages this to rule out paradoxes. For instance, if you flipped a switch infinitely many times between 10 and 11 a.m., then the total distance moved by the switch would be infinite—so the average speed of the switch would be ∞/1 kilometers per hour. Total distances are extensive, but average speeds are not, and so Thomson’s Lamp is ruled out. One might even try for a similar resolution of the Grim Reaper Paradox. Each grim reaper must observe whether Fred is dead prior to the next one waking up. This requires faster and faster observations to be made by the earlier reapers. Let’s suppose that observations are made by bouncing some particles off Fred. Then the total distance traveled by all the relevant particles will be infinite, and so the average speed of this population of particles over an hour will be infinite. It is not clear that this kind of resolution can be made to work in the die guessing case, but Huemer can say that this is because it is not clear what exactly the physical embodiment of the die guessing situation would be, and perhaps any realistic physical embodiment would require some kind of infinite intensive magnitude. One problem, however, with Huemer’s solution is that although velocities do enter into scientific explanations, it is not clear whether averages of speeds do, and hence it is not clear whether average speeds count as magnitudes. Huemer’s solution also leads to the implausible view that not only do the laws of nature prescribe a maximum speed—the speed of light—but that the laws of nature have to set a global speed limit.20 For suppose we have a universe where there is no maximum speed limit. Then we could imagine a particle that moves at one unit of speed in the first second, at two units in the second, at three in the third, and so on. The average speed of that particle would be infinity, and Huemer considers average speeds to be intensive quantities. Likewise, there has to be a maximum mass that can be contained in a set volume. Otherwise, we could imagine an infinite number of objects of larger and larger mass arranged in a region such that the average or overall density of the region is infinite. And just as Huemer’s main solution to Thomson’s Lamp needs average speed to be an intensive magnitude, he also offers a solution to Laraudogoitia’s Marble Paradox, not discussed

18  Alexander R. Pruss in the present chapter, using overall density as an example of an intensive magnitude. However, Huemer has some back-up solutions that do not require thinking about average speeds. For instance, he thinks that the amount of friction involved in flipping a switch infinitely often would generate a black hole,21 and black holes involve intensive infinite magnitudes. This line of thought highlights what appears to be an unfortunate consequence of Huemer’s view,22 which Huemer himself acknowledges: it requires rejecting those aspects of the general theory of relativity that lead to black holes.23 Causal finitism is not tied to details of laws of nature in the way that Huemer’s solution is and appears, on the whole, superior as a unified explanation of what goes wrong in a variety of paradoxes. Still, in the final analysis, it could be that both causal finitism and Huemer’s rejection of infinite intensive magnitudes are correct. 5.2. Rearrangement There is a second, deductive line of argument that can be applied in the case of each paradox Pi: (12) If causal finitism is not true, scenario Pi is possible. (13) Scenario Pi is not possible. (14) So, causal finitism is true. The line of thought behind (12) can be a direct intuition, such as that it seems that if you can have infinite causal histories, you could know whether infinitely many non-sixes have occurred in your past die rolls. But in some cases, in addition to a bare intuition, we can offer a plausible rearrangement argument. According to this argument, the scenario Pi is just a rearrangement of an unparadoxical scenario that should be possible if causal finitism is false. A nice illustration of this is the Grim Reaper Paradox. Suppose that each reaper has a dial on which its activation time is set. There is no paradox if the reapers at 9 a.m. freely set their own respective dials to 10:30, 10:45, 10:52.5, and so on. If causal finitism is false, such settings should be possible. But if such settings are possible, surely no metaphysical force would prevent each of the reapers instead from freely choosing to set their respective dials to 10:30, 10:15, 10:07.5, and so on. Moreover, each particular time in this last list is a possible dial setting, and any finite subset of the reapers could set their dials to these times. So the “metaphysical force” would somehow have to prevent an infinite number of them setting their dials so but allow a finite number. On the other hand, the causal finitist can say that there is no possibility of any infinite number of settings all falling within the 10 to 11 a.m. range, regardless of the order, since any such infinite number of settings violates the right version of causal finitism. This idea is much less ad hoc than just ruling out precisely the paradoxical settings.

Paradoxes of infinity and the first cause 19

6. Evaluation We have two arguments for causal finitism: (1) an inductive argument to the best explanation and (2) a rearrangement argument in each case. The inductive argument is stronger the more cases are explained. The deductive argument, on the other hand, requires only that one case have true premises: (12) and (13). As the number of cases is multiplied, it becomes more epistemically probable that in at least one case both (12) and (13) are true, and hence that causal finitism is true. Once we have causal finitism, we need only one more ingredient to establish an uncaused cause: we need to rule out causal circles. Here, we can either rely on intuition, or else we can say that causal circles have enough of a structural similarity to infinite causal sequences that it is highly plausible that if infinite causal sequences are impossible, so are causal circles. For a circle generates a sequence like: a ← b ← c ← a ← b ← c ← . . ., and the fact that entries in the sequence repeat seems to only make it less likely that the circle be possible. Thus, we have some reason to think there is an uncaused cause. The uncaused cause or causes, then, can be seen as being at the head of every causal sequence. And at this point I issue an invitation to the reader, theist, pantheist, polytheist, agnostic, atheist, or other: assuming that there is an uncaused cause or a plurality of uncaused causes, let’s investigate the uncaused causes together. After all, the question of what they are like is apt to be one of the most important explanatory questions anyone can ask.24

Notes 1 For a survey on the Kalam argument, see Craig 2009. 2 See Smith 1999 for an example of that approach. 3 See, e.g., Pruss 2018, Section III.6. 4 Hume 1779. 5 See, e.g., Pruss 2009 for a discussion of such arguments. 6 Though recently Pearce 2017 has questioned whether God’s explanatory role should count as causal. 7 See Craig 2009. 8 Cf. Koons 1997, Section 7.1. 9 For additional paradoxes in this context, see Pruss 2018, and for a different approach to a number of these paradoxes, see Huemer 2016. 10 Thomson 1954. 11 Cf. Benacerraf 1962. 12 For defenses of such claims, see Pruss 2006 and 2017 and Della Rocca 2010. 13 See Pruss 2017. 14 Hawthorne 2000. 15 An organic unity may have causal powers over and beyond those of its parts. But we can specify that the reapers do not form an organic unity. 16 Hardin and Taylor 2008. 17 For details of the strategy, as well as a discussion of how to causally implement the use of the axiom of choice, see Pruss 2018. 18 See Pruss 2018. 19 Huemer 2016.

20  Alexander R. Pruss 0 Cf. Ibid, 160. 2 21 Ibid, 198. 22 Ibid, 159. 23 Presumably, Huemer does not dispute the well-established astronomical fact that there is something like a black hole at the center of the Milky Way. But he can dispute that the correct description of this object involves the kinds of singularities that its relativistic description does. 24 I am grateful to Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier for a number of comments that have significantly improved this chapter.

References Benacerraf, Paul. 1962. “Tasks, Super-Tasks, and the Modern Eleatics.” Journal of Philosophy 59: 765–784. Craig, William Lane. 2009. “The Kalam Cosmological Argument.” In The Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, edited by J.P. Moreland and W.L. Craig. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Della Rocca, Michael. 2010. “PSR.” Philosophers’ Imprint 10: 1–13. Hardin, Christopher S., and Alan T. Taylor. 2008. “An Introduction to Infinite Hat Problems.” The Mathematical Intelligencer 30: 20–25. Hawthorne, John. 2000. “Before-Effect and Zeno Causality.” Noûs 34: 622–633. Huemer, Michael. 2016. Approaching Infinity. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Hume, David. 1779. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. 2nd ed. London. Koons, Robert C. 1997. “A New Look at the Cosmological Argument.” American Philosophical Quarterly 34: 193–212. Pearce, Kenneth. 2017. “Foundational Grounding and the Argument from Contingency.” Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Religion, ed. Jonathan Kvanvig. Vol. 8, 245–268. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pruss, Alexander R. 2006. The Principle of Sufficient Reason: A Reassessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2009. “Leibnizian Cosmological Arguments.” In Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, edited by W.L. Craig and J.P. Moreland. Oxford: Blackwell. ———. 2017. “The Principle of Sufficient Reason and Probability.” Oxford Studies in Metaphysics 10: 261–278. ———. 2018. Infinity, Causation and Paradox. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, Quentin. 1999. “The Reason the Universe Exists is that it Causes Itself to Exist.” Philosophy 74: 136–146. Thomson, James F. 1954. “Tasks and Super-Tasks.” Analysis 15: 1–13.

2 An argument for a supreme foundation Joshua Rasmussen

1. Introduction In this chapter, I aim to promote a collaborative investigation into the foundation of all things. I will begin by drawing attention to a noble virtue that I see animating New Atheism. I will then show how this virtue can lead to a greater understanding of ultimate reality. Start with virtue. The New Atheists’ critique of religion springs from a concern with certain problematic ways of thinking, such as blind faith or wishful thinking. New Atheists see religion as an effect of bad thinking, but the root of the problem is the bad thinking. Bad thinking is their public enemy number one. New Atheists offer a classic solution to bad thinking. Seek truth. Face reality. Follow reason and evidence wherever they lead. Sam Haris’s Project Reason, for instance, had the stated purpose of eroding dogmatism, superstition, and bigotry.1 Together the New Atheists invite everyone to shake the shackles of dogma and to instead investigate reality in an honest, openended fashion. Rather than prioritize the defense of one’s tradition, New Atheists invite us to prioritize the discovery of truth. My task is to use this value for truth in the construction of a pathway leading to a potential discovery. Here are the schematics of the path. The first step is about the value for truth: truth is good to seek. I will then move from the value of truth seeking to the reliability of explanation seeking in certain contexts. Next, I will show how the reliability of explanation seeking is a key premise in an argument for the existence of an ultimate foundation of contingent things. I will then probe the nature of the foundation with the tool of conceptual analysis. Finally, for the sake of modesty and carefulness, I will test my construction with the instrument of objections. The purpose of the pathway is to promote a fresh investigation. I also hope to inspire further thinking about a potential intersection between a positive vision of ultimate reality and the hard results of reason.

22  Joshua Rasmussen

2. From truth seeking to explanation seeking Why aim for truth? On one level, we might say that aiming for truth contributes to our survival. After all, those with true beliefs are more likely to stay alive. Still, this explanation is not complete: it presupposes that aiming for truth leads to gaining truth. On a more fundamental level, then, a reason to aim for truth is this: when you aim for truth, you are more likely—other things being equal—to increase your stock of true beliefs. Consider, by contrast, what tends to happen when we aim for other things besides truth. Suppose Joe finds his house burned down. Joe might wonder how the ashes got there. Joe seeks an explanation. But is he seeking the correct explanation? Joe could look for the most comforting explanation. Or he could look for the cleverest explanation. If he does these things, he is likely to find explanations that have nothing to do with the truth. In general, if we want truth, we need to seek the truth. I’m stating the obvious: you are more likely to find truth if you seek truth than if you seek other things. This principle—that aiming for truth makes you more likely to gain truth—leads to a more general principle about explanation. Consider the following steps: 1 Aiming for truth is valuable. 2 If aiming for truth is valuable, then, generally speaking, aiming for truth is more likely to lead to true beliefs (for that’s what makes it valuable). 3 If, generally speaking, aiming for truth is more likely to lead to true beliefs, then some explanation of any given data (state of affairs or fact) is more probable than no explanation, other things being equal.2 4 Therefore, any given data probably has some explanation, other things being equal. I have already touched on (1) and (2). Let us have a closer look at (3): if, generally speaking, aiming for truth is more likely to lead to true beliefs, then some explanation of a given data is more likely than no explanation, other things being equal. To clarify, when I talk of an “explanation,” I have in mind a true proposition that sheds light on why or how something obtains. For example, the theory of common descent accounts for—and so can explain—biological similarities. For the sake of neutrality, we may leave open specific theories of the nature of explanation. For example, maybe explanations of quantum events, like the appearing of a virtual particle, are nondeterministic; maybe some explanations record prior tendencies or potentialities. In any case, nothing in my argument will presuppose any specific theory of the nature of explanation. My only requirement is that the explanations be noncircular. The next step is to see why the aim for truth has anything to do with (noncircular) explanation. I begin with observation. Notice that in many domains, especially empirical science, where we care to find out truths, we

An argument for a supreme foundation 23 proceed by an appeal to explanations. For example, suppose we see ash in the sky. We may then wonder how that ash got there: is there a geophysical explanation? A geophysical explanation certainly has more going for it than the theory that the ash appeared in the sky from nowhere, from nothing, without any explanation whatsoever. But why? Why is the no-explanation theory less likely than the volcano theory? To answer these questions, I offer the following hypothesis: in domains where a conceivable explanation is available, explanation seeking aids truth seeking. The thought here is that, in general, the very aim for truth in certain domains carries with it a sense that a true explanation is more likely, other things being equal, than no explanation at all. Consider, for example, the inquiry into the origin of human beings. Many conceivable explanations of human origins are available, and at least one of the conceivable explanations is correct. Why think that? Here is why: if the no-explanation hypothesis were just as likely as any other, then all aims to find out the correct account of human origins would be in vain. Biologists would have no way to arrive at beliefs that are likely to be true, since every explanation would be at least as unlikely no explanation. In other words, truth seeking in this domain would be futile. The problem here generalizes: in cases where conceivable explanations are available, the aim for truth carries with it a sense that an explanation is more likely than no explanation. Here is another avenue to this same result: the preference for some explanation underwrites the inference to the best explanation (IBE), which is essential to scientific reasoning. Take, for instance, facts about genetic similarity. You might think that the best explanation of such facts will include a theory of a common ancestor. Yet if the best explanation were no more likely than no explanation, then it would be a mistake to ever accept the best explanation as probable. Belief in the theory of common ancestry, for example, couldn’t be justified by any possible experiments if the “no explanation” alternative were at least as likely to be true. In general, however, we have reason to consider the best explanation as more likely than no explanation. Take another example. You have beliefs, but where did your beliefs come from? Here is one hypothesis: your noble aim for truth helps explain how you got many of your beliefs. But now suppose the best explanation were no more likely than no explanation. Then all your beliefs might, for all you know, have come into your mind from nowhere, with no explanation. You couldn’t even say the no-explanation hypothesis is less likely. At this point, one might wonder whether IBE might only apply to a certain class of data, like that you have beliefs or that organisms exist. Maybe IBE applies to data in class A but not in class B. However, if IBE applies only to a certain class, then we face the problem of irrelevant differences. The problem of irrelevant differences is the problem of identifying what makes a class relevantly different from every other class of data that has some explanation. How could you tell, for example, that what you are thinking right now has any explanation (known or

24  Joshua Rasmussen unknown), while something else does not? At the very least, we would need some explanation—or account—of the distinction between the cases. Otherwise, we would have absolutely no reason to treat the one class differently than every other. In other words, if there is a class of brute, unexplained facts, we can only identify that class if we have some reason to think the facts in that class are relevantly different from facts that have an explanation. In other words, we cannot identify unexplained facts without some explanation of their difference from explained facts. To draw out this point, suppose some fact U has no explanation. And suppose first that we can explain why U has no explanation. Then we can see that U is relevantly different from facts that do have an explanation. Notice that this very inference depends on IBE: that is, we assumed that some explanation of U’s having no explanation is more likely than no explanation of U’s having no explanation. Without this assumption, we would have no way to justify the thought that U is unlike facts that have an explanation. In other words, we could not justify the thought that U is unexplained. To be clear, my point here is not that there cannot—in principle—be any brute, unexplained facts. I have not claimed that every fact must have an explanation. Rather, my proposal so far is that for any given data, the default position is that there is probably an explanation of that data, other things being equal. In principle, we could imagine cases where no explanation is even conceivable. In such cases, the lack of conceivable explanation might itself provide an explanation of the lack of explanation. In that case, other things would not be equal. The point remains: unless we have some explanation for making an exception, the best explanation is more probable than no explanation. We can express this result in a modest, more precise way as follows: (PE) For any data (state of affairs or fact) D, where (i) there is some conceivable explanation of D, and (ii) there is no reason to think that D is relevantly different from explained data, it is reasonable to infer (else: it is likely) that D has an explanation. Here, then, is the gist of the argument. Truth seeking is valuable because it helps us gain truth. Yet truth seeking can only help us gain truth in domains involving explanations if, generally speaking, some explanation is more likely than no explanation. If there are exceptions, there is an explanation for the exceptions. Hence, PE.

3. Steps to the foundation The principle of explanation, PE, is a tool we can use to investigate many things. In this section, I want to show how to use PE to uncover a reason to infer that contingent reality has an ultimate foundation.

An argument for a supreme foundation 25 Consider, first, that reality, in total, has no outside explanation. Here’s proof: nothing real is outside all reality (by definition); therefore, no real explanation is outside all reality. Reason reveals, therefore, this basic principle about reality: Principle of no outside explanation (NOE): reality, in total, has no outside explanation. NOE leads to a strange puzzle about existence. The puzzle begins with the observation that the things we normally experience in life have an explanation beyond themselves. For example, my hand exists. Its existence came from prior causal factors, such as particles and laws, which can exist without my hand. The explanation of my hand is not wholly within my hand: rather, it transcends my hand. All objects we experience are like this: they have an explanation for their existence, and their explanation transcends them. How, then, can reality, in total, lack a transcendent, outside explanation? This question is a vehicle for investigating why anything exists at all. Now you might think the answer is simple: there cannot be an outside explanation of the totality precisely because it is the totality. After all, it is not even logically possible that a totality have an outside explanation. This much is true. However, there remains a more basic question about how anything could exist without an outside explanation. To draw this out, suppose “R” designates our total reality. Suppose next that there is some alternative possible reality R* in which our reality, R, is a mere proper part. For example, we might imagine R* contains a machine that produces R. This scenario reveals that although R has no explanation in R, it doesn’t thereby follow that R cannot have an outside explanation in some other reality. It all depends on what R includes. If R includes an independent foundation that precludes an outside explanation, then R cannot have an explanation. But if R lacks such a foundation, then we have not yet answered how R is able to exist without an outside explanation. To see the problem from another direction, consider a turtle. The turtle has a dependent nature: it would not exist without some prior causes that account for its existence. Now imagine that somehow this turtle alone exists. In that case, the turtle would occupy the totality of reality and so lack an outside explanation. But how? Turtles have a dependent nature. Merely removing things outside the turtle doesn’t change the nature of the turtle. The more fundamental question is this: how could a turtle be the sort of thing that could exist without an outside explanation? How can anything exist without an outside explanation? I have exciting news: PE predicts a sensible answer. Here is how. Start with some data: something contingent—i.e., something that could have failed to exist—actually exists. For example, I am a contingent being, since there was a time prior to my existence. (If you doubt that anything is contingent, then you may proceed to the next section about the nature of non-contingent

26  Joshua Rasmussen reality.) What is the best explanation of contingent existence? Equivalently: why is the category Contingent Thing not empty? Well, no contingent thing, or things (whether finite or infinite, temporary or everlasting), can explain why there are the contingent things in the first place. That would be circular, like a chicken bringing into being the existence of all chickens. The notion of “explanation” in PE is noncircular, however. After all, truth seeking guides us to explanations beyond (not within) the immediate data of our experiences. It follows, therefore, that if there is any explanation of contingent existence, it must be in terms of one or more things that are not contingent.3 Here, then, is my solution to the puzzle of unexplained existence. The solution is what I call the foundation theory. According to the foundation theory, reality divides into two sections: the foundational section and the dependent section. The foundation exists on its own, without any help from anything. This foundational section is self-existent and uncaused. Reality in total has no outside explanation, then, because it contains this robust foundation, which precludes an outside explanation. The rest of reality, by contrast, is dependent, caused, and explained ultimately by the foundation. For the sake of reference, I shall let “N” designate the totality of whatever noncontingent (i.e., necessary) things exist. Given PE, we have reason to think that N provides an ultimate explanatory foundation for the existence of contingent things. We now have an account of the relevant difference between things that have an outside explanation and any totality that lacks an outside explanation. The account is this: a totality lacks an outside explanation because it contains a necessarily existent foundation, which is precisely the sort of thing(s) that cannot have an outside explanation. Contingent things, by contrast, have an explanation outside themselves. In summary, the best—and only possible—explanation of contingent things is that some noncontingent foundation provides an ultimate foundation for the existence of contingent things. Given PE, we have reason to accept this explanation over no explanation.

4. From foundation to supreme existence I will now show how to extend the argument for the foundation theory into an argument for a maximal (supreme) foundation. The thrust of the argument will be that the totality of necessary reality cannot have arbitrary, nonmaximal limits with respect to its basic, uncaused attributes.4 Here is an outline of this argument 5 The foundation lacks arbitrary, unexplained limits (e.g., a limit in size, number of vertices, causal power, etc.). 6 A foundation with less than maximal (supreme) existence has an arbitrary, unexplained limit. 7 Therefore, the foundation has maximal (supreme) existence.

An argument for a supreme foundation 27 I will show how PE marks a pathway to (5), while conceptual analysis supports (6). Consider, first, (5): the foundation includes no arbitrary, unexplained limits. To help us think about this premise, consider what sort of attributes the foundation might have. The foundation has categorical attributes, like being a foundation, being independent, and having a robust (noncontingent) existence. These attributes are good candidates for being basic and unexplained. Or, if they have an explanation, then their explanation is in terms of some more basic attribute from which they are derived. For example, one might think necessary existence is derivable from supreme existence. Now consider, by contrast, attributes that imply particular limits. For example, consider the turtle theory, which is the theory that the foundation of all contingent things has the shape of a turtle. The turtle theory implies that the foundation has a limit with respect to its number of vertices. This limit invites a question: why does the foundation have that number of vertices? Why not be the shape of a flying spaghetti monster, instead, or perhaps a cube? There does not seem to be any relevant difference between turtle shape over any other shape. Could the turtle shape alone be necessarily and inexplicably instantiated at the foundation of everything? How? The observation so far is that, unlike the categorical attributes I mentioned (independence, noncontingency, etc.), noncategorical limits are arbitrary in a way that invites further explanation. If a three-sided shape, for example, could be instantiated without any explanation, then, by uniformity, every possible shape alike could be instantiated without any explanation. Yet not every shape is instantiated without explanation; the shape of my shoes, for example, has an explanation in terms of whatever made my shoes. We need to be careful. Just because humans might find it odd or arbitrary for some things, like limits, to lack an explanation doesn’t mean our instincts match reality. The universe may not match our expectations. On the other hand, we have seen that explanation seeking is part of truth seeking in certain domains. In particular, in domains where an explanation is conceivable, some explanation (some prior condition or cause or account) is more probable than no explanation, other things being equal. The entire natural order and all the progress in science testify to this principle. So, if we are to make an exception, it seems we would need some good reason to do so. With PE, we can explore the chains of explanation back to their ultimate foundation. Where does PE lead? It leads to a foundation for all limits, assuming a conceivable explanation is available. A perfectly conceivable explanation is available. For example, we can conceive of a foundation causing a sequence of particles that form into a specific, triangular arrangement. In general, for any limited objects, it is conceivable that the foundation provides some explanation of those limits.5 Notice again that the basic attributes of the foundation would be importantly different from any particular limits. The basic attributes would be the sort of attributes that have no outside explanation. It is an open question

28  Joshua Rasmussen what the basic attributes are. But we can at least say something about what they cannot be. They cannot be explained by an outside source, since they are basic. Perhaps we could theorize that some aspects of the foundation, like necessary existence, are entailed by a most basic, supreme nature. Regardless, basic aspects would be categorically unlike things that can conceivably depend on prior conditions. Let us now turn to the next premise, (6): a foundation with less than maximal (supreme) existence has an arbitrary, unexplained limit. To clarify this premise, I will say a few things about supreme existence. By “supreme,” I have in mind an intuitive, ordinary notion that we grasp when considering examples of great-making qualities. To illustrate, suppose I praise my wife by saying, “You are so intelligent, so kind, and so very weak.” I suspect you will intuitively see that two of the three attributes mentioned are not conductive to praise. The third—being very weak—is out of step with the others, precisely because it is not part of the concept of “supreme.” To be clear, we can distinguish absolute supremacy from relative supremacy. Perhaps there could be a supreme lion or a supreme knife. These notions of supreme are relative to a specific kind of thing—e.g., a lion or knife. I have in mind instead supremacy with respect to the most general kind of thing. That is to say, I am interested in the concept of a supreme something—i.e., something that is most supreme conceivable. At this point, one might worry that “supreme” is a subjective reflection of personal desires. For example, perhaps strength is great-making (desirable) to one person, whereas weakness is greater (more desirable) to someone else. In this way, one might think no concept of “supreme” is nonrelative. While my own view is that some value is objective (such as your value as a person), I wish to remove unnecessary stumbling blocks, if I can. Toward that end, I invite you to translate talk of “value” into talk of what you consider to be desirable for its own sake (i.e., what you could desire as an end). For example, if you consider some attributes, like kindness, peace, rationality, or knowledge, to be desirable for their own sake, then you could call them “valuable” relative to their intrinsic desirability. Then translate the rest of my argument in terms of a foundation that lacks limits along any valuable lines (i.e., lines of intrinsic desirability). (I don’t claim that this pathway sidesteps all possible stumbling blocks, but perhaps it can help you sidestep some.) The next step is to see that the foundation has some value (or intrinsic desirability). It has some value, I suggest, because it has unlimited power to produce, or explain the existence of, all valuable dependent things. The power to produce value is itself valuable. Translation for the subjectivists: the power to produce intrinsically desirable things is itself intrinsically desirable. If so, then since the foundation has this power without limit, by premise (5), it follows that the foundation has some value without limits. How supreme is the foundation? Suppose its value were less than ­maximal—i.e., there could conceivably be a more valuable foundation. Then its precise degree of value would have an arbitrary, unexplained

An argument for a supreme foundation 29 limit—which contradicts (5). Hence, the foundation is instead maximal with respect to value. To reinforce our steps, here is a separate, independent route. The foundation has maximal conceivable power—since any lesser power would imply an arbitrary, unexplained limit, contra (5). Next, we can conceive (without contradiction) of a power that includes the ability to have maximal knowledge and act perfectly good. Therefore, the foundation has a power that includes the ability to have maximal knowledge and act perfectly good. Only a supreme foundation (or something near enough) could have that kind of power. Therefore, the foundation is supreme (or near enough).6

5. Testing the path Let us now examine the steps in our path with the instrument of objections. Objection 1. For all we know, there could be an infinite regress of purely physical causes. In that case, each physical state of the universe would enjoy an explanation in terms of some prior physical state, ad infinitum. This scenario reveals that there is no need for a noncontingent foundation, let alone a maximally valuable foundation. Reply. This objection brings to light an advantage of using PE, since PE leaves open the age of the universe. Even if the universe is eternal, we can still wonder why there is this eternal universe at all, rather than no universe or a different one. As Richard Taylor has noticed, the age of a thing does nothing to explain the existence of that thing.7 Suppose there were an infinitely old blue ball, for example. We could still wonder why there is that blue ball at all. Why not a red one instead? Similarly, we can wonder why there is any universe at all, no matter its age. PE, then, implies that the foundation of the universe has a special nature that allows it to exist independently and necessarily. Objection 2. The argument commits a fallacy of composition. As the philosopher David Hume has argued, even if each part of the universe has an explanation, it is a fallacy to infer that the whole thereby also has an explanation.8 Reply. This objection reveals another advantage of the precise path I’ve marked out. In particular, I did not infer that the universe has an explanation via any inference from parts to whole. Rather, I pointed to independent support for PE, which in turn provides a reason to prefer some explanation over no explanation. This principle applies to parts and wholes equally well. If instead we allow for no explanation of contingent things, then we face the problem of chaos: random composites may snap into—and out of—existence anywhere at any time without any explanation. Moreover, as I argued earlier, giving up PE threatens the value of reason itself. Why follow reason if all your thoughts, in

30  Joshua Rasmussen part or in whole, might exist without any explanation whatsoever? Reason itself pressures us to think there is some explanation of arbitrary parts and wholes, especially when an explanation is available. Besides, it is not fallacious to infer that contingent, explained things add up to a contingent, explained whole (or plurality). Although it is a fallacy to assume that a whole has all the properties of its parts, it is far from fallacious to infer that a whole inherits some properties of its parts. For example, the intrinsic nature of Play-Doh does not change merely by adding more and more Play-Doh. Similarly, the intrinsic nature of contingent, explained things does not change by adding more and more contingent, explained things. Consider, finally, that if we suppose the universe, or some part of it, is foundational, then we face the problem of arbitrary, unexplained limits. As I argued, the ultimate foundation has no limits (by PE). Therefore, if the universe or some part of it is foundational, then the universe or some part of it just is the supreme foundation (God). Objection 3. Maybe the foundation is “maximal” in some sense, but why think it is an omniscient, omnipotent, morally perfect personal being (i.e., God)? Reply. I offer two considerations. First, absolute perfection is the highest level of value and so implies no limits with respect to any value-­making attribute. Any foundation that has some, but not all, value-making features would be less valuable—and so less simple and more ­ arbitrary—than a foundation that is purely unlimited along every dimension of value. Power, knowledge, and goodness are dimensions of value. Therefore, the foundation has power, knowledge, and goodness without limit. Here is a second consideration. The foundation has some ability to cause or sustain the existence of things, for it is the foundation of all things. Now the simplest, least arbitrary theory of how much ability it has is this: the greatest conceivable. Conceptual analysis reveals that the greatest conceivable ability includes cognitive and moral abilities. Therefore, the simplest, least arbitrary theory of the foundation’s abilities implies that the foundation has maximal cognitive and moral abilities, just as a perfect personal foundation would. Objection 4. Adding a supernatural being to our world adds unnecessary complexity. Therefore, the best explanation of natural reality is a natural foundation, not a supernatural one. Reply. There is wisdom in this objection. In fact, although people sometimes imagine “God” as referring to something spooky and wholly beyond our world, the classical view has allowed a more immanent conception of God. What is at issue is not whether the foundation is beyond all that we know, but whether the foundation of everything we know is supreme in nature. We can call this foundation “natural”

An argument for a supreme foundation 31 if we want. Still, we can probe its nature via PE. The simplest account of any foundation is that it is supreme, since anything less implies a more complex theory about the details of its limits. In this sense, theism allows for the simplest, least ad hoc account of the foundation. Pure naturalism without a maximal foundation, by contrast, posits limits beyond necessity. Without a supreme foundation, we stop the explanatory series inexplicably short. Objection 5 (Advanced). Abstract objects, like numbers, have necessary limits. For example, the number 6 has a limited number of prime factors: the numbers 3 and 2. This limit is not a mere contingent state of affairs. The number 6 necessarily has precisely two prime factors. Therefore, some limits are necessary. But if some limits are necessary, then why can’t the necessary foundation have some necessary limits? Reply. First, the foundation is importantly different from an abstract object. The foundation is capable of explaining the existence of all possible contingent objects. No abstract object can do that. Moreover, the foundation enables a deeper explanation of abstracta.9 Consider the following theory. The foundation is supreme. It therefore reasons and acts supremely. This theory would then predict the following: (1) the foundation includes within its nature all perfect rules of reason, including the rules of logic and mathematics, and (2) the foundation includes within its nature all necessary rules of right living, including Plato’s perfect form of the good. In this theory, all abstract objects flow from—are explained in terms of—a supreme nature. Abstracta, then, exist and have their natures of necessity because the foundation is supreme. The point here is that we have an available theory that can explain the existence of the entire mathematical landscape. Although abstracta may be necessary, it does not follow that no abstract things have any explanation. Given PE, we have reason to infer that all limits alike have some explanation in terms of the foundation. The foundation, by contrast, would then be unlimited in virtue of being supreme. Supremacy makes a difference. For it is part of the concept of a supreme foundation that its existence and nature are not dependent on anything prior. Thus, supreme existence provides a natural terminus for explaining all other existence.

6. Recap I propose a pathway that begins with the intellectual virtues esteemed by New Atheists. These virtues include the basic value of seeking truth. This value is the first step onto the path. Next, this value of truth seeking points to the value of explanation seeking, which is a tool for tracing explanations back to an ultimate explanation. This tool helps us probe the foundation of existence by exposing a reason to think that the ultimate explanation

32  Joshua Rasmussen would lack limits, since any limit could conceivably have a further explanation. By conceptual analysis, the only foundation that could be completely unlimited and unexplained is a supreme (maximal) foundation. By these steps, then, we have a pathway to a supreme foundation—what we may call “God.” This pathway is open for all explorers to further investigate, test, and build upon.

Notes 1 Harris 2018. 2 I provide a more precise principle of explanation later to unpack what I mean by “generally speaking.” 3 This result is consistent with the proposal by Peter van Inwagen 1996 that the explanation is a necessary principle (i.e., a principle about the unlikelihood of an empty world). In the next section, however, I shall give an independent reason to think that the total foundation is more than a principle. 4 Weaver and I develop this argument in Dougherty and Walls 2018 (Rasmussen and Weaver 2018). 5 Even limits within the foundation, if there are any, would be explained in terms of more fundamental aspects. For example, a standard theory in Christian theology is that God is composed of multiple centers of awareness or personalities. While this multiplicity implies a limit, Swinburne 1994 proposes an explanation of that limit in terms of a supreme love. Whether any such proposal works or not, the point here is that any limits would have some deeper explanation. 6 Note that anything that is unlimited in a negative attribute—like moral evil— would be limited in some respect. For it would have some value (by virtue of its personhood), yet it would be limited in its total value (i.e., it would be less than maximally praiseworthy). 7 Taylor 1992, 84–94. 8 Hume 1980, 58–59. 9 More modestly, the basic features of the foundation are the root explanation of any abstracta that are not themselves part of the basic features.

References Harris, Sam. “Project Reason.” Accessed 1 August 2018, https://web.archive.org/ web/20100306140031/www.project-reason.org. Hume, David. 1980. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. London, Reprinted Indianapolis: Hackett. Rasmussen, Joshua and Weaver, Christopher. 2018. “Why is There Anything?” In Two Dozen or So Arguments for God, edited by Trent Dougherty and Jerry Walls. New York: Oxford University Press. Swinburne, Richard. 1994. The Christian God. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Taylor, Richard. 1992. Metaphysics, 84–94. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. van Inwagen, Peter. 1996. “Why Is There Anything at All?” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 70: 95–110.

3 God and moral knowledge Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson

1. Introduction Daniel Dennett has observed that “[t]here is a lot of goodness in this world, and more goodness every day.”1 Surely we can all agree with at least the first part of his claim (and there is a good case for the second). Happiness and friendship are good. And advancement in medicine and the reduction of poverty continue to make the world better. We know that Dennett is correct because we know that many things are good. And we know that promoting these goods is often morally right. We also know of many bad things. We know suffering is bad. And we know that acts like racial discrimination and harming the innocent are morally wrong. This is moral knowledge. In this chapter, we will investigate the ramifications of moral knowledge for naturalism (roughly, the view that all that exists is the natural world). Specifically, we will draw attention to a certain problem we face if the world is purely naturalistic. We will then show how theism provides resources for solving this problem. We’ll argue that the fact that we have lots of moral knowledge fits better with theism than with naturalism. Specifically, we’ll present reasons to think that (1) naturalists who think we have lots of moral knowledge will have trouble rationally maintaining both their naturalism and their belief that we have such knowledge and (2) theism better explains the fact that we have lots of moral knowledge than naturalism does. Similar arguments might show a conflict between the existence of lots of moral knowledge and some views besides naturalism, but we will focus on naturalism due to its popularity among many philosophers and among the New Atheists to whom this book is addressed. To display the problem we have in mind for naturalism, we begin with an analogy. Suppose you have no idea what time it is, and you see a clock. If you think the clock is stopped, you shouldn’t believe what it says. Of course, the clock might be right; it will be, twice a day. But you shouldn’t trust it. If it’s correct, it will be because of luck, not because it is trustworthy. And if you did trust it and it turned out to be correct, then even though you were right, we wouldn’t say that you knew what time it was. You placed your trust in an untrustworthy source. You were correct only by accident.

34  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson But suppose you know that the clock really is accurate. You check your watch and the time matches. It’s possible that the clock is stopped and just happens to be showing the right time, and if you obtained strong enough evidence that this was true (maybe you see it doesn’t have a battery), you might have to conclude that the clock displays the right time by chance. But the hypothesis that the clock was set to the right time and is working properly seems like a much better explanation of the fact that the clock shows the right time. Accordingly, absent very strong evidence to the contrary, you should believe the clock is working properly. The problem is that, with naturalism, the faculties we use to form moral beliefs are ultimately the result of natural processes that weren’t aimed at giving us true moral beliefs, but were instead aimed at giving us beliefs which (say) maximize reproductive fitness. We’ll argue that moral truth and reproductive fitness don’t seem to be connected in the right way for such a process to be likely to produce knowledge: if we wound up with true moral beliefs, we would do so only in a problematically accidental way, just like the stopped clock occasionally provides the correct time only in a problematically accidental way. Meanwhile, with theism, God exists, knows the moral truths, and has the ability to bring it about that we have the capacity to know the moral truths (either through intervening in the world or by setting up natural processes in the right way). Further, it’s easy to see why God might be motivated to bring it about that we have moral knowledge. Theism can provide a nonaccidental connection between our moral beliefs and the moral truths, just as there would be a nonaccidental connection between the time on the clock and the actual time if a knowledgeable and competent agent set the clock to display the correct time. You might wonder how God could come to have moral knowledge. Are we just pushing the problem back a step if we appeal to God’s knowledge in order to explain human moral knowledge? Some theists will account for God’s moral knowledge by claiming that moral facts depend on God’s will, desires, or character. For example, maybe keeping promises is right because God wants people to keep their promises. A worry for this proposal is that it seems to make morality depend on something arbitrary. Why does God want promises kept rather than broken? It can’t be because keeping promises is right. That would be circular. Here is a suggestion we like better. You might find it plausible that a human being could not become a tree. If you tried to turn Bob the human into a tree, you would kill him. (Even if you ended up with a tree at the end, it wouldn’t be Bob.) The reason for this is that Bob is not the kind of thing that can be a tree. His nature or essence is incompatible with being a tree. Traditional theists construe God as essentially believing all truths. In this view, God is not the kind of thing that can fail to have all true beliefs about morality. So God’s own nature or essence accounts for God’s moral knowledge. If God exists, God must have moral knowledge.

God and moral knowledge 35 However, some atheists will claim that it’s extremely implausible to think that anything has an essence like that—in other words, that it’s extremely implausible to think that God exists—and will claim that this rules theistic explanations of moral knowledge out of bounds. Suppose an important document disappears from a locked safe and all the usual explanations for how it could have happened seem insufficient (security camera footage shows that no one accessed the safe, etc.). One possibility is that the flying spaghetti monster, whose noodly appendages can supernaturally pass through safes unimpeded, stole the document in an undetectable way. But although this theory can account for the disappearance of the document, it isn’t a satisfying explanation, because it seems extremely implausible on other grounds. If theism is similarly implausible, theistic explanations of moral knowledge might fail for the same reason. We deny that theism is relevantly like the flying spaghetti monster. Theism possesses certain intrinsic features that make it appealing. For instance, it is comparatively very simple: from just one property (perfection, or maximal value, or something like that), all of God’s essential attributes (being allpowerful, all-knowing, and all-good) can be derived, and any inessential properties that God has can be explained in terms of God’s possession of these.2 Further, as Joshua Rasmussen notes in his chapter in this book, God is free of arbitrary, unexplained properties.3 On the other hand, the flying spaghetti monster would be incredibly complicated and incredibly arbitrary. (We can naturally ask questions like: why on earth is he made out of spaghetti?) The flying spaghetti monster was invented to be a silly hypothesis, and it succeeds. But the features that make it silly aren’t possessed by theism, so that, as a parody of theism, it fails. Further still, there are serious independent reasons to accept theism, some of which are surveyed in other chapters. In light of all this, while a naturalist will, of course, think theism is unlikely, they shouldn’t think it’s totally ridiculous in the way that the flying spaghetti monster is. We should think they should be open-minded about theism, if it can be shown that theism fits better with certain facts than naturalism does. Of course, we are claiming here that the extent of our moral knowledge may be such a fact. With that said, we don’t claim to be absolutely certain that the arguments we will present are sound. As is true of nearly all philosophical arguments, intelligent people have presented sophisticated objections to them. But although we don’t expect to convince everyone, we think there is something to these arguments. And while we will not be able to recap the literature on them down to every last detail, we hope to give a sense of why we think these arguments are promising. We should further note that we are not claiming that naturalists don’t have moral knowledge. Obviously they do. Our claim is instead about whether any of us would have moral knowledge were naturalism true. In the next section, we defend the claim that we have moral knowledge. In the third section, we discuss the conflict between naturalism and the claim

36  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson that we have moral knowledge. In the fourth section, we discuss three ways one might attempt to reconcile naturalism and moral knowledge. One of these ways involves adopting moral subjectivism, the idea that moral truths somehow depend on human attitudes. Another involves claiming that the way in which moral terms get their meanings ensures that we are likely to be correct about what they are. The third involves claiming that our moral beliefs are accurate because natural processes, while not aimed directly at moral accuracy, are aimed at something that is roughly correlated with moral accuracy. We give some reasons for being skeptical of each of these views. In the final section, we say a bit more about theistic explanations of our moral knowledge.

2. Moral knowledge Our argument requires that human beings have lots of moral knowledge. We certainly grant that humans are fallible about morality. But almost everyone thinks they know a fair amount about it. For example, you probably think you know facts like “hurting people just for fun is morally bad” and “slavery is morally wrong.” There are some holdouts. Moral skeptics deny that we have any moral knowledge. But this is a rare and extreme view, and the endorsement of moral knowledge is part of common sense. If something seems obvious to you and nearly every other reasonable person, then that’s a powerful reason to believe it. Otherwise, it’s hard to see how we could ever be justified in believing anything about the world at all: believing anything about the world at all seems to require, ultimately, trusting that how things seem is at least a somewhat reliable guide to how they are. Of course, it sometimes turns out that how things seem is not how they are, and we should sometimes abandon beliefs about things that seemed obvious when we have sufficiently good reasons for doing so. But the point is that we shouldn’t abandon such beliefs without sufficiently good reasons for doing so. Our argument will make the case that naturalists may be forced to abandon either their naturalism or their belief that we have moral knowledge. The idea now is just that, given how clear the existence of a substantial amount of moral knowledge is to most sane people, abandoning belief in it should be done only as a last resort. (Note that we are not currently assuming that morality is objective. We are just claiming that there is moral knowledge. If some form of moral relativism or subjectivism is true, people still know something about morality. It’s just that what they know about is a subjective domain. We address subjectivism in Section 4.) Furthermore, many prominent atheists are committed to the claim that we have, or at least are in a position to get, lots of moral knowledge. Sam Harris famously endorses moral knowledge in his book The Moral Landscape (2010). And atheistic critics of religion argue that various religious teachings or practices are immoral. Richard Dawkins, for example, criticizes the God of the Old Testament as unjust.4 Clearly, one can’t justifiably

God and moral knowledge 37 condemn teachings or practices as immoral if one doesn’t have a good idea of what sorts of things are immoral. Those who think that some such critiques ­succeed—at least who think they could succeed, assuming that the sorts of claims these atheists make about the morality of various religions are ­correct—should grant that they know some moral facts.

3. The conflict Our moral beliefs ultimately depend, in some way, on what philosophers call “moral intuitions.” When we consider certain moral claims, we can just “see” whether they’re true: we can see that (at least absent extenuating circumstances) hatred is bad, virtue is good, killing innocent people is wrong, etc. With these intuitions in place, we can reason and make our moral judgments more accurate. For instance, initially we might not think that factory farming is wrong. However, once we realize that causing suffering without a good enough reason is wrong, that producing cheaper meat is not a good enough reason for producing tremendous suffering, and that factory farming causes tremendous suffering in order to produce cheaper meat, we might change our minds. But this requires that we trust our intuitions: we wouldn’t be able to reason our way to the wrongness of factory farming without intuitively grasping the wrongness of causing suffering and the insufficiency of producing cheap meat as a justification for it. The problem for the naturalist here is that, if naturalism is true, it seems that the faculties responsible for our intuitions were formed through purely natural processes that didn’t aim at producing true beliefs. For instance, it seems plausible that our intuition that you shouldn’t cause pain without a good reason was instilled in us by evolution, since communities of our ancestors who flippantly inflicted harm on each other wouldn’t have lasted. But this might unnerve the naturalist who believes in moral knowledge. After all, it seems that we might have easily had very different moral intuitions. For instance, Charles Darwin suggested that: If . . . men were reared under precisely the same conditions as hivebees . . . our unmarried females would, like the worker-bees, think it a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers would strive to kill their fertile daughters, and no one would think of interfering. (1902, 137) Similarly, the philosopher Mark Linville (2009, 397) suggests that Wolves in a pack know their place in the social hierarchy. A lowerranked wolf feels compelled to give way to the alpha male. Were he endowed with [moral thoughts], then, presumably, his “moral sense” would tell him that obeisance is his moral duty. He would regard it as a moral fact that alpha interests trump beta or omega interests.

38  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson In light of this, the philosopher Sharon Street, who has done as much as anyone to draw attention to this issue, suggests that trusting moral faculties that have been formed by such natural processes might seem to be analogous to setting out for Bermuda and letting the course of your boat be determined by the wind and tides: just as the push of the wind and tides on your boat has nothing to do with where you want to go, so the historical push of natural selection on the content of our evaluative judgements has nothing to do with evaluative truth. While this historical push might sometimes give us correct beliefs, this would be “purely a matter of chance” (2006, 121–122). Further, with naturalism, how the moral domain is doesn’t seem to explain why we hold the beliefs we do; even if these beliefs are true, we don’t hold them because of how anything in the moral domain is, but instead because beliefs like that helped our ancestors survive. As we discuss in Section 4.3, even if we couldn’t have easily had very different, and therefore largely incorrect, moral intuitions, this fact might be enough to make it the case that, if our beliefs are true, they are true only by accident in a way that rules out knowledge. Once we realize this, our moral judgments might seem, with naturalism, to look like the stopped clock: just as it’s a happy accident if the clock happens to be stopped on the right time, what a happy accident that we wound up with a roughly correct set of intuitions! There are various ways naturalists might respond to this worry. Sharon Street suggests that we must give up on the “realist’s independent evaluative truths” and endorses a sophisticated form of subjectivism. We explain why we reject this in Section 4.1. Alexander Rosenberg (2009) claims that we should accept moral nihilism, the view that our moral judgments are false and that morality is an illusion. We explained why we reject this in Section 4.2. Still others attempt to reconcile naturalism with moral realism, the view that there are moral facts independent of human attitudes that we have some knowledge of. We argue against two such attempts in Sections 4.2 and 4.3.

4. Three possible responses 4.1. Subjectivism One possible response to the problem laid out earlier involves accepting moral subjectivism. One famous form of subjectivism is moral relativism, which claims that moral truths vary according to human standards. One type is cultural relativism, which, in its simplest form, claims that actions are right just in case the standards of the society in which they’re performed says that they’re right, wrong if those standards say they’re wrong, etc. Morality would then be kind of like etiquette. Actions that are rude here can

God and moral knowledge 39 be polite elsewhere, because politeness and rudeness are relative to which etiquette standards a culture accepts. For instance, burping loudly after eating is rude in the United States, but might be acceptable someplace where it’s viewed as a sign that you enjoyed the meal. Cultural relativists think that morality works in a similar way. They aren’t just making the obvious claim that which actions people think are right or wrong can vary from culture to culture. What they claim is that which actions really are right or wrong vary depending on cultural standards, even when the actions are performed in otherwise equivalent situations. Whether people think the earth is flat has varied between times and places, but this has had no impact on whether the earth really was flat; some people were just wrong. This is different from etiquette, where changing standards really do change which actions are polite. Relativists think morality is like etiquette rather than like the earth’s shape. If this view is true, our argument fails. There would be no mystery about how we wound up with the right moral beliefs, just as there is no mystery about how we wound up with the right beliefs about etiquette: in both cases, what’s right is just whatever we say is right. It would be true that, like the stopped clock, that the beliefs are true wouldn’t explain why we have them. But this would be because the fact that we have them explains why they’re true. But relativism of this sort is extremely implausible, and almost everyone rejects it once they understand its implications. It entails that if a society says that slavery is okay and fighting to end slavery is wrong, then slavery there really is okay, and people who fight to abolish slavery are acting wrongly. Clearly, this contradicts how things seem. Someone who fights to end slavery in a society that views it as a good thing is a moral visionary, not a wrongdoer. Because cultural relativism has false implications, it must be false. Other forms of relativism say that morality is relative to something besides cultural standards, but they run into similar problems. For instance, individual moral relativism, in its simplest form, says that which actions are right or wrong is relative to individuals: the morality of my actions is determined by my own moral standards, and the morality of yours by yours. But this is clearly false, too. It implies that the actions of a racist are right, as long as the racist is living up to their own standards. In response to this, philosophers have developed other, more sophisticated forms of subjectivism. For instance, we might claim that what matters is not what people actually think is right, but what they would think was right if they were fully informed about all the other facts of the situation and if their beliefs were perfectly consistent. Since most racists are misinformed about many facts and have many inconsistent beliefs, maybe they would abandon their racism if they were more informed and rational. This represents an improvement. But although we cannot discuss every view like this in all its detail, we suspect that these more sophisticated views will ultimately fail for reasons similar to those that undermined the cruder forms of subjectivism we discussed

40  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson earlier. In principle, if someone’s conscience was messed up enough, it seems that they might approve of racism even if they met the conditions mentioned earlier.5 But clearly racism would still be wrong, even if everyone thought this way. In light of problems like this, we accept moral realism. In this view, instead of the moral facts conforming to whatever our moral standards are, in developing moral standards, we should try to develop ones that conform to the objective moral facts. If this is right, the relativist response to our argument fails, because it reintroduces the possibility that our moral beliefs could have seriously failed to conform. 4.2. Moral language A subtly different potential response to our argument accepts realism but suggests that how words get their meanings accounts for the accuracy of our moral beliefs. It claims that, because the words we use in talking about morality derive their meaning from our linguistic practices, it is no surprise that we have accurate moral beliefs: if our moral beliefs had been very different, our moral words would have referred to different properties, so that our beliefs would have been fairly accurate no matter what. Consider: Boat Case: Suppose you crash-landed on an alien planet where people spoke a language very similar to English. You notice an odd behavior. The aliens are regularly pointing to vehicles floating on the water and saying, “That’s a nice car.” They also ask you if you want to “go for a car ride on the lake.” You might think the aliens are woefully uninformed about the nature of cars, but that would be a mistake. Rather, you should realize that their word “cars” refers to what we call “boats.” The way they use the term “car” has resulted in “car” having a meaning in their language that makes most of what they say about “cars” true.6 There is no mystery about how either we or the aliens wound up using the words correctly: the meaning of “car” in their language is determined by how they use the word, and the same is true for us. These claims don’t entail relativism about cars and boats. There are perfectly objective facts about what’s a car or a boat, and a car wouldn’t change into a boat, or vice versa, if one was flown back and forth between our planets. It’s just that we have different words for referring to the same objectively existing things, and, confusingly, we use words that sound the same to refer to different things. Someone could claim that something similar is true for talk about morality. We apply the word “right” to certain actions, say, actions that promote happiness, and this, the objector claims, is enough for the word “right” to refer to those actions. In a way, “right” is just another name for promoting happiness, just as, say, “water” is just another name for H2O. If we had

God and moral knowledge 41 used the word differently, it would have referred to whatever we applied it to instead, and we would have been correct then, too. (For instance, if murder was the only thing we ever called “right,” then we could have truly said “murder is right,” because the word “right” would then refer to murder.) This claim about moral language is not a form of moral relativism, just as our judgment about the Boat Case doesn’t lead to relativism about boats. In this view, it’s correct to say that slavery is wrong even in societies where it’s accepted (since rightness involves, say, promoting happiness, and slavery doesn’t promote happiness overall). It thereby seems to avoid some of relativism’s false implications. At the same time, the objector claims, this view is still enough to solve the problem of moral knowledge. Whatever we had called right would have been the referent of our word “right.” So there is again no mystery about our accuracy. The problem is that this view doesn’t seem to reflect the way moral terms actually work. Consider the following: Bad Aliens Case: You crash-land on an alien planet where people speak a language very similar to English. You notice that the aliens do not seem to care at all about left-handed people. They say enslaving lefthanded people is right if it produces even a tiny benefit for the non–lefthanded. Otherwise, their moral talk and practice are very similar to Earth’s (e.g., they agree that if an action is “wrong,” it’s very important not to do it).7 This scenario seems importantly different from the Boat Case. When we say “enslaving left-handed people is wrong” and they say “enslaving lefthanded people is right,” it seems clear that we disagree. This isn’t true when we say “cars don’t go on water” and they say “cars do go on water”: there, we are just talking past one another, because our word “car” means something different from theirs. We can both be right, and in fact we both are. (It’s as if I said “banks”—meaning a financial institution—“are meant for storing money” and you said that banks—meaning a riverbank—aren’t.) But we and the aliens can’t both be right about morality. In fact, they are very seriously mistaken. This verdict suggests that our moral language doesn’t work in the way the objector suggests and that it is not true that “right” would have picked out whatever we happened to call right. Rather, we (like the aliens) could have been completely in the dark about which things really are right without our word “right” having a different meaning. Exactly how our word “right” does work is a complicated question in the philosophy of language, but we don’t need to pursue that here. Agreeing with our verdict about the Bad Aliens Case is enough to show that whether claims of the form “X is good” are true is not determined just by which things we say are good, and that’s enough to defeat this objection. The aliens are wrong about morality. Their use of moral terms does not make them accurate. Are we doing better?

42  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson 4.3. Third-factor explanations Suppose a naturalist agrees that nothing in the moral domain explains why we have the moral beliefs we do. Suppose they also agree that our moral beliefs don’t explain the moral facts. They might still attempt to reconcile moral knowledge and naturalism by claiming that natural processes, although not aimed directly at moral accuracy, are aimed at some third thing that is roughly correlated with moral accuracy. In this case, even though these processes did not aim at accuracy, they could not easily have been wildly inaccurate. One version of this response has been defended by, among others, the philosopher David Enoch (2010). Evolutionary processes give us moral beliefs that promote survival: they tend toward making us think that the things that promote survival are good. Fortunately, promoting survival actually does tend to be good, so we wind up with beliefs about what’s good that are fairly accurate. Accordingly, the story goes, we could not have easily wound up with largely false moral beliefs, and this is enough to make them nonaccidental in the way needed for knowledge. Of course, Enoch must trust his moral intuitions—whose reliability is what’s in question—in order to believe that survival is good. This might seem circular, but perhaps it isn’t so bad: ultimately, we have no way to verify the reliability of our faculties without using our faculties, so (as we mentioned in Section 2) it may be that if we’re justified in believing anything, we’re allowed to start by trusting how things seem to us. Our criticism of naturalism was not that naturalists have no way to prove that their faculties produce knowledge without using them, but rather that, given what they believe, they have good reason to think their faculties don’t produce knowledge. But Enoch claims that a third-factor explanation allows us to see how, even if naturalism is true, our faculties can produce moral knowledge after all. One worry with Enoch’s approach is that it does not appear to be sufficient to account for the full extent of our moral knowledge. Couldn’t it have easily turned out that most of the acts that were required to promote survival were bad overall, even though survival is good? Recall the discussion from Section 3 about the sorts of beliefs that intelligent bees or wolves might hold: plausibly, fratricide and inegalitarianism would be wrong for them even though it promoted survival among their ancestors. If these evolutionary influences would distort their moral intuitions enough that they would have much less moral knowledge than we do, it seems very lucky that we happen to have the evolutionary history we do. There is also a deeper worry for third-factor explanations. They assume that showing that we don’t hold our moral beliefs because of anything in the moral domain is a threat to moral knowledge, because this seems to show that we easily could have been mistaken, and then they attempt to show that we couldn’t easily have been mistaken. This assumption is called into question by an important recent paper by Daniel Korman and Dustin

God and moral knowledge 43 Locke (forthcoming). Korman and Locke suggest that the lack of an explanatory connection between the moral domain and our beliefs doesn’t pose a threat to knowledge because it shows that we could have easily been wrong. Instead, the lack of an explanatory connection between the moral domain and our beliefs is itself enough to defeat knowledge and, once we recognize it, to make us unjustified in holding our belief. To argue for this, they present cases like the following: On the basis of clear and distinct intuitions, Neora believes in an allpowerful deity. Later, Agent Smith convinces her that she is part of a computer simulation. He tells her that the designers had a terrible time building a simulation inhabited by conscious cognizers but that—through a great deal of trial and error—they found that they could achieve this result only by rendering the inhabitants strongly disposed to believe in an all-powerful deity. Without such beliefs, the simulations would break down before they even got going. Neora believes everything he tells her. And she believes that the deity (if it does exist) had nothing to do with her religious intuitions and associated beliefs. Despite believing all this, she doesn’t abandon her belief in an all-powerful deity. (17) It seems clear that Neora can’t justifiably maintain both her belief in the deity and her belief that she ultimately holds it only because the programmers instilled it in her for reasons having nothing to do with anything in the theological domain. (Of course, things might be different if she thought that perhaps the deity had arranged it so that the programmers instilled the belief in her; then the existence of the deity might ultimately explain why she holds the belief after all. But suppose she thinks this isn’t true.) The problem for Enoch is that Neora apparently takes herself to be in a position quite similar to the one that proponents of third-factor explanations take themselves to be in. Suppose that (like Enoch) she starts out by giving the benefit of the doubt to the sense in question and assuming that the deity exists. She’s then in a position to argue (like Enoch) that she couldn’t easily have been wrong: it wouldn’t be easy for an all-powerful being not to exist, and it wouldn’t have been easy for her not to believe in it (given that the programmers couldn’t get simulations where people don’t have such beliefs to work). So, we might imagine, she (like Enoch) concludes that she can hold her belief despite there being no explanatory connection between it and the theological domain, because, by her lights, she couldn’t have easily been wrong. But we just agreed that she can’t justifiably maintain her belief in the deity while also maintaining her belief in what Smith told her. It seems clear that there is a serious problem here, whether or not we agree with the specific diagnosis given by Korman and Locke. Of course, there are various ways that proponents of third-factor views might respond (and Korman and Locke anticipate and respond in turn to

44  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson some of them); this issue is complicated. But we are inclined to think that, even if we quibble with particular details of Korman and Locke’s account, there is something fishy about third-factor explanations in this context, that they posit something that looks too close to a convenient accident. Note that although Korman and Locke attack third-factor explanations, they do not conclude that we should therefore reject moral realism. Instead, they think their argument shows that “realists must . . . embrace some account on which the moral facts explain our moral beliefs” (2). As we discuss in the next section, theism can provide such an account.

5. God and moral knowledge We are now in a position to give two arguments for preferring theism over naturalism. First, it looks like accepting naturalism rationally leads to moral skepticism. With naturalism, moral knowledge would be a happy accident of the sort we shouldn’t accept. So, naturalists appear to have two options: either (1) reject naturalism in favor of a competitor (such as theism) or (2) give up on moral knowledge. Insofar as you agree that we have good reason to resist moral skepticism and trust the commonsense view that there is moral knowledge, you have reason to go with option (1). Someone might respond by claiming that because it seems obvious that we have moral knowledge, it’s rational for naturalists to believe that natural processes did give us many true moral beliefs, even if this requires accepting a happy accident. It is crazier to deny moral knowledge than it is to conclude that we just got really lucky. This response is a version of the G. E. Moore Shift. The G. E. Moore Shift responds to skeptical arguments by asserting that the claim denied by the skeptic is more obvious than the assumptions of the skeptical argument. Here the naturalist is claiming that (1) we have moral knowledge is more obvious than (2) we should not accept that a happy accident occurred. Thus, they should reject (2). Perhaps this argument shows that naturalists can be rational in believing we have moral knowledge (although the G. E. Moore Shift doesn’t seem like a good move in Neora’s case). But we think there is a further problem for the naturalist here. Theism can secure moral knowledge without having to posit a happy accident. Rather, God ensured that there would be some degree of alignment between our intuitions and moral truth. Thus, theism can provide an explanation of why our moral beliefs are often true. If the best naturalism can do is posit a happy accident, theism provides a better explanation of the existence of moral knowledge. Of course, we have not shown that theism is true. There may be plausible rivals to both theism and naturalism that can explain why we have moral knowledge. And naturalism may have other advantages over theism that outweigh the advantage moral knowledge provides to theism. But we do think that the existence of moral knowledge favors theism over naturalism.

God and moral knowledge 45 And we hope this chapter helps you see where we are coming from, even if you are not fully persuaded.

Notes 1 Dennett 2006. 2 For instance, one of God’s features is that God believes that Dustin Crummett, one of the authors of this chapter, owns two adorable cats, Artemis and Apollo. This is not an essential property of God, since God could have existed without having this property. But this belief can ultimately be explained in terms of God’s essential attributes: God’s knowledge, power, and goodness explain why God created this world, whose features include Dustin Crummett owning Artemis and Apollo, and Dustin Crummett does own them—God’s being all-knowing explains why God knows that. 3 See also Miller 2018 (for an academic discussion) and Crummett 2018 (for a popular one). 4 E.g., Dawkins 2006, 31. 5 We can’t derive a logical contradiction from the claim that one race is superior to another, and someone could claim that one race being superior to another is just a basic, unexplained moral fact, without holding any false beliefs about what members of one race or another are like. 6 This case is inspired by Hilary Putnam’s “Twin Earth” example. See Putnam 1973. 7 This case is inspired by Horgan and Timmons’s “Moral Twin Earth” example. See Horgan and Timmons 1991.

References Crummett, Dustin. 2018. “Why God Exists: The Intrinsic Probability of Theism.” Capturing Christianity. Accessed 31 July 2018, http://capturingchristianity.com/ why-god-exists-the-intrinsic-probability-of-theism/. Darwin, Charles. 1902. The Descent of Man. 2nd ed. New York, NY: American Home Library Company. Dawkins, Richard. 2006. The God Delusion. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin. Dennett, Daniel. 2006. “Thank Goodness!” Edge. Accessed 31 July 2018, www. edge.org/conversation/thank-goodness. Enoch, David. 2010. “The Epistemological Challenge to Metanormative Realism: How Best to Understand It, and How to Cope with It.” Philosophical Studies 148 (3): 413–438. Harris, Sam. 2010. The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values. New York, NY: Free Press. Horgan, Terence and Mark Timmons. 1991. “New Wave Moral Realism Meets Moral Twin Earth.” Journal of Philosophical Research 16: 447–465. Korman, Daniel Z., and Dustin Locke. Forthcoming. “Against Minimalist Responses to Moral Debunking Arguments.” Oxford Studies in Metaethics. Accessed 21 July 2018, www.marcsandersfoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/Kormanand Locke.pdf. Linville, Mark. 2009. “The Moral Argument.” In The Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, edited by William Lane Craig and J.P. Moreland. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell.

46  Dustin Crummett and Philip Swenson Miller, Calum. 2018. “The Intrinsic Probability of Theism.” Philosophy Compass 13 (10). Putnam, Hilary. 1973. “Meaning and Reference.” Journal of Philosophy 70: 699–711. Rosenberg, Alex. 2009. “The Disenchanted Naturalist’s Guide to Reality.” On the Human. National Humanities Center. Accessed 21 July 2018, https://national humanitiescenter.org/on-the-human/2009/11/the-disenchanted-naturalists-guideto-reality/. Street, Sharon. 2006. “A Darwinian Dilemma for Realist Theories of Value.” Philosophical Studies 127 (1): 109–166.

4 Taking a new perspective on suffering and death Chris Tweedt

1. Introduction Are the suffering and death in this world consistent with the existence of a good God? There is a massive amount of severe suffering and death in the world, much of which is out of our control. Let us call our pieces of information about the amount and severity of suffering and death “the data of suffering.” As one reflects on the data of suffering, they might be tempted to reject the existence of God. If God—an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-good being—exists, God would not allow such a massive amount of suffering and death. A lot has been written on this argument or reaction, but typically responses come in two forms. The first form of response is a theodicy; this response attempts to provide some new evidence that exonerates God from allowing the amount and severity of suffering and death in the world.1 The second kind of response is skeptical theism; this response attempts to show that we cannot reasonably discern from the information we have whether or not God would allow the current amount and severity of suffering and death in the world.2 I will explore a new way to develop the second kind of response. This way of responding begins by making a distinction between the evidence one has and what one makes of that evidence.3 One way someone can make something of the evidence is to take a different perspective on that evidence. The response I’ll propose involves first considering what one would think if one took a different perspective on one’s evidence, which includes the data of suffering. To consider different perspectives, I’ll contrast two kinds of perspectives one could take. One kind of perspective on the data of suffering is what I will call “a theological perspective.” On this kind of perspective, the data of suffering do not play as prominent a role as they do in non-theological perspectives— the explanation for the data of suffering does not need to be as strong as it would were one not to have a theological perspective, and even if one failed to discover an explanation for the data of suffering, God (if God exists) is not as culpable as God appears to be in a non-theological perspective.

48  Chris Tweedt Another kind of perspective, which opposes the theological perspective, is what I will call “an atheological perspective.” On this kind of perspective, the explanation for the data of suffering needs to be strong, and God (if God exists) is more culpable than God would be in a non-atheological perspective. These two perspectives occupy end points of a spectrum of perspectives; one can be closer to a thoroughgoing theological or a thoroughgoing atheological perspective. At this point, readers may wonder which perspective, if any, they have taken. To discover this, I ask the reader to wait until the end of the next section, where it is clearer what perspectives are and how to identify them. In the next section (Section 2), I will motivate the idea that there are perspectives we can take on our evidence, describe what perspectives are (with examples), and argue that we inevitably take some kind of perspective (on the spectrum from theological to atheological perspectives) on the information we have about the world, including the data of suffering. In Section 3, I’ll argue that there aren’t any good reasons for adopting the atheological perspective over the theological perspective. If this is correct, the argument from or reaction to the data of suffering to the conclusion that God doesn’t exist has lost much of its force; an argument that seems forceful from one perspective is weak from a different perspective that is just as reasonable, or more reasonable, to take.4

2. Taking a perspective on the data of suffering In this section, I’ll make the case that we need to take at least one kind of perspective (that is on the spectrum from theological to atheological perspectives) based on the information we have about the world, including the data of suffering. I’ll do this by first motivating the distinction between the evidence we have and what we make of it. Second, I’ll give some examples of perspectives. Last, I’ll show that we need to take one of these perspectives on the information we have about the world, including the data of suffering, and this perspective is very likely to be a theological or atheological perspective. 2.1. The distinction between the evidence you have and what you make of it The distinction between the evidence one has and what one makes of it is facilitated by a view in epistemology called “permissivism.”5 Permissivists hold that two people can reasonably form different beliefs on the basis of the exact same evidence.6 For example, two jurors can have been presented with all the same evidence in a case, and after evaluating the evidence, one juror can reasonably believe that the defendant is guilty while the other can reasonably believe the defendant is not. To be clear, permissivism doesn’t require that any of these people form any beliefs—it’s a view about propositional justification, which is just to say that it’s about what people could

Taking a new perspective on suffering and death 49 reasonably believe, whether or not they actually have already formed a belief about it.7 If two people have the same evidence and can form different reasonable beliefs, what is it besides the evidence that makes the difference between what they can reasonably believe? The answer: what they make of the evidence. Spelling this out, however, is more difficult, but some permissivists have articulated different ways someone could make something of their evidence. Here are some proposals: •

•

There could be different reasonable standards for evaluating evidence.8 Whereas someone could be very stringent, another could have looser standards. The person with looser standards could reasonably accept and form a belief, because the evidence for it meets their standards, but since the evidence for the belief doesn’t meet the stringent standards, it would be unreasonable for the person with those stringent standards to form the belief. There could be different reasonable prioritizations of knowledge-related goals.9 The usual knowledge-related goals are (1) to believe truths and (2) to avoid falsehoods. We have to have both goals. If our goal is just to believe truths, we’ll accomplish it by believing everything, which is way too permissive—we’ll believe too many falsehoods. If our goal is to avoid falsehoods, we’ll accomplish it by not believing anything, which is way too restrictive—we wouldn’t believe any truths. Because we need both, we need to figure out which, if any, of these goals to prioritize. If we give greater priority to the truth-believing goal, we’ll be more permissive about what we believe than those who give greater priority to the avoid-falsehood goal.

So, according to permissivism, two people can have exactly the same evidence, but because of what they make of the evidence—their different standards for evaluating evidence or their different knowledge-related goals—they can each form different and reasonable beliefs.10 The position I’m advocating here does not require permissivism to be true. All it requires is that we make a distinction between what the evidence is and what one makes of it. It could be true that there is only one reasonable way to make something of the evidence even if permissivism is false. The view that permissivism opposes—uniqueness—is the view that, given the same body of evidence, there is exactly one belief that is reasonable for anyone with that evidence to have. One way to understand this permissivismopposing view is that there is only one reasonable way to make something of the evidence. If there’s only one reasonable way to make something of the evidence, then, given the same body of evidence, there will be only one belief that’s reasonable for the person with that evidence to have. The main point here is that even if permissivism is false, we can recognize a distinction between the evidence and what we make of it, and that distinction is all that’s required for the view advocated here.

50  Chris Tweedt 2.2. Examples of perspectives Before giving examples of perspectives, I should make it clear that the position proposed here only requires that we can take a perspective on our evidence when the beliefs we would form are value judgments. By value judgments, I mean the kinds of judgments we make after evaluating or assessing our evidence. The following are some examples of value judgments: • • • •

A college degree is worth pursuing. She’s a good person. Retiring by 60 is an important goal to have. Your contributions to tech stocks are promising investments.

All of these examples would involve not only receiving evidence but also evaluating it to make an assessment. For example, it requires not just observation about receiving college degrees but also an assessment to make the judgment that a college degree is worthwhile. The following are not value judgments: • • • •

2 + 2 = 4. The iPhone was first released in 2007. She’s five feet tall. Amazon’s stock rose 27 percent in 2015.

There are, of course, statements for which it’s unclear whether they belong in the first or second list—it’s difficult to tell whether some beliefs involve evaluating or assessing data—but the specific beliefs relevant to this chapter are not unclear cases. They clearly involve value judgments about God: • • • •

God is a moral monster. God, if in existence at all, is not good. God isn’t the kind of being that could have allowed all of this. Nothing in the future could possibly make up for all of this.

Those judgments lead to the conclusion that God does not exist in the argument from suffering. For example, one might think that God would not allow the current amount and severity of suffering and death, because if God did, then God would be a moral monster, and since God cannot exist and be a moral monster, God doesn’t exist at all. For our purposes here, suppose that we can only take a perspective when we make value judgments. To show what a perspective is, I’ll give some examples (different from the Permissivist examples above) of different perspectives one could take. 1 Event Selection: When someone tells a story of their lives, they need to select some events to include and some to exclude. The selected events

Taking a new perspective on suffering and death 51 are the important ones building to the climax of the story. For some examples, someone could select events that best describe their career path, their character development, or the trajectory of their romantic relationships, each of which is based on the same information about that person’s life. The difference is in which events the storytellers take to be important for the story, and, as a result, different stories have different climaxes of the person’s life. 2 Optimism/Pessimism: Due to differences in hopes and outlooks on life events, an optimist might think a moderately risky career path is worth pursuing, whereas a pessimist may emphasize all the potential failures and think it’s not, even though the information provided to each person is the same. 3 Punishment/No Reward: Some aspects of a situation are easier to focus on than others, and this difference in focus may lead to different value judgments. For an illustration, take the following sets of statements: A Parent: “We’ll go to the zoo today only if you clean your room.” B Parent: “If you don’t clean your room, you’ll lose your zoo privileges for the day.” A Boss: “I’ll give you a $1,000 bonus if you meet your deadline this quarter.” B Boss: “I’ll give you a $1,000 bonus unless you fail to meet your deadlines this quarter.”   Both A/B pairs have the same practical consequence. In the first A/B pair, the child doesn’t get to go to the zoo if he doesn’t clean his room. In the second A/B pair, the employee receives a bonus if she meets her deadlines. The difference between the A statements and the B statements is just a difference in focus. The A statements focus on the receiving of the benefit (zoo trip/$1,000) and treat it like a reward, whereas the B statements focus on losing the benefit and treat losing it like a punishment.   Similarly, someone may look at their life events and see themselves as just not being rewarded with extra benefits, whereas someone else may look at the same events and see themselves as missing what they thought they deserved. These people disagree about whether the good events were theirs to lose. 2.3. The need to take a theological or atheological perspective In all of the previous cases, one cannot help but take a perspective on their evidence. When we tell a story, we have to choose certain events to highlight, and which events we choose is based on our perspective. When we evaluate whether an event is worth pursuing, we have to make that judgment on the basis of some future outlook. And, finally, when we assess whether we are being rewarded or punished, we have to focus on some aspect of the situation. Further, in all of these cases, taking a different perspective doesn’t

52  Chris Tweedt involve adding any more evidence than is had by the person taking the other perspective.11 It just involves seeing the same evidence differently. The three examples of differences in perspectives provided earlier apply specifically to judgments we could make about God. Here’s how: 1 Event Selection: When someone tells the story of the world, they could emphasize the data of suffering and conclude that the world has been in demise since its beginning, selecting as most important the events that involve intense suffering (survival of the fittest, massively fatal diseases, religious wars, etc.). Or, instead, that person could select events that highlight flourishing, triumph, and accomplishment in the world, seeing the data of suffering as a by-product of or means to flourishing, triumph, or accomplishment. 2 Optimism/Pessimism: A pessimist could interpret the data of suffering as something unredeemable, thus part of a world that is not worth creating. An optimist could, instead, interpret the data of suffering as something that is for the sake of something better, perhaps an opportunity for human solidarity or the beginnings of a world that will get better, even if the optimist does not know what exactly the suffering is for the sake of. 3 Punishment/No Reward: Someone could focus on the data of suffering and see themselves as having lost what is due to them so that God is wrong to take away what is owed to them. Or, instead, someone could focus on the events characterized by flourishing and see those as rewards, events that are not owed to them. So, we must take a perspective on the information we have about the world, including the data of suffering. On one kind of perspective—an atheological perspective—the data of suffering are prominent and, due at least in part to that person’s perspective, the good things about this world aren’t as prominent and so are barely relevant to the formation of beliefs about God. Instead, the data regarding the magnitude, duration, distribution, and severity of suffering are some of the most prominent evidence, and any explanation aimed at vindicating God in light of the data of suffering needs to be very strong. On the theological perspective, however, the good things about this world are prominent. They are the highlights of the story of the world, indicators that suffering is for the sake of something better, or undeserved benefits rather than what is owed to us by God. On this perspective, because the data of suffering are not as prominent, it will be easier for those with the theological perspective to accept explanations aimed at vindicating God in spite of the data of suffering than it would be on the atheological perspective. At this point, the reader might be able to identify what kind of perspective they take and how close it is to an endpoint on the atheological/­ theological spectrum. If the reader is still unsure, however, the reader could

Taking a new perspective on suffering and death 53 ask themselves the following questions, affirmative answers to which are evidence that the reader has taken a perspective toward the atheological end of the spectrum. 1 When I describe the history of the world, do I mention suffering or pain? 2 When I describe the suffering in the world, do I use a term that impugns the character of God, if God exists? For example, do I describe the suffering as “monstrous,” “unconscionable,” or “malicious”? 3 Do I have a visceral reaction of hatred or resentment toward God when I think about the suffering in the world? 4 If someone tries to give reasons why God could have justifiably allowed certain kinds of suffering or pain, do I think they’re probably not going to be able to offer an explanation that is strong enough to convince me otherwise? 5 When thinking about the suffering in the world, do I think there could never be any explanation that God could have for allowing it, even one that I haven’t considered? 6 Is it impossible that any evidence for God’s existence would lead me to think that God exists despite the suffering in the world?

3. Reflection on the other kind of perspective Is it more reasonable to take an atheological perspective than a theological perspective? Perhaps reflection on the perspectives will reveal that it isn’t. Perhaps a theological perspective is just as reasonable—or more r­ easonable— than any atheological perspective. If someone with an atheological perspective is aware that a different perspective is just as, or more, reasonable than their own, then, plausibly, they should reduce their confidence in the ­negative value judgment they make about God on the basis of that perspective (that is, in the kind of value judgment that is so negative that explanations aimed at vindicating God need to be very strong). To the person taking the atheological perspective, the fact that someone else has a different but reasonable perspective on the exact same evidence and forms an opposing belief should at least make that person more hesitant to make the kind of negative value judgments that result from their perspective. For example, suppose someone scoffs at a family that uses government assistance (food stamps and other government welfare). The scoffer might have a perspective according to which he sees those who accept government assistance as a drain on the system and as taking advantage of those who put in honest work, and he can likewise see the government as enabling laziness. Then, when the scoffer loses his job and needs to receive government assistance to make ends meet, his perspective could change. He could see those on government assistance as in need of help rather than taking advantage of a system, and he could likewise see the government as assisting someone who needs it rather than enabling laziness. The person

54  Chris Tweedt on government assistance might later return to seeing those on assistance as taking advantage of the system, but that person is less likely to be as confident about that judgment when he knows that there was a reasonable perspective according to which they are not taking advantage of the system. In a similar way, perhaps someone scoffs at a God who creates a world that includes the data of suffering. The scoffer might have a perspective according to which a God that creates that world is a moral monster, or at least God is not the kind of being that could have allowed all of this suffering. Then, perhaps the scoffer could consider a different perspective—a perspective that highlights the good things about this world rather than the suffering, sees suffering as something that is for the sake of something better, or sees the absence of suffering as something that is not owed to us. Perhaps that person would then see God as a good—or at least a morally a­ cceptable—being rather than a moral monster. The person might later return to seeing God as morally deficient, but that person is less likely to be as confident or vehement about that judgment when that person knows that there is a reasonable perspective according to which God is not morally deficient. The question we can thus ask ourselves is: which kinds of perspectives are more reasonable to take? It would be nice to have a perspective-neutral way of figuring out the answer. However, it is difficult to find a criterion we can use to tell whether taking an atheological perspective is more reasonable than taking a theological perspective.12 Some criteria are used to help adjudicate which of two theories is more reasonable: simplicity, explanatory power, proximity to the ideal theory, whether the theory fits with the obvious data, and others. But these criteria don’t apply to perspectives. •

•

With respect to simplicity, the theological perspective is not more complex than the atheological perspective. In fact, it is difficult to figure out what could even make a theological perspective more complex than an atheological one. A theological perspective is not more complex by virtue of the number of statements that would ideally describe it, because in an ideal description of each perspective, plausibly the same number of statements would make up each description. Further, a theological perspective does not require that more entities exist, because someone can have a theological perspective without thinking that God exists. For example, someone could think that God does not exist, but if God exists, God would not be morally deficient for allowing the suffering that there is in this world. (Note that the issue here is not whether theism is more complex than atheism. The issue is whether one perspective is more complex than another.) A theory has explanatory power if it best explains the relevant data, but what the relevant data are is determined by the perspective one takes, and both the theological and atheological perspectives seem to do an adequate job of explaining the data that are relevant according to those respective perspectives.

Taking a new perspective on suffering and death 55 • We could adjudicate which of the perspectives is the most reasonable by comparing the beliefs one ends up with on those perspectives with the beliefs one would end up with if they were to have an ideal perspective, but it’s not clear that there is an ideal perspective, or if there is, it’s not clear what it is. One might be tempted to think the ideal perspective is to take all of the evidence as equally prominent, but it’s not clear we should take all of our evidence as equally prominent. Similarly, one might think that an ideal perspective takes some theistic evidence into account and some atheistic evidence into account to counterbalance it. But whether evidence is theistic or atheistic is, at least in part, determined by one’s perspective, and whether we take a particular piece of evidence seriously is also determined by one’s perspective. Until we know what evidence we should take to be most prominent (if there is some evidence one should take that way), we don’t have a way of determining which of the two perspectives are closer to the comparison perspective. • With respect to fitting with the obvious data, both the atheological and theological perspectives fit the obvious data; they both use the same data. As it stands, then, there seems not to be perspective-neutral general criteria to determine what perspective is most reasonable. We could, of course, evaluate which perspective is reasonable according to a different perspective, but then when we can ask the further question: is that perspective more reasonable than one that results in a different conclusion? That just pushes our issue back further.13 There may be other criteria on which perspectives are more reasonable than others, but it’s hard to see what these criteria are, and even if we were to discover and articulate them, it’s difficult to see how they would make the theological perspective any less reasonable than the atheological perspective. We may leave this as an open inquiry for the reader. Are there general criteria on which the atheological perspective is more reasonable? As of now, at least, no such criteria have been established. Of course, some perspectives are obviously unreasonable, and it’s consistent with the earlier analysis that some perspectives are reasonable while some aren’t. The proposal I’m defending here only requires that the theological perspective isn’t obviously unreasonable. As long as the theological perspective isn’t obviously unreasonable, it’s a candidate for being a reasonable perspective, and since it’s a candidate, it’s difficult to find a way to determine whether it is less reasonable than the atheological perspective. So far I’ve only addressed epistemic reasons to think one perspective is more reasonable, but there are practical reasons for taking the theological perspective over the atheological perspective. These reasons are the same as the reasons for selecting positive events as most important when telling a story, for retaining an optimistic outlook, and for not taking oneself to be entitled to not suffer but rather to see not suffering as an undeserved benefit.

56  Chris Tweedt I am not going to take a stance on whether these practical reasons are reasons one should adopt, because the main purpose here was to show that by using our best theory-based resources, we don’t have a way to determine that the atheological perspective is more reasonable than the theological perspective.

4. Conclusion I have offered a way to reconsider the problem of suffering. If what I’ve said is correct, two people can have all the same evidence—information about the world, including the data of suffering—but their perspectives can lead them to form different value judgments about God on the basis of that shared evidence. Further, it may very well be just as (or more) reasonable to take a perspective according to which God is judged positively as it is to take a perspective according to which God is judged negatively. So, the argument from suffering, which seems forceful from one perspective, is weak from a different perspective that is just as reasonable to take. As in the government assistance example, when one learns of another just-as-reasonable perspective, that new knowledge should at least lead one to be less forceful in their negative value judgments, and in this case, their negative value judgments about God. I recognize that different people will weigh the reasonableness of various perspectives differently. Not everyone will think it possible to consider a different perspective, especially not one so different from one’s current perspective, and some will think that the theological perspective is obviously unreasonable (but why?). I encourage the reader to take some time to try to adopt a different perspective on the data of suffering. Because it is at least just as reasonable to take the theological as the atheological perspective, if one were to adopt a different perspective, it would, in that perspective, be reasonable for one to think that the data of suffering doesn’t support the premise that God is a moral monster as strongly as it once did. When this consideration is combined with theodicists’ or skeptical theists’ additional responses, perhaps those responses will tip the scales so that one will be convinced that the argument from suffering is not ultimately successful.

Notes 1 For some examples of theodicies, see Hick 1978; Swinburne 1988, 1996; Adams 1999. 2 To be sure, a skeptical theist is not simply a theist that is a skeptic; instead, skeptical theists are skeptical about our ability to discern God’s reasons for ­allowing suffering and death in the world. For some examples of skeptical theistic responses, see Bergmann 2001, 2012; Wykstra 1996; van Inwagen 2006; Stump 2010; Alston 1991; Bergmann and Rea 2005; Plantinga 1974. 3 This language follows Kvanvig 2011; Gage 2014 argues that what we make of the evidence could itself be evidence. If this is so, we could perhaps think of what we make of the evidence as a different kind of evidence that is still worth distinguishing from the other evidence we have.

Taking a new perspective on suffering and death 57 4 By “reasonable,” I mean epistemically rational, which is commonly contrasted with practical rationality. Epistemic rationality is truth-directed; an epistemically rational, or reasonable, perspective is aimed at fitting their mind to the way the world is. There needs to be good truth-directed reasons to take a reasonable perspective. Practical rationality, on the other hand, is action-directed; a practically rational perspective is aimed at imposing something onto or into the world. There need only be good action-directed reasons to take a practically rational perspective. 5 Defenders of permissivism include Thomas Kelly 2013a, 2013b; Miriam Schoenfeld 2014; Jonathan Kvanvig 2011, 2014; Gideon Rosen 2001, and Nicole Garcia, manuscript. Opponents include Roger White 2005; David Christensen 2007; and Richard Feldman 2007. 6 Or they could reasonably have different levels of confidence on the basis of the same evidence, even if their beliefs are the same. I will ignore this version of permissivism in this chapter to avoid unnecessary complexity. 7 Propositional justification is a function from evidence to epistemic status, regardless of whether the subject believes the proposition. Doxastic justification is a property of beliefs wherein the propositional content of the belief is justified by the subject’s evidence and, in addition, the subject is appropriately attentive to and rightly responsive to that evidence.   The view here, then, is about the epistemic status that a proposition has relative to a perspective, whether or not any subjects have formed any beliefs about the proposition. 8 Schoenfeld 2014. 9 Kelly 2013a. 10 It is worth reiterating endnote 2 here: someone could object by saying that what one makes of the evidence could itself be evidence. If this is so, we could perhaps think of what we make of the evidence as a different kind of evidence that is still worth distinguishing from the other evidence we have. The objection, then, turns on a terminological difference that need not detract us here. 11 Even if taking a different perspective were to result in having more evidence than one with another perspective, the additional evidence would be the result of taking the different perspective, not the other way around. 12 It is unreasonable to think that the theological is less reasonable just because one happens to hold the atheological perspective. That kind of procedure will lead one never to give up their beliefs. I don’t address this approach further. 13 Kvanvig 2014 argues for a way in which one can reasonably take a perspective even if there is no perspective-neutral way of adjudicating which perspective is most reasonable—one can assess the reasonableness of one perspective by using another, perhaps different, perspective, and eventually the reflection must stop; one cannot reflect an infinite number of times. I hope to have shown that if reflective subjects were to become aware that there are reasonable but opposing perspectives without a theory-based criterion for adjudicating which is more reasonable, either the subject would have additional evidence to consider or the awareness would influence the subject’s higher-order perspectives such that the subject should adjust their beliefs more toward the direction of the opposing perspective. The government assistance example was meant to show how recognition of an opposing perspective could alter one’s beliefs in a reasonable way.

References Adams, Marilyn McCord. 1999. Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God. Cornell University Press.

58  Chris Tweedt Alston, William. 1991. “The Inductive Argument from Evil and the Human Cognitive Condition.” Philosophical Perspectives 5: 29–67. Reprinted in HowardSnyder 1996, 97–125. Bergmann, Michael. 2001. “Skeptical Theism and Rowe’s New Evidential Argument from Evil.” Nous 35: 278–296. ———. 2012. “Commonsense Skeptical Theism.” In Science, Religion, and Metaphysics: New Essays on the Philosophy of Alvin Plantinga, edited by Clark Kelly and Michael Rea. Oxford University Press. Bergmann, Michael and Michael Rea. 2005. “In Defence of Sceptical Theism: A Reply to Almeida and Oppy.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy 83 (2): 241–251. Christensen, David. 2007. “Epistemology of Disagreement: The Good News.” Philosophical Review 116 (2): 187–217. Feldman, Richard. 2007. “Reasonable Religious Disagreements.” In Philosophers without Gods, edited by Louise Antony, 194–214. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gage, Logan. 2014. “Evidence and What We Make of It.” Southwest Philosophy Review 30 (2): 89–99. Garcia, Nicole. Manuscript. “Possessing Evidence versus Appreciating Evidence Possessed: How Getting Clear on the Nature of Evidence Lands Us with a Unique Form of Permissivism.” Hick, John. 1966. Evil and the God of Love. Harper & Row. Revised edition: 1978. Kelly, Thomas. 2013a. “Evidence Can Be Permissive.” In Contemporary Debates in Epistemology, edited by Matthias Steup, John Turri, and Ernest Sosa, 298–311. 2nd ed. Wiley-Blackwell Publishing. ———. 2013b. “How to be an Epistemic Permissivist.” In Contemporary Debates in Epistemology, edited by Matthias Steup, John Turri, and Ernest Sosa. 2nd ed. Wiley-Blackwell Publishing. Kvanvig, Jonathan. 2011. “The Rational Significance of Reflective Ascent.” In Evidentialism and Its Discontents, edited by Trent Dougherty, 34–54. Oxford University Press. ———. 2014. Rationality and Reflection. Oxford University Press. Plantinga, Alvin. 1974. God, Freedom, and Evil. Harper & Row. Rosen, Gideon. 2001. “Nominalism, Naturalism, Epistemic Relativism.” Philosophical Perspectives 15: 69–91. Schoenfeld, Miriam. 2014. “Permission to Believe: Why Permissivism is True and What it Tells Us about Irrelevant Influences on Belief.” Nous 47 (1): 193–218. Stump, Eleonore. 2010. Wandering in Darkness. Oxford University Press. Swinburne, Richard. 1988. “Does Theism Need a Theodicy?” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 18: 287–312. ———. 1996. “Some Major Strands of Theodicy.” In The Evidential Argument from Evil, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder, 30–48. Indiana University Press. van Inwagen, Peter. 2006. The Problem of Evil. Oxford University Press. White, Roger. 2005. “Epistemic Permissiveness.” Philosophical Perspectives 19. Wykstra, Stephen. 1996. “Rowe’s Noseeum Arguments from Evil.” In The Evidential Argument from Evil, edited by Howard-Snyder, 126–150. Indiana University Press.

5 Is the God Hypothesis improbable? A response to Dawkins Logan Paul Gage

Nothing is more simple than greatness; indeed, to be simple is to be great. —Ralph Waldo Emerson1

1. Introduction Despite the commercial popularity of the New Atheists, professional philosophers of religion have generally declined to interact seriously with their arguments.2 In truth, there is an astounding dearth of direct argumentation against God’s existence in the New Atheists’ key works. A notable exception to this trend, however, comes in Dawkins’s book The God Delusion. Because silence is sometimes worse than criticism, in this chapter I aim to rectify the current situation. The New Atheists are a culturally significant force, and philosophers’ lack of engagement has come at the cost of cultural irrelevance. So despite the misgivings of the philosophical community, I propose to analyze and critique Richard Dawkins’s “Ultimate 747 Gambit,” which he calls “the central argument of my book.”3

2. Dawkins’s Ultimate 747 Gambit I focus on Dawkins’s key argument—what he dubs “the Ultimate 747 Gambit.”4 This argument is not only the most important argument of the most prominent New Atheist, it has also been supported by the other New Atheists and has thus attained something of a canonical status. Dawkins is not shy about placing great confidence in this argument, claiming that it “demonstrates that God, though not technically disprovable, is very improbable”— a “very serious argument against the existence of God,” which renders “the God Hypothesis . . . untenable.”5 Harris champions Dawkins’s argument by name, and one finds a similar line of argument in Hitchens.6 Dennett concurs and even describes the argument as “an unrebuttable refutation, as devastating today as when Philo used it to trounce Cleanthes in Hume’s Dialogues two centuries earlier.”7

60  Logan Paul Gage Dawkins’s confidence notwithstanding, it is common for an argument’s weaknesses to remain hidden until it is laid out in explicit steps. As philosophers are wont to do, I will lay out Dawkins’s argument as clearly as I can before attempting to critique it. I ask readers of all persuasions to come and reason with me. Let us see if Dawkins’s chief argument against God’s existence is as strong as he and the other New Atheists claim. What follows is my best reconstruction of Dawkins’s basic argument: (1) If the following three conditions hold:  (i) there are possible naturalistic explanations of the apparently designed features of our world, (ii) there are no plausible arguments for God’s existence except the argument from organized complexity (i.e., the argument from design), and (iii) God is not a good explanation of the world’s organized complexity, then God almost certainly does not exist. (2) There are possible naturalistic explanations of the apparently designed features of our world. (3) There are no plausible arguments for God’s existence except the argument from organized complexity. (4) God is not a good explanation of the world’s organized complexity. (5) Therefore, God almost certainly does not exist. The idea is that if (i), (ii), and (iii) are all true, then the conclusion (i.e., God almost certainly does not exist) must also be true. The argument is valid, which means it has a correct structure so as to lead to its conclusion: the truth of the premises would yield the truth of the conclusion. My job, then, is to examine the key premises, for a conclusion is only as strong as the premises on which it rests. 2.1. Examining premise (1) Regarding the first premise, I only wish to note how Dawkins understands the word “God.” ’ Philosophers and the leading monotheistic traditions have conceived of God as the greatest possible being (i.e., perfect in power, knowledge, and goodness). Dawkins, however, works with a different concept. He defines the “God Hypothesis” as the hypothesis that “there exists a super-human, supernatural intelligence who deliberately designed and created the universe and everything in it, including us.”8 Dawkins is even quite explicit that “[g]oodness is no part of the definition of the God Hypothesis, merely a desirable add-on.”9 To the philosopher of religion, this definition is quite strange.10 It also opens Dawkins up to the otherwise petty charge that he might have shown a particular divine being to be improbable but not the

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 61 one in which sophisticated theists actually believe. I will set this charge aside in what follows. 2.2. Examining premise (2) Look carefully now at premise (2): there are possible naturalistic explanations of the apparently designed features of our world. It is important to see how little of a burden Dawkins thinks atheism actually bears. Atheists need not even have very plausible or detailed stories about the naturalistic evolutionary pathways followed by many of the complex things in the biological domain; nor need it really have an explanation for the origin of the first life, the universe, consciousness, objective morality, or the fine-tuning of the laws of physics. Dawkins is quite frank that such naturalistic explanations are mostly unavailable. But if, as the other premises of the argument assert, God is not a good explanation for life or other apparently designed features of the universe, any possible naturalistic story will suffice to show that God is very unlikely to exist. Dawkins is not concerned, then, that atheists don’t really have very good naturalistic explanations for the fine-tuning of the laws of physics and much else. Darwinian evolution is such a powerful naturalistic theory that we should allow it to raise our consciousness;11 if there is a theory this powerful in biology to explain away the appearance of design, then we must believe that there will be one (in the future) to explain away the appearance of design in the laws of physics. Thus, he writes: We don’t yet have an equivalent [theory] for physics. Some kind of multiverse theory could in principle do for physics the same explanatory work as Darwinism does for biology. . . . We should not give up hope of a better [theory] arising in physics, something as powerful as Darwinism is for biology. But even in the absence of a strongly satisfying [theory] to match the biological one, the relatively weak [theories] we have at present are . . . self-evidently better than the self-defeating . . . hypothesis of an intelligent designer.12 The point is that if one can truly show that there are no good arguments for God’s existence, including arguments from design, then atheism has the edge by default. Having argued that theistic arguments are unsuccessful, Dawkins thinks atheists can sit back, issue some promissory notes about how future science will have thoroughly detailed naturalistic explanations for everything, and call it a day. This amounts to a shifting of the burden of proof: theism can’t provide a good explanation for what really needs explaining in our world, and so naturalistic explanations must be better. Dawkins’s thinking here may be bolstered by the thought that since science has a track record of success, it is most wise and reasonable to think

62  Logan Paul Gage that science will eventually fill all gaps in a complete naturalistic story of the universe. While I understand this underlying conviction, it would be a mistake to infer that the success of science has thereby confirmed atheism or even the possibility of a full naturalistic story. Sure, science has increased our understanding of the natural world, but in doing so, it has also brought to light more puzzles for the naturalistic story. Whereas only a short time ago even great scientists like Darwin thought that the cell was basically a blob of Jell-O, we now understand it to contain a miniature world of incredible sophistication, replete with nano-technology and a digital code. Likewise, thanks to the advance of science, we now better understand the laws of physics. Yet we now want to know why these laws are all so finely tuned for complex life.13 Similarly, in the twentieth century the predictive success of Big Bang cosmology won out against rival theories and increased our understanding of the beginning of our universe. But it would be absurd to suggest that Big Bang cosmology marks a win for atheism. If anything, it put twentieth-century atheists on the defensive. The renowned agnostic NASA physicist and astronomer Robert Jastrow captured the disconcerting nature of the situation at the end of the twentieth century when he wrote: Now we see how the astronomical evidence leads to a biblical view of the origin of the world. All the details differ, but the essential element in the astronomical and biblical accounts of Genesis is the same; the chain of events leading to man commenced suddenly and sharply, at a definite moment in time, in a flash of light and energy.14 In a famous passage, he continues: Now we would like to pursue that inquiry farther back in time, but the barrier to further progress seems insurmountable. It is not a matter of another year, another decade of work, another measurement, or another theory; at this moment it seems as though science will never be able to raise the curtain on the mystery of creation. For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountain of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.15 Stephen Hawking and others have tried to reassure naturalists that they still have cards left to play.16 But that only goes to show that the last century of cosmology has not offered anything near unequivocal support for atheism. In Unweaving the Rainbow Dawkins acknowledges that scientific explanations, although advancing our understanding, often lead to even deeper mysteries. The discovery of the light spectrum, for instance, might have solved the puzzle of the rainbow. But as it led to the mind-boggling discoveries of Maxwell, Einstein, and others, it seems to have uncovered more

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 63 mysteries than it resolved. “Mysteries do not lose their poetry when solved. Quite the contrary; the solution often turns out more beautiful than the puzzle and, in any case, when you have solved one mystery you uncover others, perhaps to inspire greater poetry.”17 So although Dawkins’s admiration for science and its successes is understandable, it would be overreaching to assume that the scientific advances of the future will unequivocally support atheism. If anything, physical reality is more mysterious on naturalism than ever—not because of our ignorance but because of our increased understanding. At the very least, it has not been established that we have, or will have, genuinely possible naturalistic explanations of all the apparently designed features of our world, including the apparent “fine-tuning for life” of the natural world itself. 2.3. Examining premise (3) However, for the sake of charity, let us put aside these concerns with the preceding premises and turn now to a far bolder premise in Dawkins’s Ultimate 747 Gambit: that there are no plausible arguments for God’s existence except the argument from organized complexity. Note that even if we grant that God is not a good explanation of our world’s apparent design, Dawkins’s argument would obviously not reach its conclusion if there were good arguments for God’s existence that do not rely on the appearance of design. Hence, before Dawkins presents his positive case that God does not exist, he discharges his “responsibility to dispose of the positive arguments for [theistic] belief that have been offered through history.”18 Given the long history of such arguments in the West—dating back at least to Xenophon’s Socrates (Sedley 2007)—it is surprising that this duty should be considered fulfilled in a mere 33 pages.19 Let us have a closer look at just one of the classic arguments that Dawkins critiques. He writes: The Cosmological Argument. There must have been a time when no physical things existed. But since physical things exist now, there must have been something nonphysical to bring them into existence, and that something we call God.20 Dawkins rejects this argument because it makes “the entirely unwarranted assumption that God himself is immune to the regress.”21 For this reason, Dawkins thinks that positing God is futile. It is “more parsimonious to conjure up, say, a ‘big bang singularity,’ or some other physical concept as yet unknown.”22 Thus, “[i]t is by no means clear that God provides a natural terminator to the regresses of Aquinas.”23 To those familiar with the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, it is immediately apparent that Aquinas’s cosmological argument (his “Third Way”) is not about the temporal creation of physical things by something

64  Logan Paul Gage nonphysical. Aquinas famously thinks that God is necessary to explain the world even if there was no temporal beginning to the physical universe.24 Rather, Aquinas’s argument rests on the contingent nature of physical reality.25 By contingent, Aquinas means that it is able either to be or not to be. It is not necessary that it exist. Because physical things can either exist or not exist, he thinks there must be a reason why they exist. Even if they existed from eternity, they must depend on something else for their existence. It is no solution merely to say that this contingent thing Y depends on another thing X if X is also contingent; the contingent series itself has not thereby been explained. One might as well say that the reason the world is stable is because it rests on the back of a turtle and another turtle and so on to infinity. More turtles, no matter how many, are an inadequate solution to the problem. The solution, Aquinas argues, requires something that isn’t part of the very contingent stack itself. Hence, there must be a noncontingent (necessary, independent) foundation of the contingent stack. In other words, something must have existence in virtue of its own necessary nature; it cannot be borrowed existence all the way down. It should now be apparent why Dawkins’s proposed singularity (or any other physicalistic account) is an insufficient solution to the problem Aquinas presents: the singularity, like every other physical entity, might not have existed at all; it is just another contingent thing.26 God, by contrast, provides a natural terminus to the regress if we conceive of God as the greatest possible being. For a greatest possible being would be self-subsistent, having unlimited being within himself, and so wouldn’t require any outside cause or explanation. To be clear, I am not insisting that Aquinas’s argument ultimately succeeds. Its merits have been the subject of an 800-year conversation. There are too many nuances to cover here, but I should note that even if Aquinas’s particular argument was found to have some problematic premises,27 the basic intuition behind this argument (that it is impossible for everything to be contingent) has been put forward in other rigorous arguments by Leibniz in the modern era28 as well as by several thinkers today.29 The problem of why there are any contingent beings appears to cry out for a God-shaped solution. My own verdict here is that Dawkins has not come anywhere close to establishing that no version of the cosmological argument is sound, let alone that there are no other good arguments for God’s existence. Regardless, in what lies ahead I aim to show that even if we grant Dawkins all the premises we’ve seen so far, his argument still doesn’t succeed, for it relies on a dubious philosophical principle about the nature of explanation. 2.4. Examining premise (4) To understand the heart of Dawkins’s argument, one must apprehend his justification for premise (4). Recall that premise:

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 65 (4) God is not a good explanation of the world’s organized complexity.30 The majority of Dawkins’s focus is on defending this premise. If (4) is true, and if we grant premises (2) and (3), then God’s existence would seem improbable indeed.31 So how does Dawkins support premise (4)? He appears to reason as follows: (6) Good explanations must be simpler than the phenomena they purport to explain.32 (7) God, if he existed, would not be simpler than the world’s organized complexity.33 (4) Therefore, God is not a good explanation of the world’s organized complexity. Dawkins’s argument rests on the seemingly unexamined simplicity principle seen in premise (6). It is crucial to recognize the philosophical nature of this principle; it stands or falls on whether it captures a necessary truth about the nature of explanation rather than on any empirical fact. Given Dawkins’s renown, his argument may at first appear to possess all the trappings of modern science and the prestige of sophisticated empirical investigation. But at heart Dawkins’s gambit is a philosophical argument relying upon an a priori principle about the nature of explanation. As such, the rest of our discussion will center on premises (6) and (7). I set out to show that both are false.

3. Simplicity 3.1. Syntactic simplicity In science and the philosophy of science, simplicity is often seen as a virtue of a theory. However, simplicity is typically seen as one of many virtues. Leading philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn, for instance, famously lists several explanatory virtues, including accuracy, consistency, breadth of scope, fruitfulness, and simplicity.34 Dawkins appears to see simplicity as the overriding theoretical virtue—a virtue so compelling that an explanation cannot be a good explanation if it lacks simplicity (or a sufficient degree of simplicity). Yet considerations of simplicity do not typically arise until an explanation is thought to possess other virtues like fit with the known facts. Simplicity is a secondary virtue, not an automatic trump card. More complex theories should not automatically be discounted. Sometimes the truth is complicated. In the philosophical literature, there are two major understandings of simplicity. It is not at all clear which Dawkins has in mind. So I will systematically treat the major options. The first kind of simplicity is known as

66  Logan Paul Gage “syntactic simplicity”: the simplicity of the theory that supposedly explains a given phenomenon. That is, “it measures the number and conciseness of the theory’s basic principles.”35 What then are we to make of premise (7) if we understand premise (6) as a principle of syntactic simplicity? Is the God Hypothesis syntactically more complex than the phenomenon it is supposed to explain? God is often thought to explain the origin of life, the complexities of intracellular life, the fine-tuning of the physical constants, the origin of the universe itself, and more. In fact, in classical theism God ultimately explains everything other than himself. Recall now that Dawkins’s own formulation of the God Hypothesis is so simple that it can be stated in a single sentence, some parts of which are superfluous: “there exists a super-human, supernatural intelligence who deliberately designed and created the universe and everything in it, including us.”36 And Dawkins is not alone in thinking that the God Hypothesis can be expressed concisely. The Anselmian tradition, for instance, thinks of God as “the greatest conceivable being,” or “the maximally perfect being.”37 Because the theistic hypothesis can be stated so simply, if we understand simplicity in premise (6) as syntactic simplicity, theism seems like a very simple explanation indeed, rendering Dawkins’s premise (7) false. To be charitable, however, let’s assume that Dawkins doesn’t have in mind syntactical simplicity. Dawkins appears less concerned with the complexity or simplicity of the God Hypothesis than with the complexity or simplicity of God himself. 3.2. Ontological simplicity The second major kind of simplicity has often been dubbed “ontological simplicity” or “parsimony.” Ontological simplicity is, “roughly, the number and complexity of things postulated.”38 Occam’s Razor—the dictum that we should not multiply entities beyond necessity—typically aims at capturing this notion. Again simplicity must be balanced against other virtues like explanatory power and fit with other data.39 An explanation postulating more entities may well be preferable to simpler rivals if it holds greater consilience with other known facts.40 When expressed carefully, parsimony principles contain ceteris paribus clauses to indicate that they are to be invoked only when other things (e.g., explanatory power) are equal. If God has the causal power to explain the origin of the universe but Dawkins’s multiverse does not (depending on which universe-generating mechanism he adopts), then it is not clear that other things are equal; ontological simplicity would not come into play as a tie-breaker. Within ontological simplicity, we must make a distinction between what has been called quantitative parsimony and qualitative parsimony. Quantitative parsimony considers it a virtue to be committed to the existence of fewer individual things, whereas qualitative parsimony considers it a virtue

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 67 to be committed to the existence of fewer kinds of things. Let’s consider quantitative parsimony first. 3.3. Quantitative parsimony Quantitative parsimony has not always been considered an explanatory virtue. The eminent philosopher David Lewis, for one, dismisses this constraint on explanation.41 Is the hypothesis that a particular human brain contains x number of brain cells really automatically superior to the hypothesis that it contains x + 1 cells? Lewis and others maintain that such a priori considerations have no place in the empirical realm. Still, perhaps Dawkins might have this understanding of the virtue of simplicity in mind in premises (6) and (7). Notice that simplicity is a comparative notion in premises (6) and (7). It is one thing to postulate God to explain a single complex feature of life on Earth. But even Dawkins notes several such features potentially explained by divine design (the origin of life, consciousness, the laws of physics, etc.). If quantitative parsimony is what Dawkins has in mind, then God is an especially parsimonious explanation for all of these features combined. Even if we are only trying to explain the designed-looking features of the world Dawkins mentions, the number of entities entailed by such features far outnumber a single God. Just think of his definition of the God Hypothesis, which says that there is one entity that explains “the universe and everything in it.”42 Contra premise (7), God may well be a good explanation by this standard. Moreover, compare the God Hypothesis with Dawkins’s postulation of separate contingent explanations for all of the various designed features of life and the cosmos. Think of his multiverse hypothesis—a huge ballooning of ontological commitments43—to explain away apparently designed features of the one known universe. In other words, if premise (6) is a principle of quantitative parsimony, it is not God, but Dawkins’s multiverse, that is unparsimonious. It is open to Dawkins to object that I am counting the quantitative complexity of entities incorrectly. Dawkins objects, for instance, to his Oxford colleague Richard Swinburne’s claim that God is simple because he is a single substance.44 In The Blind Watchmaker, Dawkins develops his view of complexity more thoroughly, arguing that a complex object (1) “has many parts,” (2) these “constituent parts are arranged in a way that is unlikely to have arisen by chance alone,” and (3) the combined parts achieve some end. So Dawkins might argue that God still seems quantitatively complex (and more so than the things God might explain) in that God has many parts.45 Yet in the most literal and obvious sense, God does not have any parts at all because God is an immaterial substance. In The God Delusion, Dawkins seems to grant that God does not have literal parts but still maintains that God is complex.46 He cites with approval

68  Logan Paul Gage the view of Keith Ward that “[i]t is quite coherent . . . to suppose that God, while indivisible, is internally complex,” and that of Julian Huxley, who “defined complexity in terms of ‘heterogeneity of parts,’ by which he meant a particular kind of functional indivisibility.”47 Dawkins may think that while God does not literally have parts he must be psychologically complex in some sense.48 God’s activity (both mental and in the world), argues Dawkins, entails his complexity: “God, or any intelligent, decision-taking, calculating agent, would have to be highly improbable in the same statistical sense as the entities he is supposed to explain.”49 Further, A God capable of continuously monitoring and controlling the individual status of every particle in the universe cannot be simple. His existence is going to need a mammoth explanation in its own right. Worse (from the point of view of simplicity), other corners of God’s giant consciousness are simultaneously preoccupied with the doings and emotions and prayers of every single human being—and whatever intelligent aliens there might be on other planets in this and 100 billion other galaxies.50 Or again: [A] God who is capable of sending intelligible signals to millions of people simultaneously, and of receiving messages from all of them simultaneously, cannot be, whatever else he might be, simple. Such bandwidth! God may not have a brain made of neurons, or a CPU made of silicon, but if he has the powers attributed to him he must have something far more elaborately and non-randomly constructed than the largest brain or the largest computer we know.51 Dawkins’s delightful writing notwithstanding, it is still unclear exactly why God’s activity necessitates his complexity. Perhaps Dawkins thinks God’s way of knowing—for instance, his way of knowing “the emotions and prayers of every single human being”—makes him complex in that God performs a complex process of processing information and reasoning. But the greatest philosophers and theologians have long thought that God must not reason discursively as we do but in a simple manner. Following Augustine, Aquinas thinks God knows everything that can be known in a single timeless act and possesses a single mega-thought.52 If we use this traditional understanding of God, God is far from complex. He is the simplest entity possible. In response, one might claim that minds necessarily have certain mental “components” that, even though they are not literal parts, make a mind complex. Perhaps minds are the sorts of things that necessarily have a Platonic or Freudian tripartite structure. Still, on nearly any psychological model, even ones with many more substructures, it is still far from obvious that God is more complex than that which he would explain—namely,

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 69 absolutely everything that exists in the universe, including all of the billions of galaxies, stars, atoms, and subatomic particles. Moreover, prominent philosophers have thought that the divine properties reduce to one or a few properties. As Swinburne argues, because God’s essential properties all flow from his having “pure, limitless, intentional power,” he is “the simplest kind of person there can be.”53 Classical theism (the tradition of Maimonides, Avicenna, and Aquinas) goes even further, holding that God is so radically simple that he lacks not just physical but also metaphysical parts. Finally, even if we count God’s “parts” in this strained way, and even if we grant for the sake of argument that God is more complex in this quantitative sense, and even if God’s properties are logically independent of each other, a question remains: is it true, as premise (6) claims, that an entity that is more quantitatively complex than that which it might explain is automatically a bad explanation? Consider this. Scientists routinely posit complex, new entities when the data warrant it. For example, the postulation of a unique and comparatively quite complex, hitherto unobserved object like Neptune to account for a few simple perturbations in the orbit of Uranus. Neptune has its own origin, which needs explanation; it has a unique and highly specified orbit, a multifaceted material composition, atmosphere, climate, moons, etc. Not only have scientists postulated entities more complex than that which they would explain, but they have repeatedly done so as part of the best kind of science. 3.4. Qualitative parsimony At this point Dawkins might suggest that we count in yet another manner to discern the ontological complexity of our explanations. As mentioned earlier, some philosophers reject quantitative parsimony in favor of qualitative parsimony. Dawkins may think that the multiverse still counts as simple because the right way to count entities is not by individual tokens but by new kinds. He writes: The multiverse, for all that it is extravagant, is simple. . . . The multiverse may seem extravagant in sheer number of universes. But if each one of those universes is simple in its fundamental laws, we are still not postulating anything highly improbable.54 While the multiverse postulates more token entities, each token is fundamentally the same kind as our universe (which Dawkins somehow takes to be simple). Thus, our ontology is no larger than before we postulated the multiverse, or, at the very least, this is not the kind of increase that automatically makes for a bad explanation. The claim that only the introduction of new kinds can bloat an ontology has been criticized by philosophers.55 Even if there is something of a “discount” on new tokens of old kinds, it isn’t a blank check: one new kind would be more than offset by infinitely many new tokens of old kinds.

70  Logan Paul Gage Further, note that counting by kinds is notoriously difficult to do. Are new species of plants and animals or different fundamental particles new kinds? If so, different universes are likely to have many new natural kinds indeed, and Dawkins’s multiverse will far outstrip the ontological commitments of the average theist. But if these don’t count as new kinds, why not? What principled way is there to decide what counts as a new kind, given that everything resembles some other thing in some way? Dawkins thinks that the postulation of many new universes does not really make the multiverse unacceptably complex, because these many new universes are all of the same general kind as our universe. By this standard, however, even if we interpret premise (6) as a principle of qualitative parsimony, there is no guarantee that God is a new kind and thus that premise (7) is true. If mind is a real part of our world, as few would deny, then the burden would be on Dawkins to explain why God (whom he conceives of as a mind or intelligence) is a fundamentally new kind of thing. Dawkins even calls God “super-human”—that is, like a human but greater in power. Even an unimaginably great and powerful intelligent agent still seems like an intelligent agent. In fact, the great monotheistic traditions have always believed that human beings were created as conscious, rational beings in the image and likeness of a conscious, rational being. It is difficult to see, then, why God is necessarily a new kind.56,57 But for the sake of argument, let us slice kinds finely and concede that God is different in kind from the intelligent agents we know. We might still wonder whether it is true that science never postulates fundamentally new kinds—not just new planets like Neptune (since we already know there are planets) but brand-new kinds. In truth, scientists do this routinely and without complaint. Physicists posit superstrings, virtual particles, and fivedimensional membranes. Such hypotheses are clearly explanatory despite postulating new kinds (where kinds are sliced finely). Dawkins could still insist that God is a radically different kind than anything else we know simply because God is supernatural. But is this not precisely what Newton’s detractors said? Gravity, with its action at a distance, was decried as an “occult force,” inappropriate to scientific explanation and too different in kind from truly scientific hypotheses. Ultimately, we must postulate a cause that is adequate to explain the data. And when our data include the origin of the entire universe or the existence of contingent beings—the whole natural order—a radically different sort of cause may be the only adequate one. I conclude, then, that even if Dawkins’s premises (6) and (7) are understood as referring to qualitative simplicity, these premises remain false. 3.5. Fundamental simplicity Perhaps what bothers Dawkins most about theism is that it leaves the ultimate origin of the world unexplained.58 But which theory truly is simpler

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 71 with respect to the number of brute (unexplained/fundamental) entities and properties posited? Which worldview begins with the fewest number of unexplained entities and proceeds to explain all else? Theism’s single brute fact is, arguably, a radically simple being, or at the very most the existence of a person with two properties—knowledge and power—held in the simplest possible way.59 That is, these two properties of God are held by him essentially and without limit (which is simpler than positing any finite amount of power or knowledge). All contingent beings are explained by God’s desire to bring about good things (i.e., via personal explanation, which is very familiar to us). Naturalism appears to lack this kind of fundamental systematicity and simplicity. In naturalism there are quite a number of brute facts (e.g., brute connections between conscious states and brain states), not least of which is the existence of massive quantities of contingent beings: the fundamental particles out of which the physical universe is composed. Counting up the number of brute facts in naturalism will be difficult, but it seems that inevitably it postulates more than one brute entity with only two properties held in the simplest way. I freely admit that there is a sense in which theism is more complex than naturalism: theists have God in their ontology. This is why Dawkins’s claim that we are all atheists with regard to Zeus, Wotan, or the flying spaghetti monster has some purchase. As he entertainingly pronounces, “I just go one god further.”60 Positing God as the ultimate explanation of our universe would be an increase in the number of things naturalists take to exist. But at times we all must admit new things into our ontology (black holes, etc.). The real question is whether the existence of the postulated entity makes one’s whole worldview simpler and more unified.61 Theism is simpler in having fewer unexplained entities, and its one brute fact gives a simple, unified explanation to all other things.

4. Conclusion Dawkins’s Ultimate 747 Gambit is in deep trouble. No matter which understanding of simplicity Dawkins holds, premises (6) and (7)—which support premise (4)—are false. Whether simplicity is construed as syntactic or ontological, as qualitative parsimony or quantitative parsimony, it is simply too strong to claim that any explanation more complex than that which it potentially explains is automatically a bad explanation or that God is more complex than the world. In addition, I gave reason to think that theism is simpler than naturalism in terms of the number of fundamental entities postulated. Dawkins not only called this “the central argument” of his book but actually his “main reason for actively disbelieving in God’s existence.”62 As Dawkins’s Gambit is the New Atheists’ most well-developed argument against God’s existence, it is questionable whether the movement provides any new reason to think that God does not exist.63

72  Logan Paul Gage

Notes 1 Emerson 1903, 165. 2 Philosophers wrote a handful of book reviews, but serious engagement was sparse. Exceptions include Wielenberg 2009; Plantinga 2011, 13–30. 3 Dawkins 2006, 157. Throughout this chapter, I analyze Dawkins’s central argument. For a positive account of the justification of theistic belief, see Gage and McAllister forthcoming. 4 The name is a reference to the alleged statement of Sir Fred Hoyle, the famed English astronomer and mathematician, to the effect that the probability of life’s naturalistic origination on Earth was little greater than the probability of a tornado sweeping through a junkyard and assembling a Boeing 747. 5 Dawkins 2006, 109, 157, 158. 6 See Harris 2006, 73; Hitchens 2007, 71. 7 Dawkins 2006, 157. 8 Ibid, 31. 9 Ibid, 108. 10 Swinburne 1994, Chs. 6–7, esp. 151ff, argues forcefully that God’s goodness follows necessarily from his being all-knowing and all-powerful. 11 Dawkins 2006, 114–119. 12 Ibid, 158. In this passage, I have substituted “theory” for “crane” so as to avoid confusion. Dawkins is speaking of two different kinds of theories using Dennett’s terminology of “cranes” and “skyhooks.” See Dennett 1995. 13 See Collins 2012. 14 Jastrow 1992, 14. 15 Ibid, 106–107. 16 Hawking 1996. 17 Dawkins 2000, 41. 18 Dawkins 2006, 73. 19 Ibid, 77–109. 20 Ibid, 77. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid, 78. 23 Ibid. 24 Cf. De Aeternitate Mundi. 25 Wippel 2000, 462–469. 26 Dawkins 2006, 77 further complains that even if Aquinas’s argument were conceded, there is no reason to endow the regress terminator with God’s other properties like omnipotence. But readers familiar with Aquinas will see that this critique misses the mark. The Five Ways are followed, in both the Summa Theologica and the Summa Contra Gentiles, by arguments that the being proved must have a host of divine attributes (eternality, goodness, intelligence, etc.) entailed by its more basic properties like aseity. 27 See Pawl 2012, 121–122 for a helpful discussion of the Third Way and difficulties it faces. For a basic introduction to the Five Ways see Copleston 1955, 114–130. And for a closer treatment, see Wippel 2000, 442–500. 28 See Pruss 2012. 29 See Gale and Pruss 1999; Swinburne 2004, 133–152; Rasmussen 2010; Rasmussen and Weaver 2018; Pruss and Rasmussen 2018. 30 Out of charity, I have chosen to strengthen Dawkins’s argument by interpreting it more modestly than he may intend. In my formulation, Dawkins claims that God is not a good explanation. But Dawkins may actually mean that God is no explanation at all of complex phenomena. He writes: “It is obviously no solution to postulate something even more improbable [or complex]” (Dawkins 2006, 158, emphases added). Positing theism’s complex God is, then, “a total

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 73 abdication of the responsibility to find an explanation” (155). “Indeed, design is not a real alternative at all because it raises an even bigger problem than it solves: who designed the designer?” (121, emphasis added). “Why is God considered an explanation for anything? It’s not—it’s a failure to explain” (134). Because God offers a complex and therefore improbable explanation of life, “statistical science rules out a divine creator” (139). And again, “design certainly does not work as an explanation for life, because design is ultimately not cumulative and it therefore raises bigger questions than it answers” (141). Regarding the fine-tuning of the laws of physics, he writes: “The theist says that God, when setting up the universe, tuned the fundamental constants . . . for the production of life. . . . As ever, the theist’s answer is deeply unsatisfying, because it leaves the existence of God unexplained. A God capable of calculating the Goldilocks values for the six numbers would have to be at least as improbable as the finely tuned combination of numbers itself. . . . It follows that the theist’s answer has utterly failed to make any headway towards solving the problem at hand” (143). “And,” he continues, “the theistic response to the riddle of improbability is an evasion of stupendous proportions. It is more than a restatement of the problem, it is a grotesque amplification of it” (144). 31 Though as a Bayesian probabilistic argument, theism could still be very likely if the naturalistic explanation was even worse. 32 Or perhaps: If X is more complex (i.e., less simple) than Y, X is not a good explanation of Y. 33 This is clearly the central premise of the “Ultimate 747” argument. See Dawkins 2006, 120, 147–150, 154–157. 34 Kuhn 1977, 321–322. 35 Baker 2011, 1. The mathematical version of syntactic simplicity is often called “elegance.” 36 Dawkins 2006, 31. 37 More technically, God is thought to possess all compossible positive perfections. 38 Baker 2011, 4. 39 It may be that fit with other theories can be reduced to either simplicity or explanatory power. This is the approach Swinburne takes. Others, like Thagard 1978; Harman 1965; and Lipton 2004, maintain a multiplicity of virtues. 40 Thagard 1978, 87–89. 41 Lewis 1973, 87. 42 Dawkins 2006, 31. 43 There are two ways to think of the multiverse hypothesis: either it increases the number of universes or it increases the complexity of the one mega-universe. In either way of proceeding, the view is anything but quantitatively parsimonious. 44 Dawkins 2006, 148. 45 Ibid, 11–16. 46 When Dawkins alleges that God is more complex than that which he is invoked to explain, he is not taking issue with the doctrine of “divine simplicity.” He shows no awareness of the distinction (or lack thereof) between God’s essence and his existence. 47 Dawkins 2006, 150. 48 See Mackie 1982, 144; McGinn 1999, 86–87. 49 Dawkins 2006, 147. 50 Ibid, 149. 51 Ibid, 154. 52 Cf. Summa Theologica Ia.14.7 and Zagzebski 1991. 53 Swinburne 1994, 154; 1997; 2004, 55 argues in some detail that attributing infinite power is simpler than attributing any finite quantity and illustrates this from the history of science. 54 Dawkins 2006, 147.

74  Logan Paul Gage 5 See Nolan 1997; Huemer 2009, 216. 5 56 Of course, Aquinas and others thought that God is not in a genus with anything else, including persons or rational agents. But this route is unavailable to Dawkins because he keeps insisting that God, if he exists, is a rational agent performing complex thoughts and operations just like us. 57 Mackie 1982, 100 appears to think that a disembodied mind like God would be a radically new kind of person. But this assumes physicalism. Physicalism has fallen on hard times in recent years. See Chalmers 2010; Gillett and Loewer 2001; Kim 2005; Koons and Bealer 2010; Ney 2008. Hence, it would be a serious disadvantage if Dawkins’s super-argument logically required physicalism as a premise and would only further confirm that the argument is much more philosophically than scientifically driven. 58 This is true in Swinburne’s view, anyway. Plantinga holds that God is a logically necessary being. 59 Unlimited power plausibly entails perfect freedom. Swinburne 2004, 99ff argues that God’s perfect knowledge, power, and freedom entail his perfect moral goodness and other essential divine attributes. See Swinburne 2010 for his latest on God and simplicity. 60 Dawkins 2006, 53. Notice that gods like Zeus and Wotan are not arbitrarily rejected by classical theists. They are not even possible explanations for contingent reality, as they are contingent themselves, requiring an explanation for their existence and composition. Not so the God of classical theism, who is radically simple and dependent on nothing outside himself. 61 See Smart 1985, 275–276. 62 Dawkins 2006, 157, 73. 63 The author wishes to thank Trent Dougherty for his previous collaboration, without which this chapter would not have been possible.

References Baker, Alan. 2011. “Simplicity.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/simplicity. Chalmers, David J. 2010. The Character of Consciousness. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Collins, Robin. 2012. “The Teleological Argument: An Exploration of the Fine-­ Tuning of the Universe.” In The Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, edited by William Lane Craig and J.P. Moreland, 202–281. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Copleston, F. C. 1955. Aquinas. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Dawkins, Richard. 1996. The Blind Watchmaker: Why the Evidence of Evolution Reveals a Universe Without Design. New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company. ———. 2000. Unweaving the Rainbow: Science, Delusion and the Appetite for Wonder. New York, NY: Mariner Books. ———. 2006. The God Delusion. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company. Dennett, Daniel C. 1995. Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. New York, NY: Touchstone. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1903. The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York, NY: Houghton, Mifflin and Co. Gage, Logan Paul and Blake McAllister. Forthcoming. “The Phenomenal Conservative Approach to Religious Epistemology.” In Debating Christian Religious

Is the God Hypothesis improbable? 75 Epistemology: An Introduction to Five Views on the Knowledge of God, edited by John M. DePoe and Tyler Dalton McNabb. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic. Gale, Richard and Alexander R. Pruss. 1999. “A New Cosmological Argument.” Religious Studies 35 (4): 461–476. Gillett, Carl and Barry Loewer, eds. 2001. Physicalism and Its Discontents. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Harman, Gilbert H. 1965. “Inference to the Best Explanation.” The Philosophical Review 74 (1): 88–95. Harris, Sam. 2006. Letter to a Christian Nation. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Hawking, Stephen. 1996. A Brief History of Time. New York, NY: Bantam Books. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York, NY: Twelve. Huemer, Michael. 2009. “When Is Parsimony a Virtue?” The Philosophical Quarterly 59 (235): 216–236. Jastrow, Robert. 1992. God and the Astronomers. 2nd ed. Reader’s Library, Inc. Kim, Jaegwon. 2005. Physicalism, or Something Near Enough. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Koons, Robert C., and George Bealer, eds. 2010. The Waning of Materialism. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Kuhn, Thomas S. 1977. The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Lewis, David. 1973. Counterfactuals. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Lipton, Peter. 2004. Inference to the Best Explanation. 2nd ed. New York, NY: Routledge. Mackie, J.L. 1982. The Miracle of Theism. New York, NY: Clarendon Press. McGinn, Colin. 1999. The Mysterious Flame: Conscious Minds in a Material World. New York, NY: Basic Books. Ney, Alyssa. 2008. “Physicalism as an Attitude.” Philosophical Studies 138 (1): 1–15. Nolan, Daniel. 1997. “Quantitative Parsimony.” British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 48 (3): 329–343. Pawl, Timothy. 2012. “The Five Ways.” In The Oxford Handbook of Aquinas, edited by Brian Davies and Eleonore Stump, 115–131. New York: Oxford University Press. Plantinga, Alvin. 2011. Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Pruss, Alexander R. 2012. “The Leibnizian Cosmological Argument.” In The Blackwell Companion to Natural Theology, edited by William Lane Craig and J.P. Moreland, 24–100. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, Ltd. Pruss, Alexander R., and Joshua L. Rasmussen. 2018. Necessary Existence. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Rasmussen, Joshua. 2010. “A New Argument for a Necessary Being.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy 89 (2): 351–356. Rasmussen, Joshua and Christopher Gregory Weaver. 2018. “Why Is There Anything?” In Two Dozen (or so) Arguments for God: The Plantinga Project, edited by Jerry L. Walls and Trent Dougherty, 137–156. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Sedley, David. 2007. Creationism and Its Critics in Antiquity. Berkeley: University of California Press.

76  Logan Paul Gage Smart, J.J.C. 1985. “Laws of Nature and Cosmic Coincidences.” The Philosophical Quarterly 35 (140): 272–280. Swinburne, Richard. 1994. The Christian God. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. ———. 1997. Simplicity as Evidence of Truth. Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. ———. 2004. The Existence of God. 2nd ed. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. ———. 2010. “God as the Simplest Explanation of the Universe.” European Journal for Philosophy of Religion 2 (1): 1–24. Thagard, Paul R. 1978. “The Best Explanation: Criteria for Theory Choice.” The Journal of Philosophy 75 (2): 76–92. Wielenberg, Erik. 2009. “Dawkins’s Gambit, Hume’s Aroma, and God’s Simplicity.” Philosophia Christi 11 (1): 113–128. Wippel, John F. 2000. The Metaphysical Thought of Thomas Aquinas. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Zagzebski, Linda Trinkaus. 1991. The Dilemma of Freedom and Foreknowledge. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

6 The nature and rationality of faith Liz Jackson

1. Introduction Can faith be rational? On this question, the New Atheists speak in one voice: no. Sam Harris (2004, 65) says that “religious faith is simply unjustified belief in matters of ultimate concern” (emphasis his). Richard Dawkins (2006, 23) agrees: “The whole point of religious faith, its strength and chief glory, is that it does not depend on rational justification.” Hitchens, Dennett, and others make similar remarks.1 The consensus among the New Atheists seems to be that faith can never be rational. In this chapter, I examine the rationality of faith in light of this complaint.2 The main New Atheist contention seems to be that faith, especially faith in God, is irrational. But what is faith? Why think that it makes most theists irrational? These are the questions I explore. In the first part of this chapter, I examine what the New Atheists say about faith. I argue that on a number of specifications of the nature of faith, either faith is not irrational or most theistic believers do not have faith. In the second part of the chapter, I suggest my own account of the nature of faith, which can be used to further constructive dialogue between atheists and theists.

2. Preliminary remarks Before presenting my main argument, a few preliminaries. First: what kind of rationality do the New Atheists have in mind when they claim that faith is irrational? Philosophers have distinguished many kinds of rationality,3 but the New Atheist writings suggest to me that they think faith lacks epistemic rationality. Epistemic rationality is a kind of rationality associated with justified belief and knowledge. A belief that is epistemically rational has characteristics like being based on evidence, being reliably formed, being a candidate for knowledge, and being the result of a dependable process of inquiry. Paradigm examples of beliefs that are not epistemically rational are beliefs that are based on wishful thinking, hasty generalizations, or beliefs formed as the result of emotional attachment.4

78  Liz Jackson In this chapter, I focus on epistemic rationality. I will argue that, in many cases, faith is not epistemically irrational. Note, however, that even if one’s faith failed to rise to the level of being epistemically rational, it would not follow that faith is not rational in any sense. For even if one’s faith is epistemically defective, it may nonetheless be practically rational. Practical rationality, unlike epistemic rationality, is associated with an agent’s goals and what is at stake for that agent, and is more commonly applied to actions than to mental states. In this, acts of faith are evaluated for rationality from a practical point of view. It might be rational for me to perform some act of faith because I have a lot to gain if it is true and little to lose if it is false. This can be rational even if believing the associated proposition is irrational, because of, for example, a lack of evidence.5 Generally, it can be rational to act as if something is true, even if you don’t have much evidence for its being true. For example, suppose you are a judge in a court case and the evidence is enough to legally establish that a particular suspect did it “beyond reasonable doubt.” Yet suppose you have other evidence that they are innocent, but it is personal in nature such that it cannot legally be used in a court of law. You might not be justified in believing they are guilty, but for legal reasons, you must act as if they are guilty and issue the “guilty” verdict (Cohen 2000). Consider a second example. Suppose you are visiting a frozen lake with your young children and they want to go play on the ice. You may rationally believe the ice is thick and totally safe but nonetheless refuse to let your children play, acting as if it will break, because of what is at stake: it would be very bad if they fell in. In the same way that acting on some proposition might be rational even if believing it is not rational, taking an act of faith might be rational even if one has little evidence for the proposition they are acting upon. For example, one might be rational in practicing a religion, participating in prayer and liturgy, and joining a spiritual community, even if faith is epistemically irrational. Rational action is a practical matter, and sometimes it can be rational to act as if something is true even if our evidence points the other way. Denying this is to deny the traditional and orthodox way of thinking about rational decision making, but this point is frequently overlooked by the New Atheists (see, e.g., Harris 2004, 51–55). The general lesson is that even if faith is epistemically irrational, acts by faith may still be practically rational. Now, I turn to faith’s epistemic rationality.

3. The rationality of faith The New Atheists maintain that faith is epistemically irrational. I first note a point of agreement with the New Atheists: it is important to avoid epistemically unjustified attitudes. If faith really is epistemically irrational, they are right to point this out. Using reason, following evidence, being

The nature and rationality of faith 79 open-minded, and having courage to face the truth are all valuable; I agree with the New Atheists on this point. I applaud their desire to follow the evidence and avoid irrationality. However, when it comes to the epistemic rationality of faith, I depart from New Atheist thinking.6 To see why, I begin by making the New Atheist objection to faith as clear as possible. What exactly is their complaint? We can outline it as follows: (P1) Everyone (or almost everyone) who has faith is epistemically irrational. (P2) All theistic believers have faith. (C) All (or most) theistic believers are epistemically irrational. In this chapter, I argue that for every definition of faith the New Atheists provide, either (P1) is false or (P2) is false. This method allows us to consider a large variety of (potentially inconsistent) definitions of faith. However, on every definition, the conclusion does not follow. Or so I will argue. 3.1. Faith as an epistemically unjustified attitude The New Atheists consistently associate faith with an epistemically unjustified or irrational attitude. Given this, they may simply be stipulating that “faith” is the set of (or a subset of) the epistemically irrational attitudes. This would make sense of their frequent comments that directly associate faith with irrationality. For example, Harris says that religious faith just is unjustified belief (2004, 65), a belief for which there is no rational justification (2004, 72), and an excuse to keep believing when reasons fail (2006, 22). Dawkins says faith lacks objective justification (2006, 23) and that “the whole point of religious faith” is that it doesn’t depend on rational justification (2006, 306). This suggests the following about faith: (1) Faith is an epistemically unjustified attitude. Given this definition, (P1) is trivially true. If faith just is, by definition, an irrational attitude, then those with faith will be irrational. An initial worry is that simply stipulating that faith is irrational undermines other New Atheist goals. One of their main projects seems to be an anti-apologetic one: giving reasons why theistic beliefs are irrational or false. For example, Dawkins devotes two chapters of The God Delusion to giving arguments against God’s existence (2006, 75–105, 111–151). Hitchens has at least six anti-apologetic chapters in God Is Not Great (see pages 63–73, 73–97, 109–139). One can find similar arguments by opening virtually any New Atheist book and turning to the table of contents. If faith just is by definition an unjustified attitude, why devote so much time and space to arguing against faith in God? That faith is irrational seems to be something they want to argue for rather than stipulate.

80  Liz Jackson Second, it is unclear that (P2) is true on this understanding of faith. If faith just is an irrational attitude, then (P2) amounts to the claim that (most) theistic beliefs are irrational. There are several points to be made here. First, the apologetic project of justifying theistic beliefs has a rich history, with authors like Aquinas, Anselm, and Augustine arguing in favor of theistic belief. And Christian philosophy and apologetics have not died out with the Enlightenment; rather, there has been a stream of new and increasingly precise challenges to nontheistic frameworks.7 Dawkins doesn’t address the majority of these arguments, and thus it is far from clear—from anything Dawkins says— that all of these arguments fail to supply evidence for theism or that theistic beliefs simply lack “objective justification” (as Dawkins claims). Additionally, many philosophers acknowledge that, with respect to the debate about God’s existence, there is good evidence on both sides, and both theists and atheists can be rational.8 It is far from clear, then, that the evidence points obviously and directly to atheism, rendering all theists irrational. One might point out that not all regular churchgoers are aware of this evidence. The average person in the pew likely knows very few of the arguments for and against God’s existence. Thus, the New Atheists might concede that the average case of faith in God is not justified. This objection brings me to my second point: recently, many prominent philosophers have argued that theistic beliefs can be justified without rigorous argument, similar to how a child’s belief in the external world can be justified without rigorous argument. Alvin Plantinga (2000) argues that Christian belief can be rational even if it isn’t based on other beliefs or arguments, and William Alston (1991) argues that experiences of God can justify theistic belief. While of course these arguments are not the final word on the matter, to my knowledge, the New Atheists have not given them any kind of extended treatment. Further, it is possible to know something but not know how one knows. Consider a child and his father; presumably, the child knows that he is my father, but if asked how he knows this, the child could not give a satisfactory answer. This does not mean the child does not know or does not have good evidence that this man is his father. In the same way, many of the average people in the pews might know that God exists but not be able to satisfactorily explain how they know this. This does not mean that their faith is irrational or that they lack knowledge or evidence of God’s existence. The fact that many people of faith are unaware of theistic arguments doesn’t entail that their faith is irrational.9 Therefore, (P2) has not been established, given (1). 3.2. Faith as self-justifying A second suggestion is that faith is an attitude that justifies itself. Consider the following quote from Harris (2004, 64): “Faith entirely self-justifying:

The nature and rationality of faith 81 perhaps the very fact that one believes in something which has not yet come to pass (‘things hoped for’) or for which one has no evidence (‘things not seen’) constitutes evidence for its actuality (‘assurance’).”10 The idea here is that there is something circular about faith: it justifies or rationalizes itself. This suggests the following: (2) Faith epistemically justifies itself. Self-justifying attitudes are philosophically interesting, but they are not automatically epistemically irrational. A couple of examples illustrate this point. William James (1897) discusses a mountain climber who stands at a snowy mountain pass. Suppose that, in order to survive, this climber must jump over a deep crevice, and it isn’t obvious that she can definitely make the jump. However, she knows that if she becomes more confident that she will successfully make the jump, then she will develop more energy and zeal, which will make it more likely that she will jump farther and successfully land on the other side. The presence of her belief “I will make this jump successfully” makes the belief more likely to be true. Or consider someone about to give a speech: as they become more assured they are a talented public speaker, this will give them confidence and poise, making it likely they will give a great speech. Similarly, believing I will survive a serious surgery can make it more likely I will survive; believing I will play well at my basketball game will instill self-assurance that makes it more likely I will play well. The fact that these beliefs provide evidence for themselves is admittedly peculiar. Yet it is unclear that, just on account of being self-justifying, they are epistemically defective. In fact, forming the relevant belief makes the belief more likely to be true. Attitudes that justify themselves are just that: justified! It is far from obvious that (2) renders (P1) true—in fact, (2) seems to be at odds with (P1), which says that faith is not justified. It is also unclear that (P2)—that all theistic believers have faith—is true, given (2)’s account of “faith,” especially if we are talking about faith in God. I don’t see how someone’s faith that God exists would justify itself, since this wouldn’t make it more likely that God exists. However, as I discuss in Section 4, (2) might describe certain kinds of faith. 3.3. Faith and inquiry In some places, the New Atheists connect faith to insufficient or irresponsible inquiry (i.e., evidence gathering). Dennett (2006, 312) expresses this concern: “So here is the only prescription I will make categorically and without reservation: Do more research. There is an alternative . . . just take it on faith.” Dennett’s idea seems to be that doing research and gathering evidence are in opposition to faith. Similarly, Hitchens (2007, 137) notes that faith “choke[s] free inquiry,” and Harris (2006, 28) says that the biggest

82  Liz Jackson thing standing in the way of critical thinking and intellectual honesty is faith. These remarks suggest the following: (3) If someone has faith, then that person does not inquire into their faith commitments. Whether (3) explains why faith is irrational, rending (P1) true, hangs on two things. First, recall that we are concerned with epistemic rationality. There is disagreement among philosophers as to whether obligations to inquire are epistemic. Some philosophers have suggested that whether and how much we should gather evidence depends on practical, rather than epistemic, considerations.11 This can explain why it seems that we should spend time gathering evidence about important matters and should not merely memorize the phone book, even though memorizing it would give us lots of knowledge. Useless knowledge just isn’t that significant. Some conclude from this that inquiry is a practical, rather than an epistemic, matter. However, this is controversial, and so for the sake of argument, let us suppose that there are epistemic duties of inquiry and that failure to fulfill these can make an attitude epistemically irrational. This brings up a second question that bears on whether (P1) is true: if we have epistemic duties to inquire, what are they? We surely don’t have to inquire into all of our attitudes in order for them to be justified. Some statements, like 1 + 1 = 2 or torturing babies for fun is wrong, are self-evident, so no inquiry is required for us to rationally believe or know them. And a statement doesn’t have to be self-evident to fall into this category. If my mom casually mentions she had eggs for breakfast, I don’t need to interview my dad or check the trash for eggshells in order to be justified in believing her. Thus, not inquiring into some matter doesn’t automatically make one’s attitudes irrational. Hence, there are reasons to worry that (3) doesn’t render faith irrational. But what about (P2)? Do most theists have faith if (3) accurately describes what it means to have faith? If we understand “inquiry” as merely evidence gathering, then almost all of those who believe in God inquire. They look for some sort of evidence their theistic beliefs are true, even if it is merely, say, testimonial evidence. A more plausible version of the complaint would be that theists don’t inquire enough into their faith. This suggests an amendment to (3): (3*) If someone has faith, then that person does not sufficiently inquire into their faith commitments. Perhaps the biggest problem with (3*), however, is that it does not specify what is required for sufficient inquiry. It will be difficult to set the bar for sufficient inquiry at a place where both (P1) and (P2) come out to be true.

The nature and rationality of faith 83 The bar cannot be too high, because our duties to inquire only go so far; as discussed earlier, there seem to be many propositions we can rationally believe, and even know, with little to no inquiry. Even for sufficiently important propositions, it is psychologically and practically unrealistic to require lots of inquiry for rationality. Also, a very high bar will probably mean that most of our attitudes (not just those about God) are irrational, which is counterintuitive. The higher the bar, the less likely it is that (P1) is true. For this reason, one might try to lower the bar and say that we need some inquiry—but not too much—for the resulting attitudes to be rational. However, as the bar is lowered, more of those who believe in God will meet it. As mentioned earlier, most theistic believers engage in some sort of evidence collection and examination. Therefore, the challenge for the New Atheists is to set the bar for inquiry at such a place that it is not implausibly demanding, but is also one that most theistic believers do not meet. This challenge has not been met, and I am skeptical that it could be. 3.4. Faith and evidence One of the most common things the New Atheists say about faith is that it is not based on evidence. Harris (2004, 65) remarks that faith is “an act of knowledge that has a low degree of evidence.” Dawkins (2006, 283) suggests that if we have faith in something, we won’t change our mind no matter what evidence we get; faith is simply “belief without evidence” (ibid, 199). Elsewhere (1976: 330), he drives the point home: “But what, after all, is faith? It is a state of mind that leads people to believe something . . . in the total absence of supporting evidence.” Hitchens (2007, 71) notes that the “leap of faith” is an imposture because we are required to perform it, in spite of “mounting evidence to the contrary.” These remarks suggest the following: (4) Faith is not based on (adequate) evidence. Given (4), is faith irrational? Faith is irrational if evidentialism is true. Evidentialism is the view that for an attitude to be rational, it must be based on evidence. Evidentialism is debated among philosophers, but it is a plausible enough thesis (at least on a sufficiently broad account of evidence) that I will assume it for the sake of argument. But what about (P2)? Do most theistic believers base their faith on evidence? Most at least base their beliefs on testimony or experience. Theists rely on the evidence of historical testimony (e.g., authors of their scriptures), the testimony of their families, spiritual leaders, or others in their communities. They also rely on their experiences, whether these be experiences of God through nature, in prayer, in liturgy/tradition/ceremony, etc. It seems that most theistic faith is based on some kind of evidence.

84  Liz Jackson A New Atheist would likely respond that this doesn’t rationalize faith in God. Why? An initial suggestion is that testimony and experience don’t count as evidence at all. However, going this route would render most of our everyday beliefs irrational (on reflection, we believe quite a bit on the basis of testimony). This also seems to rule out things the New Atheists want to count as evidence—for example, belief in some scientific claim on the basis of the testimony of a reliable scientist (see Harris 2004, 66). They might even want to allow for someone to disbelieve in God because of their experiences of evil in the world. Thus, I don’t think they want to rule out testimony and experience altogether. Alternatively, they might want to say that testimony and experience can justify, but not always. Then they could distinguish between different types of testimony to exclude testimony that rationalizes faith but allow for other sources of testimony. They might distinguish between reliable and misleading testimony and maintain that we only ought to trust the former. However, in cases where we have misleading evidence, it is possible to have rational false beliefs. When there is a huge upset in sports, before the game, almost everyone believes the better team will win. This belief is rational even though it turns out to be false, because of the overwhelming (but misleading) evidence in its favor. It is almost universally accepted that rationality and truth can come apart, and it is rational to follow our evidence even though it doesn’t always lead us to the truth. Thus, the suggestion that faith is irrational because it is based on misleading evidence isn’t promising. Another suggestion is that the problem with trusting religious testimony is that its claims are not scientifically demonstrable. This route seems to be one that is advocated by Harris (2004, 74–77), who suggests that if testimony is to be trusted, its claims must be verifiable. Similarly, Jeremy Stenger (2009, 72), author of The New Atheism, maintains that testimony needs to be checked with independent observations. Maybe the problem with faith isn’t lack of evidence, but being based on the wrong kind of evidence. This leads to a slightly different focus: the problem with faith is that faith is not based on empirical evidence. 3.5. Faith and empirical evidence Empirical evidence is evidence we get by experiencing or studying the world around us. A paradigm example of empirical evidence is scientific evidence. In many places, the New Atheists suggest that the problem with theistic faith is that it isn’t adequately based on empirical evidence. Dennett (2006, 238–239) states, “Religious avowals concern matters that are beyond observation, beyond meaningful test” and it has been noted by many commentators that typical, canonical religious beliefs cannot be tested for truth . . . this is . . . a defining characteristic

The nature and rationality of faith 85 of religious creeds. They have to be “taken on faith” and are not subject to [scientific or historical] confirmation. Hitchens (2007, 5) says that his principles are not faith because he distrusts anything that contradicts science. Harris (2006, 16) associates faith with “untestable propositions” and also maintains that we can trust engineers and doctors, but not priests or rabbis, because the former make defeasible, falsifiable claims about the world, whereas nothing can demonstrate the falsity of the core beliefs of spiritual leaders (2006, 66). On the face of it, one might think that these remarks suggest that empirical evidence is the only source that epistemically justifies. This suggests that the problem with faith is as follows: (5) Faith is not based solely on empirical evidence. For (5) to render (P1) true, something like the following principle must hold: for an attitude to be rational, it must be based only on empirical evidence. However, this principle is implausible. This first problem with it is that, if it is true, it cannot be rationally believed, since it cannot be justified by empirical evidence alone. This is because principles about rationality are not ones we learn by studying the empirical world; they involve ought-claims that science cannot establish. Thus, there are self-referential problems with the principle. Second, the principle also assumes that empirical evidence is the only kind of evidence that can make an attitude rational. This assumption is doubtful, as it overlooks sources of evidence such as a priori evidence (the source of evidence for math, logic, moral truths, etc.), evidence from memory, and many other kinds of non-empirical evidence (see Kelly 2014). If empirical evidence were the only kind of evidence we could rationally rely on, a large majority of our beliefs would be irrational. So, given (5), it is unclear that (P1) is true. Generally, the principle from the previous paragraph closely resembles what some call scientism, the view that empirical science is our only source of evidence and/or the only justification for belief (see Taylor 2016). This is a view that is often attributed to the New Atheists, but it is unclear that all of them hold this view, and some have even explicitly denied strong versions of scientism (see Stenger 2009, 285). However, given the central emphasis they put on scientific knowledge and scientific practice, they likely still endorse something like what Taylor (2016) calls “weak scientism,” or that empirical science is our best method for forming beliefs about the world. If weak scientism is true, this suggests the problem with faith is not that it isn’t based only on empirical evidence, but that it isn’t based on empirical evidence at all. This seems like a more charitable interpretation of the New Atheist complaint: (5*) Faith is not based on any empirical evidence.

86  Liz Jackson For (P1) to be true, given (5*), this requires a weaker principle than before: for an attitude to be rational, it must be based at least partially on empirical evidence. This principle allows for more of our everyday beliefs to be rational. Whether (5*) renders (P1) and (P2) true depends on what exactly one counts as “empirical evidence.” However, we can show that (5*) won’t do the job without a precise answer. Consider beliefs about the past; beliefs about math, logic, morality; belief in induction, that the future will be like the past (an assumption indispensable to scientific practice); or even the belief that empirical evidence is sometimes reliable (e.g., that I am not a brain in a tank with electrodes stimulating my senses). Are these beliefs based partially on empirical evidence? If not, as long as these beliefs are sometimes rational, then the principle underlying (5*)—that rational belief requires being partially based on empirical evidence—will be false. Thus, (P1) will also be false. Suppose instead that these beliefs are partially based on empirical evidence. Then, why can’t faith that God exists also be partially based on empirical evidence? Of course, none of these matters—truths about math, logic, morality, induction—are ones that science can fully settle (although science may bear on them). But the main point is that it is unclear why faith that God exists fails to be based on empirical evidence, whereas other philosophical beliefs are based on empirical evidence. The basic problem, then, is that there is parity between faith in God and these other philosophical beliefs when it comes to empirical evidence. It is unclear that (5*) can render beliefs about the past, logic, morality, math, induction, and anti-skepticism potentially rational but not theistic faith. If we admit these former beliefs are often based on empirical evidence and therefore potentially rational, then there is no reason to think that faith or belief that God exists cannot also be potentially rational. A third potential principle worth considering is the following: (5**) Faith is not testable/falsifiable. This principle is slightly different than (5*), because something could be falsifiable but not be based on empirical evidence. Take a random scientific hypothesis I just thought of, and suppose I don’t use any empirical evidence in generating the hypothesis. Suppose I decide to believe the hypothesis. My belief is not based on empirical evidence, but my belief is testable or falsifiable. This route is still problematic. First, we can run a dilemma similar to the one we ran in response to (5*). Are my philosophical beliefs and beliefs about the past testable? If so (maybe “testable” means that we can get scientific evidence that bears on it), then there is no reason to think that whether God exists is similarly testable. If philosophical beliefs and beliefs about the past are not testable, then for (5**) to render (P1) true, it seems like we are going to have to give up on the rationality of these beliefs, too.

The nature and rationality of faith 87 This is surely not a route the New Atheists would want to go—induction and our beliefs about the external world are indispensable for scientific methods, and for the New Atheists, scientific beliefs are paradigm instances of rational beliefs. Consider, finally, that certain sacred creeds might even be more like scientific hypotheses than wholly non-empirical philosophical propositions. For example, Christianity teaches that Jesus was an actual historical figure who rose from the dead. Paul himself says that if Jesus was not raised, Christian faith is in vain (1 Cor. 15:14). If historians or scientists discovered the bones of Jesus, this would call the truth of Christianity into question, potentially falsifying the whole system.12 Other religions make similar historical claims—a central Islamic claim that Muhammad received the Koran via revelation from Allah. Thus, some religious claims are falsifiable. *** In conclusion, it is not clear what faith is, such that it is both epistemically irrational and something all or most theistic believers have. We have yet to see any good reason to think that most theists are irrational, although now we might have a good idea of what faith is not. Now, I turn to the question of what faith is.

4. The nature of faith In this section, I outline two characteristics of faith. First, recall the mountain climber whose belief that she will make the jump is self-justifying; having the belief makes it more likely that she will be successful. We discussed other similar examples: an athlete, a public speaker, and someone about to have surgery. In these cases, the belief made itself more likely to be true. My first proposal is that these self-fulfilling attitudes describe a certain type of faith in ourselves and others. In many of these examples, those with self-fulfilling attitudes can be naturally described as having faith in themselves. The athlete has faith that she will play well; the public speaker has faith that he will give the talk capably. Here, faith in oneself creates evidence for itself. Similarly, when I believe that someone else will do something aptly and I communicate this to them, my confidence in their abilities can make it more likely that they will do well. For example, consider two people who are about to marry but realize that statistically, divorce is likely. They nonetheless have faith that their marriage will last, and this faith makes it more likely that their marriage will last. This enables them to sincerely commit to marriage based on their faith in themselves and each other, because the fact that they have this faith makes their commitment more likely to stick.13 Not only do I think that this is a natural way to think about faith in oneself and faith of communities, but I think this explains why the relationship

88  Liz Jackson between faith and evidence might seem, on the face of it, odd or puzzling. Many of our beliefs don’t create evidence for themselves in this way, and without an explanation for how this works, it is not surprising that, at first glance, people might think faith of this sort is irrational. However, once the model is understood, it becomes clear that this kind of faith is not epistemically defective—it justifies itself.14 Nevertheless, I do not think that self-fulfilling faith describes faith in God. Someone’s faith that God is loving, for example, doesn’t make God more loving.15 However, consider second characteristic of faith, which can describe faith in God: faith is not solely based on empirical evidence. The idea here is that when we have faith, we go beyond what can be definitively proved by science. If someone’s belief in something is based solely on empirical evidence—for example, they saw an experiment done right in front of their eyes—then they don’t have faith in that thing. Why would they need faith? It was verified right in front of them. However, in many of our decisions about what to believe and what to do, we do not (and cannot) have indubitable empirical proof. When I have faith that my friend is trustworthy and trust her with my secret, I am “going beyond” the empirical evidence (even if I have some empirical evidence that she is trustworthy). This understanding of faith explains why faith is an important part of flourishing communities—empirical evidence won’t give us all we need, especially in personal relationships. Advocates of this view needn’t insist that when we have faith, we fail to proportion our beliefs to the evidence—instead, we rely on non-empirical sources of evidence. Testimony is one important example. Testimony is an indispensable source of evidence, and philosophers have argued that testimonial evidence and faith are closely connected.16 When we acknowledge evidence goes beyond the empirical, we can see why faith doesn’t ignore or oppose evidence; rather, scientific evidence alone is not sufficient for a flourishing life and meaningful relationships. If faith is not fully based on empirical evidence, this also explains why faith is often contrasted with tangible proof and why I don’t need to have faith in things like a well-established scientific hypothesis or that there is a cup on the table in front of me. This account also explains why we “live by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor. 5:7) and why faith is “evidence of things unseen” (Heb 11:1). On this account, faith in God requires more than empirical evidence. Although empirical/scientific evidence can bear on the question of whether God exists, I doubt that it will settle the matter. Debates about theism require us to look beyond the empirical, just as the question of whether the external world exists or whether any empirical evidence is reliable. The faith of most theists, therefore, goes beyond the empirical—whether that means utilizing a priori arguments for God’s existence, relying on the testimony of those in your spiritual community, historical figures or spiritual leaders, or trusting experiences of God’s voice in their lives.

The nature and rationality of faith 89

5. Conclusion In this chapter, I have argued for two things. First, I have argued that there is no single notion of faith that is both irrational and had by most theists. The New Atheists have not provided a successful argument that most theists have a faith that is irrational. Second, I have suggested two characteristics of faith. First, Jamesian self-justifying beliefs describe a unique kind of faith in oneself and others. Second, faith is not solely based on empirical evidence. One of the important lessons we learn from this is that looking beyond the empirical evidence is an essential part of the flourishing life. Although I cannot fully defend this here, this suggests that faith is not only rational, but an essential part of human flourishing.17

Notes 1 See Hitchens 2007, 137; Dennett 2008; Harris 2006, 22. 2 For another response to the New Atheists on faith, see Kvanvig 2013. 3 See Cohen 2010, 663; Plantinga 1993b, 132–137. 4 In this chapter, I use “rational” and “justified” interchangeably. 5 Robert Audi 2011: Part II distinguishes between propositional faith, or faith that some proposition is true, and volitional faith, which is much more action-like. Even if a lack of evidence makes propositional faith irrational, one may nonetheless be rational in having volitional faith and performing particular acts of faith. 6 For the purposes of this chapter, I will not assume faith that p entails belief that p (for more on this debate, see Alston 1996; Howard-Snyder 2013, McKaughan 2016, 2017). Nonetheless, I don’t think much hangs on this; most of the New Atheists use “faith” and “belief” interchangeably. 7 See, e.g., Plantinga 1993a, 216ff; Beilby 2002; Rea 2002; Walls and Dougherty 2018. 8 Some have even suggested that theism is a permissive case, where our evidence permits more than one rational doxastic attitude toward a proposition. See Schoenfield 2014; Kopec and Titelbaum 2016. 9 Thanks to Josh Rasmussen. 10 See also Hitchens 2007, 202. 11 See Conee and Feldman 1985; Feldman 2000; Berker 2018. 12 Harris 2004, 68 even acknowledges this. 13 Thanks to Jonathan Nebel. 14 Of course, I do not claim that this kind of faith is always rational or that we cannot ever be overly confident in our abilities. 15 It has been suggested to me that on some readings of James, Jamesian faith does not create evidence for itself; rather, it reveals evidence for itself. With this reading, faith enables us to access evidence that was there all along but is otherwise unavailable to us. For example, there might be evidence for God’s existence that is not accessible unless one first “meets the hypothesis halfway” and puts their faith in God. However, the evidence exists whether or not one embraces the hypothesis. In this, Jamesian faith might be applicable to faith in God. Thanks to Ian Huyett. 16 See Locke 1689: book IV, chapter 18, paragraph 2; Alston 1996. 17 Thanks to Josh Rasmussen, Kevin Vallier, and Ian Huyett for helpful comments on earlier versions of this chapter. Thanks to Andy Rogers, Jonathan Nebel, Andrew Moon, Rebekah Jackson, and those who attended the New Theists conference for invaluable feedback on the content of this chapter.

90  Liz Jackson

References Alston, William. 1991. Perceiving God. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. ———. 1996. “Belief, Acceptance, and Religious Faith.” In Faith, Freedom, and Rationality: Philosophy of Religion Today, edited by J. Jordan and D. HowardSnyder. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Audi, Robert. 2011. Rationality and Religious Commitment. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beilby, James K. ed. 2002. Naturalism Defeated? Essays on Plantinga’s Evolutionary Argument Against Naturalism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Berker, Selim. 2018. “A Combinatorial Argument against Practical Reasons for Belief.” In Analytic Philosophy 59: 427–470. Cohen, Jonathan. 2000. “Why Acceptance That p Does Not Entail Belief That p.” In Believing and Accepting, edited by Pascal Engel. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic. ———. 2010. “Rationality.” In A Companion to Epistemology, edited by J. Dancy, E. Sosa, and M. Steup. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. Conee, Earl and Richard Feldman. 1985. “Evidentialism.” Philosophical Studies 48: 1. Dawkins, Richard. 1976. The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dennett, Daniel. 2006. The God Delusion. London: Bantam Press. ———. 2006. Breaking the Spell: Religious as a Natural Phenomenon. New York, NY: Viking. ———. 2008. “How Religion Offers an Excuse to Stop Thinking.” YouTube interview. Accessed 28 December 2016, www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLpZnv8Vp-E. Feldman, Richard. 2000. “The Ethics of Belief.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 60: 3. Harris, Samuel. 2004. The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. ———. 2006. Letter to a Christian Nation. New York, NY: Vintage. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York, NY: Twelve. Howard-Snyder, Daniel. 2013. “Propositional Faith: What It Is and What It Is Not.” American Philosophical Quarterly 50: 4. James, William. 1897. The Will to Believe. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Kelly, Thomas. 2014. “Evidence.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/evidence/. Kopec, Matthew and Michael Titelbaum. 2016. “The Uniqueness Thesis.” Philosophy Compass 11: 4. Kvanvig, Jonathan. 2013. “Affective Theism and People of Faith.” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 37: 1. Locke, John. 1689. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, edited by Peter H. Nidditch. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McKaughan, Daniel. 2016. “Action-Centered Faith, Doubt, and Rationality.” The Journal of Philosophical Research 41: 71–90. Issue Supplement: Selected Papers in Honor of William P. Alston. ———. 2017. “On the Value of Faith and Faithfulness.” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 81: 7–29. Plantinga, Alvin. 1993a. Warrant and Proper Function. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1993b. Warrant: The Current Debate. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

The nature and rationality of faith 91 ———. 2000. Warranted Christian Belief. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rea, Michael. 2002. A World without Design: The Ontological Consequences of Naturalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schoenfield, Miriam. 2014. “Permission to Believe: Why Permissivism Is True and What It Tells Us about Irrelevant Influences on Belief.” Nous 48: 2. Stenger, Victor. 2009. The New Atheism: Taking a Stand for Science and Reason. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books. Taylor, James. 2016. “The New Atheists.” In The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Fieser and Dowden. www.iep.utm.edu/n-atheis/. Walls, Jerry and Trent Dougherty, eds. 2018. Two Dozen (or so) Arguments for God: The Plantinga Project. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Part II

God and morality

7 Deiform morality Thomas M. Ward

1. New Atheist critique New Atheists have argued forcefully that we don’t need God to be moral. This claim that we don’t need God to be moral admits of a distinction between two logically independent but closely related claims: 1

Moral facts do not depend on God (whether or not God exists, there are moral facts about right and wrong). 2 Moral motivation does not depend on God (whether or not God exists, there are motivating reasons to act morally). These claims are logically independent because (1) is about the source or ground of morality, whereas (2) is about moral motivation. One could consistently hold that God is not the source of morality but is nonetheless the source of ultimate moral accountability; if so, then one’s motivation for being moral might have a lot to do with God, even while one denies that moral facts depend on God. So (1) and (2) are logically independent claims, even if they are not always treated as such. New Atheist writers aim to defend both claims. When Richard Dawkins addresses the issue of God’s relation to moral motivation, he suggests that the only sort of motivating role God might play in someone’s moral life is in the capacity of judge. Beginning with a rhetorical question, he writes, If there is no God, why be good? Posed like that, the question sounds positively ignoble. [To a person who asks this question,] my immediate temptation is to issue the following challenge: “Do you really mean to tell me the only reason you try to be good is to gain God’s approval and reward, or to avoid his disapproval and punishment? That’s not morality, that’s just sucking up.”1 Thus construing God’s motivating role in the moral lives of believers, he goes on to offer a paraphrase of Michael Shermer’s Euthyphro-style dilemma,

96  Thomas M. Ward amounting to a critique of one version of a God-centered view of morality.2 Similar critiques are also to be found in Walter Sinnot-Armstrong, Christopher Hitchens, and Daniel Dennett.3 I will refer to it as Dawkins’s Dilemma: If you agree that, in the absence of God, you would commit robbery, rape, and murder, you reveal yourself as an immoral person. . . . If, on the other hand, you admit that you would continue to be a good person even when not under divine surveillance, you have fatally undermined your claim that God is necessary for us to be good.4 The dilemma is designed to show that a religious person who thinks morality depends on God is either immoral or irrational. I think it contains some wisdom, but I also think the main thrust of its attack on religiously motivated moralists is off the mark. It’s crafted for rhetorical punch over precision, but its meaning is clear enough for us to state the criticism in a more specific way. As I argued earlier, a claim about morality’s dependence on God (or failure to depend on God) is distinguishable into two logically independent claims: one about moral facts’ dependence on God (or failure to depend on God), and another about moral motivation’s dependence on God (or failure to depend on God). Thus, one could interpret the dilemma in two ways: one, as a criticism of the claim that moral facts depend on God, and second, as a criticism of the claim that moral motivation depends on God. So we can restate the dilemma in a way that makes these two possible interpretations explicit. I will call the first the Moral Facts Version of the Dilemma, or MF: MF1 On the one hand, if you now believe that moral facts depend on God, such that if you later came to believe that God does not exist you would not believe that there are moral facts, then you are now an immoral person. MF2 On the other hand, if you now believe that God exists but you would continue to believe that there are moral facts even if you later came to believe that God does not exist, then you now do not believe that moral facts depend on God. And I will call the second the Moral Motivation Version of the Dilemma, or MM: MM1 On the one hand, if you now believe that moral motivation depends on God, such that if you later came to believe that God does not exist you would act immorally, then you are now an immoral person. MM2 On the other hand, if you now believe that God exists but you would continue to act morally even if you later came to believe that God does not exist, then moral motivation does not depend on God.

Deiform morality 97 If successful, MF shows that someone who believes moral facts depend on God is either immoral (for being prepared to act immorally) or irrational (for being committed to inconsistent beliefs). If MM is successful, it shows that someone who believes moral motivation depends on God is either immoral (for being prepared to act immorally) or irrational (for being committed to inconsistent beliefs). Let’s consider MF first. Here is a reason to think that MF1, the first “horn” of the dilemma, is false. This reason is that believing there are no moral facts does not make someone an immoral person. For example, as I mentioned earlier, Alex Rosenberg5 does not believe that there are moral facts, but he professes a strong commitment to morality. Although I do not personally know Alex Rosenberg, I have no reason to doubt his commitment to morality. So we have reason to reject MF1. Now, if MF were a successful dilemma, the rejection of MF1 would commit us to accepting MF2, the second horn of the dilemma. But there is also strong reason to reject MF2. Imagine someone who now believes in God and thinks that moral facts depend on God. This person is thoughtful and open-minded, and recognizes some good sense in God-free accounts of moral facts. It would not be crazy for this person to have something like a “back-up option” about morality, expressed in the form, “If it turns out I’m wrong about this God stuff, I would be a . . . about moral facts,” where some God-free theory about what grounds moral facts fills in the blank. This position is respectable. Personally, my back-up option would be Aristotelian naturalism (discussed later on). Consider, by analogy, the atheist who wonders what he would think about morality if it turned out he were wrong about atheism. Having a “back-up option” is reasonable for the atheist who does not think there is a God on whom morality depends, and so, too, for the theist who does think that morality depends on God. Given these reasons against MF1 and MF2, then, we have reason to reject MF. Therefore, MF fails to show that someone who believes moral facts depend on God is either irrational or immoral. Consider MM. I will start with the second horn, MM2—that your belief that moral motivation comes from God is undermined if you would act morally even if you didn’t believe in God. MM2 is false for a reason very similar to the reason that shows MF2 to be false, namely, that it is consistent and even reasonable to have a “back-up option” for moral motivation, such that if one lost one’s belief in God (and a fortiori one’s belief that moral motivation depends on God), one would have some other good reason for acting morally. So consider the final option, MM1—basically that you are immoral if you would not act morally were you not to believe in God. This proposal has the ring of truth. Implicit or explicit, when Dawkins and other New Atheists talk about God providing religious believers with their motivation for being moral, they are talking about fear of divine punishment and hope for divine reward. Later, I will address the prospect of having other

98  Thomas M. Ward motivations. But MM1, read in the context of how New Atheists construe God-dependent moral motivation, claims that if your only reasons for now acting morally are that you fear God and want him to give you good things but you would otherwise be acting immorally, then you are now an immoral person. And this proposal seems to me exactly right. Summing up, then, if we interpret Dawkins’s Dilemma in a manner that is aimed against the view that moral facts depend on God, as we did in MF, then the dilemma is unsuccessful, for MF is a false dilemma. Someone holding this view need be neither immoral (as MF1 alleged) nor committed to inconsistent beliefs (as MF2 alleged). But interpreting Dawkins’s Dilemma as we did in MM, as aimed against the view that moral motivation depends (solely) on God, the dilemma is successful, for while someone who holds such a view need not be committed to inconsistent beliefs (as MM2 alleged), such a person is immoral (as MM1 alleged)—again, on the assumption that his only reason for not being immoral is fear of punishment and hope of reward. I think Dawkins and others are right, then, to be repelled by the punishment/reward view of moral motivation, if such a view is exalted as the only reasonable view of moral motivation. They are also right to recognize that it is possible to apprehend value in the world, including moral value, absent a belief in God. Additionally, though not for the reasons advanced in the MF reading of Dawkins’s Dilemma, I think they are right to reject a standard divine command theory, according to which all moral facts are what they are solely due to a divine command or other act of divine will. So I think there are things to admire about Dawkins’s and others’ criticisms of one view of God’s relationship to morality and one view of how God motivates moral action.

2. A theistic response Nevertheless, there are other views of God’s relationship to morality and other views of how God motivates moral action. In fact, many Christian thinkers have not held that basic moral facts do not depend on God’s commands; rather, they are inscribed within God’s perfect nature. Of course, insofar as a Christian thinks that God has made everything other than himself, there is a clear sense in which everything, morality included, depends on God. In this framework, it would follow that it is impossible to be moral without God, just as it would be impossible to sing without God, or have brown hair, or exist without God. But it would not follow from this that without God, all actions are permissible. In this view, without God, there is nothing, and so nothing to be permissible. In this sense morality’s dependence on God comes from no special moral consideration, but a strictly metaphysical consideration of the dependence of the universe on a divine being. I will set aside this sense of morality’s dependence on God, however, because it is not what’s at issue in New Atheist critiques of God’s relationship to morality.

Deiform morality 99 Among the Christian thinkers who thought that at least some moral truths are established independent of any specific acts of divine commanding are, well, virtually every major Christian thinker. Even William Ockham, the infamous voluntarist, believed that at least the moral obligation to love God above all does not depend on a divine command. An especially fruitful period for thinking about how a naturalism about ethics intersected with Christian theology was the late medieval period, roughly the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, during which time Christian theologians reassimilated Aristotle’s philosophy into the intellectual culture of Western Europe. This medieval reassmiliation of Aristotle is worth considering, because it shows how a Christian moral framework is compatible with secular moral theorizing. Aristotle believed in a god, but a god very different from the one Christians worship, and also thought that this god had nothing whatsoever to do with morality. Instead, Aristotle thought that we can discern good and bad, right and wrong, merely by reflecting on human nature. We human beings share the same human nature, and this human nature has certain norms built in, as it were. This is most evidently seen in our shared physiology. We all agree that medical science is the science that is concerned with what it is for a human body to be healthy or unhealthy, along with what it takes to restore the unhealthy to health. A doctor has the knowledge and authority to declare how a human body ought to be and to judge the degree to which this or that patient matches up to the standard of human (physiological) health. Similarly, moral science, or ethics, is supposed to be that science that is concerned with what it is for a human being to be good or bad in thought and action. Aristotle’s method in ethics is to consider the various capacities we human beings have simply by virtue of being human. Those capacities that Aristotle identified as most distinctively human he attributed to an umbrella capacity, which he called reason or rationality. Aristotle thought that we are right to judge a human being to be doing well or badly based on the extent to which he or she is actualizing these rational capacities. What we call the vices are those habits that incline us to fail to actualize our full potential as human beings. The virtues, by contrast, are those habits that do incline us to actualize our full potential. Aristotelianism also has a lot to say about our conduct toward others, inasmuch as it recognizes that there are goods of community life in which our flourishing as individuals partly consists. The main point to draw from this little summary of Aristotelian ethics is that, for Aristotle, ethics is a perfectly natural enterprise. There is nothing mysterious or religious about it. Just as an expert gardener understands the conditions under which a rose bush flourishes and those under which it languishes (he knows what sort of soil the rose needs, how much sunlight and water, how much fertilizer and what kind, when and how to prune, etc.), so, too, the moral expert understands what a human being needs for its flourishing. To take a relatively trivial example: if you eat too much ice cream,

100  Thomas M. Ward you won’t be well off as a person. If you have a habit of eating too much ice cream, we can say that you have a vice, a habit that inclines you to do what’s bad for you. The moral expert understands just what role ice cream can play in a flourishing life—just a little bit on an ordinary day, maybe a bit more at birthday parties and holidays. If I were an atheist or agnostic, I’d be an Aristotelian and would be mostly unmoved by the old Sartrean quip that without God, everything is permissible. But here’s a pragmatic reason why even the atheist Aristotelian might be uncomfortable with a purely naturalistic ethics. Suppose I came to stop caring about morality—not that I became a moral skeptic, but simply that I stopped caring. I decide that I want a Don Juan sort of life, morality and propriety be damned. It’s hard to see what sorts of reasons could persuade me to continue the moral life. This suggests a weakness in a purely naturalistic Aristotelianism as a moral theory: as a system of morality, it can’t offer any reasons for being moral to those who aren’t already committed or disposed to be committed to the moral life. Morality for these naturalistic Aristotelians is a kind of hobby; the expert quilter can write a book all about how to make quilts well, but only those interested in quilting will, or should, care to learn anything from it. But morality seems to be universal in the sense that if there is an objectively true system of ethics, it applies to all human beings. Moreover, morality also seems to be the sort of thing that all human beings have good reasons to care about. We should strive, then, if only for pragmatic reasons, for an ethics that captures these two goals of moral theory: universality (everyone’s under it) and relevance (everyone has good reasons to be motivated by it). Naturalistic Aristotelianism achieves the goal of universality, because it derives morality from human nature; but it fails to achieve relevance, because it can’t offer good reasons for being moral to the immoralist, who understands the claims of morality and believes them but is just not interested. As a theistic alternative, consider a version of Aristotelianism about ethics that also holds that there is a God who is interested in moral judgment, with punishment or reward awaiting us all. With this theory I would have a very compelling reason for at least attempting to conform to morality—a self-interested reason, sure, but a compelling one. We wouldn’t think very highly of someone who cared for morality only out of fear of punishment; but all things considered, it’s better, at least for the rest of us, for the wouldbe Don Juans of the world to act morally for base reasons. So, with this theistic Aristotelianism, we could say that although the content of morality is determined totally by our human nature, there is an accountability to morality built into the system. And this accountability gives us the relevance we should be seeking in a moral theory. But it must be stressed, in full agreement with the New Atheists, what an impoverished view of God’s relationship to morality we get if we only focus on fear of divine retribution as a reason to be moral. It’s not just that this fear ultimately ought to play no role in a perfect moral life; additionally, it

Deiform morality 101 seems pretty intuitive that actions motivated solely by fear aren’t properly moral actions at all. Taking stock, the theistic moral view I have sketched so far makes moral facts grounded not in God’s will but in our human nature. Moral motivation comes from at least two sources: first, we can be motivated simply by the goodness of acting toward ourselves and others in a way that promotes our flourishing as human beings; but, second, where this natural goodness fails to motivate, we can be motivated by the thought that God holds us accountable to morality. Having briefly looked at this one way in which God has traditionally been thought to play a role in morality, I’d like now to go a bit deeper. Although the Christian life is compatible with secular moral theorizing, it ultimately transcends it in a profound way, for the goal of the Christian life is a loving relationship with God. Many Christian thinkers in the medieval period thought that the perfectly moral life or the perfectly just city as envisioned by Aristotle is not our final end as human beings. They all thought, paradoxically, that the ultimate goal of human life is something beyond the human. They thought, to continue the paradox, that all human striving, ineluctably and by nature, pursues a goal that it cannot possibly achieve on its own: a perfect loving relationship with God, which involves a union with God so intimate that many theologians and mystics have thought it appropriate to say that the glorified human being is deified, made divine, by the union. This transcendent goal of human life invites a critical examination of the role that morality is supposed to play in achieving this goal. Augustine’s polemics banished Pelagianism from Western Christianity: we can’t earn our salvation; we’re dependent on divine assistance. It follows that even perfect success in the moral life, if this is possible, does not entail that we reach the transcendent end of union with God. Whatever role morality is supposed to play in getting us to our final end, it is nothing like a cause–effect relationship. Being moral cannot be the cause of our achieving our supernatural end. Nor can it be anything like an economic transaction or contractual relationship, if these were to imply any obligation on God’s part to raise to glory those who reached moral perfection. And yet we find in the Christian tradition, going all the way back to the New Testament, a very close connection between morality and achieving our supernatural end. Everyone thought that living a morally perfect life is among the things we aim at as we aim at our supernatural end. St. Augustine made a great deal of sense out of the connection between morality and our supernatural end when he taught that the love for God ought to transform our earthly loves so that we love finite things not just for their own value but also because they are loved and valued by God. In this way the moral life is taken up into the mystical life and becomes a concrete, day-today way to habituate oneself to the loving relationship with God we hope eventually to enjoy.

102  Thomas M. Ward In this respect, Christians do indeed seek a divine “reward” as they pursue the moral life. But this reward should not be conceived as the wages of good works. Christians believe that God has been revealed to humanity most fully in Jesus Christ, whom Christians believe to be God-incarnate, fully God and fully human. In the Bible, just before he is about to be executed, Jesus calls his disciples not servants but friends (John 15:15). For the Christian, then, friendship is an important way to characterize the relationship with God we seek to cultivate. Of course, being a friend involves following certain norms. But when you’re actually in a friendship, you don’t do something good for your friend just so that he’ll do something good for you. Instead, each of you delight both in giving to and receiving from the other. The delight, or “reward,” of friendship just is this mutual giving and receiving; it is not something external, tacked on as a prize for being a good friend. Friendship is its own reward, to adapt the cliché. Thus, although it is true to say that Christians are motivated to act morally partially out of hope for divine reward, it is not accurate to describe this hope of reward as self-serving calculation or sucking up. Of course, most Christians are not always motivated to act for the reasons they recognize as the best reasons to act. In this respect, Christians are like everyone else. We all fail to live up to our most noble vision of the moral life.

Notes Dawkins 2006, 259. 1 2 Shermer 2005, 154. 3 Sinnot-Armstrong 2009, 107; Hitchens 2007, 184–193; Dennett 2006, 279–285. 4 Dawkins 2006, 259. 5 Rosenberg 2011, 95–96.

References Dawkins, Richard. 2006. The God Delusion. Boston and New York, NY: Mariner Books. Dennett, Daniel C. 2006. Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon. New York, NY: Viking. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God is not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York, NY and Boston: Twelve. Rosenberg, Alex. 2011. The Atheist’s Guide to Reality: Enjoying Life without ­Illusions. New York, NY and London: W.W. Norton. Shermer, Michael. 2005. The Science of Good and Evil: Why People Cheat, Steal, Care, Share, and Follow the Golden Rule. New York, NY: Henry Holt. Sinnot-Armstrong, Walter. 2009. Morality Without God? New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

8 Are we better off without religion? The harms (and benefits) of religious belief Christian B. Miller

1. Introduction According to Sam Harris, It is time we recognized that all reasonable men and women have a common enemy so near to us, and so deceptive, that we keep its counsel even as it threatens to destroy the very possibility of human happiness. Our enemy is nothing other than faith itself.1 Harris is here expressing a theme that is common to the writings of all the leading New Atheists. The theme, in its most basic form, is that human beings would be better off without religion. Religion has done a tremendous amount of damage to our well-being. Whatever good it has fostered can also be achieved by secular ways of thinking. Therefore, in order to make people better off, we should jettison religion and religious belief in all its various forms. Call this general line of reasoning the religious harms argument. In this chapter, I want to explore this argument in some detail.2 Although we should all agree that people acting in the name of their religion have done serious harms throughout history, I will also argue that there are important problems with the religious harms argument. In fact, I will suggest that New Atheists have good reason to not support the elimination of at least reasonable forms of religious belief. Why? Precisely because such belief can make society better off. We will proceed as follows. In Section 2 I introduce the religious harms argument in more detail, as well as some of the support offered on behalf of the argument. Sections 3 and 4 are devoted to problems with the first premise of the argument. Section 5 is devoted to a problem with the second premise. Section 6 tentatively explores the case that can be made for why New Atheists should be more accepting of religious belief. Indeed, crazy as it might sound, they should even let it flourish.

2. The religious harms argument To focus the discussion, we will look in some detail at the work of Sam Harris and how he develops the religious harms argument. In doing do,

104  Christian B. Miller I acknowledge that there may be additional ideas on this topic in the writings of other New Atheists, but given limitations of space, I cannot consider them all here. Here is a helpful summary of the main idea from Harris’s book The End of Faith: If, as I contend throughout this book, all that is good in religion can be had elsewhere—if, for instance, ethical and spiritual experience can be cultivated and talked about without our claiming to know things we manifestly do not know—then all the rest of our religious activity represents, at best, a massive waste of time and energy. Think of all the good things human beings will not do in this world tomorrow because they believe that their most pressing task is to build another church or mosque, or to enforce some ancient dietary practice, or to print volumes upon volumes of exegesis on the disordered thinking of ignorant men.3 In this passage Harris describes religious pursuits in terms of wasted time and resources. But as the rest of his book makes clear, his main focus is actually on the positive harms and suffering he thinks religious belief has caused throughout the centuries. Thus, one way to more explicitly state the religious harms argument is as follows: (1) People acting in the name of their religious beliefs have brought about terrible harm and suffering throughout history. (2) Religious believers have made many good contributions to humanity, but for the most part, those same good contributions can also be made by people who adopt secular ways of thinking. (3) Therefore, it would be better if everyone were to abandon religious belief and adopt a secular way of thinking. Now I am not claiming that this is the only version of the argument one could develop. Indeed, by the end of the chapter we will replace this one with a better version. But this is a reasonable formulation based off of Harris’s writings, and it will be a helpful jumping-off point for the rest of the chapter. In his book Harris offers extensive support for the first premise. From the Jewish tradition, for instance, he reports how the book of Deuteronomy requires the killing of heretics.4 For Christianity, he describes in some detail the atrocities committed during the Inquisition and the persecution of witches. Islam gets the most extensive treatment; there Harris mentions suicide bombers, nuclear bombs, and killing innocent bystanders. Summing up, Harris claims that “Islam, more than any other religion human beings have devised, has all the makings of a thoroughgoing cult of death.”5 To be fair, the first premise does not claim that religious believers have only brought about harm and suffering. Harris is willing to acknowledge some of the good that has been done in the name of religion too, as the second

Are we better off without religion? 105 premise makes clear. Yet Harris maintains that those good outcomes are not necessarily dependent upon religion. People who follow secular worldviews can also bring them about. More specifically, secular worldviews can provide a basis for moral behavior and can even allow for the importance of spiritual experiences, without those experiences being embedded in religious belief.6 Thus if, broadly speaking, we can enjoy the same benefits of religion from within a secular worldview, while at the same time avoiding all the terrible suffering it tends to cause, then we would be better off abandoning religious belief and adopting a secular way of thinking. Hence, we find the conclusion of the religious harms argument. One final point of clarification. This is a prudential argument. It concerns what is good for people, what will promote their well-being and flourishing. It is not an evidential argument concerning the truth or falsity of religion. For all the argument says, a particular religion might make things comparatively worse for us if we follow it rather than a secular way of thinking but still be objectively correct. Having noted this point, I will set it aside. There will be more than enough to discuss in this chapter without getting into questions of evidence for or against the existence of God or the truth of a particular religion.

3. A challenge to the first premise: religious distortions Let’s turn from presenting the religious harms argument to seeing what its strengths and weaknesses are. In evaluating the argument, I will focus only on the Western monotheistic religions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam— rather than on religion in general. These are the same ones that primarily concern Harris and the other leading New Atheists as well. So let’s begin with the first premise. It strikes me as undoubtedly true. Terrible things have been done in the name of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, and Harris’s own examples by and large demonstrate this. Followers of these religions, who we can just call “theists” for the sake of simplicity, should readily acknowledge this point. But one response the theist could offer is to claim that the people who have brought about these terrible harms were often distorting the authentic teachings of their religion. There could be lots of reasons for doing this, such as particular political or economic goals they wished to advance. If they had actually followed their religion’s core beliefs, so the response goes, they would not have done such terrible things. Take the Crusades. According to the prominent Christian historian John Woodbridge, This takes us back to the distinction between things done in the name of Christ and those things that really represent Jesus’ teachings. When you try to mesh Jesus’ teachings with the slaughter of the Crusades—well, there’s no way they can be reconciled.7

106  Christian B. Miller So what Harris needs to support is not the first premise as stated earlier, but rather an importantly different premise: (1*) People acting in the name of the authentic teachings of their religion have brought about terrible harm and suffering throughout history. At the same time, a theist could say that Harris has only supposed this claim: (1**) People acting in the name of distorted and inauthentic teachings of their religion have brought about terrible harm and suffering throughout history. Call this the religious distortion response.8 How good is this response? It is hard to know unless we proceed religion by religion and terrible harm by terrible harm to see whether the authentic teachings of the religion would support the harms done or not. Harris does in fact take up this task to some extent. For example, in the case of Islam, he just denies that causing harm and suffering to people, especially nonMuslims, is a distortion of the teachings of the Koran. Thus, he provides quote after quote, taking up more than five pages of space, which purport to show “the relentlessness with which unbelievers are vilified in the text of the Koran.”9 In the case of Christianity, things are a bit more complicated. For example, about the Inquisition, Harris writes that “the church managed to transform Jesus’ principal message of loving one’s neighbor and turning the other cheek into a doctrine of murder and rapine.”10 This is a nice illustration of the religious distortion response applied to the case of Christianity. So it seems odd that Harris himself would be mentioning it. But Harris goes on to claim that although persecution and intolerance may not have been part of Jesus’s actual message, they are going to be inevitable outgrowths of that message. Thus, he quotes approvingly the words of the historian Will Durant that “[i]ntolerance is the natural concomitant of strong faith; tolerance grows only when faith loses certainty; certainty is murderous.”11 And then immediately after this quote Harris adds the comment that “[b]urning people who are destined to burn for all time seems a small price to pay to protect the people you love from the same fate.” What should we make of these points about Islam and Christianity? To be honest, I am not competent to weigh in on what Harris says about Islam. But as a practicing Christian, let me say a few brief things at least about those remarks. First it is not at all clear that Christians are in any position to know who is going to “burn for all time” and who is not. It is a widely accepted commitment of Christianity that only God knows whether a person is saved. Furthermore, it is the height of presumption to think that we can examine a fellow human being’s heart and make such pronouncements here in this life.

Are we better off without religion? 107 Even if we could do this, it is hard to see why on the basis of Jesus’s teachings we would have any reason whatsoever to think that Christians are allowed (or, even worse, required) to kill nonbelievers. It seems highly presumptuous to think that we should take on a role that has not been bestowed upon human beings by God. Rather, Jesus’s message is clear that Christians are to love their neighbors as themselves, where “neighbor” includes every human being, nonbelievers just as much as believers. How is it that a Christian would be loving his neighbor by burning him at the stake for heresy? Now, of course these are complicated issues, and they can’t be sorted out in a few brief paragraphs. But to sum up, the first response to the religious harms argument seems to show some promise. At least in the case of Christianity, and potentially all three major theistic religions, the suffering caused in its name is distinct from the true message embedded in its core teachings.

4. A second challenge to the first premise: secular harms Before we move on to the second premise of the religious harms argument, here is a rather different response to the first one. This response grants that people have done a great deal of harm throughout human history in the name of their religious beliefs. But it then goes on to note that people acting in the name of secular ideologies have done just as much, if not more, harm, especially in recent years. Call this the secular harms response.12 Examples abound from the twentieth century of atheists who rose to power and then, in the name of their secular philosophies, caused tremendous suffering in the form of concentration camps or cultural revolutions or gulags or ethic cleansings. Here, for instance, are estimates of some of the killing totals brought about by nonreligious leaders:

Mao Zedong Stalin Hitler Pol Pot

45 million lives lost13 20 million lives lost14 18 million lives lost15 1.7 million lives lost16

Nazism, Stalinism, and Maoism are all secular philosophies that were put to work in this manner. Let’s develop this thought one step further. On the basis of data such as these killing totals, we can actually take the religious harms argument and flip it on its head to create the secular harms argument: (1^) People acting in the name of secular ideologies have brought about at least as much, if not more, harm and suffering throughout history in comparison to people acting in the name of their religion. (2^) Secular ways of thinking have made many good contributions to humanity, but for the most part, those good contributions can also be made by people who adopt certain religious ways of thinking.

108  Christian B. Miller (3^) Therefore, it would be better if everyone were to abandon secular ways of thinking and adopt certain religious ways of thinking instead. The “certain” religious ways of thinking would naturally be ones that are opposed to mass killings and the other morally forbidden behaviors that were so widespread in the twentieth century. What should we make of the secular harms response? On its face, the response looks like it is going to cause some trouble for Harris and company. After all, if it turns out that the moral track record of secular ways of thinking is as bad as, if not worse, than the moral track record of religious ways of thinking, then it is hard to see how the religious harms argument has any chance of being persuasive. The best-case scenario for Harris is a stalemate with his religious opponent. The worst-case scenario is that humanity would be better off if we adopted certain religious ways of thinking. In his afterword to The End of Faith, Harris does address these issues directly. It is worth quoting what he says at length: While some of the most despicable political movements in human history have been explicitly irreligious, they were not especially rational. The public pronouncements of these regimes have been mere litanies of delusion—about race, economics, national identity, the march of history, or the moral dangers of intellectualism. Auschwitz, the gulag, and the killing fields are not examples of what happens when people become too critical of unjustified beliefs; to the contrary, these horrors testify to the dangers of not thinking critically enough about specific secular ideologies. Needless to say, my argument against religious faith is not an argument for the blind embrace of atheism as a dogma.17 This makes a lot of sense. No atheist should have to tolerate any and all of the secular philosophies out there today. An atheist can and should join with religious believers in condemning Nazism, Stalinism, and Maoism, for instance. The only secular philosophies that she needs to take seriously are the rational and reasonable ones. Agreed. But once Harris says this, he has given the game away. For the religious believer can make exactly the same response to the religious harms argument. Of course, not every religion is equally reasonable, the religious believer will rightly insist. So, too, not every version of a particular religion such as Christianity is equally reasonable either. Versions that accept the Inquisition, for instance, are outside the bounds of reasonability. Just as in the case of the atheist and Nazism, so, too, in the case of the Christian and the Inquisition—the only approaches that need to be taken seriously are the rational and reasonable ones. This allows us to further revise the first premise. Building on the revision we already made in the last section, we now get the following:

Are we better off without religion? 109 (1%) People acting in the name of the authentic teachings of their religion that are reasonable to adopt have brought about terrible harm and suffering throughout history. But in the case of Christianity, it is hard to see how this is a plausible premise anymore.18 In other words, it is hard to see how Christians acting on the authentic and reasonable teaching to love their neighbor as themselves, for instance, would have (intentionally) brought about terrible harm and suffering.19 In fact, it seems that the exact opposite would be the case. John Woodbridge provides a nice illustration of what following the authentic teachings of Jesus can look like: One explanation of its rapid spread . . . is that many Christians were not just taking care of their own, but they were caring for neighbors, the poor, and widows, the hurting, and they were basically very loving. They showed compassion toward children, who were often treated very callously by the Romans and Greeks at birth, especially baby girls. The lifestyle of Christians matched their teachings, so that many early Christians were not afraid to say, “Imitate us as we imitate Christ.”20 I am not a historian and will take Woodbridge at his word on this. But it does resonate with what I would expect to find from Christians who are actually following the teachings of Jesus. To sum up, we have just seen a second response that might be offered to the first premise of the religious harms argument. We should grant that there might be reasonable secular ways of thinking about morality that do a good job of avoiding harm and suffering. But then again, the same is likely true of reasonable religious outlooks, too.

5. A challenge to the second premise: empirical studies It is time to move on to the second premise. Let’s first recall what that premise says: (2) Religious believers have made many good contributions to humanity, but for the most part, those same good contributions can also be made by people who adopt secular ways of thinking. What should we make of this claim? I say—it is true, but uninteresting. Yes, it is possible that some secular ways of thinking will be equally likely to make good contributions as some religious ways of thinking will be. But setting the bar at what is possible is setting the bar very low. All kinds of things are possible, like my becoming the president of the United States.

110  Christian B. Miller What New Atheists really are after, I suspect, is something more like this claim: (2*) Religious believers have made many good contributions to humanity, but for the most part, those same good contributions, on average, will be made to roughly the same extent by people who adopt (reasonable) secular ways of thinking. This is a much stronger claim. Now it is not about what is merely possible, but about what will indeed happen. If this new premise ends up being correct, then that would be a major victory for advocates of the religious harms argument. The phrase “on average” in (2*) is important. It is not claiming that every person who adopts a secular way of thinking will make better contributions than every person who is religious. That would be absurd. Instead, the point is about population-level trends—on average, is a society of people who adopt and live out reasonable secular ways of thinking going to be any worse off than an otherwise comparable society of devout religious folks? So with our focus now shifted to (2*), what should we make of this premise? To the extent that it can, the premise should be assessed using empirical studies. For instance, a study might focus on one good contribution, like rates of volunteering, and compare the behavior of a large sample of religious believers with the behavior of a large sample of secular nonbelievers. Other studies could compare rates of charity donations, criminal behavior, longevity, and so forth. A collective assessment could be made on the basis of examining all the relevant studies together. Surprisingly, New Atheists like Harris have not delved into the empirical literature, even though there are dozens of relevant studies in fields such as sociology, economics, health, and psychology. Let’s take a quick look, while acknowledging that a proper discussion would require a book to carefully analyze the results.21 5.1. Crime prevention Using the first wave of the National Survey of Families and Households, Ellison and Anderson (2001) found based on self-reports that partners of men who attend religious services once a week or more report rates of domestic violence that are 48.7 percent lower than those reported by partners of nonattenders.22 In another study, religious attendance was correlated with reduced self-reported performance of 43 different crimes.23 And research in economics has shown a negative relationship between various measures of religiosity and local crime rates.24 5.2. Education Regnerus and Elder (2003) studied what factors predicted whether students would stay academically “on track,” as measured by grade point average,

Are we better off without religion? 111 completion of homework, getting along with teachers, expulsions, suspensions, and unexcused absences. They found a significant positive relationship between church attendance and staying on track, especially in neighborhoods with a high proportion of the people in poverty. As they write, “[a]s the extent of poverty rises in neighborhoods, the relationship between church attendance and change in on-track behavior becomes more positive.”25 Another study found religious involvement was “associated with subsequent (two years later) higher parental educational expectations, more extensive communication with parents about schooling, advanced math course credits, time spent on homework, and successful degree completion, as well as avoiding cutting classes.”26 And these are not the only such studies.27 5.3. Health benefits Wright and colleagues (1993) found that male students who rated low on spiritual support and infrequently attended religious places of worship scored twice as high on the Beck Depression Inventory scale as did frequent attenders with high spiritual support. Another very different illustration is provided by Benjamins and colleagues (2006), who found that for 1,070 Presbyterian women, 75 percent had a mammogram in the past two years, compared to the national average of 56 percent for the same age group. Various measures of religiosity have also been significantly linked to reduced rates of suicide, lower drug use, increased health care utilization, reduced smoking, reduced alcohol abuse, healthier lifestyles, the promotion of mental health, and even mortality rates.28 5.4. Subjective well-being Ellison (1991) found that religious certainty directly correlated with higher self-reported life satisfaction, which was broken down into satisfaction with community life, with nonworking activities or hobbies, with family life, with friendships, and with health. Other studies found that religion was as powerful a predictor of subjective well-being as marital status, work status, and education29 and that various measures of religiosity correlated with life satisfaction understood in terms of self-reported satisfaction with family life, finances, friendships, and health.30 More targeted studies have found similar correlations with increased social support31 and with marriage satisfaction and adjustment.32 5.5. Charity Using data from the Social Capital Community Benchmark Survey, Brooks (2006) found that those who regularly attended religious services were

112  Christian B. Miller 25 percent more likely to give than those who did rarely or said they were not religious (91 to 66 percent). They also were 23 percent more likely to volunteer (67 to 44 percent). In 2000, they gave away 3.5 times more money per year ($2,210 versus $642) and volunteered more than twice as much (12 times versus 5.8 times). Similar results were found when other measures of religiosity were used, such as prayer frequency, spiritual intensity, and merely belonging to a congregation, regardless of attendance rate. These trends extended to other forms of charity: In 2002, religious people were far more likely to donate blood than secularists, to give food or money to a homeless person, to return change mistakenly given them by a cashier, and to express empathy for less fortunate people . . . religious people were 57 percent more likely than secularists to help a homeless person at least once a month.33 This is only beginning to scratch the surface—literally hundreds of other studies besides those mentioned here have recently been published in peerreview journals and show similar trends. So what do they collectively tell us about premise (2*)? In other words, do the data reviewed here give us good reason to think that secular societies will, on average, make roughly the same good contributions as religious ones? Before addressing this question, let me note a few complications. First, to be fair, there are some studies that have not found the same trends as those reported earlier.34 Second, many of these studies are employing self-report survey methods. But we all know that self-reports are subject to various biases and distortions. And finally, most of the participants in these studies are from the United States. It is crucial to see if similar patterns show up in other countries as well. Nevertheless, even with these qualifications, it is clear that the empirical literature as a whole does not offer support for premise (2*). Rather, the overwhelming trend is that religiosity better predicts contributions to good outcomes. So it seems safe to conclude, given the data that we have to work with right now, that there is little empirical basis for premise (2*). We can call this the empirical studies response.35 It is crucial to note, however, that this is different from saying that these empirical results demonstrate that the premise is actually false. Saying, in other words, that there is an absence of evidence for this premise is not the same as saying that there is evidence for its falsity. Why shouldn’t we jump to the conclusion that (2*) is false? Because the studies are correlational, not causal. Hence, even if religiosity is correlated with, say, a healthier lifestyle, that doesn’t say anything about whether religious belief is the cause of the healthier lifestyle.36 It could be instead that people who are already committed to this lifestyle tend to gravitate to religion as well.

Are we better off without religion? 113 Nevertheless, I think it is very plausible that there will be a strong causal influence from a person’s religious commitments to the good outcomes. Take, for instance, the data on charity donations. It is possible, we should all grant, that people who are religious are already antecedently more charitable on average than people who are not. But I would be very surprised if the arrow of causation did not go the other direction, that is, from religious commitments to being charitable. Or perhaps the causal arrow goes both ways, for that matter. In the case of Christianity, for instance, a normal week in the life of the believer can do much to reinforce the importance of helping others. Reading the Bible, the Christian might come across exhortations to love her neighbor as herself or parables such as the Good Samaritan. Through prayer, the Christian can be reoriented outward, away from herself. At church, she is called upon every week to give, not just financially to the church in the form of the offering but also to give of her time, resources, and in general of herself. Plus there may be a church outreach event, or an expectation to tithe, or conformity pressures to give when everyone else is giving. It is hard to imagine how someone engaged in those kinds of practices week in and week out, for decades at a time, would not have her charitable behavior significantly influenced and shaped by her religious commitments. What holds for charity will, I suspect, hold for all the other good outcomes mentioned earlier. In other words, we can sketch a plausible causal story from religious commitments to the promotion of good outcomes, at least with respect to reasonable versions of the theistic faiths.37 But proposing a model is one thing. Actually coming up with empirical evidence to support it is another. To sum up, the best versions of the religious harms argument seem like they will appeal to something in the neighborhood of our new premise (2*). But when we actually look at the empirical data relevant to this premise, we find very little support for it. New Atheists are the ones advancing the religious harms argument. So the burden is on them to come up with support for the premises of the argument. At this point, that burden has not been discharged.

6. Some final thoughts In this chapter we have looked in some detail at the religious harms argument and spelled out what I see as the three leading strategies for calling it into question. In the process, we have also seen that there are multiple versions of the argument. Indeed, we have gradually taken the original premises (1) and (2) and replaced them with revised premises, which should better serve the purposes of New Atheists who would like to employ this line of reasoning.

114  Christian B. Miller The upshot is the revised religious harms argument as follows: (1*) People acting in the name of the authentic teachings of their religion that are reasonable to adopt have brought about terrible harm and suffering throughout history. (2*) Religious believers have made many good contributions to humanity, but for the most part, those same good contributions, on average, will be made to roughly the same extent by people who adopt (reasonable) secular ways of thinking. (3) Therefore, it would be better if everyone were to abandon religious belief and adopt a secular way of thinking. But given these revised versions, (1*) turns out to be highly controversial, and I would suggest that at least in the case of Christianity, it is implausible. Plus there is little empirical support for (2*), with the research studies finding correlations that go in the exact opposite direction from those needed by the argument. So for the moment, my overall conclusion is that the religious harms argument, at least in the different versions we have seen in this chapter, does not pose a serious challenge to theistic belief. Let’s end by taking some of the ideas of this chapter in a new direction. New Atheists make it clear that they are out to convert people. As secular missionaries, one of their main goals is to get people to abandon their religious commitments and come over to the side of atheism. As Richard Dawkins famously wrote in The God Delusion, “If this book works as I intend, religious readers who open it will be atheists when they put it down.”38 But New Atheists do not have to try to convert religious people. After all, they could just leave religious people alone and keep their objections to religion to themselves. In fact, as even more of a departure from what they are actually doing, New Atheists could actively encourage (reasonable) religious belief, rather than try to undermine it. Now I am under no illusions that someone like Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris is going to take either of these alternative approaches seriously. They are probably completely off their radar screen. Yet this chapter has laid the groundwork for thinking that New Atheists should take them seriously. Consider first the idea that secular worldviews have potentially done more on average to bring about terrible pain and suffering than religious worldviews, especially in the twentieth century. Combine that claim with the data on the robust correlations between measures of religiosity and good outcomes. Although it would need to be worked out in more detail, it is not hard to appreciate the suggestion that society as a whole might be better off if there were still plenty of (reasonable) religious people around.39 This “better off” refers to the society as a whole, but it is meant to include making life better off for the New Atheists in that society as well. Lower crime and increased educational performance, for instance, will benefit

Are we better off without religion? 115 theists themselves directly, but they will also benefit atheists who happen to live in the same neighborhood. But, you might say, how could New Atheists responsibly leave theists alone if they think that their whole worldview is simply false? Don’t New Atheists have an obligation to help religious folks see the truth (at least from the New Atheist’s perspective)? Yet it is not clear that we always do have an obligation to reveal the truth to someone as we see it. This is especially doubtful in some cases where it would be of great benefit to the person to not disclose the truth. Consider placebos in medicine, for instance. The doctor giving the sugar pill to the sick patient is actively deceiving her in order to try to bring about a better health outcome. This is a widely used practice, and it seems to work rather well in some cases. Many claim that it is indeed a justifiable practice, all things considered. By analogy, rather than trying to dispense with religious belief altogether in society, perhaps the best thing for the New Atheist to do is to leave theists alone. Even though according to New Atheists there is no God, on average, it could make our lives better off in the long run if we keep the illusion going.40

Notes 1 Harris 2004, 131. 2 For earlier discussions, see Strobel 2000: chapter seven, Ward 2006; McGrath 2007; McGrath and McGrath 2007: chapter four, and Reitan 2009: chapter ten. 3 Harris 2004, 149. 4 Ibid., 82, citing Deuteronomy 13, 12–16. 5 Ibid., 123. 6 See ibid., chapter seven. 7 Quoted in Strobel 2000, 206. 8 For related discussion, see Strobel 2000: chapter seven, Ward 2006; McGrath 2007, 125; and McGrath and McGrath 2007, 76–77, 81. A “challenge” is being raised to premise (1), not in the sense of showing that it is false, but rather in the sense that it is a premise theists could grant is true, without putting any pressure on them to abandon their belief. Thanks to Andrew Moon for encouraging me to clarify this. 9 Harris 2004, 117. 10 Ibid., 85. 11 Ibid., 86. 12 For related discussions along these lines, see Strobel 2000, 216–217; McGrath 2007, 126–129; McGrath and McGrath 2007, 77–79. 13 See Dikötter 2010. 14 See Conquest 2007. 15 See the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s Holocaust Encyclopedia, www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10008193. Accessed August 5, 2016. 16 See the Yale University Cambodian Genocide Program, http://gsp.yale.edu/casestudies/cambodian-genocide-program. Accessed August 5, 2016.

116  Christian B. Miller 7 Harris 2004, 231, emphasis his. 1 18 I am not in a position to evaluate a statement like (1%) with respect to Judaism and Islam. Scholars of those religions will no doubt have plenty to say about this claim. 19 In fairness, it should be noted that it will be hard at times to pin down which of the authentic teachings it is “reasonable” to adopt. And there may be cases where we are left wondering whether something is an authentic teaching but not reasonable to adopt or whether it is reasonable to adopt but not an authentic teaching. Thanks to David Holiday here. 20 Quoted in Strobel 2000, 203. 21 The material that follows reviewing these studies is reprinted from Miller 2012 with permission of Oxford University Press. 22 For similar results, see Fergusson et al. 1986; Ellison, Bartkowski, and Anderson 1999. 23 Evans et al. 1995. 24 See, e.g., Lipford, McCormick, and Tollison 1993; Hull and Bold 1995; Hull 2000. 25 Regnerus and Elder 2003, 644. 26 Ibid., summarizing Muller and Ellison 2001. 27 See, e.g., Regnerus 2000; Elder and Conger 2000. 28 For references, see Miller 2012. For a general overview of the positive association between religion and health, see Koenig, McCullough, and Larson 2012; VanderWeele 2017. 29 Witter et al. 1985. 30 Ellison, Gay, and Glass 1989. 31 Ellison and George 1994. 32 Hansen 1987; Dudley and Kosinski 1990. 33 Brooks 2006, 39. For additional studies of donating, see Hoge et al. 1996; Regnerus, Smith, and Sikkink 1998. For volunteering, see Park and Smith 2000. 34 For example, Brinkerhoff, Grandin, and Lupri 1992 did not find significant variations in domestic violence in a study of Canadian subjects. And Fox et al. 1998 did not find a difference in breast cancer screening rates using a church-based sample of Los Angeles women. 35 For related discussion, see Ward 2006: chapter nine; McGrath and McGrath 2007, 92–94; Miller 2012. 36 For some preliminary indications of causality, see VanderWeele 2017. 37 For a detailed causal account of how religion can lead to the promotion of good outcomes, see Smith 2003a, 2003b. 38 Dawkins 2006, 5. 39 I have worked out this line of reasoning in more detail for an academic philosophical audience in Miller 2012. 40 I am grateful to Kevin Vallier and Josh Rasmussen for inviting me to be a part of this volume. Earlier versions were presented at Coastal Carolina University and Scholé House at Virginia Commonwealth University. I am grateful for helpful feedback from both audiences, including Andrew Moon, Donald Smith, David Holiday, and Nils Rauhut.

References Benjamins, M., J. Trinitapoli, and C. Ellison. 2006. “Religious Attendance, Health Maintenance Beliefs, and Mammography Utilization: Findings from a Nationwide Survey of Presbyterian Women.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 45: 597–607.

Are we better off without religion? 117 Brinkerhoff, M., E. Grandin, and E. Lupri. 1992. “Religious Involvement and Spousal Violence: The Canadian Case.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 31: 15–31. Brooks, Arthur. 2006. Who Really Cares. New York, NY: Basic Books. Conquest, Robert. 2007. The Great Terror: A Reassessment: 40th Anniversary Edition. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Dawkins, Richard. 2006. The God Delusion. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Dikötter, Frank. 2010. Mao’s Great Famine: The History of China’s Most Devastating Catastrophe. New York, NY: Walker and Company. Dudley, M., and F. Kosinski. 1990. “Religiosity and Marital Satisfaction: A Research Note.” Review of Religious Research 32: 78–86. Elder, G., and R. Conger. 2000. Children of the Land: Adversity and Success in Rural America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ellison, C. 1991. “Religious Involvement and Subjective Well-Being.” Journal of Health and Social Behavior 32: 80–99. Ellison, C., and K. Anderson. 2001. “Religious Involvement and Domestic Violence among U.S. Couples.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 40: 269–286. Ellison, C., J. Bartkowski, and K. Anderson. 1999. “Are There Religious Variations in Domestic Violence?” Journal of Family Issues 20: 87–113. Ellison, C., D. Gay, and T. Glass. 1989. “Does Religious Commitment Contribute to Individual Life Satisfaction?” Social Forces 68: 100–123. Ellison, C., and L. George. 1994. “Religious Involvement, Social Ties, and Social Support in a Southeastern Community.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 33: 46–61. Evans, T., F. Cullen, R. Dunaway, and V. Burton. 1995. “Religion and Crime Reexamined: The Impact of Religion, Secular Controls, and Social Ecology on Adult Criminality.” Criminology 33: 195–217. Fergusson, D., L. Horwood, K. Kershaw, and F. Shannon. 1986. “Factors Associated with Reports of Wife Assault in New Zealand.” Journal of Marriage and the Family 48: 407–412. Fox, S., K. Pitkin, C. Paul, S. Carson, and N. Duan. 1998. “Breast Cancer Screening Adherence: Does Church Attendance Matter?” Health Education and Behavior 25: 742–758. Hansen, G. 1987. “The Effect of Religiosity on Factors Predicting Marital Adjustment.” Social Psychology Quarterly 50: 264–269. Harris, Sam. 2004. The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company. Hoge, D., C. Zech, P. McNamara, and M. Donahue. 1996. Money Matters: Personal Giving in American Churches. Louisville: Westminster John Knox. Hull, B. 2000. “Religion Still Matters.” The Journal of Economics 26: 35–48. Hull, B., and F. Bold. 1995. “Preaching Matters: Replication and Extension.” Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization 27: 143–149. Koenig, H., M. McCullough, and D. Larson. 2012. The Handbook of Religion and Health. 2nd ed. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Lipford, J., R. McCormick, and R. Tollison. 1993. “Preaching Matters.” Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization 21: 235–250. McGrath, Alister. 2007. “Is Religion Evil?” In God is Great, God is Good: Why Believing in God is Reasonable and Responsible, edited by William Lane Craig and Chad Meister, 119–133. Downers Grove: IVP Books.

118  Christian B. Miller McGrath, Alister and Joanna McGrath. 2007. The Dawkins Delusion? Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine. Downers Grove: IVP Books. Miller, Christian. 2012. “Atheism and the Benefits of Theistic Belief.” Oxford Studies in Philosophy of Religion, Vol. 4, 97–125. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Muller, C., and C. Ellison. 2001. “Religious Involvement, Social Capital, and Adolescents’ Academic Process: Evidence from the National Longitudinal Study of 1988.” Sociological Focus 34: 155–183. Park, J. and C. Smith. 2000. “ ‘To Whom Much Has Been Given . . .’: Religious Capital and Community Voluntarism Among Churchgoing Protestants.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 39: 272–286. Regnerus, Mark. 2000. “Shaping Schooling Success: Religious Socialization and Educational Outcomes in Urban Public Schools.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 39: 363–370. Regnerus, M., and G. Elder. 2003. “Staying on Track in School: Religious Influences in High- and Low-Risk Settings.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 42: 633–649. Regnerus, M., C. Smith, and D. Sikkink. 1998. “Who Gives to the Poor? The Influence of Religious Tradition and Political Location on the Personal Generosity of Americans Toward the Poor.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 37: 481–493. Reitan, Eric. 2009. Is God A Delusion? A Reply to Religion’s Cultured Despisers. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. Smith, Christian. 2003a. “Religious Participation and Parental Moral Expectations and Supervision of American Youth.” Reviews of Religious Research 44: 414–424. ———. 2003b. “Theorizing Religious Effects among American Adolescents.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 42: 17–30. Strobel, Lee. 2000. The Case for Faith. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. VanderWeele, Tyler. 2017. “Religious Communities and Human Flourishing.” Current Directions in Psychological Science 26: 476–481. Ward, Keith. 2006. Is Religion Dangerous? Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing. Witter, R., W. Stock, M. Okun, and M. Haring. 1985. “Religion and Subjective WellBeing in Adulthood: A Quantitative Synthesis.” Review of Religious Research 26: 332–342. Wright, L., C. Frost, and S. Wisecarver. 1993. “Church Attendance, Meaningfulness of Religion, and Depressive Symptomatology Among Adolescents.” Journal of Youth and Adolescence 22: 559–568.

9 A license to sin? Spiritual practices and moral licensing Jennifer Zamzow1

1. Introduction [O]ne of the truly nauseating side effects of the common confusion of moral goodness with “spirituality” is that it permits untold numbers of people to slack off on the sacrifice and good works and hide behind their unutterably sacred (and impenetrable) mask of piety and moral depth. It’s not just the hypocrites, though there are always plenty of them around. There are many people who quite innocently and sincerely believe that if they are earnest in attending to their own personal “spiritual” needs, this amounts to living a morally good life.2

In this excerpt from New Atheist Dan Dennett’s Breaking the Spell, he highlights an important question for theists to consider: Does attending to our own personal spiritual needs make us more likely to shirk our moral responsibilities? In this chapter, I want to focus on the worry that our spiritual practices, such as prayer, confession, reading Scripture, and attending religious services,3 might make us susceptible to moral licensing—the psychological phenomenon of our initial good behavior leading us to subsequently engage in bad behavior.4 If you have ever exercised in the afternoon and then rewarded yourself with a big piece of chocolate cake after dinner, you have experienced the effects of licensing. Our prior good behavior—exercising—leads us to feel that we subsequently deserve a treat—a big piece of chocolate cake. Our good behavior can also lead to licensing in the moral domain. For instance, Jennifer Jordan and colleagues found evidence of moral licensing by having participants recall previous actions that either helped or harmed others.5 They found that participants who recalled a time when they helped someone were more likely to cheat on a subsequent experimental task than participants who recalled a time when they used someone to accomplish a selfish goal. Why do we do this? Psychologists use two main models to explain these patterns of behavior. According to the moral credit model of moral licensing, we treat our behavior like a bank account—our initial good behavior

120  Jennifer Zamzow gives us a “credit” in our moral bank account that can offset future bad behavior. Just deposit a bit of exercise, and you can withdraw a piece of chocolate cake. Deposit a helping hand, and you can withdraw a bit of cheating. With the second model of moral licensing—the moral credentials model— our initial good behavior affects how we interpret our subsequent behavior; it serves as a lens through which we interpret subsequent morally ambiguous behavior as good. In this model, it’s not that we think we deserve to slack off; it’s that we don’t even see ourselves as slacking off. Our prior good behaviors lead us to think of ourselves as good people with good intentions, which leads us to interpret our subsequent behavior as “honest” rather than “rude,” “responsible” rather than “unsympathetic,” and so on.6 We are quite clever at coming up with ways to build our moral credentials and give ourselves credit. We don’t even need to actually do something good in order to feel licensed. We can also feel licensed for bad deeds that we declined to do (counterfactual transgressions), good deeds we plan to do (prefactual virtues), good deeds we imagine we would have done if circumstances had been different (counterfactual virtues), or good deeds that our group members have done (vicarious virtues).7 Why should theists be concerned about moral licensing? The worry for theists is that people often closely tie spirituality with morality. For theists, spirituality and morality are both core aspects of a person. There is even overlap in the type of language people use when talking about them. Spiritual practices and moral practices are both often thought of in terms of “duties.” When people follow their spiritual or moral duties, they are often described as “virtuous,” “pious,” or “holy,” and spiritual and moral failings are both described in terms of “sin.” When we treat spirituality and morality as overlapping domains, it becomes too easy to put them in the same account. Then when our church attendance or Scripture reading makes us feel like saints, we might be tempted to cash in our spiritual saint credit for moral leniency. Because spiritual practices play a central role in many theistic traditions, it would be concerning for theism if our spiritual practices negatively affect our behavior, whether it’s through conscious beliefs or unconscious influences. Even if the theistic traditions prescribe a moral life, we care about more than just whether theism is compatible with morality in theory; we also care about how it actually leads people to act in practice. This chapter will examine the empirical literature on religion and moral behavior to see whether spiritual practices actually do make us more likely to shirk our moral responsibilities. I argue that the evidence does not give us sufficient reason to think that engaging in spiritual practices makes us more susceptible to moral licensing in general. I close the chapter by discussing practical strategies for avoiding conditions under which spiritual practices might contribute to moral licensing.

A license to sin? 121

2. Spiritual practices and moral licensing In order to determine whether spiritual practices make people more or less likely to shirk their moral responsibilities, we need more than just general correlations between “religiosity” or “spirituality” and moral behavior. Even if we could get consensus on whether religious or spiritual people act more or less morally, that still wouldn’t tell us what caused the difference in behavior. Is it the religious beliefs? The social aspects of religious community? Are there selection effects, such that individuals who are more inclined to act morally are more or less likely to be drawn to religion in the first place? In order to answer our question, we need to look at studies that specifically try to tease out the effects of the practices. Though there is little empirical work that looks directly at the connection between spiritual practices and moral licensing, there are some indications that spiritual practices could license bad behavior. For example, economist Jonathan Gruber found evidence that people treat religious giving and religious attendance as substitutes.8 Gruber found that when tax subsidies for charitable giving go up, people donate more money to religious institutions. This is not surprising. What is surprising, however, is that when people donate more money to religious organizations, religious attendance goes down. Giving to church seemed to license people to skip going to church. Moreover, there is some evidence that this licensing can extend beyond the walls of the church. Psychologist Mary Harris and colleagues found that attending confession seemed to influence people’s willingness to donate to a nonreligious charity.9 Harris et al. found that participants were significantly less likely to donate money to the March of Dimes charity after going to confession at church than before. Engaging in religious confession seemed to make people less inclined to act prosocially. However, there is also evidence suggesting that engaging in spiritual practices can subsequently lead to better moral behavior. Deepak Malhotra found that religious people were more likely to donate to charity than nonreligious people, but only on days they visited their place of worship.10 Rather than leading people to act worse, Malhotra argues that attending church might lead people to temporarily act better by making moral values salient. Prayer has also been found to have a positive effect on people’s behavior toward others. Nathaniel Lambert and colleagues found that participants who prayed more regularly for their romantic partners were judged as less vengeful by independent observers.11 In fact, partner-focused prayer was a stronger predictor of observed vengefulness than was relationship satisfaction. The researchers also examined the effect of prayer on relationships by having participants either pray for their romantic partner or think positive thoughts about them every day for four weeks. Even though the partners were

122  Jennifer Zamzow unaware of which condition their partner was in (prayer or positive thinking), the partners of the participants who had been praying for them reported greater forgiveness from their partners than the partners of the participants who had been assigned to think positive thoughts about their partners.

3. What’s going on? So, does engaging in spiritual practices make people more or less susceptible to moral shirking? According to the data, it depends. Although the data are noisy, if we look closely, we can find some patterns. There are particular factors that seem to drive the effects in specific directions. Understanding these influences can help us better understand the conditions under which engaging in spiritual practices might make us susceptible to moral shirking. 3.1. How people view their engagement of spiritual practices Value alignment One thing we need to consider when looking at whether engaging in spiritual practices leads to moral licensing is how people view their engagement in spiritual practices. Our motives play a big role here. Consider prayer. Politicians have recently come under fire for responding to the growing number of mass shootings in the United States by merely offering their “thoughts and prayers.” Although some people find the act of offering prayers offensive in itself, what many critics find offensive is that these prayers don’t seem to be accompanied by further action. If the help stops at offering prayers, this seems like an empty gesture, an attempt to look good in order to get out of doing something that might be helpful. Does praying for people in need make people less likely to take action to help them? Research suggests that it might depend on the nature of our prayers. In a series of studies on charitable giving, Kirk Kristofferson and colleagues found that the nature of an initial act of support moderates the degree to which people later contribute to the cause.12 The researchers had participants engage in an initial private or public token act of support or not engage in any initial token acts of support. They then gave participants in each of these three groups an opportunity to make a more meaningful contribution to the cause. They found that participants who performed an initial private token act of support subsequently donated more money to the cause than those in the control group who did not engage in any initial token support for the cause. Participants who performed an initial public token act of support, however, were no more likely to subsequently donate money to the cause than those in the control group.

A license to sin? 123 According to Kristofferson and colleagues, their studies support the view that value alignment and consistency motives underlie the greater willingness to show support. Engaging in private acts of support activates both a sense that one’s values align with the cause and a motivation to act in line with those values. Conversely, engaging in public acts of support activates impression management motives, which incites people to behave strategically in order to look good. However, the researchers found a way to overcome the licensing tendency following initial public acts of support. When the researchers had participants think about how their values aligned with the charitable organization, participants who showed initial public support were just as likely to provide subsequent support as those who provided private initial token support. By intentionally activating the sense that one’s values align with the cause, initial public acts of support can also lead people to act consistently with those values. On this theory, if our only motive in offering our prayers is to look good for others, our prayers are likely to have a licensing effect. But for those who are focused on their commitment to helping others and who view prayer as one effective means of helping, this initial act of support might lead to moral consistency rather than moral licensing. Individual’s level of identification Another factor that can affect whether our initial behaviors make us susceptible to moral licensing is the extent to which we identify with the behaviors. We can see this in a group of consumer behavior studies. In one study, Nina Mazar and Chen-Bo Zhong found that shopping for environmentally friendly products made people more likely to both cheat and steal on a subsequent unrelated visual task.13 Participants in Mazar and Zhong’s study went virtually shopping in a researcher-created store by selecting products they would like to purchase from the products shown on their screen. They were told to fill their basket with $25 worth of products and that subjects would be randomly chosen to actually receive the products in their basket. Participants were randomly assigned to one of two groups. Each store had the same number and types of products, but one store carried mostly green products (e.g., energy-efficient light bulbs versus regular light bulbs) while the other store carried mostly conventional products. The researchers found that subjects who had selected products from the green store were more likely to cheat and steal on a subsequent unrelated visual task. Importantly, Marijn Meijers found that only some participants were susceptible to green licensing.14 Whereas participants with weaker pro-­ environmental identity expressed lower green intentions and concerns after purchasing green products as opposed to conventional products, participants with a strong pro-environmental identity were unaffected by their prior green purchase.

124  Jennifer Zamzow One explanation for this is that those who do not strongly identify as pro-environment might have been more likely to temporarily change their view of themselves as an environmentally conscious person or they might have given themselves more credit for their small environmentally friendly actions. For those who already strongly identify as pro-environment, however, small environmentally friendly actions wouldn’t change their view of themselves as environmentally conscious, nor would they be likely to give themselves positive credit for something they see as morally obligatory. Similarly, Alpaslan Akay and colleagues found that those who were less committed to their religious practices were more likely to exhibit licensing effects from them.15 Akay and colleagues looked at differences between religious participants’ levels of cooperation in a public goods game during and after the month of Ramadan, a holy month for Muslims in which they are required to fast from sunrise to sunset and refrain from immoral behavior. They found that religious participants who were highly committed— those who fasted for all of Ramadan—contributed the same amount during Ramadan as they did after Ramadan, showing no licensing effect. However, religious participants who were less committed—those who fasted for some of Ramadan—contributed significantly less during Ramadan than after. According to Akay and colleagues, one explanation for this is that participants who were highly religious should not consider Ramadan as “an activity from which they obtain licensing.” Less committed religious participants, on the other hand, might have seen their partial religious observance as something that gave them some positive credit. This shows that the same behavior can be interpreted differently depending on how strongly one identifies with it. 3.2. How people engage in spiritual practices Individual’s view of God In addition to considering how people view their engagement of spiritual practices, we need to consider differences in how people engage in spiritual practices. Prayer is a prime example. Prayer is not a uniform activity. People do different things when praying—thanking or praising God, confessing one’s sins, making requests, etc. They also approach the conversation in different ways depending on their view of God (e.g., personal or impersonal, loving or spiteful, etc.). These differences will likely affect what beliefs, values, and emotions get activated. Thus, we can’t just look at the fact that someone prays; we also need to consider how they pray. We can see this in a study by Marieke Meijer-van Abbema and Sander Koole.16 They found that when they had participants pray, differences in participants’ views of God led to differences in how they subsequently viewed other people. Participants with a high positive view of God (e.g., those who

A license to sin? 125 viewed God as supportive and comforting) viewed other people as less hostile after they prayed, whereas participants with a high negative view of God (e.g., those who viewed God as punishing) viewed other people as more hostile after they prayed. The researchers explain the results in terms of priming: [P]rayer primes cognitive representations of God’s mental states, which may unwittingly carry over to people’s cognitive representations of other people’s mental states. More specifically, if people view God in favorable terms, then priming this God image through prayer may lead people to see others in more favorable terms.17 It wasn’t that those with a negative view of God were more likely to perceive other people as hostile in general. Participants with a negative view of God were no more likely than those with a positive view of God to view other people as hostile when they were instructed to merely think about someone they knew who was going through a difficult time. It was only when they were instructed to pray for them that participants with a negative view of God were more likely than those with a positive view of God to view others as hostile. This indicates that differences in views of God affected how people prayed, which, in turn, affected how they perceived others. And because our perceptions of hostility affect our willingness to cooperate with others, differences in people’s approach to prayer could lead to differences in how prayer affects their moral behavior. Nature of belief primed Not only can differences between individuals affect how a religious practice influences moral behavior, differences in context can lead the same individual to behave differently even after engaging in the same practice. We can see this in a study of religious fundamentalists conducted by Joanna Blogowska and Vassilis Saroglou.18 Blogowska and Saroglou found that religious fundamentalists—a group that takes a position of extreme submission to religious authority—developed different prosocial attitudes based on whether they were exposed to a violent or prosocial biblical text. Because fundamentalists believe that the entire Bible is inerrant, they presumably believe that both the violent and prosocial passages reveal God’s truth. However, which particular biblical messages were salient to them at the time still affected their attitudes toward others. Thus, we can’t even look at a single individual engaged in a single spiritual practice like reading the Bible to know how they will subsequently behave. For some religious individuals, it depends on what part of the Bible they happen to be reading.

126  Jennifer Zamzow

4. Normative implications for theists Taken together, the evidence does not give us sufficient reason to think that engaging in spiritual practices in general makes us susceptible to moral licensing. At most we can say that for some people under some conditions, engaging in spiritual practices might lead to moral licensing. What normative implications can we draw from this conclusion? Does the fact that engaging in spiritual practices might lead to moral licensing under some conditions entail that we should scale back on our spiritual practices? In order to answer this question, we should consider what we stand to gain in our moral lives by scaling back on our spiritual practices. It’s important to note that when we say that religious practices might lead to moral licensing under some conditions, we are not talking about a guarantee that we will act unethically; we are talking about the potential that we will act less ethically than we might have otherwise. Do we have a duty to avoid actions that might potentially lead us to act less ethically in the future? Perhaps if the potential is high enough or the future action is bad enough. But if the likelihood that it will affect our future behavior is low or if it will only affect our behavior by a small amount, it seems too demanding to say that we must always avoid the initial action. For instance, consider trying to lose weight or pass a class. Research shows that trying to stick to a diet or studying for exams depletes our willpower.19 Because we only have a limited supply of willpower, when we use up willpower to stick to a diet, we have less willpower to devote to resisting moral temptations. Nonetheless, most people believe it is permissible to diet or study for final exams even if it depletes one’s willpower, creating the potential for moral licensing. Where we draw the line in how much of a moral sacrifice one is allowed to make for the sake of one’s personal spiritual practices will depend in part on how valuable we take spiritual practices to be. However, I think that even those who don’t see much value in spiritual practices can agree that moral licensing in itself does not give theists a strong enough reason to forego spiritual practices. The moral “risk” we are talking about here—the potential that spiritual practices might lead some people under some conditions to be more likely to act somewhat less ethically—is not significant enough to justify requiring people to give up something many theists find valuable. If we don’t have a duty to forego diets and studying in order to avoid moral licensing, then surely we do not have a duty to forego spiritual practices in order to minimize the potential that we will act less ethically.20 Moreover, we need to consider what we might be gaining in our moral lives through spiritual practices. Occasional moral licensing or depleted willpower might be a small price to pay if regular engagement in spiritual practices leads to better moral behavior overall.

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5. Practical recommendations for theists This doesn’t absolve us of our moral obligations, however. Even if we don’t have a duty to give up our spiritual practices for the sake of reducing a small risk to our moral behavior, and even if spiritual practices might help improve our moral behavior on the whole, we still might have a duty to try to minimize potential negative effects on our moral behavior. This discussion of research on moral licensing and spiritual practices can give us some insight into how we can do this. Whether our initial behavior will lead to consistency or licensing depends on how a person engages in spiritual practices and how they view their engagement in spiritual practices. In turn, each of these can be influenced by a variety of factors. Instead of just asking whether spiritual practices lead to moral licensing, we should ask under what conditions they make us more susceptible and how we can avoid it. In this final section, I want to discuss two practical strategies for avoiding spiritual engagement leading to moral licensing. 5.1. Reformulate your goals Endorsing the belief that attending to our own spiritual needs is sufficient for living a good life would clearly be problematic for our moral lives. However, we can also use beliefs to help us avoid moral licensing by reformulating our duties so they can’t be easily licensed. If we frame our moral obligations in broad terms, such as “Help those in need,” it can be tempting to settle for easy ways to try to meet those obligations. We might be tempted, for instance, to count our prayers as helping those in need and then feel that we’ve done our part. But Jesus didn’t say to just pray for the poor; he said to feed the poor. If we want to avoid the potential licensing effect of prayer, we can highlight prescriptions such as these. Instead of framing our obligation in general “helping” terms, we can specify that we also have a moral obligation to provide tangible help to those in need. This would be a duty that could not be met solely through prayer. Similarly, we might be tempted to view our moral obligation of helping others as met by just helping those who are close to us—our friends, family, and religious community. We can help avoid this by specifying an obligation to help distant others that can’t be met by helping those close to us. 5.2. Focus on commitment rather than progress Another key to avoiding moral licensing is to focus on our moral commitment rather than our moral progress. Ayelet Fishbach and Ravi Dhar found that the same initial behavior can have different consequences depending on whether it is framed in terms of progress or commitment to a goal.21 Fishbach and Dhar had student participants think about their studying goals.

128  Jennifer Zamzow They had one group evaluate their level of progress toward their goals and they had another group evaluate their level of commitment to their goals. When participants focused on their progress, they were more likely to engage in licensing and choose goal-inconsistent behavior (e.g., going out with friends) than were the participants who evaluated their goals in terms of their commitment to the goal. In order to avoid moral licensing, we need to focus on why we want to do what is right rather than how much right we are doing. When we focus on the why, it can help us better recognize when our actions are likely to threaten our moral identity. In conclusion, although we have evidence that spiritual practices do not inevitably lead to moral licensing, Dennett is right to caution us not to bask in the light of our spiritual halos.

Notes 1 I am grateful to Kelly Clark, Nick Wolterstorff, Steve Wykstra, and the Azusa Pacific University Philosophy Department for helpful feedback on this project. 2 Dennett 2006, 305–306. 3 In this chapter I will focus on the types of spiritual practices that emphasize the vertical relationship between oneself and God. Though theistic traditions also have much to say about how we treat other people, the worry I want to address is that attending to our (primarily) personal spiritual needs—our vertical relationship with God—can get in the way of attending to our (nonspiritual) moral obligations. 4 I want to leave open the ways in which attending to our spiritual needs might inhibit us from attending to our moral obligations. Rather than focusing just on beliefs about whether attending to one’s own personal spiritual needs amounts to living a good life, I also want to address the unconscious influences on our moral behavior. Unconscious influences can pose a greater worry for theists than consciously endorsed beliefs, given their pervasiveness and our difficulty in recognizing them. 5 Jordan, Mullen, and Murnighan 2011. 6 In a review of the moral licensing literature, Anna Merritt and colleagues argue that a reasonable working hypothesis is that the moral credit and moral credential models “represent independent pathways to licensing that operate in different situations, although both can operate simultaneously” (Merritt, Effron, and Monin 2010, 350). 7 Effron 2016. 8 Gruber 2004. 9 Harris, Benson, and Hall 1975. 10 Malhotra 2010. 11 Lambert et al. 2013. 12 Kristofferson, White, and Peloza 2014. 13 Mazar and Zhong 2010. 14 Meijers 2014. 15 Akay, Karabulut, and Martinsson 2015. 16 Meijer-van Abbema and Koole 2017. 17 Ibid, 218.

A license to sin? 129 8 Blogowska and Saroglou 2013. 1 19 McGonigal 2012. 20 One might try to argue that dieting and studying are different from engaging in spiritual practices because they have indirect consequences for others: poor health can have societal costs, and learning can lead one to make important contributions to society. However, although it might be true that these behaviors have indirect effects on others, the same can be said for religious practices, as we saw with Lambert and colleagues’ study on prayer. 21 Fishbach and Dhar 2005.

References Akay, Alpaslan, Gokhan Karabulut, and Peter Martinsson. 2015. “Cooperation and Punishment: The Effect of Religiosity and Religious Festival.” Economics Letters 130: 43–46. Blogowska, Joanna and Vassilis Saroglou. 2013. “For Better or Worse: Fundamentalists’ Attitudes Toward Outgroups as a Function of Exposure to Authoritative Religious Texts.” The International Journal for the Psychology of Religion 23: 103–125. Dennett, Daniel C. 2006. Breaking the Spell. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Effron, Daniel A. 2016. “Beyond ‘Being Good Frees Us to Be Bad’: Moral SelfLicensing and the Fabrication of Moral Credentials.” In Cheating, Corruption, and Concealment: Roots of Unethical Behavior, edited by P.A.M. Van Lange and J-W van Prooijen, 33–54. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Fishbach, Ayelet and Ravi Dhar. 2005. “Goals as Excuses or Guides: The Liberating Effect of Perceived Goal Progress on Choice.” Journal of Consumer Research 32: 370–377. Gruber, Jonathan. 2004. “Pay or Pray? The Impact of Charitable Subsidies on Religious Attendance.” Journal of Public Economics 88: 2635–2655. Harris, Mary B., Sheldon M. Benson, and Carroll L. Hall. 1975. “The Effects of Confession on Altruism.” The Journal of Social Psychology 96: 187–192. Jordan, Jennifer, Elizabeth Mullen, and J. Keith Murnighan. 2011. “Striving for the Moral Self: The Effects of Recalling Past Moral Actions on Future Moral Behavior.” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin 37: 701–713. Kristofferson, Kirk, Katherine White, and John Peloza. 2014. “The Nature of Slacktivism: How the Social Observability of an Initial Act of Token Support Affects Subsequent Prosocial Action.” Journal of Consumer Research 40: 1149–1166. Lambert, Nathaniel, Frank Fincham, Nathan C. Dewall, Richard Pond, and Steven R. Beach. 2013. “Shifting Toward Cooperative Tendencies and Forgiveness: How Partner-Focused Prayer Transforms Motivation.” Personal Relationships 20: 184–197. Malhotra, Deepak. 2010. “(When) Are Religious People Nicer? Religious Salience and the ‘Sunday Effect’ on Prosocial Behavior.” Judgment and Decision Making 5: 138–143. Mazar, Nina and Chen-Bo Zhong. 2010. “Do Green Products Make Us Better People?” Psychological Science 21: 494–498. McGonigal, Kelly. 2012. The Willpower Instinct. New York, NY: Penguin Group.

130  Jennifer Zamzow Meijers, Marijn. 2014. “On Justifying Eco-Unfriendly Behaviors.” PhD diss., University of Amsterdam. Meijer-van Abbema, Marieke and Sander L. Koole. 2017. “After God’s Image: Prayer Leads People with Positive God Beliefs to Read Less Hostility in Others’ Eyes.” Religion, Brain, and Behavior 7: 206–222. Merritt, Anna C., Daniel A. Effron, and Benoit Monin. 2010. “Moral Self-Licensing: When Being Good Frees Us to Be Bad.” Social and Personality Psychology Compass 4: 344–357.

10 Another dimension of the moral argument The voice of Jesus and the historical fruits of the Christian faith Paul Copan and Thom Wolf 1. Introduction The New Atheists have made clear their concerns about the negative impact of “religion.” Christopher Hitchens’s 2009 book God Is Not Great has as its subtitle, How Religion Poisons Everything. But perhaps the picture is not so bleak. During a Q&A time after a Hay Festival interview,1 New Atheist Richard Dawkins said he could describe himself as a “secular Christian,” in that he has a “feeling of nostalgia” for certain Christian ceremonies and traditions. He noted, however, that this label is a metaphysical oxymoron, given his atheism. Dawkins has further acknowledged some sympathy with the Christian faith: “I have mixed feelings about the decline of Christianity, in so far as Christianity might be a bulwark against something worse.”2 Furthermore, Dawkins has advocated that understanding Christianity and the Bible is essential to cultural and historical literacy in the United Kingdom, Europe, and the West in general.3 Dawkins’s statements echo what Cambridge University philosopher Don Cupitt once wrote: Nobody in the West can be wholly non-Christian. We cannot help continuing to be influenced by the old dreams . . . to pursue some version of the old biblical vision of a fully reconciled, free and open future society, the messianic Kingdom here on this earth. Whether or not you personally think of yourself as being a Christian does not very much affect the extent to which Christianity goes on influencing your hopes and your dreams. . . . You may call yourself a non-Christian, but the dreams you dream are still Christian dreams, and you continue to be part of the history of Christianity. That’s your fate. You may consider yourself secular, but the modern Western secular world is itself a Christian creation.4 Those Western leaders influenced by that dream include not only Christian representatives such as Martin Luther King Jr. but non-Christians such as Vladimir Lenin, John Lennon, and Jürgen Habermas.

132  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf And what Cupitt concludes about non-Christian leaders in the Western world can equally be said of global leaders in Eastern cultures. China’s Hong Xiuquan (d. 1864), leader of the Taiping millenarianism movement, constructed the ideology of the Taiping movement from a mixture of Chinese shamanism, Jesus dreams, and Christian ideas based on the Bible and John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. Sun Yat-sen (d. 1925), father of modern China and first president of the Republic of China, became a baptized Christian at age 17.5 In South Asia, some yearned for a Jesus-shaped India but built using much Hindu clay: Manmohan Roy, Swami Vivekananda, and Mahatma Gandhi. Others dreamed of a new kind of India, an India shaped by the Jesus they saw in Protestant missionaries: Mahatma Phule, father of social revolution; Savitribai Phule, mother of modern education; and Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, father of the constitution of India.6 Across Asia, a new kind of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam awoke: Protestant Buddhism, Protestant Hinduism, and Protestant and Calvinist Muslims.7 No one, it seems, has been able to escape the touch and confrontation of Jesus; so perhaps Cupitt could also say, “Nobody in the East can be wholly non-Christian. You may call yourself a non-Christian, but the dreams you dream are still Jesus dreams.” Whether they recognize it or not, the New Atheists tend to share the same moral vision that has shaped Western culture—and some dominant thinkers in Eastern ones as well. Rather than poison, we see Jesus-shaped moral fruits taken for granted or even claimed by “secularists” as the heritage of an enlightened anti-religionism. We want to argue here that as we step outside the faulty “secular–religious” dichotomy (see later) and look at a particular Jesus-shaped historical narrative—one for which even Dawkins has nostalgia—we find life-enhancing fruits, not poison.8 By considering the “afterthought” of the benefits of Christian history, this can contribute to the cumulative case for the theism embedded within the story.

2. Listening to the right voices Atheist or “secular” intellectuals frequently praise the Enlightenment’s emphasis on tolerance, equality, and rationality as a necessary and refreshing departure from “religious” wars, bigotry, and irrationalism. Some even credit this movement (1650–1800) with bringing human rights and democracy to civilization. Despite certain “anti-religious” trajectories during this period, the Enlightenment era nevertheless included such luminaries as Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, Thomas Reid, the Cambridge Platonists, Jonathan Edwards, and the like, who were devout Christians. Furthermore, a number of leading figures of the Enlightenment—including Hugo Grotius, John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and Immanuel Kant—had strong Protestant/ Calvinistic or Pietistic homes and educational backgrounds.9 The “secular” Enlightenment myth needs challenging, as does the myth that atheism or secularism is the neutral, default position that needs no defense; in fact, these are worldviews that make philosophical claims about the nature of

Another dimension of the moral argument 133 reality (metaphysics), the possibility of knowledge (epistemology), and moral duties and virtues (ethics). Even “secularist” worldviews are remarkably variegated, further reinforcing the importance of justifying or defending a position rather than simply asserting it. British historian Tom Holland offers his own perspective about why he was wrong about the allegedly “religion-free” Enlightenment and about Christianity. He was troubled by the “alien and unsettling” world of classical antiquity, which was so calloused, considering the poor or weak as having no intrinsic value: As such, the founding conviction of the Enlightenment—that it owed nothing to the faith into which most of its greatest figures had been born—increasingly came to seem to me unsustainable. “Every sensible man,” Voltaire wrote, “every honourable man, must hold the Christian sect in horror.” Yet Voltaire, in his concern for the weak and oppressed, was marked more enduringly by the stamp of biblical ethics than he cared to admit. Today, even as belief in God fades across the West, the countries that were once collectively known as Christendom continue to bear the stamp of the two-millennia-old revolution that Christianity represents. It is the principal reason why, by and large, most of us who live in postChristian societies still take for granted that it is nobler to suffer than to inflict suffering. It is why we generally assume that every human life is of equal value.10 Dawkins acknowledges the influence of this same voice—the Jesus voice; he is a Jesus-shaped secularist. We would argue that Dawkins’s “nostalgia” for certain enriching Christian traditions only touches the surface of the far more dramatic impact that the worldvoice of Jesus has had through the lives of his followers across the centuries—a voice Tom Holland came to hear more clearly through his study of history. When Christians listened to Jesus’s voice, this gave rise to a prevailing worldview, or philosophy of life. That, in turn, would work itself out into a worldvenue of character qualities, traditions, and practices that have shaped not only the West but have also touched the East. These include education, literacy, humanitarianism, moral reforms, and anticorruption efforts. In their book The Rivers of Paradise, David Freedman and Michael McClymond appropriate the river basin image as “a metaphoric and parabolic . . . model or pattern for the great personality religions of the world”— namely, Moses, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus, and Muhammad as religious founders. Each of the separate religious streams through history is distinguished by its “founding father” (worldvoice), its “sacred scriptures” and “writings” (worldview), and its resultant “religion” (worldvenue).11 Each parallel system has its own river source of universal “ideology,” river stream of intellectual incubation, and river system of communal crystallization.

134  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf We shall shortly examine that “crystallization” of the Christian faith, but first a word on metaphysics.

3. A backward glance at metaphysics and value Two generations ago, Bertrand Russell articulated a worldview that proclaimed that everything about us humans is “but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms” and that “only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair” can any respectable worldview hope to stand.12 Today, Dawkins expresses this worldview with a similar elegance, frankly admitting that a universe of “selfish genes and electrons,” at bottom, displays “no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind pitiless indifference.”13 Nevertheless, Dawkins still cannot escape a fundamental commitment to the reality of good and evil. His 2006 BBC documentary on religion—The Root of All Evil?—would become the basis of his best-selling book The God Delusion (2008). Using the language of objective moral values, he expresses that the world would be better off without religion, which has bad effects. Dawkins’s denial of good and evil and his admission of it come together in his book A Devil’s Chaplain: As an academic scientist, I am a passionate Darwinian. . . . But at the same time as I support Darwinism as a scientist, I am a passionate antiDarwinian when it comes to politics and how we should conduct our human affairs.14 Like many other naturalists, Dawkins grants the implications of a worldview whose metaphysical backdrop is that of deterministic, valueless, purposeless, nonrational, nonconscious material processes. However, he clearly wants to affirm objective moral values. Otherwise, he has no moral case against religion or anything else he dislikes. John Searle points out the tension: There is exactly one overriding question in contemporary philosophy. . . . How do we fit in? . . . How can we square this self-conception of ourselves as mindful, meaning-creating, free, rational, etc., agents with a universe that consists entirely of mindless, meaningless, unfree, nonrational, brute physical particles?15 Searle points us in a reductionistic direction of materialism and determinism and scientism—the key pillars of a strict naturalism. However, a breed of broad naturalists exists; they affirm consciousness, mental events, and even moral realism. Dawkins is drawn in to breathe of its humanizing air. Even so, broad naturalists’ optimistic affirmation of the moral and the mental, of the rational and the volitional, is in sharp tension with the rather unpromising spartan metaphysical furniture with which they begin.

Another dimension of the moral argument 135 Movement from the material to the mental, from the nonconscious to the conscious, from the deterministic to the freedom of the will, from the valueless to the valuable, from the nonrational to the rational, and even— according to some—from nonbeing to being is the shocking consequence of naturalism. Whereas all these features (mentality, consciousness, free will, value, rationality, and being itself) are unsurprising with theism, none is expected with naturalism. Indeed, we’d argue that the more one’s worldview embraces these humanizing features, the less naturalistic and more theistic it looks. As has been argued elsewhere, the universe’s beginning and fine-tuning, as well as consciousness, responsibility/free will, objective moral values and duties, rationality, beauty, personhood, and the like, make excellent sense and are quite at home in a theistic worldview.16 Consider the connection between God and objective moral values. Without the existence of a supremely valuable God, it is hard to make sense of the intrinsic human dignity, human rights, and moral duties that so many of us take for granted. One form of the moral argument looks like this: If God does not exist, objective moral values and duties do not exist. Objective moral values and duties do exist. Therefore, God exists. Even though the New Atheists reject certain behaviors or representations of God as immoral and oppressive, it is hard to square with some of their admissions, as well as with the foundations of their worldview, which include materialism and determinism. For example, New Atheist Daniel Dennett follows philosopher Jeremy Bentham’s claim that the notion of rights is “nonsense on stilts”—even if it is “good nonsense,” nonsense that seems to contribute to human survival.17 However, in this chapter, we move past what some might call a theoretical argument to focus on the practical impact of the moral argument: What happens when people take seriously the metaphysical connection between the dignity of human beings to the existence of a good Creator God? And, more narrowly, what takes place when those who have listened to the “voice” of Jesus follow the example a self-sacrificing, self-humbling God and in turn lay down their lives for others? We see a Jesus-shaped culture that begins to take hold—a culture of which Dawkins and the rest of us are beneficiaries.

4. How the West was influenced by Christians Daniel Dennett claims: “I have uncovered no evidence to support the claim that people, religious or not, who don’t believe in reward in heaven and/or punishment in hell are more likely to kill, rape, rob, or break their promises than people who do.”18 Interestingly, New Atheists such as Dawkins have pointed out that not all religions are moral equals, and some are much

136  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf more harmful than others; indeed, various benefits of the Christian faith, he observes, are worth preserving.19 Also, we should not forget Cupitt’s words about the pervasive influence of the Christian faith in the West, that even critics such as the New Atheists have observed. Furthermore, the problem may not be with the religion in view, but with the inconsistencies of its followers. Indeed, the focus in our chapter is this: what happens when people faithfully follow Jesus Christ, when they are consistently living out their message—not simply wearing the “Christian” label? We will offer summary remarks of points we have made elsewhere.20 We will highlight “Jesus-shaped” cultures—cultures that have been shaped by listening to the voice of Jesus of Nazareth. 4.1. The ancient and medieval eras Yale historian Wayne Meeks observes that from the outset, the “first urban Christians” were “resocialized” through conversion; they saw “the intimacy of the Christian groups [as] a welcome refuge,” embraced “the emotioncharged language of family and affection,” and adopted “the image of a caring, personal God,” and “the master symbol of the crucified savior.” All of these “crystallized a believable picture of the way the world seemed really to work.”21 These Christians—whether high-born or slave, Jew or Gentile, male or female (Galatians 3:28) would call one another “brother” and “sister”; they would “greet one another with a holy kiss” (Romans 16:16; 1 Corinthians 16:20; etc.); they shared meals together as family in Christ (Acts 2:42). The anonymous second-century Epistle to Diognetus gives an indication that Christians lived lives that were often viewed favorably by their contemporaries. Christians dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. . . . They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives. They love all men, and are persecuted by all. . . . They are poor, yet make many rich; they are in lack of all things, and yet abound in all.22 Emperor Julian “the Apostate” was hostile to Christians. Writing in CE 360, he acknowledged that these “impious Galileans” not only cared for their own but showed “benevolence to strangers” and helped “our [pagan] people [who] lack aid from us.”23 During and after Constantine’s reign (CE 306–337), moral and social reforms were enacted: gladiatorial games were outlawed and child abandonment and infanticide were prohibited. Hospices were created (starting in CE 325) followed by hospitals (CE 369), and this movement was motivated by the voice of Jesus: “I was sick and you looked after me” (Matthew 25:36).

Another dimension of the moral argument 137 As the Christian faith expanded into Europe, Jesus-followers promoted education, copied and preserved manuscripts, and established universities and other centers of learning. Technology advanced through the use of horse power, the horseshoe, harnessing water power, the creation of the wheelbarrow, eyeglasses, and clocks. Lynn White Jr. noted these developments: The chief glory of the later Middle Ages was not its cathedrals or its scholasticism: it was the building for the first time in history of a complex civilization which rested not on the backs of sweating slaves or coolies but primarily on nonhuman power.24 At the Oxford Symposium on Scientific Change (1961), historian Ernst Benz of the University of Marburg offered this summary: “Christian beliefs provided the rationale, and faith the motive energy for western technology.”25 4.2. Renaissance and Reformation The remarkable, growing influence of Jesus’s voice in the ancient and medieval worlds continued into the Renaissance and Reformation and even the Enlightenment. As Tom Holland indicated, the ideals emphasized during the Enlightenment (1650–1800)—tolerance, rights, and equality—borrow heavily from a biblical worldview. This runs contrary to Steven Pinker’s claim that the Age of Reason gave rise to an upsurge of morality and ­welfare-care for the poor.26 No, charity (caritas) inspired by the example of the self-sacrificial crucified Messiah was a singular Christian contribution to the ancient Mediterranean world. As historian William Lecky (not a Christian) notes: There can, however, be no question that neither in practice nor in theory, neither in the institutions that were founded nor in the place that was assigned to it in the scale of duties, did charity in antiquity occupy a position at all comparable to that which it has obtained by Christianity. Nearly all relief was a State measure, dictated much more by policy than by benevolence; and the habit of selling young children, the innumerable expositions, the readiness of the poor to enroll themselves as gladiators, and the frequent famines, show how large was the measure of unrelieved distress. . . . [T]he active, habitual, and detailed charity of private persons, which is so conspicuous a feature in all Christian societies, was scarcely known in antiquity, and there are not more than two or three moralists who have even noticed it.27 As we consider the Renaissance (1300–1550), its cry “Ad fontes!” was “return to the sources”—the classics of the Greco-Roman world: Homer, Aristotle, Cicero, Sallust, Augustine. The Renaissance was not retrieving some noble ideal of “Athenian democracy.” It is well known that the Greek

138  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf world was “fundamentally an aristocratic world” that was “founded on slavery” according to a natural hierarchy of things—including humans who were born to rule while others were merely animated tools.28 Three-quarters of ancient Athens was composed of slaves, as was half of Rome. The Christian faith was the first to challenge slavery, turning it into a European rarity by the twelfth century and eradicating it by the fourteenth. Despite the reemergence of slave trading by Portugal in the mid-1500s and its continuation under colonialism, dedicated Christians once again worked tirelessly for its eventual abolition.29 On the other hand, the Renaissance was hardly an anti-Christian revival of paganism or an atheological “humanism” that helped Europeans move out of the “Dark Ages,” as secular humanists have argued.30 As Renaissance scholar Paul Oskar Kristellar argues, “The view that the humanist movement (of the Renaissance) was essentially pagan or anti-Christian cannot be sustained.” For the Renaissance emphasized a curriculum—the “humanities” undertaken by “fervent or nominal members of one of the Christian churches.”31 He states, “I have been unable to discover in the humanist literature any common philosophical doctrine, except belief in the value of man and the humanities and in the revival of ancient learning.”32 Renaissance humanists were as “pagan” as the Puritan poet John Milton, who utilized pagan mythology, history, and geography.33 What followed this period was a remarkable transformation of the cultural landscape ushered in through the Protestant Reformation starting in 1517. Protestants strongly emphasized three transformative values that made a profound impact in the areas of democracy, literacy, and public education and heightened scientific endeavor. One value was that of the goodness of any vocation undertaken to the glory of God. Even more foundational are the other two. Second is the “priesthood of all believers” (1 Peter 2:9; Revelation 1:6)—as distinct from the more hierarchical structures of Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. Third is the right of every believer to study the Scriptures in his own language; so Martin Luther undertook the translation of the Bible into German during a time when Latin was the language of the Bible and Europeans were 5 to 10 percent literate. He encouraged the education of girls, not just boys, and he sought to establish church schools in every parish. Economist Sascha Becker noted the following: We looked into the records of school building in the German federal state of Brandenburg in the 16th century, and discovered that there were disproportionately more girls in school than boys. Protestantism, it seems, was an early driver of emancipation. At that time, remember, Catholic areas didn’t even have any boys’ schools. Those trends continued into the 20th century, when women were allowed to go to university. Comparatively few Catholic women went.34

Another dimension of the moral argument 139 An examination of the 450 counties of nineteenth-century Prussia—with two-thirds being Protestant and one-third Catholic—shows that religious devotion was more pervasive at that time than it is today, and it seems that religion was the main driver behind education differences. Protestants were more likely to be encouraged to go to school. And this higher level of education translated into jobs in manufacturing and services rather than agriculture. Accordingly, they earned higher incomes than their Catholic neighbours.35 4.3. Democratizing gains Recall our mention of “secular Christian” Richard Dawkins’s “nostalgia” over the biblical heritage he has come to appreciate. There are other “secular Christian” scholars who go even further. They make the case that the biblical faith is actually responsible for a host of goods that are part of our Western ethos, vocabulary, and social structures that we take for granted. For example, British historian Niall Ferguson, an atheist, acknowledges the connection between the rise of Protestantism and various “killer apps”—certain democratizing gains that propelled the West forward as a civilization: a strong work ethic, civilizational competition, science, modern medicine, property rights, and a free market.36 Perhaps Europe’s leading philosopher, Jürgen Habermas, also an atheist, makes clear the West’s debt to the Christian heritage: Christianity has functioned for the normative self-understanding of modernity as more than just a precursor or a catalyst. Egalitarian universalism, from which sprang the ideas of freedom and a social solidarity, of an autonomous conduct of life and emancipation, the individual morality of conscience, human rights, and democracy, is the direct heir to the Judaic ethic of justice and the Christian ethic of love. This legacy, substantially unchanged, has been the object of continual critical appropriation and reinterpretation. To this day, there is no alternative to it. And in light of current challenges of a postnational constellation, we continue to draw on the substance of this heritage. Everything else is just idle postmodern talk.37 Postmodern thinker Jacques Derrida notes something similar: Today the cornerstone of international law is the sacred, what is sacred in humanity. You should not kill. You should not be responsible for a crime against the sacredness, this sacredness of man as your neighbor. . . . In that sense, the concept of crime against humanity is a Christian concept

140  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf and I think there would be no such thing in the law today without the Christian heritage, the Abrahamic heritage, the biblical heritage.38 Agnostic philosopher Luc Ferry makes a similar point: the Christian idea of human equality was “unprecedented at the time, and one to which our world owes its entire democratic inheritance.”39 Indeed, political philosopher Jeremy Waldron has pointed out the strong Christian foundations that inspired John Locke’s emphasis on natural human rights, as all human beings were the workmanship of God.40 Although we could speak of various Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox civilizational contributions, we are focusing on Protestants, inspired in part by the recent work of Robert Woodberry (2012). Protestantism has actually facilitated the development of modern representative democracy. Stable democracy first emerged in Protestant Europe and British-settler colonies. By World War I every independent, predominantly Protestant country was a stable democracy—with the possible exception of Germany. Less stable versions of democracy developed in Catholic areas with large Protestant and Jansenist minorities, such as France. Democracy lagged in Catholic and Orthodox parts of Southern and Eastern Europe, where Protestants had little influence. A similar pattern existed outside Europe.41 Just as the American Declaration of Independence (1776) and the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen (1789) connect the existence of a Creator God with human dignity and rights, the United Nations Universal Declaration on Human Rights (1948) does so implicitly. It emphasizes “the inherent dignity” and “the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family.” All humans are “endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.” But endowed by whom or by what? The unstated answer is “God.” Harvard legal scholar Mary Ann Glendon documents how the chief movers behind the “new world order” of human rights after the atrocities of World War II were primarily church coalitions and individual Christian leaders who worked closely with some Jewish rabbis.42 Those who hammered out the UN Declaration’s language intentionally left out the source of these endowments in order to have as many countries as possible—including the officially atheistic USSR—sign on. As human rights scholar Max Stackhouse observes, “intellectual honesty demands recognition of the fact that what passes as ‘secular,’ ‘Western’ principles of basic human rights developed nowhere else than out of key strands of the biblically-rooted religion.”43 4.4. Science The “conflict” or “warfare” model between science and belief in God was popular at the end of the nineteenth and into the early part of the twentieth centuries, but historians of science have rejected this flawed historiography. As historian Mark Noll insists, “there has never been such a thing as

Another dimension of the moral argument 141 warfare between Science and Theology.”44 Modern science arose and was sustained within a cultural context shaped by the biblical worldview, according to which a personal, purposeful, intelligent God created an orderly and beautiful world that could be studied, understood, and enjoyed.45 While Thomas Aquinas helped inspire serious scientific thought in the Middle Ages, the Protestant Reformation—particularly through the influence of John ­Calvin—gave much added weight to the scientific endeavor.46 In view of the theistic foundations for science, then, it is unsurprising that the pillars of modern science—Newton, Kepler, Copernicus, Galileo, Boyle, et al.—were committed Bible believers. These, then, are some of the widely acknowledged civilizational benefits in the West that attract “secular Christians” like Dawkins. Yet we can say more about the Jesus-shaped impact in Eastern cultures as well.

5. Light to Eastern cultures [They] . . . have turned the world upside down.

During his second missionary journey, the apostle Paul, with his companion Silas, went first to preach the gospel—the euangelion, or “good news”— about Jesus at the local synagogue in Thessalonica, which was his pattern (Acts 17:2). Visiting this synagogue was natural and strategic since Paul, as a follower of Jesus (worldvoice), was rooted in and thoroughly familiar with the Jewish Scriptures and the worldview they articulated. The earliest apostolic message about the ministry, death, and bodily resurrection of Jesus was a historical fact Paul himself had “received” from the Jerusalem apostles, who were eyewitnesses of the risen Messiah. This message is the one Paul “delivered” 15 years later to the Corinthian church (1 Corinthians 15:3–20). This message of a cosmic vision of God’s action in history spread; it not only changed lives (worldvenue), but it also challenged the status quo. In CE 50, a Thessalonian mob rose up and tried to stop Paul’s preaching about Jesus: “These men who have turned the world upside down have come here also” (Act 17:6 ESV). New Testament scholar N. T. Wright points out that Paul would have been considered a philosopher in his own day. Like Socrates as described in Plato’s Apology, Luke describes Paul as a Christian Socrates come to ­Athens—the city Paul visited after the mob uprising in Thessalonica. At Athens, Paul spoke of Jesus in the marketplace (agora), engaged in dialogue there with Stoics and Epicureans, proclaiming a new teaching about foreign deities—Jesus and “Resurrection” (anastasis—a feminine word in Greek)— a historical event mistakenly personified and assumed to be the consort of Jesus (Acts 17:15–34). Today, many view “religion” as a private piety, and in the ancient Mediterranean world, “religion” was viewed in much the same way. It helped society run smoothly by propping up the traditional

142  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf Athenian pantheon or imperial Roman rule. However, the Christian faith was more like a philosophy that endangered the status quo. Philosophers like Socrates—or those who presented Jesus as Lord (kyrios)—presented a threat to civic authorities. Historian N. T. Wright comments on this fact: [F]rom Paul onwards the Christians did three things which in the ancient world would have been associated, not with “religion,” but precisely with philosophy. First, they presented a case for a different order of reality, a divine reality which cut across the normal assumptions. . . . Second, they argued for, and themselves modelled, a particular way of life. . . . Third, they constructed and maintained communities which ignored the normal ties of kinship, local or geographical identity, or language, not to mention gender or class. . . . To people of his day, [Paul] and his communities would have looked more like a new school of philosophy than a type of religion.47 The earliest Christian faith was being spread not by force, but by the proclamation of a message that created a new vision that engaged and challenged the thought-forms of the surrounding cultures. Keep in mind the aforementioned words of Wayne Meeks. He noted how the first Christians were “resocialized” through the power of the Christian family’s intimacy and affection—as well as “the image of a caring, personal God” and “the master symbol of the crucified savior,” which “crystallized a believable picture of the way the world seemed really to work.”48 This came as a dramatic explosion in the first-century Mediterranean world—a world that was generally slow to change, or “change-resistant.” 5.1. Worldview “geozones” Why are some cultures change-resistant whereas others are adaptive or change-prone? Sociologists Patrick Nolan and Gerhard Lenski make the following point: Despite the tremendous changes that have occurred in human life during the last 10,000 years, the majority of societies changed very little during their entire existence. In other words, contrary to what we might infer from the changes that have occurred in the world system of ­societies—or from our own experience—rapid social and cultural change has been the exception rather than the rule until recently. In most societies, life changed very little from one generation to the next, or even from one century to the next.49 French historian Alain Peyrefitte served as member of Parliament, Minister of Education, Minister of Finance, and diplomat to China, as well as a member of the Académie Française. He made the same point in this way:

Another dimension of the moral argument 143 We are used to thinking of development as a normal process and underdevelopment as scandalous. We forget that what we term “underdevelopment” today has been humanity’s natural condition from the start. Misery and violence have always been man’s companions. Let favourable circumstances help him to take hold, to multiply even for a few decades, and we speak of it as a golden age. Ordinarily, though, what do we have? Families mutilated by the deaths of young children and women in childbirth, the monotonous, constantly renewed cycle of famine and epidemic. A century or two of development [1789–1989] compared to three or four thousand years of underdevelopment corresponds to twenty minutes at most in a twenty-four-hour day. Is it any wonder that almost the whole of human history has been determined by underdevelopment and that four fifths of the world’s people are still underdeveloped? It would be more logical to reverse the question and ask: Why did a form of civilization appear some three centuries ago [1600s: Calvinistic Protestantism] that today enables one fifth of the world’s people to escape this tragic destiny?50 Not only are most cultures typically change-resistant. Many of them can be “toxic,” inhibiting human flourishing.51 Even so, every culture is sick, but some are sicker than others.52 The worldview or religious background to these cultures is significant—and the worldvoice that shapes them—whether that of Marx, Krishna, Buddha, Confucius, or Jesus. We can observe the roots–shoots–fruits worldview connections or follow particular religious rivers from their sources to the lands that they water. We can detect how the mind-set of certain zones gives rise to behaviors that are more “maladaptive” to human flourishing than others. For example, why is there an absence of democracy, education, and equality of women in certain worldview-shaped regions or geozones but not others? As Edgerton notes, there are “traditional beliefs and practices that threaten human health and happiness [is found] more in some societies than in others,” while “there are some customs and social institutions . . . that comprise [or give rise to] human well-being.”53 We identify eight persons whose voices have shaped the eight “lifezones” or “geozones” of the world,54 and these stultify or enhance cultural progress to varying degrees: • • • •

Shaman: Spirit Guide: through controlled possession of spirits, in animistic sub-Saharan Africa, folk Islam, folk Buddhism, etc. Sage: Confucius: influencing China, Japan, and Chinese diaspora in southeast Asia. Sadhu: Brahmin: holy man, denoting Hinduism, including India’s caste system. Sakyamuni: Buddha: born of the Sakya tribe and became a muni/monk, Buddhism.

144  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf •

• • •

Solas: Jesus alone Protestant Christianity in light of the Reformation’s “only” (sola) emphases: Christ alone, by faith alone, by grace alone, the Scriptures alone, to God alone be the glory. Its beginnings were an effort to retrieve the earliest or apostolic Christian message. Sacerdos: Priest: Roman Catholic Christianity and Eastern Orthodox Christianity, with strong emphasis on church tradition’s authority. Seal: Muhammad: called the “seal of the prophets” khatam al-anbiya; Muslim. Self: Self-defined person: who inhabits the geographic regions of contemporary global communications, education, and politics.

Although we cannot engage in a detailed study of these geozones here,55 consider the following observations regarding the Shaman geo/lifezone. Of its ability to deliver life-prospering properties, Cameroonian economist Daniel Etounga-Manguelle says, A society in which magic and witchcraft flourish today is a sick society ruled by tension, fear, and moral disorder. Sorcery is a costly mechanism for managing conflict and preserving the status quo, which is, importantly, what African culture is about.56 Lawrence Harrison, research professor at both the Cultural Change Institute of Tufts University and the Center for International Affairs of Harvard University, observes the African connections and correspondences to South America and the Caribbean Islands: Animistic religions, in which what happens in life is determined by a pantheon of capricious spirits, present an extreme case of progressresistant culture, as . . . seen in Haitian Voodoo . . . and Brazilian Santeria, . . . the roots of which are in Africa. Harrison’s recommendation? “The guideline with respect to animism is to encourage conversion of those practicing animist religions to more progressprone religions. Given the current condition of Islam and Catholicism, the religion of preference is Protestantism.”57 Harrison also argues that Confucianshaped (Sage) cultures are more conducive to progress than Hindu, Islamic, or Buddhist cultures, and some Eastern Orthodox countries still maintain the residue of Communist influences and thus present a less clear picture.58 5.2. “Conversionary Protestants” This message that shook the first-century Mediterranean world—its own unique first-century geozone—has continued to exert its influence not simply in Western culture but in Eastern ones as well. Political scientist Robert Woodberry—presently at Baylor University—has ably documented the

Another dimension of the moral argument 145 connection between “conversionary Protestant” Christians (“missionaries”) and remarkable democratizing gains beyond the Western world. These include the development and spread of religious liberty, mass education, mass printing, volunteer organizations, most major colonial reforms [including abolishing slavery, widow-burning, foot binding, female circumcision, marriage of pre-pubescent girls, etc.], and the codification of legal protections for nonwhites in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.59 During this period, those Protestant missionaries preserved the vision of the earliest Christians, who did not spread the Christian faith by force, but by deeds of love and sharing the good news of Jesus. During the colonial era, rather than being complicit in the abuses of colonialism, these missionaries typically protected indigenous peoples. These missionaries presided as judges in murder, land seizure, and forced-labor cases, issuing punishments or reprimands for military officials or magistrates. They pressed for the application of the same legal standards for whites and nonwhites. They provided detailed documentation—and later, photographs—of colonial atrocities. In the absence of Protestant missionaries and ministers, it would have been quite difficult to mobilize mass protests against such colonial abuses. These missionaries helped create a kind of “cocoon in which non-violent, indigenous political movements could develop” to press for democracy and decolonialization.60 Woodberry challenges his readers to look at any map: where Protestant missionaries have been, there we observe more printed books and more schools per capita. Protestant missionaries would even construct alphabets for languages that had never been reduced to writing. What’s more, in Africa, the Middle East, and parts of Asia, “most of the early nationalists who led their countries to independence graduated from Protestant mission schools.”61 Protestant missionaries, motivated by the priesthood of all believers and the right of everyone to study the Scriptures in her own language, were at the forefront of promoting public literacy and education to help people read the word of God; mass printing and print technology to spread God’s word; and democratic/civil society to educate each person, not merely the social elites. Missionaries not only introduced the idea of private property, but they would even teach trades such as carpentry and agriculture to help indigenous peoples become economically self-sufficient. Not surprisingly, Protestant-influenced countries are more democratic and have more stable democratic transitions.62 Such countries are also less corrupt: where Protestantism has been a strong influence in a country— from Singapore to Germany to Denmark—corruption levels are significantly lower than non–Protestant-influenced countries.63

146  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf The results of Protestant missionary endeavors are quite impressive. Wherever Protestant missionaries have had a significant presence in the past, those areas today on average manifest lower rates of corruption, are more economically developed, and have a more robust membership in nongovernmental associations. They are also comparatively healthier, with lower infant mortality, while enjoying greater literacy and higher educational attainment overall, especially for women.64 Of course, some will argue that Protestantism made negative contributions, ranging from anti-Semitism to secularism/atheism, pluralism, individualism, and denominational fragmentation. Although some of these claims are worth exploring and require deeper analysis, we cannot explore the matter further here.65 5.3. Going to the “hell-holes of the world” This Jesus-shaped legacy continues. Former Canadian Broadcasting Corporation journalist Brian Stewart began his career as no friend of “religion.” Yet he discovered just how deeply involved Christians—and often only ­Christians—were involved in bringing relief to, and engaging in other righteous endeavors in, many hell-holes in the world. This ultimately persuaded him of the reality of the Christian faith such that he became a follower of Christ: For many years I’ve been struck by the rather blithe notion, spread in many circles including the media, and taken up by a rather large section of our younger population that organized, mainstream Christianity has been reduced to a musty, dimly lit backwater of contemporary life, a fading force. Well, I’m here to tell you from what I’ve seen from my “ring-side seat” at events over decades that there is nothing that is further from the truth. That notion is a serious distortion of reality. I’ve found there is no movement, or force, closer to the raw truth of war, famines, crises, and the vast human predicament, than organized Christianity in action. And there is no alliance more determined and dogged in action than church workers, ordained and lay members, when mobilized for a common good. I’ve never reached a war zone, or famine group or crisis anywhere where some Church organization was not there long before me . . . sturdy, remarkable souls usually too kind to ask “what took you so long?”66 Political scientist Guenther Lewy, an agnostic, sees the connection between the roots and the fruits of the Christian faith that cannot be mimicked by “secular” alternatives: [A]dherents of [a naturalistic] ethic are not likely to produce a Dorothy Day or a Mother Teresa. Many of these people love humanity but not

Another dimension of the moral argument 147 individual human beings with all their failings and shortcomings. They will be found participating in demonstrations for causes such as nuclear disarmament but not sitting at the bedside of a dying person. An ethic of moral autonomy and individual rights, so important to secular liberals, is incapable of sustaining and nourishing values such as altruism and self-sacrifice.67 This kind of outcome, however, is not surprising when people’s lives are shaped by listening to the Jesus voice.

6. Conclusions We have focused on Christianity’s dramatic, positive impact in historical episodes where professing Christians have followed the teachings or “voice” of Jesus. They have brought about dramatic moral reforms and eradicated many evils. Although moral fruits don’t guarantee the truth of the roots and shoots, we should not ignore the important connection between them. Perhaps a telling question is: to whose “worldvoice” do we want our children listening—Karl Marx or Krishna, Muhammad or Mao, or Jesus of Nazareth? Whose life do we want them emulating? The earliest—and succeeding generations of—Christians were persuaded that God has entered into our world, sharing in our pain and suffering and misery. BBC historian Holland noted, The notion that a god might have suffered torture and death on a cross was so shocking as to appear repulsive. Familiarity with the biblical narrative of the Crucifixion has dulled our sense of just how completely novel a deity Christ was.68 This kind of message of God sacrificing himself for his enemies—sinful humanity—proved to be profound and transformative. For decades, sociologist Rodney Stark has been writing about these historical transformations. Although he had been a professing agnostic 13 years ago, I (Paul) wrote him an email in 2011, asking him where he was in his faith pilgrimage. He wrote back, informing me that he had come to identify himself as a Christian, observing the remarkable historical transformations inspired by those who had been changed by the message of Jesus: “I basically wrote myself into the Christian faith.” This chapter strove to show the positive impact of the teachings or “voice” of Jesus both in Western and Eastern cultures; however, we acknowledge that this by itself does not prove or establish the truth of the Christian faith. But it seems that this impact should not be ignored as we look at the cumulative case for the Christian faith. Furthermore, it provides a corrective to the simplistic claim that religion poisons everything.69

148  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf

Notes 1 Richard Dawkins 2014. 2 R. Gledhill 2010. 3 Knapton 2017. 4 Cupitt 2008, 66–67. 5 van der Veer 2014; Chang and Gordon 1991. 6 Sharma 2013; Wolf 2011a, 2011b; Wolf 2016; Ram 2008; Sangrula 2014. 7 Gombrich and Obeyesekere 1988; Sangharakshita 1992; Constable 2007; ESI Report 2005. 8 See Cavanaugh 2009. 9 Woodberry 2012, 248. 10 Holland 2016. 11 Freedman and McClymond 2000, 23, 8; Wolf 2017. 12 Russell 1963, 41. 13 Dawkins 1995, 132–133. 14 Dawkins 2003, 10–11. 15 Searle 2007, 4. 16 Copan 2008, 2012, 2013a, 2013b, 2017. 17 Dennett 1995, 507. 18 Dennett 2006, 279. 19 Dawkins 2014; Gledhill 2010; Knapton 2017. 20 Copan 2013a, 2017; Wolf 2012b, 2014. 21 Meeks 2003, 88, 191. 22 Epistle of Mathetes to Diognetus 1885, ch. 5. 23 Epistulae 22.429d. 24 White 1978, 22. 25 Benz 1966; for comprehensive documentation, see Schmidt 2004. 26 Pinker 2011, 178–179. 27 Lecky 1890, 78–79. 28 Ferry 2011, 72, 73. 29 Schmidt 2011; see also Schmidt 2004. 30 Council for Secular Humanism 1980. 31 Kristellar 1961, 74, 75. 32 Ibid, 22. 33 Barzun 2000, 49, 52. 34 Becker 2011. 35 Ibid. 36 Ferguson 2012. 37 Habermas 2006, 150–151. 38 Derrida 2001, 70. 39 Ferry 2011, 72. 40 Waldron 2002. 41 Woodberry 2012, 245. 42 Glendon 2001. 43 Stackhouse 2004, 25. 44 Noll 2009. 45 Stark 2005. 46 Ibid. 47 Wright 2013, 203. 48 Meeks 2003, 88, 191. 49 Nolan and Lenski 2015, 220–221, italics theirs. 50 Peyrefitte 1986, 138. 51 Landes 1999. 52 Edgerton 1992.

Another dimension of the moral argument 149 3 Ibid, 1–3, 34–45, 122–128. 5 54 Wolf 2012a. 55 Though see ibid. 56 Cited in Harrison 2011, 25. 57 Harrison 2011, 2013. 58 Harrison 2011, 19–20. 59 Woodberry 2012, 244–245; see also Mangalwadi 2012; Schmidt 2004; Wolf 2011a, 2018. 60 Woodberry 2012, 254. 61 Cited in Dilley 2014, 41. 62 Woodberry 2012. 63 “Corruptions Perception Index” 2017; see Becker 2011. 64 Dilley 2014, 39. 65 For example, Rose 2014; for a response, see Vanhoozer 2016. 66 Stewart 2004. 67 Lewy 1996, 137. 68 Holland 2016. 69 Thanks to Liezl Bosch for her editorial assistance with this chapter.

References Barzun, J. 2000. From Dawn to Decadence. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Becker, S. 2011. “Protestant vs. Catholic: Which Countries Are More Successful?” The Guardian. www.theguardian.com/education/2011/oct/31/economics-religionresearch Benz, E. 1966. “The Christian Expectation of the End Time and the Idea of Technical Progress.” In Evolution and Christian Hope. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Cavanaugh, W. 2009. The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and the Roots of Modern Conflict. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chang, S., and L. Gordon. 1991. All Under Heaven: Sun Yat-sen and His Revolutionary Thought. Stanford: Stanford University Press and Hoover Institution. Constable, P. 2007. “Scottish Missionaries, ‘Protestant Hinduism’ and the Scottish Sense of Empire in Nineteenth- and Early Twentieth-Century India.” The Scottish Historical Review 86 (222), Part 2 (October): 278–313. Copan, P. 2008. “Theism, Naturalism, and the Foundations of Morality.” In The Future of Atheism, edited by R. Stewart. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. ———. 2012. “The Naturalists Are Declaring the Glory of God: Discovering Natural Theology in the Unlikeliest Places.” In Philosophy and the Christian Worldview: Analysis, Assessment and Development, edited by D. Werther and M.D. Linville. New York, NY: Continuum. ———. 2013a. “Grounding Human Rights: Naturalism’s Failure and Biblical Theism’s Success.” In Legitimizing Human Rights: Secular and Religious Perspectives, edited by A.J.L. Menuge, 11–31. Burlington, VT: Ashgate Pages. ———. 2013b. “Ethics Needs God.” In Debating Christian Theism, edited by C.V. Meister, K. Sweis, and J.P. Moreland. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2017. “The Biblical Worldview Context for Religious Liberty.” In Religious Liberty: Its Nature, Scope, and Limits, edited by A.J.L. Menuge. London: Routledge. Corruption Perceptions Index 2017. 2018. Transparency International (February 21). www.transparency.org/news/feature/corruption_perceptions_index_2017. Council for Secular Humanism. 1980. “A Secular Humanist Declaration.” https:// secularhumanism.org/index.php/11 1980.

150  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf Cupitt, D. 2008. The Meaning of the West: An Apologia for Secular Christianity. London: SCM Press. Dawkins, R. 1995. River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life. New York, NY: Basic Books and Harper Collins. ———. 2003. A Devil’s Chaplain: Reflections on Hope, Lies, Science, and Love. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin. ———. 2008. The God Delusion. New York: Houghton Mifflin. ———. 2014. “Richard Dawkins Talks to Joan Bakewell.” YouTube (August 8). www. youtube.com/watch?v=daW8Yz3vbUg. Dawkins’ comments start 30:38 in the video. Dennett, D. 1995. Darwin’s Dangerous Idea. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. ———. 2006. Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon. New York, NY: Viking. Derrida, J. 2001. “To Forgive: The Unforgivable and Imprescriptable.” In Questioning God, edited by John D. Caputo, et al. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Dilley, A.P. 2014. “The World the Missionaries Made.” Christianity Today (January–February), 34–41. “Epistle from Mathetes to Diognetus.” (1885). In Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. 1., edited by Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson, and A. Cleveland Coxe. Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co. Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. Found at http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0101.htm. Edgerton, R. 1992. Sick Societies: Challenging the Myth of Primitive Harmony. New York, NY: Free Press. ESI [European Stability Initiative] Report. 2005. “ESI report: Islamic Calvinists. Change and conservatism in Central Anatolia.” (19 September), https://www.esi web.org/index.php?lang=en&id=224 Ferguson, N. 2012. Civilization: The West and the Rest. New York, NY: Penguin. Ferry, L. 2011. A Brief History of Thought: A Philosophical Guide to Living. New York, NY: Harper Perennial. Freedman, D.N., and M.J. McClymond. 2000. The Rivers of Paradise: Moses, Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad as Religious Founders. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Gledhill, R. 2010. “Scandal and Schism Leave Christians Praying for a ‘new Reformation.’ ” The Times (April 6). Found at www.thetimes.co.uk/article/ scandal-and-schism-leave-christians-praying-for-a-new-reformation-lflgv79r7js. Glendon, M.A. 2001. The World Made New: Eleanor Roosevelt and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. New York, NY: Random House. Gombrich, R., and G. Obeyesekere. 1988. Buddhism Transformed: Religious Change in Sri Lanka. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Habermas, J. 2006. Time of Transitions, translated by C. Cronin and M. Penske. Cambridge: Polity Press. Harrison, L. 2011. “Do Some Religions Do Better Than Others?” In The Hidden Form of Capital: Spiritual Influences in Societal Progress, edited by Peter Berger and Gordon Redding. New York, NY: Anthem Press. ———. 2013. Jews, Confucians, and Protestants: Cultural Capital and the End of Multiculturalism. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Holland, T. 2016. “Why I Was Wrong about Christianity.” New Statesman (14 September). www.newstatesman.com/politics/religion/2016/09/tom-hollandwhy-i-was-wrong-about-christianity. Knapton, S. 2017. “Richard Dawkins: Religious Education Is Crucial for British School Children.” (June 11). www.telegraph.co.uk/science/2017/06/11/richarddawkins-religious-education-crucial-british-schoolchildren/.

Another dimension of the moral argument 151 Kristellar, P.O. 1961. Renaissance Thought: The Classic, Scholastic, and Humanistic Strains. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Landes, D. 1999. The Wealth and Poverty of Nations: Why Some Are So Rich and Some So Poor. London: W.W. Norton. Lecky, W.E.H. 1890. History of European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne, Vol. 2, 79–80. London: Longmans, Green, and Co. Ebook URL: www.gutenberg. org/files/39535/39535-h/39535-h.html. Lewy, G. 1996. Why America Needs Religion. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Mangalwadi, V. 2012. The Book That Made Your World. Nashville: Thomas Nelson. Meeks, W.A. 2003. The First Urban Christians. New Haven: Yale University Press. Nolan, P. and G. Lenski. 2015. Human Societies: An Introduction to Macrosociology. 12th ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Noll, M. 2009. “Science, Religion, and A.D. White: Seeking Peace in the ‘Warfare Between Science and Theology’.” In The Frederick C. Wood Lecture. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. https://biologos.org/uploads/projects/noll_scholarly_essay2.pdf. Peyrefitte, A. 1986. The Trouble with France. Washington Square and New York, NY: New York University Press. Pinker, S. 2011. The Better Angels of Our Nature. New York, NY: Viking Penguin. Ram, N. ed. 2008. Ambedkar, Dalits, and Buddhism: Collection of Dr. Ambedkar Memorial Annual Lectures. New Delhi: Dr. Ambedkar Chair in Sociology Jawaharlal Nehru University in collaboration with Manak Publications. Rose, D. 2014. The Protestant’s Dilemma: How the Reformation’s Shocking Consequences Point to the Truth of Catholicism. San Diego: Catholic Answers Press. Russell, B. 1963. “A Free Man’s Worship.” In Mysticism and Logic and Other Essays. London: Allen & Unwin. Sangrula, S. 2014. “War on Social Evils: Interfaith Alliance to Take on the Ills of Society.” Republica. Accessed 30 June 2014. www.my republica.com/portal/ index.php? action=news_details&news_id=78090. Schmidt, A. 2004. How Christianity Changed the World. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids: Zondervan ———. 2011. “Slavery, Abolition of.” In The Encyclopedia of Christian Civilization, edited by G.T. Kurian. Oxford: Blackwell. doi:10.1002/9780470670606. wbecc1268. Searle, J.R. 2007. Freedom and Neurobiology. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Sangharakshita. 1992. The FWBO and ‘Protestant Buddhism’ An Affirmation and a Protest. London: Windhorse Publications. Sharma, J. 2013. Cosmic Love and Human Apathy: Swami Vivekananda’s Restatement of Religion. New Delhi: HarperCollins India. Stackhouse, M.L. 2004. “A Christian Perspective on Human Rights.” Society 41 (2): 23–28. Stark, R. 2005. The Victory of Reason. New York, NY: Random House. Stewart, B. 2004. “On the Front Lines.” Christianity.ca (12 May). Galesburg, IL: Address at Knox College. www.christianity.ca/page.aspx?pid=11235. Van der Veer, P. 2014. The Modern Spirit of Asia: The Spiritual and the Secular in China and India. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Vanhoozer, K. 2016. Biblical Authority after Babel: Retrieving the Solas in the Spirit of Mere Protestant Christianity. Grand Rapids: Zondervan. Waldron, J. 2002. God, Locke, and Equality: Christian Foundations of John Locke’s Political Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

152  Paul Copan and Thom Wolf White, L. 1978. Medieval Religion and Technology. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wolf, T. 2011a. “Comenius and Savitribai Phule.” The Journal of Applied Christian Leadership 5 (2): 78–104. https://digitalcommons.andrews.edu/jacl/vol5/iss2/6. ———. 2011b. Dr. Ambedkar’s J-shaped Buddhism. New Delhi: Forward Press and University Institute. ———. 2012a. “The Geo Zones.” The Swallen Lectures (Lecture 2), Andrews University, Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University. ———. 2012b. “WV3: Worldvoice, Worldview, and Worldvenue.” In Social Change and Development: A Research Template, 13–23. New Delhi: University Institute. ———. 2014. Social Development in and Its Implications for the Indian Social System: A WV3 Case Study of Mahatma Jotirao Phule, Plenary Lecture. The National Seminar on Globalization and Social Development in India: Issues and Challenges. New Delhi: The Indian Institute of Public Administration. New Delhi: University Institute. ———. 2016. “Development and Its Implications for the Indian Social System: A WV3 Case Study of Jotirao Phule.” Comparative Civilizations Review 74 (74), Article 4. https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/ccr/vol74/iss74/4. ———. 2018. “Religious Non-freedom Traditions and the Lack of Universal Education in the Indian Social System.” In Religious Liberty: Its Nature, Scope, and Limits, edited by Angus Menuge, 190–209. London: Routledge. Woodberry, R.D. 2012. “The Missionary Roots of Liberal Democracy.” American Political Science Review 106: 244–274. Wright, N.T. 2013. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. Minneapolis: Fortress.

11 Moral strangers as co-laborers in the fields of justice Rico Vitz

1. Introduction Members of first-world countries are deeply divided about the moral status of a wide range of hot-button issues concerning human nature and human well-being. They disagree, for example, about the moral status of performing elective abortions, euthanizing infants with disabilities, performing sexual reassignment surgeries on adolescents, committing suicide, euthanizing people who are terminally ill, using abortifacient contraceptives, engaging in oral sex, engaging in anal sex, and so on. The depth of these disagreements is particularly clear when one considers the contrasting moral visions of contemporary atheists,1 on the one hand, and faithful members of traditional religions, on the other—such as Orthodox Jews, Orthodox Christians, traditional Roman Catholics, faithful Muslims, conservative Protestants, and so forth.2 To many people, these disagreements seem irresolvable. For instance, when I have conversations with students in my general education classes or with people outside of the academy, I frequently encounter rather skeptical, if not outright cynical, attitudes about ethical debates. Given that I’m a professor who teaches courses in ethics, you might find it surprising for me to admit this, but in all honesty, I find myself becoming rather sympathetic to their skepticism. So that you don’t get the wrong idea, let me explain what I mean. It’s not that I doubt that there are ethical truths, or what philosophers call “moral facts.” Nor is it that I doubt that people can be warranted in maintaining their ethical beliefs. What I find myself coming to doubt is that there is a way to establish a consensus about certain kinds of contentious moral issues, given the current state of moral discourse. The problem is not simply with the popular moral discourse of the public square but also with the professional moral discourse of the academy. Philosophical reasoning has been exceptionally valuable in many ways, but it has not proven itself to be especially useful for generating moral consensus. On any of the hot-button issues of the day that I mentioned earlier, one can find incredibly intelligent, seemingly well-intended philosophers arguing on each side of the issue. The debates prompted by this lack of consensus among philosophers are certainly interesting, and in many ways, they can be helpful (at the very least) in exposing the blind spots people have to the positions

154  Rico Vitz with which they disagree. Nonetheless, philosophers clearly seem unable or unwilling to reach consensus on a wide variety of important moral issues. In fact, the depth of the problem is even more radical. Not only is there no consensus among philosophers on many of the socially and politically important issues of the day, there isn’t even a consensus among philosophers about which theoretical framework we should use to try to establish a consensus. Some argue that virtue ethics provides the proper framework. Others argue that it is natural law theory, or deontology, or utilitarianism, or some other type of ethical system altogether.3 Given that philosophers, the alleged experts in the field of ethics, can’t deliberate and speak in a unified voice on some of the most prominent issues of our time, it is understandable that “ordinary people” would be skeptical about ethical debates. Frankly, the more time I spend in the field, the less confident I am that philosophers will be able to reach consensus on these kinds of issues any time soon, if at all. So, let’s be honest. Many people, including me and maybe you, are skeptical about the prospects of contemporary moral discourse. Faced with this kind of challenge, what should we do? More specifically, for the purposes of this volume, what should contemporary atheists and faithful members of traditional religions do, especially in their relationships with one another? In this chapter, I am going to take an approach that I hope those who sympathize with contemporary atheism will appreciate. I am going to adopt something akin to a kind of reconciling strategy used by my favorite, oldfashioned atheist, David Hume. In his work, Hume frequently adopts a twopart process in addressing a number of philosophical challenges. In the first part, he explains why we are unable to resolve a given problem by means of reason. In the second part, he offers an alternative strategy for addressing the problem. In what follows, I am going to employ a similar procedure. In Section 2, I will argue that there is little hope, in our current cultural climate, that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians can come to consensus on principles that will help us resolve our differences regarding contemporary hot-button social issues.4 In Section 3, I will argue that despite this fact, contemporary atheists and traditional Christians can and ought to form pragmatic alliances to work for the common good, at least on those moral projects in which we can roughly agree on what we ought to do, even if we can’t ultimately agree on why we ought to do it. In Section 4, I will conclude by offering a few final thoughts on “true religion,” “true philosophy,” and an alternative vision of the future for contemporary atheists and traditional religious believers.

2. Moral strangers at an argumentative impasse 2.1. Contemporary atheism and “commonsense” moral principles Over the course of the last few decades, a variety of academics have been trying to make atheism a more visible, accessible, and appealing social

Moral strangers as co-laborers 155 movement. A number of these people don’t seem to share my skepticism about moral discourse. According to them, scientific reasoning can help us make progress toward establishing consensus in ethics,5 and atheism can offer clear and compelling moral guidance in the form of intuitively plausible moral maxims, like the principle of benevolence (e.g., “do good unto others”) and the principle of non-maleficence (e.g., “do not harm others”). For instance, the so-called “father of Secular Humanism,”6 Paul Kurtz, claims, “Morality is deeply rooted in the ‘common moral decencies’ (these relate to moral behavior in society) and the ‘ethical excellences’ (as they apply to a person’s own life).”7 Among the principal “common moral decencies” he cites are a version of the principle of benevolence and a version of the principle of non-maleficence, which he refers to as “nonmalfeasance.”8 Richard Shoenig offers a similar proposal consisting of what he describes as an “optimal set” of seven moral principles. The first is a version of the principle of non-maleficence, which he calls the “principle of respect for the life of others.” The last is a version of the principle of beneficence, which he calls the “principle of assistance.”9 Appeals to such principles are grounded in two ideas, as suggested in the work of Sam Harris: namely, that (1) the concepts of “flourishing” and “well-being” are the ultimate foundations of our morality and that (2) these concepts are clear and comprehensible by scientific reasoning.10 In essence, one key feature of the set of atheistic principles that is supposed to offer clear and compelling moral guidance is a pair of principles that identify moral and immoral actions (e.g., helpful actions are good, harmful actions are bad) and, by implication, virtuous and vicious character traits (e.g., dispositions to help are good, dispositions to harm are bad). Likewise, those ways of life that encourage moral actions and help to cultivate virtuous character traits are respectful, praiseworthy, and ought to be supported, whereas those that encourage immoral actions and help to cultivate vicious character traits are abusive, blameworthy, and ought to be opposed. At first glance, such proposals might seem to be entirely unobjectionable. What sane, rational, and minimally decent human being would either oppose helpful actions and the prosocial dispositions that cause them, or support hurtful actions and the antisocial dispositions that cause them? Thus, at least at first glance, the appeals of contemporary atheists to the rhetoric of beneficence and non-maleficence might seem rather promising. In fact, it might seem that any rational person of goodwill should accept such principles and, consequently, that the moral guidance offered by contemporary atheism provides reliable guidance for solving moral problems and for resolving moral debates. Therefore, continuing this line of reasoning, just as scientifically minded doctors of diverse backgrounds can agree that they ought to help and ought not to harm their patients, so scientifically minded citizens of diverse backgrounds can agree that they ought to help and ought not to harm one another. And just as scientifically minded doctors of diverse backgrounds can work together to solve problems and to settle debates regarding health care, so can scientifically minded citizens of

156  Rico Vitz diverse backgrounds work together to solve problems and resolve debates concerning moral issues.11 Moreover, insofar as traditional Christians are motivated to engage in public policy discussions for the purpose of maintaining social order, protecting individual rights, and promoting the common good, it might seem that traditional Christians ought to accept, at least for the purposes of public discourse, the appeals of contemporary atheists to the rhetoric of beneficence and non-maleficence. 2.2. Problems with the “commonsense” moral principles of contemporary atheism As the old cliché goes, however, “if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.” And so it is with the alleged promise of “commonsense” moral principles. The problems with appealing to principles such as these in an effort to establish moral consensus start to become clear when we attempt to put such principles to use. Consider two examples, each of which I will introduce with a question. First, is it harmful for parents to provide a traditional Christian education for their children? Richard Dawkins apparently thinks so, as do a number of other contemporary atheists.12 In fact, some think traditional Christian education is so harmful that the coercive power of the government ought to be employed to curtail it. With this end in mind, Jamie Wallis submitted a petition to the prime minister of the United Kingdom in 2006, urging the government to make it illegal for parents or guardians to provide religious education to their children. Sharing the concern, Dawkins initially supported Wallis’s efforts. He subsequently retracted his support for the petition but not his claim that parents harm their children by providing them with a traditional Christian education.13 Second, is it harmful for parents to teach their children traditional Christian moral views about sexual behavior, and if so, might the government need to intervene? Michael Ruse seems to suggest so. He says, “[I]f parents are teaching their children views that could be harmful . . . intervention might be called for.” The example he cites in this context is the possibility of parents teaching their children “that women are naturally suited to be multiple wives in a polygamous marriage,” but parents’ views on religious polygamy are not the only ones that might invite government intervention, on Ruse’s account. Because, on his view, traditional religious views on sexual morality lead to “unhappiness and regressive social policies,” traditional Christian moral education seems to be harmful and thus might require government regulation.14 For the sake of perspective, we should note that claiming that the minds of traditional religious believers are disordered and that the teachings of traditional religions are harmful is not a new phenomenon. In fact, such claims have been a staple of atheistic apologetics for centuries. Hume, for instance, claims that religious “superstition” corrupts peoples’ cognitive and affective

Moral strangers as co-laborers 157 faculties—and, consequently, their moral and aesthetic sensibilities.15 Similarly, he suggests that people’s humane, moral sentiments are capable of being perverted, diseased, or disordered.16 He acknowledges that the causes of these perversions could be either philosophical or religious, though he says rather famously that, as a rule, the errors of religion are dangerous, whereas the errors of philosophy are only ridiculous.17 Essentially, Hume’s concern, like the concerns of his contemporary atheistic followers, is that “the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion”—especially of Christianity as he understands it—“stupify the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper.”18 In essence, there is a rather traditional atheistic argument utilizing the principle of non-maleficence that runs as follows. Other things being equal, human beings are naturally disposed to develop both healthy bodies and healthy minds. Just as failing to feed children an adequately nutritious diet and failing to provide them with adequate medical care impede the development of their natural dispositions to have healthy bodies, so too providing children with traditional Christian religious and moral education impedes the development of their natural dispositions to have sound minds and humane hearts. Thus, just as failing to provide adequate nutrition and medical care is harmful to children, so too is providing traditional Christian religious and moral education, in so far as each minimally impedes the proper development of beneficial dispositions of human nature. Therefore, it is morally impermissible to provide children not only with inadequate nutrition and medical care but also with traditional Christian religious and moral education. Traditional Christians obviously reject this argument, but why? Assuming they accept the principle of beneficence and the principle of non-maleficence, why would they object? How could they object? Notice two points about the argument outlined earlier. First, the analogy at the heart of the argument is inherently teleological—that is, it appeals to the proper function of a human being—or, at the very least, to the proper function of certain parts of a human being. Second, the explicit appeal to the notion of “harm”— and, thus, the implicit appeal to the principle of non-maleficence—relies on a distinctively atheistic conception of human teleology. Once we recognize these points, we can see why traditional Christians reject the argument: namely, they reject the atheistic conception of human teleology on which it relies. Thus, at its root, the principal point of disagreement isn’t about intuitively plausible principles in ethics. Rather, it is about deeply contentious propositions in metaphysics concerning the meaning and purpose of human nature.19 In short, the underlying problems with the principle of benevolence and the principle of non-maleficence become clear when these “commonsense” moral maxims are put to use. Such principles appear to be universally appealing until we recognize that they rely on teleologically loaded terms that are grounded in contentious metaphysical assumptions. Although it

158  Rico Vitz might seem at first glance that there is a consensus about the truth of these “commonsense” moral principles, in reality and on closer inspection, there is not. The mere appearance of consensus results from the fact that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians have different understandings of the meanings of the teleologically loaded terms on which the principles rely and, consequently, on the meaning of the principles themselves. So, can we generate a consensus among so-called “people of goodwill” that it is morally good to “help” others and morally bad to “harm” them? Well, we can certainly generate a shallow and largely useless consensus about the rhetoric of beneficence and non-maleficence. But in the absence of a consensus on the underlying metaphysical concepts, we can’t generate a consensus on meaningful moral principles that provide compelling guidance both for individual living and for public policy decisions.20 2.3. The fundamental problem One might wonder what the fundamental source of these problems is and whether there is hope for developing a shared understanding of these “commonsense” moral principles. At first glance, it might seem that the fundamental source of these problems is that atheists are committed to claiming that our universe is one without teleology, but this is not the fundamental problem. In fact, it’s really not a problem at all. It’s true that some contemporary atheists speak of our universe, both of the whole and of its constituent parts, as one without any ends or goals or purposes. Dawkins’s claim that there is “no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference” in nature certainly seems to suggest such a claim.21 For centuries, however, those who are philosophically informed and careful with their rhetoric have offered far more nuanced views, according to which teleology is compatible with, if not essential for, naturalism. This is true of ancient philosophers like Aristotle, medieval natural law theorists like Grotius,22 early modern philosophers like Spinoza,23 and contemporary naturalists with similar sympathies, such as Paul Hoffman and others.24 So, the fundamental problem is not that atheists are committed to claiming that our universe is one without teleology. Rather, the fundamental problem concerns how contemporary atheism could offer a conception of teleology that explains not merely how human beings are but how they ought to be. In other words, the fundamental problem concerns the way that contemporary atheism accounts for the kind of normative teleology implicit in moral maxims like the principle of beneficence and the principle of non-maleficence. Some traditional Christians might doubt that atheism has the resources for developing a conception of normative teleology, but this doubt isn’t wellfounded. The truth is that the prospects for developing atheistic accounts of normative teleology are actually quite good, and a procedure for doing so is actually rather simple. Consider how a naturalist like Aristotle, the locus classicus of normative teleology, develops his account. According to

Moral strangers as co-laborers 159 Aristotle, the function [telos] of a kind of thing can be determined by identifying a virtuous, or excellent, member of that kind.25 In other words, on an Aristotelian account, exemplars provide the standard by which we can explain how human beings ought to function. Now, this procedure is not restricted to a distinctively Aristotelian account of biology, from which one can develop normative concepts in medicine, like “health” and “disease.” Nor is it limited to a distinctively Aristotelian account of value theory, from which one can develop normative concepts in ethics, like “virtue” and “vice.”26 So, in principle, it should be no more difficult for contemporary atheists to employ such a strategy by appealing to their own moral exemplar(s) than it is for Aristotle to use it by appealing to his “GreatSouled Man,” or for Plato to use it by appealing to his “Just Man,” or for Confucius to use it by appealing to his “Sage.”27 What’s more, this procedure for explaining normative teleology is not one that is merely available to and employed by classical Greek, Roman, and Chinese philosophers. It is the same explanatory procedure that traditional Christians use. Who, on the traditional Christian account, is the primary moral exemplar of human nature? It is Jesus Christ, the “last Adam,”28 who became incarnate, possessing both two natures and two wills, divine and human.29 Thus, on the traditional Christian account, Jesus Christ is both fully God and fully man and hence is the principal moral exemplar of human nature. At this point, the fundamental problem should begin to come clearly into focus. It is not that traditional Christians can develop an account of normative teleology and contemporary atheists can’t. Rather, the problem is that traditional Christians and contemporary atheists have, at the roots of their explanations of normative teleology, fundamentally different conceptions of the primary moral exemplars of human nature. Moreover, given the doctrinal commitments of traditional Christianity, the traditional Christian view of the primary moral exemplar is irreformable.30 Thus, barring fundamental, identity-changing moral conversions either of contemporary atheists or of traditional Christians, it seems that there is not and could not be consensus between the two. Therefore, it would appear that members of these groups are and always ought to be “moral strangers”—that is, people with such fundamental differences in their respective understandings of human nature and, hence, of the moral life that they cannot resolve “important moral controversies either though sound rational argument or through an appeal to jointly recognized moral authorities.”31 In fact, in all honesty, barring such moral conversions, it’s unlikely that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians could even become “moral acquaintances” who could “deliberate together with an eye to peaceful collaboration (in the short term) and a common, universal appreciation of ethical truths (in the long run).”32 Thus, among contemporary atheists and traditional Christians, it seems unlikely that there could be a common consensus concerning controversial moral disputes.

160  Rico Vitz

3. Moral strangers as co-laborers So, where does this leave us? I would like to suggest that this leaves us in a more sober, more realistic, and ultimately more hopeful position. How could that be possible if contemporary atheists and traditional Christians are not even in a position to become “moral acquaintances”? Look again at the description of “moral acquaintances” that I just mentioned. It includes two conditions: the potential both of (1) deliberating together with an eye to peaceful collaboration and of (2) coming to a common, universal appreciation of moral principles for the purpose of resolving moral controversies. To say that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians couldn’t realize both of these conditions doesn’t mean that they couldn’t realize at least one of them. People can be moral strangers without being moral enemies. To the extent that the line of reasoning that I have described earlier is correct, it implies that the second condition will not be satisfied and, thus, that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians will not come to a common, universal agreement about moral principles for the purpose of resolving moral controversies. That should be neither particularly surprising nor particularly disappointing. Talk is cheap. The important point is that the line of reasoning that I have described implies neither that the first condition can’t be satisfied nor that contemporary atheists and traditional Christians shouldn’t strive for peaceful collaboration. In fact, that is exactly the point at which contemporary atheists and traditional Christians ought to invest more of our energies. Just as Orthodox Christians and Roman Catholics can form what Metropolitan Hilarion calls a “strategic alliance” to combat what both recognize as great moral evils,33 so too can traditional Christians and contemporary atheists form such a “strategic alliance” to combat what both recognize as great moral evils. The bottom line is this: fundamental moral consensus among contemporary atheists and traditional Christians is not and likely will not be forthcoming, but the condition of so many people in such dire need demands a greater quantity and quality of collaboration. Not only is there a need for fostering such alliances, there is precedent and opportunity. Just as we have seen inter-religious strategic alliances for the purpose of preserving legal protections of religious liberty, as in the case of Beckett Law, and for the purpose of providing religious and moral witness, as in the case of “Evangelicals and Catholics Together” (1994) or the “Manhattan Declaration” (2009), so too we have seen inter-religious strategic alliances for the purpose of providing humanitarian relief. To take but one example from my own religious affiliation, International Orthodox Christian Charities partners with Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists, the Salvation Army, and Jews. What’s more, such alliances are not limited to cooperation among members of various religions. For instance, International Orthodox Christian Charities also works with the Red Cross, Habitat for Humanity, Mercy Corps International, Rotary International, and a number of other nonreligious relief agencies. Thus, contemporary atheists who work with these agencies might easily find themselves co-laboring with

Moral strangers as co-laborers 161 traditional Christians and members of other traditional religions for the well-being of those they serve. Thus, there is a compelling alternative to investing such great shares of our resources in more rounds of academic debates—or, all too often, forensic theater, which tends to bring far more heat than light. Instead, contemporary atheists and traditional Christians, as well as members of other traditional religions, ought to commit themselves to laboring, side by side, with humanitarian agencies and similar kinds of social groups. Will we find ourselves on opposite sides of some social causes? Yes, of course, but this should not keep us from working together when we can. What’s more, if we’re truly serious about what we say concerning the need to relieve what we both recognize as unjust suffering, then we must seek out such opportunities. Redirecting our energies to co-laboring for justice34 on behalf of those in need would almost certainly have a more meaningful outcome for those who are suffering, but you might be wondering, “What does any of this have to do with philosophy?” This is an important question with a rather easy and even more important answer. For the sake of brevity, let me highlight just two points. The first point is that philosophy isn’t simply the kind of professional occupation that it has become in the last century or so. At its core, it is (or, at least, it traditionally has been), an art of living that manifests itself in social practice. Perhaps in the more familiar case of Socrates, the chief social activities of a philosopher were examining oneself and questioning the beliefs of others, but in a remarkably wide variety of cases, the social activities of philosophy are of quite different sorts. In many cases, people’s philosophical activities involved sustained efforts to transform their souls—or, if you prefer, their characters—by means of ritual practice, as in the case of Confucian philosophers as well as in the cases of medieval Jewish, Christian, and Islamic philosophers. In many other cases, people’s philosophical activities involved not only theorizing but more importantly engaging in social practices designed to promote the common good, like politics, medicine, and education. So, the idea that we should redirect a sizable portion of our energies away from academic debates and forensic theater to social practices is not particularly novel. In fact, it’s inspired by a very traditional conception of philosophy spanning a vast array of nations over a wide variety of ages. The second point, which is related to the first, concerns the significance of personal encounters for moral epistemology. For many people, it is, for example, loving a disabled child or even seeing the development of one’s child in utero that has a stronger influence on a person’s moral knowledge concerning elective abortion than witnessing a philosophical debate about the topic. Similarly, it’s the experience of laboring for justice alongside someone with whom one has deep moral disagreements that has a stronger influence on one’s ability to see that person as a source of reliable testimony concerning morality than participating in a philosophical debate with that person. In essence (here comes the Humean move that I mentioned in the introduction), we might be far more likely to arrive at a point of shared moral agreement

162  Rico Vitz not principally by using reason in the context of academic debate or forensic theater, but by participating in shared social practices of laboring for justice. In other words, the process of discovering moral truths may be much more like a “moral conversion” or a “transformative experience” than like testing a scientific hypothesis or working out a geometric proof. Moreover, such a process is far more likely to turn moral strangers into genuine friends.

4. Closing thoughts Let me conclude by returning to where I began. I opened this chapter by noting that the current political climates around the world make it clear that “members of first-world countries disagree deeply about the moral status of a wide range of hot-button issues concerning human nature and human well-being.” That was a safe place to begin: namely, with a claim that’s not only true but obvious. Not only that, in the context of a discussion about moral disagreements between contemporary atheists and traditional religious believers, it was a pretty predictable place to begin, and the discussion that followed was a pretty predictable way to proceed: namely, by analyzing the theoretical points on which we differ. But we don’t have to begin there, and we don’t have to proceed that way. We don’t have to begin by highlighting the points on which we disagree. We could begin by highlighting the points on which we agree. For instance, we could begin by emphasizing our mutual concern to look after orphans and widows, to care for those who are naked and those who are hungry, to provide aid for immigrants and for refugees, and so forth. And we don’t have to proceed by analyzing our theoretical differences. We could proceed by committing to being co-laborers for justice. For instance, we could commit to working side by side with relief agencies in the cities in which we live. We could commit to combining our intellectual abilities and practical efforts to lobby for changes in public policy to promote justice.35 In short, to borrow an image from a classic parable, we could choose to get our hands dirty by stopping to care for those who are suffering rather than opting to walk on by while we deliberate about what justice requires. According to St. James the Just, this is what “true religion” requires (Jas 1:27). Insofar as we can conceive of a “true philosophy” or a “true science of morality” with similar requirements, we can conceive of an alternative and more humane mode of moral interaction among contemporary atheists and traditional religious believers.36

Notes 1 Throughout this chapter, I will be using the phrase “contemporary atheists,” and ones like it, to refer to the kind of popular, evangelical atheism that has emerged in the past few decades—e.g., both the “Secular Humanists” of the late twentieth century and the “New Atheists” of the twenty-first century. 2 The same depth of disagreement does not exist between contemporary atheists and religious “progressives” or between contemporary atheists and religious atheists—e.g., Spong 2001; Schaeffer 2014; Vattimo 2004, and others.

Moral strangers as co-laborers 163 3 I will be focusing principally on social discourse concerning ethics, but similar issues apply to the discourse of political philosophy. For instance, some political philosophers argue that political activities that employ the coercive power of the government require a consensus derived from “public reasons,” which any citizen could endorse (see, e.g., Rawls 1971, 1996). Others argue that just use of the coercive power of the government allows for and, in some cases, may actually require “non-public reasons,” such as those from various citizens’ religious traditions (see, e.g., Gaus and Vallier 2009; Vallier 2011, 2014). 4 For the sake of argument, I am going to focus primarily on the relationship between contemporary atheists and traditional Christians, but most of the essential details of my argument should apply to relationships between contemporary atheists and members of other traditional religions as well. 5 Cp. American Humanist Association 1973; Harris 2010a; Pew Research Center 2016. 6 This is how he is described in his obituary on his website: http://paulkurtz.net/ biography.htm (accessed 5 January 2017). 7 Essentially, the strategy seems to be something of a blend of natural law theory, rule utilitarianism, and principlism. 8 Kurtz 2002. 9 Shoenig 2013. 10 See Harris 2010a, 2010b, 2011, 2016; see also Harris 2006. 11 This line of reasoning either fails to notice or intentionally turns a blind eye to the challenges in bioethics and philosophy of medicine for clearly articulating key concepts like “health” and “disease”—see, e.g., Engelhardt 1974; Boorse 1975; Sulmasy 2005. In light of these challenges, the degree of contemporary atheists’ confidence in the ease of appealing to “flourishing” and “well-being” to resolve contentious moral disputes is too strong. 12 See, e.g., Dawkins 2006a. 13 For a summary of Dawkins’s steps and missteps on this issue, see Dawkins 2006b. See also Myers’s 2006 summary of Dawkins’s involvement with the petition, as well as Dawkins’s 2006c comments on the controversy. 14 Ruse 2014. Recent legislation in California and elsewhere regarding hot-button issues concerning sexual ethics are examples of political applications of “commonsense moral principles,” as interpreted by contemporary atheists like Dawkins and Ruse. These applications are “political” in the sense that they employ the coercive power of the government against certain institutions and practices that uphold traditional Jewish, Christian, and Muslim sexual ethics. But such applications need not be political (in this sense)—they could simply be social, as was the case when Brandon Eich was pressured to step down as the CEO of Mozilla because he had made a financial contribution to California’s 2008 ballot proposition that restricted marriage to the union of one man and one woman—see, e.g., Balise 2014. Similarly, they could be social, as was the case at an unnamed university in which the graduate students opposed a finalist for a job in the department because “the candidate had expressed in online fora the view that homosexual acts and premarital sex are immoral”—see, e.g., Weinberg 2015. 15 For example, in both the Treatise and the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, he suggests that people’s “natural understanding” is capable of being perverted by “a strict adherence to a system” (see, e.g., T 3.3.4.4; EPM 9.1).   In this chapter, I use a standard style for references to Hume’s works, as follows: • A Treatise of Human Nature (Hume 2000): T, followed by the book, section, chapter, and paragraph numbers • An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (Hume 1999a): EHU, followed by the section and paragraph numbers

164  Rico Vitz • An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (Hume 1999b): EPM, followed by the section and paragraph numbers • Essays Moral Political and Literary (Hume 1987): EMPL, followed by the page number 16 See, e.g., EPM 5.40; cf. EMPL 169–170, 239–241, 233–234; T 3.1.2.8; EHU 2.1, 9.9; EMPL 159–180 and 226–249. 17 T 1.4.7.13. 18 EPM 9.1, 3. 19 As others have rightly noted, this is a fundamental problem with Harris’s methodology. Although science may be sufficient for measuring many aspects of human well-being, it is insufficient for settling metaphysical questions concerning what human well-being is. In other words, when it comes to ethics, science is an inadequate tool for determining what needs to be measured. 20 The problem here isn’t unique to the kind of moral principles endorsed by contemporary atheism. It is, in fact, a problem for a number of moral principles, including, e.g., the first precept of Aquinas’s Natural Law Theory and the second formulation of Kant’s Categorical Imperative. In each case, the rhetoric of the principle seems intuitively clear, until one begins to seek out the meaning of the principle and its application. 21 Dawkins 1995, 133, emphasis mine. 22 See, e.g., Grotius 2005, 89; see also the works of Hugo of St. Victor, Gregori of Remini, and Gabriel Biel, as noted by Suarez 1872, 97. 23 Regarding Spinoza’s conception of teleology, see Carriero 2005; Garrett 1999. 24 See, e.g., Hoffman 2008. 25 See, e.g., Aristotle 1941, Nicomachean Ethics I.7.xiv. 26 For an interesting discussion of the significance of moral exemplars in contemporary moral theorizing, see Zagzebski 2004. For related discussions concerning similar procedures for understanding normative concepts in medicine (e.g., health, disease, etc.), see Boorse 1975; Sulmasy 2005. 27 As presented, e.g., in the Nicomachean Ethics, in the Republic, and in The Analects.   An alternative strategy would be to ground the normativity of some principles upon some further principles that do not employ teleologically loaded terms. Such proposals, however, are bound to appeal to normative teleology, at least implicitly, to explain, e.g., the proper function of the moral sense (e.g., Hume) or of reason (e.g., Kant, Mill). 28 Cf. 1 Cor 15: 22ff; Rom 5: 12–21. 29 Cp. Schaff 2009. 30 This is also true of the secondary moral exemplars of human nature: namely, the saints. Space restrictions prevent me from explaining the significance of these exemplars in more detail, so I will simply note the following: it is the identity and irreformabilty of the primary and secondary exemplars of human nature that constitute the essence and fix the breadth of the gap between contemporary atheists and traditional Christians. 31 Engelhardt 2000, xxi; cp. Engelhardt 2014. 32 Trotter 2010, 204. 33 Alfeyev 2015. 34 For more academically inclined readers, three points of clarification might be helpful here. First, I am using the term “justice” to refer to something approaching the state of affairs embodied in the kingdom of God, in which people live according to Christ’s second love command, “love thy neighbor as thyself” (cp. Matt 22:34–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 10:25–37). Thus, I am using the term “justice” in a decidedly anti-Rawlsian sense—one that is metaphysical and not

Moral strangers as co-laborers 165 (necessarily) political, in the sense that justice requires principles concerning the coercive powers of the government.   Second, insofar as I am advocating for a kind of social engagement that some might view as broadly political, in the sense that this engagement requires public activities that affect the polis, I obviously reject the notion that people’s political activities must be justified by secular reasons that any citizen could endorse. Thus, I reject Rawls’s “duty of civility” (see, e.g., Rawls 1971, 1996).   Third, insofar as the view that I develop in this chapter is both social and religious rather than political, in the sense that justice requires principles concerning the coercive powers of the government, it has affinities with the views of certain philosophers and theologians who have expressed skepticism about contemporary liberal democracy, like Engelhardt (see, e.g., 2000, 2014) and Hauerwas (see, e.g., 1981, 1991, cp. 2001). However, even if certain aspects of my view are inconsistent with the kind of public-reason liberalism advanced by Rawls and others, the conception of “strategic alliances” that I endorse is compatible with other conceptions of public-reason liberalism, like those advanced by Gaus and Vallier (see, e.g., Gaus and Vallier 2009; Vallier 2011, 2014). 35 Interestingly, as I worked to complete a final set of revisions of this chapter, examples of this kind of work manifested itself across the United States, as a wide variety of atheists, faithful members of traditional religions (e.g., Orthodox Christians, traditional Roman Catholics, etc.), and many others gathered in a number of cities to march for more just and humane immigration policies. 36 I would like to thank Christian Miller, Chris Tweedt, Jeremy Neill, Jordan Wessling, Josh Rasmussen, Kevin Kinghorn, Kevin Vallier, Liz Jackson, Logan Paul Gage, Philip Swenson, Sam Schmitt, and Tom Ward for providing helpful critical feedback. I would also like to thank Amy Harms for providing valuable research assistance.

References Alfeyev, Metropolitan Hilarion. 2015. “Is There a Future for Ecumenism?” Accessed 11 February 2015, www.pravmir.com/future-ecumenism/ American Humanist Association. 1973. “Humanist Manifesto II.” Accessed 1 June 2016, http://americanhumanist.org/humanism/humanist_manifesto_ii Aristotle. 1941. “Nicomachean Ethics.” In The Basic Works of Aristotle, edited by Richard McKeon, 927–1112. New York, NY: Random House. Balise, Julie. 2014. “Mozilla CEO Brandon Eich Resigns.” SF Gate. Accessed 6 January 2017, http://blog.sfgate.com/techchron/2014/04/03/mozilla-ceo-brendaneich-resigns./ Boorse, Christopher. 1975. “On the Distinction between Disease and Illness.” Philosophy and Public Affairs 5: 49–68. Carriero, John. 2005. “Spinoza on Final Causality.” In Oxford Studies in Early Modern Philosophy, edited by Daniel Garber and Steven Nadler, Vol. 2, 105–147. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dawkins, Richard. 1995. River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life. New York, NY: Basic Books. ———. 2006a. “Richard Dawkins Catholic Child Abuse.” Accessed 11 February 2015, www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1iSxEtgEGs. ———. 2006b. “Divided by a Common Language: Richard Dawkins Clarifies His Position.” Original post by Nick Matzke. Accessed 11 February 2015, http://pan dasthumb.org/archives/2006/12/divided-by-a-co.html

166  Rico Vitz ———. 2006c. Comments 154 and 159. Ed Brayton. “Dawkins and the Religion Petition.” On Science Blogs: Dispatches from the Creation Wars. Accessed 11 February 2015, http://scienceblogs.com/dispatches/2006/12/29/dawkins-andthe-religion-petit/#comment-302272 Engelhardt, H. Tristram. 1974. “The Disease of Masturbation: Values and the Concept of Disease.” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 48 (2): 234–248. ———. 2000. The Foundations of Christian Bioethics. Lisse: Swetz and Zeitlinger. ———. 2014. After God: Morality and Bioethics in a Secular Age. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Garrett, Don. 1999. “Teleological Explanation in Spinoza and Early Modern Rationalism.” In New Essays on the Rationalists, edited by Charles Huenemann and Rocco J. Gennaro, 310–335. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Gaus, Gerald and Kevin Vallier. 2009. “The Roles of Religion in a Publicly Justified Polity: The Implications of Convergence, Asymmetry, and Political Institutions.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 35: 51–76. Grotius, H. 2005. The Rights of War and Peace, edited by Richard Tuck. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund. 3 vols. Accessed 10 March 2014 from the Online Library of Liberty, http://files.libertyfund.org/files/1425/1032-01_LFeBk.pdf Harris, Sam. 2006. Letter to a Christian Nation. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. ———. 2010a. The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values. New York, NY: Free Press. ———. 2010b. “Science Can Answer Moral Questions.” Accessed 5 January 2017, www.ted.com/talks/sam_harris_science_can_show_what_s_right ———. 2011. “Who Says Science Has Nothing to Say about Morality: A Discussion between Sam Harris and Richard Dawkins.” Accessed 5 January 2017, www. youtube.com/watch?v=SF6BpLocHIg ———. 2016. “Deontologists are Covert Consequentialists.” Skeptic Magazine 21: 56–57. Hauerwas, Stanley. 1981. “The Church and Liberal Democracy: The Moral Limits of a Secular Polity.” In A Community of Character: Toward a Constructive Christian Social Ethic, 72–86. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. ———. 1991. After Christendom: How the Church is to Behave if Freedom, Justice, and a Christian Nation are Bad Ideas. Nashville, TN: Abingdon. ———. 2001. “Why the ‘Sectarian Temptation’ is a Misrepresentation: A Response to James Gustafson (1988).” In The Hauerwas Reader, edited by John Berkman and Michael Cartwright, 90–110. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hoffman, Paul. 2008. “Does Efficient Causation Presuppose Final Causation? Aquinas vs. Early Modern Mechanism.” In Metaphysics and the Good: Themes from the Philosophy of Robert Merrihew Adams, edited by Larry Jorgensen and Samuel Newlands, 295–312. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hume, D. 1987. Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary, edited by Eugene F. Miller. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund. ———. 1999a. An Enquiry Concerning Human Undersanding, edited by Tom L. Beauchamp. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1999b. An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, edited by Tom L. Beauchamp. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2000. A Treatise of Human Nature, edited by David Fate Norton and Mary J. Norton. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kurtz, Paul. 2002. “The Ethics of Humanism without Religion.” Free Inquiry 23: 1. Accessed 5 February 2015, www.secularhumanism.org/library/fi/kurtz_23_1_1.htm

Moral strangers as co-laborers 167 Myers, P.Z. 2006. “Never Let the Facts Get in the Way of Damning Dawkins.” Accessed 11 February 2015, http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2006/12/30/ never-let-the-facts-get-in-the Pew Research Center. 2016. “10 Facts about Atheists.” Accessed 1 June 2016, www. pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/06/01/10-facts-about-atheists/ Previously Accessed, http://old.richarddawkins.net/articles/477-divided-by-a-com mon-language-richard-dawkins-clarifies-his-position Rawls, John. 1971. A Theory of Justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ———. 1996. Political Liberalism. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Ruse, Michael. 2014. “The God Decision: Christian Parents Teach Their Children to Believe in God, Atheists Teach Them not to. Who is Doing the Right Thing?” Aeon. Accessed 5 February 2015, http://aeon.co/magazine/philosophy/ is-it-wrong-to-teach-children-to-believe-in-god Schaeffer, Frank. 2014. Why I am an Atheist Who Believes in God. North Charleston, SC: Createspace. Schaff, Philip. ed. 2009. The Seven Ecumenical Councils of the Undivided Church. In Early Church Fathers: Nicene & Post-Nicene Fathers. Series II. Vol. 14. Grand Rapids, MI: Christian Classics Ethereal Library. Original edition, Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1900. Shoenig, Richard. 2013. “Objective Ethics without Religion.” Accessed 5 February 2015, http://infidels.org/library/modern/richard_schoenig/objective-ethics.html Spong, John Shelby. 2001. A New Christianity for a New World. San Francisco: Harper. Suarez, Francisco. 1872. Tractatus de Legibus ac Deo Legislatore. Naples, Italy: Ex Typis Fibrenianis. Sulmasy, Daniel. 2005. “Diseases and Natural Kinds.” Theoretical Medicine and Bioethics 26: 487–513. Trotter, Griffin. 2010. “Is ‘Discursive Christian Bioethics’ and Oxymoron.” In At the Roots of Christian Bioethics: Critical Essays on the Thought of H. Tristram Engelhardt, Jr, edited by A. Iltis and M. Cherry, 203–227. Salem, MA: M & M Scrivener Press. Vallier, Kevin. 2011. “Against Public Reason’s Accessibility Requirement.” Journal of Moral Philosophy 8: 366–389. ———. 2014. Liberal Politics and Public Faith. London: Routledge. Vattimo, Gianni. 2004. Nihilism and Emancipation, edited by Santiago Zabala, translated by William McCuaig. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Weinberg, Justin. 2015. “Students Object to Job Candidate for Offensive Views.” Daily Nous. Accessed 6 January 2017, http://dailynous.com/2015/01/28/ students-protest-job-candidate-for-offensive-views. Zagzebski, Linda. 2004. Divine Motivation Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

12 Reflections on a secular foundation for religious liberty Hunter Baker

1. Introduction By its very nature, the idea of religious liberty stands for the importance of making room for religious pluralism, something believed by many in the past to present an unacceptable challenge to the political order of states. This value of necessity offered potential protection for atheists because it is not a large step to go from saying that various religious confessions should be allowed to exist to saying that various religious confessions and those who make no confession should be allowed to exist. The United States, with its federal separation of church and state enshrined in the Constitution through the “no religious test” clause1 and the establishment and free exercise clauses of the First Amendment, was a pioneer in accommodating religious pluralism. Rather than having a formally established religion, the new U.S. government refrained from dealing with the issue other than to remove itself from a debate already happening in the states where such establishment was dying organically. The establishment that had existed in the states, then, would not be supplanted or replaced by a church of the United States. In time, the Supreme Court used the Fourteenth Amendment to extend the ban on federal establishment to the states. As a result, many of the lighter remaining institutions of establishment, such as public school prayer and the reading of Scripture in public schools, fell before the court’s jurisprudence.2 So far, this story is one familiar to atheists and one they would generally cheer. After all, it is the story of how a modern nation divested itself of official Christianity and certainly more completely than our parent nation with its still lightly established Church of England. The tale I have told so far is primarily the story of the first two clauses I mentioned (no religious test and establishment), but there is another side to the coin. The First Amendment also contains the free exercise clause, which commits Congress and the states (through the action of the Fourteenth Amendment) to making no law that abridges the free exercise of religion. The clear implication is that laws must take account of free exercise. In other words, the amendment makes positive room for religious

A secular foundation for religious liberty 169 action. The same Supreme Court that struck down public school prayer and Bible reading required state governments to accommodate religious practices negatively affected by general laws, such as rules regarding unemployment support and requirements that children attend public school up to a certain age.3 If we were to draw a Venn diagram including American atheists and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), the two circles would not be in perfect alignment, with the smaller contained completely within the greater, but the two are not terrible proxies for each other. I make that point simply because the ACLU has been a defender of religious liberty and not only with regard to questions of establishment. As an example, they participated in legislative efforts to protect free exercise in the 1990s. Their involvement in the coalition that passed the Religious Freedom Restoration Act almost unanimously through Congress is an example. It might be fair to infer, then, that atheists (to the extent they have identified with the program of the ACLU) have seen the wisdom of maintaining religious liberty protections in American law. Considering the stance of the New Atheists, however, it may be important to revisit the issue. Rather than simply arguing for religious tolerance and the freedom not to believe, as atheists often had to do in the past, they aggressively advance the case that religion is positively pernicious. Christopher Hitchens, for example, makes the argument that religion is largely immoral, may be a form of child abuse, and that a new enlightenment is needed to protect free enquiry threatened by faith.4 To the extent that one agrees with Hitchens, it is fairly easy to predict that atheists will continue to support the constitutional prohibition on establishment, while wanting to limit free exercise exceptions to government power to the greatest extent possible. Non-establishment fully underwrites the New Atheist program. Free exercise gives strong protection to those who disagree with the agenda. From the New Atheist perspective, then, free exercise could empower religious parents of students, dissenters from statutes the New Atheists find agreeable, and could otherwise allow purportedly irrational religionists to avoid regulation considered sensible by secularists. My purpose, then, will be to make a case for continuing to protect a strong version of religious liberty, even if one is not a religious believer of any kind. In order to do so, it may be helpful to include some historical background.

2. The development of religious liberty It is reasonable to argue that the Christian faith innovated the separation of church and state through the teachings of Jesus Christ. When asked whether he would approve of paying a tax to the Roman authority, Jesus responded that it should be paid in order to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, just as one should render unto God what is God’s.5 The response raises the possibility that the two things are not the same. Caesar has his mandate—let us

170  Hunter Baker think of it as one dealing with law and order. But God reserves some things exclusively to himself. One possible interpretation is that among those things reserved are the soul and the conscience. Certainly, the early Christian church resisted the unity of civil and ecclesiastical power. Christians refused to engage in emperor worship that was considered necessary to the unity of the Roman Empire. The Romans permitted local religious practice to continue under their dominion, but also required all to recognize the greater authority of Caesar.6 While Christians were under clear orders to submit to rulers, they could only go so far and no further. In addition to being unable to worship the civil cult, many wondered whether they could engage in any kind of violence, including state violence of the military type.7 Their behavior and attitude were seen as disruptive and lawless. Some called them atheists.8 While the Romans were greatly displeased (indeed, rulers from many times and places would have shared that displeasure), the early Christians played an important part in establishing a milestone in history’s timeline for rights of faith and conscience. They simply refused to see the civil authority as exhaustive with regard to certain things that could only belong to human beings as they grappled with their own beliefs. However, the Christians were not destined to struggle forever against a ruling power that was sometimes highly interested in persecution and at other times relatively indifferent. Constantine emerged as a new ruler of the empire and brought an end to persecution of Christians. Though it is popular for some (especially liberal Christians) to complain of the “Constantinian” turn of the Christian church, it was not during his reign that the state required conformity to the faith through the use of force.9 That would come later. I stated earlier that the traditional pattern has been for religious and political power to travel together. Eventually, Christianity and the state experienced a reversion to mean and acted out the traditional drama. While the Catholic Church deserves some credit for having stepped into the substantial void left by the Roman Empire and stabilizing civilization, it is simply the case that the politically powerful church sometimes was complicit with and sometimes coerced and persecuted dissenters and unbelievers.10 When the Reformation came in the sixteenth century, the picture became still more problematic because the options multiplied. At times, being Catholic or Protestant in the wrong community carried potentially deadly implications. One of the critical projects of post-Reformation social contract thinkers, then, was to bring an end to religious wars. Thomas Hobbes imagined a Leviathan ruler who would dominate the religious question completely (and others) to maintain the peace.11 Jean-Jacques Rousseau proposed a deistic civil religion to be embraced by all so as to remove the problem of two masters (church and state) as part of his social contract. He insisted that any citizen who believed another citizen would go to hell must be expelled.12 John Locke threaded the needle of the future by advocating for religious liberty.13

A secular foundation for religious liberty 171 Locke is tremendously helpful when it comes to thinking about and understanding religious liberty. Unlike either Hobbes’s people living in a state of fearful savagery or Rousseau’s primitive men just a little above the animals, Locke conceived of pre-political society as relatively harmonious and governed by a basic moral law. Still, the human beings living in such a community lived uncertain lives. While natural law licensed them to protect themselves and retaliate against evildoers, it is easy to see that vindicating one’s rights would depend tremendously on being as powerful as, or more so, than the aggressor. In order to secure a more certain protection for one’s freedom, human beings would choose to enter political society. In so doing, they leave one primary power behind. They lose the right to engage in vigilante justice. It is crucial to notice that entering political society does not entail yielding to some community.14 It is here at Locke’s vision of the political community, one that is substantially limited in the claims it can make on the liberty of the person, that we return to the idea of a public/private distinction that could be characterized as dividing one sphere of life that can be regulated by government and another relatively inviolable sphere that belongs more fully to the individual and which includes the question of religion. To Locke’s argument, we might add one offered by John Stuart Mill. Mill concluded that the state should not coerce citizens with regard to religion because of our joint interest in truth. In other words, we have the greatest chance of knowing the truth if human beings are allowed to pursue it in an unfettered way. That would be true with regard to religion and other forms of knowledge. A ruler insisting on enforcing some local religion might miss out on something truer or better and accidentally (or self-interestedly) diminish their chance to flourish spiritually.15

3. Atheism and religious liberty In the modern period, atheists have strongly contended for religious liberty for reasons we could connect to Locke and Mill (and even those advanced by Baptists and Martin Luther).16 They have denied the right of political entities to extract their tithes for national or state churches, have resisted any requirements of membership, and have refused to sit passively by while prayers are said in schools or Bible verses are read in classrooms.17 Why have they done these things? With regard to refusing to pay religious taxes, the rationale is clear, but what about refusing to accept the reading of the Bible in school or having prayers read aloud over the intercom? The answer is that atheists in such cases thought that government entities should not presume to endorse or advance religion when not everyone believes in a faith. These sorts of cases fall under the establishment clause of the First Amendment, which states: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion.” Atheists (along with certain types of Christians and other

172  Hunter Baker religionists) have been the premier wielders of the establishment clause over and against those who would attempt to rejoin religious and political power more or less formally. It must be understood that the establishment clause is part of religious liberty. Preventing the government from erecting some religious establishment, such as a national church or official faith, strongly protects adherents of disfavored faiths or of no faith from penalties, forced obedience, assault, and possibly even incarceration and/or loss of life. Although it is certainly true that the ACLU and other secular liberals continue to vigorously prosecute establishment clause questions while perhaps being conflicted over free exercise, nevertheless the free exercise clause does exist right next to its twin and for good reason. The free exercise clause continues where the establishment clause leaves off: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” It is not surprising that atheists have typically put more effort behind establishment claims than free exercise because establishment defenses provide the greatest protection for the nonparticipant. The establishment clause bars the creation of the very institution that would seek to force atheists into some kind of conformity. So, what of the free exercise clause? Is it of no interest to atheists, and should they only care about the negative liberty associated with keeping religious establishments at bay? That depends. If one’s atheism is ideological and crusading, then the goal is the mirror image of the one embraced by various religionists. Just as the faithful seek to make converts, the ideological atheist may seek to bring about atheism as a way of life for all by actively quashing religion. Establishing a regime that marginalizes the faithful, paints them as irrational and dangerous, generally confines religious practice to a purely private realm, and perhaps even makes living an integrated religious life legally impossible is potentially an effective way to bring about the desired result of atheism for all as religious life becomes less and less plausible to citizens as a consequence. However, I have listened over the years as atheists have often reminded their critics that although atheism may lack a supernatural ground of morality (a divine sanction, so to speak), it does not follow that atheists lack moral and ethical codes. As an example, many atheists would say that they embrace the logic of what Christians call the golden rule,18 which is replicated in various ways in other systems. In other words, do unto others as you would be done by. Or stated along similar lines, do not do unto others what you would not have them do unto you. How does this apply to the question of religious liberty? Many possessors of religious faith (and certainly those who actually end up in court with a free exercise claim) are people of serious conviction. In other words, they are not able to simply change their beliefs to make their lives easier or to please those with power over them.19 Although many Christian believers, for example, are self-interested and fairly shrewd, they are unable to simply jettison religious beliefs in order to better fit in with the dominant direction

A secular foundation for religious liberty 173 of our culture on a variety of matters, but particularly in the areas of sex, marriage, and reproduction. We have all been watching the legal drama unfolding as we deal with those who object on grounds of faith and conscience to creating a cake or floral arrangements to be used in celebrating same-sex weddings. It is absolutely critical to note that these controversies have been highly specific in nature. We haven’t had the florist or baker who refuses to serve gay couples generally. In fact, in the two highest-profile cases the florist and baker both had a long record of serving gay clients.20 These cases have been limited to the very narrow circumstance of cakes and flowers for a ceremony Christians hold to be sacred. The reason is clearly not a broad hatred, but rather a specific objection based on a reading of the Scripture many Christians feel binds them. In other words, their personal sense of integrity requires them to refuse and potentially lose their businesses and perhaps even their life savings as a consequence. It has been commonplace for critics of these dissenters to compare them to Southern segrationists and wielders of Jim Crow laws. But it should be reasonably evident that such comparisons are dubious. First, there is the matter of the specificity of the objection. And second, segregationists similarly situated to the modern religious liberty objectors yielded when the law changed. Jack Phillips’s (of the famed Masterpiece Cakeshop) and Barronnelle Stutz’s (of Arlene’s Flowers) apparent rigidity clearly relates more to conviction than to some desire to oppress. These are beliefs that transcend simple self-interest. Whether one believes in God or not, it is difficult for a thoughtful person not to feel sympathy for the plight of the individual caught in this kind of collision of law and personal belief. We have a pre-existing template for seeing this situation play out with those who would refuse to use violence against another human being, as might be required due to the operation of military draft.21 We are less accustomed to seeing a conscientious or religious objector declining to participate (even commercially) in a wedding. But operationally, the two situations are highly comparable. In both cases, the objector has a principled (whether one agrees or disagrees with its application) reason for refusing to participate in the way the dominant society dictates they do. I would argue that in both of these cases—those of war and same-sex wedding objectors—we see something atheists can readily understand, which is a refusal to go along with practices to which the broader society has become committed. We have developed mechanisms for accommodating the war objector. We do so despite some of the strongest arguments possible—national survival could be at stake—in favor of forcing pacifists to conform. It is yet to be determined whether we will accommodate the religious objector to a variety of other circumstances. Let it be noted that the price of their refusal is clearly rather low in the wedding example. In response to my point about the low level of harm imposed by most religious liberty dissenters, secular progressives cite the idea of dignitary

174  Hunter Baker harm. The argument is that by allowing any merchants to refuse a particular service inflicts harm to the dignity of the person who meets the refusal. Although there are many issues here to weigh, I believe it is reasonable to categorize dignitary harm as a category of taking offense. Even if we consider the taking of offense to be highly justified and the person who gave the offense to be quite rude (or even mean), it is hard to justify infringing on freedoms as significant as faith and conscience simply to prevent it. Surely the atheist can hear the objections that their refusals to pray, to attend ceremonies, to contribute financially, and to otherwise mute their disagreement and thus perhaps passively signal acceptance somehow weaken the broader community, tear the fabric of public morality, signal disrespect, etc., and realize that similar censure is now directed toward others. In the same way that the atheist may appeal to tolerance and for respect for their minority convictions, we could make a similar appeal here: just as nontheists have been committed to not honoring the god in which they do not believe, others are equally committed to honoring the one in whom they do believe. The question, then, is how to decide when to press for conformity and when to respect the dictates of faith (or nonfaith) and conscience. In Justice Scalia’s decision in Employment Division v. Smith,22 one can easily perceive an attempt to mediate against the threat of encroaching chaos. After all, we live in a highly pluralistic and diverse society. Isn’t it likely under such circumstances that disorder would follow? The answer from religious liberty advocates (and indeed from some American founders) is well-calibrated. Objections rooted in faith and conscience should be accommodated in reasonable fashion unless they threaten the peace and safety of the community.23 If religious adherents wish to pitch virgins into volcanoes, then accommodation is a poor strategy and the cost is too high. If some bakers or florists wish to opt out of serving a lucrative part of their potential market that others will happily take, then it certainly seems accommodation would be wise, respectful of difference, and humane, especially given the nature of religious belief as a type of encumbrance not easily shed. The controversy over the Health and Human Services’ (HHS) mandate offers another opportunity to work through the issue. When HHS issued a regulation empowered by the Affordable Care Act that would require employers to include coverage for contraceptive (and abortifacient) drugs in their insurance plans, several Catholic and other Christian entities sued in order to avoid compliance for ethical reasons connected to their faith. Thanks to the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, which essentially requires accommodation of free exercise, they were largely able to prevail.24 We should note that the mandate continues to be in force for the overwhelming majority of employers who had no basis for a free exercise complaint. Although one could lodge an objection that employees of successful objectors will not be covered, it is equally important to note that objecting organizations employ people on a voluntary basis. It is not as if they unleash

A secular foundation for religious liberty 175 vans into cities at night to kidnap wage-slaves who will be unable to benefit from contraceptive coverage. To offer a potent example, one imagines that the nuns working with the Little Sisters of the Poor are on board with not receiving contraceptive or abortifacient coverage. There is little to be gained from forcing compliance in organizations with such clear missions that entail opposition to coverage of the type mandated. For those who work at a more diverse workplace, such as Hobby Lobby, the lack of such coverage—even if permitted by constitutional/legislative protection—should work against the company as it seeks to hire women of reproductive age. If so, Hobby Lobby may have to pay higher wages in order to compensate. Indeed, there is evidence the company pays well in its sector. John Courtney Murray, a pioneer in advocating religious freedom with the ranks of the Catholic Church (which openly embraced state-sponsored Catholic churches during his lifetime), described the religion clauses of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution as “articles of peace.”25 It is not hard to see why. The establishment clause prevents the state from creating an official church with the force of government coercion and formal approval behind it. Such a policy brings tremendous relief to those who disagree with the dominant faith and can spare them from a variety of penalties and insults to their integrity. In a complementary way, the free exercise clause operates with a realistic sort of anthropology. It recognizes that many human beings are not only religious but are also committed to living out their beliefs. The path to social peace in such cases is to tolerate free exercise to the greatest extent that is practicable. In such a way, a government can keep the greatest number of citizens united in support of the political community rather than alienating many of them from it and perhaps even planting seeds of conspiracy and rebellion. Thus, it is fairly easy to see that having a robust view of religious liberty makes for good government both philosophically and pragmatically. Respecting faith and conscience takes a high view of human dignity (both for atheists and believers) and thus is philosophically satisfying. At the same time, religious liberty considers some hard realities about human beings living in community and how to reduce friction between them. To embrace religious liberty is to understand that law, at bottom, is based on the coercive use of force and thus should be deployed as little as possible in order to obtain the common good. Atheists and theists clearly disagree about one of the most important questions we all face in life. It is an important disagreement. The nature of life in this world is that the believers and nonbelievers are distributed throughout various societies, nations, and communities. We live and work together. Augustine of Hippo wrote such compelling accounts of these realities and their implications that we continue to read him today nearly two millennia from the time of his life. He knew of a world in which Christians were persecuted and also of one in which everything changed and the emperor became a believer.

176  Hunter Baker Augustine described the earth as a place in which two cities strive toward their goals: the city of God and the city of man. The city of God is the city within the city. Augustine argued that the Christians would be the very best of citizens within the larger community. Motivated by love, they would serve and bless the city of man. There is one caveat. Augustine said the activity of Christians as the best of citizens would hold as long as one condition is not violated. The city of man must not compel the city of God to commit impieties. Religious liberty helps us avoid that outcome and help us grow in mutual forbearance rather than in contention.26 Together, hopefully we can strive toward the vision set forth by another member of the Roman polis whom we know as Cicero. He described the work of the statesman who has the task of gathering up the discordant notes that sound within the city and finding a way to draw forth harmony.27 Religious liberty, rightly understood, can help us in the good work of statesmanship in politics and friendship between persons.

Notes 1 U.S. Constitution, Article IV. 2 Engel v. Vitale, 370 U.S. 421 (1962) and Abington v. Schemp, 374 U.S. 273 (1963). 3 Sherbert v. Verner, 374 U.S. 398 and Wisconsin v. Yoder, 406 U.S. 205. 4 Hitchens 2007. 5 See Matthew 22:15–22 for the relevant passage. 6 For one account see McKnight and Modica 2013. 7 Tertullian. 8 Justin Martyr. 9 Bainton 1964, 91. 10 One might consider the infamy of the Spanish Inquisition in this connection. 11 Hobbes 1651. 12 Rousseau 1762: Book IV, Chapter VIII. 13 Locke 1689. 14 Ibid 1690. 15 Mill 1859: Chapter 2. 16 Notably, Martin Luther argued that souls should not be governed by steel in On Secular Authority, which can be seen in translation and edited by Hopfl 1991. 17 Engel v. Vitale 1962 and Abington v. Schemp 1963. 18 Matthew 7:12. 19 Cookson 2001. 20 Thus far, the issue remains largely unresolved. The best case we have on record is Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission 2018. The court ruled fairly narrowly in the religious objector’s favor on the basis of what the court saw as clear animus toward his beliefs. We do not know what would happen in a case where the government body evinced no similar bias. 21 See United States v. Seeger 1965 for an example of the court affirming the rights of one such objector. 22 Employment Division v. Smith 1990. 23 For an excellent example, see the New York Constitution of 1777 at article XXXVIII. It reads in part, “That the liberty of conscience, hereby granted, shall not be so construed as to excuse acts of licentiousness, or justify practices inconsistent with the peace or safety of this State.”

A secular foundation for religious liberty 177 4 As an example, see Burwell v. Hobby Lobby 2014. 2 25 Murray 1960, 49. 26 Augustine: Book XIX, Chapter 17. 27 Cicero: Book 2.

References Abington v. Schemp. 374 U.S. 273. 1963. Augustine. 2003. The City of God against the Pagans, Penguin. Bainton, Roland H. 1964. Christianity. Houghton Mifflin. Burwell v. Hobby Lobby. 573 U.S. 2014. Cicero. 1999. On the Commonwealth, Cambridge. Cookson, Catherine. 2001. Regulating Religion: The Courts and the Free Exercise Clause, Oxford University Press. Employment Division v. Smith, 494 U.S. 872. 1990. Engel v. Vitale, 370 U.S. 421. 1962. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Hatchette. Hobbes, Thomas. 1651. Leviathan. Hopfl, Harro. 1991. Luther and Calvin on Secular Authority. Cambridge University Press. Locke, John. 1689. Letter Concerning Toleration, https://www.constitution.org/jl/ tolerati.htm ———. 1690. Second Treatise of Government, Hackett. Martyr, Justin. The First Apology of Justin, http://earlychristianwritings.com/text/ justinmartyr-firstapology.html. Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission. 584 U.S. 2018. McKnight, Scot and Joseph P. Modica. 2013. Jesus Is Lord, Caesar Is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies. Intervarsity Press. Mill, John Stuart. 1859. On Liberty, Hackett. Murray, John Courtney. 1960. We Hold These Truths: Catholic Reflections on the American Proposition. Sheed & Ward. New York Constitution. 1777. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. 1762. On the Social Contract, Hackett. Sherbert v. Verner, 374 U.S. 398. 1963. Tertullian. On Idolatry, http://earlychristianwritings.com/text/tertullian02.html. United States Constitution. 1789. United States v. Seeger, 380 U.S. 163. 1965. Wisconsin v. Yoder, 406 U.S. 205. 1972.

Part III

God and theology

13 A bloody death that saves the world? Making sense of Christ’s cross Jordan Wessling

1. Introduction The largest of the great monotheistic religions is Christianity. At the heart of this religion is the teaching that the paradigmatic expression of God’s love for humanity is found at Christ’s cross, where God becomes human and dies a torturous death for the purpose of redeeming humans from their sins and restoring their relationships with him and each other. However, it is not obvious that the horrendously violent execution of a first-century Jew is the kind of thing that expunges sin and generates loving harmony. Quite the contrary, the thought that the cross saves can appear “vicious, sado-masochistic and repellant,” as Richard Dawkins once put it (Dawkins 2006, 253). A theory concerning the saving efficacy of the cross can be said to be vicious and repellant insofar as the traditional notion of propitiation is presupposed, according to which it is thought that God requires suffering and death for his justice to be satisfied. For many, the notion that God must be propitiated generates an image of an inflexible, abusive father whose acceptance of his wayward children is conditioned upon violence. Few would be naturally inclined to label such a deity “loving.” Moreover, Dawkins informs us that the cross can be described as sadomasochistic insofar as God willingly takes on torture and execution when he could have simply forgiven his children of their sins (Dawkins 2006, 253). The upshot is that, though Christians proclaim Christ’s crucifixion as an expression of God’s supreme love, the cross can appear not only unloving but completely unnecessary and even hateful. Rather than simply forgive his children of their wrongdoings, God is said to place too much value on the ugliest violence, or even demand it for his personal satisfaction. Call this problem with the Christian doctrine of the crucifixion the “violence problem.” Because the violence problem strikes at the core of Christian doctrine, it threatens to invalidate the largest of the great monotheistic faiths. It is not only disbelievers of Christianity who are troubled by the violence problem, however. In fact, to ensure that God’s character remains entirely unstained by the blood of violence, some contemporary Christian theologians have claimed that Christians should forswear all traditional

182  Jordan Wessling atonement theories (i.e., theories about how the cross saves humans) and maintain instead that the cross was never part of God’s plan of redemption and intrinsically “accomplishes nothing for the salvation of sinners” (Weaver 2001, 72).1 Given the severity of the violence problem, it is understandable why Christians might seek to address the problem by a complete rethinking of Christ’s saving work. Nevertheless, the wholesale revision of the significance of Christ’s crucifixion is not something that Christians should find intellectually appealing. To build upon or refine a classic atonement theory is one thing, but it does not inspire confidence in the epistemic reliability of the Christian tradition to suggest that Christians have fundamentally misunderstood a doctrine so central to their faith for two millennia.2 Better, I propose, to retrieve and expand upon what Christians have traditionally said about Christ’s cross in a manner that does not fall prey to the violence problem. If this is done successfully, it then becomes apparent that the violence problem is not inextricably tied to the Christian understanding of atonement. Fortunately for those sensitive to the violence problem, there are ancient Christian ways of thinking about Christ’s cross that have little to nothing to do with propitiating God. According to one dominant way of conceiving of the atonement, for instance, the cross, along with the life and resurrection of God-incarnate, is thought to enable humans to participate within the very life of God in a manner that morally and spiritually transforms them.3 Behind this conception of the crucifixion rests the idea that salvation is principally about deification or theosis, the notion (among other things) that God graciously shares his transforming life with humans.4 In the words of the second-century bishop Irenaeus of Lyons, God “through His transcendent love [became] what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself” (Irenaeus of Lyon 1869, 55). The idea is not that humans will become God or be absorbed into him; instead, the idea is that humans, while retaining their individuality, are given the chance to be like the most valuable entity within the world (which, from a Christian perspective, happens to be God) and to experience God’s inner life. To be sure, this ancient way of thinking about salvation is deeply mysterious. For what might it mean to participate in God’s transforming life? And how might the work of Christ, especially his dreadfully violent execution, be the kind of thing that helps humans enter God’s inner life of peace, joy, and love? The present chapter addresses such questions with the hope of showing that Dawkins’s violence problem does not invalidate the Christian gospel. To this end, in the first section I shall present a way of understanding deification, or human participation within the divine life, by drawing from the late philosopher William P. Alston. Then, in the second section, I apply the model of deification to the crucifixion, explaining how the horrendous death of the innocent God-man might generate within humans the virtues of faith, hope, and love, which are required for transformation and ultimately full participation in God’s life. Once these two steps have been completed,

A bloody death that saves the world? 183 we will be in a position to see that there is reason to be confident that the violence problem is not an insurmountable obstacle to rational Christian belief. In the third section, therefore, I briefly explain how the conception of the atonement defended in this chapter does not succumb to the violence problem. In making my case, I do not aim to demonstrate that my preferred way of ameliorating the violence problem is true—as that would require a defense of both the truth of Christianity and my interpretation of Christ’s atoning work. Instead, my aim is more modest, namely, to present one viable way in which Christ’s cross, despite the horrendous violence associated, holds out the promise of being genuinely good news.

2. Participating in God’s life 2.1. On participating in God’s life As the Christian understands reality, there exists a community of love within God. This teaching is grounded in the idea that God is a Trinity, that is, that the one God, in some mysterious way, is three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—and that each of these persons loves one another perfectly. We cannot, at present, delve into why it is that Christians believe this doctrine and whether there are grounds for supposing it coherent. What is important for our purposes is that, according to the majority of Christian communions, God is not content to keep his intracommunal love to himself. Instead, as Jesus makes clear, God wants humans to participate within this divine life of love in some literal sense (cf. Jn. 17:23–26), complete with all the psychological states of delight and peace that come with that love. In other words, God wants us to experience, from the inside, the rapture and contentment that God experiences within the Triune community of love. This understanding of things is admittedly strange. For, as mentioned already, it is not clear what it could mean for a human to participate in God’s love and joy, except perhaps in some metaphorical or merely duplicative sense. But leaving that conceptual issue aside for the moment, it does seem reasonable to maintain that there is something desirable about a kind of literal participation in God’s life. We can discern this by attending to an interview with the philosopher Colin McGinn that appeared within a 2004 BBC documentary series on atheism, The Atheism Tapes. Near the end of the interview McGinn, himself an atheist, speculates about why it is that many people believe in God. The phenomenon, McGinn asserts, is due to “a sort of cosmic loneliness,” where humans are aware that no one quite knows and cares about them as deeply as they would wish, and so they are predisposed to believe in God as a way of overcoming the loneliness. He explains, I think there’s a kind of constitutive reason for [this cosmic loneliness], which is that human consciousness is essentially sealed off from other

184  Jordan Wessling consciousnesses. . . . We only know each other indirectly through the symptoms of the body. And yet we yearn for contact with other people. Love has a lot to do with that. So we have this feeling that we are, as conscious, embodied beings, somehow or other lonely in our essence, cut off in our essence. That’s a feeling we struggle against. . . . So we feel this metaphysical, existential aloneness in the universe, and God is a wonderful antidote to that. For in the case of God, God, we feel, directly comes into our minds, and we’re directly in contact with God. You see, God doesn’t know us through our bodies, but intimately in our minds. And that satisfies a deep craving, I think, in the human soul for communion with something outside the self. Whatever one makes of McGinn’s diagnosis as to why belief in God is widespread, McGinn is perceptive to notice that humans are isolated from one another and that God provides a remedy to this situation. Deification serves to elucidate further how the cosmic loneliness problem to which McGinn refers can be overcome. Through sharing his life with humans God not only shares what is presumably the greatest love and joy that the world can contain, he does so in what is perhaps a maximally intimate way by breaching the divide between one consciousness and another, giving humans an internal experience of his psychological life. However, if God’s ultimate goal is for humans to share in the beauty of God’s intra-Trinitarian love, God needs to overcome human sinfulness. This is because participation in God’s eternal intracommunal love presumably requires the right kind of receptive attitude. The being who is spiteful, self-absorbed, and otherwise morally defective does not seem to be a good candidate to receive and enjoy God’s life of love any more than the Philistine is a good candidate for receiving and appreciating the gift of an authentic painting by Rembrandt. From the Christian perspective, though, there is no denying human sinfulness. Hence, given this perspective, if God wants humans to participate in his love, he must transform them. So, the theologian who sets out to explain the doctrine of deification and its relation to the atonement must explain what it might mean to participate in God’s life—specifically, in this context, God’s mental life—and the theologian must explain how humans might be transformed such that they can share in that life. 2.2. A model of deification Through an article written in the 1980s, the widely respected Christian philosopher William Alston helps us discern what it might mean to participate in various mental or psychological states of God. To do this, Alston in effect asks us to imagine a case where your and my psychological states are partially shared, perhaps via some kind of neural wiring hook-up system. The result of this hook-up is that “your reactions, feelings, thoughts,

A bloody death that saves the world? 185 and attitudes, or some of them, are as immediately available to me as my own, . . . so that they influence my further thinking and feeling and behavior in just the same way that my own do.” In such a case, “there would have occurred a partial merging of our hitherto insulated lives” (Alston 1988, 141–142). Accordingly, when you are filled with feelings of nostalgia when listening to The Temptations, these feelings and accompanying thoughts are immediately present to me. Or if you are angered by a colleague’s unjust remark, your anger runs through me. Or if you find yourself valuing your daughter’s education, I will experience what you do. And so on. Yet in Alston’s thought experiment, it would be incorrect to say that your psychological life has entirely replaced mine. Rather, some of your psychological life would be caught up with mine, but only in a manner that is intermixed or streams alongside my normal psychological life that would have been present otherwise. The situation is analogous to one who wears the now-defunct optical head-mount display, Google Glass. With this device, an individual sees and hears what she normally would, only she may also receive transparent images in the top-right-hand corner of her visual sphere, accompanied by sounds that are heard in her right ear. She may, for example, be driving a car, looking over the road as she normally would while listening to her radio. Yet via Google Glass a streaming GPS map may hang in the outer edge of her vision, and she may occasionally receive audio traffic updates and driving instructions that can be heard alongside her radio. Alston envisions a scenario that is comparable to me wearing a Google Glass, only considerably more complex: my own psychology and moment-by-moment experiences would remain intact, yet some of your psychological states (i.e., your beliefs, thoughts, desires, emotions, value frameworks, etc.) would be immediately present or available to me alongside my own. Unlike anything that can be accomplished by Google Glass, moreover, Alston conceives of the breakdown between your and my subjectivities in a manner that allows me to experience your actual psychological states as my own; mere duplicates of your psychological states are not what Alston imagines. In keeping with the Google Glass illustration, the situation would be analogous to you and I both wearing a Google Glass that enables me to see and hear the very same images and sounds that you do, rather than experience sights and sounds that are merely qualitatively identical. Alston utilizes the described model as a way of apprehending what it might mean to share in the life of God in a quite literal fashion. Suppose that you are somehow hooked up to the life of God such that some of God’s instances of love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, and kindness are fed into you—not copies of these instances, but the actual instances. You then participate in the life of God through the reception of these psychological states; you quite literally share in God’s lived experience. Alston also applies this model of participation to the believer’s sanctification, or moral transformation. The basic idea is that as the believer takes

186  Jordan Wessling ownership over God’s psychological states that are available to her, she is transformed. To see how this might work, consider a situation where you are in the presence of another human, say your spouse, just after a particularly heated argument. There you stand, looking at your spouse with contempt. But then, you inwardly experience something of a small voice naming your spouse as valuable. Alongside feelings of animosity, you find a bit of warmth and delight beginning to stir. You now have a choice. Which mind-set and package of feelings are you going to give way to, those that value and delight in your spouse or those that boil in contempt? We may postulate that if you give into and cultivate the former, you are freely appropriating the life of God and moving down the path of sanctification; the latter option is a way of squelching God’s work, which leads to spiritual death. Nothing about these alternatives, it should be noted, entails that you are at all aware that you are either receiving or shunning the psychological states of God. But to the degree that you integrate the psychological states of God into your own life, you are more like God—that is, deified. We thus have the beginnings of a model of deification. One objection to this Alston-inspired model of deification is that it fails to respect the yawning divide between divine and human centers of consciousness, as God’s psychological life, to whatever it might amount, must be radically distinct from that of humans.5 Even if it is possible for God to share certain aspects of the divine life with humans (e.g., certain beliefs), it is doubtful that the transcendent God can share his values, drives, and emotions with humans in a way that can be comprehended and enjoyed by them. If this is so, however, then the proposed way of understanding deification will be of little help. The classic Christian way of overcoming the Creator–creature divide in the process of deification is by appealing to the Incarnation. Through the Incarnation, God takes on the situatedness, frailty, and struggles of the human life, and God the Son’s identification with humans in this way somehow enables the Son, through the work of God the Spirit who indwells humans, to share the divine life with humans in a manner that saves them. Once again, we find the doctrine of the Trinity at work. But even supposing that the doctrines of Incarnation and Trinity are true (as I do here), the challenge remains to work out the details of how God’s Incarnation enables him to deify humans, the radical differences between divine and human psychological states notwithstanding. The following is one way of doing this. In the incarnate life, the Word (i.e., God the Son) participates in the full spectrum of basic human experiences. He experiences human temptations, fears, struggles, joys, physical pleasure and toil, and more besides. Furthermore, since the Word and the Spirit share the same concrete essence, it may be assumed that the subjectivities and lives of the Spirit and Word are linked in a manner analogous to Alston’s literal life-sharing model, if they do not in fact share the numerically same mind.6 Thus, when the incarnate Word experiences human temptations, fears, or joys, the Spirit experiences the same—though the distinct psychologies (if they are distinct) of the Word

A bloody death that saves the world? 187 and Spirit are kept intact. Likewise, I assume that as the Word-incarnate lives a perfect human life, the Spirit, by way of his connection with the Word, assumes a certain normative human subjectivity. That is to say, the Spirit gains an internal, first-person perspective (or something very close) of perfect human life. Hence, the Incarnation of the Word in effect incarnates the lived experience of the Spirit, or an aspect thereof, even though the Spirit never becomes incarnate strictly speaking. If this happens, the Spirit can bring his “incarnated-life” to those he indwells. The idea here is that the Spirit takes the experiences and normative human subjectivity that he gained (and gains) from the Word-­ incarnate’s life and brings them to bear on the experiences and outlooks of those he indwells in a manner that enables the Spirit to share his life with them. On this conception, it is not as if the Spirit merely “recalls” and applies copies of the Word-incarnate’s experiences to the lives of believers. Rather, I suggest that the Spirit continues to live something like an incarnate life in those he indwells, tailor-made for each individual within each situation. For example, when you experience anger at your boss, the Spirit experiences the Christ-inspired warmth and insight you need and ideally should embody in that particular situation. The Spirit furthermore shares (in part or in whole) this radically particularized warmth and insight with you—the degree to which you receive it, we may assume, is up to you. Or suppose that you are in a situation where righteous anger is called for. The Spirit can relive Jesus’s experiences of righteous anger in that moment and only relive that anger in a way that perfectly matches the relevant situation. In so doing, the Spirit can also open up the possibility for you to share in his righteous anger. The basic pattern should be clear enough. Whatever the situation is and whatever the appropriate subjective state should be, the Spirit, by way of his connection with the Son’s incarnate life, can live the relevant subjective state for you so that you might participate in the transforming life of God. Understood in the manner mapped out, the Spirit can share the divine life with humans, despite the vast differences between God and humans. This framework concerning the transforming work of the Spirit can be approached in another way. Suppose that you and Adrian are connected by Alston’s imagined neural wiring hook-up system. Suppose, further, that Adrian is a living saint. Through being connected to Adrian in this way, the virtues that animate Adrian’s outlook, emotions, desires, and the like are made available to you. As time goes on, you take ownership of Adrian’s virtuous states in a way that transforms you. Rather than being a mere passive recipient of Adrian’s virtues, you begin to exercise the virtues as your own. Because you have now taken ownership of Adrian’s communicated virtues, you can apply the virtues you have gleaned to a variety of new circumstances. Discerning your advancement in character, Adrian advises you to disconnect the current neural wiring hook-up set up and connect to another, Jamie, as a way of mentoring Jamie. When you do this, you occasionally

188  Jordan Wessling shadow Jamie and intentionally communicate the virtues that you know (perhaps through empathy) Jamie needs in particular circumstances. When Jamie is demeaned by an overbearing boss at work, you step into Jamie’s shoes and embody the patience that Jamie requires. Or when Jamie is feeling bored with work and family, you make the mind-set of joy available to Jamie. The pattern continues as you and Jamie together do your best to practice the virtues required in each circumstance. The present model of the Spirit’s indwelling, and by extension deification, bears a resemblance to the scenario involving you, Jamie, and Adrian. Through his connection with the incarnate-Son, the Spirit gains a perfectly virtuous human life as part of his own (similar to the manner in which you obtained virtues via connection with Adrian). Of course, the Spirit does not learn any new facts or insights, nor is the Spirit’s character improved morally or otherwise. Instead, as an act of accommodation to the human situation, the Spirit, in connection to Christ, draws a perfect human life into his own life. In so doing, the Spirit is then able to apply and live out characteristically human virtues in every conceivable human situation (analogous to the way in which the virtues you have learned from Adrian enable you to apply them to various circumstances). Through his connection to or indwelling within believers, furthermore, the Spirit, by living these virtues for humans in each relevant human situation, is able to share a perfect human life to the degree that the human is willing to receive it (as you intentionally did with Jamie in the imagined illustration). 2.3. Recap We may summarize our way of thinking about deification as follows. God wants humans to participate in certain psychological states as a means of transforming them, and, ultimately, as a way of being intimately united with them in love. But given God’s radical difference from humans, God cannot simply share His psychological states with humans in a way that fosters unity and brings transformation. So, God the Son becomes incarnate. In so doing, the Son takes on human life and the associated experiences and assimilates them into his divine life. Through this assimilation, moreover, the Spirit, who shares the divine life of God the Son, receives a perfect human life into his own. From this, the Spirit is able to apply a perfect human life, particularly a perfect human subjectivity or nexus of psychological states, to each human in each situation relevant to deification. As humans receive this Christ-inspired human life given by the Spirit, they are deified (at least in certain respects). This model of deification alleviates the problem that was previously raised against Alston’s account. The Incarnation, in conjunction with the work of the Spirit, helps us apprehend how the Infinite One can share life with mere creatures in a manner that transforms. It is still unclear, however, what role the crucifixion of Christ plays in God’s deifying work, and until

A bloody death that saves the world? 189 this is discussed, we will be left unable to address the violence problem with any level of seriousness.

3. Deification and the cross At a very general level, we have now seen how the life of Christ is central to reconciling humans to God and paving the way for their deification. However, a number of New Testament scholars have noticed that St. Paul in particular connects the deification of humans not only with Christ’s life but with his death on the cross as well. This emphasis can be discerned in the letter to the Galatians, where Paul expresses the idea that the believer is mysteriously united to Christ in his death, which in turn generates a new source of life. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. (Gal. 2, 19–20) Commenting on this passage, Robert Tannehill notes that “Christ’s death is proclaimed as a freeing and transforming event that is effective because Paul is pulled into it and shares in it, resulting in a continuing participation in Christ, who is the new life-power in Paul” (Tannehill 2007, 229). We find a similar motif in Romans 6:1–7:6, where Paul speaks of being “baptized into [Christ’s] death” (6:3), even “united with him in a death like this” (6:5, cf. vv. 6, 8), the result of which brings “the new life of the Spirit” (7:6).7 In Paul’s mind, moreover, this new life of the Spirit is causally connected to, or constituted by, a life that is infused with the virtues of faith, hope, and love (e.g., 1 Thess. 1:3, 5:8; 2 Thess. 1:3–4; 1 Cor. 13:7, 13).8 Accordingly, the New Testament scholar Michael Gorman explains that Jesus’s life of faithfulness to God unto death, coupled with his self-giving love poured out for us on the cross, is what “generates our fidelity, love, and hope” (Gorman 2009, 101). If Gorman is right about what Scripture teaches, the challenge for the theologian engaged in the project of faith seeking understanding is to provide some kind of explanation as to how the horrible crucifixion of the God-man is the kind of thing that can engender faith, hope, and love. On this score, Robin Collins is helpful. He proposes that it is only through something like the horrible crucifixion that Christ can enact the virtues of faith, hope, and love in a way that is needed for our transformation. For given “our life-situation” we “must be able to continue to act in . . . faith, hope, and love despite severe uncertainty, doubt, fear, unjust persecution, and alienation from God and others.” We must, in other words, “be able to act in faith, hope, and love in spite of every type of temptation that arises out of our life-situation.” As a consequence, “if Christ is going to be the perfect . . . source of the kind of faith, hope, and love we need, he must also

190  Jordan Wessling experience every general type of temptation common to human beings.” Moreover, “in the face of those temptations” Christ “must continue to act in love, hope, and trust instead of succumbing to the attempt to ‘secure the self’ through violence, injustice, or Stoicism, as is characteristic of fallen humanity” (Collins 2000, 144). All of this Christ does principally through the cross. Collins explains, During his life and death, Jesus fully enacted the sort of spiritual and moral virtues of faith, hope, and love that we need as human beings in our life situation. In particular, on the cross, Jesus acted in full faith, hope, and love despite experiencing the full force of unjust victimization and the alienation from God and others that is the result of sin. Without the cross or something like it, God the Son could not have enacted these virtues—it is impossible to enact courage or self-sacrificial love unless you experience your wellbeing as being in danger. And these virtues would not be perfected unless he fully entered into the worst aspects of our life situation—in particular, unless he experienced the greatest temptations to doubt and hate. (Collins 2012, 196) Christ’s enacted virtues of faith, hope, and love over and against extreme challenges are precisely what we need. Thus, “[t]hrough participation in the virtues that Jesus enacted, we are saved from sin and reconciled to God, for sin is incompatible with participating in these virtues.”9 In brief, Collins’s idea is that Christ faces an unjust and brutal death with the perfect human virtues of faith, hope, and love, virtues in which we may somehow participate in a manner that saves. The primary weakness of Collins’s proposal is that it is not entirely clear how participation in the divine life and Christ’s virtues takes place. However, this shortcoming is easily amended in our account of sharing in God’s life through the Spirit’s psychological states. Building upon Collins’s insights, then, we can understand the transformative and deifying role of the cross along the following lines. Within the divine nature there is a community of persons who exist in perfect self-giving love (cf. Jn. 14–17). In order to participate fully and freely in the loving life of God, one needs to embrace a character that is the right kind of receptacle for this divine life. One needs to be able to maintain faith in God and others when doubt threatens to overcome, hope when obstacles all but force one to give way to pessimism, and, above all, love in the face of the strongest temptation to hate. To be able to receive completely what God has for one, one must fully give oneself to that which is true, good, and beautiful, even when one’s instincts and fragile humanity threaten to obscure that which one knows, deep down, is right and good. But where might these virtues come from? It is doubtful that they can spring up from within the human soul, given human brokenness. Humans therefore need help. Only by God’s

A bloody death that saves the world? 191 participation in the deepest forms of human virtue in the face of the most intense challenges can God intimately share his life with humans in a way that leads them fully to give themselves to God and others.10 This God does by becoming incarnate; wholly participating in human life; and by meeting extreme shame, hatred, alienation, and brutality on the cross with the purest faith, hope, and love. These virtues, and the accompanying psychological states, are thereby taken up into the divine life, and the Spirit then shares this perfect human life (in the manner discussed) with any human who is willing to receive it. Participation in these virtues transforms humans over time, until humans are able to appropriate robustly the very love of Christ, which is the ideal human manifestation of the divine life of love that existed “before the foundation of the world” (Jn. 17:24). In response to this picture, someone might question whether something like the cross is genuinely necessary for the suggested manner of human salvation. Compare, on the one hand, the perfect human psychological states of faith, hope, and love with, on the other hand, the perfect human psychological states of faith-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-doubt, hope-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-turn-toward-pessimism, and love-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-hate. Call the latter group of psychological states “oppositional virtues,” since each contains a kind of virtuous response in opposition to a significant challenge. Part of the proposal of this chapter is that the current human situation requires something like oppositional virtues for spiritual transformation. But one could submit that all that is really required for complete human transformation are simply the “non-oppositional virtues” of faith, hope, and love, since the possession of these virtues is the final goal of the Christian life. If it is true that only non-oppositional virtues are required, Christ would not need to undergo a horrendous crucifixion, or anything like it, to procure and share a transformative life with humans. Hence, the defender of the present vision for Christ’s cross is obliged to provide some reason to suppose that the oppositional virtues are required, or at least considerably helpful, for human sanctification. I do not have a proof that shows that oppositional virtues are absolutely required. Nevertheless, I think we can see that they facilitate human transformation when we consider organizations such as Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). As part of the recovery process within AA, a new member to the organization is encouraged to partner with a fellow alcoholic, called a sponsor, who has completed AA’s 12-step program. The role of the sponsor is multifaceted, but it includes communicating to the individual who is being sponsored that she is not alone in her struggles, as well as the sponsor drawing from her experiences to share advice and insights.11 Many would agree that the support and advice provided by the sponsor are critical for the recovery process.12 Imagine, however, that the sponsor is not only able to engage with her mentee via the normal channels of communication but also is able to share her experiences of overcoming alcohol with the individual

192  Jordan Wessling she sponsors via Alston’s neural wiring hook-up system. Given this connection, the sponsor could share with the mentee the motivations and values that she adopted in response to concrete temptations to drink at various stages of recovery. Ideally, the mode of support would be tailor-made to meet the mentee at her station in life, a kind of scaffolding of moral support where the mentee is given the mind-set that is in principle helpful at each stage of recovery. It seems that this kind of accommodated support to the mentee’s situation has greater resources for empowerment than the communication of the mere non-oppositional virtue to avoid strong drink. For suppose that the mentee is fed psychological states, not by her sponsor, but by some morally virtuous third individual who has never struggled with overdrinking or alcohol dependency a day in her life. The virtuous psychological states provided by this third individual might be somewhat helpful, but it could very well be that the virtue to avoid too much drink without the accompanying phenomenology that responds to an intense pull to overconsume simply sets the bar too high for the mentee. The mentee might experience the pristine virtues of the third individual as too foreign from her experience to find a point of connection and possible assimilation into her own life. The claim is not that the mentee requires psychological states from someone who has fallen into alcoholism. Rather, the claim is that it would be good for the mentee to receive oppositional virtues from someone who can identify with her situation in fine-grained detail. Insofar as Christ faced human temptation (e.g., Heb. 4:15), he, with the Spirit, can communicate psychological states to humans that are tailor-made to their situation of life and level of moral development. For Christ lived a perfect human life at each basic stage of development, whereby “he learned obedience” and was “made perfect” (Heb. 5:8). This, in turn, enables God to share helpful and accommodated psychological states with humans at various stages in their lives. What is more, Christ faced a shameful and brutal death with perfect virtue and thereby appropriated into the divine life the described oppositional human virtues of faith, hope, and love. These oppositional human virtues are complete with the phenomenology of what it is like to maintain faith in God and others when waves of doubt are crashing, to choose hope when the pull toward cynicism feels overwhelming, and, most of all, to live in love when the impulse to hate is nearly insurmountable. Through the assimilation of such virtues, God, in Christ, by the power of the Spirit, can communicate to humans the custom-made virtues required for their moral and spiritual development. It is perhaps in this way that Christ “became the source of eternal salvation for all” (Heb. 5:9).

4. The violence problem So far I have presented what I take to be a theologically viable understanding of Christ’s atoning work, which builds upon the ancient idea that the life

A bloody death that saves the world? 193 and death of Christ contribute to human deification. With this understanding of the atonement in the backdrop, we may now return to the violence problem and provide a brief treatment of it. Recall that the violence problem states that the Christian doctrine of the atonement ostensibly entails that God somehow inappropriately values violence. So far as I am aware, no one has stated with precision what exactly counts as God inappropriately valuing the violence of the crucifixion. However, with individuals such as Richard Dawkins, I surmise that the claim that God inappropriately values this violence is something like the claim that God directly or indirectly ordains the horrendous crucifixion of Christ to procure human salvation, when human salvation could have been achieved equally well (or nearly so) via an alternative nonviolent means that is superior in value. This, I take it, is the fundamental point of Dawkins’s claim that “If God wanted to forgive our sins, why not just forgive them, without having himself tortured and executed in payment” (Dawkins 2006, 253)? Given this criterion, though, it is doubtful that God inappropriately values violence in the model of the atonement defended in the present chapter. To begin with, there is nothing about the proposed model of the atonement that entails that God crucifies Christ as a way of satisfying his honor or just wrath. Rather, God dies as a gift to us, to offer us a way of participating in God’s transforming life. So, contrary to the kind of atonement theory that Dawkins discusses, there is no need “to defend any kind of retributive theory of punishment,” nor any kind of “scapegoat theory” whereby an innocent person is executed “to pay for the sins of the guilty” (Dawkins 2006, 253). In short, the present deification-based model of the atonement requires no commitment to the claim that the cross is about propitiating God. Nor is there anything about this deification-based model that entails that God planned the cross as the precise and favored instrument by which Christ assimilates the discussed oppositional virtues into the divine life. The model of the atonement requires Christ to face potentially devastating obstacles, which enables God to assume the human virtues of faith-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-doubt, hope-in-the-face-ofthe-extreme-temptation-to-turn-toward-pessimism, and love-in-the-face-ofthe-extreme-temptation-to-hate. Yet it is compatible with this atonement view to suppose that crucifying individuals is a completely evil human invention and that God left it to evil forces operating in the first century to determine the exact means by which Christ would die and, by implication, determine the precise means by which God would assimilate the relevant oppositional virtues into his life.13 Clearly, to use foreseen evil human violence as a way of helping humans overcome their sins is considerably different from God unconditionally planning violence as a means to accomplish his redemptive goals. At the same time, the articulated view of the atonement does not imply that the violence of the crucifixion is superfluous to human salvation. On the

194  Jordan Wessling contrary, God takes violence upon himself, not in sadomasochistic revelry, but as a means of empowering us with the virtues required to overcome the kinds of evils perpetuated on the cross. This the God-man achieves by allowing himself to be the object of violence, and in so doing provides humans with a life that returns violence with love. Moreover, the present conception of Christ’s work sidesteps the critique that the Father should have merely forgone the crucifixion and forgiven sin. For if the human problem is not so much that God must be placated but that humans need transformation, there is no cause to think that God could have brought about human salvation and full deification simply by choosing not to hold sins against humans. Forgiveness alone, after all, does not lead to the kind of transformation required for full joyous participation within God’s intra-Trinitarian life of love. It is therefore reasonable to join Collins in affirming the claim that without the cross or something like it, God would not have been able to share the virtues we need for our transformation given the realities of our life situation. It is worth highlighting the importance of physical suffering for the present deification-based model of the atonement. Humans are biologically programmed to resist that which is extremely painful, especially when the pain at issue leads to death. Through the crucifixion Christ underwent a crushing physical assault that undoubtedly shook him to the core of his being as an embodied creature, where his instincts would have done what they could to drive him to fight or flee. And yet according to the New Testament, Christ voluntarily laid down his life (e.g., Jn. 10:18) and explicitly refused to fight in self-defense (e.g., Matt. 26:47–56). This Christ did in perfect submission to the Father (e.g., Lk. 22:42) for the good of humanity (e.g., Rom. 5:8; Heb. 12:2). Indeed, Jesus implored the Father to forgive his executioners (Lk. 23:34). In this manner, Christ gave himself over completely to the love of God and humanity, which perhaps enables the Father through the Spirit to share virtues that empower us to overcome our most base physical instincts with self-giving love. Absent something like the grave physical suffering found in the crucifixion, it is not implausible to suppose that Christ would not have been able to exemplify the kind of oppositional virtues we need for the deepest transformation, specifically for those who are confronted by severe psychophysical threats. All of that said, Dawkins may still wonder if the crucifixion was genuinely necessary. Could not have God found an alternative and more valuable means of human salvation that does not include the horrendous execution of an innocent man? The answer to this question is not obvious. As already insinuated, perhaps God has available to him a number of ways of saving humans from their sins, some of which do not involve a humiliating public execution of an innocent man. That would not be terribly surprising given God’s omniscience and omnipotence. But even if this is so, it is not clear that saving humans through means that do not include anything like a crucifixion would be equally valuable, given the reality of the human situation. For one

A bloody death that saves the world? 195 thing, as we saw in Section 1, deification appears to be immensely valuable in part because it provides a way of overcoming the problem of cosmic loneliness highlighted by Colin McGinn—all the more so when the barrier between one consciousness and another is overcome by an influx of God’s glorious mental life. But if this is agreed upon, it is only a small step to conclude that being transforming through the described manner of deification is also tremendously valuable. Analogous to the way an AA sponsor helps her mentee through solidarity with the battle to overcome certain temptations related to alcohol, transformation through participation in God’s oppositional virtues of faith-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-doubt, hope-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-turn-toward-­pessimism, and love-in-the-face-of-the-extreme-temptation-to-hate provides an intimate way of bringing about the moral change of humans by God. And as stated in Section 2, it is reasonable to maintain that without some terrifying event such as the crucifixion (including physical suffering, as mentioned in the present section), these oppositional human virtues could not be appropriated within the divine life and thereby would not be accessible to us as we work out our salvation. Furthermore, God may have additional reasons for becoming Incarnate and suffering a horrendous death, which, together with the deifying purposes presented, render freely submitting to something like a crucifixion a uniquely valuable option. First, Edwin Chr. Van Driel has recently argued, plausibly to my mind, that becoming incarnate provides God with an especially valuable way of forging relationships with humans who, as embodied creatures, rely heavily on sense experience.14 This is especially valuable if, as Christians maintain, Christ’s embodiment will continue for all eternity with the redemption of all creation, including human redemption. To van Driel’s insights Richard Swinburne adds that the Incarnation communicates the value of humanity (since God is willing to take on an instance of human nature), dramatically illustrates God’s love for humans, and shows humans how to live a perfect human life. Building upon his own proposals, Swinburne further argues that an incarnate God has reason to suffer publicly as a way of demonstrating solidarity with suffering humanity (Swinburne 2003, chapter 2). In a similar vein Marilyn McCord Adams claims that Christ’s suffering on the cross proves that horrors ultimately can be ­overcome— where horrors are “evils the participation in (the doing or suffering of) which constitutes prima facie reason to doubt whether the participant’s life could (given their inclusion in it) have positive meaning for him/her on the whole.”15 She writes, The Blessed Trinity sends God the Son, the Divine Word to take our human nature. God offers the Word made flesh up for horror-producing powers to do their worst, to destroy His life materially and to appear utterly to defeat the positive meaning of His human life. Then the ironic reversal takes hold: God the Son’s becoming a horror-participant,

196  Jordan Wessling having the positive meaning of His human life prima facie destroyed, defeats the power of horrors to destroy the positive meaning of our lives, and so fulfills the positive purpose of His own human career.16 The presentation of these reasons is not meant to suggest that God is obliged to become incarnate and suffer, or that these events are the kinds of events that could have been predicted. The point is rather that God has good reasons to become incarnate and face horrible suffering and death, and that these reasons provide valuable grounds for God to use his suffering and death in Christ on the cross as a means of enabling human participation in the transforming life of God. If this is so, however, then it is far from obvious that Dawkins’s version of the violence problem constitutes an insuperable objection to the Christian faith. On the contrary, Christ’s crucifixion holds out the promise of helping us overcome all manner of violence through participation in the peace of God’s love.

Acknowledgments Research for this chapter was supported by the Analytic Theology for Theological Formation project, which was funded by the John Templeton Foundation and led by Oliver Crisp at Fuller Theological Seminary (2015–2018). Many thanks to Oliver, Fuller Theological Seminary, and the John Templeton Foundation for making this paper possible. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the editors of this volume, Joshua Rasmussen and Kevin Vallier, for their insightful comments on an earlier version of this chapter, and to those present at The New Theists Conference, organized by Christian Miller at Wake Forrest University, for their feedback on the presentation of many of the ideas found within this essay.

Notes 1 Compare with Brown and Parker 1990. 2 Arguably, the novelty objection can be raised against satisfaction and penal theories of the atonement, as they find their home in the eleventh and sixteenth century, respectively. See Grensted 1920, 206. 3 See, e.g., Klager 2007. 4 For a survey of understandings of deification, see Keating 2015. 5 Such an objection can be found in Yeo 2014, 217. 6 I here assume no particular model of the Trinity, so long as mutual intra-­ Trinitarian love between the divine persons is permitted. 7 For a helpful discussion of this passage see Gorman 2009, 73–79. 8 For a defense of this claim, see Gorman 2009, 86–90, 99–101. 9 Collins 2012, 196. 10 Perhaps it is too strong to claim that this is the “only” way in which God can share the virtues with humans required for their transformation. If so, perhaps the incarnational means described is a good or fitting way for God to proceed. 11 See Whelan et al. 2009. 12 See Tonigan and Rice 2010.

A bloody death that saves the world? 197 13 Interestingly, in the early Church there is precedent for the idea that the crucifixion was not something devised by God, as some thought it was Satan, not God, who required Christ’s death as a ransom. See, for instance, the twenty-fourth chapter of Gregory of Nyssa 1954. 14 Van Driel 2008. 15 Adams 2006, 32. 16 Ibid, 275.

References Adams, M.M. 2006. Christ and Horrors: The Coherence of Christology. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Alston, W.P. 1988. “The Indwelling of the Holy Spirit.” In Philosophy and the Christian Faith, edited by Thomas V. Morris, 121–150. Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press. Brown, J.C. and R. Parker. 1990. “For God So Loved the World?” In Christianity, Patriarchy, and Abuse: A Feminist Critique, edited by Joanne Carlson Brown and Carole R. Bohn, 1–30. New York, NY: The Pilgrim Press. Collins, R. 2000. “Girard and Atonement: An Incarnational Theory of Mimetic Participation.” In Violence Renounced: René Girard, Biblical Studies, and Peacemaking, edited by W.M. Swartley, 132–153. Telford, PA: Pandora Press. -------. 2012. “A Defense of Nonviolent Atonement.” Brethren in Christ History and Life Journal 186–199. Dawkins, R. 2006. The God Delusion. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Co. Gorman, M.J. 2009. Inhabiting the Cruciform God: Kenosis, Justification, and Theosis in Paul’s Narrative Soteriology. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Gregory of Nyssa. 1954. “An Address on Religious Instruction.” In Christology of the Later Fathers, edited by E. Hardy, translated by C.C. Richardson, 268–326. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. Grensted, L.W. 1920. A Short History of the Atonement. London: Manchester University Press. Irenaeus of Lyons. 1869. “Against Heresies, Book V. Preface.” In The Writings of Irenaeus, translated by Alexander Roberts and W.H. Rambaut. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Keating, D.A. 2015. “Typologies of Deification.” International Journal of Systematic Theology 17: 267–283. Klager, A.P. 2007. “Retaining and Reclaiming the Divine: Identification and the Recapitulation of Peace in St. Irenaeus of Lyons’ Atonement Narrative.” In Stricken by God? Nonviolent Identification, edited by B. Jersak and M. Hardin, 422–481. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Swinburne, R. 2003. The Resurrection of God Incarnate. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Tannehill, R. 2007. “Participation in Christ: A Central Theme in Pauline Soteriology.” In The Shape of the Gospel: New Testament Essays, edited by Robert Tannehill, 223–237. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Tonigan, J.S., and S.L. Rice. 2010. “Is it Beneficial to Have an Alcoholics Anonymous Sponsor?” Psychology of Addictive Behaviors 24: 397–403. Van Driel, E.C. 2008. Incarnation Anyway: Arguments for Supralapsarian Christology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

198  Jordan Wessling Weaver, J.D. 2001. The Nonviolent Atonement. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Whelan, P.J.P., E.J. Marshall, D.M. Ball, and K. Humphreys. 2009. “The Role of A.A. Sponsors: A Pilot Study.” Alcohol and Alcoholism 44: 416–422. Yeo, R.S. 2014. “Towards a Model of Indwelling: A Conversation with Jonathan Edwards and William Alston.” Journal of Analytic Theology 2: 210–237.

14 The fate of the “good person” Kevin Kinghorn

1. Introduction One criticism that has sometimes been leveled at Christian theism is that it does a rather poor job accounting for the fate of the “good person.” On the big question of one’s eternal fate, moral virtue ends up being inconsequential. Heavenly reward is meted out on the basis of whether someone has faith in God. Indeed, some Christians highlight the distinction between faith and works of moral virtue, insisting that it is by the former—and not by the latter—that one is eternally saved. But surely, so the objection continues, this framework of faith and eternal reward should strike us as odd, if not morally outlandish. It seems intuitively obvious that works associated with moral virtue—charity, honesty, sacrifice, and so forth—are laudable. If Christian theism provides a framework in which the morally virtuous person may be fit for hell, whereas the person who simply has faith in God is fit for heaven, then Christian theism can be dismissed as a rather poor source of moral instruction. While I will defend Christian theism in this chapter, other religious traditions are also susceptible to this general kind of objection. Sam Harris claims that the men who committed the atrocities of September 11 were certainly not “cowards,” as they were repeatedly described in the Western media, nor were they lunatics in any ordinary sense. They were men of faith— perfect faith, as it turns out—and this, it must finally be acknowledged, is a terrible thing to be.1 Can a person of true faith be a moral monster? Harris certainly thinks that the theist has opened the door to such a scenario by championing faith over works of moral virtue. How might the Christian theist respond to this line of objection? My own first comment is that it is a perfectly reasonable concern to raise. If Christian theism did imply that faith somehow trumps moral virtue, then the critic’s objection outlined earlier does indeed seem compelling. However, in what

200  Kevin Kinghorn follows I want to show that the objection rests on several false assumptions about the nature of faith and of heaven. Admittedly, these assumptions have sometimes been perpetuated in some Christian circles. Nevertheless, I want to show why a proper understanding of “Christian faith”—which reflects Jesus’s teachings and the Christian tradition historically—actually accords very well with our best intuitions about the importance of moral virtue. And I want to argue that nontheists who act virtuously exhibit important marks of Christian faith, even though they do not describe their own virtuous actions in these terms.

2. The nature of Christian faith I should first establish what the exercise of Christian faith consists of, as well as why faith should not be equated with belief. In short, explicit Christian faith is a matter of saying “yes” to a certain kind of relationship with God, extended to us through Jesus Christ. The shape of this relationship is one in which we relate to Jesus Christ as lord. Relating to Jesus as lord involves allowing him to make the final decisions in how we lead our lives. The summation of Jesus’s directives to us is to “love God and love our neighbor.”2 God invites us to respond in kind to the loving commitment he has to us. And God instructs that our relationships with one another are to mirror the loving, interdependent relationships that Christians affirm exist eternally among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Only within a community of perfected relationships—with God and with others—can we attain ultimate flourishing, or “fullness of life,” which Jesus stated as his purpose in inviting people to relate to him as lord.3 The commitment to relate to Jesus Christ explicitly as lord is, of course, only possible if one has various beliefs about him.4 For example, one needs to believe that Jesus is God-incarnate, that Jesus therefore has certain authority-making features, that Jesus invites us into a personal relationship, and so on. Nevertheless, it is a mistake to equate belief with faith. (Harris seemingly equates the two in commenting, “If Christianity is correct, and I persist in my unbelief, I should expect to suffer the torments of hell.”)5 The commitment of explicit Christian faith is, again, the commitment to relate to Jesus Christ as lord. Beliefs about Christ may be requisite for explicit faith in him, but the act of putting one’s faith in Christ is clearly not the same as forming beliefs about Christ. This point should perhaps be obvious, given that a person might hold true beliefs about Christ and still be a perfect scoundrel. Further, strong arguments exist that we form beliefs involuntarily, whereas the Christian affirmation is that the act of putting one’s faith in Christ is a voluntary response toward him. Admittedly, though, the language of Christians sometimes suggests that “faith in” God is little more than having “beliefs about” God. Christians sometimes refer to themselves as “believers”—as distinct from those who remain in a state of “unbelief.” Perhaps these Christians

The fate of the “good person” 201 will clarify that they “believe in” God (as opposed merely to believing things about God). But to those outside Christian circles, it can understandably remain unclear whether, and how, faith is to be distinguished from belief.

3. Why so much emphasis on belief? In my own view, I think Christians would do well to avoid the language of “belief” in describing the invitation Christ extends to people to commit their lives to him in faith. My conversations over the years with those outside the Christian community have led me to conclude that this language perpetuates a big misunderstanding: namely, that the response the God of Christianity seeks to elicit from people is the response to (somehow) choose to hold Christian beliefs. Perhaps I owe an explanation for this emphasis on the language of belief among Christians in describing their relationships with God, even while I would urge my fellow Christians to rethink this language. Two points seem especially important to consider. First, I have thus far been referring to “faith” in the sense of the response, or commitment, God seeks to elicit from us. This act of faith moves us into a positive, interpersonal relationship with God. But there is another context in which the term “faith” is used more generally to refer to the Christian religion. We can speak of “the Christian faith” as synonymous with the Christian worldview or way of life. We use this second sense of faith in distinguishing Christianity from other religions or from a nontheistic worldview. Creeds become crucial in this context. Christians typically recite some historic creed as part of weekly worship services. Creeds mark out the core, fundamental points of agreement that all Christians share. Not to share in these affirmations is, by definition, to identify oneself as outside “the Christian faith”—that is, as outside the historic community of professing Christians. The Christian creeds tend very much to come in the form of propositions— to which Christians corporately assent. Reciting a Christian creed in public worship does involve more than merely giving intellectual assent; it also assumes some kind of commitment to God and to others in the Christian community. Still, the form of the creeds remains propositional: a list of assertions about who God is and what God has done in human history. In reciting the creeds Christians affirm that they believe these things. Potential confusion arises, though, when this second sense of faith (as outlining the distinctives of the Christian worldview) is not carefully distinguished from the first sense of faith (as describing the voluntary response God prompts people to make). Hence, one may hear Christians speaking of their hope that others outside “the faith” will come to “the faith.” When further describing what “the faith” amounts to, they may list the affirmations contained in Christian creeds. To the outsider, this might understandably— though unfortunately—convey the idea that the step of faith outsiders are called to make is the step of choosing to believe these creedal propositions.

202  Kevin Kinghorn A second reason Christians may often favor the language of belief stems from the fact that English Bibles tend to use the verb “believe” as a translation for the Greek New Testament texts that describe people’s positive responses to God. The most common Greek root used in this context is the noun pistis, along with the corresponding verb pisteo. Interestingly, English Bibles almost always opt to translate pistis as “faith,” with readers encouraged to put their “faith in Christ.” But alas, there is no verb “faithe” corresponding to the noun “faith” (as “believe” corresponds to “belief”). And so English Bibles typically use the verb “believe” as a translation for pisteo. In truth, the Greek verb pisteo carries far wider connotations than the English word believe. Pisteo can be used to convey trust, obedience, cherishing, faithfulness, and a number of other ideas. Admittedly, outsiders may hear Christians quoting from the New Testament about the directive “to believe.” But the English word “believe” is an uneasy translation of the Greek. The New Testament does contain the repeated encouragement to turn to Christ. But it would be far too quick a conclusion that this act of turning is fundamentally a matter of forming beliefs about Christ. Indeed, I contended in the previous section that the commitment of Christian faith is not a decision to believe certain things about God.

4. The Christian description of a nontheist’s good work Having offered two reasons why Christians commonly use—perhaps overuse— the language of belief in describing the commitment of faith God seeks to elicit from all people, let me again acknowledge that beliefs are, of course, requisite for explicit faith in Christ. So, clearly the nontheist (as well as the non-Christian theist) cannot exercise explicit faith in Christ in this earthly life—the kind of faith through which we can be fully and finally reconciled to God. Is any kind of faith possible for nontheists in this life, such that they can move into some kind of positive relationship with God? The preponderant view within the Christian tradition is decidedly “yes.” The beginning point in explaining and defending this conclusion is to offer a Christian account of what is actually happening when a nontheist performs a work we associate with good moral character. My purpose here is not to argue that Christianity is true and that this Christian account of things is therefore accurate. I am merely offering a description of what we Christians genuinely believe is occurring when a “good person” performs a work we associate with moral virtue. Perhaps one will find some individual Christians who are hesitant to affirm that nontheists actually do perform works of true virtue. But this hesitation is surely unwarranted.6 Nontheists help fund medical research, help start orphanages, volunteer time at homeless shelters, and so forth. Nontheist parents exhibit every mark of benevolent care for their newborn children. Nontheist soldiers give their lives self-sacrificially for their comrades. So I return to the matter of offering a description, from the historic

The fate of the “good person” 203 Christian perspective, of what is happening when a nontheist performs a morally good work. The consensus of the Christian tradition has always been that humans are incapable of performing virtuous works or otherwise moving toward God unless God first draws or prompts them to do so.7 This prompting may take various forms. The Christian Scriptures speak suggestively about God having “written his law on the human heart.”8 The Christian moral philosopher might spell out this theme in terms of God ensuring that we have certain moral beliefs, or God kindling certain desires we have, or some other way. But the general point will be that God communicates in some way to humans and ensures that they are motivated to perform certain actions. This divine work Christians understand to be a work of the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. What actions does the Holy Spirit prompt people to take? The formal answer to that question is that, in a Christian, Trinitarian understanding of God, the Holy Spirit always prompts us to join Christ in the work he is already doing in the world. Jesus Christ, the second person of the Trinity, has the role of reconciling the world to God. In full Trinitarian terms, we are prompted by the Holy Spirit to add our efforts to the work Christ is already doing—work that Christ offers to God the Father. Turning to a substantive answer to the question of what kinds of actions God prompts us to perform, the broadest answer will be acts of self-­giving love. This is the broadest description of the work of Jesus. Within the umbrella of loving actions that can be performed, Jesus emphasized care for those on the margins of society.9 And his stated purpose in coming to dwell among us was so that people would “have life, and have it to the full.”10 So we arrive at the following theological account of what is happening when a person (including a nontheist) performs some act of self-giving love that brings life to others. From a Christian perspective, the person has been prompted in some way by the activity of the Holy Spirit. This prompting has been to join Christ in some work in which Christ is already engaged (in his task of bringing life to all people, which ultimately involves reconciling people to God). Nontheists, of course, will not identify their felt motivation to serve others as a prompting from the Holy Spirit. They will not see their own efforts as an act of joining Christ in his work. As such, their acts of virtue cannot constitute what we might call “explicit” Christian faith. However, the Christian tradition has a long history of affirming the possibility of “implicit” Christian faith. I recognize that nontheists—as well as theists in other religious traditions— may view it as presumptuous of Christians to describe all people’s acts of virtue in specifically Christian terms. However, any worldview has implications for what is “really” going on when people make decisions in the context of religious or ethical deliberations. I am spelling out the implications arising from a Christian starting point. In the next section I want

204  Kevin Kinghorn to look at what it would mean for the nontheist to have implicit faith in Jesus Christ.

5. The possibility of implicit Christian faith There are obvious examples in everyday life of our decisions amounting to implicit decisions about how we will relate to someone. For example, suppose that Fred resolves at the age of 25 that, should he marry someday, he will remain faithful to his wife, share whatever finances he has, tell her the truth about his background, and so forth. If Fred subsequently meets and marries Susan four years later, he will not need to decide again to relate to her in these ways. These decisions were already made, we are supposing, at a previous time. There is a clear sense in which Fred’s earlier decisions were implicitly decisions about how he relates to Susan. (Fred’s earlier decisions were how to relate to a type of person, of which Susan is a token.) Similarly, a person might explore the existence of God, having decided that she wants to know, and to meet all the obligations she might have toward, her creator—should she in fact have a creator. We suppose now, ex hypothesi, that the Triune God created her and that Jesus Christ has rightful claim to be lord of her life. If the person’s original decision is decisive enough to cause her to relate to Jesus as lord when she comes to see the truth about Jesus, then there is a clear sense in which her original decision was an implicit decision to relate to Jesus as lord. Admittedly, this example is neat and tidy. Decisions so easily translated are surely rare. However, it remains plausible that a wide range of everyday decisions we make shape our character and dispositions, making us either more or less apt to embrace Jesus Christ as lord. A nontheist who reads this conclusion may wonder if I have reached it too easily, as though I am trying to baptize good moral deeds in an ad hoc move to claim them as somehow religious in nature. But as noted earlier, the orthodox Christian position has always been that any good human deed11 is always prompted by the activity of the Holy Spirit. I take “good” deeds to involve the benevolent pursuit of others’ well-being.12 Hence, saying that the Holy Spirit prompts us to perform good deeds is a way of saying that the Holy Spirit prompts us to participate in God’s benevolent pursuit of others’ well-being—a pursuit the Triune God has initiated (through Christ) and prompts us (by the Holy Spirit) to join him in pursuing. When we respond to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, it is true that the nonbeliever becomes more disposed to follow Jesus Christ, should she at some point come to form true beliefs about Jesus and the commitments of loving fellowship he invites us to make. At the same time, it is worth emphasizing that a nonbeliever’s responses are, in fact, responses to God the Holy Spirit (and not merely dispositions to respond to God).13 Further, given that the essential character of all members of the Godhead is the same, a person who is responding to the Holy Spirit is in fact responding to the spirit

The fate of the “good person” 205 of Christ. Without a nonbeliever’s recognition of these theological points, a positive response to the Holy Spirit will not, of course, be an explicit response to Christ. But again there is a clear sense in which such a person is making an implicit response to Christ. As precedent for the possibility of implicit faith in Christ, consider the Old Testament saints. The Christian tradition has long affirmed that (some) individuals who lived on earth before Christ will be among the redeemed in heaven. And yet those who predated Christ had no knowledge of the person and atoning work of Christ—and thus did not exercise explicit faith in him. So how did the early Church reconcile these two points, given the Christian affirmation that we are fully and finally reconciled to God only by offering Christ’s sacrificial life and death as atonement for our own sins? The only way to reconcile these points, the early Church concluded, is to affirm that figures like the Old Testament patriarchs at some point after their earthly lives must have formed true beliefs about Jesus Christ.14 Richard Swinburne explains this early doctrine of limbus patrum: According to this doctrine, the Old Testament patriarchs were consigned to an intermediate state, limbus patrum, until Christ “descended into Hell” to preach to them the redemption which he had won for them on Calvary. Once they accepted that (as they were already geared to do in virtue of their good will), they inherited its benefits—Heaven. Their inability, through ignorance, to plead Christ’s sacrifice alone barred them from Heaven; when it was remedied, they could avail themselves of that sacrifice and Heaven was theirs.15 The reference from Swinburne to Christ’s teaching refers to a time between Jesus’s death and resurrection, when he “preached to the dead.”16 The consensus of the Church Fathers was that this was most likely when the Old Testament figures heard and responded to the news about Jesus’s reconciling work. But the principal point is that it was at some point after their earthly lives that they heard the specific news about Jesus. Importantly, this postmortem decision to embrace Jesus as lord should not be understood as a decision with which the Patriarchs wrestled. Their response to the full revelation of God they received was an inevitable response, given the character they developed in their earthly lives as they responded to the (partial) revelation from God they did receive. Interestingly, the earthly responses of certain Old Testament figures are described within the New Testament as examples of the kind of faith toward which we should all strive.17 And this despite these responses not involving explicit faith in Jesus Christ. If implicit Christian faith was possible for those individuals predating Christ, is there reason to think it would not be possible for those living after Christ? One key reason to think implicit faith is possible for people today centers on the historic Christian consensus that ignorance will not ultimately

206  Kevin Kinghorn be a deciding factor in whether an individual is fully and finally reconciled to God at some point. Thomas Aquinas is representative in avowing that “it pertains to divine providence to furnish everyone with what is necessary for salvation, provided that on [one’s] part there is no hindrance.”18 How does the Christian theist understand God to provide for all willing individuals “what is necessary for salvation”? One option would be to claim that for all people who are open to a relationship with God, God does ensure that the conditions for explicit faith in Jesus Christ (including, of course, beliefs about the divinity of Jesus) are realized during their earthly lives. Such a move, although logically possible, is nevertheless wildly implausible. Again, plenty of non-Christians exhibit the kind of character that would reasonably lead us to expect that they would embrace Christ’s offer to them of a relationship of mutually self-giving love. The other option would be to claim that the conditions are indeed present for all individuals to begin a relationship with God that can end with full and final reconciliation with God (i.e., with salvation)—with these initial conditions not always needing to include beliefs about the divinity and atoning work of Jesus Christ. A response of explicit faith in Jesus Christ would, of course, not be among the options available to nontheists in this life. And without explicit faith in Christ, certain benefits would be unavailable to nontheists in this life.19 The Christian tradition affirms that there are various private and corporate practices—some of them specifically instituted by God—that allow us best to seek after God and to receive help from him. These formation practices allow us to gain direction from God, to receive strength and encouragement, and to experience peace and joy even through the trials of life. Without participating in these explicitly Christian ways of relating to God, many supernatural benefits described by Christians are not as available, if at all. But some kinds of responses to God’s prompting would be possible for the nontheist, enabling her to receive some positive aspects of a relationship with God. For example, God could infuse a nontheist with some measure of joy, even if the joys remain out of reach that are specific to knowing that one is in a relationship with Jesus, knowing that one’s past misdeeds have been completely forgiven, knowing that heaven awaits those who persevere in faith, and so forth. If nontheists continue to respond positively to the communication they are receiving from God, then the precedent of the Old Testament patriarchs suggests that they, too, upon coming to see the truth about Jesus Christ at some point after their earthly lives, will be disposed to accept Jesus and thereby be fully and eternally reconciled to God.20

6. The nature of heaven I have not yet offered any definitive answer to my initial question, which asked about the ultimate fate of the good person. Thus far I have only established the possibility that a nontheist might be exercising a kind of “implicit

The fate of the “good person” 207 faith” in God. I have offered a Christian perspective on what is happening in the life of the nontheist who performs acts of loving service. And I have suggested that these acts are actually a response to a divine prompting and that they amount to adding to the work Jesus is already doing in the world. In this sense, we can speak of a certain kind of positive relationship with God as possible for the nontheist. But what of the ultimate, eternal fate of the nontheist after this earthly life? Christians offer a vision of an afterlife, heaven, where the redeemed experience ultimate flourishing as they are fully and finally reconciled to God. How good does a “good person” need to be in order to be rewarded with heaven? Nontheists may do some loving actions in this life. But the Christian view is that no one in this life performs only good deeds. We all fall short of perfect virtue, sometimes acting out of selfishness, if not malice. So, again, how good does a person need to be to qualify for, or to be rewarded with, heaven? From a Christian perspective, this is decidedly the wrong way to ask that question. And it is important to understand why. Perhaps under some religious descriptions heaven is a place with external rewards of wine, women, and so on. The general idea would be that if you serve God and others in this life, then in the next life you get served. But this is decidedly not the Christian view of heaven. For Christians, what is so enjoyable about heaven is that one’s relationships with God and with others are perfected. We come to live in a community of loving interdependence (mirroring the eternal relationships of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit), where life-diminishing experiences of loneliness, resentment, and rejection can gain no foothold. “Heaven” is simply the place where our perfected relationships can continue for eternity. Accordingly, there is no external reward that the nontheist (or the professing Christian) could hope to gain as recompense for relating positively to God. The positive relationship with God is the reward. That is, the dynamic of continued creative offering and response—which characterizes any interpersonal relationship—is what is experienced and enjoyed, in eternal and ever-increasing measure. Admittedly, Christian writers and speakers have sometimes undermined this Christian distinctive about the nature of heaven. In reacting against certain practices in the Roman Catholic Church that seemed to exaggerate the role of certain human works in guaranteeing one’s eternal destiny, the Protestant Reformers of the sixteenth century emphasized that it is by faith and not by works that we are fully reconciled to God. I set aside many of the complications arising from this debate within the Christian tradition. But I do concede that the language of many Christians—emphasizing “faith and not works”—has been misleading. What I want to highlight is the historic consensus within the Christian tradition that being fully and finally reconciled to God involves being made fit for heaven. That is, it involves a person responding positively to the

208  Kevin Kinghorn various promptings of the Holy Spirit, such that the person cooperates with God’s process of transforming her into the kind of person who can take her place within the heavenly community of relationships perfected in love. There simply is no question of (somehow) “making it to heaven” without coming to have the moral virtues needed to participate in relationships of self-giving benevolence. So it does not make sense, in the Christian picture of heaven, to ask: how good does a person need to be in order to be rewarded with heaven? A better question would be: who gets to enjoy perfected relationships with God and others for eternity? And the answer is: those who end up deciding to participate in these relationships! That answer is, of course, a formal one. But it is still a significant answer. Once we eliminate ignorance as an ultimate explanation for why any person would not be in heaven (as discussed in Section 4), then the reason any person’s fate would not include heaven would be that the person simply has chosen to reject the offer of perfected relationships. Put another way, heaven is available to anyone who would enjoy it. Of course, a crucial point from the discussion of heaven in this section is that not just anyone would enjoy heaven. Again, the enjoyments of heaven do not stem from external things—fine food, fine scenery—that anyone would enjoy. Rather, the joys that come with heaven come from perfected relationships of self-giving benevolence. Yes, the great paradox of the Christian religion is that only as we “lose” our lives in service to others will we “gain” a life of joy, peace, and ultimate fulfillment.21 But to someone not sold on the idea of self-giving love to God and to all people, the invitation of heaven is not at all an attractive option. In answering any substantive question about the fate of a particular nontheist, the crucial question is: would that person enjoy heaven? But, of course, this question could also be asked of professing Christians in this life. In comparison to a nontheist, a professing Christian will believe further things about Jesus and about the kind of relationship into which God invites all people. Yet the life of the professing Christian continues to be one of discovery: we discover new facts about what it means to follow Christ. And we discover aspects of our character that are still resistant to Christ’s full lordship over our lives. At times, professing Christians can turn away from the life of faith. We discover that following Christ means we have to forgive that person. We discover that Christ’s lordship extends to very personal areas, including our finances, our vocation, and our sex life. And we may balk at Christ’s directives in such areas. Christian doctrine emphasizes the necessity of Christ eventually becoming lord over every area of our lives. In part, this full submission is necessary in order for God to coordinate everyone’s well-being, with every person having a dignified and meaningful role to play within the community God is establishing. The necessity of full submission to Christ is also seen when we remember that Christ’s commands are, in the end, commands to love. Full

The fate of the “good person” 209 submission to Christ is full submission to the goal, the end, of pouring out our lives in loving service. Accordingly, the process of God leading people into perfected relationships is essentially the same for the Christian as for the nontheist. God will seek to lead us into further truths about what relationships of love truly demand of us. Professing Christians should know a good deal more of what God must do, and has in fact done, to restore broken relationships with us. But new Christians hardly know all that relating to Christ as lord will require of them—just as a newly married couple hardly knows what marriage will require of them. The key point in this discussion is that the fate of all people—professing Christians or nontheists—will hinge on how they respond to the invitation to participate in the community of perfected relationships. There is no “cut-off” point in terms of how many good responses to God’s leading one needs to make. Eventually, the process of God leading us toward perfected relationships will involve God pressing upon us the full truth of what love requires of each of us. In this sense, the fate of the “good” nontheist is the same as the fate of the professing Christian: their fates will hinge on whether they choose to embrace God’s invitation to live in a community of perfected relationships, made possible only as all members of that community relate to Jesus Christ as lord.

7. Consonance with our moral intuitions I set out in this chapter to address the objection that Christian faith is championed over moral virtue, rendering the latter relatively unimportant. However, on a closer analysis of Christian faith, the two cannot at all be separated. A good way to see this connection is again to reflect on the Christian picture of heaven, which offers an account of human well-being and how it is achieved. The Christian picture of a community of relationships perfected in love then becomes a framework for understanding the process through which God must lead people—whatever their current level of theistic belief— if they are to participate in this community. The responses of faith that God seeks to elicit from us are, then, the responses that move us toward becoming the kinds of people who can take their place within this community. Are our decisions to become loving people in community really examples of implicit faith in the person of Jesus Christ? I admit that this suggestion will sound odd—if we privilege a definition of faith along the lines of belief. But I have been at pains to say why God will be most interested in shaping our commitments toward benevolent pursuits so that we can take our place within a community of perfected relationships. The Holy Spirit may well prompt us to form beliefs about Christ. But it is even more central to God’s goal of making us fit for heaven that the Holy Spirit prompt us to become the kinds of people committed to what Christ is committed to.22 How then do we characterize our response to God’s invitation—the “response of faith” on which our eternal destiny hinges? The commitment

210  Kevin Kinghorn of faith is fundamentally a commitment to the loving goals to which Christ is already committed and invites us to join him in pursuing. Of course, when true beliefs about Christ do come, explicit faith in him becomes possible, along with the recognition that he is the fullness, the personification, of those good and loving ideals we had previously glimpsed only partially. Rather than being at odds with our moral intuitions about the importance of love and self-sacrifice, the Christian doctrines of faith and heaven accord extremely well with our moral sensibilities. These doctrines stem from the theological beginning point for Christians that we humans are created in the “image” of a relational—a Trinitarian—God, and our well-being will ultimately hinge on the state of our relationships. Christians can point to everyday clues to this theological explanation of where our well-being as humans is ultimately found. A Thanksgiving feast may come with all the trimmings, but it won’t be enjoyable if it is eaten in the midst of a family quarrel. By contrast, a newly married couple may be poor as dirt, but if they’re in love and enjoying each other’s company, a spaghetti dinner for the fourth night in a row will still be a wonderful dining experience. A great comedic film will fail to amuse someone in the throes of depression. Yet viewing an inane B-movie can be a time of great laughter and fun if viewed with a group of close friends. So many other everyday examples exist as similar clues to the way relationships ultimately hold the key to our well-being. One could discuss the mental effects of being completely isolated from other humans. Or one could listen to the testimonies of therapists who describe how some absence of healthy relationships inevitably lies at the root of visits to their offices. When we reflect on the Christian picture of heaven and of human wellbeing, I think it connects very well with our experiences about the importance of healthy relationships. Further, experience also seems to bear out the Christian description of how healthy relationships are established and maintained. Injury to another person must be exposed, it must be confessed and forsworn for the future, it must be forgiven, and the costs of the broken relationship must be absorbed. Otherwise, the possibilities of resentment, distrust, and reprisal are ever present, threatening that relationship moving forward. The Christian picture of full and mutual submission—common commitments to the benevolent goal of others’ well-being—offers a way toward perfected relationships. In short, I think the Christian understanding of heaven, and how God leads us there, accords well with our experiences and with our noblest moral aspirations.

8. The challenge of being a genuinely good person What the Christian picture of heaven does challenge, however, is our views about ourselves. The Christian picture of heaven stands in stark contrast to the state of most of us here on earth. As such, Christianity offers a devastating critique of the human condition: just how far we are from being

The fate of the “good person” 211 fully committed to benevolent service to others. A Christian anthropology declares a shared human tendency to focus on ourselves at the expense of others—an anthropology Christians defend by noting our human history of violence, power struggles, and oppression. Central to Christianity is the claim that Jesus Christ was uniquely able to absorb the cost of our broken relationships. While Christians have offered varying theories as to why Jesus’s perfect life, death, and resurrection make full restoration of relationship with God and others possible, they have always agreed that the events culminating in Easter weekend make this restoration possible. One of Christ’s directives to his followers is that we must avail ourselves of his perfect life by offering it to God as atonement for our own sins and shortcomings. It is only in understanding the events of the cross that we understand the full truth of who we are—for example, how our universal, human attitudes of jealousy, cowardice, and self-justification lead us to mistake evil for good, just as it led those in first-century Palestine to judge it a good thing to crucify the one person who had led a morally perfect life. Christians affirm that part of God’s revelation to us includes these facts about ourselves. Hence, for those who relate to Jesus as lord, they are called also to relate to him as savior: as the one who alone can save them from the self-destructive outcome of their existing sinful attitudes and actions. Jesus’s teachings about discipleship, as well as his example on the cross, show us that the path toward perfected relationships is going to be far more demanding than we imagine. Primarily, this is due to the overly optimistic picture we humans inevitably have of ourselves. The literature in experimental psychology documents a staggering array of strategies humans devise to hide the truth of their moral flaws to others and to themselves. People continually frame their own actions in a favorable light, compare themselves favorably with others, adopt excuse-making tactics, and in general imagine themselves in a way that is comfortable. The psychological literature again documents a huge variety of blatant and subtle ways people deceive themselves about the state of their own moral character. What these varied strategies have in common is that they all tend to be highly effective.23 Accordingly, the process toward perfected relationships may involve God needing to press upon us various truths about ourselves that are difficult for us to admit. While Jesus proclaimed the possibility of perfected relationships through him, he also emphasized that we cannot hope to build such a loving, lasting community through our own efforts. Hence, a crucial step in achieving this ideal becomes our owning up to our shortcomings and cooperating with God’s activity in our lives, asking him to change us in ways we cannot change ourselves. The path toward perfected, loving relationships may thus require such traits as openness and humility—traits that we perhaps do not yet possess in the measure we (self-deceptively) think we do. This chapter began by asking about the fate of the “good person.” This final section offers the Christian reminder that being “good” must ultimately

212  Kevin Kinghorn involve total surrender to God and to others, taking up a cross as needed. The Christian ideal of relationships perfected in benevolent love may challenge us to ask substantive questions about how good we really are. Nevertheless, Christianity’s formal answer to the fate of the good person remains the same: for those who embrace the process of being conformed to the image of Christ (implicitly or explicitly), which is a matter of being fully formed in love, a heavenly community of perfected relationships is their ultimate fate.

Notes 1 Harris 2005, 67. 2 Mark 12, 29–31. 3 John 10, 10. 4 For those without the beliefs requisite for explicit faith, the possibility of implicit faith in Jesus Christ will be discussed later in the chapter. 5 Harris 2008, 3–4. 6 Admittedly, some Christians might rejoin by seizing upon a Bible verse like Isaiah 64:6: “All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.” But surely such verses are simply pointing out that our best attempts at virtue still fall short of the standard of perfectly consistent self-giving love that characterizes God’s nature and must characterize us if we are to take our place within the heavenly community. It remains not at all plausible to insist that we humans—whether theists or nontheists—are capable of no acts of genuine benevolence, no acts of self-sacrificial love. 7 This orthodox Christian position was confirmed in the Second Council of Orange in the year 590. 8 Jer. 31:33; Rom. 2:15; Heb. 10:16. 9 Cf. Jesus’s statement at the beginning of his earthly ministry (Luke 4:14–21) that he was fulfilling the Old Testament prophecy: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Isaiah 61:1–2). 10 John 10:10. The sense of “life” here is, of course, a broad one, focusing on love, joy, peace, and other “fruit of the Spirit” (Gal. 5:22–23). 11 Questions of one’s motivations and the ultimate goals one seeks to achieve will, of course, be relevant in determining whether a deed is in fact “good.” 12 For a defense of this supposition, see Kinghorn 2016, chapters 1–2, 5. 13 This once again is the Christian view of what is occurring. The nonbeliever herself may offer a purely secular description of her own actions: as prompted by her moral intuitions, her sense of obligation, and so forth. 14 See Sanders 1992, 181–188. 15 Swinburne 1989, 192. 16 1 Peter 3, 18–20 was widely viewed by the Church Fathers as a reference to this event. 17 See Hebrews, chapter 11. 18 Aquinas 1953, q. 14, art. 11, ad.1. Aquinas’s teacher, Albert the Great, signaled that this view was indeed widespread, affirming that “[t]heologians in general teach that it is impossible that a man, who performs adequately all in his power to do to prepare himself, should not receive a revelation from God, or instruction from men who have been themselves inspired, or some sign of a Mediator.” (See the citation from Dunning 1943, 49.)

The fate of the “good person” 213 19 The Christian tradition has always affirmed that only in the events of conversion and baptism can such things become available to us as certain guidance, comfort, and power from the Holy Spirit, and a releasing of our spiritual gifts in working partnership with others within the body of Christ (i.e., the Church). 20 For a fuller discussion of the points of this section, see Kinghorn 2005, chapter 8. 21 Cf. Jesus’s summation in Matthew 16:25: “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.” 22 After all, a person whose pursuit of goals is antithetical to loving, self-giving relationships will need a radical overhaul of character in order to take her place within the heavenly community. By contrast, an unbeliever who is already genuinely committed to loving pursuits will naturally embrace Jesus as lord, if and when she comes to form true beliefs about Jesus (whom Christians describe as the fullness of love personified). Such beliefs could readily be effected by God through a clear revelation, whereas the process of character transformation is obviously much more arduous and reliant on human cooperation. 23 For a fuller discussion of these points, see Kinghorn 2005, chapter 6.

References Aquinas, Thomas. 1953. Truth. Vol. II, translated by James V. McGlynn. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company. Dunning, T.P. 1943. “Langland and the Salvation of the Heathen.” Medium Aevum 12: 45–54. Harris, Sam. 2005. The End of Faith. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. ———. 2008. Letter to a Christian Nation. New York, NY: Vintage. Kinghorn, Kevin. 2005. The Decision of Faith: Can Christian Beliefs Be Freely Chosen? London: T & T Clark. ———. 2016. A Framework for the Good. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Sanders, John. 1992. No Other Name. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Swinburne, Richard. 1989. Revelation. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Index

ACLU 169, 172 Affordable Care Act 174 agnosticism 19, 62, 100, 140, 146, 147 Alston, William 56, 80, 89, 182, 184 – 188, 192 Anselm of Canterbury 66, 80 Aquinas, Thomas 63, 64, 68 – 69, 72, 74, 80, 141, 164, 206, 212 Aristotle 99, 101, 137, 158, 159, 164 Asia (Christian influence on) 132, 143 atheism 1, 4, 54, 61, 62, 63, 84, 97, 114, 131, 132, 146, 154 – 156, 158, 171 – 172, 183 atonement 181 – 184, 193 – 194, 205, 211 Augustine of Hippo 68, 80, 101, 137, 175 – 176 axiom of choice 15 Big Bang cosmology 10, 62 – 63 Catholic 138 – 140, 144, 153, 160, 165, 170, 174 – 175, 207 causation 9 – 19; circular 9, 19 Christianity 87, 101, 104 – 109, 113 – 114, 131, 133, 137, 139, 144, 146 – 147, 153, 154, 156 – 162, 168, 170, 181, 183, 200 – 202, 210 – 212 Cicero 137, 176, 177 Collins, Robin 72, 189 – 190, 194, 196, 197 Confucius 133, 143, 159, 161 conscience 40, 139 – 140, 170, 173 – 176 consensus 121, 153 – 160, 163, 203, 205, 207 Constantine 136, 170 cosmological argument 63 – 64, 72 cross/crucifixion 136 – 137, 142, 147, 181 – 183, 188 – 191, 193 – 196, 211 – 212 Crusades 105

Dawkins, Richard 1, 2, 4, 5, 36, 45, 59 – 74, 77, 79, 80, 83, 95, 96, 97, 98, 114, 116, 131 – 135, 139, 141, 148, 156, 158, 163, 164, 181, 182, 193, 194, 196 debunking argument 33 – 34, 37 – 38, 42 – 44 deification/theosis 101, 182, 184 – 197 democracy (Christian influence on) 132, 139 – 140, 143, 145, 165 Dennett, Daniel 1, 5, 33, 45, 59, 72, 77, 81, 84, 89, 96, 102, 119, 128, 135, 148 design argument 11, 60 – 61, 63, 67, 73 determinism 12, 134, 135 dignitary harm 174 divine command 98 – 99 divine nature 35, 190 divine punishment 95, 97, 98, 100, 135, 193 divine simplicity 69, 73 – 74 Eastern Orthodoxy 138, 140, 144 Employment Division v. Smith 174, 176 Enlightenment (Protestant influence on) 80, 132 – 133, 137, 169 epistemic luck 33 – 34, 37 – 38, 42 – 44 epistemic permissivism 48 – 51, 57 evidence 1 – 5, 13, 14, 16, 21, 34, 47 – 57, 62, 77, 78, 80, 81, 83 – 89, 105, 112, 113, 119 – 121, 126, 128, 135; a priori 85, 88; empirical 84 – 87; experience 83 – 84; science 84 – 87; testimony 83 – 84, 88 evidentialism 83 evil, problem of 47 evolution/Darwinism/Darwinian evolution 37, 42, 61, 107, 134 explanation 23 – 26, 28 – 32, 47 – 48, 53 – 55

Index  215 faith 1, 4, 62, 77 – 89; interpersonal 87 – 88, 103 – 104, 106, 108, 113, 131, 133, 134, 136 – 139, 142, 144 – 147, 169 – 175, 181 – 182, 189 – 193, 195 – 196, 199 – 202, 205 – 210, 212 fine-tuning of the universe 61, 63, 66, 73, 135 finitism 16; causal 9 – 19 First Amendment 168, 171, 175; establishment clause 171 – 172, 175; free exercise clause 172, 174 – 175; no religious test 168 five ways 72 flourishing/well-being 103, 105, 111, 143, 155, 161 – 164, 204, 208 – 210 foundation: of existence 21, 23 – 24, 26 – 32; supreme 26, 29 – 32 Fourteenth Amendment 168 friendship 4 – 11, 33, 102, 111, 176 fusion see mereological sum Gabay, Yuvay 15 Gambler’s Fallacy 14 – 15 geozones and worldviews 142 – 144 God 1 – 5, 9 – 19, 30, 32, 34 – 36, 44 – 45, 47 – 48, 50 – 57, 59 – 61, 63 – 74, 77 – 84, 86 – 88, 95 – 102, 105 – 107, 114 – 115, 124 – 128, 133 – 136, 138, 140 – 142, 144, 147, 159, 164, 169 – 170, 173, 176, 181 – 197, 199 – 213 good person 96, 199, 201, 206 – 207, 210 – 212 Grim Reaper Paradox 13 – 14, 17 – 18 Harris, Samuel 1, 4, 5, 32, 36, 59, 72, 77 – 81, 83 – 85, 89, 103 – 106, 108, 110, 114 – 116, 155, 163, 164, 199 – 200, 212 Health and Human Services (HHS) mandate 174 heaven 135, 199, 200, 205 – 213 Hitchens, Christopher 1, 5, 59, 72, 77, 79, 81, 83, 85, 89, 96, 102, 131, 169, 176 Hobbes, Thomas 170, 171, 176 Hobby Lobby 175, 177 Holy Spirit 183, 188, 198, 200, 203 – 205, 208 – 209 Huemer, Michael 17 – 18 Hume, David 9, 19, 29, 32, 59, 154, 156, 157, 161, 163, 164

incarnation 102, 182, 186 – 188, 191, 195 – 196, 197, 200 inference to the best explanation 12, 23 infinity 9, 19, 29 inquiry 1, 21, 23, 55, 62, 77, 81 – 83 Islam 87, 104, 106, 116, 132, 143 – 144,  161 Jesus Christ 5, 87, 102, 104 – 107, 109, 116, 127, 131 – 133, 135 – 137, 141 – 147, 159, 161, 169, 183, 187, 189 – 190, 194, 200, 203 – 209, 211 – 213 Judaism 104 – 105, 116 justice 5, 139, 153 – 162, 164, 165, 171, 181, 190 Kalam argument 9 – 10, 19 Kant, Immanuel 132, 164 Kuhn, Thomas 65, 73 Laraudogoitia’s Marble Paradox 17 – 18 laws of nature 12, 13, 17, 18 Lewis, David 67, 73 Little Sisters of the Poor 175 Locke, John 89, 132, 140, 170, 171, 176 Luther, Martin 138, 171, 176 Mackie, J. L. 73 – 74 McGinn, Colin 73, 183 – 184, 195 mereological sum 13 metaphysics (and the New Atheism) 134 – 136, 157 Mill, John Stuart 164, 171 missionaries 114, 132, 144 – 146 moral exemplar 159, 164 moral facts 34, 37 – 38, 40, 42, 44, 95 – 98, 101, 153 moral intuitions 37 – 38, 42, 209 – 210, 212 moral knowledge 33 – 37, 41, 42 – 44, 161 moral licensing 119 – 128 moral motivation 95 – 98, 101 moral strangers 154, 159, 160, 162 multiverse 61, 66 – 67, 69 – 70, 73 Murray, John Courtney 175, 177 natural kinds 67 – 70 natural law theory 154, 158, 163, 164, 171 necessary existence 27 – 29

216 Index New Atheism 1 – 5, 21, 31, 33, 59 – 60,  71, 77 – 87, 89, 95, 97 – 98,  100, 103 – 105, 110, 113 – 115, 119, 131 – 132, 135 – 136, 162, 169 Newton, Isaac 70, 132, 141 Occam’s Razor 66 O’Connor, Michael 15 omniscience 30, 68, 194 pantheism 19 Paul (apostle) 87, 141 – 142, 189 Pelagianism 101 perfect being theology/greatest possible being 60, 64, 66 physicalism 74 Plantinga, Alvin 5, 56, 72, 74, 80, 89 Plato 31, 68, 141, 159 polytheism 19 prayer 68, 78, 83, 112 – 113, 119, 121 – 125, 127, 129, 168, 169, 170 principle of sufficient reason 11 – 13 proper function 157 – 159, 164 prosocial behavior 121 – 124, 155 Protestants 132, 137 – 141, 143 – 146, 153, 170, 207 Ramadan 124 rationality: epistemic 57, 75, 77 – 79, 82; practical 57, 78, 82 Rawls, John 163, 164, 165 reason 1 – 5, 21, 25, 29 – 30, 62, 78, 99, 140, 154, 162 Reformation 137 – 138, 141, 144, 170 religion 1, 21, 36, 78, 87, 103 – 109, 113 – 114, 116, 120, 121, 131 – 136, 139 – 142, 144, 146 – 147, 153 – 154, 156 – 157, 160 – 163, 165, 168 – 172, 175, 181, 201, 208 religious distortion 105 – 107 Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA) 169, 174 religious harms argument 103 – 114 religious wars 52, 132, 170 Roman Empire 170 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 132, 170, 171, 176

science 10, 12, 22, 27, 40, 61 – 63, 65, 69 – 70, 73, 83 – 88, 99, 139 – 141, 164 scientism 85, 134 secular 4, 99, 101, 103 – 105, 107 – 110, 112, 114, 131 – 133, 138, 140, 146, 147, 155, 169, 212 secular harms argument 107 – 109 secularism 132, 146 self-deception 211 self-fulfilling beliefs 80 – 81, 87 – 88 set theory 15 simplicity (divine) 54, 59 – 74 skeptical theism 47, 56 Socrates 63, 141 – 142, 161 Spinoza, Benedict 158, 164 studies of religion 110 – 112 subjectivism (moral) 36, 38 – 39 suffering 47 – 56 Swinburne, Richard 5, 32, 56, 67, 69, 72 – 74, 195, 205, 212 – 213 teleology 157, 158, 159, 164 theism: classical 4, 66, 69, 74; theist 4 – 5, 19, 31, 33 – 35, 44, 47, 54, 61, 66, 69 – 71, 73 – 74, 80, 88 – 89, 120, 132, 135, 199 theodicy 47 theoretical virtues 65 Thomson, James F. 11 – 13, 19 Thomson’s Lamp Paradox 11 time travel 9 Trinity 183 – 184, 186, 194 – 195, 196, 203 “Ultimate 747 Gambit” argument 59 – 60, 63, 71 – 73 uncaused cause 9 – 11, 19 United Nations 139 – 140 Universal Declaration on Human Rights 139 – 140 value judgments 50 – 51, 53, 56 violence problem 181 – 183, 189, 192 – 196 virtue 21, 37, 65, 154, 155, 159, 191 – 192, 199 – 200, 202 – 203, 205, 207 – 209, 212; oppositional 191 – 195